Warnings: dry humping, premature ejaculation, sub!grace, he cries, and you comfort him
Word count: 1.3k
✰Masterlist
Ever since you two had woken up on the Hail Mary, tensions between you and Grace had been growing.
Every glance at each other from across the room. Every small touch as you passed equipment to each other. Every whispered good night as one of you heads to sleep.
You could feel the tension like a weight. Both of you knew what you wanted, but were too nervous to make the first move.
If this were a romance novel, the reader would be frustrated that you haven't kissed yet.
It was true that Grace was a few years older than you, which, by default, made him more intimidating because you didn't really know him. He was sweet, respectful, and really kind to you, so you couldn't understand why you hadn't tried to make an advance on him yet.
Maybe you were afraid he would reject you, and it would make things awkward? You were kind of forced to suddenly be living in close quarters with each other, with no way of leaving.
But no guy had ever looked at you with as much yearning as there was in those sad puppy eyes of his.
He has to like you.
And if he didn't, he has no idea what flirting is.
So, you come up to him while he is working in the lab. "Hey, Grace, weird question," you say.
He looks up at you, straightening his glasses that had begun to slide down the bridge of his nose from being bent over his work. "Oh, go for it!" he smiles that adorable smile of his.
"If we were still on Earth, under normal circumstances, and I asked you out, would you say yes?" you wonder.
Grace looks absolutely stunned for a solid minute, as if he can't believe someone as beautiful as you would ask him that. "Um... yeah, I would," he admits.
"Really," you tilt your head, and he gets more embarrassed.
"Y-yeah! I mean, you're gorge- I-I mean.. you're very pretty... pretty nice! Obviously!" he stumbles over his words, then tries to awkwardly laugh it off.
"How long has it been since you've been on a date?" you question.
He looks away from you. The tips of his ears are red. "Way too long..."
You step towards him, "Me too."
"What? But you're..." he looks you up and down quickly.
"I know," you laugh, "But I was too busy being a super cool scientist to have a sex life."
"Oh. Same," he blurts, and you realize how cute he looks when he's embarrassed. "Would you really go on a date with me?"
"Yeah," you're so close to him now, this could go anywhere, "I think it would be more than a date, though."
Grace's eyes widened so much you thought they were going to pop out of his skull. You slowly lift your hand to brush against his stubbled jaw, and he practically melts into your palm. He then relaxes and closes his eyes.
You go to pull your hand away, but he grabs your wrist, keeping your hand in place. "No, please, don't go," he whispers.
"Begging already, Dr. Grace?" you tease with a grin on your lips.
His eyes flutter open to look at you, a pout on his lips. "Aww," you coo, leaning closer, "Pretty baby."
"I'm not-" he starts to protest, but you shut him up with a kiss. Grace makes a sound that's between a whimper and a moan. You had on his jaw moves to the back of his neck and squeezes.
He carefully places his hands against your back, as if touching you too hard would make you disappear.
You press your tongue against the seam of his lips, and he gladly parts them. You're so lost in each other that you fall right into his lap. Literally.
Now you're straddling his lap, and both of you are breathless from kissing.
"That was amazing," Grace gasps, tightening his grip on you ever so slightly.
"There's more where that came from, Ryland." You respond, and his eyes light up like the stars that surround you.
"More? I-I don't think- Oh my-" he squeezes his eyes shut because the way you press yourself against his bulge is heavenly. There are so many words he wants to say right now, but nothing is able to leave his throat but a slight whine.
You feel the shift of his hips underneath you, which only causes more friction where you're pressed together. His mouth is left agape, so you run your thumb across his bottom lip.
His hands move to your waist, and you take that as a sign to continue. Slowly, you start grinding against him, waiting for his little gasps of breath.
Grace's fingers tremble against your sides, and you can feel the tension in his body ready to snap.
You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "Just let go for me, Ryland. I got you."
He looks up at you, letting a soft moan fall from his lips. You smile, moving your hips a bit faster, "Yeah, that's it."
His eyes close again, and you can tell that he's starting to get lost in the feeling of you grinding against his bulge. You can also tell because you feel his cock throb through the fabric of his pants.
You press yourself more firmly against him, letting him feel all of you. He twists his fingers into the fabric of your shirt, pulling it up a little in the process.
"Please," he whines, and he's not even asking for anything in particular; he just can't think of anything to say. It's surprising how easily you were able to reduce such an intelligent man into a whimpering mess. But, you two were very touch-starved and sleep-deprived; it was only a matter of time.
You pick up the speed of your hips, and Grace pushes his glasses up on his head using your shoulder.
"I can't-" he groans, holding you tightly like he wants to merge your body into his.
You're about to tease him when he lets out a cry, and you feel the large, damp patch form on his pants. Then you feel a wet spot on your shoulder, and you realize that he's crying.
Grace holds onto you, his shoulder shaking as he sniffles, trying to spot his tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," he keeps repeating, shame in his mumbled words.
You cradle the back of his head, stroking his hair gently, "It's okay. I'm not mad at you."
He pulls away from your shoulder to look up at you, his glasses fall back onto his face. His eyes are now red, and his eye bags look puffier. "You're not mad? But I... I'm so pathetic, I cried when I came in my pants," he sighs.
You shrug, "Happens to the best of us." You carefully wipe the tears from his cheeks, "Besides, you'll have plenty of time to build your stamina back up with the rate we're finding a solution to astrophage."
That gets a small smile out of him, "You mean... you'd want to do this again?"
"Absolutely," you respond, "I'm not going to lie, it kinda turned me on to feel you cum in your pants."
Grace blinks in surprise, then lets out a small huff, "But I only lasted for what? Five minutes?"
You lean closer to his face, your lips almost touching again. "Let's hope your mouth his good for more than just telling me science facts."
You kiss him with more tenderness than before, and he kisses back; his confidence has grown slightly from your reassurance. It might not be the heated, lust-filled kiss from before, but it just feels right for the moment.
The kiss feels like it lasts for hours, but eventually you both pull away, just looking into each other's eyes.
"We should probably get you cleaned up," you say in a lightly joking tone. Grace nods his head in agreement, shifting his hips uncomfortably from the wet spot.
"And after that, you could give my mouth a test drive?" he asks it so sweetly for something depraved.
You grin, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, "Oh, you're on!"
Star's notes -> Said it once, and I'll say it again, he whimpers and cries during sex!!! Jokes aside, this was very fun to write because I don't think I've written something like this before
(Requests are open!)
Taglist -> @bohnerrific69 (tagging bc ik you love him too) | Join the taglist
Summary: You and Jimmy are friends with benefits. He was very insistent that there wouldn't be anything romantic between you. Of course, that doesn't stop him from falling for you.
Warnings: It’s probably bad idk, nsfw, smut, unprotected piv (don't do that), oral (f! receiving), jimmy is so horny for you all the time, also he's lowkey a recovering fuckboy, some Heavy yearning, NOT proofread we die like henry cavill superman, i switch tenses a lot bc i just don't care, a lot of swearing, i feel like i'm forgetting something but this is all I can think of
Story Notes: Reader is Perry's assistant but it's super vague what that actually entails lol. Jimmy knows that Clark is Superman for reasons that are not addressed.
A/N: I can't decide if I think this is good, but whether it's good or not I do like it. The pacing isn't my favorite but I think all the individual parts are at least decent. Idk, hopefully other people like it, but at least it makes me smile, and I am adding to the pool of Jimmy Olsen fanfic. If that's all I can contribute to the world, it's enough. As always, comments (even just in the tags) are always ultra appreciated!!!!! Thanks for reading <3
Tag List (lmk if you'd like to be added! <3): @dilfza-discourse
At work, you and Jimmy are just friends. Jimmy feels weird thinking the word "just" about anything relating to you, because everything about you means so much to him. Your friendship is one of the things he values most in the world. But he also values having sex with you quite a lot, and despite his best efforts, you won't do that at work.
To be fair, you are one of the busiest people he thinks he's ever known. You're Perry's assistant, and while there has definitely been a marked decrease in Perry yelling at them since you came on staff, you have something going on pretty much every minute that you're working. Of course, Jimmy thinks that's exactly why a good romp in the copy room would probably fix your head, but you always insist that there needs to be a separation there.
Last time you two had talked about it, you'd been riding him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your hips rocked steadily, hands gripping his biceps, moaning out the frustrations of a long day.
"Now think how much better you would feel if you'd been able to relax during the day," He'd said, cupping your ass in his hands as he helped you grind yourself against him.
When you laughed, your walls fluttered around him, "This again? Jimmy, it's church and state. We should not be putting these things together."
He'd groaned, rolled his pelvis up to meet yours, "Isn't that kind of what we're doing already?"
"No!" Your nails dug into his arms, the speed of your movements increasing just a little, "It's two totally different relationships. At work, you are my coworker. One I like a lot, don't get me wrong, but still my coworker. Outside of work, you happen to be my fuckbuddy. Those two things have no reason to overlap."
Jimmy thinks he would've phrased it a little more delicately than "fuckbuddy", but on further reflection, he might've actually been the one who used that term first.
“I bet you’d like it more than you think,” He’d brought his hands back to rest behind his head, watching you on his cock, something that never failed to entertain and delight him.
You laughed again, and your walls clenched around him again, “Oh, I know I’d like it. Probably too much. That’s the problem, I’d never get any more work done.”
That answer had actually satisfied something in him. He watched you, contentedly, for a while, and when you’d started to lose some of your rhythm, clearly getting a little tired, he had brought his hands back to grip your hips. He bounced you on his dick, not bothering to hide his smug smile as your moans got louder, and half shrugged, “I guess I’ll just have to do an extra good job on keeping you sane when we're not at work, then."
You'd opened your mouth to retort, but all that came out was a kind of whining groan that made Jimmy bite his lip so he wouldn't just come at the sound. Instead of speaking, you threw your head back and let Jimmy do the work until he'd brought you to a trembling orgasm.
Later that night, when y'all were finally done, you had curled next to him, head on his chest. You'd run your finger in lazy circles on his skin for a while before you told him, "You really do relax me, you know. I think this job would've driven me crazy if I didn't have someone who could get all my tension out. Thank you for that, really."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jimmy had felt high from the ego rush that gave him ever since.
In many ways, he understood why you didn't want to do anything at work. You loved your job, and you would never do anything to risk it, and that made sense. And the thing you two had going on was supposed to be a secret from the people at work, which had been his idea, not yours.
"They know we're friends, it's not like we're dating. If there was anything romantic between us, that would be different, but I don't see why anyone needs to know that we're fucking."
Jimmy cringed a little when he thought back on his phrasing. He knew he had been too blunt, too crass. It was just that one of the things he'd liked about you in the beginning was that you were one of the only women he knew who didn't like him romantically, who didn't dissolve into pieces around him, and that was so good and he didn't want that to change. But now...well now he at least wished that he would've said it a little more delicately.
So yes, concern for your job made sense. He could also take some credit for the fact that you wanted to be subtle about it at work, so that people didn't get the wrong idea. He really understood why this was important to you. It was just that on days like this, when news was slow and you were hanging around the bullpen more, when you looked so good, he couldn't have cared less about subtlety. He could barely keep his hands off of you.
You were perched on the edge of Lois's desk, laughing with her about something that he hadn't actually paid enough attention to hear. Your ankles were crossed, and you leaned back on your hands, and there was something so casually sexy about it that he couldn't stop staring, and it was honestly pissing him off. You weren't doing anything. Sure, you were hot, but he shouldn't have been as captivated by you as he was.
"You're grinding your teeth," Clark's voice was suddenly in his ear.
Jimmy jumped, gave Clark a reproachful look, and pretended he was busy on his computer as he said, "Dude. Not cool."
"Your dentist will thank me," Clark smiled, dropped his voice to a whisper, "Your heartbeat is going crazy, too."
When Jimmy found at that his best friend was Superman, he had imagined a lot of exciting adventures. It turned out to be mostly Clark calling him out about things, which was decidedly less exciting.
Jimmy opened a random file on his computer and stared like he was focused. He shrugged, "I guess I'm pretty amped about work today."
Clark laughed like he had just made a hilarious joke. Jimmy could feel your and Lois's eyes glancing over to them, and it took a lot of willpower not to look back, to keep his eyes locked on his screen.
Clark sounded apologetic, "You know you could just ask her out."
Jimmy clicked randomly around the screen, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh come on, you're always looking like a lovesick puppy lately," Clark nudged his arm, a smile on his face, "What's the worst that could happen?"
Jimmy doesn't bother telling Clark the full truth, that you guys have been sleeping together for months and that you seem perfectly content with this arrangement. If Jimmy had any romantic feelings for you (which he doesn't), it still wouldn't be worth it to risk messing up what you did have. Being your friend, sharing your bed, those were enough. He didn't need anything else from you.
Instead, he sighs, "I really don't know what you mean, man. Besides, I have a date tonight."
"You have a date every night," Clark's voice is a little louder now, more casual, "And it's almost always with a different woman."
So focused on looking like he's busy, Jimmy doesn't notice Lois approaching until she speaks, "I think he might be a sex addict."
He snaps his head over to look at her, feeling his face burn, "I am not a sex addict. I don't even sleep with most of them."
Your laugh rings through the air, but you're still at Lois's desk. Jimmy still doesn't look over at you, but he can feel that his blush has crept up to his ears.
Lois hums, "I actually think that might be sadder. All those dates, all this time, money, and you're not even getting laid? What's the point?"
"Maybe he's a gambling addict," Clark sounds half serious and half joking.
"Oh, you two be nice," You finally leave Lois's desk and walk over to Jimmy's, "I think it's kind of sweet."
Jimmy turns in his chair to find himself looking up at you. You, in your stupid sexy office clothes, with your perfect lips curled into a stupid sweet little smile, and your eyes sparkling with a teasing light. He can feel his heart thundering in his chest, and he finds that he's actually annoyed about how turned on he is looking at you. He blinks, hard, and then asks you, "Sweet?"
"I think you're a secret romantic. You're just trying so hard to find the right person," There was something genuine in your expression, although your tone stayed playful, "I think it's really just that you love, love. I'm kind of the same way. Looking for love is a noble pursuit, even if there are some missteps. Can't be afraid to swing and miss, or to end up heartbroken, or to lose out for a while. It's about finding the right person. It's sweet."
He could feel his smile widening, the blush on his face not leaving but mellowing, "Thanks. That’s a nicer theory, at least.”
Lois whistled, low and slow, "Not a bad analysis. But that just means he's a love addict. Is that really that much better?"
“I just think addict is too strong a word. If we’re deciding I’m a closet romantic, then can’t we just let it be romantic?” Jimmy pleaded.
Clark pat his shoulder, heavy but gentle, “Sorry bud, but I think this one stands. You’re definitely addicted to love.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jimmy cornered you by the printer later that day, unable to stop his eyes from trailing over your body. You’d clearly been working for a while, your sleeves rolled up past your elbows and your hair mussed, probably from raking your fingers through it. But you had a satisfied smile on your face and you seemed like you were finishing up, so Jimmy didn’t feel too bad about openly ogling you.
His voice ended up coming out somewhat low, “Hey. Thanks for sticking up for me earlier.”
“Anytime,” You didn’t look up from the papers you were organizing.
His voice stayed casual, but he knew he was standing too close to you, arms caging around you as he rested his hands on the desk you were using, murmuring just above your ear, "Do you really think I'm a romantic?"
You let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, and turned around in his arms. Your chests and hips pressed together, and that sparkle was back in your eyes even as you rolled them at him, "I do, actually. But I don't think romance is what's on your mind right now."
"You look incredible," He refrains from rolling his hips against yours, but it might be the last semblance of self control he has before he gets on his knees and starts begging.
"I'm just wearing my office clothes, Jimmy. I look like I'm at work," You scoff.
He shrugs, lip twitching with a smile, "There's nothing sexier than dedication.
You bring a finger up, poke him in the chest, "You are incorrigible, Jimmy Olsen."
"I'm only a man. If you want some metahuman self-control, go find Superman," He licks his lips, "Although I'm not sure he'd be able to resist you either."
There’s a grin that you’re holding back, he can tell. You shake your head at him, pretending to be exasperated, “You’re getting better at the smooth talking, I’ll give you that.”
That was true. When you’d first started hooking up, Jimmy had been quite a bit less eloquent. He’d never really had to try, and when he did it came out clumsy, awkward. You’d teased him about it, but you never held it against him, and as time went on, he found himself growing more comfortable with it, improving at it. He figured it just added to the list of things he had to thank you for.
"Come on. It'll only take a minute," His eyes were wide, pleading.
This time you did grin at him, "Ah, yes, what every girl wants to hear before she has sex."
Jimmy laughed, bowed his head to touch his forehead to yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, yours were closed too. He remembers Clark saying he looks lovesick lately, which obviously isn't true, but nevertheless he's glad you're not looking at him right now, glad he can just take in the peaceful expression on your face and share this moment with you. Then, in the interest of ruining the moment on purpose before he could ruin it on accident, he said, "I just think you'd have a better day if you let me bend you over the printer. I'm doing this for you, y'know."
You slap his chest, eyes open now and eyebrow arched, "I commend your willingness to make that sacrifice, but I think I'll be okay, thanks."
Jimmy tried not to pout, then pouted anyway, "Could I at least have a kiss?"
"We can't kiss at work," You protested, but there was a gleam of consideration in your eye.
"I'll leave you alone about it for the rest of the day," He offered, "Hell, rest of the week. Just for one little kiss? Isn't that a fair trade?"
You hummed in thought, "Just one? And you'll stop badgering me about getting your dick wet while we're at work?"
He raised a hand up, "Scout's honor. Unless you want more, that is, in which case I may be willing to oblige."
"Absolutely incorrigible," You tsked, but you brought your hands up to gently cup his face.
His fingers itch to grab your hips, and he makes himself grip the desk you're up against tighter instead, lets you have control over what happens.
The kiss is shorter than he would've liked, but sweet, your soft lips melding perfectly against his. When you pull away, you cock your brow, not releasing his face yet as you ask, "Are we good?"
He beamed at you, “We’re fantastic.”
“Great,” You released his face and gently pushed him away, turning to pick up your papers, “Can’t wait to be normal coworkers for the rest of this week.”
Jimmy steps back to give you enough space to gather your things, but he places a hand on your elbow to pause you, “We can still…hangout outside of work, right?”
Snorting, you looked at him like he was stupid, “Of course.
“I might come over tonight?” He hadn’t meant it to be a question, but his voice went up at the end anyway.
“You know you’re welcome any time,” You smirk, “Although if you come too late you’re just gonna be sitting there while I sleep.”
“Terrible hosting,” He teased.
You shrugged, “Only for terrible guests.”
He thought about acting offended, but he had already gotten more than he’d really expected out of this interaction and decided not to push his luck too far. Instead, he just laughed, “I’ll give you a heads up before I come over. And I’ll try not to be too late.”
“Thank you,” Flashing him a toothy smile, you touched his arm gently before starting to make your way out of the room again.
“Hey,” He spoke suddenly, pausing you again for a moment, “You should leave your work clothes on until I come over.
A giggle bubbled out of you like an overfull pot, and you kept walking, calling over your shoulder, “Don’t get your hopes up.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jimmy likes to think that he's better in the written word than he is out loud. Still, every time he wants to come over to your place the first thing that flashes into his mind is just sending the classic "u up?" text. Sometimes he does do that, because it makes you laugh and tease him when he gets there, but tonight he doesn't have it in him to be silly. He's tired, feels on edge all the time lately in a way that's left him completely worn out. He sends you a "see you soon" before he's even finished rejecting his date's offer to come up to her apartment.
Some of that tired wears off when you open your door and peek your head out at him, squinting critically for a moment before you say, "I'm sorry, no soliciting."
"In a sex work way, or in a Girl Scout cookie way?" He chuckles, feeling a bit of weight that he hadn't realized was settled in his chest suddenly lift off.
"I'd let just about anyone inside if they had Girl Scout cookies," You spoke seriously, but after a moment you smiled and opened the door the rest of the way to let him in.
His eyes trail over you, a grin coming to his lips, "I thought you weren't going to keep your office clothes on."
You are still wearing your outfit from work, although your shoes are kicked off and he thinks you've taken off your bra too. You half shrug, smiling playfully, "I didn't say I wouldn't, I said you shouldn't get your hopes up. I assume you'll make it worth my while."
"Oh, I will," He slips his fingers into your belt loops, (feeling thankful that your skirt actually has belt loops because he's embarrassed himself before by trying to do that when there were none), and tugs you closer to him. When you tilt your head towards him ever so slightly, he takes the opportunity to kiss you.
You let him guide you to the couch, lips barely parting, let him sit and pull you down to straddle him. His hands move, trail over your body, caressing and squeezing but never staying in one place too long, like he can't miss a single part of you. Your lips move off of his, brushing along his jaw and up to his temple, then back down to murmur in his ear, "I really didn't think you'd be this excited about it."
"You look incredible," He repeats from earlier, but his voice is less lustful than before, genuine in a way you hadn’t expected. Then he almost imperceptibly shakes his head like that’ll clear it, asking you as casually as he’d ask for a water, "Can I eat you out while you're wearing this?"
"What, like I'm gonna say no to that?"
You assume he wants to go to the bed, but he just tips you off his lap and positions you on the couch, pulls you so your ass is on the arm and your legs are dangling off. Your skirt rucks up your hips, and he grabs your thighs tightly as he kneels, looking just a step down from truly reverent.
Jimmy delights in the sounds you make. He always does. He told you once that no one boosted his ego in bed like you do, which you're pretty certain is not true, but you can't deny that he makes you noisy in a way that you're not used to, draws sighs and moans and squeals from you with skilled touches that leave you trembling, and he keeps his dumb, dopey smile on his face the whole time.
He doesn't eat you out until you're satisfied, but until he is. You're not certain exactly what metric he uses to determine when he's ready to move on, but usually he wants you to come at least once, if not a few times, and no matter what he never stops until your legs are trembling and his face is drenched with your juices. He keeps that same smile on his face as he wipes it with the back of his hand, and you sometimes want to tell him that it's a dumb smile, but really it just makes your heart clench in a way that you try desperately to ignore.
When he is done, a little after your second orgasm, he stands up and holds his hand out to you. You take it, breathless, and ask him, “You need me to return the favor?”
“Just wanna get you in bed,” Jimmy sounds earnest, almost desperate, although you’re sure he’s playing it up. You allowed yourself to be led to your own bedroom, and then to be guided to the middle of your bed. Jimmy doesn’t bother peeling off any of his clothes, just climbs on top of you and starts kissing you again as he undoes his pants and pulls his cock out.
“Good?” His voice is soft as he slides the head of his dick against your sensitive folds, just above where you want him.
“Good,” You tell him, then keen upwards just a little, “Please, Jimmy.”
He doesn’t tease you, doesn’t make you wait. In fact you don’t even have your words all the way out when he starts sliding into you, a long groan sounding from deep in his throat as he bottoms out.
He’s right on top of you, pressed all the way against you. He calls this “belly to belly missionary” sometimes, and he’s barely holding himself up, his face buried between your shoulder and your pillow, thrusting steadily, if without great force.
Jimmy wants to tell you how massively his stress has been reduced just by being inside you, but he can’t think of a way to say it that won’t sound weird. Instead, he tries to focus on making you giving you everything you want. Squeezing your hip the way he knows you like, pressing kisses to your neck, letting out little noises while he’s breathing heavy in your ear. He came here with an urge to be selfish, to relax by taking care of himself first, but the only way he can think of to make himself feel good is making you feel good.
It’s been like this a while, him rutting into you, movement never stopping even if he’s not particularly fast. It takes him by surprise when you orgasm, grabbing the back of his head with one hand and pulling him close to you, the other scratching down his back. It seems like it takes you by surprise too, your body trembling as a wrecked moan escapes your lips. When you stop shaking, you pat his head gently and then move your hands, taking deep breaths as if to steady yourself. Jimmy thinks about offering to change positions, although he likes this a lot.
Then suddenly, casual as ever, you ask him, “So how did the date go?”
He pauses, just for a second but it’s long enough to make you whine, and the sound kickstarts his movement again. Thrusting mindlessly, he leans up on one arm so that he can look at you quizzically, “Why?”
“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Your hips rocked in time with his, “Why wouldn’t I want to know?”
Jimmy tried to think of a good answer to that, but he didn’t have one. He shrugged, or at least tried to (it was difficult in his position), “Not great, obviously. She was…I don’t know, annoying? Maybe not really annoying, just really dumb. I don’t feel like we held a real conversation the whole time. She wouldn’t answer any questions I asked her about herself.”
He had sped up a little without realizing, frustrated, and you made a noise halfway between a squeak and a moan that he liked more than he would’ve expected. You cleared your throat, looking a little embarrassed for a moment, and then asked, “What, was she not into you?”
“No, she made an extremely unsubtle comment about seeing ‘the rest’ of me when I walked her home, and she wouldn’t stop touching me. I’m pretty sure she’s just like that.”
There was obvious surprise on your face, “So she wanted to sleep with you?”
Jimmy scoffed, “I know, right? Who would want to do that?”
He bucked his hips a little harder now, and you bit your lip, clearly keeping some kind of noise in. That bothered him, and he was going to say something about it, but then you smacked his shoulder lightly, “It’s not that, idiot. I mean I saw that girl, she was hot.”
He slowed his movements a little, did his awkward half shrug again, “She was conventionally attractive, yeah.”
“So why didn’t you go with her?” You sounded genuinely baffled.
The silence that hung for a moment was heavy with something that neither of you could exactly name. Or at least, Jimmy told himself that it was something he couldn’t name. He reminds himself that you don’t have romantic feelings for each other, that that’s the whole point of how you interact with each other, and then he feels very stupid for having to remind himself of that.
“I had somewhere else I would rather be,” He tried to keep his tone as light as he could.
“Yeah?” You gave him a careful look, but tried to keep your own tone playful, teasing, “And where is that?”
Jimmy decides he doesn't really care about sounding weird, and tries his best to make his voice sound sexy, which he normally doesn’t bother to do, “Inside of you.”
Your pussy clamped down on him as you laughed, “That’s such a creepy thing to say to someone.”
He forced himself to laugh too, but it came out strangled from trying to suppress a moan. You continued to giggle, seemingly oblivious to the way your warm, wet pussy was squeezing his cock every time you did so.
The tension that had filled the room (not that there was any tension between you, of course) had dissipated, and he grinned at you, “Are you sure? It wasn’t hot?”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t hot,” You were still laughing, still unknowingly fluttering around him, “I just said that it was creepy. It can be both.”
Jimmy can feel himself starting to lose control. His movements got faster, more erratic, and your laughter shifted easily into moans as you shoved your head further into the pillow, crying out, “Fuck, Jimmy, I’m-”
You clenched around him once again as you came, and that feeling mixed with the sight of the sudden switch from you laughing to your eyes rolling back was what pushed Jimmy over the edge, unable to hold in a guttural groan as he said, “Me too.”
When he's done, he doesn't really bother to hold himself up anymore. He collapses onto you, and your arms wrap around him, holding him there. When he rolls off of you, looks at your face, you're smiling at him, "Yeah, it was worth it to keep the stupid clothes on. Thanks.”
“Thank you,” Jimmy grins, tries to ignore the way his heart flutters at the sight of your smile, “You’ve drastically improved my day.”
“I’m sorry your date didn’t work out, but you’ve improved my day too,” There’s a look in your eye that’s almost defiant, like you’re challenging him, but then you blink and it’s gone, “I do think it’s sweet that you’re a secret romantic, but I’ll be a little bummed when you finally do find your one true love and I’m alone with a vibrator again.”
Jimmy laughs, but only after you do first, and then he shakes his head, “I don’t think you’ve gotta worry about that. The romance theory is nice, but I don’t know, I don’t really think I’m the kind of guy who falls in love.”
You roll your eyes, sit up, “Everyone says that until they do. Wanna take a shower?”
“Absolutely,” He stands up, already heading for the bathroom.
You hold up a finger to pause him, “Not to have sex. I’m scared of slipping. I just need a shower, and you’re a little sweaty. Conserve water, y’know?”
“I mean, you’ll still be naked, right?”
“Yes, Jimmy, I will be naked in the shower.”
He starts walking again, “Then I’m in.”
“You were the one who made me keep my clothes on to have sex,” You called after him.
“Just because you’re hot with clothes on doesn’t mean you’re not hot with clothes off. It can be both, remember?”
Chuckling, you trail behind him, stripping your clothes off as you go. When you get the the bathroom he’s already naked too, eyes wide with an absurd amount of excitement at the sight of you.
“Why do you act like you’ve never seen me naked before? We had sex like two seconds ago,” You nudged him out of your way so you could get him a spare towel.
"Why go to an art museum twice?" His tone is musing, like he's trying to sound deep, "You've already seen all the paintings."
"You are ridiculous," You have to shift past him again to turn the water on, skin brushing against his.
He takes the step that it takes to be right behind you, pressed against you as you lean down to turn the water on, listening to the drum of it spraying onto the back wall of the shower. His cock is half hard against the swell of your ass, one hand resting lightly on your hip, and you can almost hear the self-satisfied smirk in his voice, "I'm a student of the arts. I'm sorry you can't appreciate beauty the way I can."
You laugh, a little derisive but still soft, "Yeah, you're getting really good at the smooth talk."
Jimmy laughs too, lets you lead him into the shower with you, but something in your tone makes his chest tighten. Like he could only ever be joking or flirting, like he couldn't mean it, even though he did.
He doesn't mean for his mind to wander, but the steady lull of the water hitting him and the soft sound of you humming made his mind feel a little out of his control, like this was just something he was supposed to be feeling, even though the idea of looking in on himself and his emotions was usually pretty far from his mind.
But he thinks, unintentionally, of your first time together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You'd been at the Daily Planet for a little while at that point, and you and Jimmy had been friends for about the same amount of time. You always smiled when you saw him, which was nice, but it was the same smile that you gave all your other friends, and that was even nicer somehow. You treated him like just another friend, just Jimmy, and there was something about that that was just so relieving to him.
The two of you always talked at work. You sent each other shitposts. You hung out as a group with other people. You grew closer than he had expected far faster than he had expected, but you weren't usually alone together. Most of your deepest and longest conversations were had over text, usually at odd hours of the night.
But that night, you'd both had to work late. Just you two. He had a massive backlog of photos he'd needed to go through after a crazy week, and you...well to be honest Jimmy didn't even remember what Perry had you doing. He remembered being vaguely annoyed about it on your behalf, but you had just smiled and said it was part of the job, and he remembered how beautiful you had looked as you worked, the lights dimmed and the air mostly quiet for once. You had everything sprawled out on the floor, had kicked off your shoes and folded yourself into a neat little pretzel to work. He told you that you could probably borrow a desk, but you'd shaken your head, cracked an energy drink, and seemed perfectly content with the work you were doing.
"You're so weird," He had told you, "And those drinks are gonna give you a heart attack."
You laughed, dismissive, but you looked up at him with your eyes glittering, "I'm tougher than I look."
He didn't doubt that, but how tough you were wasn't exactly the main thing on his mind. There was something about the way that you sat there, the way you chewed on the tip of your pen and gazed contentedly through your lashes at him whenever he laughed at one of your jokes. Something in the sharpness of your quips but the softness of your smile. Jimmy doesn't know exactly what it is, can't name the exact moment that it happens, but it suddenly dawns on him that you're hot. He files the thought into the back of his mind, tries to ignore it, but it keeps surfacing. He'd always thought you were pretty, but it had never really factored into his thoughts about you. But that night, suddenly, it's all he can think about.
He finished editing before you were done with your work, but he stayed anyway, and when you finally finished he walked you home. When he offered, there was no ulterior motive. He cared about you, you were his friend, of course he would walk you home.
Then, at your door, you'd offered for him to come in for a drink. And then, tone light, you had added, "You'd be the first guy in a while, so if there's a sense of yearning in the air don't let it go to your head, it's just like that in there now."
You had both laughed heartily, and he'd joined you inside, and it had been good. Great, even. And then you had talked a little more about the dry spell you were having. Explained to him to him that it wasn't that there was no one out there you could get with, but you didn't want to hook up with someone who you didn't even like, and you didn't like most of the guys who talked to you. He had complained about how it seemed like girls never left him alone, but he just never connected to them enough to want anything more. It had ruined a lot of friendships too, he explained, because girls who he did really connect with and like as friends would end up drifting away when they realized it would never be more.
“And why is it more?” He’d asked, cheeks flushed a little with tipsiness but eyes clear and focused like he was presenting his manifesto, “Who got to decide that romance is something more than friendship? Why do we say it like that? What if I dated someone first, and then we decided that we needed something more, and that something more is being friends? I love my friends! I love Clark and Lois and…and you more than I’ve ever loved any woman I’ve dated."
You had been quiet for a little bit, letting him ramble, but he looked over to see you smiling at him. Your voice was thick, clearly getting sleepy and a little tipsy yourself, but he couldn't stop himself from staring at the way your mouth moved as you spoke, "I understand exactly what you mean. I don't disagree, either. I love you, and you're a great friend, and I'm sorry that you have to deal with this, but anyone who can't see that is the one missing out."
"I'm sorry too," He told you, and he was staring at you now but it was because he didn't want to miss any of your reactions, "I understand why guys would just want to get with you. You're fucking hot. But you're also a great friend. Like, one of the smartest, funniest, most passionate people I know. You deserve a lot more than just a hookup. Even if it's not romance, you deserve someone who sees how great you are. Frankly, they don't deserve to be in your bed if they don't."
He hadn't realized he'd leaned in until you said something, "Jimmy. What're you doing?"
Blinking hard for a moment, he realized that he was right up against you know, face just a few inches from yours. He shrugged, but he didn't lean away, "I don't know. Thinking about how great you are?"
And then you had kissed him, and everything had changed.
His heart roared in his ears, his whole body becoming tense in one second and then releasing, relaxing more than he's felt himself relax in quite a while.
It wasn't a long kiss, not even a particularly lustful one, but it was what had gotten him hooked on you. That one kiss was all he needed to know that he wasn’t going to get you out of his mind for a long time.
You'd pulled away, looking suddenly shy, opening your mouth for an apology that he really didn't care to hear. He cut you off before you got past "Sor-"
His hands came up to cradle your face, and he leaned in again, closing the small gap that you had reopened. Part of it was to see if the first one was a fluke, if kissing you was really as great as that had made it seem. The other part was because he knew it would be even better, and he was right. Soon it had grown lustful, frenzied, the two of you slotting together perfectly. Your teeth had clacked together when he guided you to straddle his lap, but somehow even that was hot, and you on top of him with your arms around his neck and your tits pressed against his chest would’ve made up for it anyway.
When you broke apart again, both of you breathing heavy, you giggled like you’d just stolen from a cookie jar. Then, suddenly serious, you asked him, “Are you drunk?”
“No,” He answered immediately, maybe too quickly, but it was true. Then he raised an eyebrow, “Are you?”
Your smile was nervous, but still coy, “No. I just realized I never gave you a proper tour of my place…would you like to see my bedroom?”
Jimmy almost knocked you off his lap to stand up faster, but he managed to restrain himself, nodded like a bobblehead, "I would love to."
The night had escalated quickly from there. You were both half naked by the time you fell into the bed, kissing again. Your hands grew bolder, pawing at each other, feeling unexplored territory. You had discussed what exactly this was, a little, when you managed to tear your lips apart.
"No romance," Jimmy had to keep himself from gasping as you kissed along his neck, scraping your teeth against the sensitive flesh, "No worries about being exclusive."
"Just two incredibly sexy friends helping each other out," You had nodded, laughed, then bit his earlobe.
There was no real foreplay that first time. All hot skin and frantic groping at one another, ripping clothes off of each other. He stood up next to your bed, and wordlessly you moved so that he could stand between your legs, grabbing your pillow from the head of the bed so he could push you down onto it.
"You're sure?" He had asked, already lined up with your entrance and using his last bit of self control to keep from burying himself inside you.
"Positive," You grinned up at him, and he kissed you again as he sunk into you.
You were tight, so tight that he worried he hadn't done enough to get you ready, but you were also dripping wet, and you let out a long, quiet moan at the feeling of him filling you.
"Is it okay?" He couldn't keep himself from moving even though he thought he should wait and see how you felt. Your pussy was so soft and warm, so perfect, he just didn't have it in him to resist, his hips thrusting mostly of their own volition.
"No, it's awful," Your face was entirely deadpan for a moment before you laughed, "It's better than okay, dummy. How about you?"
You'd wrapped an ankle around his thigh, pulling him a little closer, and then canted your hips up a little more, letting out a half-choked noise when he hit a new spot inside you. Jimmy felt himself spurred on, the slam of his pelvis meeting yours getting louder as his speed and force increased.
His hands tightened on your hips, "Fucking amazing."
You let out a whine at the way his fingers were burying themselves into your skin, feverish and hot, and then you nodded, "Me too."
"Keep making noises like that, and I'm not gonna last," Jimmy warned, movements never slowing.
There was a blissed out look on your face. Jimmy had seen it a lot of times since that night, and they were always good, but when he was alone sometimes it was that first one that he found himself thinking about.
"I'm not exactly doing a marathon here either," You panted, shooting him a grin, "I'm pretty close, if we're honest here."
He had paused, just long enough that you'd opened your mouth to complain, and then he shifted your legs, straightening them out and hooking one arm around them, pulling them so they stretched up over that shoulder. His previous pace resumed with no warning, and as he listened to the shrieks and moans you let out he'd felt his blood rush in a sense of accomplishment that he had only ever really gotten from work.
If everything else hadn't been good enough, the first time he saw you come, felt you come, he would swear his life changed. He had leaned down, bending you practically in half, so that he could kiss you as you fell apart, letting you moan into his mouth.
It didn't take him long to follow after you, and he came harder than he ever had in his life up to that point.
And after, when you had both fallen into each others arms, sweaty and sticky and satisfied, he had known that this was a perfect arrangement.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Jimmy," Your voice suddenly snapped him out of his thoughts, "You good, dude?"
"Hm?" He blinked, scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, "Yeah, no, I'm good."
You laughed, holding up a bottle of shampoo, "You kind of zoned out there. Here, turn around, I’ll wash your hair."
"What? Why?" He was still getting his bearings, trying to get over the hypnotic crash of the water and be back in the present. He liked the present, liked being with you, didn't want to miss out on it even if he was just in his own head, even if you were what he was thinking about.
You raised an eyebrow at him, “I’m sorry, do you usually wash your hair somewhere other than in the shower?”
“You want to wash my hair?” He stared like you had just said something a lot more ridiculous than you actually had.
“I mean, I don’t have to. I just thought it might be nice.”
“No,” Jimmy smiled gently, “It does sound nice. It’s just…no one’s ever done that.”
Now you gaped at him like that was crazy, which he really didn’t think that it was, “What, you’ve never showered with someone else?”
“No, I have,” He wet his hair and then turned around, tipping his head back a little to give you easier access, “Plenty of times. It’s just that the shower has never really been the point.”
“Sad,” You tell him, “Hopefully you don’t hate it.”
He hears the click of the shampoo bottle lid, and then your hands are in his hair. You’re close behind him, close enough that your skin keeps brushing his back. Jimmy almost unleashes a full-body shiver as you work your fingers over his scalp, digging in firmly but not too hard. The familiar, floral (lavender?) scent of your shampoo fills his nostrils, calms him in a way that only being close to you seems to do. His breath catches when you give a little affectionate scratch behind his ear, and then he holds it to give himself something to concentrate on, to distract him from how badly he wants to disintegrate under your gentle touch. You’re using the very tips of your fingers, rubbing little circles, not speaking but humming to yourself again. Jimmy is fairly certain that this is the best feeling he’s ever experienced, better than the best sex of his life, better than getting high or drunk, better than the first time one of his photos made the front page.
He reminds himself again that you don’t have romantic feelings for each other, that he certainly doesn’t have romantic feelings for you. You’re his best friend, you’re his favorite lay, but Jimmy Olsen is not the kind of guy who falls in love. He feels stupid, again, for having to remind himself of that.
You move your hand down, graze over his back. If you notice the taut pull of his muscles you don’t mention it, but the tension melts away wherever you touch him anyway. You have him take a half step back to rinse his hair, and the rush of water lets him breathe again, sobering from the fog that you had put him in. But then your hands were back in his hair, repeating all the same motions, and once again all of his mental effort went into standing still, into not letting out a moan like your hands were working a different part of his body, holding his breath again. Jimmy tries to think of another time someone has touched him so tenderly, treated him with so much care, but he can’t. He wonders to himself if he has defined intimacy incorrectly his whole life, because he can’t think of any other moments more intimate than this.
When you’re done, you twirl the hair at the nape of his neck around your fingers playfully, and he has to hold in another shudder. You step away and he mourns your touch.
“All done,” You announce, and it’s jarring to him how normal your voice is. A reminder that this is all just business as usual to you, that there is nothing for him to read into here, nothing but his own absurdity.
He clears his throat before he speaks, but it still comes out a little shaky, “Thanks.”
Smiling, you hand him a towel. He dries his hair, probably too roughly, trying to get rid of the tingling that he still feels all over. When you speak, he can tell that you’re trying to sound casual, but he can hear something (hope? horniness? something else?) behind your voice, “Will you stay over?”
He wants to say yes, badly. You spend the night with each other sometimes, although usually not on work nights. But he does have a couple spare work outfits here because your place is closer to the Planet than his, and he does miss falling asleep in the same bed as you. All he wants in the world is to say yes, to stay with you. But he also knows that it would be best to get some distance, clear his head a little more so that he doesn’t do anything he might regret.
So he wavers, voice unconvincing even to himself, “I don’t know, I should probably get home.”
“But it’s getting late,” You have a playful pout on your lips, and he’s alarmed by how hard his heart hammers at the sight of you.
Jimmy wonders if Lois and Clark were right, if he is an addict. As much as he knows that he should go, should quarantine himself from your allure in the safety of his own apartment, he already knows that he can’t tear himself away from you now. Whatever resolve he’d managed to muster, it crumbled instantly at the thought of you being upset that he left. Addicted to your smile, maybe. Addicted to you being happy, you feeling good.
“Alright,” He relents, “But I get to pick which coffee shop we go to in the morning.”
There are four on the walk from your place to the office, and Jimmy knows even as he says it that he’ll probably pick your favorite.
You beam, lean to peck him quickly on the lips, “Yay. Whatever you want.”
“And you have to give me a real kiss before bed,” He adds quickly, relishing in the way you laugh and smack his arm.
You get two glasses of water, not asking before you put one on the bedside table on his side.
Not the one on his side, he has to remind himself, just the one that’s opposite to the nightstand that most of your stuff is on, the side he’s on when he happens to sleep over.
He turns the fan on without you having to ask and then crawls into bed beside you, sinking into the softness and warmth that reminds him so much of you.
You throw one of your legs over his hip, wrap your arm around him, settle in close. Then you grin, “You need a goodnight kiss?”
“I don’t know how I normally sleep without one,” It’s supposed to be a joke, but he can’t help but worry that his tone isn’t as light and teasing as it ought to be.
But it doesn’t matter because then your lips are on his, and the world is perfectly simple again. All that matters is feeling you, sharing the moment with you. Your fingers find the hair on the nape of his neck again, still damp but curling slightly as it dries. He presses one hand to the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer, and the other comes up to thumb softly at your jaw. He hopes, somehow, that his touch conveys the words that he can’t say, not even to himself.
Addicted to kissing you, maybe. Addicted to touching you.
When you break apart, your eyes are soft with the sheen of sleepy contentment, a gentle lilt of teasing still in your voice, “Was that real enough for you?”
“Yeah,” He says (No is the true answer. Not unless it was real for you).
“Good,” You smile, then nuzzle up against him. Then, voice totally casual like what you’re about to say won’t punch him in the gut (Not that you have any reason to think it will. It shouldn’t, really), you add, “I’m glad we’ll have a little extra time in the morning. I’ve got a date tomorrow night, so I won’t be able to hang out.”
His mouth is suddenly filled with sandpaper, too dry and prickly to let him speak. He nods, and even though you can’t see him you must feel the movement because you nod too.
It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep, and when your breath slows and evens, he tightens his grip around you. Pulls you a little closer, so that your head is on his chest. He’s soothed somewhat by the soft lull of your breathing pressed right against him, but he also worries that his erratic heartbeat will mess up your sleep. The worry isn’t enough to move away from you, though, not when all he wants is to have you close.
He doesn’t sleep, doesn’t even doze off until the first fingers of the dawning sun start poking through the curtains.
He lays there, and he holds you, and he thinks.
Thinks about how ridiculous this is, how unfair it is for him to be so upset by it. Thinks how annoyed he is at Clark for being right when he had called him lovesick. Thinks how desperate he always is to touch you. Thinks how perfect it is to kiss you. Thinks how relaxed he is the moment he’s with you. Thinks how there’s pretty much nothing that he wouldn’t do for you.
And he thinks, with a kind of surprised resignation, that if the love is coming from you, then yeah, he really might be addicted to love.
kinks: protective daryl, reader is extremely girly and feminine, fingering, very light dom/sub, fucking on a motorcycle, daryl sucks his fingers, pet names, oral sex, cum swallowing, slightly rough sex, some dirty talk, true love
warnings and triggers: age difference, reader is a former sex worker, trauma bonding, violence, death, slut shaming, bullying
word count: 13.4k
plot with porn, slight alternate universe.
you’re known as the princess of your group - soft, feminine, a girly girl who doesn’t want to get her hands dirty. despite the cruel new world you’re living in, you still hold on to whatever remnants of beauty you can find, hoping for a better tomorrow.
daryl is the opposite of everything you stand for. he’s hardened, rugged, ruthless - he’ll do whatever it takes to survive. despite your differences, you find yourselves drawn to each other in ways nobody, not even you two, can really understand. you bring softness to his strength, and in daryl you find a friend, a lover, a protector.
he’s everything you find warm and safe in this cold, scary world. you cling to him, and the best part?
daryl clings back.
“Cookies?”
The look Daryl gives you actually makes you crack a smile, and it’s a nice feeling. It’s been a long time since you smiled, now that you think about it - but it’s not like you’re keeping score.
Because if you were - you’d probably be able to count the amount of grins that’ve graced your face in the last eight months on one hand. Life has been brutal to everyone this year.
“I know it sounds weird,” you explain, crossing your legs on the rock you’re sitting on. Daryl’s supposed to be keeping watch of the camp while Rick and a few other men from the group make a run into the neighboring town for supplies. The plan was, because even the smallest things need well thought out plans in this world, that the women and children of the camp would rest, and if Daryl saw any walkers, he’d wake everyone up.
Sort of dumb, in theory, with how fast things happen when walkers are added to the equation, but it’s all this group has got.
Plans and Rick’s hope.
You’re supposed to be resting too, since yesterday was a travel day - long and exhausting. But you can’t sleep. You’ve got a headache, you’re hungry, and your sleeping bag is still a little damp from your water bottle, the plastic gone thin from having been dropped too many times, breaking while you drove from your last destination. Your tent is cold and you’re sharing it with a single woman who has a child, and their crying is really starting to bum you out.
So you decided to join Daryl keeping watch. He’s perched on a little ledge that overlooks the rest of the camp, able to see anything coming or going before anyone on the ground can. You’re not great with a gun, but since the world went to shit, you can handle yourself pretty well.
You want to help protect the camp and everyone in it, especially since you asked Rick to pick up another reusable water bottle for you while he was in town. The look on his face was so priceless it actually made you a little sad.
“Doesn’t just sound weird,” Daryl replies, shifting to get more comfortable on the grassy ground. There’s another rock for him to sit on, but it’s something you’ve noticed about him - Daryl always chooses to sit close to the ground, even if there’s a proper place for him to sit. “It is weird,” he grumbles the last part, busying himself with chucking a rock a few feet away while a squirrel scampers up a tree. He curses under his breath, no doubt pissed at himself for not securing another meal.
You’re distracting him. You should feel bad, but you don’t.
Before walkers and the end of the world as you knew it, you used to be so concerned with manners. Worried about what others thought about you more than you worried about your own well being. You’re not like that anymore. It’s a dark, although funny thought - that it took something as drastic as an apocalypse to finally rid you of your people pleasing habit.
There’s a crunching sound a few yards away that has the both of you tensing up, frozen while you listen for the sound of growling, but it never comes. Daryl visibly relaxes after a minute, which is your cue to start talking again. He just listens, although from the angle you’re sitting at, you swear you see him roll his eyes.
“You ever think about how weird it is, the stuff we miss?” You ask, but you already know he’s not going to reply. Daryl rarely replies, but you know he’s listening. You don’t have any real proof that he is - but what else would he be doing while you chat his ear off? He can stand up for himself, doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do - if he didn’t want you talking to him, he’d tell you to fuck off.
It’s a small victory you hold close to your heart - the fact that he just puts up with you. You continue. “I mean, everyone always says they miss things like hot showers, electricity, or whatever. I do, but I guess it’s not the thing I miss the most. For me, it’s cookies. But not bakery cookies. The kind of cookies you get from the store, the cheap ones. When you flatten the cookie dough yourself, and no matter what, always burn them or undercook them,” as you talk about it, you can taste the ghost of cookies past on your tongue. It waters a little, your mouth, which goes to show you just how hungry you are.
All you eat these days are protein bars and uncooked cans of whatever food the group can find. Sometimes, with your eyes closed and your breath held, you’ll try bits of squirrel or owl or whatever other animal Daryl hunts and shares with the group, but even the thought makes you nauseated. You never knew you’d be able to have preferences when the other choice is starving to death, but the difficult human spirit prevails, you suppose.
Daryl glances at you, and although it’s pretty dark, the moon shines light enough that you can see his expression. You’d expect his face to be mean, aggravated - tired. Listening to a young woman ramble about baking cookies while his body is on high alert to protect an entire fucking camp - but instead, Daryl’s expression is soft. He lets you continue, although his reaction does remind you that you’re also on guard. But aren’t you always?
The gun strapped to your hip and the knife in the pocket of your boot feel extra heavy at the reminder.
You clear your throat, trying to keep your voice low. God forbid a fucking walker kills you or anyone else in this group because you couldn’t shut up about cookies.
“Maybe it’s stupid, you know? I just,” you look down, playing with the zipper on your jacket. Suddenly, you feel really embarrassed. On the spot. Daryl probably thinks you’re a fucking idiot. Your face heats up.
But it’s not just the cookies. You leave out the part where the cookies remind you of your parents. How your mom, when she was alive, used to make them for you after a rough day. That those cookies were the staple of every sleepover you’ve ever had with your best friends. How those cookies were -
“It ain’t,” Daryl’s voice takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him, brows furrowed. You catch his eyes for only a second, before he looks away quickly, pretending to be occupied by something on the dirty ground. “It ain’t stupid,” he finishes.
You wonder that night, after Rick and the others come back to relieve you and Daryl of your duty, while you’re laid up in your sleeping bag that hardly protects you from the cold - what does Daryl miss? Sure, out of everyone in the group, he’s most equipped at living this kind of life. Knows how to hunt, can stomach raw fucking meat, isn’t scared of anything, or so he says. What reminds him of home? What thoughts comfort him?
Surely, whatever those thoughts are, they’re not as dumb as store bought cookie dough.
But what Daryl said stuck with you. Not stupid. You fall asleep, albeit with one eye open, feeling a little less cold.
Because for a moment, Daryl’s understanding?
It made the world feel a little less broken.
────
“Gross,” you mutter, blood slashing on your face. You just shot a walker in the head, and your ears are ringing from the loud noise of the gun. You’ll never get used to firing that thing. How loud it is, the way your hand shakes even minutes after you pull the trigger.
Daryl comes from behind you, and he lets out a laugh. It’s low, short - if you weren’t trained to hear the noise, you’d miss it. Because really - it’s like you’ve literally trained yourself to look for little cues that Daryl is having a good time. Or, since you doubt anyone these days is having a good time, at least that he’s alright. That he’s not annoyed at you for hanging around him or talking to him or irritated at your presence in general.
“Blood on your face grosses you out, but you’ll pick through walker guts for a bottle of nail polish,” he shakes his head, but it's not like he’s judging. In fact, Daryl actually seems a little…fond? He’s teasing you, and normally the reputation you have in this group as a girl that’s afraid to get her hands dirty, too girly to do anything for yourself - it stings.
But not when it comes from Daryl. You can tell he’s teasing, and you roll your eyes playfully.
“Didn’t dig in walker guts for that nail polish,” you remind him, even as he walks past you to lead the way. You glance at his back, the angel wings on his leather vest, and will yourself to stop the heat rushing to your face and the arousal pooling in your belly at how fucking strong he is. Big arms, muscles that look like he should be on the cover of a body building magazine instead of in these creepy woods with a crossbow. You gulp. “There was a little blood in the nail polish section when we did a run the other day. I cleaned it off the bottle I wanted. No biggie.”
Daryl scoffs, and you smile. “Yer crazy, girl,” he replies, and at that you look down at your nails. Baby pink, the same color you always used to choose when you’d get your nails done back at home. You could shiver with pleasure, just from thinking about the feeling of warm water on your hands, someone paying special attention to your cuticles - lotion, that you don't have to share with every other woman at the camp. The polish you’re wearing, painted just two days ago, is chipped and stained red with walker blood, but it’s better than nothing.
Makes you feel a little more human. A little more like a woman. A little more like yourself.
Now, if only you could find some hairspray and a razor.
You’ve been joining Daryl whenever he lets you - or, more truthfully, whenever Rick tells Daryl it’s okay for you to join him. Rick still doesn’t believe that you know what you’re doing, thinks of you as a liability, but you’re determined to prove yourself. You got to go on a run the other day, and today, Daryl went to check out the perimeter of the grassy hill the group is currently camping in, and you volunteered to go with him.
“You sure?” Rick had asked when the plan was originally made, looking at Daryl with squinted eyes. He pretended like you didn’t exist, even as you were standing right next to him. Daryl nodded. “S’okay with me. I’ll look out for her. Bring yer gun,” he told you, and you nodded, skipping after him down the trail.
Around Daryl, and maybe this is why you like him so much - it’s easy to feel like a woman. Easy to feel safe, too. Daryl just knows what he’s doing, and he’s so strong, big, can handle so much. Being around him feels good, but you know it’s all just a farce.
You’re not safe and neither is Daryl, a fact that becomes even clearer when you almost trip on a dead body by a stream you’re both passing on the way back to camp, alerting a walker that was only a few yards away. Daryl was able to kill him with an arrow, but it was a close call.
One minute, laughing and talking. The next, like you’re begging death to open the door after ringing his doorbell a few too many times.
You walk back to camp in silence, walker blood splattered on the both of you. When you get back, it’s nearly dark, and you help a few of the other women finish some laundry and keep an eye on a few restless kids. Life sucks in this world as an adult - but you can’t imagine living like this as a kid. Although, you think, watching them throw dirt at each other and believe the food their mothers are giving them really tastes just like chicken nuggets, maybe being so clueless is for the best.
After dinner, on your way to your tent, you see Rick and Daryl talking. You try to listen in, pretending that you’re just getting your sleeping bag ready for bed, but you don’t hear anything of importance. Meaning, you don’t hear either of them bring up your name. You feel like a highschooler, desperate for friends, eager to belong - hoping your crush notices you.
Because that’s what this is with Daryl, isn’t it? You’ve got a crush on him. Butterflies, wanting his attention, looking for excuses to be around him. It’s pathetic but a little beautiful, you admit - that even in a situation like this, where death surrounds every person, no matter who they are - there’s room in the human spirit for a little love.
A crush, you think again, fixing your nails in your tent. You can almost convince yourself that life isn’t so horrible, just for a minute, until the woman you share your tent with comes in for bed and complains that the smell of the polish is too strong and makes it hard for her to sleep.
Okay, bitch, you say in your head. It’s not like the walker guts and dead bodies beyond our tent smell any better. You bite your tongue and walk out of the tent, making your way to the empty clearing a little ways away from the tents. It’s so quiet, there’s no way you wouldn’t hear a walker if one was to come around you, but you have a knife on you just in case. No gun, since the noise would just draw more to you.
You think these things through. You just wish Rick, and the rest of the group, would see that too.
It’s dark, except for the moon and the stars shining pretty above you. Maybe the little fact you read online years ago about the environment is true - people are the cause of everything bad and all the pollution. A little more than half a year into the apocalypse, and there’s no smog clogging up the skies. It’s a gorgeous night.
You sit with your hands flat on the ground, waiting for your nails to dry. You get a good few minutes of silence, until the noise of footsteps has you nearly jumping out of your boots, reaching for your knife, only to realize that it’s not a walker, but Daryl coming to plop down next to you.
“Gosh, Daryl. You scared me,” you complain, letting out a whine. He doesn’t say anything, just sits next to you on the ground, although he moves so his back is facing your back. Makes sense, so you're both safe from all angles. Daryl always thinks about little things like that.
He’s quiet for long enough that you start to think of something to fill the silence. “Damnit,” you mutter, letting out a huff. “I ruined my nails.”
“Oh, quit it,” Daryl replies. “Whatcha doin’ out here all by yerself? You got a death wish, girl?” You’re mortified that Daryl is scolding you like you’re a kid, like you’re an idiot, and coming from him it just hurts even more.
You’ve always had an even temper, but in this new world, you lose it more often than you used to. It’s probably just the way life is now - the stress, the hunger, the cold and the dirt and the sweat and the lack of anything that used to bring anyone joy. It makes everyone crazy.
“Yeah, well - ‘m sure your buddy Rick hopes a walker gets to me. Know he was talking shit about me earlier.” You sniffle, but you’re not crying yet - it just really hurts, that you feel like such dead weight at this camp. You’ve never really been insecure, but you feel like nobody likes you. Nobody understands you. And yeah, surviving is more important than being miss popular with a group of people in the apocalypse, but everyone’s always talking about this group being family. Does that include you? It doesn’t feel like it these days.
Daryl is silent, as you expected. Normally you don’t mind the company, even if it’s a mute one, but tonight you’re feeling on edge. Until Daryl speaks. “Rick ain’t my friend. No one wants you to die, kid. Yer too much,” he mutters, and then you stand up, aggravated and not wanting to take it out on him.
You begin to walk away when Daryl reaches out and grabs your ankle to stop you. “Daryl,” you warn, as if you’d do anything to retaliate even if he pulled you on the ground with him. But you keep up the hard ass attitude - it feels good, you admit, being difficult for once. You don’t get to be anything but accommodating at camp.
“Rick and I were sayin’ how valuable you are to the group. How much you’ve grown,” he explains, and you roll your eyes, make a show of stomping away, knowing, loving that Daryl is right on your heels. Because there’s no reason for him to stay in that clearing - he’s not on watch tonight. He was only hanging around there for you.
Despite acting like Rick’s comment meant nothing to you, on the inside, as you walk to your tent, you fight a smile. So Rick has noticed your effort. That’s all you wanted, except -
You realize that maybe approval you wanted so badly never needed to come from Rick -
Because the approval from Daryl feels pretty damn good.
────
Daryl fixes you with a look that makes you burst out laughing.
You’ve only been at this spot in the woods for a few weeks, but so far, quality of life among the camp has improved. Almost a year in this new world, and this is the first time anyone’s ever slept with both eyes closed since before people turned into the living dead. There’s a river nearby perfect for fishing, and tonight at the campfire, you had your first taste of - what did Daryl call it?
Sushi.
“Just so you know,” you say, crossing a leg over the other on the little log you’re sitting on. The sun is going down, and the sky is a pretty shade of pink and even a little purple. You wonder if nature has always been this beautiful - you’d always just been too preoccupied to see it. You put a tiny piece of the fish Daryl caught and cooked into your mouth, surprised at the taste. You don’t have to fake your reaction. It’s not bad at all - but you wouldn’t necessarily say it’s good. Tastes better than another can of old spaghetti rings though, that’s for sure.
Still, you can’t help teasing. You finish your original statement. “Sushi tastes much better than this.”
Daryl smiles, just slightly. And not the fake kind of smile he does when he’s just trying to be polite. Like when an elderly man from the group tells a joke no one else laughs at, or when the strap of your last bra broke and you started crying until Rick promised, cheeks red, that he’d look for your size on the next run.
Right now, it seems like Daryl’s actually having a good time.
The thought makes you smile.
“Thank you,” you tell Daryl, and you swear you see him blush. “It's better than sushi, really.”
“Yeah,” Daryl says, nodding. He’s grown uncomfortable with the compliments already. “It’s the best yer gonna get.” Others from the group join you around the campfire, and then Daryl takes off, but not before giving you one last lingering gaze. He has small eyes, you’ve noticed - a little hooded, but so beautiful. He’s incredibly handsome, in a unique way. A pretty, no, beautiful man. His stare burns you, warms you up even with the chill in the air.
It’s only later, when the rest of the group clears off and you and Daryl are alone again, that he speaks. He’s sharpening a knife, leaning on the side of a camper van for support, and you’re at a makeshift sink (bucket) washing the dishes. It was your least favorite chore before this new world, and it’s still your least favorite after.
But, if you let your mind go there - something about the dynamic between Daryl cooking dinner and you cleaning the dishes up has you -
No. You’ve got to stop acting so juvenile.
On one hand, this little crush you have on Daryl is something positive that gets you through the day. Waiting to talk to him, excited to be around him - it shines light on a dark, terrible reality. On the other hand, getting attached to anyone at this camp is a bad idea. You just lost someone else a few days ago.
The reality, that death really is lurking everywhere - that something could happen to you, or Daryl…it makes your palms sweat and your breathing become erratic. The reality of this new world is just so scary and cruel.
You’re done with the dishes and you dry your hands on an old flannel that the camp uses as a dish towel. You feel Daryl watching you, and you like it.
“What are you looking at?” You tease, pushing some hair away from your face. “There a walker behind me or something?
He scoffs. “I wouldn’t look at no walker like that,” he grumbles, but then he must realize what he said - what it really means. You’re so excited you’re almost vibrating, wondering, realizing now - that maybe this crush isn’t one sided. But you still try to play it cool, even as Daryl shakes his head, says, “Wasn’t lookin’ at nuthin.’”
You don’t know what to say to that. You begin to walk away, excited to spend the rest of the night in your tent going over this interaction until you fall asleep, but what Daryl says next stops you in your tracks. You freeze.
“Gotta get you a bra on the nex’ run,” he says, and your knees feel weak. “Those things almos’ poked me in the eye. You cold or sumthin’?’”
You fast walk to your tent, nearly crying from embarrassment - but your entire body is dizzy with excitement. It’s adrenaline, but not the same kind you get when you’re running or kill a walker and make it out alive - a different kind, one you haven’t felt since maybe even before the walkers. It lights you up inside, makes it hard to breathe - and the funniest part?
Daryl has no idea your nipples are hard because you’re aroused - all from watching him sharpen a knife. What can you say? A man who can handle a weapon like that can surely handle…other things.
────
The fire crackles as you sit back, the warmth from the flames doing little to ease the chill in your bones. It’s freezing outside, but you’re under a warm blanket, and if you delude yourself enough you can almost convince yourself that this is just a toasty evening with friends and not a risky fire that could very well lead walkers directly to the camp.
But there’s nothing the group can do - it’s simply too cold to go without a fire tonight. Even Daryl, king of having his arms always showing, is in a jacket tonight. Which sucks, because you really love looking at his arms…but this is survival.
There’s hushed conversation while Rick tells a story, a few pairs to the side chattering, and you feel left out until you notice that Daryl isn’t talking to anyone either. He’s just looking at the ground, then the fire, gaze flickering to you every few minutes.
And you only notice that because your eyes can’t stay off of him. You can’t help it - it’s like you’re always looking for him. There’s something about that man, as dumb as it sounds, that makes him feel like your own security blanket. Even seeing him from across the camp, just a glimpse, can settle your nerves like nothing else.
Suddenly, a voice from next to you tries to get your attention. It’s Derek, a decent looking guy about your age - but he’s pretty useless, as far as skills go. He accompanies the rest of the men for runs into town, can kill a walker if necessary, but he’s selfish and all about himself. Won’t even take watch at night, says it interferes with his sleep. You can’t stand him.
You try to avoid his gaze and pretend to be busy, picking at your cuticles and hoping he leaves you alone, but no such luck.
“Look at you, princess,” he teases, and you cringe so hard you wonder if it’s visible. It’s embarrassing, being referred to like that - so what, that you like the color pink and happen to be attractive? You’re not hurting anyone. The clothes you’re wearing, the pink clips you have to hold your hair back, the floral printed pillow case - those were all things you had before the world went to shit.
You didn’t know the apocalypse had a dress code.
You’re sick of being teased. Of being reduced to this overly feminine character - as if you don’t keep watch just as much as the men. As if you don’t kill walkers when they get close to the camp, while the other women hide. As if you don’t cook, and clean, and -
Derek is still talking.
You sneak a glance across the campfire at Daryl, who holds your gaze for a minute before dropping it. You look back down too, play with your fingers on your lap. You’d go to your tent right now if you weren’t scared about the safety of falling asleep with no one actively on watch.
“So, what’d you all do before this?” Derek asks, leaning forward. He’s asking the group, but he’s looking at you, which means - you’re supposed to go first?
You wonder if this has anything to do with what you told Cindy, someone you used to share a tent with before she found room in another one. There’s not much to do these days when you’re not cooking or cleaning or hunting or moving - lots of time to sit and talk. The apocalypse is so much more boring than you ever anticipated. You shared a lot about your past with her, but surely she wouldn’t gossip about you to the others in the camp?
You thought girl code was still a thing, even in these trying times.
Everyone is silent, waiting for your answer. Even Daryl and Rick seem interested, which makes you feel even worse. You wanted to fit in, not be the center of attention.
You shift uncomfortably, before clearing your throat. You can feel Cindy’s eyes on you, sitting just a few people down. “Nothing special. Just,” you pause and shrug, unsure of what to say. “Whatever I had to. To survive.”
Back then, surviving was all about money, and ever since your parents died when you were a teenager, money is the one thing you never had enough of. One thing you did have though, is your beauty. So you used it, to get the things you needed, and sometimes a little more - but it all boiled down to one thing, just like it does now - to survive.
That’s all life is about, really? Take away the frills, the fun - people just want to stay alive, no matter how rough things get.
So - you had a boyfriend to pay your rent. A man that loved to take you shopping. A lonely guy who paid off your car. You’ve never lived in luxury, but you always made it. Always got by. Had the things you needed and a little bit more. Always -
“Yeah, well, we all knew you were a whore.”
The words leave Derek’s mouth and you’re frozen. Speechless - and that never happens to you. You’re so shocked at what he said that your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and it’s only then that you realize the bottle of hard liquor on his lap.
You glare at Cindy, who quickly gets up and runs to her tent, more scared of you than walkers apparently - good, you think, because she’s such a bitch for talking about you behind your back. You try to be cool about it, to laugh it off like Derek is so wrong it doesn’t even deserve a reaction, but you’re so embarrassed you feel your chest aching.
Has everyone known about your history the entire time you’ve been at camp? You shared those stories with Cindy in the beginning, one of the first nights you arrived, desperate for some comfort. Is that why everyone treats you so differently from the rest? Is that why you’re the black sheep of a fucking camp formed during the apocalypse?
Does Daryl know?
You’re ready to defend yourself, but you don’t get to. Because Daryl is around the fire so fast you don’t even have time to blink, grabbing Derek by the collar of his shirt and pounding his fists into his face.
The sound of knuckles against bone is excruciating, makes you want to hurl - but you don’t tell him to stop. You’re frozen, and anyway, Derek deserves it, doesn’t he?
It’s Rick, and a few other men that pull Daryl off of Derek, who’s sporting an eye so swollen it won’t shut and a busted lip, a cheek that’ll be purple for the next few weeks for sure. “Whore,” he spits, still able to talk, even as someone drags him away. “Man, shut up already,” one of the guys says to him, but nobody eases the sting of what he says.
Daryl wipes sweat from his brow while Rick walks off to talk to Derek, but he can’t get a word in with the shit the other man is spewing. “Fucking whore,” he keeps grumbling. “There’s no money to milk from men anymore, is there? Bet you put out for that fish Dixon caught for you. Did you do the same for that new bra? Or that water bottle Rick brought back for you? Almost died you know, getting that shit for you, maybe you can thank me with,” Rick kicks him in the ribs before he can finish and tells him to shut up in that leader voice of his.
You run off, now that the rest of the group has scattered, but you hear Daryl yell out, “Yeah, man, you should’ve died,” with a string of curse words. “All you fuckin’ people looking’ at her. Yer all whores in your own way. Useless too,” he continues, but you don’t hear it because you get into your tent and zip it up.
Great. All this drama, and now nobody is ever going to fucking like you now. You’ll be the black sheep forever, won’t you? It’s a harsh wake up call, and you’re thankful you’re alone. Your tentmate must’ve taken her daughter out to be with the other kids, away from the rowdiness at the fucking campfire. You sniffle, and climb into your sleeping bag.
A minute later, before you’ve even had time to process what’s happening, Daryl enters the tent. He’s so big, it’s hard for him to fit, but he manages - cursing and crouching in a way that would make you laugh if this wasn’t such a depressing situation.
He sits next to your sleeping bag. Knees bent, arms around his legs. He just sort of watches you. You look anywhere but his face, but you notice his knuckles are bloody red and torn, all because of you.
“Didn’t have to defend me,’ you say, instead of thank you. “I wasn’t a whore, so,” but Daryl cuts you off.
“Don’t matter what you were. He shouldn’t talk to you like that. Little prick deserves his ass kicked anyway. Can’t even shoot straight,” it’s like this moment is as uncomfortable for him as it is for you. You share a look, but you look away first, afraid of the intensity. You’ve never had someone stand up for you before - not like this. What are you supposed to say? What are you supposed to do?
You say nothing at all. A few more minutes go by, with your vision blurry as you stare at Daryl’s knuckles and he stares at the hole that shows the grassy ground in the bottom of your tent. Finally, he sighs, annoyed, and even though you’re not talking you’re still worried he’s going to leave. He’s your teddy bear after all, right? Your security blanket. Maybe you’re selfish - but you don't want him to go.
And he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl adjusts his position so he can reach into his pocket and pull something out. It’s bright pink, satin looking - you wonder if he’s going to hand you a pair of racy panties just to seal the deal that he thinks you’re a slut. A whore.
But is he wrong? The look of the muscles in his arm, at his sheer size - at the smell of him, so masculine and woodsy in this little tent it almost makes you dizzy with want.
After what just happened, how can you be thinking about sex? Maybe you are a slut. A whore. You’ve done things for money before, but -
Daryl hands the piece of pink satin to you. “S’posed to be a ribbon,” he says, shrugging. He’s embarrassed you realize, and it’s cute. “Found it on a toy, er, teddy bear, thought you might like it. If you don’t, I,” but you cut him off, scoot closer to him as you tie it around your wrist.
“Thank you, Daryl,” you say softly, sweetly - and it feels so natural to lean in and press your lips against his cheek. His body is warm, and when you grip his bicep every cell in your body is on fire with desire. He must’ve taken his jacket off after the fight. If it could even be called that, with the way Daryl jumped Derek. Fights are usually a two way street.
Your heart swells, at the fact that he protected you. Thought about you on a run. Saw something and thought of you. Men have bought you things before, of course - but never something personal like this. Never something you didn’t have to ask for beforehand, for nothing in return.
Daryl, he - he gives you feelings so fuzzy and pure in your chest that you almost forget you’re sleeping just a few feet away from a forest of dead bodies.
He doesn’t wipe his cheek when you pull away after the kiss, which is a step in the right direction. You’ve seen Daryl lose his shit over the intimacy of a simple thank you hug with someone else from camp before.
You feel special.
“Was nothin,’” he says, before pausing. He looks at you, then away again, wringing his hands before continuing. “Don’t feel any typa way about doin’ what you had to do to survive, ya hear me? I know what it’s like to do what you hav’to to live, ya know? That fucker. He doesn't have a clue about makin’ it on your own. How tough it can be. Don’ listen to the shit he’s got to say. Don’t listen to none of these people,” he won’t look at you, but you look at him, the side profile of his face so handsome you want to reach out and touch him. But you refrain.
Instead, you squeeze his arm, bicep tan and bulging. You lick your bottom lip. “Daryl,” you interrupt him and he looks at you, gaze on your eyes, then your lips, then to the pretty ribbon tied around your wrist. He visibly swallows, before looking back at your eyes. His eyes are blue, pretty. Too pretty for a man as rugged as him, but what’s the saying?
A person who is good on the inside - their beauty shines through. You think that’s true about Daryl. At this moment, you don’t think you’ve ever seen a man as beautiful as him. You breathe him in, going crazy over his pheromones - his smell. You can feel your body getting aroused at his closeness, and he’s not even doing anything sexual.
“Next time,” you say, teasing tone in your voice, “Can you bring the whole bear?”
────
“Look at us,” you say, trying not to skip beside Daryl. A mood this good feels eerie in this new world, but you can’t help the way you feel.
Daryl asked you to join him for a walk, and ever since that night when he gave you the ribbon in your tent - you’ve been closer than ever. You wear the ribbon around your wrist every single day, except for right now, when you’re wearing it to hold some of your hair back.
You’re not sure what’s going on with you and Daryl, but there’s a freedom about it that fills you with joy. Helps you exhale easier in this crazy, cruel world - because he’s safe, and you like being around him, and he obviously likes you too, right? Or he wouldn’t ask you to go for a walk every single day, wouldn’t pay special attention to you during meals, making sure you’re eating enough -
And he really wouldn’t have kissed you against a tree during his watch last week if he had any bad feelings towards you.
Things at the camp are complicated, because that stunt Derek pulled separated the group. There’s people that hate you, because they’re really mad at Daryl - but nobody can be actually mad at Daryl, since he does so much for the entire group. Catches animals for food, is one of the strongest men besides Rick. You’re not exactly his girl, not even close, but you know that the only reason you haven’t been used as walker bait is because of Daryl’s status at the camp.
When he kissed you, just a few weeks after that night in the tent - it was so much softer than you imagined. Because, yeah - you imagined what it would be like to kiss Daryl Dixon. Ever since you met him, really. He’s so tough, so crass, such a force. It’s always been an opinion of yours, that the toughest people really just need some softness. You wonder now, when he smiles shyly at you as you walk past a stream, if you’re that softness for him these days.
“Look at us, what, girlie?” He asks, and you stifle a giggle, trying to remain serious for the bit of the joke. You brush your hand against his as you walk, wondering when he’ll grab it. Wondering when, if, he’ll ever claim you. But you’re trying not to rush things. It’s easy to get worried about time, when every single day is life and death - but there's something kind of beautiful about just going with the flow of what feels good.
Living in the present, which is literally all you have now. All anyone has. And right now, your goal in the present, is to make Daryl laugh.
“You’ve got your bow,” you say, gesturing to his weapon, “And I’ve got mine.” You flip your hair, showing off the pink, satin ribbon holding your hair away from your face. Daryl chuckles and shakes his head, but it only lasts for a second.
Your face heats, pleased with yourself for making him laugh, and then your breath hitches when he grabs hold of your hand.
“Yer sumthin’ else, girl,” he says fondly, and you walk into an area dense with trees before he nudges you against the trunk of one.
You don’t know what life was like for Daryl before walkers took over the population. You’re not sure if he had a lot, or a little, experience with women before this all happened. In fact, you don’t know a lot about Daryl at all. He’s closed off, he’s a little mean sometimes, too tough for his own good -
But god, the way he kisses.
Hesitant, like he’s scared to take something he didn’t earn. You want to tell him that every single part of you, he has earned. You’ve known him for more time than your longest relationship. You’ve seen each other filthy, desperate, depraved. Covered in blood, covered in guts - starving, dirty, depressed. For a man that hardly talks, Daryl somehow knows you better than any man, maybe even any other person, ever has.
He stood up for you. He tries to take care of you. He’s a good friend, he’s -
When he slips a hand to your hip and drops his crossbow on the ground, squeezes at your skin in a way that’s so possessive it makes your breath hitch, you literally let out a cry. Against your lips, Daryl murmurs, “Quiet, ‘less you wanna have a threesum with a walker.” His tongue tastes like cigarettes, a little bit like the apple juice one of the kids at the camp wanted him to try, because he’s a good sport, even if his resting bitch face might suggest otherwise.
There’s something about him ordering you around that does it for you. You let him take charge of the kiss, but you grab his roaming hand and move it to your breast. He squeezes, but in your new bra, you don’t feel the friction you’re so desperately craving from him rubbing over your nipples. You want more, and you whine, trying not to be greedy but it’s just so damn hard.
Against the tree, Daryl slips a leg between yours, and you shamelessly bend down to try to rub your aching core against it. “Daryl,” you whine, and he laughs, pulling away to look at you, his hair that’s getting longer plastered against his forehead with sweat. Everything about him is overwhelming. His smell, intense, his lips, delicious, his strength and size, so fucking hot you just want to curl up in the pocket of his shirt and stay safe forever.
Because you don’t have a doubt in your mind - Daryl would keep you safe. You wonder, why you wasted your time with finance guys and entrepreneurs and men who’d never gotten their hands dirty, back when life was normal. Daryl, with calloused fingertips and his thick accent, a country boy through and through - he pleases you, makes you happier than anyone you’ve ever met before.
Yeah, even in the apocalypse, you can find the romance. You kiss Daryl deeper.
He moves his hand down from your breast to slip it into your pants, and he lets out a low noise in his throat at the feeling of your wetness already. Just from kissing him. You’re not ashamed - it’s been a long time since anyone touched your pussy like this, a long time since you even touched it yourself. There’s just no time alone, and you share a tent, and -
“Yer soakin,’” Daryl comments, and your entire body flushes with humiliation. But the good kind. You nod. “For you,” you whisper, and he leans his forehead against yours before capturing your lips in his again.
Just as you expected, Darly is good with his fingers. He positions one of your legs over his hip so he has better access to finger you, rough hands, the calloused pads of his thumb dragging over your clit, so swollen after so long without cumming. It’s not going to take long, you know, to completely fucking burst. You want it so bad, to come apart on his fingers, to show him just how good you can be. He’s knuckle deep inside of you while still also putting pressure on your clit when you let out a screech, thankful you opened your eyes in time to see the walker coming from behind Daryl.
You push him off of you until he curses and tries to pick up his crossbow, fingers still slick with your pussy, but you beat him to it. You grab the knife out of your boot, even though your body feels like jelly, and you slam it into the walker’s forehead as hard as you can. You huff and puff, because it takes a lot out of you, and when the walker is on the ground you slam your boot into its face a few too many times until the bottom of your shoe is covered with walker brains.
“He’s dead,” Daryl says behind you. “Don’ waste yer energy.” You roll your eyes, wiping sweat from your face with a bandana you had in your pocket.
“I know. That’s for him ruining my orgasm,” you say out loud, and behind you, Daryl lets out a low whistle. You’re really humiliated now, but what are the chances? A fucking walker trying to eat Daryl while you’re trying to get him to eat you? Some fucking luck.
There’s still blood splattering on your face, and you turn to Daryl, wiping it with your sleeve. “Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you,” you say sheepishly, unsure of how to read his bland expression. But just because a walker interrupted, doesn’t mean you don’t want to continue your little fingering session. Just in case, shame out the window, you reach for him. Daryl backs away slightly.
“Slow down,” he says, pulling away from you. “Don’ wanna fuck you in the forest,” and you understand, but also - where else can you have sex? Everyone’s always watching each other. When else can you get some time alone?
Daryl looks down at the bulge in his pants, and you reach down and grope him, like some kind of horny harlot. Maybe you are. He watches you, the color of your nails, your tiny hand - and he lets out a groan himself.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says, leaving you speechless and wet in the middle of the woods. He starts to walk away, but his head is turned to you and his eyes never leave you. You know it’s because he’s making sure you’re safe, watching over you, even with his dick chubbing up in his pants. He tugs his weapon up to rest on his shoulder.
If that’s not a man, you don’t know what is.
“Daryl,” you start to say, following him, about to beg him for something more, but he just throws an arm around your shoulders and tugs you along. You use the opportunity with his hand on your shoulder to tie the ribbon around his wrist, a small mark of your ownership. You wonder what he’ll say about that, if he’ll be mad -
He just squeezes your shoulder. “Not tryna deny you. I want you. Me and the little guy,” he looks down to his cock in his pants, obviously referring to that. “Yer just too pretty to do somethin’ like that in the woods. My tent, tonight?” You know that his tent mate is keeping watch tonight, so you’ll be alone for a good amount of time. Enough time to - you shiver just thinking about it.
You nod eagerly.
“You sure you’re not just disgusted at what I just did?” You phrase it like a joke, gently rubbing your lips on the healing cuts of his knuckles, but you’re serious. Maybe seeing a woman behave greedy, wanting, desperate - violent - maybe it was a huge turn off.
Daryl shakes his head and tugs you closer, presses his lips to the top of your head. “Nah,” he assures, looking back down to the bulge in his pants. It’s even more noticeable than before. He takes the hand he used to finger you and sucks the digits, covered in your slick, into his mouth. The muscles in your cunt clench, at the way his cheekbones look, the level of lust in his eyes aimed at you.
“That was fuckin’ sexy,” he assures, popping his fingers out of his mouth.
────
At dinner that night, which is squirrel - so you settle for half a protein bar and a bruised apple, Rick sits down beside you. You’re eating away from everyone else, because Daryl’s helping someone with something like he always is, but it’s alright because you’re in your own world, thinking about what’s to come later tonight with him.
You’re in a trance, remembering the way he scratched at your scalp fondly when he walked you to your tent and watched you bend down to get inside. “Don’t sprain yer wrist before tonight,” he joked, insinuating you’d be finishing yourself off. He went off with a wink, leaving you reeling - because since when did Daryl Dixon joke around?
You’ve been riding on a high for the rest of the night.
Rick sitting beside you takes you out of your thoughts. You look at him and swallow the bit of stale protein bar you’ve been chewing for probably ten minutes, quirking an eyebrow at him. He’s so serious, it’s annoying.
Don’t get it wrong - you like Rick. Appreciate everything he’s done, does for the camp - he’s just so intense, but he’s handsome in his own right too. Not your normal type, but then again - neither is Daryl. You just don’t understand a man like Rick, and he doesn’t get you. But he’s the best thing this group has, because he has everyone's interest at heart. Even someone like Daryl, well -
He puts himself, and you by extension now, maybe - first. It’s not a bad thing, in fact, you find both sides of the coin admirable in their own way.
“What’s up, Rick?” You finally ask. He looks down to his hands, before nodding behind you, and you turn and look at what he’s referring to - it’s Daryl, looking angrily at Derek, who’s by the fire drunkenly talking shit about everything while people try to calm him down. You sigh.
“You and Daryl,” Rick says, and you’re not sure what to say to that - statement? Accusation? You just nod. “What about us?” You ask, and you really don’t mean to be rude, but you’re not sure why whatever you’re doing with Daryl is any of Rick, or anyone’s, business?
You expect a lecture. Something about needing to earn your keep, to stop distracting him, to make things right with Derek. Instead, Rick just pats you on the back, literally.
“You’re good for him,” he says, before awkwardly walking off when someone calls his name. No doubt for a crisis that could easily be solved without his help. You feel sorta bad for Rick - people are so stressed, so traumatized in this new world, that they don’t want to use their brains at all. They put all their problems, no matter how small, on Rick, and that’s gotta be hard.
You want to call out some sort of acknowledgement for all he does as he walks away, but Daryl begins walking towards you before you get the chance. You’re still looking towards Rick. “You checkin’ the boss out?” Daryl jokes, with something like possessiveness or jealousy in his tone. It burns you in the best way possible - that Daryl might worry about something like that.
What can you say? You’ve always thought a possessive man was hot.
Daryl plops down beside you. You’re sitting on a log, but he’s on the ground. Typical Daryl behavior. He wraps a hand around your ankle - and suddenly you’re very glad you got a chance to shave with the razor you stole from someone’s pile of toiletries after the last run.
“That all yer eatin?’” He asks, referring to the empty wrapper in your hand. You shake your head and show off your sorry apple, but Daryl just shakes his head and scoffs. “Tha’s not enough. You can’t be picky about,” but he stops when he sees the expression on your face.
You’ve talked to him about this before. He didn’t reply, but you know he was listening. Food - it’s the only thing you can be a little picky about. Everything else, you don't have any choice over. Where the camp goes, who you share a tent with. Food and now, this thing with Daryl - that’s all the power you have. Daryl nods, like he gets it but doesn’t like it, and then changes the subject.
“Are you cold?” You ask, and Daryl laughs. As kind as he is to you, you know that he’s uncomfortable when you, or anyone, tries to show any kind of care for him. He nods his chin towards the ratty blanket you’re using. “You gon’ share with me, girlie?” You shake your head, a grin spreading across your face.
“No,” you say, tossing the blanket, the apple, and the wrapper into a duffle bag next to the log you’re sitting on. “Just thought I could warm you up in your tent.” Daryl looks like a deer caught in headlights as he peaks over your shoulder to where the rest of the group is getting ready for bed, his tent mate grabbing a gun before heading to the area where he’ll keep watch while everyone sleeps.
Daryl nods. “Yer dirty,” he grumbles, standing up, but he runs his hands up and down his bare arms like he’s feigning being cold. “C’mon then. You gunna warm me up or what?”
────
The first time Daryl fucked you, he went slow. Took his time, opening you up with his thick fingers, even though you didn’t need the extra time. You were aching, wet - desperate for him to shove his cock inside of you, because you’d been thinking about it for too long. Too much kissing, humping, friction between the two of you - all you wanted, could imagine, was how his cock would feel against your throbbing center.
When he finally thrusted inside of you, stretched you out and began to fuck into you, he didn’t let himself go like you always imagined. Insecurely, you narrowed your eyes, even as your back arched off of his sleeping bag. “When’s the last time?” You asked, referring to the last time he had sex. Daryl just let out a shaky laugh and calmed your fears with a thrust that made your toes curl and a moan escape your lips.
“Long enough, pretty girl,” he assured, all while you huffed in brat and dug your nails into his shoulders. “Jus’ wanna enjoy it. We’ve finally got the time.” And Daryl was right, but really, when is he ever wrong?
The first time you had sex you got to enjoy going slow. But the rest of the times after that - and there’s been a lot now, it’s always a quickie. A rush, because shit hit the fan at your current camp soon after the first night together. The entire group had to move, you lost people to walkers (though not Derek, unfortunately), and now getting off with Daryl only happens in quick spurts whenever you’re alone.
In a way, the drama surrounding the camp has made the two of you closer.
When the entire group has to drive down a walker infested highway, normally you’d be in a camper van with the other women and children, but Daryl has your back.
“You’re ridin’ with me,” he says, shooting Rick a look before anyone can object. As he walks off, he purposely bumps his shoulder into Derek, who scoffs and does the same to you. Daryl doesn’t notice, but Rick does, and he tells Derek off before Daryl can do anything drastic like beat his ass again.
“Hey,” he warns, shoving Derek away from you. “Watch it,” Derek grumbles, glaring at you before hopping into the back of a truck with a few of the other men. “What?” He asks mockingly, because you’re frozen, watching him in a trance while Daryl starts up his bike.
Derek just can’t leave you alone - he picks on you every single chance he gets. “You got Rick standing up for you now too, huh?” He says, shaking his head in disgust. “You let him fuck you too?”
It’s not his words that hurt so much, but it’s the fact that he’s saying them at all. You’ve never done anything to Derek, have only been nice, yet he looks at you like a target and it hurts so bad your eyes threaten to spill tears. Thankfully, Daryl comes for you, and you get on the back of his bike with ease.
“You okay?” He asks, even though it’s hard to hear with the sound of the rumble from the motorcycle. You nod, and press your face into his back. Daryl takes off down the highway, leading the way while Rick follows behind, and you selfishly let yourself doze off against him. You trust Daryl, more than you’ve ever trusted another man - and that’s a lot of pressure.
Trusting anyone these days means you’re putting your life in their hands. It’s exhausting. When you tell the women at camp you’ll watch their kids while they go to the restroom, or go for a walk - essentially what you’re saying is you’ll protect their kids if shit was going south. Even just the thought, being responsible for someone else - it makes your chest heave.
Your arms are tight around Daryl as he drives. You’re not sure how long you’re on the road for when the motorcycle stops, but you know you’re much farther ahead then the rest of the group. In another life, you imagine Daryl happy and free - driving to a city, or another town on a brand new motorcycle. Maybe working in a shop. You feel a pang of sadness, that he’ll never get that.
He deserves so much more than this shit. You all do.
Except maybe Derek.
And Cindy. Fuck that bitch.
Daryl stops the bike and you get off, stretching your legs.
“You good, dolly?” He asks, and you wrinkle your nose at the nickname. You’re pretending not to like it, when in reality, it makes you tingle all over. You nod.
“You go fast,” you say, and he laughs, steps off of the bike and walks to an empty field off to the side of the highway. “‘S the only way to go. Stay here,” he orders, before walking off. He grumbles something about taking a piss and you stifle a laugh, pretending to salute him. You see his hand twitch, like he wants to jokingly flip you off, but he stops himself.
Something about that, that he won’t play rough with you, has your knees feeling wobbly. You feel like you can breathe, without the rest of the group breathing down your back, insulting you, accusing you of doing sexual things just to be treated like a human being. You try not to think about it, because you want to have a decent day and don’t want Derek to be the cause of tears when you’ve been through worse circumstances without crying. It’s hard though.
You walk around the motorcycle, eyes on the ground. You catch a glimpse of your shoelace, pink against the black of your boot, because you used the ribbon for added flair when you gave your shoelace to someone at the camp who needed a belt.
Daryl saw you, and promised you that night with his cock buried deep in your throat, “I’ll get you some more ribbons, pretty girl,” he assured, while you gagged and spit dribbled down your chin. “Too hard to hold your hair back when yer suckin’ me off like a pro.”
That comment should’ve stung, but you know Daryl didn’t mean it like that. In fact, it was so hot that you did your best, until he spilled down your throat and you licked the mess you made off of his cock and balls and thighs.
You’re lost in your thoughts, busy giving your pussy a heartbeat when you notice a little gold, bullet shaped thing on the ground. You’re not sure what it is, but if it is a bullet, you know having extra is always good. You reach down to grab it, only then realizing that it's a lipstick.
You pop open the lid. It’s a pretty pink color, and while it’s used - you can’t even remember the last time you wore makeup. You wipe the top layer off before dabbing some with your finger and putting it on, trying to check yourself out in the mirror of the motorcycle when Daryl comes back.
“The fuck are they?” He asks, zipping his pants up. He’s so, so, so - crass sometimes that it’s endearing. You shrug, and that’s when he notices the lipstick you’re wearing. His eyes are hooded, heavy with tiredness, and it makes him look all the more handsome. “There a makeup store aroun’ here I shud know about?” He teases, and you shake your head and hold up the lipstick tube.
“Found this. How’s it look?” Daryl just nods, looking at you with a strange expression. You’re not sure what he’s thinking, until he tugs you closer to him by the wrist and tentatively presses his lips against yours.
“Don’ care about the gloss,” he comments, and you resist the urge to explain it’s not gloss, it’s lipstick. “But I don’ call you pretty girl for no reason. Always pretty,” he says shyly, and Daryl is a perfect guy, but he never opens up. Hardly ever says how he feels, or what he thinks - but he’s being clear now. That he wants you, verbally, even though his actions in everything he do is always proving that to you.
It’s crazy, the feeling of happiness bubbling in your chest, all thanks to Daryl Dixon. On the fucking highway filled with walkers probably silent in their cars, with flat tires and blood stains and ramsacked belongings, you stand on your tip toes and nudge the toe of your boots against his, grabbing hold of his handsome face and peppering kisses all over. You leave pink lipstick marks, but he doesn’t know that yet - and it makes you giggle.
Putting your mark all over Daryl - you’ve never been possessive, but wow does it feel good. When you finally pull away, Daryl looks at you like you’re crazy. Then he takes a look down the highway to make sure nobody’s coming, before bending you over the front of his motorcycle.
“Grab the handlebars,” he orders, a hand on your back before roughly pulling your pants down your ass. It’s risky, knowing that the rest of the camp could drive up at any minute, but who really cares? They already think so low of you. They already -
Your eyes shut as Daryl shoves his half hard cock inside of you, and your walls clamp down around him, so tight you feel him growing. It happened so fast he wasn’t even fully hard, but now he is, small thrusts so the both of you can get used to the feeling. Your hands are cramping where they grip the bars of his bike, so tight, until it almost starts to tip. Daryl has an idea.
He pulls out, cock in hand with his fucking pants not even pulled all the way down, and he sits himself over his bike like normal. “Take em’ off,” he says, nodding towards your pants, and you obey, stripping them off until it takes too long because of your boots and Daryl just hauls you over to him.
You almost trip as he lifts you onto the bike, bent over the handlebars, eyes on the road, before he slips his cock into you. It’s like you’re sitting on his lap, and he reaches around you, fully supporting your body while rubbing your clit.
“Can you move?” He asks roughly, and you whine, trying to go up and down on his cock but it’s too hard at the angle. Daryl presses a kiss to your head, moves some of your hair back while he takes hold of your hips and ruts you back and forth over his dick. You know he’s strong, but feeling it first hand is something else entirely. It’s like you’re a doll with the way he easily controls your body, dick so thick it feels like he’s stretching your pussy into the perfect mold just for him.
“Don’ worry,” he assures, letting out a breath of pleasure right by your ear. “I got ya. Only time yer quiet ‘s when you got my cock in you, huh?”
He’s not wrong. You wish you could see his face, but this position, your back to his front, is pretty hot too.
It’s only a minute later, when his hand slips while you try to pull your body up to do some of the work, that he nearly pinches your clit and it’s the pain that sends you over the edge. You cum, that easily against him, and you cry out his name just as you both hear the sound of an engine in the distance. Daryl curses, throws his head back at the feel of your tight pussy squeezing him, and quite literally picks you up off his cock and puts you on your feet.
“Knees,” he says quickly, and you obey, because of course you do, even though the gravel of the road is a little painful on your knees. He grabs you by your hair, and forces your mouth onto his cock where he spills his load down your throat. You swallow it down and kitten lick the head of his cock clean after, admiring the pink lipstick marks all over his perfect dick as he quickly zips tucks his dick in his pants and zips up, but not before helping you get your pants back up too.
“If we live another day,” Daryl says, helping you straighten out your pants when the other cars pull up. He snaps the band of your panties, white cotton and floral print, against your skin while the rest of the group gets out of the cars to have a meeting over some bullshit, you’re sure. “I’ll return the favor,” he finishes.
You don’t know if he’s joking or not, but you pull up his arm and cuddle into his side as he stands up, his tongue on your mind even though you just came all over his cock. You wish you could’ve had time to ride your orgasm out, but you’ll take what you can get.
Rick nods to Daryl as he gets out of his truck. He looks between the two of you, and for the first time, maybe ever, - you see him smirk a little.
“‘S your color, man,” he says, closing the car door. Daryl is confused, and takes a look at himself in the rearview mirror of his motorcycle, notices all the kiss marks and another first happens -
Daryl Dixon blushes red.
────
“I wanna come,” you say, resisting the urge to literally stomp your foot as Rick and Daryl and a few other men head out on a run.
It’s not like you actually want to go, but you can’t bear the thought of Daryl leaving without you. You know he can take care of himself, but the thought of him not returning - it literally makes you feel sick. You tug on the sleeves of your sweater while Daryl loads a bag of guns into the back of Rick’s truck, the other men exchanging glances that you know are them hoping Rick puts you in your place.
Ever since people caught on about you and Daryl, they’ve kept their mouths shut in regards to you. Which is good. You’re still ignored, like before - but at least you’ve got a little respect. You cross your arms as Rick and Daryl walk towards you.
“It’s dangerous out there,” Rick says, as if you’re an idiot who’s head has been buried in the sand for the past year. He sighs. “Look - we need you here. This is your role,” he looks like he wants to continue, but Daryl places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a look that Rick knows means let me handle this.
But you already know what Daryl is going to say to you, and you don’t want to fucking hear it. “I want to come, Daryl,” you say, trying not to whine. “I’m good with a gun, and since Derek can’t go,” you lower your voice, but Derek must’ve been slinking around. He pops up next to you, and Daryl tenses.
“You,” Daryl warns, mood gone sour just from Derek’s presence. “Fuck off.”
Derek laughs, but he’s obviously pissed. He can’t go on anymore runs, at least not for a while - he’s too scared, after a walker almost bit him the last time.
It’s only when you tense up, that Daryl realizes the other reason you don’t want to be left alone.
You don’t want to be alone with Derek. Yes, there’s other women at the camp and a few other men, but Derek is a scary, loose cannon. He’s the last person you want to be around right now. Daryl’s jaw locks, and he looks between the two of you, at the way you’re uncomfortable. Someone in Rick’s truck blares the horn, and he turns around, stressed out, not knowing what to do.
“Fuck face,” Daryl grumbles, running a hand down his face. He’s addressing Derek with a glare. He walks closer to him, chest to chest almost, backing Derek almost onto his ass. Derek can pretend to be tough all he wants - but he’s a bitch in comparison to a man like Daryl.
“Stay away from her. Don’t even look at her. If I come back and you so much as,” but Derek smirks. “If,” he emphasizes, until Daryl literally shoves him. Rick calls his name, and Daryl backs off.
You end up dropping whatever you’re saying, hating the position you’re putting Daryl in - like you’re a kid who has to have your way. Daryl is just trying to help the group, he has responsibilities - you don’t need to make his job harder than it is, so you wave him off. “I’ll be fine, Daryl. Just - come back safe.” You kiss his cheek and then he’s off.
You go to your tent to avoid Derek when the men going on the run are gone, but as you walk away you hear him speaking to you. “What’re you doing with that white trash? You might’ve been a whore, but you’re no trailer trash. You wouldn’t be with him if this was any other world.”
You stop in your tracks. “Don’t talk about Daryl like that,” you say softly, but firmly. For all Daryl does for everyone - you can’t believe Derek has the fucking nerve to talk shit. You want to flip him off, but he walks closer to you, and you freeze. You’re more scared of this man than a fucking walker, and your stomach flips with anxiety at his nearness.
“I worked in finance,” he says, like it matters. You actually have to stifle a laugh, confused at why his past matters - he’s so worthless that this is all he has to brag about? He thinks you care? Is he trying to relate to you, by putting Daryl down? He’s an idiot.
You smile sweetly, as if that’s anything to brag about. All the finance guys you knew in the city before all of this - they were horrible people. Of course that’s what Derek used to do.
“Trust me, Derek,” you say, hoping it stings. “I know.”
You walk away again, but just as you do, he grabs you by the arm. You try to pull your arm out of his grasp, but he won’t let you go. He tugs you closer to him, and you wish anyone cared about you enough to help you.
“Let go of me,” you spit, but Derek just shakes his head.
“You’re such a stupid bitch, you know that? Acting too good for any of us, treating all of us like shit. But you put out for fucking Dixon - let all of us hear you letting him fuck you in his tent and the woods. We saw you on your knees that day on the highway. I mean, it’s not a secret you’re a slut, but it’s another thing to see it. And now Rick is defending you? That why you were talking to him the other day for dinner? Offering yourself up for more rations or something? You’re sick,” Derek rants and raves, bruising your arm with his grip.
“Let me go,” you say, trying not to show how scared you are. “Or I’ll fucking scream.”
Derek actually laughs, shaking his head. You’re disturbed to know that he’s been watching you? Following you and Daryl? Because the both of you know - you only ever fooled around with Daryl when nobody could listen and see unless they were trying to. You wouldn’t do that, and neither would Daryl.
“If I’m such a stupid slut, that must make you pretty bad, huh? That I won’t even put out for you,” you hate that you even say those words, like you’d ever consider having sex with this man, but you want to hurt him. To get him to see that he's wrong about you - you want him to leave you alone.
“You fucking bitch,” Derek says, pushing you to the ground.
You let out a cry. You should’ve never told Daryl and Rick you’d be okay, you should’ve -
Suddenly Derek is off of you. You’re frozen for a second, before you hear screaming and someone calling out your name.
You’re in shock as someone helps you up. You know it’s Rick, because you notice his watch. “Damnit,” he curses, and you register the sound of Daryl’s voice. You look around for him, and when you find him, you see Derek on the ground, an arrow in his head.
He’s dead - for now. That fast. Until he turns into a walker.
Daryl walks to you, pulls you into his arms. “What happened?” He asks, and you’re worried he’s going to blame you, because you provoked him, and you stupidly left your weapons in your tent. You’re worried he’s going to think differently of you, that Rick will be mad that Derek is dead, and all these worries start swirling in your head until you can’t be strong anymore. You start crying so loud that you know you’ll be responsible for any walkers coming into camp tonight.
Rick starts to talk, but Daryl, for the first time ever, shuts him down harshly. “No, man. I ain’t sorry. He had it coming,” he says sharply, and Rick just swallows, holds his hands up like he agrees.
“Jus’ was gonna say to finish the job,” and you know he means, kill the fucker before he turns.
But you don't want Daryl to do it.
No, this is a job you can do.
Wordlessly, you pull yourself out of Daryl’s arms and walk towards Derek’s corpse. Everyone at the camp has gathered around now, too little too fucking late, but Rick tries to stop you from getting closer. You smack his hand away, and hold your palm out. It takes a minute, until Daryl finally orders Rick to give you what you want.
Rick hesitantly places a gun in your hand - and you shoot Derek in the head.
────
You’ve never killed someone who hasn’t turned yet. Derek was the first.
What scares you the most, is how little you care.
After what happened, you told Daryl everything that Derek said. You learned that night, from both Rick and Daryl, that the reason Derek was so horrible is because he wanted you - and how scary is that? What if he hurt you in another way once he had you on the ground? You’re lucky Rick forgot his gun and backpack on the run, that they had to turn around and come back to camp - the reason they got to you in time.
Rick assured you that you did the right thing. Which felt good, coming from the moral compass of the group. Everyone else was kind too, apologetic - you guess Derek scared more people into submission than you thought.
But Daryl was just pissed. More angry than you’d ever seen him. Throwing shit, breaking stuff - burning Derek the minute he dragged him a far enough distance from camp. Derek never even got a chance to turn.
Daryl threatened to leave the group with just you. It seemed like a good idea at first, until the reality that two people can’t survive on their own. No matter how resourceful, strong, and brave Daryl is.
But that meant a lot, that Daryl was trying - but the important thing is to survive.
The last few weeks, you’ve kept your head down. You clean, you help cook, you even take a few bites of whatever Daryl cooks because he pretty much forces you to - and because, secretly, you like how proud of you he looks when you try something new.
You just wish the world was different. But Daryl’s been amazing.
Rick’s been kind too. Everyone has, and maybe -
The sound of the zipper on your tent takes you out of your thoughts. You’re braiding your hair since you just washed it, but it’s proving to be a difficult task. You’re thankful for the distraction.
It’s Daryl.
“I already ate,” you tell him, worried that he’s bringing you some rodent that’s badly cooked. But you’re trying to be nice - he’s the only good thing in your world these days, so you soften your words. “Come inside and cuddle.”
Daryl squeezes inside the tent, and he leans on his side by your sleeping bag, just watching you. His head balanced on his hand, propped up on his elbow.
“Have somethin’ for you,” he says, not waiting for you to reply. In his hand is something wrapped in a tissue and you wonder what it is. He places it on your lap, and you look at him, excited but also a little upset.
“I told you to stop risking your life to get me things,” you scold, because everytime Daryl goes on a run, he finds things for you. Ribbons, hair clips, a pink toothbrush the other day. Lip gloss and lipstick (he knows the difference now), a pair of socks with little bows on them that are a size too big but still your favorite. He’s always saying how cute you are, how he thinks about you whenever he sees something pink.
It’s the best compliment ever.
You look to the other end of your sleeping bag, where a teddy bear Daryl found for you on a run a few weeks ago faces you both. It’s missing an eye, has the ribbon, the first gift he ever gave to you tied around its neck, and you love it so much that you sleep with it every night.
It’s definitely seen better days, and you don’t really know where he found it, but it’s so special to you - partly because Daryl gave it to you, and partly because it’s a little part of him that’s always with you. Part teddy bear, part security blanket - just like him.
It’s also a little scraggly. Sort of rough, dirty - but cuddly just the same. Kind of like Daryl. You move it a little closer.
Daryl groans in frustration and you almost roll your eyes at the dramatics. “Hush, lady, y’know I can take care of myself. ‘S nothing,” he nods to the thing on your lap, and you sigh and open the tissue.
It’s a cookie.
Your brows furrow, and you look at Daryl, all confused. “What,” you start, and he shrugs, sitting up. He rubs a hand down his face.
“Remembered what you said, about the cookies,” he’s sheepish, as if this isn’t the sweetest thing in the world. You gulp, trying not to cry at how touched you are, but you can’t help it. Tears brim at your waterline, and you wipe your eyes.
“Oh,” he scolds, letting out a huff. “Don’ cry. I just remembered what you said, is all. It’s probably not good anymore, but you’re my girl, and I want,” you smile even as tears run down your face.
“Your girl,” you hold that close to your heart, and Daryl nods, avoiding eye contact. You don’t care. You throw yourself into his arms.
His hug is warm, strong, and you feel the stress leave your body as he kisses your temple. He was listening, all those times you were talking.
Daryl Dixon, you think, the man that you are.
Your silence must be unexpected. He pulls away, watches your thumb brush over the most likely stale cookie he probably found on a run. You’re not really gonna eat it - but it’s the thought that counts.
“You talked about what ya miss, from before. But when I look back,” pretty blue eyes look at you. He cups your chin, presses his lips against yours.
You make a note to ask for chapstick for the both of you on the next run.
“Don’ cry, c’mon. You’re makin me soft,” he complains, even as he holds you closer. You want tell him that you can’t make him something he already is, but what he says next throws the sass right out of you. “When I look back, before I knew you,” he finishes shyly, “I just miss you, ya know?”
Daryl says that he’s not romantic, but he’s the most romantic man you've ever met. He’s a good person. He’s kind, and thoughtful, and even though he’s vague sometimes, too quiet for his own good - you know what he means.
You can’t believe there was a time you didn’t know - a time you didn’t love - this man. He’s everything to you.
And maybe, yeah - this world is hell. There’s death and decay and too much sadness to catch a break, but there’s one good thing in all of it. One thing so important to the both of you, that gives a little bit of meaning to this shitty, shitty world.
You found each other. You have each other.
You sniffle and nod, holding the cookie close, but Daryl even closer.
“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek softly. You feel him relax at your touch. “I’ve always missed you too, Daryl.”
I was rewatching season 1(because of...reasons) and imagine if Stewy and Yn were hiding their relationship and her mom came to ask how long would Shiv and Toms wedding last and the reason he gave that answer was because everyone was making fun of her because she "didn't bring a date", also when they're taking pictures and they take one with the siblings and their dates she's alone and he's heart eyes for her the entire time and when they FINALLY have some time alone, in a very unStewy way she asks him what he's thinking and he says "por wedding will be so much better than this one" just as Sophie and Iverson are running and says "and our kids will be cuter. Obviously"😍what do you say?
Covert Conversations
Pairing: Stewy Hosseini x f (Roy) Reader
Word count: 3.7K
Author's note: Thank you for this request Nonnie! When I saw it in my notes I was immediately inspired and so this one happened so quickly! I really hope you like it, please do let me know your thoughts Nonnie whether that's in the ask box or a PM! I hope you all enjoy this and this helps the void of Succession Sunday! Please let me know what you think, comments, reblogs are appreciated and I love hearing your thoughts (I live for validation also lol) and interacting with you. What a lovely community we have here! Was this proofread? No, of course not! You know how it is around here haha
Chapter/content warning: 18+ MINORS DNI, established/secret relationship, Caroline Collingwood being awful (there is a comment from Caroline about weight gain), Roy siblings not being the nicest (mainly Shiv), some fluff.
Others could and would easily point out the plethora of differences between you and your siblings but there was something important that you all had in common. You never enjoyed being in your mother’s motherland.
You had a very low-contact relationship with Caroline, which was for the better. The climate here was painfully dreary and you couldn’t imagine ever wanting to get married here, let alone agreeing to it. You were glad that you were at least assertive and confident enough with strong enough boundaries to know that if you were in your elder sister’s position you wouldn’t have ended up people pleasing into this.
The weather was miserable and the way that the coldness of the country and its inhabitants had oozed itself into every wall and surface as a constant reminder of the dynamic realities and the history locked into them.
It was the day before Tom and Shiv’s wedding, you were heading over to the church for the rehearsal. You were already severely uncomfortable. There were so many people and it was overwhelming, especially when knowing your mother’s criticisms were just around the corner at all times.
You also knew you’d be constantly having to swerve around questions about your personal life. You were used to questions and odd looks because of your lack of involvement and interest in Waystar and you usually easily dismissed questions about your romantic life if they ever came up.
It was a bit more difficult to do the latter though when at your older sister’s wedding, being constantly asked and of course the fact that you stood out. You stood out like a sore thumb as you were the only Roy who hadn’t brought a date and didn’t have a public partner to show off or criticise. Technically Kendall hadn’t brought a date but he had Rava and everybody accepted that due to the complicated nature of their situation.
Caroline Collingwood was standing outside of the church entrance with your brother and his date Tabitha. You couldn’t see the bride and groom or any of your other siblings. You were hoping that more of them would be there so that you could blend in more and not have as much of an interaction with your mother but it was too late now.
“Oh hello, darling.” Caroline said as she saw you come over, she was clearly looking at you in the way she did to inspect any flaws, to find any and all chinks in your armour.
“Hi, mom.” You softly say as you look at her face, she gives you a small hug and inspects your face as he does.
“Where’s your date? Did you not bring a date…? Don’t tell me you didn’t?!” She asks, there’s a horrified tinge in her voice that’s very thinly veiled in her usual playfully passive-aggressive air.
“Now, why would I bring someone here to the dreary English countryside and then to even more traumatisingly, meet Roman?” You quipped back.
Roman scoffed at that and Caroline looked at you, visibly disappointed and sighed.
“There’s no need to be like that darling, I was simply asking and your brother is lovely.”
“Hear that Rome? You’re lovely!” You say to your brother who quickly flips the bird at you and then goes back to giving his attention to Tabitha.
You can hear Kendall, Shiv and Tom starting to come over and you make a silent prayer to whatever deity there is that brought them over. But your mother quickly brings you back to your surroundings as she places a hand on your shoulder and studies you more.
“Have you…?” She questions, you know what she’s asking and roll your eyes sighing.
“Yes, Mom, I think I’ve gained a few kilos since you last saw me.” You say it bluntly and start to move out of her grasp.
“I was just asking… your face looks a bit fuller… Gosh, all that therapy has really made you quite defensive!” As she speaks in her native tongue of motherly dismiss and gaslight she finishes with a laugh looking at Roman and Tabitha. Providing them with the cue she hopes they’ll take to join her.
“Is Connor inside?” You quickly ask, cutting off this discussion from going any further in your presence as you look at Roman. He was the softest and most patient of your siblings with your mother. Feeling uncomfortably antsy, you end up walking off before he has the chance to decide whether he’ll laugh at you with Caroline or if he’ll answer you.
As you begin to walk off you hear your mother immediately say something about the fact that you’d showed up dateless, which seems to annoy Shiv. She had assumed you’d at least find someone to even numbers up and help balance out photos.
You roll your eyes at the conversation as you continue to walk into the chapel, further away from it following Connor’s voice.
“Jesus Christ, Connor.” You say as you see him, he completely and immediately understands. Of course, he does, you knew he would.
“I don’t think you can say that in here?” He responds as he quickly gives you a hug which you return and then you move to hug Willa.
“I know she’s my mom-” You start before he finishes it off for you.
“But she’s the Wicked Witch of the West?” Connor responds as Willa’s eyes widen at that. Connor won’t call her a bitch and use that moniker like Shiv will but it’s still quite a statement coming from him.
“Yes, exactly that!” You say as you stick to him. Accepting the reality that you’ll probably spend the next couple of days being an awkward third wheel to Connor and Willa.
***********
“She didn’t bring a fucking date, Ken. It’ll throw off the photos and it raises eyebrows.” Shiv complains to her brother the night before the wedding at the rehearsal.
“Yeah, I know.” Kendall replies.
“It’s selfish!”
He’s not as interested in this conversation in comparison to the rest of your family. He did find it a bit odd that you had shown up on your own. He was certain you had been seeing someone for a bit, he’d tried to ask a couple of times but got vague, younger sister “no comment” like responses.
Kendall was sure as he knew you were rarely at your home and you weren’t a partier. Which pointed at you possibly staying at a partner’s place. That and when he’d noticed a slight behaviour change in you made him think it was a relationship of a more longer and serious nature.
You’d always been private about your personal life though so he assumed it was that and the potential, quite possibly real reason that you didn’t want to introduce anyone to your family. Something he understood, especially as he’d gotten older, this didn’t seem to be a reason that anyone in your family could quite comprehend though. So he didn’t bother to raise it.
“Kendall’s dateless.” Stewy says as he takes a sip of his drink looking at his friend.
Kendall doesn’t think it’s quite the same and Shiv clearly doesn’t either.
“Yeah, but that’s completely different, Rava’s here-” Shiv immediately responds.
“In case you were lost in the to-be-blessed nuptials, congratulations of course, they’re separated, and have been for a bit of a gratuitously extended hot minute.” Stewy retorts.
“Thanks for that reminder, Stew. Really thoughtful.” Kendall says as he looks away. Shiv rolls her eyes and walks off leaving the two men.
Stewy was once again, not impressed with how your family treated you. He knew Kendall had a soft spot for you and that relationship was close but Kendall had too much on his mind to even consider taking on a defensive role and Stewy’s hands were tied to a point.
If Shiv wasn’t so cruel to you about this and Kendall wasn’t so in his head he’s sure that they’d have found his comments suspicious. They probably did to an extent anyway Stewy knew, they were always paranoid individuals and even with your candid nature Shiv only had unwavering distrust in you.
The rest of the evening seemed to go by too quickly, Stewy knew Kendall wasn’t doing well and whenever Stewy looked around for you, you were often hiding in corners with Rava and talking or with Connor and Willa.
Stewy couldn’t even hide his smile whenever he saw you, you looked beautiful as ever albeit uncomfortable. There was an impressive, assertive grace whenever you manoeuvred yourself out of awkward and uncomfortable social interactions.
He eventually had to go back to his room for business and he saw you and Rava leaving at the same time.
He wanted to just go into your room and kiss you, taste the Wambsgans wine directly from your lips. A big part of him was tempted to kiss you there just to spite your family for you. He’d do it. Anything you asked him to he would.
***************
You were with Rava, Sophie and Iverson. Rava was standing and talking to Sophie, they were playing a clapping game while you sat on the grass looking up at Iverson as you both talked about books. He was telling you about the one he’d read last night.
You’d heard a comment from your mother about you sitting on the grass but it was comfier and far more pleasant than the chairs that had been used for the ceremony, so you ignored her. It shouldn’t take much longer for that to become a built-in mechanism you thought. Plus it made Sophie laugh and you’d do anything to bring a bit of joy to your niece and nephew.
You looked over your shoulder for a moment and saw Stewy and Kendall standing at the back talking. Kendall’s gaze occasionally fell to where the four of you were but he was mainly just looking ahead or at Stewy. You saw Stewy was watching you, you couldn’t help but smile at him and you were able to see his smiling at you even with the distance, you were confident it was a smirk.
You then heard the dreaded call, for photos with siblings and partners, you looked up at Rava who gave you a sympathetic look. She’d heard some of the comments and jokes about the fact that you didn’t have a date. You loudly sighed and sat there for a minute, it was possible that the English countryside might just swallow you up or explode and obliterate you all. It was worth a shot, you wouldn’t know if it was possible or not if you didn’t sit there and give it a go.
Before you could indulge in that hypothesis of a fantasy you saw Kendall walking over to you, Stewy was trailing behind him but with a bit of a distance. Kendall looked down at you and chuckled.
“Mom hasn’t killed you or died from embarrassment over this?” He asks with a smirk.
“I wouldn’t know, I’m trying this thing out where I just ignore and avoid her as much as possible. You’ve probably thought of it before.” You quip back.
Kendall nods and gives a small, dry chuckle. He had. He’d tried avoiding both of the parents you’d shared a multitude of times, he was never successful though. He extends a hand to help you stand up. You look up at him and give him a pout, it’s not quite like Shiv’s pout and eyes that he falls for. There’s more sadness in the expression you’re giving him compared to Shiv’s evident exasperation.
“Come on.” Kendall says gently as his hand is still out. You sigh and take it, standing up as you brush the skirt of your dress with your hands and adjust it. Rava gives you a smile and says that your outfit looks fine. You nod, and Stewy and Rava start talking as you and Kendall walk off.
You smile at Willa as you see that she’s going to be included in the photos, much to the annoyance of the rest of your family you’re sure. As you and Kendall walk over and Roman’s posing in Tabitha’s embrace he instantly yells.
“Wait, stop! We need more room!” Everybody looks at him and he grins like a chuffed child. “We’ve gotta make space for your imaginary boyfriend!”
Roman, Tabitha and Shiv laugh at that, Tom does that thing where he makes that odd-sounding laugh because the rest of the Roys are laughing at something. Kendall rolls his eyes and Connor gives Roman a pointed look. You feel bad for Willa, she looks uncomfortable.
“Wait, I thought he was invisible? Is he invisible or imaginary? Because we made sure there was an extra chair set out for him?” Shiv questions smugly.
You roll your eyes, feeling more uncomfortable than Willa even looks. Connor tells them to stop and they then move their attention over to getting Rava in the photos. It’s an uncomfortable couple of minutes as you stand between Connor and Tom. It’s to balance out the siblings Shiv says but you know that it’s because so if they want to you, Connor and Willa can easily be cropped out.
*****************
You’re at the reception sitting at a quieter table at the back. Rava looks up from you and sees Stewy looking at you from across the room, she can tell that it’s aimed at you. The gaze has affection and adoration written all over it. He looks like a simp of a man she thinks. Something she’s never seen or thought of in association with Stewy in all the years that she’s known him.
“So?” Rava asks, putting her gaze back on you.
“So?” You ask giving her a smile curious as to what she’s segueing into.
“Stewy?” Rava asks with an amused expression raising her eyebrows.
You give her a briefly confused expression before responding. One you’ve now perfected.
“Hosseini?” You ask, waiting for her to confirm, even though you already know the answer.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, I didn’t realise he was here.”
“Yes!” She laughs. “He’s been making like heart eyes at you all night.”
“Heart eyes?” You ask and laugh at that. She eagerly nods.
“Yesterday as well I swear, he keeps looking over and it’s not at me.”
“I seriously doubt it Rav-”
“Seriously? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look at anyone like that. He was watching you during the photos as well.”
You want to melt at that, you adore Stewy and how soft he is for you. But you need to keep your composure, you know Rava is more likely to pick up on something than your siblings are. She’s your friend but she’s also more of the empathetic, loving older sister than Shiv ever was to you. You’re also sure that she wouldn’t tell anyone but it wasn’t worth putting her in that position. Especially when you weren’t sure how Kendall would react.
“That’s an interesting joke Rava.” You say with a small laugh as you sip some more wine. She smiles at you and drops it except for when she occasionally looks away and sees Stewy.
Rava and the kids eventually go off to look for Kendall and to have a dance, she asks you to join but you tell her that you’re more than fine and sitting for a bit and recharging your social battery wouldn’t hurt. You wouldn’t say it was easily drained but it definitely evaporated quicker around your family and at events like this.
You were grateful for Rava’s existence and that of your niece and nephew, it certainly made this all significantly more bearable than what it would be without them.
“You know, some would say that’s obnoxiously rude.”
“What is?” You ask, looking up with a smile at the comforting, familiar voice that was interrupting your thoughts. Stewy smirks at you as he then sits down on one of the empty seats by you.
He has a hand on the back of your seat. It’s him, a sign of affection but something that could easily be written off to a curious eye.
“To attend a wedding and then be hotter than the bride.” You laugh at that and his smirk grows. “It’s offensive honestly.”
“Careful Hosseini, Shiv might stab you if she hears that.”
“I have no doubt about it.” He has that handsome smirk plastered all over his and you look at him with a grin.
“I heard you told mom that the marriage will last till whatever comes first, forever, or Shiv going away for a week?” You question, he has a smirk on his face, there’s something there you can’t decide if it’s a bit of guilt or pride. It’s smug either way.
“Yeah. I was getting pissed off with all the commentary on you showing up ‘date-less’.” He answers honestly.
You can’t help but find a little but funny as you drink in the sight that he is. Oh, it is so cruel that he’s here, so close to you, basically your unspoken date to your sister’s wedding. A clandestine promise that only the two of you know. He’s dressed in that devilishly handsome suit, his hair styled back, the perfect piece of arm candy you think.
It’s so cruel that all of those factors exist and are right in your face, you’re breathing them in like oxygen. But you cannot just lean over to kiss his soft lips and run your hands through his styled hair and make a joke that he’s your arm candy or be really candid and say he’s the love of your life. It’s torture to sit here and ignore all of that for the sake of appearances while you get drunk off his smell and the way he smiles at you.
You look into his beautiful brown eyes, you wouldn’t need a drop of the wine that Tom’s parents brought when you could just get drunk off those doe eyes of his. They’re so intoxicating. There’s a gleam in them, it says adoration but also a thoughtful playfulness. You want to know what he’s thinking. You know he has a wonderful mind.
“Stewy?” You ask softly. He looks at you raising his eyebrows, the way you say his name so softly, makes his heart melt. It sounds so right in your voice, it doesn’t sound as right in anybody else’s. “What are you thinking about?”
He looks at you, he then looks around the room as he swirls his drink in his hand for a moment before taking a sip. His smirk is still there but then it quickly shifts to something else, a different smile. One that’s gentle, not so smug, it’s intimate.
“Our wedding.” He says it so casually but genuinely.
“Oh?” You ask as you feel your cheeks heat up slightly at that.
“Yeah. I mean, our wedding will be so much better than this one.” He says as he takes another sip from his drink. You laugh at that, a pure, deep laugh as you look at him. “I was saying to Kendall, hasn’t your sister ever heard of anywhere in fucking Italy? We’ll get married in Lake Como. Unless you have any objections to that, just not here, it’s so fucking dreary baby.”
You smile again, you’d talked about marriage before but it was heartwarming to hear Stewy talk about it like this and to know he really did think of these things.
“I promise you, not here.” You say with a smirk but you mean it wholeheartedly and he knows.
“That’s a pretty big, solid win for me, so thank you.” He teases. “It’ll be nice, not as many people as this. Big but intimate, with lots of wine, and a hot bride. The hottest of brides, I feel the need to clarify there. I won the future groom lottery there baby.”
You smile at that. You’re already feeling so much better in his company. He really is a salve on your soul. Before you can respond you see Sophie and Iverson running past, they’re so joyful and happy, it makes your heart swell. Stewy immediately thinks about seeing you throughout the day.
“And our kids will be cuter, obviously.” Stewy immediately blurts out.
Your head whips from watching your niece and nephew to then face Stewy. Your jaw drops at that, the comment towards Sophie and Iverson but also the open discussion of children. You both discussed that aspect of the future significantly less than marriage. Plus, Stewy specifically said kids, plural, not a singular kid.
“Stewy! You can’t say that!”
“What? It’s true though?!” He has that smug smirk you adore written all over his face. He loves the look of pure shock on yours as well, he finds it so adorable and endearing. Oh, he wants to kiss you right now.
“You can’t say that about Soph and Iverson, plus they’re cute!” You respond.
“I’m not saying they aren’t. They are. They’re great in fact. No offence to them baby.” He shrugs teasingly. “I just mean, think about ours. They’ll be the cutest kids in the world, and also the most intelligent. They’ll mansplain private equity to all the other babies while simultaneously blowing away all the developmental psychologists with their EQ and reading skills.” He laughs.
“You’re such a dork for a grown man at times, Stewy. And they’re technically your future niece and nephew!” You respond as you laugh, trying to imagine Stewy talking to a child, reading to them child-friendly stock market bedtime stories.
“Think about how cute they’ll be. My hair, eyes, your face shape, your cute mouth!” He says excitedly. He’s obviously thought about this all a lot more than you’d realised.
“You’ve thought about this quite a bit haven’t you?”
“Of course.” He says, in a mock offence that you’re even surprised at that.
You smile at him as you take a sip from your drink while leaning back into your chair, plotting how you both can leave this wedding earlier and unnoticed. You’d do anything to kiss him right now and he’d do exactly the same for you.
Stewy Hosseini x female reader fic that i once again have no title for
SEEEEE i told you i was gonna write this. Part 2 of this but you can defo read it alone! This took me months because I’ve been busy getting fired from two jobs in a row and losing my mind but i’m kinda back <3
Word Count: 2.9k
Warnings: 18+ pls because this is smuuuuuut - Apparently I can't help myself. Fem reader. Oral and pinv, the usual. A little bit of angst and jealousy. Final warnings are my bad writing and no proofreading because I'm lazy.
The same hotel bar, the same stool and the same eyes watching you from across the room. 6 months later, this time a birthday party. Apparently this place is a popular party destination among the rich and boring. Although now, it is associated with a night you would rather forget. You and Stewy ghosting each other after that night was not something either of you intended. He’s busy, you know that. But you can’t help but feel some resentment as you look over at him. Maybe because of the ghosting, but it’s definitely not because of the girl he’s talking to. The girl who’s currently caressing his arm and looking into his eyes a little too intently as he talks. She laughs loudly and you cringe, your fingers tightening on the wine glass in your hand. What could he possibly be saying? He’s not that funny. You shake your head with a sigh at the thought, because - fuck, he is that funny. He’s made you laugh like that a million times.
Eventually you decide enough is enough, you gather your things and make a conscious effort not to look over at where Stewys and his new friends are sitting. You say your goodbyes to the birthday girl, someone you’ve only met once and she looks at you like she couldn’t care less whether you live or die. Rich and boring. Whipping out your phone to order a car and mentally preparing yourself to stand in the cold and wait for it takes all of your attention, so you miss the fact that someone had noticed you leaving and followed you out. You jump out of your skin at the footsteps behind you and whirl around ready to face the culprit. Whatever obscenities you were about to throw at the ghost that had snuck up on you got caught in your throat as you’re faced with a pair of familiar brown eyes.
“Jesus,” Stewy says. The corner of his mouth twitches with a smile, although he looks just as shocked as you. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you, I thought you heard me.”
“Well I didn’t.” You say, your hand still glued to your chest - your heart racing.
“Sorry.” He repeats. His smile falters when he realizes you aren’t as happy to see him as he is to see you.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” You ask, looking over his shoulder. You regret it as soon as it leaves your mouth because it sounds so fucking childish, also because the way he grins at you makes you want to slap him.
“Who?” He smiles. He knows exactly who you’re talking about. Despite talking to her all night, his eyes have been on you. Watching you angrily glance over at him. He wasn’t even interested in her, in all honesty, and a part of him feels bad for wasting her time all night. But a bigger part of him was getting a kick out of making you jealous. He just can’t help himself.
“No girlfriend.” He says when you don’t respond, you just roll your eyes and look back down at your phone. He peeks over your shoulder at what you’re doing and boldly tries to take your phone out of your hand. “No need for that, I'll give you a ride home.”
“Hey!” You hold your phone out of his reach and scoff a ‘no thank you’.
“Why not? Come on, I'm on my way out and I’m not leaving you standing out in the cold waiting for some creep to come pick you up.” His warm hand wraps around your elbow as he speaks. You’re a goner, you want to let him drive you home - or let his driver drive you home. You want that girl to see you get in the car with him and you can’t help but think about his hands wandering in the back seat. He watches you with a grin as you wrack your brain, trying to come up with an excuse to say no. But alas, one doesn’t come. It’s like your brain short circuited when he touched you - so ridiculous.
“Fine.” You say, letting him pull you towards his vehicle.
“Wow,” He laughs. “You gave up easily, I expected more of a fight.”
“I can still change my mind,” You stop in your tracks. “You can take your new girlfriend home instead.”
“Shut up.” He mumbles, his arm moving to wrap protectively around your waist this time as he guides you to the car. Fuck, what were you doing? Why does he always have this effect on you? But little do you know, he’s thinking the same fucking thing. He came here tonight hoping he wouldn’t see you. There was a quick second where he actually did think about taking the other woman home. But one look at you and he knew he couldn’t do it, it’s always been you for him. No one compares.
“So, yours?” He asks once you're both in the car, after he gallantly opened the door for you and helped you step into the vehicle. You nod, and the car ride is uncharacteristically silent. He doesn’t really know what to say and he knows you’ve always felt awkward speaking in front of random drivers. You much prefer it when he drives, unfortunately he didn’t know at the beginning of the night that he would be in a car with you. He would have happily sacrificed drinking to drive here in an expensive car and show off to you.
When the car stops outside your familiar apartment you both linger awkwardly.
“Am I allowed in?” He asks, his cheeky smile almost breaking your stoic act.
“No.” You say, opening the door and stepping out. You’re lucky that he knows you so well, that he recognises your sarcasm and could tell by the look in your eyes that you wanted him to follow you.
Stewy fishes for his wallet in his pocket and hands way too much money to the confused driver. “Don’t wait. Thanks, man.”
He practically jumps out of the car and races into the building, finding you waiting for him by the elevator. There’s suddenly an awkwardness in the air, neither of you wanting to address the ghosting after sex six months ago. The elevator is moving way to fucking slowly and you finally decide to just ask.
“Why didn’t you call?”
Stewy sighs, suddenly he feels like the elevator is way to small and moving way to fucking slowly.
“Why didn’t you?” Is all he can come up with. Stupid, he thinks. He doesn’t have an excuse so his immediate response is to get defensive. Fortunately, you recognise this in him.
“I was just asking.” You mumble. “Thought you might want to tell me about your girlfriend.”
Stewy, who was previously leaning against the elevator wall in an embarrassingly attractive way, stands up straight and throws his hands in the air.
“Will you drop it?” He asks, his voice sounds louder than he intended it to be. The small elevator that he suddenly feels trapped in making his voice echo off the walls. “I don’t have a fucking girlfriend and I don’t know why i didn’t call you. I just didn’t, okay?”
The bell that sounds as the doors slide open makes him jump and he’s the first to leave. You follow silently, suddenly wishing you hadn’t got into his car. He walks to your apartment door, knowing the way like the back of his hand.
“Why did you come? Because, honestly I’m confused.” You ask him as you reach the door. Standing in front of him, he’s so much taller than you but you force yourself to look into his eyes as you speak. “I assumed you didn’t call because you didn’t want to do this again. That’s the vibe you gave me. Now you’re following me home and arguing with me in the elevator. Why are you here?”
“Fuck-i, can you open the door?” He hesitates, looking around down the empty corridor.
“No.” You stand your ground. “Why are you here?”
“Because-“ He starts to speak but, fuck. He’s too much of a pussy to tell you he loves you. That he still loves you. So he does what he does best and kisses you instead. Your first instinct is to push him away and keep arguing. Demand an answer. But he’s so good at this, he makes it so easy to forget why you’re even mad at him. All that matters is that he’s here in front of you. Kissing you in front of your door and murmuring against your lips about opening the door.
You do as he asks, pulling away from his lips and fishing for your key. Once the door swings open you grasp his shoulders and pull him into the room, your lips meet him again and he slams the door behind you both. He grasps your hips to push you up against the door, smiling against your lips as you whine into his mouth. No, you had to tell him what you wanted to say.
“I thought you didn’t want me, or that you regretted it.” You pull away from his lips to blurt out. He looks surprised at first, but his eyes soften and you sense something else, guilt? He doesn’t know how to respond, god knows he’s never been good at talking about feelings. But god also knows that he’s damn good at showing them.
“Does this feel like I don't want you?” He asks, his voice drops into that deliciously low growl that you love. He pushed his hips into you, his erection pressing against your thigh. “Of course I don’t regret it. Not you.”
You smile up at him, he always knows what to say - and whether you believe it or not, it works.
“How about I show you how much I want you?” He whispers in your ear. “I’ve always dreamed about bending you over in front of this window. We can show the whole city how much I want you. How about that?”
You blush as he gestures to the floor to ceiling windows, the sprawling city underneath. Holy shit. Your words fail you as you look over his shoulder at the window. Although it sounds hot, you can’t help but be embarrassed at the thought of being seen. Although you’re several floors up from the busy streets below, someone might still look up at the right moment and get lucky.
“Come on.” He grins down at you, enjoying seeing you speechless. Leading you over to the couch, his hands make quick work of your dress and he shrugs off his own jacket. God, you always loved seeing him in just a button up shirt - the first few buttons undone like they are now. His hair is slightly messy. All he needed to do was roll up his sleeves a little and you’d be a goner.
His lips find yours again, his hands cradling your face as he kisses you as only an expert knows how. He places one final and playful kiss onto your lips before he grabs your shoulders and maneuvers you down onto the couch. Once you're seated he sinks down to his knees and you groan as he pushes up his fucking sleeves, sometimes you swear that he’s a mind reader.
He lifts one of your legs up, pressing a kiss to your ankle before resting your knee on his shoulder. He starts at your thighs - gentle kisses, his eyes watching you closely.
“God, you’re so fucking pretty baby.” He all but groans before he finally dives in, the first gentle sweep of his tongue has you leaning your head back against the couch with a sigh. He’s so skilled, it kind of pisses you off. You writhe and use his thumbs to gain access to your clit. His big brown eyes watching you all the while as he does everything he knows you love.
He thinks you look gorgeous, he always does, but never as much as you do right now. Your hands find his hair as a car horn from outside catches your attention. You almost forgot that he was eating you out on a couch in front of a huge window and it makes you laugh. He glances up at the sound of your breathy giggle and smirks against your skin.
He incorporates his fingers, expertly pressing into that spot inside of you that is guaranteed to finish the job. Though he holds off, slows down and takes his time. Reveling in your moans and whines as he slowly brings you to the edge.
There was something the both of you found painfully addictive about each other, and neither of you had figured it out yet. You wonder if you ever would. He loves seeing you fall apart for him, loves having you mewling at the end of his tongue. He works you gently through your orgasm, his mouth feeling like home around your swollen clit. He pulls away from you with a grin, dramatically wiping his mouth with the back of his hand - his tongue dipping out to further taste you when he licks his lips.
He stands up, towering over you as he rids himself of his shirt. You sit up, your hands flying to help him with his belt as he sheds the rest of his clothes. He climbs on top of you, you’re trapped underneath him on the couch - there's nowhere else you’d rather be. You’re suddenly thankful that you were able to afford a decent sized piece of furniture, because as awkward as sex on a couch is, it would be worse on a small one.
“Should we go to bed?” You ask, a last ditch attempt. His eyes travel to the window and you can see him thinking about it.
“No.” He finally answers. “I’ve been desperate to fuck you all night.”
He ends his sentence by taking his hard cock into his hand and lining himself up with your entrance.
“All night?” You tease. “Even while-“
“Yes, even while I was talking to my girlfriend.” He cuts you off, anticipating the joke long before you had even thought it up.
“Oh? So now she is your girlfriend?”
You’re annoying him, but the smile on your face and the way you’re laughing makes him smile back and laugh with you. He decides to shut you up, by sliding his fingers into your mouth. Your eyes widen but you take them easily- sliding your tongue over his fingers.
“Good girl.” He mumbles as he slides his now wet fingers out of your mouth and brings them down to your clit, pressing slow circles into it as he pushes into you. He holds still for a moment, his forehead dropping to press against yours. You grasp at his face as he starts to move, pulling his face down to yours so that you can sloppily kiss him as he fucks you.
He knows you inside out, making it look effortless as he makes you feel better than anyone else ever had. He’s talking you through it, whispering dirty things into your neck but you can hardly hear him over your own whimpers. He keeps up his pace, his lips are at your ear now - calling you beautiful, telling you how good your pussy feels and how much he loves hearing you moan his name.
“Fuck, i can feel you baby.” He moans, his skilled fingers slide down to your clit again.
“I’m so close.” You whine, you feel his hips stutter. Knowing he’s close too. You’re walls squeezing him - pulling him to the edge along with you.
“Come on baby.” He groans. “Come for me.”
You cling to his shoulders as you ride out your release, his name leaving your lips as if it's the only word you know. He carries on for a few more thrusts before he tenses and stills. Filling you up deliciously and equally beautiful moans of your name reaches your ears. Suddenly everything is calmer, your thumping heart beat and Stewy’s heavy breaths are the only sounds.
He slips out of you and sits up on the couch, helping you sit up next to him. You reach down for his shirt, suddenly feeling exposed - sitting naked on the couch. If you were in bed you could have pulled the covers over you, but his shirt that smells like his expensive cologne is just as good.
“So, are you gonna call this time?” You joke, breaking the ice.
“I don’t know.” He answers. “I might go home and call my new girlfriend instead.”
You look at him in pretend shock, pulling away halfheartedly when he reaches for you. You both laugh as he pulls you into his chest, his heart still hammering against your ear - his warm hands traveling up and down your back. You love him. That's the conclusion you’ve come to after tonight. So, what the fuck are you supposed to do now?
A classic tale of fucking your ex at your friends wedding. We’ve all been there, I think.
Word Count: 3.9k
Warnings: 18+ pls, minors will be blocked! Not proofread which is defo a warning, lmk if you spot anything ive missed. Smut. Oral f!recieving and protected pinv. Alcohol and drugs are mentioned slightly.
Little authors note sorry: Hey everyone i am actually alive lol. 5 months later i return writing for someone new… not out of character for me. I watched succession for the first time recently (late asf to the party i know) and i read some amazing stewy fics so i thought i’d add my piece because i’m obsessed with him. Sorry to all my tommy miller babes on here, i swear i tried writing for him again but my inspiration for tommy fics seems to have gotten lost. I really struggled when i tried finishing my half way done tommy series lol. But when i started writing this one it just floooowed and i finished it in like a few hours. Maybe my tommy love will come back someday but for now…. This. Hope someone out there enjoys lol <3
You’ve felt eyes on you all night. Everywhere you go you end up meeting his eyes across the room. Eveytime you look over at him, he’s already looking. He should be the one that's embarrassed, you’ve caught him looking at you multiple times, but you’re always the one who ends up looking away first and feeling your skin heat with the embarrassment of being caught. While he shamelessly stares at you over the rim of his glass, that awful fucking smirk gracing his lips and he watches you squirm. Honestly, it’s kinda creepy. And you almost hope he approaches you so you can tell him that.
Towards the end of the night he starts to close in, starts inching closer to you. He starts making conversation with the people around you, people at the bar next to you, and eventually your friends. Asking them how they are, how it’s been such a long time. Then, he finally gets to you. He takes his time looking you over before he speaks and you’re determined not to be the first one to talk, so you let him stare. Both of you standing in silence for a few seconds before he finally speaks.
“You look great.”
”Thanks.” Keeping it simple seems safe. You want to tell him he looks good too because fuck, he does. He always does. He notices your eyes drifting over his suit and tie and he chuckles.
“What are you doing?” You ask.
“Uhm,” He trails off - pretends to think. “I’m at a fucking wedding, and i’m enjoying myself.”
”Yeah?” You ask, he nods in agreement. The way his eyebrows raise tells you he’s still being sarcastic, still mocking you. “Watching my every move all night is how you enjoy yourself?”
“Actually, yes.” He confirms. “Watching you squirm all night was pretty fun.”
”I wasn’t.” You attempt to defend yourself, downing your drink. “I was just-“
“I’ll get you another.” He cuts you off, snatching your glass out of your hand - not even bothering to ask. You almost try to protest, but you don’t see the point. You know him too well, you know how stubborn he is, once he gets an idea it’s hard for him to let it go. If the idea he’s got tonight is paying for your drinks, then so be it - who were you to complain. You sit down on the stool next to you, watching as Stewy makes the bartender laugh as he orders your drinks. You're kind of pissed that you still can’t figure him out sometimes, you know him better than most people - maybe better than anyone, but he still confuses you. It has been a while since you last saw him, but you conclude that he hasn’t changed much.
When he comes back with your drinks he puts yours down in front of you and asks: “Still your favorite?”
You nod, kind of pissed that he got it right. You try to convince yourself that he didn’t actually remember that small detail. That he’s just been watching you order them all night during your staring competition.
“So, how’s your family?” You ask, cringing at how lame you sound. You just don’t want to let him start a conversation you don’t want to have.
He smiles, because he knows what you're doing. “They’re fine. I still don’t see them much, but they’re good.”
”You’re still too busy to see your family?” You joke.
“Mhm,” His smile almost looks genuine as you joke with each other. “I’m always busy.”
“Busy stealing people's money?”
He laughs then, a genuine laugh that makes you laugh as well. God, you don’t want to admit that you missed him. But everyone else just seems so boring after him, you’ve never found the same thing you’d had with him with anyone else.
“You never really understood business did you?” He laughs.
“I understand perfectly.”
“Sure,” He agrees. “I explained it to you enough times.”
“Yeah, and bored me to death.”
”Is that why you broke up with me?”
His question completely catches you off guard and you almost choke on your drink. You almost want to ask him if he purposefully said that while you were taking a sip, but you’re too busy trying to supress your coughing.
“Jesus, it was just a question.” Stewy laughs at you again, his warm hand coming to rest on your back as he watches you almost choke.
“Fuck you.” You say pointedly, after getting yourself back under control. ”You know why we broke up. Also, I broke up with you?”
”You did.”
“Stewy, it was amicable.”
“Was it?” His face goes serious again and you instantly miss the sound of his laugh. You just sigh, taking another sip of your drink. This was exactly the conversation you didn’t want to have.
“I thought you said you were enjoying yourself,” You say after a few moments of silence. “Don’t ruin it now.”
”I lied.” He says. “I always hated those two, I can't believe they actually got married.”
”Match made in hell.” You agree, both of you laugh softly again.
“You know I also lied earlier when I said you looked great.” He says, surprising you. You brace yourself for whatever joke he’s going to make about you, you shouldn't have pissed him off, he can get mean when he’s pissed off. It’s not his fault, it’s just his defense mechanism - but nevertheless you brace yourself for his comment - and he surprises you again by saying: “You look fucking incredible.”
You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. You opt for another sip of your drink instead and he watches you in amusement.
“I only came because I hoped you would be here,” He continued. You still can’t tell if he’s being serious or not, that damned smirk on his face makes you think he’s making fun of you, but those big brown eyes look so sincere.
“Stewy, stop.” You sigh.
“Come on, baby.” He murmurs, he leans forward in his chair and places his hand on your knee. The nickname makes you tense up. Makes a familiar heat spread through you. “Let me get you another drink and take you up to my room.”
Fuck. He’s fucking good at this, and he knows it. He knows exactly how to get you. You’re trying to think, but the alcohol and the way his thumb is rubbing your knee is clouding your mind. He waits patiently, watching as you look down at his hand and back up to his face. Your eyes stop at his lips before meeting his gaze.
“Alright,” You say, you swear you can actually see his eyes light up. “Go get me another drink and show me your room. Then I'll decide.”
“You got it.” He grins and practically jumps out of his seat. When he returns he holds out his hand to help you off your stool, the heels you decided to wear and the drinks weren’t a good match. He hands you your drink, although you don’t really want it now. His hand finds its place on the small of your back and a fire lights up somewhere inside of you. His touch feels so familiar - comforting. He leads you out of the bar and to the elevators. Punching in the right number before the doors close, leaving you both alone in the small space. It suddenly feels too quiet.
You want to touch him, but once again you don’t want to be the one to make the first move. You don't want him to know how desperate you are for him, although you think he already knows. He’s watching you in silence, his eyes dark and wanting. A look you’ve seen a million times before - a look that makes you excited. The elevator ride is short, Stewy isn’t the type to kiss you in an elevator, and you know that, so you’re not disappointed when the doors open and he hasn’t touched you or said a word.
He gestures for you to leave first, putting his hand on the door so they don’t close on you, or him. Some people would find this strange, the silence, but it’s a game you’ve both played with each other before. A game you both enjoy. He guides you to his room with a hand on your back, just like before. When he unlocks the door and opens it for you, you suppress a gasp. As usual, Stewy needs to have the best of the best. The bride and groom's room probably isn’t even this nice. They probably couldn’t afford it - Stewy can.
“Well?” His voice sounds from behind you.
“Hm?”
”What do you think? You said you would decide when you saw the room. Is it good enough for you?”
”Uhm,” You pretend to think as you set your drink down on the dresser, turning around to dramatically inspect the room. It earns a playful eye roll from Stewy. He knows what impresses you and he knows he already has you. He already had you down at the bar.
“I think it’s okay.” You conclude, turning to face him. He hums in sarcastic agreement, looking you up and down. He’s playing the game again, who is going to end it first. Who is going to lose. You don’t like losing, and neither does he. But honestly, haven’t you already lost? He has you in his room for christ sake. He has you standing in front of him, already dripping and all he’s done is touch your leg a little and look at you the right way. So you put aside your pride and step towards him, you bring your hands up to his cheeks and roughly bring his face down to your, finally connecting your lips.
His hands immediately find their home at your hips, pulling you tightly against him. The kiss immediately turns from an innocent kiss to a hungry and passionate one, his tongue dominating your mouth. You both know each other's bodies so well, there's no need for taking it slow or asking questions.
“Fuck, Stewy.” You sigh as he backs you towards the bed, gently setting you down and climbing over you. Kissing every inch of your skin.
“God, I missed that.” He groans, marveling over the way you sigh his name. “I missed you, baby. I can admit it. I want you so badly.”
You moan softly at his words, at the way his lips feel on your neck - at how right this feels. You had missed him too. He catches you off guard when he pulls away to ask, ”Have you been fucking other people?”
“Sorry?” You giggle, “Why are you asking me that now?”
”Have you?” He presses.
“I ju- maybe.” You stutter, already missing his lips.
”Maybe?”
”I know you’ve been fucking as well.” You accuse, suddenly defensive. You push yourself up onto your elbows, despite still being trapped underneath him.
“Yeah, I have.” He says coolly.
“So?” You ask, irritated. Why was he doing this?
“So, none of them were as good as you.” His words earn an eye roll from you. “Nothing can compare to this pussy.” He adds, his hand sliding down to roughly grip your thigh and bring it over his waist. Oh, shit. His half hard cock is pressing perfectly against your pussy in this new position, the material of your dress and his suit pants keeping you apart. “And, i bet none of those guys fucked you the way i do.” One of his hands comes up to grip your chin, his other keeping him above you. He forces you to look him in the eyes as he asks, “Did they?”
“No.” You practically squeak. “None of them were like you. No one is like you, Stewy.”
You’re not even lying, after having sex with Stewy for so long nothing compared. You had gotten accustomed to a man who knew what he was doing, to a man who was generous in bed. You had gotten used to a man who could make you cum. No one had achieved that after him. Your answer obviously pleases him, he grins and leans down to kiss you again.
He ends the kiss and stands up leaving you spread out on the bed, you whine underneath him, chasing for more. He ignores you and slips off his suit jacket. He makes a show of undoing the top button of his shirt and loosening his sleeves in order to push them up to his elbows. Fuck, he looks so good. You almost want to tell him, but you don;t need to. He can see the way you're watching him, that look in your eye. He knows what you look like when you’re turned on - and this is it. He grabs your thighs and pushes your dress up to your waist, getting a good look before sliding your panties down your legs, throwing them over his shoulder somewhere.
“I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve, baby. I know what you need. I can’t wait to taste you.” He rambles as you whimper in anticipation, he presses a kiss to your ankle as he watches you buck your hips.
He has his mouth on you before you can respond. Just as you remember, he is painfully and infuriatingly good at it. He still eats pussy like it's his second nature. He still looks up at you through his gorgeous lashes as he traces your clit with his tongue. He has to hold back from grinning against you as you writhe and whimper. He groans as you sigh his name and run your hand through his hair. You remember how much you love it when he’s like this, when he's animalistic and loses his composure.
Your legs tighten around his head as he digs his fingers into the flesh of your thighs. It’s fucking embarassing how quickly you barrel towards your climax, but it has been a while. And no one else devours you like this, no one else is this good. You should have expected it. He recognizes it immediately, breaking away from you for a second to speak.
“Are you gonna come for me, baby?”
“Yes! Please, Stew.” You moan, your hands grabbing at his hair attempting to push him back down. He smiles wickedly, licking his lips as he watches you.
“God, I love it when you beg for me.” He mumbles before diving back in, allowing you to push his head down and maneuver him.
"Please make me come," you groan, arching your back. “I'm so close, don’t stop.”
And he doesn’t stop, he continues to lap at you and work you though your orgasm as you come against his mouth. His beard delightfully scratches your sensitive skin, leaving behind a delicious burning feeling. He’s painfully hard now, after watching you come and hearing you moan his name. You begin to push at his head when you come down, usually he would tease you a little now, knowing how sensitive you are and make the most of it. But he’s so fucking desprate for you, he has been all night. He’s been dreaming about being inside of you for hours now.
He’s instantly on his feet, undoing his belt and undressing. You follow suit, weakly sitting up - doing the best your legs can do when they feel like jelly, you lift your dress over your head and throw it on the floor with his clothes. He’s climbing back on top of you, kissing you hungrily. His lips and chin are still wet with your juices and you moan into his mouth as you taste yourself on his lips.
“How do you want me?” You ask breathlessly, fully prepared to submit to him- to do whatever he asks.
“Fuck,” He groans at your words, having to pause for a second. “Can you turn over for me?”
You smile, leaning up to kiss him one more time before turning over and crawling to the middle of the bed, pushing yourself up onto your knees and holding yourself up on your elbows, so your back is deliciously arched the way you know he likes. You grin as you hear him groan behind you, his hand petting your ass before he delivers a light slap to it. He steps away from you and you hear the rustling of a condom wrapper, did he have that in his fucking pocket? His words from earlier repeat in your head, ‘I only came because I hoped you would be here.’
“Plese fuck me, Stewy.” You moan softly, knowing exactly what he wants to hear. “I need you.”
”How bad?” He teases. The head of his cock is ever so slightly pressing against your entrance, he’s hardly holding back as he waits for your answer, pushing in slightly.
“So bad,” You sigh, pushing back on him so he slips easily inside of you. You both moan loudly, you love that he’s so loud and shameless in bed. He stays still once he’s bottomed out.
“Yeah?” He says through gritted teeth.
“Yes! Please move. I need to be fucked properly, only you can do it.”
The sound he makes behind you is heavenly, you knew that would work. He pulls out of you before pushing back in slowly. He always does this, he starts slow and then builds up to a bruising pace. All you can do is whimper beneath him and beg for him to fuck you faster. Your pussy sucks him in greedily, his cock pushing against that spongy spot inside of you with every thrust.
“You take me so fucking well. Like you were fucking made for me.” His voice is deep and raw.
”I think I am,” You moan. “You feel so fucking good!”
“Are you gonna come for me again, sweetheart? Gonna soak my cock?”
All you can do is furiously nod your head and moan beneath him, the sounds of your pussy squelching as he fucks you is almost embarassing. You don’t have time to think about it because he’s pulling out of you and gently flipping you over onto your back. He lifts your legs and rests his knees on the bed, throwing your feet over his shoulders and he leans over you. He guides his cock back into you and dives down to kiss you, his tongue pushing past your lips in a messy kiss. You’re both moaning into each other's mouths, not minding when your teeth momentarily clack together.
“Come on gorgeous,” He groans, he’s breathless - pressing kisses to your face between his words. You can tell he’s close too. “Come for me. Squeeze my cock. Let me fucking have it.”
He feels you tighten around him as you come, his name leaving your lips like a fucking prayer. Your hands tightening around his neck, nails digging into his skin.
“Fuck, that’s it. You look so beautiful, baby.” He talks you through it, still fucking you as you come around him.
“Oh my god,” You moan. “Come inside of me, Stewy.”
You know he’s wearing a condom, but the dirty talk is hot. He thinks so too, because that's all it takes for him to come. His head is buried in your neck, his teeth biting into the soft skin under your ear. No doubt leaving a mark, but you’ll worry about that tomorrow. Right now all you can think about is how hot he sounds when he comes, you love that he isn’t quiet, that he isn’t afraid to groan your name into your neck.
He stays still for a second, lifting his head and kissing you - gently this time, before he pulls out. You rest for a minute while he discards the condom. You hear rustling and sniffing while he’s in the bathroom and you almost want to yell out to him - this is why we broke up. But you ignore it, getting up from the bed and breezing past him as he leaves the bathroom. You close the door behind you, taking the hotel robe off the back of the door and cleaning yourself up, doing what you need to do. You wonder if you should shower, but decide you should probably go back to your own room to do that.
When you leave the bathroom he’s sitting in the bed under the covers, the tv remote in his hand. Your dress and underwear have been picked up and folded on the chair beside the bed. It makes you smile, how can someone be so thoughtful but so selfish at the same time. That’s why you broke up, you need to keep reminding yourself.
“So, I guess I'm gonna go back to my own room.” You say as you gather your things. You’re on your way back to the bathroom with your clothes when he speaks up.
“Okay,” He says, respecting your decision. “Why?”
”Why?” You repeat, stopping your tracks. “Don’t you want me to go?”
”No. I want you to watch tv with me.”
”Seriously?” You laugh before you realize he’s being serious.
“Yeah, seriously.” His face is impassive, and hard to read. But you can’t resist those big brown eyes and you drop your clothes back onto the floor and slip into bed with him.
“Hey,” He whines as he looks at your dress. “I picked that up and folded it for you and you just threw it on the floor again.”
“Sorry, how rude of me.” You laugh at the mock pout on his face. You’ve sat pretty far away from him and he eyes the space between you.
“Come here.” He says lifting up his arm so you can cuddle into his side. God, you shouldn’t be doing this, you should have left. But he smells good and this bed is so comfortable.
“Will you stay the night here?” He asks quietly
”I shouldn’t.” You sigh.
“I know.” He agrees.
Of course you end up staying the night, Stewy is very convincing. With his promise of round two and a warm shower in the morning, it’s hard to resist. He also promises an expensive breakfast after the shower, but he says, ‘only if you behave yourself.’ You spend the whole night talking and laughing with him. Not only is he the best fuck you’ve ever had, he’s also the funniest person on earth. He’s got the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen but he’s also the biggest assole you’ve ever met. He’s so confusing, but that night you decide that maybe taking a little more time to try and figure him out won’t be so bad - only time will tell.
Stewy H. x Reader, Roman R. x Reader (complicated), Kendall R x Reader (minor, minor as in what Baby was when she was groomed by him) hope ya'll enjoyyyyy!!!!
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PART ONE PART TWO AUTHOR MASTERLIST
For more (since the masterlist isn't properly updated) you can always just search up "#dogandbone!au" or "#roman roy x reader" and so on for more! <3333
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Roman (and his stomach) can no longer be held back by you. With Stewy's growing boldness, it's impossible to convince him that he's just a wedding date, after the kiss - after tonight...you can't help but attempt to assure yourself too, even as the idea that you don't want to boils. And boils. And boils.
And there's still much more of the night to go.
Knowing the aspects of the "DogandBone!AU" do help add content to both parts of this story, but you do not need to read anything prior to understand it. If you would like to, you can go onto my masterlist linked and browse through the masterlists/content of my succession characters. All are content for DAB!AU. Or you can simply search up the tag.
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You are so beautiful. It’s sickening, really. How dare you?
You’ve always been beautiful to Stewy, except when you were a kid, of course. You know why? Because you were a kid. You were disgusting as much as you were sweet to him. That’s just how kids are. Then you stopped being forteen. You were twenty. Then…you were twenty-five. Twenty-nine. Thirty. And you were beautiful, but there was nothing Stewy attached to the word. You were beautiful the way a beach is beautiful. He doesn’t plan on sticking his cock in the sand anytime soon.
But something has decided to take him. It is very, very unproductive. And annoying. But what do you deserve? Another Roman? God, he’d rather shoot himself in the head than deny himself his feelings for the sake of…Roy-ethnic mental illness? Well. No, it wouldn’t be for the sake of it, right? Stewy, if he was a Roy, would be denying himself his feelings for you like a petulant fuck until he hurts you.
Maybe he shouldn’t be thinking so far ahead. He only just started thinking you’re beautiful like five or so hours ago. Maybe Stewy could play this like it’s pure attraction. He’s a grown man. Attraction isn’t feelings - realizing you’re a hot woman isn’t feelings. But also, maybe thinking like this gets him one step closer to denying everything outright. Like a Roy. They love their childish games. Stewy loves that nearly just as much.
It’s mature and sensible to and deserved for him to never deny himself of what he wants, what he’s discovered, but it’s also mature and sensible to move on from it. He’s not going to leak at the sight of you. Probably.
“Stewy?”
Stewy’s head snaps to you.
No. Silly him. His head snaps to your hand on his bicep. It’s soft, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?
“Yes, princess?”
“You okay? You’re zoning out a bit.”
Was he? “Mm. I was just wondering why you’re not up there with the fam-a-lee.”
Maybe he’s filling himself with hubris - going against everything he says about his lack of feelings…because he makes the choice to run his fingers through your hair. Deliberately. It’s not mindlessly, or out of habit as if he’s done it with other women (maybe he has?). It’s a complete decision pressed against his fingers.
Jesus Christ. Stewy doesn’t care to pretend that he’s not in control of himself, that his skin goes gooey when you blush at him. That doesn’t mean he has to embrace it with open arms and legs.
But that doesn’t mean he has to stop and find a blonde at someone else's bachelor party so his Daddy can give him kissies.
Stewy smiles. Okay. Rome doesn’t deserve that bone of harshness. Especially after he puked his fucking skeletal system up. What the hell was that about?
“Goddaughter titles don’t get you a seat with the bride and groom. Kendall and Rome aren’t gonna be up there. And Connor.”
“Yeah, but I always thought since Shiv was, I don’t know…was she not in love with you for the majority of her budding womanhood?” Stewy blinks at himself, then at the bride and groom table. “Was that pedophilic?”
Your little, now excruciatingly beautiful face twists in confusion. “What? What are you talking about?”
“Oh. Of course you were oblivious to the feelings happening amongst your budding womanhood. Ew. Fuck.”
He smiles at you. No teeth included.
This is nice. This, being right here next to you, makes him feel good. Chilled - and to be vulnerable like this…somehow this would end up in Logan Roy calling him a fag, to allow his emotions for you fall over him, not under. This is not about trying to get you to blush at him, although as he said…he really likes that.
Fuck. Maybe Stewy just doesn’t want to admit he doesn’t know what the fuck to do about this, and he’s still touching your hair like he does. But there's a, what? What is he going to call it? A twinkle in your eye? He can handle this if you suddenly find him beautiful too.
You do, right? He’s sure. He will especially not know what to do if you don’t. But you definitely found him beautiful in the way a beach is before this. Or maybe heaven. He’ll take either.
What the fuck is he going to do about the sudden you spread along his heart?
“I look good tonight, right? I look as good as I smell?”
“I haven’t told you yet?”
“Absolutely not. I would’ve remembered. Kept it right here.” Stewy gestures to his heart, palm flat on his chest.
“Ohhh. Sorry. You almost look as good as you smell.”
Stewy smiles.
“How dare you.”
Maybe he can figure it out, he’s smart, after all. This is all dependent on you at the end of the day. Even before, when you were just…platonically beautiful, you deserve to pick who and how you’re going to fuck. Or make love. Or hold hands. Whatever it is you do.
“What are we going to do after this?”
“After the toasts? Eat. And then dance. Maybe you shouldn’t dance?”
A beat.
What?
“Maybe I shouldn’t dance? Um…Princess,” Stewy puts an arm around your shoulders to pull you in. “You’ve seen me fuck a dancefloor to pieces.”
You keep yourself blushed before you smile, as you’ve always have. Nothing new.
Jesus Christ. Fuck me.
“We can dance.”
“Okay. After?”
“After? I mean…we go back to our rooms.”
Okay. Even if that’s not what you want. Okay, because Stewy wants to go back to separate rooms. That’s easy to decide if you want to go back to separate.
Even if he can tell you don’t want to. He’s sure that’s that softening look on your face. And what does that mean for him? Nothing. Or maybe something. Fuck him at this point.
But Stewy can see your face softening into a pout that’s almost…guilty. No. Uncomfortable.
Fuck. Did he make you uncomfortable? Do you really just want to go back to separate rooms? Has he been imagining the flirtations in between the banter? Fuck.
He’s sorry, Princess. He’ll definitely let it go now.
“Hey.”
Stewy takes his arm away from your shoulders. He smiles and it’s genuine, but he doesn’t have to crash and burn at the first feeling of…feeling shitty, to act as if he has to put a bullet in his mouth because what does that do? You’re bound to notice, and with what he’s noticed with you and Roman…you’ll feel the need to soothe him for something he did.
He pokes her bicep.
“Okay. We go back to our rooms. Okay.”
“...Okay.”
There it is. That smile.
Seriously. Fuck him.
Maybe tension can just stay tension. Stewy’s sly, but apparently not sly or observant enough to know if it goes both ways. He doesn’t need to feel so guilty to the point of having you slave over said guilt.
With that, why does he go back to when you fourteen at the club with him and Kendall? It’s a memory that hits him…vividly. A beautiful shitload of strobing colors over and under the anger that was his when Kendall, love him always, kept bringing you to snort and drink and crush?
Stewy blinks at you. And speak of the devil.
He blinks up at Kendall.
“Hello, Roy Boy. Haven’t seen you shed one tear yet your little sister growing up and throwing it back on the name Wambsgans.”
Okay. Ken’s not in the mood. Or…Jesus, he’s in one. Come on, not even gonna crack a smile?
“Hey, Kendall.”
Kendall’s eyes shift from Stewy to you. “We need to talk, Stewy.”
Stewy sucks his teeth with humor. “If this is about…you know, what will have you set for life, then it can wait until your sister and Tom have their first dance-”
“We need to talk now, Stew. Get up. Please.” Huh.
Seriously. Okay. What the fuck? Stewy looks to Kendall, then to you just as confused as him.
“Stewy. Please. Get up.”
“Okay. Okay. Calm yourself and your clit, Kendall.” Stewy gets up because they need to talk, but he turns back to you in your chair before he’ll let Kendall take him away. “Don’t leave me, I’ll kill myself. Something like that.”
That sounds like words you're familiar with.
You smile wide. With teeth. It’s somehow even more pretty than the last smile, but it feels a waste to say “What the fuck?” at this point.
“I’ll try to keep you mentally well from right here.”
“Alright.” He turns. “...Wait. Hold on.”
He turns back as if he’s forgetting something, because how could he forget?
Stewy takes your hair in his hand. He moves his nose along the strands as he pulls himself away.
You smell pretty. Women have a habit of doing that, women like you have a habit of wearing specific, expensive brands to make you do that. But you right now? At this moment. For the whole fucking night.
What the fuck.
Stewy rolls his shoulders. Maybe he isn’t humble enough to admit that it was chills. They were chills at the simple act of sniffing you. Your perfume is fading away anyway, what’s under it isn’t. But it’s not like he’s a fucking wolf. But if he was, he’d be an omega. Probably.
“Alright, Ken. What do you want?”
He’s followed Kendall into this dim little hallway that probably leads to the bathroom. For no reason, apparently. Kendall’s not talking, he’s just doing that thing where his head goes low and he blinks at you like you just shot his dog. Stewy knows his best friend so well.
“What the fuck, man? What the actual fuck?”
Stewy’s brows go down quickly, eyes blinking just as quick. Yeah. What the fuck? Okay, Ken. He’s not as angry as he’s confused yet, but Stewy’s not playing the guessing game to just be berated at a wedding.
“Okay, Kendall…I’m just going to ask you something. I want a simple answer before you start throwing your…tantrum. I can accept the tantrum if I get the answer?”
Kendall’s arm goes up, pointing out into the reception.
“You’re fucking her?”
…Jesus fuck.
“Woah! What the fuck, dude? Calm down. Actually. I won’t play with the humor and suave you know me so well for…I’ll just question and tell you that…no? No. Kendall? No, man. She’s my date. Or–I’m hers. That’s one–”
“Yeah? I’m gonna believe that? You want me to believe that?”
“Yes. Jesus Christ, Kendall.” Everything’s said with a disbelief on his throat. “But even if I was, I don’t understand how that would warrant your eyes bulging at me. Like, dude - they’re going to pop. Why are you going to pop?”
Kendall shakes his head.
“Can you blink, please?”
“Because–cause…she’s…”
Stewy waits. Wades. Jerks his head forward. It’s always something with his best friend. “She’s…yeah?”
“She’s her, Stewy. She’s her.”
Oh. Okay. Perfect. That makes no fucking sense. Stewy scoffs at how it perfectly makes no fucking sense.
Except…sure. Maybe it does. Fuck him ten times over if that. You’re you. Maybe he’d be more passionate in his request for a single over separate room if you were anybody else. But he wouldn’t be feeling like…this if you were anybody else. Seriously, this would be easier if you were all wolves.
But Stewy can see you from here. It’s too easy to not have it any other way. He could smile something smuggish, worthy of a punch to his pretty face at it.
“Yeah? You’re right. She is her.”
Seriously, Kendall – just blink. And when you do, blink an average amount of blinks.
“Is this, like, the first time you wanted to?”
Stewy doesn’t blink. He doesn’t close his mouth.
“Excuse me?”
“Do I have to worry about that? Do I have to look back on all the times before when she was a kid-”
Whatever was smug on Stewy? It’s burnt to a fucking crisp. What in the actual fuck is wrong with him?
“Kendall. Let’s take this conversation down a level, because I am not doing…that. What the fuck, Ken? Don’t play it like you’re a supercilious Chris Hansen.”
“I don’t know who that is and what? You can’t blame me for thinking the question–”
“I can, actually. I wasn’t the one bringing her–”
Stewy takes a breath. It doesn’t have to go there. He doesn’t have to burn Kendall in the fire too.
“What, Stewy? Like, yeah…why are you–are you questioning me now? I’m not the one eating her hair.”
He doesn’t have to hurt his asshole dumbfuck of a friend just because he feels defensive. It’s not even defensiveness. It’s pure confusion, but you were not his friend when you were fourteen. You were the kid his actual friend brought around for some reason, and even now, he’d prefer those memories to be coke dreams because you were fourteen in those clubs and what was Stewy? In college, or just before - all that and someone who was annoyed with you. And he didn’t stop anything.
And like that, a conversation in a bathroom hallway becomes way too fucking serious. Aching.
“I would want to rip my skin off every goddamn time you brought her to some club or some…event where teenagers are not allowed to be and it wasn’t because of the laced coke. You know why? Because she wasn’t my friend. She is now, because she’s in her early thirties and she’s not an oversized toddler I have to make sure stays un-overdosed. So. I’m pretty sure you know, Ken, that if this is a time where I want to do whatever it is you think I want to do with her, it is absolutely the first fucking time.”
Kendall stares at Stewy. He stares at Kendall.
Well. That explains the whole of it. Suddenly, he feels a lot better at…whatever it is he wants to do with you, Princess.
He pats Kendall’s shoulder.
“It is very, very nice to know that you trust and love me enough to accuse me of pedophilia.”
“I just wanted to make sure, Stew.”
“I’m going now. Tell the kids I said hi.”
Stewy goes, leaving Kendall in the dim light, but he wouldn’t know what he looks like in the hall. After that? He can’t even claim it’s unfortunate to feel relief at the sight of you waiting patiently for him. Why would he do that to you? Pretend, even for the sake of a tease.
With how he can see Roman approaching you with that pitiful, after-puke look in his eyes, you’re going to need as much genuine, comforting truth that tells you you’re the first sign of light for someone as you can get.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.
There were a couple of oh no’s throughout the wedding you didn’t want to ruin. Or disrupt at the very least.
“Can we, like, talk? Right now.”
“Roman. Shiv and Tom are about to walk in–”
You watched his hands shake. With the way he didn’t point it out to guilt, you instantly knew the reaction was something he was ashamed of.
…Did he throw up because of you and Stewy–
“Come on. Please. Get up. Come to the table where me and Tabitha are sitting so you can just tell me this is you being a 24-hour whore or that you’re renting and Stewy and you know what? I’ll accept that–”
You closed your eyes at the feeling of warm, big hands on your shoulders placed with a kiss on top of your head. It’s like you were being caught. But what was the crime?
“What have you two been up to while I’ve been loitering the toilets?”
There must’ve been one, because you felt it in the rush of your heart and Roman’s unblinking stare. The twitch of his head and neck.
“I knew it.”
“Roman–”
“I fucking knew it. I fucking knew it. I fucking–”And he cut off. And you didn’t say anything after. Nothing of routine, instinct. The familiar impulse that’s usually instant at the childish, frustrated twist of Roman’s face. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so frustrated, and he wasn’t embarrassed enough to hide it from Tabitha as she came over.
“Fuck! I fucking–”
“Rome? You okay?”
Roman pushed a chair. It scraped itself all the way to the floor as he walked off, hands pulling at the hair on the back of his head.
…But you felt embarrassed, because you were–are the cause of all of his hurt, and he’s not even yours, but Stewy pretended as if it wasn’t the most embarrassing thing to happen during the evening. He simply picked the chair back up and sat back on his own.
“When’s cake?”
It’s really, for the time in your life, moments of distress for Roman you don’t soothe over. Moments you have no desire to soothe. For the most part, but even with the pathetic inklings of wanting to make Roman feel better, wanting to be the one he goes to make him feel better that you feel foolish for…it’s this new, hot white guilt at how they’re only inklings now. How quickly everything’s become small. Smaller. Weaker in the relationship you don’t have with him.
Or. The guilt is better placed with how you almost burn easily under the fire that is his suffering - but that’s always been you and him, hasn’t it? He likes it when you like how he’s hurt. But there is no you and him. So. What’s the consensus?
Everything’s too fucking confusing. Conflicting. And it doesn’t help that Stewy’s handsomeness is only just conventional, that his charm isn’t something to roll your eyes at - it’s something you want to pursue, but fuck, you freeze up at a simple touch from him. Is that something to feel pathetic for? Because you’re not a teenager? Because you’re a grown woman who should be able to just figure out what she wants and treat simple touches as if you’re not falling head over ass first?
Dancing with Stewy under the lights, you don’t know what’s worse, those touches are simply touches and you’re left alone in the feeling, in the buzz of it all, or that Stewy’s actually managed to like you.
Fuck it. You’ll still hope that the changes in his looks, the way it lingers, or this tension is something you’ve made up in your head. It is something you’ve made up in your head. It wouldn’t be crazy to think that you're desperate for even the idea that someone that isn’t Roman finds you attractive to bed. At least he finds you fun enough to dance with.
Again. Remember. Ignore the buzz of it all and you’ll get through Stewy being your date.
“Fuck yes. Fuck this fucking song. In a lovemaking sort of way. Come on, jam! I’ve seen you twerk it out before.”
“Stewy.”
“Yes?”
“Never say twerk it out again.”
Jesus. Stewy really is jamming it out. But he is smooth with it. Smooth in the shoulders. You try to follow. “I guess I have no choice but to listen to you.”
“No, no you don’t.”
You smile, head tilting up into his.
When did you get close enough to be spinned? You’re spun by Stewy. Once. Twice. Over and over and over again.
“Why are you trying to fling my brain out of my skull?”
“Um. I’m trying to loosen your bones? Make you show some teeth. Jesus Christ.” In the instant, the man in front of you’s bent over, breathing out hard. “I need you to tighten my bones.”
You tilt your head. “How?”
Stewy breathes out hard one more time, hands takes yours before he steadies himself into shimmying his shoulders again.
“That’s up to you. I’m your date because you’re in love with me, and I’m kind. Everything that happens tonight is up to you.”
You almost still.
That’s a scary fucking thought. That is especially a scary sort of power you shouldn’t have, it’s a thought you have as the music slows into another song.
“Like right now.”
You didn’t realize you weren’t looking at Stewy until your eyes shifted back to his face, his face…soft? The way it stands out on him is…
Beautiful. For a second and the next, you’re not looking to Roman at his table, sitting the way he was during Shiv and Tom’s first dance, and the toasts, and dinner, and cake – and now. Back bent, face almost emotionless, which means he’s only twitching or tilting his head ever so slightly, which means his thoughts are too heavy. That he feels as if his head is going to fall off if he moves it further or quicker than how he’s moving it now.
“Sweet-tart. Hey.”
“Sorry. What?”
“You wanna go back to the table and stuff yourself with the last pieces of cake or kill me by making me go through this song?”
You blink.
“Up to you.”
Because when has anything ever been up to you?
Stewy blinks, sighing out loud and dramatically. It’s all familiar as he looks around. You think he’s deciding for you, even if he’s saying otherwise.
You try your best to hide your shiver when his hand intertwines with yours, the other on your waist.
He sways. He makes you sway.
“...Wow, Stewy – you’re almost good enough for prom.”
Back and forth on each foot, he smiles without teeth at you as he spins the both of you slowly. Very slowly. It’s a slow dance, and you’re wishing he picked the cake because in the slowness of it all, you can feel every tingle down your spine with every squeeze on your waist.
But he gave you the chance. So…
“I wish I could say the same about you.”
Oh well.
You inhale light…but you inhale all the air in the world when Stewy puts his face into your neck, like this is not a simple touch, like your heart is about to burst.
You’re hoping it is, you’re wishing it’s not.
The spin reaches a 180, it’s where the both of you just sway, you can’t see the way Roman doesn’t stare at you, only the way he stares into the table picking at what’s hopefully not his skin.
“Hey, after this, I have to be on standby for a bit.”
“Is this what you and Kendall were talking about?”
“What he took me away from you for? No. Not at all, but this is for Kendall. For the company.”
You’re surprised at the cryptic honesty, like you don’t work for Logan Roy and what he’s talking about sounds like something Logan Roy would piss all over.
“Okay. I’m just an assistant–”
“An assistant of worlds, like a fucking nepo-baby badass.”
“Hey.”
He kisses your cheek. “I’m sorry.”
You feel yourself twitch. You feel him still before he bumps you.
“Hey. I am sorry. I’ve been taking the one time you’ve allowed a kiss for every kiss. I’m greedy.”
“No!”Jesus fucking Christ. “No. I’m sorry, just–I don’t have a say in how Waystar leans, but will I still have a job after you and Kendall do whatever you’re going to do.”
“I wouldn’t put you out of a job. No. Don’t worry, but the Roys are definitely calling a family meeting. Poor Shiv.”
“Poor Shiv indeed.”
Silence sits after that, or, the silence of the both of you under the music. You close your eyes.
The guilt over Roman isn’t gone, the feeling of patheticness isn’t gone - nothing is gone and everything is conflicting and yes and no and Stewy is too beautiful and you’re still comparing his beauty to Roman, and neither of their beauty belongs to you, but you close your eyes. You’re relaxed. It’s needed. It’s perfect.
You don’t if it’s because you can’t see Roman even if you had your eyes open or if it’s because of the way you feel in Stewy’s arms. You don’t know what one or the other means.
“You are beautiful. Weird.”
“...Huh?”
But it’s beautiful for the while it lasts, you’re thankful that he’s let you have it.
And for three seconds, you don’t know what’s taken it away, but you feel Stewy nearly thrown back from you.
“Okay–fucking Christ!”
Roman’s pulled him by the fucking collar.
“Roman!”
You can already feel a crowd turning its eyes on you.
“What the fuck, man?”
Roman doesn’t blink, he simply points to Stewy. “Oh. You don’t have a quip? You don’t have something to prove you’re stoic and sly towards pale-palmed me before you fuck my bestfriend?” Then to you, your name on his tongue is false, pitchy confusion – face showing just the same. “He doesn’t have a quip. How are you going to get your pussy wet for him now?”
Stewy rubs his neck.
“This is your sister’s wedding. Really?”
“Roman.”
You will not let the tears come, not when your fists flex and your face burns first.
This isn’t just a lack of need to comfort him, this is the almost unfamiliar need to make him shut the fuck up.
What is wrong with him? Why is he doing this?
“Can we at least move this off the floor?”
You quickly glance to where Shiv and Tom sit, you think they’ve gotten sight, but they couldn’t know what’s happening. Same for Logan. And Caroline. And Tom’s parents.
“Please. Seriously.”
Roman throws his palms up before you hear footsteps. “Why? This is where you and Hosseini use slow dancing at my sister’s wedding–yes, my sister’s wedding, I know that! So, fuck you–this is where you and her and you and him use slow dancing as foreplay.” Roman laughs high, closed lips.
You used to tease him in arguments, he sounds like an angry tea kettle. Or gnome.
“Hey, you guys. What’s happening over here? Everything okay? How’s my…how’s my favorite employee doing? Rome?”
Tom’s made it quickly over to the dance floor, you can tell his hands don’t know what to do, but Roman flinches even before his new brother-in-law has a chance to touch his shoulder. “We’re moving! We’re moving, Groom. Off to the side.”
“What’s going on-”
“Tom. Seriously. Go bend over for Shiv.”
You all move over to the side. Tom sidles away to his seat. You breathe in.
“I’m leaving–”
“I tugged on you, Stewy. What was I going on about? Oh yeah, your foreplay. How vanilla. How fucking boring. You–what?”
Roman’s smug rage drops for a second. Only a second at your eyes catching his. He swallows. You couldn’t feel bad that he feels bad. Is that progress or a negative here?
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what, Rome? I’m angry because this is Shiv’s wedding and you’re making fools out of us for what? Because I danced with him?”
You feel a hand take yours.
“Oh, Jesus fuck!” Roman laughs with his mouth open this time.
“You don’t have to explain yourself or argue. You can leave. Right now.”
“Oh! Stewy…what the fuck? Are you actually pretending like you don’t wanna bend her over as a show of dominance–”
“Go ahead. Be gross in front of everybody that might have even the slightest shred of respect for you. And then go be a sad little nobody before you choke somebody else out again because…your friend danced with her date. Maybe, Ro-Ro-”
Roman chuckles. You can tell. It’s all the fire within him. But Stewy runs his tongue over his teeth, eyes rolling with a smile dropping, if a smile was ever there.
“Maybe, you can do a poll to see if people will side with you? Let’s see how many guests would think you seriously after you pulled on my collar like I’m a rabid dog which, you look like the biter, but I digress, let’s just see if they actually see you with some fucking merit after you break up a slow dance because I danced with my date. And I don’t need to monologue to defend or explain myself or quip. I can just leave this situation because, what the fuck do you think this is? Are you still in middle school?”
Stewy turns to you.
“Is this a military school habit–”
Stewy’s pushed.
Roman pulls at his hair after his push. Hard. You sniffle, eyes lowering, burning at the thought that he feels like he can do this, burning at the thought that everyone’s watching him do it.
“Fuck! Sorry. I–this is like…this is–”
You can feel his eyes on you.
“This is your fault. I can’t feel…normally.”
You feel Stewy squeeze your hands.
“Leave. Or…” You look up, watching him shake his head as he eyes the room. “It’s up to you. But I’m leaving. I’m sorry I can’t defend you, but you know it is the adult thing to leave. We can talk. Or not.”
“...Stop talking to her.”
You think Roman’s saying it softly, hurt – his hands still pulling on his hair. You hope he pulls it out. You hope you can sew him back together. Inkling against inkling.
“But I’m leaving…hey. Hey.”
What Stewy says, he says it softly too, like he’s talking to a wounded animal.
“Let’s go.”
You blink.
You taste the tears you didn’t know you were crying.
You look up to Roman, his face soft in his own hurt, but he’s waiting, like there’s a punishment ready for him. But you don’t have anything, nothing but a question. And it’s not the adult thing to say before the adult thing to do. It doesn’t make you sound thirty, or forteen.
It makes you sound like a child.
“Why are you doing this to me?”
Roman stares at you after you ask it. You sound like you’re eight years old.
“...You–you promised me that he wasn’t anything.”
He sounds like he’s nine. It’s even softer, somehow. You close your eyes.
It really is all your fault. Always. Never his.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, can you, like–where are you going? Fuck you. I’m sorry. Just, I just wanted to talk to you. I didn't blast you on the floor. Hey–”
You walk quickly with Stewy at your hand, his hand in yours before he takes it away to rub your back. Your head stays down, but you don’t think Tabitha’s at their table. You don’t know where Kendall is. You don’t want to see anyone ever again.
But the familiarity of Roman, in the rage of the both of you, is vivid. Even as you leave the reception building, moving out into the dark of the night, you see only him. You can imagine him crying under strobing lights, and he’s never embarrassed, and he always is. And he’s never sorry, and he always is.
And he’s still right before you as tears well up quicker, this image of him in a salty blur.
“I’m so sorry.”
The grass crunches underneath the both of you.
You couldn’t figure out how Roman’s image disappears with the blink of your eyes.
As tears are wiped away.
“Fucking bastard. What a bitch. Don’t go leaky on me. But, actually..fuck. Fuck him! I’m embarrassed for both of us.” ”
Stewy wipes away more of your tears.
“He is so fucking shameless…” He flicks his hand, flinging the droplets away. You’re comforted. You’re soothed…like it was this easy for you. Huh.
“Is that what a man needs to do to get with you?”
You choke on the laughter as much as the tears. Through the red, under the stars, you see him smile at you as he pulls his arm around your shoulder.
You don’t know if he’s bringing you to your room or his. You don’t know if you’re ready. But Stewy said, in all this kisses and teases and hands against yours. He said it.
prompt fill for @penguinweek day 6 (birds) / 2628 words
rating: T
ship: oz x reader
summary: reader is a friend of sofia's and finds her driver very intriguing. during one very bad night at a bar, reader calls oz for a ride home.
tags: big tag for alcohol - reader gets absolutely faced at a bar and ends up puking, femme reader, flirting, new money vs old money politics, reader's in heels, makeup, and a dress
notes: my original piece for the prompt 'birds' was much darker and i wasn't really vibing with it. maybe i'll post it someday :) i've been working on this one for a really long time and didn't wanna post it until i finished chapter 2 but i felt like it was time to set her free.
When Sofia said that she’d arrive at your house, you knew it was only a 50/50 chance that she’d be driving the car herself. One thing you’d noticed about old money was that they almost always had someone to do the bullshit things for them – the driving, the laundry, the cooking. Granted, your family had a modest team of staff but it was nowhere near who was present at the Falcone estate.
A black car pulls up and you smile, checking yourself in the foyer mirror one more time before grabbing your bag. This is the first time you’ve gone out somewhere with Sofia, as opposed to meeting her at the event, so you’ve made sure to pull out the big guns on your outfit and shoe choices.
You take a breath to steady your nerves and walk out the door. As you do, Sofia’s driver exits the car and opens the back door behind his seat, waiting with that practiced patience that all the drivers you’ve interacted with seem to have.
This man’s different though. He’s broad, his suit not-quite tailored to his form, and his big eyes betray an undercurrent of nervousness that other well-to-do staff hardly ever have. When he came out of the car, you caught a limp.
“Hello,” you smile to him as you get in the backseat.
Sofia introduces you to the man, Oz, when he gets back into the car. You tell him you’re charmed to make his acquaintance and he laughs a little and it’s stupidly endearing.
When you get to the event and Oz has pulled away, safely out of earshot, you gently touch Sofia’s wrist to pause her from walking in, “He’s cute.”
“Who?” She looks at where the car had been before Oz pulled off. “My drive’a?”
“Yeah. You don’t think so?”
Sofia laughs softly, shrugging, “I guess I just don’t see him like that.”
The event is an afternoon tea party, which you’d been delighted to dress for but you’re not exactly thrilled to eat at. It’s nice enough all the same, though.
Oz meets up with you both afterward, taking Sofia’s bag and walking you to the car. He looks at Sofia, “You need a cigarette?”
“Desperately, I feel like they took a drill to my temple.”
“I dunno, it wasn’t that bad,” you smile, linking arms with Sofia as Oz lights her a cig. She rolls her eyes and you shrug, “Except the food, oh my God. Rich people don’t know how to eat.”
“Who’s gonna tell Alicia that scones and cucumber sandwiches aren’t a real meal,” Sofia says wryly, taking another puff.
“It looked beautiful but everything was just. So dry, so bland. She’s richer than God, why am I still hungry?”
That earns a snort from Oz. Sofia looks at you, “You want somethin’ to eat?” You nod. “What?”
You give it a thought. “Don’t judge me. Cinnabon.”
Sofia laughs softly, shrugging, “Sure, why not. I think there’s one in that mall – the one with the Sephora?”
You sigh happily, “This almost makes the scones worth it.”
Oz takes you to the mall, letting you both know that he’ll pull around to pick you up when you’re ready. You offer to get him a cinnamon roll and he refuses, though there’s something in his voice that sounds like it might be more for duty than lack of a desire. The idea of getting him one anyway whispers through your mind, but Sofia ends up ordering for you and paying so you don’t get the chance to. When you have your order, you look at her, “Should we get one for Oz?”
“He said he didn’t want one.”
“Yeah, but…”
Sofia hums, “We gotta take him at his word. You know how guys can be.”
You don’t want to argue, especially when Oz is your ride home, though your mind can’t help but go to that look in his eyes when he was looking at you and when he was walking back with you to the car, that anxiety. “You’re right,” you say, but you don’t really believe it.
[%%%]
“You have someone you can call?”
It’s about three months since the tea party and you can barely hear the bartender. You look up, eyes glassed, eyeshadow a mess, and pull out your phone.
You mean to click on your contacts but instead pull up your text threads and scroll past every name that would either get you in trouble for damaging the family reputation or would be a bad idea to be alone with while this intoxicated. (You need better friends.)
Your eyes linger on Oz’s thread. “That could work,” you murmur, pressing the call button.
It rings three times. “Hello? Who’s this?”
“You don’t have my number saved?” Oz says your name, a confused lilt to his voice and a smile tugs at your lips, “Bingo, and good evening to you too.”
“Everything alright?”
“Can’t I just call? My good friend? Best friend?” You chuckle, “I’m full of shit, I need a favor real bad, are you busy?”
“What’s goin’ on?”
“I’m at the bar and don’t tell the bartender – “ a laugh because he’s right beside you “ – but I’m super fucked up, unbecoming of a fine young lady or whatever the fuck, you know I don’t subscribe to–”
“I gotcha, Doll, where are you?” It takes a moment to remember where you are but you tell him and he says, “I’ll be there in fifteen, alright, don’t go anywhere.”
“I owe you my life,” you smile, hanging up.
Oz comes in record time, walking into the bar and you forget why you’re even upset. You smile despite the fact that he looks super concerned, “Hey, hey,” he says as he comes over to you. “You alright? Doin’ okay?”
You nod, “Better now I think.”
“Good, good.” He pulls back to look at your feet, “Alright, you’re in some very tall shoes so hold onto me when you stand up, Sweetheart.”
“It’s okay, I can do kung fu in these,” you say smiling as you hop off the barstool.
You do stumble just slightly but he’s sturdy and strong, putting an arm around you, “I’m sure. You got everything, bag and coat?”
“Just need bag,” you hold it up.
“Perfect, let’s get’cha home.”
You feel fine walking out of the bar but a wave of nausea hits you as soon as you walk into the parking lot. “Gimme, ah, gimme like one second,” you say and he’s looking at you with that concerned face again until you step away from him and proceed to vomit right next to a trash can.
“Fuck,” you groan. “That…was not very demure, sorry.”
Oz laughs which makes you feel better. You spit and then open your bag to fish out a napkin, wiping your face (and tossing it properly into the trash.) You go back over to him and he puts his arm around you like you didn’t just puke three appetizer plates in front of him. “You got a hair thing on you? I can help you pull it back just in case it happens again.”
“You’re always so nice to me,” you murmur, opening your bag. You dig around a bit until you find a scrunchie, handing it to him.
When you arrive at the car, he has you brace yourself on it as he, very carefully, puts your hair in a ponytail. He smiles when he looks at you, opening the back door and gesturing for you to get in.
“I’m gonna go nice and slow,” he says as he starts the car up. “It’s alright if you need me to pull off. I’d, uh, appreciate it if you didn’t throw up in here.”
You nod, “Got it, yeah, of course. Thank you again, I…I didn’t really know who else to call.”
“It’s all good, Sweetheart.” He pulls out of the parking lot, slowly as promised. “You don’t gotta speak on this but I couldn’t help but notice you’re a little…”
“Shitfaced.”
“Yeah.” Oz shrugs, “Happens to the best of us, of course. Though – drinkin’ like that is usually because you’re celebratin’ or ‘cause it’s been a real bad night. And you didn’t exactly look like you were poppin’ Champagne.”
You snort, “It was vodka Red Bull.”
“Jesus.”
“I got stood up,” you say, answering his not-quite-unasked question. You clear your throat, the reality of it only bringing more tears to your eyes. “Got stood up by a guy I really liked, ate my body weight in mozzarella sticks and shitty bar nachos about it, which you, uh…probably saw.”
“I’m real sorry about that, Sweetheart. That’s such shit, can’t even give you the dignity of an excuse ah’somethin’? Ain't right.” He looks at you in the rear view mirror. “You okay?”
“I just feel like an idiot, I don't know,” your voice cracks when you say it and that kind of only makes you feel more pathetic.
“No, no, c'mon, yer not an idiot. You're smart, funny. Beautiful. You're a catch, Sweetheart.”
You manage a little smile, “Thank you, that really means a lot.”
“Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. And frankly, if someone like you’s gettin’ stood up, there ain't no hope fa'the rest of us.”
You giggle and then sniffle, “These stupid guys are just…they don't wanna date, certainly not new money like me.”
“They care about that kinda thing? Ain’t money just…money?”
You shake your head, “It's all – you know. They're like the Falcones, no disrespect. Generational, they all know each other, all that. My dad's only been this rich for like seven years. He's richer than some'a their dads but we didn't come from it so it doesn't matter even though I took all the same classes at the same university and go to the same fucking luncheons.” You rub your temple. “Bullshit problems, sorry.”
“Nah, nah, you're allowed to be upset. Sounds exhaustin’.”
“That's why I like you.”
“Hm?”
You smile to yourself, sweetly. All things considered, it could be much worse. Oz is here, after all, saying all these kind things about you. “This stuff is why I called, I don’t have a lot of people who would pick up the phone.”
“Sorry to hear that too, Doll.”
You shrug. “It’s okay. I’m just…grateful for Sofia, she’s always been a real friend. And knowing her means I had someone to call.” You chuckle softly, looking out the window.
Soon enough, he pulls up to your house. “Alright, Doll, we’re here. You need help inside?”
“Please?”
“I gotcha. Lemme get your door.”
You unbuckle your seatbelt and grab your bag. Oz holds his hand out for you and you take it, carefully getting out of his car. “Mm, oh this sucks,” you laugh, trying not to stumble.
“Almost there. Are we goin’ in through the front?”
You shake your head, pointing to the right, toward the pool. “My suite is over here, I have my own entrance.”
Oz nods, “Don’t wanna wake your parents?”
You scoff and it comes out more bitter than you really mean. “They’re – I don’t even know, maybe it’s the Maldives this week? Or it might’ve been…Austria.” Not that they’d give a shit anyway. “Doesn’t matter, sorry this is how you’re seeing my place for the first time.”
Oz laughs, “I never exactly expected an invitation to any of your events.”
“Why not?”
“I’m just a driver, I don’t do that kinda thing.”
“Hm. Not even at the Falcone estate?” Oz shakes his head. “Well that seems kinda fucked.”
“‘S just how things’a done.”
You walk in silence until you reach your French doors, right by the pool. You nod to it with a smile, “You wanna dip before you go?”
Oz laughs, “Nah, nah, didn’t bring my swimsuit.”
You snort, “Who said anything about swimsuits?”
That makes Oz laugh again and while the lighting is very low, you’re almost sure you see a little blush on his cheeks. You dig for your keys and he clears his throat, “If you’re all set, I should be takin’ off.”
“No, no, can I at least offer you a drink? As a thank you for coming to my rescue.”
“I…probably shouldn’t but – “ he cuts himself off when the lock clicks and you open the door. “Alright. I mean, I oughta make sure you get t’bed okay, right?”
You smile, closing the door and turning the lights on. The lighting change makes everything not feel quite real so you dim them. Better. Oz stands awkwardly in your suite and you smile, coming over to hold onto him while you take your shoes off, sighing happily, “Much better.”
“You’re, uh, a little smaller than I would’ve thought.”
That makes you giggle, “I guess you’ve only seen me all dressed up.” You both share a soft laugh and that’s when you catch your reflection in the mirror behind him, “Oh, God, is that what my makeup looked like all night?”
Oz smiles sympathetically, “You look beautiful.”
“I look like I’ve been crying so much.”
“To your credit, it wasn’t as obvious before you, uh, tossed your cookies.” Oz shrugs, “Y’had a rough night, happens to everyone.”
“Oh!” You say as a thought strikes you, “Oh, oh I know exactly – exactly how to repay you.”
He raises an eyebrow as you go to your dresser, selecting one of the bottles on top – the only bottle of whiskey, “I got it in one of those douchey convention swag bags. I don't really know anyone else who drinks it and I don't drink this stuff by myself. So here, it's yours.”
Oz takes the bottle, looking at it and looking at you, “I can't – I can't accept this.”
“You don't have to drink it now.”
“No, nah, I mean, this is like a $200 bottle of whiskey. Tha’s too much. For me.”
You shrug, “All the more reason it goes to someone who'll actually enjoy it, right?”
“Jesus…”
You chuckle, taking out one of your makeup remover wipes and working on your eyes in the mirror, “Tell you what, I'll help you drink it, if it'll make you feel better. But not tonight.”
He laughs softly, “Alright. Maybe.”
“Though you are invited to stay. If you wanted to stay.” You finish your other eye and turn to look at him. “Bed's plenty big and all.”
“I appreciate the invitation but I…I wouldn't feel right about it, Doll. I know y'ain't in a good headspace right now, I'm not – I'm not that kinda guy.”
You want to tell him that it's his conscience that makes you want to pull him closer but you also know he's right. And, of course, you also don't want to make him uncomfortable. You give him another smile, “Okay. But I do think you're cute when I'm sober too, Sofia can attest.”
“Tha's sweet of ya,” he says with another little smile. “I should probably – took the Family car. Carmine’s. Don’ want him lookin’ for it.”
You smile, “Risky just for me.”
Oz shrugs, “You needed – uh. Help.” He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, “Flattered that you called, really. But mostly I’m glad I could be here.”
You smile again, reaching for his hand to kiss it gently. Oz tenses like he doesn’t really know what to do with that and it makes you giggle softly, “Thank you for it. Have a good rest of your night, Oz.”
He nods, finding his voice, “Yeah. You too, ‘m sure I’ll see ya soon.” He turns to leave, opening the door that leads to outside before he pauses, looking back at you, “Take care’a yourself, Sweetheart. Don’t let’em get ta’yah.”
The words make your heart soar and you nod, smiling, “You too. Sweetheart.”
Tags: Established relationship, fluff, character x reader, slightly ooc
Summary: Oz has been busy with work, so when he has the opportunity to take you to dinner, he goes all out.
Author's Notes: shout out to @sugabee66 for help with the burger puns, and hope you enjoy the fic!
Time was so precious when a person possessed so little of it, making them value it that much more when it became free.
Oswald rarely had a night to devote his attention onto his wife, so when the opportunity arose, he was quick to push everything else aside for the evening.
Naturally, a reservation to the most prestigious of restaurants was made, with a view so sought after that many would pay for it alone. Overlooking the city, 'The Loft' was home to a menu that only the elite could access; caviar, lobster bisque, the freshest salmon money could buy, and imported wagyu beef for the most refined of palettes.
For the people of Gotham and even beyond, it was a dream to dine there.
With such a prestigious location, Oswald had to dress to impress, not only for the pleasure of his wife, but to fit the brief of the all too strict dress code of the restaurant. What was better than a tuxedo?
❈────────•✦•────────❈
"I'll pick you up at 7, dress up for me." Oz sent the text with a slight grin, unable to help himself from feeling giddy with almost boyish excitement. However, he had to twist his features into neutrality as the tailor came back to make the final little adjustments to make the suit perfect.
He stood still, taking up space with his shoulders poised and his back straight as his eyes critically watched the tailor at his work, searching for any kind of mistake. Thankfully, none was found.
The tuxedo itself could be described as a work of art, consisting of a black, double-breasted jacket, a gold waistcoat that exuded elegance and a bow-tie that had been carefully knotted around his neck.
A glint of gold peeked through his smile as he smoothed down the jacket, admiring the reflection of class that stared back at him. "Earned your money today, pal." Oz muttered to the tailor as he delivered a firm pat to his shoulder, unable to stop the spark that entered his eye at the sight of the tuxedo.
He was the sight of success, a man made, and tonight, he had a wife to woo and sweep off her feet.
❈────────•✦•────────❈
Perfectly on time, a sleek plum car pulled up on the curb outside of a towering building that made home to their penthouse.
For once, Oswald was the one left waiting for you to arrive, appearing almost anxious as he stood beside the car with a bouquet clenched in his fist. "C'mon, sweetheart, can't be late." He rumbled to himself, taking the occasional peek at his watch to check the time.
Any thoughts of you not showing up quickly dissipated as soon as you walked out the door, appearing like something out of his dreams. Everything about you was perfect in his eyes; the way you had managed to compliment his tuxedo without even knowing, the way your hair was styled and how the makeup you wore tied it all together.
"There she is." Oz said with a grin, gently pushing the bouquet of roses into your arms. Was it a little cliché? Absolutely. But most importantly, it was romantic in the traditional kind of way. It was something sweet to make feel special, and that's what mattered most.
You accepted the roses with a bright smile, hand naturally falling to grasp Oswald's arm in order to get closer to him. "Ain't you a romantic?" You chuckled, giving him a little nudge to his side with your elbow.
"And you scrub up pretty well too." It was difficult to ignore how polished Oz looked, his hair neatly slicked back to compliment the sleek tuxedo he wore. Each aspect of his appearance proudly displayed the effort he had put in to look presentable, impressive even.
Oswald let himself soften, allowing a huff of laughter to leave his scarred lips as his arms reached for you, one hand anchoring itself on your waist. "Glad you noticed, baby. How's about we get to the car now, huh?" A slight edge of impatience entered his tone, as though he could hardly wait another moment to get to the restaurant.
"Sure, let's go, handsome." You allowed him to guide you to the parked car, watching with a giddy smile as he opened the door for you to slip inside, placing the flowers into the backseat.The interior of the car matched its sleek exterior, with plush leather seats that you could sink back into with ease.
As Oz slid into the driver's seat, he turned the key in the ignition until the engine roared to life, purring beneath his foot as he applied pressure to the accelerator. The radio was next to spark to life, the volume soft and low as it let out the gentle crooning of a Frank Sinatra song, setting the tone for the evening ahead; utterly indulgent romance.
It was silly to think that such a revered man could become so soft around the edges, his eyes constantly darting over to check over you, his hand unconsciously planting itself on your thigh as his fingers splayed over the fabric of your dress. "You're beautiful." He whispered, no less certain about the fact despite his quiet tone as he was simply struck by you.
One thing about Oz, he was a smooth talker with a tongue so silver that he could charm his way out of anything. When it came to you, that was only amplified, though strangely in a far more mellow manner. His eyes were less calculated and filled with a shine at the sight of you, and his compliments fell off his tongue lightly rather than boisterously.
You let your head lull to the side, looking at Oz as your hand fell atop his own, cradling it in a gentle hold as your thumb swept over his skin. "You never let me forget it."
That coaxed a somewhat cocky smile from him as his fingers crept up your thigh, quickly disappearing beneath a slit in your dress to roam over your bare skin. "God damn right."
You raised a brow, feigning annoyance as you watched his hand worm its way under your dress. "I'm not looking to take this off yet, big guy. You gotta romance me first." Your fingers wrapped around his wrist and gave it a gentle tug just before he could go any further.
"Ain't this my usual way of romancing ya?" Oswald questioned, reluctantly allowing you to move his hand, though it was quick to settle atop your thigh again.
Shooting him a little glance, you playfully rolled your eyes and gave a click of your tongue. "Behave." So he did, or at least, tried his best to for the meantime.
❈────────•✦•────────❈
"Right this way, please." The Maître D' was eager yet polite as he escorted you and Oz to the table he had reserved. Everyone had been truthful in their gushing about the view, as from your seat, the entire skyline of the city was visible, appearing so small from your position despite the bustle of life.
Both you and Oz had your chairs pulled out for you, allowing you to sit down facing one another, with the beautiful view to your side. "Might I get you anything to drink?" The question was quick to come, laced with expectancy as you barely had a moment to mull over your options.
Oz was quick to cut in, shooting the waiter a sharp glare at his all too eager expectance. "Give us a minute here, pal." His voice was harsh, leaving no chance of rebuttal from the waiter as he was forced to scurry off for the moment.
"Aw, c'mon, poor kid probably gets fired if he don't ask." You were a little more sympathetic towards the young man, offering him a slight smile as an apology for the brash way Oz had herded him off.
Oz let out a mutter beneath his breath and sighed, attempting to cool off from the small moment of confrontation. "You haven't even looked at the menu yet, baby, ain't right to just spring it on you." His concern came from a softer place in his heart, the part that was just begging for the night to be as perfect as it could be.
It had to be perfect.
Your hand reached across the table to grasp his, gently threading your fingers together as you gave a light squeeze. "Real sweet of you to stick up for me, honey." Though you could barely hide the hint of humour that entered your voice, amused by the sight of Oz trying so hard to make everything right.
The drinks' menu laid between you in the centre of the table, home to a list of expensive wines and spirits that you had never heard of. Truth be told, the extravagance of the restaurant had you out of your depth.
Looking over the long list that seemed to go on forever, a wrinkle formed in your brow as you looked to Oz. "Any recommendations?" Surely, you thought, in his years of schmoozing and dining with the upper class he had came across a good drink.
His eyes scanned over the menu, clearly becoming agitated as nothing appeared to be to either of your tastes. "How about we get a bottle of champagne? Celebrate the night together." Another romantic and slightly cliché notion, but thoughtful nonetheless.
It took only a few minutes between deciding and ordering a choice of drink along with your entrees before they were placed upon the table, the bottle of champagne submerged in a bucket of ice to cool it to the right temperature. And your entree? Oysters, served raw on the half shell, accompanied by a lemon wedge in the centre of the plate and a mignonette sauce.
"You ever had oysters before?" Oswald asked, earnest in his curiosity as he leaned forward to inspect your face, watching how it lit up at the sight of luxury.
You nodded, "Sure I have, just none as good as these." Oysters were a staple in many restaurants, but nothing was ever going to match the quality of those served in 'The Loft'.
Oz hummed, plucking the chilled bottle of champagne to pop the cork and pour the sparkling liquid into two flutes, one for you and one for him. "Bottom's up." He rumbled, clinking his glass against your own before he took a hearty sip of champagne, feeling the bubbles fizzle on his tongue.
You picked up the wedge of lemon, squeezing it until the juice had been evenly spread over the oyster to enhance the flavour. With a smooth motion, you brought the oyster to the curve of your lips and tipped your head back, allowing the morsel to slip down your throat.
"It's good, right?" The question came with a lilt of laughter from Oswald, having devoured his own oyster in his chase for its briny flavour, enhanced by the dash of lemon.
Unsurprisingly, you gave a satisfied nod as a grin spread over your face. "Good? It's fucking great." That drew another hearty laugh from him, clearly amused at the way you happily indulged in the oyster.
With an entree so impressive, you could only expect further greatness from The Loft in the form of a main course.
❈────────•✦•────────❈
"Where's the rest of it?" That was the last thing you expected to hear in the most prestigious restaurant in Gotham, but at the sight of the food on your plate, the sentiment quickly became shared.
You stared at the little serving of beef before you, unable to comprehend how this could possibly be a main course. "You're sure you didn't order the tasting menu?" As much as you hated to express doubt in Oz, what other explanation could there be?
At your question, Oz bristled with a shake of his head and a tetchy sigh. "Baby, c'mon, I ordered the wagyu beef for two." Yet the courses you had received consisted of a small cut of beef each, surrounded by an assortment of roasted vegetables.
You sank your fork into the tender meat, holding it steady as your knife easily sliced through and cut a piece off. The rich flavour of the wagyu slid along your tongue like butter, eliciting a pleasurable sigh to pass your lips. Delicious? Yes. Filling? No.
"Look, doll, I can get ya something else if it ain't cutting it." Oswald murmured with an apologetic expression, unable to stop himself from being disappointed in the meal presented to you. All he wanted was for you to be happy, and most importantly, content with your meal. It had to be perfect.
Despite your desire to reassure him that everything was fine, you had to admit that the meal was a little sad. But an idea sprang to mind and brought a twinkle to your eye that Oz immediately noticed. "What's that, huh?"
You grinned, leaning over the table to whisper giddily in his ear. "Why don't we just ditch this place? I know a good burger joint." It was a tempting offer, but you added just one more thing to sweeten the deal. "I'll make sure you get extra pickles."
If he hadn't been convinced before, he certainly was now. In a decisive motion, he stood from his seat and threw a handful of bills onto the table, offering you his arm in a gentlemanly manner. "Let's get outta here."
❈────────•✦•────────❈
The roads through the city were oddly quiet, traffic still steady enough but not busy enough to be irritating. Besides, it gave you and Oz time to talk about the diner you were going to.
"Best burger you've ever had? I call bullshit."
"I'm serious! Look, it's been around forever, the man knows how to make a good burger."
"Whatever you say, sweetheart, but I ain't convinced yet."
"Give it a chance, Oz." Even as much as he begrudged the possibility of another disappointing meal tonight, he was willing to try it for you.
'Eddie's Diner' was the polar opposite of 'The Loft' in every way imaginable; it was small and intimate rather than grandiose, the menus were sticky and its patronage featured every kind of Gotham citizen, not just the elite.
You and Oz found yourselves seated in a booth facing one another, the leather of the plush seats worn down from continuous use over the years, but they were comfortable nonetheless. The atmosphere was far less stuffy, instead offering a genuine welcome and familiarity.
Any kind of burger you could imagine found home on the menu at Eddie's, each one fitted with a pun in its name to add a little bit of comedic value to the place.
'MENU:
'The Brrrrger (Double Beef patty with Iceberg Lettuce, tomatoes, onions, cheese, and mustard)'
'The Got-Ham (Pulled Pork Burger with pickles, crispy onions, cheese, and BBQ sauce)
'The Motherclucker (Chicken patty with lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and garlic mayo)
'Pickle Me Pink ( Double Beef patty with pickles, lettuce, tomatoes, ketchup, and mayo)'
'Baby got Bacon' (Beef patty with bacon, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and bourbon sauce)
"You gotta be kidding me.." Oz grumbled beneath his breath after he had scanned the menu, rolling his eyes at the list of names that he found less amusing the more he read of them.
You just laughed and gave a faux pout as though you were hurt by his apparent distaste for the puns. "Hey, some kid probably worked hard on those! I think it adds to the charm." Sure, it was a little over the top, but it was fun.
Unlike The Loft with its long list of confusing drinks, Eddie's was wonderfully familiar with its taste of nostalgia in the form of milkshakes and soda-floats. "Whaddya want? I think I'm going for chocolate."
Oswald hummed, letting his gaze flick over the list of drinks in contemplation. "Think I'll get the chocolate too, doll." It seemed that his initial reservations had been pushed aside in favour of enjoying the night to its fullest potential, having caved to the idea of a sweet milkshake within minutes.
The server approached with a sheepish smile to take your order, eyes wide at the sight of how dressed up the two of you were. To anyone else, you must have looked crazy, but you were happy, so what did it matter?
"Can we get a Got-Ham and a Pickle Me Pink? Extra pickles on that one, and two chocolate shakes. Thanks a lot." You could see how Oz still playfully rolled his eyes at the names of the burgers, likely happy that you had taken it upon yourself to order for you both.
Silently, you prayed that your second dinner of the night would beat all expectations and leave you full unlike the first.
❈────────•✦•────────❈
Who else could manage to knock it out of the park other than the man himself? Eddie. The man really knew how to make a burger, and on top of that, a killer milkshake.
Both milkshakes were thick and smooth, freezing cold from the little time they spent blending, allowing the ice-cream to essentially cool the liquid down to perfection. How could anything get better than that?
The burgers, that's how.
No miniscule portions were seen inside Eddie's Diner as the burgers were huge, penetrated by toothpicks so they would stay together in order for you to take a bite.
"Jesus." You moaned mid-bite, feeling the supple texture of the pork mix with the slight crunch of the onions, complimented by a generous amount of barbecue sauce. This was real food, not that fancy stuff they served at The Loft.
Oswald laughed at your satisfied face, wiping a smudge of sauce away from your lips with the pad of his thumb. "You were right, baby, this is up there." Approval came with another greedy bite to his own burger, which was arguably more pickle than anything.
"I'm sorry things didn't go to plan tonight." A sudden vulnerability came from Oswald as he reached across the table to grasp your hand, giving an apologetic squeeze. "Could've been perfect."
You could only smile back at him, still basking in the joy that came from good food. "Oz, baby, I don't care where we are, I'm happy I'm with you." Now, you sounded like the terribly cliché one, but it was true. "Besides, it turned out alright, didn't it?" You added, a joyful glint shining in your eyes.
"Yeah, it did." His plan had completely gone awry, but the way you handled it all had brought an unexpected lightness to the night. Both of you were all dressed up for a night of luxury, and it had led to getting some good burgers in a little joint by the East Side. What more could he ask for? You were happy, and you were his; that's what mattered most.
Summary: Ted finds himself in a living nightmare. Inadvertently (maybe?) third wheeling the girl of his dreams and his best friend on a night out in Los Angeles.
Word count: 1.3k
Warnings: yearning men, uncertain relationship status, unsatisfying ending, implied one night stand, Ted is an anxious non confrontational c!ck, alc use mentioned, 18+ minors dni
((I re-read “Normal People” this week so I’m making it everyone’s problem, sorry!!!!))
Ted anxiously fiddled with his hair in the mirror, unsatisfied with the way it laid on his head. If he were better at being introspective, Ted might’ve admitted the need for perfection came from the desire to impress you rather than to appease some sort of internal beauty standard. But who needs that kind of self-reflecting anyways? After winning a small victory with his cowlick, Ted glanced down at his lit up phone. Just one notification mattered.
"can't wait to see you tonight! :D"
The little encouragement you gave was enough for Ted to summon whatever courage he had left. Two more spritzes of cologne before he was willing to get into his beat up Tacoma. Ted could swear he could smell the remnants of your perfume on his passenger seat. It’s been a week since you last sat in that seat. Last week, you dragged him out of cushy L.A. to the treacherous mountains of San Bernardino. You pleaded with him to take you up to Big Bear for the day.
"It'll be a fun escape from Los Angeles." You said over the phone. "Plus, it's a pretty drive."
It was a pretty drive. The sun was setting behind the thick forest, lending everything in its light a romantic glow. The air was characteristically fresh, smelling sweet with moss and tree sap. It was hard for Ted to not look over to see how Golden Hour looked on you. He wondered if the golden dying rays of sunlight casted soft, purplish shadows on your face. How bright your eyes would look in that light. But he cared more about getting you to the hole in the wall diner in one solid piece. The curves and bends of the highway encouraged him to keep looking on the road, trusting your beauty would exist even if he weren’t there to bear witness. Take that Orpherus.
After paying a ridiculous parking fee, Ted walked the few blocks towards the theatre. He reveled in the surprising chilly breeze. June Gloom wrecks havoc again. His plans for the night were solid, well crafted. After the show, he would take you to a fancy dinner. Get you fancy food, expensive drinks. Drive you home then like any gentleman worth his salt - ask you to be his girlfriend.
Ted grinned as you waved at him excitedly from your spot in line. That smile quickly dropped when he realized the full scene. By your side was an unfamiliar sight - Schlatt.
Ted quickly tried to find a reason why Schlatt would be in LA of all places tonight.
Chuckle week? No, that was scheduled for next month.
VidCon? Not happening this month, plus it's not something Schlatt would ever go to.
The realization sunk into Ted's stomach like a bitter pill. The only reason why Schlatt would be in L.A. this weekend is so deviously simple: to see you. Ted always knew Schlatt had a thing for you. One Chuckle Week after one too many beers, Schlatt confessed to Ted and Charlie his unspoken feelings. Schlatt hiccuped about his secret passions for you, your body and to be a part of your life. Charlie consoled him like any good friend would. Gentle hand to aching back. But Ted stood off to the side, trying his best to be civil. After that night, Ted concluded that Schlatt would be a terrible boyfriend to you.
Schlatt lives on the other side of the country, Schlatt is emotionally unavailable, Schlatt is an asshole. Schlatt is no man for you.
But there he was. Laughing at a joke you told. Ted greeted you through slightly gritted teeth. You beamed a happy smile in his direction.
"Schlatt! I didn't know you were in town this weekend." Ted said, trying his very best to hide the venom in his tone.
Schlatt cocked an eyebrow towards Ted.
"Yeah, it was a last minute kind of thing."
The cursed trio found themselves shuffling into the cramp auditorium. In the lobby, people were ordereding 12$ beers and shitty wine coolers. After finding your seats, Schlatt offered to grab some overpriced drinks while you and Ted caught up. Ted felt the pressure of his burning, unasked questions. But, despite the inner anguish, he took a moment to glance at you. You were dressed up. A simple black dress paired with simple black heels. But, the way you did your hair, the lipstick you chose made the simplicity of your fashion glitz with unashamed sophistication. Ted always loved when you wore a particular necklace. On one of his roadtrips with Eddie, he spotted a cutesy swan necklace for you. Bringing that necklace back from his trip to your possession felt like a devotional act. Ted carried the little swan from countless cities, through all sorts of weather and car failures just to place it in your hands as a small trinket of companionship.
The swan proudly flashed its shine against your neck even in the dark auditorium.
"Why’d you invite Schlatt?"
"I had a third ticket. I tried giving it to someone else but no takers aside from Schlatt." You explained calmly.
Your explanation sounded so crisp, so clear it nearly tempted Ted into mindless belief.
"I guess he must really like this band. He flew in for this."
The last sentence you spoke was the missing smoking gun. Again, Ted’s mind was filled with more questions but before he could even dare to ask any single one of them, Schlatt returned with 3 drinks. Two shitty overpriced beers, one shitty overpriced cocktail. Schlatt tossed the beer to Ted before gingerly placing your cocktail in your hand.
"Oh that's where that went. " Schlatt said, flicking a bracelet that graced your wrist.
"Finders keepers." You giggled, hiding a sheepish grin behind a sip of your cocktail.
Throughout the duration of the show, Ted could barely appreciate the band or the music. He was too concentrated on finding any possible excuse of why Schlatt would've left a bracelet at your apartment. Why Schlatt knew your cocktail order. Why Schlatt seemed to be getting closer to you throughout the set, his hand just shy of grabbing your waist.
The concert ended nearly as quickly as it began, at least in Ted's mind. You tried your best to scurry out of the auditorium before the inevitable foot traffic. On the way out, Ted watched in annoyance as Schlatt pulled your elbow away from rushing people and into safety that only a man as big as Schlatt could provide.
Somehow your cursed trio ended up at a dingy bar. Schlatt and Ted ordered a beer and a shot, while you opted for another cocktail. As you tried to covertly slip your card to the bartender, Schlatt quickly intercepted the little plastic card with his own.
"You got the tickets, I’ll get the drinks.”
Ted should’ve offered to pay, he should’ve spoken up, announced his presence somehow. But instead, he found himself chatting up another girl at the bar, watching as Schlatt kept inching closer and closer towards you. Another beer, then the night faded.
Ted woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar apartment. Boyishly, he slipped out of the bed, gathered his items before quietly dashing out to grab an Uber.
“For Nivison?”
“Yeah. Do you have a charger?”
The driver pointed toward the mess of various cables by Ted’s feet. As he waited for his dead phone to charge, Ted felt the vengeance of his hangover pique through. The rest of the ride was silent.
Stepping into his apartment, Ted looked at himself in the mirror. Disheveled hair, eye bags and a creeping 5 o’clock shadow. Hardly the picture of perfection he wanted to present to you. Notifications swarmed his newly resurrected phone. Only one interested him - a new close friends story from you.
It was a picture of a photo booth picture. There you were, in your simple black dress, in three stills with Schlatt. The first still was of you and Schlatt grinning ear to ear, side by side. The second, you placed your hand on Schlatt’s jaw as you kissed him. The third still was the most painful of all. You and Schlatt were laughing at the lipstick stain left on his face.
Ted threw his phone before crashing asleep on his couch.
summary: PART TWO TO DADDY'S FRIEND! [PART ONE HERE] [PART THREE HERE]
Oz stops by reader's place to return the purse she drunkenly left at the Iceberg Lounge the night before. Reader's father isn't home, so she invites Oz in to see if he's thought about last night.
word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.5K | female reader, older man/younger woman, spoiled bratty reader, mentions of affluence, somewhat established relationship, a sprinkling of plot, lots of teasing and sexual tension, handjobs, blowjobs, brief fingering, masturbation and reader being a manipulative power bottom, I suppose?
a/n: I'm having a little too much fun with this.... for the remaining oz girlies on my page.... kisses to you. banner by @/strangergraphics!
↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!
Your hand juts out from underneath the covers, reaching for your phone. There’s nothing but open space as you feel around on your bedside table. You barely remember getting in bed last night, let alone where your phone was. You let out a plaintive groan, and throw the covers off your body. Moaning as you go, you stumble barefoot to your attached bathroom, and fumble in your medicine cabinet for the ibuprofen. You take two with a gulp of sink water, and straighten up, looking at yourself in the mirror.
Last night, you somehow managed to get yourself into pyjamas, which consisted of a very cheeky pair of silk sleep shorts and a tank top. Ever the fashionista. You look at the clock on the bathroom wall – it’s 9:30. Which means Daddy’s gone to work, and you’re left alone. The child of a divorce, and you’re grateful for it, because you’ve got the hangover from hell. If there’s one thing you’re not in the mood for, it’s anybody’s chastising.
Begrudgingly, you decide you need some breakfast. And a latte. Definitely a latte, before anything else. Thank god your parents have all the best appliances, because you still haven’t located your phone and while it’s your preferred method, ordering in is out of the question.
You pad down the plush carpeted steps, and down the hall. The kitchen is on the opposite side of the house, but you’ve got a skip in your step at the thought of hot coffee. Pulling down a mug from the cupboard, you get to work in front of the coffee machine, pouring in milk and letting it froth. The doorbell rings throughout the house.
The interruption annoys you slightly, considering you’re expecting a mailman or some sort of delivery guy. Once you get to the front door, you stand on your tiptoes and peer through the peephole. Lips parted. Prepped to tell them, ‘Leave it at the door.’
Oh.
Oh.
You lower down, and open the door gradually, careful to not reveal any of your excitement. He’s dressed a little more casually than last night; wearing black slacks, and a purple shirt that’s unbuttoned at the top, revealing coarse, black hair. He’s still got a wool overcoat on, ever presentable. You smile crookedly, and open the door further, letting the handle slip from your grasp.
“Hi, Ozzy…” you coo.
Oz looks at you, his eyes skipping quickly down your scantily clad body before returning to your face. There’s something he wants to say, you can tell, but he shakes it off with a shift of his shoulders.
He clears his throat, his tongue darting across his bottom lip. “You forgot this last night. Thought I’d bring it to ya’.”
He lifts the purse between you two. With a coy smile, you reach forward, hooking your finger around the handle. He lets it go, and it swings from your outstretched finger.
“Daddy isn’t home,” you say, leaning seductively against the doorframe. This poor guy, you think, he’s just standing on my doorstep, trying to do something nice and here I am…
“I know, I uh – called him before I came over.”
Kiss ass. For a moment, you say nothing, only staring at him. Tension crackles between you two, tangibly. Finally, you press your back against the doorframe, allowing him space to walk past you.
“You wanna’ come in? I’m making coffee…”
“Nah, doll… I shouldn’t.” He looks up at the security camera in the corner, then back to you. He licks his lips again.
You scoff, taking note of that. “Oh, stop it. He won’t mind. He’d probably say I was being rude if I didn’t invite you in.”
“Sweetheart,” he starts, but is immediately cut off by your pouting expression. He sees it, and god, the way you’re lookin’ at him has him crumbling. He clenches his fist at his side, and takes a moment, righting himself.
“Oz,” you whisper, rolling your head back and forth against the wood. “Come inside.”
You like how that sounds coming off your lips, and so does he. Maybe a little too much. Just like your father does when he knows he’s lost, he heaves a sigh and steps up onto the front stoop. His arm brushes your breasts as he moves past, and you suppress a shiver. Obsession roils in your stomach like a hungry beast, untameable and feral. You shut the door, twisting the lock into place. You two stand there, silent, for a moment before you finally speak up, rocking back and forth on your bare heels.
“What are you thinking about? Are you upset about last night?”
He raises his glance to you. The mere mention brings it back like a dirty movie; the way you were grabbing on his dick, forcing your tongue in his mouth, grinding your perfect little body against his big, broad one.
“Last night? Nah! I ain’t thinkin’ about that.” That’s a lie. He is as much as you are. “I was just thinkin’ about uh, y’know. Coffee. Since you mentioned it n’ all.”
“You want coffee?”
“Sure. I’ll take some.”
You perk up and trot past him, knowing full well that the bottom of your ass cheeks are on display, teasing him, taunting him. You don’t have to hold his hand this time, because he happily follows you into the kitchen.
With the distraction now behind you, literally, you resume your latte. Every so often, you peek behind you, and Oz is standing at the edge of the island with his hands crossed in front of him, like he’s waiting for orders. Jesus Christ.
“Oz, will you chill out? The only camera is at the door. Nobody’s going to see anything.”
He shifts and his shoulders relax, some of the tension releasing at your words. Your father seemed like the type to record his entire house, but he furrows his heavy brows, looking at you. What’s there to see? Nothin’.
With two coffee cups in hand and your purse in the crook of your arm, you jerk your head, urging him to follow you once more. “C’mon, it’s comfier in my bedroom.”
There’s a look in his eye, one that you devour. He seems real uneasy about that as he shuffles forward.
Once you’re back in your room, at your urging, Oz sits stiffly on the velvet chair in front of your vanity, and after giving him the coffee, you toss the purse on the bed, and perch on the edge of it, which is still unmade from this morning. You tuck one leg underneath you, letting the other hang limply off the edge.
“Have you thought about last night?” You ask, wrapping your fingers around the warm curve of the mug before taking a couple sips.
“How could I not, huh? You were pretty fuckin’ hammered, sweetheart. You could barely stand. How you feelin’ now?”
You roll your eyes almost imperceptibly, and take a sip of coffee. “I’m fine. I’m just thinking about what I did in the elevator.”
He chuckles breathily, and shakes his head, reassuring you that he wasn’t upset. “Ah, don’t think about it, sweetheart. You were drunk, and –”
“What if I want to think ‘bout it?” You set the coffee cup on the small circular table next to you, and get to your feet. One step at a time, you saunter towards him, bare feet digging into the plush carpet. Oz catches your gaze and swallows hard, watching as you close in. He sets the coffee on your vanity and turns back to you, a serious expression etched into his features.
“Look. Doll. What happened last night is… forget about it. This…” He stammers, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “This ain’t a thing.”
“Alright, Ozzy,” you murmur, moving closer. “Then stop me. Stop me, finish your coffee and leave.”
He wishes you’d stop calling him Ozzy, it makes his dick twitch in his slacks every single time. He looks past you, to your tufted bed frame. Your room oozes opulence, and acts a stark reminder of whose house he’s in. He doesn’t stop you fast enough, because by the time he opens his mouth to speak, you’ve slotted yourself in between his thighs, your body a hair’s breadth away from his. In his sitting position, you’re taller than him, and gaze down at him with an unparalleled hunger. Your breath mingles with his, and his words die in his throat.
“Yeaaah, I thought so.” You throw your head back in a laugh, and reach forward, sliding your hands in between his broad neck and the collar of his shirt. The contact makes Oz shiver, and you revel in the bloom of power that you feel beneath your fingertips. You trail down into the warmth of his coat, running your fingers underneath his suspenders, following them down to the waistband of his slacks. Oz’s big, strong hand finds one of your smaller ones at the wrist, holding it in place.
“Fuck… you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me, baby.”
He’s tenting in his slacks. You reach down with your free hand, boldly stroking the outline of his hardening cock with a single manicured nail. “Mm… I think I do.”
At that, Oz lets a groan slip. He can’t fuckin’ help it at this point, and his dick throbs.
“Touch me, Ozzy…” You pivot your hand in his grasp, latching onto it before yanking it hard to the crotch of your shorts. You press his thick fingers against your core, forcing him to feel the damp heat between your legs. The silk is already soaked through, and you urge more pressure.
“I said, fucking touch me. I know you want to.”
His tongue darts out again, wetting his lips. Who is he to deny your command? Oz’s fingers twitch to life between your legs, feeling the slickened fabric. They feel around your clothed slit, curiously, and through the fabric, he finds your swelling clit, running a few wide, soft circles around it. Your hips buck forward, a moan tumbling off your lips.
After a few moments of letting him touch your clothed cunt, you tug his hand away and kneel in front of him. Oz’s lust-laden gaze follows yours as you lower yourself down.
“Doll, what’re you doin’, huh? This is crazy.”
You shake your head, ignoring his insecurities and fears. Without a word, you free his cock from his slacks; thick and framed by a thatch of thick, black hair. It’s standing to attention and a perfect bead of precum leaks from the blushing head.
You reach forward, wrapping your fist around his shaft at the base and begin jerking him off in long, slow strokes. The feeling of it, velvet heat, and heavy in your hand, is enough to make your cunt twinge with heat. Above you, Oz is gripping the edge of your seat, his knuckles turning white.
“Sweetheart, you shouldn’t be doin’ this, y’know? This is fucked up…”
“Why?” You ask, coyly. You know. You know the reason that this has Oz twitching in your grip; the fear of getting caught turns him on, and knowing just whose daughter he’s getting a handy from… that turns him on, too.
“If your dad comes in here right now, I'm cooked.”
“Ugh, I told you, he’s not home. It’s just you and me, Oz. You like this, don’t you?”
You squeeze his dick at the head, milking some more precum from the tip. It dribbles onto your hand, and you rub it along the length, making it easier to glide up and down. “You liked it when I grabbed your dick in the elevator, didn’t you?”
“God damn right I did,” Oz chokes out.
“Why didn’t you kiss me back?”
Oz barks out a laugh, shifting his hips forward slightly as if he’s pathetically reminding you that his dick is out. You haven’t forgotten, and you shift your wanton gaze back to it. “Ah’cmon, y’know I couldn’t have done anything then! Nothin’ personal.”
His brown eyes glaze over with lust as you continue to stroke him, your thumb swiping over the tip with each pass of your hand. His cock twitches in your grasp as his body tenses, deepening his arousal. You’re doing it so casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Meanwhile, a thin sheen of sweat coats his forehead, and he’s getting hot under the collar.
“You want me to suck it?” You ask, looking up at him with big, bright eyes.
Flabbergasted by your question, he shrugs a little, and a nervous, breathy laugh tumbles off his scarred lips as your lips near his cock. Testing him. Taunting him. Seeing what he’ll put up with, or if his resolve is already broken. You suspect that it’s already shattered, because when your tongue flops out to trace the veiny underside of his cock, he jerks forward, hand snapping to the back of your head.
You reach behind your head and pull his hand away, bringing it eyelevel. You hum as you play gently with his fingers, your smaller ones slipping in and out of his thicker ones with ease. You run over his ring, tracing the grooves in the cool metal. Lazily, you lap at his cock again, precum beading up at the tip.
“How bad do you want it, Ozzy? Hm?”
You’re close enough that he can feel your breath washing over the head of his dick, and it’s drivin’ him up the fuckin’ wall. He laughs through his nose though, acting tough, and looks from your eyes to your mouth and back again.
“Pretty fuckin’ bad, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna’ lie to you. I wanna’ know how that mouth of yours feels around my dick.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Abruptly, the sound of your ringtone shatters the silence between you two, filling the room. You scurry over to your bed, pulling the phone from your purse. You’re surprised that it still has a charge– though it isn’t much. You slide the button to the right, and tap the speakerphone. You return to the floor in front of Oz’s legs, resting your chin on his knee.
“Hi daddy,” you say, reaching up to jerk Oz’s dick off centimeters from your mouth.
“Hi, baby. How are you?”
As soon as Oz hears your father’s voice, he leans back in the chair, rubbing his big hand over his face. He can’t fuckin’ believe you – putting it on speakerphone just to torture him? Playin’ a real dangerous game.
“Fine. Little hungover.” You lick at the tip of his cock, smiling proudly to yourself. Despite his feelings, Oz is doing a good job above you to make a single sound. It’s very clear that he wants to. His broad, big chest heaves with silent, laboured breaths as he watches you.
Your father clears his throat. “Did Oz come by?”
You look up to Oz’s face, and he swallows hard.
“Yeah.” You let go of his cock, and tap the tip of it with your finger. “He’s still here. I was making coffee. I invited him in to have some. Wanna’ talk to him?”
There’s a moment of silence, and Oz looks like he’s gonna’ have an aneurysm. His dark eyes widen angrily and he shakes his head at you, silently pleading for you to not pass the phone his way. You grip his cock again and lick another long line from the base to the tip. Oz’s hips pitch forward and he almost lets out a groan.
“No, no. That’s alright. I’d better get back to work – tell him I said thank you for stopping by to check on you.”
“Okay, daddy. I will.”
“I love you.”
You echo the sentiment and press the button to end the call. Oz heaves a loud sigh, and looks down at you like he’s got a devil between his legs.
“The hell d’you think you’re doin’, huh? You’re a real piece of fuckin’ work, y’know that?”
Your lids flutter as you roll your eyes, uninterested in participating in his nervous bantering. “That’s why you’re so hard, right? Do you want me to suck your cock, or not?”
“Yeah.” He nods once. “Yeah, suck it, sweetheart.”
There it is. You waste no time in taking his heavy cock into your mouth, reveling in his personal taste. Slowly, you urge him deeper until the head hits the back of your throat and makes you want to gag. The feeling is warm, and you close your eyes, burying your nose in the hair above his dick. Oz groans above you, and his hand finds the back of your head again, this time, gripping the strands slightly.
“Oh shit,” he stammers out. “Fuck me.”
You feel his eyes on you as you begin bobbing your head up and down, letting it slide out of your mouth before driving your head back down. Every so often, you feel it twitch against your tongue, and you can’t help but smile when it happens – and silently wonder when the last time he got his dick sucked was. Couldn’t have been recently, he’s practically coming apart already. Hot tears well at the corners of your eyes as your gag reflex is activated over and over again, but you don’t pull back, and power through the movements. Oz notices this though, and he reaches his hand down to your shoulder, where he grips it softly.
He’s breathless when he speaks. “You doin’ okay, doll?”
You nod your head a few times on his cock, indicating that you’re doing just fine. It’s cute that he’s worried. Worried that maybe if you aren’t doing okay, you might just call your dad back and tell him what you’re doing.
You reach your hand down between your legs; your silk shorts are soaked through with your arousal. You pull back from Oz’s swollen cock, swallowing the collection of spit and precum, and look him in the eye, your gaze unwavering as you begin to speak.
“I wonder what your dick would feel like inside me.” Your words are casual, but the hunger that claws your insides is anything but. You want so desperately to get up and turn around, pulling the fabric down over the swell of your ass and slip his thick cock inside, feeling that burning stretch as your slickened walls struggle to accommodate his girth.
You deepthroat him again, and you feel the muscles in Oz’s big thighs tense up beneath your hands. In fact, you feel everything tense up. You laugh through your nose, unsurprised that he didn’t last very long. That’s cute, too. He’s probably thinking about fucking your tight little cunt.
When he comes, it’s warm and viscous and coats the inside of your throat in virile pulses. You breathe through your nose as you swallow him down. Once the spurts subside, you back up, letting his cock slide messily from your throat. A heavy string of spit and cum stretches from the tip, and you whisk it away as you wipe your chin, which has accumulated the fluids too.
“I always get what I want, remember?”
“Fuck,” Oz says, tucking his fading cock hurriedly back into his slacks. Post-nut clarity has hit and he’s back to his worrying state, looking around your room like your father is going to pop out from the closet and wring his neck.
“I’m going to fuck you next.” You say it not as a question, or a plea, but a simple fact. The next time you see Oz, you’re going to let him fuck you, because he wants it, and you want it more.
Oz stands up, looking down at you. You wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb, gazing up at him with that sweet, falsely innocent gaze of yours. He chuckles, the sound filling your room.
He takes a long swig of the coffee, now room temperature, and sets the cup back down on your vanity.
“Thanks for the coffee, doll.”
“And?” You ask, expectantly.
“And for suckin’ me off.”
You nod, satisfied. “You’re welcome.”
Oz looks at you for a second, really looks at you, like he’s trying to figure out what your game is, what makes you tick. You flash him a bright smile, and nod your head towards the door. His gait isn’t graceful as he moves past you, but there’s something that swells in your core at the way he ambles down the hall, and then the stairs, taking them carefully.
Once you’re at the front door, you lean against the doorframe again. For the second time in 48 hours, you’re saying goodbye to him. You say his name again, equally as coy, but a little less sloppy than the night before.
After Oz leaves, you’re immediately racing back up the stairs. You launch yourself onto your bed, and your hand is in your bedside drawer, searching blindly for that satin drawstring bag. It’s in the back of your drawer, nestled amongst lip gloss and hair ties; your pink dildo. You rip it open and immediately twist the base, activating the vibrating function.
You waste no time in sliding it in. You’re wet, and it’s easy to fuck yourself on it, hard and fast, like you’d want Oz to fuck you. With the heady taste of him still on your tongue, it doesn’t take you long to come, and when you do, you say his name over and over again.
When your father gets home, you think, you’ll have to steal Oz’s number from his phone.
summary: headcanon of nathan fielder x controversially young gf! reader
rating: R — reader is 21+, sex is mentioned a few times, age gap, fem!reader
- controversially young gf that intentionally seeks out nathan.
- you spot him sitting alone in the corner of a bar, nursing his drink like it’s medicinal.
- every time he looks up, you guys make eye contact — not once, not twice, but five times. you smile; he doesn’t, just stares at you like you’re a part of a social experiment he didn’t get funding for.
- when you finally approach him (after sending him a drink and him just staring at you while sipping said drink), you guys have an awkward exchange before you ask for his number.
-you spam text him before he finally responds
heyyyy 3:36 AM
it’s me from the bar 3:45 AM
unless there’s multiple girls you met from the bar 3:46 AM
that would be embarrassing 3:46 AM
for me 3:48 AM
NATHAN: Hi, yes, I remember you from the bar. 7:12 AM
omg 7:24 AM
i thought you gave me the wrong number 7: 24 AM
or u ghosted me 7:24 AM
wyd tn???? 7:45 AM
- you basically berate him until he goes out with you.
- i imagine you two plan to meet at a sushi restaurant
You’re twenty minutes late, which you think is slightly charming, and he mostly likely thinks is disrespectful. Immediately as you walk in, you see him. He’s sitting stiffly at a table, hands flat on his thighs. You guys make eye contact as you rush in, he stands up, hand ready to shake yours like this is some business meeting. Instead of shaking his hand, you bring him in for a hug.
“Hi! How’ve you been?” You say, pulling him into a hug and swaying him left and right.
“Um… Good.” His voice is tight, arms hovering awkwardly behind your back.
Once you let him go, he immediately sat back down to his original positions. “I didn’t know if… people still hug when meeting. Like in a dating context. I’m not used to it.”
You smile, peeking your eyes above the menu in front of your face, “Are you nervous?”
He stares at the soy sauce a moment too long. “No, I’m always nervous. This is just different.”
You place your menu down, eyebrows quirking up, “Different how?”
“Different like I might actually enjoy this.”
- you order more confidently than he does.
- he gets a cucumber roll saying something about “not trusting the fish-to-rice ratio.”
- you offer him some of your sushi, which he declines. you insist, pushing your chopsticks toward his face before he reluctantly takes it.
- at the end of the night, he walks you to your car. you lean against it, he stands in front of you with his hands behind his back. as you’re ending your conversation, you give him a peck on the cheek before getting in your car.
you looked like you were in physical pain sitting across from me LOL 10:43 PM
you’re so cute 10:43 PM
NATHAN: I wasn’t in pain. That’s just my face. 11:01 PM
- after that night, he gets a little more comfortable with you.
- you guys text for months, seeing each other frequently, before he invites you to his place.
- he shares his ideas with you, not matter how bizarre they are.
- you guys decide to start going on walks together when you both had nothing better to do.
- you are definitely making most of the first moves
It’s chilly, Nathan’s awkwardly holding his jacket around himself. You’re walking shoulder to shoulder, talking about random things that happened throughout the day. You stop him mid-sentence and just go for it, pulling him in for a kiss.
When you two part, he blinks at you, “Was that rehearsed?”
“Dude, are you serious?”
“Sorry.”
“Okay, fine. Yes, but only the part right before the kiss.”
- you make him text you more often. texts started stiff, sometimes formal, before he starts to relax a bit
NATHAN: I saw someone that looked like you today. 5:03 PM
was it me? 5:04 PM
NATHAN: It was. You were standing in front of that bakery we went to last week. 5:07 PM
NATHAN: I got nervous and walked the other way. 5:08 PM
freak!!!!! 5:10 PM
i like that 5:10 PM
NATHAN disliked your message
- you looove going to his house, he loves you sleeping over
It’s 2am, you’re on his couch in his hoodie, while he’s sitting on the floor nearby, sorting some wires from an old project. Your head is squished between the couch cushion and your forearm while you watch him closely.
You stay in your positions before he glances over at you, “Do you want a pillow? Or are you just absorbing couch molecules?”
“I’ll absorb your molecules,” You smile deviously.
There’s a beat of silence before he stands up, walks over with a blanket that was originally folded up behind a loveseat, placing it over you. “Give me 5 minutes.” He mutters as you nod eagerly.
- stands behind you as you do your nightly routine while quietly reading on his phone.
- he say it’s “for proximity calibration”
- sets the thermostat to the exact temperature you prefer when you stay over.
- you like taking pictures of him doing mundane tasks and then gushing over them later.
- he pretends to hate it, but in actuality, he starts doing the same to you (without the extreme gushing — he just looks at them later when he’s missing you).
- eventually, he starts sending photos he takes of himself without comment.
- like sending mirror selfies with random objects around his house.
- keeps your favorite snacks at his place and then denies they’re for you.
“I just like those now. Independently.”
- you blast music when you cook, he listens to podcasts quietly.
- for someone younger than him, he’s a lot healthier than you.
- he makes most of the food you eat together.
- mostly because the last couple times you “made” food, it had been meals a college student would make using their last $5.
- and yes, you are in the background taking photos of him cooking.
- him teaching you how to cook….…….
- he’s only taught you how to make a few meals because every time he tries to teach you, you become a horndog.
He’s showing you how to dice onions. You’re behind him, arms wrapped around hid waist, not paying attention in the slightest.
“Are you even watching?” Nathan questions.
“Oh, I’m watching.” You say, staring intensely at his arms and hands.
- he cannot keep up with you
- while he has you beat in the health department, he doesn’t stand a chance with your stamina.
“I already fucked you 3 times just this morning, how are you still this wound up?”
“I can’t help it when you look like this! You look so hot with your glasses on.”
- he can’t say no to you.
- once he learns about the triangle method, he realizes you do it every time you want him to kiss you ever since you met. refuses to confront you about it though, he finds it too endearing to let you know that he knows your little secret.
- will NEVER wake you up when you’re sleeping on him. on his lap, across his legs, sprawled beside him on the couch, he is not moving.
- he IS little spoon
- when you’re sad, he’ll give you space with a blanket and candle beside you. you always crawl into his lap less than 10 minutes later.
- his hyper-logical over-explaining calms you down.
- he finds your oversharing very addictive, he could listen to you without saying a word for months, if not years.
- he once did a full psychological analysis using your star chart “for fun.”
- you send him 10-minute voice memos throughout your day, he saves them and listens to all of them, sometimes twice.
- he does both of your laundry, you fold half and steal the rest of his clothes.
- you cut his hair; he refuses to let anyone else do it.
- you dance in the kitchen, he doesn’t join. But he’ll watch like it’s the most important part of his day.
- you say “i love you” constantly, he’s not keen on saying it back as often as you are but he’ll make sure you know how loved you are.
-
okay i know i said tuesday, i fell asleep as i was writing this yesterday LOL. i hope you enjoy this tiny fic, i’ll be writing larger pieces later this week. also im trying to get out of using Y/N, hopefully the writing is still easy to read without it.
summary: you're seated next to gob at the bluth company's fundraiser. after a long night of gob being hit on by women at the party, you get a little jealous. you get back at him through his brother michael.
cw: slightly nsfw, teasing under the table, jealousy, fwb dynamic
───────────────────────────────
you’re about to see him again. this time, at his family's company’s fundraiser. you go to work everyday with his brother, but your boss is unaware of the unspoken relationship you have with his hot older brother.
your hair stands up noticing the few heads that turned the moment you step foot into the party. there was one particular face that quickened the pace of your heart beat.
your eyes lock with gob's. the first to look away would be considered the loser between the two of you, but you’d be lying if you said gob isn’t the first person you go to when you're on your break. you’re the loser, but you have never met a man as sleazy, horny, self-absorbed, and arrogant as gob bluth. still, you can't deny he's good in bed... and in the bathroom, and in the car, and in the yacht.
he gives you a quick nod to say 'what's up?' and you return a smile like you don’t know this man. you both stand near the catering service. gob’s face is expressing… hesitance?
“something wrong?” you tilt your head slightly as you inquire.
“no… it’s just… you’re… you look… good. you look really good. god.”
he’s totally not used to giving compliments. he’d tell women they look good to get a quick fuck but your backless black dress that hugs your body looks like it had an impact on him.
“let's keep it professional tonight, gob. i don’t wanna lose my job.” you smile, ignoring his reaction to your dress. it feels as if you’re above him now.
“yeah. well— you know what, i think i left something in the car. wanna help me go get it? it’s in the backseat, specifically.”
you’re not so sure now. but he would never hesitate to compliment for a quickie.
“no, we’re not doing that right now."
“it'll only take five minutes." he begs, on the brink of saying 'please' three times.
you sneer. “three?” he squeaks.
"y/n, welcome to the party. how are you finding it so far?"
michael approaches you with two glasses of champagne in his hands.
"beautiful party, really. i'm glad to be a part of tonight. i think tonight might be the first time i meet all of your siblings as well."
"happy to hear that. i mean, not about the last thing you said. i will have to wish you good luck for that.”
he offers you a glass and you take it almost immediately, even though champagne won't be strong enough to get you through the night you're about to have. michael is too nice, and you and gob both know what you're doing together is wrong. what makes it even worse is that michael has no idea. he takes a quick glance at gob, assuming he's hitting on you, which he is. you know michael feels sorry for you.
"especially for this one. y/n, let me know if you need anything. okay? seriously. we're on the same table anyway."
"of course. thank you for the drink, michael."
before michael completely leaves the conversation, he shortens the distance between you and him to leave a message.
"is he making you uncomfortable?"
you giggle. he wasn't trying to be funny, but if that's how michael saw your interaction with gob, you must not be the only person who thinks gob is that sleazy, horny, self-absorbed, arrogant character from the docks.
"i'm okay, really. i can take care of myself." you reassure michael.
gob scoffs as michael leaves to go out of sight and probably go broaden his network. when was a part of the conversation, you forgot gob had just implied he wanted a quickie in his car. but god, its hard to resist to his offer when he looks so good in that suit with his hair slicked back. you couldn't ever forget about that.
you two have never discussed what you both wanted out of the relationship, if you could even call it a relationship. with that in mind, something deep inside is telling you you don't want other women in this party to know gob exists.
"i’ll see you around, gob. i have an actual job and reputation to maintain. have fun.”
you pat him on the shoulder before turning your back. part of the reason why gob's so infatuated with you is because you treat him like he's just another guy. michael would always tell you about the disaster-relationships gob has had in the past, and the reason for disaster would always be gob himself. him and his fear of commitment and not being in-control.
the least you could do for your boss after secretly having sex multiple times with his older brother is strengthen the bluth company's relationship with its clients. while speaking to clients, you couldn't shake off the feeling of being stared at. it takes a great amount of strength to resist looking around for gob, but it took only a second for you to turn your head to the woman who shouts gob's name as she laughed.
"you're hilarious, gob!"
'come on, he couldn't possibly be that funny for her to have to announce that to the whole party,' you thought.
it looked like she was having the time of her life, clinging onto gob's arm and playfully hitting him like that. that should've been you. your body starts to feel cold, but your face is heating up. a familiar feeling starts to disturb you. you know you'll start making bad choices as soon as you realize the emotion you're currently feeling.
jealousy. you want to get back at him. you'll let any man, even michael, to touch you for a quick second just for gob to realize what he's missing. you just have to time it right, then he'll see.
it's wrong. you know it's wrong, but it'll just take a second. michael's finally alone, and you know exactly where gob is. your feet starts to numb from all the standing and walking on your high heels, but it'll only take a second. you finally approach michael.
"hey you. look who's been working so hard." a smile grows on michael's face. he lifts his hand up, waiting for your high five. of course, you rush to high five him.
"thank you, thank you. i see you too, michael. you just don't stop working, do you?"
he chuckles and looks down. it's his way of agreeing with what you say.
"i get that a lot."
there it is again, that feeling. it's telling you someone's staring at you. your 'plan' is working.
"we don't talk a lot about our personal lives."
"except when you talk to me about your… interesting siblings."
"that, i'm still sorry about." michael assures.
"no, don't be. they’re not your fault. i'd go crazy too."
if only michael knew you have already gone crazy because of his sibling. after all the feeling of guilt and jealousy from your first glass of champagne to the fifth, a conversation with michael served as the actual refresher— to the point where you don't realize 15 minutes has already passed.
"right, the program's about to start. we should take our seats. you coming with me or do you still want to break off your legs standing on those heels all night?" michael reaches a hand out to you, waiting for your response. he knows you've been working hard all night and you needed support, both physically and mentally.
"definitely coming with you," you gently place your hand on his and gently pull up your long dress by your hip with the other hand. you couldn't take your eyes off the floor knowing you might trip on your own dress. maybe also the fact that you might lock eyes with gob again.
but you're already way over that. your eyes widen seeing gob's already sat at the table you were assigned to. he won't even look at you, he was too busy playing with the corner of his table napkin... even when you made sure to spray 2 more times than your usual amount of perfume so you could make a lasting impression. michael squeezes your hand as he helps you take the vacant seat next to gob, signaling he'll have to leave for a while to host. you nod and smile at him, mouthing 'good luck.'
"i know what you're doing." gob mutters.
if he's not turning to look at you, you wouldn't dare move a single inch for him.
"what are you talking about?"
"michael? really?"
"what about the guy i go to work with everyday?"
he sighs and crosses his arms in return like he's throwing tantrums because his crush won't give attention to him and only him. it's unfair. you don't even know where gob goes when you're not with him, and it's not like you're in a relationship with him. it's just casual, that's what you both non-verbally agreed on ever since you started working with michael.
the lights dim and the sounds of jazz weakens. it's dark and everyone's looking at the stage, you wouldn't want to miss the opportunity; you gently place a hand on gob's thigh while expecting for him to remove your hand and doing the same to you instead.
all he did was slightly change the way he sat instead, manspreading even more, 'submitting' his thigh to you. as the hosts on stage were introducing themselves, your hand slowly caresses his thigh, slowly traveling up to his inner thigh. you graze his clothed crotch for a second, making him take a sharp breath. if it weren't for the tablecloth you'd have been caught by now.
"you okay, gob?" you tease, moving your face closer to his to inquire.
"i’m okay.” he purses his lips and hums in response, facing your way a little until his lips are only a few inches away from a kiss with you that you’ve both been craving ever since the two of you got here.
hello! i love your hasan fics! there’s not a lot for him so i appreciate your work.
i don’t know if you’re up for any requests, but i think it would be fun if you wrote a little reunion fic with hasan for when he gets home from his japan trip. maybe include something about his ‘beautification’ bc that was really interesting to witness on stream
.ೃ࿐HOMESICK
summary — in which hasan's homesick after spending time away from you in japan, and you're homesick because his house isn't a home without him in it.
pairings — hasan piker x reader (established relationship)
pronouns — none
word count — 1343
note — thank you sm <33 requests are definitely open :) (sorry it took so long, it's not much but i kinda like it? idk hope i didnt disappoint too hard)
YOU NEVER THOUGHT IT was possible to be homesick within the walls of your own home.
it obviously wasn't the first time that hasan had left you behind to go somewhere, but it was the first time he had left the country without you. last year you went with him to japan, but this year's trip was grander than the last, and you stayed behind so that he could go do all the content goals he had planned. ultimately giving up on convincing you ( and subsequently qt ), he let it go and enjoyed the last few days with you before he had to fly out.
you couldn't say the house was quiet while he was away, only for the first two days because it was just you and kaya, with murat stopping by to pick up some things. you had a feeling that was bullshit, and you were right because you coaxed the truth out of him: hasan had asked him to drop by to make sure you and kaya were comfortable. it made your chest feel warm at how much he cared; you couldn't really fault him for thinking about you.
the house got louder when hasan's parents came to visit, another thing you were pretty sure was scheduled so that you wouldn't be on your own the entire time. even though you spent nights watching movies with them and mornings walking kaya and swift with qt, it still felt like a hole was carved into your heart. perhaps a touch on the overdramatic side, but it definitely did not help when you had hasan's stream open, tiredly watching him have a fantastic time while itching to not pick up your phone to text him.
you already felt bad enough when he stepped away from his friends for one minute maximum to send you a goodnight text, it made you feel worse when austin mentioned you on fear& because apparently he had a gripe that hasan spent more time texting you than he did listening to him talk. it was a joke, you recognised that it was just a subtle dig, but you weirdly still felt bad. this was their trip, you didn't mean to get mentioned as much as you did, but in all fairness hasan and you hadn't been apart for this long before. and you were also pretty sure you hadn't gotten this many texts from him ever.
YOU waited impatiently at the airport, and you had been for the past hour and a half. in excitement, you'd left the house way earlier than necessary. you were also pretty sure that came down to your worry that the traffic would be so bad that he'd be waiting around forever if you weren't there on time.
hasan insisted on catching an uber home but that would mean waiting even longer to see him. maybe you were selfish, but you didn't want to have to share his attention among his brother and parents after not seeing him for so long. you loved his family, but you really just wanted to be wrapped up in the warmth of his presence for just a little bit before he was pulled into at least five different conversations as to how the trip was.
you were one of the few waiting by his gate, and probably was just as excited as the little girls waiting impatiently for their father to get off the plane just beside you. their mother was a lovely woman trying to wrangle the twins into behaving in such a busy place, and you'd helped out briefly earlier when they were almost trampled by a man passing by in a hurry with his suitcase.
the plane hasan was on was in view, and various airport staff had been getting everything ready to allow passengers to disembark. you'd been keeping yourself occupied by trying to spot hasan's luggage as a mound of suitcases were being pulled off the plane and put onto a lengthy trailer.
excitement doubling tenfold when the doors were opened and people started filtering through into the space. the twin girls squealed when they saw their dad, rushing over and jumping on him, their mother not too far behind. you shifted slightly, fingers tangling together as you peered around the happy family, trying to spot your boyfriend through the crowd. you knew it wouldn't be hard, he was pretty easy to spot in crowds, but you were getting antsy with how long it was taking.
you pulled out your phone, ready to check if he had texted you at all without you realising when you spotted him. actually, you weren't too sure if that was really him.
a very clean-looking hasan piker was making his way towards you, and you squinted, excitement dwindling ever so slightly as curiosity gnawed at you. "oh my god," you finally laughed, a short series of giggles that were pleasant on his ears the closer he got.
"why're you laughing?" hasan asked, his voice a honeyed sweetness. "not the greeting i was expecting."
"i'm sorry," you couldn't stop staring at his face, barely noticing his hands coming to rest on either sides of your waist. "you look so much more . . . turkish . . .?" it came out more like a question than a statement, but you couldn't help it.
everything about him seemed so sharp. his beard had been done up nicely, neatly trimmed and lined to accentuate his jaw. his hair was shorter, blended down to the buzzed sides, and you knew it would look even better as it blended further when his hair grew out. and his eyebrows, oh my god they were nicer than your own. they were neatly shaped so perfectly that you couldn't spot a single stray hair or anything out of place. he was all angles and lines and god he liked interestingly good. you liked your boyfriend as his rugged self, but you couldn't say you hated what he looked like right now.
"you didn't watch the stream?" he chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. you all but melted. "it took, like, three hours for all of this to be done."
you sighed, trying to calm your chuckles. "i missed you," you said quietly, "and watching your streams made me miss you more, so . . . i stopped. did you have a good time?"
"of course," hasan let go of you, slipping his hand into yours instead so you could make your way over to collect his bags. "but next time you have to come." you made a subtle noise of protest, knowing the whole reason you didn't go in the first place was to avoid distracting him from his friends. "y'know i always have more fun when you're there, c'mon," he shook his head, squeezing your hand.
"austin kept telling you to stop talking to me," you deadpanned. "if anything, i'm ruining content."
"nah," he waved off, running his fingers through his hair, momentarily forgetting that it wasn't as long as it was a few days ago. the simple action from him and you were immediately back to staring up at his face again, still trying to get over how different of a look this was for him. "stop staring." he didn't have to look at you to know.
you laughed again, "i can't help it! you look like one of those greek statues; all angles 'n' shit."
as much as he loved you, he knew he wasn't going to hear the end of it for at least a few weeks until his hair growing was more noticeably changing him back into how he looked before the beautification stream. he was proven right when he went home and his mum reacted in the same way you did, and how you kept running your fingers against his eyebrows when he was laying his head in your lap later that night.
he absolutely was not going to live this one little bit of content down, but he couldn't say he didn't hate it when your attention was constantly on him because of it.
