#the clothes seem to be a different type of plastic to the skin which I think is really nice - if not a little odd
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SCREAMING!!!!!! SHE'S HERE!!!!!!
#I just got a miku figure#she's very obviously a bootleg#she looks like utter shit#but I love her anyway#the figure itself isn't too bad#I had to assemble it but that's to be expected with those big ass twintails#the clothes seem to be a different type of plastic to the skin which I think is really nice - if not a little odd#it's the paint#her face specifically looks nothing like on the packaging#she's got a thousand yard stare n' all that#.... I think I can fix her?????#I have some paints and a small enough brush#I'll think about it later#she's got some chips in her plastic too#also her anatomy's kinda weird but she's a fictional robot singer lady so who gives a shit#I'll probably have to glue her pigtails in at some point
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i will say that i think kiawentiio is a great casting choice for Katara, she's a great fit for the character and im super excited to see her perform. i will also say however (and this is no fault of kiawentiio's) that im rly disappointed in the costuming choices regarding Katara specifically
Out of all the pictures of the cast so far, Katara definitely feels the most "costume-y" and unrealistic
The design of the patterned pieces on her coat do not resemble any type of Inuit or otherwise indigenous embroidery that I know of, in fact they aren't embroidery at all (which I find personally offensive because embroidery would've looked SO much better and more natural and would relate it more solidly to the Inuit and indigenous clothing it should be based off of) but they are reminiscent of water tribe designs in the show so I would give them a pass on that technicality. However, it's just so bad looking I really can't let it go. It's ugly! There! I said it! I have no real reason to dislike it other than my own personal preference! So what!
Moving on from the coat, the absolute lack of Inuit inspiration is a lot more apparent in the inner layers/traveling clothes. I understand that the Southern Water Tribe being inspired by Inuit/Inupiat/Yupik culture is a cultural outlier in the rest of the show, where the other nations draw from an amalgamation of East and South East Asian cultures, and the Northern Water Tribe of Mongolian and various Siberian cultures. Katara and Sokka's traveling clothes (both in the og show and the netflix adaptation) seem to be inspired more by East Asian clothing in order to bring their designs more in line with the rest of the show, but the lack of Inuit and indigenous inspiration in any of these new designs (that we've been shown so far at least) really annoys me
To my knowledge, even the inner layers in Inuit garments are commonly made of skins, not cloth, but there are other cold climate cultures that will use fabrics like cotton, wool and silks in their clothing, so I could forgive them (again) if they drew accurately from those designs instead.
Katara's outfit appears (to me) to most likely be based off of the Mongolian Deel, but I think an argument could be made for Qing Dynasty Chinese dress as well as they both wrap around the body to clasp to the side of the chest (the look of the clasps however do not seem to have any basis in anything whatsoever)
However, netflix seems to have gone the same way as the shyamalan movie in choosing what looks like a linen(??) fabric? which really stumps me because, to my knowledge, linen is not a fabric often used in cold climate cultures. While it does have thermoregulatory qualities and works well for insulation, it is much more well known for its cooling capabilities than its warming ones. I understand that, to be true to the show they needed to use fabrics not common in traditional Inuit fashion, but even the Mongolian Deel is much more likely to be made of cotton, wool, silk or skins, so the decision to use it seriously throws me for a bit of a loop.
Katara's iconic "hair loopies" are a reference to a traditional Inuit hairstyle (Nunavut Inuit specifically), but the way they have the braids start so far from her part with those plastic beads just makes it look so unnatural. It might be more accurate to the look of the show but spirits it doesn't look good (also just realized now writing this that her necklace pendant is white too it looks like a plastic bottle cap what the fuck EDIT: you see the difference between the faux fur lining her hood and inside it??? CHEAP OLD NAVY DOLLAR STORE LOOKIN ASS COAT)
Even Kanna, who wears the same hairstyle, has her loops integrated more naturally and they look so much better in general
the beads in Katara's hair are not culturally Inuit as far as I know, and instead seem to resemble Tibetan beaded and braided hairstyles. You can see here, though, that they somehow manage to not look like absolute shit and out of place like netflix has Katara's looking (and also are not plastic dental floss white they aren't even white in the show why would they do this to me specifically??)
Somehow, the studio producing a franchise live action show cannot make Katara's hair look better than one of those cheap cosplay wigs you can get off aliexpress
It's not hard to make a show-accurate Katara hairstyle work, though. Silvousplaits on YouTube has a great tutorial for a realistic Katara hairstyle that, in my opinion, is somehow better than the multimillion studio hair they've given Katara in the live action
https://youtu.be/tXP-7ja6J_k?feature=shared
Cosplayers are great and devote so much time and talent to making their costumes, but there is absolutely no reason that professionally produced costuming should look worse than something handmade by amateurs that can often only devote so much time to a craft they've picked up outside of their actual careers.
It's ridiculous.
I don't want to prejudge the ATLA live action before it's even out yet, but I already know I'm going to spend the whole time lamenting every single design choice they've made regarding Katara, and the lack of care that I see in her design makes me reticent to watch it.
#these are my PERSONAL OPINIONS and u dont have to agree#but its been bugging me for a while so#if i did get anything wrong tho def feel free to let me know im not an expert or anything#katara#atla#avatar the last airbender#netflix#atla live action#live action#mads talks#kiawentiio
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4, 7, and 14 for the Httyd ask game :0
4. What is your favourite type of dragon and why?
I can't narrow it down to one, but my top three are probably: Deathsongs, Stormcutters and the Boneknapper
Deathsongs because they remind me of rainwings from wings of fire (my first dragon media obsession) with the bright coloring and ear frills as well as the amber being vaguely reminiscent of the acid rainwings spit.
Stormcutters because I absolutely adore Cloudjumper. The way he moves (owl + dog like body language) is incredibly fun to watch and his design is gorgeous.
And the Boneknapper because I had an obsession with the special as a little kid as well as having a one in SoD, iirc. Also, the concept of a scavenger dragon coating itself in an armor of bones is badass.
7. Do you have any OCs? If so, talk about their appearance, backstories, and personalities.
No, unfortunately. I've not really been into OC making since middle school. Not sure what happened, but I kind of lost interest and shifted to focusing on pre-existing characters 😭 I'd like to make a Dragon Rider sona one day though if feel the inspiration to.
14. Which part of the franchise has your favourite animation style?
The first movie era, hands down. The rough, somewhat bleak (in the beginning, at least) gritteness of Berk's scenery, the textures and lighting, Toothless' original design (Cat-like, sleek, very clearly built for speed over raw strength, you can literally see the dust in between his scales) and the original designs for the all the dragons tbh, they feel more.. textured and wild (which I guess makes sense. Later, while they're still, very much wild animals they've become accustomed to being cared for. But still.)
And with the human characters as well!!! I love how much personality their designs have alone; Hiccup has crooked teeth and so many freckles, Astrid has really choppy, greasy looking bangs that she's always shoving out of her eyes, Snotlout's actually missing a tooth, and most of the kids have like, visible dirt on their skin and clothes.
I love how 'imperfect' the designs for all of them are!! And like of course they are!!! Like these kids were training to wage war against dragons! Of course they're gonna be grimey!! I dunno, I just feel like a lot of movies/shows aren't willing to have that level of perceived realism in their character designs. Httyd's cast feels so real to me despite how insanely stylized some of the characters are, and its an absolute shame they seemed to have lost that in the later installments.
(Hiccup's teeth magically get straighter, his freckles fade, Astrids skin is no longer ruddy, her hair looks like it's been shampooed or something, her freckles are completely gone and that's just the second movie. As it goes on the characters' designs and the world around them feels less full of life and more like shiny, plastic figurines. Especially Toothless.)
All the first movie era stuff has just a completely different feel to it that the rest if the franchise hasn't been able to replicate
Anyways, tysm for the ask! I had a lot of fun answering these!!!
#i jusdt now saw it 😭#idk why i didn't get a notif sooner but also i was in the car for 5hrs the other day and havent slept so#httyd ask game#httyd#ask#thw salt#kind of#moth.txt#ouroborros
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Day 4 - Cam Work/Livestream [ao3]
Angel knelt in front of the camera, on the hard floor of the spare room, legs spread in supplication.
‘Angel’ wasn’t his real name, of course, but it was easiest to think of himself in those terms when he was doing this. He was still him but there was a haziness to it, a duplicity. He was a regular man in the day—if anything, he was more than ordinary, a picture of pious devotion in his white plastic collar—and he was this in the evenings. Still devoted, still righteous, just…different.
“I’ve got something special for you all, tonight,” he told his anonymous parishioners, a blinking red light and usernames that scrolled across the screen faster than he could often read them. “Tight, brand new blue jeans.”
Angel dragged his palms up and down the denim spread taut around his thighs. This would be a treat for himself, too. He only had a few articles of clothing set aside for this and all of them were old and faded casual wear. Nothing that could trace back to a man of the cloth, which significantly limited his already minimal options.
This was a small luxury, a minor decadence. Just another sin for the confessional—materialism, vanity, lust…all said vaguely, half-truths and white lies, so not one of the clergy would be the wiser. His personal confession held more weight, in his opinion anyways. Even the bishops lied, a little, in confession. It was the Adam-given sin of shame, brought upon man in the garden at the very start of all of this.
He let out a soft moan as a spike of need lanced through him, thighs tensing as he fought to hold his position. It wouldn’t be long now, but his livestreams never were that prolonged so it was alright.
His viewers seemed to like the treat, the motion, the noise. Their comments were rapid, dripping of hedonistic want like venom off a snake’s fangs.
“I’ve been thinking of this all day,” Angel confessed. And he had, shamefully enough, even as he gave the morning prayer, as he walked within the chapel, as he presided over the Friday evening mass. “I’ve…I’ve been waiting for this so, so eagerly.”
He knew he sounded a bit stilted, awkward, out-of-place. He was used to speaking to people, but he was the model of his teachings except in this one way. He didn’t know how to be seductive, sexual.
His most devoted followers seemed to be endeared by it, at least, praising him for his earnest sincerity.
“It hasn’t been easy. I’ve drank so much…I almost lost my composure in front of my neighbor.”
One of the sisters had surprised him outside when he was making his way back to the house set aside for him and any other priests the parish might host. He had stayed late in the main building, preparing for the many services that would fill the coming weekend and allowing his body to prepare for the night he pre-planned. The house where the nuns lived was only a few dozen yards away, but they rarely were active so late. He’d been lucky to escape swiftly, likely the only thing that had kept his dignity intact.
“I didn’t though,” he said. “I held it, and kept holding it, so I could do this for you all.”
Angel dragged his hand up his legs, to the jut of his hips. He was full—so, so achingly full. It was a just almost-agony, a small type of retribution for the acts of filth and debasement he never had or would be able to cleanse himself of.
His fingers trailed alongside the waistband of the jeans where it was digging in and leaving faint imprints in his so-rarely revealed skin, then lower. He traced the outline of his most intimate self, unmistakable in its shape beneath the zipper and button and denim. It was hardly obscene but it also was.
“I…I want to show you all. How much I was able to hold. How much I- how much I need this.”
The deep well within him made it easy to relax, just enough, to begin to leak.
The specific rush that occurred only in this exact moment caused his eyes to roll back, a moan warbling out low and euphoric. It was unlike anything else: relief cut short; shame at the very action itself; a carnality that stripped away all that he was until he wasn’t a father and he wasn’t Angel, he was barely even human.
The camera wasn’t meant to capture his face but the microphone was perfectly capable of picking up his noises. The comments those watching him left were as vulgar as always, twisting up a sense of wrongness so intensely in Angel’s gut that it almost veered into nausea.
“There,” Angel managed to say, nearly gasping. “It feels- oh, it feels so nice.”
He loved the way it felt, liquid heat blooming first against his skin and underwear, intimate and hidden from any prying eye. The beginning was always his favorite, for this reason. It felt secretive even as he knew dozens of eyes were honed in and staring. And then it began to seep into his outer clothes—staining, tarnishing, defiling in a way that was unmistakable, undeniable. Only in a few spots, usually.
Today it was a circle of dampness directly above the source, beginning to show the definition that was the origin of many a comment that caused Angel to shiver and writhe with want, and two spidery fingers of moisture that followed the folds of the denim.
He forced his muscles to go lax, always a chore of immense mental focus because this was wrong and his body knew it even if his mind could not accept it, and a second wave of warmth flowed directly into his pants. The dark spots grew in size, expanding but still small enough to maintain their defined edges.
His underwear was completely soaked, however. Far more than what was visible on the denim of his pants. Wet enough that, as the pulse came to an end, a new spot began to appear. It was barely noticeable in the camera unless you were looking very closely, a quarter-sized darkening of the fabric near the seam of the jeans just below the highest crux between his thighs.
“I don’t know how much longer I can control it,” he said, because so far these leaks had been tightly controlled. A steady trickle rather than a flood. It always felt nicest when he was controlling it like this, a trembling shivering as he focused as much effort as physically possible into controlling the most miniscule muscles of his body. “It’s- oh.”
He was barely able to control the volume of his moan, high pitched and warbling, his eyes rolling up to the heavens. He was still maintaining control but liquid was seeping out of him despite all of his efforts to keep himself shut. It dripped out of him steadily, darkening the blue denim nearly black—shimmering with such visible wetness it was clear he was losing himself in the act.
The stains on the jeans grew larger, more prominent. He felt himself throb, desperately, and succumbed to the desire to touch.
It wasn’t a full indulgence. The camera, the blue jeans, all of it was more than his soul should rightfully bear. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t—stand to add another black mark to his name.
Angel only laid his hand over himself, pressed down with just enough pressure to send bolts of desire licking up his spine like the flames of hellfire, taking it away again before his hips could betray him as they snapped forward with animal want. His next inhale was gasping, reedy, a whine building up in his throat.
Still, he leaked as steadily as a sieve.
The blue jeans, still crisp with their newness, were becoming saturated. Practically a banner of his misdeeds. It was with shocking clarity that the camera was picking up on the definition that lay beneath, so tightly sealed to his skin as the pants now were, and Angel could only let his mouth hang loose at the realization.
The words on the screen—the only thing he could make out of the messages accompanied by the jingle of coins being gifted—were more obscene than Angel could handle. The burn of mortification spread from his chest, his face, creeping a pink to nearly all of his flesh. Not that the camera could pick up on it with so much of him covered by a long sleeved sleep shirt. He could feel it, though. He knew it was there.
“Oh- oh God.”
Any tenuous control Angel had left fled him. Liquid bubbled up, as a spring, showing up fast and incredibly visible, spilling so quickly as to finally drench his thighs all the way down to his knees. There it pooled, shining in the light of the singular lamp, on the hardwood floors which so many men before him had knelt in prayer.
Blasphemy, slipping out between his teeth, must truly be his final damnation in an evening of such overindulgent sacrilege.
Angel shook where he knelt—body still pulsing with an all-consuming want, so near it would take little to tip over into true relief—even as he emptied himself. He couldn’t tell if he trembled from his physical exertions or the vitriolic reproach he felt towards himself.
Tears gathered in his eyes, hot and fat. He had no ability to stop them from falling—carving their way down his cheeks, gathering at the corners of his mouth and the edges of his jaw, tracing their way across the lines of his so-rarely-exposed throat—he didn’t even have the wherewithal to think that he must.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, but no sound escaped. The silent words tasted of salt.
Then he was truly, finally empty. The pants cooled against his skin and dulled, even in their thorough saturation, as the air immediately began to dry them. He felt stripped bare, completely and utterly naked, exposed for all the judging eyes to see. He imagined his parishioners—his actual parishioners—to be amongst the audience. Would they recognize him? What would they do, if they did?
Despite it all, it took every ounce of his scraped together, remaining willpower to keep his hands away from himself. Only one touch might be enough, might end his bodily suffering in the moment—but no. He refused to degrade himself any more. This act was more than enough, more than he should have ever lowered himself to.
“Go in peace and love,” Angel managed to warble out, voice weak and fading. He turned off the camera, logged off of the site which he broadcasted himself on.
He was alone in an empty room, in an empty house, covered in the evidence of his vice. He hated himself. He wished he never had to put himself through it again.
He would, though. As much as he despised it he just couldn’t stop himself. Come next Friday he would turn on the camera again, expose his soul to a sea of strangers for the judgment he was unable to lay at the feet of his betters.
At least there was some altruism in the large, anonymous donation that was made every month. Even if it could never be enough to fully absolve him.
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Purifying Water – For Ourselves, and Every Other Creature
When it comes to water, most people’s immediate concern is whether it is clean. A valid point for sure. But what do we actually mean by “clean”? Is it safe to drink? Or suitable for washing our bodies, clothes, and dishes? Or do we mean that it’s not contaminated in a way that would kill our plants if we poured it on them? Because there is a world of difference between each of these levels of “clean”.
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Discussing Dirty Water to Define Clean Water
To talk about the purity of water, we have to identify the four types of contamination: Firstly, there are solid particles suspended in the water, which could be anything from pieces of rocks to organic matter, and even plastics. The good news here is that once the water evaporates all of these particles stay behind. Also, should they get back into the water, they can be removed easily with a filter.
The next type of pollutant is organic, such as phosphorous or nitrogen. These are the result of biological contamination from urine, manure, or decomposing bodies. While it may be not as simple to get them out as using a filter, these substances are oxidizable, meaning that they can be removed by bacteria, provided there is sufficient oxygen in the water.
A more complicated form of contaminants is microbial pollution, meaning various forms of microbial life living on organic pollution in the water. While many of these microbes are harmless to humans, some of them are pathogenic, and can cause serious or even deadly diseases to our bodies. There are a number of approaches in dealing with these contaminants, which mostly result in either killing them off, or outcompeting them.
Finally, there is the chemical form of water pollution. This involves other harmful substances in our water, such as residues from medicines, pesticides, hydrocarbons, heavy metals, etc. These contaminants are usually the result of human activity, such as industry or intensive agriculture. Because of their toxicity and low biodegradability they pose the greatest challenge to purifying water on any scale.
How Clean Do We Want Our Water To Be?
What a silly question, you might say. Of course we want our water to be 100% clean, all the time! But is that really so? For example, do you really need the water to be potable, only to flush your toilet with it? Or think about a swimming pool: It’s clean enough to swim in, but I’m sure you wouldn’t want to put it into your mouth, let alone swallow it! Also, if you ask your plants, I’m sure they’re quite happy about a bit of nitrogen and phosphorous in their water, which you in turn would not want in your drinking bottle. So I guess it’s safe to say that instead of “pure” or “clean” we should strive for “suitable” instead.
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Deadly Sterile, or Living Clean?
Because microbial life is so complex that most of us are not even familiar with the numerous species that are too small anyway to see with the naked eye, we tend to be overwhelmed by the mere question of which ones are good, and which are bad for us. It may therefor be the simplest approach to kill everything, as we do in chlorinating our swimming pools. But is it really the best way of getting the water clean? A bit of chlorine (another chemical poison) will not harm us, but it could be detrimental to a plant to be watered with pool water. Also, just imagine the carnage among our natural skin flora that results from a brief dip in the pool!
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On the other hand, imagine taking the same dip in a pristine mountain lake. The water may seem just as “clean and pure”, though it will most likely be teeming with life. Ideally, that kind of water will be good for drinking, swimming, washing, and of course watering your plants with, and may be good for fish and other living organisms to thrive in. Couldn’t we get our water to that kind of purity? Surprisingly, it’s not that difficult.
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Using Life to Purify our Water
To separate the solids from our water, all we need to do is imitate a filter, providing sediments of various sizes (rocks, gravel, sand, charcoal) for the water to pass through. In order to neutralize organic contaminants, microbial life is needed, along with the oxygen they rely on. Having a rich diversity of microbes is also essential for outcompeting the harmful ones. But how can we make sure that we do indeed have a vast and vibrant ecosystem on the microbial level, which we can’t even see? We simply need some other creatures that live in symbiosis with these microbes, and are big enough to see. An example are bivalves, such as mussels or oysters.
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Not only do these molluscs capture particles suspended in the water, and contribute to the cycling of nutrients, but they are also symbiotic with various types of microbes, just like any other creature, including ourselves. What’s even nicer about them, is that their fragile nature is a great indicator for the water’s purity. In other words, they will be killed by much less contamination than us. This means we can be sure that if the water they live in doesn’t kill them, it will be certainly safe for us too.
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Phyto-purification and Natural Swimming Pools
At this point I’d like to bring up some of the many practical applications to the theory of purifying our water. The simplest and most obvious one is a well designed reed-bed behind a house, to filter the household waste water. In a way, this is not much different than the gray-water planters Earthships typically utilize indoors. But can that be brought to a higher level, still? Most certainly so! Imagine various layers of filtering sediments, separate pools for aerobic and anaerobic decomposition, topped up with a mussel farm!
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The other popular application which may have popped into your mind are natural swimming pools. These are basins of living water, offering not only a place for humans to swim, but also a habitat for a plethora of aquatic plants and animals. In a way, it’s a simulation of the naturally pristine mountain lake I mentioned before. There are lots of great sources on how to implement one, but they all follow the basic premise of filtering the water, oxygenating it, and maintaining a vibrant ecosystem of plants and animals, to ensure an even greater diversity of microbes. All together they will provide you with water that is good and healthy, not only for you, but for all other forms of life in your ecosystem.
Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12
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We need more dad skeptic!
Better yet, how would the mla members be as parents?
~Meta Liberation Parents~
headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up
~ReDestro~
-I’d say he loves his kids more than he loves himself. He would die for them (and yes, I’m giving him twins for this). Very loving fatherly wise type. Kinda reminds me of Mufasa from the Lion king. It seems he’s always got something to teach his kids which is a nice break for you in case you get tired of being overloaded by a constant flow of information lol. He’s a tad bit protective but not so much to get in their way often. He often has to let them learn the hard way when it comes to a few things. One time he had a strong cup of black coffee that his kid would NOT stop begging for. The whining and near screaming was causing him to go a little crazy. He could tell by the way his stress marks began to travel. He’d said no a million times but it just wasn’t working out. The only other option was learning the hard way. So he let his 4 year old sip straight black coffee. Needless to say, they never asked for another sip again. Aside from this, he’s really a sweetheart and super soft of his kids. Everyday he always expresses his thankfulness for the opportunity to be a father. I think he’d rather die than go back to his life before you or the kids.
~Trumpet~
-He used to think he had a relatively strong resolve. He had to have one right? Being a Politician was no walk in the park. It was after his son was born/adopted that he realized he was in fact not as tough skinned as he thought he was. Hanabata has a very hard time telling his little boy ‘no’, and often has to rely on you. He’s the type of father that just can’t stand to see their kid cry or be upset. Unfortunately for him, that would lead to his baby being spoiled if you weren’t there to put a stop to it. Another thing is that he goes over the top when buying anything for his kid. He feels like the most expensive is the only option. I mean just look at his glasses?! Those things were $135 alone (and yes this is my headcanon for them. look here). Anyway, his son tends to sport more luxury brands despite being only 4 years old. He’s a tiny little model it would seem. You have to intervene very often with Hanabata’s decisions. There’s no point in sending a 4 year old to school in a Calvin Klein sweater. He’s just going to come back home with it completely ruined after recess! That’s why when you go school shopping you usually leave Trumpet at home (much to his dismay). Even so, he’s a pretty good dad. Although by the time your kid turns 5 he’s already trying to jump the gun and beg you for another one. He wants the limit to be 5 so it’s up to you to negotiate whether or not you’re okay with that.
~Curious~
-Her little girl is not just her child but also her very best friend in the world. The funny thing about it is that her daughter becomes a bit different the older she gets. Chitose loves taking her daughter out and having bonding days where they get their nails done together and eat. They go shopping and you already know she’s willing to spend the equivalent of a car down-payment on WHATEVER her daughter wants. Sometimes you join them but only if you’re prepared to be out all night basically. It’s no good since your daughter has preschool in the morning but you know Chitose sometimes will keep her out of class to recharge on the next day. By the time her daughter finally becomes 4, she doesn’t too much care for shopping trips and whatnot. When she does go shopping, she prefers getting plastic snakes and bugs rather than clothes. She wants balls, monster trucks, and cool stuff like green or purple slime. Chitose misses the nail and shopping trips but she’s a supportive mom and will still do what she can to assure her daughter has a fun time. I bet when she gets older she’ll sign her up for softball! Anyway, Chitose is hardly a rough parent no matter what. She has a hard time scolding her daughter or even putting her in time out. When she finally works up the ability to do so, she ends up cutting it short by several minutes. She’s also a huge cuddler! That means nearly every night you’re in the bed with both her and your daughter as well.
~Skeptic~
-I know I’ve talked a good deal about him and Tomoko by now, but I’ll do it again! He’s absolutely attached to her from the moment she came into this world. I hope you don’t feel like you’re being replaced or anything! Tomoyasu just didn’t expect (nor attempt) to be a father ever in his life. To be honest, he never thought he’d ever be a husband either! It’s funny how life changes lol. One day he’s a young plucky newbie getting settled into his job at Feel Good and the next day he’s arguing with you about how to tighten Tomo’s new booster seat into the car. You finally show him what you’re talking about and he admits that he’s wrong lol. As a father I see him being a little bit protective. He’s the same way when it comes to you as well. He’s not worried about too much but still holds in the back of his mind that anything could happen so he tends to keep a close eye on Tomo when she’s out in public. Also, he’s big on her education so you’ll often find him trying to get her to study even when she doesn’t really need to do so. “Tomoyasu? Are you trying to teach her math? It’s Saturday...and she’s only 4.” You laugh lightly at the sight of him trying to teach your toddler at the kitchen table. Tomo is having a hard time paying attention and would much rather play with the clay in front of her. “Look daddy, I made a snowman!” She points to the blob on the table she’d formed. Tomoyasu sighs and slowly puts away the math flashcards. “Perhaps we’ll focus on the arts then, hmm?”
~Geten~
-Way too overprotective. In fact, he also stated multiple times he wasn’t ready for fatherhood. When the baby was delivered/or adopted, he totally switched up on you and everyone around. It’s rougher when his son gets older. The boy is full of energy and curiosity! It seems he’s always moving around and getting into something he’s not supposed to be into. One time you’d caught him in the bathroom with toilet paper unrolled and strewn everywhere. Another time you’d caught him drawing all over the walls. Unfortunately he’s one of the kids you need to get a backpack leash for. I know it looks annoying and you used to be against it but when he took off running in a parking lot while you and Geten were loading groceries into the car, and almost got hit by a vehicle...well, you got over the backpack leash really fast. Aside from that, your little boy had so much love to give every single day. Geten usually tried his best to return that affection in his own way. A lot of times you catch your son hanging onto Geten’s back like a little monkey. I believe Geten would kill someone if they ever hurt his child. This is just the kind of father he is. Anyway, I feel like he secretly wants one more.
#i got off track oh no!#im sorry!#it felt not that good and I'm writing while sleepy so forgive me!#bnha#mha#boku no hero academia#my hero academia#mla#meta liberation army#geten#trumpet bnha#redestro#skeptic bnha#curious bnha#koku hanabata#tomoyasu chikazoku#chitose kizuki#rikiya yotsubashi
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hello there, its me! i'd like to ask for your opinion on the designs i made recently. for context, these four main characters are henchmen to a big supervillain who is also the boss of a secret corporation. every single henchmen there has been brainwashed and forced to work, however one day, the brainwash on these four henchmen somehow expired. before they could get their freedom back they have to pretend like they're still brainwashed to gain their boss's trust.
those two blank people are wearing the standard male uniform and standard female uniform.
these four wear a clip on their hats and suits because they gave eachother clips as a sign of their friendship. they wear belts and straps on their chest that resemble the logo of their company. all four of them wear a hat different than the standard uniform because they want to have their own identity and not just be part of a set. i tried to make them all as different as possible without changing the uniform too much because the company is strict. i'd love to hear your suggestions or changes! feel free! (and if you're not interested i'll be totally okay if you ignore this, either way, have a good day!!)
Oh wow, cool idea! I guess my first question is, if they want everyone to think they're still brainwashed, why change the uniforms at all? Wouldn't that raise suspicion? If they need an outlet to express their own identities, maybe they could meet in a secret place outside of the organization and wear their own street clothes. They could also keep the pins hidden under their uniforms so they'd still have those tokens of friendship, but they wouldn't stick out like sore thumbs.
It'd be helpful to think about what this company's function is. Is it a factory? A lab? A headquarters for espionage? What kind of work do the henchfolks do every day, and how do their uniforms contribute to that? I'm also not clear on why the female uniform has shorts rather than pants like the male one. Seems like some pointless gendering on the organization's part. Giving everyone the same uniform would feel more logical and efficient, and it'd hammer home how much the company values total conformity.
Speaking of which, I wonder what the company policy on hair is. Maybe there's a small list of approved hairstyles, or maybe they just make everyone shave it off so they all look the same, depending on just how strict their practices are. The US military recently relaxed its hairstyle regulations and other grooming standards (which are still gendered as fuck but more flexible than they were in the past) so maybe taking a look at those (or another country's military standards depending on where this company's located) could help you gauge where the organization falls on the lenience spectrum. And if this is an anime where people are born with crazy hair colors, I could see this company possibly being okay with the ones these characters are sporting. If that's dye, though- NAH.
So if the characters have to wear the same uniforms around their coworkers in order to avoid detection (and possibly have to change their hairstyles and color to fit the company’s regulations), what would make them visually unique? I’d suggest making them stand out through their face shapes and body types. Even when following the same strict diet and training regimen as everyone else, no two bodies will be exactly the same, and no two faces will be, either (unless the company’s so obsessed with conformity it requires plastic surgery for all its recruits. Sheesh, this place is sounding like a dystopian hellscape).
The characters’ codenames gave me an idea: What if each one’s basic shapes were inspired by their card suit?
Some different skin tones would help differentiate them, as well. I know it’s kind of an anime trope to give every character the same skin color, but in real life, even skin from two people of the same race won’t look exactly alike. This will give the characters a greater sense of individuality despite having to wear the same uniforms as dozens of other recruits.
Just a few ideas. Hope that helps!
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1: “you know I love you, right?”
2: “try and get some sleep baby”
3: trying out a new kink
4: pegging for the first time
Fic type: Smut and then angst
Word count: 1887
Filler name: Jen (gonna be honest, I use this name because it is my name and it’s a lil treat for me when writing 🥴)
Link to masterlist
To explain this fic to those who don’t know, I held a poll a little while ago to determine who would be the focus for this fic and the results were Christian Cage. I’m going to consider this as a prelude to this fic. I feel like it’s a nice transition into this topic. So I can ease (😏) prompts 1 and 2, there’s going to be angst towards the end so if you’re confused on how they would fit in here, that’s where they’ll come into play! I was going to do fluff, but I’ve decided to go a different route.
Hopefully that covers any and all questions for this scenario! Without further ado!
Happy reading 🩷
“Are you sure you want to try this?” Jen asked, her voice laced with concern as Christian stood in front of her, holding a brand new strap on.
They had discussed the idea of trying new things in the bedroom with pegging being a popular idea between the two of you. The two had already enjoyed a wonderful make-out session in which they had removed all their clothes and covered each other's bodies in kisses and bite marks. He was comfortable using plugs, both vibrator plugs and normal, but a whole dildo? She wasn’t sure if he was ready to go that far. But then again, here he stood with it sat in his hands. It was a fairly standard size, just a little smaller than his cock. Not quite as thick as his too. It was purple and slightly shiny.
“I am nervous, I won’t lie,” he admitted, “but I want to try this with you. I know you’ll be very gentle with me.”
Jen smiled weakly. Yeah, she was excited to see him take on a pegging session but…
The idea of possibly hurting him scared her. It seems he sensed her nervousness too as he caressed her cheek, kissing the tip of her nose.
“You know I love you, right?” He reassured, moving his thumb to trace her bottom lip. She nodded and retorted with a quiet ‘yeah, of course, baby’ that he almost didn’t hear.
“The idea of having someone make love to me is so incredible. Even more so that I don’t have to do the work,” he smirked, cheekily winking at her, “I want to do this. So bad. And I want it to be you to do this to me, nobody else. I know I’m in safe hands with you. I trust you.”
She swallowed her nerves, taking the strap from his hand and inspecting it. Rolling it over her fingers, she wondered how to put it on. Having never used one before nor even seen someone else put it on during a porn viewing session with Christian, she was at a loss how to begin. He chuckled softly and took it back from her so he could assist in putting it on. He stepped behind her after he pulled it over her legs and strapped it together using the clips, his long fingers pressing hard against her cheeks. Jen gasped as she felt him plant a wet kiss on her skin, letting his tongue lick a strip between the cheeks.
“How do we start?” She asked, nervously fiddling with the loose strip of fabric that rested on her leg. He smiled at her, stepping in front and sinking to his knees. That simple action answered her question as she watched him kiss over the plastic, judging the size, and tracing her thighs. Slowly, he worked his way up to the head, licking his lips as they parted in preparation. He was hesitant at first. It was a big step for him as they had only experimented with plugs. But it was something he was desperate to do. So, he allowed the dildo to slip into his mouth, stopping halfway down the shaft. His gag reflex was already being set off so he kept his head at a respectful distance. Jen watched in wonder as he slowly moved back and forth. For his first time going down on a dildo, he was doing fantastic. She rested her hand on top of his head, creating eye contact with him. He rested his hands on her thighs, gently gripping as he moved. She gave him an encouraging smile as he gagged slightly around the girth.
But in all honesty, the encouragement was more for her if anything. She loved him more than words could say but…seeing him begin to delight in having a dildo in his mouth, she was filled with jealousy and insecurity. She knew he loved her and wanted only her, but knowing he was enjoying genitalia that was not hers (although it was fake) made her feel something she had never felt before. Plugs were fine as she knew they weren't actually of the shape in question. But seeing him get excited over a piece of plastic in the shape of a cock just…she would need to adjust to this new world for sure.
Deciding he had had enough of sucking, he got up from the floor to grab a bottle of their lube. He squirted a large blob into his hand to smother the dildo with, using the leftover on his asshole. Wiping his hands on a discarded t-shirt for the wash, he pulled Jen in for a kiss, cupping her cheeks as he wrapped his soft, moist lips around hers.
“Lay down on your back,” he instructed, gently pushing her towards the bed, “I think it's better if I go on top.”
She did as she was told, lying down on her back with her legs spread. The purple dildo stood upright, glistening under the light. Although she knew what was coming, she still felt nervous. What if he decided he liked it more than having sex with her? Swallowing hard, Jen watched as Christian crawled up the bed to hover over her hips, one leg on either side of her. He took a bit more lube from the bottle to rub a little extra on his hole. You could never be too careful with something like this.
She placed her hands on his knees as he positioned the head correctly. He sunk down ever so slightly, just allowing the tip to slip in. Inhaling sharply, he stopped to get used to the feeling. Christian reached down to grab her hand, wanting that support. She gave him a reassuring squeeze while trying to suppress the jealousy that resided in her chest. He took a deep breath and sunk down further. His ass wasn't used to taking this much and it showed on his face; it was uncomfortable as all hell. But he persisted, still trying to get as far down as he could. The extra lube he had used certainly made it a smoother ride. He gripped her hand tighter, sucking more air in between his teeth as his hole stretched around the thickness.
“Um… you're…you’re doing great!” she muttered, trying her absolute hardest to egg him on and make him feel better. His eyes were squeezed shut as the stinging was almost too much for him to take. But like the trooper he was, he pushed on until he sat on her lap, his ass swallowing the entire dildo. Christian moaned out as he tried to get used to the feeling of a foreign object inside of him. Leaning forward, he let go of her hand to fondle her breasts, carefully circling his hips to widen himself some more. She held his hips, desperate to keep a hold of him still. He must have sensed her nerves as he looked at her with concern in his eyes. Jen chose to say nothing, instead simply smiling up at him to try to not worry him. It stuck in his head, though, but he tried his best to focus on what was going on at that moment.
Feeling more comfortable, he began to rock his hips slowly. The feeling of the plastic sliding in and out hurt but he kept going. After some grinding, the pain began to seep away. Not entirely but it was certainly easier to bear. It wasn't yet at a level of pleasure, and he didn't expect that so early. In all honesty, it was far too early to tell if he enjoyed this sensation or not. This was something he would need to practise more if he wanted to get actual pleasure out of. Christian’s hips began to ache as did his hole, so he began to lift off of it slowly. He had made a fantastic start but it was a bit much to carry on. Jen helped him, holding onto the dildo so it was steady on the exit. Everything was going fine up until he reached the tip. As he continued to rise, the pain began to amp up. It seems he had become so used to being stretched and filled that having it removed hurt. Even more so than having a thick butt plug removed after a long period of time. Mistaking his slowness for his being stuck in that position, Jen thought she'd try and help him. So she gently pushed on his butt cheeks with her free hand, trying to help free him. However, his yelp of pain informed her that he was indeed not stuck. Being pushed off with a ‘pop!’ hurt more than he could have anticipated. He stumbled forward, unable to stop himself in time as he crashed face-first into the wall behind the bed, and crotch-first into her face. Now, not only was his rear hurting, but now his face and genital region.
“Oh my god, I'm so sorry!” she almost screamed as he pulled away from her, climbing off the bed with a groan. Thankfully he hadn't hit his face too hard and was still able to walk, even if it was with a limp. He said nothing in response, leaning against the dresser with one hand holding his aching manhood. Jen quickly tried to remove the strap to go over and help him without having a dildo in her way but managed to get tangled up in the process. He noticed after a few seconds that she was struggling so he limped back over to her, pushing her on her front roughly to unclip the straps. Christian, obviously, was not happy about the whole ordeal that had just played out but tried his best to let it go. He knew she hadn’t meant to hurt him but still. Nothing changed the fact that she didn’t stop to ask if he needed her assistance. Trying his best to swallow the annoyance, he laid down in the bed next to her, pulling Jen in for a cuddle.
“Baby I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.” She mumbled, covering him with kisses as he pulled the blanket over their bodies. He sighed, returning one kiss to her forehead and whispering: “I know you didn’t mean it. Just. Please remember to ask me if I need help next time, okay? Try and get some sleep baby. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
He reached over to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Jen had no idea how she was going to sleep, especially with no comforting words. He had even rolled over and away from her, leaving the warmth of the blanket to slither under the quilt. It was clear that her actions had really touched a nerve with him. And it wasn’t even an isolated incident where she would do something without asking or informing him first too. So now, there she laid. Trying to sleep with so many thoughts racing in her mind. As she eventually drifted off into sleep, all she could think about was how upset he was and how she just wanted to make it better.
But, she would have to wait until the morning before she could do anything at all.
#christian cage#captain charisma#christian#christian wwe#instant classic#christian cage imagine#christian cage fanfic#christian cage x reader
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Tips On How To Spot Faux Vs Actual Hermes Constance Bag
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Fendi Luggage On Sale
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Mind If I Join You?
check out my masterlist!
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Word count: 13k (i am SO SORRY i got carried away and this fic turned out SO FILTHY but i hit 300 followers so consider this a gift??)
Established Relationship Fluff | Smut
There’s only one bed shower, and Daryl Dixon is an opportunist.
the request:
every single fic of yours is seriously amazing. ur a great writer!! can i request a daryl shower smut bc wooweeeee
There’s always a giddiness inside Daryl when he returns from runs. No more sleeping in the RV for nights on end, no more eating cold canned chicken soup and - as much as he liked Aaron - no more hearing him talk about how much he missed Eric and making him miss you, too. He’s exhausted, his muscles sore from overuse, but the fact that you’re probably curled up in bed makes him so damn excited that all the ailments of his aging body are swiftly forgotten with each step he takes.
Houses fly by in a blur as he ramps up into a jog, his feet taking him to the dim light of a moving lantern in your shared bedroom window. By Daryl’s estimate, it couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11pm, but time meant little in the apocalypse - it was either dark out, or light and with the days getting shorter, he noticed you using the lantern more and more frequently. Just a few days ago, you had fallen asleep curled up on his chest, the soft orange light filling the room before he strained his body trying to turn it off without waking you. The next morning he had a terrible cramp running from his rib up to his bicep, but he never complained. Not even a wince in your presence since he thought the soreness was worth it. He would rather die several times over than lose the image he saw - of your pillowy lips taking soft, steady breaths of air while you slept against his bare skin.
Smiling, he lets himself remember the way you looked when he first gifted it to you, a grin that spread to the apples of your cheeks and crinkled at your eyes plastered on your face. It wasn’t a perfect replica, but it looked close enough to the one you would both light on nightwatches in the prison - which he thinks was when he first realized he loved you. Daryl also remembers the first night he saw you use it, the memory so vivid in his mind that he felt like if he reached out, the soft fabric of your pajamas would welcome his touch.
He could picture it now, your back against the headboard, reading one of the books that littered the shelves he never touches. Your face bathed in the lantern’s hue while your eyes scanned the pages and drinking in every word of whatever you were holding. He plucked that book right out of your hands that night and pulled you onto his lap, kissing the pout off your face until you weren’t annoyed at him anymore, rendered down to just laughing against his lips.
Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and see you again.
Daryl curses under his breath as he fumbles a little with the doorknob, but the profanities are quickly replaced with a huff of accomplishment as he practically sprints to the bedroom, boots shucked off haphazardly at the front door. He skips every other stair with long strides, desperate to feel you in his arms. When he enters the bedroom, he places his crossbow on the dresser and is surprised to see the room as dark as it is, the only source of illumination being the moon as it streams through the windows. The bed is empty and the blankets are strewn to your side, but neither you nor your pajamas are anywhere in sight. Panic flies through him before he registers the unmistakable sounds of the shower running, and he scoffs at himself when he sees the dim orange light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.
Had you known how worried he was for a second, you would have laughed at him. He was already so protective of you before the two of you got together, but it was another level entirely when you both made it official. It wasn’t just losing you to the dead anymore - it was also losing you to other people. Daryl knew you could take care of yourself, he had seen you hold your own on runs in the prison and trips outside the Alexandrian gates, but, God, if anything happened to you he wouldn’t know what to do. Being apart from you once when the Governor attacked was already almost too much for him to handle, but the thought of losing you and having to be okay with the fact you were never going to love him again? That was something he never wanted to experience.
Leaning against the wall, he pulls off his belt and places it next to his crossbow, his vest following not long after. The mattress squeaks slightly when he makes his way over to it and lies down, his body feeling almost instant comfort at the feeling of something other than the hard leather of his bike’s seat. Days like this made him think that maybe you were right in jokingly telling him that his motorcycle was a dumb choice for long runs - his tailbone was probably shaped like a rectangle from how long he’d been sitting on his ass.
A few moments pass as he allows himself to indulge in some rest, eyes closing and already in the first stages of a slumber before he shoots up, pushing himself to the edge of the mattress and sitting straight. Fuck, he needed to shower. He had given you his word that he would. Each time before he fell asleep after a run, he’d said; and Daryl Dixon was not one to break promises. Especially not to you.
Getting off the bed, he sheds his shirt and throws the old fabric onto the dresser, grimacing at the knowledge he would have to scrub at the dried walker blood come morning. His socks are next, pulled off by impatient hands and left on the floor, not even given a second glance as he then pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of boxers from his meager pile. The only thought in his mind being the feeling of smooth sheets and your body against his skin. He’d pick up his clothes after his shower - if he could even muster up enough energy to.
Step by step, he makes it a good few feet out of the bedroom before he realizes the other second floor bathroom doesn’t work. If his memory served him correct, there were some plumbing issues and, before anyone could buy replacements, the world became, well, what it is now. After all, it was the only reason you and Daryl even took this house - nobody else wanted to have only one shower and, after becoming a couple, sharing one between two people didn’t seem all that bad. At least, that’s what he thought until now. Groaning, he rubs his eyes in an attempt to rub out the fatigue in them before his whole body lights up with an idea. Maybe he could have some fun with this. And if you asked, he could always blame the missing pipe or whatever it was that the Alexandrians couldn’t fix.
Practically thrilled, he mentally pats himself on the back and rushes back to the bedroom. Tired? Not anymore. Daryl can’t be if he wants to fulfill what just popped into his mind. Years of hunting leave his footsteps nearly silent when he enters the bathroom, but he’s not exactly at a disadvantage in terms of noise. The rhythmic beating of water against the tiled floor drowns out the slight squeak of the door as well as the hitching of his breath when he notices the gap. With how the room was designed, just standing at the door led his gaze in a nearly direct line of sight to you, the shower curtain lying an inch or two from the wall and offering him a vision which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge in.
It’s not like he's never seen your body - far from it, actually - but there was something about you that made him hesitate when it came to stuff like this. You deserved sweet and soft, affectionate with declarations of love between his kisses, and while he enjoyed giving that to you, sometimes he wanted something different. Sometimes Daryl wanted to act on impulse - to feel a different type of desperation - and tonight, he wanted to act out one of his long-hidden fantasies. One that involved you on many, many occasions.
Truthfully, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it since Merle and his buddies showed him that damn VHS as a hormonal high schooler. He never really had a committed girlfriend or anything like that to ever even pluck up the courage to ask, but that fantasy remained like a phantom in the back of his mind, lying just outside his finger’s reach. One that haunts him late at night and renders him withering in his own palm. At least, that was the case. Because he has you now and how he managed that? He didn't know. But he felt confident enough around you and trusted you enough to pursue the desire in him.
A shiver courses through him, running along the tip of his spine when he considers the possibility you might like it as much as him - and if you did, maybe he would divulge to you more of these secrets he’s always kept hidden so well.
With silent movements, Daryl unbuttons and unzips his jeans as he leans against the door of the bathroom, just barely suppressing a groan when his fingers graze the zipper. He curses himself, chastising his sensitivity at the mere image of you doing something as mundane as taking a shower, but he knew it was an inevitable consequence. Ever since the prison, anything you did got him riled up - even just seeing you sitting on his motorcycle made his skin light up with goosebumps. Left in only his boxers, he steps out of the denim pooling at his feet and picks it up, throwing it haphazardly onto the cream coloured counter as he waits for you to take notice of his presence. The metal button clashes against the smooth marble of the vanity, and its noises sound across the room, your eyes opening and your fingers catching the edge of the plastic curtain as you dart your head out, searching for the source.
Your body tenses up, no doubt the experience of living out on the road for so long, but the fighting instinct drains from you the moment you see the affectionate boyish grin playing on Daryl’s lips. It’s barely visible as he stands so far from the meager light source, but it sends an eager smile onto your face. Like all those times he’s returned to you, you want to run to him, feel his arms wrap around you and inhale his scent as you plant those incessant kisses he ‘hated’ everywhere on his face, but that urge only serves to remind you that you’re standing naked in a shower and he’s just staring at you.
“Daryl! What the- I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”
Embarrassed, you speak, voice pitched higher than normal from the shock and excitement coursing through your body. However, he stays put, leaning against the door as he drags his eyes up the expanses of skin afforded to him; that is, until you pull the plastic curtain to cover yourself and run your free hand through your hair, tilting your head ever so slightly in order to urge his eyes to meet yours. You wait for his response as you brush the wet strands back from your face, but it never comes, him instead choosing to stride towards you and send you a pout before pulling petulantly at the shower curtain, trying to coax you to let go of it. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, your grip loosens and he can barely hold back his excitement when you really do let go, tongue peeking out for just a second before he hooks his lip between his teeth.
Throughout your relationship with Daryl, you learned he loved looking at you, gawking at and admiring each angle, birthmark and curve until you felt heat flush through your body. Even before the two of you got together, his gaze stuck on you, longing and soft when you weren’t looking, only hardening if your eyes ever met his. Each time he saw you it was like he was still in disbelief that you were his, forever suspended in the wide look he had when you first confessed to him, hence why you didn’t pay much attention to his stare as you moved to pump out some shampoo. You didn’t really know why he was in the bathroom and he made no effort to tell you, but you were here to clean yourself. So that’s what you’ll do. He’ll probably leave sooner or later after making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere, anyways.
The way the light from the lantern bounced off your glistening skin made you look like some sort of goddess. Like an otherworldly being he shouldn’t be looking at. Or like a succubus, sinfully tantalizing, except you didn’t know what you were doing to him as you raked your hands through your hair again, bubbles forming already between your fingers as you scrubbed. Shit, this was way better than he expected, and he’s gladly taking in everything it was offering. Shifting his weight, he clenches and unclenches his fists - commanding himself to keep them at his sides - but then you turn around, allowing the water to rush down your back and his resolve withers away as he tries not to envy the path along which it’s falling.
Soon, the little space between the shower curtain and the ceramic tiling isn’t enough for him. He needs to feel you against him, his trembling hands and suffocating boxers egging him on like this was the first time he’s ever seen you naked. Clearing his throat, he urges himself to move, building his confidence which had seemed to dissipate nearly immediately as you locked eyes with him. What he wanted to do wasn’t sweet or affectionate, and even though he knew you would tell him if you didn’t like it, he just didn’t really want to risk even doing something you didn’t like in the first place.
“Sorry I, uh, I’ll go rinse out my hair somewhere else. Here, I’ll get out so you can-”
This was it. He had to act now or he’ll lose the opportunity. Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he watches as your hand reaches for the shower valve, but your movements and voice stop when Daryl shoots his dominant hand out, the calloused skin wrapping around your wrist in a warmth that makes you snap your gaze to his. While firm, he never applies enough force to hurt you - he knows what kind of men there were in this world, and he didn’t know what he would do if you ever thought of him like that. On the contrary, the feeling of his fingers around you is welcome, especially after what felt like years away from him. Giving him that same inquisitive look, except this time laced with a small smile, you can tell by the way he’s gnawing at his lip that he has something to say. Something that has him hesitating in a way you’ve never really seen him hesitate before, well, besides the first time you both kissed.
“Actually, mind if I join ya? ‘Cause ya see, the other shower don’t work and there’s this girl - my girl - she’s amazin’, but she doesn’t let me into our bed ‘til I shower and I’m damn tired.”
Oh.
Noticing the way you tense up slightly at his suggestion, he offers more, another reason to sway you into accepting as if the pursuit of his little fantasy would both begin and end with what drops from his lips. This definitely felt more daunting, like a much larger leap than him asking for permission to kiss you.
“I also heard showerin’ in pairs saves water.”
Oh.
Yeah, you get why he was hesitating now.
Honestly, Daryl really couldn’t give a fuck about the water he was talking about. What he had in his running mind had little to do with his environmental footprint and more to do with feeling your skin on his and the image of you coming undone for him. He hasn’t been home - been with you - in what felt like weeks, and he thought the generator could stand to work a little harder after running for one person for a few days. With a slight upwards twitch of his eyebrow, you can feel what little apprehension you had leave your body and his heart pounds in his ribcage with the anxiety of what’s to come. At least, he thinks that’s why its beating at 100 miles per hour.
It surely can’t be the residual hormonal anticipation or excitement from his youth.
“And who exactly did you hear that from?”
The slight joking edge to your voice causes him to smile, but it’s a mischievous one, one that holds promises and sends a shiver through your body. Daryl really had no clue what he did to you when he looked at you like that, his piercing blue gaze hitting you as his head tilts down almost sheepishly to the grip he has on you.
His eyes flick up to meet yours, a glint residing in them that draws you to look at nothing but him as he runs his thumb along the bone of your wrist. With a tilt of his head, he speaks, muttered as he gnaws once more at his lips and lets go of his hold.
“It matter?”
So nobody, probably.
The amusing thought sends you shaking your head ‘no’ as you smile, pulling open the plastic curtain in invitation while trying to suppress the idea that just popped into your head. Daryl just wants to shower and the only reason he wants to shower with you is to fulfill that promise he had made. Because he just wants to go to sleep. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he’s hopeful that you would be watching him - and he’s fully prepared to make a show of stripping his last piece of fabric - but he’s sorely disappointed when he sees your eyes closed in an attempt to keep the bubbling shampoo from burning at them.
Why weren’t you looking at him? Was he not overt enough?
Wow, he really wasn’t very good with… whatever it is he’s trying to do, huh?
You shuffle forward from the steady stream and he takes that as his cue to step in, gladly placing his body just a few inches from yours and sighing in relief when the water hits his sore muscles. The sounds don’t go unnoticed by you, and your heart sinks a little with each suppressed groan of pain Daryl lets out. He always worked so hard for Alexandria, and they still treated him like somewhat of an outsider, questioning his true intentions with harsh looks when he even so much as walked too close to them. But they didn’t seem to mind him much when they were eating the animals he hunted, though, and that sent your blood boiling.
Turning around, you try not to let your gaze drop too low as you place your hands on his shoulders, frowning when you feel the stiff knots that have burrowed their way underneath his skin. Almost immediately, Daryl submits to your touch, an all too familiar warmth bubbling in his heart as he, too, turns and exposes his scar ridden skin to you, allowing your thumbs to rub circles into his upper back. He always loved this - the domesticity of these moments, the wordless communications, your love and affection directed solely at him - and he’s starting to forget the real reason he crashed your shower in the first place, lulled into relaxation under your nimble fingers and the water beating down on his overworked muscles.
“Does that feel better?”
Your question warrants a response landing somewhere between a grunt and a groan, but then you laugh and he swears his heart swells tenfold. He missed hearing that. Even if you got embarrassed of it sometimes, or hid it muffled behind the palms of your hands, he loved hearing it. Because you glowed when you did, your eyes crinkling up at the corners with a smile that almost always brought him to his knees, and perhaps almost selfishly, the knowledge that he doesn’t want to be away from you any longer dawns on him - as well as the knowledge that it’s inevitable that he has to leave again soon. Whether it be with Aaron or Rick, or some of the poor bastards that piss their pants whenever they see him.
When you stop your ministrations, he feels himself frowning as you tap him once with your thumbs, but he elates almost immediately when you speak promise of a better massage come morning. He’s slightly ashamed of the way his whole body lights up in goosebumps in anticipation, but it’s not unwarranted. Spending late mornings with you was something Daryl never knew how the hell he had lived so long without, and they were his favourite types of mornings by a long shot. Especially when it ended up more often than not with you on him or him on you, the both of you thankful for the misfit house you had all to yourselves and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.
“You’re too damn good to me.”
But he deserves it, you think to yourself, He deserved to be cared for like this.
His praise drips with a softness he didn’t even know he was capable of until you came along and Daryl turns back around to face you, smirking lopsided when he sees a shy smile worm its way onto your face. He had to have known what he was doing when he said stuff like that - especially when he used a voice like that. Seriously, how long had the two of you been together? It felt like an eternity already, but he could still make you flustered from a simple compliment. Shaking your head, you rest your wrists at the nape of his neck and use the leverage to pull his lips to yours, thumb swiping at the blood dried at his cheek and hoping the distraction of your tongue on his will keep him from teasing the warmth crawling up your neck.
A ‘hm?’ noise falls from him, small and surprised as his eyebrows raise for just a moment before his hands loop around your waist by instinct. When you pull away, another noise falls from Daryl, but this time it’s more disappointed than anything, and he chases your lips with his bottom one jutted out, taking full advantage of the strong arms he has wrapped around you. Holding you in place, his eyes plead with the now perfected ‘one more’ look you’re all too familiar with and you can’t bring yourself to deny him - he knows you can’t. Closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he waits patiently, he hums when you finally kiss him again, his satisfaction vibrating down to the hollow center of your collarbones before begrudgingly letting you go when you pull away again.
The water runs a brownish red from the dried walker blood being washed off his body and he scrubs furiously at his arms, trying to gauge the right move that will get your thighs shaking and your moans bouncing off the ceramic tiles he’s seen less than he’s willing to admit. Should he just… go for it? Just pull you against him and push you up against the walls he wants your noises to echo off of? No, he should come up with a better idea. You deserved a better idea.
Running his thumb along his jaw, Daryl sneaks furtive glances at your body - who the hell he was hiding them from, he didn’t know - and picks even more skin off his chapped lips as he watches you twist at your waist ever so slightly to comb through your hair. Swallowing down his spit like some teenager, he watches your shoulder blades protrude and disappear, intently following the droplets of water as they fall along your neck and down the muscles you’ve developed. He had to hand it to the sorry rich prick who had designed this house because, all things considered, they did a pretty good job; there was just enough spread of it between the two of you to pass as a decent shower. Even if you or him had to oddly angle yourselves to warm a cool patch of skin.
Reaching towards the shampoo bottle, his arm brushes against your waist almost feather-light, but it sends a shiver through you, rattling your ribs and making your cheeks flush all the same. Daryl lingers for a moment longer than you expect, his body leaning as he stretches over and you think he’s going to step forward - wrap you up in him - but dutifully, respectfully, anxiously he stays put. You want his touch, especially after nights alone with only the scent of him on his side of the bed to keep you company, and, having caught a quick glance at his straining boxers before he joined, there’s little room for doubt in your mind that he wants you. But still, it exists.
Your own arms begin to sore when he finally pulls away, his hands now raking through the hair he seemingly never wants to cut. Clearing your throat, you turn around, eyes screwed shut as you face Daryl, fearing for both the shampoo you’re washing out stinging at your eyes and the fact that if you looked at him, your gaze would probably drop. God, was all it took just a few days without him to have you craving him like this? The close proximity coupled with the knowledge he’s standing next to you naked makes you tense up before a shiver runs up your spine, your thoughts causing your breath to hitch for barely a second. Despite your efforts to suppress it, your subconscious prays that he picks up on the little noise. Please let him pick up on it.
And he does, ever observant as he connects the dots, the initially surprised look on his face melting into a small anticipatory smirk before he all but races to lather his hair in the coconut - or was it grapefruit? - scent. This was good. This was damn good.
He dares take a step forward, tentative, testing out the waters as if he was unsure of your desire, but he knows he can read you, and that he can do it well. This was when he should do something, right? The subtle confirmations - a tense, a shiver, a hitching breath - beg him to. Under the streaming shower, Daryl impatiently scrubs at his scalp, teeth hooked permanently atop his lip as he watches the rivulets of watered-down shampoo catch along your skin, his fingers and mouth itching to replicate its path down your neck to your chest. He knows that path well, and perhaps that’s what makes him even more envious.
Thank God for the fact you’ve closed your eyes because if anybody saw Daryl right now, they would take a step back, maybe even several thinking he was angry. How could they not when he was glaring at you as if you had done something horrible? It’s a surprise to him, the fact that it seemed like you really could not feel the burn of his stare, but then a thought pops into his lust-fogged brain. Maybe you did know. And maybe you were toying with him, playing coy and pushing him to a teetering edge, letting him taste the tension on his tongue until he could hold back no more.
To say he’s impatient is an understatement. He isn’t simply impatient, no, he’s impatient. He wants to do something. He wants you to do something, to initiate the flurry of hands and lips he’s craving so desperately and, seemingly blind to that triad of signals, he scrubs frantic at his hair in an attempt to control himself. As he rinses out the shampoo, he manages to cling onto what little restraint he had over his body until you turn back around. It was like the universe was egging him on, trying to break his resolve by showing him those dimples on your lower back, reminding him of the way he gripped them when he took you that night before he left - and it works. Jesus fucking Christ does it work.
Daryl’s body crowds you then, muscular arms wrapped around either side of your waist and rough hands palming at your chest before sliding down to your stomach, pulling you flush into him while he grinds his hips experimentally against your body. The feeling catches you off-guard, eyes widening in surprise as you let out a gasp into the steam of hot water and you grip harshly at his forearm, attempting to steady yourself from the sensations blossoming from your thighs. He can feel them tense and begin to snap closed against him, but you hear the corners of his mouth twitch upwards with satisfaction.
“What- what are you doing?”
Restless, his fingers travel downwards, hooking a strong thigh between your two legs as he ignores your question, them parting immediately to accommodate him. Daryl’s veins thrum with adrenaline, feeling the all too familiar effects of your warm skin when he realizes you’re letting him do this - enjoying him, even - your hands pawing at his to beg him to speed up, to bring you that nirvana he loves to be the reason for. Heat flushes your body, knowing full well what he’s capable of, but despite it, your skin erupts into goosebumps under his touch, desperate for more.
“What’s it look like ‘m doin’?”
Your neck comes under his affection next, his lips meeting it as he mumbles the words against your pulse point, tongue darting out when he feels it speed up. Almost methodically, Daryl finds the marks he’d left days prior, darkening them with unadulterated determination and rolling his hips against you once more. The heavy motion draws a whine from you, short and needy as your nails dig into his wrist and he all but basks in it. God, this felt good. How the hell had he spent so long without you? Without your skin under his? Everything about you feels like a fucking drug to him.
“D-Daryl- what would your girl say.”
He smiles against your neck, a warm pride bubbling in his chest when he hears the slight shake in your voice. It always got like this when he was touching you, and he liked to think it was the anticipation raking through your body. All the possibilities he could bring to you. He loved listening to your voice as it was, but hearing it quaver as it bounced off the ceramic walls, mingled perfectly with the rhythmic thrum of water crashing against the two of you? It was almost alarming how quickly it made his head spin.
Submitting to your urging, he lets you slide his hands down to the apex of your thighs, groaning guttural into your ear when he feels your hips lift and rut into his touch, unintentionally grinding your ass onto his cock when you push yourself back onto him. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, you hear his breaths as he digs his palm an inch below your pelvis, thick fingers gripping harsh at your inner thighs as he nudges his further between them. It feels like fucking magic, whatever he’s doing, and a plea tingles at your lips before you bite it down. Daryl’s never been this bold, and this is new territory for the two of you. Very new. So you were going to let him take his time - let him explore every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it memorized - despite the fact every cell in your body screams for you to sink down on him right here and now.
His grip disappears too quickly for your taste, but before you can even register the decadent sear that marks his blunt fingernails and calluses, his palm makes home just below your stomach and he swipes two fingers against you, spreading you for him but avoiding that bundle of nerves you want so desperately for him to touch. An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips as he gathers evidence of your arousal, and the sound of him makes you claw at his wrist, your hands still blanketing his as you try to angle him to do something other than coat his fingers and smear you across your inner thighs. Amused, his middle finger curls, breaching you just until his first joint before pulling away, relishing in the way you clench as if trying to keep him in you.
“Hm, I dunno. What do ya think she’d say? I think she likes it.”
You can hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he feels your body react and you can practically see it behind your closed eyelids. Daryl knows all your buttons, every single movement that renders you down to a puddle of mush, but he’s avoiding them. His jaw clenches and unclenches as you buck your hips up to try and meet the talented fingers only getting further and further and further from you. Skin warm from the streaming water and the sheer amount of lust coursing through him, his left arm snakes upward, resting just under your breasts before pulling your shoulders flush against him. His teeth sneak out from behind his lips, grazing against that spot that made your thighs shake the first time you slept with him, and you become putty in his hands.
A gasp of Daryl’s name falls before a staggered whimper erupts from your throat, his hands moving so fast and sure along your body as if he had molded you to his perfection. Everything hits you at the same time, his sharp canines right below your jaw bone before they melt into the caress of slightly chapped lips, the hand at your chest palming and tweaking and toying like there was no tomorrow, his fingers swirling, nudging at that tiny bundle of nerves you’ve been silently begging him to touch just once, and you can’t stop the noises falling from your lips. No matter how much you try, they escape.
“Or d’ya think she’s too busy moanin’ for me to tell me?”
Oh, that fucking prick.
To make it worse, you can’t even bring yourself to be angry for that long because his voice drops into that low, husky whisper that makes your knees go weak. Had Daryl not essentially smothered you against his body, you just know you would be a puddle, pliable and aching after just a few days away from him. A jolt of pleasure rockets through you the moment you realize what he wants - to make you as desperate as he is for this - and you know he knows exactly how to get it. Biting your lip, you trap your sounds in your throat just to spite him and you dig your fingers into his forearm, seeking in any way to find another outlet for all the compounding stimulation he just keeps giving you.
Your heartbeat drums through your ears and you can barely register the growl against your skin, but the vibration of it is inescapable. He feels the crescent shapes already forming from your nails on his tan skin and he pulls his face from you, breath fanning your ear in preparation to express how disappointed he is at you robbing him of your noises, but you beat him to it, freeing the words that burn at your tongue to knock him off his high-horse. Daryl was never a very confident man, but fuck if it does not make your skin tingle.
“I think she’d tell you to- to shut up.”
The rebuke is futile, a stutter brought on by the push and pull of his deft fingers and he laughs. Daryl chuckles into your skin before everything from him detaches, only for him to grab at your waist and spin you around to face him, adjusting his hold to crowd you once more. Your back hits the ceramic tiles, a sharp whine escaping you at the contrasting cold, and you can see that smirk you had envisioned on his face when you open your eyes, taking in every inch of the swept back hair now falling into his face as he tilts his forehead slowly to yours. Running your non-dominant hand up from his arm to his face, you push the strands back, smiling slightly at the way he melts as his eyelids flutter shut for just a second. As much as he said he hated how damn soft you made him, he sought after your touch, your hands much too intoxicating for him to deny them.
You glow a ring of delicate orange from the lantern shining behind him, the light bouncing off your glistening skin and those sparkling damn eyes that shine with unguarded affection despite your ‘annoyance’ from just moments ago. Creating shadows over your body with his broad figure as he blankets you, Daryl nearly groans with delight at the image - the realization that you look impossibly better with the warm hue making his head spin. And when he remembers that you’re his to love? He tries to hide just how much it makes his mind run, but his voice comes spilling out without much thought, everything about you shrinking the filter between his brain and mouth that he so tenaciously keeps on during the day.
“That so? ‘Cause if I do then I can’t tell ‘er how much I missed her. Or what I was thinkin’ when I thought about ‘er at night.”
Daryl was already so worked up at the thought of doing this to you, you didn’t even need to actually do anything to him to have him throbbing against your stomach, begging to be touched after days of only imagined scenarios to keep him company. So you indulge him, tracing your dominant hand down the V-line of his pelvis and biting your tongue when his hips snap into your grasp, his grip at your waist tightening as he tries to still himself. He wants you to touch him, to let you give him what you want to give him and he tries his damndest to control himself, instead using his words to try and rile you up.
“Nothin’ I do feels as good as her. Nothin’ I’ve tried’s ever been close.”
Your whole body shivers at the insinuation, the ceramic sandwiching you to Daryl ceasing to feel as cold as it did when he first pushed you against it. He feels like centuries have passed when your hand finally wraps around him, running your fingers in a stroke that has him groaning and nearly keeling over you with how much that simple damn action makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Everything about this feels heightened, the steam of the shower failing in comparison to the heat pinging between the two of you. His eyes seek yours, cock twitching and catapulting him much farther to his climax than he would like to admit when he sees you watching your grasp, lips parted ever so slightly, pleading with him to lay his on them.
Heart thrumming in his chest, another groan of an expletive followed by your name drops from Daryl before his hips jerk forward, stuttering into your grip with no real rhythm as he pushes a rough kiss onto your mouth. When you let out a little surprised squeal, he pulls himself back immediately, as if shocked by his own lack of self-control, but your hand never stops, and your face leans closer towards his, the feeling of his ruined sounds vibrating along your tongue making you chase him. This must have been how he felt when he had you whimpering for him on those late nights and early mornings. No wonder you both loved them so much.
Twisting your other hand from the side of his neck to his nape, you pull him to you with equal fervor, the stroking of his cock forgotten in favour of his chapped lips turning into something more sinful with each movement of his talented mouth. His fingers begin to wander now, eagerly grasping at the two dimples at your lower back before his palms find all too familiar territory kneading and massaging your ass. Knees nearly buckling, you remember the leaking heaviness twitching in your grip and you nudge him between your thighs, your legs spreading just a bit wider as you inch him closer and closer and closer to where you need it most.
“N-no, wait- I gotta-“
His hands shoot downwards to still yours and he pulls his hips from you, his statement stuttered through a sharp, shaky breath. Whining, you nearly beg for him before you realize he succeeded in what he set out to do - and he was only gone four days, your subconscious chastises. Your head is swimming in desperation for him as you shake it, hair whipping into your face and onto the wall while you vehemently disagree with both his words and your own internal mocking. All coherent thoughts leave your mind, washed away in the stream of water running down your body and you come to the conclusion that you don’t fucking care if he would poke fun at you come morning, you need to feel him.
“Daryl you don’t need to- you can just- I can-“
You don’t need to keep-
You can just-
I can-
God, you sounded pathetic, your voice barely breaking above breathy through the heavy beating of water, and he loves it, it’s enticing him; he could die right now and he would feel nothing but satisfaction. Daryl was never a very confident man - well, with people at least - but around you, he felt wanted. Not just in moments like this when you craved him so debaucherously, but in moments when you would pull close to him while you were sleeping or hug him from the back. Just giving him your affection so freely and not expecting any back. It made his heart damn near break everytime he had to leave. Adjusting his grip on you, he digs his knee into the wall, perching you on either side of him and leaning closer and closer to your burning skin.
“Gotta get ya ready. Jus’- jus’ be a good girl an’ be patient. Don’t want ya limpin’ tomorrow ”
Despite his words, Daryl can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be so bad to linger beside you the whole day, a constant reminder of the real reason you needed him to get you things, or why you would grip his arm as a piss poor substitute for a crutch when the two of you walked along the street. Nobody else would know - at least, neither of you would ever tell - but the satisfied puff of his chest and the fact he stands just a little bit prouder might make them connect the dots. That, and the lovebites that creep out from underneath the neckline of your shirt which, coincidentally, only seemed to darken after he came back. Nah, he thinks to himself, it wouldn’t be so damn bad.
“I thought you were tired.”
There’s a hint of concern in your voice, peeking out from between the teasing and he grunts, acknowledging your words before his hands wrap around your wrists and urges them to loop around his neck. He knows he needs to do this, the action a silent beg for you to just relax and let him treat you right in the way you know he always will. With his neck flush in the crooks of your elbows, you tug him, pulling his face to yours and raking your fingers through his wet hair.
“Never too tired for you.”
His stubble scrapes against your nose as he mumbles his confession between kisses down from your forehead, a delicious burn leaving a trail that makes your heart beat impossibly faster between your ribs. Grip falling to your waist, Daryl’s rough fingers inch towards the apex of your thighs, but he moves them so fucking slow you're tempted to just reach down and push them into you like you intended to do with his cock. Before you can entertain the idea any longer, he catches your lips in a clash of tongue and teeth and knowingly smirks against your lips. He’s dedicated, attentive, and what kind of man would have the heart to deny you? He would do anything for you, all you had to do was ask.
Daryl eagerly swallows the moan you let out against his lips when his middle finger curls into you, the vibrations spreading along his tongue and consuming him from the inside out. Your thighs spread wider for him, welcoming him - no, begging him - for more and it riles him up almost comically well. Whether it was intentional or not, he would never know. He pulls his face away just inches, breath heavy against your parted lips before he sends you a small smile, an underlying mischief peeking out from the tiniest sliver of teeth he exposes. Leaning more of his weight onto his knee, his left hand travels around your waist to your ass, digging his dull fingernails into the flesh and pulling towards him, bringing your hips off the cold ceramic and snaking that arm into the curve he’s just created.
Before you can even brace yourself, he pushes a second finger in, curling languid with accelerating speed, revelling in the heat you bring him with an audible groan that reverberates off the shower walls. Already so desperate, the feeling nearly makes your legs shake under your own weight, but Daryl’s prepared - he could keep you up with the hand he has splayed across your upper back and he’s secretly proud of it. His mouth returns to you again, tongue surging to meet yours as if just the taste of your kiss would satisfy his desire to taste what’s beginning to coat down his palm.
It doesn’t, but it’s a damn good substitute.
Nails scratching pathetically at his scalp, your lungs beg for oxygen, but you ignore your body’s pleading for as long as you can. You need Daryl. Just him. Just him. His fingers are ardent, all of them pushing and pulling and toying and touching you in a way that skyrockets you into an overwhelming nirvana and it feels good. It feels so good to be with him again, surrounded by his scent and his heat, that you start to entertain the thought of begging for him. You try to do just that, but every sound coming from your lips is only absorbed greedily by his before you pull him away by his hair, taking large gulps of oxygen as he does the same.
Not even a second passes before you’re grinding down into his palm with pleas falling into the steam of the shower, all your words going straight down to his cock. Gritting his teeth, he growls at your desperation, lips shooting down along your collarbone before catching the skin between teeth. He has your whole body memorized, proof of that fact littered across your body in the form of lovebites, memories seared into your mind of his everything and it’s almost too much to handle. Almost. But you need more. And Daryl knows, much too perceptive in all senses of the word.
His left arm snakes up to your neck, the nape of it secured in a grip firm enough to pull your hips down onto his muscular thigh, spreading you and rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough skin. Something between a swear and Daryl’s name chokes through your throat and he curls his two fingers just enough for you to repeat the sound, the movement perhaps pulling your hips forwards toward him. With the way you grind down so readily on him, it wasn’t easy to tell whether the roll of your lower body was from his fingers or the lust running through your veins. A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his face that you want to kiss off, but your head is stuck against the ceramic tiling by his hand tugging securely on your hair. Not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you.
He can feel it now, the fact that you’re close, and it only makes him work harder. Maybe it was selfish of him, expediting your pleasure so he can finally seek out his, but he’s damn near shaking with the thought of finally being able to be with you in one of the ways he always wants to be. Sometimes Daryl felt like a teenager with all this certain enthusiasm he can’t seem to control with you around, but you had never complained - you made him feel alive in all the best ways - and he thanked whoever was pulling the strings in his favour for bringing him to you. Circling his thigh, he pushes everything he can up into you, the pressure making you feel like you’re floating. Fingers carding through his hair, your whole body tightens around him in a silent plea, and he's pretty sure he would have to be just about the biggest idiot in existence to ever deny you.
“Give it to me. C’mon, give it to me. Ya wanted my cock didn’t ya? Jus’ give it to me an’ I’ll make ya feel even better.”
Give it to me.
Give it to me.
Give it to me.
Daryl’s voice makes your mind swim, the growl rough and dangerous like everyone always tends to think he is, and incoherence drops from your lips, echoing against the confines of the walls as his breath fans your ear. Rutting your hips up to his hand, the knot in your abdomen snaps, the proclamation of it escaping you in a broken moan of his name. He can feel your body’s reactions before you start to get those familiar sparking waves of pleasure, the clench of you around him growing sporadic as he continues to unravel you with his teeth gritted, the unrelenting precision of his fingers sending you clawing and tugging at his scalp with no regard of your strength for just a moment.
His groan at the sensations edges out the haze of your climax and you immediately detach from him, pulling your body back from his so abruptly that he slips from you. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, his large hands cling at the back of your thighs, bringing your chest and forehead to his as if he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even just a few seconds.
“Sorry- sorry if that hurt I didn’t mean to-”
Face inches from yours, he shakes his head and cuts you off with a series of hungry pecks. One to your sinfully soft lips, then to the corner of your mouth, then one to your jawbone, devouring your apology right then and there as he overtakes your senses.
“‘S alright. It felt good.”
Then he kisses you again, urgent all the same, but he only pushes a firm brush of his mouth against yours. The movement is like a signature, as if it were his name scribbled easily along at the bottom of a letter - a soft possession that you wear along the tingles of your lips. It makes you claw at him again, tugging on the sides of his hips to pull him flush against you, fingernails digging crescent shapes he wants to see come morning, and your apprehension all but dissolves into the hot water of the shower. You were his, he was yours and in his mind, there was nothing he wanted more than for you to show him just what he does to you.
“Anythin’ ya do feels good.”
It’s stupid, how you could be in the middle of something so intimate and a simple compliment from him could leave you flushed from the neck upwards, but he loves it. He loves the little whimper you let out at his words and he smiles that lopsided boyish grin that makes your heart skip a beat. When he smiles at you like that, it makes you feel like the only person in the entire world. No walkers, no Alexandrians, no runs or patients at the infirmary to steal you or him away from the other. There was no one except you and Daryl - and it’s been too damn long since it was like this.
Body flush against yours, he snakes a hand down between his legs and the other grips at your thigh, hooking it around his torso and begging with a roll of his hips for you to rest your leg there. Each breath he takes sends a jolt of pleasure blossoming against your ribs, his skin rubbing against your chest so deliciously it makes your mouth fall open in silent pants of air. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but they open when Daryl says your name, broken by a curse that falls somewhere after the first letter. He looks good like this - eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.
Gritting his teeth, his mouth can barely form a coherent sentence with how much excitement is coursing through him, and he’s trying his fucking best to hold back from slamming into you until you give him a nod or a pull or anything, but then something in him breaks. The feeling of just having you so damn close worms its way into his brain and he takes himself in his fist, dragging along to gather the remnants of your climax and notches himself, all the while groaning from the heat emanating off you.
“‘S this okay? Need t’know if this’s okay.”
Slurred speech. It was so uncharacteristic of the Daryl everyone else knew - the Daryl who was so sure of himself, the Daryl who wore a permanent scowl on his face, the Daryl who was so mysterious, never speaking anything above a growl - and you think you could have laughed had it not been for the fact the words themselves dig up memories of all the times he had said them to you before. Every cell in your body lights up, high alert now that he’s in you, but he’s not moving. He’s not inching into you or filling you in the only way he can and you push your hips towards him, greedy movements making you swallow more of him. Taking a sharp breath, he lets you rut against him, but still, he doesn’t fucking move.
“God, Daryl- yes. Yes, it’s okay. More- more than okay.”
Sometimes you hated him, and then hated how stupid you felt for hating him.
He waits for your words. He always does. Without fail he checks on you before he slides into you. He never wants to take because he always wants to be good for you, but sometimes you wish he would. Sometimes you wish he would just take from you - take everything you have. There is nothing in this world that is not shared between the two of you. Daryl’s wholly yours as you are wholly his.
Curses drop from his lips, your name thrown in once or twice as if he’s reminding himself you’re real as he feels you around him. They fly out of his mouth like the bolts from his crossbow and ricochet off every wall as he begins to move, slow at first, experimental maybe with his hand secure against your thigh, then he starts building and building into a heavy, sinful rhythm. Shakily, Daryl groans, the breath he lets out tendrilling at your chin before he sucks frantically at your bottom lip, your noises meeting his as they hit the ceramic wall.
He wants to live in this moment forever; immortalize the way you look and sound on one of those VHSes, write the damn date on it, and hide it away for his and your eyes only so it’s rewatchable and revisitable and reliveable. It's not enough to just sear you into his memory like he’s done so many times before because you’re damn near perfect. Like you were made for him - for him to give you everything he wants to give to you.
“Fuck- fuck- you feel better’n I remembered. How’s‘at possible?”
The words escape him, rushing out as if you’ve put a spell on him, and they almost escape you, too, your pulse beating in your ears. But he’s so close to you, growling out through gritted teeth into your ear and pushing his lips to the curve of your jawbone like they need to be on your skin. He pulls his body away, chest leaving yours, and you pull at his waist to bring him back, whining lewd for him and only him, shameless and betraying the blush you feel as you register his stutters, but he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl smiles, that same damn grin with his teeth hooked along his bottom lip and eyes hooded as he watches every change in expression. You groan, half in the way he rolls his pelvis just enough to rub against that small bundle of nerves that beg for him, and half in annoyance at the way that lascivious expression seems to make every electron in you buzz.
“Shut- shut up.”
He lets out a sharp breath, a singular amused ‘ha’ following it, cock hardening and twitching even more at the fact he’s making you blush like that first night he had lavished every inch of your body with his lips - like you didn’t deserve every single damn word escaping from him. Leaning his weight against his left forearm that lies on the side of your head, Daryl brings his face to yours, nipping at your lips and seeking your tongue before he starts speaking.
“You should see yourself like this, y’know. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”
For a man who only ever growls and mutters, he certainly liked to talk a lot when he was pounding into you the way only he knows how and you’re just so damn unbelievable for him. For him. You’re his to love and it sparks something within in him that makes his tongue fucking run and his hips speed up involuntarily. Hell, you probably heard more of his voice in this shower tryst than the whole first nightwatch you had with him. You’re not even sure the water is beating down onto you anymore because the heat of your body makes the shower pale in comparison.
The sweat accumulating on his back and chest and everywhere is washed away almost immediately as it forms and you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Clawing, you wrap both your arms under and around his shoulders and scratch desperately at his back, grinding up against him and making jumbled noises of moans and Daryl’s name when he drags against that spot he knows so well. It’s skin on skin, the ceramic wall ceasing to feel cold as you screw your eyes shut and let yourself mount and mount with each roll of his hips. You hear a nearly feral growl, feeling your leg being hiked up higher by the elbow hooked underneath your thigh, and a loud noise breaks from your throat when his thumb swipes where his cock meets you.
“C’mon, we ain’t got all night.”
You’re close and he knows it. It was like he was rubbing it in your face, the fact he could make you like this - how quickly he could reduce you into the incoherent, ruined state you always seemed to become for him. Attentive. He’s always attentive. You can tell by the way he’s memorized everything that makes you shake and capitalizes on them, thrusts coupled with the tight circles pulling you closer and closer to that precipice of pleasure, but he says those words anyways, hoping to get a reaction from you. Daryl’s not an impatient lover - he would spend hours buried in you if you let him - but he’s so damn close and perhaps almost selfishly, he wants to watch you succumb first. He wants to watch the water race down your body as you writhe for him against the wall, and he wants that to send him over the edge.
“Then- then do better, Daryl.”
You bite back, your breath grazing against his neck and a wet heat rushes through him, making him groan nearly wrecked as his hair tickles your cheek. Reaching behind his muscular body to his shoulder blades, one of his large hands is more than enough to wrap around both of your wrists and he takes them in his grasp, moving them until they’re secure against the ceramic wall behind you. You’re warm for him. Pliable for him despite the veil of distaste in your voice and he can’t get enough of it.
Daryl’s so fucking happy you bite back.
His hips stop and you let out an almost childish cry, but he stays buried deep, filling you up to the brim as the water beats down on the both of you and holding you against the tiles by the weight he’s pressing from where you meld to him. His face is so close to your ear now. So much so that you can feel the breath when he speaks, a dangerous growl resounding through your body before his teeth graze along your neck.
“Hm? I ain’t never heard a complaint from you be- before. That a- fuck- are ya challengin’ me?”
An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips when you clench around him, no doubt from the sudden crash of your mounting pleasure, and he pushes impossibly further into you, firmly pinning you down until he knows you won’t be able to move anymore. He wants to show you he can stop at any moment, that he can make you work for it, but you both know he’ll give in. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of which you have him wrapped around your finger, but if you even knew half of it, you would know he would never stop. Not when he was so desperate for you he can barely think of anything except the way you look and feel. At least, not unless you wanted him to.
“Are you g-gonna take it up?”
Although your mouth ceases there, your brain runs, pleas tickling at the tip of your tongue, but you can barely manage to form the meager few syllables that have already escaped you. Eyebrows knotted at your forehead, you try desperately to coax more movement from him - a whine, a whimper, a thrash of your pinned hands flattened by his strong grip - but Daryl’s so damn still and it’s driving you crazy. When your body settles for only ragged breathing and shaking thighs, he takes it as his cue to lean down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s so affectionate you forget that, just moments ago, he was relentlessly pounding into you.
“Don’t know. Seems like you might be wantin’ it more’n me.”
Smiling against your mouth, he pulls away just enough to speak. A challenge in his words so obvious to you that you try in vain to buck your hips to his. If he didn’t sound so good and look so good and feel so damn good, you would have denied it, but you’re strung so taut, so close to the peak, that you can barely form a retort. A stupid, handsome smirk rests on his lips as he waits. Patient. Like it wasn’t affecting him, being buried in you. He’s just waiting for your words - goading you as he watches from underneath his lashes.
“Daryl, I swear to God if you stop right-“
The insincere threat is enough to spur him into action. Partly due to the fact you sound so desperate and ruined for him, and partly because he just needs to feel you again - he would lay you down and take you the way you deserved on the bed come morning, but right now was a different matter entirely. Swearing, his smirk drops in favour of a scowl, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaps up into you in quick succession. The hand at your thigh is roaming now, massaging and palming wherever his nimble fingers can worm their way onto before it splays across your ass, using the grip to pull your body impossibly closer to his. Daryl would have made you beg for him - he wanted to - but he can’t stop himself. Not when you look so pretty up against the wall and you’re taking his cock so well.
“Been gone four days an’ you’re already so damn needy.”
Whether that statement was directed at you or himself, you would never know.
An abashed whimper escapes through you and you want to deny it, perhaps just to see what would happen, but you can’t. You can’t because Daryl’s right. He knows he is, and you know he is. You thrash your arms so you can touch him, feel his skin underneath your fingers, but his grip around your wrists keeps you firm against the ceramic tiling - just enough to keep you pinned so he can admire the way you squirm for him. Grunts and groans of your name escape from him with each thrust, the feeling of your body melded to his much too intoxicating for him to keep his mouth shut.
“What, you embarrassed now? Wanna cover your mouth? Keep them noises from me when you’re soundin’ so damn pretty? Ya better not be thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause ya damn well ain’t gotta.”
Daryl tilts his head, eyes squinting in faux-concern and mocking you as his hips relentlessly hit up into yours, pushing out the breath from your lungs which escape in tantalizing gasps with each roll. You’re so close, and the only thing you can do is moan at the sound of his rough voice, the coil tightening in your abdomen because of his determined thrusts. You just need a little more - just a little more - and he reads you like a book.
Without warning, the hand pinning your wrists frees itself, his finger pinpointing back between your thighs with an unadulterated eagerness to pull your climax from you and you damn near cry out Daryl’s name as you claw at his back. It’s like second nature to him, the way he can touch you and make you crumble for him. Practice does make perfect, and he’s always been a persistent man.
“Ya sure as hell weren’t when you were bein’ a brat.”
Everything he’s doing to you is almost effortless. It makes your legs shake and without warning, your thighs tense up, a white hot surge of pleasure erupting from the base of your stomach and you gasp a broken moan of Daryl’s name as you clutch at his neck in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing onto him. He holds you close, chest pushed up to yours and breathing ruined into your ear as he works you through your climax with dextrous fingers, chasing his own as his rhythm begins to falter. Sporadic thrusts meet each flutter of your clenching warmth. until he can’t hold out anymore.
Screwing his eyes shut, a stuttered chanting of profanities mixed in perfectly with pleads of your name fan out from his mouth and he pulls out, rubbing himself harsh against your thigh before your fingers wrap around his cock. Fuck, Daryl nearly crumbles right then and there, a ragged groan rushing from him before his hips jerk upwards to your touch - nothing could even compare to it and he thinks nothing could ever come close. Nothing except you. Pulsing in your grasp, both of his rough hands dig into either of your thighs and he stills, teeth gritted as the evidence of his pleasure hits your stomach before being washed away in the steady stream of water.
Satisfied, you smile and lean towards him, your head coming off the ceramic wall, and he parts his lips immediately for your tongue, but you pull away after giving him a quick peck. Scrunching his nose, Daryl pats lightly at your thigh for your attention and seeks your lips once more, moving his with the same amount of overwhelming love and affection he always does. It makes you feel warm inside, like you were the only one in the world for him. And you were. At least, in his mind you were.
He releases the grip he has on your thigh and slowly lowers it, his hand still ghosting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Both legs still shaking slightly, your foot hits the floor of the shower and you lean your weight on it, tentative and experimentally at first before you overestimate its security and half-fall-half-stumble into him. Daryl notices, of course he does, and he swallows down the pride welling in his chest as his sure grasp steadies you against his body.
“Hey, hey, I got ya. Jus’- jus’- I got ya.”
By instinct, he speaks, the rumble of his chest against yours making your heart well up with the familiar fondness you always experience when it comes to him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words even though you had managed to break him out of his shell a little - at least with you - but there was no doubt in your mind that he genuinely and wholeheartedly cared about you. In his eyes, you had strung the stars into the sky and he always treated you with a softness he never thought himself capable of.
With one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder, you use Daryl as a crutch, continuing to lean your weight on your legs until they cease to shake. When you can stand on your own, albeit with wobbly legs, you link your fingers in both of his and meet his protective gaze - alert as if prepared to catch you again if your body gave any type of signal. He smiles when he sees the expression on your face and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto the back of each of your hands before letting go and reaching for the bar of soap you two had ignored in exchange for something more riveting.
“Here, let me- I’ll help ya wash up.”
It meets your shoulder and it’s cold as he trails it down, lathering your right arm before moving across your chest and to your left. Smiling at his concern, you hum, nodding your head and content at the feeling of his tenderness as he continues to dutifully run the suds down along your body. Daryl unabashedly goes about copping a feel or two when his hand just so happens to fall onto your chest or your ass, a boyish grin meeting your quirked eyebrow when you question his intentions with a look. If you actually, truly cared to ask him, he would say he was helping you wash your body and making sure he was doing it to the best of his ability - quality assurance or some shit like that.
He helps you lather, too, calloused fingers rubbing off dead skin much better than yours could as he focuses the showerhead on him. You laugh when he pulls you into him, water streaming down your body along with his hands as the bubbles wash off your body and you run the bar of soap along the broad expanse of his shoulders, doing your fair share of subtle… touching too. Daryl all but melts into your caring hands, revelling in the way your attention is solely focused on him before he grunts, as if signalling you to look at him. When you do, his hands loop around your waist, head tilted to one side as he gingerly rubs those little shapes he always love to draw onto your skin.
“Y’alright? Was, uh, was that alright, I mean.”
Allowing you to maneuver him under the shower, he begrudgingly lets go of you to rinse off all the soap and feels genuinely clean for the first time in what felt like days. Smiling, you respond, saluting playfully and laying a small peck onto the corner of his lips before you spin around, pulling the curtain open just enough to reach for the towel lying just a few inches away on the towel rack but still keeping the warmth from the water in.
“Yes, sir!”
His cock twitches at the name, betraying the slur of fatigue in his voice and he sighs at himself, turning the shower knob off and opening the curtain fully, reaching for his own towel that hangs next to yours. He always did feel like a teenager when it came to you, and usually he didn’t mind it, but he really was tired before this and his back is killing him, so maybe another time.
Drying your body, you turn your head towards him and smile before making quick work of your wet hair and stepping out, pulling your underwear on from where you left it on the bathroom counter. It’s a small smile, one fully innocent and only ever reserved for him, but that look makes your words replay in his mind. A shudder runs through him as he tries to ease a smile onto his face too, admiring the scene of you for a moment. It’s domesticity, showing him a homelife he could actually feel loved and safe in; reminding Daryl something like that actually existed for him.
He imagines meeting you in a different world, wooing you like you deserved through coffee dates and Radiohead concerts, not through killing reanimated corpses or guarding Alexandria’s walls together, and his whole body calms down.
But then you pull on a shirt that’s much too big for you - one of his shirts that you said you liked wearing because it smelled like him - and he swallows his spit as if he hadn’t seen you naked just moments ago, a familiar shudder running through him again. Definitely another time. Near future, preferably.
Hopefully.
“You coming?”
Your voice breaks Daryl out of his daydream and he grunts an answer, smirking at the joke that just popped into his head as he replies with a curt ‘I just did’ and catches the pair of boxers you throw at him in response. Rolling your eyes, you comb your fingers through your hair and try to dry it as much as you can with the towel before reaching for your toothbrush. He follows suit, dressed in only his boxers as he brushes his teeth and shakes his wet hair at you like a dog, causing you to whip water at him off your fingertips after you wash off the excess toothpaste dribbling at the corners of your mouth. Smiling internally, he spits, tasting mint on his tongue that he'd much rather replace with the taste of your lips, even though he knows full well you’re just as minty as he is.
“Thank you.”
Meeting his eye in the mirror, you give him a confused look, eyebrows raised in an expression he thought was much too cute on your face for your own good. Your hands don’t still as you continue to rub out the water in your hair, determined not to go to bed with it too wet and risking it to clump up and dry tangled.
“For lettin’ me, uh, do that.”
His naturally gravelly voice clears up, turning slightly more timid than you were used to and you notice the shift in his behaviour. He avoids your gaze, waiting for your response as he fiddles with the lantern he now has in his grasp, unsure of what you would say and you decide your hair is dry enough. Hanging your towel back onto the rack next to his, you grab his free hand and lead the two of you back towards the bed, smiling affectionately as you turn off the lightsource and place it onto the nightstand. Wide-eyed, Daryl stares at you, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave - that you hated what he had done - but you break him from that train of thought as you slip under the covers and welcome him to join you.
Relief washes over him and he happily climbs in, groaning at the feeling of your body next to his and he succumbs to the comfort of the mattress. Pushing yourself into his side, his arms automatically open for you and he swears he could cry when you brush your thumb against his cheekbone and lean up to him.
“Anything for you.”
He feels the words as you whisper them just inches away from his lips, and he relishes in them when you pull away from the quick peck and dig your face into your pillow, closing your eyes and just looking so at peace. You’re so close to him Daryl’s in awe and he can’t help but stare. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of his skin a little longer, your finger draws a little heart over where his beats in his chest and you speak again, voice so warm and sincere.
“I’m glad you’re home.”
Home. That’s what it is to him now, too.
“Glad ‘m home too.”
With a final kiss laid on your forehead, Daryl echoes your statement and pulls your body closer into his. A small smile tugs at his lips and his arm slings lazily at your waist before he, too, closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the lull of sleep.
It was good to be back.
Back to a home he had made with you.
──── ⋙
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In retrospect, bend over spy - Natasha Romanoff x reader
Masterlist Link
Summary; Natasha is on a mission, however she certainly gets more than she bargained for whilst undercover
Warnings; smut, gxg, rimming, fingering, strap on sex
The redhead slipped out of her panties, dropping the black lace to the ground, as she kicked the well loved material, that was inked with her wetness, from around her ankles. She bunched the material of her dress up she bent her bosom over your desk, slotting her legs open as she grew eager as she heard your approaching footsteps.
Your fingers plucked at her round and full cheeks, spreading them apart so you could gouge a explicit view of her quivering cunt, and the tight ring of her asshole. It’s spiral of tight skin clenched as she felt your penetrating gaze upon the close knitted ring of muscle. Allowing some spit to douse your finger, you rubbed it against her back entrance, stringing a web of a moan from her engorged and swollen mouth.
She was inadvertently biting her lips, gnawing upon her flesh and sufficiently plumping it, as she awaited for you to do something more. The assassin wiggled her ass back, as she felt you drop to your knees, feeling the curl of your tongue prodding at her rim. “Fuck, y/n.”
You moaned as you peeled the straps of your cami top down, shoving the material down to below your breasts as you pinched at your own nipples, tugging out some relief for yourself, as your tongue firmly pressed through the conviction of tight entryway, as your free hand that was failing to milk your breast slithered up to her pussy.
The fingers on your right hand spread her affiliated juices around, as you delved your nose against her crack, pushing your wet and smooth appendage further into her hole, drawing positive sounds of encouragement to continue your administrations out of her lying, scoundrel, avenger lips.
To frustrated her, you pulled back, instigating a whine from her, as you wore a dirty and privileged smirk. You stood, disappointing her, though she remained in her poised position, watching with wild forest eyes as you rounded the dismissal of your reviewing centre, coming to face her, and blessing her with the sight of your nude and stiff pebbled breasts.
“How’d you know my real name, Natalia?” Shit, she was exposed, in more ways than one. She readied to retaliate in her sultry craft of exposition, however, she stilled as you waved your hand in dismissal of her actions. “Come on tell me, and perhaps I’ll let our fun continue, may even tell you whatever you want to know, Black Widow.”
It seemed like a fair trade, for a moment in thought Natasha pursed her lips together, cocking her flushed head as she ran over her options. This was the easiest way to access an answer, and well, if you were to double cross her, then it’d be no hassle to take you out.
“You have hydra files that you recovered from a base, Coulson has been tracking you for some time. He noticed that your company provided export and import, and wanted to ensure that you weren’t spreading the word on the intel that you recovered.”
“Hm.” Crossing your arms over your free breasts, you paid her a due smile, amused by the information that she had been told. “Open the drawer to the right, Romanova, the flash drive is in there.”
Her hands obeyed your suggestion, slipping inside the storage, retaining a red keeper of files from within. Natalia held it to her face, speculating its exterior, seeing the infamous skull symbol that prompted all content the organisation stamped their works with.
“I used to be like you you know, a heroin, though I found it to be a means to an end. There is so much to sacrifice, and in the end, all you have to give is yourself. Over time, I’ve figured it’s better to be alive than dead, there is no use in instigating the title of superhero if one day you are to lose.”
“You mentioned fun after I recovered this from you, this conversation you are elaborating on hardly seems like the type.” The redhead spy spat with a quirk of her scarlet brow, as she peeled the fabric of her midnight dress up and over her head.
“Guess shield agents don’t like speaking about their travels, they used to have no mind back in my day.” Well, that supposed that you had been a traitor, having the folder of files in your possession. “I guess you don’t either considering who you have been.”
“I’m not here to trade pity tales, if you wish to enjoy our last moments together, I suggest you take those slacks off from your legs, and show me how you can possibly make my remaining presence here worthwhile.”
“Oh honey, it’s definitely going to be worth the wait.” You replied, harshly tugging at your belt, as you unravelled the Italian leather from around your waist, unzipping your trousers as they fell down, and to the ground in a figure right around your feet. “Like what you see?”
There was certainly something to see. A harness enveloped your waist, a faux appendage in the shade of lilac hanging from the centre, taunting her with surprise. It wasn’t what she had been expecting, not in the slightest.
“It’s okay.” She shrugged, no longer having to keep up the facade of an interested intern, though her pupils told a different story as they gazed lustfully at the strap. “Guess it’ll do.”
“It will do something widow, and I can prove that.” The two of you both nude, except from the attachment that’s prime purpose was instigate internal pleasure, walked towards each other, you noticed her leave the drive on the desk, but you didn’t allow her to witness your lingering view.
Instead, you ambushed her against the hardwood platform of your desk, teeth biting their way into her mouth, gaining access to slip your sly tongue within the contents of oral communication. A hum escorted out from her lungs, as her hands dug their manicured nails into your shoulders, scratching red lines into the skin, as she awaited for you to enter her.
“Prove it then.”
Well, that predicament was easy, as you bent her to your will, and arched her back against your work desk, sifting the items in the way onto the floor. “I’m glad you said that Natalia.” Her statement only gave you a rush to do exactly as she said, boy was she going to regret letting that mouth of hers run confidently against you.
Her legs spread, allowing you to stand between them, as you ran your fingertips over their tops, your teeth stretching forwards and nipping at her lip. With her hips, she shuffled, rubbing her sodden folds against the toy, she was desperate. The exterior that she portrayed, the cocky one that was here for a mission and nothing more, had been swept away as she urgently wrapped her legs around you, sending you closer to her.
“I knew you weren’t as blunt with your emotions as you are with your words.” You grabbed the base of the toy that was attached to your harness, dragging the tip of the plastic through her slit, as you readily entered her. Once you were situated completely within her, your hands changed position to be on the table, as she adjusted, your hand slid to the drive, flicking it onto the ground by your chair, changing it out for one that was beneath the mouse pad.
She was oblivious to the settlement of underlying mischief prominent in your actions, instead of focusing on your seclusive intentions, she was perused by the seducing revels that you wantonly deposited upon her, as your hips ground ceremoniously against her own, leaving a trail of erotic pecks up the expanse of her neck, as your other hand opposed a grip around the strap.
It felt like power embedded in your hand, as you provided it stability against gravity as you teased her folds with the ludicrous tip, entering the length within her walls as she cowered a mewl at the sensation of penetration, as you nipped down at her pulse point, sliding your competent fingers down to fiddle with her satirised clit, moving it around like a paddle in water. Once she was adjusted to the size of the toy, you began to retract it, only to thrust back into her.
Her head whipped back, exposing her clavicle which you eagerly traced with your tongue. With one moderately ravenous hand, you groped her breast, it filling your palm as you prowled deeper inside her, tracing your hips back and forth to create a sustainable rhythm. A glow brew upon her skin, defining her collarbones with a powerful sheen that gripped her pores wonderfully. Moans rattled huskily out from her throat as she received, as she bent her shape against yours, optimally accepting the rounds of stimulation that you adorned upon her body.
“I’m gonna cum y/n.” Her nose crinkled as she made her statement, and thus, you made your administrations that much more fast, belting into her to appease her a gyration that brought her closer to her orgasm. The last method that had her half screeching through her retrospective high, was a bittersweet pinch to her clit, that had her hurtling over the edge. You continued to move for a few moments, until it became too much for the spy.
As she caught her breath, you gently stroked her nipples, causing her to heave heavier. “Shame you were only here on a mission, that means I have no chance of convincing you to go out on a date with me.” Pulling the fake cock out of her cunt, watching as she whimpered from the notion. She grabbed for her items of clothing, slathering them back into appropriate placement upon her body.
“I don’t do dates.” She thickly stated, making you hum in acknowledgement, Natalia tried to soothe her hair with her hands until it looked presentable enough, going to turn, until you caught her arm, preventing her from doing so. You picked up the hard drive off from the desk, and simply handed it to her. “It was nice meeting you, you definitely made my breach here... interesting.”
“I aim to please.” You brashly shrugged, accepting her grateful smile as you watched the deceived and overplayed spy walk out of the door to your office. You threw your shirt over yourself, removing the harness that hugged your hips, and rolled your panties up your legs. You bent to the ground, retrieving the true aspect of your game. “Well, I guess you can’t have it all.” The real flash drive was pinched between your forefinger and your thumb as you blinked towards it.
You had managed to deceive an avenger, yet the whole cover would only be viable to hold up for so long. Your entire operation would have to move elsewhere if you were to have to avoid that fine fox and her friends. Paging your assistant, you filled her in on the business cards that were currently laid out before yourself.
#natasha romanoff smut#nat x reader smut#nat smut#natasha romanoff one shot#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff x reader#Natasha Romanoff reader insert#nat x reader#natasha x you#natasha x reader#natasha x y/n#black widow one shot#black widow x y/n#black widow x female reader#natasha x fem!reader#marvel x reader#black widow fic#black widow smut#black widow x reader#black widow x you#natasha smut#the avengers smut#avengers smut#imagines#xreader#imagine#natasha imagine#mcu smu
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hi~ o/ for your follower event, I'd like to request *covers Gojo's eyes* Sukuna on either Office Coworkers, or Villains prompt; whichever tickles your fancy more. (look at what your AU!Sukuna has done to me, requesting him instead of Gojo... I am going to go put myself in time out now). Grats on 200 again ♥ and thanks for doing something for us on it! ♥ ���
Aww, thanks for the request! Your secret is safe with me. 😂🤐 Gojo never has to know!
Warnings: swearing, alcohol, brief mention of losing parents/family, some spicy content
A/N: Sukuna and the reader work at a company that produces corporate events. (That was my last experience working in an office, so... 🤷🏼♀️)
• • •
Sukuna + Office Coworkers
It’s your first day at your new job, and you’re currently hiding in a bathroom stall, certain that one of your coworkers already hates you.
When you arrived that morning, your boss walked you over to your cubicle, with its dual monitors, already-worn-out swivel chair, and short walls. She waved at the man sitting on the opposite side, hunched over his laptop.
“Sukuna! I want you to meet Y/N.” As she rattled off bland introductions, you barely heard a word, focused instead on the sharp gaze now locked onto yours.
At first glance, he was handsome, with a lean build, strong jaw, and dusty pink hair that somehow suited him. You also noticed a few empty piercing holes in his ear lobes.
But that expression... Why did he look so annoyed? You hadn’t even said anything yet. Maybe he was in the middle of something important, you reasoned, repeating the same cheerful “nice to meet you” you had given everyone else... only to be met with a soft grunt.
And it only seemed to get worse as the day went on. While you were on the phone with IT, going through the process of setting up your database login, you looked up and found Sukuna staring at you over the top of your joined cubicles, his eyes slightly narrowed.
When you tried to print your new hire forms and the paper jammed, there he was, standing behind you with a bored look on his face, uttering a simple, “Move,” before popping open the front of the machine and quickly resolving the issue.
At lunchtime, you both ended up in the kitchen, just the two of you, him microwaving something and you half-heartedly poking at your salad. Before you could even attempt benign conversation, he punched a finger at the keypad, removed his meal, and strode away without even sparing you a glance.
You stood there, feeling painfully awkward, until you managed to finish eating and retreat to the bathroom to calm your nerves.
Maybe he’s just not a people person, you think, biting your lip as you finally emerge from the stall and face yourself in the mirror. But the least he could do is be nice, right? Geez... Does he treat all the new hires like this?
After a short mental pep talk, you nod at yourself and make your way back to your desk. As you sit down, you avoid eye contact altogether, instead directing your attention to your email inbox.
Nearly half an hour passes before Sukuna asks, “Do you drink?”
You blink up at him. “I’m sorry...?”
His head is resting on his hand as he stares at you. “Do you drink? We usually take newbies to the bar across the street on the first day.”
“Uh... Yeah. That sounds nice.”
He makes a noise of acknowledgement and looks away — until you ask, “Who’s ‘we’? Everyone?”
Sukuna shrugs. “Whoever wants to come, but it’s usually the office events committee. We organize that kind of stuff.”
“You’re on the events committee?” The idea of this man planning birthday parties and fun, team-building activities is honestly baffling.
He raises an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“No offense, but you just... don’t seem like the type.”
“And what type do I seem like?”
Before you can think better of it, you blurt out, “Rude.” Panic quickly sets in as you watch his eyes widen. But then... he laughs. It’s a low chuckle, but even just seeing his stern mouth lift into a smile fills you with a strange sense of relief.
“You’re honest. I like it.” He leans back, crossing his arms behind his head. “Sorry if I’ve been a dick today. I’m a bartender on the weekends. Had to stay late last night and didn’t get much sleep.”
“Oh.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m sunshine and rainbows on a good day,” he warns, sitting forward in his chair.
“Duly noted. It’s just nice to know you don’t hate me.”
“Yet.” He’s still smiling, but it’s a wicked, crooked thing that has your face heating up.
• • •
Over the next few months, as your division preps for events season, you spend more time working closely with Sukuna. You learn that there’s not a huge difference between him on a good day and him on a running-on-caffeine-and-no-sleep day. He doesn’t talk much in meetings, but his facial expressions say plenty — though you’ve learned that he sometimes looks annoyed when he’s really just... fine. It’s confusing, to say the least.
Along with his piercings, he has at least a few tattoos on his forearms. It’s hard to tell how many, since he keeps them covered while at work. But you noticed them while having dinner with the team one night. He sat beside you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, holding a frozen margarita as he argued with someone from sales about marketing list sizes. You think about the mental image more often than you care to admit.
You’ve collected small details about him. He’s been tending bar for almost eight years, mostly as a side gig. He has a bad temper, which is why he was drawn to a marketing position — not nearly as many phone calls and general human interactions as you have to deal with in event production. He lives with his younger brother, Yuuji, who’s enrolled at the local university. They’ve been on their own since Sukuna was seventeen.
“He’s a good kid,” he says. You two are taking a brief coffee break in the kitchen, leaning against opposite counters. “Decent grades, working part time... He even has a girlfriend.”
“Wow.” You sip your latte, wondering how to ask the question on your mind without being painfully direct. But what comes out instead is, “Do you have a girlfriend?” because apparently your brain hates you.
Sukuna shakes his head. “Finding someone who can put up with my shit? Easier said than done.”
“Oh, come on. You’re not that bad.”
He smirks at you. “Is that so?”
You shrug and turn around, busying yourself with pouring a refill as an excuse to hide your flustered expression. “I mean... You’re still pretty annoying.”
It’s only when you feel him standing behind you that you realize he’s moved. “Don’t mind me,” he murmurs, reaching above you to grab a plastic lid from the nearest cupboard, his chest just grazing your back. You can’t help but freeze, your heartbeat erratic as you watch his shirt sleeve slide back, giving you a glimpse of the black bands of tattoos encircling his wrist.
When he pulls away, snapping the lid onto his paper cup, you glance at him over your shoulder and he meets your gaze with a knowing smile. “Annoying, huh? I’ll take it.” And with that, he walks away, leaving you scrambling to figure out what just happened.
• • •
“So... What do you think?” You swirl the ice in your glass and nudge Sukuna with your shoulder. “Your first live event.”
“I hate it.”
You’re both sitting at the hotel bar, having finally escaped the welcome reception upstairs. Although marketers don’t usually travel to your company’s events, a team member’s sudden illness left you in a lurch. Sukuna had begrudgingly agreed to accompany you to help with on-site prep and operations.
“Somehow I knew you’d say that.” You take a sip of your drink, already feeling pleasantly buzzed. “Is it the pushy attendees, the boring presentations, or the thrilling nightlife?” You gesture around at the exclusively 50+ clientele, along with the stuffily-ornate lobby full of classic artwork, antique carpeting, and gold everything.
“Yes.” You laugh, and when you look up at Sukuna, he’s staring at you thoughtfully. “But the company’s not too bad.”
“You should put that on the post-event survey.”
“Definitely ‘exceeds expectations.’” He drums his fingers against the bar top. “My room’s not bad, though.”
“‘Not bad’?” you tease. “I made sure you got the nicest one in the staff block.” When he looks surprised, you glance away. “It’s the least I could do — as a thank you for coming.”
Sukuna chuckles. “You’re always too nice to me. Might give me the wrong idea one of these days.”
Your grip tightens on your glass. “Or the right one...”
When you end up in his room, the both of you fumbling to unbutton and remove clothes as you kiss, his mouth soft yet insistent against yours, you tell yourself this is enough. As he pushes you down onto the bed, strong arms caging you in as he bites and sucks the tender skin between your neck and shoulder, you tell yourself this doesn’t need to be anything serious.
But afterwards, when his hard, lean body curls languidly around you, bare skin warm and smooth against your own, it’s hard not to imagine more — waking up beside him every morning, having breakfast together, straightening his usually-crooked tie while he pokes fun at you... You want all of it.
For now, though, you settle for his deep, steady breaths and the way he sleepily pulls you closer, arms tight around you.
• • •
When you wake up the next morning, Sukuna is propped up beside you, dark eyes unreadable.
“Watching me sleep?” you ask, voice slightly hoarse as you roll over to look at the clock beside the bed. Six o’clock. Plenty of time to get ready for another day of work.
“Creepy, I know.” His tone is flat, but he looks gentler than usual, with his bed head and placid expression. In the early morning light, you can see the full extent of his tattoos, bold, wide lines that trace across his body. They suit him, but you can’t put your finger on why.
“Look, can we... talk? About last night?”
You stiffen, mentally preparing yourself for what comes next.
“This was fun, but we’re better off as friends.”
“We can do this again, but I’m not interested in anything serious.”
“This was a mistake. Let’s pretend it never happened.”
But instead, what Sukuna says is, “This wasn’t just sex for me. I’m not really into that. Well, not anymore...” He runs a hand through his hair. “I, uh... Like you?” It comes out as a question, and his brow furrows, looking agitated. “I’m fucking this up.”
He must not expect your laugh, because his eyes widen at the sound. But you’re just so relieved. “I like you, too, dumbass.”
“Dumbass?” He playfully shoves at you. “So romantic.”
“What, you’re gonna change your mind?”
His hand moves from your shoulder to your face, stroking your cheek. “Nah... I knew what I was getting into. But the romantic thing... I think I can fix that.”
“Oh yeah?”
He grins. “You. Me. The huge, fancy bathtub. Room service. Does having mimosas with breakfast count as drinking on the job?”
You turn your head and press a kiss to his palm. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“You’re bad,” he growls, leaning over you, his breath warming your upturned lips. “When did that happen?”
“When I met this guy. He’s smart, sexy, kind of a jerk —” The rest of your words dissolve into a breathy gasp as he kisses you, teeth nipping against your bottom lip.
“Yeah, yeah... Less talking, hm? Now, how about that bath?”
#200 followers event#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#ryomen sukuna#sukuna#au sukuna#sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader
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𝐘𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞. ||𝐏𝐫𝐞-𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐲! 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲 "𝐉𝐞𝐝 𝐎𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐧" 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫||
❥ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ: ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʜᴏᴛᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜᴇʀ
𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: On the first days of spring, your friend Holly set you up with a nice photographer at the park. In the beginning, everything was normal, until you began to notice a shadow following you everywhere, and it wasn't your own.
𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Reader uses she/her pronouns, sorry about that! Stalkish behavior in the end.
𝙰𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎: Hello! First chapter of another fanfic, inspired by the YOU tv series. This also happens in the modern era. Lemme say this chapter alone took days to write because my inspiration lately has been the worse. Hope y'all enjoy! ♡
𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: (If you wish to be tagged, please tell me!)
"C'mon Holly, losen up a bit. I know it's gonna go great tomorrow." You rolled your eyes as your friend sighed, but you didn't find the situation weird at all.
"I just...imagine how awkward it'll be if I purpose to Camilla at the same time she does it."
You pointed to a nice seat under a tree after you two finished paying for the ice creams. It was a nice day at the park, spring was finally here, and all of the warm and winter outfits were thrown inside the wardrobe.
"Look, (Y/N), I don't want to be that person, but..." You gaze over to Holly. "Look at that photographer over there."
Your eyes stopped on a handsome man, focused on his camera and the mother nature around him, like he was in harmony with it. His slightly wavy brown hair had threads falling to his face as the photographer kneeled in front of some flowers, camera in action. The stranger was wearing a casual shirt with blue jeans, which wasn't the stereotypical outfit you'd imagine for a photographer.
"Your type." Holly blankly said, looking back at you.
"Holly please," You rolled your eyes playfully, eating your ice-cream before it melted in your hands. You don't want that kind of accident again. "I forgot my book of cheeky flirt lines."
Determined, Holly got up and didn't even glance twice in your direction, so you knew what she was about to do. Wrapped up in her crazy idea of getting you with someone, she strolled her way in the direction of the dreamy photographer, who was still taking pictures of the pretty white flowers.
You chuckled, not even bothering to stop her since it wouldn't change anything. Once something got into Holly-Marie Monroe's head, nothing, and by all means, nothing would stop her.
"I'm sorry-hi, excuse me," Politely chuckling, she touched the man's shoulder to get his attention. He turned around, clearly confused by the interaction. Probably thought this strange woman was going to ask to have a picture of her taken. "My friend over there, (Y/N)," Holly points at you, and you awkwardly wave, "She'd love to meet you. Photography is totally her deal, she finds it an art. What'cha think?"
"Yeah, sure." Okay, not so bad, he smiled. A polite smile, but it counts, right?
Holly rushedly waved for you to come to them, which you did, mouthing a silent 'sorry' to him without your friend noticing. You looked up to meet his eyes, amber brown eyes to be more exact. You were actually expecting them to be darker, but no, they were light amber eyes. With a soft tune added to them.
"Hi, (Y/N) (L/N)." You said, a small smile forming in the corner of your lips. "But Holly already told you that."
The man nodded, gazing over to your eyes as well.
"Danny 'dreamy photographer' Johnson." He winked, placing his camera somewhere on his bag.
"Okay, I'd hate to be a third wheel soooo...I'll go get more ice-cream!" Holly whispered, moving further from you two after giving you a thumbs up from far. You sighed.
"That's a nice friend you've got there." Danny looked back at you, eyebrow raised.
"Heh, she loves to do this. I was the one that set her up with her now bride to-be girlfriend, so she felt like this is her obligation to me." You explained, shrouging your shoulders. Yes, in fact, Holly made it her life goal to set you up with someone, because apparently she doesn't want you to be the single person of the group. Well, you still have your other friend Rose to be single with.
Danny was still gazing at you with his smirk on. He chuckled.
"Hey, what do you think about sitting right in the middle of those flowers right there," You looked to the flowers, pink Begonia flowers, and shyly took a seat in the middle of them, careful not to mess with your outfit. "And let the master do his magic." He winked at you again, smirking.
Of all the people you've dated and flirted with before, none of them was as careful as Danny. The way he gently placed flowers in your hair as he looked for the best angles to take pictures of you, he even said how remarkable you were at sunlight. How good it was for your eyes and skin.
This lasted for twenty minutes, with Holly taking her own selfies for instagram in the background.
Staring at his camera, Danny had his focused yet soft eyes every time he glanced at you. "Hey, could I get your-"
"My number?" You finished his request, but it only made Danny chuckle.
"Well I was going to ask for your email, but sure." He gave you his phone, which wasn't exactly one of the biggest and modern phones to ever exist, and you embarassedly typed down your number. Who asks for emails nowadays? "Thank you. I'll send you the pictures later."
"That'd be wonderful."
You, second child of a wealthy divorced couple with a younger brother who's working abroad on Europe, who's in charge of a bakery and trying to make your way in the world. Danny found you interesting, and naïve of course, who flirts with a stranger in broad daylight? So uncivilized and desperate.
Holly-Marie Monroe, on the other hand, was your rich friend with a beautiful bride, and the owner of a company that produces the finest clothing in town. She lives for instagram and twitter, your stereotypical blogger and ocasional selfies about whatever is happening in her plastic life. Like everybody else, she pretended everything in her life is perfect.
But you? Oh, the background friend. Danny nicknamed you that after a brief search through all of your social media. You finished school and university in arts, but after your brother left to go on a "retire" in Europe, he left you in charge of the bakery. Not that your artist career was going anywhere anytime soon. You twitted ocasionally, but personally, Danny loved your blog. Apparently, you practiced your art talents on cakes. Strangely lots of people loved it, which really isn't nothing much. What happened to the old, simple cakes? Do people really pay that much for food just because it looks "different"? What has society come to?
Even after sending you the pictures, Johnson felt quite disappointed that you didn't seem to post them anywhere. C'mon, they were great, and worthy of being posted. Something that would guarantee Danny that you liked them as much. Something that it would make you remember him.
A copy-paste here and a quick search on Maps, here it was.
Your exact street, building and apartment you lived in. Isn't Internet wonderful?
#dead by daylight#dbd ghostface x reader#dbd x reader#ghostface x reader#danny johnson x reader#jed olsen x reader#danny johnson#dbd ghostface#jed olsen
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New Girl on the Block (9)
(Happy New Years everybody!!! I know that was two days ago, but still! I hope all of you are doing well, and please enjoy this new chapter! also feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called Journal Entries!)
Ch.1 / Ch.8 / Ch.10
Chapter 9: Let’s Try That Again
“Claude, I’m not sure about this..” Marinette remarked, tentatively leaning over the brunette’s shoulder.
Claude waved off her concerns as he grabbed for the various chemicals on their shared desk. “Don’t worry! There’s no way I can mess this up twice.”
Marinette frowned. “Twice?”
He nodded and pulled out a plastic bag that they’d been given to hold the chemicals. “I took this class last year too, but I only got halfway through before they transferred me for being too disruptive.”
Marinette pulled her lip between her teeth, her concerns growing by the second. “Define ‘disruptive’.”
“Oh, you know,” Claude shrugged, carelessly throwing the chemicals into the plastic bag, “You try to listen as best you can, but there are so many chemicals to look at! It’s hard to pay attention. Anyway, one spill ends up in a gas explosion, and another shaking-instead-of-stirring ends up in acid all over the beaker and the desk, and after a while, Mlle Arquette decided that I might be able to pay more attention in Chemistry next year.”
“A-A gas explosion?” Marinette squeaked. She knew Claude could be chaotic from time to time, but she had hoped that his antics in the classroom wouldn’t range anywhere beyond ‘classic class clown’.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t toxic,” Claude insisted, “Just thick. Besides, we have this lab gear to protect us! We’re fine.”
Marinette clutched the sides of her lab coat. Sure, they had lab gear, but exactly how much could it protect them?
“Claude-”
“Alright, it’s shaking time!” Claude announced. He held up the now-sealed bag with a grin and started shaking it as hard as he could. Marinette flinched back, covering her face despite already wearing goggles. She had a bad feeling about this.
The phenol red inside the bag quickly mixed in with the Sodium Bicarbonate and Calcium Chloride, but he didn’t stop shaking until the plastic bag was almost completely red. By that time, the chemicals had merged into a deep red color, and the plastic bag had inflated to its maximum capacity.
“Hey, check it out!” Claude said, holding up the bag. “It looks like it's starting to bubble up.”
Marinette peaked between her fingers, though she still couldn’t see what he was talking about from her angle. She did, however, notice that the bag looked like it was about to explode any second.
“Um, Claude?” She began cautiously. “I think you’re supposed to let some of the air out now.”
“Oh, yeah.” He pulled the bag back down, getting ready to pull it open. “I almost forgot about that.”
Marinette gasped and stepped forward. “Wait, you need to be care-”
The bag popped open, and the poor pair weren’t able to react as fast as the chemicals inside. Everything shot up within a matter of seconds, splattering chemicals all over the desk and the students. Thankfully, it didn’t burn, but Marinette deeply lamented the fact that they were only in third period. Was she supposed to go through the rest of the day as a mess?
“Claude Herolds!”
Marinette and Claude’s gazes snapped upwards to their Chemistry teacher, Mlle Arquette. She fixed them both with an equally cross and tired glare.
“How many times do I have to tell you to open the bag slowly?”
Claude offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Mlle Arquette.. Would it help if I told you that it kind of popped open on its own?”
The teacher narrowed her eyes. “No, it most certainly would not. Because that means you didn’t mix it correctly, and the amount of chemicals on your clothing suggests that you put too much into the bag!”
“...I couldn’t remember which measuring spoons to use for the chemicals..” Claude admitted, reaching up to rub his upper arm.
Mlle Arquette sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s why I gave you a list of instructions. Didn’t you read them?”
Marinette and Claude both tensed. In the heat of the moment, they may or may not have forgotten that they were given specific instructions on what to do. Well, Marinette remembered. It was just that Claude seemed so sure of himself that she forgot to check the instructions.
The teacher took their silence as an answer and shook her head. “Claude, I don’t know how to get it through your head that you need to do what you’re told. So for now, I’ll give you detention and hope the extra time has you put more value on focus.”
Marinette’s eyes widened. “D-Detention?”
She’d never gotten detention before, not at Rosemary anyway. Was it different from Dupont? Would it knock down her grades? Would she have to do extra homework on top of it?
“Not you, Marinette.” The teacher assured. “I’m letting you off with a warning since this is your first incident.”
Marinette blew out a sigh of relief, but Claude groaned.
“Awe, man! I’m gonna be in detention all by myself?”
Marinette gasped. “You want me to be in detention?”
“Oh, no!” Claude hastily amended. “No, it’s just so boring being in there by myself.”
“Maybe the lack of company will give you incentive to be more cautious during our next class session.” Mlle Arquette cut in. “Now use the sink to wash up.”
Marinette and Claude moved to the front of the classroom as told and took turns using the sink. Unfortunately, Phenol Red is not known for coming out easily. They used as much soap as possible, but their lab coats remained stained, along with their cheeks..
“Well,” Claude said as they walked back to their desk, “since our cheeks are stained anyway.. Wanna try again?”
Marinette pursed her lips. At the very least, it couldn’t get any worse, right?
“Okay, but this time I’ll mix the chemicals.”
“Deal!”
~~~~~~
Felix blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. When he went to get Marinette for their next shared class, he expected her to be the same way she was when he’d left her earlier that morning. What he found instead, however, was a couple of classmates that had both their hands and the lower halves of their faces covered in red, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask why.
“Hey, Felix!” Claude greeted casually, as though he and Marinette didn’t look like walking tomatoes. “You look a little surprised. Is it my new haircut?”
“Oh, you got a new haircut?” Marinette asked, genuinely curious.
The brunette nodded and reached up to touch the curled tips of his bangs. “Yeah, but I didn’t do much. They just trimmed me up.”
“I thought something looked different.” Marinette hummed. “It looks nice.”
“Why, thank you.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Felix finally cut in, “why, exactly, are you two covered in red?”
Claude pulled a sheepish smile, and Marinette chuckled nervously, neither of which gave Felix any clarity.
“I kind of.. made some chemicals explode again.” Claude admitted.
Felix’s eyes widened. “You what?”
“Okay, not really explode.” Claude said. “They more of splattered everywhere.”
Felix’s gaze darted to Marinette, briefly scanning over her figure for injuries. She didn’t appear to be in pain, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wasn’t. What type of chemicals did they use? Were they toxic? Was anything ingested? The red on their faces didn’t look like burn marks.
“We’re fine.” Marinette assured, noticing his concern. “Mlle Arquette had us wash off right after it happened, so the only thing that affected us was the Phenol Red.”
Felix sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Phenol Red? No wonder their skin was dyed. “And what was Mlle Arquette's reaction to this?”
“Oh, she gave me detention,” Claude said point blank, “but I don’t blame her. I know I can be a bit much.”
Felix rose a brow. “Just you?”
The two nodded.
“She let me off with a warning.” Marinette explained.
Felix hummed. That sounded like Mlle Arquette. When he had to be Claude’s partner for Chemistry last year, the teacher had been extremely understanding then too. In hindsight, he probably should have warned Marinette about Claude’s tendencies in class. “Well, at least she was reasonable enough to know you weren’t at fault.”
Claude scoffed and crossed his arms. “You weren’t even there! How do you know she didn’t give me the wrong instructions?”
“Call it a hunch.” Felix replied flatly. He pulled a handkerchief out of his vest pocket and handed it to Marinette. “Here, use this to wipe off the chemicals.”
“Oh, no thank you.” Marinette politely declined. “I already washed it off as best I could.”
“Yes, but have you tried using a cloth yet?” He asked. When she shook her head, he continued, “Then some might still be able to come off. Rosemary holds their student’s presentability in high regard. I’d recommend trying.”
Marinette held up a hand insistently. “Thanks, but I really don’t need it. The dye’s already settled by now anyway, and I don’t want it to ruin your handkerchief if I get more off.”
Felix shrugged, tucking the handkerchief back into its respective pocket. “Mother’s gotten rid of worse, but I won’t force you.”
“I could use a handkerchief.” Claude spoke up.
Felix rolled his eyes. “Find your own.”
“But you were going to let Marinette use it!” Claude remarked, a grin growing on his lips despite his accusatory tone.
“She didn’t make the mess, did she?” Felix shot back.
Claude waved a hand at the remark. “Yeah, yeah. I can see how far our friendship goes.”
Marinette giggled, drawing the boys’ attention back to the ravenette.
“As fun as this is, I need to stop by the lockers before class.” She said with a smile. “I’ll see you guys later.”
“I’ll walk with you.” Felix replied, stepping forward. “I need to switch out a few books as well.”
“As if you wouldn’t walk her anyway..” Claude muttered under his breath behind him.
Felix glanced over his shoulder at the brunette. “What was that?”
“What was what?” Marinette asked, turning back as well.
“Oh, nothing.” Claude said, averting his gaze with a slight smile. “I’m gonna head to my next class too. See you guys later!”
Felix narrowed his eyes. He’d heard what Claude said. He just didn’t understand it. Or rather, he didn’t understand the tone. Felix walking Marinette to her classes was common knowledge at that point, yet Claude stated it as though it were some sort of secret. Why? It’s not as though the others didn’t walk her to classes as well. Claude himself would fight over whether he got to drive Marinette to different locations or not.
The class bell shook him from his thoughts, along with Marinette’s light call, and Felix moved to follow behind her. As they walked, she rambled on about the full story behind her red-colored cheeks, which allowed Felix to push Claude’s strange comment to the back of his mind. There was no reason for the brunette to have a hidden meaning in his speech anyway. So there was no point in overthinking it.
~~~~~~
Ah. The Cafe de Flore. Claude’s favorite place to eat. It had the best sandwiches, delicious pastries- tough not at good as Mlle Sabine’s -and wonderful, customer service. He’d always received a welcoming smile when he visited.
He drew in a deep breath, relishing in the smell of chocolate and dough that wafted through the air. It made his mouth water and his stomach growl with anticipation. His food should be ready any minute now, and he could hardly wait.
A giggle brought his attention to the line behind him. Marinette was shuffled in with a few of the other customers, happily chatting with Felix, who’d gotten in line with her.
Claude narrowed his eyes at the blond, remembering their talk at the aquarium. He’d been so insistent that he had no idea what Claude was referring to, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. Felix never took the time to talk to people, never listened or sympathized or smiled the way he did with Marinette. Every action, every sentence, everything he did around her screamed that he liked her. Normally, Claude wouldn’t care, since everybody had one good friend, but Felix didn’t like anybody. Heck, they’d been with him for three years, and he still fought tooth and nail before he agreed to do anything with them. But the one time Marinette, the person he's only known for three weeks, decides to ask him to something, he agrees immediately. No fuss. No arguing. Nothing. His crush on her was so obvious that when he played dumb last weekend, Claude nearly tore his hair out in frustration. How stupid did Felix think they were?
“I’ve got a BLT for a Claude Herolds?”
At the waitress’ call, Claude whirled around to grab his food with a ‘thank you’. He then moved back through the other customers to get to the group table, where Allegra and Allan were already seated. Marinette flashed him a smile and said ‘hey’ while he passed, but Felix merely rolled his eyes at Claude’s presence.
Of course, that didn’t stop the blond from turning right back to Marinette, all traces of annoyance washing away in an instant.
Yeah, he definitely had a crush on her.
“Tell me you’ve noticed.” Claude said to Allegra as he plopped down in the seat next to her. He couldn’t keep this to himself any longer, or he was going to explode like those chemicals in Chemistry class this morning.
Allegra glanced up from her soup questioningly. “Noticed what?”
Claude scoffed. As if she didn’t already know. Allegra was twice as observant as he was. If he saw something interesting, she was bound to have already seen it at least ten minutes beforehand.
“What else?” He replied impatiently. “Felix’s crush on Marinette.”
Allegra and Allan both gasped and shot up from the table, slapping their hands onto Claude’s mouth.
“Are you crazy?” She hissed at him. “Why would you say that out loud? What if they’d heard you?”
Claude pushed their hands away. “What does it matter? We all know.”
“Yeah, but they don’t.” Allan pointed out. “Even if they did, you can’t just say stuff like that without permission.”
Claude furrowed his eyebrows. “You expect me to believe that Felix doesn’t know about his own feelings towards Marinette?”
He could understand Marinette being oblivious. She hasn’t known Felix as long as they have, hasn’t heard the snide remarks and snaps and sarcastic comments that used to shoot from Felix’s mouth on a regular basis, hasn’t seen the constant glares they used to receive. (Emphasis on used to. They still get looks and snarky replies, but it's not nearly as venomous as it was before Marinette showed up.)
Claude didn’t blame Felix for liking Marinette- there was no doubt about her being a literal saint -but to say that Felix had no idea that he liked her was insane.
Allegra shrugged. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Felix clearly hasn’t had a crush before, and he’s extremely logical. He probably just thinks that she’s more fun to be around than we are.”
Claude tisked and crossed his arms. “He would think that, wouldn’t he?”
“To be fair, she doesn’t push his buttons as much as we do.” Allan commented.
“..Yeah, that’s true.” Claude admitted, a small smile coming to his lips. “She doesn’t push anyone’s buttons. She’s great like that.”
Allegra nodded in agreement. “Which is why we should try to figure out if she likes him too.”
Claude’s eyes widened. He.. hadn’t thought of that. How did Marinette feel about Felix?
As if on queue, all three of them subtly turned to glance at the pair. They were at the front of the line now, helping each other pick their food. Felix held another small smile, causing Claude to grip the edge of his chair with slight scowl. Love can do strange things to a person, but after three years of friendship, one would think that Felix could be a tad nicer to them too.
Marinette smiled brightly up at the blond as she always did. She seemed to enjoy talking with him, but then again, she enjoyed talking to everyone. That could hardly be considered a sign of love or affection. The only thing that might be related to a crush was that time in the library when the two shared headphones. She got all flustered and embarrassed after getting really close to Felix, but in all honesty, Marinette tended to blush rather often. When embarrassed, when bashful, when caught off guard- It was just another quirky thing about her that they all loved.
“We wouldn’t want to force this on her.” Allan said, taking the words from Claude and Allegra’s mouths. Marinette was too kind and sweet to be put in such an uncomfortable position.
“So how do we find out? Should we ask her?” Claude questioned, twisting back to face the table again.
“Yes, but we need to be subtle.” Allegra cautioned. “Crushes can be a sticky business, especially when someone isn’t quite aware of their feelings towards another.”
“In other words, Felix can’t know we asked,” Allan added, “and Marinette can’t know about Felix’s feelings. At least not until he knows that he has them, and we know that they’re requited.”
Claude nodded thoughtfully. “That still doesn’t tell me how we’re going to ask her.”
“Ask who what?”
The trio jumped at the sound of Marinette’s voice, each snapping to look at her for a reaction. She couldn’t have been there long, right? How much had she heard? Where was Felix?
“Uh..” Claude gaped. “N-Nothing. I mean, we were-”
“We were going to ask my mom about a sleepover.” Allegra cut in. “Do you think you’d be up for it?”
Claude couldn’t help the smirk that curled onto his lips. Clever Allegra. Having a sleepover meant everyone would get together, but it also meant the boys and girls would be separated by the end of the evening. That would leave Marinette and Allegra alone for a good eight hours if they played their cards right. Plenty of time to ask about Marinette’s feelings towards Felix, and plenty of time to ask Felix about his feelings towards Marinette.
Clever, clever Allegra.
“Oh, a sleepover?” Marinette echoed, a spark of interest gathering in her eyes. “At your house?”
“Yeah!” Allegra smiled. “We’ve all been to your house. I want you to come to mine.”
Marinette returned her smile, but before she could respond, Felix spoke up behind her.
“You’re having another sleepover?”
Marinette flinched, just as Claude and the others had done moments prior, and Felix took a step back as a silent apology.
What a considerate thing to do, Claude thought. If only Felix were that considerate towards literally anyone else.
His bitter thoughts were pushed aside when Allegra nestled her chin in her palm, saying, “Don’t act like I have a sleepover every other day. Our last sleepover was on New Years Eve.”
“Yes, and that sleepover is exactly the reason why I won’t be attending another one.” Felix stated with a scowl. “That permanent marker didn’t come off of my face for a week.”
Claude stifled a laugh. That mustache and monocle drawing had easily been the best part of the evening.
Marinette full-on giggled at the remark and sat down in the chair between Claude and Allan, amusement and curiosity seeping through her tone as she asked, “You guys drew on his face?”
Felix’s scowl deepened- he hated being called out on embarrassing things -and his gaze shifted to the side. “While I slept. It was absolutely dreadful.”
“Oh~ it was a joke.” Allegra cooed, waving off his bitterness. “You know you want to come.”
“Why would I?” Felix scoffed as he sat between Allegra and Allan. “The hours I’m forced to spend with you on a daily basis are torture enough.”
Claude smirked. Bold words for someone who was crushing hard on the newest member of their group.
“Because deep down in that cold, shriveled heart of yours, you know you love us.” He said, subtly wrapping an arm around Marinette’s shoulders as he said ‘us’. “Besides, we’re all going to be there. You don’t want to miss out, do you?”
Felix shot Claude daggers, but Claude only gave an innocent smile in response. He knew that he had the blond cornered. Marinette would be expecting him to go to the sleepover, the same way she’d expected him to go to the aquarium. Felix said yes to her then, and he would say yes to her now. Because he liked her.
Slowly, Felix’s gaze slid to Marinette, the spite in his eyes fading away as he glanced at her. Claude’s smile widened. He was thinking it over, contemplating whether it would be worth it to ‘suffer’ an extra night with them or not for Marinette’s sake.
This was the moment. This was the moment where Felix’s true motives would be revealed, even though he was doing his best to hide them from everyone else, including himself.
“Fine.” The blond relented, just like Claude knew he would. “But I better not wake up with marker on my face again.”
Allan smirked. “Don’t worry, man. We promise there won’t be any markers for you this time.”
“Nope.” Claude Grinned. “Just some quality time between friends.”
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Don’t Pull Away
Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader (Part 2 of the Seven Day Date Series)
summary: It’s the second date, and things are going well for the couple. Well, besides the fact that they aren’t actually a couple.
word count: 2625
warnings: none
series masterlist
masterlist
Having Natasha and Wanda help pick out her clothes for the parties, as well as having dinner with ten Avengers was a mind blowing experience. However, when hundreds of superheroes began to show up at the Tower, Y/N didn't think life could get better than that. Everyone had been banned from the tower during the time in between parties, so that the crew Tony had highly paid could rearrange the entire bottom floor, taking every piece of furniture out and replacing it to make the parties that much better. This meant that the first time Y/N saw all the Avengers was when she showed up in the limo that Tony had sent to pick her up.
Y/N had coordinate her outfit with Peter, because he was her date of course, but also Wanda and Nat as they picked out their outfits two nights ago. The super heroes instantly decided that Y/N would be like their little sister, and she's sure they had even more fun than she did trying on clothes. The girls all decided to wear the see through plastic jackets, the seams different colors that matched their chokers; Y/N had chosen purple, which complimented the dark grey bralette she was wearing. Peter had decided that the dark grey would be their color when he picked his clothes out without her, and so her grey, shiny, skintight leggings would match whatever the hell he decided to wear. She hadn't seen any of his outfits, and he hadn't seen any of her's.
Adjusting her bright purple wig, Y/N got in line to get into the party, which seemed to be already in full swing, but it was barely past seven thirty. She took her time in line to look over herself once more, before reaching the front.
"Invitation." The bouncer simply prompted, and Y/N could feel his imitating stare even through the dark glasses he was wearing.
"Oh, um, I came, uh,"
"She's with me!" Thank God Peter finally saw her, because she didn't know what she would have done if he would have waited longer. The high-tech gate opened to allow her through, shutting closed behind her.
Y/N was instantly jealous of Peter the second she saw him.
All he was wearing was a dark blue jacket with some weird seam patterns and some type of logo over his heart, and grey pants. That was it.
So there Y/N was, feeling stupid as Peter pretended his eyes weren't racking up her body and exposed skin.
"Are you kidding me? I have to wear this and you get to wear that!" Y/N complained, but when Peter looked into her eyes he could tell she was joking.
"You look fine." Peter rolled his eyes and walked closer to her, taking her hand to lead her to where everyone else was.
They'd held hands before, but if this time, it seemed a little different? A little more intimate? Well they never talked about it again.
~
Blue.
Everything on the floor was blue.
Unless it was neon, because those were the only two themes that Y/N was seeing as she looked around in awe. She had been right there just two days ago, but if she hadn't known that this was the Avengers Tower she would have thought this was a rented out space.
The dance floor was huge and took up most of what Y/N assumed was the living area, but all she could do was guess because she had no idea what place was what anymore. The only thing that hadn't been taken out was the kitchen, but even then it was transformed into a bar.
As she stepped cautiously on the glass dance floor, it lit up with blue where she had applied pressure, making her jump back, Peter's arms catching her as he laughed. Looking up, he nudged Y/N as she made herself step away from Peter, following his gaze.
Along the ceiling were balloons with pinpricks of light somehow shining through them, along with neon balloons that were scattered around. There was a girl in a silver body suit, who looked as if she were doing some impressive trapeze above everyone with the ring attached to the ceiling. Florescent tool cascaded down the walls and everything seemed to be high tech.
"Stark really spared no expense, huh." Y/N mumbled, Peter barley hearing her as she continued to look around. There were beautiful blue and purple chandeliers hanging, and somehow Tony had managed to project blue pinpricks of light onto the walls, but there was no sign of a projector.
Music thrummed through the large speakers, all dub step. Well, what Y/N had heard anyway.
"First slow dance of the night! This is a party, after all!" Tony called through a microphone. He was on a small lifted platform, and before Y/N could even begin to judge his clothing choice, the dance floor filled with more people; all the superhero couples her and Peter always geeked out about. Never did she think she would be apart of the super hero couple.
Wait, were her and Peter a couple? I mean sure, she agreed to be his date, but he probably didn't feel the same. She was just his last minute choice he felt that he had to take. He'd probably rather be with MJ, or even-
"Y/N?" Her name was what snapped her out of the self destructive thoughts, and he smiled goofily when she blushed, not quite meeting his eye. "Would you like to dance?"
Oh God. He said it. Stay calm. Don't say something stupid,
"No." Peter's heart fell to the ground as he looked at her. She smiled widely, finally looking at him, and grabbed his hand. "Kidding." She breathed out a laugh, and Peter smiled and took the lead to the dance floor, which lit up blue as they walked in closer. They finally stopped, and Peter put his arms around Y/N's waist, feeling her bare skin beneath his palms.
"It's only been an hour, but this is already the most I've felt like myself again since the snap." Y/N confessed, reaching up and putting her arms around Peter's neck. It's been a week since they were snapped back, and things were pretty normal after day three. "Being close to you again," Y/N trailed off, and Peter could see the blush on her face even in the faint blue light. "It just feels normal. It feels right."
Peter was speechless. He had no idea what to say the the girl who just poured her heart in front of him. So he pulled her closer, close enough to fell her against him, and kept her there until the song ended and she began to pull away.
"Wait," He tightened her grip on her, squinting his eyes as he tried to figure out how to not word vomit everything he was thinking. "Don't pull away. Not yet."
It was as if they were the only two in the room. Even with the loud bass of the dub step that had begun to play again, Y/N only cared about the beat of Peter's heart as she pressed her face closer, heart racing. Everyone else either danced or watched as the youngest in the room slow danced to a song that was in no way slow. But almost as quickly as their moment started, it was ended with a flash and a click.
"Tony! I did it!" Steve held the smartphone up in triumph, immediately running to find Tony and tell him that he wasn't as dumb as he looks. Y/N and Peter broke apart, staring at each other in shock. Had Captain America just taken a picture of them?
"I'm gonna get some punch." Peter excused himself, and Y/N nodded.
"Yeah."
~
An hour and a half later, Y/N saw no sign of the party slowing down or Peter. There was too many people here, too many bodies that she would never be able to see Peter at her height. The low lighting only fueled her rage in not being able to find him after he left to 'get some punch.'
I shouldn't have said those things. I'm so stupid.
"You're not stupid." A voice behind her made her jump, and she turned to see Wanda standing behind her, the bright yellow wig still on her head.
"Wanda!" Y/N put a hand to her heart, turning in her chair.
"What's going on?" Wanda questioned as she sat down at the table Y/N had picked out over an hour ago.
"Can't you just read my mind?" Y/N put her hands in her head, trying to ignore her frustrated tears. She shouldn't be crying about this. She had to pull herself together.
"I try not to if I don't have your permission." Wanda frowned and Y/N looked up at her, brows furrowed and mouth open.
"Then how did you know what I was thinking?" Y/N questioned, but before Wanda could answer someone else did.
"You said that one out loud." A British voice said from behind her. Y/N turned around to find a girl with curly brown hair and tan skin smirking, empty bottle in her hands and arms crossed. In her other hand was a neon green wig that she must've taken off of herself, because she was the only girl there without a wig. "You're boy is over there with Thor." She nodded her head towards a room that had it's door taken off, a neon curtain pushed away for all the people in there.
"Thank you." Y/N smiled at the nameless girl as she walked away, huffing and letting the smile drop off her face as she thought about Peter ditching her. Inside the room, the amount of men and women with only the bare minimum of clothes shocked her. What the hell was Peter doing in here? Pushing past everyone, she finally got closer to the back, hearing Thor's booming voice. He was standing with Peter, bottle in his hand.
"Oh, young Parker! This has been fun! Are you going to tell Lady Y/N about your exciting,"
"She already knows." Y/N cut Thor off, and both of the boys turned to her, Peter's face worried and Thor still smiling, unaware of the situation due to the massive amounts of alcohol he had drank.
"Ah! Lady Y/N! Your boyfriend and I,"
"Thor, do you mind if I take him?" Y/N asked, smiling at Thor before he turned away, when she glared at Peter who mouthed 'I'm sorry!' to her.
Y/N took a second to look at him. Peter didn't have his shirt on anymore. Instead, he had neon designs that ran across his torso and shined in the light. He had ran off to get his body painted.
"Of course not!" Thor joyously turned back to other people, who were more than happy to laugh with the god.
Once Y/N practically dragged Peter through the large room, she led him to the outside area, which somehow was even more crowded but the absence of all the flashing lights inside left her feeling calm. Of course, there was still blue and the pool was lit with lights, but the music was quieter and the lights were less intense.
"Is that body paint?" Was the first thing she asked. They both looked briefly at his chest and then made eye contact again.
"Best not to ask." Peter said quickly, making Y/N's eyes widen.
"What?"
"What?"
"Peter!" Y/N all but screamed, trying to remind herself not to pull at her hair because it was a wig. She looked at the pool, thinking of how good it would feel to throw the stupid thing in there with rage, but then she looked back at Peter. She was upset with him, but she wouldn't let her rage get the best of her.
"I promise I wasn't trying to ditch you. I was getting punch, but then people started taking to me and then I ended up here." Before Y/N could even get in a word of protest, a loud, notable voice ripped through the speakers.
"I can see you kids arguing out there! Stop it. Let loose! Have some fun!" Tony's voice came booming through the speakers, and Peter and Y/N looked around. Their cheeks flamed pink as others looked at them, and Y/N cursed under her breath.
"But not too much fun!" Rhodey added, and a fight started before the microphone went out and the song went back to being at the loudest volume. People went back to dancing, and Peter stepped closer to Y/N.
"I didn't mean to ditch you, I swear." He pleaded, and Y/N sighed.
"How did Thor get you to paint your upper body in neon paint?" Y/N ignored his previous statement, instead now looking at the designs the painter had made on his body. She didn't want to stay mad at him for too long; this was the first party for heaven's sake.
"Quite easily. He said 'Man of Spiders! Join me on a quest to impress all the fine ladies here!' and then almost fell over as he led me to the room." Peter chuckled at the memory, making Y/N smile.
"And you just let him take you to get your body painted?' Y/N tried to stifle her giggle at her boyfriend's stupidity.
Shit. Not boyfriend. Best friend. That's it, Y/N. We can't mess this up,
"Well I didn't know what the huge line of half naked people was for until it was too late to turn back!" Peter laughed, breaking Y/N from her thoughts once again.
~
Late that night, Y/N was in Peter's Avenger room, wiping off her makeup while Peter washed his body paint off in the shower. Most of the superhero guests chose to stay in the extra rooms in the tower. The only thing was, the plus one's had to stay with their date, since there wasn't enough rooms in the tower for every single superhero.
To most, this wasn't a problem. Their significant other was sharing their room. No big deal.
For Peter and Y/N, they were just best friends.
And yeah, they'd had sleepovers, but they both slept separately in the living room on different pieces of furniture.
This was one piece of furniture that the two had to share.
When Peter came out of the bathroom, clothed in sweatpants and some random T-Shirt, Y/N sat up from her spot on the chair, the only other piece of furniture Peter had in his room, and started walking towards the door.
"I'm going to go ask Tony for some more blankets. I'm sure he's still up,"
"What? Why?" Peter plugged his phone in as he questioned her, turning to face her fully after setting his phone on his bedside table.
"Because I'm just going to sleep on the chair." She said as if it were obvious.
"Are you nuts?" Y/N had barely gotten the words out before Peter had rushed his statement out, cheeks dusted pink as Y/N raised an eyebrow.
"Pete, it's fine. I-"
"That's literally the most uncomfortable chair I have ever-"
"You're being dramatic." Y/N cut him off for once, and he looked like she had slapped him across the face.
"I'm being dramatic?" Peter took a step closer to her and she backed up, before Peter closed his eyes and took a breath.
"Pete, I-"
"Get in the goddamn bed, Y/N." Peter smirked, and Y/N put her head down in defeat and shuffled to the bed, staying close to her side and putting the covers over her body.
And if they ended up cuddling in the morning, both of them awake but pretending to be asleep and not wanting to ruin the moment, well, they never talked about that again.
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker imagine#spider-man#spider man#spider man imagine#spider man x reader#spider-man imagine
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