#that goddamn shirt... one day... it will be mine...

[coronangelic1]

will forever regret being a child, broke as fuck in 2017 i wanted all the kokopie stuff and i will never get to heal my inner child now

[reignpage]

In which your man, Toji Fushiguro, is a certified asshole.

It’s a fact.

But he’s not the kind of asshole that talks shit about women or spews political nonsense about the LGBT and other letters. No, he’s the kind that pulls dumb as hell pranks like,

Jerking off and splattering his cum on your fresh panties so that when you come out of the shower, he gets to hear that shriek and scream of his name. He denies he did anything too. “Don’t go blaming me for your overflowing discharge, doll. Goddamn pussy’s like a leaky faucet.”

Running his nail over your nipples as you sleep. He tickles the bud, using your shirt for friction, til it hardens and you’re whining in your sleep. Might do the same with your pussy lips over your panties too. And like clockwork, lies about it. When you wake up, dazed, confused, and asking if he's been touching you, he fake-groans and complains, “It’s 3am, woman. You seriously waking me up cause you’re horny? Jesus, you ever not? Fuck, come on then, bounce on it like you’re sorry I’m missing out on sleep.”

Purposefully putting you in positions that pushes a lot of air inside you, enough at least to get you queefing. He chuckles and pats your bruised pussy after the rough fucking, and says to said pussy, “Got notes about my performance, ma? What, missing out on one too few orgasms? Yeah, I’ll make up for it next round, don’t worry, greedy girl.”

Or worse, he pretends it isn’t a queef. Shaking his head, he pinches his nose and says, “Damn, what have you been eating? Your gut’s all messed up, doll. We gotta get you to the doctors. Fucking worse than mine.”

Perhaps most annoying of all: at gatherings with your friends and families, he loves to pretend he got a text from you. He reads it aloud, wayyy louder than he needs to, and makes up some bullshit. 

“Why’d you say your granny's cooking sucks?”

“You wanna leave, doll? But we just got here? Ah, you hate Shiu’s new girl ‘cause she’s all tits and no brains. Got it. Let’s go.”

“Meet you in the bathroom? Why? You horny or do you have the runs? Oh my bad, I just saw your second text. I’ll bring the air freshener.”

Honestly, you don’t know why you’re still with him, nor why he’s still alive and breathing. You’re kinda just hoping one day you’ll look back at these years of humiliation and finally get the joke.

But today is not that day and you’re going to smack that man stupid if he so much as even tries it next time.

[abbotafterhours]

💌 place your bets (jack abbot x reader)

author's note: another big thank you for all the support!! my requests are open so please feel free to message and ask for whatever pitt related stuff you'd like to see. if you couldn't tell, i'm in my jack abbot writing era as of rn but i am happy to write other characters, too! this is just a little fun one with no real plot or angst or anything, total fluff to lighten your weekend (and mine) x

pairing: jack abbot x reader (again i know)

word count: 3.9k

warnings: reader is described as being female presenting and is referred to with she/her pronouns, medical inaccuracies as always and the episodes sequence of events are a bit inaccuarate as well, fluff and a self-indulgent sunshiney reader, reader is younger as well, late 20s , episode 9 furry mention lol

songs i listened to while writing: oh, gemini by role model, potion by djo, godlight by noah kahan, true blue by boygenius

description: the pitt's in chaos, there's a very serious cyber attack happening, and apparently, a betting pool about you and one salt and pepper haired attending

This sort of shift made the Pitt feel less like a trauma center and more like some kind of cosmic punishment you were being forced to endure after doing something deeply terrible in a past life.

By midafternoon, the Fourth of July had already delivered everything you’d expected and then some. There were burns, lips split open on pool decks, heat exhaustion, one teenage boy who had somehow managed to launch a firework directly into a lawn chair and then act surprised when the lawn chair bounced back like it had a personal vendetta, and you were also fairly sure you’d witnessed an actual furry in chairs earlier. In fairness, you’d been awake since before sunrise, so there was every chance that part had been a hallucination. The ER was loud enough to distort reality on a normal day. Today it was deafening. The ambulance bay was worse. Every hallway smelled faintly of sweat, antiseptic, and that acrid, post-firework smoke that seemed to settle into the walls no matter how many times the doors opened.

And to top it all off, the hospital computers had gone down in the middle of the rush.

Poor Whitaker had tried his best to take a photo of the board before it died completely, but his lackluster camera skills had left half the names blurry , so the whole department had been forced to rely on Joy—new, terrifyingly competent, photographic-memory Joy—for every name, room number, and ailment in the goddamn ER. Every few minutes somebody would shout, “Joy, who’s in Seven?” and she’d answer without looking up, as if reciting patient lists from memory was a totally normal skill to have.

Dana had taken one look at the frozen screens and said, “You have got to be kidding me,” with the spiritual exhaustion of a woman who had already given too much of herself to this building. Ten minutes later she was digging out clipboards and paper charts like she had personally prepared for the inevitable downfall of modern technology and had simply been waiting for the right time to shine.

“What is that?” you asked, cocking a brow at the massive clunky machine Jessie had pulled from some forgotten corner of the nurses’ station like an artifact from a medical museum.

“That,” Jack said, pointing at it with all the confidence of a man introducing a beloved childhood pet, “is a fax machine.”

You looked back at your boyfriend, who was leaning against the counter in combat trousers and a black T-shirt, left hand shoved in his pocket, the other loosely gesturing toward the glorified hunk of plastic in front of you. You narrowed your eyes at him, mostly because he had no business still being here. He should have been back at your apartment hours ago, asleep in your bed, not standing in the Pitt after a brutal night shift like his body ran on caffeine and spite alone.

Unfortunately, that just wasn’t Jack.

“That’s how we rolled when I was a resident,” he said, not really to you so much as to the room at large, as if he had been waiting years for a valid excuse to say it.

Joy paused in the middle of rattling off patient names and lifted her head. “Was that in the 1900s?”

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop a laugh, but it was already too late.

Jack looked at her, entirely unimpressed. “Yeah,” he said. “Back when charts were written by candlelight.”

That did it. A snort escaped before you could stop it.

Jack turned his head and looked at you then, amusement tucked into his gaze as he watched you fail spectacularly to hide how entertained you were.

You were absolutely in for it later.

The thing was, you probably deserved it.

You had spent most of the morning being unbearably cheerful, which according to Trinity was "borderline offensive in a disaster scenario". You were three years into residency now, experienced enough that nobody hovereed, junior enough that everyone still barked at you when someone needed to take the blame. And somehow, along the way, you had developed a reputation for smiling through absolute carnage. You were kinda excellent in the er. Fast hands, good instincts, calm voice. You'd discovered early on that people tended to panic less when you looked like you genuinely believe that things could be salvaged. Most of the time, you genuinely did.

So yes, you smiled when you told a six-year-old that his popsicle-blue tongue made him look like a supervillain. You smiled when you promised a drunk college student that no, he wasn't dying, he was just very stupid. And you smiled now, in the middle of a cyber attack and a holiday shitshow, because if you didn't, you might just start screaming and never stop.

"Room Four needs reassessment," Dana called, slapping a chart into your hands as she breezed past. "Room eight's blood pressure has dropped, and if anyone asks me where the paper lab forms are one more time, I'm committing a felony."

"Copy that, boss," you said.

Dana paused just long enough to squint at you. "Y/N, why are you smiling?"

"Morale."

"You're using that voice again, babe."

You glanced over your shoulder at Dana as you started to move towards your next task.

"What voice?"

"The Disney Princess voice," Trinity said flatly.

Joy, without looking up from the board that Al-Hashimi was busy scribbling onto, said, "You do have one."

You gasped. "Et tu, Joy?"

Joy shrugged. "It is effective."

Jack, who had decided that fawning over the fax machine was getting boring, drifted close enough to hear your conversation. He took a pen from his pocket, handing it over to you.

"You forgot this," he said, "for your charts."

You looked down at your hand. It was your favourite pen. The good one with the ink that dried just quick enough. The one you complained about losing every single shift.

Your eyes narrowed. "You stole my pen?"

"You left it in, my um, my truck."

"Oh, shit. Yeah, I did."

Trinity, standing three feet away with all the subtlety of a fire alarm, went very still. She turned slowly to Dennis then, knocking him in the side with her shoulder.

"Huckleberry, write that one down, now."

Room Four held a sunburned dad who'd passed out at a barbecue and cracked his head open on a cooler. You cleaned and re-stitched the wound while explaining every step in your usual warm tone, and by the time you came back out, the nurse's station had only gotten louder. The fax machine had whirred to life and Jessie was in a heated conversation with Dana about toner. Joy was still where you left her, acting as the PTMC's human database.

And Dr Jack Abbot was still there. Stupidly tight black tshirt and all.

He caught your eye from across the station and, because he was incapable of not noticing things about you, lifted a cup from the counter.

A Dunkin iced coffee you had often heard him shitting on Shen for consuming one too many of during the night shift.

You made your way over to him through the chaos, accepting it with a look. "You're extremely attentive for a man who's meant to be unconscious by now."

"You skipped breakfast."

"Okay, Jack, that's not an answer"

"It's the only one you're getting."

You took a sip from the fluorescent orange straw. "Didn't take you for a romantic, Abbot."

Jack's mouth twitched, an almost smile. "Drink it before you get mean."

You blinked up at him. "I do not get mean!"

From two feet away, Santos whispered, “He knows her blood sugar patterns.”

Whitaker made a tiny distressed noise. “Oh my god.”

You turned. “What are you two doing?”

“Nothing,” Santos said far too quickly.

That was the exact wrong answer. You narrowed your eyes and held out your hand. “Santos.”

She folded her arms. “No.”

“Santos.”

“It’s literally not a big deal.”

“Then show me.”

Whitaker physically recoiled. Javadi looked almost interested. Princess and Perlah had gone suspiciously quiet at the nurses’ station, which in itself felt like evidence of a crime. Finally, with the theatrical suffering of a woman forced to betray her own art, Santos unfolded a sheet of paper from behind a clipboard and handed it over.

It was, unmistakably, a betting pool.

Your name was on it. So was Jack’s.

Beside a list of times, 2 p.m., 4 p.m., end of shift, by the parking lot, “during major trauma” in Javadi’s handwriting, were dollar amounts and initials.

You stared at it for a long second. Then looked up.

“You people are betting on us?”

Santos lifted one shoulder. “In our defense, you’ve been weirdly public all day.”

“We have not.”

Jack, traitor that he was, took a sip of coffee and said, “We have.”

You slowly turned to look at him. “You knew about this?”

“Yes.”

“You knew.”

“They’ve been doing it for weeks.”

Your jaw dropped. “Weeks?”

“Six,” Princess said helpfully from the desk.

Perlah smiled sweetly and added something in Tagalog that made Princess snort. You only caught one word, obvious.

You looked back down at the sheet, then at Santos. “There is a category for accidental hand placement.”

Santos nodded. “That one’s popular.”

Whitaker raised a nervous finger. “For legal reasons I only bet on the after-shift options.”

Javadi adjusted her clipboard. “I weighted mine against environmental stressors. Cyber attacks accelerate impulsive disclosures.”

“That sentence made me hate you a little,” you said.

“Understandable.”

Dana appeared in the middle of all this, took one look at the paper in your hand, and sighed the sigh of a woman who had somehow expected better despite having no reason to.

“Has she found out?”

“Yes,” Santos said proudly.

Dana held out her hand. “Pay me.”

“What?” you said.

“I told them they were all idiots for thinking you two were subtle. By technicality, I’m owed.”

Money appeared from multiple directions. Perlah slapped a ten into Dana’s palm. Princess handed over a five while muttering, “Sabi ko na nga ba.” Whitaker looked betrayed by the universe.

You turned to Jack in outrage. “You were just going to let this happen?”

Jack looked thoroughly unbothered. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“It doesn’t bother you that the entire ER has us in a spreadsheet?”

“It’s not a spreadsheet,” Joy said from across the room. “It’s handwritten.”

“Thank you, Joy,” Santos said. “Very helpful.”

It should have embarrassed you more than it did. It should have made you want to crawl into a supply closet and never come out. Instead, irritatingly, all you could really focus on was the fact that Jack was standing there in the middle of all of it, clipboard under one arm, coffee in hand (did he figure out how to uber eats Dunkin?), the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth, and acting like none of this was remotely a problem.

Because, to him, apparently, it wasn’t.

Before you could say anything else, Dana barked your name from the trauma side. “Bay Two. Pediatric burn. Move.”

You dropped the betting sheet onto the counter and went.

The room sharpened the moment you stepped into it. A little boy, maybe seven, sat on the gurney with tears drying on his cheeks and a nasty burn wrapping up one forearm. His father hovered helplessly at his shoulder, pale and frantic. You softened without even thinking about it.

“Hey,” you said, crouching until you were eye level. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N. What’s your name?”

The boy sniffed. “Eli.”

“Hi, Eli. I heard you had a very dramatic run-in with a sparkler.”

A tiny, suspicious smile flickered at the edges of his mouth.

“That arm looks pretty brave to me,” you went on, gloving up. “Mind if I help it out?”

By the time you were halfway through cleaning the burn, Eli was more interested in telling you about his dog than in crying. You talked him through every step, let him pick the colour of his wrap, and told him the whole thing made him look “extremely tough, in a comic-book sort of way.”

Behind you, Jack passed you supplies before you could ask for them. You glanced up once, and the look on his face made something warm settle low in your chest. Not amusement this time. It was a soft look shared between two people who found solitude in little victories like this.

When you were done and Eli had stopped trembling, his father said, voice thick with relief, “Thank you.”

You smiled. “He did all the hard work.”

Out in the hallway again, Jack fell into step beside you.

“You’re good at that,” he said.

You shrugged, a little embarrassed by direct praise. “Kids are honest. If you talk to them like they’re real people, they usually let you help.”

Jack looked at you for a moment longer than necessary. “Still.”

That was all.

Still.

Somehow, coming from him, it said more than a paragraph from anyone else.

By five, the cyber attack had turned the Pitt into a weird little time capsule. Pages were being run by hand. Orders were shouted across halls. The fax machine had stopped working, started back up again, and stopped once more. Somebody had unearthed an ancient label maker. Everyone’s handwriting was deteriorating in real time.

At some point, in the middle of trying to squeeze past a gurney and an IV pole in Trauma Three, Jack put both hands on your hips and moved you six inches to the left so he could get through.

It was practical. It was fast. There was a time where it would've gone completely unnoticed.

It was, apparently, now, worth fifteen dollars.

From the station, Santos sucked in a loud breath. “Physical contact.”

Whitaker slapped money down immediately. “That counts. That absolutely counts.”

“For what?” Robby asked, walking past.

“Nothing,” six people said at once.

Robby slowed, took in Dana counting bills behind the desk, Princess trying and failing not to laugh, and your face somewhere between horrified and resigned.

Then he looked at Jack. Then at you.

Then he sighed like a man realizing he had somehow become the only adult in a room full of teenagers.

“I’m not asking,” he said, and kept walking.

You pressed the heel of your hand to your forehead. “I’m transferring.”

“No, you’re not,” Dana said.

“Can I at least fake my death?”

“Not on my shift.”

Late in the evening, once the worst of the holiday surge had started to taper and the sky outside had begun to darken into a hazy blue, you found a second alone by the ambulance bay doors. It wasn’t exactly quiet, nothing around the Pitt ever really was, but it was quieter than inside. There were fireworks in the distance, all colour and sound and terrible decision-making, and somewhere behind you, somebody was laughing in the break room.

Jack came out a minute later, as if he’d known exactly where you’d gone. He leaned against the railing beside you with all the enthusiasm of a man filing taxes.

“You pouting out here?” he asked.

You looked at him. “I am processing workplace humiliation.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You let them build categories, Jack.”

“I didn’t build anything.”

“You encouraged them by existing.”

He huffed softly through his nose, which with him was basically a laugh. For a moment you just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, watching bursts of red and gold flare over the city skyline. The air smelled like smoke and humidity and summer.

Then you said, because you had to ask it at least once, “You really don’t care that they all know?”

Jack looked at you like the question itself was mildly ridiculous.

“No.”

“Why not?”

His gaze settled on your face. “Because it's you”

There it was again. That impossible, annoying simplicity of his. Like the answer had been sitting there the whole time and you were the only one making it harder than it needed to be.

You looked down at your shoes, smiling despite yourself. “That’s disgustingly sincere.”

“Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m just saying, for a man who acts like human emotion is a contagious disease—”

He turned toward you then, one hand still shoved into his pocket while the other came up to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The movement was brief, casual, but it was enough to quiet you.

“I don’t hide you,” he said.

Your chest tightened in that warm, uncomfortable, lovely way it always did when he said things too plainly.

“I know,” you said quietly.

“And if they want to waste money on something they already figured out, that’s on them.”

You laughed. “You are impossible.”

“Accurate.”

The ambulance bay door banged open behind you.

Santos’s voice floated out before the door even fully shut again. “If either of you kiss out there, I’m collecting double!”

You closed your eyes. “I’m going to actually kill her.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Maybe a little.”

“You like her.”

You sighed. “I know.”

Jack’s mouth twitched, but when he looked back at you there was something more deliberate in it now. More focused. Like he’d made a decision.

“Come on,” he said.

You frowned. “Where?”

“Somewhere quieter.”

Before you could ask what that meant, he had already pushed off the railing and jerked his head toward the side corridor that led to supply and staff storage. Not romantic. Not scenic. Very on brand. You followed him anyway. The hallway was blessedly empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the muffled chaos of the ER dulled by a heavy swinging door. Jack stopped just past the turn where the corridor bent out of sight from the main floor and looked back at you.

“Well?” you asked.

“Well what?”

“You dragged me into a creepy side hallway.”

“I walked,” Jack corrected. “You followed.”

“You are so aggravating.”

“Yeah.”

He said it like he knew exactly how aggravating he was and had no intention of changing.

You folded your arms. “What are we doing back here?”

Jack took a slow step closer. “Avoiding Santos.”

“That’s valid.”

“And,” he added, eyeing you with faint amusement, “you were whining.”

“I was not whining.”

“You were.”

“I was expressing righteous indignation.”

“You were pouting.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the smirk on his face made it impossible to do with any real conviction.

“That’s very rich coming from a man who came in on his day off because the hospital computers hurt his feelings.”

Jack’s brow lifted. “You done.”

“No.”

“Shocking.”

He was close enough now that you could smell coffee on his breath, antiseptic clinging to his shirt, the faint smoke from outside caught in the fabric. One of his hands came up and rested lightly at your waist, thumb hooking just enough into the side seam of your scrubs to pull you half a step nearer.

“That,” you said, very quietly, “is exactly why they have categories.”

“I know.”

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m not trying to.”

That did something unfair to your stomach.

He looked tired now that you were seeing him up close. The kind of tired that sat under the eyes and in the set of the shoulders. But he was still looking at you like you were the easiest thing in the world to focus on.

“Still embarrassed?” he asked.

“A little.”

He nodded once, almost like he respected that.

Then, because he was apparently feeling especially insufferable, he said, “You’ll live.”

You stared at him. “That’s your comforting response?”

“What do you want, a speech?”

“A tiny bit of tenderness wouldn’t kill you.”

Jack’s fingers tightened just slightly at your waist.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice drier now, “I came looking for you, didn’t I?”

That shut you up.

Because yes. He had.

He always did.

Your face must have given something away, because his expression softened at the edges even as his tone stayed gruff.

“There it is,” he murmured. “That look.”

“What look?”

“The one where you remember I’m right.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet.”

“And yet,” you muttered.

His other hand came up then, slower this time, thumb brushing the line of your jaw. Not showy. Not performative. Just him.

“You done being mad at me for not caring?” he asked.

You exhaled softly. “I wasn’t mad that you didn’t care.”

“No?”

“No.” You glanced down, then back up. “I think I was just… surprised you were so okay with everybody knowing.”

Jack looked at you for a second like he was trying to figure out how best to answer that without sounding like himself too much.

Then he said, “I’m not ashamed of you.”

Your breath caught a little.

The teasing fell out of the moment all at once.

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

Jack, who hated fuss, hated spectacle, hated giving people more of himself than they’d earned.

Jack, standing in a half-lit side corridor during a cyber attack after a nightmare holiday shift, telling you as plainly as he knew how that being with you wasn’t something he needed hidden.

“That’s…” You swallowed. “That’s very unfairly nice.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“You make everything weird.”

“I make nothing weird. You overthink.”

You gave a soft laugh, because of course that was his answer.

Then he leaned in, just enough for his forehead to rest briefly against yours.

“You done talking?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“Good.”

The kiss, when it came, was private in the truest sense of it. Not secret. Just not for anybody else. A private thing made real by the fluttering in your stomach.

Warm, slow, and a little tired around the edges in a way that made it better.

Your hand slid up to the back of his neck, fingers catching at the short curls there, while his hand stayed steady at your waist and his thumb traced one absent line against your side through the fabric of your scrubs.

It felt like the whole shift exhaling out of both of you at once.

When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, there was a tiny smugness back in his expression that made you want to bite him.

“What?” you whispered.

He brushed his thumb once more along your jaw. “That’s for me. Not for the floor.”

Your eyebrows went up. “Oh, so now you’re territorial?”

Jack snorted softly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You literally dragged me into a hallway.”

“You were whining.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Unfortunately.”

He leaned in and kissed you again, quicker this time, like punctuation.

From the other side of the swinging door came a muffled shout.

“Are they in there?”

Whitaker.

Then Santos, louder: “I swear to God if they’re making me lose the parking lot category—”

You dropped your forehead to Jack’s shoulder and laughed.

He looked profoundly unimpressed with the entire institution.

“Told you,” he muttered.

“You are so smug right now.”

“I’m always smug.”

“That is not true.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. “Sweetheart.”

You laughed harder at that, and he let you, hand still warm at your waist, mouth twitching at the corner.

Outside the side corridor, the Pitt kept moving, fireworks injuries, paper charts, Dana probably extorting more money from your coworkers.

But in here, for one stolen minute, it was just the two of you.

No betting pool. No categories. No audience.

Just Jack, a little grumpy, a little tired, and entirely too pleased with himself.

Which, unfortunately, looked very good on him.

🩷 🩷🩷

[iridreams]

Bulking Smut 18+, Leon bulks for the winter

You don’t know what prompted your husband to even go on a bulk; he was massive, arms adorned with thick muscle, defined abs. In no world would you have ever guessed him to be in his late forties. But winter was coming up and he liked food. More specific the food you cooked, so might as well get fed by the missus, be happy and double as heat radiator for the colder months.

Doesn’t track calories, only asks you to double the cooking if it was convenient with these pretty eyes of his, the promise of an even bigger, warmer and softer version of him already reason enough.

You can hear the rustling from the door and just know he’s back from the gym, wishing you had joined him to see him effortlessly hip thrust your body weight all while he filled out that shirt of his so goddamn nicely. He had gotten stronger; before he already had been handling you easily, hands on you, guiding you with the broadness of his shoulders, arms around you like a wall. But right now? He could carry things like they weighed nothing, two weeks of groceries on one arm, you in the other. The thought alone made you bite your lip.

“Hey, doll.”

Heavy steps approach you standing by the stove, his hands coming right down to hold your hips as his cold nose buried into your neck.

“Tickles, Leon.”

“Mhm. How has my beautiful wife been?”

His hair was still damp. He must have showered at the gym, much to your dismay. He should have at least sent you a gym pic today or so.

“Missed you. How was the gym?”

“Great. Always feels good to get some movement into these old bones of mine.”

He has the audacity to softly grind into your ass.

“So what is my perfect girl cooking up? Smells like heaven in here.”

“Burgers. Cookies in the oven and salad in the fridge.”

He hums, pressing a soft kiss against your nape.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Save the world multiple times and being a good husband.”

You softly laugh, your left hand resting on his, feeling the cold metal of his wedding band.

“Only good? Need to step up my game if the wife thinks I’m only ‘good’.”

“Just set the table. Lunch’s ready in a few.”

He nods, but doesn’t let go quite yet, hand moving under your apron, travelling higher until you smack him.

“After lunch. We’ve let the food get cold way too often these days.”

You can feel him pout against your neck, but off he goes like a good boy, fetching the plates.

He gets his reward after lunch. A warming up for the cookies that stood on the counter, too hot to be eaten, really. Face buried between your thighs right after he threw you on the couch, only caring to slide off you’re pants. You’re head is thrown back as his nose nudges your clit and he starts slurping against your folds. Between your legs, he felt impossibly big, taking up more space than you’re used to, eating you out with a feverish focus.

“Thanks for the meal, doll.”

He hums into your cunt.

“Feedin’ me so well with your body.”

His lips ghost over your clit and his hot tongue swirls against the pink pearl, squishing it around. Had he always been able to hold your hips so tight? Like vices, his hands were holding onto you, fingers sunk into the plush, giving you no way to wiggle free if you wanted. Your hand wanders to where his head rested under the apron, wanting to feel him under your palm.

“God baby-…you’ve gotten so big.”

You mumble out and he gives your clit a soft little kiss.

“’s all thanks to you. Y’like it, doll?”

“F-fucking love it.”

“Yeah?”

He sinks two fingers in.

“Tell me more.”

Hot breath fanning against where your pussy was dripping, now focused on giving your sensitive nub all the attention she deserved.

“Mhm…you’re just so b-big.”

His fingers curl into you and you clench your thighs, hard.

“Carry me around so easily.”

A soft frown appears on your face, trying to muster up words.

“You j-just feel so good against me.”

“Go on.”

He was smugly smiling with his mouth buried in you.

“…Everything’s j-just so big on you. Your shoulders look so good to bite on a-and your thighs got thick.”

Running your hand down his body early in the morning was heavenly. Soft tissue over hard muscle, comfortably warm. And just thinking about what he could do to you, pressed down by his body’s weight had you clenching.

“I just wanna be in your lap all the time.”

You whine.

“Oh doll.”

The stretch of a third finger felt so good with him sucking your clit.

“Your thighs jus’ look s-so good.”

He pulls out, just to rub all your slick onto your folds and sink them right back in, second hand massaging your ass. Heat blooms deep inside you, a coil building up.

“Makes m-me want to bounce on your cock w-with your arms around me.”

It pushes him to the edge, yanking down hard until your slid onto your back and he gets obscenely loud, pressing open mouthed kisses against your cunt, fingers fucking you much faster.

“F-fuck, L-Leon!”

You whimper out, eyes shutting tightly. The orgasm washes over you with unmatched intensity, his fingers rubbing against your clenching walls, soothing them through your climax while he keeps on licking your clit. Slowly, until sensitivity takes over and you start trying to pull away, dizzy from him eating your pussy like a man, starved.

His head pops out from under your apron, big smile on his face.

“Cookies or bedroom?”

[beaniesayshi]

bad day protocol

After a long, brutal day at work, Sukuna comes home hungry and in no mood for disappointment. When he discovers that the ramen he has been craving all day is mysteriously missing from the fridge, it’s only a matter of time before a ridiculous and completely unnecessary argument breaks out. Fortunately, there’s a tried-and-true protocol in this house for when things get this stupid.

cw: sukuna’s having a meltdown, petty argument, married stupidity, possibly slightly toxic but they are who they are | wc: 1.3k

He’s in a mood the moment he shuts the garage door behind him. Shoulders tense, jaw clenched, sweat dried into his collar from ten hours of wriggling under that goddamn engine, only to discover the real problem was electrical all along. The worst part? That entire mess of a car wasn’t even for a decent customer. It was for some smug jackass who spent half the day hovering over his shoulder, asking dumbass questions, and the other half talking shit about “labour costs.”

And Sukuna, miracle of patience that he is, didn’t beat him to death with a torque wrench. But it was a close call.

So when he finally steps into the house, muscles aching and his shirt sticking to the back of his neck from how fucking hot the garage was all day, he’s starving. He drops his bag by the door, too exhausted to think and too wound up to be soft yet, and doesn’t even call out to you like he usually does. Instead, he stalks straight into the kitchen with one clear mission: the leftover ramen he made himself last night. Extra pork, extra spice, two marinated eggs, seasoned perfectly, and untouched because he forgot to take it to work this morning. 

It’s been on his mind since noon. He thought about it through three different test cranks, a misfire, and nearly getting his thumb pinched under the intake.

The fridge is yanked open, his hand shoots up to pull it out and… stops mid-air. He stares inside for a few seconds, blinking.

Then slowly, with the kind of restrained menace usually reserved for very specific, very unfortunate people, he closes it again and looks to the counter. The container’s empty, rinsed out and sitting in the sink. His jaw clenches so tightly he can feel it in his temples.

He exhales through his nose, and as he rounds the corner, still fuming, he finds you on the couch in his oversized tee, legs tucked beneath you, scrolling your phone like nothing’s wrong.

You look up the moment you sense him there. “Hi, Kuna!”

“You ate it.” 

His voice is low, and you always joke that it’s the kind of low that precedes either an explosion or a murder, and considering the day he’s had, even he’s not sure which is coming. He’s standing just a few feet from the couch now, arms crossed, glaring down at you like you’re the one who ruined his life and not just accidentally eaten some leftovers.

“The ramen? Yeah, I was starving after work. Sorry, I thought—”

“So you ate mine?” His voice jumps up a notch, sharp and incredulous. “You didn’t think, hey, maybe that was for something? Maybe don’t just take shit that’s not yours?”

You put your phone down and sit up straighter, narrowing your eyes. “I didn’t take shit. I live here, Sukuna. You weren’t home, I was exhausted, and it was one container of food.”

“That I made. For me.” He’s gesturing now, a full-body snarl of irritation and disbelief, pacing half a step before rounding back to you again. “I was dreaming about that shit for hours. I was under a fucking car all day with some idiot client breathing down my neck, stuck with a part that wouldn’t fit, the lift jammed twice, and the one thing, the one goddamn thing I had to look forward to was that bowl. That bowl. And you—”

“I didn’t know!” you snap, standing now as well, eyes blazing. “You didn’t say anything, there wasn’t a note on it, and it’s not like you never eat my leftovers without asking!”

“That’s different,” he growls, stepping closer. “Because when I do it, I don’t take the last fucking good thing in this house after the day I’ve had.”

“It’s just ramen. I’ll make you more. Or order some. It’s not like I did it on purpose.”

“Not on purpose? You live with me. You know that container. You know it’s mine when it’s in there.”

“Oh, come on. It’s food. It’s not sacred. I had a long day too. Meeting ran over, boss dumped extra reports on me, and traffic was a nightmare. I saw the ramen and ate it. Big deal.”

“Big deal?” He steps forward, voice dropping darker, frustration boiling over after the day he’s had. “It’s not about the ramen. It’s about thinking of someone else for once. I work my ass off with my hands all day and come home to find the one thing I was saving gone. Again. It’s thoughtless, woman.”

Your eyes flash as you step closer, too. “Thoughtless? You think I’m thoughtless? I do the laundry, the groceries, the bills while you’re at the shop. One slip-up and I’m the bad guy? You’re being an asshole, Sukuna. It’s ramen. Grow the fuck up.”

“Grow up? I’m the one busting my back fixing cars so we can afford this place, and you’re calling me an asshole over—”

“Oh my god, I work too.” Your arms spread wide in disbelief, voice rising along with his. “And it was a fucking ramen! It’s not like I burned the house down!”

“I would’ve preferred that at this point!” he shouts, pacing again and running a hand through his hair like it’s the only thing stopping him from exploding. “At least if the house was on fire, I wouldn’t be fucking starving on top of it!”

Your jaw drops. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“I am, and I don’t give a shit. I earned that damn bowl.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, caught somewhere between fury and absurdity. “Are you seriously trying to fight me over soup?!”

“Yes!” he shouts, without hesitation, every bit of reason crushed by the hell that was his day and the betrayal lurking in his own fridge. “Because you don’t—”

You stare at him as he yells and fumes, and before he can finish another furious tirade, you lift the hem of the shirt to flash him.

And just like that, his brain blue screens mid-sentence.

His mouth stays open, half-formed words fading into nothing. His hands, previously gesturing wildly with righteous fury, now hang uselessly at his sides. His eyes fixate on your tits like you’ve just hit him with a stun grenade. You’re still holding up his shirt above your breasts, calmly, without a single word. Like you haven’t just pulled the emergency brake on his entire nervous system with a single move.

It’s complete silence.

Then his throat works around a swallow. His jaw shifts once, twice. And very slowly, very clearly, he exhales like something inside him has simply given up the fight entirely.

“...Fuck the ramen,” he mutters, voice rough, dazed, and completely undone.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the smirk and not beam with triumph. This particular method you pull out only on the rarest occasions—when he’s spiraled into full ridiculous-over-nothing mode, and nothing else will snap him out of it. But damn if it isn’t effective. 

You drop the tee back down, covering yourself again, and watch as he visibly tries to reboot his system. He doesn’t even look mad anymore, just wrecked.

Reaching forward, you grab the front of his shirt with both hands and pull him down towards you. He leans down, wrapping his arms around your waist and forgetting there was even a fight happening, while yours wrap around his neck, feeling his breath steady against your shoulder.

“I’m sorry I snapped. I shouldn’t have reacted that way,” he mutters after a beat, nose brushing your temple. “Bad day. Really bad day.”

“I noticed,” you murmur. “I’ll make you a new one. Extra spicy.”

His chest rumbles with a quiet, defeated laugh, arms pulling you closer.

a/n: domestic sukuna masterlist

[redsray]

i love the idea of the batfam wearing each other's merch cause like. i know they'd be petty about it. usually they'd wear their siblings merch in (kinda) equal rotations, but they'd change it up depending on sibling squabbles or sibling favours. Tim, walking into the kitchen in a Red Hood shirt: Dick: TIM!? Tim: what Dick: it's Tuesday. you always wear Nightwing merch on Tuesdays. Tim: oh. Tim: you stole my last granola bar, last week. Steph, looking for something in Jason's room: JASON WHY DO YOU HAVE EVERYONE'S MERCH BUT MINE?! Jason, peeking into the room: i have your merch. in the trash. Steph: WHY Jason: you hit me with a blue shell in mario kart last game night. i'm never forgiving you. Damian, sporting a full-on Red Robin hoodie: Tim: woah. what brought this on? you usually only exclusively wear Batman or Nightwing merch Damian: you helped me take that splinter out of Alfred's paw yesterday. Richard on the other hand has recently messed up my painting palette. Dick, from the other room: IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! Damian: he'll get over it. Cass, wearing Nightwing merch for the 5th day in a row: Jason: goddamn. what did Dickie do to get in your good graces like this? Cass, smiling: he made me a flower crown Jason: ... that's it? Cass: it was a very nice flower crown. Dick, buying seven Signal shirts: One for everyone. Duke, behind him: Dick, you really don't-- Dick: shhhh, sunshine. everyone will love your new merch. (they all wore exclusively Signal merch for a week straight) Bruce isn't allowed to change up his rotation or not wear someone's merch because he immediately gets accused of playing favourites. He'd rather keep some of his sanity, thank you.

[velvetdevastation]

I'm Not In Love

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: After flirting and teasing Daryl since the two of you met in Atlanta, you both decide to do something about it. Except Daryl can't seem to handle what comes after. Word Count: 7.2k

Warning: 18+ Smut MINORS DNI ✦ fluff ✦ angst with a very happy ending ✦ arguing ✦ mentions of injury (gunshot) ✦ Daryl is an asshole ✦ pet names ✦ kissing ✦ switch!daryl ✦ unprotected sex (wrap it folks) ✦ teasing ✦ swearing ✦ riding ✦

Author's Note: This is a request by the lovely @etherealcharlotte I sincerely hope I could do it justice and that you enjoy!! I loved writing this!

Hershel's farm seemed like a damn miracle, water in a desert. The white house, seemingly unaffected by the chaos outside the perimeter, was a breath of fresh air.

The path to get here was not.

The group had been surviving on fumes, running around in desperate search of anything that could be utilized for the good of the group.

Until Sophia got lost.

The frantic, racing thoughts and constant noise of searching for that little girl nearly put everyone over the edge. Hell, even Rick was beginning to lose it.

It wasn't until Carl was shot that anyone had a clue about what lay beyond that highway.

After a few days, Carl was feeling better. And life seemingly had color again.

"Y/n, you and Daryl will work on gettin' those tents up. We're camping outside for the time bein'." Shane ordered everyone around, seemingly a distraction while Lori and Rick coped with their son's healing process.

As Shane barked orders across the yard, you glanced over at Daryl, who shook his head with a brief scoff.

"Who made him the boss?" Daryl mumbled, watching you crack up in quiet laughter.

Daryl made life a little easier. His calm demeanor, the way he was able to joke around with you, even in the darkest situations.

He never failed to make you smile.

"C'mon, these tents ain't gonna make themselves." You shoved his shoulder as you walked by to grab one of the folded-up tents from the RV.

As you began placing them, your eyes lingered on Daryl. His lean muscles flexed in the hot Georgia sun as he helped you, skin shimmering with sweat. His shirt clung to his skin, revealing the outline of his body.

If this wasn't the end of the world, you wouldn't bat an eye at the sweaty man helping you make tents. But getting to know him, helping him while you were camped out at the quarry.

You've got to see his kinder side, the one that everybody else had trouble seeing.

"S'hot out here, might wanna take this off." You smirked at him as you poked his shirt. "I sure wouldn't mind." Your banter with Daryl was always flirty, always pushing boundaries.

Daryl looked up at you from where he was securing the tent, hammering stakes into the ground. He snorted softly. "Shut up, ya' just wanna get a good look at me."

He stood up and stretched his back. "Gonna have to try harder than that."

The sun began to set across the fields and the farmhouse. The orange and yellow hues reflected off the grass and white wooden boards.

Now it was Daryl's turn to stare at you. His eyes traveled across your skin, admiring your furrowed brow as you worked.

Sweat dripping down onto your chest.

Goddamn you.

Weeks had passed since Daryl met you at the camp just outside of Atlanta. Merle just about made you throw a few punches within the first hour of you being there.

After shutting down his older brother, he got to know you in a way that he hadn't known anyone else in the group.

The tents were all set up, with Daryl's several meters away from everyone else's. "What, you don't wanna hang out with the rest of us?" You held your arms out as if you were offended by his lone wolf-ish style.

Daryl tossed you an eye roll, the corners of his mouth moving up to a smile. "Don't wanna hear the little love triangle bickering all night. Should move your tent with mine so ya' don't hear 'em." He pointed to Rick and Lori, who stood on the porch discussing something, holding hands in an oblivious manner.

And Shane was watching, brooding.

"Startin' to think you just want me sleepin' next to you." You blow Daryl a kiss, watching a bright red blush spread across his face.

"Shut up, woman." He ran a hand over the back of his head and went to go let Shane know that everything was done. You followed him, staying back to hear the conversation.

"Shane, tents are all set up." Daryl leaned against the pillar on the porch, the muscles in his arms bulging and flexing as he crossed his arms.

You nearly drooled at the sight and glanced down at your feet to give yourself a breather. Staring at Daryl put you in a trance, and you knew exactly what that was.

That feeling.

Love. Affection.

Quickly, you were brought out of it by Shane's words. "Thank you, Daryl. Swear to god we're the only ones who give a damn about survivin' out here." You cleared your throat to make your presence known.

Shane leaned over to look at you. He said nothing, moving inside to go check on Carl.

Daryl turned around and approached you with a smug smirk. "Yeah, should put in more work 'round here." He teased you with a shrug, earning himself a prompt shove.

Daryl nearly fell over, catching himself by wrapping an arm around your waist. "Nearly took me out, ya' tryin' to prove somethin'?" His laugh was confident, relaxed.

"Yeah, prove that you're an idiot." You placed a hand on his where it lay on your waist.

It was right then that Daryl realized what he was doing. He pulled his arm away, his heat leaving yours just as quickly.

For a second, you swore you could see his brows furrowed in some emotion that was indescribable.

Anger? Disappointment?

You pushed it down, taking the rest of the evening to help out the rest of the group.

Morning approached fast, and the sunrise made your eyes peek open to start another day.

Well, that and the scratching at your tent. "The fuck?" You slowly opened the zipper and poked your head out to see what was happening. An uncertain, nauseous feeling rose in you at the thought of danger approaching the group in the night.

But, when you glanced out, you were met with Daryl poking your tent with a stick to wake you up.

"You awake?" He had his crossbow slung around his shoulders.

Daryl couldn't sleep. His mind was spinning, thoughts of you surrounding him and flooding his senses. He couldn't stop thinking about you, how you looked last night as you helped him, how his hand fit perfectly around your waist.

And how you didn't pull away. He did.

Daryl could hardly think about anything but survival these days, but everything was blurred and complicated when you were around. Many nights after he met you, he'd spent lying awake on the ground obsessing over your every move.

Many nights spent with his hand.

"I am now, thank you very much." You let out a sigh and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. "Real charming, y'know. Poking me with a stick." A yawn escaped your tired frame.

Daryl just stood watching you, a giddy feeling washing over him. The way your eyes were barely open, still trying to shake the sleep from your body, made the corners of his mouth curve into a smile.

And how the strap of your tank top slid down your shoulder…

"At least get me some breakfast in bed?" You stepped out of your tent and fixed your clothes, all twisted and disheveled from a night of sleeping.

"This ain't a damn romance movie." He shook his head at your statement.

Even if he wanted to be romantic like that, the best he could do was a cooked squirrel.

And even he knew that wouldn't be the most romantic gesture.

"No? Coulda' sworn it was from the way you're lookin' at me." Eyes meeting his, you brushed your arm against him.

As quickly as the words came out, his eyes averted from yours as if you'd turn him to stone.

Daryl didn't want you to get the wrong idea, but you made it so damn hard not to fall for you. The teasing, the way you could point out every thought he was having.

It only made his denial harder to justify.

After taking a few minutes to collect some supplies for the search, you set off into the forest with Daryl to look for Sophia. The ground was uneven and rocky as you crossed creeks and large tree trunks to look for the missing girl.

"Can we take a quick break?" You tapped Daryl's shoulder and slung your backpack off of your back.

Daryl gave you a silent nod and stepped a few feet ahead to scan the safety of the perimeter. Once he confirmed it was all clear, he grabbed a water bottle from his own bag. "Need a break already?" A smirk formed on his face as he took a swig of water.

"Hey, speak for yourself. I can hear that you're out of breath." You took a sip from your own water bottle, eyeing him from where you sat below him. "Would'a thought you had more stamina…" Your voice trailed off at the end of your sentence.

From the way his jaw tightened, it seemed that your words had the exact effect you wanted them to.

Daryl clenched his fists. "I'll show you stamina, sweetheart." A shudder ran through you at the way his tone changed.

"Right now?" As much as you'd love to take him right fucking there, you both were a tad exposed in the woods.

"Nah, my tent. S'far away from everyone." Daryl wiped a layer of sweat from his brow, his whole body on fire in anticipation. "Tonight?" He asked you.

He didn't even have to ask.

"Tonight. Then you can show me what you got." Running a hand down his torso, a smirk made its way onto your face at the way his stomach tensed.

Daryl broke away first, his attention returning to the task. "Gotta keep lookin'" You felt whiplash at the abrupt change in topic, suddenly speechless.

The way he would avoid you, avoid your touch.

You'd never tell him, but goddamn did it make you feel insecure. Like the things you did just weren't enough to earn his affection.

Later that night, it seemed like Daryl was around you more. At dinner with Hershel and his family, his hand grasped your thigh firmly underneath the table.

In the back of your mind, confusion still raked through you. Maybe Daryl was acting tense earlier because of Sophia?

The sound of discussion from the rest of the group was drowned out as the feeling of his gaze made your skin heat up in anticipation.

"Still on for tonight?" Daryl leaned in to whisper in your ear.

"Yeah, but you better not be mean like you were today." You admitted, it sounded a little childish but it was true. His affection would hit you suddenly and then leave without a trace.

"Won't be too mean, promise." He pinched your thigh, a smirk plastered across his stubbled face.

After dinner, you were helping the rest of the ladies clean up and get the dishes washed. In that time, Daryl had disappeared from your view. Part of you felt this longing, an impatient rush running through you.

Because once this line was crossed, things would be different.

Eventually, everyone had settled in for the night, the sun had fallen behind the trees several hours ago.

Shuffling over to Daryl's tent, you felt nervous.

After weeks of teasing and flirting with seemingly no intent to actually do anything about it, you couldn't help but feel hopeful that maybe this would finally be your peace, your reminder that the world can still be somewhat normal.

"Psst! Daryl! You awake?" In a whispered breath, you contemplated turning back around when there was no response.

Guess he forgot.

"Shoulda' just stayed in my own place." You mumbled to yourself.

"Will ya' give me a minute, woman? Christ." He unzipped his tent to let you in. Daryl was shoving something into an empty beer bottle, his back turned partially to you.

A hot blush spread across your face in embarrassment. "What'cha got there?"

Daryl turned to face you where he was sitting inside his tent. "Somethin' I found, thought ya' would like it."

It was a small bunch of beautiful wildflowers, sprouting with blue, yellow, and pink hues on their petals. Your heart was nearly bursting as you took it from him. Sure, it was stuffed into a beer bottle, but the gesture was sweet nonetheless.

"They're so pretty! When did you find time to do this?" You set the bottle next to you and scooted closer to him, your knee touching his.

"Jus' thought they look nice, s'all." He shrugged away your compliments and wrapped an arm around you.

Daryl walked around the farm for half an hour while you were busy talking to Maggie. He figured that he should at least try to do something romantic for you.

Especially since he had been wanting you and begging himself to make a move for weeks now.

"Hm, maybe you were expecting something in return?" Your hand pressed against his chest. You knew Daryl wasn't that shallow, but the teasing made his ears flush red anyway.

His brain froze for a moment, eyes flickering down to your hand and then back up to your eyes. "What would I get in return?" His hand brushed across your jawline, eyes glancing over your lips.

The wait was too unbearable, you closed the distance with a light kiss. One that Daryl deepened almost immediately, his hands tightly grasping your waist to keep you close.

Leaning into you, his body pressed against yours as you both collapsed onto the tent floor, thin blankets being your only mattress for the time being.

But that didn't matter.

His hands were all over you, frantic and attentive. A quiet groan vibrated against your lips as he kissed you.

All restraint was lost, his stubble lightly scratching your skin as he pushed your shirt off. The kiss was messy now, his tongue slipping inside your mouth, and one of his hands cupping your cheek.

As Daryl pulled away, you could see the look on his face. His lips were a shade of pink now from his kisses, and his eyes were traveling all over your body as if he were memorizing your frame.

He leaned back in, this time attacking your neck with kisses and bites. "Can't stay away, can ya'? Been comin' onto me since we met." He wore a smirk as he shrugged off his vest. An offended expression washed across you.

"Look who's talking! I know you've been wanting this since Atlanta, don't even try to deny it." The silence gave you an answer.

Daryl huffed and pulled his shirt off, hands grasping at your hips to pull you closer. "Gonna get these off f'me?" He helped you unbutton your jeans and pull them off.

"You need help pulling a girl's pants off? Wow, very sad." You snickered to yourself, blissfully unaware of the stare he was throwing you.

Daryl had little patience left with your teasing.

"Gonna do what I promised earlier, sweetheart. On your knees." Large hands wrapped around your waist to help you flip yourself over onto your knees. A low heat grew in your core, sending an unbearable satisfaction up your spine.

His hands caressed your skin for a moment, sliding down over your ass to admire you. "Y'gonna do what I say? Or should I shut you up instead?" He unzipped his jeans, slipping them off quickly to reveal the large outline in his boxers.

You glared at him from your position, head turned to look. "We do have all night, if you really wanted to."

Daryl groaned at your words, fingers palming his erection through his underwear. "Shut up, woman." His strong hands pulled your hips against his, giving you a feeling of just how badly he wanted this.

Moaning quietly and pressing your heat against him, you were fucking dripping at the thought of him inside.

And it was obvious to Daryl when he pulled your hips away to see a wet spot on his boxers from where you pressed against him. "Fuck, such a good girl f'me." He couldn't wait any longer to see you, to see your aching core that was practically begging to take him.

He yanked off your panties and left them hanging around your knees. Dragging a long stripe up your cunt with his tongue, he tasted your arousal with a deep hum.

"Taste even better than ya' look." He pulled away to shove his boxers down to his knees as well, hands quickly returning to grip your hips with a bruising hold.

He got his revenge when he rubbed the tip of his cock on your entrance, hitting your clit and threatening to push into you.

"Daryl please-" You gasped as your plea was answered immediately. The tip of his cock pressed into your entrance, both of you letting out a heavy sigh.

This was a long time coming. Impossibly long nights alone with nothing but your hand and the thought of how he flirted with you that day; they seemed to wash away all in one fell swoop as he finally inserted himself where you both wanted him to be.

"Jesus-" Daryl let out a choked groan and pressed in further, eyes glued to the way your cunt took him so well. "So good-" he caressed your sides as he felt you struggle to relax enough to fit his large size. "So good f'me."

Leaning over you, he pressed kisses into your back and over your neck.

Gentle, but the way he stretched out your pussy was not.

Daryl gave you a minute to adjust before tapping your hip. "You good?" He was biting his lip to keep some semblance of control, but fuck the way your back was arching against him, it was almost unbearable.

After hearing a whimpered "yes" from you, he pulled out agonizingly slow. Without warning, he slammed himself back into you with one thrust, making you jolt forward with a scream.

"Holy shit!" You managed to get out before Daryl's hand found your mouth and covered it.

"Shh, can't have the rest of the group hearin'." A thought flashed into his mind as he began hard thrusts into your tight cunt with a grunt.

If only things could stay this way. Maybe there was truly some hope that he could keep you, have you near to him when he needed you. Not just for sex, but when either of you were feeling lonely.

A lover.

"Feels good-" You bit back a moan as Daryl slammed your hips back onto his cock. He hummed in response.

"I know baby, I know." He shifted his position to angle his thrusts into you, striking your spot as he mercilessly fucked you.

You stuffed his sleeping bag into your face as you screamed his name, your legs beginning to shake. Daryl was holding you up at his point, fucking into you with no abandon, like you weighed nothing.

Daryl was beginning to lose control as well, his head thrown back in pure bliss as long groans escaped his mouth that was hanging open.

Squirming against his grip, you felt the white-hot pleasure building up in you with every thrust he pounded into you. "Please-" you sobbed out, "Please don't stop!"

Oh he wouldn't dare. Not when you could barely hold yourself up from the immense pleasure, your legs beginning to close upon themselves.

Before you could collapse under his grip, he sat up abruptly.

Bringing you with him.

You were now sat in his lap as Daryl was on his knees, his hips jackhammering into you. Daryl wished he had a mirror right now so he could see the way your tits bounced as he drilled you.

Now, you were an absolute mess. Tears were flowing down your face as he held onto your ass. "Know you're close, sweetheart. Let go f'me, wanna feel that pussy cum on me." Daryl was breathless as well, his words coming out in pants as his orgasm rushed closer.

With his pleads for you to cum, your high hit you intensely. Neither of you cared about the sound anymore, with you moaning his name loudly. You practically melted in his grasp, your body jolting and convulsing in pure pleasure.

Daryl came right after you, pulling you close to him as his hips bucked up into you uncontrollably. His warm cum seeped into you, earning an appreciative hum from Daryl. "Oh-" He groaned into your neck. "Oh fuck."

A fucked-out smile spread across your face. You used all your energy to toss him another tease.

"That good, huh?"

Daryl huffed at your teasing and bit your neck gently, making you yelp.

Jerks of pleasure hit both of you as you separated briefly. Daryl wiped you off with a clean rag he had managed to find in his tent. "Says the woman who couldn't stop sayin' my name. Whole camp knows who fucked ya' now."

Daryl couldn't shake the pride that he felt in that fact.

That you were his, that you were here in front of him.

You curled up to him despite his teasing, your bare skin touching his in a way that he could only describe as freeing.

How often did two people have a real connection during the current world situation?

Daryl wrapped an arm around you and managed to cover both of you in the thin blanket he had in his tent.

"You're stayin', right?" The question sounded more like a command, but you nodded anyway.

"Since you're begging, I guess I have to." You giggled to yourself and pressed a kiss onto his stubbled cheek.

"Hush." He shook his head, letting silence fill in the gaps of your conversation.

The crickets outside were blaring, reminding you of the dark world that lay outside the tent. Small lights flared up around you as lightning bugs flew by, offering just enough light to see a smile on Daryl's face as his eyelids began to droop.

"G'night." He mumbled against your ear. The warmth from his body kept you from freezing in the night breeze as your eyes closed alongside his.

Morning broke through Daryl's tent, the early sun shining bright onto his face in a comforting warmth. But there was more warmth than he'd been used to.

Then he suddenly remembered last night. With one glance down at your sleeping body, blissfully unaware of his gaze, a knot formed in his stomach.

A new day brought new concerns, new worries.

Daryl slowly moved away from you, so as to leave you undisturbed by his movements. He stumbled to put his clothes on, his hands beginning to tremble.

Because it was all hitting him at once.

How could this ever work? How could he be so stupid?

Daryl took one last look at you, eyes ghosting over your naked body in admiration. If things were different, if there wasn't this danger hanging over everyone's heads, he'd love to wake up to this sight every morning in a nice warm bed.

But things were different. He couldn't even take care of himself, couldn't even find Sophia.

How on earth could he protect you?

Daryl unzipped his tent quietly and slipped out, fingers fumbling with the zipper as he zipped it back up.

Thoughts swirled around him faster than he could even process them, making his feet move faster to find a place of solace. Alone.

He ran his hands over his face to try to wipe away his stress, his worry. But no such luck.

Folks were dying, and people went missing all the damn time. If he gave into this feeling, this thing that the two of you shared last night, he couldn't afford to lose you.

Anyone but you.

Daryl made his way over to his motorcyle, grabbing his gun out of one of the compartments. If he was going out to look for Sophia, he'd be going alone. There's no way in hell he could even fucking look you in the eye without hurting.

Hurting inside because he couldn't be with you. You didn't deserve it, and neither did anyone else in the group.

Attachments get you killed. Can't feel sad about it if you didn't associate with them in the first place, right?

And the worst part was; he believed this could work. He picked out those flowers, thinking of you in every one he plucked out the ground. A sliver, a shimmer of hope that this could work. He fell asleep with you last night, imagining that this is how it could be every night, you curled up next to him with that beautiful smile.

What a goddamn idiot.

He jumped a mile at the sound of your voice.

"Daryl? You didn't wake me." Your voice only twisted the knife he had voluntarily stuck in his side to rid himself of the feeling he had for you.

And then, a hand was on his shoulder, fingers brushing against his vest like this was some kind of romantic greeting from his lover.

He pushed your hand off. "Didn't need to. You're grown." He stepped away, making distance between you.

"Just thought you might've wanted to take advantage of being the first two people awake." Approaching him, you placed a hand on his chest, the same way you did last night.

He flinched, as if you had burned him. "Wanted to get an early start. Been too distracted lately, probably why I couldn't find her." Adjusting where his crossbow strap sat on his shoulder, he looked in an off-direction.

"Alright, let me grab my things-"

"You ain' comin'." Daryl grunted, his jaw clenched tightly. You looked offended at that, brows furrowed in confusion.

"And why not? We could take advantage of the alone time?" You reached to grab his hand when he yanked it from your grasp.

"Will you stop trying to touch me, woman? S'bad enough what we did last night." He shouted at you, alerting some of the others who were sleeping nearby.

"Excuse me?" You were angry right back at him, as he knew you would be. You were tense as you stood in front of him, your eyes narrowed to hear his explanation.

"Ain't nothin' good can come out of what we did last night. S'best we both forget it." He got in your face this time, his finger pointed at you accusingly.

"And what the fuck does that even mean? You regret it?" Anger was racing through your veins, making your fists clench up in rage. He seemed so sweet, so different last night. What happened?

"Hell yeah I do!" He shouted, throwing up his arms in rage.

You felt the air leave your lungs all at once.

"Really? You regret everything?" Tears pricked at your eyes, more out of anger than anything. Because it wasn't just a fling. You bared yourself to him, physically and emotionally. You spent hours getting close to him, finding your peace with the man.

And he regrets it?

Your arms were crossed against your chest, your brows furrowed as you gazed harshly at him.

"Every goddamn thing." He snapped back at you.

You laughed sadly. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"You're my problem! People are dyin' every damn day. Hell, Sophia's still out there because I can't do my goddamn job and find her." He was shouting at you, ignoring the approaching group.

"Oh so that's my fault now?" You were breathing heavily now, suddenly becoming very aware of the eyes on the both of you. Rick and Shane were staring at you with a look that you could only pass off as judging.

Daryl was pacing now, his crossbow dropped somewhere in the heated argument. "Can't do a goddamn thing to save anybody 'round here! Everybody's either hurt, missing, or we lose 'em."

"And you think that's my-" You were cut off sharply.

"And I can't lose you, too!" He shouted, his voice breaking as he spat out his last few words.

Both of you just stood there. The confession hung in the air, unaddressed, unquestioned.

The silence broke Daryl from his white-hot rage, and he glanced around at the camp's nosy eyes observing him. He was near tears, his chest heaving with the emotions swimming through him.

"Show's over." He managed to speak out, albeit cracked and unsure. Daryl grabbed his crossbow and took off towards the forest.

Standing there, Carol was quick to come over to console you, or at least drag you away from prying eyes. It was difficult to process the bag of complex emotions that Daryl had dropped on you that morning.

Did he really regret it? Or was he scared of losing you?

Hours had passed since you had seen Daryl, and, from the sympathetic looks given by the other camp members, he wasn't back yet.

You were sitting out with Carol doing laundry, hanging clothing out on a line to dry it. Andrea, who was sitting on top of Dale's RV, stood up quickly.

You were a few meters ahead of Andrea, and you could see what she was looking at. It was a figure coming out of the woods.

Bloody, beaten, slow.

"Walker?" You glanced back at Andrea as she tried to look through the scope.

"Yup. I'll get that fucker." She settled into position to shoot the figure. And your eyes followed where she was aiming.

Only, you realized the walker was holding something.

"Hand me those binoculars." Carol passed you her binoculars with no hesitation.

Your heart sank into your stomach at the sight. It was Daryl.

Not a walker, but so bloody and bruised that he looked like death himself. And Andrea was about to shoot him.

"Andrea, fuck-" You tripped over yourself trying to reach her. "Don't shoot, it's not-" A shot rang out, and you turned just in time to see Daryl collapse.

And you froze. Like time itself had stopped, like nothing else mattered in that moment.

You couldn't hear anything else in that moment, just your heartbeat and your feet brushing through thick grass as you ran over to Daryl. Rick and Shane had followed, reaching him before you.

As the men were assessing what happened, you stopped yourself from joining them. A sick feeling rippled through your body.

The last talk you had was in anger, in hatred. And now you were losing him, the one person here who you felt truly understood you.

You didn't even feel the tears that streamed down your face until you could taste them on your tongue. Wiping your face, you watched through teary, blurred eyes.

Rick and Shane lifted Daryl up, carrying him across the field. His head was bleeding.

"Oh god-" A quiet sob broke out from you.

Carol rushed over. "He's alive. Look, he's alive." She pointed to the way his legs tried to keep up with how fast Rick and Shane were dragging him.

You let out a shaky, heaving breath that you had been holding in. The thought of losing him broke you. He was alive, but for how long?

Laughing sadly to yourself, you came to the realization of what Daryl meant. Why he was so upset.

Because now it was your turn to feel this. To experience the loss he feared.

After a few hours, Hershel came out to give you the news. "How is he? Is he going to be okay?" You were trembling, exhausted from the emotional journey this whole day had been.

"Thought his girl should be the first one to know. He'll be fine. He's just getting dressed. The bullet grazed him, no harm done, but he's very lucky." Hershel chuckled at the hug you gave him after hearing his news.

It made you feel warm inside being referred to as 'his girl'. But that was definitely due to the heated and very public argument you had this morning.

"I will let you know, he's very upset. I don't know exactly what went down this morning, but I suggest you give him some space for a little bit." Hershel gave you a tight-lipped smile before walking back inside his house.

You decided to listen to Hershel, even though you were practically shaking in anticipation of getting to see him. That only lasted about 20 minutes, and you were unzipping his tent to visit him.

"Daryl." You peeked inside to see him lying down, his head supported by a pillow and wrapped in a large bandage. The sight made your stomach churn.

He didn't say anything, just stared out the tent entrance with a loaded glance. You could tell he was deep in thought by the way he was biting his lip.

"Can I come in?" Your voice was soft and pleading. Hell, you probably needed this more than he did.

Daryl gave you a nod and turned to look away from you as you stepped inside.

"Fuck, she really is a good shot-" You reached to hold his head in your hands, and he didn't resist.

He just let you with no protest.

"You're never going out there on your own again. Could have lost you." You let out a deep sigh, your eyes meeting his.

Daryl felt the guilt sink in his stomach. "M'sorry for this morning. Was just scared, s'all." His eyes scanned you for any anger. He felt horrible for blowing up at you, when it was his own damn fault that he couldn't cope.

"No, I understand. I was a mess when I thought Andrea had actually shot you. Could barely breathe thinking I lost you." Daryl was your best friend and the one man you truly thought you could form a stable relationship with.

Daryl reached out to you, his fingers nudging your hand. You grasped his hand firmly, a smile growing on your face. "I thought you said you regret everything?" You questioned him, trying to ignore the flashes of last night that moved through your mind. "You really hurt me, y'know?"

"Was bein' an asshole to you." He couldn't even look you in the eyes, the guilt overwhelming him.

"Never regretted nothin'. Just wanted to push ya' away so I didn't have to lose ya'." Daryl shrugged, squeezing your hand. "M' sorry."

"You know you can't get rid of me that easily. Wasn't gonna let you." You heard him laugh, a sound that made you feel like everything could be alright again. Like you could move past this.

"Should've dragged you back here for yelling at me like that." You smirked at him, fixing the bandage and kissing his head gently.

Daryl grabbed your waist and in one move, pulled you up into his lap. A quiet yelp escaped your lips. "What're you doing?" You hold onto his shoulders for some solid grounding.

"Wanna show you how sorry I am." He looked up at you from where he was lying down.

"But your head-"

"Should'a stayed here this morning. Ya' looked so good all laid out from last night." He hummed quietly.

"Daryl Dixon, you're gonna open your stitches, stop it." You grab his cheeks in between your hands to focus his attention.

"Nah, long as you can keep your hands off my head." His hands roamed your body, traveling from your waist down to your ass, grabbing a handful and squeezing.

"Will you at least let me do most of the work? You can lay there and heal. Like you're supposed to be doing." You grabbed his hands that were pressing your hips down into his.

Daryl grumbled and nodded. "Fine. Y'gonna close the tent?" He snickers as you roll your eyes.

"You couldn't have waited until it was dark? Anybody could see us!" You crawl over to go close the tent zipper. Daryl's eyes fell to your ass, letting out a satisfied hum.

"Nope." His arrogance started to shine through again, making you smile to yourself. Finding your way back onto his lap, you felt his erection pressed against your core.

"Pervert." You pressed a kiss to his lips, one that he returned hungrily. It was gentle, his lips moving with yours slowly but in a way that let you know he was so desperate.

You slipped off your shirt, leaving you in your bra. Daryl pulled away to watch you, his hands flying up to squeeze your tits through the rest of your clothing you still had on. You quickly unclasped your bra and let it fall down your shoulders, not missing the way he let out a relieved sigh at the sight of your breasts.

"Prettiest sight ever." He grumbled, his fingers unbuttoning your jeans, eyes never leaving your chest. Daryl tried to sit up, pressing open-mouted kissed onto your tits. A quiet moan left your lips before you gently pushed him back down onto his back.

"No no, you just lay there. Let me do the work." You smirked at his annoyed huff and stood up to push your jeans off, bringing your underwear with it.

"Should be makin' it up to you, not sittin' here makin' you do everything." Daryl's lip jutted out in a small pout. He slipped off his jeans as well, shoving his boxers down to his ankles before kicking them off.

"Mmm, next time be nice, and you can have me however you'd like." You slipped back onto his lap. "Hate to say it but you got your karma." Running a finger down his chest, you stopped right at his hip. Daryl's breaths were heavy as he watched. Your teasing was driving him crazy.

His hands held your hips firmly, eyes glued to where your hand was lining his cock up with your pussy, dragging him through your arousal with a whimper.

Sinking down onto him, a loud gasp escaped both of you. You took him about halfway before you winced, your cunt adjusting to his size despite the way he was stuffing you last night.

His hands held you in place, a reminder to pace yourself. Glancing up towards him, you saw his eyes staring at you in pure awe.

After about a minute, you sank down on his cock, taking the rest of him with a heavy sigh as you tilted your head back in pleasure. "Holy shit-" you whimpered.

Daryl rubbed circles into your waist, his chest heaving as he tried to keep his composure. He could just thrust up into you if he wanted. But seeing you have control over this, over him.

It made him impossibly harder.

Before Daryl could speak, you began to slowly ride him, your cunt squeezing him tightly as you moved up and down. His head fell back onto the pillow, jaw wide open in an 'o' face.

You were barely moving and Daryl was already gone. "You like when I'm on top, huh? Like when I'm ridin' you?" You bent down to whisper in his ear.

Daryl gasped quietly as you picked up speed, your hips bouncing on his cock like you had done this hundreds of times before. "Mmhm." He whined with a quick nod.

You pressed your lips to Daryl's shoulder, desperately trying to mask your moans as you rode him harder. Daryl's hands held onto your ass and hips, helping you bounce on his cock.

The feeling was fucking euphoric. Your pussy squeezed him as you let out a high-pitched whine against his skin. The sensation made him thrust up into you instinctively.

"Oh my god-" You moaned loudly and clasped your hand around your mouth. You kept up your movements, riding him with fervor, your tits bouncing with every movement you made.

Daryl was beyond control now. His hips were bucking up into you wildly, ensuring you took all of him down to the hilt. "So pretty, so sweet f'me." He groaned as his hips pistoned into you. "You gonna come f'me, sweet girl?" His voice trailed off into a high-pitched whine, nearing his orgasm with every rough thrust he pushed into you.

"Fuck-" You cried out, hands grasping his shoulders firmly. "Yes baby, keep going please!" You were trying your best to keep up with him, to ride him without collapsing onto his body.

Pleasure ran up his spine at you calling him 'baby'. "Shouldn't have yelled at you this morning-" he cut himself off with a loud groan, his fingers trembled against your skin. "Should'a stayed here-" His forehead fell against yours.

"You mean everything-" He kept up the pace, his hips thrusting into you more than you were riding him. His hands were grasping onto your hips tightly, listening to the way you were a whimpering, shaking mess on top of him.

"Daryl please I'm so close." You pressed a kiss onto his lips, the gesture making him melt. He planted his feet and fucked up into you, his eyes shut tight. His orgasm was so goddamn close. But he had to wait.

He would not come without making you come first.

"Give it to me, please sweetheart. Need to feel you-" He was begging at this point, his skin burning with the desire to let go.

With that, your orgasm hit you hard. You screamed into your hand, body shaking and jolting with shocks of pleasure as Daryl kept pushing into you mercilessly.

Daryl was so blissed-out. Watching your orgasm made him reach his own, his arms wrapping around your waist as his thrusts slowed to a stutter. His breath was incredibly shaky and mixed with pathetic whines.

"Fuck- I love you." He groaned, the words leaving his mouth before he could process them and stop them.

You collapsed onto him, his words just starting to come to your brain. "W-What?"

His eyes widened like he'd seen a ghost. "M'sorry- fuck." He ran a hand over his face. He couldn't even say anything else. It was too late to take it back, especially with the stunt he had pulled this morning. "Don't have to say it back."

You took a beat to respond. And in that silence Daryl's heart could have pounded out of his chest.

Maybe he should have just taken it back, told you he didn't mean it, told you it was a spur of the moment emotion.

But then your hand came up to his cheek, your fingers rubbing his stubble affectionately. He melted into your hand, his eyes closing for a brief second.

"No, I love you too. Why do you think I tolerate you so much?" Your body was still trembling against him, his softened cock still stuffed inside you, cum threatening to spill out.

He lifted you off of him slowly, the both of you wincing at the cool feeling that came after. "S'why I can't lose you." He was being sincere in this moment, his eyes meeting yours with heartbreaking sincerity.

"Can't promise anything. You know that." You started, heart hurting at the way his face dropped. "But we're here now. We're safe." You placed a kiss onto his forehead.

"You have me now. And I have you. That's what matters." You were trying to get your point across.

That even though tomorrow may not be promised, you can find peace in what is here right now, in this tent.

[saintsinlace]

─── NO NUT NOVEMBER CHALLENGE WITH ROBERT

synopsis: you and robert haven’t touched in eight days. When he comes home, the tension explodes into rough, hungry, and all-consuming sex.

contents: rough sex, edging, oral(r! receiving), blowjob, creampie, multiple orgasms, dom/sub dynamics, orgasm denial.

The house was too quiet. Eight days. Eight goddamn days since Robert had last touched you, last buried himself inside you, last claimed you in ways that left you trembling for hours afterward. The distance had been a test— work, some unspoken crisis—and every day without him had been a fight to keep your sanity intact. But tonight, the air was charged with tension. Tonight, he was home.

You were in the living room, pacing slowly, your fingers tugging at the edge of your shirt, imagining the weight of him pressing against you. The front door clicked, and your pulse spiked. You didn’t need to look. You already knew it was him.

“Y/N,” his deep voice called from the hallway, low, guttural, and already leaving a trail of heat across your skin.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your body moved before your brain could catch up, toward him, breath catching as his eyes locked on yours. There was that sharp gleam in them—the one that promised both punishment and ecstasy. He stepped into the room, tall, commanding, his hand brushing a stray strand of your hair from your face.

“You’ve been bad,” he murmured, fingers ghosting down your jawline, brushing against your lips. “Eight days, and you’re still this wet for me?”

Your breath hitched. “I… I missed you,” you admitted, voice trembling.

“Missed me?” His hands gripped your hips, tugging you flush against him. “I don’t want words. I want action. I want you.”

Before you could protest, his lips were on yours, rough and demanding, teeth grazing as his hands roamed with intent. You melted against him, the pent-up tension of over a week completely unraveling under his touch.

He pulled back, letting his gaze rake over your body. “God, you’ve been waiting for me,” he said, voice thick with lust. His hand slid down, brushing against your wetness over your panties. Your back arched instinctively.

“I—Robert—” you tried to speak, but he silenced you with his hand over your mouth.

“No talking. Not yet,” he commanded. He tugged you toward the bedroom, a trail of kisses along your neck and collarbone, teasing, marking, tasting. By the time you hit the edge of the bed, your body was on fire, every nerve screaming for him.

“Off,” he said, pushing your clothes away with practiced ease, exposing your bare skin to his hungry eyes. He knelt before you, hands bracing on either side of your thighs, and you already knew what was coming. His mouth was on you, slow at first, teasing the sensitive skin, lapping and sucking in a way that made your hips jerk.

“Robert…” your voice broke.

“You’re not allowed to come yet,” he said against you, teeth grazing your inner thighs. “Not until I say so. Understand?”

“Yes,” you whimpered.

He smirked, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, then deepened his ministrations, slipping a finger inside you. You gasped, your thighs quivering, your hips thrusting on instinct. He teased relentlessly, curling his finger, hitting the spot that made your knees shake, but he never let you reach release. Edging. For eight days, he’d waited, and now he was making you wait again, savoring every shiver, every plea, every shuddering moan.

“You’re mine,” he growled, slipping a second finger inside, pumping with precision. “You’ve waited this long. You’re going to beg me before you come.”

“robert, please,” You cried out, hips bucking, nails digging into his shoulders. “I need you, please let me come.”

He laughed, low and dangerous. “Not yet. I said not yet.” He withdrew, leaving you gasping and trembling, desperate for release. Then he stood, yanked off his pants, and came closer, letting you take in the full sight of him. Hard, commanding, beautiful.

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. You obeyed instantly, knees sinking into the carpet as he towered above you. His hands gripped your hair, guiding your mouth to his length.

You took him in, lips sliding over him, tongue teasing, swirling, tasting. He groaned, one hand tangling in your hair while the other gripped your chin, tilting your head, controlling every movement. The sounds you made—wet, needy, desperate—spurred him on.

“God, your mouth feel so good,” he growled, thrusting lightly, testing you. You hummed around him, sucking harder, letting him feel every inch of your hunger. He edged you with his hips, slow, teasing, until your own arousal throbbed with need, your body aching for the next wave of him.

“suck. me. harder.” he ordered, thrusting into your mouth. You obeyed, lips wrapping around him, tongue sliding over the tip as he groaned, thrusting into your mouth roughly. Your hands gripped his hips, trying to take as much as you could, tasting him, feeling him fill you in a way that made your head spin.

“God, you’ve missed me,” he murmured between thrusts. “You feel so good,” His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back and then letting it slide forward again. “Beg for it. Beg for me to fuck you.”

“I want you, robert, please,” you moaned, hips bucking, desperate.

He smirked, guiding you onto the bed, then positioned himself between your thighs. “Finally. About time.”

The first thrust drove you into the mattress, nails scraping his back, moans spilling uncontrollably. Rough, fast, commanding—he didn’t hold back. Eight days of denial poured into each movement, each groan, each slam into you. You arched into him, feeling him stretch and fill you, lost in the intensity of it.

“I own this—every part of you,” he growled, gripping your hips, pounding into you with a mix of dominance and need. “Come for me. Show me how much you’ve waited.”

You couldn’t hold back any longer. Orgasms tore through you repeatedly, clenching around him, your cries filling the room. But he didn’t stop. He kept moving, keeping you on the edge, teasing, making sure every release came sharp, jagged, incomplete. You felt your body shaking, high after high, completely at his mercy.

Finally, he slowed, pulling back slightly. “Now, now I let you take all of me.” With one final, deep thrust, he filled you, hot and hard, burying himself inside. You clutched him, legs wrapped around him, sobbing with the intensity of it, your body wracked with wave after wave of release as he drove you into submission.

He held you through it, slow and steady now, whispering your name over and over, until your trembling subsided. Then he collapsed beside you, chest heaving, arms tightening around your body.

“You were worth every second of waiting,” he murmured, brushing hair from your damp forehead. “Eight days, and I’ve never wanted anything more than you.”

You leaned into him, fingers tracing his chest, still shaking, still tasting him, still intoxicated with the aftermath of your shared fire. “I missed you too much,” you admitted softly.

He kissed your temple, a softer touch now, but still possessive, still claiming. “Never doubt it. Always.”

And for the first time in eight long days, everything finally felt complete.