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lex-the-flex · 6 months

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Among the Thorns

Coriolanus Snow x reader

Summary: Armed with the Plinth fortune at his side, Coriolanus Snow will stop at nothing to prove himself to you. Even destroying those who don’t deserve you.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning(s): HEAVY FLUFF and HEAVY ANGST, friends to lovers, Snow experiencing true love, Snow being a rich boy, moments of jealousy, brief betrayal + heartbreak, slight stalking, and minor character death.

A/N: Snow at the end of TBOSAS lives rent free in my head. If you are uncomfortable with ANY of the warnings, the DNI!! Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

Flecks of fresh and unfiltered snow begin to descend on the streets of the Capitol. Reflecting off the fountain’s never-ending streams, the faint ray of a rainbow crossed across the strong crowned feminine statue. Focusing on the tinted metallic statue, Coriolanus refused to blink, worried that he might miss the rainbow vanish in a satisfying mist. The water’s echo filled his ears, blocking out the various sounds of the populous city he calls home, freeing his mind from all distractions.

Closing his eyes to muffle out the noise from the various cars, the world seemed to stop. While the haunting recollections of Lucy Gray Baird finally seemed to fade, they were replaced with thoughts and visions of you.

How could he have forgotten you?

To Coriolanus, it was a crime to have the thought of your face wiped from his mind, to have all of your shared memories vanish in the blink of an eye. But now, in this moment, his life was different. And he was sure you were too.

He just had to find you first.

*****

Walking through the downtown district, the crisp cool air lingered for a while longer as the sun was beginning to set in the distance. Rubbing his hands together, Coriolanus could not seem to focus on anything else. Winning the Plinth Prize, moving Tigris and Grandma’am into the Penthouse apartment, the excitement of starting University, and now you.

Glancing ahead down the bustling shops and restaurants, Coriolanus began to notice how the Capitol slowly started to heal within the post-war status. The citizens were thriving with the victory of the 10th Hunger Games, which made the young man happy in some way.

Rounding the corner in the heart of downtown, Coriolanus stopped at the curb, allowing a group of freshman Academy students to keep up with their tour guide. Smirking at their red uniforms, Coriolanus smirks at each of the students, who were eager to start studying within the week. Watching the students continue on, his breath was caught in his throat at the sight of you.

Glancing at you from afar, you were sitting on one of the various benches, with a book in your hand. Noticing that you were alone, he confidently made his way across the street. Noticing the state of your physique, his heart fluttered in his chest once he got closer; your high quality coat was perfectly draped over your shoulders, covering your best dressed self. With your hair in a low bun, some loose strands hung in front your ears, flowing in the breeze.

“Y/N, is that you?” Coriolanus asked.

Gazing up from your sketchbook, your face erupted in delight at the sight of an old friend.

“Coriolanus Snow, as I live and breathe! Our champion of the 10th Hunger Games!” You exclaim, standing from the bench.

Pulling you in for an embrace, Coriolanus fully closed his arms around your form, enjoying this moment of reprieve whilst the world allowed you two to be alone. Standing on your toes, the rhythmic pounding of his heartbeat rings in your ear, and the feeling of your fingers gripping his shoulders sends a series of butterflies in his stomach.

Breaking the embrace, Coriolanus’ hands slide down your arms, and the two of you get a real good look at one another.

good look at one another.

The infinite gaze of his icy blue eyes stare directly into your soul, causing your knees to tremble. Leaning in closer, Coriolanus carefully caresses your jaw making your breath hitch in your throat. Unfortunately, this feeling of relief doesn’t last long just as the appearance of your classmate, Mattias, crosses your peripheral vision.

Quickly backing away from Coriolanus, the pressure of your hands still lingers on his arms as you wave to your friend.

“Sorry I’m late, Y/N. Biology ran late.” Mattias apologizes.

Silently sneering at Mattias, something about him just doesn’t sit right with Coriolanus. It wasn’t his nerdy, yet kind nature, it was that he was with you.

“It’s alright. I’m not too keen on going home. The Inventory arrived this afternoon.” You say, looking at Coriolanus.

“Inventory?” He asks, folding his hands.

Mattias scrunches his eyebrows at Coriolanus’ sharp demeanor.

“My aunt can never decide on which gemstone she wants for the season, so she requests to have a private showing in our apartment every. single. year.” You explain, scrunching your temple.

“Why not just take the train to One? It’s only an hour out.” Coriolanus asks.

“You don’t remember how she is, Coryo? She’s a neat freak, everything has to be perfect. Down to the necklaces she wears at any occasion.” You reply, adjusting your coat.

“Wait, I thought you going to be apartment hunting?” Mattias asks, crossing his arms.

“I have an appointment tomorrow morning. Then I have to hand in my thesis to Professor Demigloss. You say.

“Apartment hunting? You’re moving away?” Coriolanus questions with a worried look.

“Just closer to the University. My aunt promised to come but I think she’ll be drowning in jewels when I walk in the front door.” You tease, nudging Mattias’ shoulder.

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Your classmate replies.

*****

A yawn escapes your lips as you throw your Academy bag over your shoulder. Desperately needing coffee, the early morning sunlight feels wonderful despite the sleet. Descending the apartment building’s set of stairs, you stop in your tracks to see Coriolanus greeting you with two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Coryo! What are you doing here?” You ask.

“Good morning to you too. I thought I’d come along and help you pick an apartment. Besides, there are a few great ones by the University.” He replies.

Taking your cup of coffee from him, you practically melt in the hot liquid’s delight.

“Then lead the way, Mr. Snow.” You reply.

Following Coriolanus through the heart of downtown, the two of you and the real estate agent tour the first apartment and it was perfect. It was a five minute walk to the University, the place was spacious and recently renovated, so everything was clean and new.

Allowing you to observe the place, you slowly start to wander around through the apartment, studying the dark marble walls in awe with your jaw on the floor. You’d never seen anything so peaceful in your life, even if it was in the middle of the city. Admiring the beautiful snow covered city from the kitchen window, Coriolanus secretly buys the apartment in his name, and puts the brand new set of keys in his coat pocket with a thankful smile.

Joining you at the window, the real estate agent takes their leave, closing the door behind them. The faint sound of car horns and the bustling sounds barely managed to leak through the window as you felt his gentle hand around your shoulder.

“What do you think?” He asks.

“This place is amazing. I know this is the first place and that I shouldn’t fall in love, but I have. Unfortunately, I think the rent is too high.” You reply.

Looking up at Coriolanus, he silently shares your sympathy, but then he reveals his surprise.

“What if you didn’t have too? This apartment is yours after all.” He says, planting the keys in your palm.

“Coryo, I can’t. This is too much.” You rebuttal, trying to hand the keys back.

“You can and you will. Just as long as we see each other at the University. That’s all the thanks I need, Y/N. I want you back in my life, especially after last year.” Coriolanus explains before checking out the rest of the apartment.

*****

Over the next few weeks of your winter break, you started to slowly move into your new apartment, and declined offers to hang out with your friends. The entrance exams for the University sit heavily on your shoulders every day. Despite being a mentor in the 10th Hunger Games, you were granted easy access into the University, but you still had to take the exam.

Once the results came in, your whole world sank the second you found out you failed. There was no way. You were one of the best students at the Academy, so why did you fail the exam? Rumors began to circle around regarding your relationships with Coriolanus and Mattias. So you decided to do some digging, you discovered that Mattias swapped your test scores with a defunct slip.

If he couldn’t have you, then no one could. Not even Coriolanus.

After you left the testing room, you decided that Mattias was dead to you right then and there.

Surrounding yourself with all of your favorite things, reading, sketching and baking your favorite desserts. However, only when you were measuring the ingredients for your beloved cinnamon sugar cookies, you were greeted with a knock on your door.

Opening the door, Coriolanus embraced you in his strong grasp, letting you finally release your emotions.

“I’m so sorry, Coryo. I’ve ruined your jacket.” You apologize, trying to wipe the few mascara streaks from his jacket.

“It’s alright. I just wanted to check up on you. Especially what Mattias did to you. It’s not right, Y/N and you know it.” He says, closing the door.

“I know. But I don’t care about him anymore. Mattias is dead to me.” You reply.

Returning to the kitchen, you start to mix the ingredients together, declaring your friendship with Mattias no longer matters.

“In more ways than one. He was a bad influence on you, Y/N. So you won’t have to worry about him anymore.” Coriolanus says, leaning against the counter.

Suddenly, your entire body went numb and the echoing noise of your butter knife hitting the floor rings on your ears. Looking up at Coriolanus, you couldn’t believe what he said.

“What did you do, Coriolanus?!” You frantically ask.

Calmly taking your chin in his hand, his gentle facade returns as does his love for you.

“I did what I thought was right. You’re better off without him. You deserve someone who will love you unconditionally, Y/N. I can give you that if you let me.” Coriolanus explains.

Swiftly nodding, the faint scent of his aftershave lingers in your nose, and the sweet scent of peppermint grazes your lips as he kisses you for the first time in a long time.

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dixons-sunshine · 3 months

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Hazelnut | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl didn't know exactly what he expected when his group settled into Alexandria—maybe some snobby, incompetent inhabitants who couldn't stand their ground if something were to happen or people who would turn on him and his group at any given moment, but definitely not a little girl who basically attached herself to his hip. And he definitely didn't expect to find himself drawn to the mother of that little girl.

Genre: Fluff, angst but not a lot.

Era: Alexandria, pre Saviour war. (Timeline is kinda wonky. Saviours kinda don't exist in this? I don't really know.)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, child abandonment, mental abuse, mentions of drugs and alcohol, single parenthood, sexual content but not smut.

Word count: 8k

A/n: This was such a cute idea that @louifaith had! I tried my best, but it honestly sucks. I'm not really happy with how this turned out, but I hope you like it! Also, definitely go check out @celtic-crossbow 's version! Pure perfection, honestly.

As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests, and now for Scud Frohmeyer as well!

—

“You have to lighten up, Daryl. How do you expect to make any friends with that 'leave me alone' attitude of yours?”

Daryl grumbled to himself as he continued tinkering with his crossbow. The hot late afternoon sun was relentlessly beating down on the community as its inhabitants continued about their tasks. Daryl had been observing silently everyone from the porch steps he was sitting on, enjoying the moment of solitude he had, but Carol had other ideas.

“Daryl,” Carol started, crossing her arms as she descended down the steps. She turned around to face Daryl, her voice stern. “It would do you good to socialise a bit.”

“I talked to Tobin when we finished up with the construction of the new walls yesterday,” Daryl replied nonchalantly, keeping his eyes focused on his crossbow instead of the stern woman in front of him.

“That doesn't count. That's work talk. I'm talking about actual socialising. Like, striking up a conversation with someone that isn't in our group or someone you have to talk to for work.”

“I dun' need to. Y'all are the only company I need. Ain't gon' waste my time tryin' to make buddies with people who dun' even like me,” Daryl responded with a sense of finality, gripping his crossbow and getting up. “Now get off my back, woman.”

“Where are you going?” Carol called after him, watching the archer walk away from the house.

“Somewhere,” he replied shortly, ending the conversation effectively.

Slightly irritated, Daryl walked with no particular destination in mind. He passed by some people who sent him friendly greetings and small waves, which he returned half-heartedly. After a while of mindlessly walking about, Daryl stopped in front of a makeshift park of sorts. It was a small area surrounded by grass and had a big tree towards the edge. He moved to sit on the grass underneath the shade of the tree. The few kids in the community loved to play in this area, but it was deserted for now; the perfect place for the archer to relax for a while.

Daryl went about sharpening his knife for a while. The mediocre task kept his mind busy, busy enough to ignore the parents and kids who arrived, busy enough to ignore the wary stares the parents threw his way. Daryl simply shook his head—even after two months, there were still people who were wary of him and the rest of his group. Even after everything they did and sacrificed to ensure the community's safety.

“Mistah lonely?”

Startled, Daryl's head shot up and his eyes locked with those of a little girl who looked no older than three years old. The girl looked at him with curiosity written all over her young face, eyeing the knife in the archer's hands with wonder. She tentatively reached forward to touch the knife, her fingertips close to making contact with the cold metal of the knife.

Daryl jerked the knife away and out of reach of the young girl. “Dun' touch tha',” he barked coldly, standing up to keep the knife out of the young girl's reach.

“Sharp mife?” the girl questioned, moving closer towards the archer. She reached up to grab his arm, trying to reach the knife.

Daryl frowned at the girl. He gently pried his arm away from the girl's grasp and took a step back, unnerved by the soft touch of the child's hands. That didn't seem to deter the girl, however.

“Mistah use sharp mife?”

“Scram, kid. Go back to yer mama.”

“Mama?” the girl asked, her eyes lighting up at the mere mention of her mother. “Mama! Get Mama!”

“Wha'? No, tha' ain't—” Daryl started, but was abruptly cut off when the girl took off and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her. Daryl raised his eyebrows as he watched the girl's retreating figure, confused by the interaction he just had.

Well, he thought, at least that's the end of that. However, as Daryl gathered his crossbow and sheathed his knife, he inwardly groaned at the sound of the little girl's voice calling out to him.

“Mistah! Mama here!”

Daryl turned and looked at two approaching figures. The young girl was holding a woman's hand, leading the woman over to him. The woman was laughing lightly, allowing herself to be pulled by the little girl.

“Come, Mama!” the little girl giggled, excitedly tugging your hand harder.

“Okay, okay! No need to rip my hand off,” you laughed, soon coming to a stop in front of Daryl.

Daryl looked at you with a frown, scowling slightly. His eyes darted between the excited little girl and you, slightly taken aback by the friendliness you radiated. Despite everything he's done for the community up until that point, only a few select Alexandrians—mainly Aaron and Eric—didn't show him any contempt or wariness. Yet there you were, smiling up at him and looking as pretty as a picture.

“Mama,” the little girl excitedly told him, pointing up to you. She smiled at you, dimples forming on her chubby cheeks.

“I'm Y/n. You must be Daryl?” You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a handshake.

Daryl looked at your hand, not moving to take it. However, just as you were about to lower your hand awkwardly at his dismissal, the little girl stepped forward.

“Like this, mistah,” she instructed, taking the archer's hand and putting it in yours.

Daryl flinched at the contact and quickly withdrew his hand, looking at the little girl with a small frown. He looked back at you, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

This was the worst random social situation he's ever been in.

“Sorry,” you apologized, giving him a sheepish smile before turning back to your daughter. “Hazel, we don't touch people unless they say we can, alright?”

“Sorry, Mama,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly, not fully understanding what you were saying. She turned back to look at Daryl. “Sorry, Dar.”

“Daryl,” the archer corrected her, talking for the first time since you had approached him.

Hazel looked up at him in confusion. “Dar,” she repeated herself, a look of concentration on her face.

“No, 's—nevermind. Forget it,” Daryl grumbled, shifting his weight from his one leg to the other. He looked back to you again and noticed how awkward you looked, your lips pursed as you avoided his eyes.

“Sorry. She has trouble with the pronounciation of some words and names. I'm working on helping her with that,” you explained.

Daryl noticed the defensive tone in your voice and raised his eyebrows questioningly, yet he refrained from questioning why. “S'alrigh',” he mumbled, awkwardly fiddling with his crossbow that was slung over his shoulder.

“Okay,” you said, gathering Hazel up into your arms. “Well, it was nice meeting you, but I have to get going. I have to get this gremlin ready for dinner. Sorry for bothering you.”

With that, you turned around and retreated back towards the houses, Hazel happily babbling in your arms. Daryl watched your retreating figure with a sense of uneasiness. In that short interaction, he found himself unexplainably drawn to you. He didn't know you, but some part of him wanted to get to know you.

However, as quickly as that thought entered his mind, he just as quickly disregarded it. He didn't need to get attached to any more people, especially people who couldn't protect themselves in this harsh world they lived in. In the end, everyone he cared about died or left, so it was better to spare himself the inevitable pain and keep you and your daughter at an arm's length.

Something told him that it would be easier said than done, however.

—

The next morning, Daryl found himself working alongside Aaron. The two of them were busy carrying large pieces of metal to the wall they were busy fortifying, Aaron making casual small talk while Daryl simply hummed in acknowledgement. Once the last piece of metal was added to the already existing pile, the two men wiped the sweat from their foreheads and took a drink of water, before walking over to Aaron's house. Aaron took a seat on the porch steps while Daryl remained standing on the grass.

“So yeah, that's how I met Eric,” Aaron told him, concluding his story.

“Story straight out a damn romance novel,” Daryl replied sarcastically, eliciting a laugh from Aaron.

“Yeah, yeah. Make fun of it all you want. Everyone always does.”

“Nah, 's a good story. Pretty cliche with the whole spillin' yer coffee on his shirt bit, but 's still a good story,” Daryl assured him. “Now c'mon, didn't ya say somethin' 'bout havin' a part fer my bike?”

“Dar!”

As if materializing out of thin air, Hazel excitedly bounded down the porch steps and threw herself against Daryl, clinging to his leg in a hug. Caught off guard, Daryl stumbled a bit but regained his footing, his eyes darting down to look at Hazel. His eyebrows raised in surprise before he gently pried the girl from his legs, not used to any kid other than Judith clinging to him like that.

“Kid, what are ya doin'?” he questioned, taking a step back from her, but it was to no avail. Hazel simply smiled up at him before throwing herself at him again, clinging to his leg like a monkey.

Aaron chuckled. “I see you've met Hazel. She's quite the character, huh?”

“Wha's she even doin' here?”

“Eric asked to babysit her. He loves having her over, and her mom said yes.”

Hazel giggled against Daryl's leg, turning her head to look at Aaron. “Hi, Rin!”

“Hey, Hazel,” Aaron chuckled fondly, sending the girl a small wave.

“Rin?” Daryl questioned, placing one of his big hands on the little girl's head, accepting his fate of being clung to for now.

“She can't say my name properly,” Aaron explained. “She has trouble with pronouncing some things.”

“Yeah, her mama said somethin' 'bout tha',” Daryl said without really thinking about it.

“So you've met her?” Aaron asked, leaning forward with slight interest. He had a small smirk on his face, one that Daryl couldn't understand.

“Briefly. Hazel practically dragged her over to meet me yesterday,” Daryl replied, looking down at Hazel when he felt her grip loosen on his leg.

Hazel looked up at him and raised her arms, looking at him expectantly. “Upsies,” she said, jumping slightly on her toes. “Dar, upsies!”

To his utter surprise, Daryl found himself leaning down to pick her up. The act hadn't even registered in his brain until the small girl was already in his arms, her small, chubby hands gripping at his shirt as she giggled. The small sound of her laughter made the archer's heart fill with an unexpected fondness, taking him by surprise. It was the same type of fondness that filled his heart whenever he coaxed a laugh from Judith, and yet it was completely different at the same time. He couldn't explain it.

“She seems to like you, Daryl,” Aaron laughed, standing up from his position on the porch steps. “Not a lot of people can say that about her.”

“Wha' do ya mean?” Daryl found himself asking, confused entirely by the man's revelation. From the limited interactions that the archer has had with the young girl up until that point, he naturally assumed that Hazel was this way with everyone. What would make him special enough to the little girl, who just met him, to make her treat him differently than she would others?

Aaron motioned for Daryl to follow him into the house, and he obliged, silently entering the pristine house while still carrying Hazel in his arms. The girl took a great interest in his hair, playing with it to entertain herself.

“From what Y/n told us, she was with a group before she got here who treated her and Hazel badly, and Hazel hasn't fully regained her trust in adults yet,” Aaron explained.

Daryl frowned. “Badly, how?”

“She wouldn't say, but it took forever for Eric and I to gain Hazel's trust. We even tried to bribe her with candy but she wouldn't budge. But she seems to trust you and you say you only met her yesterday?”

“Yeah. She approached me at tha' makeshift park the kids play at,” Daryl nodded, rubbing a hand over Hazel's small back unconsciously, shifting her in his arms slightly.

“Then you're definitely special, buddy. This kid doesn't trust easily,” Aaron declared, sitting down on a chair in the dining room.

Daryl followed his lead, sitting across from him on a chair while still holding the small girl firmly in his arms. Hazel's attention shifted from his hair to the loose threads on his sleeveless shirt, playing with them to keep herself busy.

“They were with a group 'fore this? How long have they been here?” Daryl questioned, interested in knowing more about you.

“Yeah. Hazel and her mom haven't been here all that long. I actually found them a couple of days, maybe a week, before I found you all. From what I know, Y/n and Hazel had been on their own for a while before I found them. Y/n almost killed me the first time we met. She thought I was gonna hurt them. It took me and Eric a while to convince her to come back with us, but even then she refused to let her guard down. She was kind of like Rick when we first met, except she didn't tie me up or force me to eat apple sauce.”

Daryl hummed, hissing slightly when he felt Hazel tug at his hair rather harshly. He brought one of his hands up to pry her hand away from his hair, subconsciously rubbing his thumb over her small fist.

“Tha' hurts,” he said softly, surprising himself by the gentleness of his voice.

“Sorry, Dar,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly. She yawned before laying her head on his shoulder. She wrapped her small arms around his neck, nuzzling her head into his neck.

Daryl felt his heart swell with fondness for the second time that day. He gently rubbed her back. From his experience with Judith, that small action could lull a small child into slumber, and he hoped that proved to be right with Hazel.

“You're good at that,” Aaron commented, a smile on his face as he watched that small interaction between the big, 'scary' man and a small, innocent child.

Daryl looked at him, confused by the look the man was sending him. “Good at wha'?” he asked.

“That,” Aaron repeated himself, motioning to Hazel. “Were you a dad before all of this?”

Daryl stiffened at the question. “Nah,” he shook his head, adjusting Hazel in his arms again. “Not the type of guy who could've started a family back then.”

“And now?” Aaron asked, unaware of Daryl's inner turmoil.

Daryl inhaled sharply. “To start a family ya need a partner,” Daryl started, slightly rocking the small girl in his arms. “I ain't got a partner, and there ain't exactly women linin' up to be with me. So kids ain't somethin' I see in my future.”

“It could still happen, you know? You might meet someone. Hell, you know what? I know you'll meet someone.”

“A lot of confidence fer somethin' tha' might never happen,” Daryl grumbled.

“Never say never, Daryl,” Aaron replied, giving the man a small smirk. “Never say never.”

—

“Mama! Mama!” Hazel called through the house, excitement clear in her voice.

You smiled at the sound of your daughter's voice, glad to be able to see her again after a whole day of being alone at your small house. The sun was setting, the stars starting to twinkle in the sky and you were almost done with dinner. Eric had told you that he would bring Hazel back before sunset and you were starting to get worried, but thankfully she was okay.

You walked into the living room and hunched down to pick up the small girl that ran into your arms, hugging her tightly to you as you placed kisses all over her face. She giggled at the sensation and pulled back, grabbing your hand and excitedly pointing towards the door.

“Mama, Dar here,” she said, smiling widely before turning towards the door.

You followed her line of sight and locked eyes with the archer. You stood up and gave him an awkward smile, painfully aware of the awkward encounter you had with the man the day before. Daryl seemed to mirror your unease—he nervously shifted his weight from one leg to the other, ducking his head to avoid your gaze.

“I see that, sweetheart,” you replied, keeping your eyes locked on the man before you.

“I played with Rin and Eric. Dar played too!” Hazel happily exclaimed, clapping her hands in excitement as she looked up at Daryl in awe.

“Did he, now?” you asked rhetorically, marvelling at the sudden and unexpected change of character for the quiet man. Just the day before he'd shrugged Hazel off and seemed to want nothing to do with her, yet now your daughter was claiming that the huntsman had spent time with her that day. It didn't make sense.

“Yeah! So fun!” Hazel laughed happily, waddling over to Daryl to seemingly hug his leg again.

Daryl, who had been hugged multiple times that day by the toddler, instinctively crouched down to have her hug his side instead of his leg. Hazel wrapped her small arms around him and nuzzled her head into his neck, and Daryl couldn't help the small smile that spread across his face. One day had been more than enough for him to grow fond of the small girl, and he cursed himself for letting his guard down enough for that to happen, but the damage was already done; that little girl had already wormed her way into his heart.

“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself,” you smiled at her, watching the interaction between the archer and your baby girl. “Baby, why don't you go get changed into your blue PJ's, huh? You're a big girl now, right? Think you can get changed without mama's help?”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed happily, pulling away from the hug and giving Daryl a smile, dimples on display. “Bye, Dar!”

“Bye, Hazel,” Daryl greeted her quietly, watching the girl waddle to the stairs and begin to climb them carefully. He then hesitantly shifted his attention to you, but instead of seeing that wariness he'd grown accustomed to other parents giving him, one that he expected you to give him after his encounter with you the day before, there was a look of curiosity and wonder in your eyes.

“Thanks for bringing her home,” you thanked him, offering the archer a small smile.

Daryl ducked his head. “Ain't nothin',” he replied, shaking his head.

“So, you spent the day with her?” you started, looking at him questioningly. “By the way you looked uncomfortable around her yesterday, I would've thought you'd avoid her at all costs.”

“I was spendin' the day helpin' Aaron. He invited me to his place 'cause he had a part I needed fer my bike and Hazel was there. She wouldn't let go of me after she saw me,” Daryl explained, fiddling with his hands.

“So she basically forced you into spending time with her?” you asked with a small laugh, your eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Pretty much,” Daryl joked, his lips involuntarily twitching into a small smile.

You laughed lightly and Daryl chuckled softly, admiring the way your eyes seemingly sparkled. The dim light of the living room gave you a golden glow, and Daryl found himself admiring your beauty. The unnerving thought struck him at full force and he tried to shake that thought from his mind—he couldn't let his mind go there. He wouldn't let his mind go there. He had to keep you at an arm's length. It was bad enough that Hazel broke through his barrier in a day, so he couldn't allow her mom to do the same, too. More attachments wasn't something the archer needed.

“Well, Hazel seems happy. I think you just became her best friend, whether you like it or not,” you told him playfully.

“I have a feeling tha' I ain't got much say in the matter.

“Nope,” you laughed. “But thank you. She hasn't looked that happy in a long time.”

“Glad I could help,” Daryl replied, a small smile on his face. “Sorry fer bein' a dick yesterday.”

“It's fine. We shouldn't have bothered you.”

“Ya weren't botherin' me. I jus'... Wasn't in a good mood, 's all. 'M sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” You gave him a sweet smile before turning around. “Wait here. I'll be right back.”

Daryl frowned in confusion but didn't say anything. A few minutes passed until you reentered the living room, a lunchbox in your hand. You promptly handed it to him, and Daryl could feel the heat radiating off the bottom.

“Wha's this?” he asked, giving you a questioning look.

“Stew. I made more than Hazel and I can finish, so I figured I'd give you some. And before you say anything, just take it. Consider it a thank you gift.”

Daryl pursed his lips but nodded, resisting the urge to deny your 'gift'. “Thanks.”

“No problem at all,” you reassured him, looking up at him with a smile that made his heart flutter uncontrollably.

Daryl ducked his head, willing the blush on his face to go away. “I should get goin',” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“I'll walk you out,” you replied, walking with him over to the door.

Daryl stepped out of your home and turned to you. He gave you a nod and turned to walk away, but stopped when he heard you speak up.

“I hope you realise that she isn't gonna let you off the hook. You're going to be stuck with her now. And my daughter and I are a package deal, so you're going to be stuck with me, too.”

For some unknown reason, Daryl didn't mind that thought at all.

—

“Easy, Hazelnut. Ya dun' wanna hurt yerself, do ya?”

The toddler giggled, her small hands toying with the arrow in her hands. “Sorry, Dar.”

Daryl smiled at the small girl, bringing one of his hands up to ruffle her hair, successfully coaxing another laugh from her. “I know ya are. Jus' try to be more careful, alrigh'? I dun' want ya gettin' hurt.”

“No boo-boos. Boo-boos hurt,” Hazel replied, gingerly handing the arrow back to the archer.

“They do,” Daryl agreed, taking the arrow from the girl. “Tha's why ya gotta be careful, alrigh'? Dun' want anythin' to happen to someone as sweet as ya, Hazelnut.”

Hazel giggled and nodded. “No boo-boos.”

“No boo-boos,” Daryl repeated, smiling fondly at the young girl.

Two months had passed since Daryl initially met you and Hazel. In those two months, Daryl had found himself becoming intertwined with your lives, a constant presence for you and your daughter.

The archer hadn't asked you what had happened to Hazel's father yet, and he wondered when he could be permitted to ask that. However, Daryl knew that there could only be two plausible explanations; either he was dead, or he willingly left. The huntsman really hoped it wasn't the latter. No person should be left to raise a kid on their own.

However, as Daryl's love for the young girl grew, so did his feelings for you. It got to the point where he had started wishing that he was Hazel's dad, that he could've been there during your pregnancy and watched your belly grow. He would've worshipped your body and been there for you every step of the way. However, as much as he wanted that, that was a dream that couldn't be a reality, so he settled on being Hazel's best friend.

“The two of you look like you're having fun. Mind if I join?”

Daryl's head snapped up at the sound of your voice. His eyes met yours and his heart skipped a beat, that sweet smile of yours making butterflies swarm around in his stomach.

“Mama!” Hazel exclaimed happily, hurrying down the porch steps to fling herself into your arms.

You laughed, picking her up and placing a kiss on her forehead. You looked at Daryl and sent him a smile. “Hey, Daryl.”

“Hey,” he greeted you quietly, fiddling with the arrow in his hands.

“Mama, play with us!” Hazel giggled, wiggling in your arms to be put down.

You lowered her to the ground, watching her climb up the porch steps and clamber into Daryl's lap. Daryl lowered the arrow and wrapped his arms around her, placing a small kiss to the side of her head. You smiled at the interaction, your heart speeding up against your will.

“I can't, baby. It's time to go home. It's dinner time,” you told her.

Hazel frowned and nuzzled her head into Daryl's neck, a whimper building up in her throat. Instinctively, Daryl started rocking her back and forth, rubbing her small back and shushing her quietly.

“S'alrigh', dun' cry. Ya will see me again tomorrow, alrigh'?” he whispered into her ear, his heart breaking at the sound of her sniffles. When he felt her nod, he placed one final kiss to the side of her head before placing her back down. “Why dun' ya go say bye to Jude?”

Hazel looked at you expectantly, and you nodded. “Go ahead, baby. I'll wait for you.”

Hazel ran into the house, leaving you and Daryl alone on the porch. The archer stood up and walked down to meet you on the grass, pushing his hands into his pockets as he looked at you through his hair.

As you looked at him, it took all of your willpower to resist the urge to brush his hair out of his face and cup his cheek. Not trusting your own hands, you crossed your arms and looked up at the huntsman, giving him a small smile.

“This is the first time ya have come to pick her up. I usually bring her home. 'S somethin' wrong?” Daryl asked, searching your eyes for an answer.

You shook your head. “No, nothing's wrong. I just figured that I could come pick her up for a change. Spare you the walk back to my place.”

“It ain't that far,” Daryl pointed out, motioning down the street. “Jus' a couple of houses down.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” you trailed off, unsure if you should lay your problems onto him.

“But wha'?” he questioned, suddenly on edge. Had you changed your mind about him? About him being around you and your daughter? He really hoped not.

You hesitated for a moment. “It's nothing. Just some mom's around the community who like to be judgy.”

“Wha' are they sayin'?”

“That I'm a bad mom for not taking the time out of my day to pick up my own daughter. That I'm smearing my responsibilities onto other people. Just thought I'd start proving them wrong.”

“Hey, yer not a bad mom. I like bringin' Hazel home at the end of the day. Tha' way I know she's safe.” He also liked it because it meant he got to see you being all domestic, hugging your daughter tightly and sending him beautiful smiles, inviting him to stay for dinner each time. He always declined, not wanting to be a burden, but your offer never waned.

You smiled at him, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. Daryl instantly noticed it and placed one of his hands on your shoulder, taking you by surprise. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and your skin flushed where he touched you.

“Dun' let them convince ya yer a bad mom. I ain't ever seen a better mom than ya. How many mom's here can say tha' they kept their kid alive out there in the real world? Tha' despite everythin', their kid came first and tha' they would kill fer them?”

“How did you know I wasn't here from the start?”

“Aaron told me he found ya and Hazel on yer own not too long before he found us. The fact tha' ya kept her alive on yer own for tha' long proves to me tha' yer the best fuckin' mom under the sun.”

You smiled at him and placed your hand over his that was still resting on your shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“No problem,” he replied, holding eye contact with you. His hand lingered on your shoulder for longer than necessary, and he gazed deep into your eyes.

Your heart sped up and stopped beating at the same time, noticing a shift in the archer's emotions. However, before either of you could do anything else, Daryl snapped out of it and withdrew his hand, taking a step back.

You cleared your throat and ducked your head, your face heating up. Luckily, Hazel ran out at that moment and bounded down the stairs, throwing herself into Daryl's side and clinging to his leg.

“Bye, Dar!”

Daryl pressed Hazel tightly to him. “Bye, Hazelnut.”

Hazel unwound her arms from around him and moved over to you, extending her arms to be picked up. You did just that, holding her tightly to you. You turned to Daryl and offered him a small smile.

“You know, my offer still stands. You could join us for dinner.”

Daryl was about to decline your offer again, but Hazel cut him off.

“Yes! Please, Dar!”

In that moment, Daryl found that he wouldn't be able to say no. He gave you both a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

You smiled broadly. “Great! Come on, then.”

“Dun' I need to change?”

“No, you're fine, don't worry. You can come as is.”

“Alrigh',” Daryl nodded. “Let's go.”

—

“Could you maybe get Hazel settled into her highchair? I'll be right out with the food.”

Daryl nodded and watched you retreat from the dining room into the kitchen before turning around. “Hazelnut!” he called, hearing the toddler's footsteps come into the dining room.

Hazel stared up at the archer with a huge smile, her arms extended to be picked up. Daryl smiled softly at the girl and leaned down to pick her up, placing her in her highchair. Once he was sure she was settled and wouldn't fall off, he got settled in the chair next to her, listening to Hazel's happy babbling.

Soon enough, you reentered the dining room with a pot of spaghetti and meatballs. The aroma of the meal made Daryl's mouth practically water. The last time he'd eaten spaghetti was when Aaron had invited him, and that was a good couple of months ago.

“It smells fuckin' good,” Daryl said without thinking, and instantly regretted his choice of words.

“Fuck,” Hazel repeated happily, completely oblivious to the horrified look that spread over Daryl's face, and the amused one that spread over yours.

“Nah, Hazelnut, dun' say tha'. Dun' ever say tha',” he told her hurriedly, his heart beating faster at his mistake.

��Fuck,” Hazel giggled.

“No, I jus' said—” Daryl started, shooting you a worried look. However, he calmed down when he saw your amused smile. “Wha's so funny?”

“You,” you told him, laughing lightly while serving everyone some food. “Don't look so worried. I'm not gonna bite your head off because of one slip up. If I had a penny for every time I accidentally slipped up since she was born, I would've been able to buy a yacht in the old world. You're good, don't worry.

“Okay, but we can't have her goin' around sayin' tha', though,” Daryl said, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

“You're right about that,” you started, turning to look at Hazel. “Baby, you can't say fuck, okay? That word belongs to Daryl. Until he's ready to share that word, you can't say that, alright?”

“Okay, Mama,” Hazel replied, starting to eat her food rather messily.

Daryl chuckled softly at the girl before turning to his own food. He started eating as well, the flavours of the delicious meal melting on his tongue. He wanted to gulp it all down but he resisted the urge, instead eating with a decency he never knew he had.

The meal was mostly spent in silence, save for Hazel's happy babbling and the occasional input from you or Daryl. Daryl did, however, sneak glances at you when you weren't looking, admiring your beauty and the soft, loving way you acknowledged your daughter and the tenderness you used when you wiped her face clean of the sauce.

Unbeknownst to the archer, you had also been sneaking glances at him. Admiring his gentleness with your daughter, the way his eyes softened and the quiet chuckles he would let out whenever Hazel did something amusing, or the small smiles he gave you. It was amazing how important Daryl had become to you and Hazel in a span of a few months. The big, gruff, quiet man with a heart of gold, who had invaded your thoughts and your heart.

The meal was soon done and Hazel's eyes were beginning to droop. You noticed it and got up to take her out of her highchair. She instantly layed her head down onto your shoulder and closed her eyes, and you placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

“You tired, baby?” you cooed, rubbing her back gently. When she simply responded by nuzzling her face deeper into your shoulder, you laughed fondly and turned to Daryl, sending him an apologetic look. “Sorry, I should probably get this little rascal to bed. You can stay here, I'll be right back.”

However, as soon as you said that, Hazel interjected. “Dar tuck me in with Mama?” she asked innocently, lifting her head up to look at Daryl.

Daryl looked surprised. He locked eyes with you, his heart fluttering at the smile you sent him.

“If Daryl's okay with it,” you whispered.

“Yeah, 'course,” Daryl replied, nodding his head.

You motioned for him to follow you upstairs and he obliged. Together the two of you descended up the stairs and into Hazel's bedroom. Daryl stopped in the doorway, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but you had other ideas. You gently took his hand and led him into the room, only letting go of it to tuck your daughter into bed. Daryl subconsciously placed his hand on your shoulder instead, watching place your little girl into bed.

Hazel was already half asleep when you put her into her bed. She instantly curled up into her pillow and let out a big sigh, her eyes opening only slightly. In her view, she saw you, her mom, the woman who always protected her when the two of you were living on the road outside the walls, and always loved her despite her shenanigans. And Daryl, the man who at first had been kind of mean, now always there for both her and her mom. The man who started to feel like a daddy to her.

“Night, Mama. Night, Daddy,” Hazel mumbled, her eyes closing and she drifted into slumber. In seconds, she was out cold.

Time froze for a moment. Daryl's eyes widened and his heart practically pounded out of his chest. There was no way that he had heard it right. There was no way that Hazel had just called him dad. There was no way that Hazel trusted and loved him enough in those few months to see him as her father. She couldn't, could she?

He turned to look at you and noticed the unreadable expression on your face. You didn't address what she had just said, however, and Daryl was too nervous to bring it up himself.

“We should probably let her sleep,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” Daryl agreed and followed you out the door.

Together, the two of you descended down the stairs and back into the dining room. You turned to look at Daryl and motioned towards the living room.

“You can wait in the living room. I just wanna put the dishes in the sink and then I'll join you.”

“Nah, let me help,” Daryl protested, moving over to grab all the dishes.

Before you could protest, Daryl walked into the kitchen. You quickly followed behind him and watched him put the dishes in the sink, but before he could start washing them, you quickly stopped him.

“No, it's okay. I'll wash them tomorrow,” you assured him. “Do you want some wine?”

Daryl nodded and hummed, silently observing as you grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, as well as a bottle of wine. You placed the glasses on the counter before popping the the bottle open, pouring the two of you each a glass of wine. You handed him the glass and propped yourself onto the counter, letting your legs swing below you.

Daryl leaned against the counter and took a sip of his wine, humming in approval at the taste. “S'good. Thanks.”

“It's nothing, really. I've been wanting a reason to open the bottle for a while now.”

“Ya can't jus' drink it whenever ya want?” Daryl questioned, taking another sip from the glass in his hand.

“I could, but I prefer not to. I don't want to be like—” you started, but abruptly stopped. You hurriedly took a sip of your wine, welcoming the taste in your mouth.

“Like who?” Daryl asked, frowning at the uncomfortable look on your face.

You hesitated for a long moment, not sure if you should tell Daryl about your past problems. You were afraid that Daryl would look at you differently if you revealed anything. However, as you looked into his eyes, you only saw care and concern, so you found yourself confiding in him.

“Hazel's father,” you said, pursing your lips at the thought of the man you hated more than anything.

“Wha' was he like?” Daryl asked, placing his glass down on the counter. He turned his full attention to you, his eyes trailing over your face for any shift in emotion.

“He was a fucking asshole,” you spat angrily, clenching your jaw in anger. “He was a raging alcoholic and a frequent drug user. He didn't even stop when Hazel was born. If anything, it got worse. I tried so hard to get him sober, but nothing worked. He always yelled at me and threatened to hurt Hazel whenever I brought it up. And then one day, when I woke up, he was just... Gone. No note, no phone call, nothing. Hazel was barely one year old.”

Daryl frowned deeply, anger bubbling inside him at the thought of someone hurting you and Hazel so badly. He clenched his fist and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

“Not too long after that, the world went to shit. His sister came to pick us up and took us to her camp, and that's where I saw that asshole again. He treated Hazel so badly and got the other people in the camp to be mean to her. Hazel didn't even do anything wrong, but they all ganged up on her. Thankfully it never got physical, but that really scarred her. It went on until the camp got overrun, and all of those fuckers got what they deserved. The only reason Hazel and I got out was because his sister helped us. She sacrificed herself for us. After that, Hazel and I were on our own for more than a year. I'm surprised that I managed to keep us alive for that long on my own, but I managed. And then Aaron and Eric found us and the rest is history.”

Daryl was speechless. It angered him that someone would hurt you like that, would hurt little Hazel like that. And the fact that you had to survive on your own for that long... It amazed him. He wished that he could've found you earlier and have protected you and Hazel from all those horrors, but there was nothing he could do to change the past. He could only ensure that nothing ever touched you in the future.

“Yer a strong woman. The fact tha' ya went through all tha' and managed to keep Hazel alive and love her unconditionally proves tha'. Yer amazing and I hope ya know tha'.”

You were taken aback by the sudden confession, but soon a smile spread across your face. You hopped off the counter and stood in front of him, almost chest to chest. You looked up at him, your faces close enough to close the remaining distance between your lips.

“You're amazing too. I don't think you realise how much you mean to Hazel, how much you mean to me.”

With that, you closed the remaining distance between your lips. You pressed your lips against his softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. After a moment of shock, Daryl kissed you back feverishly, pulling you closer by your hips. You gasped against his lips, allowing Daryl to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned into his lips and pressed yourself harder against him, eliciting a groan from the man.

As soon as you pulled away for air, you tugged Daryl by the lapel of his vest. “Wanna take this to my room?” you whispered, breathless from the ravenous kiss.

“Wha' 'bout Hazelnut? Won't she wake up?” Daryl asked, pressing his forehead against yours.

“No. She's out cold. The chances of her waking up are basically nonexistent.”

Daryl let out a deep breath and nodded, allowing you to pull him up the stairs. The two of you soon stumbled into your room, hurriedly closing the door and pawing at each other's clothes. However, when you reached for Daryl's shirt, he stopped you, a pained look on his face.

“What's wrong?” you asked, a worried look on your face. “Did I do something wrong?”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah, ya didn't do anythin'.”

“Then what's wrong?” you asked him gently, cupping his cheek in your hand. “Talk to me. I won't judge.”

Daryl inhaled sharply. “I didn't have a good childhood,” was all he said before slowly removing his shirt.

Your eyes hungrily trailed over his body, your hands reaching forward to press against his chest. You didn't understand what Daryl was talking about until you got a glimpse of his back in the mirror in your room. The scars on his back were jagged, and you instantly knew what they meant; someone had hurt this perfect man before you, and you felt so angry.

You walked behind him. “May I?” you whispered, your hands hovering over his back.

Daryl hesitantly nodded. You softly ran your fingers over his scars, your touch feathery light. The archer shivered involuntarily, closing his eyes at the feeling. Before meeting you, the only feeling that he would ever associate with his back was pain from his father's cruelty, yet there you were, tracing over his scars as if they were priceless paintings in a museum.

Soon your fingers were replaced with your lips, and Daryl's eyes flew open. Your lips softly kissed over his scars, trailing down to the last scars on his lower back. When you were done, you turned him around to face you. You gently cupped his cheek, a small smile on your face.

“You're perfect to me, Daryl. You're so sweet, kind and caring. Hell, my daughter called you dad. That says plenty.”

“'M perfect?”

“You're perfect.”

That was all you had to say for Daryl to pull you into another fiery kiss. The two of you soon toppled onto your bed, spending a night filled with passion together.

That next morning when Hazel woke up and walked into your room, she was pleasantly surprised to find Daryl sleeping there, holding you, her mama. She was, however, confused that when she woke the two of you up, you clutched the sheets to your bodies and refused to let her climb under them with you like you normally would do.

—

Two years later...

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Hazel. Happy birthday to you!”

You and Daryl cheered as Hazel blew out the candles on her homemade cake. Hazel laughed as she struggled to blow out the last one of the five candles on the cake, eliciting soft chuckles from you and Daryl. When she finally managed to blow it out, you and Daryl handed her each a gift. She clapped her hands excitedly. She got up from her seat and ran to hug you and Daryl, which you both returned.

“Thank you, Mama. Thank you, Daddy,” she said with a big smile, eyeing the wrapped gifts on the table.

“Dun' thank us yet, Hazelnut,” Daryl responded with a smile. “Go ahead and open 'em.”

Hazel hurriedly opened each of the gifts and gasped with delight, holding up a colouring book, new crayons and a new doll. She giggled in excitement at the gifts.

“Can I go show these to Judith? We can colour and play dolls together now!”

You laughed and nodded. “Sure, baby. Just be good for Michonne and Rick, okay?”

“Okay!” she agreed and took off in a run, throwing the front door open and disappearing out of it.

“I can't believe she's growin' up so fast,” Daryl mumbled, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I know, right? She'll be moving away from home soon enough,” you joked.

“Hmm,” Daryl hummed, chuckling at your joke.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, turning around in the archer's arms. “I got something for you, too.”

“Fer me?” he asked in confusion, frowning slightly. “Why? It ain't my birthday for another couple of months.”

“I know, but this can't wait that long. Here,” you said, handing him a small box.

Daryl gingerly took the box from your hands and opened it. His eyes widened at the item inside, picking it up and looking at it. After examining it for a couple of moments, he confirmed that his mind wasn't playing a trick on him—it was a positive pregnancy test.

“Yer—Yer pregnant?” he asked, a smile spreading over his face.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, nodding your head. A laugh escaped you when Daryl picked you up and spun you around, before he placed you back on the ground and pulled you into a kiss.

When he pulled back, he leaned his forehead against yours. “Hazelnut's gon' have a baby sibling. We're gon' have another kid.”

“We are,” you agreed, closing your eyes. “I love you, Daryl.”

Daryl placed a gentle kiss against your forehead. “I love ya too. And I already love tha' little peanut in yer belly.”

“Hazelnut and Peanut, huh?”

“Yeah. Our two babies. Our own little family,” Daryl said, placing his hand on your stomach, over the life that was growing there.

“We have Hazel to thank for this. If she didn't instantly like you back then, this might never have happened,” you told him, placing your hand over his.

“Remind me to thank her when she gets back later. But fer now, let's enjoy our alone time,” Daryl replied suggestively, tugging you with him as he walked backwards towards the stairs.

“I like that idea.”

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fangswbenefits · 1 year

Text

Family

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: Miguel is a natural when it comes to being a father.

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

No warnings! Pure fluff! Dad Miguel.

A flock of birds took flight from a nearby tree and the ruffling of the leaves was a clear indication that there was an intruder nearby.

Your moment of peace and quiet was short-lived, but you remained still, folding under your head as both you an Miguel soaked up the Summer sun.

"Pa~pá!" sang a small voice from inside the canopy.

"Ye~ah?" Miguel said, focused on his dimensional travel watch.

"Look at me~e!"

"I'm looking."

"You're not looking!"

You wrinkled your nose at him behind a faint smile, “Miguel O’Hara, I will smash that watch into a million pieces if you don’t focus on your daughter.”

He glanced up at you. “The multiverse—”

“—can wait,” you reassured him, nudging his arm with an elbow. “Jessica is more than capable of taking over for a couple of days.”

He nodded, but only half convinced, which was good enough, considering this was the first time Miguel was taking a few days off from the never-ending stressful work of keeping the canon intact.

It was pleasant enough to be able to go to earth-616B on a little family trip and enjoy the countryside with the guidance of Peter, MJ and little Mayday.

But Miguel was… well, Miguel. A natural worrier who disliked handing over his responsibilities to others.

“Hey, you have something on your face,” he suddenly said in a low voice.

“What is it?” you immediately brought both hands to tap along your skin, searching for anything unusual.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on your cheek, which sent your heart into overdrive.

“Nice one, O’Hara…”

He replied with a teasing smile that you were so used to loving.

“EEEEW!” your daughter’s voice tore through the empty field, effectively distressing the surrounding fauna.

You watched as Miguel turned off the bleeping device on his wrist and rose from the meadow to his full height, headed toward the tree.

“Alright, little spider, come down.”

You spotted child of five descending upside down from a branch by her web, two front teeth missing, face covered in smudges of dirt, but beaming brightly at the signt of her dad.

“Papá!”

He helped her reach the ground safely and ruffled her unruly hair. “You need to be careful.”

Even from a distance, your heightened senses allowed you to feel the adoration in his voice.

The girl was wiggling now with barely suppressed excitement. "Hey, papá?"

Well, if that wasn't the most mischievous tone of voice you’d ever heard. "Hmm?”

"Do that thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing!"

"What thing?" he asked again, feigning confusion.

"THAT thing!" she cheered. "Where you go bzzzz and vssssssh and then BAM!”

"Oh," said Miguel. “That thing."

"Yep!”

"Maybe not," he sighed, but when her uplifted face began to wobble, you knew he had little choice. "Well, don’t tell mommy.”

"Yeeeaah!"

He brought a finger to his lips that she promptly mimicked. “Shhhhhh,” she then giggled.

“I can hear you!” you shouted, sitting on the grass to offer your seal of approval that came in the form of a wide smile.

You trusted her with Miguel, because Miguel trusted her with no one else but you. He would never consciously endanger his child, so you grew to accept that some of their playtime might involve something a bit riskier — as long as no loss of limbs was on the table.

She looked so tiny next to his impressive height, but was definitely a miniature copy of her father.

“We carry them inside us for months only for them to come out looking exactly like their father,” Jessica had once said and you wholeheartedly agreed.

He was wearing casuals, but his suit quickly began to engulf his entire body, leaving him only unmasked. Your daughter was bobbing happily along beside him.

"Stay back," he warned her lightly before sendind two laser-like red strings to coil around a thick branch, and effortlessly bending it into an arch until the tip hit the ground.

"Yey!" she yelped in excitement, toddling off toward the branch.

"Alright. Now, be careful.”

She met this warning with as much enthusiasm as she had for being offered an unlimited supply of candy of her choice. It didn't take much to excite her and you couldn't help but smile and follow as she began climbing up the branch with steady steps.

As she reached the middle, her knees bent as a way to maintain balance. “Do it, do iiiit!”

Miguel chuckled and the twin strings loosened ever so slightly in order to have it wobble up and down, sending the young child into a spiral of pure bliss.

“Faster! Faster!”

“Steady yourself,” he advised instead and she did as she was told, lowering herself and extending both arms as if riding a wave.

To a young spider, this was the closest thing they could get to a bouncing castle, so you didn’t mind this at all.

And neither did Miguel, because he instructed for her to climb onto his shoulders and offered the sweetest and most genuine smile ever.

He let go of the tree branch slowly, and his suit retracted at once, the little girl sliding both arms down his face for support and planting a kiss on top of his head.

“Did you have fun?”

"Yes!" she immediately said with a screech.

"And you’re strong and brave?”

"Yes!"

"And you know I love you, don't you?” he said as he paced toward you with her bouncing on his shoulders. “And mamá too, right? We'll always love you."

She was, delightfully, still very much of fan of such cheesy displays of affection. "Yes," she chirped happily.

You rose to your feet, feeling warmth spread throughout your body at the wonderful sight in front of you.

Miguel, for all his stubbornness and grumpiness, was a marvelous father. It was second nature to him.

"Another kiss?”

She leaned over and planted a noisy kiss on Miguel’s temple and giggled when he did his best to wipe it off with the back of his hand.

You welcomed them with a tight embrace and the feeling of a soft caress along your face as your daughter gave you a toothless smile.

"Let’s head out to uncle Peter’s house for a bath,” you said, pecking the palm of her hand.

“Don’t need one!”

Miguel squeezed her tiny calfs lightly. “Young lady, you do as your mother says.”

“But—”

Another squeeze and she bared her teeth, two tiny fangs emerging.

“Miguel, she’s showing off her fangs,” you said, feigning terror.

“Fangs away!” he said with a smile, bouncing her up and down his shoulders, which had her explode into a laughter.

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel o’hara fanfiction #across the spiderverse #miguel x reader #spider man 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara drabble

3K notes · View notes

ceilidho · 7 months

Text

prompt: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 1.

“—are priced wrong. You need to fix that.”

“Hmm? Sorry?” you ask, mind snapping out of whatever fog it’d descended into upon seeing John Price’s truck pull up out front of the grocer. You blink a couple times before focusing on the older lady lined up at your till, her face pinched with displeasure. It deepens when she realizes that you haven’t been paying a lick of attention to whatever she’d just spent the better half of a minute complaining about.

“The beefsteak tomatoes are priced wrong. They’re supposed to be two dollars a pound—it’s in the catalogue.”

Before you can so much assure her that you’ll certainly honour the advertised price and save yourself the headache, she’s already opening up her purse to pull out the crinkled grocery catalogue, unfolding it across your conveyor belt; it goes out in the local paper once a week with all the sales and rippable coupons, and this isn’t the first time you’ve had someone try to lecture you about discrepant prices (Kate, your manager, is a sweet, gungho lady, that often sends off discount confirmations to the editorial staff of the local paper without informing anyone that actually works in the shop day-to-day).

From the corner of your eye, you see John slam the door shut on his truck and make his way towards the shop, hands shoved into his pockets. Even from a ways away, the sight of him makes your cheeks redden; his beard’s gotten fuller in the week since you last saw him, clad in even more layers of flannel and tweed now with the fast approach of winter. He looks properly ready for the winter months, with just an air of heaviness present in the lines on his forehead and the tilt of his head.

You feel your lips slip down into a frown. Helpless, you can only watch in defeat as John lumbers into the grocery store, brushing his hand over his hat to shake off the snowflakes onto the mat by the automatic doors. He picks up one of the baskets by the front door before heading down one of the aisles. His eyes don’t flicker to meet yours so much as once.

Your shoulders slump when he ducks out of sight before you focus your attention back on the woman in front of you. She’s pointing out the tomato print with the little two dollar sign in the advertisement with a stiff finger, eyebrow cocked like she’s pulled one over on you. You really can’t imagine there being anything less important to you than the price of beefsteak tomatoes, never mind having to refund someone a whole dollar because you inadvertently overcharged them and you happened to get stuck with the one customer that would spend a full thirty seconds reviewing their bill before leaving the shop.

“See?” she says, the word coming out sibilant and stressed. You blink.

Turning back to the till, you click a couple buttons before the register pops back out again and you pluck up a dollar to hand back to your customer. On the receipt that’s printed out, you hastily scrawl the reason for the refund and shove the seller's copy back into the till. The woman stares at the dollar now sitting on the belt in front of her.

“Of course, ma’am,” you say, a robotic smile stretching across your face. “Apologies for the inconvenience. I’ll get someone to reprice the tomatoes so this doesn’t happen again.”

She doesn’t say anything when she snatches up the dollar along with her groceries and hobbles out the front door, the automatic doors swooshing behind her. With her finally gone, you close your eyes for a second, a private moment just to yourself.

Someone clears their throat from just off to the side. Your heart bursts into a frantic pitter-patter when you open your eyes to find John waiting patiently at the end of your till, his basket filled up with bottles of mustard, gherkins, and other preserves.

“A paper bag, please,” he says in a gruff voice, like he tousled with sleep just a few minutes ago. It makes your head spin.

You nod, hardly able to even respond.

Up close, he smells like firewood and smoke, the ever-present cigar usually hanging off his lip nowhere to be seen but still clinging to his jacket and flannel beneath it. The mutton chops of his beard have grown out more than the rest, but his jaw is covered in a layer of fur in comparison to the week previous. John doesn’t really make eye contact as you scan his groceries, almost too tired to raise them from the conveyor belt. Not for lack of respect—it comes off as pure exhaustion.

You know John as the gruff, taciturn park ranger that comes in once a week to load up on steaks, cold cuts and fresh produce, but in the months you’ve lived in this town, he’s always fresh off work, a little rough around the edges and not quite fit for human interaction just yet. He just grunts and nods when you tell him his total, towers over you and never really makes much eye contact.

It’s always non-perishables with him these days. At least for the past several weeks, as far as you know. Cans and jars and freezer-ready meals. He doesn’t strike you as much of a prepper, but his order speaks for itself. It’s one of the things you like most about your job—getting to peek into the small crack of life laid bare before you.

“Getting ready for the winter?” you ask.

John grunts, eyes meeting yours just briefly before dropping down again. Dark brown. Sometimes you swear you catch the faintest glimmer of gold in them, like a honey glaze, but it’s likely just a trick of the lights.

“Gonna be a rough one.”

You try not to shiver at the sound of his voice. It’s not often that you get to hear it; even though you moved into the house next to his almost six months ago, he spends most of his days in the mountains, working up there as a ranger. He comes home after dark nearly every day—not so hard now that the sun sets early on in the day, but even back in the summer you’d spy him coming back from his shift well after dark.

He’s gotten more heavyset in the last couple of weeks, a comfortable weight to his midsection and arms. Beefier, more solid. When John is in front of you, it’s like no one else in the world exists at that moment; he removes them all from sight and mind. It soothes some of the worry that his constant late coming has stirred up in you, knowing that he’s fed. Not all of it though.

“You know the, uh—” you start, clearing your throat midway through, almost losing your nerve under his sudden attention at the sound of your voice, “—the butter’s twenty percent off this week. I, um…I wasn’t sure if you’d noticed.” You catch his little frown and clarify. “You usually get butter.”

“Thank you, but not this time,” he says gruffly. “Got enough of it in the freezer.”

“Oh…well…” you trail off like you’re going to say something else but you let the conversation fall flat instead.

He’s quiet the rest of the time as you bag his groceries. John always is. There’s a hurt side of you, silently begging for more, but you’ve watched him enough around town to know that this is just what he’s like. Gruff with the other rangers on the mountain, taciturn after a long day’s work, and sweet as apple pie with the older townsfolk. You’ve seen him help people at crosswalks and more than once he’s footed someone’s grocery bill when they’ve come short.

Maybe you’re not interesting enough to merit conversation or that same goodwill he extends to others. Not that John has ever been anything less than polite with you, but—your thoughts scatter like birds when you recite his total without thinking and watch him wordlessly as he pays.

“Thanks, honey,” John says, eyes meeting yours again. “See you next week.” He finally manages a smile, his eyes crinkling under the weight of it.

You could get lost in his smile if you let yourself. It comes freely but seldomly these days, kept at bay by rough days out in the woods helping lost hikers, ticketing hunters for going over their allotment, and managing the wildlife. But when he smiles, you feel the blood go hot under your cheeks and fight every vision you have of him suddenly leaning across the counter and tipping your chin up for a kiss.

Tongue-tied, you nod. You can’t even force a smile on your face, wide eyes still set on him in wonderment. He doesn’t wait around for you to find your words.

But—you think again wistfully as he turns to leave—it might be nice once in a while. For him to look at you like you’re more than a stranger.

You mourn your chance to talk to him once he’s out the door, wishing you could call him back. It’s not his fault that just the mere sight of him leaves you tongue-tied. It folds up like a cherry stem in your mouth when he speaks to you and you haven’t yet managed to untangle it in his presence. Maybe someday.

That’s just life though.

He’s always made you feel nervous, like a schoolgirl with her first crush, but it’s a safe kind of crush. The kind that feels fun to indulge in because there’s no possibility of reciprocation, like you can just ogle him and pine over him without having to worry about what you’d do if he felt the same way. You mourn the loss of him when he leaves, but like a tender bruise on your knee that you sometimes press just to shy away from.

The rest of your shift pales in comparison to the eight minutes spent in his presence. Rinse and repeat. Someone else complains about the tomatoes and you write a note for your manager to read the next day. It’ll be her fault if someone finally emails in to complain or takes it to the news; there’s always an op-ed in the papers that’s little more than a thinly veiled bad Yelp review.

John’s car is outside his house when you make it home at the end of the day, the lights still on inside. You sit in your car and stare at the light hidden behind the curtains.

It would be nice, you think, resting your head back against the seat, to go up and knock at his door. If only you were braver. You’d march right up, knock on his door, and offer him something to eat. You could do it too. In the six months you’ve lived here, it’s not as though you’ve ever treated him particularly neighbourly.

You squeak when you see John pull the curtain back and peer out the window, sliding down in the front seat so he doesn’t notice you there.

Maybe some other day then.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #cod mw2 #captain john price #captain price #john price #price x reader #price x you #price/reader #x reader

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voidpetrova · 5 months

Text

authority — rafe cameron x reader

☄. *. ⋆ content warning(s) & genre: swearing, objectification, mild aggression, very intimate and explicit sexual content described, choking, degradation — smut

˚♡ ｡˚ synopsis: he can't help the fact that he's obsessive, practically delusional as much as sociopathic, but you love him. no matter how controlling he could be.

✧.*

control, it's extraordinary the tactics people employ to obtain it. some rely on deception, while others engage in outright trickery. then there are those who resort to extortion. a good amount of people? fear, it's an emotion they feed off. why do we fight so hard for control? because, we know to lose it, is to put our faith in the hands of others. and what could be more dangerous?

the coastal winds whispered secrets as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the outer banks. in the quaint beach town, where the search for gold led to twists of fate, another tale unfolded—unseen, yet pulsating with the undercurrents of possessiveness and obsession. for as long as you could remember, you've been caught in the crossfire of rafe cameron and his turbulent emotions. it wasn't something you had a particular problem with, you never made a big deal about it. sure, it ticked you off, there was no denying that, but you knew fighting it off was no use.

whether it was a skirt that was just a few inches too high, or a top that revealed a bit more cleavage than anticipated, not much was necessary to send rafe off the rails. it was apart of him, consuming him more with every upcoming day. of course, he'd have to face the consequences of his actions later on, and he always felt bad. sometimes, his aggression would be laid on a tad too thick, unnecessarily hurtful comments leaving you in tears. he would always make up for it, wrapping you in his arms, consoling you and kissing your tears away. however, in the heat of the moment, if his buttons were pushed just right, there was no going back.

on this particular night, it was just a few minutes past midnight. you had spent the past half hour preparing for a girls' night out with rafe's sister. you were already late as is, listening to the tv blaring as your boyfriend watched a movie on the living room, carefully staying focused as your phone lit up with messages from sarah. you slipped into a short, stylish dress that hugged your curves, unable to shake the feeling that every thread of fabric would invoke a storm within rafe. this time, you knew exactly what you were doing, you knew exactly which cards would be dealt, and you couldn't wait.

the air hummed with tension as you descended the staircase of the mansion, the soft click of your heels echoing through the grand foyer. you knew the minute silence struck, with the movie coming to a pause, that you would soon be in for it. you took a final step down thr stairs, making your way into the living room, your stomach in knots.

rafe was spread out on the couch, head resting on his elbow with his legs kicked back. at first he didn't turn around, the silence in the room practically suffocating. he knew you were going out, you had informed him earlier, but he wasn't particullarly fond of your decision. after that, you had spoken a total of two sentences, perhaps. when the scent of your strong perfume filled his nostrils, he couldn't help but finally turn around. his eyes locking onto you with an intensity that mirrored the swirling tempests off the carolina coast.

his voice, laced with a certain edge to it, sliced through the silent atmosphere. “where do you think you're going, looking like that?” the moonlight seeping through the cracks of the windows played on his features, emphasizing the dark intensity in his eyes. it was as if the mere sight of you in that dress threatened the fragile equilibrium he desperately clung to.

you feigned a sigh, your gaze unwavering. “told you i was going out, didn't i?” you knew you were going to play your part, but you knew rafe could only handle small doses of your attitude. his eyebrows perked up at your tone. “it's a nice dress, isn't it?” his jaw tightened, involuntarily, in fact, eyes low and heavy as they scanned you from head to toe.

there was no denying it, it was a gorgeous dress. a black one, clinging onto your body thanks to the straps on your shoulders. it showed more cleavage that necessary, hugging every crevice and curve perfectly. the way it stopped just inches above your knees only added insult to injury. he hated it, he hated how good you looked.

he cleared his throat, anger bubbling in the pits of his stomach. blood coursed through his veins, he could practically feel it, heat rushing towards every part of his body possible. he adjusted his position, kicking his feet off the couch in order to face you, as if serious. “you think 'm gonna let you go out lookin' like that?” he practically taunted, tone laced with venom. you shrugged, sliding one leg behind the other as if you were truly innocent, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

“well, my drinks don't pay for themselves, don't you know?” control was slipping through his fingers like sand, and the storm within him brewed. even the tranquil beauty of the outer banks couldn't make up for the storm of pure shit rafe was more than ready to unveil. “is that so?” he countered, the venom replaced with a low edge that sent a shiver down your spine. he was standing now—the faster your heart would beat, the closer he would come towards you. you could only nod in response in spite of how weak you were in the knees.

he was in front of you in a matter of seconds, the distance of a mere few inches separating you from him. his eyes bore into your frame, admiring how small you were in comparison, how frail you seemed. you met his eyes, as if to challenge him. “let me tell you somethin', sweetheart,” you didn't have time to react, he never gave you time—he wasn't exactly that gracious. before you could make any sudden movements of your own, you found yourself facing the cold exterior of the wall, cheek pressed against the rough surface. the brutal force of rafe's every move held you down, pushing you even deeper into the wall, with one of his hands making its way from your back to your face, wrapping around your jaw, his palm now pressing into your mouth, the weight preventing you from digging your grave more than you already have—you truly thought you would suffocate, eyes widening as his other hand held both of yours, straining and pushing down with a force you knew would leave bruises the morning after.

you were completely at his disposal, and you haven't even started yet. your eyes shot down to your phone, tucked into the side of your panties due to the lack of pockets. your handbag had been an innocent bystander, taking up space on the living room table. rafe lowered his head, tilting yours slightly upward in order to gain access to your ear. “guess you'll have to cancel with sarah,” he practically purred, removing his hand, only for a split second, to turn your phone off. his hand was cool against your flushed skin, fingertips grazing your bare thigh as he snatched your phone from underneath your panties, eager to rid you both of his sister's annoyance. “thought they had a policy against sluts, anyway.”

you scoffed, despite your compromising situation and position. “yeah? you should see how fond they are of me down there.” you knew you'd regret your words the minute they left your mouth, and rafe made sure of it. in a matter of seconds, you were back to facing him. he had let go of your hands, only to wrap his fingers around your throat, turning you around with such force, your back was slammed against the wall. once again, you were forced to meet his gaze, dark eyes boring into yours. for the first time in a long time, you were afraid.

“you must've forgotten who's in charge here,” he laughed, but there wasn't a trace of humor in it. his grip on your throat tightened, as if he knew you'd add fuel to the fire with your response. “must've forgotten that sluts have no place here, let alone a say in what goes.”

it was shameful to admit that his words sent a stroke of heat down your core, it was a disgrace. you felt filthy, his grip tightening with each passing second—it was supposed to teach you a lesson, scare you into listening, but you couldn't help the way it made you feel. it was something he picked up on, you could tell by the slight smirk playing on his lips. “don't even know why i bother with you,” he continued, as if he was doing it on purpose. “you love the attention, don't you? love getting put in your place like a bitch in heat.” you couldn't answer, weakly nodding, unable to stand against the truth. he saw right through you.

his grip loosened, but remained in place. his thumb trailed up your chin, pulling your lower lip down as he smeared your lipstick into your skin. he loved the sight of you, knowing it never took much to make a mess of you, thumb tapping against your lip. your throat was in steady recovery, but you parted your lips, making room for him. he grunted, unable to resist the way your mouth welcomed him so openly, sucking away at his thumb. he pulled back, only for a second, smearing your spit against your dimples, your chin. he loved the way you gave in so easily, letting him to you do whatever crossed his mind.

“such a mess for me, and here i thought you were going out tonight,” he practically purred in your ear, fingers slick with your spit as it travelled down to your panties as he awaited a response. you couldn't help but whimper, the feeling of his wet fingers against your clothed core sending you into tame bliss. he pressed his index finger against your slit, rubbing and silently admiring how wet you were for him. wet was an understatement, every slight touch had you soaking.

“so wet for me,” he groaned, pushing your lace to the side as a fresh wisp of cool air hit your now bare cunt. your back remained pressed against the wall, a single leg sliding upwards, knee digging into his chest to grant him further access. “please, rafe,” you exhaled in anticipation, growing heat making it insufferable for you.

“such attitude just a few minutes ago,” he taunted, but even he had his priorities set straight, more focused on the uncomfortable strain in his pants than your prior retorts. he had his free hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss while his other hand worked for him. you couldn't resist him, locking lips eagerly as your fingers pulled his hair ever so gently. he took that as his sign, index finger pushing past your walls before he kicked up a pace of his own.

the moans that left your mouth were delicious as a second finger joined the process. eventually, a third. his lips trailed down your jaw, too eager to stay in one place, before moving down to your collarbone. his hand had started to ache, pace quickening as he fucked you open with his fingers. no matter how many times you had sex—you were like rabbits—under any circumstances, no prep was enough for the size of his dick. every time, no matter how many fingers prepared you for what was coming, it was never enough. the pain was unbearable, the pleasure unmeasurable.

once he knew you were ready, he retracted his fingers despite your protesting whimpers. “don't you worry, baby,” he uttered out frantically, fingers desperately unbuckling his jeans, all too eager to rid himself of his clothes. “'m gonna take good care of you.”

the absolute sight of him had your mouth watering. his hair was slick with sweat, chest heaving as he took himself into his hand, thumb spreading his precum alongside the head, coating it with a thick layer. he spat onto his hand, grunting as he slicked his dick up, jacking it to coat it up evenly. it wasn't enough for him, his hand was never enough. he needed you more than you needed him.

“turn around,” it was a command, not a question, and you were to do as you were told, cheek once again pressed against the wall's rough surface. he sighed as he took in the sight of you, ass bare and back arched for him. “that's my girl.”

he hadn't planned on showing any mercy, he sure wasn't going to. under normal circumstances, he'd have given you at least a few seconds to adjust, but you knew that wasn't the case the minute his tip pushed past your slippery walls. the tip was only in for a split second before the rest of his length accomodated it. you couldn't bite any of your moans back, fingernails scraping the wall in front of you. rafe knew he wouldn't last long, not with the way your pussy was squeezing him, or the way you moaned his name. you engulfed him, swallowing his dick hole, the familiar sensation chipping away at your pride.

he held your hips down as he fucked you with long, deep strokes that made your head spin. “so fuckin' tight, holy shit,” he groaned, hips snapping as he watched the way his dick slid out, just to slide right back in. the entire sensation consumed you—the way you could feel every vein against your walls, alongside his length slamming into your cunt, in and out. you felt him outside as much as you did inside. “so wet for me.” you were practically dripping all over him, your cries bouncing off the walls as his grip dropped to your ass, grabbing onto the meat for leverage before disappearing, only to come back with a harder, rougher smack. he watched the way your ass bounced against his pelvis, turning the prettiest shade of red, as if encouraging him.

in any case, it worked. as if possible, his pase quickened as he arched his own back, allowing him to go as deep as he could, balls bouncing against your ass to accompany your cries of pure nirvana. his heart was in his stomach, he knew he was close. all he wanted to do was fill you up and all you wanted to do was get filled up by him. you loved the way he made you feel, with his tip hitting your sweet spot, sending tears down your cheeks while his shaft filled in the blanks, leaving you filled to the brim with his thick dick.

he never warned you beforehand, he didn't have to. as soon as his thrusts grew sloppy, but remained desperate, you knew he was close. a string of curses passed his lips, and that was all you had to hear in order to brace yourself, giving his dick a final squeeze before his hips began to stutter, cock twitching frantically in the deepest pits of your cunt before he let go. you both cried out, his left hand pulling your hair towards him as he buried himself in as deep as possible, painting your walls with his hot, sticky cum.

you couldn't move, you didn't dare to. he took the first step, dick still buried inside you, it almost pained him. his hot breath tickled the lobe of your ear, provoking you in the best way possible, once more. “sweetheart, you just lost the authority you never had.”

#outer banks #obx #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfiction #obx smut #outer banks smut #obx x reader #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe smut #rafe cameron x reader smut

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corvidcrossbow · 14 days

Text

~•♡•~ Intruders

➳ Summary: Getting moments to yourselves is hard when you have pets (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, anytime during 6 year timeskip or after

➳ Word count: 1.6k

➳ C/W: Half-assed oral (f!receiving) & p in v

➳ A/N: I just wanted regular casual sex smut (I'm lazy) (By lazy I mean I have like 40 drafts but I'm so busy for the next two weeks I'm going crazy) (I had to take a picture of my own damn socks for this ☠️)

Daryl's hands dragged roughly over your clothed waist, you giggling some against his lips then cheek as he hastily stumbled down the hall with you towards your bedroom, kisses moving down to your jawline as his groping descended to your ass.

“God, sunshine… yer so damn sexy,” He mused, shoving open the door and hitting his heel back against it in an attempt to get it to shut, too focused on peeling your shirt away to take note of any success: closely followed by his own. “Make me need ya so bad.”

Just as he pushed you down, landing you on your back with your legs dangling over the edge of the mattress, a brown blur bounded into the room and up onto the bed.

“Nah-, Dog-.. stop tha’!” Daryl grunted, waving his hand while the shepherd was basically stepping all over you, excitedly wagging his tail and mouth hanging open as he tried to lick your face.

“Hey buddyyy,” You purred, bringing hands to both sides of his head and rapidly scratching the fluffy fur beneath his ears, forcing him back a little so he wasn't directly in your space.

“Don’ indulge him. Want ‘em outta ‘ere!”

“You didn't close the door.” You couldn't hide your playful grin as you sat up, ruffling the dog's scruff and laughing as Daryl scoffed, clapping his hands to try and redirect Dog’s focus from you.

“I tried. Now c'mon … Dog, c'mon. Out.” He patted his back a couple times, earning a look and light cocking of his head. The man raised his eyebrows, snapping his fingers and aggressively pointing towards the exit. “Out.”

Dog turned, nearly hitting you in the face with his tail and jumping from the bed, trotting out of the room as Daryl immediately shut the door behind him. He spun back on his heels, undoing his belt as he'd been intending to before and dropping his jeans to pool on the floor.

He loomed over you, finding your lips in another kiss as he worked the button on yours and helped you wriggle out, hoisting you up the bed so your head rested on the pillows. “See? Got fur all over yer tits. Gon’ have'ah hairball lickin’ it all away.”

“I dunno, maybe you'll be a hot dry-heaver, archin’ yer back ‘n all.”

“Shuddup.” He shook his head, pressing a wet kiss to your neck that cut off your taunting giggle by drawing out a moan. His palms smoothed up the curves of your figure, reaching under and undoing the clasp of your bra before tossing it aside.

“M'tha only one who should be all over these like tha,” Daryl murmured, cupping both breasts and smothering his face between them before taking one of your nipples into his mouth and rolling the other between calloused fingertips.

“Mmm, mhm? They all yours Dixon?” You trilled, to which he gave an affirming grunt and sucked a bit harder, sliding a hand down under the hem of your panties and beginning to circle your clit.

As he was starting to set his rhythm, there was an odd scratching at the door and the sound of metal clicking, before it burst open and Dog came running right back into the room, shoving his maw into Daryl's face and driving him back as he tried to pounce on him.

“How tha hell ya-? Dog, stop.”

You were snickering at this point, propping up on your elbows to watch, Daryl leaning up and straddling you as he tried to ward the canine off. “Did you lock the door?”

He bowed his head a little, failing at obscuring his embarrassment with his hair. “Thought I did…. He'sa dog anyway! Shouldn't be openin’ damn doors..”

“He's a smart dog, baby. Don't know whatcha expect from him.”

“I expect him tah not break in ‘ere like ‘es rabid or sum'thin’,” He huffed, slouching for a moment in defeat before grabbing the dog and gently pushing him off the bed, a little harder when he resisted. “Dog. S'aint gon kill ya tah be outta tha room fer thirty minutes.”

“That's cause he knows ‘thirty minutes’ turns into two hours.” Daryl gave you a look, and you traded back an innocent but knowing smile. He begrudgingly swung his leg to have them on one side, sliding off the bed and forcing Dog with him: placing hands on either side of his chest and literally walking him out of the room, once again closing the door, and putting emphasis on the little ‘clink’ when he set the lock.

He let out an exasperated sigh, resuming his position but skipping ahead on his ministrations, having grown impatient. He hooked fingers around the band of your panties, groaning a little at the way you wiggled while he brought them down, flirtatiously biting your lip and covering your breasts.

“Don’ be actin’ like'ah tease.” He parted your legs, hands feeling over your hips and thighs while he lowered his head and drew a slow lick up your center to spread your folds, openly moaning at the taste.

“Fine. Only now cause Dog's been doin’ it for me,” You chuckled, and the archer just narrowed his brows, grasping harder at your flesh as he traced circles around your clit before lapping again and sucking it into his mouth.

“Ya always so fuckin’ wet for me, always gon’ love tha’,” Daryl hummed, tugging you flush against his mouth and delving into your enterace for a quick moment with the thrust of his tongue. Your fingers wove through the roots of his locks, and his eyes flicked up to meet yours. “You gon’ tell me how good it feels tah have me eat'cher perfect pussy?”

You opened to respond, but were interrupted by an obnoxiously loud whimper outside the door, left saying his name for the wrong reason: “Dar…”

“I know, jus’ ignore it,” He said, voice muffled against you, trying to hone both your attentions only on the feeling of his tongue working your core. But the malinois grew noisier, scratching at the hardwood floor and struggling to shove his nose beneath the small gap in the doorframe.

“Daryl.”

He groaned deeply, placing another kiss to your cunt before releasing his hold and unwinding his arms, going to deal with it. “Ts'aint tha kinda whinin’ I wanna be hearin’.”

Turning the handle just slightly to shoo him, Dog barged right back in again, leaped onto the bed again, and just twirled around with a clueless grin to look back at Daryl, confused with how displeased he appeared. He took steps towards the shepherd, hands out, and Dog growled just a little when he moved to rid you of him.

“Ay! Ts'ma woman! Not yers. Get tha hell outta here ‘nd quit buggin’ me,” The man snapped, Dog completely unphased as if the frustration in his tone didn't resonate at all. Daryl gave up and grumbled something under his breath, going to the top drawer of your shared dresser and retrieving a pair of his socks.

He dangled it in the air, the pup immediately locking in on it like he was hypnotized. He barked once, excitedly following as Daryl walked down the hall and threw the bundle down the stairs, which was essentially throwing them into the pits of Hell. Far too many pairs of his socks had met grim fates when Dog would steal them from the laundry, either of you finding him later surrounded by shreds of fabric. But the sacrifice was necessary.

“Lemme have sum damn privacy when Ah'm with yer ma!” He shouted down the steps as that brown flash scurried to descend them. He scoffed again and how simply Dog'd abandoned his efforts, then returned to you, closing the door and locking it once more.

“You finally get him gone?” You taunted as Daryl discarded his boxers and settled over top of you and between your legs once more, silencing your amused remarks as his mouth found yours. You latched your arms around his neck, bringing him close to deepen the kiss as he slicked the tip of his near weeping cock between your folds, edged by all the disturbances.

He waited for a few seconds, like he expected something more, then thrusted into you, head falling to your chest with a pleasure-filled exhale. He maintained the stillness, another beat passing.

“Jus’ go, angel. He's distracted,” You reassured him with a kiss to his hairline, and slowly he pulled back before rocking in again. Daryl kept a steady hand on your hip, the other propping him up by your shoulder as he began to relax, garnering speed and listening to every filthy noise your bodies made when you connected, his grunts reverberating against your collarbone.

“That's the kinda gruntin’ I wanna be hearin’.” Daryl chucked at your comment, palm leaving your curve so the pad of his thumb could press against your clit, massaging it in pace with his movements and drawing out a whine from you.

He threw his head back to clear the strands of hair from his face, looking down to watch you for a moment; watch himself disappear in and out of your walls then came near again. “Shit, ya feel so fuckin’ good…”

But then another something hopped onto the opposite side of the bed, much lighter and more sophisticated. Door was still shut, still locked.

“Sweetheart… you forgot the cat.”

Daryl didn't even glance back, rolling his eyes and muttering another curse. “Ion even care anymore.” And he just found you in another kiss.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

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phillydilly · 8 months

Text

On the edge

⊹♡— In which Charles has finally hit his breaking point and snaps at Ferrari, and his girlfriend is the only one who can calm him down

Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Authors note: After processing everything that was the US Grand Prix, I decided to write this and pretend that this is exactly what Charles did in real life. I don’t know about Charles but I have certainly reached my breaking point with this fuckass team. Anyways, enjoy?

Charles stood on the grid, his red Ferrari gleaming under the Texan sun. He had secured pole position for the United States Grand Prix in Austin, but his excitement was short-lived. The team had a different strategy in mind, one that involved a risky one-stop tire plan, and Charles couldn't believe it.

"Charles, we're going for the one-stop strategy," his race engineer informed him through the radio.

"One-stop? Are you guys out of your minds?" Charles shouted back, his frustration bubbling over.

Ferrari had been struggling with tire degradation for years, especially at the Circuit of the Americas, and it was a recipe for disaster. He felt like he was being set up for failure. As the race began, he fought to keep his tires alive, but the degradation was merciless.

Lap after lap, Charles watched as other drivers on different strategies flew past him. His tires were giving up, and he felt betrayed by his own team. He couldn't hold back his anger any longer. "This is ridiculous! I can't believe you put me on these tires! What are you thinking?" Charles yelled over the radio.

The Ferrari pit wall was silent for a moment before the voice of the team principal, Fred Vasseur, responded, "Charles, we believe this strategy can work. Just stay focused."

But Charles knew it was a lost cause. The moment the race ended he stormed into the garage after his pit stop, his frustration boiling over. "You guys sabotaged my race! This was a terrible call!"

Charles couldn't hold back his anger any longer. He stormed into the debrief session with his Ferrari team, the tension in the room palpable.

"I can't believe you guys," he began, his voice seething with frustration. "You knew how important this race was for the standings, and you still forced that one-stop strategy on me. It's like you don't even care about my success."

The team members exchanged uneasy glances, but Charles wasn't done. "I've been patient with this team for years, and this is how you repay me? By ruining my race?"

Fred tried to maintain order, "Charles, we believed in the strategy. We thought it could work."

Charles cut him off, his anger unrestrained. "Believed? Believed?! You destroyed my race, and you dare to say you believed? It's absurd!"

As the argument intensified, Charles's teammate Carlos Sainz couldn't stay silent any longer. "Charles, we win as a team, and we lose as a team. We have to trust in the decisions we make together."

Charles turned to Carlos, his eyes blazing with anger. "Trust? You want me to trust a team that has let me down repeatedly? Maybe you can, but I’m sick of this bullshit!"

The room descended into chaos as Charles and the team members went back and forth. Accusations were hurled, and frustrations boiled over. The argument was a maelstrom of emotions and raised voices.

In the midst of the heated debrief session, Charles felt the need to drive home a point. He turned to the team with a determined expression. "You know, Ferrari is not my last option. I've been contacted by several teams, including Red Bull."

The room fell silent as everyone took in his words. The mention of Red Bull, a team that was currently dominating the sport, hung heavily in the air.

"I've been loyal to Ferrari, and I've given my best. But you need to understand that other teams are interested in me," Charles continued, his tone unyielding. "I have choices, and I won't hesitate to explore them if I feel that my commitment and hard work aren't being reciprocated."

The team members exchanged uneasy glances, realizing that Charles had a point. The sport was highly competitive, and top drivers were in demand. Ferrari couldn't afford to lose a talent like him.

They had taken Charles’s loyalty for granted, and never thought he would entertain the idea of leaving. They knew he had other options, but this was a stark wake-up call.

In the midst of the shocked silence that had followed Charles's revelation, Fred began to speak, attempting to address the situation. However, before he could finish his sentence, Charles abruptly stood up, his expression resolute, and without saying a word, he walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

The team was left in stunned silence, realizing the gravity of the situation. The realization that Charles, their star driver, had reached a breaking point and walked out of the debrief without another word was a stark reminder that their actions had consequences, and the trust between the driver and the team needed to be urgently repaired.

As he stormed out of the garage and back to his driver's room, he noticed Y/n, his girlfriend, sitting on the sofa with open arms, waiting for him.

He collapsed into her embrace, his anger still burning brightly. Y/n wrapped her arms around him, letting him vent. "Charles, it's okay to be angry," she said softly. "You've been patient with this team for years, and they keep making these decisions that hurt you. It's not fair."

Charles took a deep breath, tears of frustration and anger welling up in his eyes. "I just don't know what to do anymore. I've given them everything, and they do this."

Y/n held him close, her voice filled with empathy. "I understand, Charles. You have every right to be angry. You've earned your place here, and they need to respect that. Let it out; I'm here to support you."

As he continued to express his anger and disappointment, Y/n listened attentively, providing a safe space for him to share his feelings. She understood that this was a breaking point for him, and she was determined to stand by his side.

Just as they were beginning to calm down, a knock on the driver's room door shattered the fragile peace. A Ferrari team member stood there, a worried look on his face.

"What is it?" Charles asked, his heart sinking.

The team member hesitated before responding, "Charles, we've just been informed that there's a technical issue on your car, and it's likely to result in disqualification."

Charles and Y/n exchanged a glance, their hearts heavy with the weight of the news. It seemed that the day had gone from bad to worse, and now the race he had fought so hard for was slipping away.

Charles ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "I can't catch a break today, can I?"

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #Charles leclerc one shot #formula 1 smut #Charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #formula 1 #charles leclerc x female reader #Charles leclerc story #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x female reader #Charles leclerc x you

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kvtie444 · 6 months

Text

° . ☆ MOONLIGHT

summary: good girl reader - bad boy bf chris sneaks in her room to see her :)

a/n: me writting a fluff is unheard off, this is so short lol, THIS IS SUCH A MATT SONG

warnings: fluff, kissing, suggestive, swearing, smoking

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Christopher Sturniolo was truly testing my patience. Despite my deep affection for my boyfriend, he had a knack for getting under my skin. Chris was the embodiment of a ‘bad boy’ whereas, I was considered the epitome of innocence—a ‘good girl ‘through and through. Chris took pleasure in the thrill of coaxing me into mischievous endeavors.

On a school night, as I lay in bed rewatching my favorite show and diligently working on revision cards for upcoming exams, Chris was blowing up my phone, urging me to come see him. However, my commitment to studies held me captive. My concentration was abruptly shattered by a knock on the window, causing me to jolt and disrupt my writing. Another insistent knock followed, accompanied by a muffled voice. “Let me in, i’m fucking freezing out here”. It was Chris.

Sighing, I rose from my desk, pushing aside the curtains to reveal my boyfriend with a spliff between his teeth. “I’m studying” I say to him, he chuckled, “I just wanted to see my girl”. I rolled my eyes at him playfully before relenting, helping him inside. I feel the skin on his arm whilst helping him in, “Chris you’re freezing. And no smoking, if my parents catch you they’ll kill you” I scold softly. He ignored me as he is hands swiftly pulled me close, and he leaned down for a kiss. I pulled back, taking the joint from his lips and placing it on my desk.

Unfazed, Chris smirked, “You’re parents are asleep relax. You need to start living life on the edge more, baby”. Resuming my focus on studying, I walked back over to my bed and sat, despite the enticing distractions.

He laid next to me, just watching me for a minute before showering ghostly kisses along my neck. showering compliments and ethereal kisses along my jaw and neck. “You’re so pretty mamas” he mumbles against my skin. I gently pushed him away “I’m serious. I need to study” I sigh, "It's nearly 1 am. What more studying could you possibly fit in at this time? Come on, let me love up on you, ma," he pleaded, pressing a kiss below my ear, tenderly moving my hair aside.

"Chris," I sighed, his hand finding its way to my inner thigh, gripping it. "Give me 10 minutes," I negotiated. He smiled, before kissing my cheek and getting up, walking to my desk to retrieve his spliff. Seated at the window ledge, he lit up, taking hits of the joint. While I dedicated the next 10 minutes to my studies, he indulged in getting high, basically engaging in a conversation with himself since I was too focused to reply to him.

With my final revision card completed, a satisfied smile graced my lips. I packed up my study materials and approached the window, running my fingers through Chris's hair as he flicked the finished joint into the distance. His eyes, now tinged with a reddish glow, met mine with a contented smile.

Stepping toward me, he rose from the ledge. I leaned up, my hands finding his jaw as his sought my waist, our lips meeting in a fervent kiss. "Such a good girl," he mumbled against my lips. His hands explored beneath the back of my shirt, fingers brushing against bare skin, sending electrifying chills down my spine. My hands traced the contours of his chest and bicep, as his hands descended to my hips.

Our intimate moment met an abrupt interruption - a flick of a light switch and approaching footsteps from the corridor outside my room. Startled, I practically jumped away from him, ushering him toward the window. "Shit," I whispered-yelled, a mix of frustration and amusement playing across his face as he chuckled, a smirk tugging at his lips. Now out the window, he leaned into it, looking up at me. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you too. Message me when you get home?" I replied, a genuine smile gracing my lips. "Of course," he smiled back, leaning up and planting a fleeting peck on my lips before embarking on his descent, leaving me with the lingering sense of excitement and exasperation. Fuck, he drove me crazy.

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

tag list !!

@iloveneilperry @bernardenjoyer

@daddyslilchickenfingers

@mbbsgf @sturnvilmed @sturnphilia @s1urnioloslvr

@mattsbratt @mangoposts @christinarowie332

@recklesssturniolo @bluesturniolo333

@flowerxbunnie @kenzieiskoolaid @pepsiskiess

@poopydroopt @byechristopher @solarsturniolo

@m6ttsturniolo @lustfulslxt @stardustmf444

@thankyounextt @glossyfx @bellasturniolo @justurniolos @cl0esblogg

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #imagine #angst #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #fluff #smut #Spotify #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #angsty

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aphroditelovesu · 4 months

Note

Hey, i'm also from brazil and i love the way you write! Taking advantage of the fact that I saw you talking about yandere apollo pjo, could you do some headcanons about what he would be like due to the differences? like, in today's world. Would he look at your phone or something?

❝ ☀️ — lady l: it's a headcanon, in a way, but also an imagine, a combo of both! I ended up geting excited and focusing more on the platonic part and I hope everything it's! I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes!

❝tw: obsessive and overprotective behavior and fluffy.

❝☀️pairing: yandere pjo!apollo x gender neutral!reader.

❝word count: 742.

Apollo is the god of poetry and will always be writing the most beautiful poems for you. All of his hymns will be dedicated to you and any pop influence he will use as inspiration to worship you. Apollo dedicates each verse to you, each word carefully thought out in the overwhelming love that the god feels, transforming pop influences into hymns of worship.

In the intervals between his divine exploits, Apollo is captured by the passion of modern melodies. Transforming pop influences into passionate songs, his lyres resonate in heavenly places, echoing the immortal feelings he has for his earthly muse.

Apollo as a divine father is smothering and protective. He doesn't give a damn about the rules that govern the gods, not when it comes to his favorite child. He will distribute gifts, presents and will help and support them in everything he can. Apollo will always make it clear that they are his greatest pride.

As you face challenges and monsters, Apollo protects you, interfering in divine destinies when necessary. The sun god becomes a constant presence, guiding and encouraging his favorite child to embrace its heroic nature. Apollo, the divine father, defies heavenly rules in the name of love for his child, doling out divine gifts and guiding them along the path to greatness.

One day, while you were facing a particularly difficult challenge, Apollo decided to intervene in a more direct way. He descended from Olympus, enveloped in golden light, and appeared at your side. His presence was warm and comforting, like the rays of the sun emanating from his divine form.

"My dear child," Apollo said with a beaming smile. "The time has come for me to join you on this journey. Together, we will face the challenges that present themselves, and I will guide you with my divine light."

Apollo watched with beaming pride as his child flourished under divine tutelage. He guided the mortal steps with the light of knowledge, shaping the favorite's destiny as a sculptor carves a masterpiece. Each of his child's deeds was a glorious echo of the pride Apollo felt, reflected in the rays of sunlight that illuminated his celestial face.

Apolo is very connected to modern technology, oddly enough. He would have a cell phone, the best and most expensive, and it would be full of photos of you. His music playlist would have all genres, an eclectic god, after all, he is also the god of music and appreciates all types, honoring his essence as the god of music.

He wouldn't touch your cell phone unless you allowed it or if he had some kind of suspicion. In this case, you can be sure that the god will search your cell phone in search of something. And he will definitely take selfies of himself to leave for you.

During moments of rest, Apollo shared divine stories and ancestral teachings with you. His words were like ethereal songs, dancing in the air and penetrating your heart. Each narrative was filled with wisdom and profound lessons, like the notes of an eternal melody.

On a starry night, after an especially epic victory over a colossal beast, Apollo gathered the gods and goddesses for a divine celebration on Olympus. Heavenly music filled the halls as everyone rejoiced in their achievements and the union between the divine and the mortal.

At the height of the party, Apollo raised his golden lyre and began to sing a song that transcended the limits of Olympus. His melodious voice resonated, telling the saga of his favorite child, full of courage, triumph and divine love. The song inspired tears of joy in the eyes of the gods and goddesses, witnessing the success of his protégé.

At the end of the performance, Apollo looked at you with pride in his eyes. "My child, you are a masterpiece that surpasses any divine song. Your heart is a melody that enchants the gods and transforms Olympus into a more radiant place. May your journey continue to shine like the stars that adorn the night sky."

Since that day, the bond between you and Apollo has only grown stronger. The god's blessings continued to guide you, while the teachings shared under the stars became a beacon of wisdom on his journey. And so, under the protection and love of Apollo, the heroic epic unfolded, marking destiny with the eternal light of the god of music and poetry.

#pjo #percy jackson #the trials of apollo #apollo x reader #pjo!apollo #yandere pjo #yandere percy jackson #yandere apollo #yandere apollo x reader #yandere greek mythology #greek mythology #greek gods x reader #yandere greek gods #yandere headcanons #headcanons #imagine #yandere au #platonic yandere

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entitled-fangirl · 5 months

Text

I see how you look at her, William.

Hannibal x wife!reader; Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Summary: Will is introduced to Hannibal's wife. The three seem to hit it off a little too well.

Words: 1,587

Warnings: idk, poligamy? Mutual pining should be its own warning, cause it always pulls at my heartstrings. And typos. Always.

Author's note: I literally pulled his GIF up, giggled, and said "Ehehehehe. He's so silly."

Masterlist

I don't own the rights to these characters!

.............................................................................

She descends down the stairs of the house, rounding the corner to the kitchen. She stands in the doorframe, watching her husband do what he does best- cook.

He stands at the counter, focused on the cut of meat he had in front of him. She took this moment to admire him. His strong back, his shoulders moving with each movement of the knife, his biceps flexing. Although all traits were hidden from her view by the dress shirt he wore, she could still imagine it just fine. His sleeves pushed up his forearm always seemed to catch her eye, like it did now. Her eyes wander to his greying hair, imagining running her hands though it. He seemed to feel her gaze, because he turned his head just slightly. Not to look at her, but just to see her see him acknowledge her presence. His voice carried through the kitchen, “I don’t need to turn around to know that you look beautiful tonight.”

She let out a soft giggle, pushing herself further into the kitchen. “And why is that?”

He stopped his movements momentarily, his eyes moving up the wall slightly. “Because you’re always beautiful,” he says before going back to his knife and cutting board.

It had been Hannibal’s idea in the beginning, inviting Will Graham over for dinner. He loved hosting dinners, but having dinner with only one guest was an unusual thing. And he had yet to meet Y/N.

Hannibal had kept Y/N a secret for many years, only revealing her to those attending his dinners. And sometimes, not even then. He knew what he did was dangerous, and he wished to keep her hidden from the public as much as possible. And she never minded, for she often felt anxious at big events and meeting too many new people at once overstimulated her. And above all else, Hannibal didn’t like to share things that were his. Especially things as kind as her, where the world could ruin her in a day. No, she was his, and they were a perfect pair, the two of them, for his arms were her favorite place to be. And his arms were also his favorite place for her to be.

He places the meat into the pan before finally turning around to look at her. He froze, a pleasant smile crossing his face, “Ah, bella. I knew I wouldn’t even have to look.”

She does a quick spin, letting him see all the aspects of her dress. She grows nervous under his gaze, “is this alright?”

He lets out a soft chuckle, “Darling, it’s perfect.” He takes a few steps forward, closing the distance between the two of them before leaning down, his arms open on either side of her to avoid touching her dress with dirty hands. She meets him halfway, sharing a soft kiss.

He smiles, moving back to the food at hand. She takes this as a cue to prepare the dining table.

Before she even finishes, a knock is heard at the door. She quickly walks to it, taking a deep breath before opening it. The sight in front of her is even better than she thought.

Will Graham stood at the threshold of their house in a dress shirt and sweater vest, his hair gelled to perfection. He held a nervous smile about him. His eyes trail up to hers, and his smile drops. He takes a deep breath of his own, before he places the smile back on. “Oh, sorry,” he apologizes, reaching a hand out, “I’m Will Graham.”

God, he was handsome. Hannibal had said he was quite attractive, but this. Attractive was an understatement. Will Graham was beautiful.

She reaches her hand out to take his, “Y/N… uh… Y/N Lecter.”

She watched as the gears turned in Will’s head, his handshake slowing. “Lecter?”

Hannibal’s body appears behind Y/N, his hands moving up to rest on her hips. “Ah, Will. I see you’ve met my wife. Come in. Please.” He pulls Y/N’s body back slightly to make room for Will to enter. Will does so, letting his eyes wander around the house.

Y/N feels her husband's grip tightening around her waist. She knows him better than anyone. He’s not jealous, per se. No, this was something else entirely. Was he…. Nervous?

Will stuffs his hands in his pockets, as his gaze returns to the couple. “This house is gorgeous, truly.” He looks to Y/N, assuming she decorated it.

She smiles, pulling herself from Hannibal’s grip, “I didn’t do it, Hannibal did. He has an eye for things. Excellent taste.”

Will smiles back, fighting himself to not look at her for too long, “Yes. It seems he does.”

Hannibal shuts the door before moving towards the dining room. “Please, come sit. I’m almost done,” he says, giving a final glance to his wife before disappearing into the kitchen.

Y/N immediately moves to her usual spot, at the left side of the head chair. She pulls the chair out softly, sitting down in it before her gaze moves back to Will. He follows suit, sitting on the right side, directly across from her.

A silence ensues as both of Hannibal’s favorite anxious people look anywhere but each other. Finally, Will break the tension, “Hannibal never… mentioned you. I, I definitely didn’t know he was married, especially to someone so,” he stops himself.

She smiles, catching his eyes, “someone so… what, Mr. Graham?”

Will looked away again, his breath caught in his throat. He lets out a cough before smiling. “I guess.. I guess I was going to say beautiful.”

She tilts her head at him, “You guess? So, why didn’t you?” She liked watching his squirm. Perhaps she picked that trait up from so many years with Hannibal.

This caught him off guard. She was rather blunt in her thoughts. “I just, I don’t know, assumed it inappropriate to say too much of another man’s wife, is all, Mrs. Lecter,” he says, taking a sip of the water in front of him.

She nods, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Hannibal is aware of what he has. As am I. He taught me to never refuse a compliment.”

He nods as well, “Then, you look very beautiful, Mrs. Lecter.”

“Y/N,” Hannibal’s voice was heard from the kitchen. He usually didn’t call out like that. He never raised his voice. She stood quickly, moving towards the kitchen.

Hannibal stood in the kitchen, the plates neatly prepared before him. He glances up at her entrance. “Ah. Sorry for the harsh tone. It shouldn’t have come out that way.”

She nods, “you didn’t intend for it to be so.”

He sighs, “Yes. That’s true. I just…. It’s hard to see someone admire what is mine.”

She nods again, “I understand.”

“I wasn’t only talking about him admiring you,” Hannibal stated, “you seemed to like him just the same.”

She scoffs, “As if you don’t like him yourself, Lecter.”

Hannibal’s lips pull into a smile. He was caught. “I suppose you’re right, bella. As always.”

She gives him a knowing look, taking two of the plate carefully, one in each hand, and walks to the dining room. Will still sits at the large table, a nervous look in his eyes.

She sets a plate in front of him carefully, “Don’t ask me what it is, Graham. I’m not the cook.”

His lips now pull into a smile, as he nods, “I see. Thank you, anyways.”

She sets her plate down in front of her, sitting down gracefully. Hannibal walks in, setting his plate down. He's now in his full suit, his blazer neatly buttoned. “William, I hope this is to your liking.” He sits himself at the head of the table.

It’s a rather awkward dinner, as they all give each other obvious glances. Everyone at this table adored one another. Will and Y/N were the anxious ones, but as each conversation digressed, Hannibal’s grin only grew. He can read the two of them like an open book, and he was enjoying the book in front of him.

As they neared the end of their dinner, Y/N happily collected the plates and disappeared into the kitchen. Hannibal took this opportunity to his advantage. He leans towards Will, his voice low, “I see how you look at her, William.”

Will freezes, staring at the table. “I don’t believe my gaze is that different between her and you.”

Hannibal smirks, tilting his head, “No. I don’t believe it is too different.”

Y/N enters the room again, her hand gliding across Hannibal’s shoulders as she walks around his chair. She stops behind him, leaning over him to kiss his cheek gently. He smiles at this, reaching his own hand up, and grabbing her jaw quickly before she can move away. He twists his body slightly to kiss her on the lips. She pulls back in shock but doesn’t go far due to the grip on her jaw. He smiles into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of the stare from Will. He lets her go, letting her catch her breath. She moves back to her chair with a soft pink now on her cheeks.

Will lets out a deep breath, calming himself. Hannibal knows it, and he smiles at his darling wife.

“Should we invite William over again, mia bella?”

Her eyes glance over from her husband to Will, full of mischief.

“I think we should.”

............................................................................

Author's note (part 2): It's so easy to read a piece and critique it, but when it's your own.... golly. How can I go so easy on myself and yet so difficult to please???

#hannibal nbc x reader #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader x will graham #Hannibal lecter x reader x Will graham

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yandere-daydreams · 6 months

Text

Title: Idol Worship.

Pairing: Yandere!Devil x Reader (Christianity).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Consensual Sex, Size Difference, Implied (Past) Injury To Reader, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Scarring, and Themes of Religious Trauma.

The path to His throne was paved with salt and brimstone.

Smoldering rock burnt into the soles of your feet like ember, taken fresh from the heart of the fire. Living corpses, their rotting flesh deteriorating further with ever fraught breath, laid motionless on either side of the crumbling archway, their milky eyes watching your every stumbling movement. The air was heavy with smoke and sulfur, but the buzzling of unseen insects, the stench of the decay – that was all kept in your peripheral. It was meant for someone else, someone whose crimes were far more violent and far more damning than your own. Your fate was elsewhere.

The ascent was made no easier by your anticipation, the steps carved from black onyx and made steep enough to warrant your immediate and self-inflicted dehumanization, to force you to your hands and knees in your effort to scramble upward – ever upward, as if you hadn’t yet had enough of the blinding sky. Rough granite tore into the skin of your palms, but the agony was minimal, a shadow something greater that would not numb you to more intentional agony. The heat, too, was distant, rolling over you in tender waves and seeping under your skin to coil around your ribs, to weave in and out of ragged tears in your mutilated veins. Something snapped inside your chest as you finished your climb, fresh blood washing over your aching throat, but any pain you might’ve felt faded away as a great hand descended from the clouds of smog and ash, His calloused fingertips digging into your waist, your stomach as He took you up and placed you, gingerly, on His silk-clad thigh. His touch lingered, a thumb running over your scalp as He spoke. “Oh, my glorious one,” His voice was deep and flat and beautiful. “What have they done to you?”

Anything they could. Everything they could. Your body was still plagued with the phantoms of it, the frigid cold of steel and iron against flesh and bone. You tried to speak, but your voice was gone, muted by means beyond your own. You frowned, more frustrated than you were surprised, but He did not share in your disappointment. “They are sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil.” After a beat, He added, “I will not be so forgiving.”

His hand began to pull away, but you scrambled after of it, latching onto His wrist in a futile effort to hold Him that much closer. An airy chuckle fell from Him unmoving muzzle – His golden, slit-pupiled eyes remaining focused on some distant point as He took you into His hold once again, lifting you first to His own height. For the first time, he moved in earnest – tilting his head forward and resting his forehead against yours. “The reason the Son appeared was to destroy the Devil’s work, for the thief comes only to steal and destroy.” His breath was cool against your skin, even as anger seeped into His tone. “And now, instead, you are asked to forgive and comfort him, so that he will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow.”

It was more of a croak than a proper plea, hoarse and fractured at all the wrong angles. Still, you managed it, your own small hands pressed into the swell of His palm. “Please, my lamb.”

He seemed to catch himself, inhaling sharply as He shook His head. “My apologies, I forget my audience. You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.” You nuzzled closer to Him, and He allowed you a moment of solace before pulling away, straightening Himself to His most dignified stature. “We have been separated for no short time. Tell me, will you not gratify the desires of the flesh?” A note of humor, a forked tongue allowed to skirt gingerly over your neck. “Will you not allow me to show the length of my devotion?”

You didn’t need to answer, it was a given that you would. His delicate tongue ran over the lacerations on your calves, your thighs - smearing dried blood and soothing open wounds. It flicked upward, lapping at the twin scars on either side of your chest, then the bruises painted across your collarbones, around the base of your throat. His hand shifted, wrapping around your waist, His hold firm and steady as He lowered you onto his length. There were other options – as many shapes and variations as a lustful heart could dream of – but His cock was among His most impressive features. The shaft alone matched your arm in length and your midriff in girth, and yet, it pierced you without resistance, filling you to the brim before He was so much as half-sheathed inside of you. Your knees pressed into his lap, your hand grasping for purchase against his broad chest, but you felt no fear, nor was your exertion necessary in the face of His willingness to serve. He let out a raspy breath, allowing His head to lull back as He thrust gently into you from below. “Earthly one, glorious one,” The pet name fell from His lips like milk and butter and honey. “We will lead each other astray. We will be the force by which the greatest love is defined.”

A growl of a moan as your walls clenched around Him, a sharp snap of His hips. “We will be bound together in perfect harmony,” His hand found the underside of your chin, tilting your head back with only the upmost delicacy. “And those who try to separate us will face only the most just of retribution.”

Your eyes met His, that wonderous gold melting into softened mortality. Where there should have been revulsion, there was only warmth, only light. Foolishly, for a moment, you allowed yourself to scorn the shine of the heavens, to loathe all things that were not Him.

You allowed yourself to believe that you would need nothing else, not so long as His gaze fell upon you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #yandere god #yandere demon #yanderecore #yancore

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eelnoise · 9 months

Text

caveat

zoro x afab reader

c/w: choking, slight cum play, praise, use of the word 'slut', oral sex (both giving and receiving), unprotected sex, soft!zoro, slightly possessive zoro

a/n: i put my whole pussy into this because i'm so biblically down bad for this man. someday i'll figure out how best to format my fics but until then please take this sloppy setup

word count: 2849

Zoro prefers you close. He prefers to see you, to hear you. Hell, even just knowing you’re in a room with him is enough - provided you’re in his vicinity. Much like his swords, you’re precious to him. He needs to protect and care for you, to keep you pristine and without blemish.

And just like his blades, you’re nearly always at his side.

You don’t mind at all. You’re sated to indulge in what you know means a lot to Zoro, so you find yourself in the training room alongside him, curled up on a bench with a book open in your lap.

This quality time usually comes with a caveat - Zoro’s inexplicable and hungry arousal after a workout.

Zoro doesn't notice the shift in his body, the way his heart pounds in his chest, or the way his cock hardens against his thigh. He's too focused on his training, too absorbed in the rhythm of his breathing and the burn in his muscles.

Of course, when Zoro's attention turns away from his own breathlessness and toward the source of his arousal. His eyes lock onto you, taking note of the book in your lap and wondering how long until you set it aside for something else. Something naughtier. His gaze holds for several long moments before Zoro finally breaks the silence.

"You know," he says gruffly, voice roughened by exertion, "it might help if you stopped pretending to read that damn book." His tone is teasing but there's an undercurrent of desire in his words - a clear indication that he wants nothing more than to see you put down those pages and come crawling to him instead.

You look over at him and tilt your head in interest. "Pretending?" You reply, a bemused look etched onto your face. "And why would I be doing that?"

Zoro smirks, his teeth flashing white against the backdrop of his tan skin. "Oh, we both know you haven't turned a page for a while," he says casually, leaning back on the weightlifting bench with nonchalance. "What's the matter? Lost in thought?"

Damn him and his observation haki.

He pauses, letting his gaze drift down to the curve of your breasts before snapping it back up again. "Or maybe you just enjoy watching me sweat." A slow grin spreads across his features as he waits for a response, anticipation coiling tightly within him.

Your guilt is plastered upon your face at his words and a warmth that hadn't been there prior now washes over your cheeks. You'd been caught staring, and staring at him while he's this horny was not exactly the wisest decision. The flustered expression you give him makes his cock twitch almost painfully.

"Fine." You admit, closing the book and placing it to the side. "I was watching. So what?"

Zoro's smirk grows wider at your admission, a dark and predatory gleam lighting up his eyes. "So what?" he echoes, voice low and throaty. "Well, since you asked..."

Without further warning, Zoro pushes himself off the weightlifting bench, his muscular form moving with surprising grace and fluidity. In a single, almost impetuous motion, he's on his feet before you, towering over with his intimidating presence. His hand reaches out, fingers curling gently around your chin as he tilts your head back to meet his gaze. "I think it's time we found out just how much you like watching me sweat." Zoro says, his voice now little more than a rough whisper.

With that, he descends upon you, his lips crashing down onto yours in a possessive, hungry kiss. His tongue darts out to claim your mouth, demanding entry as he presses his hardened length against your soft stomach.

You allow him entry, tongues quickly meeting in a lustrous dance. You taste even better when he's this worked up, and he wasn't about to take it for granted. At the sound of a soft mewl from your lips between breathless, wet kisses, Zoro has to fight the urge to take you there and then.

No. He wants to savor this, to savor you.

The sound of your arousal sends a shiver down Zoro's spine, fueling the fire burning deep within him. He moans low in his throat, his hand sliding up your back to grasp at your hair, pulling gently on those silken strands.

Without breaking the kiss, Zoro steps back, drawing you along with him. His other hand reaches down, grabbing at the hem of your shirt and pulling it upwards in one swift motion. The fabric rides over your head, revealing the skin of your torso. His eyes drink in the sight of your smooth soft stomach, hardened nipples peeking through your bra clearly visible even beneath the thin material.

A growl rumbles low in his throat as he trails his fingers lightly over your skin, tracing lazy patterns that send shivers down your spine. "You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire. "And all mine."

"Yeah?" You coo, your sultry tone undeniable. "You want this pretty girl to scream your name?" You know that you're in no position to ask this question, simply teasing him is enough to drive him fucking crazy when he's this rabid for you. And the more you do it, the harder he'll fuck you.

But he isn't in the mood for your game this time. As far as Zoro is concerned he's going to fuck you until you can't see straight anyway.

"You already know the answer to that question." Zoro growls, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your skin. With that, he spins you around, taking a seat on the bench in your stead. His hands slide down your hips, tracing slow circles as he teases the fabric of your panties. "On your knees," he commands, his voice a dark rasp.

Zoro's heart is racing now, his blood pounding in his ears as he watches you comply, deliciously delicate form kneeling before him. You look up at him through your lashes, a challenging glint in your eyes that does nothing to dampen his arousal.

"Spread your legs," He demands, the rough tone of his voice alone causes you to sigh in arousal. "Show me how much you want this."

You do as you're told, spreading your thighs and pulling your panties to the side, glistening pussy on display and offering yourself to him. "Mmm," You purr, gaze glassed over with lust. "Wanna make you feel so good, baby."

Zoro watches each word leave you in slow motion, transfixed on how each syllable curls off your pretty lips. Before he can think, he's freeing himself from the confines of his shorts and letting his thick, desperate cock fall right into your face.

Zoro groans deeply, his hips jerking forward as he feels the heat of your breath against his engorged shaft. It takes every ounce of self-control he has not to come right then and there, your eager anticipation driving him wild.

He watches, his heart pounding in his chest, as you lower your head and take him into your mouth. Your lips slide smoothly over the head of his cock, sending a shiver of pleasure coursing through his entire body. Zoro's hands come to rest on your shoulders, his grip firm but not quite enough to hold you in place.

"Fuck," he breathes, his voice ragged with desire. "You're so good at this."

With that, he pushes gently against your head, urging you to take more of him. Zoro watches as you obediently open your mouth wider, taking him deeper into your throat. Wet, sloppy sounds echo around the room, fueling his lust even further.

"That's it, baby," he growls, his hips starting to rock gently against your face. "Sucking me so well like the good little slut you are."

Your eyes don't leave his, even as you bob your head up and down, each pleased groan of pleasure or soft words of praise sending out a pang of arousal right to your desperate, weeping pussy. You run your tongue flat against the underside of his length and swirl it around the tip. The mix of saliva and pre-cum coats your busy lips and drips down both your chin and his cock.

He allows for you to pull back for a moment to take a breath, long strands of fluids attaching your mouth to his cock. It's just a moment, though, for as soon as you've recovered he forces your head back down onto him with a forceful motion. You gag around him from the sudden filling of your throat, but he loves the sound.

"Fuck," he breathes out, tangling his fist into your hair and beginning to move your head at his own pace. "Gonna let me cum on that face, right baby?"

"Mhmmm~" You hum, making his dick vibrate from the tone. He grunts in reply, shoving your head right against his pelvis, nose buried in moss green hair as the back of your throat is hit over and over again. Zoro's free hand moves to the front of your neck, grasping it tightly to feel the outline of his cock rut into your warm, slick mouth.

Tears beat at the corners of your eyes and your fingers dig into his thighs as he nears his release. Zoro's hold tightens around you, his soft grunts of pleasure having turned into louder, filthier moans.

Suddenly, he pulls your lips from him with a wet pop and a whine. He holds you in place by your hair - pressing his cock tip to your swollen bottom lip, and instinctively you lull your tongue out against it.

"Shit," Zoro hisses out when you plant a series of open-mouth kisses on it, quickly moving to pump himself with his other hand. "You want my cum in your mouth?"

"Please," you whine, throat a little rasp from how greedily he had face fucked you. "Wanna taste you; need you on my tongue~"

Your words send him over the edge. Zoro tugs at your hair tightly as long, drawn out, and slightly whimpered moans fall from his lips. Thick, white ropes of his spend coat your face and tongue while his hips slowly grind out his high. You, without question, swallow the pool of his seed in your mouth.

"Fuck, baby," Zoro growls, rubbing in the cum on your lips with the head of his dick. "You look so good painted in my cum." He leans forward, releasing his grip on your head, eye taking in your used, messy appearance as if committing it to memory.

Zoro snatches you up then, grabbing you by the hands and swapping your positions so that you’re now sitting on the bench. "Lean back," he demands, tone gruff and low as he hovers over you. "Show me that pretty pussy."

You oblige, of course, leaning on your lower back and spreading your legs open to him like a gift before sliding your panties down, leaving them hooked around your ankle. Zoro grabs onto your thighs with large, calloused hands and spreads your pussy lips open with his thumbs. Without warning he lunges forward, capturing your clit in his mouth with a hungry moan.

He's devouring you, eating you like he would a peach. Zoro slurps your clit loudly and inches two fingers inside your soaked folds. "Fuck!" You cry out, your own digits teasing your nipples. "Feels so good, Zoro~"

His mouth works over you so fucking good that you're already on the precipice of your release. He's flicking his tongue and lapping at your sensitive flesh, your hips buck forward along his lips, coating them in your wetness. Zoro groans against you, vibrating your soaked folds and thrusting his fingers deep within you, curling them so deliciously against your g-spot.

"You like this?" He grunts, taking your cunt-flavored juices greedily. "Tell me what you want."

"Wanna cum!" You sputter out, voice rasp and quivering. "Wanna cum so bad, please…" You're begging. Desperate cries for your sweet release ring in his ears and he absolutely loves it.

Zoro drills his digits into you harder, feeling just how your inner walls flutter around them. "Gonna make you cum, baby." He growls, taking your moans as encouragement. With a series of hard sucks to your clit, you come undone. A sharp, high-pitched scream emits from your throat, body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

"Fuck," Zoro says, pulling away from your pussy and leaning over your sweaty, heaving form. "So fucking pretty." He reaches forward, using the fingers that had been deep in your cunt to wipe some of his leftover cum from your cheek before sliding the digits into your open, willing mouth and forcing the taste of you both onto your tongue. You suck on his fingers, licking them clean.

Then, with one sudden move, his lips are on yours in a fiery, passionate kiss. Zoro doesn't care about the leftover cum smeared across your soft lips, and you don't care about the taste of yourself on his. The kiss is messy, it's sloppy and it's full of teeth and tongue, but as long as you're tethered to him, as he's bound to you, nothing else seems to matter.

Zoro breaks the kiss, but his lips rest just on top of yours. "Think you're ready for my cock now, baby?" He asks, though he knows the answer and you know just how hard he's about to fuck you.

"Fuck," You sputter out, feeling his dick twitch against your slit. "So ready. Need you to fuck me so badly~" Your words are weak, and your voice is raspy, but the look on your face tells him that you're genuine. Genuine and ready for him to fill you.

Zoro smirks, his eye gleaming with lust. "Then take it." He says roughly, shoving his thick cock into you with one quick motion. You gasp, body arching off the bench as he buries himself into your pussy to the hilt. "So fucking tight." Zoro hisses, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he starts to move, thrusting his hips forward in a steady rhythm that has you crying and clawing at him in absolute ecstasy.

Large hands dig into your hips - and you already know that by the end of this, you'll be marked with ten fingertip-sized bruises. Zoro's movements become more frantic, his growls and low grunts of pleasure meeting your salacious cries and whimpers in a cacophony of your entwining lust. Your pussy milks his cock and it makes his eyes roll back into his head with how fucking good you feel, how warm and tight you are around him, how perfect you are.

Zoro grits his teeth, jaw tensing in an attempt to avoid cumming too quickly. But it's hard, so, so hard to not let go and fill you with his seed like the good little cumdump that you are. He picks up speed, forgoing whatever rhythm he had going as he loses himself in the sensation of fucking you.

The tip of his cock hits your cervix hard, each slam of his hips into yours making you see stars. "Zorooooo~~~" you wail, completely cock-drunk with a glazed-over expression. His heavy balls slap against your ass and echo throughout the room as he drills himself into you at a nigh inhuman pace.

The only word left in your vocabulary seems to just be his name, judging by the jumbled, quavering mantra of disjointed syllables that fall from your swollen lips. He can't take it any longer. The way you're calling for him, crying his name over and over as he bottoms out in you without mercy - it's all too much. "Fuck!" Zoro hisses, his death grip on your hips somehow tightening. "Gonna fucking cum, baby. Gonna cum right inside your tight little pussy."

You feel his muscles tense, and with a loud cry of your own name as a warning, Zoro erupts into you, head thrown backward and hips jerking violently while his cock throbs and fills your pussy to the brim with cum - so much that it surprises you.

"Fuck." Zoro pants, collapsing onto you as his chest heaves from exertion. He presses a kiss to your sweaty forehead, heart racing from the intensity of their intimacy. "So good."

As you catch your breath, you hold him close. Both of your chests are flush together, and you swear that you can feel his heartbeat. Arms wrap around his broad shoulders, one of your hands slipping into his hair to gently caress his scalp in a comforting way. Zoro hums in satisfaction as your soothing embrace works wonders for both his mind and aching body.

“Thank you.” Zoro breathes softly into the crook of your neck, his voice barely higher than a whisper. He knows he doesn’t need to thank you, but he wants to. You kiss the top of his head and smile.

“Zoro,” You begin, your voice soft and sweet. “I love you.”

He looks up at you then, one slate-gray eye shining with affection. He smiles.

“I love you, too.”

#one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #roronoa zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro smut #one piece x reader smut #zoro x reader #ronoroa zoro #opla

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ghostlywhiskey · 9 months

Text

Simon “Ghost” Riley - Kissing You

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,320

Warnings: MDNI 18+ ☆ fingering, unprotected sex, cussing, chance of being caught - as always if you think I should include something else just let me know!

Summary: After locking eyes with Simon as he dances with someone else, you rush out which causes him to follow you.

Notes: Inspired by Des'ree's I'm Kissing You. More angst x smut because I hate myself. My condolences once again honestly - stay strong <3

Also, this is the specific room I picture. I’ve thought about this room since I was 16 and was in it. Now it was the main focus of my mind palace as I wrote this.

find my masterlist here

Pride can stand A thousand trials The strong will never fall But watching stars without you My soul cried

The music filled the venue, but the only thing your ears could hear was the sound of your blood coursing through your body. It was like listening to the sound of a running faucet while you brush your teeth in the morning, or washing dishes. Every beat of your heart amplified, you could have sworn you had a stethoscope in the way each thump echoed.

The happy couple, two of your squadmates, just married as they share their dance. Once it concludes, others join the dancefloor, swaying like boats in the harbor on a quiet night. Eyes focused on a specific duo who just stepped onto the dancefloor, the blood coursing through you now feeling like ice had coated your veins, constricting the blood flow.

You knew he came with someone. You saw him when you arrived with Soap and Gaz for the ceremony. But, you spoke no words, the only acknowledgement was the makeshift barrier Soap and Gaz acted as by sitting in between you and Ghost.

Soap came back from the bar, sitting next to you at the table. “Yer lookin’ a bit peely wally, luv.” The Scot spoke, his beer in his hand as he took a sip. Glancing over at him, you crack a small smile. “Soap, you know none of us know what the fuck your sayin’ half the time, right?” You teased him. “I ‘no.” He said smiling as the bottle pulled from his lips. “But I figured you could use the smile.” The honesty from him made you glance back at the duo. “That obvious?” Considering how low you whispered the words, you wondered if you would even get a response from Soap. But, soon enough you heard his response, “Clear as day.”

The girl reached her arms up, her hands resting at his neck as they swayed. His own hands moved to rest on her waist. The breath in your throat caught itself as he moved his head from nuzzling her neck to look up, his gaze landing at you. The ice coating your veins melting away as he defrosted you with one look, your body felt like it was on fire. The thump in your chest resuming the intensity it had a few minutes ago. But, your breath still felt caught in your throat. The floor gently groaned as you slid the chair back from the table, creating room to stand up. “I’ll be back.” You whispered to Soap, quickly grabbing your dress to tug it up so your heels wouldn’t get caught and cause you to trip as you headed out of the large ballroom. Descending down the stairs, your feet carried you to two large double doors, rushing in as you entered a room.

Heaving heart is full of pain Oh, oh, the aching

The ability to feel like you could breathe again returning as you paced around the room, hand on your chest as you focused on the rise and fall of it.

The sound of the doors opening and closing pulling your focus, head turning to see who just entered. Simon. Ghost. Why did he follow you?

“What are you doing here?” The question coming from you is far harsher than you intended. The emptiness in his eyes showed he was unaffected by the tone, hands moving to the pockets of his pants as he stepped closer to you. Must be nice to wear a mask to hide any emotion that decides to show on your face in moments like this. “Why’d you run off?” He asked, his body getting closer to you. “Why did you follow me?” The question retorts as a response, the hand on your chest falling back down to your side. Now, in a response to your question, he just shrugs. Fucking typical.

“I should know better than to expect an actual answer with words from you.” You mutter, turning away to face him, walking further in the room to create space between the two of you. “What is that supposed to mean?” His voice is slightly louder now, not taking well to the accusatory statement. Turning to look at him, pointing a slender finger at him, “You know damn well.” The hiss coming out of you before your hand drops again to your side, except now hands turn to fists at your side from the frustration brewing in you. “I didn’t come here to get bitched at by you.” He snapped back, continuing to speak, “I came because you looked like you were gonna pass out or something.”

“Please, I don’t need you to care about me. You made it clear there was no room for that.” Now, anger is brewing in you, or was it pain that was being released? Pain releasing onto the person who put it there in the first place. Ghost stood quiet, his gaze on you never leaving. “Well, I’m not passed out or anything. I’m standing up and I’m fine. You can go back to your date and dance the night away.” Could he just leave? What was the point of this?

The sound of his dress shoes alternating between soft and louder clacks against the wood floors as he made his way towards you. Your own feet step back until your back hits the piano place in the corner of the room. Leaving you at a standstill as he stands in front of you, looking down. “I’m not going back yet.” Is the only thing he says, hands still in his pockets.

It was suffocating to have him near. It was like having a pillow pressed against your face, blocking air flow. At one point it was like he was air, giving you oxygen. A reason to exhale because it meant you got more of him. But now? Now he took your breath away in a way that was cruel. As if you suffocating brought him joy. Sadistic. “Can you go?” You tried your best for it to not come out as a plea, but the suffocating feeling left you vulnerable. “No, tell me why you ran out.” He stated, eyes locked on you. Your own eyes locking with his before looking to the side to avoid the intense contact. “You lost privileges to know why I do things. It doesn’t matter.” You mutter, but one hand leaves his pocket to hold your face between his thumb and index finger to force you to face him. “Stop being a stubborn fucking kid.” Now his words are harsh, but he sounds calm. That’s what was scary about him. He could blow a fuse, and you’d never see it coming.

“What do you want me to say?” This whisper leaves your lips as he holds your face. Your own hand moving up to grab his wrist. “Let me go.” It comes out as a plea again, the contact of his skin flooding your brain with unwanted memories of him. Memories buried after months of shoving it all down. Compartmentalizing it into a tiny box you wanted to smash, but found it to be indestructible. “How many times do I need to repeat myself?” He spoke, leaning closer. “You ran the fuckin’ second we acknowledged eachother for the first time tonight by locking eyes after being no more than fifty feet the entire fucking time.”

He noticed. Of course he did. Who the fuck were you fooling?

Your hand tugged at his wrist, pulling his grasp off your face. “Fuck off, Simon.” You snap, his name leaving your lips like it was venom. His eyes widening by the sudden use of his name. Something clicking in his head as he watched you try to slip past him. A rough hand reaching out to push you back to where you stood, moving up to your neck. “Jealousy is an ugly disease, sweetheart.” He whispered, muffled through his mask. You scoffed, “What are you, a doctor?” The hand not on your neck moved up to the bottom of his mask, rolling it up just past his lips.

Before you could protest and move away, lips pressed against yours.

'Cause I'm kissing you, oh I'm kissing you

Months of an unspoken bond that formed, both of you navigating your own feelings about it at the same time. You and Ghost. You and Simon. The late night knocks on each other's door igniting excitement equivalent to being a child on Christmas morning. Showers after missions when both of you didn’t speak a word, just feeling the other was there, alive. Sunday mornings when you’d wake up, his face buried in your neck and kissing the skin softly which was the reason you woke up in the first place. He was always up first. Hands grazing each other in public, an accident to anyone looking, but intentional between the two of you.

That’s why you got up and left. You shoved these memories into a box, but one look at him with someone else and the padlock keeping it shut was smashed open.

Your lips moved against his, kissing him back. Your hands moved to his face, two fingers slipped under the mask while the others rested above the fabric. Pulling him down lower to your level, his hand that had rolled his mask up reached for the piano behind you and gripped the edge of it. A soft moan was muffled by his mouth on yours, you could feel his lips curve into a grin for a brief moment. The hand on your neck slipping down as fingertips lightly brushed your arm before he trapped you between him and the piano with both arms now.

Was it purely sexual for him? Was it a release? A bond where he felt like he didn’t need to open up because it was unspoken, meaning feelings never had to be discussed. Memories of the last time you were intimate clawing at your brain, telling you to pull away. Trying to remind you the relationship was no different than Pandora’s box. Something meant to stay closed, but you didn’t listen.

You remembered the last time, but you didn’t realize it was the last time.

The two of you were in the shower, the mission from a few days prior leaving him with new wounds that would form more scars that kissed his body. Your own body left in a better condition than his, the only injury to show was your forearm wrapped due to a bullet grazing the skin. Painful, but bearable. As you reached up to scrub the shampoo into his hair, his eyes looked down at you.

You should have known then. The way he looked at you. It was the sadness someone had when saying goodbye to someone, but you didn’t think anything of it. You thought he was tired. Worn out. His arms snaking around your waist, pulling your wet body close to his. His head leaning down to rest his forehead on your shoulder as you stood stunned before your hands abandoned reaching to wash his hair, instead wrapping around him to rest your palms on his back.

The sex that night wasn’t filled with urgency. It was slow, he took his time. Both of you savored each other, but he got to savor it more than you. He knew it was the last time. He was prepared. You were left to your own thoughts the following days, weeks, months. Your brain running through every reason why he fucked you like he would keep you, not toss you aside the following day.

Touch me deep Pure and true Gift to me forever 'Cause I'm kissing you, oh I'm kissing you, oh

Simon glanced back to the double doors as he pulled from the kiss before he looked back down at you. The hands gripping the piano now undoing the belt securing his pants up. The sound of the zipper pulling down tensing your body. “Simon, what if-” Your concerns were cut off by him before you could finish. “Stop.” Was all he said, grabbing your hand as his other held the unzipped pants up. He sat down on the piano bench, his pants slightly pulled to make it easier to pull his cock out.

His hand pulled you in front of him on the bench. You body now between him sitting on the bench and the keys of the piano. Simon glanced up at you while placing his hands on your waist, running them down your sides as he reached the end of your dress. Fingers pulling the dress up past your knees, thighs, until it reached your waist and scrunched up. “No panties?” His voice was low and rasped. A blush forming on your cheeks. “I just didn’t want lines with the dress.” You said, slightly embarrassed. “I’m not complainin’.” He spoke as his thumb found your clit, rubbing it as he sucked on the fingers of his other hand. Your hands grabbing the edge of the piano keys, ringing in the room out of tune. The two fingers covered in his spit sliding into you. The sensation of him fingering you and rubbing your clit making your head lean back in pleasure. “O-Oh. Simon, curl. Please.” You beg him, your body moving slightly to rest your rear on the keys of the piano. More notes ringing in a mess of a combination.

His fingers curl every now and then as he pumps his fingers a little faster, the thumb of his other hand teasing your clit. “Responding like such a good girl.” He murmured, glancing up at you. Your face twisted with pleasure and anxiety as you glanced at the doors - scared if anyone walked in. “Stop lookin’ at the door. I’m here.” He smirked, his fingers pushing into you hard and holding his hand there as he teased the inside of your walls to pull your attention. Your lips parted as you gasped, looking back at him. “F-Fuck.” You hissed, head looking down where his fingers disappeared inside you. “I want you to drench my fingers in that juice I love so much. Can ‘ya do that?” He muttered, watching you closely as your body and brain reacted to him. “Y-Yes.” You nodded quickly, focusing on clenching your walls around his fingers. A shaky break as your hands lifted from the piano and grabbed for his shoulders. His fingers, those thick fingers spreading you apart only to get you ready for his cock. The thought makes your head dizzy. Your brain knew it missed Simon, but you didn’t realize how deprived your body was as you felt yourself inching towards a climax.

One last pump and your hands gripped his shoulders, legs shaking as you came around his fingers. The juices spilled down his fingers and out of you onto the floor as his fingers pulled out of you. “Fuckin’ little dripping cunt. You’re so messy, baby.” He groaned, his fingers going back to slip into you. The unexpectedness caused you to whimper, it was like he was digging every last drop out. The fingers retreated again, this time he wasted no time to slip his cock out of the fly of his briefs. “C’mere.” He mumbled, holding his cock up and guiding you to stand over his lap, his legs between your legs but slightly spread. Nails digging into his shoulders, you looked down as you guided your body down over his cock. The tip pressing against your folds as it slipped past, your cunt wrapping around his cock as you fully sunk down onto his lap. The groan forming in his throat comes out as a low growl. “Look how good you still take all of me.” The rough hands grabbing your waist to steady you and help you as you start to bounce your body up and down.

“Fuck. Good girl, go faster for me.” His hissed, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he helped your body bounce up and down. As you picked up your pace, his hands would hold you down for a few moments every few seconds to have you just feel his cock buried in you. Your walls clenching at the same time he held you down before he would let you resume riding him. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you looked at him. His one hand leaving your waist to grab his mask that was rolled up still, pulling it off and shoving it into the pocket of the suit jacket.

You gasped slightly as you sloppily bounced on his cock, your brain losing its focus on the rhythm as he pulled the mask off. Simon. All of him. Your hands unwrap from his neck, moving to cup his face instead. Leaning in for a kiss, you whimper into it as his hands hold you back down again. Your body is trying to lift back up as you kiss him, but his hands keep you still. So, instead you rolled your hips. He pulled on your bottom lip as he separated from the kiss, moaning as you rolled your hips. “So fuckin’ needy you couldn’t wait to start bouncing so you roll those hips?” He muttered, gripping your waist as his fingers securely held you. He guided you to bounce again, the wet sounds squelching from your previous climax as you would bounce down onto his lip.

“I’m close.” Simon said through gritted teeth, you nodded in response. “Me too.” You whispered, pushing yourself to go faster, slamming down after you would bounce down. “Si-Simon.” The moans escaping your lips, head leaning down to bury your face in his neck. The second climax gushed out of you as it spilled around his cock, the second he would pull out you were certain you’d drip onto the floor. Simon’s own climax hitting him, his hands moving from your waist to your back as he held you close. His cock jerking in you slightly as he kept you on him until his climax surpassed.

“Fuckin..hell.” He huffed, coming down from his climax. Simon guided your body off him as he watched the mixture of both of your cum stretch out between the two of you. You shifted uncomfortably, his eyes glancing around for anything that could be used but ended up grabbing the pocket square from his suit jacket to clean you. Once he was done you pulled your dress down, smoothing it out as he adjusted himself to zip his pants back up.

Yeah, hey, yeah Where are you now? Where are you now?

The two of you walked towards the double doors of the room, silence hanging in the air. You heard him mumble something, causing you to stop walking and look at him. He stopped to grab his mask from his pocket to pull back on. Before the mask could cover lips once more, you reached to stop it just above his lips. Slightly trembling hands resting on his cheeks as you pulled him down for a kiss.

It wasn’t long, you didn’t count the seconds, but he pulled back. His hand grabbing the mask to cover his entire face again. He nodded at you, reaching for the door and headed out. But, your feet made no effort to follow as the door opened and closed with you still inside the room.

'Cause I'm kissing you I'm kissing you, oh

The kiss for you opening the floodgates of your brain again. But, he wasn’t there when you kissed him, he detached at the same time your bodies did at the piano bench.

Was it purely sexual for him? Was it a release? Your brain asked again. This time it was. And it left you grabbing the chair next to you for support to hold yourself up. The other hand moves to your mouth, a muffled sob is expelled from your body.

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