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chiliyue-archived · 10 months

Text

physical affection

includes; dazai, chūya, ranpo, atsushi

tags; these get just slightly suggestive (but its nothing too much).headcanons + some drabbles & shorts. these r longer than it should be - I got so carried away

I just woke up so if u find mistakes pls let me know :) I'm posting this before I come up with an excuse to delete it altogether

—DAZAI

handsy - that's really the only descriptor you need.

honestly, everyone knows you're his partner with how he acts around you; hand on your thigh, waist, shoulder. having to kindly smack him on the back of his head when his hands trailed a little too far-

^ only for him to send you a pout and doe like eyes that fade when you indulge him a kiss. he has zero shame (often at the expense of receiving a sneer from kunikida who had the misfortune of witnessing sometimes. even then, he didn't stop kissing you)

favorite spot is the inside of your palms and knuckles - with a lingering yield on your pulse point. if you ever kiss those areas on him, he'll have cartoon hearts around him & everything

holding his face though? call him your pretty boy or literally anything sappy and he thinks he might just die on the spot.

on the flip side he's also… a bit of a bitch.

traces your bottom lip tauntingly with his thumb, the other is cupping your head to keep your gaze on him. he maintains keen eye contact and relishes in the way you crack while he remains steady.

his mouth is so close that when he speaks, you could feel it vibrate against your lips. but he never closes the distance, he makes you do that instead for teasing benefits :/(if you're shorter than him, it's so over)

revoke his kissing rights and he trails like a lost puppy behind you. " just one, bella?" he whines when you maneuver your head away. it's cute seeing him get all pouty - not so much when his patience runs thin and he takes matters into his own hands

-> caging you in his physique and kissing you hard. fingers calloused are rubbing against your jaw or brushing past your ear to interlock, teasing the surface of the skin as he does so. he enjoys the tremors and shivers it elicits, such reactions becoming burned in the back of his head.

you could barely make a sound with the vigor he expresses his cravings in with your bottom lip becoming captured between his canines

contrary to his theatrical displays, however, i also believe he exhibits a softened demeanor when cherishing you proper (soft dazai agenda)

the tempo of his kisses are slow yet not in accordance with his teasing. while the meandering of his hands grows greedy, when he speaks his voice is reduced to a low whisper, mumbling sweet phrases with each kiss.

✿

dazai wants to blame the bottom of sake for his vermillion flushed cheeks. more alarmingly, he wanted to ignore the way his heart squeezed when you reciprocated the kiss.

" darling," he pulls away, studying your expression. your hair was tousled, a swell blooming on your bottom lip from his recurrent nibbling and ministrations. the moment wasn't perfect, but he could bask in it for a lifetime. " are you getting sleepy?"

the pretty brown eyes you met were half-lidded and blinking. his bangs traced along your forehead from where he hovered, and if you squint, perhaps you would have noticed how the pink of his cheeks deepened the tiniest bit when you laughed at the tickling sensation.

you murmur something intelligible, the words swallowed by his mouth; he shivers when the syllables reverbate against him and the hand at your hip falters slightly. when he reels back, he remains close enough for his forehead to brush yours.

" repeat that, love."

" i said," you mumble, kissing the corner of his mouth. " can we to stay like this forever?"

almost instantaneously his body shakes in anticipation, heart lurching at the sincerity; how can you be so honest to a known liar like him? he slowly nods, his body arching until your chests were touching and breath pricked at your cheek. ever greedily, he seeks out another exchange, this one careful with a lingering touch of desperation.

an "okay" became lost as he gingerly grabs your chin, angling it just the tiniest bit to deepen it. in between the withdrawals and recoil, dazai chooses to ignore the way his breath stills in the pinnacle of moment, made potent when he twines his hand with yours. he provides the appendage a firm squeeze in coordination with the stirring in his chest, your inhales and exhales becoming synchronized.

he can't lie, he's been thinking just as much.

✿

dazai also likes your hands. chances are his are bigger than yours and he finds himself comparing hand sizes with you. his eyes crinkle when your fingers are dwarfed by his.

adjoined limbs are swayed back and forth when you walk together. same applies with intertwined legs, but when he's not busy doing that, he's playing footsie beneath the table.

he needs to be with you whenever he can!! the spot across your table remains permanently empty as he makes a home of sitting as close as possible next to you instead

he can't even be embarrassed with overly sappy displays, not when he's loving it twice as much. " good morning, osamu," you once said, palms cupping his face. he doesn't know if something has ever made his heartbeat spiked as hard as that did. " can I have a kiss?"

if he didn't turn to putty from the request alone, then it was the way you circled your thumbs on his cheekbones when he brushes his lips to yours. tentatively, he curls his hands behind your waist, holding you close before you get too far.

" can i have some more?" his eyes are shimmering in mischief as ever but his skin has progressively grown warmer since you've found him.

dazai is cuddly. getting to hold you close and listen to your heartbeat? yeah, he could die happy right now

unsurprisingly, napping with him is among his favorite passing time activities.

the closest you may get to see a vulnerable side to him is if you card your fingers through his hair. admittedly, he finds it troubling how his built-up walls crumble so easily with a couple of strokes. but the only thing he can focus on now is the sensation of fingers devoid of pain carefully tend through his hair and how warm his chest feels

kisses on the forehead when you're in need of comfort ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

✿

" i'm right here, love." when you glance up at him with red eyes and puffy cheeks he could feel his heart break right into two. even more so when your voice cracks and he tries to hide the way his face drops when it echoes in the somber ambience.

attentively, he cups your cheeks as his lips apply delicate pressure against your forehead. he sighs when he feels your trembling hands subdue and your breathing regulate; its panning against his skin rivaled any other comfort he could ever receive.

" better?" when you nod, he could feel his grin return, just a bit weaker. " today has been hard on you. get some rest."

" can you stay with me?" he already knew the answer in his head but it still makes chest swarm tremendously.

he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, lips brushing your forehead again. " of course."

he wasn't the one needing comfort and yet he still felt a deep-rooted tingle right in his chest when you hugged him closer than usual. he depised the circumstances behind it, but he couldn't deny the way it made his barren chest feel less akin to a husk when you felt so secured against him.

his hands start to comb shrough your hair, watching as the strands bend between his fingers and he ensures to provide your scalp proper attention now and again.

he wasn't sure if he'll be able to sleep, he was more concerned in making sure you did.

he blinks when you move to press your cheek against his chest, right where his heart should be. " thank you," your words were muffled against clothes, sending vibrations along his bones.

" you don't have to thank me." he places a last kiss to your forehead, the longest one of the night. his legs shift to intertwine with yours, listening keenly to the sound of your breath until it slows into an assuaging rhythm.

dazai can't recall the last time he had to take care of someone. it's made apparent as he grapples with uncertainty - almost becoming overwhelming with how powerless he felt in the situation.

though tonight, he was sure to hold you a little tighter.

✿

likewise if you kiss his scars and the skin beneath the bandages, he could feel the breath in his throat still and his heart do cartwheels. it's been so void of human touch for so long and he appreciates the care you exhibit towards something he considers to be ugly.

" all better now!" you punctuated your words with a kiss to the newly coiled cotton on his arms. dazai could do nothing but swallow hard, his "thank you" mumbled under his breath; he didn't like the pain, but it wasn't so awful when you spoiled him like this ♡

neck kisses + scattering the expanse of your throat with baby bruises you can not hide. afterwards, he traces it out with his index finger while he takes in the markings with great interest.

when it starts to fade he gladly renews them

✿

" that tickles," you murmur, voice reduced to a whisper; you couldn't trust yourself, not with dazai scattering kisses along the exposed patches of your neck. the rehearsal of which doesn't falter, even when you tug on his increasingly unruly curls.

" my apologies, 'bella," you wince as he captures a patch of your skin between his teeth. " i think i've found my favorite form of art." he has the gall to feign a tone of sympathy, lips arcuated at the growing disparity.

in addition to the nibbling, his fingers skimmed along your torso, moving in taunting lines he knew ran your sanity thin. dazai knew all the places that made you shiver, it was a piece of information that became abused with the movement of his hands in that moment.

against your rationality, you sunk into his touch, fingers twitching along his roots. it brought a simper you couldn't see but his satisfaction is made apparent when his actions grow sloppy, scattering along the expanse of your throat and meandering along your collarbone.

" you had every chance to leave," he smirks when you don't reply, content with the way your nails briefly printed on him. predictably, he gives another nibble on your skin, tugging back gently. " this might be my favorite spot."

right on the center of your unguarded throat.

" i can't hide those there."

he laughs, breath cascading skin. " that's what i want, darling." he thinks he might lose himself when you bring a particular tug in his hair, a sound akin to a grunt reverberating against your throat.

" you're being mean." dazai makes the mistake of pulling back, gracing him with your disheveled hair, reddened lips and growing streaks of red. already he finds it to be his favorite piece of jewelry.

" don't look so down," he pressed a kiss to one of the blooming blemishes, grinning as it became more pronounced. " you'll get your turn soon."

—CHŪYA

he takes his gloves off when he goes to touch your face. he doesn't want the sensation of skin on skin to be hamper by the piece of article.

kisses to your temples & neck are exchanges he shares on the frequent. though depending on the height difference, it may also be a gesture reserved for when you're sitting on his lap or cuddled up into him. head kisses in particular feel appropriate for anything really

as for himself, i'd say he likes to be kiss on the lips(mainly so he can distract from the growing crimson that tickles his forehead)

but it's hard with the handsome face chūya has. his growing pout tells you he's growing impatient when you favor his cheeks, but the hand gripping your sleeves are so counterproductive

" can you do it properly?" he gruffs, brows furrowing that weaken by your persistence. his skin was growing warm from the kisses you spoiled him with but it hardly compares to the proper thing on his lips, aching for the familar sensation almost painfully.

he shivers when you trail to his mouth, just shy of it and his grip tightens. " like this?"

his eyes flutter shut when you close the distance and before he could realize it, his hands began to sift through your hair. " yeah," his exhale was shaky, voice dropping to a low lilt. " don't stop that."

he sleeps with his head buried in your stomach - his nose is brushing against your abdomen with toned arms slithering around you like a form of cocoon

it reaches a peak when you brush your thumb over his scalp, and you can physically note the way the muscles in his body sink. you can't see his face, greeted instead by a cascade of reds; but his lips pull into a grin at the action

it grants you the opportunity to play with his hair. and sometimes, when he wakes up to find the claw clips and cute brooches that push his bangs aside and show off his pretty eyes, he won't be tempted to remove them right away.

✿

he wanted to roll his eyes when he saw you pull out the collection of hair clips, taunting pastels and neons gawking back at him. but he has to admit, he stopped caring the moment you started to play with his strands of hair. the locks weaved through your fingers, silky and soft stirring a form of ease that compels him to remain still. when he did move, it was only in an effort to bring himself closer, almost like snuggling(though he profusely denies it as such and regards you a scoff that doesn't compliment the rest of his actions).

had he not been treading precariously the boundaries of sleep, he may have been able to pick up on the way his heart quickened; a solace riveting up his spine and leaving in the form of a breathy sigh.

he blinks his eyes at you, nose scrunched up when you start mapping out his handsome features with your thumb. " you're getting distracted."

you acknowledge his statement with a coy grin and chūya felt his heart swell even at its simplicity. "i know." you move to press your lips to his forehead; if the smile wasn't enough to dissipate the frown on his face, that was the drug.

a flash of color peeks in the corner of his eye as you draw another clip. " i was just wondering how you would look in pigtails," you joke and chūya could feel his face twist— eye twitching at your jest.

" you're pushing your luck."

" it won't be that bad, chū."

" i could leave right now." his voice was terribly unconvincing when brooches adorned his head.

" you would have left a long time ago." you grin when he doesn't refute you. " just relax."

chūya knows he's defeated when you thumb his scalp again, eyes screwing shut involuntarily. " you're enjoying this too much," he grumbles. he tilts his head to the side, granting you access to his hair, hands falling pilant against your thigh. it bewilders him how much relief washes over him as you start to pry the strands apart again.

you know he's fallen asleep when he stopped replying to your ramblings; his words going from full sentences, to sporadic words and then slurred vowels. when you peek down, he's resting comfortably on your lap, lips slightly parted and allowing light snores to fill the silence.

chūya is far too deep in his subconscious to contemplate anything, but if he could, he thinks he might just get addicted to this.

✿

a clingy drunk. in addition, the alcohol is effective at loosening his tongue, resulting in declarations of his undying love that are muffled when he goes head first into your stomach (≧▽≦)

in lieu of that, he likes to spoon you, with himself being the big spoon. he has his head in the crook of your shoulder, and you feel his inhales and exhales against your skin.

he likes your body heat, it grounds him to earth and coaxes a soft demeanor that he fails at suppressing

thoughtful when it comes to kissing in the public eye. he isn't fond of drawing that form of attention to your relationship, but he isn't opposed to stealing a couple of kisses now and then.

it's fast, it's simple and enough to satiate you and himself. and it's enough to tell onlookers that he's your bf

it that didn't give the memo, its the gloved hand on your waist that spoke to people that you were taken.

though that doesn't stop him from tugging you closer in a spur of his protective tendencies. it's a subconscious act he does when you pass a group of people or when yokohama is notably crowded. it's not merely because he's short and is worried about losing you to the sea of wayfarers(at least thats what he tells you) - rather, it roots from a concern that's only repleted when he knows you're safe

behind close doors, however, his kisses lack patience if the way he's gripping your clothes is anything to go by. and while he demonstrates a growing restlessness, he remains pensive to his own strength and withdraws to give you proper time to catch your breath.

but he knows exactly what to do intensify each one and make your brain go hazy

cupping your cheeks, tilting your head, voice speaking in a meticulous timbre that shakes your skull. you're far too consumed in the kiss to recognize when his free hand has found its way to your back, gliding along the spine before slipping beneath the hem.

his gloves are cold against your skin, mumbling a faint 'sorry' that's nearly swallowed when he brushes his lips to yours for nth time.

the limbs explore along the dips and contours, pinching your sides and smirking into the kiss when you yelp in surprise (inwardly, his heart is beating so fast, he wonders if you could hear it when his chest is pressed against yours.)

without the gloves, his hands are a hint warmer. but even warmer are his cheeks when you press kisses to it. he knits his brows together in an attempt hide how much he likes; ultimately, he betrays himself when he pulls you closer

✿

" what the fuck are you doing," he stammers as you press a kiss to his warm cheeks. despite himself, he makes no effort to move when you brush your lips on the other - even warmer than the neighboring pair.

"kissing you," you hum. "... want me to stop?"

" no." he hates how fast the words left him and he hates how you grin at that. it was just the thing to crumble his resolve - and more specifically, it's just the thing to make him go mellow, subservient to your ministrations with his heart beating erratically - even within the scrutiny of strangers and coworkers.

" give me a warning next time." he wants to frown but the expression dies when you crane your head to make contact wherever you can reach. in reponse, an arm finds purchase on your hip, shuffling you closer until you are nuzzled up to his build.

he wasn't sure what rumors would circulate if people saw him being soft - and frankly, he couldn't bring himself to quite care much about the prospect either; inwardly, he was already missing the rehearsal of your lips on his, a desire not easily quelled and he was far more occupied with fixing that.

you let out a confused hum when he suddenly taps at your cheek indignantly. " well?" a thumb hooks beneath your chin, bringing you just shy of his mouth. "are you going to finish what you started?"

✿

when he's making kissy faces with his partner, it's nobody's business.

if you have dimples, he kisses those, each one before concluding it off with your lips

chūya just likes to be in contact with you in some way really. longing to hold your hand and scribe incoherent phrases on the palm. reflected in the way his feet nudge closer to yours and how he never fails to hold your hand beneath the table. when handing you items, he reveals a form of reluctance when he detaches away.

i really want to say he does that thing where he places his fedora over his chest when he kisses your knuckles. he tries really hard to maintain eye contact, but it falters when you send him a beam that makes his chest ache from beating so fast.

and lastly, he never leaves without getting a goodbye kiss first.

✿

" you're forgetting something." chūya vexed— furrow brows bruising his otherwise neutral expression. he hasn't moved from where he stood, silhouette stilled by the partition with nothing but the perpetual tapping of his foot to remind you of his presence. it took all of your strength to push back your laughter at his childish display.

" i am?" you question with a tilt of your head. the inquiry rewarded you with a huff from the former, lip twisting into a frown. admittedly, he looked cute when grumpy, pretty dark eyes tracking you behind colored bangs.

" my kiss?" an index finger points to his neglected lips, promptly chooses to ignore the red hue that harbored along his cheeks, tickling his forehead tauntingly.

chūya tracks your movements as you stride forward, cupping his cheeks within your palms. he resists the urge to close the distance himself - as alluring as it was - he sought out satisfaction when you comply with a genlte kiss. against his own volition, a breathy and likewise dreamy sigh leaves him, just barely audible by the exchange.

his hands sneak down to rest on your waist, twitching when you press a final peck to his cheek. promptly, you decide not to comment on the way a grin was threatening to crack on his oh so serious face.

" better?"

"very."

—RANPO

yk in the movies where the guy picks up the girl and spins her around when they kiss? ranpo wants you to do that with him but he's the girl.

piggyback rides ! except he's the one on your back :/ " to the detective agency, y/n!" he jabs out a lithe finger, his dimple smile steady even when you meet him with a glare over your shoulder. it makes him more eager than anything, face squishing against your cheek as he loops his legs around your waist.

" don't give me that look" he exasperates, a brow quirk at your nonverbal response. " the world's greatest detective can't be in better hands."

" you can get there yourself," you sigh, averting your gaze back in front of you. it was hard to fight against him, his persistence shaping your decision the longer he clinged to you.

" thats the boring alternative. duh," he breathes, nuzzling his cheek against your hair. " you know me better than that. besides, i like it when you hold me."

likes kissing you. he will rope up any excuse to steal a kiss. he finished a piece of paperwork? he deserves a reward. finished eating a cookie? kiss the crumbs off. you have absolutely nothing else to do? well, his lips are right there, give him a smooch <3

his kisses taste sweet, the faint traces of chocolate and jams coating his lips. it won't be too far from him to make you guess the flavor of cake he had that morning, but really you think he's just trying to pull more kisses from you. cause he is

✿

" tastes sweet." ranpo shudders when the words vibrate against his lips, cheeks deepening to a rosy hue but the playful glint in his eye ceases to falter. " banana or strawberry?" you blink, a pensive look comprising your features.

a hand cups the back of your head, bringing you close enough for your lips to hover his, still glossy in faint syrup. " nope~!" his proceeding laugh was cut short as he closed the distance again, the ache to kiss you too profound. and with you seated on his lap, he utilized the given opportunity greedily.

you resist the urge to gasp when his tongue swipes along your lower lip, with it the tinge of a fleeting flavor; you recall watching him eat something sweet and sugary in the morning.

he smiles against your mouth, savoring your reactions and attempting to draw out the kiss. " that's definitely strawberry," you contemplate.

ranpo whines when you withdraw, grip tightening against your hands in a stubborn display - it was perhaps the most desperate response you've gotten from him that evening. " are you lying?" you tease with a knowing look; you don't think you've ever seen him shake his head as vigorously as he did now.

" i think," he brushes the corners of your mouth, fingers settling against your chin. "you'll just have to kiss me until you get it right."

the possibility to ponder a response was stolen from you, swelling lips already chasing your own with renewed zeal. dumbfounded, you were naive to the abandoned slice of shortcake just a couple tables away. but by the time you discover it, your little game would be long forgotten.

✿

his childish demeanor often seeps through into his portrayal of affection, fond of sweeping you off your feet at the displays(and at times quite literally too)

it varies in forms; one day he can slump against you like a koala, grip like a vice. and the next he decides to randomly squish your cheeks and bring a kiss to your puckered lips

" ranpo-?!" you sputter, disoriented from sudden and hasty movement. you recall looking over some documents, the next you were gazing into wide green orbs and a nose bumping yours. a self-satisfied look curls on his face, relishing in the way your face fumes beneath his touch.

" surprise~"

" what was that for?"

" just wanted a kiss." he evades the hand on your cheek in favor of curling your bangs around his finger. " i'll come back for more."

he's shameless, unafraid and bold. perhaps not to a similar depth as dazai, but ranpo yields an unpredictability that easily leaves you mellowing in his ministrations

blows raspberries on your cheeks and palms just to coax a laugh from you. it's a reaction he can't help but mimic too and implores you with a "my turn!" while tapping his cheek expectantly.

has probably nibbled on your cheeks at some point too…. :/

likes to hold your hand, slipping it into space randomly and nonchalantly. he sticky like that; appearing from thin air and finding your hand trapped with his.

even better if you sit on his lap or vice versa

when you sleep, he lays on top of you because he doesn't want you to leave him alone. plus! it provides him the perfect advantage to pepper his lips on your collarbone or other patches of expose skin

goodnight kisses (and nap kisses) are a must and he turns greatly fussy when denied such "necessities" as he puts it

✿

" i'm only going to get a glass of water," you reassure him, sweeping his messy bangs aside to press a kiss to his forehead. the crease between his brows goes slack, but his grip remains fixed; it was late, and the last thing ranpo wanted was for you to leave your spot on the futon. " i promise."

his eyes surveyed your face for an inexplicable answer and the fidgeting of his fingers against your forearms tells you he's hesitant.

a silence shrouds the dorm before he speaks again, voice weakened and resigned - it almost made you want to stay in bed with him, enveloped by the unspoken words and his endless aura of affection. " okay." you trace your finger over his cheek, pallid and smooth beneath the pad - the gesture was persuasive enough for his grip to grow lax. he didn't let you get too far yet however, an outstretched pinky waiting before you. he bestows you a broaden grin when you accept it, pressing a kiss to the tip of the adjoin digits.

he doesn't leave your side even as you fix yourself a glass of water, your shared blanket haphazardly draping his shoulders and trailing behind him. he lingers by your arm even as the facet runs, interrupting his thoughts with tired green blinking in impatience. and he watches you through his bangs as you replenish your thirst, already looping your arm and guiding you back to your futon.

not a second after your head meets the pillow, ranpo wraps himself around you, dawning a smile now that you're back with him. he didn't care if his elbow was probed at an odd angle, he just wanted to be as close to you as possible.

" you can't fall asleep yet!" he whines, pulling on the sleeves of your shirt languidly. " it's only fair if you give me a kiss."

" i gave you one earlier."

his gaze shifted to a mixture of displeasure and yearning, small hands pulling eagerly on the fabrics of your clothes. his pleading green eyes made it hard to resist his demands, obscuring into a candid vulnerability you seemingly wielded over him.

" but," ranpo leans close enough for his nose to brush yours, messy fringe framing his sleepy face. his hands flex around your palms, nails scuff on the contours, voice going so low you almost didn't hear him. " i can't fall asleep without it."

✿

pinches your cheeks when in vie for your attention. in any case, he isn't against stomping his foot and whining as a last resort :<

his pout dissipates when you grant him with a collection of kisses or allow him to sit on your lap, fiddling with the ends of your hair or scribbling random phrases on your thigh that he makes you guess

i wouldn't put it against him to randomly jump into your arms or back. the questioning glances he receives hardly impedes him, instead murmuring an "i miss you," into your shoulder. he quivers in your arms when you comb your fingers through his hair, eyes squeezed shut in an air of bliss.

when it comes to deep embraces, he nestles against you akin to a cat, hands pawing wherever he can reach with greedy intent. and that cloak of his can easily encompass the pair of you, performing as a makeshift den of sorts. it feels like your enclosed own little world with him pressing kisses along your face like a butterfly

ranpo is attentive, all too familiar with your habits including the ones you don't cognitively account for. he notes the way you fidget with your fingers, and increasingly it came to be with his fingers you grew fidgety with. if you have a habit of tugging your sleeve, it's not your sleeve you're tugging on anymore but his instead.

he comes to recognize these patterns and responds in kind either with a squeeze to your clasped hand or tapping against your skin in a form of code.

has love hearts in his eyes when you offer to feed him. if he's feeling kind, he'll reciprocate the gesture, though, often at the expense of getting something he wants.

napkins are overrated, kissing off the crumbs or using his thumb are so much more favorable alternatives to him

" say ah~"

you cocked a brow as sugar became smeared on your lip - hardly helped by the titter coming from him. ranpo's persistence was tenacious and the myriad of his treats proved to be bottomless. you weren't sure how many treats you've been fed at that point but it's evident the former found enjoyment from the coddling as evidence of his dimpled smile.

ranpo offers you another confection, a velvety cookie glazed in congealed frosting. when you indulgently take a bite, the filling melts in your mouth and the taste of vanilla floods your taste buds.

" it's good right?" he gives you a smile as he observes your face, brightening when you react positively. " i got them just for you. i knew they were your favorite."

he suddenly pauses, eyes fixating toward your direction. he pays little heed to the look you send him, not when his gaze centers south; that should have been your first sign to up and leave - you want to blame his bribery of treats for your reason to stay.

" you got crumbs all over your face," he said, eyes squinting. while his tone was gentle with a trace of mirth, the way his eyelashes batted innocently at you alluded otherwise. ranpo always held a resurgent glimmer in his eyes, one that he couldn't blink away easily.

he hastily stops you before you could grab a napkin to dapple it away, residing to instead run his thumb along the corners of your mouth. the deliberate proximity catches you off guard and given how his lips shift into a faint smirk; that was exactly the reaction he was hoping to coax.

" much better," he leans back but not without pressing a peck to your nose first.

he plucks out another cookie - and much to your surprise doesn't eat it down right away. more accurately, he crudely cracks it half, revealing an abundance of sugary filling hidden within the confines. without a hint of hesitation, he dips a finger into the cream frosting and messily swatches it against his mouth.

his dimpled smile doesn't leave him for a second even as he slots in front of you directly. his pink cheeks and light stutter chipped away at his facade but his green eyes and lips pulled into a firm beam remained confident.

you almost detested the way it was infectious otherwise you would have rolled your eyes.

ranpo reached out to cup your cheeks, waiting. " it's only fair you do it back, okay?"

—ATSUSHI

he holds a lot of hesitation when it comes to enacting anything physical and it shows.

modest, never performing any actions without your explicit consent. even so he exercises slow movement and allows you the opportunity to withdraw if you so desire.

he follows you around a lot though, seeking comfort from being your presence

it shows in the way he inches himself closer to you when you're in the general vicinity. in the way he glances at you for confirmation before lacing fingers. in the way he scoots his chair to close just so his thigh is just slightly nudging yours.

he questions how you're able to be so composed even with something as minimal as brushing clothed skin because inwardly he's going abrack and he can't focus on anything else

" atsushi are you listening to what i'm saying?" your voice broke him from his stupor, head perking up

in the following moment he could do nothing more than let out a nervous laugh, eyes fluttering in companion of scarlet cheeks. " ye- i… erm.. can you repeat that please?"

actually him -> (〃´𓎟`〃)

his favorite physical attributes about you are your hands, i think! they're so strong, and it fits into his perfectly <3 he can spend an hour just tracing the lines along your palm and appreciating the details

as such he's a hand holder as well. he shyly links his pinky with yours before gradually lacing the rest of the digits. when he looks at the joined limbs, it's like a shot of comfort runs right through him.

✿

you often catch him peering at you in the corner of his eyes, mosaic of yellows and purples squinting in intrigue. presently, his hands go clammy, fidgeting against his pants at a random manner; it was a common gesture of his, one that didn't go by unnoticed by you.

" something wrong?" he eases up a bit at the sound of your sincere tone.

" no, not at all," he gives off a nervous laugh, hand scratching the back of his neck. too far into his nerves, he failed to to recognize how the area became chafed. " i was just wondering," he paused, lips shaped into a bashful smile. " can i… hold your hand?"

atsushi didn’t have a mirror on him but he doesn't doubt that his face can put tomatoes to shame.

fortunately, the stiffened muscles on his back go slack at the giggle you release, a nervous chuckle pouring from himself. the erratic beat of his heart meanwhile, resumed its ricochet against his sternum, blood pounding on the lobe of his ear.

"you don't have to be so hesitant about holding my hand, 'sushi." you accentuated the statement by dipping your palm to take his.

it's evident he takes your words to heart, as next time he wordlessly hooks his index finger with yours before properly weaving the rest of the appendage. it was like a perfect puzzle, he reckoned and he gave his head the faintest tilt to gaze at it.

without realizing it, he rolls his thumb over the knuckles, savoring the exchange and the sensation of your fingertips on his. you haven't even spoken a word and already, his heart fills immensely full.

and if you pay attention, you may even catch him grinning at the presumably courageous gesture he mustered himself to do. his clammy palms tell you he's nervous, but it's hard to resist him when he's genuinely trying so hard.

✿

when he does garner the confidence however, he holds his hand out for everything; helping you out of the car(princess treatment w him tbh!), guiding you to bed when you're really sleepy, or when he just needs to be in some form of contact with you. he may even take it a step and pepper some kisses on the knuckles or rub the joints

moving his hand along your back when you're having a bad day of sorts. he may even resort to drawing shapes or random designs with the back of his nail as he listens to all your troubles

whenever your face scrunches up he kisses the pinched muscle until it goes loose again.

" there's that smile." he pushes aside his diffidence for your sake, cupping your cheeks before pressing kisses along your cheeks.

for himself, he finds a sort of reprieve by lying down on your lap. the moment his head makes contact with your thighs is like instant relaxation for him.

and all he can pay attention to afterwards is the sensation tickling his ribs and the way you mindfully took his roots within your fingers.

he seeks stability in such actions; his deep exhale occupying your dorm and meandering with the dust particles that float around him. he doesn't even realize how he's nuzzling closer into your body, eyes squeezing shut when you favor his scalp for a few seconds.

if he could purr, he would

kissing the tips of your fingers and hugging you from behind ♡

its the best form of affection he could ask for when he comes home groggy and sore from work

✿

" i'm home." exhaustion claws at his voice, movements stiff and sluggish as he strips of his tie and other accessories. his eyes surveyed the area, searching until…

a pop of familiar hues sweep into his vision. it revitalizes just enough energy to sustain a pair of open eyes, belied to the fatigue housed prior.

" welcome home, 'sushi." you greet with a smile he couldn't help but mimic even as the muscles in his body disagreed with it.

your mouth moves to mumble something else, but the words become intelligible to his ears. he was more far more concerned in slumping into the crevice of your shoulder, head falling into familiar position.

" miss you," he murmurs, rubbing his cheek against you, affectionate as ever. his hands wander down to your waist, finding the hemline. perhaps his growing daze subdued his rationality, for his hands slipped beneath, pinky faintly hitting skin.

" let's go." you gently tugged on his arm, intending to guide him to your futon; you only managed a couple steps before his grip went firm. almost uncharacteristically. when you turn your head, your met with a pair of fluttering lashes gazing at you - droopy but in its reflection was an intangible touch of fondness.

" this is fine," he brushes his lips to your cheek. the gesture was sloppy but enough to rekindle a grin on your face. " just want you here."

his finger sprawled against your stomach, heart hastening when you leaned back into him. he took the opportunity to douse himself in your comfort, relishing when you brush your fingers past his ear and scratch along his head.

he feels himself sink more when your nail caught a certain spot, just lateral to his head.

if it weren't for your voice breaking the silence, he would have surely fallen asleep at that moment.

" i'm right here," you murmur. " go ahead and rest." he wasn't sure how those words could weigh heavily on him as it did and also provide him the lull to drift off to sleep. but it didn't matter. the real thing is so much better than he can ever imagine.

✿

when you cuddle together, he prefers to settle with his hand or head where your heart should be. the thumping is so reassuring, especially when his insecurities pipe up. he needs to know you're still there :(

on the days he can't sleep, he finds himself playing with your fingers: gently flexing the joints and counting the knuckles

he's docile at anything routley intimate; fuming a pair of uncomfortably hot cheeks and legs reduced to jelly. his words often come in the form of stutters and slurred syllables, the slightest of touches jolting him.

his actual kisses though are gentle and considerate, favoring areas such as your hands and cheeks.

in contrast, the drawn-out gestures are hesitant at first. when it came to the first kiss, he had to swallow down his nervousness.

" did i do okay?" he inquires, eyeing your countenance. he feels a crash of relief when a grin curves on your lips and in turn he flashes you a dazzling amiable smile.

"good." he nods at that, removing the space again with the intentions of lengthening it and making it better than the last. good was fine, but he wants perfect when it came to you

when atsushi gets a taste of what physical affection can be like; pecks at his face, squeezing your hand and spooning you close - he's hooked. and he wants more, becoming akin to an insatiable pit. and it's profound.

he yearns for more kisses and lingering embraces that set his nerves aflame. he yearns to be closer to you until it was just impossible.

it also spurs a part of him(and in consequence of his ability as well) a yearning to leave some markings along your skin. he tries to be considerate in where he places it, but he himself is awful at hiding his own blemishes.

✿

a shaky expression drops on his face, the faint pink on his cheeks deepening to a cherry blush. he wasn't familiar to having your lips press beneath his chin, outlining the thrum of his throat - you could feel it's cadence whenever he sharply exhales, in pair of his palpitating heart.

even within his daze, atsushi remained cautious to not sink his nails into your shoulders. in comparison, he fails to suppress his shudder when your lips brush against a particular spot, air knocked from his chest.

when you glance up at him, his face contorts into a form of raw desperation, tugging onto your clothes until you were just shy of his mouth. meekly, he tries to not linger his gaze on your lips as you spoke; " is this fine?"

it's like you're teasing him, puffy magenta lips gawking at him and he wants nothing more than to kiss you again.

" it is." from the corner of his eye he could make out the faint reds that probed from his clothes hemline, dotting along his collarbone like swatches of paint. he doesn't think he'll ever grow use to it, filling him with an exhilaration he reasons can't be replicated elsewhere.

" i like it actually." his eyes squeezed shut in an effort to steady the eruption of red on his cheeks but it did little to quell his racing heart when you cupped his face, pressing a kiss to his mouth.

" i'm glad, you look handsome like this."

his smile reaches his eyes. "you look pretty too." his nails dug into his palms in an effort of restraint as he returns the gesture in kind.

I was originally hoping to include fyodor but this was so long already. w/ him (& unfinished) it would be 8k words. I rlly want to do version for sigma and akutagawa too. ty boxing fyodor anon 4 enabling my behavior TwT

these have so much room for improvement but I've fiddled around with it sm (๑′°︿°๑). if this doesn't leave the drafts now, it never will. I'll fix mistakes laterrr

taglist; @eynnwwyjth @anqelically @seisitive @iheartpieck @seiiblue @averagebsdwatcher @solandiss @4nthonyyliving @guacamole-roll @sunnyx07

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beardedjoel · 7 months

Text

smother - part iii: compliance

dark!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: the deeper you fall into his trap, the further you start to lose a sense of what you really want. 10.4k words chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI! noncon, nonconsensual touching, dubcon - reader eventually enthusiastically consents but the syndrome is stockholming so its dubcon, coercion, reader is a virgin, big juicy age gap (reader is 19, joel is 55), ddlg (no infantilization of reader) daddy!dom joel is coming out to play this chapter, fingering, handjob, joel's corruption kink confirmed here, joel is both mean (hurts reader briefly) and sweet once again, if these darker tags aren't your cup of tea please keep scrolling! a/n: oh we're SO back with some smut this chapter! this story has me pushing my own limits on creativity and stuff and that has really been rewarding so far, i love it and i love dark!joel. anyhoooo please enjoy my lovelies 🤍 reminder i have no taglist anymore! follow @beardedjoel-updates and turn on notifs for when i post there!

It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay…

Joel’s words echo in your ear from where they were whispered moments ago as he pressed himself into you from behind, urging you up the stairs towards his bedroom. One hand gripped firmly on your upper arm, the other on the small of your back, fingers exploring along your bare skin. You turn back once more with worried, widened eyes as you reach the top of the steps and he presses against you again, nearly pushing you.

“I got ya, sugar” he says quietly, stopping for a moment to nuzzle into your neck before pushing you along. The new pet name he’s trying out makes you blink a few times, half liking the sweet implication. His deep breath in and out tickles your skin and you suddenly feel itchy from his facial hair scratching there. Panic claws its way up from your stomach, suddenly unsure of everything, like you’re just snapping out of the stupor you were in from Joel’s lips.

Joel had made you feel good downstairs just moments ago, giving you that first, unforgettable kiss. It was so much more hungry and wet and passionate than you’d ever envisioned a kiss being, and it made you feel even more anxious that you truly were out of your depth here.

You’ve managed in your fog to pad your way to Joel’s bedroom with him close behind you, his heat seeping into your skin, his body close enough to morph right into yours. He spins you immediately to face him and starts to kiss you again the moment you’re inside his bedroom. After just a moment of surprise, you fall right back into it, his tongue dancing a perfect rhythm against yours and you whimper and moan quietly. You find your body wanting to be closer closer closer to him so you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers grazing right against the curls at the base of his neck.

Joel pulls back to smile down at you, a wicked thing as his eyes glint before he dives back in. He’s devouring you, hands all over your body as if he doesn’t know which spot to get enough of next. He’s suddenly lifting you up, large palms spread underneath your thighs as he hoists you up against him, carrying you so that you don’t have a chance to stop him from bringing you to his bed.

That same bed you’d seen him just hours earlier, the moment that had started this fucked up chain of events you’d fallen into.

“There we go, jus’ relax,” Joel coos as he lays you down flat, your head right against the mattress. He climbs on top of you, trapping you completely before his lips smash into yours again. He’s taking now, giving you no room to push back or speak as his tongue laps into your mouth over and over, hearty groans escaping him. Sounds that a famished man makes eating his favorite meal. It makes you shudder, the way you’ve started to feel like his meal, like something he could just enjoy and toss away the scraps he leaves afterwards.

“Christ, so fuckin’ innocent, sugar. I’ll teach you so many things to do w’that tongue,” he comments slyly after you hesitantly try to use your tongue in the same way as he was. Joel’s lips drag down your chin to your neck and start to suck on various spots, a little soft at first to test you but more hurried and rough the longer he goes. His body grinds against yours a bit and you lay back, feeling breathless. Your body burns and burns as he marks you and moves against you, your thighs aching all the way to the apex.

You squirm a little bit, a foreign discomfort completely taking over, and Joel pulls back to look down at you. He strokes the side of your head from your forehead all the way back, looking at you with warmer eyes.

“Gonna be okay, I’ll show ya how good you can feel…” he murmurs as his fingers start to trace along your bottom lip. “Now I’m gonna peek at a little more of ya,” he announces before sliding down your tense body, straddling your legs before hooking his fingers in your sweatpants. They’re down and shoved off your legs before you can even process it, leaving you in just a pair of plain white panties. His eyes roam up every inch of your body, white heat flickering low in your belly at the way Joel looks at you.

“Now that’s a sight…” He smirks, sliding his hands up your thighs to rest on your hips, treating each spot he touches with a new reverence. You’ve started to tremble a little, the chilly air biting at you along with this vulnerable feeling, being so exposed.

“Y-you like the way I look?” you ask tentatively, having to clear your throat from lack of use. Your sudden urge for validation from him strikes you hard and you silently curse yourself.

Joel smiles at the unexpected question from you and gives you a singular nod. “‘Course I do. You’re real beautiful, sweetheart. ‘Specially like this.” His eyes land between your legs as he says the last words, licking his lips out of habit. He slinks up next to you, laying close to you and wrapping an arm around you, enveloping you in everything Joel.

“Now don’t ya feel safe here like this? Got me right here holdin’ you, gonna make it all okay.”

You just nod, swallowing the anxious lump in your throat. “I’m… just scared…” you admit, willing your cheeks to stop burning hot with all the emotions swirling around inside of you. Desire, embarrassment, discomfort, doubt - all mixing up to create a disastrous thundering of your heart inside of your chest.

“Baby, nothin’ to be scared of…” Joel coos, kissing your shoulder and peppering them across the top of your chest as he leans over your body.

“You’re not gonna hurt me?” you wonder aloud. You’d heard stories through the grapevine of other girls - fearful stories of pain or blood that had nearly revolted you at the time, made you almost glad there were no men paying that type of attention to you just yet. You’d always hoped they were just exaggerated tales, and you suppose you’re finally about to find out for yourself.

“I’ll be honest, sweet girl. This might hurt a little bit. Just ‘cause it’s your first time.” His lips suckle at the swell of your breast and you squirm a little, back arching into it as your breath hitches. You try to focus back on his words as his lips move an inch and do the same motion, a gentle sucking so close to your nipple now that you nearly puff your chest in his direction, hoping his mouth will land there next.

“But it’s such a special kind of love a man can show ya on your first time, darlin’. Get to have all of you…” he muses, his warped excitement becoming more palpable by the second, filling the room and stifling the air. “I’ll be gentle,” he adds on as he sees another spark of fear on your face.

“You’ll be gentle…” you repeat quietly, squeezing your eyes shut in some type of silent prayer. You feel the needle-like prickle of tears behind your eyes again, begging yourself to do anything but cry right now. You dig your nails deep into your palms, squeezing your fists tight to keep the pain there instead of burning deep in your stomach where it’s settled.

How can you be this close to all of it and still so unsure? Would you ever be sure? Or is this how everyone feels during their first time?

Joel finally pops one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking harder while his hand plays with your free nipple, rolling it between his fingers. You cry out at the unexpected sensation and wriggle your body, only to be held down a little harder by Joel.

“Mm-mm,” he hums, “No squirmin’ away.” His mouth quickly finds a home on your breasts again as you try to still your body, not wanting to make him upset. You’d seen how he behaved when he was upset with you, and it was not something you found yourself wanting to repeat.

”Pretty little nipples, sweetheart,” Joel says, talking at your chest while he flicks his tongue on the hard bud, unrelenting in his tasting of your sweet, supple skin. “Look at ‘em all day if I could. Half a mind to have you walk ‘round w’your tits out all the time.” He chuckles dryly before he sucks again, a little harder and you bite back the gasp that sticks in your throat at the jolt of pleasure it sends rocking through your body. “You’d do that f’me, wouldn’t you? Jus’ to get a little of ‘ol Joel’s attention?”

His words make you itchy, almost, in a strange, foreign way, one that’s hard to explain even to yourself. Like you want to crawl out of your skin, yet want to hear his words over and over, hear more of the things he sees in you, would want from you. You’d never found yourself to be someone with much to offer anyone, really, and hearing Joel already find so much to dote on is inflicting you with the most unexpected addiction you could have imagined.

You feel Joel’s fingers squeeze your chin suddenly, your eyes flicking open to glance down at him. “Answer me when I’m speakin’ to you,” Joel says softly despite the commanding tone of his words.

“I - yes,” you answer, tripping over the single word as you push it out in a hurry.

“Good girl,” he murmurs in response, leaning up to peck a kiss on the spot on your chin he’d been gripping. “Now you’re gonna let me make you feel good, ain’t ya? Let me treat you like a princess, show you what all the other men shoulda done but were too dumb. Chance with a pretty girl like you,” he rambles with a little scoff. “All meant f’me, anyways.” His conclusion seems to satisfy him as he grins, taking in your body with a hot gaze, lingering at the base of your stomach where his hands are itching to go. He doesn’t wait for your answer this time, sliding his hand right down, skillfully touching your soft skin the entire way.

Joel’s fingers start to trace the band of your panties, that satisfied grin still plastered on his face as he watches your reactions - your little sharp inhales and small twitches of your face as you feel him exploring your body. His eyes can’t help but drift down to watch your chest heave, pert tits on display and abused, hard nipples poking out into the air. He has a tempting thought to spend his entire night with his face buried right there, but he has more pressing matters to get to, he reminds himself as he feels his cock twitch inside his jeans.

He suddenly sighs as he pads the outside of your underwear, his face nearly pained looking in his ecstasy. “You’re soaked f’me, sugar,” Joel says, breathless. You feel yourself flush hot, your cheeks burning, thinking this has to be something to be embarrassed about, something that shows your lack of experience and your fear.

“‘S not a bad thing,” Joel tells you quickly, seeming to read your mind yet again. He doesn’t stop, his fingers teasing the fabric that starts to seep onto his digits. “Means you like all this, means your body is tellin’ us you’re ready.”

“Oh,” you say flatly, feeling dumb for not having much better to say. “I- uh, are you going to do it now, then?”

Joel chuckles, a genuine sound ringing through the quiet room, like he’s amused. “Christ,” he breathes out, swirling his fingers along the fabric, making your hips jump as he brushes your bundle of nerves. “You’re too cute, so perfect f’me. I get to teach you everythin’.”

Your brain can barely register his words, too focused on that little spasm that had just rocked its way through your body when Joel’s fingers touched along that sensitive spot. You blink, biting your lip as his fingers tease everywhere but there, silently urging him to brush there again.

Joel huffs another laugh watching your contorted, concentrated face. “Already fucked out, can’t think about nothin’ but these fingers, huh?” he teases you, amusement lacing his voice. His fingers make a tight circle over your clothed clit and you inhale sharply through your teeth, stifling a little noise from deep in your chest. “That what you wanted? Jus’ desperate f’me to touch your clit, sugar?”

You shake your head, completely overwhelmed by the absurdity of this feeling. “I don’t - I don’t…” you murmur, trying to convince yourself for what feels like the final time that you don’t want any of this. That you don’t feel an amoral, wicked pull towards this man that you shouldn’t - this man who has treated you like prey, is far too old to be interested in you, who by all accounts should be sending you fighting and running. A man you know likely has debased plans for you that you can barely even conjure up in your own mind, but plans that you are slowly realizing you want to be a part of, are curious about.

His care, his touch, his infatuation. They could all be yours, if you’d let him.

“Think you do… look at you, innocent little thing. Wrestlin’ w’yourself. Nothin’ wrong happening here, honey.”

You look to his dark eyes, seeking guidance, reassurance. “I-it’s not? I feel so…” You can’t put any of it into words for him, how intense the feeling is, how badly your body is craving something that you don’t know anything about yet. How dirty you feel for wanting it with him.

He shakes his head slowly to try and convince you. “Mm-mm. I feel it too, sugar. ‘S jus’ attraction, desire. Makes you burn all hot in here, don’t it?” he asks, cupping your aching, wet cunt through your panties. You gasp at the fullness of his hand against your throbbing folds while you nod fervently, taking in a deep breath to steady yourself as his fingers curl and then drag up your clothed slit. Your head arches back a little and you let out a tiny mewling sound through closed lips. Your mind muddles instantly, eyes rolling back as he repeats the motion, this time letting his fingers trail off to the edge of your panties, teasing the hem there.

“Thas’ it, let yourself enjoy it, princess. Let daddy take care of you.”

He’s barely controlling himself now, his breath heavy against your neck as he starts to move with more urgency, teeth scraping against your delicate skin. Your brow furrows quickly at the new reference to himself but his teeth sink into your flesh with a soft nip, pulling your mind back to the present.

“You’re gonna like this,” he murmurs quietly into your skin as his fingers fiddle one final time at your waistband before wiggling under, diving deep and sliding his fingers right into your wet slit.

“Oh… m-my, g-“ you whimper as quietly as you can when he slips them back and forth a few times, brushing your clit on each one, gathering up a lewd amount of slickness on his fingers. He spreads your wet folds delicately, feeling his way around almost respectfully, desperate breaths puffing out of his nose.

“Poor baby… soakin’ yourself this whole time… never even knowin’ how good you could feel, how much y’need a cock in here,” Joel says, sounding truly devastated for you. His brazen language makes your head spin and your cheeks flourish with warmth. And then it finally happens - his fingers swirl over your clit again.

You cry out loud this time, unable to hold it back when his circling tightens and he puts more pressure down on the aching little bud. The heat from between your legs starts to spread to your lower belly, pulling taut and warm as it settles there.

“Oh…” you murmur, back arching when Joel adds a second finger to the motion. Your legs shake a little as they lay flat on the bed, knees starting to bend of their own volition to help your hips start to wriggle closer to his touch. You stutter out another moan when his fingers press harder, the feeling shooting what feels like sparks through your entire bloodstream, straight to your head. You’re foggy, thoughts clouded over as everything else starts to fade out. Your mind pinpoints on Joel’s touch, practically seeing just his fingers in your mind's eye and the sensation that’s quickly boiling in your core, tightening with each movement he makes.

“Yeah, feelin’ so good ain’t you princess?” Joel coos with a grin, making his movements a little faster. “First one to touch this little clit, first one to see ya like this, writhin’ around like an animal in heat. God…” He marvels at your microexpressions, the contortions of your body, the way he can see you’re holding back, not wanting to seem too eager.

“Let go, sweetheart. Be loud f’me. Be loud f’daddy,” Joel urges you, eyes practically bugging out of his head as he sees you start to sheen a little with sweat, your body hot and tingling next to him. He smirks as he slips a finger down, eliciting a desperate cry from you when it leaves your clit to tease your entrance.

“D-daddy…” you start, meaning it as more of a question, wanting to understand what he’s getting at, but it trails off into a pathetic little cry when the tip of his index finger pushes into you unexpectedly.

Joel has died and gone to heaven, if his expression is any indication as he breathes out shakily, hardly in control of his actions at this point. “Thas’ right, thas’ right, princess. Call out f’me while I’m inside ya.”

“F-fuck,” you let slip out. “Y-you’re inside?” you ask him in slight disbelief that it’s really happening. You go completely breathless as he starts to play with your clit again, using his thumb to flick urgently there while he lets his finger settle inside of you.

Joel wriggles his finger deeper, burying his index finger almost to the hilt as he nods, turning your head with his free hand to make sure you’re looking at him.

“Naughty little thing, cursin’ cause daddy made you feel that good.” He smirks, letting you sweat it out for another moment before answering your question in a softer voice, almost sweet and caring. “‘M inside, sugar. Feels so fuckin’ good, too. Perfect, tight little hole all f’me.”

You’ve become a trembling mess, the fullness from Joel’s finger overwhelming you. The tingling warmth spreads to your belly from where he starts to move his finger, slowly at first.

“Yeah, there we go, takin’ me so well,” Joel mumbles as you relax around his finger, pressing in and out in sloppier motions. You gasp when his finger presses in to the hilt, then he repeats it over and over, filling you up. Your hips twitch and grind a little into him, into the feeling of his thumb flicking carefully at your clit.

“O-oh…” you whimper out, gushes of warmth coating Joel’s finger, running down onto his hand. He grunts an approving noise as he feels the way your body pours out slickness for him. This is pure heaven, he concludes to himself, nothing in the world could be sweeter than the feeling of taking this from you and getting so much in return.

“Christ, you are perfect,” he says near your ear. “This okay, princess?”

You just give him a nod, barely able to speak as your entire body starts to feel warmer and drawn tight, Joel’s finger on your clit moving at an achingly slow pace.

“Gonna feel somethin’ for just a second, mkay?” he says quietly, not bothering to clue you in any further before retreating his index finger and snuggling his middle finger right next to it, inserting them both into your weeping entrance.

Joel breathes a sigh, the air fanning across your bare chest. “Mmm, so tight, baby. Thas’ it, just focus right on me,” he says as your eyes open wide and look right into his. You feel the burn from his second finger, so thick and wide in comparison, your body adjusting to the new sensation.

“J-joel…” you whimper quietly when he starts to move them with more force, your brow furrowing with the strange mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Y’need to relax, c’mon,” he urges, using his free hand to rub gentle circles on your shoulder. “Promise we’ll get you feelin’ real good, sweetheart. We gotta get you all stretched out to fit all ‘f me.” He rubs a soothing hand on your shoulder with his free one, shushing you when he sees the look of worry on your face.

“Jus’ enjoy it.”

His words echo in your mind as you start to fully embrace all the sensations. You feel a burning heat in your core start to radiate, pulling tight, so tight it’s nearly maddening before your hips shift the tiniest bit and find your release, the tightness completely snapping from one moment to the next.

“Oh my god… oh my god… oh…” you cry out, feeling yourself starting to shake, your entire body ravaged by oncoming waves and waves of pleasure.

“Look at me when you come, princess,” Joel says sternly as he grasps your face, turning your head in his direction. You slowly creep your eyes open and see his dark pools full of a sense of smugness and wonder. “God, fuck, that’s good, keep comin’ f’me,” he breathes out, feeling your slick pouring out onto his hand as you come.

You’ve never felt so amazing in your entire life, the only thought you can think is more more more as you moan loudly, any shame in doing so long gone when you feel this incredible. White heat envelops you, sending your vision speckled and your back arching off the bed completely, your hips spasming down to where Joel sloppily yet expertly fucks you with his fingers. You grip at the sheets with one hand, Joel’s shirt with the other, squeezing them both to try to hang on to reality.

“Good girl, good little girl… god you’re pretty when you come,” Joel says, talking you through it. His fingers are merciless until the last second, when your hips drop to the bed with a sudden thud, your entire body limp, only your hips jumping with a need to get away from the overstimulation.

“Oh, that was a big one, now, wasn’t it?” Joel asks softly, pulling his hand from between your legs and resting it on your thigh, his other still soothing on your cheek. Your eyes flutter and roll back as you catch your breath, trying to wrap your mind around what just happened.

“Uh-huh…” you murmur dazedly, your hand still resting on Joel’s chest after letting go of his shirt.

Joel peppers your face with soft, loving kisses, finally reaching your lips and kissing you deeper. You’re lost, somewhere in another dimension completely, kissing him back without any knowledge of doing so. The warmth of his lips starts to bring you back and you flutter your eyes open as he pulls back.

“Y’did real good. How’d that feel, huh, sugar?” Joel inquires, looking down at you expectantly.

“S-so… good… I can’t explain…”

“Mhm, I know what ya mean,” he replies sweetly, “Hard to explain, jus’ all that pleasure. Loved makin’ you feel that good, honey.” Joel leans in to kiss your cheek, using his hand to tilt you towards him and plants another kiss on your lips. You moan quietly, body overstimulated and exhausted, the now empty space between your legs aching and tingling for him.

You roll your head back onto the pillow, unable to respond. Joel places a hand over the one of yours that rests on his chest and rubs his thumb over the back.

“Gonna make you feel like that all the time,” he says with an oddly devoted, sweet tone, leaning down and surprising you with another kiss. Your eyes open again and he’s looking at you with that look again. “So much more we could do,” he adds, shifting his smile into something more hungry again.

“Wh-“ you start to ask, and Joel’s finger touches your lip gently. You can taste the remnants of yourself on it - such a strange, foreign flavor that makes you smack your lips a little. Joel’s amusement at your response shows quickly on his face as he traces his finger along your lips with a soft smile.

He starts to sit up and lean back on the bed, sending your hand dropping from his chest, a quick bounce on the mattress before it stills. His hands reach to his waist, fingers working at his belt. You stare, eyes transfixed on his every move as your heart starts to beat more quickly, anxiety flooding your system as you toil over what comes next.

“Ain’t done with you yet, sweet girl,” he mumbles, belt now hanging loose and open while he palms himself outside of his jeans. Your mind races at the prospect of seeing what you saw from afar this morning just this much closer. Joel reads your deer in the headlights expression and smirks, head cocked as he looks down at you, sitting next to you on the bed, knees pushed into the mattress.

You swallow hard, the apparent lump sliding down your throat and it makes your cheeks burn how openly nervous you are. Joel strokes a hand gently down the side of your head before pushing off the mattress and standing next to the edge of the bed.

“Time f’you to see a real man, in all his glory,” Joel says, teasingly, like he knows something you don’t. And he does, you suppose, know a lot of things that you don’t in this regard.

He starts to peel off his jeans, letting them pool by his ankles, belt buckle clanging all the way down before he steps out of them. He has on a pair of dark boxer briefs, hard to tell if they’re black or navy in the fading evening light of his bedroom. All you can focus on is the apparent bulge there, knowing what’s underneath, that shockingly large part of him he’d stroked earlier because of you.

He wastes little time pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his hulking, muscular form, soft yet hard, toned and strong but fleshy and dusted with salt and pepper curls of hair, leading right down to the waistband of his briefs.

Your eyes flick from between his thighs to his face, searching his eyes for any kind of assurance, any kind of assistance in how to act, what to do next. He just remains as cocky as ever, hand grazing the outside of the tented fabric as he stares down at you with hooded eyes.

“You wanna see it, babygirl? Wanna touch daddy’s cock?” He rubs himself a little faster, a tiny growl suppressed in his chest while he awaits your answer. “Know you do, know you’re such a curious girl.”

You unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth and nod, swallowing hard again. “Y-yes, I want to see,” you finally say, meek and shaky, shrinking in on yourself like you’re preparing for a bomb to go off, afraid of what you’re about to witness. In what feels like a flash, his briefs are down on the ground, Joel’s cock springing free almost violently as it slaps against him. You stare for a moment, taking in the way it juts out from his body - rock hard, shiny pink head dripping and veins running along the length of him. You feel speechless, unsure if there’s something you’re supposed to say when a man shows you his penis.

“C’mon a little closer, princess, you can look, s’okay,” Joel says, calm and quiet. “Crawl over here.”

You hesitate a moment and push yourself up on the bed to get on your hands and knees. While it’s not a far distance, just a few paces and you’re to the side of the bed where Joel stands, he revels in the sight of you doing it, his lip caught between his teeth as he gently plays with himself.

“Pretty girl,” Joel murmurs when you reach him, putting his hand along the back of your head and stroking once before holding on to keep you in a position to stare directly at his cock. It’s threateningly large right in your face like this, and you feel yourself shudder a bit as you watch Joel’s free hand gently touching all along the length.

“Now, I want y’to touch it, can you do that, sweetheart?”

You hand hovers, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek as you peer at his member with a lack of confidence.

“C’mon now,” Joel says, grabbing your wrist, moving your stalled, floating hand to his cock, settling your fingers on the head. Your stomach turns with the strangeness of all of this - the way you had given in to him and now felt like it was impossible to go back. Joel is gently nudging your hand, trying to urge you to move, and it brings you back to the present moment where you blink hard and focus on him again.

“Sh-should I do this…?” you ask quietly, letting your fingers graze the head in a swirling motion, unintentionally picking up the beads of precum leaking out and you nearly pull back. Joel chuckles at your brief reaction to the liquid, then nods.

“That’s good, real nice,” he says softly. “Touch it all over now, no need to be shy with me, okay?”

You press your lips together, unable to even look him in the eye due to your strange combination of being flustered and mortified. You can only find yourself staying focused on what you’re doing with your hands, making sure it’s right for him.

“What did I say about answerin’ me when I’m speaking to you?” Joel says a moment later, tugging on your hair to lift your gaze up to his. You wince, wishing he’d be a little more gentle with your scalp, and he sees your expression and only tightens his grip.

“I-I’m s-sorry. Um…” you take a deep breath, trying to calm your quaking hands. “Like this?” you ask him, using your fingertips to glide down the length of his cock, all the way to the base where a patch of thick curls sits. That seems to please him, a kinder smile on his face now when he nods in approval.

“Lean forward and spit right on there f’me,” he says, looking down at you and gesturing between his thighs. “Need to get it nice and wet f’daddy to feel good, okay?”

Your mouth hangs open in a stunted silence, your body unable to move without his assistance right now as he drags your hand along his dry cock. He grunts in exasperation before tugging back on your haIr again, forcing your face into a contorted wince.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, you know that, right? Y’jus’ need a firm hand, baby, helpin’ you figure all this stuff out. So why don’t ya go on ahead and do as I say, sweetheart, hm? It’d make me real happy.” His words are silken, laced with his country accent and that hidden malice he carries within him, every step, every word showing it to you, drawing you in further.

You bow your head a little as he loosens his grip, letting you decide for yourself now. “I-I’m sorry, you’re right, I- uh, d-do need your help,” you whine obediently, feeling your scalp starting to throb a tiny bit.

Joel scratches at your head for a moment, watching you lean down closer to his cock. “Good girl, there ya go.” You can hear him smirking as you tentatively spit on his cock, watching the saliva settled on the top before dripping around the side. “Don’t be afraid, want ya to drool on it, baby, don’t worry ‘bout gettin’ messy.” He nudges your head forward and you breathe out a shaky breath before trying to desperately gather up any amount of saliva your drying mouth will offer you. You open your mouth, letting your tongue hang down before forcing yourself to spit watching more dribble onto the center of his cock.

“Fuck,” Joel grits through his teeth, feeling the sudden warm wetness of your saliva on him. “Thas’ it - f-fuck, now wrap your hand ‘round it,” he commands urgently, immediately negating any need for the words by wrapping his own hand more firmly around yours, sending your fingers curling around his length.

“Look at that, sugar, barely even fit that little hand around me,” he says with an arrogant grin, starting to move your hand in strokes, gathering up all the slickness you’d just provided. The sound starts to reverberate through the room, that same noise you’d heard outside his door earlier.

You’re starting to feel like merely a passenger as he jerks on himself quicker using your hand, sitting in front of him almost completely naked, the real version of what he was picturing this morning as he pleasured himself. Joel smiles even more at the fantasy coming to life right before his eyes, your little panties the only thing he has left to remove before he’s seen all of you. And by god, does he want to see all of you. See what he has no doubt looks just as perfect as it felt around his fingers while he buried them inside of you.

“Take ‘em off,” Joel says as the thought pops into his head, staring down between your legs, his eyes practically glimmering.

“D-do I have to…?” you stammer out, suddenly wishing you could put back on every piece of clothing that’s now scattered between here and the kitchen downstairs.

“Now c’mon darlin’,” Joel snips, frowning a little. His hand continues to jerk yours along a little more aggressively as his breathing picks up. “Jus’ want to see your pretty body, baby girl, thas’ all. It’ll help me feel extra good right here,” he says, squeezing your hand as it moves along his cock.

You reach down and start pulling on the waistband of your panties, a little awkwardly as Joel holds your other hand hostage. You shimmy them down and sit closer to the edge of the bed, where Joel suddenly wraps his arm around your back and pulls you to the edge, leaving your legs dangling off on either side of his knees.

Joel’s hand grips at the side of your face, cupping your cheek less than delicately as he pants out, your hand moving quicker and quicker along his cock. You feel a rush of heat in your body similar to when Joel had been touching you earlier. That arousal cropping up low and deep in your belly, that feeling you want to ignore when it comes to Joel. But looking at him - sheening with sweat, his enticingly soft yet muscular belly right in your face, his face turning a shade more red with effort as he puffs out his quick breaths has you nearly squirming where you sit. It’s intimate, it’s sexual, you realize, something he’s giving to you just as much as you are him.

“Fuck,” he spits out, tugging your hand off his cock and pushing you down with a swift shove to your chest. You fall back to the bed, nearly emotionally wounded when you notice his eyes still raking all over your body.

“Lemme jus’ look at ya, fuck, put your legs up, show me that pretty cunt,” he demands, his hand flying back to his cock to continue stroking it as you prop your legs up on the bed, giving him the view he’s asking for. He groans loudly, deep and guttural as his eyes are glued to your glistening sex, a new slickness dripping out from the way he’s looking at you. You’ve never felt sexy before, desired, and even though the circumstances are never what you’d envisioned, you’re completely enamored with the feeling of it. Already craving more of it.

“Can’t wait to sink my cock into that tight little pussy,” he murmurs to himself, but you feel your entire body tensing at his words, taken by surprise that it might be happening right now.

Joel’s mouth curls in that devious but handsome way to the side as he sees your change in demeanor. “Shh, shh, not yet, sweetheart. Wanna keep you pure jus’ a little bit longer f’me,” he breathes out with a wink in your direction.

Less controlled smacks of his fist against his skin fill the air of the room. You’re practically holding your breath, watching everything unfold as his cock throbs and twitches in his hold. He just watches your innocent, fascinated expressions move over your face and continues smirking down at you.

“One thing at a time for my princess. Take you piece by piece, won’t I?” He seems so pleased to be the decider here, to say what you get, and don’t get. How he controls how he uses your body. It makes his cock throb achingly in his hand, just the thought of it alone. His to use. His to show all the pleasure. His to keep.

He watches your lips, waiting for them to move, to answer his question. “Y-yes…” you whisper meekly. Joel groans at your compliance and his eyes flutter for a moment. He’s so close now. You understand that same feeling that had come over you for the first time not very long ago.

“Yeah, princess, daddy’s gonna come all over you now. Tell me, say it. Say you want daddy to come all over you.” He breathes heavily, little groaning whimpers as he goes harder, his cock angry and red from the way he’s tugging on it. “Say it,” Joel booms out, and you start at the intensity of his voice, curling in on yourself for a moment.

“I- I want daddy to come o-on me… a-all over me,” you say, hoping it’s loud enough for him to hear, that you won’t have to repeat it again. The name slides awkwardly off your tongue, wishing to understand it, make sense of why it made your core tingle for just a moment when you said the words.

“God, bet you do, yes, fuck, daddy’s gonna come now, paint that perfect body with it,” Joel punches out before his hips stutter forward, his hand giving a few jerks as he starts to come hard, the white stickiness splattering onto you - your stomach, your breasts, even where your legs lay open for him to look at as his own personal little show. He heaves as the final bits spill out and he leans his head back, sighing.

“God damn, so good, baby girl. You did amazing,” he coos, climbing onto the bed next to you. He sits while you lay motionless, nearly stunned from what you’d witnessed, the constant reminder of it in the form of his warm liquid dripping along your body.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says more softly, picking up your discarded panties and carefully swiping his mess off of you with them, curling his body close to yours.

“That’s better,” he announces, holding the white cotton up to inspect the way his cum stains them now with a wry smirk. He sets them aside on his nightstand before his hands slip underneath your back and your legs to cradle you, pulling you into his lap. He sits back on the bed, nestling the both of you against the headboard as he settles you across his thighs. “This okay?” he asks, stroking your back.

“Mhm.” You nod quietly and thread an arm around his torso, intertwined under where his arm reaches up to meet you. The movement comes naturally, more than you’d care to admit, wanting to feel loved and cared for right now. You hate the tears that sting your eyes again, like you’re not strong enough to handle something like this, something that adults do.

“S-sorry,” you say, swiping your eyes quickly and trying to avoid any tears falling.

“Shh, don’t be sorry. Y’did such a good job, y’know that? Normal to get emotional if it’s your first time.”

You chew on your lip and then look up at Joel, his features already strangely comforting and familiar. The speckled, tan skin that you want to touch more of, his dark lashes that fall over his eyes when he looks down at you like this.

“B-but it wasn’t… my first time…”

“Sure it was. First time doin’ somethin’ like that. It’s a lot for a sweet girl like you. But you’ll feel good again, just like tonight, I promise ya that.”

You nod, slightly more encouraged by Joel’s words as you relax a little more into his embrace. “That… release… it’s an orgasm, right?” You nearly choke on the words, shame flooding you for even having to ask.

Joel blows out a teasing breath through his nostrils. “God damn, nobody out there teachin’ you anythin’, were they?” He ruffles the back of your head playfully. “Yes, darlin’ that was an orgasm, what both of us experienced.”

You crack a small smile at his teasing and brush your fingers along where they’re resting along his back. “People acted like it was… bad to teach about. My parents, people that looked after me, all of them.” You pause, feeling your face warm with the embarrassment of sharing so much “S-sorry I’m so clueless…”

“No, honey, not clueless. You’re learnin’, and I wanna be the one to teach you everythin’. It…” he inhales deeply, and you see that hunger in his eyes when you glance his way. “It excites me.”

“It does?”

“It’s so sexy, takin’ care of you and lettin’ you learn w’me. You like bein’ sexy, don’t you?” Joel teases, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting it just slightly. Your lips look the most inviting they have as they curve into the most delicate smile, one finally full of lust and confidence.

“I do…” you murmur in response, averting your eyes as you flush yet again. Your body feels warm, bare and pressed against Joel’s naked flesh, his words instantly having an effect on you.

“An’ you should,” Joel says, leaning forward to press his lips to your neck, smattering kisses down the length of it. “Already got me wrapped around your little finger.”

His lips tickle you as his facial hair brushes along you in his fast movements, and you nearly giggle, holding back at the last moment, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing your laugh just yet. You sigh contentedly and lean back into him, fighting a sudden yawn.

“You all tired out?” Joel asks quietly, lips pressed close to your ear. You shiver at the vibrations of his rich timbre and inadvertently snuggle a little closer as goosebumps creep along your skin. Joel rubs your back in response, pulling you in tighter.

You nod, mumbling out a yes and Joel responds by gently rolling you over onto the bed, laying your head on the pillow. He’s curled up to you in an instant, arm thrown over your chest all the way to your arm on the other side, letting his fingers rub there.

“You get some rest, it’s been a big day, huh?”

“It has…” you mumble in reply, hesitantly resting your hand on his arm that covers your chest. It starts to feel like some semblance of normal, cuddling with Joel. You’d never experienced something like this, this closeness.

“G’night,” he mumbles into your skin, kissing it one more time before you notice him going more slack, starting to settle into that dazed, half sleepy state. You look over at him, blinking slowly with a deep tiredness, just watching his face in this calm, non-threatening state. He looks handsome like this, a little vulnerable and sweet, someone you could pretend is holding you right now just so you feel taken care of and cared for. You wish you could read him, trace the weathered lines on his face and find out just who he really is, which version of the many different Joel’s he’s shown you he truly is.

You fall asleep trying to figure it out.

Your eyes flutter open, finding the room still dark. You imagine it has only been a few hours since you fell asleep, but you woke with your stomach aching, hunger tearing through you. You realize the only thing you’ve eaten is the bread and cheese Joel fed you, and it makes your stomach growl again.

Joel has mostly rolled off of you, just an errant hand laid across your upper arm as he sleeps, body sprawled out on the bed. You lay as still as can be for a few moments, checking just how deep he’s sleeping before you slip out of bed, on the prowl for a midnight snack. You don’t think Joel would mind, would he? He’d fed you earlier, promised that part of what he’d do to help you here is to share his provisions with you, keep you full. You spot a knit blanket on the back of a wooden chair in the corner of the bedroom and throw it around your shoulders, shivering as you snuggle your naked body underneath it and relish in the warmth.

It’s dark in the kitchen, but you don’t dare flick on the light, happy to scavenge by way of the small glow from the open refrigerator. You end up tearing off some more of the bread, careful to not take too much from Joel’s provisions. Your eyes drift around the room as you chew happily, taking it in now that you’re here alone, gaze free to roam without any questions from Joel. You stop when you land on your backpack, slumped near the door, and your boots, tucked right where you’d left them when you’d arrived. How was that only yesterday? It feels like an entire lifetime has passed since then. Like you’re a different person than when you’d first entered the threshold of that door, shaking and terrified, barely hanging on. Now… you still weren’t sure where you landed, but you were certainly changed.

Your threadbare coat hangs where Joel must have decided to leave it when you’d taken your shower. All of your things calling out to you, screaming red, like a test that he’d left for you. To test your loyalty, to see your obedience. Everything you’d need to disappear from this cabin, all in one little space. Your heart starts to race, your mouth dry as the bread seems to go sour on your tongue.

You could leave right now, if you wanted. Take your chances. Let fate decide if you’d starve on your own or lead you to a new community - those people in Jackson - who might take care of you. You could learn. You were capable of survival, you knew you were. You could learn to hunt and fish and start fires on your own, to live off the land and not be scared of the hidden horrors of the world. Yes, you could leave right now, escape the uncertainty of Joel’s moods and promises, and learn.

You bite your lip anxiously, eyes in a trance as you stare at your backpack, with it holding the memories of those two weeks on your own where you fought and scraped by and nearly froze to death. You blink and turn your head back towards the fridge. Maybe you aren’t cut out for life on the road. Maybe you’re too soft for it. And maybe some more of that sheep’s cheese doesn’t sound so bad right now.

You open the fridge back up, peering inside to look for that little wrapped package you’d seen Joel pull from earlier. You nearly jump out of your skin when Joel’s voice cuts into the silent room - you’d been too absorbed in your own thoughts to even hear the creak of the old floorboards announcing his movements upstairs.

“The hell’re you doin?” his voice booms out in that controlled, stern tone that makes you want to listen. You whip your head around from where you’re crouched at the fridge, rummaging through it and see Joel stepping off the bottom of the staircase and into the main room. He hasn’t bothered to put anything on, like he was in a rush to see if you were down here, if you’d snuck off in the night. His naked body moves powerfully, muscles on display, and yet all you can focus on is what’s between his legs - his soft cock swinging almost tauntingly as he approaches you with such an angry aura.

“I - I was hungry… starving. I thought I’d -“ you start, teeth clicking together in a fearful grimace as he cuts you off.

“Yeah? Sure you’re not tryna run off again? Ransack my fridge and leave?” He’s already questioning you heatedly, reaching where you stand and slamming the fridge shut behind you and pressing you close to the door.

You scramble in your mind to find the words to make him understand, shrinking in, afraid of what he’s capable of doing to you. “Wh - no, no I was… look at me, I have nothing on, I wouldn’t be running out like this, right?” You gesture down to your body, only draped in the small knit blanket.

“Poor excuse, darlin’,” he sneers, looking down at you. The moonlight spilling in through the kitchen window casts menacing shadows across his rugged face. He narrows his eyes as he waits for you to further dig yourself out of this hole.

“I - I swear it, I haven’t eaten much, remember? J-just that bread and cheese, and I woke up hungry.” You plead and see him soften just enough to want to let up a little bit, but his face hardens again at the last second. You realize he’s scared, the hint of it behind his wild eyes showing for just a moment. He’d really run down here thinking he’d find you gone for good and that had scared him, an emotion you wouldn’t have expected from Joel. He has weaknesses and fears after all.

He steps a little closer and you can feel his cock, now half hard pressing between your legs. You fight the urge to wince, afraid he’s about to press it further.

“Hard to believe w’the way you were runnin’ off earlier. Not desperate to get away from me anymore now that I fucked that little pussy so good w’my fingers? Didn’t jus’ get what you want from me and wanna split?” You can tell he doesn’t even fully believe what he’s saying, he just wants to taunt you, remind you that he’s more powerful, that he holds all of the cards. He grips your cheeks, squishing them together and holding your head steady, inspecting you for another moment, as if he can get the truth out of you just by reading your face. His head leans forward and he holds you in place as he sucks on your neck, pulling your skin between his lips harder and harder. He lets go and keeps himself nuzzled tight to your neck as he speaks.

“Y’don’t do anythin’ like this again without wakin’ me up.” He squeezes your cheeks a little harder before releasing it, keeping his face buried against your neck. “‘S my job to take care of you, remember? Don’t wanna catch you like this again, yeah?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, breathing a sigh of relief. One that’s short lived when Joel pulls another patch of skin into his mouth, using his teeth this time - you feel the slight nibble as he scrapes his teeth on your soft skin and you whimper quietly when it starts to hurt.

“J-joel…” you whine, shifting uncomfortably, the heat of his body so close making you squirm and break out in a sweat.

“No,” he cuts you off, wrapping a hand around your arm and another around your waist, holding you in place. “If you’re here,” he says, stopping to flick his tongue along his recent mark, “You’re gonna refer to me as a few special names goin’ forward, okay? Teach you a little respect towards me.”

“I- I respect you,” you blurt out desperately, your eyes wide and searching the room for anything that might help you get out of this. Joel’s hold is absolute, as you’ve learned several times now. You’re suddenly unsure once again, his frightening behavior reminding you just who you’re living with now. You don’t dare to call him a monster, even in your thoughts, because that would be admitting what you’ve been desperately avoiding. You’re attracted to a monster, inexplicably fixated by him, lured in with his sweet offerings and chance at a new life. Worst of all, you’ve already given yourself over to him, let him drag you further into his clutches.

“You’ve been s-so kind and helpful, you fed me, everything…” you add on in a soft lilt, hoping he takes mercy on you.

He stays silent for a moment, his lips hovering above your skin, only his hot breath fanning across it. “Then show it,” he says in a deep rumble. “You’re gonna call me daddy, sweetheart. ‘Cause I’m here to take care of you. And a good girl always listens to her daddy, doesn’t she?”

He sucks again. Harder this time, the burn and sting shooting out from where he abuses your delicate skin.

“She does…” you choke out.

“That’s right. I’m gonna be your everything, sweetheart. Your daddy, your sir, your master. And when you address me, you’ll address me as such, yeah? Show that you’re mine… show me respect.”

“M-mhm…” you whimper, swallowing with your lips pressed tightly together, the pain of him sucking on your neck after each little speech becoming more and more unbearable. It hurts, but something about the way he’s speaking, the concept of his domination over you, the way you can tell it comes from some completely twisted place of care, sends a warm skittering down your spine. Maybe you’re just as sick as he is if any part of you enjoys this, even the small, deeply hidden bit that seems to be growing with each encounter you have with Joel.

“And when I’m done w’you here tonight,” he murmurs, bringing up a hand to trace his fingers gently along your quickly bruising skin, “You won’t be able to see yourself in the mirror without knowin’ who you belong to. Show everyone who dares lay eyes on my girl that I’ve got you, that I’m the one keepin’ you safe and fed and fucked.”

“Yes… you are…” you whimper out complicitly into a soft cry when he bites your neck again, his hot mouth attaching like his life depends on it.

“So you’re gonna be a good girl, yeah? Behave and listen to daddy’s rules?” He speaks breathlessly, his cock fully hard as he feels the power coursing through his veins, the evidence of it pressing firmly against your thighs. He feels you nod against where he rests his lips, but it’s not enough.

“Say it, princess. Say ‘I’m a good girl, and I’ll behave and listen to daddy’s rules.’”

You gasp as his teeth sink into your flesh, as hard as they’ve gone yet, feeling nearly like they may have drawn blood. “I- I-“ you breathe out, clutching at his arm, digging your nails in. It only spurs him on, his lips dragging back just to suck the spot relentlessly. It brings tears to your eyes immediately, your mind only focused on the pain now.

“Say. It.” Joel’s voice cuts through and your eyes flash open after a few tears roll down your cheeks.

“I’m a good girl…” you whimper, voice cutting out into another cry as he assaults another spot on your neck.

“And?”

“I’m a good girl a-and I’ll behave and l-listen to daddy’s rules…” Your breath whooshes out as he stops, relief flooding your body when he places a light kiss on one of the sore, bruised spots. A few tears roll down your cheeks, spilling over from the plethora of them along your lower lids.

“Mmm, good girl,” he says more gently, pulling back to look over your face. He frowns, and it nearly startles you to see him have a look that isn’t that one of sick satisfaction that he’s worn so often.

“When you’re daddy’s girl, you’re gonna be so well taken care of, I promise ya. I know you’re scared, and it ain’t easy when I’m bein’ so firm w’you. Just want you to understand…” he pauses, dragging a finger along your cheek, swiping a tear and glancing down at it glistening on his finger. His body is still close, pressed right against yours.

“That I’m doin’ it for your own good. So you know I mean it all. I won’t hurt ya unless you disobey me, yeah? If you’re not a good girl, you’re gonna have some punishments. Do you understand?”

You nod hesitantly, your brows furrowed and trying to process all of the information he’s throwing at you.

“Y’need some sleep, look at you,” he says with a shake of his head, taking in your disheveled state, swaying where you stand as a few more tears roll down your cheeks. He feels a pang spearing his heart at your weary, dejected stance, body trembling openly at his proximity. He knows he did this to you, made you this broken little bird he could grasp in his hands and crush with his words alone, but he did it for your own good. He tells himself this sentence for what feels like the millionth time, absolving his guilt in a single second. You need him, deserve the unrelenting care he’ll pour out once you fully give yourself over to him. Anytime now… with your cracks showing more and more, your desperation to please him not as well hidden as you might think.

“You’ll feel better in the mornin’, hm?” Joel says when you don’t answer him.

You shrug slightly, keeping your shoulders rolled up, feeling defensive as Joel rests his fingers on your arm more gently now. “We’ll talk more then,” he says decidedly, making the decision for the both of you as he sidles up next to you and puts an arm around you, his hand resting on the small of your back.

You begin to walk nearly catatonically back towards the stairs with Joel’s guidance. His hands slide to your hips and squeeze as you move up the stairs in a daze, exhaustion overtaking you. You swear you’re tired down to your very cells, every piece of your being sapped and scraped thin right now.

“Thank you,” you murmur in a whisper when Joel helps you shrug the blanket off of your shoulders, laying it tidily back on the chair where you’d found it.

“You’re welcome,” he responds, kissing the top of your head. You’re moved to the bed, body soft and yielding for him to place you where he wishes, finding you a place wrapped right in his arms just as you were earlier.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he whispers, lips flitting against your hair and cheek when he senses your tension. “Jus’ be good, don’t do that again, okay? Don’t wanna have to chain you to the bed while we sleep, would we?”

Your mouth sags open, chest pulling tight at his threat, the way it had rolled off his tongue like it was nothing, no humor or jesting behind it. When he’d said the word punishment he’d meant it in the most serious sense. Things like chaining you up, biting your neck until it was bruised, bleeding, and throbbing, and the likely long list of things he had lined up that you couldn’t even envision if you tried.

“N-no, you’ll never need to do that, I w-won’t…” you reply after composing yourself for a brief moment.

“Never say never,” Joel whispers with a conceited smirk. “You may find yourself askin’ me to do it someday, princess. Beggin’ me…”

You let out a breathy scoff of a laugh, mostly out of discomfort, but Joel hardly notices, busy tucking you into the crook of his neck as he puts an arm behind your head.

“You’ll see someday, babygirl, you’ll see… now let’s get some sleep.”

You stare into the dark of the room, head rising and falling with the movements of Joel’s chest while he falls back asleep. You hate that he smells good right now, that the hair of his chest feels so gorgeous and manly under your fingertips. You hate that you feel comfortable right now, safe, despite everything he’s done to you. You hate everything about all of it, but you don’t hate… him. It makes you sick, your stomach turning as you fight the urge to cry yet again.

You start to think back to your backpack and boots, waiting for you by the door. Their enticing siren call is louder than ever, beckoning you away from here.

You could learn to survive out there. You know you could.

You peek up at Joel’s face again, willing yourself to read him, the same thoughts swirling through your head from earlier tonight. You slowly reach your hand up and touch the lines on his face with your fingertips - around his eyes, his forehead, his cheeks. Ever so gently you move along his face, and Joel’s mouth twitches as he sleeps, morphing into a soft smile.

There he is. That is Joel. That has to be him. That soft smile, a sweet man who wants to care about you. That wants a companion, someone to spend his life with, not someone to hurt.

You sigh and close your eyes, dropping your hand and shifting your body to mold even closer to his, finding comfort in his large, imposing form rather than fear right now.

Yes, you think as your eyes flutter and you drift off, you could learn. Maybe it would just be an entirely different set of lessons.

#every time i post this fic i wanna throw up a little i get so nervous #don't let her flop!!!!#fic: smother #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #dark!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #x reader

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kisses4kaia · 6 months

Note

on my knees, foaming at the mouth, begging for more sub coryo

u guys are so funny oh my goodness😭 (slight au where sejanus did not die because we love him🥰) i got a bit carried away as you can see!! but that’s ok !!!! also, university!corio .. okok go read now plz enjoy and reblog :)

being the girlfriend of the winner to the plinth prize whilst simultaneously biting your tongue constantly was no easy feat.

every thoughtless, careless, borderline sexist, comment corio received from older men—and even some of your male peers—along the lines of, “oh, she’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? bet you keep her on her knees, huh?” (whilst you were right there, mind you!), infuriated you beyond belief and typically made corio tense up and awkwardly brush them off.

because no, corio did not always keep you on your knees. as a matter of fact, it was quite the opposite. you had him on his knees, every night, begging and pleading for a taste of you. and if he was a good boy, he would get one. you were assertive, not cruel.

you so badly wished you could shut them down, tell them exactly how it is, but you still loved and respected corio, and you knew what might happen to his reputation if that kind of secret got out.

so you kept on biting your tongue.

and tonight, corio’s arm is snaked around your torso and his large palm rests on the small of your back.

you’re at a elite party he was invited to, making friendly conversation with clemensia and sejanus while throwing witty comments back and forth with your boyfriend, when all of a sudden, one of crassus snow’s old friends come up to the both of you and it goes how you would expect; however, this time, something’s different.

this time, he laughs boisterously and nods, agreeing with the crude comment the man made. coriolanus shakes his hand and says “oh, absolutely. would you expect any less from my father’s son?”

you are fucking appalled, and the astounded expression on your face doesn’t do much to hide it.

when the old man whose name you didn’t bother to remember finally leaves, corio finally looks down at you to see your narrow eyes shooting daggers into his.

you say no words and storm off, and he’s hot on your trail. “baby? baby, hold up, slow down!”

you heed no mind to his words, and only stop your stampede when you find an unoccupied bedroom and drag him inside.

it was glamorous, which was to be expected, considering the host of the party was volumnia gaul; she always was one for dramatic flare. the ceiling was high and the walls were crowned in gold paint. the layout was simple, there was nothing but a queen-sized bed, an empty dresser, and bare vanity gracing its presence, all but proving that it was not it use, and perfectly fine for you to punish coriolanus in.

“what the fuck was that?” your voice is scornful and with the way your face twists up and contorts into a look of contempt, he knows he’s in for it.

he stumbles over his words, trying to think of a way he can phrase his words to deescalate the situation, lessen the blow for himself. “i-i’m sorry. i don’t know what i was thinking. please, honey. please forgive me. i’m begging you,”

the last phrase causes you to look up at him before smirking wickedly, “are you?”

you can see it dawn on him, the realization that you really are going to make him beg—the proper way, down on his knees.

he sighs ashamedly before letting his knees buckle, right one hitting the ground, the left following suit.

the slicked back hair on his scalp gleams perfectly underneath the warm overhead lighting the small chandelier provides, and his glossy, devastatingly blue, eyes are boring into yours as his bottom lip begins to quiver ever so slightly.

“i’m so, so, so, fucking, sorry. i’m so stupid, i just didn’t want him to think lowly of my fathers kin. i fucked up, i know, just, please, please, forgive me,”

he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears when he speaks and you can’t help but revel in how hot this all is. having one of the most powerful men in the capitol at your feet, pleading for you, you have to work hard in order to conceal the ache between your legs.

“show me, then.” you turn around on him and walk to the bed, sitting, before crossing your legs and leaning back, dangerous, siren eyes inviting corio to crawl to you.

he doesn’t even hesitate before getting on his hands and knees and desperately pawing at the ground, trying to get close to you again. and when he reaches your sat figure, he grabs your ankles, uncrossing them and pulling your high heels off slowly, all before kissing his way up your calf, and up to your mid-thigh, where the slit in your dress begins. he looks up at you pleadingly, expression reading ‘may i?’ and you could praise him for being so polite if he wasn’t enduring punishment.

you nod slightly, raising your hips just enough so corio could hike your dress up, bunching up at your waist.

his eyes stay on yours, watching you intently as he pulls your delicate, lacy, black and pink, panties down your smooth legs, before gently placing them on the floor next to him.

when you part your legs ever so slightly, the eyes boring into yours spark up with excitement and hope. he finally breaks eye contact when he shuts his eyes and lays his tongue flat against your cunt, lapping up the ego-boosting amount of arousal that’s drooling from your achy hole.

he’s so perfect for you, timing his transitions between fucking into you with his tongue and sucking on your clit just the way he’s learned you like just right, never lingering too long on one part of you.

at this point, you have your legs wrapped around his head tight, nearly restricting his facility to breathe, shamelessly moaning and praising his ministrations. “fuck, yes corio! oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum? yeah? so fucking pathetic,” you spit at him in between borderline moans so pornographic that you’re apprehensive that somebody outside of the four walls you’re in may hear you, but it doesn’t seem to bother you that much, considering the lack of you lowering your own volume.

and the sounds, the sounds are vile, fucking disgusting. his salivated muscle messily dragging all over your labia, his perfectly pouted lips making out with your pussy like he’s in love with it (he is). all of the insanely erotic factors of this moment don’t do anything to hold off your impending release, and with a weak cry of the boy beneath you’s name, sweet syrup leaks out from your tight hole lands onto corio’s anticipating tongue, and you can feel him smile against you at the taste of it.

he drinks it all down in no time and when he continues to lather his tongue all over your clit, not seeming to want to be done, you have to physically pull his head away from you as a result of overstimulation.

he frowns but when he sees the look on your face, your exhausted, satisfied, fucked-out, face, he has to bite his lip to contain his smile.

“i did good?” there’s a special twinkle to his eye, and you find it all-enamoring.

“so good,”

“you forgive me?”

“yes, but next time you pull some shit like that, i’ll jerk you off under the dinner table, you hear me?”

#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 !#angelnon 🤍#kai's got mail <3📑#young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #corio angel 🪽★#tbosas smut #tbosas #thg smut #the hunger games #tom blyth smut #tom blyth #coriolanus snow #got just a tad bit carried away here.. oops!#kaia writes coriolanus

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ninthcircleofprythian · 16 days

Text

Dinner and Dessert

Azriel x Pregnant! OC (Mira)

Word Count - 3.6k

Summary - as his mate's due date approaches, Az can't handle the sight of her pregnant body in a sundress without going a bit feral.

Warnings - light swearing, pregnancy, descriptions of pregnant body, breeding k!ink (if you squint), tons of sexual tension, explicit sex described (oral f recieving, fingering f recieveing, p in v)

Author's Note - This fic was written for being the clear winner of this poll. Also, a special dedication to my fellow monkey brain @chairofchaos for being with me every step of the way as I wrote this and for being so very strong and not allowing me to spoil it as it came together. Enjoy pookie. 😘

“We really should have planned this out better you know,” Mira’s voice echoed through the entryway as she descended the stairs. The shadows made a swirling lap around her body as she landed on the last step, Azriel gliding from the living room doorway to meet her.

“Planned what out better, my love?”

“Being this pregnant in the middle of summer,” she sighed. “Nothing fits anymore and I’m constantly hot. I swear I’m carrying a tiny furnace in here at this point.” Mira’s hands slid over the large swell of her belly, tucking the drape of her dress under it as she cradled the weight from below.

Azriel’s eyes tracked the movement, flaring with heat when her hands found their resting place. The roundness of her belly on full display in the flowing fabric.

“That dress,” his voice rumbled, eyes lingering along her frame as his wings gave a slight tremble.

“Like I said, nothing fits anymore,” his mate twisted her lips in a pout. “The options are limited.” Releasing the hold on her stomach, Mira brought her hands up to the neckline, tugging it back to a more conservative height.

In a flash, Az’s hand stilled hers as he stepped closer, chest pressing against her exposed shoulder as he stood at her side. With his other hand, he replaced the hold she had along the bottom of that beautiful mound. The thin summer weight fabric allowed her to feel every ridge along his palm as it slid into place and she shivered in his hold from the sensation.

“I’m not complaining,” Az whispered as he bent to nuzzle along that dangerously low neckline. “But if you aren’t comfortable, you could always take it off.” With a tilt of his head, he peeked up from her cleavage that was threatening to spill out with a darkened stare.

“Azriel, stop,” she giggled with a push against his shoulder. “We’re going to be late.”

“It’s fine,” came his mumbled reply from between her generous breasts. “Let’s be late.” One of his hands now slipped to the small of her back, the curvature deepened with the weight she now carried. A low groan sounded from his chest.

Az had always loved his mate’s body. Every soft spot and curve and blemish. But something about the last months, watching everything about it change and grow with his child growing inside her, made him insatiable. The dress she was now wearing with the hem dancing along her feet and the waistline settling on the top of that bump, was the final straw. He was done for.

Just as he began to bend at the knee to scoop her into his arms, she shoved against him once more. “Azriel, seriously. Stop,” she laughed. “This is probably the last family dinner I’ll be able to go to for a while. I want to go. I don’t want to be late.”

“Ok,” he sulked momentarily. “You’re right. To dinner we shall go then.” He gestured widely with his arm towards the door in a mocking tease. “But you know we could spare some time if you would just let me winnow us there.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “I would prefer not to lose my appetite before dinner, thank you.” Ever since the pregnancy had neared its end, she couldn’t stomach winnowing any longer. The short step through the dark felt like more of a lurch and left her heaving afterwards and Az was entirely too nervous to fly with her in this state. “Besides, it's nice out - even if it is hot.”

“Fine. But we aren’t staying for dessert.” With a devilish grin, Azriel stooped to kiss his mate’s pouty lips. The hand along her back swept lower and with a start he pulled back, staring into her eyes with a look of shock.

“What?” she questioned with a furrowed brow.

“Mira, my love, are you –,” his hand explored a handful of her backside. “Are you not wearing any underwear?”

“Oh. Yeah,” she started as she made her way towards the door with a smug smile. “Those don’t fit anymore either.”

She let out another giggle as Azriel grumbled behind her, scrubbing one large hand down his face. “You’re fucking killing me.”

Thankfully, the walk to the River House was short enough that Mira wasn’t completely worn out. The entire way over she couldn’t help smiling as she noticed Azriel casually falling behind a few steps so he could get a long hard look at her backside as she walked. She may or may not have put a little more swagger in her already unsteady gait just for fun.

As she approached the front door, Azriel sidled up to her again. His hand slipped over her butt before settling low on her back, his fingers gently rubbing. Before she could even reach for the door handle, his other hand was once again cradling the underside of her protruding belly.

“What is with you today?,” she chuckled, nudging him with her shoulder.

“I can’t help it,” he smiled against her neck as he licked at the sheen of sweat that had gathered there. “You. This dress. Your beautiful belly with my baby inside. When I hold you like this, it feels like I’m holding my entire world in my hands.” He gave her a gentle tug as he settled his body closer, his hard length pressing through his clothing into her hip. Soft lips traveled up the side of her neck before nibbling at her earlobe. “It just does something to me,” he whispered.

“Az, honey,” Mira sang sweetly. “I’m starving.”

“Ok,” he said as he moved to stand behind her, his insistent hardness now pressing into her plump backside.

“We should go in.”

“Ok,” he mumbled against the back of her neck, hands now skimming over the flare of her hips.

“I need to open the door to do that.”

“Ok,” he whispered along one shoulder as both hands now cradled her belly.

With a gentle lift he took the weight and shifted upward. The strain in her back instantly felt relief and the ache in her hips eased. The noise that left her was entirely involuntary as her hands gripped over his arms.

“Oooh, that feels so good,” she practically moaned and she felt his length twitch against her.

With a nip at her exposed shoulder, Az released his own sinful noise. “That is a very dangerous thing to say right about now.”

She didn’t even get the chance to respond as suddenly the door flung open.

“I thought I heard someone out here,” Rhys said with a smirk, his violet eyes twinkling. “Dinner is ready if you are staying.”

“Yes, please,” Mira laughed as Rhys turned to head back inside and she moved to follow him. Azriel held back for just a moment as he adjusted himself outside on the doorstep.

Family dinner moved at a leisurely pace, much as it always did. Mira was in her element enjoying the conversation and food, laughing animatedly with their table mates. The night moved much too leisurely for Azriel however. He had begun the night with gentle touches, unable to keep his hands off his glowing mate. A hand along her thigh under the table, arm slung over the chair back caressing her shoulder with his fingertips, soft lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered to her.

Now, the touches were much more insistent and his leg bounced anxiously the entire time. A firm squeeze to her knee as Mira shifted in her seat, a sharp nibble to her shoulder as he tucked a pillow behind her back, a rough graze of his knuckles along her hip reminding him that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Like he needed the reminder. It was all he could think about.

As the conversation died down and the plates were cleared away, Mira stood stretching out her aching back. Instantly, Azriel was at her side, one arm slipping around her waist as he began ushering her towards the door.

“Az, slow down,” she huffed out a laugh as he fought to keep his strides from outpacing hers.

“I made chocolate torte,” Elain’s musical voice announced from the dining room behind them.

“Ooooh,” Mira sighed as she twisted out of Az’s hold before he could flare out a wing to stop her. “Chocolate!”

She didn’t even make it a single step in the opposite direction before one scarred hand encircled her wrist. With a tender tug, she was spun back around into her mate’s arms and pressed tight to his chest. A protest bubbled in her throat but before she could voice it, Azriel drowned it out with a hard sweeping kiss.

Relaxing against him, she felt the hand gripping the back of her head tighten as his tongue dove in, finding its way to hers. Tangling and twisting, the kiss deepened. With a reluctant groan, Az pulled his face back and gazed into his mate’s eyes gauging her reaction.

Mira noted it had gone eerily quiet as he had kissed her. Suddenly she understood why. They were no longer standing in the River House foyer, but instead in their own shared bedroom.

“I thought if I distracted you first it wouldn’t make you sick,” Azriel smirked a sly grin.

“It worked,” she said breathlessly, flashing hot all over for reasons other than the weather.

His lopsided smile grew as he watched the color flood her face. Bending, he scooped his mate up in his arms and with one large step moved to the bed, depositing her squarely in the middle.

Before she could get her elbows underneath herself to sit up some, he was tearing at his clothing. Belt ripped from his waistband followed quickly by his pants.

“Don’t move,’ he warned in a sultry tone as he watched her trying to pull herself up. The buttons of his shirt met their demise as they popped off with a tug.

Mira giggled as she heard them pop and hit the floor somewhere in the room. “I’m not even undressed.”

“Keep it on,” Azriel growled.

Pulling her elbows from beneath herself, she fell back on the bed, watching as he began to crawl toward her. His large hand quickly found the hem of her dress that was now pushed up around her knees. Worming its way underneath, his skin met hers and before she knew it he was pushing against the inside of one leg.

She didn’t resist, knees parting as she made room for his body to settle between them. With a quick flutter of fabric, he disappeared, head buried underneath her dress and burrowing between her thighs.

A small sound of surprise squeaked out of her at his quickness, but it was covered immediately with a sharp gasp. In just a couple passes of his tongue, Azriel was at her clit and circling that sensitive bud. The grip on her hips increased as he moaned into her folds, the vibration caused her breath to shudder.

“I thought about this all through dinner,” he rumbled before lapping insistently at her arousal. “You. Completely bare. Ready and waiting for me under this dress.” He accentuated his words with hard passes of his tongue between them.

Mira’s breaths were hardly more than quick pants now as his tongue continued those circles with ferocity. Dipping down to gather more of her arousal along his tongue, she let out a whining moan.

Tongue returning to its task, one hand released her leg and snaked its way to her entrance, fingertips teasing.

“Az,” she whimpered.

Slowly, he began pressing a finger into her core.

“Az, wait,” she panted. “Hold on a second.”

He felt her shifting her hips within his grasp as he flipped her dress off of his head.

“What’s wrong?” His voice carried a hint of panic as he noticed one of her arms cradling her belly.

“I need to move,” she shifted her hips once more in an effort to slide onto her side. “I can’t breathe well on my back like this.”

His panic subdued, he quickly raised himself up into a kneel and helped her to roll more comfortably on her side. Leaning to grab a pillow, he had her lift a bit so he could tuck in beneath her belly for support.

“Better?” he asked with a tender trailing sweep of his hand over her stretched skin.

“Much,” she sighed contented. “You can continue.”

Azriel belted out a ringing laugh. “Gladly, my love.”

Pulling her bottom leg straight out along the bed, he laid himself across the end of the mattress. Mira lifted her top leg as Az laid his head on the pillow of her thigh. Grabbing her lifted leg under the knee, he propped it against his body so that her foot was planted against his ribs before tucking his arm over it.

“Now where was I?” he pondered aloud. “Here?” He lapped one long strip through her folds.

“Or, maybe it was –,” another pass of his tongue had him barely grazing her clit. “Here?”

“Azriel, don’t tease,” she pleaded as she dug her heel into his ribcage.

“Yes, it was here,” he smiled wickedly to himself. With the same quickness as before, Az dove back in like a starved male. Driving his tongue against that throbbing bud, he brought his fingers back to her entrance.

Now able to draw in a full breath, Mira was gasping and moaning with intensity with each flick against her. He couldn’t keep up with the arousal that dripped from her, coating his fingers as he inserted two of them fully.

“Ah! Yes-Az” She cried out loudly, gripping the sheets in front of her face.

Setting a solid steady pace with his hand, he drew her clit between his lips and pulled, creating suction against it as he flicked against it.

Her cries became a scream as the leg propped against him trembled. Pulling his other arm from beneath him, he reached up, gliding his palm along her taut stomach and pressed gently where he knew she felt that familiar tightening sensation.

Her back arched and pressed her belly deeper into his palm. Azriel felt the beginning ripples of her climax roll over his fingers from inside her. With a pull, he curled them.

That’s when all the breath left her. The pressure against that sweet spot inside left her hanging on a gasping cry. Every muscle in her back and legs tensed in unison as that white hot pleasure crashed through her.The intense clench of her walls pulsed over his fingers. The sweeping ripple through her belly against his palm made him pant out in surprise. As she came down from that peak, Az gave one light pass of his tongue over her clit, feeling her jolt against him before pulling his face back and slowly withdrawing his fingers.

Easing her leg from over his body, he brought himself up and curled his body around her from behind. Sweeping her hair away from her neck, Az nestled his lips against her heated skin, the tips of his fingers trailing lightly over her side. Mira was still slowing her labored breath as she pressed a palm to the side of her clothed belly.

“Does it hurt?” Az asked with a slightly worried tone.

“No,” she sighed contentedly. “It was just - intense.” She let out a satisfied hum as his palm replaced hers, finding that tight muscle with ease.

Wiggling deeper into the mattress, she felt his still adamant hardness pressed against her. “What are you thinking about back there?” She laughed, arching her butt against him.

“You already know the answer to that,” he said gruffly into her neck. After a beat of pause he brought his lips to the shell of her ear. “What are you thinking about?”

He felt her tremble as his breath coasted over that sensitive spot and he couldn’t resist giving it a teasing lick as well.

“Mmm,” she groaned, pushing back against him harder. “I’m thinking about – chocolate.” Her merry laugh rang through the space as Az huffed his own amusement against her temple. “Among other things,” she said in a low tone. Reaching her arm back, she grazed her nails along his hip, the brush of her skin causing him to buck against her involuntarily.

“Help me,” she said as her hand left his hip and grabbed the fabric bunched around her hips. “It’s too hot for this.”

Pushing into a kneel once more, Az helped her maneuver the dress from her body, revealing more and more of her full frame as he did. Tossing the dress to the floor, he paused for a moment, kneeling behind her bent knees in awe.

Fully exposed and still laying on her side, every voluptuous asset was on full display. His hands explored the access this position afforded him. Every curve that drove him wild easily reached. Her heavy breasts that filled his palms, her ample ass that jiggled when he grabbed it, her firm belly that held their child within. His child.

With a teasing bite to her luscious thigh, Az once again pulled her lower leg straight before straddling his legs over it. Grabbing her other ankle, he wrapped her leg around his waist, holding it firmly above his hip bone.

Shifting closer, he notched his length against her exposed entrance. His hand smoothly followed the curve of her butt before dipping into the arc of her lower back. That deepened well, strained with the weight of the child she carried left him powerless.

As he pushed his hips against her arousal slicked core and entered her fully, Mira moaned. And Azriel whimpered.

He had known all along that this moment would be his undoing. He had ensured that she received her pleasure first and foremost before he buried himself in her warmth knowing that he was unlikely to hold out. As his hips found their rhythm, he folded himself over, nuzzling at her breast with a moan.

The tight pull of his climax was building in intensity with each thrust. He held back his need to drive himself harder, relishing in the pleasure of his soft rhythm. Mira’s arm snaked under his chest attempting to reach between her parted thighs. With her belly in the way, she couldn’t find purchase against the aching need that pulsed there. Lifting up slightly, Az threw her arm over his shoulder and replaced her reach with his own, thumb dancing deliciously against her clit.

She began writhing underneath him, her quiet pants and sultry moans building in intensity until he felt her fluttering around him. He no longer held back, pushing himself desperately into her with a snap of his hips. Her arm grasped against his back, scratching at the space between his wings.

“Az. Az. Az,” she moaned breathlessly with each thrust he gave. He couldn’t bring himself to produce any sound in return, every bit of his energy concentrated on the feeling of her walls constricting his twitching length. Another thrust and she was coming apart beneath him, clenching hard around him. One more and his own release was barreling through him.

Her name left his lips in a cry. Every pulse of release stole his breath further until he collapsed on top of her gasping for air.

Moments passed as they collected their breath before Az shifted into a roll carefully avoiding landing his weight on his mate’s belly and settled in front of her. Her middle pressed against his own, his hand swept tenderly back and forth over it. Her eyes slipped closed and her breath evened out into the quiet pattern of almost sleep.

“Tired?” he asked, brushing the hair from her face.

“Mhm,” she replied in a sigh, rubbing her cheek into his palm.

Azriel remained as he was, hand cradling her face as he stared at his mate in wonder. His mate. His partner through life. The mother of his child.

“I’ll be right back,” he said as he removed his hand and replaced it with a kiss. Mira just gave another throaty noise in response, not bothering to open her eyes.

Some minutes later, Mira was awoken from slumber as Azriel cursed to himself. Popping her eyes open she watched as he stumbled through the bedroom door, arms laden with a tray in one hand and a steaming mug in another. Kicking the door shut behind him with his heel she noticed he was once again fully dressed.

“Where did you go?” she asked sleepily as she pulled herself up to sitting, dragging the blanket Az had left over her up around her chest.

“I felt bad that I made you skip dessert,” he smiled at her as he lowered the tray over her lap. Upon the tray sat half of Elain’s chocolate torte, still in its original pan, two forks laid across the empty half.

“Oh, Azriel,” she brightened with delight, grabbing his face as he bent to place the mug on the tray as well. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” she giggled as she peppered his face with kisses.

Turning back to the tray, she snatched the torte pan and settled it squarely on top of her round belly, digging in expeditiously.

“Mmm,” she moaned, closing her eyes as she savored the rich taste.

“It almost sounds like the chocolate is better than the sex,” Az teased as he climbed into bed next to her.

“Oh,” she laughed. “It’s definitely up there,” she held her thumb and forefinger apart barely touching as she squinted at him. “A very close second I’d say.”

Az released a booming laugh before he too grabbed a fork and settled in for dessert.

#azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #feral az #azriel x oc #azriel x oc smut #azriel x original character #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger #pregnant! oc #acotar #acomaf #acofas #acowar #acosf #acotar smut

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bitchfitch · 6 months

Text

After years and years of having a schedule that was more a halfhearted shrug than a neat itinerary, there was a certain peace to finally having a dinner time routine.

Rice in the cooker, wild game cuts in the oven with whatever vegetables hadn't gone off since his last trip into town. The timer set for ten minutes longer than the meal ever actually needed. His stomach couldn't handle meat still pink with a memory of life anymore.

While it cooked he'd place a tarp before the back door. The blue plastic wrinkled along the lines by which he always found it folded.

Then he'd step out into the cool evening to where his freshest trophy would be hanging just beyond the edge of the creaky porch. It a was a deer today, it's back hooves tied to the rafter so it's blood could drain from the dainty gash across it's throat. This wasn't a necessity, it just lessened the mess he would eventually have to deal with.

He untied it, and carried it to rest it in the center of the tarp before pulling the corners up to encase it in crinkly darkness. The bright green climbing rope being used to bind the package closed while he made a note to himself to dig out the hank of rope again so he could cut a new, less gnawed on, piece for tomorrow's meal time.

He could hear the thing coming up the staircase from the basement. Stairs were difficult for it, always had to crawl up them on its hands and knees. Stopping every few steps to gather itself against vertigo.

"What's cooking?" it called in a chipper voice, its bruise darkened fingers scrabling at the lower edge of the door. Its cracked nails adding to the deep gouges in the old wood. "What's cooking?" it repeated like a scratched record. Its clawing growing more frenzied as it got more and more excited at the prospect of meal time.

"Deer." he responded, dragging the bundle to the locked door.

"Einer!" it said, its voice being stolen from a long gone day at the lake, "Home," it whined with defeat borrowed from a day it never saw, then a garbled growl as it's limited repertoire of echos ran up against a concept it didn't have the words to express.

"You know that's not how it works," Einer sighs with some glimmer of fondness. "Who am I?"

"Einer!" a perfect echo of what it had said before.

"Where are we?"

"Home."

"Who are you?"

The growl came on its cue, exactly as it had every miserable day since Einer managed to trap it and establish this little test of whether or not it might be able to be reasoned with today.

"Good, good. To your spot please."

It scrambled back down the stairs, heavy thunks sounding as its excited crawling turned into more of a controlled series of falls.

Then a loud metallic racket bounded forth from the vent slats in the floor as it slapped at the ancient pipe that connected the furnace to the rest of the cabin's mostly defunct air ducts. Their way of signaling when it was well and clear away from the stairs where it might damn them both by attacking its caretaker.

He undid the bolts on the door quickly yanking it open before kicking the plastic wrapped deer down the stairs and slamming the door shut again. The unspoken race between them commencing as he rushed to get the bolts and locks latched once more before it could get up the stairs in an opportunity fueled bout of blood frenzy.

Einer won today. He's won every day so far.

Its fingers appear under the edge of the door again, its breath ragged and sounding wet with too much spit as it uselessly dug into the steel toe of his boot.

"You know where your dinner is," he took a step and waited to see if he'd be granted one moment of clarity as it came down from it's frenzy.

It churred, a soft animal sound he didn't think something so human looking should be able to make. Its fingers stilled, then disappeared back into the darkness beyond the door before returning. Its hand palm side up this time.

He was quick to crouch, carefully curling his fingers against it's. Its skin porcelain, smooth and cold against the callouses he had earned in his time caring for it.

"Einer," it said, this echo being taken from a gentle memory of two lovers in their wedding bed, before its touch disappeared and it began its clumzy trek back down the stairs.

He always stayed knelt there a little too long, wondering if it knew he lingered there. If it cared. Before standing and checking to see if his meal was over done to his liking.

#animal death #einers husband came back wrong and he Adapted instead of being a whiner about it #Get you a man on his level

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infamous-light · 18 days

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You Belong to Me Ch. 2

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior

The winding hallways of Castle Dimitrescu seemed to stretch on endlessly, leading you deeper into the heart of the imposing structure.

The palms of your hands, once steady, now grew cold and clammy as you approached Lady Dimitrescu's bedchambers. You were about to begin your new role as her personal servant, a position that no one else has held before. Your mind buzzed with questions, doubts, and uncertainties.

What if you made a mistake? What if you failed to live up to her expectations?

The weight of this responsibility pressed down on you like a leaden blanket, threatening to overwhelm you before you had the chance to even begin. You swallowed hard, trying to calm the nervous flutter in your stomach.

Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of a set of double wooden doors, looming over you like a menacing shadow. Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand and knocked on the door, the sound echoing in the silent hallway.

“Come in.” Her voice, low yet authoritative, carried through the barrier of the door.

With a trembling hand, you reached out to grasp the polished golden handle, feeling its cool metal beneath your fingertips.

Here we go.

Then, you pushed the door open.

Stepping inside, you were immediately enveloped in the grandeur of Lady Dimitrescu's bedroom.

The room exuded an air of timeless elegance, each piece and decor chosen to reflect the aristocratic taste of its owner. Silk draperies hung down in graceful folds, their deep crimson hue contrasting sharply with the white furniture. Near the back, a grand, four-poster bed was pressed against the wall, its velvet canopy cascading down like a waterfall of blood. The bed itself was lavishly covered with plush, satin pillows and a heavy, fur-lined duvet. To the side of the bed stood a nightstand, its surface organized with an array of books and papers.

A large fireplace took up the right side of the bedroom, its mantlepiece adorned with an assortment of antique trinkets. Hanging above the mantlepiece was an old vintage clock, its hands steadily ticking along.

As your eyes continued to roam her bedroom, they finally landed on Lady Dimitrescu herself. She was seated at her vanity, delicately combing through her dark hair. You almost jumped out of your skin when her piercing gaze, framed by long lashes, locked onto yours through the reflection of her vanity mirror.

“Ah, there you are,” Lady Dimitrescu said as she set her hairbrush down. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You bowed your head, trying to keep your breathing steady. “My Lady.”

She rose with fluid grace, her movements both mesmerizing and intimidating. Her towering presence filled the room, and you could feel the heat of her gaze lingering on you, appraising you. Each step she took was deliberate, her long nightgown whispering against the wooden floor as she approached you.

“Do you know,” Lady Dimitrescu purred, lifting your chin with a single, bare finger, forcing you to meet her eyes. “How much I despise being kept waiting?”

Your heart raced, a rapid staccato in your chest. Glancing to your right, you saw the time on the clock.

9:01 A.M.

Your hands fidgeted slightly, and your voice came out a bit shakier than you would have liked. “I’m sorry, my Lady. It won’t happen again.”

A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, and she traced her finger along your jawline, sending tingles down your spine.

“No, it won’t,” she murmured. “Because I have very specific expectations for you,” she leaned in closer, her lips grazing your ear as she whispered. “And I expect you to meet them.”

“Yes, my Lady.” You said quietly.

Lady Dimitrescu pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again.

“Good,” she said, her smile widening. “Now, I want you to draw me a bath. Make sure the water is just right – hot enough to steam, but not so hot that it scalds. Add a generous amount of lavender oil. I find it most relaxing in the morning.”

You nodded, eager to get this over with, and turned toward the adjoining bathroom. As you prepared the bath, the sound of water filling the large, circular tub mingled with the soft rustle of her nightgown as she moved about her bedroom. Reaching for the small bottle of lavender oil, you uncorked it and let a few drops fall into the steaming water. You swirled the water with your hand, dispersing the oil, and then straightened back up. You couldn’t shake the feeling of her eyes on you, watching your every move.

When the bath was ready, you turned around to find her completely nude by the doorway. Her eyes held yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You quickly averted your gaze, feeling a rush of heat creeping up your neck. Her lips curled into a playful smirk.

Lady Dimitrescu walked past you with a grace that belied her towering stature. You could feel the heat radiating off her as she passed, a mixture of fear and fascination rooting you to the spot. She paused briefly at the edge of the tub, casting a sidelong glance in your direction, her eyes glimmering with amusement. With an almost theatrical flourish, she dipped one long, slender leg into the water, followed by the other. The water rippled and sloshed around her as she sank into the depths, her body disappearing beneath the surface until only her head remained above the water.

She reclined against the side of the tub, letting out a sigh of contentment as the warmth soothed her skin. Unsure of what to do next, you began to step away, your movements hesitant.

“I didn’t say you could leave, now did I?” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice low and silky.

You immediately stopped in place and lowered your head.

“No, my Lady.” Your response was barely above a whisper.

“Come closer.” Her command was firm but soft.

You swallowed thickly, the tension between you two palpable, hanging in the air like a dense fog. Her eyes darkened, and for a moment, you felt like prey caught in the gaze of a hunter. Despite her relaxed pose, there was a coiled strength about her, a sense of latent power ready to spring.

You must have hesitated a second too long, because without warning, she reached out, her long fingers wrapping around your wrist with a firmness that left no room for resistance. She then tugged you down to the water's edge in one swift move.

“Don't be afraid, darling,” Lady Dimitrescu whispered. The warmth of her touch sent a jolt of electricity through you, making your skin tingle. “I won’t bite. Much.” The corner of her lips quirked up slightly, as if amused by her own joke.

Personally, you didn’t find it very funny.

Her fingers danced lightly over your wrist, her touch featherlight yet deliberate. Her index finger came to rest over your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat of your heart. She drew you in closer, her presence overwhelming and intoxicating.

“You’re such a nervous little thing, aren’t you?” she cooed, her voice a soothing lullaby tinged with amusement. “But perhaps a little fear can be exhilarating, don't you think?”

Your throat went dry, the words stuck like sandpaper as you tried to respond. “I-I suppose so, my Lady.”

Lady Dimitrescu chuckled, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

“There’s nothing quite like the taste of fear, the thrill of the unknown. I quite enjoy playing with my food, though,” she paused, going quiet. Just as quickly as the intimacy had risen, it vanished. “You’re much more than just a plaything.”

Her eyes glinted with a dangerous light as she studied you.

“Help me wash my hair.” She demanded quite suddenly.

You knelt there, slightly dazed, trying to process the whiplash of emotions she had just put you through.

The shift in her demeanor was startling but you didn’t have time to dwell on that as you rose from your position by the bathtub. You walked over to a shelf lined with a variety of shampoo bottles and grabbed a few. You turned around and made your way back over, standing behind her. The scent of sandalwood and peppermint hit your nostrils as you poured a generous amount into your palm. Gently, you began to massage the shampoo into her hair, your movements careful and precise. Lady Dimitrescu leaned back into your touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as you worked the lather through her locks.

You couldn’t help but wonder how this had become your life.

***

You could hear the faint sounds of water splashing as Lady Dimitrescu prepared to emerge from her bath. You stood just beyond the threshold, made to wait by the doorway.

After what felt like an eternity, she stepped out with a fluffy towel wrapped around her large frame. She regarded you with a burning gaze, her golden eyes shining with a mixture of expectation and impatience.

“Go get my dress.”

“Yes, my Lady.” You replied promptly.

You moved toward the wardrobe that stood against the wall and opened the doors to reveal a multitude of white dresses. Carefully, you lifted one of the dresses from its hanger, feeling the fine fabric between your fingers. As you turned back toward Lady Dimitrescu, she allowed the towel to slip from her body, revealing her alabaster skin, smooth but slightly scarred. You looked away respectfully and focused on the task at hand, though the image of her naked body remained vivid in your mind.

She walked over to her dressing area and began to slip into her undergarments. Holding the dress out for her, you watched as she stepped into it, her long legs sliding effortlessly through the garment. Once the dress was in place, she adjusted it meticulously, ensuring every detail was perfect.

“Help me with the laces.” She instructed, turning her back to you.

The long, delicate laces of the dress dangled down her back, waiting to be tied. You hesitated for a moment, realizing her height made it difficult to reach the top laces. Lady Dimitrescu noticed your hesitation and glanced over her shoulder.

“Grab the step ladder in the corner of the room.” She directed, her tone patient but firm.

Nodding, you walked over to the corner and retrieved the step ladder, placing it carefully behind her. You began to climb the ladder and once you reached the last rung, you found yourself almost at eye level with the back of her head. With steady hands, you began to weave the laces through the eyelets, pulling them snug but not too tight.

As you worked, the proximity to her felt both intimidating and intimate. It made your hands shake slightly but you forced yourself to push through it. A moment later, you tied them off with a final, careful knot.

Stepping down from the ladder, you took in the sight of Lady Dimitrescu now fully dressed, her dress hugging her form perfectly.

She turned to you, her gaze steady. “I must say, you did an excellent job.”

You blinked rapidly a few times. The unexpected compliment caught you off guard.

“Uh - thank you, my Lady.”

She clasped her hands together, a pleasant smile spreading across her face. “Now, let's attend breakfast, shall we? My daughters are already waiting for us.”

Uncertainty arose within you. You’ve never worked in the kitchen before, but you don’t have much of a choice. You reassured yourself that you're resourceful and quick to learn.

“Of course, my Lady. I'll have the preparations made immediately.”

She let out a soft, almost amused sigh. “No, you misunderstand. I would like for you to have breakfast with me and my daughters.”

The words hung in the air, their weight settling heavily in the bedroom. The blood drained from your face. The thought of being around all three of her daughters at the same time made your heart almost stop beating.

“What?” You croaked out before you could stop yourself.

Lady Dimitrescu's eyes flashed dangerously. The space seemed to shrink around you as she took a deliberate step closer, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Did I stutter?” Her voice was icy.

“N-No, my Lady. I apologize for my misstep.”

She continued to regard you with that menacing glint in her eyes.

“Good,” her tone softened slightly but lost none of its edge. “Then let's not waste any more time, yes?”

You nodded quickly. She turned away, seemingly satisfied with your response.

“Come.”

You followed after her, trying to keep pace with her long, purposeful strides. The morning would be like no other, and you could only pray that you would emerge from it unscathed.

***

The grand double doors of the dining room were pushed open by Lady Dimitrescu with a flourish.

As you stepped inside, your eyes immediately fell upon her daughters, gathered at the far end of the long, polished dining table. They looked almost serene under the sunlight streaming in through the tall, arched windows but you knew better. Apprehension tightened around your chest like a vice. Memories of their previous acts of cruelty flashed through your mind. You had seen the aftermath of their games, the bruised bodies, and the blood-stained floors, and now, being in their presence, you felt like a gazelle being dragged into the lion’s den.

You forced your legs to move, stepping further into the dining room. Each step felt heavier than the last as the sisters' gazes followed you, as if sizing you up.

Bela, the eldest, sat to the right of her mother's chair, her blonde hair falling in soft waves around her face. Her eyes, a bright shade of gold, locked onto yours as you neared the table. There was an intensity to her gaze, flickering over you with a cold, calculating look that made goosebumps travel across your arms. Though you had only seen her in passing, you knew enough about Bela to be cautious. She wasn't as outwardly violent as her two younger sisters, but she could still dish out a swift punishment just like her mother.

Across from her, Cassandra was sprawled lazily in her chair as if it were a throne. She regarded you with a smirk, her eyes glittering with amusement. There was a predatory air about her, a sense of dangerous playfulness that set your nerves on edge. Cassandra seemed to be savoring your discomfort like fine wine.

Next to Bela, Daniela sat in stark contrast to her sisters. She greeted you with a wide, almost manic smile, her eyes alight with an unsettling enthusiasm. Unlike Bela's cool demeanor or Cassandra's mocking danger, Daniela's energy was chaotic and unpredictable. You were grateful that you never had to interact with her either since you were first brought to this castle.

You flinched as Lady Dimitrescu’s hand suddenly landed on your left shoulder, her grip solid but gentle. She guided you around the table and led you to an open seat next to Cassandra.

“Good morning, girls,” Lady Dimitrescu greeted as she took her seat at the head of the table. “I apologize for the delay.”

“No worries, mother. I’m happy that you’re able to be here with us.” Bela said, her voice warm. You could have sworn you’d seen her eyes sparkle with fondness as she glanced at her mother.

But your attention soon shifted to the food in front of you. The table itself was a sight to behold. A colorful assortment of freshly cut fruits and warm bread rolls were all laid out before you. Bowls of creamy porridge, still steaming, were placed around the table as well. It's a feast fit for royalty, a sight you never imagined you'd see in your life. As you grew up, meals were meager, often consisting of whatever scraps could be put together. You remembered the days when even a simple loaf of bread was a rare treat.

The doors near the back of the dining room suddenly swung open, and two maids stepped out, pushing a silver cart. The cart held a few wine glasses and one large, red wine bottle. As the maids approached, their eyes met yours. You saw a flicker of emotions – shock, confusion, and concern – pass across their faces but they quickly masked their expressions and continued with their duties. Each glass was carefully filled to just the right level. As soon as that was done, they immediately left without another glance in your direction.

You didn’t recognize them, but the weight of their stares left a lingering discomfort in your gut. You could already hear the whispers that would soon circulate among the staff. What will Catalina think once she hears about you dining with the Dimitrescu family?

You gazed down at the bowl of porridge in front of you. Your stomach rumbled in anticipation, and you just realized that you hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning, so you picked up your spoon and dug in.

The first bite was heavenly, the creamy texture and subtle sweetness dancing on your taste buds. You closed your eyes, savoring the moment, letting the warmth spread through your body. You were halfway through your meal when you felt something unsettling.

A strange, tickling sensation crept up your left arm. You glanced down and saw a small fly scurrying up your sleeve. You yelped and dropped the spoon, letting it clatter loudly against the table. Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze snapped toward you and then to her middle child.

“Cassandra.” Lady Dimitrescu's voice was a blend of warning and irritation.

You followed her gaze and Cassandra sat there with an expression of exaggerated innocence. She batted her eyes, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “What? What happened?”

Cassandra's eyes shifted to yours for a moment, the smirk now fully formed.

“Your games are not amusing, Cassandra,” Lady Dimitrescu began, her tone firm. “As we discussed last night. She will be sharing future meals with us from now on. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

Wait. They talked about you?

Before you could dwell too long on the thought, Daniela’s voice chimed in. “I’m finally happy I’m allowed to be around you now. Having to wait all this time was torture.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together in confusion, trying to make sense of what she just said. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind that, dear. Let us enjoy this meal together.” Lady Dimitrescu interjected smoothly, her tone brooking no argument.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling like a pawn in a game you didn't fully understand.

Just then, a prickling sensation ran down the back of your neck. It was the unmistakable feeling of being watched. You tried to ignore it at first, but the intensity grew until you couldn't help but glance around the table. Your eyes landed on Bela. She watched you with an inscrutable expression, her eyes dark and unreadable. There was something unsettling in the way she held your gaze, neither hostile nor friendly, but piercing, as if she could see through you.

You couldn't shake the feeling that Bela knew something – something you desperately needed to uncover. But for now, all you could do was play along.

@ion-news @fanfiction8080 @cryiner

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil fanfic #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #resident evil #resident evil 8

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mirrology · 2 months

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— Eudialyte .ᐟ ʚɞ

✿ "Eudialyte has developed the nickname of “The Stone of the heartland” due to its connection to the energies of unconditional love"

Ft. Aventurine, written with male reader in mind but no mention of he/him, so can be read as gender neutral. wc: 1039

Content: teen! reader, reader works with the IPC, platonic relationship w/ aven, inspired by hnk; when phos lost his legs / after losing your legs in an accident and having to replace them with doll-like ones, you feel useless. Fortunately, Aventurine is here to remind you that your thoughts don't describe you. slight angst.

A/n: i was having big brother Aventurine brain rot, dont ask me how the legs work, even i dont know. Aventurine may be ooc

The atmosphere was peaceful in the vast garden that you were situated in, sitting on a stool that Aventurine helped you on. He said that you needed to get some fresh air, since after the attachment of the legs you couldn't move them just yet. That... made you feel like a burden, he had been helping you get everywhere these past few days.

Aventurine said he didn't mind, yet your thoughts were swirling in your head, you couldn't bring yourself to not feel like this. Your vision blurred with tears as you blankly stared down at your new legs, the material ran up to your mid-thigh then stopping and pressing against what was left of your flesh and bone.

Your knee joint was ultimately replaced with a ball joint that resembles one of a ball jointed puppet. Maybe it was the IPC's way of saying "you're just a puppet and we control the strings" — how despicable.

You furrow your brows in distaste and put a hand against the section that meets synthetic with flesh. "These things look kinda weird, huh?" you muttered, tilting your head to get a better perspective of the material that was now a part of you.

You sat there for a bit, but got fed up with being so still. You wanted to walk and run and jump! In a spontaneous motion you grabbed your knee and shook it desperately, "just move already!" you grunted tilting back a bit.

The stool tilted back as well, and with a thump you landed on your back on top of the green grass. a wince left your mouth as you tried to regain your breath.

breathe in...

and out.

You sighed in defeat while turning on your side, watching the blades of grass sway with the wind in a mesmerizing dance. “I’m completely useless…” you muttered in sorrow, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Footsteps broke you out of your trance and a familiar shadow covered your figure that was laying down, you looked up at the comforting face of the man that you considered a brother.

“I left for only 5 minutes” he chuckled and picked up the stool that had fallen down “how exactly did you end up on the ground?” Aventurine smiled cheekily as he crouched down to pick you up in a princess carry. He looked down at you in his arms and he noticed your teary eyes, his expression turned into a concerned one quite quickly.

Aventurine gently sat you down on the stool once more and crouched down on one knee in front of you as he stared into your eyes. “What’s wrong, kiddo?” he softly spoke as he reached up towards your face and flicked away a tear with his thumb, one that was threatening to spill over.

You stared at him with a conflicted expression, you didn’t know how to tell him. As much as you wanted to let out the horrible thoughts in your head you felt as if you would be bothering him with your problems. More tears filled your eyes along with some flowing down your cheeks, you pressed the palms of your hands to your eyes in an attempt to stop your sobbing.

“Oh, (name)...” Aventurine whispered, he stroked your head while softly moving your arm away from your face. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” He asked as he held your hand, encouraging you to spill your thoughts to him. You sniffled, lightly rubbing underneath your nose, “i..” you paused. Your eyes trailed down to your legs that now donned those puppet like joints, your lips slightly quivered as you opened your mouth, hesitantly speaking. “Am I- do I bother you?”

Your hopeful eyes met his understanding ones, Aventurine’s eyes softened as he processed your words. “Of course not” he smiled reassuringly “you could never be of bother to me” his hold on your hand tightened a little. Once more you looked at your lap, your hair covering a significant part of your face, “i can't move my legs, i cant move around by myself…” you trailed off and pausing for a second then raising your head to meet his eyes yet again. “I feel like a burden to you and also useless at the same time, it’s… so frustrating.” you grimaced, slightly cringing at the words that tumbled out of your mouth. You never thought that you would spill everything like that.

Aventurine was shell shocked, although he had his suspicions of you feeling under the weather because of your loss of your legs, he wouldn't have predicted that it would impact you this much. Everytime he would come into your room to give you your dinner or to check on you there would be something off, such as your puffy eyes, tear stains on your pillow etc.

Of course, how couldn't he have noticed it sooner? Aventurine reached up and cupped your cheeks in his hands, you could feel the warmth of his hands radiating from his palms. “You're not a burden, (name)” He answered, “I would take care of you for as long as it takes,” he said, his eyes determined. “Because I care for you, you have brought happiness to my world when I needed it most.”

“So, don’t cry anymore, kiddo”

Your breath hitched, teary eyes wide and filled with much needed relief. Suddenly you tackled him in a hug, your hands wrapped around him tightly as if he would suddenly disappear and you burried your head in the crook of his neck. Aventurine quickly caught you in his embrace, he chuckled and leaned his head on yours as he rubbed you back in comfort.

In an instant your stomach grumbled, indicating that it was hungry. Your face heated up at the moment being ruined by your hunger. “wow, someones hungry” Aventurine teased as he leaned away from the hug, he snickered at your flushed face. “Hey! Don't make fun of me!” you exclaimed while lightly punching his arm, “haha, okay okay.” He smiled as he picked you up, “why dont we get you something to eat?”

“Can we have (f/f)?”

“Hmm.. i don’t know..”

“Aven!

“Alright, i'll stop. of course We can your majesty”

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dreamingdixon · 2 years

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Eyes on me

Anon request: “can you do something like what happened to Maggie with the governor when her and Glenn were kidnapped? maybe the reader was in that situation, and Daryl finds out and is like comforting them?”

This fic contains sexual assault, and everything that comes afterwards. This could be potentially triggering, so please keep that in mind before continuing. My intention is not to trigger, upset or make anybody uncomfortable. I will post an edited version, that will have any graphic content (including the SA itself, and any mentions thereafter) removed, so this story can be enjoyed by those who do not want to read the full/graphic version, but still enjoy the hurt/comfort element of a soft Daryl <3 If anyone is in a situation where they have experienced anything along the lines of harassment/SA, my ask box is always open to be a listening ear and a friend. I wrote this story from a place of my own understanding and experience, and I found it comforting to write a different 'afterwards'.

17,349 words.

“I’m sorry about Merle.”

You’d kept your gaze trained on the bloodied denim on your thighs when the heavy door creaked open, managed to keep your eyes averted even when you heard footsteps against the harsh concrete. You’d told yourself you weren’t even going to so much as look at the man who’d dared to hold a knife to your throat and drag you from your friends.

But this was a different voice.

Snapping your head up, you quickly blink away the fog in your vision to reveal a man, his hands held up high, palms towards you. There’s a smile on his face that you immediately hate and you instinctively pull against the tape on your wrists as he edges himself closer to you.

“Sometimes he just doesn’t know when to stop. I’ll be having a word with him.”

There’s a rawness to your skin when you continue to move your hands, your mind begging for your small movements to be capable of breaking the layers of thick tape, desperate - pleading as he reaches the other end of the table. He doesn’t seem overly satisfied when he asks ‘May I?’, gesturing towards the chair and receives no answer, his only response a continued glare, but he sits regardless and places a towel on the metal in front of him.

“I hope he didn’t hurt you too much, that’s not the way we do things around here. Especially not to young women, survivors like yourself.”

The sickly sweet voice phrases itself like a question that makes your skin crawl as he sits so casually, one leg over the other, hands across his lap. He carries himself well, you think to yourself. Powerful, or he thinks he must be - power that he’s brutally taken, not earned - as he watches your face for any sort of reaction to his presence or words. He continues when he sees none. We don’t want to hurt anybody, we’re a community of good people. People, food, walls. Woodbury.

He gestures around the damp room, apologising for the ‘inhospitable accommodation’ one of his men brought you to. It seems like a storage room, bits of old furniture leaning against the bare walls and corrugated metal sheets, and there’s a faint bitterness to the air - cold from damp gathering on the roof and an unwelcome breeze from the outside world making its way inside, and you can’t ignore the goosebumps prickling against your exposed arms.

“I’m not staying.”

Your nose and cheek throb from your movements to speak, but your words come out firm and final exactly how you intended, no trace of the fear that’s slowly building up inside you. You have your own people, food, and walls. You have gates you’re carefully reinforcing against men like this, people who have done more for you since you joined them than others had your entire life prior to the fall, and there isn’t much food but it’s better than anything this man could ever offer you. You ignore the blood that trails down past your lip and the metallic taste on your tongue. His confident smiles only widens with your words, shrugging carelessly as if you hadn’t turned him down - like he was happy with your answer.

“You don’t have to. We can just take you back to your people, I’d escort you personally, make sure you get there safely, maybe strike a deal with your group for extra protection, share supplies, ammo.. What do you think, would your group be interested?”

You wonder how many people have fallen for his act. In the span of what you’re assuming to be a few hours, you’ve been forcefully taken, knocked out, your nose most likely broken in your struggle and you’ve been tied up, and this man has the audacity to offer a deal? You manage to swallow down the laugh that you’re desperate to vocalize, but a small smirk escapes onto your lips instead.

“I think my group will kill you on the spot when they find out about you. No fucking deal, asshole.”

Your brows furrow because he laughs at your words, deep lines forming between your eyebrows because he doesn’t seem phased. He’s acting like he didn’t expect this conversation to go any other way, like he’s about to shake your hand and send you on your way and you’re confused. Waking up in the situation you did, you’d expected a few threats and a gun to your head at the very least, but it doesn’t come, so you wait. Leaning forward, he watches you, studies you and he can tell you’re not acting - you’re tough. You’re sitting up straight, but he knows you’re uncomfortable by how you flex your shoulders occasionally against the pull of the awkward angle of your restraints. Like a racing horse with blinders, you haven’t taken your gaze away from his - not even once - like you’re not in the precarious situation you’re currently in. Your chest isn’t heaving with nerves like others who sat in the same chair just last week, and he admires you for it.

Bringing himself to his feet, he grabs the towel as he edges himself closer to you and your mind runs, pure anxiety tainting all of your thoughts and you’re ashamed of the wave of cold that suddenly courses through your veins and you shiver.

Stepping behind the chair, the hairs on your arms stand upright because you can’t see him anymore. White noise fills your head because he isn’t even walking, there’s no footsteps to be heard until you’re being suddenly dragged, a deafening scrape of metal as your chair is slowly turned 90 degrees and he gradually brings himself into your view again.

There’s fear now, he realizes, from removing himself from your line of vision. It gave you courage to have your eyes on the man in charge and taking that away for even just a moment gave that courage a shake - and he likes that, given him just a tiny bit more control. Your eyes are wider now, not narrowed like just moments ago. He could get off on that fact alone, so he crouches down in front of you to drink in the sight.

He’s looking at you like a child looks at the highest ticket prize at an arcade, full of want, a craving to be satisfied and unthinkingly your nose scrunches in disdain but oh my god that’s a mistake because you can feel your pulse in your nose and a dull twinge that shoots through you at the motion that has you sucking air through your teeth.

He whispers a ‘shhh’ that absolutely repulses you, and his eyes don’t leave yours as he slowly brings the towel in his grip up to your face and he lightly dabs at the skin above your lip, the white terry cloth coming back a deep crimson. It takes a second to realize he’s trying to clean you, and he’s doing it like it’s second nature but his other hand is resting on your thigh when he goes to repeat the motion for a second time, but this time you’re ready because he’s touching you and there’s rage bubbling inside of you because who the fuck is he to be responsible for your broken nose, then have the audacity to mop up the evidence?

Before the material reaches your lip, you muster the energy and ignore the strain on your muscles and you spit on him. It’s discoloured from the blood that made its way between your lips, and it’s revolting and it’s the least he deserves. How dare he touch you?

The man scoffs before taking the towel in his hand and erases any trace of you from his cheek, as he raises his eyebrow and suddenly the air seems heavier and the room just got darker because so did his eyes, and within a second he’s behind you again, but he’s not silent or at a distance - the material of his trousers are pressed against your restrained hands behind the cold bars of the chair and he’s got an arm wrapped around your neck. The pretend silkiness gone from his voice, replaced with a gravelly ‘I was right, you’re feisty’ and he’s applying just enough pressure with his forearm for you to not move, and you don’t.

You’re completely still as you look right ahead, you’ve stopped your fight against the tape because he’s everywhere behind you and if you’re completely still maybe you can ignore him, but you can smell his cologne and it’s so light and delicate but it’s overwhelming. Waiting for the inevitable blow that doesn’t come, he adjusts his grip as he lifts his forearm slightly, tilting your head upwards against the pressure and when your eyes angle towards the ceiling, he’s staring down at you, shaking his head, tutting his disapproval.

The towel's still in his grip, but he’s rougher this time as he brings it to your nose - tugging the scratchy material firmly against broken skin, replacing the gentle patting of the earlier attempt and it drags out a throaty whimper from your throat and he feels the vibrations against his arm as he repeats his actions two, three, four times. Eyes screwed shut, you feel his grip harden against your throat when you try to pull your head away but the pressure against your windpipe increases and you’re not going to black out so you do your best to hold still instead, groaning at the feel of rogue droplets of blood escaping down your throat from the angle, and the way your face absolutely throbs by the time he lets go.

Stepping back in front of you, he assesses his handiwork and tells you ‘see, that’s so much better’ before striding out of the room, a thunderous clang of the door ringing in your ears after he leaves.

Hours are spent rotating between a few tasks - wondering how you’re going to murder this man, planning your escape, counting the individual bits of furniture in the room and thinking about the group. It has cost so much to clear the prison, people have paid with their lives for the remainder to have somewhere safe to call home, you will not be the reason it falls by giving anybody the location. This entire situation solidifies what you already knew - you’d die for the rag-tag assortment of individuals and you’d call them family any day of the week. You think about how lucky you were to be taken in by them after crossing paths on a random dirt track months ago, and how they spread their scarce rations even thinner to take you in.

Family.

Struggling to find the strength to hold yourself up, you sit with your head limply resting against your chest, the occasional thin streak of crimson collecting on the neckline of your vest. Stiffness dominates every part of your body by the time the door swings open again, and you roll your eyes at the familiar man who isn’t smiling this time.

He approaches slowly, and by the time he’s next to you he’s offering you a plastic water bottle that you reluctantly ignore by sealing your lips and turning away. The bottle gets placed on the table, and he tells you to ‘suit yourself’ before grabbing your chin, tugging you to face him and he’s relieved to see the flow of blood has slowed despite the majority of your upper lip, chin and down to your chest decorated in cracked, dried crimson. He tells you you’re looking in bad shape, and he’d love to take you back to your people so I’ll ask again - where’s your camp?

The back and forth gets him nowhere, and the frustration becomes visible. His velvety voice becomes forceful and loud in his demands, fists hitting the table when he’s answered with another ‘fuck you’ and his jaw clenches hard.

“Okay. We’ll try something different.”

He slips the mask back into place, allowing the mellow tone returns to his words, but there’s still an edge to his voice. He’s worked up, but he sounds like he’s got a plan and you don’t like how he perches himself in front of you again, but you like it even less when his fingers toy with the bottom of your shirt.

“You wanna tell me before or after I cut this shirt off of you?”

Your blood runs cold at the question. You stare at him while your brain goes into overdrive, how can I get myself out of this? But without any hesitation, he brings the knife to the base of your shirt, holds the material taut with his other hand and drags the knife all the way up, catching the skin of your abdomen and your chest a few times on the journey. It cuts so easily, like scissors through wrapping paper and the bloodied material hangs limply by the straps until he easily nicks through the remaining fabric, and you feel completely helpless when he holds the destroyed shirt in his hands before tossing it in the direction of the door.

You’d known violence since the fall, but this was a different shade of cruelty - one that had your chest heaving and embarrassment showing itself with redness on your skin, and you had no control over the trembling that took over you within seconds and it only worsens when he returns to his favourite spot behind you, and you wait for the first cut against your skin but instead, he carefully slices some of the tape away, splitting the section binding you to the metal frame of the seat while maintaining the integrity of the layers around your wrists as he pulls you to your feet, shoulders lifting away from the frame painfully.

He’s staring at you like you're rare mixture of gold and silver and diamonds, like you’re there exclusively for him and he's not planning on sharing his riches with anybody, without a care in the world for the redness around your eyes or the tears that are threatening to spill over, or the fresh blood pooling around tender wrists where you’re furiously fighting with the tape that somehow feels even stronger now.

He ignores your whimpers, telling you ‘it doesn’t have to be like this, you’re in full control here, got it? How this plays out is up to you, don’t cry, shhh.’ as you try your best to stand tall, you’re not going down without a fight.

“This is how it’s going to happen, alright? I’m going to ask you questions - about where y’all are hiding out, about your group, and for every question you don’t answer, I’m going to take something else off of you until either I know everything I need to know, or there’s a nice pile of clothes over there. Ball’s in your court, sweetheart, cause I’ll do much worse than this to them when I find ‘em, and trust me, I will find ‘em.”

Fear and hatred consume your features, and he whispers a ‘don’t move’ when he steps closer to you and you step backwards, his hand delicately moving overgrown hair away from your eyes and tucking it behind your ear. Despite the light movement of his fingers, the touch feels like sandpaper and you silently promise to cut off each and every one of his fingers with the dullest knife you can find. Standing in front of you, he starts with his questions. “How many of you are there?” which seems harmless enough, but you already know you can’t win in this game so you remain silent and sob when he cuts through the wire of your bra, letting it fall to the floor.

You wonder how this man came to be as he eyes you up and down. You try to pretend you aren’t completely exposed by wondering if this place - Woodbury, he said - existed from the beginning, or if he had a role in setting it up. Nowhere’s safe anymore, and you swear the only decent people who are still alive are your people who you pray are currently out looking for you. Would Rick try to interrogate him first, like he did Randall at the farm? Would Daryl - the man with the thickest shell, who’d warmed up to you slowly - hesitate to kill him for you? Would Carol hold your hand when you tell her what happened? Would Beth think of you when she sang over the campfire?

Frustration hits you like a wave when the man's eyes linger over your chest, and you swear you’ve never hated anyone more in your entire life so you do the only thing you think to do in that moment, you bring your head backwards for momentum and you aim for his nose to return the favour, longing for the sound of a crunch that doesn’t fucking happen. He’s too quick, too practiced. Fast reflexes and learned instinct told him what you were about to do, so he swerves and you loose your footing, a stagger towards that leaves you barely on your feet.

Disappointment hits you like a tonne of bricks, the chance presented itself to you on a silver platter and you were too slow. You’ve barely found your balance before there’s a bruising grip around your biceps, warm fingers digging painfully into haggard muscles and chilled skin, and the hot breath against your neck telling you to ‘turn around, slowly.’ brings bile to your throat that you swallow down as you follow the instruction. He re-adjusts his grasp when your eyes meet, bringing his fingers to your chin instead, tracing the discolouration along your jaw.

“Nice try. What’s it gonna take until you spill, huh?”

He notices the tremor in your muscles, the involuntary vibrations beneath the palms of his fingers that have you shaking. He’s telling you again about how he doesn’t want to hurt you, and you’re so desperate to call him out on his lies but he’s got the upper hand and you know it, so the words die before they’ve even began to form.

He takes his time. It’s almost worse when he isn’t actually doing anything to you, it’s like the anticipation builds and builds until you’re breathing is short and fast because he’s playing mind games - and winning. You’d almost prefer if he’d just get it over with, whatever it is.

There’s so much fire behind your eyes despite your sore state, so he decides to up the stakes.

“Okay, time for round two. For every question you don’t answer, not only do you lose something you’re wearing, keep in mind you’ve not got a whole lot left, but somebody from your group dies. Simple as that. You’re at two so far, and I’ll give you the honour of deciding who.”

His hand trails from your jaw, fingers tracing the curve of your neck to your collarbone, across the flaky, dried blood on your chest before drawing an agonizingly slow line up and down your sternum but his eyes never leave yours - threatening.

“Might even give you a pretty dress for the show, since it looks like you won’t have anything left on you by then.”

There’s tears forming that you aggressively try to blink away, burning against your dry eyes. He’s asking you then, where’s your camp? Must be near by, right? How long d’you reckon it’ll take my soldiers to find, hmm? But his fingers are just below your navel, now, and you’re shuddering because you want to be anywhere but here.

He waits. Patient in his resolve. Whatever your people have, he wants it. He counts your accelerated breaths in his mind, still smiling and it widens sickeningly when your features warp into terror and panic as his index finger reaches the skin just below your breast, vaguely following the curve of the flesh but his eyes are still trained on yours and he just watches the way your nostrils flare and eyes widen because he did that. He’s proud to get a reaction out of you, but you still haven’t answered his question, so he brings his fingers just a tiny bit higher, that tiny bit closer to where he shouldn’t be anywhere near and he’s humming, a firm reminder to answer. A question in itself.

But the question remains unanswered, and his patience has run out.

“Get on your knees.”

There’s no time to react before his hand moves from your torso to your shoulder, pushing down while his other drags down firmly against your now bruised bicep. You buckle against the momentum, your arms still restrained leaving you off-balance and you’ve never felt like an easier target in your life. Your knees collide painfully with the concrete, and you wince against the jolts that burst up your thigh from the harsh collision.

Your thoughts run rampant. Is this your execution, or something else? Is he going to bring a knife out again and murder you, a sharp puncture to your skull to prevent the turn, or will he drag it out by holding it to your throat first? Would the group ever find you, hidden away in a storage room of a community they don’t even know existed?

Would Daryl be the one to find you, to bring you back to the prison and bury you, even if you’d turned? You imagine him sweating in the prison’s yard, a shovel gripped between bleeding, sore fingers while you lay there, covered by a sheet and the tears flow down your face like a running tap at the thought. When he’d promised to look after you, you’d vowed to do the same and you meant it, and he’d wrapped his arm over your shoulder at the way you’d said it - so full of sincerity and commitment. If you didn’t make it out of this room you wouldn’t be able to carry out your promise and that made your chest ache.

Your face is angled upwards forcefully, thumbs brushing away the salty tears streaming down your cheeks. He’s telling you it’s okay, shushing you quietly as he continues to drag the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks, the warmth from your tears and his movements smearing blood across your cheeks haphazardly. He smiles softly, telling you once more that it’s okay, that he’ll be gentle before his hands move to the back of your head - one gripping the nape of your neck, the other against your crown and he tugs you towards him.

You collide with the rough material of his trousers nose-first in a way that makes you howl with pain, it shoots into the back of your eyes and you’d swear you’d felt something shift that shouldn’t. He presses you against the crotch of his pants, forehead digging into the cold metal of his belt buckle and pulling against him gets you nowhere, only a firmer grip against the nape of your neck that you’d swear just yanked out strands of hair. He holds you still, ignoring your wailing and he moves his hips against you, smears of blood staining the fabric with evidence of his violence. The warmth of his body heat and the fact you can smell the metallic edge of your own blood and you’re going to vomit any second. The room is too cold and the denim too rough and you can feel the gathered-together tape digging into the oozing blood gathering around your wrists. You try to focus on anything else you can - the design etched into the material of his pants, the feeling of how you wiggle your toes, the pattern of your breathing, anything to give you an escape.

He moves you then, making you look to the side until your cheek is pressed into the fabric instead, and he simply holds you there, and that’s when you decide this will be easier if you close your eyes - if you can’t see what he’s doing, maybe it won’t exist. But it does, and suddenly he’s grabbing fistfuls of your hair, a rough grip that burns with so much intensity that it prickles down your neck and spine and he tugs you away from him. He speaks then - something about your eyes, but you’re completely unfocused until he repeats himself, emphasising his words with a harsh tug and when your eyes shoot open - he looks so proud of himself.

The sound of his zipper is the next thing you hear, a dull noise that seems to echo way too loud against the metallic walls, vibrating against your ears until you start counting backwards in your mind in a desperate attempt of distraction that doesn’t work.

When the door squeaks open suddenly, and you feel like you’re saved when the man talks about a breach, men with weapons and he needs to come immediately, panic written all over his features as he stumbles over his words with white knuckles over the barrel of his gun, but always keeping his eyes averted from your direction. The man holds you where you are while he listens, completely shameless when he grinds against you one last time before telling you I’ll be back, before tugging you backwards and pulling up the zipper of his pants.

You’re left with your knees against concrete, tears that won't go away and the heaviness in your chest feels like you can’t breathe because you can still feel the lingering grip against the base of your skull and the roughness of his trousers pressing against you, and when you can’t shake the sound of his breathing out of your mind you lean over and empty your stomach, retching from your hunched over position until there’s nothing left but stomach acid and it burns.

Time doesn’t exist anymore, there isn’t a single window in the entire room and you’ve truly lost your sense of timekeeping - has it been a few hours or an entire day, maybe more? The way the air is colder now makes you think it’s the milder evening air seeping in through the walls, fresh and bitter in contrast to the usual daytime Georgian dry heat that you suddenly crave against your skin. You curl in on yourself, back against the furthest wall from the door, the metal behind you only adding to the uncomfortable position but you swear if you don’t lean against something you’re going to keel over and die so you’ll take it, ignoring the discomfort of your wrists digging into your lower back.

If it’s night time, you wonder if Judith is asleep and if Glenn and Maggie got back safe, are they together now? Are you missed? Is Daryl using his tracking skills to bring you back home, like he promised you he would after you lost Sophia, when he vowed he’d never lose you?

You feel like you’re waiting for the inevitable, a reminder of sitting in the hospital waiting room for hours as a teenager after falling on your arm - you knew it was only broken, the result of an unsupervised houseparty, but what if they found something else on the x-ray and told you in 6 months you’d be dead? Your mother was adamant that wouldn’t happen, but what if? Turns out it was a hairline fracture, and you wouldn’t be dead in 6 months because of it, but your mother held your hand regardless, promising to take you out for dinner in exactly 6 months to celebrate - and so she did. But you’ve never forgotten the experience of sitting in the waiting area and how sterile everything was and how everything was so blue and bright made you vow to never need a hospital visit again. This felt the same, like waiting for the terrifying result of that xray that you were so sure was going to give you an expiration date - but it’s worse, there’s no exit or your mothers soft skin against your own, no nurses to make you laugh when they see your anxious eyes, there’s only the heavy metal door that wouldn’t budge when you tried to kick it, the scraps of fabric that you can’t wear anymore, the empty space and the occasional trickle of warmth down your chin.

You bring your knees up to your chest and cry, because it’s all you can do and you shake from the intensity of it all. You’ve never felt so useless, you’ve been so productive and exhausted and helped keep everybody safe for so long and now you’re here, playing a waiting game with a villain. Like a mouse caught in a trap with your own vomit a few feet away.

There’s a commotion outside that you try to ignore, scrunching your eyes closed and you wish you could cover your ears and pretend it doesn’t exist - so that’s what you try to do. Resting your forehead against your knees you just pretend. You’re not trapped and you’re not crying and you’ve definitely not just had him touch you like that, but then you hear gunshots and there’s only so much pretending you can do.

/////////////

It wasn’t supposed to turn into a bloodbath, but it was their fault.

A new woman - Michonne, was the only reason they had any lead about where you might be, and of course it was risky to go along with it, but this was you they were talking about, and it was a risk that was absolutely worth taking. Daryl would have gone alone if he needed to, because seeing Glenn and Maggie run through those doors without you had his heart in his throat, and when Maggie started speaking ‘I didn’t see who took ‘er, she was right behind us when we went inside, then there was a.. A yell, and by the time we came out there was a car drivin’ away.’ he already had his crossbow over his shoulder and a goal of getting you back.

On Rick’s command, Daryl slowly pulls the bolt securing the door, easing it carefully enough to avoid drawing the attention of whoever - or whatever - was potentially inside. The rusted metal rang when it rested on the other side and he placed his hand on the frame, ready to push with the signal. A last look around confirms they’re alone except the unfortunate outline of an man who’d raised his gun towards the wrong people, and when Rick gives a nod of his head, Daryl’s swift in his movements, opening the heavy door with one instantaneous push and he’s inside with a single stride, gusts of lingering smoke following the movement.

There’s a vague smell of damp to the room, mingled with something else - something bitter that hangs densely in the air until there’s a faint taste in the back of his throat. Rick follows the archer’s lead, a crossbow and gun darting around each corner of the room, and within a second they’ve both detected the few items of clothing - one by the door and as Daryl inches closer around the table, there’s a bra that comes into his view. Behind him, Rick makes his way towards the shirt, he’s about to get Daryl’s attention because he recognises it, it’s yours, you’re here somewhere but Daryl’s already next to you.

When your eyes meet Daryl’s, your chest fucking heaves and you cry from relief because he’s right here and he promised he always would be, that he’d find you and he did. His crossbow points at your chest for only half a second before it’s quickly dropped to hang loosely from the strap over his shoulder and he’s running towards you, calling over to Rick that he’s found you.

He’s kneeling next to you, face only inches from yours and you want to touch him but your shoulders ache in resistance and your wrists sting but you need to touch him to see if he’s real but you can’t and you’re hyperventilating, pulling harder, cutting deeper into already broken skin. Panic sets in and it’s so ridiculous because why are you crumbling now? Daryl’s softly calling your name and trying to meet your gaze but your ears are flooded by the resounding noise of your own pulse and your eyes are darting between the concrete floor, the open door and Rick who’s keeping his distance - he doesn’t want to add to your fear by towering over you so he turns towards the door, protective, guarding.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright. It’s alright, I got ya.”

The voice is grounding, it brings you back just enough to look at him and see him properly.

“There ya go, keep those eyes on me, okay?”

So that’s what you do, you keep your eyes on him and it helps. It doesn’t stop your heart racing or the cold sweat that’s forming against your temples, but you direct all of your focus to him because he told you to and it’s all you can do because it’s Daryl.

He’s trying to keep his features soft in feigned confidence and calm, praying some of it transfers to you because you’re shaking so much he can see it and your eyes are blown so wide that he wonders what happened to you? He’s never seen you like this before, he’s not sure how present you actually are, or the extent of the damage, but he can see that your nose isn’t in the best condition - there’s a deep gash across the bridge and there’s a bump where there wasn’t before. He’s determined to keep his eyes on yours so he relies on his peripheral vision to tell him the blood trails down, ending in a thickly caked mess down your chest. His gaze doesn’t follow the stream of crimson, instead, his eyes stay on yours as he tells you ‘I’m gonna give ya my vest, gonna put it right here until we get ya on your feet’ as he gently tucks the material in the space between your raised knees and your chest, and the chilled leather warms you in a way that’s entirely new.

“Good girl, there ya go. Lemme see what’s goin’ on with your hands.”

He inches to the side, so when you shuffle forwards slightly he can see the bloodied skin and the grey tape around you in thick layers. He’s only got his crossbow on him, so he tells you ‘I’m gonna get Rick over, alright? He’s got a knife, shh, yer fine, then we can cut ya free and get ya back.’ before calling the man over. Rick’s next to you both then, kneeling down and asking if you’re okay - Daryl nods on your behalf when you don’t seem to have the strength to.

“Look at me an’ only me, that’s it.”

He reminds you, soothes you while Rick slices through the mess on your wrists despite the fury that’s bubbling up inside the archers chest. You look terrified at the sensation - the back and forth of the blade and the pull against your irritated skin has you pale, oxygen trapped tightly in the confines of your lungs because you’re preparing yourself for pain until Daryl’s prompting you to ‘breathe’.

He’s on alert, ears perked against any footsteps, voices or gunshots he might hear. Usually he’d never have his back to the door, but Rick has his eyes towards the entrance and his crossbow is loaded and ready on his shoulder and right now you’re his priority.

“There ya go, feel better?”

You want to speak, but the simple ‘yes’ catches in your throat like a dry pill so you simply nod instead, slowly rolling your shoulders against the tightness of your muscles to bring your hands in front of you to confirm they’re actually still attached to you. The cold air nips at the broken skin but Daryl watches the cautious wiggle of your fingers and hears the quiet hum of relief that escapes you from the newly found freedom, and your downcast eyes miss the tiniest smile that lifts the corner of his lips and how Daryl’s expression softens just a little.

It’s taking a stupid amount of effort and self control to not throw you over his shoulder and just run miles and miles and miles away until you’re safe, until you’re somewhere he can run you a bath, hold you, - or not, whatever you wanted - make you a warm meal with some tea and maybe even hold your hand because he always wanted to, and he was so fucking scared that he’d lost the opportunity to ever intertwine his fingers with yours, to have you safely tucked against him. You’d only been gone a day but he ached with longing, and he still would until you were safe.

“C’mere, lets get ya up.”

He notices how your hand wraps around his vest that’s still gathered at your chest, tightly clutching a fistful of the black leather like a lifeline while your other hand positions itself against the floor in an attempt to pull yourself up, and Daryl stays low, mostly to avoid towering over you but also so he can give you a hand if you need.

If this were any other day, any other situation, he’d have unabashedly grabbed your hand to pull you to your feet but he’s afraid of crossing a new, unknown boundary and making everything worse. He knows your broken nose will heal quickly, a few weeks at most with Hershels knowledge, but this is a different sort of healing that he isn’t familiar with and he’s going to have to wait to hear you to know how to help.

He ignores the twinge that shoots through his chest when you ignore his outstretched hand.

Your body aches against every movement, like when you’d catch the flu as a child and stay in bed for days until you felt better, only to be left with fatigued, aching muscles from disuse. Wincing against the burn of everything, you see Daryl coyly offer his hand but you can’t take it - you already feel so humiliated. It feels like you’ve lost some of your dignity to have needed a rescue, to be sat in a corner so exposed, so you need to prove to yourself you’re capable of something, trying your best to subdue the want of Daryl’s hand in yours that dominates your mind.

Finding your balance on wobbly feet, you manoeuvre the leather over your shoulders as Daryl averts his gaze to the other side of the room. He listens until he’s heard the pop of the fasteners on his jacket before he turns his head back towards you, just as Rick announces ‘we’ve got company’, the urgency in his voice followed by a much louder pop, a deafening gunshot in retaliation to the ones suddenly don’t seem so far away.

Daryl’s crossbow is in his hands with remarkable speed and he’s telling you to ‘stay behind me, alright?’, and you glue yourself right behind him as he makes his way over towards Rick but all you can focus on is the jumble of deep voices that are approaching much too quickly. Rick reaches behind Daryl, handing you a loaded gun with a reassuring nod - it’s heavier than you remember, but it’s familiar in your grip. You silently pray you won’t need to aim or fire with the shakiness in control of your body.

Rick leads the way with Daryl closely behind, and you obey without question when the southern drawl directs you, telling you to stand in front of him when the gunfire seems to come from behind or when he urges you to watch out. There are multiple casualties but none of them are you or your two saviours, and you’re back at the car before you know it.

The drive back towards the prison is strange, the atmosphere thick with jumbled emotions and unspoken words. It’s entirely dark, now, only the black outline of the trees visible against the deep navy of the sky that’s void of any stars tonight - they’re hidden away, ashamed and remorseful of what they allowed to happen.

Rick’s desperate to apologise, to tell you how he wishes he’d never asked you to go on the run, or how he simply should have gone instead because this is a trauma he can’t take back - that you shouldn’t have had to go through, and that’s on him. He feels the responsibility and blame somewhere deep inside him, a failure as the leader of a group he’d sworn to protect. He grips the steering wheel harder.

You’re desperate to apologise for endangering the group, to scream because you’re so overwhelmed but you remain silent because you’re empty at the same time, there’s a medley of relief, anxiety and fear consuming your mind that it’s turned into a forcefully loud static, an unbearable cacophony painfully gnawing at the back of your eyes. You dig your nails into the palm of your hand for a shred of relief - it doesn’t work.

Daryl’s desperate to apologise, to whisper a quiet promise of revenge but he knows this isn’t the time, so he doesn’t. He feels entirely chagrined, furious that he didn’t get to you sooner, that he couldn’t prevent some prick from hurting you - no, thinking about you - anything without your permission. He tries his best to swallow his anger, to focus on the comfort of the fact you’re alive, that you’re right next to him because you asked him to be. It makes his jaw twitch but he does it.

There’s an empty space between you and Daryl and it hurts so much more than the throbbing in your nose or the ache in your hands, because that space has never existed until today - you’ve always sat shoulder to shoulder, crammed into the back of the car or lounging together in the RV laughing over some ridiculous story, but you’re not squeezed right against him or begging him to play UNO with you over the table in the RV - you’re both sat by the windows and the middle seat feels like the size of a football field and it’s devastating.

“Keep me company?” The shyness in your voice surprised him, like you’d expected him to say no, but Daryl would never deny you of anything let alone his company, so he grabbed a blanket from the trunk before joining you in the back, gently throwing the thick material over you.

It isn’t a long journey, but it’s an exhausting one and by the time you park up by the prison gates your adrenaline has completely worn off and you’re shuddering under the blanket, grasping the scratchy material for a shred of warmth and there’s a familiar uneasiness in your stomach that you do your best to temporarily swallow down. Daryl’s watching you from the corner of his eye, protective.

He jumps out first, opening your door for you while Rick marches ahead to ask Hershel to check up on you. You peel the blanket from your bloodied skin as you shuffle yourself out of the car onto wobbly legs as a result of pure exhaustion, you’re so drained from today’s events and you’re so pale - so Daryl acts on instincts, reaching behind you for the abandoned blanket on the back seat. You’re shaking as he brings himself in front of you, and you do your best to overlook the unreasonable fear that forms from his towering figure.

It’s Daryl - just Daryl. Your Daryl, the same man who specifically went into a Walmart on his last run to get you fluffy socks because you’d told him the Prison was chilly, followed by a story about how you didn’t spend a single night without fluffy socks before the fall because it was your thing. He’d stuffed his bag on the next run, he already knew the Walmart was wiped of medicine, camping gear and food, but the clothing section was almost entirely untouched and it was worth the detour because you were ‘chilly’.

The same Daryl that jokingly told you he’d build you a treehouse because ‘don’t you think it’s the best way to survive an apocalypse? Daryl, shut up, why are you laughing? They can’t climb but we can, it’s logical.’ and technically you weren’t wrong, and maybe one day he will.

He’s so ridiculously tender as he opens up the bundled blanket, gently placing the fabric over your shoulders to protect you from the breeze. It feels risky, but he’s rewarded with a small smile and a quiet ‘Thank you’ that sounds so meek but genuine and it almost floors him, and he pulls the blanket just a little more snug around your shoulders, motioning you inside to get you fixed up.

Maggie’s the first to see you, and she’s so relieved she basically runs to you, pulling you in for the tightest hug that squeezes the air from your lungs but you’re so happy to see her that you don’t mind. When she steps back she takes a moment, scanning you up and down and it dawns on her that nothing looks right - and within a moment she’s calling for Hershel, a kind hand on your lower back guiding you to the veterinarian’s cell.

Daryl doesn’t move until you glimpse at him over your shoulder, and he hates himself but he hesitates, do you want him to go with you? Would he be intruding if he joined, or do you need time to talk without him? His feet feel heavy because why is every decision suddenly so big, so critical?

Your hand reaches from under the cloak of the blanket, reaching for him with outstretched fingers. You’d only taken your eyes off Daryl for a moment in your approach to Hershel, and that moment was all it took for an unsettled feeling to rip its way through your chest and your vision to blur because you can’t be without him right now. You’re somewhere between a rock and a hard place - you want to be alone but suddenly he’s a lifeline, a lantern in the darkness of the abandoned prison that you’re being pulled towards like a moth to an open flame. Maggie’s hand on you feels comforting but you want more - and that’s exactly what Daryl is, he’s more.

Maggie watches the interaction with hopeful eyes as Daryl slowly paces over, knuckles white over the strap of his crossbow over his shoulder and his bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth, nervously wearing away the dry skin out of - habit or nerves?

There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to reach out and touch you, and he wonders if he should just follow to prove he understands your gesture because he’s been burning for your touch for so long and he doesn’t want this to be a gesture born from fear - anxiety of whatever trauma you’ve just endured, but if it’s what you want, he’ll give it to you tenfold. If it brings you even a modicum of comfort, he’d keep his fingers intertwined with yours until the second apocalypse rolled around. He’d like that, and he doesn’t realise that you’d like that, too.

Wiggling your fingers just slightly, you prompt him and when he slips his hand into yours, Maggie feels your exhale through the muscles of the small of your back as you head towards Hershel again. There’s a clamminess on both of your palms from a combination of stress and adrenaline, and it’s an awkward grip because your wrists and fingers ache and Daryl doesn’t want to hurt you, but it’s him and it’s you so that makes it perfect.

You’re both too tired, too weary to blush and tease each other like you normally would have, but it’s a different sort of intimacy that relaxes the muscles between your eyebrows and warms a tiny corner of your stomach against the continuous queasiness.

Your hands rests lazily against your thigh as Hershel assesses the damage, and you’re all too aware of the small audience that’s accumulated by the door of your cell. You can feel the tension, the way everyone’s barely holding back the questions on the tip of their tongue, what happened? Who? How? but nobody speaks, and neither do you. Daryl's thumb traces your knuckles with indistinguishable shapes, and it’s a welcomed distraction.

His hand doesn’t move from yours when Hershel points out how there’s some bruising forming under your eyes now, a clear sign of a break, he says. He tells you he could try to re-shape it, put the bone back into place - an offer you fervently decline. You’d seen far too many accident and emergency shows way back, and you simply couldn’t bring yourself to willingly let somebody crunch your nose, so you’re content with keeping the small bump.

Daryl watches you the entire time, monitoring your reactions and gauging your body language, squeezing your hand just a little tighter when you flinch against Hershel’s touches. He tries to ignore the waves of protectiveness that wash over him with every wince, but he hisses out a ‘careful with her’ when you visibly recoil against the prodding on the side of your nose - a comment that doesn’t bother Hershel because your eyes flick over from your lap to Daryl’s and he’d have to be senile to miss the way your lips twitch into the smallest smile at the comment. Maybe you find it funny, maybe you’re grateful to have somebody watching over you - either way, he’ll let this one slide.

“Whoever did this, they didn’t hold back, did they? But you’re tough. Looks like the jaw is just some superficial bruising, but it might be sore for a while.”

No, he didn’t hold back. Not at all - you can still feel the pull of your hair and the impact of his palm against your jaw when you didn’t follow his directions quickly enough.

He asks if there’s anywhere else, any other injuries. Despite the fact you’re fully aware of the pattern of cuts between your chest and abdomen, you say nothing because the sting isn’t bothering you enough - it’s the least of your worries. When the only response he receives is a blank stare, Hershel speaks to both Daryl and Maggie, asking ‘If one of you could help her clean up, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.’ and gesturing to some clean towels.

Focus seems to be a thing of the past as you simply sit and exist. Maggie comes into your line of vision but it doesn’t matter because you can’t feel anything. Daryl’s hand on yours, the mattress, the cold.. It’s all there but you’re unaffected, in an unfeeling bubble. Maybe you’re safe there, maybe you’re not. There’s no way of knowing anymore.

Going through the motions, you follow Maggie to the showers instead, because there’s vomit caked in your hair and you’d rather die than have someone else ‘clean’ you with a towel again, so you opt for the constant stream of water instead.

‘Stay?’ was all you’d managed to rasp out from your bruised throat, and Daryl followed immediately with a nod, sitting outside the shower door with Maggie as they waited.

Maggie sits with clean clothes - baggy, dark colours. No bra. Daryl dug out a clean pair of the socks you loved as if they would be a magic touch, like they would heal you immediately. Maybe he hoped they would.

“The water might open up those cuts on her chest, dependin’ on how deep they are. Might need you to help me convince her to get stitches.”

The fact that you even have cuts, even a single cut makes his blood boil. He doesn’t fully understand what Maggie’s asking though - there’s nothing he could do differently to her, or Hershel. Maggie would disagree, though. Everybody in the prison would disagree.

“She’s struggling, Daryl. I think she’s gonna be leanin’ on you after this. She’s strong, and we all know it - stronger than most of us. But this is a different kind of pain.”

She’s leaning in just a little closer to Daryl to emphasize her point. Maggie’s always hoped you two would find a deeper connection with each other, been waiting for it to happen. It was inevitable. She’s heartbroken with the circumstances and she doesn’t pray as much as she used to, but there’ll be quiet prayers uttered from her bunk tonight - prayers for healing and connection and love, despite the anger in her heart at God.

“What’re ya telling me for?”

You are strong and he knows it, he’s witnessed it daily ever since you met.

“She looks at you different, Daryl. She’s already wanting you around a whole lot more than she wants anyone else around, she must feel safe with you.”

Chewing at his lip, he wants that to be true. He wants to be safe for you, he always has, because you’re safe for him, and it’s not a feeling he was familiar with before meeting you - there was a pull that couldn’t be ignored, a pull that was even stronger now.

“How is she?”

Rick joins then, sitting opposite your two guards.

“She’s been better. Broken nose, but she doesn’t want Daddy to fix it. Bruised jaw.. Saw some bruises on her back. Her wrists are pretty raw, too. Might need stitches on a few of the cuts on her chest, but we’ll only be able to tell when she’s cleaned up.”

Rick only nods, grateful you’re able to stand up long enough to take a shower.

“More worried about her head. Mentally, I mean. I don’t know exactly what she went through, but I think we’ve all got a good idea based on what y’all saw. She’s gonna need time.”

She tells the men about ‘traumatic shock, and how it’s similar to PTSD but different. She was so zoned out Rick, she was just starin’ at the wall. Helped her out of her clothes ‘cause she just couldn’t, and I wouldn’t expect her to be alright after today either. There was a literal handprint on the back of her neck..”

Rick can only bring himself to nod, but the information makes his heart hurt. He makes eye contact with Daryl, where there seems to immediately be an understanding between the two men - The Governor, and anybody involved will pay a heavy price, tenfold what you’ve been forced to feel.

When the shower shuts off, Maggie heads back inside with the clean clothes, guiding you to your cell to inspect your now clean injuries.

////

The night drags and counting sheep does nothing to help. It’s been hours and the pattern of the springs of the bunk above are ingrained in your mind in an attempt to keep your thoughts on anything but him. You bounce between thoughts, memories, people and events but nothing’s powerful enough to keep the feeling of his hands or the whispering against his ear away. It’s exhausting but overstimulating.

The metal frame of the squeaky bed is too hostile and the rusty shade grey is far too similar to the cold Woodbury walls and it’s making you want to crawl out of your own skin, and the silence within the cell block is so awful you’d swear it’s giving you double vision. It’s all so cold and the stupid

mattress is suddenly the most uncomfortable thing in the entire world - frustration rips through you, quickly turning into anger as you twist yourself into a sitting position and the thin blanket tangles around your calf, it feels like a hand grabbing at you and oh my god, anger turns into panic and it consumes you like you’re on fire, a lit match to sensitive skin and everything inside you is gasoline.

You burn and writhe, sweating as you wrestle against yourself until you hit the concrete floor with a dull thud, your spine taking most of the impact, and the pressure around your calf only increases in your struggle but it doesn’t matter because you’re being grabbed, but it isn’t just your leg - there’s more now, large hands around your arms and you’re gasping for air but there isn’t any.

“Hey, hey! Eyes on me again, c’mon, look at me.”

Everything’s so foggy, there’s a voice somewhere in the darkness but it feels so distant, maybe the words aren’t even directed towards you. It’s familiar but barely, you want to give the voice your complete attention but you just can’t because your heart feels like it’s in your throat and you need the grip on your leg to go away, it feels like the man who forced you to your knees - a tight, malicious hold that wants to hurt you again, but even your kicking and thrashing doesn’t shake it off.

The hands around your arm are so mild in comparison, they aren’t dominating or restraining, they’re just there - a light hold around the tops of your arms, warm. The voice is there again, shushing you and you didn’t even realize you were screaming until you have to quieten your cries to hear it for yourself.

“Shh, you’re okay. It’s just me, just me an’ nobody else.”

The voice is a tether keeping you where you need to be. You’ve never heard a southern accent so soft yet so authoritative - it’s telling you again, eyes on me, and it takes all your strength to try.

Your dreary cell slowly comes into focus, blurry outlines of your bunk and the door forming hazy lines in your vision. It’s Daryl - you know that now. He’s the only person in the world to ever be so patient with you, always the first by your side. It’s like he can read your mind, he’s so tuned into you it’s ridiculous, like you’re both on the same wavelength, harmonious even on a bad day.

He watches your eyes slowly come into focus and he makes a point to breathe slowly, albeit somewhat dramatically, in the hopes you follow his lead - and you do. His hands slide down from your biceps to your forearms where they rest just above your wounded wrists, hovering slightly. He held your hand earlier because you wanted him to so he prays this is okay, that his calloused fingers don’t feel uncomfortable against your skin or that he isn’t crossing a line. He wants- no, needs you to feel him, to understand that his touch is, and always will be harmless. When he sees no fear in your eyes and feels you steady beneath him, he lets his hands fully rest around the curve of your forearm.

“It’s just you an’ me in here, ya understand?”

You respond with a nod between shaky breaths, but his raised eyebrows tell you it’s inadequate. He waits because he needs to hear you say it, needs to know that you can distinguish between the cloud of anxiety fogging your mind and reality.

Patient. He’s so patient as he sits cross-legged on the floor of your barely lit cell, giving you all the time in the world to come back to him. He feels your pulse calm beneath his grip, a slowing beat under cold but clammy skin, hears your breathing even out until it matches his. You’re looking at him in such a daze and you look so exhausted - dark circles and the bruising at your jaw a daunting contrast against your skin, he wants to brush it all away with his thumb until there’s nothing left except unblemished skin - to be the reason you don’t hurt anymore.

“Tell me ya understand. Need to hear it.”

His words are demands but he says them so softly, and the way he’s looking at you makes you feel so good, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. The blue of his eyes is so him, so clear as he watches you behind unkempt waves and he acts as an achor, and all you can do is be still.

“I understand.”

The words sound so tired as they pry their way up the dryness of your throat, clawing their way up despite the tightness of your muscles. Daryl can see how much effort it takes to speak, and he nods in silent praise.

“Who’s here?”

He watches as you take a cautious look, a sweeping stare around the cell behind him. He gives your arms the tiniest squeeze in motivation. After inspecting every outline and every wall, you answer.

“Me and you. Nobody else, just us.”

You echo his words because he’s right. There’s nobody else here, despite Daryl’s presence being so overwhelming in the best way possible it is just the two of you, hidden away in the darkest corner.

“That’s right, ya wanna tell me what happened?”

“It was- fuck, it was around my leg and it just, it felt like-like him and I just, fuck.”

You slide your hands out of Daryl’s grip, bringing your hands to your hairline out of pure annoyance, clutching a fistful of hair as he shifts his gaze towards your outstretched legs where he understands immediately, nimble fingers unraveling the sheet around the bottom of your calf, letting it fall to the floor. Like it was so simple.

This is so fucking annoying, is this the life you’re sentenced to now? Crying over a sheet?

Weakness, is that what this is?

Conflicting emotions muddle together in a hazy barrier, separating fact from fiction.

Daryl’s looking at you so softly, eyebrows raised ever so slightly from his usual scowl and it changes his face entirely, and you wonder what you’ve done to deserve having his eyes on you so attentively, so caringly. He should be asleep, it’s the middle of the night, and he’s always the first one up every morning but you can’t bring yourself to send him away - not yet, anyway.

Guilt joins your already mixed emotions, because Daryl’s such a powerhouse, yet you’re here keeping the man who does so much awake for no good reason. Clutching tighter, you tug at the strands of hair still in your grasp until your scalp burns in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the cesspit of the direction of your thoughts.

“I’m okay.”

Too quick. Too unbelievable. Try again.

Loosening your grip, your hands fall into your lap in a fidgety attempt to look sane. People who are genuinely okay don’t pull at their hair, and it’s difficult but you manage.

Inhale. Exhale.

“I’m fine, really. It just- it was too similiar to, y’know.”

“Nah, I don’t know. Ya wanna talk to me about it?”

He truly doesn’t know. He assumes, but a million different things could have happened while you were captive, and he doesn’t want to assume wrong. There’s no guessing game when it comes to trauma.

“Not tonight.”

He wants you to talk about what happened - he’s always been somebody to bottle everything up inside and suffer because of it. He’s hauled memories and scars for as long as he can remember and he’ll be damned if he lets you do the same. It’s too damaging, too corrosive to carry alone and he knows that better than anyone. ‘Not tonight’ is good enough for him because it’s not a ‘never’, it’s simply ‘later’, and if that’s what you want then he’ll take it - he’d take anything you gave him.

Forcing the corners of your lips into a smile, you want to show Daryl you’re okay enough to survive the night. Daryl sees right through it - it’s the most insincere smile he’s ever seen in his life, especially when your eyes tell a completely different story.

“Okay. Not tonight.”

Sitting back, he gives you some space to acclimatize, to breathe.

He asks if you want him to stay the night on top bunk, which you decline. You convince yourself you’d be awful company because at times you don’t even feel like you exist. Other times you just want to cry and pace around your cell, and you don’t want to disturb him more than you already have.

‘I’ll be just in that guard room out here, ya know the one. Just yell if ya need me, okay?’ He tells you, emphasizing with a ‘M’ serious, ya come get me if somethin’ don’t feel right.’ as he stands in the doorway, hesitant to leave you alone.

After convincing (lying to him) that you’ll be okay, you spend most of the night cleaning your weapons and pacing the confined space of the cell that’s completely miserable. Too dark, too lonely.

Daryl finds you before dawn. He’d watched you during the night as you dragged your thin mattress from the creaky bed, out into the walkway outside your door. He was moments away from coming over, to ask what you were doing before he saw you simply lay down with your back against the wall. You had to have a different view, a different environment before you lost you mind. Hauling the mattress was easy even if you did have a headache afterwards, but the open space just felt so much better - windows, even with the discoloured bars, they were a blessing with the dark treetops in the distance. It was just a little bit easier out here, so there you sat until dawn.

In the morning, Daryl heads out, but not before checking in on you. He checks your nose and your jaw with delicate prompting, telling you to get some sleep ‘for me, please?’ even though you both know you won’t.

While Daryl’s gone, you find yourself trying so hard to exist and it’s difficult. Everybody’s trying so hard to distract you, to interact with you and give you something else to think about - and you’re grateful, but it’s so obvious. Beth talks to you the most and it’s nice, there’s no pity or questions, she just talks like she always does and although your answers are lacklustre she doesn’t complain.

“Ya alright?”

His voice takes you by surprise. There’s packs of candy in his arms, and a small, pink, fleece blanket that he places on the table, which Beth grabs. She excuses herself, telling you she’s going to give the newborn that’s currently asleep in Carol’s arms the new blanket.

“Yeah, just a bit tired but I’m okay.”

You look tired. Truly tired, it physically hurts him to see the dark shadows creeping into your face, but he knows the bruising isn’t helping your overtired features. He tries to convince himself it’s the lighting or a bad angle - the shades of purple almost look black beneath and around your inner eye, and your jaw isn’t much better.

“Hm, did ya eat?”

“There’s stew over there, did you eat??”

So, no, you didn’t eat.

It’s not quite a feeling of nausea or needing to vomit, yet it’s something more than just a ‘lack of appetite’. You don’t have a logical explanation, and you don’t try to come up with one, either.

“I’ll get some later.”

Any other day, you’d both be first in line for any meals going, relishing in the game you’d managed to catch earlier in the day. There was always a satisfaction verging on pride when you’d bring anything back, which was almost every time you and Daryl went out together. The teamwork you both shared was striking, celebrated amongst the group.

“Promise?”

Pointing his nose into the air is all the confirmation you seem to be getting, but you take it.

“What is it, are you okay?”

He’s alternating between chewing on his bottom lip, and his thumb.

“Got somethin’ to show ya.”

There’s no eye contact with his words, in fact there’s the opposite - is he.. Nervous?

Twiddling with his crossbow and biting his lip, the ground must suddenly be very interesting because it’s all he’s looking at now.

“Really? What is it?”

“Wanna see ya eat somethin’ first.”

“I already.. Fine.”

You change your course when you see the raised eyebrow. Knowing fully well he knows you’re lying, you make your way over to grab a bowl of the still hot stew, sulking as you swallow it down.

He’s quiet as he leads you outside, pebbles crunching beneath you as you make your way through the humidity towards a lone guard tower. His nerves make you nervous as you walk up the stairs behind him, but you’re so curious.

“It aint a tree house, but I know ya ain’t been sleepin’, so, uh..”

The door is held open for you at the top of the stairs, expecting to see yet another drab, cold guard tower.

“Daryl.. Oh my God.”

Oh my God.

It’s a guard tower - but it’s not drab, and it certainly isn’t cold. It’s colourful and homely and a chill runs up your spine from the thought that went into this - into the transformation he’s created because it’s wonderful. You were in this one just a few weeks ago. Rick wanted somebody to join him to finish clearing the area and the guard tower itself, and he’d asked you ‘Saw one of them in full protective gear, and I want your good aim for the job’ so you did without hesitation. There were some guns, some ammo, you’d told the group. Forgetting to tell them you’d peeled the gun from a grey corpse, the barrel aiming towards his own jaw was simply an accident.

There was no trace of that incident, now. Anything worth taking was with the group in the main prison, and the walls were.. Fluffy. Cracked windows were now draped with thick blankets acting as curtains, the floor almost entirely covered with similar fabrics and pillows in every colour. It was an absolute eyesore and you loved it.

“You did this?”

Disbelief has your mouth agape. Appreciation has you walking around, fingers tracing everything you can touch. Even the scruffier blankets feel nice, but those are over the windows, cloaking you from the afternoon sun. Tip-toeing around, you lean down to admire the absolute pile of softness at your feet. There’s so many. Light blue and knitted. Multicolour patchwork that’s just a little bit itchy to touch. Pale yellow, crocheted with thick, silky yarn.

Daryl nods with a grunt, using the excuse of chewing the nail on his thumb.

“This is.. Amazing. So amazing. The cell just, doesn’t work for me right now. I miss sleeping so badly, my eyeballs hurt. This is really for me?”

This feels magical - nobody’s ever gone to so much effort for you. There are tall candles standing atop the control panel with a box of matches right beside them, ready for nightfall.

“Course, can’t have ya in that cell right now. I ain’t like it, either. Found a Hobby Lobby while I had the car today. Didn’t know what half the shit was in there.”

You make a mental promise to pay him back tenfold. He broke into a Hobby Lobby for the sake of a few hours sleep, all for you. You knew he was soft for you, but this? Images of him lugging armfulls of fabric into the back of the beaten up little car flood your mind and you can’t help but smile at him.

When you’re done admiring, you head back into the prison to keep busy. Carol and Beth are experimenting with some of the prison supplies for dinner, so you try to be productive until Hershel pulls you to the side, to check in. He asks how you’re feeling, how you’re holding down food, sleeping, pain on a scale of one to 10.. Hershel knows you’re lying with most of your answers - you’re stubborn, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself and your situation, so he lets you go after reminding you he’s always available to talk to.

Daryl subtly observes how you play with your food, but still thankful you’ve managed some. Pushing re-hydrated mashed potato around your plate with heavy eyes and an orange glow from the fire, he’s trying to not stare but his efforts are in vain because he can’t help but shift his gaze to you, wanting to make sure T-Dog isn’t sitting too close, or that your wrists aren’t hurting too much even though he watches how you occasionally rub the tender skin.

While dinner gets cleared up, you make your way over to the archer who’s adjusting the string of his crossbow with a furrowed eyebrow.

“Busy?”

He finishes twiddling with a gruff ‘Nah’, standing to join you, crossbow in hand.

Good. You’ve wanted to slip away since the group gathered together. There’s so much love for every single individual sat around the log cabin fire Daryl built, but there were moments you were filled with exhaustion, craving peace and chunky knitted blankets instead. You adored when Beth sang, when Rick’s beautiful daughter cooed and the excitement that came with having an actual meal with friendships that were essentially family ties.

But not tonight.

Linking your fingers with his, Daryl doesn’t even consider protesting as you gently pull him behind you towards your little safe haven. As you walk, you miss the sympathetic smile from Maggie, and the one full of hope from Beth.

Once inside, Daryl tells you he can sit outside and guard, but you’re quick to remind him he can do that from the inside, too. There’s anxiety in your thoughts, nerves from wondering if those men will find you again. Find your camp, your people, Daryl. It occupies a dark, weary corner of your mind that you’re desperate to not think about for one night, you’re simply craving peace and rest. Daryl sits facing the door, quietly continuing his mission with his crossbow.

“You should lie down, too. Only one of us needs dark circles this bad, and I’m already claiming it.”

He scoffs, but oh how he loves hearing you tease. The playful edge in your voice sounds spent and dreary, but it’s still there and it sparks an entire new wave of thankfulness and admiration through his soul - feels it so deeply as he watches you gather a handful of fabric, clutching it by your chest like a child would a comforter.

He tells you he will, that he just needs to finish fixing this one part first. It’s a blatant lie - what he means is, he’s waiting to make sure you actually get some sleep. Actual rest. Not only do you deserve it, but you need it at this point. Your voice is barely above a whisper when you tell him ‘don’t take too long, okay?’ The room is so dark but you’re still so bright for him. He’s still not over the fact that somebody could willingly hurt you, someone so honest, so selfless - he can control his anger right now, mostly grateful you’re here in his company.

It takes a little while until you seem settled, when you toss and turn just a little bit less, only then does he close his eyes for just a moment, back still against the wall ready to defend against anyone who dares try to disturb you tonight.

Everything’s so bright tonight - the stars and the moon look like they’re trying to lure you in, desperate for attention against the pitch black of the night sky, and the air is muggy but it’s a welcomed distraction. Another failed attempt at sleeping finds you bundled out on the balcony with heavy eyelids and a million thoughts, but absolutely nothing you can focus on, nothing’s distinct enough or sharp enough to latch on to, so it’s easier to not try - looking at the sky is easy, and you don’t have to try, so it works.

You tried for hours. Sleep simply did not want to be your friend again tonight, and it was so frustrating. Every way you tried to lie was uncomfortable for no apparent reason, and when you felt a headache forming in your temple, you almost screamed into your pillow before remembering you had company. Daryl was slumped, a thick yellow blanket draped over his shoulders against the metallic chill against his back, despite the blistering heat that had the entire group in a chokehold every moment of the day.

“Can’t sleep?”

You’ve been so engrossed in the sight before you - the stars, the moon and just how captivating they are, that you don’t notice the footsteps of heavy boots against metal flooring behind you and you almost give yourself whiplash with the speed you turn to face the source. Daryl’s stood just a few metres away, back leaning against the frame of the open doorway with tousled hair, concern hidden behind a sympathetic expression and a question he couldn’t stifle.

“No chance, apparently. I could ask you the same question, though.”

Rubbing your eyes as you speak, you turn yourself back to the direction of the thick canopy of trees. You can feel the puffiness beneath your eyes, and the fragility of the delicate skin - a prominent display of just how exhausted you are, and you sharply inhale at the throbbing sensation that pulses beneath your fingers from the bruising.

Was it his fault that you couldn’t sleep? Was he too close to your personal space, too invading? He hesitates by the door, already fumbling over words that haven’t even formed yet, chewing down on his bottom lip as his gaze lingers on your dark silhouette.

“D’ya want me to go? If it helps ya sleep better, I can-”

As much as he wants to stay, if you need to be alone he’ll go - he’d find an excuse to be somewhat close, maybe he’d patrol the fences or collect some firewood, but not behind thick walls because he wouldn’t be able to see or hear you from inside and you might not know it yet but you’re his responsibility now. You’re fully capable and he knows it - so powerful and stubborn, passionate and perfect and Daryl's never had a single doubt in his mind about your ability to fight or overcome, and he isn’t about to start now because it’s you, and although you don’t need anybody to protect you, he still wants to. Right now you just need some time to heal and he’s consumed by the desire to help - to absolve you of the pain you’re going through because you deserve better. He would take your experiences and endure it tenfold if it gave you peace, he would kiss away the bruising around your eyes with the gentlest, most angelic brush of his lips if you let him because he only exists to make you feel better.

The words die in his throat the moment you turn back towards him, because there’s a trace of a smile on your lips as you tell him ‘No, I don’t want you anywhere but here.. only if that’s okay with you, though.’ and Daryl can hear the way you second guess yourself, the way the second half of your sentence drips with insecurity - don’t you know he longs to be by your side, aches to be yours, to get you through the turmoil you’re currently trying to dissect?

You watch as he makes his way closer until he’s next to you, crouching down until his eyes are level to yours and he shuffles himself until he’s sitting next to you, legs swinging over the edge of the balcony. There’s a warm breeze and you feel yourself relaxing into the warm gust of air, letting your head lull backwards and your eyes close for just a moment - the night sky and warmth used to be enough to pull you into a nights sleep, so why isn’t it anymore?

Your mind flashes with memories - you can feel them, hear the way your friends would laugh into plastic cups and the crackling embers of a fire, a blanket around your shoulders and the way your body would relax so deeply into the shape of your hammock that you could have slept for days. The breeze feels the same and despite your closed eyelids, you know you’re still sitting beneath the same flickering stars. You’re so deep in the memory and the calmness that corresponds to it that you might as well be back there - then it hits you that you’re not. There’s no overflowing party cups and no gossiping around the campfire, you lost your hammock long before the world fell and there’s an absence of burning ashes lingering in the air, and although you could swear you heard the repetition of jokes and laughter so distinctly that it must have been real - it isn’t.

But there’s a slight smell of smoke, and you know it’s real and you’re not losing your mind and it smells so much like your favourite evenings that you take a deep inhale, then another before slowly opening your eyes, letting the memory fade out as you focus on the stars for just a moment.

Your friends aren’t here anymore, but Daryl is.

Daryl watches you, wondering exactly where you went. He’s so content just observing you, admiring the rise and fall of your shoulders and the strands of hair that move ever so slightly in the Georgian breeze that he just can’t take his eyes away from your profile, doting on how you look beneath the silver of the night sky. He’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life, and when you open your eyes and turn towards him, it only solidifies what he already knew because the moonlight is reflecting in your eyes just right, and out of everything you could be looking at, you’re choosing to look at him, and when a light gust of air sweeps a cluster of hair into your face, he moves on instinct.

He’s slow as he raises his hand, and he expects your eyes to switch to his moving fingers, but your gaze remains on his as he inches closer.

You catch yourself, resisting the natural urge to simply push the rogue strands away, instead you find yourself yearning for the simple gesture - and when his rough fingertips brush over your cheek, you find yourself leaning into the friction, the way his calloused skin feels so effortless as he glides the hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. There’s a pang of something that shoots into your chest so suddenly, but as daryl’s fingers delicately trail the shape of your ear, you realize what that feeling in your chest is - it’s not fear or dread, it’s affection, and it’s blooming so intensely it’s threatening to spill over through your eyes because you’re not scared, you’re something that you can’t quite give a name to, but it feels good.

Slowly, Daryl reminds himself. Every movement is steady and gentle, two fingertips trailing one after the other in tiny little shapes and squiggly lines just below your lobe, and he swells with pride as you quietly sigh, comfortable enough to close your eyes against his touch, so he continues - mapping the contours of your face from your hairline to the slight dip beneath your cheekbone, gently tracing the discoloration along your jawline. The touch is so soft, so barely there that it almost tickles and it’s incredible. You spend minutes just letting yourself be touched, focusing solely on being in control of your emotions and how this is special, how Daryl is special and how this is completely okay and he’s not hurting you and he never would.

The archer changes his movements then, using his hand to cup your jawline, hovering lightly over the bruising, and when you open your eyes and focus on him again, he repeats the motion on the other side until he’s holding your face gently between both of his large hands, angling himself in front of you.

“Let’s get ya back inside, alright?”

You’re so pliant and warm and soft for him, completely oblivious as you relax into his hands. He’s supporting your weight with his palms as he traces his thumbs across your cheeks, every fraction of a movement is brand new territory, and he’s concentrating hard to not scare you - he’s not going to move until you do, because he might be the one touching you, but you’re in control, he’s not going to make any decisions on your behalf, no matter how small. As far as Daryl’s concerned, this is your world - he just lives in it.

You want to stay just like this, because he’s tracing over your darkened bruises with so much tenderness, and the damaged skin is so sensitive - the combination feels magical. Your gaze drops, suddenly you can feel the lethargy rest heavily on your eyelids because since when were they so heavy?

“Think you’re ready for a good night’s sleep, c’mon, let’s get you tucked in.”

When you finally nod, he’s careful as he takes one hand away first, giving you a moment to adjust to the lack of support, with just one last brush of his thumb from below your eye to your cheek before he pulls away, bringing himself to his feet beside you. Your hands slip into his outstretched ones, supporting you as you steady yourself against the dull thud of the metal beneath you, and he leads you back into the mess of tangled sheets.

There’s a moment of ‘when do we let go?’ when you’re inside, neither of you entirely sure because you simply don’t want to. Thick pillows call your name, and you’re the first to lower yourself against a velvety throw blanket, and in succession, as if he’d been doing it his whole life, Daryl follows the gentle pull of your locked hands, but he’s oh so careful to subtly leave space between your thigh and his - he hasn’t been invited to touch anything but your hand, so he doesn’t.

The softness beneath you is so potent you can feel it through your clothing, and although it feels like the most inviting thing ever, your attention quickly shifts from the gentle back and forth of his thumb over the back of your hand to the gap he’s purposely left between you, and you’re heartbroken.

Insecurity surges through every neuron in your body with so much ferocity that you feel absolutely annihilated, paralysed - your entire chest constricts, tightening at the sudden awareness of how feeble you feel, how damaged. Pulling your hand from his, your thoughts race with such force - why is there so much space between you? What did you do wrong?

You swallow hard at the lump in your throat, and Daryl watches the smile fade from your lips, and your knees pull up to your chest. He waits only a moment before perching himself by your feet, eyes on your downcast ones.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?”

How can he sound so concerned, so doting when you’re so.. Broken?

He’s calling your name so softly, voice just above a whisper but you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to block him out. Even just his voice feels like an assault on your senses, and the small percentage of you that wants to listen is overpowered by the crushing weight in your chest, the doubt in your mind.

He waits a moment - caution at the front of his mind. He doesn’t understand exactly what just happened, but he’s going to fix it because he can see the way your hands tremble ever so slightly as they cover your eyes, hear the way your breath catches in your throat and he hates it. For every fear-induced vibration of your fingers, he vows to cause an hour of pain - no, a day, for the man who did this. He’ll slice off a finger for every cry he causes. He starts a tally in his mind.

“You’re gonna get through this, ya know that, right?”

He receives a shaky exhale in response, so he carries on.

“You’re gonna get through this ‘cause it’s what ya do best. You survive.”

Patient is all he can be right now, and he does it well. Lets you calm down, to process whatever it is you’re feeling right now without intruding, and when you finally speak, he can’t disguise the flash of anger that forms in the pit of his stomach.

“He- The Governor, when I wouldn’t tell him where my camp was, he..”

Inhale. Exhale. Again.

You can’t bring yourself to look at the man in front of you when you raise your head, quickly dragging your sleeve across your damp cheeks. Shame builds in your throat - if you don’t tell him what happened right now, this very second, you swear you never will but you need Daryl to know. If anybody’s going to know, it’s him.

“That’s when he cut my shirt off, that’s how I got the cuts on my chest. He left.. When he came back he kept asking. I would never, ever tell anyone about the prison, please trust me. I never told him.”

Daryl knows, and he tells you this as you pat the skin under your eyes a little too harshly.

“He.. He forced me to my knees, Daryl. I had to-”

You don’t bother wiping the tears away anymore as they ferociously spill over. Chills and shivers make their way down your spine as you recall the event and you can only imagine the pity - or worse, disgust that must be all over Daryl’s face right now. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t shy away from your confession, instead he dips his head lower to get your attention. When your red eyes reluctantly meet his, you’re surprised by his features - the lack of repulsion or horror, you’re astonished because he seems to have shuffled just a little bit closer, not further away, and he nods - there’s more, and he knows.

“I didn’t think I- I thought he was going to.. Until you came. I knew you’d come, but I was so scared. I was terrified. I fought back, that’s how I got the bruise on my jaw. After that he just held a knife to my throat.. Told me to be extra careful.”

Almost on instinct, your hand delicately touches the front of your neck, where you’d felt the sharp blade dig into your skin just enough to keep you docile.

“And you’ve been.. Here, right next to me ever since, and I know it’s stupid but when you sat down, you felt so far away and I thought I’d done something wrong, or that I’m.. ”

Daryl watched and listened as you spoke, heard the panic creep into your speeding up voice, saw you wince from the torment that was so clearly playing in your mind. Every word you’d just spoken had bile rising in his throat, an acidic taste to be quickly swallowed down because this is your ‘not tonight’, this is when he sits and listens. This is your experience to talk about, your trauma to unpack. He already had a vague idea of what happened - an assumption of your ordeal - and actually hearing it were two very different things. He can’t even fathom that you’d think he was even capable of thinking about you badly, that you’re..

“Broken, disgusting.. Patheti-”

“Hey, that’s enough. C’mere.”

He reaches out to you with open arms, and you sob an absolutely gut wrenching sob because Daryl’s always felt like home, and despite the voice in your head telling you how unworthy you are of his support, he’d never deny you. Shuffling into him, he cocoons you with his arms without a moment of hesitation, pulling you against him just a little more because it’s what he’s always done - he’s nervous, ready to release his hold at the first sign of unease. Instead he feels you press yourself further against him, tucking your head beneath his chin.

“Ya aint none of those things. An’ I’ll tell ya that every day if I need to, alright? Ya ain’t never, and never gonna be broken or pathetic. Sure yer gonna feel that way sometimes, don’t mean it’s true, and ya ain’t disgusting for what someone else did to ya, that aint how it works.”

Soft spoken words tickle the crown of your head as you take in the little patches of heat where his body overlaps your own, and there’s a warmth blooming in your chest like a bouquet. These words are so special, even more so because they’re coming from him, in a little hideaway he built to keep you safe.

Hearing your thoughts out loud forced him to voice his own that had accumulated over the last few days. Daryl’s no stranger to trauma, he’s masked his own distress and memories with a need to be protective - support the group, hunt, track, find shelter. There’s almost a responsibility that’s bubbled to the surface to prevent the people around him feeling even just a snippet of what he’s felt over the years, and he does it willingly, out of a love that he himself doesn’t even understand - and it’s a feeling that’s always been more prominent with you. He couldn’t let another moment go by with you thinking that way about yourself - ‘you didn’t do this, the Governor did, an’ your worth don’t change ‘cause of a prick of a man’s actions.’ Daryl’s careful as he tells you this, hoping and praying he’s choosing his words correctly. He mumbles into your hair that he’s ‘sorry about not sittin’ right next to ya, I just thought maybe to just.. I dunno, we were already’ holdin’ hands and I didn’t wanna cross no line. ‘M sorry.’ and although the tears don’t stop, the excruciating weight on your chest lifts just slightly, faintly circling his palm against your back to calm you.

“Aint nothing you could’ve ever done to deserve any of this. Nobody here thinks any different of ya, and I’m gonna be right here until you’re okay again, we all will.”

You’ve been by his side since you stumbled across their camp by the quarry. You had your sister back then, like he had Merle. Suddenly neither of you had your siblings, your best friends to survive the world with, but somewhere down the line you found solace in each other. You clung to cigarette smoke as he did your unfamiliar softness and the group could only admire from a distance - an admiration that only grew stronger, as did your affinity towards each other.

There’s a pause to his words, and before you can wonder why, he places the most delicate kiss against your hair. His stubble itches your scalp, and your heart flutters at the tender press of his lips - another source of warmth that has you raising your head and bringing your eyes to meet his.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry. I didn-”

You idiot. You didn’t ask, she’s going to hate you and rightfully so. His mind floods with regret immediately, waves upon waves of quick scenarios running through his mind - will you never talk to him again? Walk away from him, never to return? His arms relax around you just slightly, ready for the inevitable moment where you pry yourself out of his grasp.. But it doesn’t happen? The inevitable doesn’t happen, and when your gaze meets his, he’s surprised.

“It’s okay.”

Delicate. Fragile. Powerful. Understanding. Pretty. Soft. Gentle. Strong. Warm. Kind. Forgiving. Patient. Loving. Accepting.

Daryl sees every single good thing there is about the world in your face. You’re telling him that it’s okay, with your tear-streaked rosy cheeks and sad smile. Loss after loss after tragedy and you’re still here smiling at him, tucked between his arms like it’s where you belong, and he’s astonished when you re-adjust yourself until you’re sat across his thighs, but astonished would be an understatement when you willingly lean your forehead against his lips - innocently pining for the feeling of him against your skin.

Giving you exactly what you want, you’re so momentarily content with the control that you have with his lips against you, exactly where you wanted him - exactly where he wanted to be. It’s pure and beautiful and he doesn’t hurt you when he places a hand on your lower back to support you, nor does he when his other hand cradles the nape of your neck. Not forcing, not grabbing you or keeping you still - but there to hold you, like his only purpose is to be a pillar supporting a temple of worship. The man who hurt you - his hands were softer, free of calluses but malicious, whereas daryl’s are rough and dry from hard work, but every single movement towards you has always been filled with grace.

The same hands that pressed over yours the first time you used his crossbow, and guided you until you got your first successful shot on a walker. He’d been proud of that moment, teasing about how ‘you’re a natural’.

The same hands you’d babied from fights - scratches and burns, wear and tear from being in a fallen world. ‘M fine, stop wastin’ shit on me’ he’d tell you, and you’d always ignore him as you dotted lotions on broken skin and wrapped him in gauze.

Those same scarred hands weren’t to be afraid of, you’d refuse to be timid of Daryl. He was capable of so much and you’d seen it. Watched him take on dozens of the dead, unafraid to take on the living with dangerous weapons to protect his people - to protect you. He was there for others to be fearful of, not you.

But even if you were afraid, were cautious he would understand. He would hide his hurt feelings because they weren’t the priority here, he would back up and apologize and leave you alone with a single word and you know this. He knows trauma, acknowledges the healing that comes afterwards even if he never got it - he’ll sure as hell make sure that you do.

There’s a long pause before either of you move, you both simply sit and breathe and soak in the closeness and admiration that’s growing tenfold every moment. Your hands ended up resting on his hips for the most part, with the occasional play of the buttons on his vest as he continued to lightly knead into the knots of stress in your neck, his lips never wandering far from your forehead.

“Tired?”

He mumbles into your hair when you yawn, tears prickling your eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve slept in days. Yes, I’m tired”

Prominent dark circles are an obvious answer to his question, but he just wanted to hear the lighthearted teasing in your voice he’s been hoping for - not that you’d ever disappoint him. Daryl’s willing to stay up until dawn if sleep wasn’t going to take you, but he’s thankful at the opportunity that you might actually get some sleep tonight. You both agree to lay down, and you ruefully peel yourself away from him.

There’s an echo that rings when heavy, ill-fitting boots are pried from threadbare socks before Daryl’s shuffling, rustling blankets along the way until he’s crouched by your muddy shoes. Gesturing to your laces, he waits until there’s an unashamed smile and a giggle before un-doing the tangles, pulling them off your feet despite quiet protests of ‘Oh my God, they must smell so bad, I’m so sorry’ before joining you back against the pillows.

There must be a specific blanket and pillows store he stripped bare for your comfort, and you’re nothing but thankful when you come back into contact with chilled fleece and fluff. Pressure’s been lifted from your mind, alleviated just enough that breathing actually feels possible for the first time in days, and Daryl’s laying on his side, watching and cherishing the peace he can see between your bruises.

You join him, then. Rolling onto your side until you’re face to face, suddenly shy beneath his gaze. He asks how your nose feels - and when you tell him ‘it’s not awful, but I’m sure it looks awful, Daryl don't look at it, jeez!’ he can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. Awful is the least it feels - he remembers the day he broke his as a teenager. The man who did that to him didn’t apologise either, but he’s certain he was less bruised than you and it was tender for months.

Jokingly, you hit his shoulder and his grin kills you. There are strands of hair across his forehead and his eyes are creasing ever so slightly and you’re so flooded with the sincerity of him that you feel tears forming in your eyes again. There’s no desire to cry and you’re not upset, and you try to blink them away before he notices but he does.

You’re cocooned in a homely comfort as he grabs an extra blanket, bringing it over and tucking it below your chin, whispering a ‘thank you’.

“Look at me for a sec. I aint him. Gonna keep ya safe, want ya to know that.”

Nothing above a mumble in volume, but thunderously loud in promise. Safety and refuge abundantly thick in his words and immediately you’re curling in against his him, dragging the blanket with you until once again, you’re wedged beneath his chin, chest to chest because you want to feel his words, physically feel the shields that are his arms and hands. You don’t have to wait more than a second for reciprocation - he’s immediately understood, adjusting himself until he’s got an arm over yours and a hand cradling the back of your head. You tell him that you know.

It’s just perfect.

Innocent intimacy that just feels so right, so natural. He holds you so close, like it's a necessity, and honestly it might actually be.

Careful, gentle touches from rugged fingertips lulled you to sleep that night, and many, many nights after.

Hours turn into days, days into weeks, weeks into months.

Healing was difficult, especially when the war broke out. People - good people lost their lives. Friends were lost, blood spilled and the prison fell and things were hard.

Almost nothing was consistent - not the company, meals or housing. The sun would rise and things would change, the sun would set and things were dangerous. Daryl was consistent, though. The tips of his fingers against your skin were consistent, as were his lips against your forehead, your cheek, and one day, the very corner of your own lips.

He watched as you gained your confidence again, how you’d zone out just a little bit less every week. It wasn’t consistent. There were good days, and there were days you’d wake from paralyzing nightmares but he was there, ready to pull you against him - what’s goin’ through that head of yours, huh? He’d whisper with a gentle nudge of his fingers below your chin.

His presence was healing you, you would tell him - and he would always correct you. ‘Nah, this is all you. It’s you doin’ the hard work, not me.’ and you would always disagree, even if he was right.

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cuubism · 11 months

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some kind of sheltered rich boy dream / feral child hob high school/college au that stuck itself in my brain and won't leave

...

"Did you truly spend your childhood here?"

Hob paused where he was picking up more stones, presumably to chuck them at passing trees, cocking his head at Dream. "D'you mean living in the woods, like a feral animal? I thought we went over that."

Dream sighed. "I meant playing in the woods."

Hob lurched upright again to catch up with where Dream was still walking on the path and, true to Dream's suppositions, hurled one of his scavenged stones off into the underbrush. It made a satisfying swish-thwack sound off in the distance. "Why's that so shocking to you? Kids love mud and frogs and stuff."

"You still love mud and frogs and 'stuff.'"

"Don't you?"

Dream looked up at the tree cover, and the orange rays of sunset filtering through the branches. He had never been to this part of the forest before. It was far enough away from any surrounding towns to still be dense and untamed, the underbrush thick and tangled, the path winding and poorly tended.

Not that Dream had been to any part of the forest much at all, not even the parts closer to home.

"I suppose. I can't say I have much experience with either."

Hob kicked aside some sticks that were blocking the path. He was always so active, so expressive. Dream was so used to clasping his hands that he didn't know what to do with them when no one was watching. "So what'd you do, then? Stay in the house all the time?"

"We have a garden," Dream told him. A very beautiful, very perfect garden. "It's very well tended. I doubt mother would tolerate a frog."

"Should do," said Hob, sadly. "They're brilliant. So you've never been just out in the wild at all?"

"I have not run unattended through the forest like a squirrel, no."

"Shame," said Hob, and then grabbed his hand. "No time like the present, then!"

And he took off down the path, dragging Dream along behind him. Hob was much faster than him, and certainly fitter too, and Dream nearly tripped and fell several times trying to keep up, but didn't let go of Hob's hand. His nice school loafers skidded on the wet leaves. His tie flapped along over his shoulder. Dream could not remember the last time he had been so out of breath, the last time his heart had beaten in his chest like so.

"Shit!" Hob yelled, and skidded to a stop.

Dream was not so fast, and quickly learned what had brought such an abrupt end to Hob's run. The path veered off sharply to the right above a steep embankment, and Dream's momentum carried him right over the edge, dragging Hob with him.

The next few moments were a tumble of dirt and leaves and flashes of sky, Hob's laughter, Dream's very unbecoming shriek. Then a splash, as they landed in the shallow brook at the bottom of the embankment.

Hob was still laughing as Dream pushed himself upright, took stock of himself. His trousers and the back of his blazer were drenched and mud-soaked, certainly ruined; his socks sloshed in his shoes; his tie was twisted and mangled around his neck. Hob looked no better, wet and muddy and with leaves stuck in his hair. Only on Hob, there was a natural ease to it, a sense that he would pick himself up with a grin and go on like that. Dream was certain he himself looked merely disheveled and ridiculous.

"You've discovered mud, good for you," Hob said, grinning at him. How could he still look so bright, with mud smeared over his forehead? "And there's a beetle in your hair."

Dream found it and plucked it out, moved to toss it away or perhaps to crush it, as he might have done at home -- but paused. Held it in his palm instead. Had he ever looked at them before? Its fine, intricate legs were really quite remarkable. Its shell iridescent and changing in the light. Its antennae waved at him.

He put it down on the side of the brook, and when he looked back, found Hob gazing at him with an expression he could only interpret as fond.

"Beetles look good on you," he said, and this brought Dream back from the warm place he had started to slip to, there in the glow of Hob's attention, and to reality again.

"Mother will be furious," he said quietly, and hated himself for the smallness of his voice. Dream had never before wished to be anyone other than himself, even when that self chafed and bled against its surroundings. But since meeting Hob, he'd begun to wish he could be in the world the way Hob was -- unapologetic, exuberant, pushing back.

At first, Hob just looked fondly exasperated, even frustrated, as he'd been on occasion, by Dream's unwillingness to ever break a rule. But he must have caught something in Dream's tone that he hadn't before, for he shifted closer, still in the water and getting even more soaked, expression creasing in concern.

"Hey." He laid a tentative hand on Dream's arm. "It'll be alright, yeah? It's just some clothes, in the end. I bet the dry cleaner's can even get it out."

Dream shook his head. It was not about the clothes. Nothing so reasonable as waste or expense would anger his mother. No, she could buy a new uniform easily enough, but how dare one of her children be seen with a hair out of place, how dare Dream put a foot wrong. Stumble? Fall? As if this weren't bad enough, Dream had also lied about where he was going, because there was no way he would have been allowed out of the house otherwise, and this was already a grave offense, and now there was proof.

It was always very unwise to anger either of Dream's parents.

But no matter what was waiting to come down upon his head, he was not going to cry. It was always unwise to cry. And he did not want Hob to think him even more pathetic than he doubtless already thought Dream was.

Dream steeled himself, clenching his hands in the river bottom for a long moment. The cold slip of the mud, the crunch of the rocks was surprisingly soothing. Then let go, and let the river water wash the dirt away. "You are right, of course. Only. Mud."

"Only that," Hob agreed, smiling at him again, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He would have lovely wrinkles there when he was older, Dream thought. Hob took his hand, and looked at his palm, perfectly smooth and clean again after the water had washed over it. "At least you weren't hurt in that tumble, yeah? That's what's most important."

For the moment, Dream let home wash away from him with the river water, and focused on his hand in Hob's. It felt like peace. "What's most important," he echoed. "Yes."

#random fic ideas stop implanting in my head challenge #i have too many wips already #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing

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blue-slxt · 8 months

Text

Kinktober 16

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Kinktober Masterlist

A/N: This is loosely based on my real life experience. I hope you guys enjoy it! All characters are aged up.

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Avatar!Reader

Warnings: Sex Toys, P in V, Creampie

“Ma Teyam~” your singsong voice carries through the room making your boyfriend’s ears shoot up at attention.

“Yes, yawne?” he answers with a smirk knowing that you clearly had something up your sleeve.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to try with you.” You hold your hands behind your back to conceal the small object you had. Neteyam cocks an eyebrow at you with his eyes jumping between your hidden hands and the mischievous look on your face.

Removing your hands from behind your back, you open your palm to reveal a medium-sized silicone ring with an oval-shaped bead on it.

“What is that?” he inquires taking in its strange appearance.

“It’s a cock ring. You wear it when we…”

His face flushes a bit in understanding. “Oh, I see.”

“Only if you’re okay with trying it out” you say suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.

“It wouldn’t be the strangest thing you’ve asked me to try” he laughs making you roll your eyes at him.

“Ha ha, just get your tewng off” you say.

He does as you ask removing his loincloth and you hurriedly discard your own clothes. No matter how many times he’s seen your avatar, Neteyam still thanks his lucky star every time he gets the chance to ogle you. He quietly watches as you climb on top of him and straddle his lap.

“Well, I like this part already” he says pulling you closer by your hips. You laugh a little before leaning forward and kissing him. Kissing Neteyam may be one of your favorite things. He moves in perfect time with you and he knows just how to touch you.

You reach between you to stroke his already hard dick and you smile against his mouth. You loved feeling how his body reacted to you.

You break the kiss for a moment to lean back and stretch the ring around his base. You gently let it go and the squeeze around him makes him huff out a breath.

“Does it hurt?” you check.

“N-no, it’s just…different” he says shakily. “It’s okay, though.”

Looking down at the way his tip is steadily leaking precum, you would think it’s probably more than ‘okay’. A smirk crosses your lips when you watch his face as you reach down to the base and push the button on the vibrator and turn it on. You would swear before Eywa that you saw Neteyam’s eyes cross and his dick jump from the new sensation. His breathing gets deeper and his body shudders under you. God, he’s beautiful like this. Neteyam is at the edge of his patience when he reaches out and pulls you towards him to capture your lips in a hasty, impatient kiss and his hands grip your ass to keep him grounded.He lets out a sharp hiss when you move your hips to drag your pussy along his length. All the sensation has his mind devolving into only his most carnal instincts. His hips buck up searching desperately for something to grind against.

You finally decide to have mercy on the poor man and angle your hips so that you sit down on his stiff cock. His head lulls back from the spinning sensation of finally being enveloped in your warmth. With this position, your clit is right on top of the small bullet buzzing against both of you and your mouth hangs open in a filthy moan. Even in your avatar, it still feels like he’s so deep that he’s tickling the bottom of your ribcage.

You slowly roll your hips into him, squeezing around his length while also grinding against the vibrator. The mix of sensations for you both is deliriously satisfying.

“Shit, yawne…if you keep doing that, I’m not going to last.” He says through gritted teeth.

“Haah…fuck! Give it to me, Nete. Please…W-want it so bad!”

His face scrunches in pleasure when his hands take hold of your hips and he starts moving you on his own. He lifts you up and down on top of him and your eyes roll from how he’s pounding directly into your cervix.

“Oh, God! I’m going to cum!” you say.

“Oh yes, yes, yes. Just like that, sevin.”

Your legs shake and your back arches feeling the knot in your core finally snap. The force of it knocks the air out of you and you can only manage to croak out broken moans as Neteyam continues to fuck you through your orgasm. It feels like you’ll never come down with how he’s using you to reach his own release.

A strangled groan leaves his throat when he snaps his hips up into you in one hard thrust shooting his cum into you. Between the fluttering of your walls and the vibration of the cockring still hugging around him, Neteyam feels like he’s going to go insane from the overstimulation. His dick twitches endlessly inside of you still trying to pump more into you even after he’s empty.

“T-turn it off” he chokes out, hips still stuttering under you.

You hurriedly reach down to click the little button to turn it off and watch as Neteyam’s whole body goes slack with relief. You collapse on top of him and you both pant out heavy breaths trying to steady your heartbeats.

“You and your alien devices will be the death of me, yet, yawne.” he laughs.

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#avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #avatar fic #awow #neteyam x na'vi!reader #atwow #atwow neteyam #avatar twow #avatar neteyam #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #avatar smut #neteyam smut #lunaskinktober2023

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tadpolesonalgae · 3 months

Text

Give and Take

Feyre x reader

Day 1: Lady of Many Faces

Synopsis: as High Lady, many citizens of Velaris have come to know her as kind; compassionate. Lending mercy where others would falter. As her lover, you bear witness to her more…unforgiving, tendencies.

a/n: I can’t manage a whole week, but I thought it would be nice to participate in @feyreweekofficial for a little 🧡💛

warnings: smut, references to poly!feysand though it’s strictly feyre x reader, slightly mean!feyre, face sitting, pussy spanking

word count: 2,096

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Feyre sends you a dark glance as Mor looks away to check on a friend, a stern warning if you’ve ever felt one.

She pastes a warm smile back on her rosey lips as Mor returns her attention to the two of you, shifting to stand closer, raising her glass to sip from, smoothly concealing her steadily thinning patience. The bubbly blonde gives a wince, making an excuse to slip away and check on her partner, leaving you alone with your mate.

“Enjoying the evening?” You ask lightly, hastily searching the room for a group to escape to, able to feel her tension rippling down the bond. “Not as much as you, apparently,” she replies, blue-grey eyes flicking sharply over the rim of her glass.

You offer her a sheepish half-smile, still searching for your third, maybe the only one who’d be able to spare you from her growing impatience. “Feyre, we were just joking,” you try, reaching to take her hand, “you know, having some fun at a boring party.” She hums, unfaltering from her position, pulling her hand away to pluck your glass away. “I think you’ve been having a little too much to drink. Maybe you should retire for the night.”

In a move of alcohol fuelled stupidity, you roll your eyes, huffing. “Jealousy isn’t a pretty colour, feyre,” you pout, shifting your weight to one leg, folding your arms over your chest. You offer a small smile, stepping into her space, both hands wrapping around her free palm, eyes twinkling. “You could retire with me…?”

Piercing blue-grey sweeps over you, and you press closer, breasts brushing against her ink-laced arm. She moves, lightly but firmly gripping your hip, keeping you still. “You have ten minutes,” she whispers beside your ear, hair prickling at the nape of your neck. “If you aren’t ready when I find you…” Her gaze cuts to you, but it’s not your High Lady, nor is it your mate.

The gaze you meet belongs to the ruler of the Hewn City.

————

Pleasure shivers down your spine, cool air pebbling your skin into goosebumps as you strip away your dress, fabric pooling in a lake of pale silk upon the hardwood floor.

You’d been anticipating a reaction of some kind, but not to this extent, and you find yourself relieved to have slipped into the lace beforehand. Pulling the ribbon from your hair, you allow it free, excitement unspooling in your lower abdomen as you move toward the bed, spine curving as the mattress dips beneath your knee, crawling to its head.

The doors open barely even a second after you’ve settled down, a wolf hunting her prey, herding you to right where she wants. An easy meal, her eyes gleaming with vulpine hunger, sweeping over your bare skin. Greedily settling on the blue-grey underthings you’d slid into while preparing for the ball.

She stalks forward, slowly discarding her dress like a second skin, the kind, adoring mask of the High Lady giving way to starving hunger, those years in the forest not leaving her without scars. Her ravenous touches burn at your skin sometimes, so intense, so set on devouring you whole you’re convinced along with her powers she carries the magic to drink straight from your soul, feeding off your adoration.

“Want to try and explain your way out of it,” she drawls lowly, elegantly climbing onto the bed, crawling toward you. “Or are you going to be quiet and accept the inevitable?”

Your head dips, heat flushing your body as your toes curl, meeting her simmering gaze as you part your thighs, making room for her to settle. Her rosey lips curve, eyes gleaming with menace, “the latter, I suppose?”

“What do you want me to do?” You ask softly, bracing your upper body on your forearms, jaw inclining to peer up at her as she pauses above you. Keeping you in. She angles her head, watching you with predatory interest, sizing up her next meal. “Make it up to me.”

Blinking, your lips part, tongue swiping out over your lower one as heat unravels through your body. “Any way?” You murmur, mind already considering what you could do. “Whatever you think suitable, considering your actions,” she drawls, knowing how all the options will surely overwhelm you. Every fantasy you can create playing out behind your eyes, easy for her to observe.

Feyre feels arousal warm between her legs as your eyes dip to her mouth pleadingly, any sort of abrasiveness melted away beneath her attention, your attitude fading now she’s giving you what you want. She can practically scent how soaked your underwear is, how eager and ready you are to take and give and devour.

Your mouths meet, and former thought is washed away, lips slanting hotly against one another with a familiarity that has both of you fracturing a little. Moving with a swift undercurrent, tension tightening as teeth come into play, growing rougher and hungrier with each passing second. Hands tangle in hair, bodies press tight, tongues lick over one another.

Desire gets the better of you first, your hand sliding down her spine, encouraging her to arc against you, breasts flushing with your own, and you moan into her mouth. Palms settle over her hips and you roll over, her silky hair cascading over pillows like a messy halo, her cheeks warm and flushed, eyes glinting with demand. A queen waiting to be served.

You’re more than happy to obey.

You kiss down the length of her throat, licking and sucking where you can, ultimately focused on your end point as you inch down her wonderfully trained body. The muscle of her arms that helps her handle you into position when you’re being insolent, the thighs that trap and squeeze you when you’re being a brat beneath her, those lovely inner muscles that clamp down around your tongue and fingers when you eat her out.

Teeth drag over your lip, half a thought and the lace over her breasts vanishes, eyeing up her dusty pink nipples with arousal at the feast before you. Without any more pause, you dip down, giving an appreciative lap to one before fully putting your mouth over her as she moans lowly. Fingers tangle in your hair, gripping as her legs wrap around your hips, pulling you closer so she can find friction.

“Sweetness,” she warns when your teeth nip out, unable to resist. You blink up at her with false innocence, and you’re rewarded with a disciplinary tug on your hair, reminding you of your task: making it up to her.

You offer a smile in response, thumbs skating across her nipples before reaching where you want. Palms run over the tops of her thighs before slipping beneath her knees, bending them so she can be spread wider, more than familiar with the mechanics of her body.

You waste no time in dipping forward, pressing your face between her thighs, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure as her arousal washes over you, stark and concentrated. Heat bursts in your lower tummy, both of you moaning as you bury deeper, nosing at her cunt, fingers dancing over the tops of her thighs, ticklish and light. Feyre rolls her hips down, hand still kept in your hair to hold you in place as she gently finds her pleasure.

Arousal dims your mind, wanting to taste her, to lick, suck, and touch everything you can. Your mouth opens over her clothed cunt, dragging the wet heat of your tongue over her sopping underwear, sealing your lips against her, drinking her flavour from the fabric. Feyre groans lowly, foot dragging over your back, raising her hips out of instinct to invite more pleasure into her body.

You moan, swept away as she encompasses your senses, eagerly applying yourself to her until neither of you can take it.

“On your back,” Feyre breathes, hurriedly shifting into motion, causing you to whine as she pulls away. “On your back,” she repeats, harsher this time, and you hasten to obey. To do anything if it’ll return her to you. You need to feel her weight on your mouth, set on your tongue.

The second you’ve settled, she’s swinging her thigh over your head, having already discarded her underwear and you hardly have the time to comprehend that before she’s sat down, rightfully over you. Your eyes roll back, able to feel the heat that rolls from her cunt, her thighs, the wetness that glosses your lips, surely gleaming on your cheeks as she winds over you.

“Fuck,” she groans lowly, thighs spreading wider as her hands roam over your chest, thumbs flicking over your lace covered nipples before she vanishes the clothing. “So pretty. So fucking pretty.” You moan, tongue flicking out, lips sealing against her cunt as you swipe over her, pushing at her entrance, circling her clit eagerly, suckling on the sensitive bud, pressing closer between her thighs.

You gasp as she travels lower, fingers dancing over your abdomen, snapping the band of your underwear back against your hip teasingly, hauling a whimper from your chest. She laughs breathlessly, “should I touch you?” Beneath her you whine, thighs parting, urging her on as you make out with her cunt with a conviction that has more arousal dripping onto your tongue.

She hums, amused by your determination, raising her palm and you whimper at the lack of attention.

You yelp when she brings her palm down, connecting with your heat, slapping your cunt with a sharp, unrelenting motion. She gives you no reprieve before repeating it, unforgiving and relentless, keeping you beneath her as she takes her pleasure. One, then another, and another—unending as surprising arousal and heat gathers in response, so desperate for her touch you’d take pain over numbness.

“How many do you think you deserve, sweet girl?” She muses lightly, rolling her hips down, your mouth remaining open beneath her cunt, licking eagerly, drinking her down. “Five more? Ten?”

Your toes curl, thighs pressing together, heat swirling down your spine as she laughs again, gently plying you apart. “Start misbehaving now and it’ll only get worse,” she reminds, amusement prominent in her tone. “I thought you’d decided to be quiet and accept what’s coming?”

Again you whimper, arms wrapping over her hips to show your conviction, your need for her pleasure, to have her releasing on your tongue.

Feyre pauses, feeling how you’re blindly reaching for her across that mental bridge, stumbling through the dark in search of her. Her lips curve, bringing you in, opening the gates to allow access, curious what you have to offer. It’s not an image, but senses flood her own, the heat, stark arousal, the wetness that you’re licking through, obscene slurping sounds emphasised through the bond, receiving pleasure in both the mental and physical parts of herself, and the high hits her hard.

She gasps, movements increasing in pace, hips grinding over your mouth, pressing her clit to your tongue as she flutters with mind-numbing pleasure. Waves rush her body, rolling beneath her skin, palming her breasts as she sits back on your mouth, indulging in the repetitive flick of your tongue until the heat begins to fade.

You continue lapping gently, desperate to clean the release from between her thighs, to commit her flavour to memory as her hips still, panting softly above you. “That was good,” she pants, smiling faintly as she eases off you, threads of saliva joining from your lips to her heat. “So good for me, hm?”

You lick her flavour away, certain your skin is gleaming, but neither of your care as she crawls over you, pushing her mouth to yours eagerly, lapping at her taste as you share the slice of heaven with her. It’s hot and messy, open and needful as arousal twines gently between you until she pulls away, straddling your hips.

“But you know, you still need a little more discipline,” she breathes lowly, reaching back, loving how you flush when her hand cups your wet heat, underwear drenched. “Are you going to be good and take it?” She asks, smirking.

Your lips part on a gasp as she slips her hand down your underwear, the pads of her fingers brushing against the bare heat of your clit, locating it effortlessly.

Pushing the heat away, you manage a nod, meeting her lustful gaze.

“I’ll take it,” you murmur, hands settling on her hips, and she smiles.

“Good girl,” she croons, palm pulling back. “Just five more.”

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general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

#feyre x reader #feyreweek2024 #feyre x fem!reader #feyre smut #feyre x reader smut #x f!reader

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paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 10 months

Text

close to home | chapter fifty four

plot: the reader meets Justin, and finally figures out what's been bothering Daryl

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 3,027 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd, explicit sexual content A/N: thank you for reading!!!

After sleeping in a little bit due to the alcohol, you spent the rest of your day with Frankie and Rosita, helping around the Sanctuary like you’d spent the last few days. It was like a repetition of events. But you got word from Daryl in the middle of the day; Rick agreed to the run, and you’d meet a group at the rendezvous point at dawn—something you did not want to think about.

You were in the middle of helping Rosita carry in supplies when you saw the message on the way. The Saviors were right. Your stomach sank into its anxiety, and you glanced at Rosita, who had an angry look on her face.

“They’ve been popping up more and more.” She whispered to you.

“It’s the first one I’ve seen so far,” You said, setting the basket down. “You think it’s safe here?”

“What other choice do we have? We can’t exactly just leave.”

You looked back at the writing on the wall, frowning. You hoped Daryl didn’t see it. He was doing an incredible job running the compound; you didn’t want him to see this. But Rosita said they’ve been popping up, and you knew Daryl knew. Why hadn’t he said anything?

“Hey, I know you.”

Both you and Rosita turned to the man who approached you. It was Justin, a man you had the displeasure of meeting a while back with Sherry--who told you to stay away. While he wasn’t one of Negan’s direct men, he could’ve been if he wasn’t such an asshole. And that was saying something, according to Sherry.

“What was it like, fucking the big man?” Justin asked you, earning a few snickers from the guys behind him.

“Fuck you,” Rosita said. “Don’t you got anything better to do?”

Justin looked back at his friends and then at you. “So, do you just hop from leader to leader? First Negan, now Daryl… if I take him out and take over this place, does that mean you get to warm my bed-.”

Your hand smacked against his cheek, stinging your palm to your fingertips. The red mark on Justin’s face appeared immediately, and his eyes turned to you angrily, but he smirked.

You grabbed Rosita’s arm, “Come on.”

You both turned to walk away, and you’d only taken a few steps before you felt Justin’s hand grab your ass.

“Hey!” Rosita yelled before you could even blink. “Don’t you ever touch her like that!”

Justin only smirked again and sent you a wink before he walked away with his friends, laughing. You shook your head angrily and pictured a thousand ways to kill the man, but you restrained yourself.

“You okay?” She asked you.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You let out all your anger in one long breath. “I wanna go eat.”

***

Daryl never showed up for dinner, which wasn’t unusual, so you didn’t worry about him. But you brought a container up for him, knowing he probably forgot to eat. He wasn’t in the room when you got there, but you knew he had been cause his vest and crossbow were at the foot of the bed.

Which only met one thing.

You grabbed a towel from the closet and headed towards the showers, which, to your luck, were primarily private. The only ones who took a room on the wife's floor were Frankie, Amber, Tanya, Rosita, and Eugene.

Water was running when you pushed the door open. Negan must’ve remodeled the room when he took over because while it had stalls, a few were converted into showers with pipes running along the ceiling.

“Hey, old man,” You said, walking towards the stall he usually showered in. “Has hell frozen over?”

You heard him snort, and you smiled as you started to undress. “I brought you dinner; it’s in the fridge. Why didn’t you invite me?” Showering together was new, and it only started in the past month or so. Daryl didn’t want to at first, but the thought of you being naked in there with him was enough for him to push back his insecurities.

“Figured ya come lookin’ for me,” Daryl said as he opened the door.

Your gaze dropped momentarily, admiring the man you loved, before he grabbed your arm and pulled you under the cold water. You yelped and immediately moved away. “I miss the hot showers from Alexandria.”

Daryl nodded in agreement and handed you soap.

It was quiet momentarily while you lathered your hair, feeling Daryl’s gaze the entire time. “You’ve been staring at me since I got here. Is there something you wanna say?” You asked.

He shook his head and looked away, blushing, which made you smile. You stepped into the water to wash out the soap and then felt Daryl’s hands at your waist. He pressed a few kisses on the back of your shoulder.

“You okay?”

He nodded and kissed your cheek before stepping away to let you finish. You thought about what happened earlier as you washed out the rest of the soap in your hair. “You know the guy Justin?”

“What ‘bout him?”

“Has he given you any trouble?” You asked, turning around and looking at him.

He squinted, and you could see anger cross his features. “What he do to ya?”

“He made a comment--hand me that.” You said, pointing to body soap. When it was in your hand, you continued. “He made a comment about me and Negan. And insinuated that I just fucked any leader this place had.”

When you glanced at Daryl, he was glaring and biting his lip. “Then he said that if he became the leader, well, I’m sure you can imagine what he said about that.”

“What else?”

You chewed on your lip as you rinsed off the soap on your legs. “He grabbed my ass.”

“I’ll kill him.”

You grabbed Daryl’s arm and pulled him away from the stall door. “Don’t. Things are already complicated. I just wanted to tell you… I don’t feel safe around him.”

Daryl’s face softened, and he brought you into a hug. “‘M sorry I wasn’t there.”

You nodded slowly, not because you agreed or thought he owed you an apology, but because you knew he needed to say one. So you pressed your cheek against his wet chest and hugged him tightly.

“Ya don’ wanna be with anyone else, right?”

You shook your head slowly when you looked up at Daryl, with his wet hair pushed back and all his tattoos. “Why would you even ask that?”

“Need to hear it today.”

You grabbed his face with your hands and stood on your toes so you could better kiss his lips. “You’re the only person I want, and have wanted, in a really long time.”

He nodded, putting his forehead against your shoulder, and you hugged him. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Lot on my mind.”

You reached over and shut the water off. “Let’s go back to our room, and we can talk about what’s on your mind.”

You grabbed his towel and handed it to him before wrapping yours around you. After grabbing your clothes from the floor, you followed Daryl out of the bathroom and down the hall to your room, where you quickly got dressed in one of Daryl’s shirts and then braided your wet hair back.

He called your name as you finished, and you walked over to where he sat at the edge of the bed. His hands grabbed your waist, and he pulled you closer so he was hugging your lower torso. You set your hands on his shoulders and rubbed them gently. You frowned as you looked down at him, worried.

“I love you,” You told him.

Daryl looked up at you with a tired smile, and you felt terrible for how exhausted he was. You wished you could do more for him, but you didn’t know what you could do.

“I love ya more,” He said.

You smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. You felt his hands drop around your waist, and you could tell he wanted to say something but couldn’t get his words out. Finally, he tugged at your shirt, and you knew what he wanted.

“We have to be up early,” You said, moving to sit down on his lap. “We’ll be exhausted tomorrow.”

“Ain’ nothin’ new,” He ran his hands down your arms. “I need to feel close to ya right now.”

You nodded and pressed your lips against his, kissing him slowly. You didn’t care if you had to be up early. You didn’t care about a damn thing except making him feel loved, cared for, and wanted. Daryl was always so strong, and only with you did he let himself crumble.

You wanted nothing in the world more than to make him feel better. And the fact that this was how he wanted it, wanted you, you would never deny him of that. You wanted it just as badly.

Goosebumps rose on your skin when you felt his fingertips trail up your thighs to the hem of your shirt. Your slow kiss ended for the time it took him to rid you of the shirt. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he stood up, bringing you with him. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he turned and laid you gently across the bed.

“I love you,” You reminded him, watching as he took off his bottoms before shutting off the light.

Your hands gripped his biceps as he positioned himself over you, and you spread your legs for him as wide as you could.

“I want ya,” He whispered against your neck.

You hummed in agreement when you felt his cock rub against you. “I want you, too.”

He shook his head briefly and started to say something but cut himself off. You wanted to ask him what was wrong but knew giving him time to be in this moment would be better. He would tell you after, you knew it.

Daryl kissed you again, his lips moving slowly against yours. His tongue traced your bottom lip lightly, and he brought his hips down again, rubbing himself against you. You had to suppress every moan each time you felt his tip rub against your clit.

“So wet,” You heard him mumble, “Ya so fuckin’ wet already.”

“For you,” You moaned when you felt his tip again. “For you, Daryl.”

“I wanna fuck ya now, okay?”

You nodded and threaded your fingers through his hair, making him look at you. “Yes, honey.”

Daryl adjusted and looked back up at you as he slowly thrust into you. You moaned, your eyes still locked onto his. It was possibly one of the most intimate moments the two of you ever shared, and you felt tears burn through your eyes.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Daryl said.

You nodded, biting your lip and forcing yourself not to close your eyes when he pulled out and thrust back in so slowly that you knew it would have you go crazy in seconds. But staring into his eyes was like your lifeline, and your heart beat erratically. It made you tremble with each thrust.

The way he stared at you with so much emotion written across his face. He moved in and out, connecting and re-connecting your bodies in a way you’d never experienced before. This was on an entirely new level. It was something so intimate, so passionate, you wanted to live in it forever.

“Don’ close ya eyes,” He reminded you. You hadn’t realized they’d fallen shut.

“Daryl…” You moaned.

“Tell me.”

You ran your hands down his broad shoulders and around his upper chest. “It feels so good… God, I love it. I love you.”

“What else?”

“I never want it to stop,” You brought your legs up around his waist as he thrust in, causing him to push deeper than before. “Fuck, Daryl, you feel so good…” You felt like you were about to cry from the pleasure.

“Open those pretty eyes, (Y/N).”

Your eyes shut open and met his. He was looking at you so deeply, so lovingly, and the tip of his cock was hitting in that one spot that could make you start screaming if he was going faster. But this slow pace was driving you insane.

“I love ya,” He whispered to you.

You moaned, his words going straight to your core. “I love you too.”

His head dropped down to your forehead, and his hips quicked their pace but half a second. His nose bumped against yours every time he thrust, and you placed your hands on either side of his face and closed your eyes. “I want you, Daryl Dixon. Every morning and every night. Don’t doubt that.”

You heard him mumble something, but his voice was too rough, too full of breathlessness that you couldn’t hear. Then he spoke louder, “Marry me, (Y/N).”

Your eyes opened wide as he thrust into you again, this time harder than before.

“Marry me,” He pushed into you harder. “(Y/N)...” He moaned your name and thrust harder and quicker. “I wanna call ya my wife.” Harder. Quicker. You felt yourself clench around him, and you started moaning too loudly. “Fuck, please, don’ make me beg for ya hand.”

He was pounding into you now, and the headboard slammed against the wall. Your mind was processing everything he said, but you lost all ability to speak each time he slammed into you. He’d never fucked you this hard, this desperate before.

“Fuck it, I’ll do it. I’ll beg ya for anything,” Daryl groaned as he lifted his head to look into your eyes. “Marry me, please? Please…please…please…”

You nodded because you couldn’t find the words, and then he fucked you even harder, and you reached up to steady yourself on the headboard. Everything was a combination of pain and pleasure, mixing to create a perfect balance that had you shaking underneath him.

“Need to hear ya say it,” Daryl said.

You nodded again and squirmed underneath him, feeling your orgasm coming quicker than expected. “Yes, Daryl, yes… fuck, yes…yes.” You tightened your legs around his waist, hips aching as your orgasm hit you harder than ever before. You couldn’t stop moaning so loud, and you were shaking too hard to cover your mouth.

You heard Daryl swear, and then you felt him cum inside you.

“Don’t stop,” You nearly yelled, “Don’t fucking stop.”

While his moments were sloppy, he gave you every ounce of you. He fucked you quick and hard until you knew he was utterly spent, and collapsed on top of you. Your hands shook as your high finally settled, and you winced when you let your legs drop down to the bed to relax.

Your entire body was shaking underneath him, and you couldn’t stop. Your pussy was aching, and you knew you’d have bruises around there, but it was the last thing you were worried about.

Slowly, Daryl slid out from you, and you nearly cried out in pain.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry, are ya okay?” He asked you, grabbing your chin and making you look at him.

“Did you mean it?” You asked.

Daryl bit his bottom lip before nodding. “Can’ stop thinkin’ ‘bout it. Did ya?”

You nodded, blinking back a few tears. “Yes.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief and kissed you. Then he was gone, and you winced when the lamp next to the bed flicked on. You grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed and covered yourself, wincing each time you moved your hips.

Daryl dug through his nightstand, and you moved closer, rubbing your hand on his back. “What are you doing?”

“Made ya somethin’.”

The drawer closed, and he turned around, moving to sit against the headboard. You followed his lead, leaned against his chest, and watched as he showed you what was in the palm of his hand.

“You made this?” You asked, picking up the ring. It was a dark metal, almost black. It was a simple band, and in his messy handwriting were a DD and your initials on the inside, but instead of the first letter of your last name, it was his. “Daryl…”

“I can find ya something’ else…” His voice trailed off.

“No!” You yelled, closing the ring in your hand and keeping it away from his outstretched hand. “Don’t you dare, Dixon.”

“Ya like it?”

“Are you kidding?” You sat up and looked at him. “This is the most incredible, most beautiful…” Your voice trailed off as you looked at the ring. It was imperfect; the band was a little crooked, and one spot was a little thinner than the others. But it was perfect.

Daryl took the ring out of your hand and grabbed your left hand, sliding it down your ring finger. The metal was heavier than you expected, and you smiled at your hand.

“Daryl Dixon… I hope you know that no one will ever be better than you,” You looked back at him and smiled. “Am I supposed to make you one now?”

He chuckled and showed you his other hand around your shoulders. An identical ring for him. You blinked back tears and took it from his hand before sitting on his lap. You grabbed his cheeks and kissed him for a long few seconds.

“I love you, I love you so much,” You mumbled against his lips. “I don’t know how nobody else grabbed you while they could.”

“Never wanted anyone till ya,” He told you.

Your heart melted, and you grabbed his hand, sliding the matching ring on his finger. “If I wasn’t so sore right now, I would fuck you again just for this.”

Your comment made Daryl laugh, loudly, which you so rarely heard him do. You smiled and looked up at him, meeting his beautiful blue eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. The best thing I got from this shitty world.” You told him.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Ya the best thing that ever happen’ to me.”

#daryl x y/n #daryl dixion x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #twd #daryl dixon #daryl twd #daryl x you #daryl x reader

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lambtotheslaughterr · 7 months

Text

When The Bough Breaks : Part Five

A Rafe Cameron Mini Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 4.5k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

PART FOUR | MASTERLIST | PART SIX

There was an evident tan line on your ring finger from your wedding band. You rubbed your thumb over it, rubbing your skin raw until it hurt. A shudder passed through your lips. Your hands shook. You couldn’t believe what you had done…

A hot, wet heat woke you up. You moaned, forcing your bleary eyed open. Instantly, your hands reached for the source of pleasure, your fingers finding a head & handful of hair between your thighs.

“What…?” You attempted to sit up, but a hand snaked up the center of your body, palm pressed flat between your breasts pushing you back down. You didn’t resist.

“Oh, god…” You bit your lip. A tongue swiped along your folds. Your pussy pooled with your juices below the wicked mouth that had its way with you.

You hadn’t felt this good in so so long. The tongue delved into your pussy, fanning the flames of your growing desire. On instinct, you bucked your hips, wanting the sensation deeper, harder. You could feel a smile against your sensitive nub. A choked gasp parted your lips as the mouth hungrily ate you out.

The room spun around you. The mattress you lied on felt like you were being carried miles above the earth. All you could feel, see, be was the sensations that he was providing for you.

His hands gripped your hips, burying his face deeper, taking you all in. Your hands desperately tangled themselves in the sheets & pillow cases. The coil in your stomach grew tighter with every delve & swipe of a tongue. A growl surfaced from between your legs & the vibrations reached your swollen clit.

You cried out, begging for completion. Again, your hips bucked, aching for that sweet release. Disappointment flooded you when the pressure suddenly disappeared. But it was quickly extinguished when two fingers slid into you. Another wonton mewl passed your lips.

“Just like that, baby.” The voice that came from between your legs made you frown but you didn’t have the capacity to think about it when the fingers curled & sped up.

“Oh, fuck.” You cried, feeling your legs fall open wider to take as much as you could get.

Your nipples tightened, your muscles burned with icy fire, the noises choked deep in your throat. You rode the fingers fucking your pussy until you threw your head back, crying out. The coil snapped & singed. Gyrating with the flood of pressure, you reached down, your nails digging into the wrist that had two fingers deep inside you. You held it, your nails digging into the skin, fucking yourself on the hand until your orgasm completed.

A light layer of sweat coated your whole body as you fell back to earth. You licked your lips lazily, coating your dry mouth. The body between your legs chuckled lightly to itself, crawling out from under the sheets. His lips & chin were glistening from your cum, but he was grinning wildly.

Then, through the post-orgasm haze, your eyes adjusted exactly to who it was in your bed.

Moses had always been a generous lover, caring more about your pleasure than his own. But even you knew during that wake-up call that it wasn’t him. Still, you desperately hoped it was just some insane sex dream you were having.

But it wasn’t. Rafe Cameron was lying next to you, his hand gently massaging the skin around your stomach, his eyes drinking your nude form in. You didn’t need to mirror his action to know he was naked, too.

Fuck. You groaned inwardly, sitting up. What had you done?

“Did we…?” Of course you did. You knew that. Slowly but all at once did the memories from last night come racing back to you.

Rafe’s unexpected arrival, the heavy drinking, the deep talks, the laughter, the looks. Then his hands. His mouth. His voice in your ear, his fingers at the apex between your legs.

You had slept with Rafe Cameron. More so, you had cheated on Moses.

Who were you becoming?

Sliding out from under Rafe’s touch, you hurriedly covered yourself with a sheet, leaving him completely bare on your bed. As you searched for his discarded clothes, you felt the burn of his eyes. You couldn’t look at him. Moses had been right; your drinking had pushed you to limits you thought you’d never reach.

“_____.” The sound of your name coming from the young man’s mouth made you cringe. Bile rose in your throat. Shaking off the temporary nausea, you found his jeans & tossed them towards him, “You need to leave.”

A scoff sounded behind you but you dismissed it. Not waiting for him to dress, you made a break for the bathroom, wanting to escape the suffocating bedroom. But you barely made it cross the threshold when a viselike grip snatched your wrist, stopping you.

“Don’t.” You muttered firmly, closing your eyes, “We shouldn’t of…”

You couldn’t even say it.

“I don’t regret it.” His voice was low, seductive, persuasive… “Neither do you.”

“I’m married!” You hissed, finally turning to face him.

God, even as you looked at him then he wasn’t the abrasive, invasive, annoying neighbor of yours but a handsome young man with a charm about him whose hands, & mouth, made you feel things you had never quite felt before.

“Barely.” He pressed his face into your neck, his lips finding the skin there. You gripped the doorframe, unsure if you should tear yourself away from him or bring him closer. You couldn’t trust yourself with the decision.

“Besides,” Rafe continued, his lips leaving a trail of soft kisses along your jawline, “I don’t care that you’re married. It didn’t stop me last night. It’s not going to stop me tomorrow. Or the day after that.” His mouth captured yours, “Or the day after that…”

You moaned regretfully into his mouth. His body pressed against yours. The thin sheet wrapped around your body was tugged from your hands, leaving you entirely exposed to the 20 year old before you. Though his touch made you feel like you were eighteen again, you imagined he couldn’t be attracted to your body. It wasn’t tight, supple, soft.

Gently you pulled away from him, preparing to reach for the sheet a second time. It didn’t matter how open you were last night. The woman you were when you drank was the polar opposite of who you were sober. Rafe would have to be disappointed.

But before you could finger the fabric, he kicked it away. A hand found itself gently grasping your neck as he angled your head to look up at him. His eyes never left your own, “You are the sexiest fucking woman I have ever seen.”

He didn’t even close his eyes as he kissed you hotly. His hands gripped the globes of your ass, lifting until you were forced to wrap your legs around him. The hard heat pressed against your center made it clear what was going to occur next.

Rafe pushed you into the shower, kissing away any doubts you had & fucking the fight out of you.

You couldn’t believe what you had done…

“You are a horrible, horrible person.” You said quietly to no one but yourself.

Rafe Cameron ended up fucking you at least three more times before he left early the following evening from your night together. You couldn’t deny the chemistry that was there. The sexual tension could set the world on fire. Even thoughts about Moses died. With Rafe, you were anything but an alcohol-dependent, depressed, childless woman. Rafe made you feel alive again.

But all of that came crashing down when you closed the door behind him, being left alone with the actions you had consensually allowed to happen.

Moses didn’t deserve to be cheated on, on top of everything else.

You held your head in your hands, grueling over the last 48 hours.

The adoption papers that you mistook for divorce papers. The fight with Moses. Crying & sleeping most of the day away. Getting intentionally recklessly drunk. Allowing Rafe into your home. Allowing him into your body. Sleeping with him more than once. Enjoying it. Not thinking about Moses, just how Rafe made you feel.

Maybe divorce is the way… You thought to yourself, but the thought alone made your heart break. You loved Moses. He was your person.

But if you loved him, how could you have an affair? Your inner thoughts challenged you, making you feel more guilty.

He wanted to adopt! You argued to yourself. Adopt?! What could he have been thinking? Had you been the patient type, you’re sure you would’ve learned what he was thinking when he brought those papers to you, but you never claimed to be patient. Regardless, you couldn’t do it. Even if you were sober, no longer in pain, happy, smiling. You couldn’t adopt. Though you understood enough that Moses had the best intentions by providing a loving home & stable family to an orphaned child, you could only be a mother to one.

And he was gone.

You shook away the thoughts, tucking your wedding ring in a miscellaneous drawer in the kitchen before brewing yourself some coffee. It was late evening, almost eight. Rafe left only a couple hours ago.

He had taken your phone, convincing you to take his number, & his yours.

But you had not heard a word from him.

You couldn’t let yourself be surprised. But you were surprised by the fact that you were feeling a little let down by it. Of course, you reminded yourself that Rafe was young. He was college aged, he was doing coke in bathrooms, having parties with other people his age. Rafe was doing & being what he should be doing & being. You on the other hand, you were a fantasy to him, a successful experience. You couldn’t expect him to be completely infatuated by you. The night with him was nice. You cherished it as much as you could without feeling guilty.

The coffee mug announced its completion & you were preparing to pour yourself a mug when your phone pinged.

Your heart clambered. With a concerning amount of speed, you unlocked your phone, a smile already on your face before you read the text. But the smile soon fell.

It was Sarah.

Hey _____. Sorry I missed your call. Went out on the water for a couple days with my boyfriend. I’m back on the island now. I’m really glad you called though. I wanted to apologize again for what happened a few days ago. Rafe left me a ton of messages, said he was at your place all night waiting for a call back, so I’m sorry again that you had to be around him.

You winced. Not only had you slept with your dangerously attractive younger neighbor, but you had slept with the brother of one of the only people on the island whose friendship mattered to you.

Everyone is going to be gone tomorrow. Rose and dad are gone for the weekend, Wheezie is spending the weekend at our cousins, and Rafe said he had plans so if you have the time and are interested I would like for you to come over in the morning so I can make up to you the breakfast I attempted earlier this week. If not, that’s okay, and I understand. Please just let me know.

I hope you’re doing well. I look forward to seeing you.

Your fingers hovered over the message, rereading it over & over again. Your stomach flipped at the prospect of being inside the Cameron hell house again. Though Sarah claimed it’d be just her, you couldn’t even trust her promise. What little you knew about the Cameron’s, you knew enough that they were unpredictable. And without Moses there to back you up, you weren’t sure you could stand on your own two feet in that mansion.

But before you knew it, you found yourself typing a response & hitting send.

I’ll be there at 10.

You placed your phone face-down, already regretting agreeing to the breakfast date.

You had already fucked up though. An affair, divorce on your mind.

What worse could happen?

The walk of the Cameron’s driveway proved to be difficult & dreadful. There were no cars in the driveway, but there hadn’t been last time either that you could recall. You truly weren’t sure if you’d be walking into a full house again or not. But since Sarah had claimed it would just be her, you dressed simply, not putting a lot of effort into your appearance. She was someone who made you feel comfortable doing that.

You had slept restlessly all night, though. Fortunately, your anxiety for the following morning made you forget all about your sexual tryst with Rafe. However, as your steps found you closer & closer to the mansion, your eyes danced around the many windows of the house, expecting to see him in any one of them.

You knocked three times on the door before waiting for a minute for it to answer. You hadn’t bothered telling Sarah you were on your way, or that you were even going to be early. Because you couldn’t fully trust the situation you were about to put yourself in, you wanted to gain some sort of upper hand by showing up unannounced. Thankfully though, it was Sarah & Sarah alone who answered the door.

She looked radiant. Her tan skin was glowing, her blonde hair was thick & wavy. She smiled brightly at you, & unlike Rose’s smile, you didn’t feel blinded by hers.

“_____.” You could tell she felt unsure if she could hug you or not so you offered it first, stepping forward with your arms out. Sarah hugged you shortly before you pulling you gently inside.

Sarah was talking about the spread for breakfast but you were too busy not listening. Instead, your eyes were peeking around corners looking for people who shouldn’t be there. But in a separate dining nook different from the one you had dined in previously, Sarah still proved to be the only person in the house. There weren’t even any kitchen staff.

Sure enough though, the spread on the kitchen island was impressive. It was hard to believe she put it all together herself.

“Send the staff home early?” You questioned jokingly, but seriously.

Sarah laughed softly but shook her head, “I prefer making my own food.”

On the island, your eyes danced from dish to dish. Hot oatmeal with fruit, a plate of steamed croissants, every variety of egg possible. You couldn’t help your jaw falling.

“Sarah…” You began, smiling, “You really didn’t have to do all this. It’s just breakfast.”

“I know, I know.” She nodded, grabbing two plates from a cabinet, “But I really do feel bad about what happened. And besides, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

You ignored the growing guilty feeling in your chest.

She offered you a plate & you took it, more than happy to dish yourself up a hearty meal. You were also relieved to get straight to breakfast & not do the small talk first. Eating always made uncomfortable situations less uncomfortable.

The two of you sat a table in the corner that was surrounded by windows over-looking the backyard lawn you conversed with Rafe Cameron on for the first time. The memory caused a stir in your stomach.

“Are you okay?” Sarah’s questioned surprised you. You must’ve been making a face.

You rolled your eyes, “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Are you okay?” She asked again, though this time with more concern.

You wanted to tell her no, to be honest, to spill everything as if she was one of your closest girlfriends back in the city. But she wasn’t. She was Sarah Cameron, an 18-year old girl in the midst of her own womanhood & independence.

She was also the sister of the man you had a full day of sex with but that you really tried to ignore.

“I’m okay.” You peeled a piece of croissant off, bringing it to your mouth. It melted wonderfully, making you moan. “This is amazing, Sarah, thank you.”

“Of course!” She beamed.

The two of you ate with some talk here & there, but it wasn’t until you helped her clean up & sat down at the back patio table with some tea that the conversation grew more serious.

“About what happened…” Sarah began, “I can’t say it enough, _____, I really am sorry. I thought a lot about what you said & you were right. What I did wasn’t okay. No matter what my intentions were. I totally invaded your privacy.”

You nodded in agreement but couldn’t find it in yourself the same anger & betrayal you felt that morning. You surmised that was due to the fact that her brother had made you cum multiple times with his hands, mouth, & cock.

“Thank you.” You told her, offering a reassuring smile, “It means a lot to me that you care enough to apologize.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, honestly.” Sarah continued, but you really wish she wouldn’t. You couldn’t stop her though. “I should’ve known Rafe was up to no good.”

A deep frown formed between your brows. What was she talking about?

“I’m sorry?”

Sarah blinked at you innocently, then confused, “He said he told you…”

Then it was your turn to blink. Had he said something the other night? If he had were you not able to remember it beyond the drunken haze? What was Rafe up to? But when you couldn’t conjure up anything that he may have said, you stared back at her. Blank.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry, _____.” Sarah ran a hand through her hair, her expression saddening.

“What are you talking about?”

“Rafe, uh. Rafe was trying to get his hands on some pills. Considering what your husband does & all, he assumed there would a pharmacy somewhere in your house. He was planning on stealing some & making money off them.”

Oh, my god… Your lips parted in shock. An accusation like that would cost your husband his career. And you had let him right into your home.

“Sarah, I have to go.” You rushed to stand up, the tea cups jiggling with your sudden movement.

“_____! I really am sorry! He said he told you!”

You would’ve remembered that, no matter how much you had to drink. You would’ve kicked his ass out. You wouldn’t have let him into your bed, letting him stay in your house all day.

Rafe had been right about assuming there would be a lot of pills in the house. There were. Moses worked close with pharmaceutical companies, accepting a new drug test on consensual patients if he decided the drugs met his standards. If Rafe Cameron got his hands on those before they were even FDA approved. The possibilities were scary.

Rushing out the door, throwing a thanks to Sarah over your shoulder, you began to run home. Thankfully you only lived three houses down. Hauling up the stairs from your driveway to the second floor, you let yourself in, sure to lock it behind you before heading to Moses’s office on the third floor.

Inside his office was a six foot tall metal cabinet with a locking mechanism. There was only one key for it & Moses kept it on him at all times. You inspected the lock, trying to make out if it had been messed with or not. But this was not a specialty of yours whatsoever. You wouldn’t even begin to know what to look for. Could Rafe have gotten into it?

Regardless of the answer, what medication lied on the other side of it would also be unknown to you. You wouldn’t know what was missing or tampered with. Only Moses would be able to tell.

You collapsed into his office chair, staring hard-eyed at the cabinet.

You couldn’t call him, not yet. He said he would call once he calmed down & it had been over two days. But this was more important! You had to call him, tell him what you were concerned about. Then he’d come back home & either relieve your fears or confirm them.

As you sat there, wrestling with the idea, you heard a shuffling sound down the hallway.

Hesitantly you rose from where you sat, your head poking out of the door. You could barely see around the corner but you paused to listen. Just silence. Stepping out of his office, you tip-toed to your bedroom, peeking in there. Still nothing.

Perhaps you were hearing things. Your anxiety was through the roof after all. You hadn’t had a drink in over 24 hours, & you hadn’t even touched your medication all weekend so far. There was a lot your body was going through currently. You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply & exhaling slowly.

But then the sound came again.

Your heart froze.

What was that?

Slipping out of your shoes, you quietly & nimbly carried yourself down the hallway. Approaching the living room, the sound grew louder, more clear. It was coming from the kitchen.

You were almost in the kitchen when you stopped abruptly. There were flowers on the island. Your favorites. Almost the exact same ones Moses had brought you days previously. But Moses would’ve called if he was coming home…

Then your eyes shifted from the flowers to the sunroom door, which was open. The wind coming in from the North Carolina coast was making the wrapping around the bouquet of flowers tussle & fuss. Your heart began to race.

Those weren’t there before you left, & the door was most certainly not open.

Just as you were about to race down the stairs & out the door, prepared to call the cops, you suddenly felt something warm but tough wrap around your middle. Panic flooded you. But before you could escape, the arms holding you tightened.

“Where ya going?”

Rafe.

Relief & loathing surged through you all at once.

At least it was someone you knew, you told yourself, but it was also someone who could put your husband in prison.

Ripping yourself out of Rafe’s arms, you spun around, glaring heatedly at him. Much to your surprise, he looked surprised at your reaction.

“Get out of my home, right now!” You commanded, pointing at the stairs.

“Whoa, whoa, babe, what the fuck?” He held his hands up innocently but returned your glare.

“I am not your babe.” You spit, taking another step away from him, “I will call the cops right fucking now & have you arrested, Rafe.”

Rafe glowered at the threat, his eyes darkening, “Will you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

You ignored him, shaking your head, “Fine, cops it is.”

Turning away from him, you pulled out your phone from your back pocket, unlocking it to the call log. Your thumb barely traced the 9 on your dial before the phone was ripped out of your hands.

“Hey!” Rafe yelled, holding your phone away from you, behind him, “Talk to me! What the hell are you doing?”

“What are you doing!?” You screamed, “You stole from me? From my husband?”

Rafe seemed to appear confused for a moment before he rolled his eyes, “Oh, what the fuck, no.”

Rafe lowered his arm with your phone in it but did not return it to you. You crossed your arms, sneering at him, “That’s not what Sarah said.”

“Yeah, I know that’s not what Sarah said. I’m the one who told her.”

“Exactly!” You pointed your finger at him to continue but he quieted you with his own raised voice, “Yeah, exactly, _____! I told her that. You really think I would’ve told her that without knowing it’d come back to you?”

“I don’t think you care that it came back to me. You have your dad to protect you & keep you out of jail.”

“Oh, my god.” He sighed exasperated, “Would you shut the fuck up & just listen? I’m not stealing from you! I haven’t stolen from you!”

“Then why did you say that?”

“Okay, would you rather I told her that I was here to fuck your brains out then?”

The abrupt & vulgar question shocked you. It’s not what you were expecting. But you shook your head anyway.

“No. No” You held your ground, “Sarah said that’s why you came over that morning to make food with her. To steal from my husband. That was long before you… came over here the other night.”

“Yeah, but she asked me why I stayed the night here & that’s the bullshit I fed her. I told her I stayed here that night ‘cause I didn’t have a chance to grab the goods that morning.”

You huffed, narrowing your eyes at him. You couldn’t trust him, couldn’t believe a damn word out of his mouth.

Rafe stepped forward, grabbing your arms gently, “I promise, _____. I wasn’t planning on stealing from you. Ever.”

Part of you calmed, but most of you raged on. It couldn’t be that simply put, it couldn’t.

“I opened up to you out there,” Rafe began, catching your eyes as he gestured to the back patio, “And you opened up to me. That was real, babe. I saw you just as much as you saw me.”

A hand found itself cradling the back of your neck, the fingers weaving through your hair. It felt so good, & you hated it. But you didn’t push back.

“I didn’t want her to get suspicious. That’s all.”

You felt yourself soften in his hold, peering deeply into his baby blues.

Rafe felt the change in your body & pulled you closer, bringing his mouth down on yours. The kiss was heated, hard, all teeth & no stopping.

This man, this young man, had a way with his words, eyes, mouth, hands that made you absolute putty for him.

But still, no matter how good it felt when he slipped your shirt off & tore your pants down to your ankles. No matter how divine it felt when he pressed your front to the kitchen island & slipped his leaking cock into your welcoming walls. And no matter how fucking euphoric it was to hear his groans & growls in your ear as you came around him, you wouldn’t let it continue. You couldn’t.

Because you knew Rafe Cameron couldn’t be trusted, no matter how pure he claimed his intentions to be. This man would only bring ruin to yourself, your home, & your marriage. As he fucked you mercilessly in your kitchen, your moans & cries rampant, you swore to yourself that this would be the last time Rafe Cameron would make you come undone. Because if you didn’t, you were worried you wouldn’t be able to put the pieces back together.

a filler chapter but with a lot of build-up. don't worry though, rafe will be getting dark in no time. just be patient & stay tuned.

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