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strang3lov3 · 10 months

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Self-Indulgent Tendencies

dbf!joel x fem reader

Summary: while on your night walks, you decide to sneak into your dad’s best friend’s pool. When you’re finally caught you’re faced with two options: Joel can call the cops on you or teach you a lesson himself.

Warnings: pervy!Joel, slightly creepy joel, manipulative joel, kinda dark joel, slight dubcon but it’s not crazy, public nudity, semi public sex, rough sex, blowjobs, masturbation, attempted orgasm denial, reader calls joel daddy (couldn’t help myself), unprotected piv, voyeurism, oral f and m receiving, substantial age gap (reader is 20s and joel is 40s, honestly picture whatever age gap you want. I think the girthier the sexier LOL) I was feeling filthy sorry

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: this poisoned my mind and I had to write it. Please enjoy <3 I would like to dedicate this story to @toxicanonymity who inspires me to be myself and have fun when writing this absolute filth ❤️

@speckledemerald deserves some credit with creating this story. Thank you for brainstorming with me and proofreading and your words of encouragement love!!! 😘❤️😘❤️😘

Texas in July. You did not miss it one bit, yet here you were, walking in the smoldering heat wave, beads of sweat dripping down your body. It was the kind of heat that weighed heavily in the air and suffocated your lungs with each and every breath.

After graduation in May, you moved back home, settling on a cute little townhouse not far from where your parents lived.

As you walk, you wave hi to the Adlers, then to Joel, who’s mowing his lawn. Oh yeah, he’s in this neighborhood too.

Joel, your dad’s best friend since…long before you were around. Joel, with his dark curls, his patchy beard and thick mustache, his sparkly dark eyes, his syrupy-sweet smile. He looks sinfully handsome mowing his lawn in his denim cutoffs and white tank top, his sun kissed skin shimmering in sweat.

He smiles back with a wave, and you walk right past, continuing your walk. It’s late in the evening, the sun is beginning to disappear. This is the best time to get your exercise, you’ve decided. It’s when the air is coolest, but still, not quite cool enough.

You loop around the neighborhood a couple times more and before you know it, you’re back at Joel’s house. You see the waves of his pool out of the corner of your eye, the moonlight dancing on the dark water.

How refreshing it would be to swim right now, you think to yourself. Joel’s pool is big, so clean, and refreshing. You’ve spent many barbecues in his pool, long summer days filled with chicken fights, swimming contests, seeing how long you could hold your breath under the water.

Fuck it.

You tiptoe to his pool, climb up the steps of his deck and begin stripping articles of clothing. It’ll be just for a minute, you decide. Just a quick dip to cool off, then you’re gone, and your daddy’s best friend is none the wiser. You strip completely bare and dip a toe in the cool waters, then quietly slink into the pool.

The water is soothing against your hot skin, the familiar smell of chlorine filling your senses. You wade for a bit, then dip your head under the water, doing a little flip. Pure fucking bliss.

Joel is in his bedroom, he thought he heard his deck creak. He figured it was the raccoons again, Sarah was always feeding them cookies and chips that she shouldn’t have been. But then he hears a splash.

Joel peels his bedsheets off his body and takes a few steps towards the window, finding a young woman in his pool. Naked, her bare ass exposed to the air as she swims across the pool back to the deck. It’s only when she hoists herself up and steals a towel from the basket on the deck he recognizes her as you.

And dear lord, what a fucking sight you are. Your dripping skin illuminated by the pale moonlight, your nipples pebbled and perky from the cool water. You towel your body, then your hair, and then dress yourself. And as quickly as you got in the pool, you leave, hanging your towel over the ledge of the deck.

Joel bites back a groan and palms his cock. He tries his best to shake the images of you, his best friend’s daughter, from his mind. But he can’t. Instead, he strokes his cock furiously, your supple tits and plump ass tattooed on his eyes. Who the fuck do you think you are, swimming bare assed in his pool? Before he even realizes just how close he is, he spills onto himself, making a mess on his clothing.

The next week, you do it again. You walk past Joel’s house, Joel chokes on the mouthful of beer when you wave to him and Tommy.

Tommy smirks at Joel’s mishap. “She sure grew up, huh?”

Joel swallows thickly. “Yeah,” is all he can choke out. Tommy doesn’t know the half of it. He knows your skimpy workout shorts and sports bras, but he doesn’t know what’s underneath. Not how Joel does.

On your way home, you eye Joel’s pool. Empty and dark, waiting for you. You tiptoe through the grass for a second time, strip bare, and dip into the water. This time, you swim for a longer duration, feeling confident after pulling off last week’s stunt with ease.

What you don’t realize (other than the fact Joel watched you through his window last week and subsequently masturbated to his memories of your naked body) is that Joel is in his garage, waiting for you. He stands in the doorway, hidden by the shadows. He planned it this way when you walked past his house. This way, he thinks, he can get a closer look. Watch how your body moves, hear the noises you make.

When you dip under the water, Joel quickly sneaks to the deck and ruffles through your clothing, finding your panties. He grips them tightly, hides back in the garage, and watches you emerge from the water. This time, he jerks off to you with your worn panties clutched into his hand, held under his nose as he inhales your scent. When he comes, he feels a tinge of guilt, but pushes it deep in the back of his mind. He’s dead fucking wrong for this, but so are you, after all.

When you step out of the pool, you can’t find a towel. Joel smirks mischievously at your confusion when you realize your panties are missing too. Did you forget to wear them? Left with no choice, you put on your clothes over your wet skin, your dripping hair soaking your t-shirt. You slip on your sandals and quickly sprint around his house to make your way home.

Only, you run right into Joel, literally. His torso is firm and he grabs your shoulders with his big hands.

“Woah there, kiddo. Finishing up your walk?” he asks you.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. “Just on my way home.”

Joel eyes you as he blocks you with his big imposing body on the sidewalk, still holding you tightly by the shoulders. You feel small, vulnerable. “Whatcha all wet for?”

You freeze, any words you can think of getting caught in your throat. Joel raises an eyebrow in suspicion, or entertainment, at the way you try to think up a lie. “Got caught in some sprinklers,” you mumble. Your eyes dart past him, but his pupils stay focused on yours. It makes your cheeks burn.

You’re not much better of a liar now than when you were a teenager, he notes. He loves watching you lie to his face when he knows your dirty little secret. He’s made himself come twice now to your dirty little secret, after all. It’s really quite amusing.

You stay frozen in place, Joel’s intense gaze making you uncomfortable. There’s something so off about his demeanor. There’s something unnerving about him, he seems too cool. Shouldn’t he be as startled as you are?

“Gotta get home. Goodnight, Joel,” you pull away from his grasp. You need to get out of this situation before he puts the pieces together, if he hasn’t already.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,”

A few days later, on your regular evening walk, you pass Joel’s house. This time, Joel’s alone on his porch and sipping a beer.

“Get your ass up here and have a drink with me!” he shouts at you, a playful tone in his voice. “Now that you’re legal.”

You blush at the memory he’s referencing. You were only a teenager, couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen. But how rebellious you were.

You snuck into his garage, a cigarette between your lips, and stole a bottle of vodka from his freezer. As you turned to leave, you saw Joel in the doorway, his expression somewhere between upset and amused. He said nothing as he took the ice cold bottle of alcohol from your hands, his fingers gracing lightly over yours.

He motioned for you to sit in the dusty patio chairs by the fridge as he put the bottle of vodka back in his freezer. Then Joel pulled the cigarette from your lips and took a drag, letting the ash fall on the cold cement of the garage floor. “S’not good to smoke,” he exhaled, smoke rising out of his mouth as he sat in the chair closest to the fridge.

Once you sat down, he passed the cigarette back to you and you took a drag of your own. “I know,” you mumbled, unable to meet his face. You could handle the disappointed expressions of your parents, but Joel? Forget it.

“I won’t snitch to your parents if you quit f’me. Can you do that?”

You nodded shyly.

“Good girl,” he said. You shared the rest of the cigarette before Joel smudged it out on the floor with his boot. He pulled you up out of your seat, shoved his hand into your jacket pocket, and stole your pack of cigarettes. Then he sent you home.

That was the night your budding infatuation with Joel really took off. Of course, you were attracted to him before, but it was something about that night. The way he called you good girl, how he took your hand. How he shared your cigarette, the thought of tasting his lips without actually kissing him.

You never smoked another cigarette again.

“Beer?” he offers you.

You don’t really like beer, but you do like Joel. “Sure,”

He walks into his garage to grab you one, opens it and then hands it to you. “Settlin’ in okay?” he asks you as he pulls you in for a hug, perhaps squeezing you a bit too tight.

“I’m doing okay, yeah,” “Stayin’ out of trouble?” he teases you.

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Joel. I’m staying out of trouble,”

Joel winks at you, pulling another swig of his beer. There’s something about him, he’s got that same smug look from the other night when you ran into him. Like he knows something you don’t. “Sure, kiddo,”

You smile shyly, unsure of how exactly to respond.

“How about this heat, hm? You keepin’ cool?”

“Oh, yeah,”

“S’good,” Joel smirks again. You can’t help but squint at him, unsure of what he’s getting at. He’s not talking about–he doesn’t know. Right?

Sarah interrupts then, calling for Joel to come in and watch American Idol with her. Joel bids you goodbye, you finish up the last of your beer and leave, starting for your walk once again.

When you cross Joel’s house on your way home, you battle yourself in your mind. Today is by far the hottest day of the summer, the heat never once breaking. You’re conflicted: on one hand, you’re dripping sweat and aching for the cool waters of Joel’s pool to soothe you, but on the other, you risk getting caught. It seems that Joel is onto you already, but he would have confronted you. Right?

You decide to go for a swim. Walking into Joel’s backyard like it’s your own, you strip and sink into the pool. You dip your head under the water, doing flips and twirling in the water. The starlight dances over your skin, you look like Aphrodite herself.

Joel just watches you, quietly. This time he’s not in the garage, not in his bedroom. He’s next to the deck, watching how your perky breasts break through the surface of the dark water. He’s sick of being teased by you. It’s his turn to fuck with you.

Joel discreetly grabs your pile of clothes and a nearby water gun. Ever so subtly, he fills the water gun with the pool water, and waits. It’s not long before you swim back to the deck and you realize your clothes are gone. You lean over the edge of the pool, checking to see. Did they fall under the deck? Where the fuck did they go? How are you supposed to get home?

You feel a squirt of water on your asscheek as you’re leaning over the edge. You whip around, not seeing anyone. This is getting fucking eerie, you search for your clothes frantically now.

Phwit phoo! You hear a whistle and whip your head back around, and there’s Joel. Right in front of you, holding a squirt gun. “Tsk. Thought you said you were stayin’ out of trouble,” he chides. He doesn’t look the slightest bit surprised or angry. He just looks like…he knows. Like he’s been watching you this whole time. Has he?

“Joel!” you gasp, quickly covering your breasts.

“You lookin’ for these, sweetheart?” Joel holds up your pile of clothes in his hand for you to see. Your mouth drops open. “Tresspassin’ and public nudity ain’t no joke, you know.” “Joel, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was–”

“All y’had to do was ask me if ya wanted to use my pool, honey. You know I woulda’ let you. This heat wave and all,” he stares at you, eyebrows raised, playing with the squirt gun in his hand. He squirts it a few times into the water before tossing it aside. “Certainly wouldn’t want you to get heatstroke.”

“I know, I just–”

“You just what?” Joel interrupts you, “I know what your problem is, honey. You still got that rebellious streak in ya. S’that why you’re wearin’ these slutty panties, hm? Skinny dippin’ in my pool every night?” he holds up the panties, lacy and cheeky. “C’mon now, you know better.”

You reach for the panties, your heart beating through your chest and your cheeks on fire. Joel pulls them out of your reach. “Ah ah ah, mine now. You’re in trouble now, sweetheart. Since you wanna act like a fuckin’ slut and whore yourself out for the whole neighborhood to see,” he tuts disapprovingly at you, “Where’s your self respect?”

You swallow thickly. You don’t know what to say, what to do. You’re caught red handed.

Joel climbs up the steps, each thud of his foot hitting the deck like thunder in your ears. “I’ve got half a mind to call the cops,” he mutters.

“No, Joel, don’t. Please, don’t,” you plead in desperation.

“I dunno, kiddo. This is pretty serious. Think it’s about time you face some real consequences,” his voice is dark and unwavering, you know he means business. “The way I see it, hon, you got two options,” he starts, sitting down at the pool. He dangles his legs next to you, sending ripples your way. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers and a thin gray t-shirt. “Cops can teach you a lesson or I can. What’ll it be?”

It’s no question. “You,” you say. “You, Joel. Please, don’t call the cops.”

Joel chuckles. “Smart girl. First good decision you’ve made in a long time, sweetheart. A long time,”

He takes off his shirt, his tan skin glowing under the sparkling stars and moonlight. Then he takes his cock out of his boxers, already hard and leaking precum. Your mouth drops open, knowing exactly the type of punishment you’re in for. “You know what I think?” he starts, exhaling deeply, “I think you’re bored.”

“What?”

“Y’need somethin’ to keep you busy, out of trouble,” he continues, “Let’s start with that filthy mouth of yours, hm?” Joel begins stroking his member, smearing precum with each pass of his hand.

Desire shakes your bones and you nod, understanding where this is headed.

“Always thought you’d be nicer with a cock down that throat of yours. Shut you right up so you can’t backtalk me. Now get your ass over here, girl,”

You swim over to him, situating yourself between his thighs.

“C’mon, open wide for me. Know you can,” he commands you, and you part your lips around the angry tip of his cock, so rosy and agitated. “Suck.”

You don’t waste a moment. You drag your tongue up and down his shaft, swirling a couple of times over his tip. You savor the salty tangy flavor of his skin, so soft and smooth under your tongue.

“Quit your teasin’,” Joel shoves your head down on his cock, hard. You gag and sputter onto him, pulling back to catch your breath. Your struggle only encourages him, he forces your head to stay down.

“You’re gonna take my cock all the way down your throat, baby. Just relax, open wide,”

Your jaw is already sore trying to accommodate his member. He’s thick and long, filling your mouth completely. You begin bobbing your head up and down, up and down. Massaging him with your tongue, tracing over his bulging veins.

“That’s it,” he praises you softly. “Doin’ so well f’me. Always knew you’d suck me real good.

You cup his balls in your hand and continue sucking, making a mess of his cock. Spit dribbling down your chin and into the thick tuft of curls at the base of his dick.

Your jaw is aching, but you don’t dare stop.

“Look at you,” he coos, his strong hand caressing the side of your face before settling at your jaw. “Good lord.”

He bucks into your mouth, pushing you to your limits. He’s letting out little grunts and groans now and then, and then you feel his cock twitch in your mouth.

Joel pulls you off his cock, a trail of spit connecting his member to your lips. Then he grabs you by your biceps into his lap. “Gonna let me fuck some sense into you, hm?”

Your heart jumps at his request, but you’re not ready. “No, Joel, need you to touch me first,” you beg. After the way his thick cock made your jaw sore, you know your pussy needs warming up to accommodate his massive size.

Joel chuckles darkly, one hand firmly gripping your ass and the other holding his cock. He lines himself up to your entrance, notching the tip at your hole, not yet ready to take him. “This is your punishment. Ain’t s’posed to feel good, honey,” he says, his voice cool and collected.

“No, Joel,” you protest, wiggling your hips away from him. Your heart is pounding, your stomach drops.

“Maybe,” Joel grunts, both hands now holding your asscheeks in a vice grip. “If you’re good t’me and keep out of trouble, I’ll love you a little sweeter next time,”

He doesn’t give you a moment to process his words before he unceremoniously pulls you down on his cock. The stretch and burn is unimaginable, your eyes blur with tears and you nearly scream, but Joel covers your mouth to muffle your shock.

“You be quiet,” he warns you with a stern voice. You’re on top, but he’s the one in control, pushing and pulling your hips up and down on his cock. Using you as his own fuck toy. You bite into his hand, doing your best to hold back your screams.

“Joel,” you cry into his palm, tears falling down your cheeks and over his knuckles. The pain is bordering on unbearable.

“Relax,” he commands you, his voice somewhat soothing. “Just relax f’me, hon. Quit squeezin’, open up,”

He’s right. You just need to relax your muscles, let yourself take him. As he fucks into you, you focus on the small amount of pleasure you can feel deep inside. It grows larger with every thrust, and soon enough, the painful stretch is replaced by pleasure.

You sigh in contentment, savoring every delicious thrust. Joel fucks into you with such fervor, hitting that sweet spot inside you with each and every one of his movements. “Oh, Joel,” you moan. Your arms are wrapped around him, your head falling to his neck. You bite into his neck and inhale his musky scent, woody and slightly sweaty. That, coupled with the smell of the chlorine fills your nostrils, a wonderful combination.

“Jesus, girl,” he whispers, his hot breath making your skin prickle. “Lettin’ me fuck you like this for the whole neighborhood to see. You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes, daddy,” you gasp.

Joel stops, pulling you back from him. “Daddy, huh? S’that how we’re doin’ things?”

You blush, unsure of what to say. You didn’t mean to say that.

Joel fills the silence. “You’re worse off than I thought,” he says like it’s a fact. You can’t quite place his tone, or how he feels. “You’re a lost cause, baby.” he exaggerates his sigh, disappointed.

You look to the side, trying to think of something, anything to respond to him with.

“S’alright, though. I like you like this,” he begins fucking you mercilessly again. “All mine.”

“Fuck, Joel,” you scramble on top of him, grasping at his toned body to keep from falling into the water.

“Mhm. Who am I?” he grunts through gritted teeth. He drags a hand up your torso and pinches at your pebbled nipple.

“Daddy,” you whine. He bounces you up and down his cock, fingers painting bruises into your soft skin.

“S’right,” he mumbles.

Joel fucks you like you’ve never been fucked before, deep and hard and intentional. His movements are precise, calculated. You’re clay in his hands, he’s molding you into what he wants. With each movement, you become his entirely.

You’re breathless as he thrusts into you. His feet splash in the water, you feel drops on your back every so often. His calloused and rough hands holding you tightly. His warm torso pressed to yours, one of his hands groping at your soft breasts.

He feels you squirm, he feels your pussy clench around his cock. Your breaths are frantic and uneven. “You’re close, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you whine. He’s reading your body like a fucking book.

“That’s just too bad,” he tuts. Your stomach fills with dread, knowing what his next words likely will be.

“Joel, please,” you cry.

“Mm mm,” he mumbles, his eyes fixed on yours. His eyes are dark, full of lust. Desire. Desire to control you, make you his and his alone.

“Let me come. Please, daddy,” you grind your hips into his, feeling the friction of his hair on your clit.

“I don’t think you deserve that, my love,” his voice is sickeningly sweet, full of fake sympathy for your predicament.

“No, m’so close, please. N-fuck, not gonna last,”

“Don’t you dare, sweetheart,” he warns you, never once changing his pace as he fucks you. “You’ll be in deeper shit than ya are now, I don’t think you need that,”

“Please,” you cry, feeling the beginning of your orgasm bloom deep in the pit of your stomach. “Please, please, please,”

You can’t help it. You can’t stave off your release any longer. With whimpers and moans, you come all over his cock, your slick dripping from your cunt and painting his lap. It sends bolts of electricity through your veins and you shudder uncontrollably, mouth wide open and your eyes screwed shut.

Your pussy quivers, squeezing and massaging Joel’s cock is all he needed. Making a strangled sort of groan, he spills into you, hot ropes of his come shooting inside you and painting your walls. He holds you tight enough to break bone as he fucks you through your shared releases.

With the stars in the sky now behind your eyes, your chest heaving up and down in gasping breaths, Joel lifts you off of his cock. Your skin is damp with sweat and you dip back into the water. And to think you thought you were hot after your late night walks.

Joel watches your slick and his own come drip from your spent cunt onto the deck, then into the pool. “Look at this godforsaken mess you made,” he points to his lap, glistening with your juices. “Naughty fuckin’ girl. You just can’t help yourself.”

Godforsaken mess is right. You look at him with wide eyes, speechless. He stares right back at you with his own intense and piercing gaze, that same look when he caught you stealing his vodka.

How far away that night seems now. It hits you, what you just did with your father’s best friend. Joel, who practically raised you, who taught you to drive a stick and held your graduation party at his house. All of those barbecues, those hot summer nights spent on his deck, the same deck you desecrated just moments ago.

You just can’t help yourself.

“Shoot, you poor thing,” he sighs, tucking himself back into his boxers. He doesn’t bother putting his shirt back on, but he does grab your panties and clutches them in his fist. “You’re fucked now.”

Joel’s legs splash in the water as he stands up and goes back inside his house, then tosses you a clean towel from inside.

You really are fucked now.

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multifandomimagin3s · 1 year

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It's your birthday - 141, Los Vaqueros + König

A/N: Since it's my birthday today, thought I'd indulge myself so hope you guys enjoy :))

Summary: It's your birthday and the guys find out.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Depends on if he's close to you or not.

Mans has the emotional range of a sock, so realistically the most you'd probably get out of him is a gruff "Happy Birthday."

And that's only if he somewhat likes you - if he doesn't then he'd probably just say "You're getting old now, cunt." *Affectionately? Who knows.*

If you were part of the Team, he'd probably take the piss out of you for it.

Would definitely be the one who would tell the waiters that it was your birthday - even if it wasn't - just to embarrass you.

Nonetheless, despite all his teasing, you came back to your room that night to find a little gift on top of your bed spread; there was no name on it, but scrawled across the tag said "Happy Birthday, (Y/N)."

It was a hunting knife with your initials carved into the base of the handle.

You never questioned it but whenever he saw you use it, a small glint briefly sparkled in his eyes.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

He's lowkey annoyed that you never told him when your birthday was.

Would absolutely rope you and some of the Team into going out clubbing - Ghost refused but ended up turning up anyways; "Wanted to watch you make arses of yourselves."

I can just imagine him going to the bar and coming back with a tray of shots - the people who carry and sell the shots in clubs know to carry extra because he buys them all each time.

Would honestly have spent most, if not all, of his money if it hadn't been for Price being the voice of reason.

Would also be the type that would be telling anyone and everyone that it was your birthday so you guys could get free shots.

Orders you whatever food you want on the way back home aswell - kebab? Got it. Pizza? Done. Whatever you want, he'll stumble into the shop and get it.

Your birthday would be absolutely chaotic but it would be one to remember.

Captain John Price

He knew it was your birthday, he's seen your file - the fact that you hadn't mentioned it to anyone meant that you probably had a reason not to, so he didn't say anything.

Would probably wish you a casual 'happy birthday' on a passing, in his normal formal tone.

When Soap invites all the team out on your behalf for clubbing, he's reluctant to go - claims he's "too old for that shit."

But ends up going anyways, purely because he knows that when Soap gets drunk he's a bit of a liability and can easily spend way more than he should (and honestly, same).

Would buy you a drink - whatever you wanted, alcoholic or not.

And maybe, just maybe, if he's had a bit to drink and or is in a good mood, he'd let you wear his hat. Just this once.

But then Soap tried to put it on and said he was keeping it...

So he took the hat back like >:(

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

He also knew when your birthday was - it came up in a conversation ages ago, and he has a great memory.

Also gets roped into your birthday night out by Soap.

He'd probably get just as drunk as Johnny but he'd be taking photos and posting onto his Snapchat Story, basically vlogging the whole night.

I can also see him surprising you with a cupcake, placing a birthday candle in it with a sheepish smile.

Would also buy you drinks but unlike Soap, he wouldn't be killing his bank account - self-control and all that.

Would get the DJ to play a birthday song for you - not the traditional cheesy one, but either 'It's My Birthday' by Will.I.Am or maybe 'Birthday' by Anne-Marie.

Alejandro Vargas

"Ah, feliz cumple!" *idk if this is correct, using this article for reference*

Like Soap, he wants to go all out for your birthday - if both teams were together at the time, it'd be one big chaotic night out.

He's a big flirt, regardless of what age you are he's complimenting you nonstop.

If he and Rudy get roped into the Night Out by Soap, Rudy and Price end up having to the be the voices of reason - Soap, Gaz, and Alejandro keep ordering shots; they managed to convince you into doing that challenge of getting a drink of everything from one end of the bar to the other.

Needless to say, you're all legless by the end of the night - well, Alejandro's still vertical but his alcohol tolerance is insane.

Would definitely want to spoil you - takes you shopping and tells you to pick anything that you want, don't worry about the price.

Honestly this is making me think of what Sugar Daddy! Alejandro would be like and it's giving me ideas...

Rudy Parra

This sweet guy would absolutely go out and get you a cake, maybe a balloon, and a card.

How did he know it was your birthday? He's a good listener, you'd been talking about your life outside of the military and had flippantly mentioned when your birthday was, which he noted.

Like Alejandro, he would honestly spoil you rotten.

If you both weren't deployed, he'd plan a trip away somewhere, surprising you with the tickets.

If he gets roped into going out by Alejandro - who was roped in by Soap's enthusiasm - he's practically glued to your side for most of the night.

Takes a bunch of candid pictures of you - they're honestly really good, he should be a photographer.

He'd probably have to stop Alejandro from feeding you and the others stronger shots - the jump from sambuca to jagerbombs to tequila was not a good idea.

He'd listen to your drunk ramblings with a smile on his face, letting you feed him your pizza.

He always remembers your birthday and makes each year memorable.

König

Finds out it's your birthday when your Superiors wish you a brief 'Happy Birthday' during training.

Straight away, he feels so guilty for not knowing but you reassured him that you hadn't really told anyone so he needn't worry.

Nonetheless, he'd still try and make the most of the rest of your birthday.

He'd cook for you - a traditional meal that his Mother taught him, and she used to make it for him on his birthday.

He'd run you a bath, give you a massage, and pamper you - he'd dote on you even more than usual, if that's even possible.

If you wanted to go out and do something, he'd do it - even with his social anxiety, he wants to see you happy so he'd bite the bullet and go for it.

If you wanted to stay in for a chill night and watch a movie, he's game for that too - lets you choose whatever film you want to watch, gets all your favourite snacks and gets all the fluffy blankets and pillows he can find to make a comfy spot on the couch.

He'd also secretly set a reminder on his phone for next year, so he never forgets.

He's honestly just so sweet.

#simon riley #soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #john price #alejandro vargas #rudy parra #konig #simon riley x reader #soap mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rudy parra x reader #konig x reader #cod #call of duty #multifandomimagin3s

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cerise-on-top · 5 months

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Cuddling HCs

TF141, LVQ, Valeria, Graves, Alex, Farah, Laswell and Nikolai, again. These are the last batch of HCs I have written out for now. I do have two stories written out, one for Ghost and one for Graves, but I'm not sure I should post those. Anyway, for the most part these are sleepy cuddles, I suppose. Very self-indulgent, but that's what writing something like this is in general. SFW and gender neutral, as per usual.

Price: He’s a captain, so naturally he loves being the one to hold you, doesn’t matter if you’re spooning or you’re safely tucked away under his chin. Of course, he’s the big, strong man in whatever your relationship may be, so he just wants to protect you. He’s so used to taking care of others and making sure they’re alright, that it comes second nature to him to try and make you feel safe too. If you ever suggested him being the one to be held he’d smile, almost laugh, at the idea, thinking it to be rather silly. But when he’s in your arms for once? He gets very comfortable and sleepy, it never occurred to him that being cuddled would be so nice. He has no qualms about asking you to hold him either, he knows you understand.

Gaz: Such a cuddlebug, honestly. You wanna hold him? You wanna be held by him? Either is fine, as long as you switch it up from time to time. Becomes especially cuddly if he’s tired, that’s when he’d love to simply grab you and lie down for the night with you. Even just a nap is alright, in spite of him not taking them very often. Loves putting his head on your chest, something about hearing a loved one’s heartbeat is just so calming to him. Every time you’re cuddling he simply closes his eyes and there’s a chance he might just fall asleep. While he might be willing to engage in conversation while cuddling, don’t expect him to always respond with full sentences, sometimes he’ll barely even hear you with how relaxed he is. Doesn’t have an iron grip on you, but it will tighten for a moment when you try to get up. That’s when he snaps back to reality and needs to remember where he is for a moment.

Ghost: This guy is actually so touch-starved, but he’d rather do anything else than admit it as he’s afraid of becoming too much. Give him a taste of what a good cuddle session is like, he’ll think about it constantly. The first few times will be him holding you only. After that? You may request holding him, if you ask him a few times he’ll crumble eventually. It’s one thing to hold someone, because if you do it right then they can’t hurt you. But being held? Being spooned, cradled or given affection otherwise? He actually becomes so soft. If you gently rub his back or run your hand over his skin otherwise you can get him to fall asleep and snore softly. Doesn’t move in his sleep but good luck trying to get out of his grasp. If it’s you he’ll try to not have an iron grip and hurt you, but it’s not exactly something he can control either when he’s asleep.

Soap: Despite being open to either, he prefers being the one to hold you. It makes him feel more masculine, but that’s what he tells himself. In reality he simply sleeps more easily holding something, or someone. When he falls asleep holding you, you can actually watch his facial expression be relaxed, his mouth somewhat curving upwards too. Nuzzles into you like there’s no tomorrow, either that or he’s nestling into you like a dog or cat moving the blanket to make it just that bit more comfortable. Sleepy talks are a given for him, he loves hearing about anything and everything as he takes in your warmth. In return, he’ll tell you about how he convinced Gaz he stepped on a ladybug, when it was really just a red Skittles. If you’re spooning and he’s feeling a little bit mischievous he might graze your tummy with his hands to make you giggle.

Alejandro: He has a high rank, but he’s aware of how cathartic being held can be. Thus he’s not above asking you for some cuddles. If neither of you have anything important going on, he might just pick you up and carry you to the nearest soft surface. Loves gently scratching your scalp and feel you melt under his touch, especially if you only respond to him via humming after some time. He slightly prefers holding over being held, but on a bad day he loves nothing more than to have you run your fingers through his hair instead. If you’re lying on a bed together then he loves facing you, whoever moves first to hold the other gets to be the bigger person for the time being. Very much a talker before sleepy time, he has so much to tell you about. Besides, hearing your voice heals his soul just as much as being physically close to you.

Rodolfo: He’s more inclined to admit he’s touch-starved than Ghost, but he feels a bit embarrassed to do that. Likes holding you, but if he could choose, then he’d choose to be held every single time. There’s just something so nice about not having to worry about a thing, about being the one who gets protected for once. Trust me when I say that if something were to happen he’s the first one to jump into action, he can be quite ruthless, but putting your trust into someone else, difficult as it may be, really pays off when you have found the right person. However, even if you just hold his hand while you’re lying next to each other, he’s quite content. Not much of a talker, plus he gets a bit self-conscious as well. He’s a sergeant major, that’s not too low of a rank, should he really be the one to get treated like this? Pull him close to you and reassure him that you love any sort of cuddling with him from time to time and he’ll be very happy, though.

Valeria: Much like a hug from her, it’s hard to get her to cuddle you. She’s not entirely opposed to it after a lot of time has passed, but she will be cautious. Even then, she’ll, for the most part, only agree to spooning, but she will absolutely never be the smaller spoon. It doesn’t matter how awful she feels, she’ll never be comfortable in that position. She doesn’t have the most time for that sort of thing either, something always comes up and she can barely get any rest. While she likely won’t fall asleep cuddling someone, what you can do to ease her nerves is give her a plushie. She’ll scoff and make fun of it, but she appreciates it. Hell, from time to time she’ll fall asleep cuddling it and think of you. As much as she hates to admit it, if she’s had it for long enough she’ll grow a bit softer around you and give just the tiniest amount of more physical affection. Don’t mention it, though. She’s aware, but she can’t particularly help it.

Graves: Another guy who prefers holding. However, it’s much harder to get him to be the one being held. He has too much pride for that sort of thing. Yes, he dishes out physical affection like it’s nothing, but he’s rarely on the receiving end, especially for something along the lines of cuddling. And yes, that is because of his own doing. If you beg and plead enough, though, he might let you. Feels pretty indifferent to being held, but if it makes you truly happy he can indulge you once or twice. But be aware, the second he can, he will switch it around so you’re being held again. You can fight all you want, even when he’s tired it’ll likely be a losing battle for you. Not too much of a talker when he’s about to sleep, but he’s more than happy to listen to you talk about whatever is on your mind. Loves having you bury your face in your chest and fall asleep like that, like Soap, it makes him feel very manly and needed.

Alex: It doesn’t matter to him which way you want it, he’s happy with any position and any role. Hell, he’s a true switch at heart when it comes to something like this. Loves just coming up to you and putting his arms around you. And if either of you are tired the chances of that happening increase exponentially. Nuzzles into you, adjusts himself so both of you are comfortable, might hum a small melody as well. Latter is something he sort of just picked up from Farah, but he likes the idea of humming a small tune to make you relax. Not too much of a talker, he just gets sleepy when he gets to cuddle you. If it isn’t too hot then you can expect him to grab a fluffy blanket and put it over the two of you, even if he doesn’t want to let you go. Nothing beats holding a loved one and hearing them talk about anything and everything while under a comfortable blanket.

Farah: Gives off the impression that she prefers to do the holding, loves being held just as much. It grounds her and reminds her of her cause. As mentioned, she might hum a tune when she’s very comfortable, or when she wants to calm you down. During night time, there’s a chance she might become just a tad more melancholic, but it won’t deter her from sleeping. She does sleep especially well if the both of you are cuddling. If she trusts you enough she can go any way with cuddling as well. Her and Alex seem to influence each other quite a bit. While she may not have the most time to cuddle with you, she does like to do so whenever she can, it reminds her of some good, gone-by times. Despite not liking to dwell too much on the past, there’s nothing wrong with remembering the nice things that have happened. Life can’t always be suffering.

Laswell: Not always too big on cuddling, but she does like it from time to time. When she’s had a rough and exhausting day, nothing beats holding a loved one under the covers. It’s those days that she sort of does think about being held from time to time, putting her head on your chest. Her job is rough, so having someone and something to do to decompress is a pleasant change of pace. Cuddles are infrequent, mostly because of her job requiring her to be everywhere at once, but it’s worth it when she does have the time. Not much of a talker when she’s just about to fall asleep, but doesn’t mind you talking either. She especially loves it when you tell her a funny anecdote or a joke, it’s something soft and easy to drift off to sleep to. Her brain goes haywire, even in her sleep, but when she falls asleep cuddling you then she dreams about you very often too.

Nikolai: You’d need to be especially close for some cuddles, but once you are, then you can just go for it. As long as he isn��t busy and you aren’t in public you can just walk up to him and wrap your arms around him. If you drag him onto a couch, a bed or any other soft surface he’ll just let you. It’s a bit funny to him, he lets you do just about anything, you get away with so much, even though, if he really wanted to, he could eliminate you in just about every way possible. Loves cradling your head and pressing it to his chest. More of a cuddler, but if you ask to hold him, you may. Takes a while to fall asleep, but if you’re awake to hear it, you can hear him slip up from time to time. In the linguistic sense. He knows eight languages, it’s not gonna get more coherent when he’s about to doze off. His grip, however, does not falter when he’s asleep. Once you’re stuck, you’re stuck with him and you won’t get out of his grasp until he wakes up again.

#cod #cod x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #valeria garza x reader #phillip graves x reader #alex keller x reader #farah karim x reader #kate laswell x reader #cod nikolai x reader

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pkmn-redirect · 7 months

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Chapter 2 - Page 24

First | Previous | Next | Latest Index (chapter 3 info under cut)

Chapter 2 has finally concluded! A whole 8 pages longer than the first!! Woo!! I have a feeling they may just get longer as we get more into the story haha. Oh well! Like last time, I'll be taking a break between chapters to rest a little, get the plot points for the next chapter more polished, and try to get a solid backlog of pages ready. Going to take about of month off- POSSIBLY a month and a half? Depends on how well prepping the chapter goes (I have doomed myself by setting it in ancient Ecruteak City and am not as familiar with classic Japanese architecture as I would like hahaha- time to find some refs and do a bunch of studies!). Either way- it will be back in mid-late November! That DOESN'T mean that the comic feed will be quiet though! Like last time, there's a between chapter Interlude page that will be going up on October 11th! And after that, I plan to post some behind the scenes development stuff on days that the comic would normally update- so if folks want to they can get a look at how I put this together. If folks are interested, I could also open up the ask box for a little while? Do a bit of Q&A for comic related things (I won't be answering anything too spoilery, but you're welcome to ask!). And since it has been asked for (and rightfully so, this thing is getting long and difficult to navigate) I've compiled a pinned masterpost to make navigation easier for folks on mobile. There's been an Index Page set up for the web version since the beginning- unfortunately it's hard to get to normally on mobile, so a lot of folks didn't have an easy way to thumb through pages, and that's no good! So- fixed! I'm also in the process of going back and putting "Prev", "Next", "Read from the Beginning", and "Latest" links on each page update. Which honestly I SHOULD have been doing from the start, but hey- live and learn I suppose? Also ALSO am going to see about getting the Neocities page for the comic that I started months ago more finished so it has its own home away from Social Media- but that's a bit lower priority at the moment haha.

But yeah! Honestly, thank you all so much for reading! The response to this silly little passion project has honestly blown me out of the water, I can't believe how many people are keeping up with it now. :'D I love love LOVE reading reactions and speculation in the comments and tags! Thank you all for sticking around so far, and I hope you continue to enjoy this self-indulgent little project as it goes!

~Ann

#pokemon fancomic #pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #warden ingo #warden calaba #gligar #ursaluna #tangela

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 7 months

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i wear my shame like tar in a vacant town square, spitting out feathers like blood; you touch my hand and ask if i'm ready to go home.

cc22 x reader: the two of you never go out of style (ft. best friend ax72).

(warnings: longest story yet (12.5k, get comfortable), obviously blasphemous filth (i'm getting back in the swing of it, i think), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), oral sex (f on m), choking and hair pulling and oral fixation and all of my usual nonsense (this one is a little touchy, don't ask me why), bodily fluids (you guys know the drill), depiction of self-doubt and burnout and failure and general unhappiness (you always get a happy ending, though! because you deserve a happy ending), don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.) gif is not mine.)

(a/n: favorites! this story poured out of me over the course of the last couple of weeks, all thanks to one of my friends who showed me a picture of cc22 on pinterest (thank you, country music festival season. you will be missed). and here we are! with many creative liberties taken, you have yourself a story with my typical mythical and religious imagery, way too much description, dialogue that no one would say, and plot holes the size of canyons. but you guys keep indulging me anyways, and i love you and thank you for that. you're a stylist in this one! (something fun and different, i think). as for takeways - too often we get caught up in what we think we should have accomplished by now, what we think others expect from us, how terribly we must be letting them down. deep breath and let it go, favorites. all you can do is show up, over and over again. that will always be enough. you will always be enough. enjoy this piece of my heart until inspiration next strikes and please tell me what you think. go canucks (under el capitano hughes, even! that c on his jersey stands for chokes out his girl). my snakes say hi to your snakes. love and gentleness and strength to you, always always always.)

the first car ride to your new client's house was stressful, to say the least. and that wasn't even with arber's haphazard driving style taken into account.

"jesus," you bit out from the passenger seat, "i'd prefer to be alive for this meeting, bear."

"relax," he said, taking a right. you didn't have to be looking at him to know he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "and stop with the fidgeting. this isn't an interview. you're already hired."

you dropped your hands to your sides, stopped twisting your rings around your fingers as he had requested.

you exhaled a deep breath. he was right, after all. you already had the job. that honestly wasn't what you were worried about. you were worried about styling someone who wasn't arber. that was entirely new territory.

after all, you had known arber practically your entire life. he had been your best friend, your first boyfriend, then your best friend again. he was the number one person in your life, the person you felt most comfortable with.

you had been the first person he hugged after his family when he signed with the habs, the person who he called to pick him up after a night out, the one who he asked for help when he was texting a new girl.

so, when he had asked you to be his full-time stylist, you had dropped everything, said yes immediately.

to be fair, though, you hadn't had to drop much. you knew he had asked you partially to be kind, as the offer came during the worst period of your life. freshly dropped out of school, cheated on and broken up with, without a purpose or direction in sight, arber had been the one to extend a hand, offer you a new dream like it was nothing but a jacket in the cold.

and it was your dream, genuinely. you had been studying at school to be a fashion journalist, aspiring to work in new york one day, have an office in a skyscraper, read your pieces in the print of a glossy magazine.

but things change. things fall apart. and things get glued back together again like china teacups.

you were so, so grateful, though. you loved your job. you loved bringing out the best in arber, you loved discovering new sides of the fashion industry, you loved the travel and the events and the fact that your best friend was your employer.

sometimes though, you couldn't help but feel like you were missing something, like your heavenly wings had been sawed off, leaving only dissipated potential and thick blood running down your back. and the weight. oh, how you felt the weight of your wings even though they were gone, stolen.

you felt the weight now, as arber pulled you both into the driveway, parked, turned to you. "deep breath, okay?"

you obeyed, your exhale coming out a little shaky. he put a warm hand on your shoulder, squeezed. "ready to expand your business?"

you gave him a smile, a genuine one. he had always referred to this whole agreement as your business, even though it was entirely his idea.

you nodded, to which he smiled. you both got out of the car and walked to the door. arber rang the doorbell as you straightened out the legs of your pants, even though you had pressed them this morning.

not a big deal, you thought to yourself. just adding another client. just adding another client, that's all, nothing serious.

you knew you were wrong as soon as the door opened.

your new client stood in the doorframe, much shorter than arber and maybe an inch taller than you. he looked like the human embodiment of stability, in all senses of the word. he was broad, so strong looking, you knew it must be impossible to knock him over. but his kind eyes, his warm energy, he just looked so stable. so happy, so secure.

and his smile. what other way was there to take that smile, if not serious as death?

you blinked. arber slapped you on the back, made you cough. had someone been talking?

"this is cole," arber said, shooting you a look that said dial in. he gave cole your name.

you cleared your throat and extended your hand, smiled softly. "pleasure to meet you, cole," you said. "'m excited to start working with you."

you were hit, then, with the full force of his gaze, the entirety of his gorgeous smile. "'d bet you i'm more excited, love," he said, so laidback, enveloping your outstretched hand in his, giving you a first shake.

"easy," arber warned his teammate with a look, referring to the obviously flirtatious tone cole had adopted. cole just smiled.

his palm was rough with wear, with work, and warm with promise. your hand felt heavy in his. you felt like your body might let out a comical sigh of relief at the perfect easiness of his touch.

at that realization, you dropped your hand, brushed your palm on your jeans. you didn't see his eyes follow the movement, nor did you see his jaw work for only a moment.

"i'll leave you to it, then," arber said, clapping his hand in cole's in goodbye. he had told you he would introduce you, but you knew he had things to do, and now the actual work had to begin. your work. surely, you could expand your circle, just a bit, right? make some room?

"thanks again for sharing," cole said to your best friend.

"be good to each other," arber warned like a chastising parent, moving a pointed finger between the two of you.

"if you're anything like wifi," cole said to you, "don't think that'll be hard."

arber shook his head. "oh, she's much better than me," he said, and you knew he believed it, which made you feel those phantom scars on your back. not even close, you thought.

you rolled your eyes, his antics bringing a smile out of you regardless. "sure," you said. "i'll see you tomorrow, bear."

the corner of cole's full mouth ticked up at your nickname for his teammate. he stepped back and held open the door to his house. "after you, love," he said, gentle as anything.

you bowed your head slightly in thanks, partially to hide the flush that now bloomed on your cheeks at the prospect of being alone with cole.

"i hope arber told you that you can trust me, and stuff," cole said, rubbing the back of his neck as you both walked through the entryway. "i know this is kind of out of the blue, and all that, but apparently, i really need your help, so-"

you bit back a grin. "apparently?"

he tilted his head, sucked on his teeth, gave you a guilty sort of smile. "alright," he started, "i didn't think i needed any help in the fashion department." he pulled out a stool at his kitchen countertop for you before walking around to the fridge, beginning to pour two glasses of water.

"did you?" you asked to his back as he faced away. his back that rippled under his t-shirt. which you definitely didn't notice.

there was a goofy, fake accusative look on his face as he turned back to you, placing one water in front of you. "what are you implying?"

you reached across the counter to grab two coasters and set them in front of you both, thanking him. "nothing," you teased, "except that i've seen your instagram, and maybe that my presence here wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."

he squinted for a moment, maybe confused, as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter. "well, we agree on that, then," he replied.

a pause that felt like caramel settled between you two for a moment as you held each other's gazes. his, comfortable, and yours, curious.

you cleared your throat, brought up a hand to rub at your shoulder. "so, apart from thinking you don't need a stylist, what else do i need to know?"

"i don't know," he started. his forearms flexed, making the veins in his arms more prominent. "i like hats on gamedays?"

a grin broke across your face like sunlight. you let out a laugh. "yeah?"

"what?" he asked, fake offended again, but his smile was nothing but so utterly pleased.

you shook your head, crossed one leg over the other. "nothing," you said. "just don't know why the clients i attract are dead set on hats, of all things." you were thinking of all the times arber had insisted on a hat, even though you thought his hair had looked just perfect for the camera.

"how did you and wifi meet?" cole asked easily, perhaps also thinking about arber and his colorful hat collection. "or bear, right? that's what you call him?"

you blushed, nodded slightly.

"only if you're comfortable," he clarified, and it surprised you that you actually were. sitting here, in this stranger's house, you felt normal.

"we've known each other since grade school," you began, clasping your hands. "he's my best friend."

"you don't come to the games," cole said, nothing more than an observation.

you shook your head. "not a hockey fan," you admitted.

he tilted his head. "maybe you just haven't been watching the right player, love."

you rolled your eyes at his obvious arrogance. "okay, big guy."

he took a sip of water. "so you guys have always been friends?"

"we dated for about a year in high school," you said, leaning on your clasped hands. "my first boyfriend."

something interesting sparked in his gaze. something you noted. "and?"

you narrowed your eyes. "and some people aren't meant to be dating. arber and i are meant to be friends. why?"

just a bit of a blush crept across his nose. "no reason. how did you get into styling?"

you rubbed at your shoulder blades again. "arber offered me the job." you swallowed, omitted the rest of the story. you were comfortable, but not that comfortable. "he's the first and only person i've styled, up until now. until you."

meaning flooded his eyes. "i'm honored, then."

don't be, you thought, i'm not worthy of something like your honor.

"thanks for making some room for me," he finished, giving you another smile that had your heart feel like it was bubbling.

"if you didn't want a stylist," you asked, trying to slow down your heartbeat. "why am i here?"

"i was catching too much heat from the guys," he confessed, honest and unserious. "and wifi said he could hook me up. said you were the best of the best."

you closed your eyes and gave the slightest shake of your head as you smiled. of course he would say that.

"so, how do you usually start out?" he asked.

you thought to yourself for a minute. you didn't really know. "when i started with arber, i already knew everything about him," you said. "and i don't know anything about you, cole."

"except," he clarified, "that i like hats."

"yes, except that." you let out a low laugh. what must life be like, to take everything so lightly?

"what do you want to know?" he asked, running a hand through his soft-looking hair.

"style is about showing everyone a little more you," you explained. "what do you want people to see when they look at you?"

he scrunched his mouth to the side in thought. "i don't really care what people see." his emphasis told you that he cared about specific people, not people as a collective. what would it be like to be a part of those select few?

you took a breath. what it must be like. "okay. who are you dressing for?"

he appeared confused again, and he wore the expression like a child. "what do you mean?"

you could never be anything but patient with him. what would disappointment look like on him? you shuddered at the thought.

"you mentioned the guys in the locker room. are they your audience? or maybe the girls on social media?" he blinked. "who do you want to look good for?"

"how does arber answer this question?" cole asked.

you pressed your index finger to your lips playfully. "client confidentiality," you explained.

"i want to look good for me," he said. "i play better when i know i look good before the game."

you nodded, making a note of that. "good." his gaze softened into something lovely.

"but i wouldn't be mad if your help meant i get some more edits made of me."

a laugh burst free from your chest, organic and loud. it seemed to echo across the high ceilings, and it echoed in cole's head. "got it. show me your closet?"

you made to get up as he pushed off of the counter, his arms and chest flexing as he did so. you willed your flush to dull, not wanting to give yourself away or make him uncomfortable, although that seemed impossible.

"take me out to dinner first," he joked, making you roll your eyes as he led you to the master bedroom, then to his massive closet. he held the door open for you again.

"do we have enough hats?" you asked sarcastically, your eyes immediately drawn to his excessive collection.

"okay, lay off," he said, grinning, leaning against the doorframe. "they aren't going anywhere."

you panned through his button-downs, his trousers, his ties, overall pretty impressed. "lots of color," you observed. "especially in your accent pieces."

"i like to be a little different," he admitted.

you were glad you weren't looking at him head on. as if his presence wouldn't make him stick out in any crowd, no matter the size.

"you have a lot of nice pieces here," you complimented, finally.

he looked at you with such hope, you melted. "really, love?"

the name made you flutter off the ground, like you had wings again. like they had never been severed off with a rusted blade.

you nodded, met his gaze, decided you could probably live there, drowning in his attention. "yeah, cole. i'm excited to help the world see a little more of you." lucky world.

i'm excited to see more of you, you wanted to say.

something warm swirled in the air around the two of you. "thank you again for taking me on," he said. "you didn't have to, and i'm really happy you're here."

you could have sighed at those words. when was the last time someone had told you that, so explicitly?

you bit your lip. "okay, so wednesday? we can do measurements?" you said, hoping he didn't notice your breathlessness.

"perfect," he agreed.

so, on wednesday, you were back at cole's house, this time with all of your supplies, ready to begin what you hoped would be a wonderful partnership. and you were sure it would be, if only you could stop getting so distracted by your client.

and he was ever so distracting, now, having obviously just showered, flushed from steam, hair damp and dark, his eyes a drowsy and delicious sort of comfortable.

"you came back," he said as you stepped inside past him, past what you could assume was the smell of his shampoo - something fresh and almost floral.

you clutched your clipboard to your chest, looked at him curiously. "of course i did," you said. this was your job, after all. you were dedicated to your business, your craft. to your people. and cole was technically part of that circle now.

he put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, shrugged. "just happy you're back, 's all."

you bowed your head to hide how much his words meant to you. how could he say things like that? things that meant everything to you, but he said them like they were the easiest thing in the world? like they were just an exhale?

"how was practice?" you asked softly as the two of you walked side by side to his closet. you knew it had been exhausting, at least from arber's curse-filled rambling that had blown up your phone the second his ice time ended. you had empathized with him, but mostly just reminded him to chug some gatorade and suck it up, he was a professional athlete.

the thought of telling cole caufield to suck it up almost made you sick to your stomach.

he blew out a breath. "tough, today," he said. "i won't bore you, though. know you're not a hockey fan." he said the last part with a joking sort of bite.

i want to know, you wanted to say. i want to know about you.

but you didn't want to scare him off, or come across as weird, so you didn't say anything.

"what's your plan for today?" he asked.

right. you had a plan. you put your clipboard between your side and your arm, pulled out your tape measure. "measurements," you said with a smile, almost shyly.

now that you thought about it, taking someone's measurements was an intimate act in itself. standing here, in front of him, you realized how dangerous this was.

was there anything more tense? than to know the width of one's thigh, having never seen it bare? to deeply understand the curve of one's neck, but through numbers, never touch?

"where do you need me?" he asked, and you wondered briefly if he registered why his words made you jittery.

one look at his ghost of a smirk and you had your answer. you cleared your throat. you put a pen behind your ear, tape measure and clipboard in your hands, held your arms up in a t. "like this," you said, and he mirrored you.

you took a breath before closing the space between you, beginning to measure the distance from the center of his chest to his fingertips.

did the silence weigh as heavily on him as it did you? like kindling, one spark away from a wildfire?

you recorded the number on your paper.

"what did you do today?" cole asked you gently, as if not to spook you. you wrapped the measure around his bicep as you thought to yourself.

"not much," you said, thinking about your slow morning, which you had spent drafting something like an article, exploring recent trends among male athletes. something no one would ever read, you were sure.

you were almost embarrassed at your inability to talk to him - keeping everything short, so short, as if keeping distance from a rabid animal.

he didn't seem to notice. "what did you have for lunch, then?"

a small smile began to pull at your mouth. "a grilled cheese."

he tilted his head back and let out something like a moan, something that had you bowing your head to hide your face.

something that made the air scream.

"that sounds amazing," he said as you bent down, held the measure at his feet and began to work it all up to his knee.

"yeah?" you replied, happy to not have to look at him, to have something to do with your hands. "maybe i'll make you one sometime."

there was a pause. "would you?" he asked, voice slow.

you scrunched up your face, met his gaze for only a second before turning back to your task. "yes," you said simply before pulling the measure up to his waist.

the number made your shoulder shake in a rumble of laugh.

"what?" you could hear the glow of a smile in his voice, bouncy and bubbly.

you shook your head. "nothing," you tried. "'m just used to different measurements."

"are you?" he asked. "don't tell me you're thinking about another man right now, love. it'd shatter my heart."

you laughed for real, at that. "it's just that arber is so tall, barely proportionate," you explained, writing on your clipboard again. "and you're-" you faded out, at a loss for words.

how could you even describe him?

"not six four?" cole offered, not even close to offended. almost cocky about it, somehow. he ran his tongue along the edges of his teeth, gave you a grin.

you shook your head. "not six four," you agreed. you twirled your finger in the air, motioning for him to turn around, his arms still in a t.

you now faced his back, became closely acquainted with the damp curls at the nape of his neck, with the practically pornographic indents in his shirt that marked his triceps.

"tall enough, though," he said into the air in front of him, snapping you out of your trace, cockiness oozing from his voice like blueberry syrup. "don't you think, love?"

you thanked every star there had ever been that he couldn't see you.

what could you say, here? what would be the normal thing to say?

"i think so, cole," you squeaked, trying not to let the smell of him so close make you dizzy. if you looked at his face, what would you see? what part of you would that heal?

you held the measure at one end of his full wingspan, pulled it all the way to his other outstretched hand. your fingertips just barely grazed the backs of his hands, only just a brush, and yet it felt like some private secret, like a stolen touch in an ancient ballroom.

you longed to run your hands across the planes of his shoulder blades, check for the wings you were sure you would find.

this golden boy would never have the ugly, jagged scars that you felt marred your own back. no, his wings would be bright and proud and every bit the wonder that he was. this beautiful angel boy would never know the grief and theft that you understood so personally.

"alive back there?" he said, a roughness to his voice that made you shiver.

you nodded although he wouldn't see it, finished your last measurements, cleared your throat, tapped the top of his spine once in finality.

he turned to you. face to face, his smile was so brutal you could have flinched.

"all done, love?" he asked, little more than a whisper. you couldn't stop your gaze from slipping to his mouth, if only for a second, maybe lingering on his full lips before snapping back to his shimmery eyes.

"all done," you repeated, low and heavy. "you should probably do your inseam." you forced a lightness into your tone to dissolve the tension you felt pressed between the two of you. "and don't embellish."

his smirk was nothing like the boys you'd had in the past. there was no trace of cruelty, only a cocky sort of satisfaction. a knowing. "i'd never lie to a pretty girl like you," he rasped. "and besides," he added. "embellishment's not necessary."

you bit back a nervous laugh, tried not to let your mind wander, tried not to wince at the word pretty in his voice ricocheting against your head.

then he was handing you back your tape measure, giving you a number with that smirk on his face.

and then the cockiness was gone, replaced by something soft.

his head tilted ever so slightly as he leaned forward, just an inch, angled his face to your neck before retreating back to meet your gaze again.

your face felt hot, your feet like someone had poured cement over the tops of your shoes.

"you smell nice," was all he said, ever the gentle observation.

you blinked at him, rubbed at your shoulder blades unconsciously. "thank you," you breathed.

all of a sudden he was glowing much too bright, like staring into the midday sun, just this mass of potential, so much potential without even a smidge of doubt.

this potential, his potential, there was no doubt that it would be realized, exceeded even. no doubt at all. beautiful golden angel boy. his wings were too much to bear, just now.

you mumbled an excuse to leave, rushed to gather your things, ignored the confused scrunch of his brow, nodded affirmation about your shopping appointment tomorrow, hurried out the door with a shy goodbye. so rushed, so shy, you missed the way longing invaded his gaze as he opened his front door for you, watched you get into your car and drive away.

you hated the way slow, burning tears ran down your cheeks as you drove, the kind that hang at your jaw and feel like they must leave some kind of mark behind - some kind of ugly scalded scar.

and you weren't mad at him, that would be impossible. you weren't even jealous. you had known for years that you would never get your wings back, and it wouldn't even be the same if you did. to sew them back in would be so painful, so traumatic. so no, you weren't jealous.

it hurt, then, it hurt so terribly to want someone so, so different, someone so much better. you felt as if you would never deserve to bask in the glow of his attention, to hear what his voice sounded like when it was drenched in syrupy sleep, to know what his perfect mouth would feel like on your collarbone.

you went to sleep with a phantom ache. you went to sleep sad.

the next morning was better.

you were at arber's, laying out a couple of options for him to wear to a casual sponsorship event he was attending later.

after your usual catching up while you sorted through some of his shirts, his voice adopted an airy sort of inquiry.

"so," he began, sitting and leaning back against the wall, his elbows resting on his knees. "how's coley? 's he being nice to you?"

you scrunched up your face, laying one shirt down on top of some dark brown trousers. "'course he's being nice to me," you said. "don't think he's got a mean bone in his body."

"alright," arber relented. "you bein' nice to him, then?"

"yeah." you met his eyes, couldn't shake the worry in your tone. "why? did he say something 'bout me being mean?"

you knew the smugness on arber's face all too well. a set up. it made you roll your eyes, throw a balled up t-shirt at him.

he laughed. "i knew it," he said. "since day one. since before day one, actually."

"shut up, bear," you grumbled.

"i'm just excited for you," he defended, still in that teasing tone. "been a while since you've had a crush, eh?"

in reality, you hadn't really had a crush since your fall from grace. since that demon from your past had left you like you were nothing, like you were a pointless chore.

you grabbed a couple pairs of sneakers. "whatever," you said, tried not to sound defeated.

"what does that mean?"

"crushes are meaningless," you said.

"crushes are fun," arber corrected you.

you scoffed. "it's basically painful for me to be around him."

"fuck." arber threw a sock at you. "so you really like him, then." he shrugged to himself. "i called it."

"how could you have possibly called this?" you asked, genuinely, holding a baseball cap next to a sneaker to see if the shades of navy matched. "cole is, like, the opposite of my usual type."

arber laughed again. "and what good has your usual type ever done you?"

you rolled your eyes, despite that fact being absurdly true. "you know you count as part of that demographic, right?"

"with me being the obvious exception," he amended. "as i'm not a sadistic asshole."

you finished laying out his options, stepped back.

"i like the navy one," arber said immediately.

you were nodding already. "i knew you would."

he made to stand up. "so, you seeing him today?"

"we're shopping," you said, taking a breath.

"sounds fun," arber tried. you lack of a response was notable.

"i'm scared," you whispered eventually. "he's just so..."

no words seemed to do him justice.

"good?" arber offered, half shrugging a massive shoulder.

maybe that word did.

"wanna know something?" he asked, slowly draping his arms behind your head and pulling you into a hug. you relaxed into his familiar embrace.

"what?" you said into his chest.

"you are, too."

you carried your friend's words with you like a talisman as you mentally prepared to see cole again.

and when you arrived at your agreed meeting spot, like a vision, he was there, waving at you. and no preparation would have been enough, you realized, as his easy kind of beauty would stay breathtaking no matter how long you knew him.

his hair curled into his face as he pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, drawing your gaze to the slope of his nose, the symmetry of his high cheekbones.

you rubbed at your shoulder blades and waved back at him. "hey," you said when he was in front of you.

"you came," he said, his voice laced with such pleasantness you could taste the sugar of it on your tongue.

"of course i did," you sing-songed, knowing you had had a conversation like this with him before.

"well, i'm happy i get to see you," he replied as you began to walk side by side. "where to first?"

so you went shopping with your client, and as you did, you couldn't help but recognize how cole had this way of making you feel like showing up was all you ever needed to do.

like the phantom weight of your wings was gone, like they had never been there, because the only you he knew was the one standing in front of him right now.

and that you seemed perfectly enough for him.

every time you held up a shirt to his frame, every time he met your gaze, each accidental brush of a touch - it all felt like something you had dreamed up.

"can i ask you a question, love?" he asked at one point as you both entered a store that specialized in sneakers.

you nodded.

"how come you always wear..." he trailed off, opting instead to gesture to your daily uniform of well fitting jeans and a flawlessly ironed button down.

"how come the stylist isn't more stylish?" you asked, a teasing smile beginning to come free.

"not necessarily." cole shrugged. "you always wear the same thing. just wonderin' if there's a reason."

your heart fluttered at the idea of him observing something about you and wanting to understand the reasons why.

you quickly realized it was probably important to him, from an employer standpoint, to understand his stylist's clothing decisions, and the fluttering wilted.

you looked away. "because it's not about me," you said, picking up a unique looking pair from a shelf.

when you turned to show him, his confused expression startled you. it looked so genuine on him.

"it has to be, sometimes, right?"

no, you wanted to tell him, it's all so much easier when it's not about me. when it's not about what i want. please don't make me think about what i want.

"yeah," you said instead, less than convincing, "right."

and the day continued, successfully, if you said so yourself, as you got a better sense of what cole actually liked to wear. unfortunately, you also got a better sense of who cole was, and that was very much not helping in your desire to stop wanting him.

how his laugh came so often, and still so truly. how his smile never dimmed, a glow that seemed to permeate the thick thorns around your heart. how he asked you more questions about yourself than maybe anyone.

when you suggested a darker color, so as not bring attention away from his eyes, he asked, "where did you learn that?"

and he would listen so intently as you explained how color theory was one of the first things you learned in university.

and he would say, "that must be why you wear red shoes a lot, then. to match with your undertones."

and you would nod and try to hide your blush before it began to match your patent red slingbacks.

and then later he said, "i didn't know you went to university, love. what did you think of it?"

and you would feel embarrassed but still compelled to say, "i didn't finish it." because lying to him about that seemed cruel, stupid, petty. because lying to him seemed impossible.

and he would say, "but what did you think of it?" with no trace of judgement or expectation and you almost didn't ever remember what it was like to have wings, what your fall from grace was like, what that searing blade felt like on your back.

so a smile that was beautiful because it was true would grace your mouth as you told him, "i loved it." and it would feel so deliriously liberating to tell someone that. for someone else to know that you really had loved school, and that dropping out hadn't been what you wanted but what you needed.

and that while you were so, so grateful for what you were doing now, there was a part of you that was so utterly glutted with rage at the fact that someone had taken that from you.

that someone had broken you so critically and completely that something you loved had morphed into something you couldn't manage, something that would only break you more.

and that every day was another day closer to healing, another day closer to being okay with the fact that the past had already happened.

and cole would smile just because you were smiling.

later on, towards the end of your excursion, when he held up a positively dreadful hat that matched definitively nothing, you couldn't help but laugh.

and if your eyes weren't shut you would have seen how something sparkled in his eyes like rippling water.

"c'mon," he pleaded. "it's perfect."

"it's definitely something," you conceded, hating the hat but loving the way he seemed to love it.

"please, love," he begged, and you didn't even know why he was asking you, as it was his money, and at the end of the day, his wardrobe.

you didn't mind the tone his voice had taken on, though, if you admitted it to yourself. he made pleading sound so pretty.

"how about this?" you offered. "we can do a 'one for me, one for you' rule." you met his excited gaze. "to make sure we balance what i think is right and what you want."

"one for me, and one for you," he repeated.

you nodded. "almost like we're working together on an art project, or something."

he laughed, and it was glittery. "but i'm the art project," he responded, delighted at the metaphor.

you wanted to tell him that he was a masterpiece.

the following weekend marked the first preseason game that you would be styling him for.

very early the morning of, you drove over, having already met with arber and gotten him squared away.

"don't you dare make him look better than me," arber warned you on your way out.

you rolled your eyes. "good luck today, bear," you called over your shoulder.

"i'm serious! no playing favorites just because you want to fu-"

you shut the door before he could finish his sentence.

now, here you were, pulling pieces from cole's closet as he sat on the edge of his bed.

"what are you feeling like today?" you asked him as you thumbed through jackets. "brown or black?"

"i'm feeling like that light purple tie over there," cole replied immediately, pointing to the one he was talking about and not answering your question.

you shook your head. "well, we'll do one for me," you said as you grabbed a beautiful soft brown suit, "and one for you," you finished as you plucked the purple tie from its holder.

you completed his look together and then waited in the kitchen for him to change.

you heard his footsteps behind you, causing you to turn. "well," his rough voice asked, "what do you think?"

seeing him made you feel like the wind had been knocked out of you.

but there was something almost sinisterly personal about seeing him in clothes you had styled him in, a collaboration of his likes and your knowledge, a combination of him and you, right in front of you.

just as you had imagined, the soft brown complimented his coloring beautifully, the purple adding the perfect pop of spontaneity.

would it be like this every time? would he always feel like best thing you had ever done?

"trying to take your silence as a compliment, love," he joked, and you scolded yourself that he had even gone a second without knowing how beautiful he looked.

you approached him, then, reached up to adjust his collar, one of the first times you had willingly and unnecessarily thrust yourself into his personal space. which he noticed, by his sudden intake of breath, the way his chest rose and fell.

"look so handsome, cole," you told him honestly.

and you'd tell him a thousand times if he kept looking at you like this, like you were the sweetest thing he'd ever seen. like you were unscarred. or maybe that you were scarred, but that you were sweet anyway, like a just-over-ripe end of summer plum, the kind whose dark juice dribbles down your chin at first bite.

"thanks to you, love," he breathed, his voice a little short.

you dusted off his shoulders, relished in the sculpted muscle you felt under your palms. "you're a job well done, then," you said, and you loved the way his eyes warmed at your words, at the way you could physically see the effect you had on him, the way he wore his desire so shamelessly.

oh, to be shameless. you weren't there, not just yet. couldn't yet meet him at a shameless middle.

but as you left him to do any final preparations before his game, you couldn't help but feel that you were gliding, slowly, but absolutely, towards that meeting.

that feeling was strengthened that weekend, the last weekend before the real season began. you were scheduled to style both arber and cole for a country music festival in toronto.

for the last two years, you had styled arber for this event, as it was one of his favorite weekends of the summer.

it was one of your favorite events to style, too, as you rarely got to lean into a more western, almost cinematic sort of look.

it would be your first time thinking about this event from the perspective of two different clients.

arber's side was easy. he already had a favorite cowboy hat, a refusal to wear boots, an insistence on sneakers. it was only a question of colors, of brands to satisfy sponsorships, of what flannel shirt to rip the sleeves off of.

"and you're sure you don't want to come?" arber asked, ever the inclusive best friend.

"'m sure, bear," you said, although part of you wanted to come. something was holding you back though, something you didn't like very much. a fear of being a burden? a fear of feeling alone, surrounded by thousands? something like that.

arber knew you well, though.

"i'll see you at the festival," he said as you left him to get ready.

"what?" you asked, confused.

you could hear his smugness even though your back was turned. "know coley's going to ask the same thing and you're going to go all gooey-eyed. 'of course i'll come, cole,'" he said, doing a dreadful imitation of your voice at the end, "anything for you!"

you were happy he couldn't see your vengeful flush, your embarrassment at how accurate his statement had been.

anything for you was echoing around your brain when you showed up to cole's house, made your bow past him extra bashful, made his presence seem extra indulgent. being around him today smelled like brownies, like chocolate, like fudge that gets stuck on your teeth. it was rich. and it felt a little shameless.

you handed him a container with a grilled cheese you had made that morning. "'s your off day, right?" you explained. "just don't tell your trainer."

and maybe somebody else would have looked at you with expectation, maybe someone else would have thought what else will you do for me?

but cole's gaze was so genuine it melted you away. "for me, love?" he asked, and you could sighed at how happy he was in that moment. how easy it was for him to be happy. how it still felt so lovely to make him happy, despite the ease.

"of course for you," you said, willing nonchalance into your tone, even though that couldn't be farther from the truth. you began to walk to the closet. "now, about today's event-"

his hand grasped your wrist, ever so gently, like you were some kind of precious porcelain doll. like to disturb your beauty would be a malevolent crime. like he would lock himself up if he did.

his barely there touch stopped you where you stood. "thank you," he breathed, some kind of meaning twisted up in his words that was beyond you.

and you wanted to laugh nervously, wave him off, mutter something about how it was just a grilled cheese, for god's sake, how it didn't mean anything.

but lying to cole caufield had always felt like an impossible ask. so of course what you ended up saying was, "anything for you."

and of course you wanted to bang your head against his beautiful wallpapered wall after you said it. you could hear arber's grumble of a laugh in the back of your head.

if you had been focused on cole's face, then, you would have seen how the heat in his eyes burned like embers, how his jaw worked at your words.

but you were already opening his closet, the place in his house that was quickly becoming your safe space. "about today," you began, forcing the squeak out of your voice. "how do you feel about standing out a bit?"

"as in...." he said, an easy smile on his face like he was just happy to listen to you talk.

"as in full western," you answered, hope dripping from your tone like granulated sugar.

he looked at you with a teasing skepticism.

"please?" you asked, barely noting how his eyes darkened, if only for a second. "please let me dress you up, coley?"

you knew you had him. and you were right, but to a greater degree than you realized.

"dress me up, then, love," he conceded, leaning against the doorframe.

your smile was nothing short of triumphant. when was the last time you had felt triumph?

"one for me," you sing-songed as you placed a pair of cowboy boots at his feet like an offering, setting the tone of the final look immediately.

"and one for me," he said, soft, picking out the hat you had been going to choose anyways. something told you he knew this, which made your blush begin to creep up your neck and past your ears.

so you went spar for spar, picking out pieces until you the final look of your dreams was laid out in front of him.

you left him to get changed, but as you passed him in the doorway, you rubbed gently at his shoulder. "you're too good to me, cole," you said, in a joking tone, but you meant every word. "letting me win."

he exhaled and relaxed into your comfortable touch. "like it when you win," he said.

and what could you even say to that? so you didn't say anything, went to wait for him in the kitchen. everything felt warm. what a delicious pleasure, to have someone say they were rooting for you. suddenly being a professional athlete made a lot of sense to you.

"'m glad i let you dress me up," he said as he walked in, adjusting his hat. "i think standing out might be exactly what i need before the season starts."

and when he stood in front of you, a vision of western silhouettes and muted denim colorways, a pop of red here and there, you could have clapped yourself on the back. he looked like a truly wonderful combination of a trashy airport romance novel and a luxury magazine editorial.

his embroidered denim button down strained at his thick biceps and shoulders, his shorts the same sort of tense around his thighs.

you clasped your hands behind your back to release some of the pressure that had begun to coil up inside of you like a mechanical snake.

you didn't think you would ever get used to seeing the fruits of your imagination painted across cole's body. it was a special kind of intimacy. a torturous one, almost.

you approached him again, pulled at his sleeves in a teasing sort of way. "a little small in the arms, yeah? maybe around the thigh, too?"

he tilted his head, his gaze filled with cocky knowing. "and who took the measurements, love?"

you had entered an unknown land, the boundaries of which were unclear, blurry. it fizzed at the edges with danger.

accordingly, he brought a hand to your chin and held your jaw gently. "starting to think you did it on purpose," he breathed, something rough and raspy beginning to invade his tone.

"i'd never do such a thing," you defended, emboldened by his hand, by his courage. your hands were again clasped behind your back. don't cross a line, you thought to yourself. don't.

"i'd be willing to forgive you," cole started, his trailing off meaning there would be a condition.

his thumb had begun to trace feather-light circles on your jaw.

"if?" you asked.

"if you come with me today," he said plainly, openly, easily. always easily.

"done," you said, almost as easily. even if you knew there would be hell to pay when arber saw you. even if you knew the line between work and pleasure was becoming very, very thin. perhaps transparent.

as you drove back to your place to change into something a bit more suited for a festival, it dawned on you that you hadn't thought about your wings at all, hadn't rubbed at your shoulders the whole time you had been with cole that day. not even once.

with him, you didn't need to be the beautiful, smart prodigy practically overflowing with potential. you didn't need wings.

you just needed to show up. so, that's what you did.

you showed up for him at the festival, very notably not in your everyday uniform, instead in a vintage sundress you had been dying to wear and your boots, a unique pair of accent sunglasses pushed up into your hair.

it felt good to wear something different, to wear something a little more out there, to wear a bit of you. you were not used to giving the world a bit more of yourself, having felt before that perhaps the world didn't need any more of you.

you glanced at your phone, approached the spot that arber suggested you meet the group at, quickly recognized the clothes you had put together this morning.

you hugged arber first, elbowed him lightly when he whispered, "change your mind, did you?" into your ear.

you smiled, rolled your eyes, but you could see in his gaze that he was just happy that you had decided to come, that whatever you had going on with cole was enough to bring you here.

he introduced you to some of his other teammates, their respective friends and partners, everyone being especially welcoming.

some of his other teammates joked about how they might be needing your stylistic help soon, too, and their girlfriends might have shared a look with you and mouthed "please" with a friendly grin.

you could feel cole's eyes on you the entire time you stood there, could have touched the side of your face to check if his gaze had seared a burn into your skin.

finally you turned to face him, were starkly unprepared for the vulnerable desire you found lurking in his eyes like some kind of mythical beast.

you couldn't help but smile at him, tilted your head, asking him a silent question.

can i trust what i'm seeing? how do i know my vision isn't a liar, like everything else?

"you came," he said to you, then, like he had so many times before.

"of course i did," you said, like you had so many times back to him.

you adjusted his hat on his head, straightened it, tilted it down slightly, creating a bubble-like barrier between the two of you and everyone else.

you picked up right where you left off, on the fringes of danger. danger you felt as he only barely touched your fingertips with his, not quite holding hands, almost.

he thumbed the hem of your dress between his fingers. "wear something pretty for me, love?" his gaze flared across your figure like high beams, getting stuck on your exposed legs like sediment, coating your bare shoulders thickly, like brownie batter.

who are you dressing for, that's what you had asked him at the beginning.

"'cause you look it," he clarified, raspy, "just so pretty."

and you blushed strawberry pink, let the group lead you to the main stage, settled into the space as the artist came on.

set after set, you couldn't remember the last time you had existed so carelessly, so gently, so shamelessly.

there were no thoughts of the past, of wings that once were, of anything but dancing with your best friend, laughing with his teammates, singing along with their girlfriends like you had known them your whole life.

you felt so light, so present, so perfect.

light on your feet, almost floating, each time your gaze caught on cole's, immediately tugging a smile free on your face, the kind you felt in your ears, in your jaw, in your squinting eyes.

present, absolutely no where else, each time you heard cole's starburst of a laugh, the sound ringing through the air and your head like a bell, like a lullaby.

perfect as anything, each ghost of a touch you both stole from each other throughout the afternoon. making an excuse for hair in your face, for a bustling crowd, for having a bit to drink, for a thread that had come free. excuses that were unnecessary, that nobody believed anyways.

late into the afternoon, you pressed a hand to your collarbone, felt a glow of heat under your palm. you bit your lip, found cole next to you. "'m gonna get burned," you said to him, shaking your head like you had said a joke, like you had said can't take me anywhere, hm?

but he only started to unbutton his shirt, making your eyes widen more as he revealed more and more skin.

"what are you doing?" you whispered, a sort of pleading tone injected into your voice. something like please don't do this to me.

something that he heard, must have, given the smirk that crept onto his face at your flush, at your voice. "gentle, pretty girl," he soothed, now entirely shirtless, entirely distracting. he handed his shirt to you. "can't have you burning up."

you tried not to be too terribly touched. you took the sunglasses off of your face and handed them to him. "one for you, one for me," you said with a smile as you traded.

"one for you, one for me," he repeated like a child repeats a prayer, doused in a desperate kind of faith. he pushed your sunglasses up onto his head, making his soft hair stick up in a million different directions.

you let him hold your drink as you shouldered on his shirt, fastened the top two buttons, tried not to get dizzy at the scent of him all over you.

just then, your favorite artist in the lineup came onstage to begin their set, cheers from the crowd loud and warm.

you faced the stage now, away from cole, clapping your hands, flushed with excitement.

a flush that only deepened as the music began, as you felt cole behind you, as he wrapped his arms around your front and swayed with you to the rhythm, something twangy and groovy.

"'s this okay?" he whispered, resting his chin between your head and shoulder, his mouth so close to your ear that you could feel the heat of his breath.

maybe okay wasn't the right word for this. this being his thick arms resting lazily around your hips, his bare broad chest against your back like puzzle pieces slotted together.

you nodded, regardless, had a hard time focusing on anything but the feeling of him, so close. "'s okay," you breathed.

maybe okay wasn't the right word.

"can you see?" you asked, hesitantly relaxing back into his chest, draping yourself across him like some kind of quilt.

you felt his laugh more than heard it, the shiver it evoked making it's way up to your hairline.

"tall enough, remember, love?" he whispered.

you snaked one of your hands back, ran your nails lightly across his neck, his curls. "more than enough," you said, not really referring to his height, more so just him. how this beautiful golden angel boy was more than enough.

the night fell like blackberry jam, thick and sweet and like home. you lost track of time as you slouched deeper against cole's body, as he began to hold you up a bit as you grew tired, continuing to sway to the music all the time. you had never been more comfortable. nothing had ever been easier.

too soon the night was over. you felt the residue of the sun on your face like a blush, the weight of the day in your legs. too soon you were hugging your new friends goodbye, handing your number out to the ones who were interesting in perhaps becoming a client, a few of the girls saying they better be seeing you at games, soon.

too soon you were at the passenger door of arber's truck, as he had arranged to drive you home after you told him you were coming.

cole walked you to the door, opened it for you, held your warm hand as you hopped into the lifted truck.

"you have everything for the road trip?" you asked him, referring to the outfits you had picked out together for him to wear for his series of away games.

he nodded, something flickering in his eyes. did he feel the shadow of you against him as you did him? was he cold like you were, without his exhales on your collarbone?

"travel safe," you said, your words brimming with meaning. i'll miss you went unsaid, but not unrecognized.

"the gala when i get back, yeah?" he said, almost drowsy.

"i've already got some ideas," you said, and the thought brought a smile to your face.

something dangerous flashed across his face, making your stomach flutter, your heart tense. "i've got some ideas too, pretty girl."

and then arber got into the driver's seat, said goodbye to cole, who returned the sentiment.

"i'm really happy you came," he said to you as the car started. i'll miss you, too.

you had a dreamy smile on your face as arber drove away.

"i like your friends," you said.

"they like you," he returned before smirking. "some more than others."

you rolled your eyes, but it was no use. hope bubbled up in you like caramelizing sugar. "does it bother you?" you asked then, squinting, realizing you hadn't really asked your best friend what he thought.

"does what bother me?" he asked. "you coming out to things you never would have a couple months ago?"

you went to cut him off, but he pressed on.

"or that you smile more now than i've seen in years? or that you seem to be genuinely enjoying your work?"

he wasn't lying, wasn't wrong, wasn't even critical.

you had always felt that you connected with arber because he, too, walked with the distinct slouch of a fallen angel, of a being, once heavenly, now devoid. the same evidence of struggle, of lack.

it dawned on you then that you had never judged him for it, had only appreciated him more. maybe it was time to extend yourself the same appreciation, the same forgiveness.

it was arber who had extended a hand to you in that place of darkness, but it had been you who had taken it. it had been you who had gotten up.

you had always been the most wonderful team. the kind of trust existed between you that perhaps one only offers their first love.

"you know i just want to see you happy, don't you?" he said, a bit softer than his typical biting humor. "if that's him, i could never be bothered."

"i do know that," you said, and you meant it. "i don't tell you enough how much i appreciate you, bear. but i do."

how lucky you felt to know you had him by your side no matter what, that no matter what happened, you had your best friend. to know that he had you, too.

you made sure he was all squared away for his trip, gave him a hug goodbye, told him to text you when he landed.

and such began the week of time away.

a week you filled with planning, preparations, shopping, lists, moodboards, drafting articles that (probably) no one would read but you wrote them anyway.

a week you wore things that didn't match, clashing colors and aesthetics, frilly silk skirts and sneakers, jerseys and business trousers. just to see how it would feel, just because you could. shameless.

no matter how busy you kept, you missed cole. you missed the way your stomach would flip when he would open his front door, the way he smelled after he showered, you missed his firework of a laugh and the way his voice would get raspy with use.

it was hard to leave off at the point that you did - seemingly on the precipice of the point of no return.

part of you hated that you had left everything so uncertain still. every possibility of what he felt, what would happen, it twisted around you like a lovesick tornado. what would happen when he returned?

would you have to build up to everything again? would he forget what you felt like against him? would he even want you to remind him?

or maybe he would kiss you immediately, like you so desired. as he was away, your workdays became interrupted by visions of his lips, phantom hands on your hips, your fingers on his throat, his in your hair.

visions that left you a little breathless. a little flushed. but wanting, above all else. they left you wanting.

so you were a little scared, a little tense, but mostly full of want when you arrived at cole's for the first time since he'd arrived home after a successful string of games on the road. the week had gone by fast, but also painfully slowly.

today you planned to prepare for the gala tomorrow for one of his teammate's charities, a black tie event, sure to be a fun night to style.

today you wore a dress, and that said enough.

when cole opened the door your breath caught. beautiful golden angel boy.

he looked so soft, then. the angle of his jaw, of his cheekbones, perfectly distilled by his halo-like messy hair, his flushed face, almost girlish nose. you missed seeing his face in front of you, noticing everything about him.

what a privilege, to be close enough to cole caufield to notice things about him.

"after you, love," he said, stepping back and allowing you though. you bowed your head as you walked past him, a plume of his scent dissolving around your face.

how many times had you had this same interaction? had it always felt so electric? had the air been vibrating like this the whole time?

you made your way to his room, to his closet, just like always, catching up, asking him questions about his trip.

yes, he was a little tired, and yes, the team looked good, though he wished he had finished a couple more of his net-front chances. yes, arber did well, even coach said so.

and he asked you about your week as you began to lay out some options, occasionally referring to your clipboard of notes, moodboards, ideas.

yes, you had a nice week. yes, you ate well, really. you wrote a bit, and he could read the articles, if he really wanted to, which he insisted that he did.

"and how do you feel about a three-piece?" you asked.

"that depends," cole began, taking up his usual post, leaning on the doorframe. "how do you think i would look in a three-piece?"

you felt a blush begin to creep up your neck. "remember when you said you dressed for yourself?" you said in a teasing tone.

"still do, love," he defended. "just got a panel to consult, first, these days."

you exhaled. "you know i think you look lovely in anything, cole," you said. it had always felt like a crime, the prospect of lying to him.

you could feel the heat of his gaze on you as you panned through his dress shirts, his vests, his ties. you could feel the sparks of his eyes ignite into flames, flames that licked at your legs and tensed the coil inside of you.

was his halo beginning to singe the ends of his hair?

"did i ask you yet if you missed me?" he said, lazy but attentive, his eyes sharp.

you approached him, held a couple of ties up to his face. a forest green, a baby blue, a burnt orange. "you didn't ask me," you said, your gaze glancing to meet his between swatches. "do you really need to?"

the air fizzed and sparked. you could practically smell smoke.

you looked back to the ties, scrunched up your face in thought before nodding. "one for me," you began, referring to the baby blue tie you had chosen.

"and one for me," cole breathed out, all in one motion grasping your face in his rough hands and capturing your lips with his. his kiss tasted like a home-cooked meal after a semester away at university. it smelled like sugar and smoke and cinnamon and felt like floating, like flying.

it was rushed and just so desperate and rough but also gentle. there had never been anyone, after all, who had been as gentle with you as cole had, as if he was holding your delicate, bleeding heart in his hands, taking care of it for you until you were ready to house it again.

you dropped whatever you were holding, wrapped your arms behind his neck, your way of saying, closer, please. your way of saying finally.

he walked you backwards until you were the one leaning against the doorframe, the plane of it pressing between your shoulder blades. you twisted one hand in his hair, pulling gently.

he moaned into your mouth, making you smile into his as he brought one hand to brace against the frame, just next to your hip, the other still resting on the side of your face.

"please, love," he said, little more than a whimper. "i need you."

pressing himself against you using his leverage, you could feel exactly how desperate he was, just how much he had missed you, too. was there any better feeling than bringing an angel to his knees?

your sly smile turned mocking, your voice dripping in desire, still. "stop whining," you breathed.

the way he immediately did as you said, without question, eyes wide and glossed in waiting for your next move, it felt shockingly beautiful.

you had always been plagued by the struggle of a fallen angel. but here, now, with cole, you didn't feel like an angel at all. he made you feel like a god. and what good did shame ever do any god?

you gripped his shirt and pulled him out of the doorway, away from the closet, the place that had become something like a cathedral for both of you.

a cathedral for which the only accepted sacrifice was the sacrifice of shame, left bloody and dead on an altar welded from want.

you pushed him back onto his bed, the one you had walked by so many times, had barely allowed yourself to look at.

he leaned back with a grunt, put one elbow behind him and the other on his thigh, seemingly waiting patiently for you. ever so patient. always had been.

you sunk down to your knees, rested your elbows on his, now spread apart, looked up at him through your lashes, tilting your head as he brought one hand from his thigh to your head, lacing it through your hair. your mouth watered.

"can i suck you off, coley, please?" you begged as his grip on your hair tightened. "want to feel you in my mouth so bad, baby, can i?"

he whimpered at your words, was already nodding feverishly, moving clothes aside so you had better access to him.

you bit your lip as you pulled him out, felt the weight of him in your hands, hot and thick and -

"told you i didn't have to lie about measurements." cole's joking words broke you from a trance of heavy seriousness. you looked up at him, your delicate grip pumping him up and down, and found him to be smiling, a big, toothy, goofy one.

you couldn't help but laugh, a real laugh, one that had you flushing and shaking your head.

this, this was the real privilege. to be on your knees in front of him and still have him making you laugh. you knew then that you could be awkward and messy and still be beautiful, perhaps even because of your awkwardness and messiness. you could be a beast of desire and want and still be worthy of his smile.

then you took him in your mouth, moved your head slowly up and down, hollowing out your cheeks, promptly catching the laugh in his throat and urging it into an almost anguished moan instead.

he held your hair to the side, tilted his head back when you took him all the way to the back of your throat.

"fuck, love," he groaned, the curse guttural on his typically clean tongue. "bein' so perfect for me. feels so good."

his words spurred you on, pushed the pace of your rhythm, made you rake your nails down his thigh.

you felt his overstimulated shudder in your teeth as he grew impossibly harder in your mouth.

his breaths grew short and choppy, his moans whiny as his thighs tensed under your hand.

you pulled yourself off of him, spit running down your chin, your eyes watery and lashes clinging together as you pumped him with your hand.

he met your gaze and promptly moaned. "look so pretty, love, gonna cum if you keep lookin' at me," he whined.

and so the dirty, messy, and awkward god grew bashful at the angel's words.

"want you to cum for me, coley," you pressed, running a thumb over his sensitive tip. "please?"

something dark flickered across his gaze like lightning in a storm, powerful and inevitable. in a motion he pulled you to your feet, pushed your legs apart so you could straddle his hips, your dress pooling around you both, your center precariously and dangerously against his hard cock.

"hate sayin' no to you, pretty girl," he said, your faces again just a breath apart. "but gotta fuck you first, yeah? been dreaming about it."

now it was your turn to nod feverishly, to lift your hips up gently and let him angle himself underneath you. the seconds felt gelatinous. you both took a breath.

a breath you both released as you sank down onto him that first time, his coming out strangled and yours full of relief.

you both paused for a moment, you adjusting to him and he to you.

his stretch made you dizzy, a pull you could feel in your throat, in your fingertips. he mumbled something incoherent that dissolved into a groan as you began to move your hips up and down, each push deeper than the last.

you rested one hand on his lower stomach, grounding you, the other coming to gently grasp at his throat, squeezing only the tiniest bit. "like you've been dreaming, baby?" you asked, only a little teasing, only because you knew he could take it.

he moaned louder, nodded, dug his hands into your hips, began to meet you thrust for thrust.

something possessed you then, something hazy and hot, something had you moving your hand from his throat to his cheeks, clutching at his face in a way that forced his mouth open. open enough for you drop your head, almost like you were going to kiss him again, but instead letting spit drop from your mouth into his.

you could have sighed at how easily he swallowed, how his eyes were brimming with lust and something softer when he opened them and found you, there.

his eyes made you whimper, which made him thrust up into you harder, a little faster, somehow deeper.

"so wet for me, love, fuck," he bit out, dragging a slow hand from your hip to your bottom lip, sticky with spit. "take it," he moaned, an order but also a plea. "so good, love, take it."

you let him push his fingers into your mouth, let him rest them there, your eyes rolling back at the feeling of him everywhere inside of you. so deep you felt him in your stomach, the back of your throat. your heart, most of all.

you became aware of the hair sticking to the back of your neck with sweat, the pleasant evidence of effort that burned in your thighs, the croak of wear that had begun to tear at your voice.

you built up a rhythm, quick and hard. you rolled your hips back against him, hitting a new, perfect spot inside of you, making you clench tighter around him.

"feel you close," he rasped, "where do you need me?"

and you were back to that day, so far away, now, taking measurements. where do you need me? he had asked.

here, present you thought, here and now.

you tugged his hand from your mouth and led him to your folds, showing him exactly how to touch you. exactly what you needed.

his touch jolted through you, an electric current of desire, bringing you brutally close to your high as he continued to rub at your clit, thrust into you hard.

"fuck, coley," you whined, "'m so close for you. gonna cum all over your cock, baby. stretchin' me so perfect."

the muscles of his stomach clenched under your fingertips, his shoulders tense under your other palm as your motions up and down became messier, his thrusts sloppier, both of your breathing choppy.

"please cum for me, pretty girl," he breathed. "make me feel so good, yeah?" he grunted, almost a pained noise. "need you."

you did as told, his words and the beautiful vulnerability in his eyes sending right over the precipice of pleasure you had been teetering on. you came with a shuddering moan, collapsing into cole's damp chest, triggering his own orgasm, warm and raspy.

draped over him like a velvet curtain, you felt the rise and fall of his chest slowly become regular again against your cheek. the air around you was warm and stained with the enormity of your want, realized.

you tilted your head up to gaze at him, found him glowing, flushed, his hair fussed. he looked so beautiful.

"you look like an angel," you said, your voice all but a rasp as it escaped your worn-out throat.

his laugh was like honey and lemon. he shook his head, traced your jaw with his fingertips. "just a human, love," he said, a whisper. your eyelids grew heavy, your voice lazy. too lazy to stop the sweet smile that tugged at your mouth. one that he mirrored.

"me too," you breathed. he pressed his swollen lips to the top of your head.

and with that, with a sigh of relief, you finally laid your wings to rest, in the graveyard of things that had never been.

fin.

#hockey #nhl #hockey smut #nhl smut #cole caufield #cole caufield smut #cole caufield x reader #cole caufield imagine #jack hughes smut #jack hughes #trevor zegras smut #trevor zegras #quinn hughes #smut #jack hughes x reader #montreal canadiens #arber xhekaj smut #arber xhekaj

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danaewrites · 3 months

Text

you with the dark curls (you with the watercolor eyes)

part ii: i wanna hear you speak to me

james potter x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.6k

summary: “Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.”

tags: best friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, based on the song "dear arkansas daughter" by lady lamb, fem!reader

author's notes: new year, new chapter! i started writing this one back in SEPTEMBER and finally had enough time away from the terrors of calculus homework to finish it. thanks for reading my story so far and i hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent chapter, because i had way too much fun writing it!! i promise that the angst in this chapter *will* be resolved, but it was too deliciously tempting to resist sprinkling a wee bit of hurt/comfort and dramatics in there as well. sorry not sorry!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii (coming soon!)

“I’ve got no bloody clue how Dumbledore can be so energetic all the time,” you groaned, head in your hands as you peeked out at the headmaster’s more-than-slightly manic grin from your seat at the Gryffindor breakfast table. You were far too sleep-deprived to process his latest choice of garish attire: a bright chartreuse robe covered in plaid polka dots, topped off with what appeared to be rhinestones and tinsel attached to his beard.

Perhaps if Kettleburn hadn’t assigned you three feet of parchment on the seventeen glorious properties of dragon dung yesterday and expected it done by this afternoon, you might have appreciated the headmaster’s creative fashion choices– oh, who were you kidding. There really was no understanding that wizard, even properly rested. James and Peter had made a bet during fifth year on how long it’d take Dumbledore to crack under a constant deluge of pranks in his office, but they’d quickly realized that the man was too far gone to do anything but take inspiration for school events– an idea that was quite frankly, comically frightening, and the sort of thing you weren’t keen on pondering on a normal Tuesday morning.

Sirius wrinkled his nose sympathetically and slid the pile of raspberry jam tarts closer to you. “Late night in the library again?”

You nodded sheepishly, gratefully taking a pastry from the pile. “I honestly don’t know why Pince allows me to stay past curfew. Marauder’s luck, I guess?” Your attention was diverted by the sound of hoots and flapping wings as the morning owl brigade arrived, apparently choosing a kamikaze dive-bomb approach to deliver this morning’s newspapers. Ah, the joys of living at the world’s most advanced magical school.

Sirius, ever the epitome of grace, slipped under the table as a rogue owl zipped past, popping himself back up just enough to throw you finger guns. “Exactly right, doll, exactly right,” he grinned. “Trust me, Marauder’s luck gets you everywhere. And I mean everywhere,” he winked, sending you a lecherous smirk.

“Ew, Sirius, I don’t even want to know,” you sniffed. “I’ve learned my lesson after the mental trauma your tales of Dorcas’ birthday adventures inflicted upon my psyche. Please, spare me the details.”

“What? All I meant was Slughorn’s Christmas Party, of course!” He batted his eyelashes angelically, still partially covered by the tablecloth.

Your mouth gaped open in shock. “Last year’s Christmas party? Sirius Orion Black, I refuse to hear another word! What on earth would your ancestors think, with you bragging about such exploits-”

He leaned over, eyes wide with laughter. “No, I meant the one Slughorn is throwing on the 21st, it’s exclusively for us lucky seventh years this time. Although, you bring up some very fond memories… okay, okay, I’ll stop, don’t kick me–”

“What are we kicking Sirius for?” James slid onto the bench across from you, eyeing a groveling Sirius with interest. Peter joined him, but wisely chose to stay away from the ruckus, piling his plate high with the bacon the owls had spared. Remus was noticeably absent, spending the morning resting in the infirmary after a rough night of shifting– which you assumed was much more peaceful than the current chaos at the Gryffindor breakfast table.

“Oh! Good morning, Jamie,” you beamed up at him, passing him the plate of desserts you’d been protecting from Sirius’ nefarious advances. “Morning, dove,” he greeted you, and then paused. “Ha, get it? Morning dove?” He puffed up his chest smugly and nudged Sirius with his elbow in a futile effort to make him laugh. You huffed fondly at his antics. Boys.

Sirius rolled his eyes and took advantage of your momentary distraction, retreating back onto his seat to nurse his wounds– to your ever-growing delight (and Sirius’ woe), you had recently discovered that the Hogwarts girls’ uniform shoes were quite sharp. “At this point we should call you Lames. ‘Cause your puns are lame,” he muttered.

You shooed him away with a brush of your hand, remembering what Sirius had mentioned earlier. “According to Sirius, Slughorn’s hosting a Christmas Party again this year. Let’s pray it won’t be like the last one.” You muttered. James and Peter both looked vaguely ill at the prospect, shuddering in unison. “My tie will never look the same again,” Peter griped, but suddenly sat up straight in his seat. “Hey, wait, we’re finally old enough to bring dates to this one! Without sneaking them in, I mean.”

Sirius snickered and lightly punched his shoulder. “Why, Petey, got some lucky girl in mind?” Peter reddened and glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, where a certain freckled blonde was chatting with her friends– a move that didn’t go unnoticed by James, who gave a delighted wolf-whistle. “You got a thing for Lucy Abbott, huh? Might want to make a move before Smith does,” he grinned, gesturing to the tall brunette boy who’d just arrived and sharing a knowing smirk with you. You giggled at Peter’s increasingly pouty expression; he’d figure out sooner or later that Smith was definitely not interested in Abbott– or witches in general– but it was entertaining to see him out of his comfort zone. Peter had always been the quietest of your little group, and you privately thought that a bit of momentary romantic angst might spur him to be more assertive. An ironic opinion, considering how your own love life revolved around the fact that your best friend had feelings for someone else… and you couldn’t do anything about it except mope.

Peter scowled. “Easy for you to say, Prongs, you’ve finally got precious Lily-flower wrapped around your finger. I bet you’ve already asked her!”

There it was: another reminder that James wasn’t yours, and never would be. You watched as the Gryffindor boys good-naturedly jostled his shoulder and tousled his curls. James grinned sheepishly, shrugging off their teasing. “Not yet,” he admitted, glancing hopefully at the end of the table, where Lily was chatting with her friends.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on, we all know she’ll say yes this year.” Sirius winced, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Peter glanced at Sirius, drawn by the movement. “What’ve you got to worry about? Half the population would kill Dumbledore to get one dance with you. The only person who’s got to worry about a date is me– well, and maybe Y/n, I guess.” His face suddenly turned contemplative, looking you up and down. “Are you going with someone?”

Sirius’ grimace became doubly pronounced at Peter’s tactlessness, and you felt your face heating up. Peter had a way of accidentally hitting on the issues others tried to hide. It wasn’t his fault he’d never heard about your trips to Hogsmeade with a paramour– in fact, none of the boys had. Because there hadn’t been any. You’d spent your entire time at Hogwarts pining after James, and as a result had missed the romantic milestones your classmates had already blissfully bragged about.

Peter looked at you expectantly, waiting for a response, and you opened your mouth to confess your lack of experience when you spotted a familiar redhead walking gracefully towards your side of the table– to James, you realized with a start. Something within you ignited as you watched her glow with confidence, carefree and lovely as ever. Lily would never pine after someone uselessly; she knew she could get anyone she wanted with the right amount of banter and flirty gestures. You... Well, you weren’t there quite yet, but maybe it was time to take inspiration from the Muggle saying and ‘fake it til you make it’. And before you could think about what you were about to do, you turned to Peter and smiled coyly. “I might.”

James’ and Sirius’ heads snapped up immediately from their perusal of the breakfast lineup as they let out an identical murmur of surprise. “What?” James furrowed his brow, looking you up and down– seemingly trying to discern whether you had taken a holiday from your senses, most likely via Bludger-induced concussion at the last Quidditch match. Sirius merely raised a questioning eyebrow at you. You groaned internally, knowing that you’d have to explain yourself later… although, if your half-baked idea worked, you’d be spending a lot more time with him anyway. For now, you beamed innocently at both of them and took a sip of your pumpkin juice. Apparently, the Sorting Hat had placed you in Gryffindor for a reason- you were either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish to commit to this plan, but with Evans quickly approaching, you saw no other choice.

Peter looked momentarily shocked, then glumly began to assemble an egg and bacon sandwich seasoned with the occasional mutterance of “unfair” and “perpetually single, my arse”.

James’ eyes were still trained on you. “Who is it?” he asked, searching your face again as if he was looking for some indication that you were joking. You shrugged, trying to look casual. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“Dove-” he began, but Lily finally reached his seat and placed one stupidly perfect hand on his shoulder, diverting his attention momentarily. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but Professor McGonagall asked me to bring you to her office for Quidditch scheduling.” James blinked, glancing up at her and then at the rest of the table. He stood up and focused on you again, expression clouded. “I’ll see you in Potions, yeah?”

Sirius stood up quickly, ushering him out of his seat with a speed you’d only seen him use to gulp down cheap Firewhiskey. He gave you a significant look. “Actually, Y/n and I were just about to take a walk, isn’t that right? So we'll both see you in Potions, what a sublime coincidence, now don’t be late for your meeting–” he chattered on as he shoved James toward the doors of the Great Hall, the latter eyeing him suspiciously but moving nonetheless. Sirius turned to you and pointed to the courtyard entryway. “You. Me. Talk, as in right now.”

Once you were sure that you’d made it out of earshot of Peter and the rest of the Gryffindor table, you wheeled around to face him. “Okay. First of all… I didn’t plan that.” Sirius raised an eyebrow again. “Second of all, I need a favour,” you pleaded, staring up at him with the most adorable doe eyes you could physically summon. They were usually most effective on James, for some reason, but you were sure that Sirius wasn’t immune to your manipulation either. He groaned, resting his face in his hands. “How do you even have a date? Last time I checked, also known as yesterday, you were still head over heels for Prongsie, doll. So do I need to check you for Amortentia or somethi–” He peered out from between his fingers with annoyed realization. “You don’t have a date, do you.”

You blinked innocently up at him. He let out a long-suffering sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “This is what you need the favour for? You want me to go with you to Slughorn’s party so you can pretend in front of the rest of Hogwarts that you’re not madly in love with Jamie?”

You grinned confidently up at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Aw, Siri, you know me so well. It’s almost as if you were maaaade to be my date for the party...” You fluttered your eyelashes up at him one more time for good measure, trying to hide a smirk. “Alright, alright, stop with the Bambi act, I’ll take you.” He scowled good-naturedly. “You know, this is going to ruin my dating pool for the next month.”

You scoffed. “As if! If anything, you’ll just have more people fawning over you– temptation of the forbidden apple and all, you know.”

Sirius brightened up considerably at this revelation. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the beginning, doll! I vote that we match in purple velvet, it does wonders for my complexion–”

You gave a very unladylike snort at the thought of you and Sirius swanning into the party in some sort of horrendous plum-coloured disco getup, and shooed him away towards the Potions classroom. That was an eyesore to imagine sometime when you weren’t about to get a headache from the dim dungeon lighting.

Slughorn greeted you and Sirius by directing you to the front of the classroom with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oho, a pair of latecomers, I see!” He winked at you and Sirius in exaggerated motion. You winced as Snape jeered and nudged Malfoy, who was busy enjoying Flint’s crude gestures at you. Ugh, Slytherin boys. The worst of the lot. Their snickers were quickly stopped by James chucking a handful of powdered wormwood at their heads when Slughorn turned away, making Malfoy’s prized hair appear covered in soot. You shot him a grateful smile.

“Since you two missed my initial remarks, let’s see if you can make it up by identifying today’s potion, hmm?” Slughorn gestured dramatically to a shimmering green brew in a cauldron next to his desk, cherry-coloured smoke curling off of the top invitingly.

Sirius shot you a panicked look, clearly not expecting to be put in the academic spotlight, but you shook your head and stepped closer. You smelled something rich and incense-like, which meant that Bumburrel leaves were a key ingredient. And combined with the way the smoke was drifting lazily around your wrists, curling higher and higher… “Brew of Mandelian, sir. Used for sharpened acuity under times of pressure.”

Slughorn gave a delighted chuckle and clapped his hands. “Well then! Ten points to Gryffindor for paying attention in lectures!” He dismissed you and Sirius with a wave, moving on to explain the finer points of ingredient preparation to a very bemused George Goyle as you slipped into your usual seat beside James.

You worked in quiet harmony for a moment, methodically slicing and crushing the slippery beetles needed to give the brew its signature green colour while James handed you the insects. He broke the silence after six beetles (not that you had been counting or anything) with an awkward, “So… you have a, erm, date?”

You huffed, motioning for him to hand you the foul-smelling Moorish tubers next. “Honestly, James, is it that surprising?” He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Well, I– yeah, I guess.” he trailed off, seeing your expression.

“The tubers, Jamie, thank you. I mean, you looked at me like I was a ghost back in the Great Hall!” You were decidedly not making eye contact with him, trying your best to focus on the slimy plants in front of you and not the fact that your best friend-slash-unrequited crush doubted your romantic potential. What a way to be humbled– and while covered in tuber juice, no less!

He huffed, running a hand through his already messy curls. “Come on, Y/n, it’s not like that. What did Sirius want to talk about in the Great Hall, anyway? You two looked… chummy.”

You glared down at the copper slicing board. “Well, it’s none of your business how chummy we are, is it? I don’t interrogate you every time you converse with Peter. In fact, it’s rather expected that Sirius and I speak to one another on occasion, considering the amount of time we all spend together thanks to you.”

You moved to grab another tuber from the jar, but James reached out and grabbed your hand, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were alight with frustration, a look you knew by heart thanks to the hours you’d spent tutoring him in History of Magic after he napped his way through the entire first semester. “Are you serious? You’re actually going with someone?”

“Please, Jamie, do enlighten me on whyever you think I couldn’t possibly get a date with my numerous and diverse charms,” you sniffed, hoping to Merlin that he would just leave the entire subject alone.

“No, it’s–” he groaned, leaning back in his seat. “The other boys, they don’t know how– you’re so, I mean, just look at you!” he exclaimed, gesturing at you. He stopped, frowning to himself, looking more confused than before. He glanced over at Lily, expression becoming even more muddled, brow furrowed and hard to read to anyone but you.

Your mouth parted in shock, and to your dismay you felt tears bubbling up again. You blinked fiercely, refusing to let him see you cry. James thought the issue was… your looks? You suddenly wanted to crawl under Slughorn’s desk and never come out again, except perhaps to find a shovel to dig your grave with. This was far, far worse than watching him transfigure chocolates for Lily every Valentine’s Day. Now you knew for a fact he didn’t find you attractive– thought other boys didn’t either, even! And the way he’d clearly mentally compared you to Lily after what he’d admitted… well. There was no recovering from that. Teenage boys could be dense, but Merlin, how you had wanted him to at least let you down gently.

You wished you’d never opened your mouth to lie about having a stupid date in the first place, but you forced yourself to laugh and mutter something trite about how that could all be fixed with a couple glamour charms anyway so it really wasn’t an issue for the party, thank you very much. He looked even more confused, opening his mouth to respond, but Snape chose that moment to interrupt.

“Hey, Potter!” James turned to scowl at the greasy Slytherin as you thanked your lucky stars for Snape’s interruption (a rather disturbing thought– potentially a harbinger of an imminent apocalypse. You’d never thanked Snape before in your life and hoped to never do it again). “Here’s payback for earlier,” he smirked, checking that Slughorn had dozed off and the other students weren’t paying attention before whipping a mottled yellow bottle at James.

James’ carefully honed Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he quickly dodged the object, but as the vial soared up, up, past your carefully diced tubers, over James’ messy notes, it hit your arms and shattered. You flinched in pain, crying out as the glass shards embedded themselves in your arm and the congealing, repulsive liquid dripped down your hands and onto your thighs. James lunged towards you, but it was too late– the potion had already seeped into your skin, causing an awful sparking sensation.

You gasped, grabbing onto the desk as the feeling bubbled upwards. “Jamie, I don’t– I don’t feel–” you stuttered, suddenly lightheaded, and you heard someone gasp as you began to taste something metallic. You absently touched your nose. Why was it so cold and wet? You had been so careful not to touch your face around those horrid tubers and oh, oh Merlin and Morgana what was that pain in your hands and legs, please no make it go away someone help me help me HELP

You vaguely registered someone whimpering in the background. It might have been you, but you weren’t entirely sure what was happening outside of the electric symphony of agony crescending in your nervous system. The pain built swirled flooded through until you weren’t sure where you ended and the potion began which was a funny thought because of course you were you, but you couldn’t remember who you were before this so you laughed but that really hurt, oh how that hurt no no no no no bad idea–

“Fuck– no–” James? Was he here too?

You blinked– when did your eyes open?– and saw him reach for you, frantically pushing his dark curls off his forehead. Why would he do that? You loved his hair, even when you were feeling funny awful things from the potion. You felt his arms scoop under you, lifting you off your seat as he caught your head from falling back. You heard a door slam open, footsteps, darkness clouding your vision–

His voice. “Sweetheart, no– don’t do that, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

You blinked again, trying to focus on James’ face. He looked pale, jaw set and tensed like it was before his Quidditch games. Were you moving? You couldn’t tell whether James was walking or the hallways were walking around you. He glanced down again, exhaling with relief once he saw whatever he was looking for. “Yeah, just like that. Keep those pretty eyes focused on me, okay?”

He thought your eyes were pretty?

James gave a tight laugh. “Yeah, I think your eyes are pretty, dove. Hold on a bit longer, we’re almost there,” he choked out.

Oh. Had you said that out loud?

But you thought– he had said something, before, you couldn’t remember now but it was important and it hurt–

Some part of you, deep where the potion hadn’t reached, had melted at his words. That part was tinged with pain, too, but in a different way, raw and honest and hopeful and all for him. Or maybe that was the potion, you were pretty sure witches weren’t supposed to melt unless they were green and lived somewhere much further west, but your thoughts on the whole process evaporated as you reached a white door and a woman and your words started to swirl until they melted too and everything went black.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl @lilly-aliyah @milivanili99 @stars-havefallen @spidergwnn @prongs-moon @joeytribbiani18 @yeahright0h @ronancebot @ropickle @regulusblacksposts @lovelywritersgarden @helloitsmeeeeeee @xobridgertonblues @azuredgalaxies

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#james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter x reader #sirius black #bisexual sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadowes #fem reader #fem!reader #best friends to lovers #marauders fic #marauders fanfiction #marauders x y/n #lily evans #harry potter #hp fandom

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strniohoeee · 5 months

Text

Mortified

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: This is pure self indulgence LMAOO. This is literally a dumb idea I had from the song Face Down, like idk Matt’s so shy like you just know he goes to POUNDTOWNNN🧎🏽‍♀️💍

Warnings⚠️: It’s suggestive they talk about sex, and sexual experiences, but there’s no actual sex happening in this one

Song for the imagine: Face Down-MCVERTT, A$AP Ferg, Sexyy Red

⚠️Suggestive, but not smut⚠️

Bend her over, make her scream

Pillow full of Maybelline

Give me rocks until the top, teach

Her how to make cream

Currently I was at the triplets house with Madi and Nate. We were all chilling in the living room telling embarrassing stories while we waited for Matt to come back from his meeting with dinner for us

“Okay most embarrassing high school experience” Nate asked us

“To be honest I don’t remember” Chris said

“I think the most embarrassing thing was having that fuck ass haircut” Nick said laughing

“I think everything I did in high school was embarrassing” Madi said

“Ouu embarrassing….hmm I think it was the time I asked out this “popular” guy infront of all his popular friends and he rejected me” I said laughing and covering my face in embarrassment

“In front of the whole squad?? You have some balls” Chris said laughing

“I don’t even know why I did it” I said shaking my head

We were telling each other more embarrassing stories until it suddenly became sexual.

“Craziest sex story” Madi asked us

“There was this one time this guy was fucking me while his sister was sleeping right infront of us” Nick said

“THE FUCK? Where were you” Nate asked him

“I was in his living room, and his sister was knocked out cold on the floor in front of us” Nick said laughing

“Are you sure she was sleeping?” I asked him laughing

“Yeah…she could’ve been awake but too scared to interrupt y’all” Madi said laughing

“No like she was knocked out…like snoring and everything” he said shrugging his shoulders

“So anyways poor girl, how about you Chris?” I asked

“Yoo there was this one time I was fucking this girl, and she asked to ride so I was aii bet. We switch she starts riding, and yoooo she was riding like I swore I was levitating, but anyways this girl suddenly spat on me” Chris said laughing

“SPAT ON YOU? Or in your mouth?” Nate asked him

“No like shawty spat on me, and smacked me across the face” he said

“And???” Madi asked him

“Oh I came so fucking hard….thats when I knew I liked that freaky shit” he said

“You sick fuck” Nick said laughing

“I’m sick? You let a guy fuck you while his sister slept in front of y’all” Chris said laughing

“Madi what’s yours?” I asked looking at her

“To be honest I haven’t had anything crazy, but one time this guy throat fucked me so hard the back of my throat got bruised and like started to bleed a little bit” she said casually

“That’s fucking crazy bitch I salute you because that’s fucking insane” I said laughing

“Bleeding throat is insane” Chris said

“Nate you go” Madi said nodding her head at him

“Mmm there was this one time I was having shower sex with this girl, and all of a sudden she flips me around pushes me against the wall and starts eating my ass” he said laughing so fucking hard

“Eating your ass is fucking crazy” I said

“No like honestly I was like uhhh…but then it felt so fucking good I was confused” he said shaking his head

“Nate likes getting his salad tossed” Nick said laughing

“It’s not a regular occurrence, but I often find myself thinking about her….might have to hit her up again” he said looking off into the distance

“That’s fucking crazy” Chris said laughing at him

“How about you Y/N?” Madi asked

“She’s dating Matt….do you think he’s really fucking her shit up” Nate said

“Honestly fair….like the fuck is his little shy ass doing” Chris said laughing

“You’d be surprised” I said shaking my head

“Well don’t just sit there TELL US” Nick said

“You want me to explain my sex life with your brother?” I looked at him bamboozled

“Not really, but for the sake of this conversation I’m all ears” he said laughing

“I have to demonstrate it because it was fucking insane” I said

“That fucking crazy?” Chris asked

“Dude yes” I said standing up

“Okay so he came to my house one day like all upset and shit, and he was like I need to fuck this out now, and so I was like okay period let’s go take it out on me. So he wastes no time. So anyways we’re past foreplay. He starts calling me all these dirty names, and he’s like smacking me-“ I was cut off

“Smacking you where?” Madi asks

“He was smacking my ass, my face my pussy the whole nine yards” I said

“OKAY WOAH WOAH” Chris said closing his eyes

“SORRY, so anyways he’s like open your mouth, so I do, and he spits down my throat, and whatever…alright so boom, oh by the way we’re in my kitchen and he like pushes me against my island, and starts going down on me like this motherfucker was going crazy I almost passed out so many times I had to stop him” I said

“What a fucking freak” Nate said

“Oh 100%, but anyways he comes back up and like lifts my left leg up, and starts fucking me, and my backs banging into the edge of island like I had a bruise that’s how hard he was going, so then boom he flips me around pushes me over the island lifts my right leg up and starts going crazy, and he’s like smacking me and pulling my hair so hard. I was crying from how good it was, and he was fucking me dumb like all that could be heard was-“ I said

“I’m waiting for the demonstration” Madi said

“Right let me show you” I responded

I bend forward and pretend to be getting fucked

“So picture this Im like this my right legs up, and he’s going to pound town….I was like uh,uh,uh,uh,uh,uh,uh” I said and then changed positions

I stood up pretending to be Matt, and holding the air and thrusting into it

“And he was like uh,uh,uh,uh,uh,uh,uh” I said pretending to be Matt

“And he’s like smacking me all crazy and shit, like dripping sweat all over me gripping my hair” I said to them

What we didn’t hear was Matt coming in the house and up the stairs….

“So we were like uh,uh,uh,uh,uh” I said pretending to fucking like Matt was

“And then-“ I was cut off by Madis face dropping and looking behind me, so I turned around to be met with a wide eyes Matt

“Oh uh hiiii” I said fully facing him

“What the fuck is going on” he said blushing

“Nothinggggg” I said smiling at him

“The fuck were you showing them?” He asked blinking at me

“She was showing us how you fucked her like an animal” Chris said

“Chris shut the fuck up” I said sucking my teeth at him

“Exposing our sex life” he said

“Well we were all telling stories and it was my turn, and they didn’t think you fucked good, so I was actually giving you a good rep” I said to him

“Right….” He said scratching his neck

“Who would’ve known Matt FUCKEDDDD” Nate said playfully hitting him

“Fuck off” he said laughing at him while blushing

“Look at Matt…he such a little freak” Chris said laughing at him

“Matt’s a great fuck” I said

“Babe STOP” he said covering my mouth

“It’s always the quiet ones” Nick said shaking his head

“It really is” I said laughing

“OKAY no more about our sex life” he said looking at me

“Sorry baby” I said laughing and grabbing his red cheeks

The End

This was such a dumb idea I had, but like I really wanted to write it LMAOOO😭😭 anywhooo hope yall enjoyed 🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplet smut #matthew sturniolo smut #smut #Spotify

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writella · 8 months

Text

Trinkets; The Gifts of Gold He Gave You

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

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

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

Trinkets moodboard & visualizer here!

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

A Bow from a Bowman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” You asked calmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turnpikes, Gunshots, and Dreams

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

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

You’d grit your teeth and get on regardless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Flying Away With You

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bet you could.” He meant it.

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

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

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

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

Trinket No. 4: The Flower and the Photograph 𓇢𓆸

Back Pocket Memory

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pretty girl.

Handsome man.

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

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

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

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

“Daryl,” you whine.

He says it straight this time, “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never Fade Away

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh somberly, “You didn’t?”

“Didn’t see you in the window.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Definitely a chick’s.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is the only me you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” He wipes his nose.

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

His snorts, “I’m not doin’ that.”

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

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

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

He nods, “Okay.”

“Promise?” You sing.

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

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

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

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

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

You agree, never fade away, please.

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

You wished for each other.

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

The Things I Only Trust You to Know

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

He saw you crying.

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

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

“Don’t gotta be.”

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

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

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

“Just say it,” he said calmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then you’re wrong.”

You shake your head.

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

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

He nods.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I was.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He plays with your hair again, both your smiles are so innocent and lazy, you two would knock out soon, but it was nice to talk about something that used to be mundane for a moment.

“What if we do it and it turns out bad?”

“We’re not gonna find it tomorrow.”

“Right,” you say, moving on. “You know… I remember I used to be so scared of that stuff— needles and blood. I can imagine wincing just thinking about a needle touching me at the doctor’s… But now, I think that’s a pain I’d actually prefer… Rather than the other things we’ve gone through… If there ever was a choice like that.”

He agrees, “If there was a choice, I’d be covered by now.”

You two laugh at that, letting go of each other. Your bodies are on your sides, parallel to one another as you lay down. You’re on the side that faces the window and Daryl’s back is to it. He sees the moonlight illuminate your face because of it, the glow makes you look enchanting.

He wonders if you would get one— a tattoo, or another one, of this: of the moon; of the night where you showed each other parts of your bodies you wanted to hide, thinking they were flaws; of the night where you accepted each other fully despite it. Where he laughed and felt happy even after he shared something so dark. He almost never laughs or feels happiness in its totality, but with you, he does. It happened right now as he’s looking at you.

You see his face glistening in tandem with the white light that shines on you, it’s darker, but it’s still there. You were wondering the same exact thing.

Your eyes feel heavy now. They slowly flutter shut, but you try to keep them open. You don’t want him to leave. But he sees that your face dozing off, you’re tired, your eyes keep trying to close and close fully. He quietly gets up to go, but you stop him. Holding onto his forearm, sliding down to his hand. “Just stay,” you murmur, “please,” it’s light and dream-like. So he does. He doesn’t want to let go of your hand. He doesn’t want to let go of you.

You both stay at your sides, your intertwined hands at the center. He continues to look at you and you smile softly as your body finally allows your eyes to close shut. You drift swiftly to sleep. And he stays awake for a while longer, fixed on you and your slowing breath until sleep finds him too.

Daryl being right there, and you being right next to him, made everything infinitely better.

Despite it being vague on details, feel free to skip around areas of this one if you are not comfortable with reading about the reader being imprisoned at the Sanctuary.

Trinkets No. 7 & 8: The Second Ribbon and the First Kiss ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ જ⁀➴ -`♥︎´-

Confessions From a Broken Bowman and a Battered Beaut

It had taken a long while for you and Daryl to talk again after you escaped the Sanctuary.

The last time he saw you was through your tears as Negan’s men threw him in a van, your eyes bloodshot, wanting to scream and plead. He felt it was his fault that he didn’t fight harder; he felt that it was his fault that you were in there for so long; felt it was his fault that you were taken there in the first place. He couldn’t save Glenn— a burden he still carried so deeply, even after talking to Maggie— and that led to not being able to save you. He felt like he left you, not knowing you would have been in the same place he was if he didn’t escape before you got there. But what choice did he have? He didn’t know. And he doesn’t even know if it’s a good or bad thing to admit that in a heart beat, he would take another day of torture, of abuse and pain, if it meant he was with you, and you could make it out together. One more day for him would have been worth your days only adding up to one hand if it could. It would have been better than just waiting for you on the other side. Having to hide just so Negan wouldn’t find him and kill him and more of his friends because of it.

And even worse, what if he threatened Daryl with you instead? Especially since you were still there, with him. That’s part of the reason why Daryl wanted to blow up the Sanctuary. It would have just been one side. Just enough to cause the chaos you needed to run away from your captures and back home. You were fast enough, he knows you are, and you must have known all the exits by now. He tried to convince himself of it. Rick told him it was a bad idea, dangerous to do that to the workers, and most importantly to you— it too many what ifs if it didn’t work out— but what else was he supposed to do? He needed you out, and the Saviors to be gone. It felt like the only choice.

But then, Daryl saw your face. You got out, you didn’t need another fire. It must have been their first attack against the Sanctuary that helped.

Your breathing was so heavy when you finally stopped, you were running so fast, there were patches of dirt all over you, sweat dripping from your neck. It must have been fate that he, Tara, Micchone, and Rosita were right there on the other side, ironically trying to go back to the place you just escaped from.

All their guns were pointed in your direction. They heard the gunshots, they heard someone running. They instantly dropped everything when they saw that it was you.

It felt like the world turned in its full rotation in seconds, coming into a halt all in this moment. The woods, the running, the chance encounter— him; it’s like you were brought right back to the start.

He was speechless, stunned in a way he didn’t expect, mouth agape and yours the same. You didn’t know what to say and he didn’t know how to apologize in the way he felt he should, so you both just stood there. Tears started to well in your eyes. All he did in the end was look down.

This exchange of stares happened only in a mere matter of seconds until Rosita brought you in for a hug, cursing leaving even though she knew you didn’t have a choice, being so happy you were back, but for you it felt agonizingly long.

And for Daryl, it all felt endlessly hopeless. The reality that his plan probably could, or most definitely would have killed you sunk in. He was stupid for thinking that it could work. And seeing you in that wife's dress? A black bow tied to the back of your head? It was unbearable. He hates that he found it hard to even look at you.

The two other women welcomed you back, Michonne even looked teary eyed. The sight made some of your own tears fall because of it. She took you by the shoulder and Rosita took your waist, guiding you to the trunk. Tara went back near Daryl, she wanted to ask if their new plan at the Sanctuary was still a go but waited when she noticed Rosita sent a glare Daryl’s way. It honestly did more to Tara than Daryl. He didn’t even bother meeting her face, he was already punching himself for his silence, for his inaction. He just got in the driver’s seat and took off.

After that, you watched him, waiting to see when his eyes would finally meet yours, but he tried to avoid them as much as he could. The only time he spoke to you was to ask if you were okay when Alexandria fell and you were all in the sewers, and when he entrusted you to take care of Judith as he guided everyone to the Hilltop afterwards.

This treatment was excruciating, but you said nothing. You didn’t feel like yelling at him, you just wanted him. And there was no time between when you came back to right now when you could speak alone anyway if you did want to yell. If you asked why he probably would just shoved you off and you’d get more sad and upset than you already were, or maybe you’d pester, demanding some kind of answer and he'd be the one that might yell… no reason to fight in front of people, especially since there are so many other things to worry about.

But you remember when you finally got to the Hilltop, and how you saw the way he embraced Carol almost right after he saw her. You weren’t upset about that specifically. You admired Carol, even if you didn’t get to know her that well yet. You knew they loved each other, you thought they had a beautiful relationship… It wasn’t that. It was the fact that you fought all the way to get back to your family, to him, and it felt like it was all just so he could act like a stranger again. He didn’t even say hello when he saw you, or ask how you got out, or that he missed you. Maybe he didn’t. That was the real reason you said nothing. The thought broke your heart.

You could at least say that Negan talked to you, and didn’t keep all his feelings inside– whether they were real or not, you were only half sure somtimes– but your time at the Sanctuary, becoming a soon-to-be-wife, it was a hardship only you endured. No one would understand the humor of that sick joke, and it especially wasn’t the time nor would it ever be when everyone hated him and wanted to kill him so desperately.

The next day came by, you all prepared for the Saviors to attack at Hilltop. You were on a break, sitting in the cellar. It was dark, but it helped relieve you from the incessant heat that beamed outside.

Daryl was looking for you. This happened to be the third place he went around. He had just spoke to Rick, apologized for their fight. He felt awful that it took until after Carl passed for them to talk about it, and that his passing made Rick start to believe all the killing might be the only option like Daryl believed before. He still wasn’t sure what he felt now. All he knew is he couldn’t let you two go on like this any longer. It was time to talk to you.

As he opened the cellar door he kept it slightly open, letting the light emanate through.

He sits down next to you, bringing his knees up as he usually does. You don’t bother looking at him. Maybe he would just ask you to do him a favor like last time.

There is silence for a moment. He doesn’t know where to begin. All he decides to say is, “You got Judith here safe, I made sure Rick knew. Thank you.”

“You’re the one who led us here.” Your voice says quietly.

“You helped chop a lot of those walkers down in the swap.”

You sigh, not answering him right away. “This isn’t a competition.”

“I know,” he mutters.

Silence is all that hangs in the air again. With each second that passes it makes your throat swell, bubbling up to your tongue and brain as it usually does until you’re trying to hold back tears.

Daryl was feeling similarly. All his words were caught in his throat too, wanting to be said out loud but he can’t, it’s like someone is squeezing and choking him right there. And he can see your teary eyes, it could almost make his eyes match.

He says your name low and slow, “Do you hate me?”

You’re stunned at the thought. Your words are hushed but vehement, “How could you ever think I’d hate you?”

“I left you-”

“You didn’t know.”

“I could’ve fought harder when they put me in that van, you grabbed onto me and I still let them take me—”

You speak in between his words, “Why are you acting like you had a choice?!”

“—I could’ve went back right after they told me that’s where you were. Not leave you! I coulda done that.”

You shake your head, your voice a sharp whisper, “If you tried either of those things you would have been dead. Everything would be worse and this probably still would have happened.”

“I could’ve done something,” is all he repeats. Quietness fills the space again. You’re never going to agree on this. He’s stuck on what happened and you’re upset about what’s happening.

You breathe in shakily. He’s still finding it hard to look and it hurts, it makes you sad and angry.

Your voice becomes stifled, almost weepingly as you ask, “Daryl… Why can’t you even look at me? Why have you barely talked to me since I came back?”

His voice raises strainingly, “Cause I left you.”

Your voice cries as your head shakes again slowly, “You didn’t leave me, they took me. You left me now.” That makes him turn. You see his eyes, they’re puffed and the whites of his eyes are a faint red, and yours are still watery. “It’s not your fault.”

The backs of your fingertips brush against his cheek, feeling the bristles of his beard and you go down further, continuing to shake your head sadly, moving back to your face to wipe your own tears.

“Did they put you in that cell? Take your stuff?”

“Only the first time I came there. And then the two other times I tried to escape. After that I was sent to sleep with the other girls.” Your voice is quiet, “I don’t think it was the same for me like it was for you.”

“Did he,” he almost can't say it, “Did he hurt you?”

You knew what he meant. All you could do was shake your head slowly, it was a gesture of no.

He nods, his mouth fixed. Some relief is finally released from that, but this doesn’t change anything. They still took you away, they probably put you in a cell, they don’t deserve mercy. He wants to tell you that you all are still going to kill Negan and how he still plans on killing Dwight, but he holds his tongue. This wasn’t what being with you was about right now. His mind races with plans, just thinking of how to get close to them, how to commit the final act, until you speak, reading is mind again.

“I-” you stutter ashamedly, “I think- I know that my time in there has changed me and maybe I see things differently or know more than I used to but… it doesn’t change that I’m with you. I never let that go.” You whimper, “It just hurt when you didn’t say anything to me. Like you were disgusted by me.” You can’t help the string of sobs that come out.

“No,” Daryl holds your face close to his. The bottom of his palm reaching your neck, his fingertips extending over your cheeks, his thumb caressing over the area under and behind your ears. “I fucked up. I was going to try to blow up a part of the Sanctuary… even before I knew you got out… If you got hurt that would have been my fault. That would have been on me. I’d never see you again- Would’ve hated myself.” His voice hitches, it’s rasp so coarse and grating.

You hug him instantly. Your hands go under his arms and one of his goes in your hair, holding your head so tightly as it presses into his shoulder. He cries, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop” You breathe him in, “It’s okay.”

“It aint.”

“It doesn’t matter now.“ You wait a moment, telling him quietly into his neck, “I only want to be with you.”

“And what if it goes bad? What if I hurt you again?”

“We’re going to hurt each other, Daryl. What matters is we try and we stay. That’s it.”

He faces you now. His nose brushes against yours, your foreheads connect, it makes your eyes flutter shut. Your tears are drying the longer he holds you like that and everything feels so warm. Your heart, your brain, your cheeks and his fingertips against them. It makes you feel it again, that fearlessness— you kiss him. Gently touching his jaw, your chin moves upwards, your mouths opens, your lips twist so softly with his, you already can’t breathe, and then you let go.

As he looks at your face, he smiles, realizing he’s seeing the girl he used to know again. His sunshine girl with the stars in her eyes. They’re shining up, still half sad and glossy, but the bright lights are slowly coming back on. His dream is back. She’s real. You’re real. You’re trying, you’re staying, so will he.

He takes your neck and kisses you this time. His tongue slips in, you’re so surprised, you gasp into his mouth. It makes you both smile into the kiss. You come closer and he helps you into his lap, allowing you to lean in. His hands go to your waist and yours to his shoulders. Then one of his hands runs up to your hair and your opposite hand does the same to him. You want to touch each other everywhere now.

Then he feels the ribbon, the black one. It makes him stop.

You’re worried, “What happened?”

He holds the piece of hair that the ribbon is secured to, it’s only a little part, the rest of your hair is down, and he undoes the bow, discarding it to the ground. Your hair falls messily over your ears and down your neck. “You don’t need that anymore.”

Daryl pushes your hips and you sit on the floor again. He’s reaching in his pocket, and you can’t believe it, it’s another one. A dark ruby, maybe a silky burgundy one it was in color— it was another ribbon.

“How long have you had that?”

“Since I found the other one.” He shrugs, “I thought the first one was better.” This one had fraying on one end, unraveling just a bit.

You would have said that you could sew it later, but you didn’t, you said only what mattered: “It’s perfect.”

Daryl doesn’t argue. This is him trying, he takes the win.

He doesn’t know how to put it nicely in your hair, how you do it with the different styles, so he just wraps all of your hair in a ponytail, just like last time, tying it into a bow.

It feels like a gift, not just because he gave it to you and not because it looks like a decoration on top of one, but it is all of it— this moment, the conversation— it all feels like breathing new life into something you worried might be slowly withering and dying. You exhale, it felt so nice to feel him so close, to feel his fingers run through your hair, to feel his breath on your skin.

“Think maybe this suits you better now,” he says, and maybe it always has.

He leans back against the wall and you lay your head and back in the crux of his knees and chest. You look up into his eyes and he does the same right down at you. There was more work to be done, more fighting to endure, but for now, you lay there as if you were the only two in the world. In a moment of sweet understanding; in a moment of love. You could finally admit it to yourself now, you were absolutely and monumentally in love.

… I could go on forever ♡ perhaps this can be a mini-series where I post one when I think of another and you can feel free to request a trinket you think Daryl would give the reader and I’ll post it and respond or even write a blurb for it and add it to the list if it’s a good fit! Thank you for reading. ⋆｡°✩

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x fem!reader #daryl dixon x female reader #the walking dead #the walking dead fluff #twd fanfiction #twd fluff #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #writella’s sfw section

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vidavalor · 5 months

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Hi! I loooove your blog. What's an underrated GO moment that you like?

Hi! Thank you. :) Nice to meet you. I have green tea and raspberry scones for snacks today as I just got back from the bakery. *sets up plates*

You know what little scene I love? I love the bit where Shax comes to the bookshop when Aziraphale is in Edinburgh and, in the middle of threatening Crowley, asks him how to fix the hot water boiler in the apartment. It's a little moment and funny in your first pass watching it but it plays even better on rewatch and once you think about it a little beyond just the initial laugh.

In the attack on the bookshop, we see that Shax is one of those demons that is like the angels in that she thinks of food as human and beneath her. She makes fun of Aziraphale for his human hungers-- for food, for Crowley (who isn't in the bookshop when she's saying this stuff.) So, she's not exactly teaching herself to become a gourmet chef in that apartment now that she's on Earth. She doesn't cook and she doesn't do dishes, really, but... she needs the hot water working badly enough that she's willing to swallow her pride and ask Crowley for help in fixing it, which means her human indulgences are hot showers and honestly? If I'd spent millennia in Hell and got to escape to Crowley's place in Mayfair, you couldn't drag me for a hundred years from whatever tropical rainforest paradise shower Crowley had in that place lol so I can't really blame her. Not to mention that there's not exactly a lot of privacy in Hell, if ya feel me? A lady demon who has finally escaped topside of the fiery pits of Hell might be reluctant to admit it but she might have found one or two things about having a human corporation are not completely horrible... maybe so not completely horrible enough that she's desperate enough to go to the being who has not taught her what Google is for his own amusement for assistance with getting that hot water boiler operational again as soon as is demonically possible lol. (Crowley's canonically excellent taste in showerheads is absolutely the most top of mind meta you're going to find today, I know lol.)

Anyway, this means that Shax interrupted Crowley's afternoon of Operation Lovebirds: Shop Lesbian Vavoom to ask him to make it rain for her in the apartment.

He really hasn't done this much weather in ages.

It's also funny to me that the hot water boiler has rebelled against Shax by giving her two yellow lights (Crowley's eyes) and the solution for it, according to black-clad, silver necklace Crowley, is to turn a black tab on a silver loop. Whether Crowley's apartment is just in revolt against Shax or whether we're poking fun at the fact that Shax appears to have a little thing for Crowley or both, it's amusing.

Not to mention that Crowley's little lesson in locating the "hot water boiler tab" involves finger movements the likes of which have never been used to fix a hot water boiler in all our days lol. Crowley's a free-thinking Cupid. You gotta vavoom with your own damn self sometimes-- he gets it, girl. He's all the flavors of Baskin Robbins, Shax, and he's been on Earth for ages. He knows what he's doing. Take notes lol. If you find the black tab on the silver loop, it'll turn the hot water back on and then if you follow his non-verbal instructions here...

Besides the humor, though, this little moment is also happening in the segment of the story in which Crowley and Gabriel have been puzzling out the origins of gravity together. The heaviness of watching Crowley unable to remember building the universe is balanced a bit here, when they remind us through this scene in which he appears to be explaining something he built to fix his problematic hot water boiler that his curiosity and his need to take things apart to see how they work are not things that can be taken from him and that he rebuilds by literally rebuilding things.

(Aziraphale, we all know you've been breaking things around the bookshop for the last two hundred years and then calling Crowley and telling him that you couldn't possibly use another frivolous miracle to fix it or Gabriel will send you another strongly-worded note and would he please come over... and yes, it is a pipe under the sink again, how did he know? lol)

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziracrow #shax #shax good omens

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spinningwebsandtales · 10 months

Text

Imagine Taking A Relaxing Bath With Yami

Yami Sukehiro X FemReader

Rating: T+

Warnings: Suggestive themes, mentions of nudity, flirting, and I believe Yami is a warning in himself

Word Count: 1k

(A/N:) Oh my gosh y’all! The Black Clover movie is sooooo good! It made me realize how much I miss the anime! I’m keeping up with the manga and reading the chapters as they are released but man there are so many things I want to see come to life! Hey Black Clover studio new season when?! Anyway my magical husband is back (he needed more scenes but honestly I can’t get enough Yami anyway) and I need some self-indulgence stuff! XD So bear with me as I go insane! ~Countess

The Black Bulls had been your home for awhile now and you had seen many battles. Some tough. Some easy. The other members felt like family and you grew closer to each and every one of them every single day. Yami was a different story as you were in a relationship with the dark haired captain. While he seemed rough and crude, he was actually a caring man that showed how much he cared in different ways. He always seemed to in tune to your needs or how you were feeling. While he wasn’t much into PDA, in private he made sure to make up for it tenfold. You couldn’t complain about your life and you enjoyed all that being a magic knight had to offer. But it wasn’t easy all the time. Missions were rough and you did get hurt several times. It was the aches the next day that had you trying to rest to get well enough before the next mission.

Your body was covered in scratches and bruises were beginning to mar your skin. Yami had been out the majority of the day as he had a meeting with the wizard king. He took the loudest Black Bull members with him as well, leaving the base quiet enough that you could get some much needed rest.

Night was covering the sky and still Yami had yet to return. At first you had been concerned that he was hurt or finding the company of other women. But you were quick to find out Yami was strong and not that type of man. Though he did enjoy gambling too much and if you went to look for him, you normally found him gambling all his earnings and then some, away in some seedy tavern. So instead of worrying, you decided to ease the aches by taking a much needed hot bath. Grabbing the few supplies you kept for your personal use, you went to the bathing room of the base. There was two different areas, one for the women and one for the men. Naturally you went into the women’s bath and the steam that greeted you had you relaxing just from the feel alone.

All the tension melted away as soon as you hit the hot water and in mere seconds you were submerged up to your neck. You hummed softly stretching your joints and wiggling your digits in the water. You hadn’t been soaking long when the door opened. You weren’t facing the doorway and you couldn’t really see due to the heavy fog of steam, so the only option was to call out the name of the person you thought it could be.

“Vanessa?”

The clack of a wooden tub and a rough chuckle split the air, “Not even close sweetheart.”

You couldn’t get turned around before Yami was kissing the back of your neck. His large hand keeping your hair out of the way of his affections.

“Yami,” you whimpered.

“Mmmm?”

“This is the women’s bath you perv.”

Yami only chuckled and you braved turning around. Relief flooded you at seeing he was a little decent with the loincloth still wrapped around him. Though it made you realize your situation as you were naked as the day you were born. While he was occupied you grabbed the towel you’d brought to dry off with and wrapped yourself in it, to save a little bit of your womanly modesty. Yami had rinsed himself off and didn’t take long on getting in himself. Like you he was tired and sore and the hot water was doing wonders for his body. While you were happy to see him you stayed on the far side of the bath giving him enough space. Yami didn’t like you so far away, so while you were occupied lathering a cloth with soap he made his move. You squeaked when you felt his large hands grasp your waist and unceremoniously plopped you into his lap with a splash. You fought causing water to go over the edge of the tub, but Yami held firm refusing to let you go.

“Do your thing I’m not even here,” he grinned before nibbling at your bare shoulder.

“It sure feels like you’re here,” you retorted.

You couldn’t be mad at him though as you felt safe in his arms while the warmth of the water seeped into your bones. Yami continued to kiss you while watching you scrub at your arms and legs, getting yourself clean. You rinsed off, splashing Yami a little in the process. You were about to get up when he opened the back of your towel. Before you could protest he shushed you quickly, taking the cloth you had used and started to wash your back. You melted into his touch as he got where you couldn’t reach. His fingertips blazing a trail down your spine, you shivered despite the heat. When he was done, Yami spun you around so you could face him. Your towel barely holding up as you kept a hand pressed to your chest. His warm gaze lingered on your lips before he leaned in and took your mouth. You moaned loudly, clinging onto the giant of a man that you called yours. Your senses filled with Yami. His touch, his breath, his skin, everything. You begin to lose where you ended and he started as he starved for your taste. The water suddenly became too hot and you couldn’t take it much longer. Yami sensed your desperation and pulled away. He chuckled at your dazed look while helping lift you from the water. He got you a dry towel and turned away, leaving you to change into something decent. When you were done, Yami had changed into a fresh pair of sleep pants. He took your hand, leading you out of the room and towards your and his shared bedroom. Your aches had finally left your body and you were ready to go back to work. Though you were sure you were going to need another bath to ease yourself of the pains if Yami had his way tonight. There was a high chance he would get what he wanted, as you couldn’t say no to your beloved captain.

#Yami Sukehiro X Reader #Yami Sukehiro / Reader #Yami Sukehiro #Black Clover #Yami Sukehiro Imagine #Black Clover Imagine #Imagine #Not My Gif #My Writing

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viperrot · 1 year

Text

⇁high school sweethearts | leon kennedy | pt. 1

resident evil 4 remake leon s. kennedy x fem!band-student!reader high school au

there's a new guy in town, and he's pretty damn cute. too bad he hates your brother, though.

content contains: mild angst, enemies to lovers, tbh? mean leon, cliches, minor religious/christian themes, story is told in first person, reader is a bit shy and is an oboe and trumpet player!, leon and reader are in their juniour year, fictional town set around 1980!

3037 words

song rec: "kutsuro gish" by hiroshi takaki

pt. 2

what's this? the blossoming of a series? yes, yes it is! very self-indulgent. i love tropes like this so much. enjoy some mean leon content and a sweet enemies-to-lovers concept, little dove :]

Life in Everglade is... interesting, to say the least. Actually, it was extremely cliché here. Every Sunday and Wednesday, people would go to church, every Friday night was a football game, and the rest of the days were just busy nonsense. The people here rarely ever leave town, and people never really come in. It's been like this for years.

Until recently.

This fall, a handful of strangers tumbled into the little town of Everglade, proud home of the Everglade Ravens. Lucky for me, they even moved in across the street.

From my little window nook, I watch a dingy U-Haul pull up into the driveway across the street, and out comes four people. The first is a man that looks to be in his mid forties, dressed in khakis and a navy polo. Next is a little girl, who looks like a middle schooler. She's got a long skirt on and a flannel sweater, coloured with warm red and browns. After her is what I assume is an elder sister, but she doesn't look much older than the little one.. She's dressed in messy, paint-stained jeans, a black tank-top, and a pink windbreaker jacket to top it all off. She's the only brunette one out of the blonde family so far.

Then comes out the son.

Dragging himself out of the passenger seat was the most dashing boy I've ever seen. The smile he gives his sisters make my heart race—it honestly put Danny Zuko's smile to shame, and I love Grease! His blonde hair is parted to the side, hiding his eyes a bit. He's dressed up in blue jeans that grip around his thighs perfectly, a black t-shirt, and a navy-blue bomber jacket that had the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. From my spot at the window, I couldn't help but ogle. The mystery family all gathered around the front door of their new home to get a good look of the inside, and I couldn't help but keep my attention on the only son of the family. I noticed how their was no mother to be seen...

"Hey, thumper," a voice calls out from the door of my room. I tear my eyes away from the window to see my father, leaning against the frame of my door with his arms crossed. "He's been calling me thumper ever since I was little, seeing as how I stomp my foot when I laugh.

"Hey, pops! What's up?" I cock my head to the side questioningly.

"Mom's done with dinner. Meet ya downstairs, or are you gunna keep 'practicin''?" He smirks teasingly, looking at my unused oboe on the foot of my bed. I blush, rolling my eyes.

"I'll be down there... and I was practicing, thank you very much!" I huff. Dad just laughs at me and waves his hand, mumbling about how he'll see me at the dinner table. With that, I get up to collect myself. I take a quick look out the window one more time just to see if the boy next door was still outside, but the front door was shut tight.

I stumble down the stairs, my bunny slippers skidding down the steps as the smell of baked chicken filled my nostrils. Upon entering the dining room, I see my dad at the head of the table accompanied by my mom and my older brother, Damien, who sighs at the sight of me.

"Finally, you're here," Damien huffs. "Can you sit down now? I'm fuckin' hungry," he stretches his hand out to me so I can sit down and say grace with everyone. My dad throws a pen from his breast-pocket at my dumb brother, telling him to watch his language.

I sit at the other end across from Damien to avoid saying grace with him, holding hands instead with Mom and Dad with my head bowed down.

"Ahem... Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen," my mother says. Immediately after the prayer, Damien scarfs down the first piece of chicken he can get his hands on. I pick at some au gratin while my parents converse and scold Dami for being such a disgusting eater. I clear my throat to catch my parents' attention when they grow silent.

"So... uhm... There's new people across the street. Do you maybe... know about them?" I ask, giving my parents side glances. Mom shakes her head as a no, and before Dad can say anything, Damien coughs up a response.

"That punk Leon's the ace player from Greensmell's soccer team!" My older brother snorts, seemingly a bit angry.

So his name's Leon...

What Damien meant to say was Greenvale, which is a town over. They're probably Everglade High School's biggest rival in ever aspect—academics, sports, and even parties (apparently, I wouldn't know). The only thing I can confidently say they're bad at is marching. Their band is horrendous.

"Seriously?" I cringe at the information. "What are they doing here...?" I wonder under my breath.

"Probably got so embarrassed we beat 'em at state champ this year, the wimp probably got kicked out and thrown into Everglade!" Damien shouts with a mouthful of rice. I cringe at the sight, looking back down at my untouched au gratin.

"Cool, cool..." I mumble. "Uh... can I be excused? M'not really hungry," I ask Dad. He nods, going back to his food. Wordlessly, I take my plate to the kitchen to clean it up. As I wash dishes, I stare out the window blankly, eyes set on the house across the street. No one was out still.

I decide it's best to just go to bed after washing dishes, putting my oboe back in its case and setting it next to my backpack. I flop into my bed, part of me hoping to see this Leon guy again soon...

I hate gossip.

I can never tell if people are talking about me, the people around me, or to me. As I walk the halls of Everglade High School, oboe and trumpet cases held tight in my hands, I hear the little murmurs of the cliques of the school. Punks mumbling, girl's that try too hard to look like Sandra Dee whispering behind their palms, and some jocks laughing loudly about Leon.

Wait, Leon?

My converse-clad feet are walking through the hall faster now. As I bump past a bunch of students, I speed my way down to the lunch room, needing to see my friends as soon as possible. Luckily, one of them sticks out like a sore thumb today. Sporting a red blazer, blue flannel tennis skirt, and black socks, I see Samantha Grey in all her glory sitting on top of our usual table, talking to a few of our little group. I stomp up to her, the charms on my instrument cases clinking softly with each step.

"Sammy!" I whisper-yell. Her brown eyes immediately look over to my position in front of her, her black hair swaying.

"Hey, sweet pea~!" She coos happily, a big smile painting her face as she gets down from the tabletop to give me a hug. "Glad you aren't too late. Me 'n' the girls were just talkin' about the new hunk in town," she pinches my cheek before helping me set my cases down on the table. I sit next to her, getting settled.

"Hunk? What's this about?" I stare, acting like I didn't know who they were chittering about. Across from Sammy and me is Lucy Brail and Patti James, who I've known since diapers along with Samantha. Lucy is the first to speak up, clearly excited to talk about Leon.

"This stud just moved into town yesterday! Apparently, he's got two little sisters at the middle school, 'n all the boys here have been howlin' about how he probably got kicked outta the Greenvale soccer team after losing nationals this year!" She says with a grin that reaches her ears. My eyebrows knit together at the information that I had heard the night before.

"You call almost every meathead here a stud, Lucy," I chuckle. She gives me a weird look before scoffing.

"This one's different, sweet pea," Sammy jabs me in the side softly, and I yelp. "He's got this look in his eyes that just scream at me like he wants me!" She sighs dreamily.

"Are you sure it wasn't his pecs you were lookin' at?" I click my tongue. Another jab to the side, and it hurts a little more than the last. I roll my eyes.

"Whatever, I'm sure he's just like the oth-"

"Oh! Oh!! There he is, sweet pea, look!" Sammy grabs me by the jaw to turn my sights to the new guy.

There he is...

Across the lunch hall is Leon, dressed all pretty in a forest green letterman jacket with his initials on the right bicep. There's a few patches from some bands he likes and a big ole "11" on the back of it with "Greenvale" above it. He's still in tight jeans, but they're black this time, as well as his t-shirt beneath the well-worn coat.

"He's got some nerve wearin' that here," Patti mutters. We all hum in agreement as we watch him saunter over to the lunch line to get a carton of strawberry milk.

"Ain't he just a dream~?" Sammy breathes out. Lucy's got this blush that could be seen from Mars, and I swear that Patti's mouth is gunna get dry with how much she's drooling. My gaze is trained on the back of Leon's head, looking at how well-trimmed his hair is.

"He's... he is pretty cute," I mumble, jaw hurting a bit with how tight my best friend was gripping onto it. I hear her giggle.

"Don't get sweet on him now, thumper!" She reminds me, using that silly nickname. “God knows your brother would tear you a new one if he found out you wanted to get a piece of Leon Scott Kennedy," she lets go of my jaw, and I roll my eyes.

"M'not sweet on anyone, Sam," I grumble. Lucy giggles, twirling a strand of her blonde curls in her fingers.

"Isn't he right next to your house, (y/n)?" She asks me. I nod.

"Yeah, actually... How did you know?"

"Oh, sweet pea?! Please, please, please tell me you gotta good view of him from your room! If so, I'm comin' over every weekend!!!" Samantha begs, shaking me by the shoulder.

"H-hey, quit it! I dunno if he's gunna be upstairs or not, and that's c-creepy!" I gasp as she shook me. Lucy and Patti laugh as I get thrashed around. From the corner of my eye, I see Leon get closer. He's got a mean look in his eyes, like he's ready to bite someone if they get near him.

I guess he's trying to protect his peace...

The girls grow silent as he walks past our table, not showing any mind to how noisy we are. They all watch Leon like dogs to a bone when he scoots past us, tossing his milk carton in the air like he hasn't a single worry in the world. When he's gone, it's like we can all breathe again.

"Oh lord, he even smells good," Patti fans herself, a blush covering up her little freckles. Sammy grins in agreement, clearly happy that she got to see the new guy so close. I stick my tongue out in disgust.

“You guys are so gross…”

“Everyone, please welcome our new student,” Mrs. Bradshaw, the advanced chemistry teacher here at Everglade High, drones, motioning her hand to Leon near the back of the class.

And also next to me.

The blonde boy stands up, puffing up his chest a little.

“Name’s Leon Kennedy. Nice to meet you,” he says curtly before sitting right back down. Everyone’s giving him looks ranging from “I wanna rip his throat out” to “I want to kiss him behind the bleachers”, and it’s clear that he doesn’t care about it either. Mrs. Bradshaw clears her throat to stop annoying students from whispering.

“Now, let’s get started on our calorimetry unit. To begin…” The old hag’s words begin to go process in my brain as I get to writing notes. At times, I look at Leon from the corner of my eyes.

He’s writing on a piece of paper instead of a notebook, his blue ballpoint pen scraping against the surface as he messily jots down his notes. I’m pleasantly surprised to see that he actually cares about his education! I can see Leon’s tongue poking out between his plump lips, and I can’t help but stare a little. He doesn’t seem to notice me, until he looks up to check the blackboard up front.

Leon’s blue eyes set their sights on me, locking with mine. Quickly, I avert my gaze back to my notebook, trying my best to act like I was still writing notes. I hear him laugh a little next to me, but I make no effort to speak up.

When the class ends, and the bell for the next period rings, I gather my things to head off to the band room. Backpack slugged over my shoulders, I’m getting ready to pick up my trumpet and oboe case before someone else grabs of for me. Big, veiny hands take the cases by the leather handle, lifting it before my eyes. I look up to see Leon with a devilish smile.

“Caught you staring at me. Mind if I walk with you?” He says confidently. I’m a bit taken aback by his attitude, but I nod nonetheless. I’ve never really had a boy offer to walk me to class other than Damien…

“I can hold my-“

“Nah, don’t worry bout it. I carry my sister’s euphonium all the time,” he chuckles, his shoulders shaking a little as he does. I blush, not expecting him to even know what a euphonium is. So, he’s cute AND he knows the difference between a tuba and a euphonium..

“Are you sure? I-I mean, I don’t want it to be a hass-“

“Don’t worrrrryy,” he exaggerates. “Where are you headed? This is my study hall period, so I got time,” he grins.

“Uh… the band room. A-and thanks,” I tell him, nervously fiddling with my fingers. We walk out of the science lab together, me trailing slightly behind him as we walk.

“So, I’m guessing you and your little posse this morning was talking about me?” He asks, and I feel the blood rush up to my face.

Samantha and her big ole mouth…!

“Y-yeah…” I stammer, unsure of what to say. “Sorry about that… It’s just… we never really have any newcomers here, so the girls were just excited,” I bite my lip. I can feel the stares of people around us in the halls. Whether it’s out of jealousy towards me or hate for him, I’ve no clue.

“I see,” Leon hums. “It was kinda funny, so don’t apologize.” He says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. His fingers are gripping the handle of my cases tight enough to make his veins bulge a little, and I can’t help but stare. After our small talk, it’s quiet, and when we make it to the band room, we stop next to the door so he can give me back my things. As Leon hands over my instruments, footsteps thunder toward our position.

“You know, I thought it was just some sick joke hearing about my lil sister hangin’ around you, but I see that the rumours are true,” Damien growls, walking towards Leon and me slowly with his hands in the pockets of his black letterman. The blonde boy in front of me is still holding my oboe case as he looks at my older brother with an unamused stare.

“Well, had I known she was related to you, I would have never offered to carry her junk,” the ace smiled. I felt my heart drop at his words.

And then it felt like the world came crashing down on me.

Like it was fire, Leon let go of my oboe case, and it clatters against the floor. He’s staring my brother dead in the eyes as he does so, and I can feel tears swell in my eyes. I watch as my reeds, feather, and parts of the oboe pop out of the hard case, scraping against the floors of the hall.

“N-no!!” I yelp, unable to hold back my tears as I drop to my knees to gather the parts. A key or two had bent, and a few corks were damaged. I hear Damien shout at Leon, slamming his body into a locker. I don’t understand what they’re yelling about, too busy trying to pick up the bits of my instrument. More voices erupt, and I assume they’re people trying to pull my brother off of Leon Kenne-dick. My feather gets swept away amidst the commotion. When everything but that is successfully stuffed back into my case, I snap my head around to glare at the ace soccer player behind glossy eyes.

“You’re fuckin’ paying for this, you piece of shit!” Damien screams, thrashing against some teachers who dragged him away from the scene. Leon’s being escorted away as well, not giving me a chance to say anything. I’m left alone in the hall with my broken oboe before Samantha scurries out.

“Sweet pea! We heard all the ruckus, but Mr. Kay said it wasn’t safe for us to be out, and—oh, sugar…” she gasps lightly, crouching down next to me. The ravenette looks down at my open case, seeing the broken and bent keys and chipped corks. “Who did this…?” She asked me gently, setting her chin on my shoulder.

“Leon…” I hiccup, tears falling. The silence is heavy when I tell her this, and I know that Sammy can only see red. Without a word, she wipes my tears with her thumb before helping me into the band room.

I’m starting to regret wanting to see him again.

woohoo! chapitre un, fini :] i know it’s a bit lacking, but it’s just the beginning. hope you enjoyed! pt. 2 here!

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #fanfic #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil/biohazard #biohazard #angst #leon kennedy angst #>>high school sweethearts: LSK #leon kennedy x reader angst #leon kennedy x reader au #high school au #slowburn

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the-californicationist · 11 days

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WIP Game

Thanks for the tag @ethereal-night-fairy

Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how nondescript or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet and tell us about it!

I have taken a big step back lately because of my work, but I do have some things I'm slowly putting paragraphs into.

Long Fics in Progress

Ursa Major - Bear!Price x Female Reader - John Price is a hot, lumberjack werebear. This is the most self-indulgent fic I've ever written, and I will not apologize. Updates are weekly, for the most part.

The Sin Eater - Monster!Price x Female Reader - A dark, monster fic based off of the Jekyll and Hyde paradigm. Co-authored with amazing @vampirekilmerfic, but updates are extremely slow. It's a hard fic for me to write.

The Window - Poly!141 x Female Reader - Pregnancy fic with a poly/reverse harem theme. This should've stayed a one-shot, honestly. I don't know what the heck I'm doing with this.

The Fox & The Hound - PornStar!Soap x Female Reader - I love this fic so much. I should just stop, but I can't let it go. For some reason, this story just lives in my heart rent-free.

My Brother's Keeper - Regency!Price x Female Reader - Unpublished arranged marriage childhood friends-to-lovers dual virginity fic with a huge twist. It'll probably come out midsummer? I think.

Doubt Thou the Stars - Space!Price x Alien!Female OC - Unpublished space fic where John Price is basically Malcolm Reynolds from Firefly. Self-indulgent and weird. I might never publish it because it's so odd.

The Cube - Ghost x Female Reader - We don't talk about The Cube. But, it's there... lurking.

One-Shots in Progress

Down the Hatch - Gaz x Female Reader - Gaz convinces you to fuck him inside a tank.

Pas de Deux - Ghost x Ballerina!Female Reader - Inspired by an ask, but a bit of a divergence from the original request. Ghost falls for Gaz's sister as she performs as Odette in Swan Lake.

Against Medical Advice - Price x Female Reader - Inspired by an ask where Price gets shot in the thigh and ends up convincing you, his medic, to get nasty with him anyways.

A Knight's Errand - Medieval!141 x Female Reader - In order to avoid a dangerous foreign king from being eligible to marry their queen, her knights work hard to ensure that she is with-child, securing her position on the throne. (I think this fic already exists? I don't remember the name of it, though. But, that's why it's unpublished. Maybe it's a two-cakes situation, but I don't want to publish it and have it be so similar that it repeats their original idea.)

I hope some of these are interesting to y'all! Feel free to ask me about them if you have questions.

No pressure tags: @vampirekilmerfic @gemmahale @kit-williams @deadbranch @ceilidho

#call of duty fanfic #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod #call of duty #fanfics #my wips

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sakuraryomen01 · 1 year

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Fucked Down Below.. /Sukuna Ryomen x Fem!reader/

warnings: sukuna x female reader . smut/nsfw . dubcon so possible [rape] warning . sex on the throne, doggy style . nipple suckling, biting, and pulling . honestly, mostly a self indulge drabble . hair pulling (slight) . groping, man handling themes . slight!sadistic sukuna . stuck in sukuna's domain . some anal fingering![reader receiving] .fighting so: blood, some gore, and cursed tropes?? . featuring: yuji itadori and megumi fushiguro!

reader: female reader! (also some mentioning of yuji and y/n's relationship)

plot: gojo calls you and the troublesome duo out for a mission. one of sukuna's cursed fingers were located in a mall somewhere in a deserted ghost town a little ways away from the red light district.

words: 5.83k

a/n: this ended up as a story rather than a drabble, as i first planned, but i also thought that i might try and post something while you are all waiting for chapter 6 of Valentino! this was really fun to write and i hope to get more cheesy and goofy stuff like this out more! ^^

You had been called for a mission about an hour ago once you and your friends got into the car, being driven towards the Red Light district only to drive by the bright lights and civilians that populated the area at night.

It was one of the harshest times for you, Yuji, and Megumi.

Gojo, despite his fun-loving and almost annoying sweetness, was cracking down on missions and getting the three of you stronger than ever. He did like to live a little carefree, but the missions he was being saddled with were worse than ever, and it felt like the stress of it all was washing off on you.

Understandably, Gojo sent your band of cursed attention seeking friends off to a mission in some abandoned mall a little ways away from the district. It was reported to have multiple accidents including suicide attempts, murders, and multiple cursed wombs being born from all the negative energy.

"How many are reported being seen by sorcerers?" Megmui asked, looking from his spot in the middle of you and Yuji towards the driver of the black Honda, Kiyotaka Ijichi.

"Well, some reported up to ten low leveled spirits," Ijichi went on to say, explaining how the levels of the building provide stronger spirits and curses that you and the others would have to fight as you went along.

"The finger Gojo sent you to find must be in the lower levels of the buildings basement, where more stronger curses wait for you. There have also been multiple sightings of this one curse in particular that makes sorcerers, or young men and women from the locals, faint for long periods of time and experience random dreams or feelings during them."

"Sounds like a game," Yuji commented, making you sigh and roll your eyes while a smile plastered on your face. Both of you didn't hear the last bit of information like Megumi did, but focused on the mission none the same. "Like how levels in a video game have stronger enemies the higher, or lower the sections are!"

"I don't think that's how it's supposed to be, Itadori." Megumi cut in, pulling his phone from his pocket and started to look through things that don't concern you or Yuji. "If it helps you to think of it that way though, it doesn't bother me."

What kind of effect does the spirit have on people our age?

Yuji made a makeshift offended pout and then looked out the window to spot the abandoned warehouses and small homes behind the district. He let out a small coo in awe, seeing the broken down buildings and pressing a hand to the cold window of the car, like he was a child going to Disneyworld in America.

That spun your mind into the whole concept of funland parks and such before Ijichi pulled into the old parking lot of the 6 story tall mall.

"This is it!" He announced, though the normal jittery nervousness laced his words before he got out to cast the magical barrier to keep out locals and other curses from what dwelled inside the mall and the cursed dead inside.

You and the others got out of the Honda as well and started to make your way towards the mall while Ijichi stood by the side of the car. He watched as you all got closer and closer to the entrance, a light sweat starting to coat his brow as he set the barrier.

"Emerge from darkness, blacker still purify that which is impure."

A dark patch of cursed energy formed at the top of the mall, cascading around the building and a 10 foot radius around it and you all inside the building. The veil between you, Ijichi, and his car were slowly becoming harder and harder to see as the barrier solidified.

"I'll never get used to that," Yuji mumbled from beside you, making you smirk and punch his arm lightly.

"Are you getting chicken now, Itadori?" You teased, following Megumi as Yuji pouted and walked by your side. "I'll bet you tonight's dinner everything will be fine!"

"Y/n, you're so rude! Of course I'm not chicken!"

Megumi walked past the old, and broken metal detectors that sat at the entrance of the area and walked towards the stairs going towards the basement of the building.

"So, all in agreement of just going to where the finger is?" You chirped, raising your hair sheepishly in the form of a lighthearted joke to ease the tension that slowly started to grow.

"Agreed." The boys said, Megumi's mind elsewhere as he thought about the trouble they'll have to face. As you continued to walk around the mall, looking for curses to exercise, nothing showed up.

Not a single cursed being, scent, or even a trace of negative feelings stirred as you and the duo made your way around the building. The feelings of unease coursing through all of you as the echoing sounds of your shoes hit the floor. It made your stomachs churn as your nerves began to get even more upset.

"This is starting to get me nervous," Megumi mumbled to himself, his emerald eyes scanning all the rooms your group came across. "Nothing's come out to attack us, it's making me wonder if the reports were counterfeit."

"Counterfeit reports for cursed spirits?" You wondered, tilting your head to the side and making you speed up a little to catch up to his long strides. "Is that a thing? Has it happened before?"

"It's never happened while I've been a sorcerer," The raven haired male shook his head, looking down at you while turning a corner back to the main area of the mall.

The main area had a large fountain built in the middle, the functions of the water and such that made the fountain a fountain that appeared to have stopped working months, even years ago. It was covered in some vines and other assorted growth that also seemed to be blocking the water from shooting out of the spouts.

"Hm, if that's a possibility, could this be a trap?" Yuji asked, walking on the left side of his friend while you guys walked past the fountain and towards the stairs to the basement once again.

"Maybe, but I doubt Gojo-sensei would make us come here for something meaningless and could get us into danger."

Actually, he totally would. Your group let out a collective groan, pushing open the old door at the top of the stairs before making your way down the dark staircase.

"Anyone got a light for this shit?" You whined, patting your pockets down as you coughed at the dust lingering in the air. "I can't see anything!"

"Here, use my phone," Megumi said, pulling his device from his back pocket and turning on the flash, handing it to you as Yuji chuckled behind him.

You turned your eyes up towards the pastel haired boy, frowning with annoyance. "What are you laughing at?"

"N-Nothing, I promise!" Yuji teased, nodding towards your dusty clothing. "Just wondering if you're allergic to dust or something. Thought it'd be kinda cute, ya'know?"

Your cheeks tinted a light pink as your stomach bubble with embarrassment, thought you let out a cool sigh and smirked.

"Ah yes, it's quite cute when a girl sneezes from dust or pollen."

Yuji chuckled again as your feet touched the bottom of the stairs. The floor creaks loud and echoes throughout the empty space, making a shiver go up your already spooked spine. Megumi tries to settle the worry by summoning his divine dogs, sending them around to look for any scents or traces of cursed energy. Though, they reported nothing, just like upstairs.

"This is starting to look more and more like a set up," You conclude, moving the flash from the staircase to around the dark area. Yuji and Megumi walking at your sides forward into the dusty abode.

"Dude, there's so much junk down here," Yuji mutters to himself, kicking at an old clown figure that was supposedly for a child's play area or something. "And these old things are giving me the creeps."

"Eyes that are dead inside."

"Like Fushiguro."

The small insult made Megumi turn his attention towards you and Yuji who already had your hands up for forgiveness. "I'll punch you both if you don't take this more seriously."

"Alright, alright!"

Megumi continues his little search, telling you and Yuji to spread out and look for something to conduct some light. You found a few lamps and such from sales, but they either had no bulbs or the plug-ins were broken. Bent or torn off in the more simple cases.

"I found some small holdable lamps," Yuji announced, lifting the kind of lamp you'd take out for camping. Though, they were more kiddy themed, and they were quite small. "They'll be useful, right?"

"I suppose," Megumi said, grabbing one of the lamps and managing to power it on, holding his hand out for his phone.

You passed him his phone and turned on your own lamp, looking around the room before pointing at another set of stairs that led downward. Deeper into the ground and into the basement of whatever creepy place this old mall was.

"Alright, let's get going," Yuji nodded once his lamp was on, following you and Megumi down another flight of stairs before there was a deep rumble throughout the room.

You, Megumi, and Yuji stood still. The sound of something moving around below makes all of your hearts stop. You look towards the boys, seeing Yuji's face go from a cheerful smile to a pale straight faced look of fear. Megumi's was like before, although the bombing of his Adam's apple told you he was uneasy about the situation.

"Sh-Should we keep going?" You asked hesitantly, pressing your lips together as a cold sweat started.

"..Do we have to?" Yuji whimpered quietly, looking between you and Megumi. "I mean, I don't want to see the face of what just shook a big ass building, do you?"

You wholeheartedly agreed, but the look Megumi was giving you told you to keep moving. Letting out a shaking groan, you continued your path towards the stairs and started going down them. The rumbling and the constant shaking of the area made your heart leap into your throat, your lungs felt like they were shrinking with how little you were able to breath.

"Oh my- blech!" Yuji grimaced, holding his nose and drawing you and Megumi's attention, pinching his nose. "Don't y'all smell that? It's horrible!"

You take a sniff and immediately regret it, you could smell it too. A sweet, but almost disgusting tang to it. It hit you suddenly and made you clasp a hand to your mouth and nose, looking back towards the exit of the stairs. "Ughh.. That's terrible. It smells like barfed up candy."

"Don't make a mental image of it, Y/n!" Megumi huffed, continuing to walk towards the exit until he was able to poke his head out to see where the scent was coming from.

Though, what you expected was a trash heap that some hobo may have left, that's not what you got. In fact, what you got was a strange lump that sat in the back ends of the room. The room itself was the same as the basement area above, just darker and more air tight.

What is that? You thought, looking towards the lump in the back, seeing some slight movement but no cursed energy.

"Oi, don't get too close," Megumi warned, tugging at your shoulder a little to stop you in your tracks. "I can't see it that well. I'll let my dogs deal with it, okay?"

You gave a nod, but began to inspect the area around you. Seeing nothing but some broken down attractions from sales like in the upper floor, some actually broken and missing pieces. In the background, you could hear Megumi's dogs bark, and a sudden surge of cursed energy and power was released.

It knocked you to your feet, making you gasp and cough while Yuji and Megumi let out a yell. You looked behind you to see that the lump in the corner had stood up and took shape of a cursed being.

It had long, dark purple tentacles and its main body resembled that of a worm, or maggot. Its flesh appeared to glisten under the lamps light, and you assumed it'd be hard to actually punch or kick.

"Y/n, are you okay?" Yuji asked, running to your side to help you up, kneeling as his eyes continued to be glued on the monster. "Hurry, we gotta get out of here!"

The divine dog's barking and growling echoed throughout your head, making you whimper but stand nonetheless. Leaning your weight into Yuji, you looked back to see Megumi running after the curse that was trying to escape through a large crack in the wall behind it.

The cursed energy that hit you was continuously flowing from it, wave after wave, making your head hurt and your body ache. Yuji tugged on your arm, trying to follow Megumi to no avail.

"C'mon, get on my back, Y/n," Yuji cooed, kneeling and looking back at you as if to comfort. "We gotta follow them and keep Megumi safe."

"Th-The finger.. I think it--" You started, your voice weak, but you were interrupted by a high pitched screech from the cursed spirit.

There was a small struggle, and then the sound of rocks and the mall's floor break from above sounded. Once you climbed onto Yuji's back in a hurry, Yuji stood and ran back towards the stairs. Running as fast as he could, managing to get back up into the main mall area once again and spotting Megumi halfway across in a department store.

"Fushiguro!" Yuji yelled, seeing Megumi stumbling out of the store, an obvious cut or two visible on his arm and cheek. Yuji placed you near the fountain and turned his attention to the curse.

"That thing, it looks like the amount of cursed energy that it emits makes people faint! Maybe that's why some locals were reported to fall asleep or faint on the scene?!"

Running towards it as cursed energy began to flow to his hands, creating extra power and force before he jumped and punched the slimy surface of the creature. You heard him yelp at the texture and jump back before the curse swung a tendral towards him and hit him in the side. Knocking the air from his lungs and shooting him into a store farther from you and Megumi.

"Itadori!" You yelled, eyes wide as your mind began to focus once again. Whatever that hit you earlier was starting to fade, but there was a light, numb throb in your core.

What hit me?

You stood from your spot at the fountain and ran to Megumi, checking his injuries to make sure he was alright. "I'm fine. I'll send Neu after Yuji to check on him as well."

You nodded and looked over at the curse, seeing it rearing up for another attack, you grabbed Megumi by the collar and pulling him out of the way. Though, you weren't safe. The curse foresaw your next move and reacted quickly, grabbing you by the waist and lifting you into the air.

Before Megumi was lifted off the ground too, you released your hold on his uniform and forced cursed energy throughout your waist and feet. Trying to free yourself before the curse crushed you in its grasp, feeling its grip on you tighten as slime started to ooze from the ends. You gagged at the sickeningly sweet smell it produced, making your head weak and your body following suit.

What's going on!? The curses' energy, it's.. knocking me out?

You let out a small squeak before the room went dark and your vision blurred. The last sound you heard was Megumi yelling, and a large crack sound erupted from where Yuji was. That throbbing feeling you felt in your core earlier continued to get stronger and stronger as your mind went blank and laughter filled your head.

Before you knew it, you were asleep.

"How's it feel napping in my domain, punk?"

Jolting awake, your core continued to throb as your eyes opened. Weak, tired, and sore, you blinked a few times to try and steady yourself for what was to come.

"Wh-Wha..?" You mumble, coughing and sitting up as the room around you starts to focus and level out. "Where.. am I?"

Seeing a pool of water beneath you, an ominous red glow throughout the area, and the sense of something stronger than you lapped into your headspace. Once you snapped to attention, your eyes swerved over to Sukuna at the top of a mountain of bones he called his throne. You gasp, standing quickly, but the numb pulse in your temple made you kneel, groaning and mumbling curses under your breath.

"So, was the nap enjoyable?" The cursed king chuckled from his spot above you, his eyes sparkling with interest at your current mood. He had watched you pathetically get caught by such an inferior being, be forced down after a stronger surge of cursed energy, and how you were forced to faint.

Now, Sukuna didn't like the idea of saving someone that wasn't Fushiguro Megumi, but he made a small exception for you. He quite liked watching you squirm when times got tough, and liked watching you fight when you could.

And that brat practically begged him to not let you die. Stupid.

"I saw that you and the others were having a bit of trouble," Sukuna teased, pressing his cheek against his fist, smiling wickedly as your eyes flared up at him. "Awe, too soon?"

"Shut up," You mumbled, managing to stand on your feet. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh I do, in fact. I watched from inside this brat. You got hit by something, too, didn't you?"

At the mere mention of it, your core began to throb even more. Making your legs buckle, your breath becoming heavy and lean forward. Holding onto your knees for support, you held your stomach, as if the weird sensations would just stop the touch. Sukuna let out a cackle, shifting from his spot on the throne to in front of you, looking down at you like the pathetic, and tired sorcerer you were.

Seriously, what have the clans come to to make such a weak girl work her ass off?

"Come, I could help you," He said, coolly, reaching his hand forward and placing it atop your head. Petting you gently with a smile etched on his features once again. "Y'know what it's causing, right? Or are you stupid too?"

You wanted to punch him, to beat him and let your frustration out, but your insides burned with want. What caused it? That weird smelling curse?

"L-Let me go back," You tried, looking up at the cursed king with a frown on your face. "I need to help Itadori and Fushiguro!"

Sukuna's tongue clicked, his hand leaving its place on your head as his fingers traced your jawline. "Don't you get it? They're probably fine, knowing what that Itadori kid can do without me."

Your brows twitched, making your grunt at the curse's touch. What was his deal? He didn't like you, Megumi, or Yuji. Why help you?

The air in Sukuna's domain made almost no difference for you, it was like your lungs just couldn't function correctly. Did your body get crushed, is that it?

But this throbbing inside you wasn't pain, it was something else..

"Connect the dots already, darling," Sukuna chuckled, his movements quick as he grasped your throat in his hand. Squeezing until you squeaked and grabbed at his wrist, lifting you up til your toes could barely touch the ground.

"You feel that burning in your stomach, right? That throb in your core? It's the effects of a love's curse, something twisted and unrequited."

Sukuna let out a chuckle, pulling you closer while you struggled, glaring at him. "Much like your love for this boy, right?"

A burn in your cheeks formed, your cheeks tinting a light pink, but you tried to deny it. Shaking your head without much success, making the cursed king bellow out a monstrous laugh. Your heart felt like it had dropped, seeing Sukuna's eyes flare with a new passion inside them, trailing over your squirming body until they landed on your crotch.

"It's easy to fix, darling," Sukuna smirked, his eyes flickering back up to connect with yours. "Just be good, and I'll make you feel so much better."

In a flash, Sukuna was sitting on his throne once again with you on top of him. Straddling his lap like you owned it, his hand that was grasping your throat loosened its grip as the other traced a line up your thigh and rested on your hip. The smile on Sukuna's face told you he was pleased to have you seated there, feeling your body growing warmer and warmer.

Watching you struggle as the curse's effect continued to take hold of you, meanwhile your body was laying down in the mall. Your friends desperately tried to protect it as the curse continued to destroy and dismantle the mall.

"Why's she asleep, Fushiguro?!" Yuji questioned, dodging one of the curse's attacks and picking up your limp body from its place near the curse. "What's wrong with her?!"

"Yuji, you need to focus!" Megumi yelled back, sending Neu after the curse's face, the large bird sending shocks of electricity through the curse and clawing at it. "If we don't get out of here soon, the whole building will collapse on us!"

The rumbling inside the building and the cracks on the wall signifying Megumi's hunch was correct. But you didn't hear or see any of this, you didn't hear the worry in Yuji's tone or the seriousness of Megumi's orders. Not even the curse's screeches or Megumi's shikigami barking and growls.

All you could see or feel was Sukuna, his hands currently tracing up and down your heated body. Touching wherever he wished and wanted to. He watched as your body began to grow weak from the cursed energy, managing to get you leaning all your weight onto him and panting heavily.

"Doesn't this make it better?" He asked, teasing as his fingers slipped under your uniform jacket and shirt, feeling your hot skin under his cool fingers. "Hm? All I can hear is your breathing, Y/n. Answer me."

"..Y-Yes," You managed, your legs trembling under Sukuna's hands. Your body was so weak and sore, your body too was continuing to throb and your core's pulsing had gotten worse.

Anything was helping you relieve it, even if it was the King of Curses himself. This made the spirit smile, delving deeper into your clothing, undoing your jacket and even daring to press a few soft kisses on your temple and jaw. Suckling and creating love marks in places he could reach, lifting your shirt too and feeling out the lace of your bra.

"I can feel your pussy heating up through your clothes," Sukuna teased, watching you squirm and close your eyes as another wave of blush covered your cheeks. "I'm gonna play with it, alright? I'd rather go straight for it, but healing your body would be rather tedious, wouldn't it?"

You flinch as Sukuna's hand trail back down your stomach and to your heat, slipping his hand into your pants and rubbing little circles around the throbbing nub. Whimpering, Sukuna continued to rub and rub, feeling your pussy begin to drench and soak your panties. He pushed them to the side, hearing your little gasp as he traced the outline of your pussy. A smirk playing his lips as he pushed at the entrance of your tight hole with a finger, kissing your neck until your hips started to buck into his palm.

"Hm? Want me to push it inside?" He asked, knowing how he was making your body react. Feeling your cunt pulse against him while you continued to grind your clit into his hand.

"P-Please," You mumbled, quiet, but loud enough for him to hear. "It hurts.. Make it stop."

"Well, since you asked so nicely for me."

Pushing his finger in, Sukuna let out a groan. Feeling your walls pulsing around his digit as he slowly moved it in and out. Continuing to grind his palm into your clit, chuckling to himself as you started to mewl for more.

"Shh, darling," Sukuna pressed his lips to yours, trying to silence you but eat up your moans at the same time. "I have to be gentle, so relax and tak emy fingers."

He enjoyed watching you squirm in his lap, thrusting your hips against him. You were practically drooling down there, coating his wrist and fingers in your slick, dripping from his hand to his pants. Staining them as a small patch started to darken the fabric with your juices, a snicker coming from Sukuna.

"Look at that," He teased, sucking on your neck and leaving a bite, making you moan as he continued to invade your insides with his fingers. "Your pussy's clenching on my fingers, darling. Does it feel that good that you can't let them go?"

Your whines and mewls were response enough, squeezing him down to his knuckles, drooling all over them and coating his pants more. With a huff, Sukuna reached down and palmed himself through the clothing, squeezing and rubbing until he was firm and practically stretching the fabric. Reluctantly, you released Sukuna's fingers only to feel his tip tapping against your clit.

"I don't usually warn a person when I'm going to enter," Sukuna commented, making you blush as he continued to rub his aching tip against your pulsing opening. "That makes you special."

In an instant, Sukuna was plunging you down. Bouncing you in his lap as he forced you to take his cock, your pussy creaming and making a ring around his base. Your wanton moans make Sukuna's dick twitch and throb, wanting to go farther inside you and knock you up. Maybe he should make you carry his heirs?

"Keep fucking yourself on me," Sukuan ordered, yanking off your shirt and bra. The sounds of your clothes being torn to pieces makes you shudder, your nipples becoming erect at the direct contact of the cool air.

Instantly, Sukuna attached his lips to your nipple. Rolling his tongue and pinching it between his teeth, while his hand placed itself on your hip and created a mouth. Biting and suckling on your skin as you continued to rock in his lap. You felt more than normal pleasure or euphoria, it was something that your belly wanted. It wanted to release over and over, to feel orgasm after orgasm from Sukuna's cock. It was something that you never dreamt of in your wildest or lewdest of dreams.

"S-Sukuna!" You whimpered, squeezing the thickness of his shaft, dripping around it while you continued to cry over it. It left a burning sensation whenever it knocked against your G-spot. "It's too much, slow down!"

Sukuna laughed at this, thrusting his hips up to match your rhythm, grunting and panting underneath you as he taunted you.

"Ah, now you ask me to slow down? Please, darling, I know you can take more than a few thrusts! Now be a good little sorcerer and take my cum deep inside that tight hole!"

After a few more thrusts and groans from Sukuna, his hips stopped as his load was released. Pumping it inside you a few times as your orgasm hit you too, squeezing and holding onto Sukuna like your life depended on it.

"Don't crumble too soon, Y/n," Sukuna muttered into your ear, holding onto your back while he calmed his breathing. "I've got so much more in store for this cute pussy."

You whimpered in response, still feeling the afterglow of your orgasm. Eyes closed but shooting open once you felt water against your knees and hands. You looked around for a moment until you heard Sukuna letting out a breath.

"Mm, seeing your ass like this is truly debaucherous," He smirked, grabbing your hips and grinding his cock between your bare asscheeks. "Gods, I would've killed for a pussy this amazing years ago."

Before you could respond, or even take in how Sukuna got you down from his throne, he was pushing his dick back inside you. Grabbing ahold of your hips and pounding into you like he wanted more than just your hole. And boy did he.

He wanted to carve up your oozing insides and make them remember his shape and size. The weight of his cock, the feeling of his cum shooting ropes inside of you. He could fix anything that he had broken later, despite how annoying that'd be, but for now he wanted to make you go home wanting more of it. Sukuna wanted you to lay awake at night wondering how good his cock would feel in other places.

With that last thought, Sukuna's eyes looked down at your ass again. Watching it bounce against his pelvic bone in a harsh rhythm, feeling the plush softness it had even as it slapped against him.

"Fuck, you feel so warm down here," Sukuna cooed, lifting a hand to slap you. Watching the red mark on your asscheek form and hearing your yelps and moans, spreading your ass on his cock and groaning quietly.

"Look at that, even your asshole is twitching for attention!"

He traced his thumbpad over the quivering little entrance, feeling your pussy constrict around him until it was almost painful. Though he didn't mind. Squeeze as much as you want, hell, rip his cock off so he can grow a newer and bigger one.

He didn't care, nor did he mind. He wanted more and more of this sinful pleasure, to pleasure you until you broke from it.

"Scream on my dick, Y/n!" Sukuna cackled again, pushing his thumb into your ass and watching you arch your back and cry out. "Go on! Who's making you feel like this? Who's making you sob over some cock?"

"Y-You are!" You moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you began to drool. It was too good inside you, Sukuna was making your body feel too much at once!

Sukuna let out a groan as he continued to abuse your asshole and pussy at the same time, reach a hand around you and cupping your clit in his hand. Forming another mouth and starting to suck on it, swirling his tongue around and around it as your cunt started choking on Sukuna's dick. You tried to hold on to that last thread of sanity you had left from this, to take control over your body and to try and stop the orgasm from coming.

But you just couldn't. There was too much pleasure forcing you to take in that climax and crumble under Sukuna's touch. And he lover every second of it.

He loved watching you break, snap, and everything in between. The desire that bubbled in his belly for more made him cum. Wanting to cum inside you again and again, to cream your little belly and leave it swollen with his sperm. Absolutely nothing could compare to the gluttony and lust that Sukuna was indulging in right now.

Just outside of your consciousness, Yuji and Megumi had managed to defeat the cursed spirit. Although they were happy they did, they still had to find that finger.

"I'm so tired," Yuji complained, trudging behind his classmate with you in tow on his back. "And Y/n still isn't awake.. Do you think she's okay?"

"She probably is," Megumi responded, making his way down the stairs as the cursed energy continued to grow. "This large amount of cursed energy must've knocked her out first, and whatever that cursed monster did to her made it worse. We'll have Shoko check her out, so don't worry about it too much, okay?"

With a sigh, Yuji agreed and continued ascending the staircase. However he was feeling, he just wished he could have protected you better or made sure you were okay before going off to fight that hell spawn.

"I-I can't.. I can't anymore.." You whimpered underneath Sukuna, feeling his hips rutting into you at a quick pace.

He had long lost his kimono and pants, holding you against one of the bones that caged him under a blank and dark sky. Thrusts are sharp and almost painful against your cervix, making your sob more every time he hit you deep inside. It felt almost as if Sukuna's intention to 'help' was no longer in his deck of cards. At this point, he was fucking you for himself, letting the years of sexual pleasure and desire corse through him and into you.

Oh, your poor little belly..

"Aaagh!!" Sukuna finally let out, stopping his sloppy movements enough just to pump another round of pent up lust inside your aching pussy. "Fuckk.. That hit the fucking spot, huh?"

You nod, cheek stained with tears. "F-Felt too good.."

Sukuna smirked at your destroyed body, seeing the multiple marks and bites, and the slaps and nibbles he left. You looked absolutely ruined and Sukuna loved creating such a masterpiece.

After repairing anything he may have wounded, he gave you a pat on your head and kissed your cheek. "Now that you're alright, do you wish to return to your friends?"

You nodded once again, clutching onto your tattered clothing and trying to cover yourself. How lewd you felt, after what you were just through. It all hit you once you were able to breathe again. And your lungs started to fill, your brain began to unfuzz and clicked all the memories into place.

You were definitely better, but with a shit ton of additional memories to boot. "Yes."

Sukuna chuckled, sighing and taking a few steps away from you. Soon the room with him and his domain started to disappear, and the light from the medical wing of Jujutsu Tech started to fill in.

"Hm.." You mumbled, blinking awake once again. "Sukuna?"

You heard a sigh of relief and looked over to see Shoko, Megumi, Yuji, and Gojo-sensei. Your head was aching, and your body felt funny, but after a while you assumed what you went through was a dream. BUt the ache in your belly and the flushed expressions you make around Yuji suggest otherwise.

No matter what you do, or where you are, your body always remembered the day that the King of Curses took you 'round his domain for almost a day trying to 'help' you wake up.

[end]

a/n: this was so fun to write and i loved creating a fun dynamic between y/n, yuji and megumi! they were all so cute and funny, despite being in such a spooky situation! also, i didn't think this was going to end up so long but i hope you liked it! i didn't get the chance to proof read since i wanted it out by today! gonna get Valentino out soon, hope you enjoyed! ^^

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