I will post scheduled updates here so check this list if you want to know when I will be posting 🫶
My requests are open! Don’t be shy, I love seeing people’s ideas & it can get me out of a writing slump! 🥰
contents :
1. Daryl Dixon TWD
2. Leon Kennedy RE
3. Arthur Morgan RDR2
01 Breaking Glasses // ongoing series
pairing; Daryl x fem!Reader
summary; it’s not everyday you work a boring shift at the bar and an apocalypse breaks out
parts; one 🍏, two 🍏, tbc
02 Get me another beer, bitch // oneshot 🍎🐞
pairing; no apocalypse au!Daryl x f!best friend!reader
summary; Merle gets annoying, Daryl acts on years of pent up emotion, just straight smut with a sprinkle of angst 🤭
word count; 3.2k
03 Get me another beer, bitch // sequel
pairing; no apocalypse au!Daryl x f!best friend!reader
summary; a sequel to the above fic!
word count; 4.3k
04 I touch myself //oneshot 🍎
pairing; trailer park au! virgin!daryl x his hand x f!reader
summary; With the trailer to himself Daryl does some… self exploration at the thought of his best friend while she washes her car.
word count; 1.4k
01 Beep! Beep!// oneshot 🍎
pairing; re9!Leon x wife!Reader
summary; Leon comes home from a boring work day and decides to take his wife out for a drive 🤭
word count; 1.4k
02 Go, be a hero.// ongoing series 🍎🍏🐞
pairing; Leon x ex!f!reader
summary; on going fic with a complicated relationship and now a baby lol
03 Officer down / oneshot 🍎
pairing; Rookie!Leon x College!f!Reader
summary; Inspired by @feralbuni666's fic Call for backup which was so unbelievably peak.
Coming out as soon as I stop being busy 😭
word count; ...
01 By the Lake //oneshot 🍎
pairing: arthur
morgan x f!reader
summary; A hot afternoon by the lake turns into something far more dangerous when a stranger with a fishing rod interrupts your reading of Romeo and Juliet.
word count: 6.8k
02 When the Man Comes Around // drabble 🍎
pairing; arthur x f!reader
summary; a piece of prose about Arthur coming but never stating, I was thinking about Eliza when I wrote it.
word count; 600ish
𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡͏ Author Note 𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡͏
This is a work in progress and I’m hoping to add even more characters & fandoms to it as I work on my writing and just try to have fun with it!!
I hope that you enjoy and as always if it’s not for you that’s okay! Just scroll 🥰
summary; A hot afternoon by the lake turns into something far more dangerous when a stranger with a fishing rod interrupts your reading of Romeo and Juliet.
warnings; NSFW, minors do not interact, slow burn, romantic tension, outdoor setting so semi public, stranger to lover, gentle and soft arthur morgan, slight dom arthur morgan, praise kink (light), consent, gentle dominance, ruining mention, harder dominance for a moment, you face down in the dirt
word count: 6.8k
author's note: I usually write Arthur in a softer light but i read this post about him having a big dick and needed to write this so… apologies.Or your welcome, depending on how you like your arthur fics. I also really needed the practice for filthier writing.
The soft breeze caused ripples to form in the tarp above you and you smiled faintly, feeling the cool air brush across your face and bare arms.
It had been unbearably hot the last few days, the kind of heat that clung to your skin no matter how still you sat. But down by the lake, beneath the shade of the trees, the air felt lighter. Bearable at least.
You adjusted yourself against the folded blanket beneath you, one leg bent lazily while the other hung over the edge of the small patch of shade. Above your head, the tarp you’d tied between two trees shifted gently with every passing breeze.
In your hands sat a worn copy of Romeo and Juliet, its corners bent and softened from rereading.
…My bounty is as boundless as the sea… you murmured quietly to yourself, tracing the words with your thumb.
A splash interrupted you. Not loud. Just enough to pull your attention from the page.
You glanced up.
A man stood several yards down the shore, boots planted near the water’s edge, fishing rod in hand. Tall. Broad-shouldered. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, suspenders hanging loose against a faded blue shirt dampened darker with sweat across the back.
You hadn’t noticed him arrive. But now that you’d see him, it was hard to look away.
He seemed focused entirely on the lake until he reeled the line in and turned slightly - enough for you to catch sight of the scruffy beard and the shadow cast by the brim of his hat.
Then his eyes flicked toward you.
You quickly looked back down at your book.
The lake went quiet again except for the distant buzz of insects and the creak of your tarp overhead.
You tried to continue reading. Tried not to look back at him. But your mind wandered with every second that passed.
“Good afternoon. ma’am.”
The voice drifted across the water low and gravelly, enough to pull your attention from the page without startling you.
Up close - or as close as this distance allowed - he looked less intimidating than he had at first glance. Large, certainly. Broad in the shoulders with a face worn tired by sun and hard living. But his posture stayed easy, careful almost, like he understood a woman alone might not appreciate being approached by a stranger.
You placed a finger between the pages of your book.
“Good afternoon.” You replied politely.
“Never thought books would survive out in this heat.”
“They do if you’re careful with them.”
“Yes ma’am, guess that makes sense.”
The corner of your mouth twitched faintly.
He reeled his line in a little before casting it back out into the lake with practiced ease. The line whistled softly through the air.
For a minute, neither of you spoke.
The tarp above shifted with another cool breeze, dappling moving shadows across the pages in your lap. You tried to return to your reading.
…My only love sprung from my only hate…
“What’re you readin’, if you don’t mind me askin’?” interrupting your reading again.
The man tipped his hat politely this time, almost apologetic for interrupting.
“Romeo and Juliet.”
He frowned slightly in thought.
“Heard the name before. Don’t think I ever read it.”
“You’re not missing a happy ending.”
That drew a quiet laugh from him.
“No, ma’am?”
“Everyone dies.”
Arthur blinked once.
“Well. That does seem unfortunate.”
You laughed softly before you could stop yourself.
The sound seemed to catch him by surprise. Not in a bad way, more like he hadn’t expected you to laugh at all.
He looked back toward the lake, though you noticed the faint hint of a smile lingering beneath his beard.
“I suppose fishing isn't much different.” You said abruptly and he furrowed his brow.
“I let most of ‘em go, keep the big ones for dinner.” he sighed “Haven’t caught a damn thing today.”
“Maybe they sensed your pessimism.”
“Yes, ma’am. Fish are known for that.”
You hid another smile behind the spine of your book.
Silence settled again, easier this time.
You found yourself watching him over the top edge of the pages now and then. The slow roll of his sleeves exposed strong forearms tanned by the sun, and every movement he made carried the kind of unthinking steadiness of someone used to long days outdoors.
After a while, he glanced back toward your tarp.
“That’s clever.”
You lowered the book slightly. “What is?”
“Your tarp.” He nodded toward the knots tied between the trees. “Keeps the sun off better than most tents I’ve slept in.”
“Oh.” You looked up at it briefly. “Thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He paused. “You campin’ out here alone?”
There was no suspicion in the question. Just concern politely disguised as conversation.
“For the afternoon.”
“Well,” he said after a moment, “I reckon there’s worse ways to spend a hot day than sittin’ in the shade readin’ tragic stories.”
You studied him for a second before replying.
“And there are worse ways than standing in the sun talking to strangers, apparently.”
That finally earned a real smile from him; small, crooked, and unexpectedly warm.
“There are few strangers worth talking to ‘round these parts.” He muttered, readjusting his hat.
“Well I’m glad I made the cut.”
Arthur huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, eyes lowering for a moment before lifting back to you.
“Helps you’re easy on the eye,” he said, almost bashful despite the words.
Heat rushed into your cheeks immediately, though the warm afternoon sun disguised it well enough. You looked quickly back down at your book, pretending sudden interest in the page.
“I’m only playin’,” he added after a second when you didn’t answer, the back of his hand rubbing awkwardly along his jaw.
You smiled faintly to yourself before glancing back up at him through your lashes.
“I could say the same for you, sir.”
Arthur blinked.
For the first time since you’d noticed him by the water, he seemed genuinely caught off guard.
A flush crept slowly up the back of his neck and into his cheeks beneath the scruff of his beard, and he cleared his throat roughly as though it might somehow recover his dignity.
“Well.” He shifted his weight awkwardly. “That ain’t usually somethin’ I hear much.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, though the crooked little smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him completely.
You watched him glance away toward the lake again, almost shy now, and the sight of a man his size looking suddenly uncertain made something warm twist pleasantly in your chest.
Arthur adjusted the brim of his hat lower over his eyes.
“You flirt with every fella that interrupts your readin’?”
“Only the polite ones.”
That earned another laugh from him.
The breeze stirred between the trees again, carrying the scent of lake water and summer rain somewhere far off. Arthur rested the fishing rod against his shoulder loosely, looking back at you after a moment.
“What happens next then?” he asked, nodding toward the book in your lap.
“In the story?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
You studied him for a second, amused.
“You want me to spoil Shakespeare for you?”
“Well, I ain’t gonna read it and now I’m invested.”
You smiled, settling more comfortably beneath the tarp while Arthur lingered by the shore listening, the two of you talking as though you’d known each other longer than a single hot afternoon.
You folded the corner of the page carefully before closing the book halfway in your lap. The conversation had become far more distracting than the story.
Arthur seemed to notice.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean to keep interruptin’.”
“You aren’t.”
His gaze lifted back to yours at that, quieter now somehow.
The breeze shifted again, moving the tarp overhead in soft waves. Arthur glanced toward the shade you’d made between the trees.
“Looks comfortable there.”
“It is.”
“Mind if I stand in the shade a minute?” he asked. “Sun’s tryin’ to kill me.”
You smiled faintly. “I suppose - as long as you don’t attack me.”
“No, ma’am. I won’t.”
He stepped closer then, slow enough not to crowd you, boots crunching softly against the dirt and fallen leaves. Up close, you could better see the lines sun and exhaustion had carved into his face. There was something gentle hidden beneath all the roughness.
Arthur stopped just outside arm’s reach.
“Much appreciated,” he murmured, tipping his head politely.
“You’re very formal for a man standing by a lake with a fishing pole.”
“Well,” he said, “my mama raised me right before the world got ahold of me.”
The honesty in that caught you off guard.
You softened a little. “And here I assumed you were naturally charming.”
He smirked beneath the brim of his hat before finally taking it off, setting it beside him in the grass near the edge of your blanket. Without it, his hair fell messily from where the heat and wind had flattened it. He pushed a hand back through it, rough fingers combing the strands into something more familiar.
You tried not to stare.
“What's your name then, cowboy?” you teased.
“Arthur,” he answered easily, glancing over at you. “And you?”
You smiled innocently and returned your attention to the book in your lap.
“My mama raised me not to open up to random men.”
Arthur barked a short laugh at that, ducking his head.
“Well, sounds like a smart woman.”
“She was.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He leaned back against the tree trunk carefully, long legs stretched out in front of him. “Though I feel obliged to point out you’ve been talkin’ to me near half an hour already.”
“I never said I was followin’ her advice.”
That earned you another grin, slower this time.
“You always this difficult?”
“Only around cowboys.”
“Mhm.” Arthur glanced toward the fishing pole lying abandoned near the shore. “Thought fishin’ was supposed to be the dangerous part of my afternoon.”
“You approached me, remember?”
“Yes, ma’am, and I’m beginnin’ to suspect that was my first mistake.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head.
Arthur watched the sound leave you with that same quiet fondness creeping back into his expression.
“You got a name I can call you besides ma’am?” he asked after a moment, voice gentler now.
You looked at him over the edge of your book.
“I quite like ma’am actually.”
Arthur looked back at you, the corner of his mouth tugging upward again.
“Oh, do you now?”
“It makes me sound respectable.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied immediately, the amusement in his voice warm and easy.
You smiled behind the edge of your book. “See? I like the way you say it.”
That seemed to catch him off guard more than the flirting had.
Arthur ducked his head slightly, rubbing his thumb along the brim of the hat resting beside him.
“Well,” he muttered, “suppose I can keep sayin’ it then.”
“How gentlemanly.”
“I ought to be.”
You studied him quietly for a moment while the breeze moved lazily through the trees. Up close like this, he didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as he first had standing down by the lake. Large, yes. Rough around the edges certainly. But there was patience in him. Carefulness.
Arthur glanced toward your book again.
“You read all them fancy stories often?”
“Only the tragic ones.”
“Any reason?”
You thought for a second. “I think sad stories are romantic.”
“I suppose they are.”
He squinted slightly against the sunlight breaking through the trees, one forearm resting over his bent knee while the other toyed absentmindedly with a loose thread on his hat.
“But only when they ain’t happenin’ to you,” he added quietly.
You watched the breeze stir through his hair where his hat sat abandoned beside him, the afternoon light catching against the tired lines around his eyes. He looked like someone who knew sad stories better than he wanted to.
“And what about happy ones?” you asked.
Arthur huffed softly through his nose.
“Don’t reckon folks write many books about happy people.”
“No,” you admitted. “I suppose they’d be rather boring.”
“There you go.”
You smiled faintly, hugging the book a little closer to your chest.
“What about you?” you asked cautiously, fingers idly tracing the edge of the page. “You got a love story?”
The question hung gently between you.
Arthur’s faint smile faded into something quieter.
Not unhappy exactly. Just thoughtful.
He leaned his head back against the tree trunk, eyes drifting out across the lake while the breeze stirred softly through the branches overhead.
“Maybe once,” he admitted after a moment.
Your stomach tightened despite yourself.
“Oh.”
Arthur noticed the shift in your expression immediately and glanced back toward you.
“Ain’t got a girl waitin’ on me, if that’s what you’re askin’,” he said, voice calm and reassuring in a way that made heat creep embarrassingly into your face.
“I wasn’t asking that.”
“Mhm.”
You looked down at your book quickly.
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, though there was no meanness in it.
“She was a long time ago,” he continued more softly. “Good woman. Smarter than me by a fair margin.”
“What happened?”
Arthur rubbed his thumb slowly along his jaw.
“Life, mostly.”
The answer carried enough weight that you didn’t push further.
For a moment neither of you spoke. But the need to ask rose in your throat.
“You still love her?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
Arthur went still for a second.
Then he smiled faintly, small enough you almost missed it.
“I reckon you don’t stop carin’ about certain people,” he said. “Even after they stop bein’ yours.”
Something about the honesty of it made your chest ache unexpectedly.
He glanced toward you again then, eyes gentler now.
“But that don’t mean a man can’t keep livin’.”
The words settled warm beneath your ribs.
You looked down, pretending to straighten the pages of your book to hide the smile threatening at your mouth.
Arthur watched you quietly for a moment before speaking again.
“What about you, ma’am?”
You looked back up.
“Got some tragic romance tucked away in your past?”
“No.” You smiled faintly. “Nothing nearly dramatic enough for Shakespeare.”
“Well, that’s probably good.”
“You think so?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Well I think it makes me utterly dull.” You muttered, hand running through your hair softly.
You watched him shift slightly beneath the tarp, careful not to crowd your space despite how comfortably the conversation had settled between you both. His shoulder brushed the tree trunk behind him, large hands resting loosely over one knee.
“You ain’t dull sweetheart,” he said after a moment, voice low.
The word settled over you far warmer than the afternoon heat ever had.
You looked up from beneath your lashes, caught entirely off guard by how naturally it left him. Not cocky. Not practiced. Just gentle.
Arthur seemed to realize a second later what he’d called you.
A faint flush crept into his face almost immediately, and he cleared his throat softly, glancing toward the lake like it might save him.
“Pardon me,” he muttered. “That just… slipped out.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Did it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Been spendin’ too much time talkin’ to you, apparently.”
“And what does that do?”
“Makes a man careless.”
The way he said it made your stomach flip pleasantly.
Arthur rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, still looking a little embarrassed by his own boldness.
“I only meant…” He paused, searching for the words. “You got a calm about you. Ain’t many people these days can sit quiet with themselves the way you do.”
Your expression softened.
Most people mistook your quietness for shyness or awkwardness. Arthur spoke about it like it was something worth admiring.
The breeze stirred between you again, lifting strands of your hair across your cheek.
He watched you carefully, his hand twitching instinctively like he was going to tuck the strand behind your ear.
But he stopped himself.
You noticed the restraint immediately, the way his fingers curled slightly before settling back against his knee instead.
Arthur let out a quiet breath through his nose, almost amused at himself.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “Keep forgettin’ you don’t know me well enough for that.”
Something about the softness in his voice made your chest tighten.
“You ask permission for everything?” you teased gently.
A crooked smile tugged at his mouth.
“Try to.”
“That must get exhausting.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said dryly. “Women tend to appreciate it though.”
You laughed quietly, and Arthur looked pleased with himself for causing it.
The strand of hair blew across your face again.
This time you tilted your head slightly toward him.
Arthur’s eyes flicked to the movement instantly, like he wasn’t sure he’d understood it correctly.
“You can,” you said softly.
For a second he didn’t move at all.
Then slowly, carefully enough that you could’ve pulled away if you wanted - he reached toward you.
His fingers brushed lightly against your temple, rough fingertips impossibly gentle as he tucked the strand behind your ear.
The touch lasted barely a moment. Still, warmth bloomed across your skin long after he pulled his hand back.
Arthur cleared his throat quietly afterward, suddenly very interested in the lake again.
“There,” he muttered. “Much better.”
You smiled faintly. “Thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
But his voice sounded a little rougher now.
At some point, your shoulder had settled against his.
Neither of you mentioned it.
Arthur glanced down after a while, noticing your hand resting between you both on the blanket.
Then slowly, cautiously, he turned his hand over beside yours.
An offer.
Nothing more.
Your heart fluttered embarrassingly hard as your fingers slipped against his.
Arthur exhaled softly through his nose at the contact, thumb brushing once over your knuckles.
The air beneath the tarp felt smaller somehow. Warmer. And Arthur sat close enough that your knees brushed every so often when one of you shifted, neither of you bothering to move away afterward.
“You’re starin’ again,” you murmured softly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The honesty of it made your pulse stumble.
Arthur’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again, restraint written all over his face.
“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly.
You couldn’t.
The breeze stirred softly around you while the lake lapped against the shore in the distance.
Arthur lifted one hand slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, fingertips brushing lightly along your jaw.
“So pretty,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Your breath caught.
Arthur’s eyes lingered on your face openly now, no longer pretending otherwise. His thumb brushed slowly along your cheek, rough fingertips impossibly gentle against your skin.
“Think I've been distracted since the second I saw you sittin’ here,” he admitted quietly.
Heat bloomed through your chest.
“You say that to every woman reading under a tarp?”
A grin tugged at his mouth.
“No, ma’am. Most women ain’t this hard to look away from.”
You tried to hide your smile, but Arthur noticed immediately.
“There it is,” he murmured softly.
“What?”
“That smile.” His eyes flicked over your face like he was memorizing it. “Been tryin’ to get more of those outta you all afternoon.”
Your stomach fluttered embarrassingly hard. Your core aching in a way only literature could ever make it.
Arthur leaned a little closer, close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him beneath the summer heat.
“You know,” he said lowly, “when I walked down to this lake today, I thought I was gonna spend the afternoon catchin’ fish.”
“And instead?”
“And instead I found the prettiest thing out here lookin’ at me like she’s decidin’ whether I’m trouble.”
You laughed softly under your breath. “And are you?”
Arthur’s gaze dipped briefly to your mouth before lifting again.
“For you?” he murmured. “Oh probably.”
His voice was making you disgustingly wet beneath your petticoats and you prayed the blush on your face wasn't noticeable.
“You alright there, sweetheart?” he murmured, clearly noticing your silence.
You nodded far too quickly.
That crooked smile returned immediately.“Mhm,” he hummed softly, unconvinced. “Don’t sound very certain.”
“You talk too much.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His thumb brushed lightly beneath your chin again. “But you like it.”
The fact he said it so confidently made your stomach coil, your thighs squeezing together in a desperate attempt to keep your cool.
Arthur’s eyes drifted over your face, lingering on every tiny reaction you failed to hide from him. The blush in your cheeks. The way your lips parted whenever he leaned closer. The quick rise and fall of your breathing.
He noticed all of it.
And judging by the look on his face, he enjoyed noticing.
“You get shy when somebody compliments you?” he asked quietly.
“Maybe.”
Arthur chuckled warmly beneath his breath.
“Aw, don’t hide now.” He caught your wrist gently before you could turn away completely. “Been workin’ hard for these reactions.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he admitted shamelessly.
The breeze shifted around the tarp again, but you barely noticed it with Arthur sitting so close.
“You know what’s unfair?” he murmured after a moment.
“What?”
“You got me sittin’ here feelin’ like some lovesick idiot over a woman whose name I still don’t know.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Maybe I enjoy keeping you suffering.”
“Well,” Arthur laughed softly, shaking his head, “it’s workin’.”
The sound rumbled low in his chest, warm enough to make your stomach twist pleasantly again.
You became painfully aware then of just how close he’d gotten beneath the tarp. His broad shoulders angled toward you now instead of the lake. The shade cast soft shadows across him, catching along the muscles in his forearms where his sleeves remained rolled carelessly to his elbows.
Arthur was not a delicate man.
Everything about him felt solid. The kind of strength earned through work instead of vanity. Thick forearms dusted with hair, broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his faded shirt, large hands capable of gentleness despite looking like they belonged wrapped around reins or rough wood instead of your face.
Your gaze dropped before you could stop it.
Down the slope of his chest. The suspenders hanging loose against his shirt. The spread of his thighs where he sat close beside you in the grass.
Arthur noticed immediately.
A slow smile tugged at his mouth.
“Careful now, sweetheart,” he murmured.
Heat flooded your face instantly as your eyes snapped back to his.
“I wasn’t-”
“Yes, you were.” His voice stayed low and teasing, though there was something rougher beneath it now too. “And I gotta admit…”
He shifted slightly closer.
“…I liked it.”
Your pulse fluttered hard when his hand settled beside your hip against the blanket, caging you in without forcing anything.
“You’re very confident suddenly.”
“No, ma’am.” His eyes dipped briefly to your mouth again. “Just think maybe you want me a little too.”
His jaw flexed slightly.
And only then did you notice the shift in him too. The tension settling heavier throughout his body, his posture tighter despite how relaxed he tried to appear. The spread of his legs, the large bulge in his trousers that grew with each passing comment.
A flicker of heat crossed his expression and he exhaled hard.
“Sweetheart,” he said softly, almost warningly, “you keep lookin’ at me like that and I’m gonna forget how polite I’m tryin’ to be.”
You swallowed hard beneath the weight of his gaze.
“Well,” you murmured, inching a little closer across the blanket, “That’s no good is it?”
Arthur’s eyes followed the movement immediately.
You could feel the heat radiating from him now, close enough that your knee brushed firmly against his thigh. Neither of you moved away.
“You accuse me of distractin’ you,” you continued softly, “while you sit there lookin’ like that.”
A low laugh escaped him.
“Like what, sweetheart?”
You let your eyes drift deliberately over him again, slower this time.
“The shoulders.” You reached out lightly, fingers brushing the fabric stretched across his upper arm. “The voice.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened subtly beneath the scruff of his beard.
“And you know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured.
The teasing confidence in his voice only encouraged you further.
You shifted again, leaning back slightly onto one hand. The movement loosened the neckline of your blouse just enough for the warm breeze to brush against newly exposed skin.
Arthur’s eyes dropped instinctively.
Only for a second.
But you caught it.
A smile tugged at your mouth immediately.
“There it is.”
His gaze snapped back to yours, caught.
“Beg pardon,” he muttered, though his voice had gone noticeably rougher.
“You’re very polite for a man who keeps staring at my chest.”
Arthur let out a breathy laugh, dragging a hand down his face.
“Well,” he admitted quietly, “you’re makin’ that awfully difficult not to do.”
Heat fluttered low in your stomach again.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t attack me if I let you under my tarp.”
Arthur stared at you for half a second before a startled laugh escaped him, low and entirely disbelieving.
“I’m tryin’ my hardest sweetheart.”
You smiled innocently, “Seems pretty difficult for you.”
“Lean any closer and you’ll see how difficult it really is.”
Arthur’s hand remained steady at your waist, fingers flexing lightly against the fabric of your skirt like he was constantly reminding himself not to pull you fully into his lap.
“You know,” he murmured, eyes dragging slowly over your face before betraying him and dipping briefly lower again, “most women don’t tease armed strangers in the woods.”
“Most armed strangers aren’t blushing because they saw a little bit of collarbone.”
Arthur groaned softly under his breath, tipping his head back against the tree for a second.
“Lord help me.”
You laughed quietly, delighted by how easily he unraveled for you despite trying so hard not to.
“You’re enjoying this entirely too much,” he muttered.
“Maybe I like seeing you flustered.”
“Mhm.” A slow grin tugged at his mouth. “And maybe I like being teased by pretty women beneath handmade tents.”
A few moments passed as you basked in the heated tension between you both.
“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he murmured, quieter now, “and I’m gonna stop thinkin’ straight.”
Your breath caught slightly.
“You already stopped thinking straight,” you replied softly.
That earned a low huff of laughter from him, but it faded quickly into something more serious.
“You’re real good at that,” he said quietly.
“At what?”
“Pushin’ a man right up to the edge… then lookin’ at him like you don’t know what you’re doin’.”
His thumb brushed once along your side.
Slow. Deliberate.
“And I’m bein’ real good about not forgettin’ my manners.”
“You’re being very good,” you said quietly. “Almost disappointingly so.”
“Yeah?” he murmured.
You nodded faintly.The tarp shifted above you with the breeze, but neither of you seemed to notice anymore.
He leaned in and kissed you like he meant to be careful with it. Like every second was something he could still take back if he needed. His hand on yours, his other on your face - not pulling or pressing, just there, like an anchor he was afraid wouldn't hold.
His eyes were half-lidded when they opened again, focused on you like you were something he couldn't trust himself with anymore.
The world beyond the tarp seemed far away now: the lake, the trees, the distant hum of insects faded into a blur beneath the pounding of your heartbeat.
Arthur shifted his thumb against your cheek, rough skin warm where it rested there.
“You alright?” he asked quietly.
You nodded faintly, the tip of your nose brushing against his.
His gaze lingered on your mouth again before he exhaled softly, almost frustrated with himself.
“Christ.” he muttered under his breath.
He kissed you again, deeper this time. His hand sliding from your cheek to rest against your jaw. His body twitched like he needed the contact more than he wanted to admit.
When the kiss broke again, he rested his forehead lightly against yours and closed his eyes for a second.
“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, voice roughed down to something almost intimidating, “you are testin’ every good intention I got.”
“What are your other intentions, Arthur?”
For a faint second he said nothing, just kept studying you with that restrained intensity. Then that smile tugged on his lips again.
“You really oughta stop sayin’ things like that.” he murmured.
“But you like it.” You teased, your other hand tip toeing up his thigh and moving towards his tucked in shirt.
His hand slid slowly from your jaw, finger trailing down your neck, before jumping to catch your hand on his midriff.
The movement drew you closer, your chest adjacent to his - almost touching.
“You keep lookin’ at me like you want somethin’.” he whispered.
“It isn’t ladylike to ask for what I want, cowboy.”
“And what is it that you want?”
You laughed, unable to say the words that came to mind.
“You’re trouble.” he muttered
“You’re handsome.”
“You know,” he said after a moment, lifting his eyes back to yours, “most women ain’t usually this forward with me.”
“Maybe most women haven’t found themselves beneath a tarp with you- and no one in sight.”
Then, very deliberately, he leaned in and kissed you again. Pushing you backwards so he was the one on top. His broad shoulders blocking out the filtered sunlight overhead.
You lay on your back now, one hand pinned down by his, the other at your side. The shift pulled a quiet sound from your throat. Your heart hammered painfully hard beneath your ribs as Arthur kissed you deeper now, rougher only in the sense that restraint had begun slipping through his fingers. His breathing had turned uneven, every exhale warm against your mouth.
“You’re real pretty laid out like this,” he murmured before he could seem to stop himself.
His lips brushed your cheek first, slow enough to make your pulse stutter before trailing lower along your jaw. Then your neck. Then the exposed skin near your collar where your blouse had shifted loose beneath his hands.
“Real pretty.”
A startled gasp escaped you, eyes squeezing shut as his tongue explored.
“C’mon ma’am,” he murmured against your skin “where's all that attitude gone?”
You swallowed hard, fingers instinctively curling tighter around his.
“You talk entirely too much.” you breathed.
“Mhm.” Arthur lifted his head just enough to look in your eyes “There you are, thought I'd stunned you silent.”
You tried to glare at him, but the feeling of him sucking and lapping at your neck felt too good to deny.
“You blush so easily,” he said softly, as though he was fascinated by you.
“And whose fault is that?”
“Mine, I hope.”
His right hand still held you in place while his left grabbed at your waist, wandering down to your skirts.
“You still alright?” he asked quietly.
You nodded.
“You sure you’re wantin’ this- me?” he asked, that confident facade fading momentarily.
“I need you.” you whimpered, biting your lip as you held eye contact.
“Fuck.” That did it.
The word left him rough and breathless, like it had been dragged out of him against his will.
Arthur closed his eyes for half a second, his hand instinctively tightening at your waist, bunching the fabric of your skirt in his fist while he breathed hard through his nose.
He shifted slightly over you, broad shoulders boxing you safely beneath the shade of the tarp while his right hand moved slowly to your leg, caressing you from knee to upper thigh.
“So soft-” he mewled, thumb flicking against your clothed core briefly before darting away.
You swallowed hard as he did, his gaze following every miniscule reaction that crossed your face.
“Tell me if I go too far.” he said softly. But it wasn’t a question, moreso a demand.
He arched his back and he crawled backwards, bunching your skirts up and revealing your dripping undergarments.
“Jesus wept woman-” his eyes grew wide.
“Arthur-” you moaned, biting your lip.
With that he forgot about holding back entirely. His rough hand cupped you softly, two fingers pushing your underwear into your wetness.
You gasped as you felt them enter just and no more.
Arthur brought them to his mouth and tasted them, eyes rolling back as he did so.
“Fuck~” his hand went back again, impatient as he tried to figure out how to get them off. “Ah hell.” he growled, taking both his hands and ripping the underwear in half.
You gasped loudly, the breeze hitting your wet clit, sending a bolt of shivers up your spine.
“Need to taste you.” He mumbled, bringing his face towards it.
When his tongue hit your hole it was over. You were a mess, moaning and writhing as he licked and sucked. The noises he made were equally dirty as the ground he rolled his hips into.
“So good~” he moaned. “Fuck so sweet~”
“Don’t stop!” you cried, your hand in his hair.
You could only see his eyes, wild with passion, as he buried his tongue inside you, his nose rubbing against your clit fervently.
“Arthur~” you cried, your head thrown back in pleasure.
He pulled away, leaving you with a soft buzzing in your core.
“I need you, okay sweetheart?” he knelt upwards, wiping his face with his sleeve and undoing his zip with the other hand.
His cock was massive, the biggest you’d seen. His girth alone was impressive, never mind the length of it.
He pumped it a few times as it dripped onto the grass.
“I haven’t done this in a while but- I’ll be gentle-” he started, but you stopped him.
“Just take me- now.” you moaned, body limp against the blanket.
“Yes ma’am.” he obliged, his right hand against your waist, the left still pumping his cock.
When he pushed into you, tears stung in the corners of your eyes and you cried out as you felt more and more of him fill you up.
“Thatta girl~” he moaned, “just a little more.”
When his hips finally met yours, you couldn't help but buck yourself up against him, and he laughed softly.
“Desperate for me, ain’t you girl?”
You nodded , your head falling to the side, cheeks glistening with tears.
“Hey now,” he frowned, his thumb coming up and wiping them away, “you’re okay, I got you beautiful.”
You cried out as he hit that coil in your stomach, the mix of his sweet words and his cock causing you to writhe. Your body shook with pleasure, his name mixed with moans and sobs falling from your lips as your head flew back.
“Arthur~” you choked out, eyes still squeezed shut.
He kept thrusting into you, and when you opened your eyes he had unbuttoned his shirt, clearly too hot for all of this exercise.
“Sweetheart, you’re so good~” he moaned out, shifting so his hands were either side of your head. “So good f’r me.”
His relentless attack continued, thrusting harder and further than before. His pace steady, but his arms shaking as he got closer and closer.
“So pretty ain’t you- what would daddy say if he knew what you were up to.”
That comment caused you to flush red, you hadn’t imagined Arthur to be a dirty talker - you hadn't imagined him to be anymore than a fisherman.
“Don’t get shy now,.” He moved a hand to your jaw, tipping it so you were forced to look at him, his thrusting slow and slight. “smart girl like you, bet you wanted someone like me to walk up on you.”
“Arthur~” you started, but it fell into a crude moan as he tightened his hand around your throat.
“Pretty girl.” He drawled, using your neck and his other hand as anchors to hold you down as he fucked into you. “You gonna take it?” He teased, but you knew exactly what he meant.
“Take what?” You batted your eyes, looking up into his storm fuelled eyes.
“Fuck~ so sweet.” He moaned, head hanging low as he thrusted. “I’m gonna pump you full of me, okay pretty girl?”
You whimpered your approval and he applied more pressure on your neck, causing you to gasp out and writhe under him.
He stopped and watched you for a moment, your silent pleads for him to release you from his grasp. Then he complied, watching as you gasped and choked.
“Told you I was holding back beautiful.”
“More- please” you gasped out, his cock splitting you in two.
“What? You like that pretty girl?” He whispered and you nodded fast. He laughed. “Want me to fuck you harder is that it?”
“Fuck~ please-” You mewled, tears still rolling down the sides of your face, your pussy burning as its filled to the brink.
“You done that before?” he asked, more sincerely this time, and you shook your head. “Oh darlin’, I don’t want to scare you.”
“A-arthur, I wanna.” you coughed out “I want to be had- taken by you.”
“God almighty woman.” He looked around, noticing no one was there. “On your front then. I won't ask twice.”
He pulled out of you and you winced, your hole flooded and open at the lack of him. You flipped yourself over, wiggling your hips in the air.
“Atta girl~ so naughty.” He smiled, smacking your cheek. You cried out, and he grabbed it, pushing into the sore spot he had left. “Uh uh pretty girl, you can do better than that.”
With that he hit the other, then back to the original, over and over relentlessly as you cried for him, tears dripping, your face, now in the dirt beyond the blanket.
“Look at you, so dirty.” He pouted, rubbing his cock against your slit. “What would your daddy say hmm?”
“Arthur- I-”
“Shhhh shhhh no sweetheart. You done ‘nough talking.” He put his hand over your mouth and pulled you upwards. His other hand holding his dick, slipping the tip against your entrance. “I’m gonna fuck this pretty pussy now, that what you want?”
You moaned against his hand.
“Thought so.” He grunted, pushing himself into you in one swift movement.
It hurt horribly at first, and you cried whole heartedly into his hand. He knew it hurt too, as he kept rubbing his thumb gently against your cheek, his body language so different from the tone he had taken with you just moments before.
“Now now, sweetheart, yr’alright.”
You moaned into his hand, your drool dripping between his fingers. He let go a little, wiping his hand on the blanket before slotting two fingers into your mouth.
Your pussy leaked at the taste, and you felt your sweet juice drip down your thighs.
“Smart girls are always the dirtiest.” He grunted, forcing his fingers down your throat as you sobbed and moaned. “But you like it, don’t you?”
“Yeah~” you said, muffled around his fingers.
His pace after this was relentless, your face was smushed into the dirt again as his hands held you down, one on your ass one on your shoulder.
“Take me, atta girl, take this cock~” he grunted, hips bucking wildly as his seed released into your tight cunt. You weren’t far behind, cumming around his thick cock and gasping at the sensation.
Arthur rolled onto his back beside you with a rough exhale, one forearm thrown over his eyes like he couldn't believe what had just happened.
“Christ alive.” he muttered hoarsely.
The hand not covering his face found your hand instinctively.
Arthur let out a quiet laugh under his breath. “You’re dangerous, sweetheart.”
You turned your head toward him, smiling softly, “You’re the criminal here.”
He huffed, running his hand from his face into his hair which was a mess now.
“Best afternoon I've had in a long while.” He admitted quietly. Then after a beat, softer, “I need that again sometime.”
it was so hot this weekend so I wrote this to cool down hehe
summary; A three parter, dad leon and the cafe in this part, part b they go on a date and then i've got a sexy surprise in part c hehe.
word count; Had to split this part into three because tumblr kept complaining about how big it was so, this is part a, b will be posted once I finish formatting this and then c will be tomorrow!
links; part one, part two , part three, part four, part five , part six,part seven, part eight.
apologies if i missed anyone wanting to be tagged, comment to be tagged in the next one!! <3
Leon’s POV
“Daddy look!” Freya squealed.
Leon huffed, this was a lot harder than he thought it was going to be.
“Coming princess.” He sighed, his eyes leaving his laptop and travelling to the mess in the middle of the living room.
Freya had dumped out all of her toys in the middle and was using the window sill, the fire escape, and the bookcase as a dollhouse - or more accurately a doll village.
Leon walked over nonchalantly before clocking the steady stream of water pouring out of the fire escape and onto some very angry civilians below.
“Freya!” he shouted, lifting the cup and looking down to see a heavyset man hurling abuse in his direction.
He shut the window quickly and placed the cup on the coffee table with a sigh.
“Sorry dada.” Freya frowned, her big puppy eyes looking up at him.
“It's okay baby, just- lets not play at the fire escape anymore okay?”
She nodded sweetly and went back to playing with her dolls, thrusting a dinosaur into his hands.
At first, Leon was unsure of how to play with her. His hand cautiously thumped the dinosaur on the floor amongst the array of other toys.
But eventually , he got the hang of it, losing himself in the mindlessness of pretending to be a talking dinosaur.
“No daddy-” Freya laughed, grabbing the dinosaur from his hands. “Dino doesn’t drink smoothies.”
“What? Even dino’s need their 5 a day.” He grinned.
“You’re funny.” She giggled, dropping her toys and standing up. “Can we have lunch now?”
Lunch. Shit.
Hadn’t thought of that one..
“Of course…” he trailed off, picking himself up off the floor. “What do you want?”
“Marco makes me lunch.” Freya smiled ear to ear.
“Hmmm that's not what mum told me.” Leon’s brow raised.
“But he does!” Freya protested. “And, I miss mummy soooo much.”
Leon sighed, what a manipulator. Then he smiled, hands folded in front of his chest, “I guess we could, it's only downstairs.”
Freya ran to the door in an instant, her socks causing her to slide and fall next to the door.
She grabbed her shoes without a second thought and rammed them onto her feet, fastening the velcro with ease.
“Ready!!” She yelled, sitting with her feet out in front of her.
“Wow,” Leon dragged on, “didn’t know I was father to The Flash."
“HURRRYYYYY!” she whined.
“Alright, geez.” Leon huffed, grabbing his shoes. “You’re really like your mum, you know that?”
Freya nodded confidently, her toothy grin irresistibly cute. “Auntie Rach tells me all the time.”
“Hmmm, figures.” Leon huffed, standing up and grabbing the keys. “Show me the way, little lady.”
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Reader's POV
The door to the cafe had barely shut all morning.
A seemingly endless stream of people kept piling in and out.
Barely any sit ins though, which was a plus on a day like today.
“Babe-” Rachel touched your back. “Take over I’m bursting-”
You nodded in response, sliding over to the espresso machine and reading the receipt on the counter.
“Two americanos, can do.” You huffed, grinding the coffee beans.
“Need a hand?” Avery called from the kitchen.
“You’re alright, check on Marco.”
“I'm always being checked on,” Marco shouted back immediately. “Nobody trusts me.”
“Because you set a towel on fire last week.”
“It was a controlled experiment.”
“It was arson.”
The bell above the door chimed.
Ding-ding-ding.
You barely looked up.
“Good Afternoon, what can I-” The words died in your throat.
Leon stood in the doorway.
Freya immediately spotted you.
“MUMMY!”
Every customer in the café turned.
Your daughter launched herself across the floor like a tiny missile.
“Freya-” Leon started.
Too late.
She crashed into your legs at full speed.
You laughed despite yourself, crouching to catch her before she took both of you out.
“Hey baby.”
She wrapped herself around your neck.
“We came for lunch.”
“We?”
She pointed dramatically behind her.
Leon stood by the door looking exhausted already.
One hand hooked into his jacket pocket.
The other carried a tiny pink backpack.
“Apparently,” he said.
You bit back a smile.
“Daddy doesn't know how to make lunch.”
“I absolutely know how to make lunch.”
Freya gasped.
“He made Dino drink smoothies.”
“Wow.”
“He needs his five a day.” Leon defended himself.
“Notorius carnivore, but okay.”
Freya giggled loudly between you.
Rachel emerged from the back carrying a tray.
She froze.
“Oh good,” she deadpanned. “It's him.”
“Afternoon Rachel.”
“Debatable.”
Leon didn't even react anymore.
Which somehow made it funnier.
Freya immediately reached for Rachel.
“Auntie!”
Rachel abandoned all hostility instantly.
“Hello pumpkin.”
The betrayal was immediate.
Leon pointed.
“See?”
“Don't.”you huffed
“She likes her more.”
“Well, yeah.”
Freya had already forgotten both of them existed.
“Auntie Rachel look.”
“Wow.”
“And this.”
“Wow.”
“And THIS.”
“Wow.”
You watched Rachel suffer through twenty consecutive toy demonstrations before finally looking back at Leon.
He looked tired.
But what's new.
Whatever was happend down in South America was chewing pieces off him.
“Sleep well?” you asked quietly.
His eyes found yours.
“Like a baby.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
A pause.
Then-
“Mama.”
You looked down.
Freya held both hands up dramatically.
“Carry me.”
“You can walk.”
“No.”
“You literally ran in here.”
“No.”
Leon snorted into his coffee.
You glared.
He immediately looked away.
The bastard was smiling.
“Daddy carry me then.”
“See?” Leon said. “I'm the favourite now.”
Freya immediately shook her head.
“No.”
The silence that followed was glorious.
Rachel nearly dropped a cup laughing.
You pressed your lips together.
Leon looked genuinely offended.
“Wow.”
“Sorry dada.”
“You don't sound sorry.”
“No.”
Another burst of laughter escaped you.
And for a moment-
Everything felt normal.
Like none of the years in between had happened.
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You walked out of the cafe for a smoke, Leon trailing behind you and leaving Freya inside with Rachel, Avery and Marco.
“I wanted to ask,” he paused, scratching the back of his neck. “You want to go out, tonight?”
“Leon, I have Freya.” you said softly, lighting your cigarette.
“No, I know, but can Rachel take her. We need some time, alone.” He looked away at the word alone.
You felt horrible for him and his predicament, and some part of you desperately wanted a date.
“Alright, I’ll ask. No guarantees.”
“Awesome.” He smiled, as wide as his tired eyes would let him. “We’ll get dinner.”
“Sure thing Romeo.” You huffed. “No funny business though. I can’t handle another Freya.”
He huffed out a laugh.
“No funny business.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“You say that now.”
“I mean it.”
“Mmhm.”
Leon looked offended.
You took another drag of your cigarette.
“Besides,” you added. “You couldn't handle me.”
That earned a proper laugh.
“Sure.”
“You couldn't.”
“Whatever helps you sleep.”
You rolled your eyes.
For a moment neither of you spoke.
The easy silence surprised you.
It shouldn't have.
Not anymore.
Eventually you flicked ash into the tray beside the door.
“Well.”
“Well.”
“You gonna stand there all afternoon?”
Leon shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Probably.”
“You have a child inside.”
“I know.”
“Who is almost certainly committing a crime.”
His eyes drifted toward the window.
A beat.
“Yeah.”
Another beat.
“She definitely is.”
You both turned at exactly the same moment.
Through the café window Freya could be seen standing on a chair.
Marco was trying to get her down.
Rachel appeared to be encouraging her.
“Great.”
“Fantastic.”
“Your fault.”
“My fault?”
“She got your energy, Rookie.”
“Not a rookie anymore.”
You gave him a look.
“Still.” You shrugged. “Rookie to me.”
“You never even saw me in uniform.”
“I wish.” You blurted before you could stop yourself.
“Oh, is that right?” His voice lowered.
“Shut up.” Your cheeks flushed red.
“Mhmm, okay.”
“Shut up!” You laughed, nudging his shoulder.
A beat.
That silence intruded again.
“I missed your laugh.”
“That all?” You teased, surprising yourself.
“No-” He looked down, hands on his hips. “But I’ll save that for later.
Rachel’s fist banged on the window behind you.
“No funny business Mr Kennedy!” She yelled.
Freya’s face squished against the glass.
“Thats you told.” You giggled, stubbing out your cigarette and going to open the door.
Leon followed behind, his body too close for comfort as you pulled the door open.
Your back met his chest for a moment and his hands instinctually went to your hips.
Then, inside, he was far away again, loitering at the door instead of coming in.
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Rachel had removed herself from the window and had begun counting the till when you approached.
“No.”
You blinked.
“I haven't asked anything yet.”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
“Rach.”
“Nope.”
You sighed heavily.
Across the room Leon immediately found something very interesting on the ceiling.
Coward.
“You don't even know what I'm asking.”
“Yes I do.”
“No you don't.”
“I absolutely do.”
Avery snorted from behind the espresso machine.
Marco looked between everyone like he was watching live television.
“She's asking if you'll watch Freya.”
Rachel pointed triumphantly.
“See?”
You glared at Marco.
“Traitor.”
“I'm Italian,” he said solemnly. “We thrive on drama.”
“Can I finish asking?”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“Fine.”
You immediately smiled.
“Thank you.”
“I haven't agreed yet.”
“Yes you have.”
Rachel groaned.
“You're both impossible.”
“Love you too.”
“Shut up.”
Freya looked up from colouring.
“Can I stay with Auntie Rachel?”
Rachel's expression melted instantly.
The hypocrite.
“Of course you can, pumpkin.”
“Ha.”
“Don't.”
“Ha.”
Rachel pointed at you.
“One word and I'm charging babysitting rates.”
You gasped dramatically.
“You'd charge a single mother?”
“Absolutely.”
Marco nearly fell over laughing.
“That's evil.”
“I'm aware.”
“Marco's staying too, right?” Freya grinned ear to ear.
Rachel froze.
Marco froze.
Avery immediately looked away.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Your brows lifted slowly.
“Oh.”
“Don't.”
“Oh my God.”
“Don't start.”
“Marco's staying, huh?” You looked down at Freya.
Rachel looked ready to commit a felony.
Marco suddenly became fascinated by the kitchen and walked away as fast as his legs could carry him.
“Oh my God.”
“Shut up.”
“Did you two…?.”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I did not..”
You burst out laughing.
Rachel looked seconds away from throwing something.
“Go on your stupid date.”
“It's not a date.”
Rachel stared.
Then at Leon.
Then back at you.
“Sure, babe.”
You hated how smug she looked.
Especially because she was probably right.
Avery laughed as she swept the floor.
“Oh and don’t do what you did last time.” Rachel said sternly.
You furrowed your brow.
“No funny business, Rach.” you huffed.
Avery giggled “You’re stronger than me.”
“Avery!” you and Rachel shouted in unison.
“What… look at him.” She huffed, turning to glance at Leon, whose hands were still on his hips, his eyes flicking between the ceiling to the floor.
“Yeah, okay.” Rachel sighed.
“Guys.”
“No, no he’s your problem.” Rachel held her hands up. “He’s just nice to look at.”
“Jesus Christ.” You huffed. “She goes to bed at 7 by the way so, I want her asleep when I get back.
“Yes Ma’am.” Rachel saluted.
“Oh and Rachel,” you paused, grinning ear to ear. “Don’t fuck Marco in my apartment please.”
Rachel choked.
Avery screamed.
From the kitchen came the sound of something metal hitting the floor.
You were already walking toward the door.
Leon laughing beside you.
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The laughter followed you out onto the pavement.
Mostly Rachel's.
You could still hear her shouting something through the café door as it swung shut behind you.
The door closed.
Silence.
Well.
Almost silence.
The city buzzed around you as evening settled over the street.
For the first time all day, it was just the two of you.
You immediately became aware of it.
So did Leon.
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
You adjusted the strap of your bag.
Neither of you said anything.
“...Well.”
“Wow.” Leon glanced sideways at you. “You really are funny.”
You snorted.
“Thank you.”
“Thought you should know.”
“Appreciate it.”
A smile tugged at his mouth.
Then his gaze drifted toward the apartment building across the street.
“You wanna head up?”
You hesitated.
“Probably shouldn't show up to dinner smelling like espresso and burnt toast.”
“Oh good, so I’m not having a stroke.” He snorted.
You ignored the one liner.
“Give me twenty minutes.”
Leon nodded once.
“Take your time.”
You started walking backwards toward the building entrance.
“Don't disappear.”
Something flickered across his face.
Small.
Gone almost immediately.
“Wouldn't dream of it.”
The words landed heavier than either of you intended.
Your smile faltered slightly.
So did his.
Then you pointed at him.
“Twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes.”
You disappeared inside before you could overthink it.
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Rachel was waiting when you opened the apartment door.
Arms folded.
Leaning against the kitchen counter.
Looking insufferably pleased with herself.
“Oh good.” She grinned. “The date survived the first five minutes.”
“It's not a date.”
“Mhmm.”
You kicked your shoes off.
“Did you climb the fire escape?”
“Of course.”
“You’re insane!”
Rachel looked offended.
“I am an amazing friend.”
You laughed despite yourself.
Then headed for your bedroom.
Rachel immediately followed.
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh come on.”
“No.”
“I need to see the outfit.”
“You do not.”
“I absolutely do.”
You groaned as she slipped into the room behind you..
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“You're nearing thirty.”
“And?”
“You act sixteen.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn't a compliment.”
Rachel sat cross-legged on your bed.
“Get changed.”
You threw a pillow at her.
She caught it.
Smug.
Infuriating.
Unfortunately helpful.
Twenty minutes later you stood in front of the mirror.
Nothing fancy.
Nothing dramatic.
Just enough effort that you immediately regretted making it.
Rachel noticed.
“See?”
“See what?”
“You wanted it to be a date.”
Your face heated.
“No.”
“Babe.”
“No.”
“You changed three times.”
You pointed aggressively.
“That means nothing.”
“It means everything.”
A knock echoed through the apartment.
Both of you froze.
Rachel's grin became genuinely evil.
“Oh my God.”
“Rachel.”
“He's here.”
“Rachel.”
You grabbed your bag.
“Goodbye.”
“Hope you get boned.”
“I'm not doing that.”
“You absolutely should.”
You opened the door.
Immediately stopped.
Leon stood in the hallway.
And for a second neither of you spoke.
Because apparently he had changed too.
Dark button-up.
Sleeves rolled to his forearms.
Hair still slightly damp.
Like he'd actually tried.
Which felt unfair.
His eyes lifted.
Found yours.
Stopped.
A beat.
Then another.
Something shifted in his expression.
Soft.
Almost surprised.
“You look...” He cleared his throat.
Your stomach flipped.
“Hm?”
His gaze flicked away.
Then back.
“Nice.”
Brilliant.
You smiled despite yourself.
“You too, where did you-.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Well you look handsome.”
Behind you came the sound of Rachel violently fake-gagging.
The spell shattered instantly.
Leon laughed.
You covered your face.
“Please ignore her.”
“Can't.”
“Fair.”
Rachel appeared over your shoulder.
“Have fun!”
“Rachel.”
“Use protection!”
“RACHEL.”
The door slammed in her face.
The silence that followed lasted exactly two seconds.
Then Leon laughed again.
The bastard.
“You ready?”
You nodded.
“Yeah.”
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When you got outside, his gaze drifted toward the street.
Toward the motorcycle.
Then back to you.
A little more cautious this time.
“Question.”
“What?”
“You okay on the bike?”
The concern in his voice caught you off guard.
“If not,” he continued. “I'll call a cab.”
You blinked.
Then smiled slightly.
“Leon.”
“Yeah?”
“I did it before.”
“Different now.”
His eyes dipped briefly.
Toward your apartment.
Then back to you.
“You don't have to do anything.”
Something warm settled in your chest.
“We'll take the bike.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Okay.”
Mounting it was a different story.
You stood beside the motorcycle staring at it.
Then at your outfit.
Then back at the motorcycle.
Leon watched the process unfold in real time.
“You alright there?”
“Shut up.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
That was answer enough.
You planted one foot on the ground.
Immediately lost all grace.
“Jesus Christ.”
Leon bit the inside of his cheek.
“You wanna laugh?”
“Not particularly.”
“You do.”
“A little.”
You shot him a look.
He finally gave up and laughed.
The sound hit you square in the chest.
God.
You hated how much you missed hearing it.
“Okay.” You muttered. “Move.”
“Move?”
“Move.”
Leon stepped closer.
Not teasing now.
Just helping.
One hand settled carefully at your waist.
The other steadied the handlebars.
The contact was brief.
Barely there.
Still.
Your stomach betrayed you immediately.
“There.” he said softly.
You climbed on.
Successfully this time.
“See?”
“Don't get smug.”
“Wouldn't dream of it.”
Liar.
Leon swung onto the bike a second later, settling in front of you.
For a moment neither of you moved.
Then the reality of the situation hit.
Your hands.
You weren't sure what to do with them.
Three years ago you would've wrapped yourself around him without thinking.
Now everything felt different.
Complicated.
You hesitated.
Leon glanced back over his shoulder.
“You can hold on.”
Heat rushed into your face.
“I'm aware.”
“Right.”
A beat.
“You look like you're trying to solve a math problem.”
“Drive the bike, Kennedy.”
His shoulders shook.
Laughing again.
Eventually you placed your hands carefully against his sides.
Keeping space between you.
As much space as a motorcycle allowed.
Leon didn't comment.
Didn't look back.
Just reached for his helmet.
“Ready?”
You swallowed.
“Ready.”
So excited to be back writing this series I love it so much.
pairing; no apocalypse au! Daryl x f! best friend! reader
summary; a follow up to 'Bring me another beer, bitch' mostly because @walkerfirefly said they wanted it PFFt lol enjoy
warnings; NSFW, minors do not interact , angst, sweet sex, not rough this time lol
word count; 4.3k
You sat on the steps of your trailer with a cup of coffee, watching the trailer park wake up around you.
Somewhere down the row a dog barked.
Then a screen door slammed.
A sigh left you as you finished your cup.
You’d expected an appearance from the troublesome twins sooner, but they had all but disappeared since your last run in with Daryl.
You hadn’t seen him once, not since that morning when he had conveniently left before you awoke, not while you hung up the laundry, or walked to the convenience store by the road.
Nothing.
It was like the pair of them had evaporated.
Even Merle’s incessant loudness had vanished and the trailer park lay in an eerie silence.
By noon your irritation had been replaced by embarrassment, but by evening you were pissed.
Not because Daryl had left - well. maybe a little - but more so because he’d decided avoiding you was easier than acting like a grown man.
You kicked a loose stone along the dirty path as you made your way back from the communal mailboxes.
No letters.
No bills
No distractions.
Just your own thoughts circling your brain, the previous night replaying over and over no matter how hard you tried to shove it away.
The way he’d looked at you, touched your face - and finally let himself have something he’d wanted for years.
Then gone. Like it had never happened at all.
You were so busy moping you nearly missed it, the sound of laughter faint and distant but familiar.
Your head snapped up.
The Dixon trailer, of course.
The sound came again, drifting through the open window.
Merle.
Weirdly, relief hit you first.
Then the anger settled in and you changed direction immediately.
If Daryl wanted to avoid you, fine.
But you were done making it easy.
The closer you got, the more you heard.
Merle's laugh.
The scrape of a chair across gravel.
The unmistakable sound of Merle running his mouth.
And strangely, your heart eased.
Everything was exactly where it should've been.
Which only made you angrier.
As you rounded the corner, the Dixon trailer came into view.
Merle was sprawled out in a lawn chair, a beer balanced on his stomach like he hadn't moved all day.
Daryl sat a few feet away on an overturned bucket, elbows braced on his knees, knife working methodically through a piece of scrap wood.
The second he saw you, the knife stopped.
Just for a moment.
A tiny hesitation.
Then it started again.
His head dipped lower.
Like if he focused hard enough on that piece of wood, you might disappear.
Your stomach twisted.
Merle noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
A slow grin spread across his face.
"Well, look who wandered by."
You kept walking.
Merle barked out a laugh.
"There he goes."
The knife stopped again.
Daryl muttered something under his breath.
"What was that?" Merle asked.
"Nothin'."
He still hadn't looked up.
Not once.
Merle leaned forward, pointing openly at his brother.
"Been doin' that all damn day."
Daryl's shoulders tightened.
"Shut up."
There was no heat behind it.
Just embarrassment.
The kind that made your chest ache.
Merle laughed even harder.
"Heard you comin' and near damn cut his thumb off."
"Merle."
"Oh, don't get all shy now."
The knife snapped through the wood.
A sharp crack.
For the first time Daryl looked up.
His eyes found yours instantly.
And there it was.
Something raw.
Something nervous.
Gone almost as soon as it appeared.
He stood abruptly, the bucket tipping over behind him.
For one stupid second your heart jumped.
Maybe he'd finally say something.
Maybe he'd walk over.
Maybe-
Instead he grabbed his cigarettes from the table.
Turned.
And left.
Your heart sank straight down to your stomach.
The sound of Merle's laughter followed him all the way down the trailer row.
"Look at that."
He cracked open another beer.
"Ain't that pathetic?"
You watched Daryl's back disappear between the trailers.
Watched him choose running away.
Again.
For once, you didn't have a comeback.
Because the worst part wasn't Merle laughing.
The worst part was knowing he was right.
"Ain't much else t'call it."
The words tasted bitter.
Merle's grin widened.
You didn't stick around to see it.
You turned and headed straight for home, your jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
The second the door shut behind you, silence hit.
You kicked your shoes off and dropped to the couch.
“Idiot.”
You weren’t entirely sure which Dixon you meant, or that it mattered.
The television flickered to life with a crackle of static.
Some old reruns filling the room with canned laughter.
You barely paid attention, too busy thinking back to the softness he had shown you last night.
The sweet way he crumbled between the the name calling and the fucking.
A deep sadness overcame you.
Maybe fucking him was the worst decision you could have made.
But god, it felt good.
You groaned and grabbed the nearest cushion, burying your face into it.
“Moron.”
Maybe directed at you this time.
Hours passed, the sky outside shifting from gold to a deep blue.
The television kept talking and you pretended to watch it, your eyes growing heavy.
By midnight you were ready to pack in, wandering through the beaded curtain and collapsing onto your bed.
Then a knock.
One sharp rap against the door.
Your heart nearly stopped.
You sat upright immediately.
Another knock, softer this time.
You already knew who it was and for a second you considered ignoring him.
You thought about making him sit out there, make him wonder.
Instead, you marched to the door and yanked it open.
Daryl stood on the step, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, hair damp from showering and his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
For several seconds neither of you spoke.
But you broke first, crossing your arms.
“What, Daryl?”
His jaw tightened.
“Nothin.”
You stared, his eyes still on the ground.
The urge to slam the door in his face became overwhelmingly strong.
“You woke me up for nothin?”
“I didn’t wake you up.”
“How would you know?”
He shrugged.
“Why are you here?” You huffed.
His shoulders rose and fell, his breath minty - strange and unusual.
“I dunno.”
You barked a laugh.
“Oh great, riveting conversation.”
You started to close the door.
His hand shot out, catching the frame.
“Wait.” His voice was rough, desperate.
Your eyes narrowed.
“What?”
His gaze finally lifted, meeting your eyes.
He finally saw the anger on your face, and you spotted the misery on his.
Behind him, across the road, Merle was passed out in a lawn chair, one boot propped up on a cooler and an empty beer can hung loosely from his hand.
Daryl followed your glance.
“He’s asleep.”
You blinked.
“Huh?”
“He’s not dead, if that's what you’re thinkin’.
The explanation sounded ridiculous, like somehow that answered everything.
Your eyebrows raised.
“Why would I think that? And so what?.”
Daryl rubbed a hand over his face.
Frustrated and embarrassed.
“Couldn’t come before.”
You looked at him for a long moment, then looked at Merle again, snoring and unconscious.
Something twisted in your chest.
“Daryl-”
His shoulders immediately tensed.
“I know.”
He looked deep into your eyes, shame smeared across his face like he’d spent the last twelve hours hating himself and hadn't figured out how to stop.
“I ain't good at this,” he continued.
“No shit.”
A tiny huff escaped him.
And for the first time since he’d knocked, the tension eased enough for him to ask;
“Can I come in?”
The streetlight cast soft shadows across his face, catching on the peach fuzz on his jaw.
Hours ago you’d imagined this moment, him showing up, what you’d say. But, now that he was here, looking miserable and exhausted, you found yourself at a loss.
“You had all day.”
His eyes dropped.
“I know.”
That simple answer took some of the fight out of you.
You leaned against the doorframe and folded your arms.
“So why now?”
Daryl rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulder shifting beneath his shirt.
“Y’know.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Thats not an answer.”
“It just ain't a good one.”
The corner of your mouth twitched.
His gaze caught it immediately and his expression softened for a fraction of a second before he glanced down again.
There was something strangely vulnerable about him like this.
No attitude or sharp remarks, just a man standing on your porch after midnight because he couldn't stay away much longer.
Your stomach tightened.
“You gonna stand there all night or are you coming in?”
His eyes lifted, finally.
The air stilled between the two of you, and strangely neither of you moved.
The anger was still there, the hurt too.
But underneath it all, the memory of yesterday,
The memory clearly neither of you seemed capable of ignoring.
You stepped aside, taking a deep breath.
“Get in here before somebody sees you.”
A small, shaky breath escaped him and he stepped into the trailer.
The already small space suddenly felt claustrophobic as you shut the door behind him.
The click of the lock sounded louder than it shouldve.
Daryl stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, his hands shoved into his pockets.
You could feel the heat radiating from even a few feet away.
“You want a beer?” you asked abruptly.
He shook his head.
“Anything.”
“Nah.”
You sighed.
“Then say what you’re gonna say.”
Daryl opened his mouth and closed it again, his teeth grating as he did so.
And for one ridiculous second you almost laughed.
The man could pin you with a look from across the room, pick a fight with anybody.
But asking him to talk about his feelings bordered on torture.
You stepped closer before you could stop yourself and his attention immediately snapped back to you.
The space between you felt charged, dangerous.
You hated how aware of him you had become.
The smell of soap lingering on his skin, the damp ends of his hair.
The way his eyes kept flicking toward your mouth and lower before forcing themselves elsewhere.
“Daryl.”
His throat bobbed.
“What?”
“What are you doing here?”
This time he didn’t look away.
His voice came out rough.
“Came cause I cant stop thinkin about you damn it.”
That familiar flutter low in your stomach throwing you off your edge immediately.
You were angry.
So why did one look from him still do that?
“You still mad?” he asked quietly.
You huffed.
“Jesus Daryl.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, so nervous. “I didn’t mean to-”
His words died in his throat and you watched as he bit back tears.
“Daryl.”
His eyes lifted.
“Stop it-”
“You disappeared.”
“I know-”
“Why?”
“I dunno-”
“You should know how that would make me feel.”
“I know.”
“Then what?”
The room went quiet.
He looked at you for a moment before glancing away, then back again, like he couldn't decide where to look.
A flicker of satisfaction settled in your chest despite yourself.
You’d never seen him like this before. So skittish and nervous.
Daryl Dixon, nervous.
The thought was almost enough to make you smile.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“You enjoyin’ this?”
“Maybe a little.”
He huffed, shaking his head as he looked away again.
The corner of your mouth twitched, just a little.
Watching him squirm should've felt petty, but instead it felt strangely good.
Like he’d spent so long acting tough, he’d forgotten what to do now that there was nothing left to hide behind.
Daryl shifted his weight, the floor creaking beneath his boots.
When you didn't say anything else, he looked increasingly uncomfortable.
Good. Let him sit with it, you thought.
“So?” you asked.
His brow furrowed.
“What was your plan?”
Daryl opened his mouth and closed it again.
“I dunno.”
“Right.”
“No, I mean-” he sighed heavily, “I just needed t’see you.”
“Here I am.” you gestured towards yourself sarcastically.
His jaw clenched angrily.
“You gonna be mean to me all night?”
You raised an eyebrow.
“What do you think?”
He huffed.
“You let Merle run his mouth.”
“Can we not-”
“No, Daryl-”
“Alright damn it. I’m sorry, okay? That what you want?” His eyes flicked up to you immediately. and when your eyes met, he looked away just as fast.
“Why are you acting so strange?”
You leaned against the counter, fixing your hair onto one shoulder.
“I ain’t.”
“You are.”
He huffed and you smiled despite yourself.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“That thing you do.”
“Huh?”
“You get all grumpy when you’re embarrassed.”
“I ain’t.”
The lie came too fast, and you laughed.
A genuine laugh, straight in his face.
The sound made him stop talking altogether.
He just looked at you, like he’d been waiting all day to hear it, like he wasn't even able to be embarrassed by it.
“Missed that.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Your heart stumbled.
“You missed me?”
His ears turned burning red.
“Y’know what I meant.”
“No,” you tilted your head, your arms crossed beneath your breasts. “I don't think I do.”
“Damn you woman.”
The smile finally won and there he was; stubborn Daryl Dixon, completely out of his depth.
“I don’t like when you’re mad at me.” He admitted, rubbing the toe of his boot on the floor.
“I ain’t mad.” you sighed.
“Yeah you’re worse, you’re disappointed.”
“Well shit Daryl, kinda.”
“I know but-”
“You don’t need to take his shit.” You raised your voice, trying to shake him out of the trance he seemed to be in.
“You don’t get it.”
“What?”
The trailer went quiet again and Daryl perched on the back of the couch, his hands clasped together so tight his knuckles had gone pale.
“I ain’t askin’ you t’forgive me.”
Your throat tightened.
“Good.”
His shoulder slumped, his tiredness seeping through.
It was almost like carrying all that shame had finally caught up to him.
You sighed, pushing yourself off of the counter.
Daryl immediately tensed.
You stepped towards him, standing almost between his legs.
You could see the question in his eyes.
The expectation that you were about to tell him off again.
But instead, you reached out, settling your hand against his cheek.
Daryl froze, his eyes widening slightly.
You weren’t sure he was touched gently very often.
His stubble scratched softly against your palm and you closed your eyes, basking in its warmth.
For a moment he stared at you, unsure if you were really there.
“You make this hard y’know.” you sighed.
The corner of his mouth twitched upwards and your thumb brushed against it.
He closed his eyes and you stepped forward, close enough to feel his breath.
You rested your forehead against his.
A shaky breath escaped him.
“I’m still mad.” you whispered.
His lips twitched into a humourless smile.
“I know.”
The answer came immediately, no argument, no excuses.
Just acceptance.
Stepping back you felt his hand on your hip, bullying you back.
“Dont-” He breathed out.
“Daryl.”
“I don’t deserve it.”
“Daryl-”
“I want you.”
You stopped, unable to look at him.
He stood up, closing the space between you once more.
“I need you- last night changed everything-” he started, shaking his head. “I can’t get you out of here.” He tapped his head aggressively and you stopped him.
“Daryl, stop.”
“Damn it woman.” He sounded so defeated, broken. “I aint ever felt the way I felt last night.”
Your heart squeezed painfully.
All day you’d been so angry and hurt, hell humiliated even.
Yet standing here looking at him, it was impossible to miss how miserable he’d been.
“Dumbass.”
The insult came out far softer than intended.
You shook your head.
“You made me feel awful today and now what? I’ve to fuckin’ suck you off?”
“That ain’t what I said-”
“Fuck you.” you turned away from him, unable to stomach him seeing you upset. "I thought you regretted it."
"What?"
"Last night."
The words hung there.
Heavy.
“Me."
For the first time all evening, Daryl looked genuinely alarmed.
"No."
The answer came so fast it almost startled you.
He took a step forward before seeming to realize he'd done it.
His hands opening and closing uselessly at his sides.
"I don't regret nothin'."
The conviction in his voice stole the breath from your lungs.
You swallowed.
"Then why'd you disappear?"
Daryl dragged a hand through his hair.
Frustrated.
Embarrassed.
Like he hated every second of this conversation.
"I dunno."
"Bullshit."
"I don't."
He looked away.
Then back again.
His jaw tightening.
"Ain't been right since."
Your chest tightened.
"Since what?"
His eyes narrowed.
"You know since what."
"Daryl."
He groaned quietly and looked toward the ceiling.
"Damn it."
You waited.
Eventually his gaze found yours again.
Softer this time.
Less guarded.
"Can't stop thinkin'."
The confession landed between you.
Simple.
Honest.
Painfully so.
"About what?"
His eyes squeezed shut.
"Don't make me say it."
Despite yourself, a small smile tugged at your mouth.
The sight seemed to undo him completely.
His shoulders slumping.
His head shaking.
"There you go again."
"What?"
"Smilin' at me."
The warmth in his voice caught you off guard.
For a moment neither of you spoke.
The television hummed quietly from the other room.
Outside, somewhere in the trailer park, a car door slammed.
The rest of the world kept moving.
But inside the trailer everything felt suspended.
Daryl looked at you for a long moment.
Like he was trying to memorize your face.
Like he still couldn't believe you'd opened the door.
His hand found yours.
Tentatively.
Almost uncertain.
You looked down at your joined hands.
Then back up at him.
"Daryl..."
His thumb brushed once across your knuckles.
A tiny movement.
But somehow it felt bigger than anything else that night.
"It scared me."
The admission came so quietly you almost missed it.
"What did?"
His laugh was short and humourless.
"All of it."
You stared.
He looked away immediately.
Ashamed.
"Askin' for somethin'."
His voice roughened.
"Wantin' somethin'."
Your heart squeezed.
"Daryl..."
He shook his head.
"No."
His fingers tightened around yours.
"Just..."
The words died.
Whatever he was trying to say caught somewhere in his throat.
So instead he stepped closer.
And this time neither of you moved away.
A nervous breath escaped him.
His hot breath hitting the back of your neck.
“It ain’t right, me doin’ this to you.”
"What if I want you too..."
Without much thought you were being lifted to the bedroom.
Your legs around his waist, your lips on his.
The cold buckle of his belt rubbing against your heat with each step he took.
He pushed through the beaded curtain and dropped you down gently on the mattress.
His clothed knee pressed up against you and you hummed out a soft moan as the coarse denim ground pressure against your underwear, the weight of him pushing you down into the mattress.
“Fuck-” He grunted,
His head dipping into your neck to leave heavy kisses along it and down to your collarbone, his stubble scratching softly as he travelled.
“Daryl~” you whine, grinding down onto his knee.
“I know baby, I know.” he whispered, his hands leaving you to go to his belt, his jeans falling in one swift motion. “God- the things y’do to me.”
He slid your underwear down your thighs and off onto the floor behind him.
Then crawled on top of you, pressing his mouth to yours.
“You want this?” He whispered against your lips.
“Fuck~ yes.”
His hand drifted down your stomach and in between your bodies, his finger dancing across your clit softly.
Your hips jerked upwards into his hand, needing to feel some friction, anything.
His kisses were feral.
Desperate.
“Needed you, yknow that?” he grunted, his fingers finding their way to your slick and rubbing it all over your aching core. “Been thinkin’ bout it all day.”
“Me too- I need you.” You huffed out, your eyes on his as he inched his finger inside of you.
You cried out at the contact, god you’d been wanting him.
"I want..." He swallowed hard.
His eyes dropped for a second.
Then back to yours.
"I don't want things t'go back."
You looked up into his eyes, your hands cradling his face.
For a moment all the anger, all the hurt, seemed to fade beneath the uncertainty written across his features.
"Daryl."
His jaw tightened.
You brushed your thumb across his cheek.
"They don't have to."
A shaky breath escaped him.
"You mean that?"
You nodded immediately.
"Yeah, I do."
His eyes searched yours like he was waiting for the catch.
Waiting for you to take it back.
You smiled softly.
"Hey," you paused, "last night wasn't just you."
Something eased in his expression.
Just a little.
"I wanted you too."
His eyes closed briefly.
Relief.
Pure relief.
When he looked at you again, there was something almost vulnerable about it.
Like he'd spent all day carrying a weight he didn't know how to put down.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
You leaned forward and pressed your forehead gently against his.
"You don't gotta do this alone, y'know."
For a second he just stared at you.
Then his hand settled over yours.
Careful.
Like he was afraid you'd disappear if he held on too tight.
"Don't know what I'm doin'."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Neither do I."
That finally earned a real smile.
Small.
Crooked.
Entirely his.
"Guess we'll figure it out then."
He smiled again, smaller this time.
Like he still couldn't quite believe you meant it.
Then he leaned down and kissed you.
Not desperate.
Not frantic.
Just slow.
Like he was trying to memorize you, make up for time lost.
His fingers moved again, in and out of your dripping heat.
"Gonna be good t'you." He whispered, watching you unravel beneath him.
You called out his name, hands still on his face as he fucked two fingers into you.
“Daryl~ please.”
“Yeah?” He whispered.
A thousand thoughts tangled together in your chest, but only one made it out.
“I need you.”
Something in his expression softened.
“Okay baby doll.”
His voice was so quiet it almost didn’t sound like him.
For a moment he just looked at you, admiring the flushed look on your face, the way the light caught your eye.
Then, softly, he removed his fingers, leaving you empty for a moment before replacing them with his aching cock.
A quiet sigh escaped you as he pushed into you.
The flutter of desire was still there, but it was the relief that caught you off guard - the relief of having him close again.
“Gonna be good t’you this time-” He murmured, one hand on settling on your hip, the other next to your head on the mattress, “So good~”
You smiled despite yourself.
“I know baby~”
His forehead rested against yours, his breathing uneven as he held you close.
The warmth of him surrounded you, familiar now in a way that made your chest ache.
Yet so different from the night before.
Where before he was rough, almost punishing, tonight he was soft and sweet.
Not because the want was gone, but because the anger was.
The sharp edges of all the frustration he’d carried around like armour, melting away.
Tonight he seemed content just to be here.
To hold you and have you close beneath him.
Somehow that made your heart race even faster.
Your breathing hitched, growing shallow, and his eyes immediately flicked to your face.
He noticed everything.
Always had.
A rough breath escaped him, his gaze never leaving yours.
"Can't take much more," he muttered, sounding almost overwhelmed by the admission.
“Me neither baby~” you mewled.
“I wanted you so bad.” He coughed out.
"I know, baby."
His eyes closed briefly at that.
Relief washing over his features.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "For bein' an asshole."
Your hand slid up to his cheek.
"It's okay."
"No, it ain't."
His forehead found yours again.
"But I'm gonna make it right."
“Oh god~ im close~” you grunted, unable to hold it back anymore
“Me too~” he grunted, hips rutting into you wildly. “Come on baby doll, give it to me.”
Daryl broke into rough breaths and broken attempts at words, his jaw tightly clenched.
A small sound escaped, and he let go, his seed spilling hot inside of you.
His eyes squeezed shut immediately afterwards like he was angry for letting it happen.
His shoulders tensed, his head bowed into your chest.
For a moment he couldn't even look at you.
“Daryl..”
The softness in your voice making it worse.
He shook his head.
“Dont~”
The word came out strained, ashamed.
Like he still couldn't handle being seen this way.
You didnt move away, didnt tease him.
You simply wrapped your arms around him and held him close.
The way nobody ever held him before.
Slowly, his breathing began to settle, the tension leaving him in pieces.
When he finally looked up his eyes were bloodshot.
Searching your face, waiting for something.
Disappointment maybe.
Or regret.
But all he found was you, spent, beneath him.
Your eyes on him, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“There you are.”
Something in his expression crumpled.
He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch.
“Don’t tell Merle.”
“Why would I.” You laughed, cradling him softly.
“He’d never shut up about it.”
That earned a proper laugh, the sound filling your small bedroom.
Daryl stayed where he was, head resting against you.
Silence settling comfortably.
His fingers found yours atop of the sheets, intertwining them awkwardly.
Like he wasn't used to this but was trying anyway,
You squeezed his hand
And this time, when he squeezed back, he didn’t let go
I was super struggling to write smut so apologies if this is straight poop.
Kinda sad it's over actually cause they're kinda cute together lol.
❥ pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader
❥ tags: modern au, pre-established relationship, smut, nsfw, 18+, road head, praise, fingering, kissing, riding, unprotected piv
word count: 1.6k
❥ synopsis: when it comes to helping arthur stay sharp on the road, you have a trick or two up your sleeve.
❥ author’s note: save me modern au arthur morgan with your vintage ford chevrolet and big, wandering man hands, save me..... (teehee thanks for reading, enjoy!)
masterlist | image source | pretty dividers @olenvasynyt & @uzmacchiato
Barreling down I-70, mountains ascend the western horizon like the bulk of an ancient beast breaching a dusty sea. It’s a peach dawn at your backs, with a little red sun winking in the rearview mirror, and Arthur’s hand at home on your thigh. With your fingertips, you idly trace the veins that run like stripes on a roadmap from his knuckles up his forearm and back down again. An old country song crackles low on the radio, and if you listen close you can hear faint attempts at a tuneful hum from the driver’s seat.
He goes to palm his pack of Marlboros off the dash — but you’re quicker.
“Uh-uh. We had a deal.”
“Hell you talkin’ ‘bout, woman?” The last bit of sleep he had was yesterday — a few stolen winks under the brim of his hat as he reclined in the truck bed, parked at some middle-of-nowhere pump station — and the lines of his face look all the more creased for it.
“You promised you’d cut back.”
“When would I say somethin’ stupid like that?”
“At the motel, you silly man. Remember?” You’d wrung it from him under the hot flow of the shower head the way you prefer to approach most negotiations with Arthur; with honey on your tongue and his cock in your hand.
He sucks his teeth and scoffs. “That don’t count. C’mon.” He holds out his calloused palm, eyes never leaving the road.
You hold the pack out of reach, looking at him with reproach. “It ain’t even been an hour, baby. Where’s your gum?”
He half-sighs, half-growls as he fumbles blindly around the dash, mumbling choice phrases under his breath that sound suspiciously like hate the damn gum and pain in my ass.
Taking pity on him, you shove his cigarettes in the side door and help him fish the packet of aluminum from wherever he managed to stash it out of sight. Wordlessly, he opens his mouth and you pop a piece of nicotine gum between his lips with a triumphant little smile.
“Brat.” He chews.
“God forbid you live to see forty.”
“Hey, from your mouth to His ears.”
You smack his leg. “Don’t even.”
He snickers and drives on.
Complaints aside, he really is trying. To smoke less. To moderate his approach to whiskey. To find work that’s a little more honest than it is unsavory. To think twice before indulging in his more hare-brained, reckless impulses. To give a damn about his own life now that you’re in it.
“Oughta pull this thing over and spank you.” He says after a while. You giggle.
The miles stretch on that lonesome highway and in the irony of it all you half wish you could have a smoke, given your mounting nerves.
Two days on the road now on the way to see his family — a family you’ve come to understand to be “complicated”, according to Arthur. In your mind, a gross understatement based on what he’s shared with you; the fragments of his unconventional upbringing; the points of chaos that punctuated his violent youth. Though many of the folks he used to run with are scattered, imprisoned, or dead, he still has someone who is “like a brother”, to him and that brother has someone who is “like his wife”, and together they have a son who is “like a nephew” — and they all live on a ranch out west, awaiting your arrival.
“You’re quiet.” Arthur remarks after a time, the sun having since yellowed and begun its upward arc in earnest. His hand finds its way back to your thigh in the meanwhile, and he gives your flesh a little pinch. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
You frown out the window as you watch the desert whip by. “Just thinkin’.”
“Thinkin’, or worryin’?”
Your lips quirk to the side. “The latter.”
“Well, quit.” He rumbles tenderly.
Seeking comfort, you reach over to idly stroke his bicep, dipping your thumb beneath the sleeve of his tee. “You think they'll like me?”
“They barely like me, sweet-pea.” Arthur snorts, blue-green eyes flicking between you and the road. “Ain’t nowhere to go wit’chu but up.”
"Thanks." You deadpan.
"Ah, I'm just messin' wit'cha." His mouth twitches amusedly as he winds his arm around you, pulling you flush against his flank. You cuddle in the warm crook of his shoulder, palm splaying like a star over his chest, and you breathe deep the comforting scent of teakwood and sweat and him.
"Don't worry so much." He finds your hairline in a scratchy kiss. "'Course they're gonna love you. What's not to love? Sweet thing like you."
Your heart clenches. You arc the tip of your nose along his stubbled jaw, trailing a path of kisses along his throat. "You're so good when you wanna be."
You feel him tense, a soft groan rumbling against your lips where they linger over his pulse.
"Don't'chu start somethin' you ain't prepared to finish, girl." But you can hear the grin in his warning, feel the hitch in his breath as you blow a stream of cool air behind his earlobe, see him shift in his seat as if straining against a pair of jeans that are suddenly too tight.
"Oh, you're askin' for it now." He purrs, groping your breast through the soft fabric of your sundress, the other hand holding fast to the steering wheel. With a subtle buck of his hips he says, "Get down there."
A thrill blossoms between your thighs. "Ain't it dangerous?" You grin.
He looks at you as if to say, have you met me?
You steal a kiss and descend.
The truck rumbles beneath you as you palm the pitched tent of his arousal, earning from him a low hiss and a needy twitch of his hips. Biting your lip, you work quickly to undo his belt, to unbutton his jeans, to welcome his cock as it springs forth, so eager for your attention.
Your core throbs to see it. Thick and heavy and curved skyward, its ruddy tip gleaming with dew. You grip him at the base and lave the flat of your tongue along the veined underside, filling your taste with the heady salt of him. Lips encircling his head, you suck, and both of his hands hold fast and white-knuckled to the wheel.
"Jesus."
You giggle and hum, jaw loosening as you sink inch by inch. You gulp and suckle, head bobbing as you find a steady pace that both maddens and satisfies. Spit pools in the soft, tawny hair at his base, your tongue a velvet vortex as you lavish his cock.
"Oh, f-- oh, that's my girl."
His hand curls sharp against your scalp, a guide and a lifeline. He gifts you with open-mouthed groans, as loud and resonant as you've ever heard him, and his lack of inhibition only spurs your enthusiasm. His thighs twitch and tremble with the effort of a man summoning all his strength not to fuck your throat raw. You feel a tug and you're wrenched from him with an obscene pop, smiling dopily as you let a stream of drool free from between your lips to dribble down the glistening length of him.
"Hold on, sugar."
He grips you hard around your waist, holding you safe, and suddenly his boot is pumping the brakes until the truck comes to a screeching halt on the side of the highway, clouds of dust curling upwards from the tires. And then his hand is on your jaw, pulling you up until he's tasting himself on your tongue and swiping your mouth hungrily with his own like a can of peaches in syrup.
"What'chu got f'me under this skirt, huh?" He grins roguishly, slipping his hand over the ample curve of your ass to seek the sticky heat between your cheeks. Sideswiping your soaking panties he curls his middle fingers inside you, knuckle deep, pulling up against your spongy inner walls as if to lift you like a saddle.
"Oh!" You cry, vision white.
Helplessly, you mewl face-down in his lap, peppering his cock tip with weak little kitten licks as he stretches you wide with his over large hands. You hear him spit before you feel its impact, dripping deliciously between your cheeks to coat his efforts. Pumping you, filling you. The roughened pad of his thumb kissing your clit. A warm hum of approval resonates deep in his chest. His other hand smooths up and down your arching back as if gentling an animal, only to render the fat of your ass cheek pink with a smart smack.
"C'mon, sugar. Up y'get."
A lustful fumbling of limbs, of clashing tongues and teeth as you hurry to straddle his waiting lap. Your card your fingers through his hair and hold tight, eyes locked and heavy-lidded, hot breath mingling on your mouths as he slips his hand between you to guide his aching cock home.
A pinch. A gasp. A sigh.
You sit on his meaty, rugged length, and the whimper you rend from his throat etches itself in your memory.
You hum, finding him in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss as you roll your hips slow, agonizing circles. "Mm...you like that, don't'chu, pretty boy?"
He groans. A half-hearted protest? A heavy bounce from you shows him right.
"Yes, ma'am." Comes his ragged supplication. You giggle low and victorious in your chest.
"Where'd your gum go?" You ask breathlessly.
"Think I swallowed it."
You both laugh, and your laughs become panted moans and soft grunts of effort caught in the slipshod press of your lips. He grabs your ass, pulling you wide. And in the sticky desert heat of that cherry red pickup you drive your man hard and fast to deliverance, with the sun high and the sky a boundless blue.
