I Need To Stop Joining New Fandoms And Falling In Love With New People.

Apples

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You tossed an apple to Luke without knowing the meaning of it in Greek Mythology (fluff, friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: Just wanted to write something lighthearted and funny. Since I saw somewhere that apparently throwing an apple at someone means something in Greek Mythology, thought I should use it as a prompt.

Word count: 3.1k

You have been at Camp Half-Blood for a year. Within that time, you’ve been claimed by your Godly parent, learned so many things about Greek mythology, and, best of all, made friends who understood exactly what you were going through and all whom you loved dearly. 

One of them was Luke Castellan. You two were relatively close friends, though you swore he treated you differently than he would with others at camp. But you didn’t want to be foolish and assumed it was something. That didn’t mean you don’t treat him differently than you would with other campers though. You have always had a soft spot for Luke in your heart. You weren’t exactly sure when it happened, but you found yourself thinking about him too often.

“Anyway, Percy. Don’t worry too much, honestly. We all have been through what you’re currently going through. You’ll fit right in, yeah?” the younger boy offered you a lope-sided smile as you patted his back and stood up. 

“Alright, boys, I have to go now, but I’ll see you later,” you said before grabbing your plate, which would have been empty if it wasn’t for the apple you hadn’t eaten. The rest of the table - which included Chris, Luke, and Percy - said their goodbyes before chattering again as you walked away. However, you halted as you changed your mind about wasting the apple.

You turned back to look at the group before calling out, “Hey, Castellan.” However, you were slightly caught off guard to see Luke already having his eyes on you.

Luke swore that you have always had him mesmerized. If he even heard a whisper of your voice, his head would immediately try to locate you. To make matters worse, Chris even started calling Luke a “lost puppy” when he realized how your departure would always leave Luke like one. 

“Catch,” you tossed your apple at Luke. 

Multiple heads turned in your direction as the red apple hurled through the air before landing neatly in Luke’s hands. The Hermes cabin counselor had his eyes glued onto the fruit that was in his palms. You almost halted in your steps from his and other camper’s reactions. Some started whispering to their friends, pointing at you. You even heard one gasp. But you ignored them, finding it strange that people cared so much about such a small interaction.

“You can have it. I don’t think I’ll have time to eat it,” with that, you vanished from the scene, leaving at least half of the camp agape, including Luke and your friends. 

Then, the strangest of things happened for the next few days. It started with Luke already stationed outside when you exited your cabin the morning after. He cheekily presented you with one singular flower in his hand, and you took it with playful words, “Ooh, what did I do to deserve this special treatment today?”

“Nothing, just thought I should show how much I appreciate you,” Luke put his arm over your shoulder as the two of you made your way to the dining pavilion. You could feel your cheeks flushing at his action. He has never done this before. With his arms around you, the sides of your bodies brushed as the two of you walked. You noticed almost immediately how every other person would have their eyes on the two of you. But you ignored the attention and focused on Luke instead.

The sweet actions didn’t stop at flowers or more physical touches. For the next three days, Luke was stuck to your hip. So it was quite strange that you have not spotted the Hermes cabin counselor in the last two hours. Hence why you were spending some time with Clarisse, another close friend of yours. However, you felt an arm swinging around your shoulders, and you instantly recognized who it was from the familiar touch.

“Hey, Clarisse, can I borrow Y/N real quick?” Luke asked, quickly muttering a “thank you” when your friend nodded. “So, I have something to give you…” your face must have shown how surprised you were because he chuckled at your reaction. However, when the boy pulled his gift out from his cargo pocket, your mouth fell slightly agape at the reveal. 

Luke must have misinterpreted your reaction because he started nervously rambling, his voice a few octaves higher, “It’s not much, but honestly, this is all I can do with my arts and crafts skills. I’m just not really good with that y-”

“It’s perfect, Luke. Thank you so much!” you gave him a brief hug, but it was enough to stun him for a second. Luke felt this urgent sense of craving from how your bodies fit for a second. It’s as if he was made to hold you. He almost pulled you back into another hug but had to force himself to regain composure. Nevertheless, that didn’t last long because his eyes softened again at the sight of you trying on the bracelet he made. The beads in your favorite color, crafted with care, wrapped around your wrist perfectly, and you wonder how he knew just the right size to make it.

The truth was Luke had to ask Clarisse to steal one of your bracelets just so he could make a bracelet of the correct size. But you didn't need to know that, though - according to him.

The next night, there was a social gathering near the campfire. Luke reapproached the location with a hoodie in hand. Earlier, Luke excused himself to fetch the clothing item that was now in his hand that was meant for you. However, his brows scrunched as he spotted another figure next to you, sitting in the spot that he previously occupied. You were laughing at something they said. The way your laugh echoed in his head usually sounded like a lullaby or the enchanting voice of a siren. But right now, the idea that someone else elicited the same laugh made him want to hurl behind the bush he was standing next to.

Little did he know you were zoning out from whatever the other boy was speaking about, thus the fake laugh to not blow your cover. You were distracted just thinking about Luke and everything he has done so far - offering his portion of dessert to you because he knew it was your favorite; him winning Capture the Flag and ignoring everybody else to go hug you first, then having his eyes on you and only you afterwards; sneaking out of camp to go buy the items you mentioned once that you wish you had at camp and so on. 

Your mind quickly reminded you that the boy sitting next to you was still talking to you. However, when you snapped out of your thoughts again, you realized now he was looking at you expectantly and you scrambled your mind for a reply.

Thank Gods Luke plopped down on your other side, saving you from having to admit to the other boy that you were not listening to him. “Hey, you’re back,” you commented. Luke’s arm automatically threw itself around your shoulder and tugged you to him slightly. Your body leaned on the Hermes cabin counselor ever so naturally at this before you turned to him. Luke quickly set his clothing on your lap, and you stared at it questioningly.

“You’re cold, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” your cheeks flushed again at how he knew without you telling him. You shivered maybe once or twice earlier due to the night air lowering the temperature, but it was so brief you were sure nobody had noticed. As you put on the hoodie, Luke averted his gaze from you to the guy on your other side. 

The Hermes cabin counselor arched one of his eyebrows in a challenging manner. Almost immediately, his ‘opponent’ slightly raised both of his hands. Luke internally snickered at the quick motion of surrender. 

“My bad, man,” you heard the other boy say as you managed to put your head through the clothing item and pull it down. Luke was physically preening at the other boy’s words and departure. Meanwhile, you were distracted by how you were engulfed by the smell of Luke from his hoodie. Your height difference also meant you were swimming in it, but it felt so comfortable.

“What was that?” you asked once the other boy was gone. 

“Nothing…” even the most oblivious person could see that Luke was lying. But, once again, you did not question his actions and carried on with the gathering. You could also feel other campers staring at the two of you, but you ignored that as well. 

That night - like every other night since four days ago - he walked you back to your cabin. You were honestly completely smitten by the attention he has given you, not that you would admit that to him. You were still not sure what caused the change, but you were still elated about it. Maybe he did return your feelings? Either way, everything felt perfect lately, and you went to sleep that night feeling like the stars aligned for you.

“I guess congratulations are in order?” Percy spoke up as you lined up for food the following day. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, taking the plate of food. Today’s meal consisted of mac n’ cheese, steak, and an apple. 

“You’re engaged?” you almost dropped your plate at that and gave the son of Poseidon a questioning look. “You proposed to Luke like a week ago?”

“What? When?”

“When you threw him the apple? That is considered a marriage proposal.”

“Since when?”

“Uh, in Ancient Greek culture, it’s considered a marriage proposal if a man throws an apple at a lady. But, I mean, it’s the 21st century, so I guess it can work both ways.” Percy finally took a plate of food for himself. “And if the recipient catches it, it’s considered an acceptance.”

“You saw this and knew this whole time without telling me?!?” 

“I thought you knew! And you two seem so smitten already, so I thought you did it on purpose.”

“Percy, no! Is this a well-known thing? Do you think other people who saw it too thought I proposed to Luke as well?” Seeing Percy’s look and how he was fumbling with his words, you quickly requested, “Actually, no, don’t answer that.” 

The two of you walked over to Luke and Chris with plates in hand. You picked up the apple on your plate and placed it on the table. 

“Luke, we need to talk,” You deliberately placed the fruit there, hoping the boy would get a hint about the topic you wanted to discuss. Luke’s eyes flicked from the fruit to you. Though the hint of amusement in his eyes and a sheepish grin made you realize he knew all along. Luke stood up and followed you out of sight and hearing distance from other campers whose eyes were trailing after the two of you.

“You knew what it meant, and you didn’t tell me?” You broke the silence as soon as you two were far away enough. 

“Listen, I appreciate your proposal. But, it’s a little bit fast, don’t you think?” Luke teased, and you instantly hit his arm at that, causing the boy to flinch slightly, but the smile on his face told you he was anything but mad at your action.

“But you caught it. So, technically, you said yes,” you rebutted, sighing as you rubbed your face, “My Gods, does everybody at camp think we’re engaged? Wait, is this a substitute for an engagement ring? Did you give this to me because of that?” you pointed to the bracelet Luke gave you, your mind now understanding Clarisse’s teasing and her implications. You could see the way Luke was stifling a laugh. He settled with saying something else when he saw the pure panic on your face.

“Sweetheart, calm down.” the nickname successfully silenced you. You hated how it made you feel, but you would not mind hearing that daily. “No, it’s not an engagement ring.”

“Oh, so were you doing all of these romantic gestures and gifts on purpose to make fun of me and the situation?” you asked, though it was more with a lighthearted tone than one of temper. However, something shifted because the expression on Luke’s face changed from one of humor to earnestness.

“No, I didn’t do all this to make fun of the situation or you…” Luke’s voice fell off as tried to find the right words to say next. In that split second, Luke took a deep breath, and you could see how nervous he suddenly became, though he still kept a light tone. “I did it because I took it as a chance to maybe…win you over, and it also gives me an advantage because it fended off many other guys.” 

Undoubtedly, you were frozen in place, unable to register the words he was saying and the implications they bear. Neither did the boy in front of you act like the Luke you usually know - somebody who was usually confident, outgoing, always having his way with words. No, the person in front of you could not even hold eye contact, the pink hue on his cheeks now spreading to the tip of his ears as he shifted left and right. Luke broke the silence first, giving away the nerves that were gnawing him away from your lack of response.

“How about this? I’ll say ‘no’ to your mind-blowing marriage proposal for now,” you lightheartedly hit him again, rolling your eyes playfully. Seeing a positive reaction from you, Luke let out a small breath of relief, but the nerves quickly overtook again as he mustered up all the courage to utter his counter proposal: “But maybe we could start with something slower like going on a date? — Or I’ll even settle with you allowing me to try and ‘woo’ you.” Luke added the last bit as insurance, in case you didn’t want to take up on the date. Part of his mind wanted to scowl at himself for seeming so desperate - but Gods, he has always been a desperate man when it comes to you. 

“You’re such a dork.”

“Yet you still proposed to me.”

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?” Luke only shook his head in response. Once again, you haven’t responded to his offer. Luke could see that you were in deep thought, the cogs turning in your head as you digested what he just said.

“You mean it? That you wanna go on a date? That you wanna “woo” me and sweep me off my feet?” you questioned. Despite the humor in your voice, there was also a hint of vulnerability and cautiousness. “Does this mean what you’ve been doing for the past few days…they are all genuine?”

“Is it that hard to believe that I like you? I don’t think you even fully understand the feelings I have for you. I’ve had my eyes on you for a year now, which is the entire time I know you, and I’m afraid I can’t see that changing any time soon.” Luke had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying more because he was sure he would never stop talking about you if he could. Maybe those unspoken words ought to be things Luke would disclose in the future. If you give him the chance, he will ensure you hear everything he adored about you.

“Well, that’s good then, ‘cause I happen to like you too,” your words made Luke’s eyes snap to yours, almost in disbelief. 

Luke felt as if his heart was blocking his airway by the way it was thumping so hard in his chest to the point he could feel the vibration in his neck. He held his breath over your confession and the way you were looking at him. Oh, Luke was convinced he was utterly doomed because how could he be so affected by one single look. He was suddenly unsure whether he would be able to handle your affections or ever live without it if it was taken from him. He’d spend the rest of eternity like a deprived man.

“Aw, look who is nervous now,” you teased, deciding to somewhat torture him and get him back for teasing you earlier. “I did not think I had this kind of effect on you, Castellan,” you approached him slowly, keeping eye contact with his now dilated pupils. 

“I mean…all I did was say a couple of words and you’re all tongue tied. What would happen to you if I do this?” you swiftly grabbed Luke’s camp beads and pulled him down, eliminating a significant amount of space between your faces, though not completely. To steady himself during your action, Luke’s hands steadied on your hips and stumbled slightly, though you did not mind the touch.

You never knew it was possible for his face to flush even more, but it did. Luke gulped and your eyes casted down on the way his Adam’s apple moved when he did so. The way he reacted to you only intoxicated you with power even more. You glanced upwards a bit, eyes observing his lips for a split second before looking back up at his eyes. You smirked when you caught his eyes flickering back to yours from your lips as well. 

Just as you were about to close the distance, Luke pulled back just a bit, finally able to speak, though his words were heavy warnings, “If this happens—” Luke stopped, unsure he should let you know. Luke shook his head lightly as his eyes traced over your features before continuing, “If we kiss, there is no going back for me. I don’t think I could just…forget about it. So, please, just be sure before you do it.” Your eyes softened at his words.

“I promise, Luke. I am sure,” you muttered, though Luke knew you meant the words by heart from the way you were looking at him. 

You finally pulled the boy down again using his camp necklace. 

As your lips touched Luke’s, he let out a content sigh. His hands clung onto your hips, pulling you flush against his own body while you caressed both sides of his face in your hands. Luke felt like the world was swallowing him whole. The boy now knew what your lips tasted like, and it felt like an addiction. He could feel his heart waving white flags at that moment, completely surrendering to you. He was right before. There was no going back from this. 

But oh, if Luke knew an apple was all it took, he would have tossed one to you himself.

----------------------

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his embrace

finnick odair x reader

synopsis: finnick odair, capitol sweetheart and the thorn in your side

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

standing on the plate, you nearly broke your neck looking for him. frantically you looked, your eyes straining to see across the water, it was no use as the timer went off, and you had forced yourself to dive into the water.

your lungs felt like the could burst, but you ran towards the cornucopia, lifting yourself just over the edge only to be pulled back into the water. a career tribute was on you, you could tell as you fought him in the water. but you were losing, as you weren’t able to catch your breathe before you had been pulled back in.

only did the sight of a knife though the career’s chest did you feel some relief. someone had saved you. your body relaxed slightly, and your chest stopped trying to fight for the oxygen, and your eyes closed, your body feeling heavy as you passed out.

the buzzing of arguing flooded your ears. water had them plugged, and as you sat up, coughing up water, you heard the arguments cease, as other tributes rushed to your aid.

finnick was the first you saw, and he grabbed your shoulder, patting your back as you tried to spit out all the water.

you took a good inhale of the air and realized that you were deep in the jungle. along with finnick was katniss and peeta.

without saying anything, you embraced finnick. finnick laughed, hugging you tightly.

you pulled back and kissed him, “i thought i was dead. no one this pretty would be in my version of the afterlife.”

finnick laughed, “you wound me, darling.”

katniss and peeta shared a look, but stayed silent. suddenly the reasonings for why finnick had argued with them to keep you alive was now ever so obvious.

you looked at them, almost forgetting they were there. “katniss, peeta. normally my greeting wouldn’t be so half assed but, then again i’m not normally fighting for my life.” you offered a smile and only peeta gave back a weak one.

days and events had passed by you, and you were getting more and more irritated with your situation. you didn’t think that you would end up arguing with finnick over your safety, after offering to head into the jungle for some wood to build a fire.

“i can do it, finnick.” you rolled your eyes, hoping that he would relent as he usually did. but he wasn’t going to this time, especially with such danger all around.

“no. i alreayd lost mags, i cant lose you.”he shook his head, and you rolled your eyes, “finnick, do i have to remind you that i’m not entirely defenseless? i won my games too.”

but finnick wasn’t budging, and instead he pulled you back towards katniss and peeta, “i said no. im not letting you go in there.”

“if you’re jealous that i’m the one with a cool nickname just say so, don’t start acting like some sort of keeper.” you grabbed one of the knifes he had lying around on the beach and moved into the jungle, “don’t wait up.” you called.

finnick had followed you in, but you had mastered silent footsteps, and you were hard to track.

as you ventured deeper into the jungle, you felt regret in your stomach as you thought about finnick. you had disregarded his comment about mags, and you felt like an asshole.

you stopped, and thought about going back. but you had already left, and you couldn’t go back empty handed. but the screams are what sent you into a run. his screams, your name in the screams had you screaming back.

“y/n! help me!” his voice was on your ears and you ran, “finnick? finnick where are you?” as you tried to run back to camp, you heard birds wings flapping, and you realized that it was jabberjays, and as you swung your knife around to get them to stop, all you could do was listen to the rest of his screams, his mixed in with your families screams.

finnick had heard you scream, and realized he was a lot closer than he thought. you were crying, sobs recognizable as he ran, seeing you cursed up in a ball with a group of birds flying over you.

he realized as your screams intensified what they were. he pulled you up to your feet and practically picked you up, running with you back to the beach.

as he ran, you clutched onto him, crying and muttering apologies, he set you down just a few feet away from katniss and peeta, “stop. it’s not your fault. it’s okay, see? im fine, i’m right here baby.” he kissed you, and finally you calmed down, nodding as tears fell from your eyes.

“oh, finn.” you hugged him, “that was so stupid. im sorry, i promise i won’t do that again. i won’t leave you again, finnick.” you reassured, and hugged him, just as katniss and peeta neared the two of you, questions about your well-being buzzed in your ears.

THE MANDALORIAN | Season 3 Teaser Trailer

Go Get Him

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 10 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT—fingering, face riding, oral (female receiving), submissive!Daryl, virgin!Daryl, grinding, edging, overstimulation, unprotected sex, swearing ❧ Word Count: 12.5k (oh they keep getting longer, don't they?)

❧ Requested by anonymous (this request)

❧ Summary: You've known Daryl for a long time, and you've flirted with him for a long time, too. Today's the day you finally take things to the next level and show him just how much you want him.

❧ A/N: Sub!Daryl, anyone?! God, I love shy, nervous, sweet baby Daryl. This version of Daryl is a little different from anything I've written so far, since I usually write Daryl as being a little more dominant/experienced than he is here, but I really like writing submissive/virgin Daryl, too!

“God, I want to do sinful things to that man.”

Rosita scoffed at your sudden declaration, turning her head to follow your gaze, which was glued onto the man in question as shaggy brown hair hung over his face, his greasy hands tinkering with the mechanics of his motorcycle. You hadn’t the first idea about motorcycles, but for him? You’d read every manual you could get your hands on just to show him how much you wanted him. Everyone already knew, though, except him. 

“Do you think he likes to be on top or on the bottom?” you asked, your eyes not leaving his body as you undressed him with your mind. You took a casual sip of the homemade horchata Rosita had served you. “I’d love to hear his moans.”

“You’re such a whore,” laughed Rosita. “And you tease him, you know.”

“I know,” you replied with a devious smirk. “He likes it, he’s just too shy to say anything. I told you, I caught him staring at my tits.”

“That’s because you were bending over, and you purposely had on a low-cut dress, dumbass.”

You gently kicked her shin under the dining room table. “That’s not the point. He looked.”

She shook her head. “How long have you been flirting with him, anyway?”

You shrugged, smiling to yourself as you swirled the cinnamon stick in languid circles around the glass of that sweet rice drink. “Oh, six, seven years maybe? After things settled down with the Saviors.”

For most of that time, Daryl had been living on his own, out in the woods searching for Rick’s remains. Still, when he came to town every once in a while, it was your opportunity to engage him in conversation, to see how much you could pry open that stubborn shell and get him to smile just a little at your cheesy quips. 

You learned a lot about him just from that, from the days spent hovering over his shoulder as you watched him gut a squirrel or ready his crossbow. 

Maybe you had never really gotten anywhere with your occasionally rather obvious flirting, but you had a friend in Daryl. He’d dropped his guard as much as he could, and after a while of purposely brushing up against him, or “accidentally” touching his hand, he seemed to not stiffen at your touch as much as he once had, and the more you learned about him, the more you liked him, and the more attractive, nearly irresistible, he became to you.

When he finally returned to the fold a year ago, around the time the Whisperers began to cause problems, you didn’t hesitate to make him feel comfortable, to use your bubbly, extroverted personality to ease his mind when his introverted, cerebral psyche became too much for him to handle. 

So it was more than just flirting or lustful teasing—you really did care for him, and something told you that he cared for you, too, but his shyness kept him from acting on his feelings. 

Maybe Rosita was right. Maybe now was the time to really let Daryl know exactly how you felt. No teasing, no flirting, just the truth. 

Well, you probably couldn’t really help yourself. You had to flirt with him, too. 

“You’re just teasing yourself at this point, mami. You want him so go get him.”

It was tempting, more now than ever.

He was right there, not about to go on another mission, not about to come up with a stuttering excuse for him to do something “important” instead of spending the night with you, as you’d occasionally joke about to his face. 

Still, he never outright rejected you. If he had, you’d have stopped in your tracks, not wanting to harass him, but he toyed with you in his own way, too. It was more subtle than your liking, and perhaps even accidental at times, but it was sweet, his own brand of flirting that was clumsy and unrefined, as if he were holding something back and stepping on eggshells. You surmised he was terrified of rejection himself, even though it was pretty clear that you wanted him. 

“For real this time?” you asked. “I mean, should I go all out?”

“Depends,” said Rosita, leaning back in her squeaky wooden chair and folding her hands behind her head. “What do you mean by ‘all out’?”

“Hm…” You leaned forward, folding your arm on the table to lean your chin upon your hand as you watched Daryl wipe his hands of that filthy grease. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead to remove the accumulated sweat, but he only smeared it, creating an adorable streak of black. “Well, I have to get him alone. I don’t want to embarrass him in front of everyone… But I want to touch him. Just a little more than usual… Maybe I’ll wear that low-cut dress again.”

“No panties,” suggested Rosita. “That’ll get him riled up, I bet.”

“Oh, you’re a genius! But how am I gonna get him alone? He’s always busy.”

“He’s not busy right now,” replied Rosita with a smirk. “He’s just working on that stupid bike like he always is. Why don’t you go get that dress on and let your body do the talking?”

Not ten minutes later, you came sauntering across the street (sans panties), adorned in that contradiction of a dress.

It was at once seductive and innocent, with the motif of pale yellow buttercups blooming across a cream fabric, high empire waist and low-cut v neck wrapped bodice perfectly accentuating your chest, which Daryl seemed to like. The material was soft to the touch, a crinkled polyester with a bias cut that hugged your curves and reached your knees. 

You didn’t know what to do with your hair, besides pinning it in a loose bun that lifted it from your hot neck while wispy strands framed your face and blew gently with the late spring breeze. 

Strategically, you wore one of the pairs of earrings he’d brought back for you on one of his visits to Alexandria a few years ago. He had a habit of doing that, collecting trinkets and jewelry that made him think of you. The ones you had on now were your favorite—dangling blush pink jewels in a cluster that trickled down to a singular diamond in the shape of a heart. You hoped he’d notice that you were wearing them, but something told you he would. He always noticed things like that, even if he didn’t tell you. You could almost read him like a book at this point.

“Hi there, handyman.”

His hooded blue eyes peered over the seat of his bike to acknowledge you. Though he’d felt your presence getting closer, and even caught a sweet whiff of that sultry perfume you always wore, he’d tried not to let himself get distracted again, even if he was rather fond of being distracted by you.

“Hey,” he replied, that one syllable word already having an effect on you. His voice was at once smooth and silken as rich maple syrup, and yet with a flavor more like salted caramel. In any case, he sounded so sweet, sweet enough to rot your teeth. “Need somethin’?”

“You,” you said bluntly. As always, he shared with you that look, an initial look of serious consideration, peppered with sexual tension, and seasoned with a just pinch of disbelief. Then, as always, he scoffed.

“Pfft.” He shook his head, returning his focused gaze to his work, though you noticed he looked a little less focused than before. “Yeah, sure. What’s up, buttercup?”

He nudged his head to your body, correctly identifying the full yellow flowers painted on the fabric of your dress. He was the kind of man to know flowers and plants, to recognize them easily. Years of surviving in the wilderness would do that to you, but he was also observant, obsessed with details, especially yours. 

“You like it?” you asked, sliding your hands down your own curves. 

Raising his eyes to look at you once again, he bit his lip in thought, trying to look at you without imagining what you looked like underneath the dress in question.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Seen it before. Yellow suits ya.”

“Thanks… So, what are you working on?”

You planted yourself next to him, folding your arms as you watched him spin some kind of wrench around to tighten one of the bolts. 

He dusted his knees as he stood to his feet, then removed his black rag from its place on the seat to wipe his hands once again.

“Jus’ maintenance, makin’ sure everything’s dialed in, tuned up, ready to go. Ain’t got much else to do.”

“Well,” you sighed, “now I’m here. That’s something else to do.” You side-stepped closer, brushing your shoulder against his. He didn’t seem to flinch at that, so your other hand crossed over to lightly trace up and down his arm, clothed in a long sleeve black button-up shirt. 

He swallowed hard, unsure of what to say for a moment as your hand playfully tickled his sleeve. He’d only wished he’d been wearing a sleeveless shirt that day, just to feel your fingers on his bare flesh. 

His feelings for you consumed him on a day-to-day basis, and though he knew you flirted with him, as you were doing now, he could never tell if you were serious, or if this was how you were with every man. Granted, most of your other friends were women, so he couldn’t really know for sure. All he knew was that many nights he’d woken up from dreams about you in a cold sweat, soaked in his own arousal, and with a tent pitched under his sheets. 

He knew he loved you, he always did. It took him a while to admit it to himself, how much he cared for you, but old habits die hard, and he had a habit of suppressing his emotions, especially the kind that could get him hurt. Besides, why would you want to be with a guy like him, anyway? When he wasn’t out killing walkers or dealing with Whisperers, he was in his basement whittling arrows, or talking a little too much to his dog. He was shy, quiet, standoffish, even. Surely someone so gregarious and sociable as you would want nothing to do with him, right? Well, that’s where you confused him, in the best way possible. 

Still, you brought something out in him, and whenever he was with you, he felt like he could let his guard down just enough to keep up with your quips, your teasing flirts, your contagious giggles. Being around you made him feel like a teenager again. Or, at least, how most people were as teenagers.

Daryl never had feelings like this before, not once. Sexual feelings hadn’t been apart of his life one bit until he realized he loved you. When people spoke of their relationships, of their sex lives, his brain went blank. They might as well have been speaking another language, and he might as well have been deaf.

All he knew of sex was how you made him feel, and when you touched him like you did, like you’d done so many times before, he found himself somewhere between terrified and euphoric. 

“Pfft,” he scoffed with a nervous smirk, elbowing you playfully. “Ain’t ya got anythin’ better to do than talkin’ to an old man?”

You rolled your eyes, then looked around as you turned dramatically. “Gee, I don’t see any old men around here. All I see is a very handsome, sweet, strong—” You cut yourself off, noticing the blush blossoming on his cheeks. “Sorry,” you giggled. “So, you’re not busy right now, are you?”

Your voice was sultry and deep, deeper and more rich than usual. Even when you flirted with him more intensely, he’d never heard such a sweet sound.

His feet shuffled as he scratched his neck, his shoulder-length hair draped over his wrist. You’d always wanted desperately to get your own hands tangled up in that hair of his.

“Uh, guess not,” he said. “Why?”

Shit, you thought. I haven’t thought this far.

“Well, um…” You rocked your hips back and forth as you thought, unintentionally drawing his eyes to your midsection, a place on your body he’d thought about more than he’d care to admit.

An idea occurred to you then—Daryl was good with his hands, and surely he’d be able to help out around your house. Maybe he was good at plumbing. You could make up an excuse for him to come to your house, to “fix” something…

“My bathtub,” you said abruptly. “I—I mean, it’s all… clogged up. The water—it pools around my feet when I’m showering. I was wondering if you knew anything about plumbing? Maybe you could… snake my drain?”

Perfect, a nice sexual innuendo.

His eyes seemed to widen for a moment as he processed your words, and the bite in your lip and the sway of your hips didn’t go unnoticed. Still, however, he couldn’t comprehend this being anything other than a friendly interaction. At least, he didn’t want to assume you meant anything else.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat and scratched his head, avoiding eye contact as much as he could. If he looked into those intense, beautiful eyes of yours now, he was sure he’d get down on his knees and worship at your feet. “Well, what’s in it for me?”

You cracked a smile and a raised eyebrow at that. Sometimes you couldn’t tell if his light flirting was intentional, or just a byproduct of his cluelessness. Either way, it was adorable. 

“Hm, maybe a kiss on the cheek?” you teased. “Or anywhere else you want a kiss…” 

He scoffed and shook his head, stepping backwards and nearly tripping over his foot until he caught himself, eliciting an amused smirk from your lips. There was nothing more adorable than how he reacted to your flirting, and how nervous he could get. 

“What about some peach pie?” he rasped, his voice seeming to break a little.

Oh, your famous peach pie. The only other thing he dreamed about besides you was your pie, made with fresh, plump peaches plucked from the tree outside your house. You’d first made it for him as a thank you for the first necklace he brought back for you, and from that point on, he always asked you for more. 

“Peach pie, huh? Well, you know what, I just happen to already have a slice of peach pie with your name on it.”

That was a lie. So was the drain. You hated lying to him, but you figured it was for a good cause, and you hoped he’d appreciate what you had in mind once you got him alone in your house. Peach pie or not, at least you managed to employ the use of yet another sexual euphemism to hint at your intentions. 

“Come on,” you said, tugging lightly on his hand. He didn’t jerk it away, he never did. His hand interlaced with yours felt too much like two matching puzzle pieces finally fitting together for him to pull away. He felt safe cradled in your touch, secure. As nervous as he could be around you, it was simply because he was terrified of saying the wrong thing, of embarrassing himself in front of you, even if he knew you could never be embarrassed of him. 

“You’ve been spending too much time with that bike,” you said. “I’m starting to get jealous.”

He scoffed, feeling your hand tighten around his the closer you got to your house. He blushed as a few passersby eyed the two of you, their eyebrows raising in curiosity at the display. Surely they’d gossip about it behind his back, saying he was screwing you. No matter how much he sort of liked the idea of everyone thinking you were his, he tugged his hand from your grasp, wiping the sweat that had accumulated from his anxiety onto his jeans.

“That ole bike ain’t got nothin’ on you, buttercup,” he said, nearly tripping up the steps to your townhouse as you began fiddling with your keys to unlock the front door. “So, you got the stuff to snake the drain?”

You swallowed hard as you turned the key in the lock. “Mhm,” you lied, but you were so close to getting him inside where you could make your first serious attempt to seduce him. If you needed to lie once more to get him inside, you would. Besides, they were only little white lies. “Got everything you need in the house. I’m just not very good with that kind of stuff… Maybe I need a man around the house, one that’s good with his hands.”

Your voice had a suggestive lilt to it, and Daryl couldn’t help but imagine how nice it would be to be that man, to use those deft hands of his to pleasure you and touch you wherever you wanted him to. Maybe you imagined some man other than him, though, and the thought of any other man inside your house, doing his job, infuriated him slightly. 

“Pfft,” he scoffed, stepping over the threshold as you held the door for him. “Don’t need a man to fix shit. I can show you how.”

“But then who’s gonna make you peach pie while you snake my drain, huh?” 

You watched him remove his muddy boots, as was policy in your house so as not to track dirt through the place, but all you could think of was how you were one step closer to getting the man’s clothes off.

“Whatever you say… So where do you keep the drain snake?”

Shit. 

Closing the door, you turned to face him, your eyes fluttering sweetly as you prepared to tell him that it was all just a ploy to get him in your house. Oh, but his face was so sweet in all its innocence, his eyes genuine as they glimmered in desire to help you. He was such a good man, always was. That made him immensely more attractive to you. He was gorgeous, too, with that beautiful bone structure and those strong, broad shoulders of his, but none of it meant anything to you if he wasn’t also a good person, and Daryl was perhaps the best person you’d ever met. 

Not once had he taken advantage of you and your kindness towards him, even if perhaps you wished he’d take advantage of it. You were long past the point of wondering whether or not you loved him. You knew you loved him, that you’d let him do just about anything he wanted to do to you. Now you had him alone, you could make that abundantly clear to him.

“Why don’t we sit down for a bit?” you asked. “You want some water? I’ll get you a glass of water. Sit on the couch, I’ll be right back.”

He already knew he couldn’t be alone in private with you for long without feeling a near irresistible urge, an urge he was scared to realize. Today was worse than usual—you were in that dress again. You were wearing those earrings he’d gotten for you, and it was no accident that their diamonds were in the shape of a heart. It was his subtle way of showing his love for you, but the words just never materialized—vapor dissipating into thin air. 

Most of all, you were sweet, delicate with each flourish of your hand as you lovingly poured him a glass of water in the kitchen across from the living room. Even such a simple gesture from you seemed so genuine and kind. No, no, he thought. She’s like this with everyone. She must be. 

“Here you go,” you said with a smile, leaning down to hand him his glass. He eyed the thin lemon wedge perched on the side of the glass, and the slices of fresh cucumber floating in the clear liquid. 

“Fancy water,” he said. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“Mm, yes I did, Daryl.” You sat closer to him than usual, and you always sat close to him, much closer to him than anyone else sat. “You deserve nice things.”

The feeling of your hand massaging his shoulder did not escape him. In fact, he nearly choked on his water when you squeezed his muscular frame, trying to knead out the knots by his neck. 

Still, he wasn’t uncomfortable, just nervous, and slightly confused by your gesture. It was more than you’d ever done before, but it felt good. Oh, did it feel good. Somehow, it gave him just a little spark of confidence, just enough to turn his thoughts into words: “Are you a nice thing?” he asked, surprising himself with the flirtatious lilt of his voice.

Your soft giggle drove him wild, its cadence somewhere between girlish innocence and erotic amusement. 

“Well, that depends on who you ask… Do you think I’m a nice thing?”

His shyness washed over him again, causing him to nod shakily as he cleared his throat, his eyes drifting down to look at the translucent seeds of the cucumbers floating in his water.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered. 

“Well, then I guess you deserve me…”

His heart fluttered along with every bat of your eyelashes, and with every whiff of that intoxicating perfume of yours, he knew he was done for, in one way or another. He wasn’t going to get out of this alive.

You saw him shift his shoulders as he looked back up at you, his eyes darting around your face in panicked circles. You offered him a small smile, laced with equal parts adoration and flirtation. In a flash, he shifted his eyes downward again, causing you to lean forward and tilt your head at the sudden return of his shyness. Still, you could tell that the man who could idly flirt back with you was in there, he was just nervous, maybe a little scared. 

“Daryl,” you giggled under your breath. “All this time I’ve been flirting with you, you know that, right?”

He scoffed, the dismissive sound of which worried you for a moment. Maybe he never really had been subtly returning your flirtations, maybe he was just entertaining you. If so, you were sure that you, too, would soon be overcome with shyness and embarrassment.

It didn’t matter, though, because if you didn’t do something to make it extremely clear what you wanted, you were sure you’d be running around in circles with this man for the rest of your lives. You had to make a move, a bold one. Daryl seemed to respond better to actions than words, as you were almost sure if you straight up said, “I love you,” he still wouldn’t know what to say.

Go get him, you heard Rosita’s voice echo inside your head. 

You’d kissed his cheeks before, and every time you had, he apparently must’ve seen that as a friendly gesture, so you were determined not to do that again. 

With your hand delicately, yet firmly, grasping his chin, you pulled him closer, eyeing him steadily to silently keep his attention on you. “Tell me if you don’t want this,” you whispered, and slowly closed the gap, pressing your lips lightly against his. 

His body and brain went numb, practically dead to the world. He couldn’t even comprehend what was happening, even if it was technically something he’d imagined many times before. Your lips barely touched his, but they were so soft, so warm and pillowy. Better than any pillow he’d ever had in his life. He couldn’t escape the feeling of wanting more, of wanting to wrap his arms around you and kiss you the way you deserved, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know the first thing about kissing, or pleasing a woman, as far as he was concerned. He knew nothing, except from silly childhood “girlfriends” he pecked lips with, and even that was reluctant. For a long time he wondered if he could love anyone, have feelings, sexual or otherwise, for anyone. You changed everything. He touched himself for the first time in several years the day he met you. He didn’t know it then, but you had awakened that in him. 

You didn’t move for a while, trying to gauge his feelings, but it was hard to tell, as he sat frozen, eyes wide and lips trembling against yours. “Daryl,” you sighed, pulling away to make sure he wanted this. “I need you to communicate with me… Do you want to kiss me?”

Hell of a lot more than that, he thought. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled softly. “Jus’… Ain’t a very good kisser, that’s all.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled, encouraging him to smile just a little too, though his was much more crooked, almost boyish in his innocence. 

He shivered a little when your arms wrapped around his neck, your glass of water having been surrendered to the coffee table at some point. He watched you fold your legs under your body, and a glimmer in your eye hinted at mischief as you remembered you weren’t wearing any panties. You could feel the back of your shins grazing your bare lower lips as they peeked out between your thighs, unbeknownst to the painfully bashful man before you. It invoked sinful thoughts within you, as you wondered just what it would feel like for his large, strong hand to slip under your dress and feel your most intimate area.

“Well, that wasn’t a real kiss,” you said. “Can I give you a real one?”

He swallowed hard, eyes trailing down to your lips as you licked them, leaving behind a glossy sheen, like dew on the pink petals of a peony. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind that he wanted you, even if he couldn’t quite believe you wanted him. It still seemed so surreal, like some kind of fever dream made too vivid from the cold sweat drenching his aching body in his sleep. Every cell was on fire, every square inch of skin begged to be touched by you. His lips seemed to sting with need as he wanted nothing more than to feel your mouth on his.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, but it was enough to indicate that he wanted more, even if he was too shy to say something more eloquent. He never really had a way with words, but at least you did. 

Your lips parted before meeting his, eager to show him exactly what kind of kiss you had in mind. Your arms coiled tighter around his neck to bring him closer, until the tips of your noses met. He always had such a cute nose—a short, slightly sloped button with a soft, fleshy tip. Just being this close to him, so close to meeting his lips with yours, was enough to elicit a giggle under your breath, one that alerted his attention to yours eyes instead of your lips.

“What’re you laughin’ at?” he asked, his own voice beginning to crack with a few chortles.

“Your nose is so cute,” you laughed. His eyes followed yours as they darted all over his face, admiring every sunspot and freckle and blemish and crease and wrinkle and—Well, you couldn’t stop yourself. He was so beautiful to you. Your thumb brushed against his jaw as his own hand moved cautiously to rest on your knee, though not without nearly immediately pulling it away. 

“You can touch me,” you whispered against his lips. “Please touch me.”

Your more confident hand took a hold of his to rest it once again on your knee. If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn you felt him squeeze it, but maybe it was just a nervous reaction. 

The featherlight feeling of your lips slotting around his was deeper than before, with each crease melding perfectly into one another. It was slow for you, slower than tectonic plates, but you knew an earthquake was well on the way, as you couldn’t stand to be interlocked with him without shaking the fault lines. You needed to move, to go deeper, to plunge your tongue between his trembling lips. 

First, you got a tighter grip on him, your hands pulling him closer by his shoulders until he simply had to part his lips for you. Hot breath seeped in through the cracks, alerting your tongue to the breach. With almost a mind of its own, it darted teasingly into his mouth as your lips massaged his. 

Soon his hand gripped tight to only the crinkled polyester fabric of your dress his fist balled up and curling around the material as he concentrated hard on savoring the moment, not overthinking. Even in your embrace, he wondered if you knew what you were doing, if you were only kissing him out of some kind of pity. Maybe you would regret this. Surely, you’d regret this. Well, that’s what he thought, but you were too busy trying to rouse his tongue with yours.

His kiss was awkward, and a bit stiff, even if it was quite obvious he was trying to match the fluid, expert movements of your intoxicating mouth. His tongue couldn’t quite keep up with yours, and his lips only moved to gasp for air, or to try taking the lead when he seemed not to know exactly what to do.

At least your hand in his hair seemed to rile him up, his deep grunt of appreciation reverberating in your mouth as your fingers weaved through those messy brown locks like yarn. It sent a jolt through him, turning him briefly into a live wire as he moved his head in sloppy, wild motions, trying to get his lips to loosen and match your movements, though he really just hit your nose with his, back and forth, until you were giggling into his mouth. 

“Whoa, slow down there, stud,” you teased, your lips moving to his cheek to kiss him there, all while your hand tucked under his hair to stroke his neck. It only made the hairs on it rise even more, and something else began to rise in his pants, too. “As much as I love your nose, I think it’s getting in the way.”

He swallowed hard, suddenly turning red at the realization that he’d never kissed anyone before. Nearly fifty years old, he thought, and never kissed a woman before… Yeah, real stud. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I ain’t, uh… I ain’t done that in a long time.” A long time as in never. 

“Me neither,” you said. “I liked it… Did you like it?”

With your hand cupping his cheek again, and your lips pressing lightly against the other, he couldn’t dream of any alternative universe in which he didn’t like that kiss. That was everything he’d wanted for almost seven years. Of course, he wanted so much more, but that kiss? That was the start of it all, the foundation for a whirlwind he was hoping to get swept up in. 

“I loved it,” he said, a little more enthusiasticly than he’d hoped. He wanted desperately to play it cool, to act like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was. Oh, it was everything to him. If he could stay this close to you for the rest of his life, he’d do it in a heartbeat. “You, uh… always wanted to do that?”

Oh, you sweet, silly man, you thought. Getting lost in those deep, grey-blue eyes of his was the best part of looking at him, so that’s what you did, shaking your head as you wondered if he knew just how much of an effect he had on you. Even from just once sloppy, haphazard kiss, you were getting those familiar tingles in your core, the ones that told you there was something particularly arousing in your midst.

“I thought that was obvious. I think about you all the time, Daryl… I want to kiss you all the time. I love being with you.”

Even he couldn’t comprehend how long he’d wanted to hear you say that. He couldn’t stay silent, even if he just wanted to bask in the afterglow of your sweet words, the ones that tickled his ears and caused a stupidly wide smile to split his face in half. You’d never seen him smile that wide before. In fact, you’d seen it only in your imagination, but real life blew that hazy daydream out of the water. 

“I, uh… I love bein’ with you, too. I wanna kiss you, too. All the time.”

A swell of short-lived pride filled his chest, but it deflated quickly as he remembered how inexperienced he was, how he surely couldn’t please you the way you wanted, and judging by the way your hand was guiding his back to your leg, you wanted him to please you.

The fabric of your dress crept up your bare thigh as you gently guided his hand, which had seemed to almost be numb as he let you take it where you wanted. 

His eyes couldn’t help but look down, watching as the skirt of your dress slowly lifted with each inch his hand moved with yours. You stopped before his hand lifted your dress to reveal your nakedness, but you did lean forward to whisper in his ear, “I’m not wearing any panties.”

How you had always wanted to say that to a man. In the movies, that always seemed to rile them up, so you were sure it would get him flustered, too. Well, you hoped, anyway. 

Your chest pressed tight up against his, and you could just feel his heart beating so fast and strong, and so much warmth emanating from him. It felt like getting too close to a fireplace, with that overwhelming heat igniting your cheeks. It was a good feeling, though, a comforting hearth that felt like home. Nothing could possibly be more attractive. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing, though,” your voice spoke huskily into his ear. “Whenever I’m around you, my underwear always ends up getting soaked. Better to just get rid of them, huh?”

He had no idea when you maneuvered yourself to sit atop his lap, legs straddling his waist and your bare core rubbing up against his jeans, but it became clear to him when your next kiss awoke him from whatever trance you’d put him in.

As your tongue desperately wriggled into his mouth again, begging for his sloppy kiss, he groaned against your mouth and grasped your waist with his hands, pulling your lips away with a small whimper from you.

Shit, you thought. He doesn’t want this… He doesn’t want me. I’m a dumbass.

“Daryl,” you said, slightly panicking as you feared you and your forwardness had blown any chance you had with him, “I… I’m sorry. I thought—”

“It’s not you,” he said. “It’s, uh…”

“Oh, I’ve heard that one before,” you sighed. “It’s not you, it’s me, right?”

Shit, he thought. I’m a dumbass. 

“Nah. I mean, uh… Yeah, it’s me.”

“You don’t want this?”

His hands tightened around your waist in a slight panic, as if terrified you’d get up and leave without hearing his explanation. Well, maybe it would have been better if you didn’t hear his explanation: he was a virgin. 

He’d just never met anyone he felt this way about, and sex had never been a priority. He wasn’t completely unaware, though. He knew what sex was, he’d seen porn before, mostly Merle’s overdue video tapes he rented from the local adult film shop back in Georgia, but that wasn’t real sex, of course. Even he knew that. I’m 

“N-no,” he said, and immediately shook his head to contradict himself. “Shit, I mean, yes. I want this. I want… I want you.” 

Your eyes turned soft as your lip quivered into a sweet, relieved smile. He let out his own low sigh of relief as your hand raised to cup his cheek. It never failed to enchant him how soft your hands were. “I want you, too… So what’s wrong?”

If there was one thing he admired about you, though he loved just about everything, it was your straightforward nature, your tendency to lay your cards out in front of him and wear your heart on your sleeve for the whole world to see. Now that he knew you wanted him, he wondered why you hadn’t told him earlier, but maybe you liked teasing him. Evil woman, he thought. She knows what she does to me. 

Never before had the word evil been used as a compliment, until now. He liked how evil you were, if being evil was teasing him for seven years to the point he’d probably turn into a puddle of goo if you so much as grazed his lower abdomen. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure if that was a result of your teasing, or just how inexperienced he was. 

“I just, uh… I haven’t done it in a real long time.”

Don’t lie, dumbass. You ain’t never done it. 

“Oh, Daryl,” you laughed, “I haven’t done it in a long time either. I think it’ll feel even better, don’t you?”

As your confidence began to return to you, you found yourself tracing your fingertip along the collar of his shirt, and your eyes began to descend down his neck, the muscles in which seemed about ready to burst through the surface of his skin as he strained himself not to seem too desperate. He could practically feel the blood rushing to his head when your fingers parted the lowest point of his collar, making their way to his top button. Sparse hairs of light caramel color dotted his chest, which became more and more exposed to you as your fingers snapped together to undo that first button.

Your tongue wetted your lips as if on its own accord, your mouth becoming dry with each heavy breath you took. All the willpower in the world couldn’t stop you from impatiently attacking each plastic circle down the front of his shirt, ripping the fabric apart until his chest was bare, though his shirt still clung to his shoulders. 

A slight trance took him over as he became almost immobilized, eyes wide and mouth agape as he watched your hands fight each other to figure out how to undo his belt. 

“Mm, I’ve wanted this for so long,” you said, each word pouring out in an increasingly desperate whimper. “Kiss me.” You couldn’t even wait for him to shake himself out of that trance. Instead, you just crashed those trembling lips onto his, hands still fumbling to get that belt out from the loops. 

Low, sultry groans emitted from your mouth and reverberated inside his. Without much other thought in his paralyzed brain, he grasped at your waist and squeezed you until you let out a breathy whimper of his name.

“Fuck me,” you sighed against his cheek, and soon you found yourself buried in the tresses of his hair, your lips pursed and peppering his scalp with kisses as your free hand clumsily searched for the button to his jeans. For a moment you gave up, lowering your hand to find the bulge in his jeans, growing and becoming more prominent with each movement of your body, somehow shivering despite the best coursing through you like a lava flow. “I’ve waited so long for you… handyman.”

That little moniker reminded him, sending him flinching a little in your grasp as he awoke from his brief immobilization. You only held onto him tighter, gripping his thigh with one hand and his shoulder with the other. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with your shower drain, is there?”

Your lips curled into a mischievous smirk. He’d finally caught on, it seemed. “No, but I still need your… expertise.”

Expertise, he thought, all the while trying to match your smirk, despite his inner state of panic. I got no damn expertise, woman. 

He nearly opened his mouth to say something, to finally admit his lack of experience to you, but the feeling of your hand gripping his, leading it swiftly underneath the skirt of your dress, rendered him speechless.

A pink rosy haze swelled around him, clouding his vision until all he could see was your face, your body, your eyes closed and your lips spread apart as his palm tickled you in the place where you hadn’t felt a foreign touch in so long. You’d always been waiting for Daryl, hoping he’d come to you first. You’d turned other men in Alexandria down before, waiting for the burly yet inordinately quiet archer to finally kneel down at your feet and admit to you his feelings that you knew deep down he shared for you. 

The touch of a man’s hand had at least been known to you, but for Daryl, he’d never felt this before. The sparse carpet of short, slightly curled hairs cushioned his thumb, while the other fingers clumsily spread apart your lips, slightly wetted by your arousal. When his mind caught up with his actions, he realized you were telling the truth—you weren’t wearing any panties. As he thought back to earlier, you standing so close to him, petting his arm and flashing those sultry bedroom eyes his way, he couldn’t help but imagine a droplet or two trickling down your thigh, uninhibited by the presence of underwear.

“I love your hands on me,” you sighed under your breath, barely audible for him to hear, as if you didn’t even need him to hear, you just needed those words to linger in the air for a moment, so it was known by even the tiniest speck of dust in that room that you loved this feeling. “Daryl… I need you.”

It wasn’t even just a want anymore, not a flight of fancy or anything that could ever evaporate from your mind. It was an intensity for a man you’d never felt before, and if you didn’t have him soon, you were sure you’d go mad. 

“I—I need ya, too,” he stuttered mindlessly, his fingers wiggling in sloppy movements as he blindly felt around below your dress, that strange feeling of touching something he’d never touched before. It was so new, so exciting. Every inch of his body grew tense and taught, pulled tighter than a tourniquet with each stroke of his fingers against your folds. Still, he had no idea what he was doing, and that uncertainty got the better of him. “I gotta tell ya somethin’.”

You hummed a sweet, “Hm?” through your smiling lips. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart? he thought to himself. Shit, this is really happening. If this was what it was like to be loved, he had a feeling it would become a guilty pleasure for him. That sound of your angelic voice calling him something so sacred was so surreal, and so very sweet. 

He felt your hand tighten around his, guiding him to keep his palm pressed against you. 

“I ain’t ever…” 

His voice trailed off as you leaned forward to press your lips against the center of his chest, where the most tempting crop of short, sparse chest hairs dotted his broad frame. Spreading your lips, you licked languid, sloppy circles over his skin, taking in the feeling of those hairs dancing with your tongue. 

Desperately keeping his hand under your dress, you manipulated his pliable fingers to enter you slowly, causing his breath to hitch in shock at the feeling.

“(Y/N),” he said. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away, not when that warm, silky embrace was swallowing his fingertips in the most delectable way. “I—I ain’t never… Fuck.”

“Mm, tell me more,” you laughed against his chest. “I love your voice… Say my name again.”

He swallowed hard and shut his eyes tight as he tried so hard not to lose control of himself before he could tell you what he needed you to know, but the truth was he quite liked your name on his voice, too, and he had a proclivity for saying it, especially whenever he touched himself. 

“(Y/N),” he sighed, a gruff and raspy sigh, but a sigh nonetheless. “I’ve never done this before.”

The vibration of your playful laughter against his pec as you kissed him there seemed to be a bad sign. What if you were laughing at him, laughing at how he couldn’t possibly ever please you? Clearly you wanted him, and now he couldn’t be the man you needed to satisfy you. A virgin? Surely that wasn’t the kind of man you expected him to be, and surely it wasn’t the kind of man you deserved. Not only that, but Daryl was no young man. He was much past the age of a typical virgin, so how was he supposed to excuse it? It just was never something he’d been very interested in, never something he’d been offered, either. Now here he was, with a woman who was just about ready to let him make love to her, and now he might’ve just blown it. Still, you needed to know. He owed you that, he thought. He needed you to know what you were getting into.

Now you knew.

Well, he had hoped you knew.

“Mm, done what before?”

Fuck. Ain’t it obvious? 

“Never, uh…”

There’s no way, you thought. There’s no way this man is a virgin. 

“Daryl,” you said, more seriously now as you lifted your head to look in his eyes, trying to find the truth as disbelief clouded your vision. Surely Daryl had women clamoring for him before the world ended. Surely he’d been with women before. You knew for a fact that there were a handful of women in Alexandria ready to drop their pants in a heartbeat for him. Hell, you were one of them, though you’d somehow managed to scare most of them off with your less than subtle attempts to publicly portray a more intimate relationship with Daryl, even if you’d never done anything more than kiss his cheek. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve never had sex before?”

He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“Oh, Daryl,” you laughed, raising your hands to cup his cheek. “That’s okay.”

“Really?” he asked, dumbfounded by your continued affection as your hands massaged his chest, pushing his shirt further off his shoulders. “Ya ain’t… disappointed?”

“Well, I’m sitting on the lap of the man I’ve had feelings for for seven years. I think there’s very few things that could disappoint me right now.”

That crooked, boyish smile that spread on his face was enough to show just how much that meant to him, how much relief washed over him. Still, it faded when another thought occurred to him.

“But what if I can’t… What if I can’t satisfy ya?” 

You chuckled under your breath at the notion. “You’ve already satisfied me,” you said, causing his brows to knit together in confusion at the statement. 

Leaning forward, you whispered in his ear, but only after taking a delicate bite of his earlobe. “I touch myself every night thinking about you,” you said. “Thinking about all the things I want you to do to me…” Your hand reached down to lift his fingers to his own lips, and that innocent confusion in his eyes as he looked at you only ignited a deeper fire within you. “Taste me.”

Something about the demand in your voice as you instructed him seemed to rule him up. You never commanded him before, not with such controlling need. He liked it, surprisingly. He liked when you bossed him around, especially since he had no clue what he was doing.

His tongue slipped out between his lips, as his eyes still locked firmly onto yours. Those fingertips sank effortlessly into his mouth, as a simple lick was not enough. He took four of his fingers inside, sucking them gently to absorb every last drop of you. 

“Mm, good… Do you like that?” you asked, hands now massaging his scalp as soft, wavy caramel tresses draped over your attentive fingers. 

It was almost patronizing how you spoke, as if you were amused by his relative innocence. Still, he liked how you spoke to him, so controlling and yet so soft, in that angelic voice of yours. You knew what you wanted, that much was clear, and Daryl knew what he wanted, too, but he’d need you to guide him. It was evident that you were more than willing to do so.

“Like it a lot,” he answered, tentatively returning his hand to the pot of dripping honey between your legs, though he stopped himself at the hem of your dress. “Can… Can I have some more?”

In a flash, you tugged on his hair, pushing his head back until it rested forcefully on the edge of the couch. His grunt of surprise echoed for a moment, turning you on far more than you intended. 

“You want more?” you asked, brushing your nose up against his as your face and body pinned him down. Of course, he could probably throw you off him if he wanted to, but that was just the thing—he didn’t want to, not in a million years. He had you right where he wanted you, on top of him. “What do you want more of, sweetheart?”

He bit his lip and nodded his head, as if it was obvious. “Wanna taste you more.”

“On your fingers?”

“Yeah…” His tongue poked out between his lips as he desperately reached up to kiss you, and you let him, for a moment, until that sloppy tongue got too wily. He needed to be tamed, you thought. He needed control, otherwise he’d lose himself before he could even relish in the pleasure of his first time. 

With a gentle, but firm, pull of his hair, you removed his saliva-soaked lips from yours, though it was tempting to keep him there, even if he was a sloppy kisser. In fact, you quite liked it that way. 

“I got a better idea,” you whispered against his lips, which trembled in an attempt to close the space and devour you once again. “Lay down.”

As you raised yourself from his lap, you eyed the rather prominent bulge outlined in his jeans. Your thighs seemed to instinctually rub together, providing your sensitive area with a little relief until you could feel the friction you needed from him. 

He seemed hesitant at first, slightly embarrassed by your eyes scanning his body. As he scooted forward, ready to maneuver himself, you called out another order: “Take your shirt off.”

The quarter-length sleeved button-up was still clinging to his shoulders, and you needed to see that strong, broad chest in all its glory. Clearing his throat, he relented, bashfully stripping himself of his shirt. Noticing his slight shame, probably from the numerous scars he’d developed over the years on his chest, your eyes turned soft and understanding. You, too, had your fair share of scars. Everyone who’d lived long enough in this world had them.

“You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about,” you said softly, hoping he wouldn’t recoil at your reassurance. “Your body is beautiful.”

He swallowed hard as he came to terms with your eyes taking him in. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look in the mirror many times before, examining his own nakedness and wondering what you’d think. Most of the time, he told himself you’d hate his body, how worn it was. He was bulky, too, and you were so soft and delicate in his eyes. Surely you’d have wanted someone more lean and with a smaller frame, but no… You thought he was beautiful. You said so yourself. He couldn’t argue with you, not even if he wanted to.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said, a nervous chuckle undercutting his gruff voice. It was so sweet to see him so shy as he called you beautiful for the first time. He’d hinted at it before, usually with the odd “you look nice,” or “I like your hair,” but never something so direct.

“Lay down,” you repeated, approaching slowly as you watched him lean back until he was lying face-up on the sofa, waiting for you. 

His curiosity piqued when you straddled his stomach, rubbing your bare slit up and down his abdomen. You felt him tense up, and you could tell by the frozen movement in his chest that he was holding his breath, nervously expecting something.

“Just relax,” you laughed, letting your hands rest on his pecs to feel his breathing begin to return. He seemed to like your touch on his chest. “Let me show you how to do it… You still want to taste me again?”

He nodded slowly, keeping his trembling hands steady on your waist. “Yeah…”

“Good,” you said. “I like your tongue.”

As you slid up further on his chest, until his chin met your pelvis, you looked down to speak once more. “I'll guide you.”

Lifting yourself up, you straddled his face, then lowered yourself as you felt his hands curl around your thighs, pulling you further down. “Whoa,” you laughed, steadying yourself on his face as his tongue blindly searched for your entrance. “Settle down, partner.”

You pulled back the hem of your dress to meet his eyes, and watched them flit open to meet yours. His tongue moved in quick, rapid, hungry attempts to taste you, causing you to hiss under your breath at the sloppy movements as he only darted past your clitoris. 

Pulling him gently by his hair, you guided his mouth to your clit, and held his head there with both hands, circling your thumbs over his temples. “That’s the spot,” you said. “Lick me there…” You tightened your grip on his head, swirling it around until his tongue was moving just the way you wanted it to, slow and steady. “Kiss me too.”

His lips suctioned around your clitoris as he kissed you there, all while his tongue moved at the pace you instructed. You kept your hands tangled in his hair, moving his head like a puppeteer holding her puppet on a string. 

“Kiss and lick…” you sighed, watching his eyes flutter closed and his nostrils expand with each heavy breath. “Open your eyes.” 

His hazy, blue-grey eyes opened just enough to see you peel that cream-colored dress from your body, revealing a pale pink bra that kept your breasts tightly contained. As the dress folded over your head, it took with it the scrunchie that had once held your loose updo in place, rendering the messy tendrils to spill over your shoulders and your face. With one hand, you tossed the discarded garment, and with the other, you moved the hair from your eyes to look back down at him, enraptured.

You reached back to unclasp your bra until the straps came loose, allowing you to slowly pull it from your chest until the lukewarm air of the living room hit your nipples just enough to get them stiff.

“Keep going,” you said, noticing his lips and his tongue had stopped moving, as he was in a state of awe. “You’re doing so good, Daryl.”

His tongue on your clit again, you began to rock back and forth, attempting to ride his tongue for the first time. He let out a grunt against you, but it wasn’t out of displeasure, that much was evident—his tongue moved more rapidly now, desperately lapping at your clit until he lost control of himself, moving his tongue back down to breach the entrance. You felt his tongue squirm inside you, tickling the shallow part of your hole.

“Oh…” you moaned under your breath, rocking with more vigor to match the clumsy wiggles of his tongue inside you. His head began to move side-to-side, causing the tip of his nose to tickle your clit with each pass. “Dar-Daryl, I… Oh, God.”

You felt his forearms wrap tight around your bare thighs, moving you at the pace of his tongue until you weren’t moving on your own accord anymore. His tongue and lips moved frantically, switching from your clit to your hole in rapid bursts as he couldn’t contain himself from sucking, licking, and kissing every part of that area. It was already so addictive, so delicious. He groaned deep against you, his way of begging you to ride him harder until you came on him, but he was going too fast for your liking, moving his mouth too hungrily. 

“S-slow down,” you moaned, squeezing the back of the couch with one hand and tugging on his hair with the other. “Take it easy… No hurry. Just go slow… I like your tongue down there.”

He nodded, bringing his tongue back to your clit, where he let his head move once again with the guidance of your hands. “Good boy,” you laughed under your breath. You heard him groan underneath you, another groan of pleasure. “You like that?”

He nodded again, letting out another groan as his lips suctioned with your folds to make the most sinful sound, intermingling his saliva with your wetness. 

“Just keep your head still,” you instructed. “And let me ride you.”

You clamped your hands to each side of his head, keeping him still as you slowly moved against the grain of his tongue’s flicks. Your back arched and your core grinding back and forth, you lowered your hands to meet Daryl’s as they rested on your thighs. 

His hands went numb at your touch, letting you bring them up to your breasts, where you encouraged his hands to massage the supple tissue. His fingers moved clumsily as he tried to focus on his tongue pleasuring you, and the feeling of your breasts under his palms, bouncing with each thrust you made.

You moved at a steady rhythm, and his tongue began to match it, though all he wanted was to reach down for a moment and relieve himself over his jeans, which tightened and constrained his erection, the likes of which he was sure he hadn’t felt before. He’d had plenty of erections, but this? This was different. This was torturous. 

Your hand encouraged his fingers to pinch your nipples, but one hand dropped down to palm at his clothed cock. You groaned, leaning back to replace his hand on your breast.

“You’ve got to make me come first,” you said with a smirk. “Then I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.” 

He nodded, then moved to take one last deep breath of air before latching his mouth tight to your clit. 

“Ugh!” you cried out, throwing your head back with the shockwave that teared through your abdomen. You were close to the height of your pleasure, after so long of Daryl’s tongue dancing wildly in an attempt to find his rhythm. You couldn’t say you didn’t like his sloppiness, though. It was cute, in a way. At least he listened to your instructions, for the most part. “That’s it, right there…”

He drew tighter and tighter circles around your sensitive spot, each swirl of his tongue tugging on the tightness in your core and getting you closer and closer to the climax. As his hands gripped tight around your thighs, you leaned back, arms stretched backwards to prop yourself up, hands resting on his lower abdomen as your body rocked back and forth, getting as much friction as possible against his tongue.

“Oh, yes!” you called out into the air. “Keep going… Daryl… Yes… Oh…”

One last thrust against his tongue sent your body into a cascade of pleasure as your orgasm pulsed through you. You let out a delirious laugh between deep, sultry moans. Each pulse caused your body to drag your slit back and forth over his tongue instinctually, letting your throbbing clitoris absorb even more pleasure. 

With the last shockwaves of your orgasm, you maneuvered yourself until his tongue met your pulsing hole, dripping with the evidence of your orgasm. He didn’t hesitate to jut his tongue into your entrance, allowing himself to catch the droplets and to feel the last clenches of your moving walls. 

Your hands held his as they rested on your hips, then dragged them slowly up the curve of your body until they cupped your breasts, sensitive and taught from your arousal. Lifting yourself from the lower half of his face, you straddled his chest until you could see his lips, glistening with saliva and raw from overuse. His eyelids were heavy, with only a sliver of those overcast sky blue eyes hazily watching you languidly drag your core up and down his abdomen. 

His chest heaved as he panted, and as he caught his breath, you lowered yourself further until you felt the scratchy fabric of his jeans underneath you. Leaning forward, you took his panting lips in yours, massaging them gently to ease their exhaustion. You felt his arms coil around your back, pulling you closer until your bodies were almost one. It felt so natural being above him, letting him hold you close as his lips picked up the pace and demanded more movement from yours. 

Soon his tongue was moving wildly inside your mouth again, and his hands moved desperately up and down your back, one finally landing on your bottom, the other tangling in your hair, forcing his kiss to go deeper. 

The pressure from his grip on your ass made your core come into closer contact with his until you could feel the intense erection confined in his jeans. The pressure on your clit was too strong not to react, so your body instinctively moved, grinding your lower body back and forth over his clothed cock. He let out a deep hiss between your lips, and gripped harder onto your hair and ass as he threw his head back, finally separating himself from the lock of your lips. 

“Ah, fuck!” he cried out. That sensation of your body dragging itself up and down his cock was torturous, in the way the most delectable pleasure can become so intense it turns itself into the most abject pain. “I need ya,” he whimpered, a small cry of help you’d never heard from the stoic man before. You hated to admit it, but it was beautiful to see him crumble, just a little. He was always so strong, so fearless in the face of the terrors from the outside world, and yet, with you, he was nervous, timid, and now, begging you for release from his state of arousal-induced agony. “I need ya so bad.”

A slight smirk across your face, you slowly sat up, purposefully putting more weight on your core as it sunk deeper into his. 

“Shit!” he yelped, raising his head to look down, seeing what you were doing to him. 

You bounced gently on his clothed erection, hoping to tease him just a little more before you released the poor thing from its entrapment. 

“Ah, fuckin’ shit! You’re gonna make me come ‘fore you get my pants off, woman.”

“You better not,” you said. “Not before I get you inside me.”

He nodded rapidly, chest heaving with heavy breaths as your hand reached between your legs to stroke his clothed cock. “(Y/N),” he stuttered. “I can’t wait no more.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then let’s get these pants off.”

You felt his legs squirm as you lifted yourself up just enough to unbutton his jeans, then pull down the zipper until you could see the dark grey of his boxers. Your hands moving too slow for him, he reached down to pull off his pants until he could shimmy them off the rest of the way.

“You’re so impatient,” you teased, tickling your fingertips up and down the length of his cock, stiff and hard as a rock beneath the fabric of his underwear. His breath hitched and his hands clinged to your thighs, squeezing them tight as he tried to control himself. 

“Woman, you’re evil,” he hissed under his breath. 

You laughed and shook your head as you jerked the waistband of his underwear to reveal his cock—long, hard, and already beginning to stand up on its own. “Mm, wow… Big boy.”

He scoffed, halfheartedly glaring at you through hooded eyes. He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t at least a little flattered, though. “Ya think so?”

“Know so. Nice and big and hard…”

Your hand wrapped tight around his shaft, pinning it to his abdomen as you sat yourself on the base of his cock. “Fuckin’… F-fuck, (Y/N),” he groaned. “Ain’t ya gonna put it inside ya for Christ’s sake?”

You pouted exaggeratingly, wiggling your hips to center his cock between your folds. “Not yet,” you said. 

Leaning yourself backwards on your hands as they held his thighs, you slowly slid your slit up his shaft towards his tip, causing him to jolt at the feeling, that terrible trembling that surged through his cock as you slid backwards once again.

“You like that?” you asked. 

“Shit, I… Fuckin’… God… Shit.”

“Mm, I’ll take that as a yes.”

“F-fuck yeah,” he clarified, watching as with each pass you spread a layer of sheen over his aching cock. “It’s fuckin’ amazing.”

You continued sliding his cock between your folds, moving your body back and forth rapidly, until his groans became so intense you were sure he’d come prematurely, so you slowed to an excruciating pace until you stopped, sitting still on the base of the cock.

He let out a strangled moan under his breath, almost high-pitched enough to be a whimper. “Woman…” he groaned, his voice drenched in a quivering ache. “I need ya.”

He tugged on your thighs with both hands, forcefully dragging you up and down his shaft once again, until you tore his hands from you, throwing them loosely above his head till they dangled over the arm of the sofa. “Hey,” you said. “You’re gonna come if you do that.”

“I—I wanna… Wanna come.”

He looked almost pitiful, panting out his words through trembling lips as his eyes hungrily trailed over your body, that body he had visualized in his head so many cold nights in those dense woods as he searched for his lost friend—searched for some kind of meaning to his life. When he settled back in Alexandria a year ago, he still couldn’t shake those thoughts from his mind. In fact, the yearning had only gotten worse. Now that you were here, finally really there and not just some blurry figment of his imagination, he couldn’t wait much longer.

“You’ll come,” you said, wrapping your hand around his shaft to lead it to your entrance. “I’ll make you come.”

“Ah, shit!” he blurted out as his tip entered your shallow end just for a brief moment. In a conscious act of near torture, you had pulled him out again. 

Redness blotted his face and neck as he strained himself. His cheeks puffed up with air, each breath labored and heavy. You watched in amusement as the prominent vein in his neck swelled and clenched under his sweat-speckled skin. 

When he calmed down for a moment, you let yourself sink down a little further onto his cock, heaving your own deep sigh of pleasure as you did so. 

You felt a powerful jolt send you bouncing upwards, and his cock snaking deeper inside you. His hips bucked up in quick succession, causing you to grip his shoulders in order to restore your balance. 

“Ah, fuck!” he cried out hoarsely. “Shit, I’m… I’m gonna…”

You pulled him out swiftly, eliciting a deep, guttural groan from the pit of his chest. “(Y/N)…” he whimpered, rolling his head back and forth in the best kind of agony. Still, it was agony. 

You knew what you were doing, of course. You were drawing him so close to the edge, then pulling him back before he could reach it. All he wanted was to feel you clenching around him, your body bouncing on his as you enveloped him in the warmth and sweet friction of your twitching walls. He’d feel that eventually, but for now, you wanted to play with him a little. 

He had gotten so close to release, though, that now he was rabid, practically foaming at the mouth and driven wild by lust and the pleasure he was being denied. It was exactly how you wanted him: desperate, almost primal in the way he needed you to release him. Not anyone else, not himself, you. 

As you sat on his cock once more, taking the entirety of its length inside of you, you felt his cock begin to twitch, signalling it was close to its point of relief. The deepness and the angle at which he penetrated was intoxicatingly good, and if you weren’t so focused on him, you might’ve taken the opportunity to let yourself have another orgasm, but you didn’t think he’d last much longer, not long enough for you to do that. 

Instead, you rode him hard again, arching your back and pinning his arms against the arm of the couch, hair cascading wildly around your face and bottom clenching hard with each thrust. 

Your own moans started to harmonize with his until the two of you created some kind of erotic symphony of strangled grunts and breathy whimpers. As his eyes clenched shut and his neck strained again until all his muscles showed through the red-tinted skin, you pulled him out once more, letting his cock spring up to meet his belly button.

“Fuckin’ shit!” he groaned. “Fuck me, woman!”

Words fell on deaf ears as you watched him squirm. If he really wanted to, he could’ve escaped the grip you had on his arms, but who was he to do such a thing? After all, he was the virgin, and you were guiding him. 

As your eyes locked onto his, you nearly gasped to see two glimmering pools of water forming in his eyes. Is he crying? 

“Please, (Y/N),” he practically whined under his breath. “I need you… I need you. Please.”

One small, jagged tear ran down his cheek, but your lips caught it before reaching his jawline. Kissing over to his lips, you jutted your tongue into his mouth to get another feel of his wily tongue.

“I love it when you beg me,” you whispered against his lips. “You’re such a good boy.”

If he had any willpower left in his body, he would’ve sassed you for the slightly degrading compliment, but he could hardly speak any word other than “please.”

So you sat yourself back down on the base of his cock, once again spreading your lips to envelope his shaft as you slid up and down, this time with the intention of letting him finish. 

When he pulled on your hips, tugging you faster along his shaft, you didn’t stop him, letting him use you to get himself off now. “Ah… yeah… shit…”

It didn’t take long at all for a small spurt of white liquid to emerge from his swollen red tip, with a series of bigger spurts following in quick succession and pooling on his stomach. His chest heaved and his face melted in pure bliss with each twitch of his cock that sent shocks through his core. He’d never felt an orgasm like that, not one from such contact with someone else, and surely not from contact with you, the only woman he could imagine as he touched himself at night. No, this was different. 

“Holy… shit,” he panted. “That was… so fuckin’ good.”

“Mm,” you hummed, wrapping your fingers around his softening cock and tucking it back in where it belonged. He twitched at the feeling of his still sensitive tip grazing the deepest part of you, but it felt too good to pull away, too warm and soft inside you. “We should’ve done that a long time ago.”

Eyes still closed as he processed his bliss, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead as you tucked your face into his neck. The couch was much too small for both of you in this position, but the closeness was worth the sacrifice of comfortability. 

“We shoulda,” he agreed, then let out a deep sigh. “Jesus, woman, you like to torture me, don’t ya?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing the last seven years, huh? Torturing you is kind of my thing.”

His hand tangled in your hair until a strand formed a curl around his finger. He never thought he could be so entranced by just a piece of hair. That was how much you affected him—even the tiniest, most insignificant part of you was enough to distract him.

“Yeah, well,” he said, “please tell me I wasn’t the worst you ever had.”

You scoffed and nuzzled your nose into his neck, kissing his collarbone. “You were the best,” you said. His scoff of disbelief caused your eyes to flutter to meet his in pure genuineness. “Really. You’re the best.”

“Nah,” he said. “I sucked, you can say it.”

Well, he really hoped you wouldn’t, actually. His pride was at an all-time high, despite his self-deprecation. It was a hard habit to break, but the confidence he felt now was already another addiction he’d have to grapple with. 

“Daryl, I love you.” Your words were so matter-of-fact, so blatant and direct, that he needed to blink away his disbelief before letting your dead serious face come back into focus. “Sex isn’t anything without love… I don’t care that you’re a virg—Well, were a virgin. I love you, and that fact alone made it the best sex I’ve ever had. Plus, you’re really not that bad.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Mhm… Just a little sloppy, but we’ll work on that. Practice makes perfect.” You tugged on his chin to guide his lips back to yours, kissing them sweetly for just a short moment. Even the littlest, most innocent peck was enchanting to him.

“I love you,” he said, eyes turning hazy as the heaviness of his lids began to blur your visage. “Shoulda said it a long time ago… Shoulda done a lot of things a long time ago.”

You tilted your head and smiled. “You’re saying it now… That’s all that really matters.”

A comfortable silence settled in after a while, the steady beating of Daryl’s heart lulling you into a shallow sleep until his deep, syrupy voice gently roused you.

“Hey,” he said, softly shaking your shoulder. 

“Mhm?”

His nose nuzzled into your hair, where he left a small kiss, or maybe two, he was too sleepy to count, and quite hungry, as well.

“Got any peach pie?”

~

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Consider Us Even

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley X GN!Reader Word count: 3100± Warning: Profanity Summary: He owed you a date. He's paying it. [Part 2 of You're Gonna Owe Me for This]

It was more or less three months after Simon decided that he owed you a date that he finally went home. At some point, you were worried that something had happened to him during his leave, but when it was to the point where you were about to text him, you saw him about to enter his flat upon your own arrival at yours.

Simon did not see you, but you were at least glad that he came back alive. Who could even imagine what he went through in his work the last three months?

The next day, just as you were about to leave your flat, you found Simon waiting in the hallway across your door. He did not look different. Well, of course, that was what you saw because who knew what was behind the mask? He could have been piercing his cheek with a chopstick since the last time you saw each other for all you knew.

“Mornin’,” Simon greeted.

“Morning to you, too,” you replied. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Half an hour,” Simon answered. “I knocked.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you blurted. “I didn’t hear. I must’ve been in the shower.”

“I figured,” Simon said.

“I mean, you could just text me,” you gave him an apologetic smile.

“Anyway,” Simon moved on, “are you free next Saturday?”

“Next Saturday?” you paused, thinking of a way to mess with him. “Ah, I already have a date on Saturday.”

Simon froze for a second.

“That’s… unfortunate,” Simon said, he sounded so disappointed.

Feeling bad, you ended up letting out an amused chunk of air out of your nostrils.

“I’m fucking with you,” you admitted. “Yeah, I have a clear schedule next Saturday.”

Still, Simon took a moment to judge your statement.

“Alright,” Simon sighed. “Say, next Saturday’s raining because the weather here is shit… you’re still down to go?”

“Do you want me in a raincoat and boots?” you asked.

“Only if they’re goth,” Simon answered.

You chuckled, clocking the slight shift in his eyes that was probably the closest thing you had seen him getting amused.

“Noted, sir,” you, very stiffly, saluted him.

Simon sighed in disbelief.

“See you Saturday, yeah?” Simon concluded. “Late afternoon?”

“Sure. See you then, too,” you nodded.

Then, Saturday came.

No, you definitely did not plan your outfit. Definitely not. Just like Simon definitely did not.

Simon was contemplating, staring at his masks, wondering which he should be wearing. There was skull mask #1, then there was the backup skull mask, then the backup backup skull mask, and at least skull masks #2 through #6. 

He ended up picking the one you patched up. Sometimes he could feel your stitches on his lips and for some reason that made this mask his favourite.

You dressed accordingly, but made sure you would look nice at the end of the day because who knew what would happen by then. Again, Simon happened to be your neighbour and he might have known what you look like on laundry day. No one looked good on laundry day and you were just the exception sometimes.

Then, finally, he knocked on your door. You made sure to hear it this time because you were waiting.

Simon, upon seeing you, took a moment. Honestly, you were expecting a compliment, but then you realised that he might not be the type to do so. Until he did. Kind of.

“You look different,” he said.

“Well, I put quite an effort into it,” you admitted.

“Looks great,” Simon added.

“Thank you,” you said. “You, too. I guess. I don’t know what you look like.”

“And you never will,” Simon stated.

“What?” was all you could say.

“You’re ready to go?” Simon asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Are you?”

Simon slightly tilted his head aside, but said, “I think so.”

With that, the two of you made your way out of the flat building. You just followed him wherever he led you. There were hardly any words exchanged as you walked.

Simon turned out to be the sweetest yet gentlest person, contrary to what he looked like. He kindly opened a few doors for you. When you were out on the street, he walked on the outer side and weaved you through people.

Not long from your leave, Simon brought you into a store with a bunch of fruits displayed upfront. You were passing a row of grapes when Simon broke the ice.

“I don’t think we’re allowed to buy one singular date, so I’m just gonna ask you how much do you want? 100 grams? A kilo?” Simon asked.

“Excuse me?” you replied just as Simon stopped walking in front of a variety of date fruits.

“There’s these smaller ones, they’re pretty sweet. Then, there’s this—”

You cut him off with a chuckle full of disbelief. In response, Simon only looked at you. He looked serious.

Was he serious? He might be. What if he was? You could not get a read of him and you started getting nervous that he might actually be serious.

“So, how much? Which one?” Simon continued. “There’s some dipped in chocolate, some with nuts. Or maybe you’d like the syrup instead. They also have date infused milk.”

Eyes slightly widened, you raised an eyebrow whilst looking at him. Still, Simon only looked at you without any readable expression seen in his eyes.

That lasted for sometime.

“I’m fucking with you,” Simon admitted. 

Now you were the one who only looked at him.

“Consider us even,” Simon said.

“So, you dragged me into this store just for a lame joke?” you concluded.

“I thought you’d like it,” Simon reasoned

“I adore your commitment,” you smiled.

“If you want them, I’ll get you some,” Simon said.

You chuckled, “No, thank you.”

“Alright. Let’s get a move on, then,” Simon stated.

The two of you started walking out the store.

“Where are we going?” you finally asked.

“There’s this place my friend recommended. It shouldn’t be that far ahead,” Simon answered.

So, here was what happened when he arrived home a few days ago. Simon was mentally breaking every piece of furniture in his place out of frustration. He had no idea what to do.

It all started with you delivering him a cake—which plate had not he returned to you somehow—and it proceeded to him making the stupidest excuse to get you his number—which resulted in you texting him with yours—then, he decided that he owed you a date approximately three months ago.

So, Simon did what he thought he would never do.

He texted Johnny what he and his stupid (legendary) mohawk would do if they asked someone out on a date. There was a lot of teasing in the chatroom and even more threats. By the end of it, Soap had something to blackmail Ghost with and Ghost had at least half an idea on what to do to repay what he owed you.

Simon gave Johnny a broad area of where he lived and some time later, he recommended a place. By the look of it, it was a cafe. Simon considered a cafe as a safe enough place for a first date; if there would even be a second or thirteenth eventually in the future. 

With so, Simon looked up where the place was and decided that he would take you there.

However, when the two of you arrived in front of said cafe, Simon had no idea what to say. He was frozen on the sidewalk, looking at the place before looking at you who were looking at him with a questioning look.

The next time Simon saw him, Soap would get kicked in the chest so hard, it would practically fillet his spine off.

“Is this the place?” you asked.

“Supposedly,” Simon answered.

“Your friend recommended this place?” you asked again, slightly a little more amused, but still intrigued.

“Yeah,” Simon breathed.

“You trust this friend?” you continued.

“With my life,” Simon said.

You could not help, but chuckle. Simon looked at you.

“If you don’t want to spend maybe an hour in a cat cafe with me, let’s just consider this friend of yours is trying to mess with you and we can go elsewhere?” you suggested.

Internally, you felt a little sorry because you now had the intention to spend maybe an hour in a cat cafe with a big, muscular man with a skull mask.

“Yeah, there’s this place—”

“Oh, my God, look at that cat, Simon,” you blurted and went straight into the place without consulting Simon any further.

Once inside, you looked back to Simon who was only still standing where he was and gave him an excited grin in hope to encourage him. That was all it took for him to actually go. Your stupid (gorgeous) smile.

About fifteen minutes in, you noticed that Simon was simply just moving every cat that went towards him by itself to the space next to him almost robotically. A few minutes after that, you realised even more that the cats seemed to be attracted towards him because they kept coming at him, but he always put them away—a useless effort.

One of the cats had black fur with a white patch on its face. This one in particular managed to climb up to Simon’s shoulder while he was putting another cat away.

You would tell him that he looked cute, but you were worried that he might actually murder you if so.

“That one looks like you,” you pointed out.

Hesitantly, Simon picked up the cat and held it in front of his face. He looked at the collar and saw the cat’s name.

“Even better, it’s got my name,” Simon informed. “Ghost.”

“Ghost?” you repeated.

“They call me Ghost,” Simon casually said before putting the cat next to him.

“Should I be calling you Ghost instead?” you asked.

“I’d rather you don’t,” Simon answered, about to move another cat, but he stopped when he looked at the cat’s collar. “Fuckin’ hell.”

Hearing that, you looked at him, wondering if there was something wrong. Maybe he wanted to leave. Maybe you should not have come here. Maybe he was very uncomfortable.

God, what had you done?

“We… don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” you said. “I just… I thought it’d be funny to actually see you around cats.”

“Oh, it’s very funny. Do you want to know what’s funny?” Simon flatly replied. “This cat also got my name.”

“Simon?” you guessed.

“Riley,” Simon stated.

“Riley,” you repeated. “That’s your—”

“Yeah,” Simon nodded. “I thought you knew.”

“I know nothing about you,” you said. “I should be terrified of you.”

There was a pause.

“Why Ghost?” you asked. “I reckon it has something to do with the mask.”

“You know, sweetheart, I owe you a date, not a story,” Simon brought up.

“People tell stories on dates,” you reasoned, hoping he did not notice how you smiled when he called you sweetheart.

Simon only looked at you for a moment.

“I don’t have a pleasant story,” Simon said. “Except if it’s about my neighbour who I ended up going on a date with.”

Scoffing a smile, you playfully shoved him by the arm. At that brief moment, you felt his arm. That reminded you that you, as weird as even just the thought of it was, had never even seen what his arm looked like.

Maybe his arms looked like the two muscular arms holding hands meme. Now, you started picturing all the possibilities of what his arms looked like. Maybe he had a tattoo, a lot of people in the military had tattoos. Maybe his tattoo had a skull on it. Maybe not.

It just seemed to be his personality in general.

“Fine,” Simon said. “What do you want to know about me? I’ll answer some, but only if you do the same.”

“Deal! I have so many questions,” you stated excitedly.

Simon held up a finger.

“Let’s wait until we’re somewhere better suited for that kind of conversation,” Simon said.

“Let’s go now, then?” you suggested.

“You were so eager to get in here earlier,” Simon recalled.

“I changed my mind,” you shrugged.

The next place you went to was an actual cafe. The one with warm and cold drinks instead of cats.

Simon placed you both in the furthest corner. He sat facing the wall while you sat across him. The nearest window was feet away.  As you arrived earlier, it started raining outside.

Now, the two of you sat with your chosen beverage. Simon had brought his to his lips, but you stopped him by holding his wrist.

Simon looked at your hand for a moment before looking up at you.

“You still have your mask on,” you pointed out.

“Fuck, right,” Simon realised.

Carefully, you removed your hand from his wrist. However, Simon did the exact same thing again without taking his mask off, but you quickly stopped him again by putting your hand on his wrist again.

“Fucking ridiculous,” Simon realised, shaking his head lightly.

You chuckled.

This time, Simon lifted his mask up to his nose, holding it with his thumb, before taking a sip.

At this point, you could see the scruff of a beard that he had, a couple of scars, the tip of his nose, and his lips. His lips would probably be the only thing you thought of for at least the next two weeks.

As soon as Simon lowered back his mask, you looked down at your cup. 

“You know, most people just watch and let me wet my pants,” Simon brought up.

“That’s just mean,” you commented.

“My friend, especially, thinks it’s funny,” Simon added.

“The same one who recommended you that place earlier?” you guessed, lighty smiling at him.

“That exact one,” Simon confirmed. “Uh… soap.”

“Soap?” you repeated.

“People call him Soap,” Simon said.

“What the hell kind of name is Soap? Is it an inside joke?” you asked.

“Not exactly, no. It’s not that pleasant of a story either,” Simon answered. “You see, he’s good at cleaning houses.”

“With… guns?” you continued.

Simon gave you a nod.

“I guess that makes sense,” you said.

Filling the next seconds, the two of you sipped your drink. Simon remembered to lift his mask this time and you could not help but glanced over.

God, you really should not be doing that. What if he really did not want you to see his face?

Simon also accidentally pulled his dog tag when he pulled his mask this time. He let the metal hang in between his pecs. Just looking at that, you felt quite flustered and immediately looked away.

“You know, you can maybe add a zipper to your mask,” you said. “You can maybe add it, like… make it a flap. Like a door.”

“That might actually be a good idea,” Simon said. “That ought to solve most of my problems, but… I tried and it ruined the shape of the mask. Then, if so, I wouldn’t have to bother my neighbour in the middle of the night and ask said neighbour to help me fix my mask.”

“I mean, you can bother your neighbour any time you want, any way possible,” you said.

“How am I supposed to owe my neighbour a date, then?” Simon questioned.

“You could ask your neighbour on a date,” you replied.

“Interesting concept,” Simon nodded.

You chuckled.

There was a little gap in between you two.

“So, are you in the Royal Marine?” you continued. “You seem like one.”

“No. I’m in the Royal Army. Exactly, I’m a… lieutenant in the Special Air Service,” Simon answered.

“What the fuck?” you muttered. “Isn’t that like… super important?”

Simon let out one amused scoff.

“Is that why you wear the mask?” you asked despite not finding the sense in your question.

“The thing is, as long as I’m not a civilian, the mask stays,” Simon explained.

“Are there exceptions?” you continued.

“Jesus, you do have a lot of questions, don’t you?” Simon sighed.

You pouted a little.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“No, it’s alright. You look cute when you’re curious,” Simon stated.

If you were not visibly flustered before, you were now.

That was the start of a very pleasant conversation between you two actually getting to know each other. Simon did not say much about himself, but he was very interested in you. He listened to every single word you said as if it was a need-to-know on a mission.

Although Simon was reluctant to take you to eat dinner outside due to the mask situation, he did take you to a restaurant and ordered food to be taken away for the two of you before you two made your way back to your flats.

It was a long walk. Way longer than when you two left the building earlier this aftertoon. At some point as you walked, Simon dared to put his hand on the small of your back.

Honestly, who would have known that this very intimidating looking person could be so kind and sweet? He was also funny, too. In his own way. He turned out to be one of the most interesting people you had known and you knew him a little better than most people.

In addition, you might have gained the ability to read him a little better and thus enhanced your ability to read other people who were easier to read compared to him.

Wishing the day was not over so soon was not an exaggeration. Simon planted a desire in your heart simply to just take care of him. Maybe ironing his uniform or making sure his mask was straight or brewing him some tea, maybe even tuck him to sleep and washed his face off the warpaint he used around his eyes.

Unfortunately, you soon arrived in your flat building. The two of you eventually got into the lift and out of it.

Simon stopped in front of your door with you.

“Thank you for taking me out today, Simon. I really had fun,” you said.

“We’re even then, yeah?” Simon asked.

“I guess so,” you answered. “However, I will be disappointed if you stop annoying me.”

“Don’t tempt me, I might borrow every single piece of hardware that you have and return none of them until you knock on my door and wonder where your vacuum cleaner is,” Simon replied.

“Just don’t ghost me,” you proudly smiled, flicking your eyebrows.

Simon only looked at you, there was half of an approval in his eyes.

“I’ll see you around,” Simon said as he stepped back.

“Wait,” you called.

Simon stopped on his tracks.

You kissed the tips of your fingers before pressing them on the mouth area of his mask. The next three seconds felt like three hours where Simon only stared into your eyes, stunned. You only gave him a smile.

Your smile seemed to slap him back into the moment.

“You’re gonna owe me for that,” Simon stated.

“Oh, fuck you,” you chuckled.

Here's part 3

SWOON

Pairing: Bob x Reader

Summary: I’m vibing with Bob atm y’all don’t understand the hold this man has on me #Bobfucks

“What was that?” Bob chuckled, trying to take your phone to go back to a photo you had quickly swiped away from.

You had been showing him the work you were doing on your engine and had forgotten about the god-awful photo of your breakfast from a few days ago.

It had been so messy you just had to take a photo of it. An attempt at eggs on toast had turned really wrong and somehow ended with the egg was both burnt and undercooked, sitting atop a very dry looking piece of bread. Not your proudest moment.

Bob was looking at the photo and openly laughing, zooming in where the yolk was still running.

“I’m typically not that bad. God, that really looks like shit doesn’t it.” You said, covering your face in your hands to hide the blush that was creeping up from your neck.

He made a noise that sounded like an attempt at disagreement before ending in a soft “yeah”.

“Hey, how do you take your eggs in the morning? Really fucked up? Yeah, I got you.” You joked, taking your phone back and searching for another picture of your engine.

Bob sat in silence for a while and you thought he was just waiting for you to find the photo before he asked, “How do you take your eggs in the morning?”

Your heart stopped and then ran a mile a minute.

But this was Bob. He probably didn’t realize the implications in the words. Hell, there wasn’t even any real implication there.

You realized he was waiting for a response but your mind was in a million different places, imagining a million different things.

“Over easy.” You managed to reply.

He made a thoughtful noise and smiled. Your heart hurt when he looked at you. He was too damn cute for his own good and you just wanted to protect him.

“How..How you - How do you take your eggs in the morning?” Smooth.

“I prefer oatmeal.” He said with another grin and you felt the intense urge to die right then and there.

This wasn’t fair. He wasn’t fair. How could he be so adorable?

He took off his glasses and you were sure you had died.

Somehow he looked even better without them. It was like a Jekyll and Hyde situation. With his glasses - sweet Bob who couldn’t do more than two shots before passing out - and then without. Without them, he looked like he could have been sculpted from one of the greatest.

He wiped them on a small cloth he had produced from his pocket and put them back on, blinking to adjust.

You realized you were staring and had to pull your eyes away and back to your phone in hopes the thoughts in your head would quiet.

“Do I have something on my face?” He asked, already wiping at his mouth.

“No, no, no! You’re perfect! I mean, you’re face is perfect. Not like that - well, yeah like that, but also like you don’t have any flaws - anything on your face.”

You were so thankful it was just the two of you in the room. Any flirting prowess or sauve you used to have seemed to have gone completely out the window when it came to Bob and if anyone else had seen that, you were sure you’d have to kill them.

He blinked at you, trying to make sense of what you had just said. You could feel the redness overtaking your visage as he opened and then closed his mouth.

“Do you not like me with my glasses?” His voice was small, almost like he was embarrassed. Bless him, of course he would be the one embarrassed when it really should be you.

You violently shook your head. “You just look so different without them! Like, you look really good without them!”

Now it was Bob’s turn to blush. “You think I look good?”

You bit your lip to keep yourself from saying anything more dumb and nodded.

He slowly removed his glasses and placed them on the table. Your mouth went dry at the sight. He self consciously pushed his hair back and sat up straighter, a small attempt to look good for you.

“I can’t see.” He admitted with a nervous laugh.

Good, you thought, as your hand found it’s place on his cheek, feeling the soft and warm skin beneath. You traced along where the frames should have been and back to his ear.

His breath that had initially hitched when you touched him slowed into a more controlled manner. You felt his jaw tense underneath the light stubble.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a small voice.

“Admiring you.” You responded before you could even think.

He took in a deep breath and grabbed your wrist. His eyes were wide and they danced side to side, trying to focus on your face.

You froze, unsure if he wanted you to pull away or stay where you were. You settled for leaving it up in the air and waiting for him to make the move.

“Don’t tease me like that.” There was no bite to the words. They came across much more defeated than angry and you wondered how many times people had jokingly said things like that just to pull the rug from under him.

“I’m not teasing.” You replied, trying to keep the fear from your voice.

Had you just fucked everything up? Was he going to run away now and tell Phoenix who would inevitably tell Rooster who’d tell Hangman who’d tell Fanboy and so on? Damn, you’d have to put in a request to transfer.

He let go of your hand and cupped your face, pulling you forward into a lip bruising kiss. You kissed back fervently, scooting forward on your chair and pressing deeper against him.

His mouth fell open and you took the opportunity to bite down on his bottom lip, hoping the action would speak the words you couldn’t find.

Your hands wrapped around the back of his neck and suddenly the distance between you needed to be closed. You stood from your chair, never breaking the kiss, and straddled his thigh.

His hands moved from your face to your back, then your waist, coming to settle right above where your shirt and pants met.

You could feel his hands toying with the fabric and you smirked into the kiss.

When he finally pulled away, gasping, he pressed his forehead back against yours.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked.

You knew he had struggled with self image. The other boys didn’t play nice and then when he tried to be with you or Phoenix, he’d get teased even more for being friends with the girls. Your heart hurt as you thought of all the times jokes were made about Bobs suspicious lack of romantic history.

“Because,” You said, pressing a quick kiss back to his lips. “You are” a kiss to his cheek. “so fucking” another below his ear. “adorable.” and with that, you left a linger kiss to his neck, enjoying how the vein tensed beneath your lips.

He shivered when you pulled away.

You took his glasses from the table and put them on him, smiling as he squinted at you.

“Wow, hi.” He said when he was finally able to see you up close.

“Hi.” You said, scooting up his thigh.

His hands never left your waist as you pressed your hips downwards, enjoying the slight friction it caused. Your stomach was doing flips and you hoped you were being subtle enough that he wouldn’t notice you grinding against him.

“Can…could we do that again?” He asked. How could you say no to such a precious request?

You didn’t waste your breath to answer before leaning back down to capture him in another kiss, deepening this one even fast than you had the first.

He moaned into your mouth and it was one of the sweetest sounds you’d ever heard. You sucked his bottom lip in between your teeth and his hips bucked subconsciously.

You had to pull away before you crossed a line you probably shouldn’t cross in a break room.

He chased your lips slightly before leaning back. His hands slid down and gently squeezed the sides of your upper thighs.

It was a kind motion but it sent very unkind thoughts to your mind and aching core.

“My bunk is pretty close. If you want to - We don’t have to do anything, you can show me your engine again and this could be a once off thing.” He panicked, hoping he hadn’t misread the situation.

Now that you knew he wanted you in that way too, you began openly grinding yourself across his thigh. He watched you with fascinated eyes, trying to mentally calculate the best time to tense his thigh for best friction payoff.

“I want to.” You panted. “I really want to.”

“Thank God.”

You stood up, pulling him with you, and dragged him to the door. You both peeked out to make sure none of your coworkers saw you two running around together before jogging down the hallway hand-in-hand.

You felt like a kid, giggling and running down corridors. Something about Bob really brought out a domestic side in you.

Once inside his bunk, he wasted no time pressing you against the door, kissing you hard.

You both began pulling at your outer layers, removing the button downs that were becoming all too hot even inside an air conditioned room.

You never would have guessed that Bob had it in him to take what he wanted but the way he was kissing you made you second guess.

He shifted a leg between yours and you gasped when he bounced you onto his thigh.

You got the message and began moving your hips against him. The friction just felt so good, you were sure you could cum right then and there.

When he moved away from your lips, you let out a desperate whine you didn’t think yourself capable of. His lips found your neck, pressing kisses and leaving soft nips that would unfortunately not leave a mark. You knew it was for the better since you really didn’t need anyone asking about this.

He found one spot on your neck that made you throw your head back and your core grow even more needy. Your mind went blank and all you could think about was getting him undressed and even closer.

“Keep going.” He mumbled into your skin, pressing his thigh down.

God damn, you would have never guessed Bob had it in him to do things like this. Perhaps you really didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.

You continued to grind against him as the assault on your neck never lessened. As good as it felt, you also felt like you were about to explode and you quickly untucked his shirt, pulling it over his head.

His glasses slipped off a little at the motion but he pushed them back in place.

You felt bad for thinking that you wished he would take them off. You loved him either way but the no-glasses look seemed much more appropriate for this situation.

“I wanna see you.” He explained as he pulled at your shirt.

You flushed crimson as you allowed him to pull off your shirt. His words were so sweet and so sinful at the same time. He unclasped your bra, letting it drape down your shoulders and at your feet.

He pressed his chest to yours and the contact felt heavenly. He kissed you again, slower this time but filled with the same amount of want.

You began pulling at your slacks, letting them pool at your ankles.

There was a prominent damp spot in your underwear and you were hesitant to continue grinding against his thigh knowing he’d be able to feel it. He slipped a hand down to your waist and dragged you along him, making the decision for you.

When you briefly pulled away to breathe again, you glanced down and noticed a trail on his slacks that sent your mind spiraling.

You had half a mind to be a bit grossed out but the other and stronger half thought it was so fucking hot.

Thankfully, so did Bob.

“You’re so wet.” He commented, pressing two fingers over the ruined fabric.

Simply hearing his sweet voice say such things sent another wave through you and you arched, trying to get him closer again.

He pressed a kiss to your lips and then began trailing downwards. He hit your collarbones, kissing both, before hitting your stomach and abdomen.

You stood there panting, pressed against the door, watching him with half lidded eyes as he sank to his knees before you.

He looked up at you and you nodded frantically. Once he got the confirmation needed, he was quick to throw your leg over his shoulder and bury himself inside your cunt.

You let out an embarrassingly loud cry when he licked you through your panties. Your hand came down to his hair, grasping onto him.

He continued his assault over the fabric until he decided that he’d had enough and pulled them aside. Once there was nothing between you and his warm tongue, you would swear you saw stars.

His lips wrapped around your clit while his skilled fingers began teasing your folds. His free hand was on the small of your back, pressing your hips closer to his face. Even with his eyes closed, he was somehow able to find the exact spots you needed him most.

“How are you - ngh - so good at this?” You struggled out. You felt him laugh against you and opted for licking a long strip down you in response.

He slowly fingered you open, pressing his nose to your clit while his tongue continued moving in figure eights. Your legs were shaking by the time he added a second finger and you had to press yourself against the door to keep from falling forward.

“Shit, Bob, please.” You whined.

His tongue fucked in and out of your hole. In combination with his fingers, you could feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

You clenched around him, throwing your head back. The hand that was on your back came forward and lightly pressed against your lower abdomen, intensifying the feeling.

You came around his fingers and tongue, crying out his name. He coursed you through your orgasm, slowing his movements until you had finally come down from your high.

Your leg dropped from his shoulder and he stood back up, mouth glistening.

“Seriously, how the hell are you so good at that?” You panted out.

He smiled lop sided in return and shrugged. “I just really like doing it.”

Despite just having come down from your high, you could feel your arousal peek again at his admission.

You kissed him again, spinning him around so he was against the door. He made a soft sound as you began taking more control. You ground your hips against his, feeling the tent in his slacks.

He grabbed your ass and pressed you closer to him.

Now it was your turn to stick your thigh between his legs. He had no shame grinding against you, trying to get any amount of friction.

“I’m gonna…oh my God, I need these off.” He whined as he desperately pulled at his belt.

His slacks found the same place as yours on the floor and you pulled away to look at him.

You’d seen Bob before in the locker room but he seemingly always had clothes on. This was the first time you had ever seen him without his clothes and it was a religious experience.

He was toned - not as bulky as Rooster or Hangman but you honestly preferred that. Sometimes there was a thing as too much muscle. Across his chest, freckles adorned his skin and he had a small birthmark on his left rib cage. Your fingers danced over his chest, tracing ever line. His v-line was cut like marble and a weird part of you wanted to lick it.

“I know I don’t have a six pack like Coyote…” He muttered off.

You were quick to shut him up with another hard kiss. Your hand reached down to his boxers, teasing him through the fabric.

He moaned into your mouth as you applied light pressure and you were quick to make him do it again. His moans were whiney and desperate. God, he was so fucking cute.

You pulled down the waistband, allowing his cock to spring up. Holy hell, you would have never expected sweet and innocent Bob to be packing as much as he was. Your mouth watered and you could only think about having him inside you.

The tip was flushed and a bead of precum was sliding down the side. Prominent veins ran up towards the head and you experimentally pressed your thumb against one. His hips bucked and he let out a moan you often heard in over the top pornography.

Out of everything that had surprised you today, the fact that he was loud took the cake.

You wanted to hear more of him but with the thin walls, you knew it would be best to shut him up. You deepened the kiss and playfully sucked on his tongue.

“I wanna…please, oh fuck, can I?” He asked against your lips. Hearing Bob curse shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was but you were prepared to give him whatever it was he wanted.

“I’m all yours.” You replied.

He lifted you up from the back of your thighs and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He walked you towards the bed and gently set you down. He hovered over you, kissing your neck before lightly tapping your legs as a way to signal for you to let go.

He scooted back, toying with the sides of your panties.

“Is this okay?” His eyes flicked up to yours as you nodded. He pulled them down, throwing them across the room to where your other clothes were.

He stood up, pulling down his boxers and opened the top drawer of his dresser. He pulled out a condom and tore it open with his teeth.

Your pussy throbbed at the sight and you ran a hand down to play with your aching clit. He turned back to you, enjoying the little show you were putting on for him as he properly put the condom on.

He came back to the bed, placed a kiss to your lips and then pushed your hand away. You groaned at the loss of contact but quickly changed your tune as his fingers picked up where yours left off.

“Spread your legs some more for me.”

You quickly obliged as he spread you open, looking down on your core. You could feel yourself dripping onto the sheets but couldn’t find yourself caring. You were far too gone to care about anything other than the man before you right now.

Slowly, he pressed the tip in and allowed for you to get used to the stretch.

You whimpered at the initial sensation but relaxed yourself to grow accustomed to it. When he felt you loosen, he pushed more in until he was finally flushed against you.

“You’re so tight.” He said, running a hand across your chest. His fingers pinched your nipples and you couldn’t help how you arched into his touch.

His head dipped down, taking the other nipple into his mouth and began sucking. Typically, you weren’t fond of this sort of treatment but with Bob, you never wanted him to stop.

He left small bites across your chest, ones that you knew would leave a mark, before switching to your other breast. He continued the same treatment while waiting for you to be comfortable enough for him to move.

You would have to admit, you were surprised with his patience. Most men at this point would have started railing into you with zero regard for your pain but Bob was waiting for you to say the word.

“You can move.” You panted, placing a hand on the back of his head. You played with his hair as he pulled out ever so slightly before pushing back in.

You gasped at how deep he was hitting even with such shallow thrusts. As his pace increased, he pulled away from your chest and sat upright to get a better view of you.

You took the opportunity as well to ogle his chest, unsure of when the next time you’d see it would be.

When he noticed you staring, he pulled off his glasses and smirked.

You couldn’t help how your body reacted to the sight. You clenched around him, reaching out for something to hold onto.

He clasped his free hand in yours and you felt the tears welling in your eyes.

How could he be so sweet, so sexy, and so respectful? One more move like that and you were sure you’d have to propose.

He placed his glasses on your face and pushed back your hair. You couldn’t see as well anymore, his prescription was pretty high, which made the feelings even more intense.

With your sight taken away, it felt like all your other senses were heightened. You could hear his soft pants and whines along with the way the bed was creaking. You felt each thrust ten times better and the pressure on your clit was delightful.

Your legs began to shake as he hit your g-spot. He lifted your hips and angled each thrust perfectly so he could hit your spot every time.

“Oh my God, please, Bob that feels so good.” You cried out, tears slipping down your face.

He made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded almost like a growl as he continued snapping his hips forward.

You felt the coil in your abdomen tighten and threaten to snap. You continued to hold his hand while the other still played with your clit.

If this man really was able to make you cum in under six minutes, you’d have to marry him.

And then he did.

It was like nothing you’d felt before. The exhilaration of pulling six g’s had nothing on the orgasm you were experiencing in this moment.

You cried out as you clenched around him. He fucked you through your high, desperate for his own release. He pulled out when he came but never let go of your hand.

It took a while for the aftershock to leave your body and you were vaguely aware of Bob taking his glasses from you and putting them back on. He tossed the covers of you while he grabbed a spare towel from his dresser. You could feel him cleaning off your chest and legs, careful to not overstimulate you before he cleaned himself off.

You pushed yourself up on your elbows, heart still racing.

“Hey Bob?” He turned back to you. “How do you take your eggs in the morning.”

He chuckled as he walked back to the bed, pushing you aside before climbing in. He pulled you close and you placed your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Really fucked up.”

———

A few hours later after you had properly fixed yourself, you and Bob were back in the break room, looking for something to eat.

“Hey Phoenix.” He said cheerfully while he grabbed a box of cereal. He poured some in a bowl and ate them dry.

You turned to face your fellow female and gave her a wave. She nodded back and then did a quick double take.

She looked at you, then Bob, then back to you before hunching over and laughing. She was laughing so hard she had to brace herself against the table.

You shot Bob a nervous look before turning back to Phoenix. Maybe you could play dumb. She knew nothing, she had no proof.

“Your name badge says Floyd.”

Shit.

benevolence

you always imagined it your first kiss would be… softer, than it ends up being. but it’s joel. you probably should have known.

smut, 18+. age gap. joel is a grumpy old man who hates himself and reader is down bad.

~

The first time Joel kisses you, it isn’t romantic.

It’s angry - he’s angry. The clicker that just had its hands on you lies motionless a few feet away, mouth frozen in the open position it was in when Joel shot it. Joel is checking you over relentlessly for bites. He’s running his hands over your waist, flashing his light on your neck… fuck, he’s even tugging up the cuffs of your jeans to check your ankles.

“You don’t do that,” he pants, fuming once he knows you’re okay. You’re adrenalized, shaken up and not working off your best judgment. You meet Joel’s eyes.

“Don’t do what? Be on the wrong side of the room? Have the batteries run out of my flashlight? This wasn’t my fault, Joel.” Joel shakes his head, pissed, and he grips the nape of your neck. You didn’t even realize his hand is still there, sturdy and calloused. You bite your cheek. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Shut up,” Joel growls, and it makes you even more upset.

“I didn’t - stop blaming me. Stop making me feel like a dumbass, because I’m trying and I’m tired but I’m still better than half the people in the Q -”

Joel cuts you off before you can keep egging either of you on, his lips connecting with yours in a harsh and almost painful way. Your teeth clash, and Joel kisses you with so much force you almost fall, the only thing saving you being his strong arm wrapping around your back. You open your mouth, probably from shock, and Joel’s tongue does a quick sweep around the cavern when you do. Your hands fly up to Joel’s chest instinctively for balance, and you can feel his racing heartbeat under your palm. It makes you falter. You didn’t realize he was so worried.

You’re just starting to ease into it Joel stops.

His teeth catch your bottom lip as he pulls away, and you both taste blood. Joel steps away, the both of you just staring at each other, panting.

“Do you get it?” He asks, voice gruff. “Don’t fucking do that.”

You blink, years of pining and want pouring over you. You swallow, tasting just a bit of what you think is Joel.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “I get it.”

~

Keep reading

i don't WANT to read smut right now

i WANT to read a passionate, poetic, jaw dropping, tears streaking down my face, heart wrenching, giggle inducing, feet kicking, cringy yet amazing, gorgeous story written by someone who apologizes for english not being their first language(they're the best writers ever) which has 4 chapters and then makes me scream because it hasnt been updated in months and the author is mia

Significant

Summary: Din has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means, and get a little more than you bargained for.

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Word Count: ~5.1k

Warnings: pining, absolute FOOLS in love, bit of grumpy x sunshine, lil angsty, possibly incorrect lore, fluff, lots of Mando'a (translations for the Mando'a at the end)

A/N: Happy Mandalorian Eve!! This is based on a short drabble I wrote, which you can find here! It's not necessary to read it first, though of course I recommend it! The reader and Din have been traveling together for a long time, and after removing his armor in front of the reader for the first time began calling them riduur.

“Riduur.” 

It may as well be your name, the way you turn at the sound of that word. 

“Din,” you return, adjusting the child’s little sleeve which had fallen down past his hand.

“Are you ready?” He asks as he tilts his head to the side. 

You smile and turn back to Grogu. “Dad’s impatient today, isn’t he?” The child coos up at you, lifting tiny arms, ready to be picked up. “Yeah, he is.”

“I’m not impatient,” Din grumbles lowly.

You raise a brow at that and lift Grogu into your arms. “You’re always impatient, Mando.” His head jerks to the side at your assessment.

You have to bite back a laugh. In truth, he is incredibly patient. Most of the time, and especially when it came to you and Grogu. The only time you’ve seen him truly lose his temper was with the Jawas, and really, that couldn’t be helped. 

The child reaches for Din when you turn back to him, and the Mandalorian immediately holds out his arms to take him from you. You deposit the little green baby there before grabbing your shawl. “Yes, we’re ready,” you finally answer. 

The baby gets tucked into the pouch at Din’s hip, before he descends the ship’s ramp out into the desert air that awaits you. 

You roll your eyes gently. 

Not impatient, but not entirely patient either. 

You follow, wrapping the light material around your shoulders. 

It’s subtle, but he does wait for you, his pace slower than if he were alone. His right elbow ticks out a fraction, and you smile before cupping your hand there. He would never ask you to take his arm, still the offer is usually there if he can accommodate it. 

He relaxes a little when you fit your hand against his bicep. “Supplies only,” he reminds you, ever practical. 

“Supplies only,” you agree. “Unless I see something for Grogu.” 

“The child is becoming spoiled,” he complains lightly. “We won’t have enough room in the ship soon.” 

You shrug and tighten your grip on his arm. You like the way he says we. So, you return with, “That’s just because our child deserves the best.” 

Din’s spine straightens a fraction and his shoulders tilt back. 

He’s somehow both stoic and incredibly bad at hiding his emotions. You can tell, just by the slope of his shoulders or the exact angle of the helmet or the precise way he stands or walks, exactly what and how he’s feeling. 

Or, maybe you’ve just spent too much time around him. 

Maybe, you just know him too well. 

And right now, he’s swollen with pride. Though you don’t know if it's because you’ve complimented the way he takes care of the child or if it were something else. Something in the way you said our.  

It’s not long before you reach the market, and Din sighs as soon as it comes into view. It’s much larger than the ones you normally frequent, a riot of color and sound that you both know you won’t be able to resist. The town seems to be in the midst of some kind of festival. 

The smell of fried food greets you before you’ve even breached the perimeter of the town, and your mouth waters. Something better than rations awaited you there. 

Din is single minded though, and you know he’ll immediately make for the most boring of the stalls and shops. 

Supplies only, after all, is what you’d come for. 

“Mando,” you remove your hand from his arm and he immediately halts at the loss of your touch and turns to you. “I’m going to go look around.” 

He stares at you, helmet tilting down. He doesn’t like telling you no, and knows it wouldn’t matter if he did anyways. But, he worries and so it takes a moment for him to reply. “Don’t go far,” he advises. “Do you have a comlink?”

“Yes.” 

“A weapon?” 

You pretend to search your person, “Hm, what’s that again?” 

“Riduur,” he reprimands your teasing. 

That word makes the inside of your skin light up pleasantly. Riduur. If only you knew what it meant. 

You’ve started to assume it means something similar to cyare or cyar'ika. But he’d had no problem telling you what those words meant. Darling and sweetheart and beloved. He’d had no problem telling you he was calling you beloved. 

But he no longer calls you cyare or cyar'ika. Since the first time he’d called you riduur, the day he removed his armor in front of you for the first time, he’d solely begun calling you riduur. 

Even your name is becoming a rarity from his lips. 

“Udesii! Yes,” you cross your arms. “You know I took care of myself for a very long time without you and nothing ever happened. I’ll be okay.” 

Din doesn’t answer, just sighs and gives a curt nod and marches off towards a shop selling medical supplies. 

The dramatics of it all makes you giggle. You like teasing him, especially because he thinks he hides how flustered you make him well. 

Although you enjoy traveling with the Mandalorian, alone time has become a complete rarity. You were always with Din, or watching your little green menace.

You eat your way through a couple of different stalls selling food, bundling up second and third servings to keep for Din and Grogu. 

Din wouldn’t think to get anything beyond rations. Both you and the child like a little more variety, where Din treats the act of eating like a maintenance routine. 

You drift past stalls hawking trinkets and jewelry, fending off the sellers as you crunch something sweet and sour you’d picked up at the last food stall, not entirely sure what it is.  

Textiles are next, bolts of cloth you run your fingers over but mourn not being able to afford. Still, it's nice to browse, nice to feel normal. The Mandalorian isn’t hunting someone for once, and you aren’t trapped in the interior of the ship, stale recycled dry air burning your nostrils. 

A little supply stop has become a little welcome relief. It’s giving you the chance to stretch your legs, to explore. 

Still, your mind drifts back to Din, the way he calls you something he would not name to you.

You’ve searched before, in other markets, on other worlds, for the answer to your question. What does that word mean and why won’t Din tell you? 

You’d tried to convince him once or twice, with gentle words whispered in his ear, when the helmet was off and your hands were pressed against his skin, the contours of his face still a mystery to you. 

Once, you’d felt the skin of his cheeks go hot beneath your hands when you told him he used his tongue so prettily, couldn’t he use it to tell you what riduur meant? 

He’d mumbled something else in Mando’a but had not explained himself. 

You can understand most of that he says now, but because he’s the only other speaker, you have to rely on him to tell you what new words and phrases mean.

Because the Mandalorians are such an insular people, you never come across any other speakers you could ask. There are no dictionaries to Basic that you could download and peruse. 

It’s frustrating, especially since the word seems to be laden with something heavy. Din says it with reverence, with a softness that doesn't cut through the rest of his words. His voice is softer when he speaks Mando’a anyways, but that word is held with a reverence on his tongue, like it’s precious. 

The only other time you had heard him use that tone was when he once called Grogu ad’ika, which meant child. 

You’ve almost given up on knowing, resigned to that fact that you may never know and he may never tell you.

Whatever it means, you’re sure it's important. You just don’t know why.

The market is loud, boisterous and colorful. Music floats through the air, shouts and laughter. 

It’s nice, it makes you smile and you wish you’d taken the child with you because you’re sure he’d have much more fun with you than with Din picking out rolls of bandage and rations and pulse rifle cartridges if he can find someone that has some. 

You stop suddenly in your tracks when you hear a conversation in a language you immediately recognize, the familiar syllables cutting through the afternoon chatter. 

You spin and find two men in robes speaking gently to each other in Mando’a. Before you can stop yourself, your feet have already carried you to their table where they sit sipping cups of caf. 

“Su cuy'gar,” you greet. They both look surprised, glancing at each other and then back at you. “Sorry to bother you. You speak Mando’a?” 

One smiles, “Yes. Of the few outsiders that do, I think.” 

“Were you foundlings?” It’s the only way, you think, that they could have learned it. 

“Once,” the older of the two says. “This one learned it at a university.” 

You can’t help the curiosity that burns through you, “At a university? Really?” 

“Only the very barest basics. From a woman being courted by a Mandalorian,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “That was a long time ago. Really I learned from him.” He gestures between himself and the other man. 

You shake yourself, “I’ve just never met another aruetii that does.” Let alone two of them, you think dizzily. Two outsiders who spoke Mando’a. 

“And how did you learn?” 

“My…” you trail off. 

Your what? You aren’t sure what exactly Din is to you, or what you are to him. You never have been. He treats you like you’re more precious than beskar, yet everything between you remains undefined. 

“My traveling companion. He’s a Mandalorian.” You swallow, “I wonder if you could tell me if you know what a certain word means? It’s one I’ve been curious about.” You don’t want to tell them that you’re seeking it out because it's something he calls you. That feels too private, too close to the chest. “He said it once and I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since.” 

“Why don’t you ask him?” 

“It would wound my pride. He’s already taught me so much. He overestimates my fluency.” 

They laugh and the man who was once a foundling says, “Yes, ask us then.” 

“Riduur,” you say, carefully pronouncing it so they don’t mistake it for another word. “Riduur,” you repeat with more confidence. 

The men glance at each other, brows raised. “Well, it has several meanings,” the more grizzled of the two says, “But I suppose it's all the same in the end. Spouse would be the most overarching translation. Partner, wife, and husband all work too.” 

For a moment, you can’t breathe, you’re sure your heart has come to a leaping halt in your chest. “Truly? Riduur?” You say it again, just to make sure. They laugh and nod and you decide to have your meltdown away from their table. “Well, thank you for clearing that up. Sorry again to bother you.” 

You turn away from them, a roaring in your ears. Your heart stutters in your chest. Riduur. He’s been calling you his partner, his spouse, for months? That word so softly spoken to you - to tease you, to call for you, whispered to you in the dark, said over and over, more than your own name. It meant partner, spouse, wife, husband?

Something inside you lights up with pride. The shape of it is warm, firm in the clasp of your lungs. Riduur. It’s a living, breathing kind of word, one that takes up space inside you. One you’re proud to bear the weight of, the title of. 

Spouse, you think, doesn’t carry the same gravitas as riduur. There’s something heavier and deeper in the word that a translation couldn’t really carry over into Basic. 

You start back down the road, smiling to yourself, but only make it several paces when Din steps up beside you silently from between two stalls. “Dank farrik,” you gasp, stumbling back. “Where did you come from? You scared me.” 

He doesn’t answer you, doesn’t even tilt his head towards you. You may as well have not spoken at all. 

“Mando?” 

Still, he doesn’t answer you. 

You raise a brow but don’t say anything else as he herds you gently out of the market, desert dust swirling around your calves. Eventually, when you reach the edge of the town, he asks, “Did you find everything you need?” His voice is flat, rough. 

“Yes, I got some food for you and Grogu to try. A little feast for you tonight, since it won’t hold.”

He merely grunts and you frown. “Is something wrong?” You glance over your shoulder. “Did something happen? Are we being followed?”

You glance around his legs at the baby, still securely in the brown canvas bag, who’s peering up at both of you with anxious eyes, big ears drooping. 

“No.” He answers curtly. 

The walk back to the ship is silent, and tense, and you aren’t sure why. 

It’s only when you’re in the safety of the mouth of the ship’s ramp, with the baby in your arms, that your irritation spills over. “Are you upset with me? I didn’t wander. I stayed close and had a weapon and -,” 

Din’s hands go to his hips, helm tilting at an angle as he regards you. His voice is agitated when he finally speaks. You expect him to tell you that you wandered too far, that he commed you and you hadn’t picked it up, that you’d unknowingly wandered into danger. And you expect to have to tell him once again that it's all fine, that you are fine, that you’d traveled without him for years and things always turned out alright. 

Instead, he says, “You should not call yourself an aruetii. That is not what you are.” 

For a moment, it doesn’t register with you what he’s talking about, that he’d clearly overheard your conversation with the Mando’a speakers, likely eavesdropped on it. 

All you are, for a few seconds, is confused. “But…I am an aruetii. I am not a Mandalorian.”

Din’s shoulders go stiff at your words. “That does not make you an outsider. You…you are far from an outsider,” he growls and suddenly spins away from you, his footfalls heavy and loud when he stomps across the hull.

He climbs the ladder to the cockpit and disappears, leaving both you and the baby alone, still standing on the ramp up to the ship. “He’s angry with me,” you say in disbelief, glancing down at the child in your arms, not really understanding why. “We’ll let him cool off,” you decide, bouncing the child against your waist. “Hungry?” 

The baby coos and you smile, worry biting into you as you settle with him in the mouth of the ship. The sun is setting on the sand, the air warm, casting red shadows over the world. There’s nothing around you but sand in any direction you glance, aside from the town from which you’d come on the horizon. 

In the distance, fireworks from the town explode in the sky. You point them out to Grogu, gently feeding him bites of food that you’d gotten at the market. He makes a sound that you suppose is a giggle, big eyes focused on the colors dissipating in the sky. He holds a tiny hand up, like he’d like it to fly to him. 

You curl a hand over his. “None of that,” you say with a laugh. “Those are meant for the stars, not you.” 

He goes back to eating, already distracted. 

A weight settles over your chest.

If Din heard you call yourself aruetii then he knows that you now know what riduur means. 

Maybe that was the true source of his irritation, that you’d gone behind his back to figure out what it meant when he clearly hadn’t wanted you to know.

You rub the tip of Grogu’s ear between your fingers and sigh. 

Any warm feelings you’d had are gone. 

Riduur. 

He’s been calling you that for months. But he hadn’t wanted you to know that he was calling you his partner. For some reason it stings. 

The Mandalorian is not cruel, not the type to play with another’s feelings. But, nonetheless, it feels like he might have been. Teasing you in a way you couldn’t begin to guess at. Or, like he could pretend without actually attaching himself to you, and you’d be none the wiser. 

You shake those thoughts away, listening to the music echoing over the sands. 

When Grogu falls asleep and the sun is just disappearing behind the horizon, you secure the ramp of the ship and carry the baby up into the cockpit. 

Din sits silently in the pilot’s chair, and doesn’t look at you as you tuck the child into the floating pod. 

You fidget with his blanket, not sure what to say. 

“I’m sorry,” he breaks the silence first. “Ni ceta.” 

“Din,” you perch next to him in the co-pilot’s seat. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone poking around where I don’t belong. I’m sorry.” 

His head tilts toward you, the visor impenetrable. You swallow when he doesn’t answer, an inexplicable lump forming in the back of your throat. “Don’t belong?” 

“I shouldn’t have asked them what riduur meant. You didn’t want me to know.” 

Din stands and holds out a hand to you. You take it carefully and let him pull you to your feet. “That is not why I-,” he stops. “Do you really not know?” 

“Know what?” 

“I should have been…honest about the name I’ve given you.” He tilts his head and releases your hands. “I’m upset because-,” the Mandalorian pauses and seems to consider his next words for a long moment. Finally, he sighs and simply repeats, “You’re not an aruetii. By definition you can’t be.”

You stare at him for a long moment, before shaking your head. “I don’t understand.” 

He huffs, helm ticking to the side again. “Would you call Grogu an outsider?” 

“Of course not,” you answer, horrified. “No.” 

“And why is that? He’s not a Mandalorian either.” 

You don’t have to think about it, shaking your head before he’s even finished speaking. “He’s your child.” 

Din steps forward, close to you, but doesn’t say anything. “Our child,” he corrects eventually. “I am upset because you don’t seem to know you are a part of our clan. Even after knowing what I’ve been calling you. Riduur, ner riduur, for months. You still don’t know.”

Oh. Oh. 

“Osi'kyr,” you murmur softly. “How could I know that, Din?” 

He stands silent and still before you, so still you aren’t sure he’s breathing. “I thought it was clear,” he says stiffly. “I thought it was clear I was courting you.”

Something pleasantly warm settles in among your heart and lungs. “Maybe you should explain your customs to me more thoroughly,” you joke lightly. 

He doesn’t laugh, shoulders tense, hands curled in anxious fists. 

“So why not tell me what the word means?” It seems a bit past courting to you, to call someone riduur. It seems to you he’s already chosen you. 

He shifts from foot to foot, the movement somehow laden with vulnerability and worry. “If you did not…want the same - I’m not sure I could bear that.” 

You stare at him, not entirely sure what to say to that. “So, what,” you start, “you expected me to one day just realize you considered me your-,”

“I would have told you,” he interrupts quickly. “One day.” 

“Told me-,” 

“What riduur means,” he corrects. “And asked if you’d like to be that.” Din takes your hands again, “Just know that you are part of this clan, whatever your answer is.” His voice is so sincere, it breaks your heart a little. “Whether you want to be attached to me or not, you have a place in this clan. You are not an aruetii.”

You tilt your head at the same time he does, the nonverbal cues you both habit in reflecting between you. “I’m just a bit confused. Was that your idea of a proposal?” You smile so he knows you’re teasing him. 

Din gives a long suffering sigh. “Mandalorians do not propose.” 

“Oh. So what do you do then?” You lift a brow, sliding your hands to his wrists so you can work on tugging one glove off at a time. 

“We make an agreement,” he says, not trying to stop you. His voice is hoarse. “We make vows.”

You don’t look up, tucking the gloves in your belt before tracing your fingers along the veins in his wrists, the lines of his palms. “Oh. And did you make vows to me that I wasn’t aware of?” 

You’re still joking, but Din takes your words to heart. He shakes one hand loose from yours and presses it beneath your jaw, tipping your head gently back. “I did. I make vows to you everyday.” 

All the air seems to get sucked out of the ship. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out as you struggle to find words. He chuckles, low and breathy beneath the helmet. You imagine he must be smiling. “Now you see how you make me feel. Like I can’t breathe.”

You finally manage to take a breath, lifting your chin away from his fingers, threads of embarrassment beating under your skin at his teasing. “You could have told me, you know.” 

“It was too large a risk. I wouldn’t risk you.”

Maybe you should hesitate in your next words. 

But you don’t. 

You’ve never been surer in something. 

“Din,” you step close to him. “I would take those vows.” 

“They…they are heavy vows. Not meant to be taken lightly. They’re bonding vows.”

He thinks you don’t get it, that you still don’t understand. “I understand what kind of vows they are. What are the vows?” You step even closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours. 

He smells like sun, like spices from the market and oil on beskar. It makes you dizzy, the usual scent of him is much cooler. Evergreen and pine. 

The cockpit is dark, the very last dregs of light on the horizon gone. The contours of the helm are shadowed, the flicker of lights from the control panels reflecting in blinking lights over the visor. 

There is no hesitation in his voice when he finally speaks. 

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” 

You mouth the words, doing your best to translate them. 

But he’s spoken too quickly, and you only understand part of it. He waits for you to ask for him to translate, giving you a moment to attempt it instead of immediately telling you. 

“I only understand part…We are one together and-,”

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors,” he says easily. “We are - we are all of those things already. I have kept the promise I made.” 

Your throat is dry, and you can’t think about how that’s true. “We’re raising warriors?” You attempt a joke. 

“Would you not call the child a warrior?”

“I would,” you agree. “I would also still take those vows, now knowing their meaning.”

There’s a long pause in which you can feel the Mandalorian’s stare. His gaze is intense, assessing, hot against your skin. You patiently look back, waiting. “You don’t have to.”

“You think I don’t want to.” 

He huffs, “I…don’t want you to believe you have to make vows to me. You are a part of our clan no matter what.” 

“Would you still call me riduur?”

“If you allowed it,” he takes a breath. “Yes.” 

The lip of the helm drifts up and you can sense he’s no longer looking at you, embarrassed. “Din.” His head snaps back down. “I know I am not an outsider.” You wait for him to digest those words. “I know this is my clan now. I still would like to make these vows to you.” 

He reaches up and presses his palms to either side of your jaw, the crown of the helmet pressing softly against your forehead for just a moment when he dips his head. “If you’re sure, repeat after me. We’ll say them together.” 

“Elek,” you agree. 

“Mhi solus tome,” he starts, reverence and disbelief lodged in his voice. 

In the distance, more fireworks explode in the sky. The colors reflect in the glass of the ship’s front window, sparking over the reflective helmet. “Mhi solus tome,” you say slowly, careful to pronounce each word exactly right. 

You’d never imagined yourself as someone who would get married, and certainly not like this. 

But that was before you knew Din. And all this feels to you is right. It’s both sudden and not. 

This was meant to happen. All your years with the Mandalorian lead towards this. 

You repeat the rest of the vows after him, slow and deliberate. 

When the final syllable rolls off your tongue, a muted kind of joy overcomes you. You’ve been a part of it for a long time, but you feel it now, the belonging to a clan and people. 

Din releases you and leans back. His chest rises and falls quickly. 

You close your eyes and reach for the edge of his helmet. 

You want to kiss him at the very least. 

But when your fingers skim over the release, he captures your wrists in one hand. You let go and Din reaches up with his opposite hand to take it off himself. 

You expect him to kiss you right away, but he doesn’t. You can only feel the lingering touch of his gaze. 

“Open your eyes.” 

“What? No-,” you begin to protest. 

“Yes. You can now, riduur.” The word rumbles out of him proudly, heavy in his mouth. 

You tilt your head and frown. “Are you-,” 

“This is the Way.” His voice warbles, just a little. 

“Are you sure?” You get the entire question out this time. 

Now it’s his turn to tease you. “No,” he says dryly. “I’ll change my mind after you open your eyes.” 

“Ha ha,” you deadpan. “You’re very funny.” 

“Open them.” 

You think you might be more nervous than him to see his face. You honestly never thought you would get to, and you had long ago made peace with that. It didn’t matter to you what he looked like, you knew his heart and that was more than enough. 

You’ve tried to picture him before, from tracing your fingers over his face, but the image is only half formed and without detail. It felt wrong, somehow, too, to try to picture the face of someone who deliberately hid it. 

 Slowly, you peek your eyes open at him. Whatever you had pictured is nothing compared to the man you find yourself gazing at. 

A sense of vertigo sweeps through you, because it's almost like looking at a stranger. 

You have to resist the urge, for just a moment, to tear yourself away from him. 

His hair is darker in color than you thought it would be, but just as feathery and lightly curled as you imagined. Din’s eyes are dark, a deep brown that you’d like to spend lifetimes memorizing, falling inside. You were right too, from your explorations of his face with your hands, about the shape of his nose, his mustache, the patchy beard. You’d pictured his eyes all wrong, the shape of jaw.

One thing you couldn’t have guessed at is the naked expressiveness in his eyes. 

It makes sense though, he’s spent a lifetime without the need to school his features into anything other than exactly what he was feeling. 

You wonder how many times he’s looked at you with such longing, and you never knew. 

He says your name, a question mark tagged onto the end of it, his voice wrecked and strange without the modulator muffling his voice. 

The sound of his voice rips the upside down feeling away. It’s his voice, it’s him. Not some handsome stranger. 

Your eyes flit up from where your gaze had lingered on his lips, the pink shape of his mouth against golden skin. “I was right.” 

He frowns, eyes soft and worried. It shocks you again, just how open his emotions read in his eyes. “About what?” 

“I knew you were pretty. You are pretty,” you tease, pressing yourself against him, the hard contours of him biting into you. You fist your hands into the fabric at his sides. “Mesh’la.” 

Din frowns at you. “I told you that means beautiful, didn’t I?” His voice is playful and doesn’t match his expression. 

You nod and don’t answer, reaching up to cup your hand against his cheek. Din’s arm settles easily around your waist, dragging you closer, the weight of his helm in his hand heavy against your hip. Normally, you’d let him close the distance between you but you can’t quite manage to let him now, gazing instead at the planes of his face. “Mesh’la,” you tell him. “Ner riduur.” 

“That’s my line.” 

“Not anymore,” you tease. “Husband.”

You tip your chin into his and wait for him to meet you there. 

He gives a slight smile before leaning into you. “Not husband. Riduur.” 

“Right,” you agree, because really, it isn’t quite the same. It can’t be. “Ner riduur.” 

The kiss lingers long on your lips. He’s savoring you, a warm passion that doesn’t quite extend into heat. Din’s tongue meets yours briefly, the groan it tugs from his mouth sending flashes of lightning all the way down to your toes. 

The fireworks outside are no rival for the feelings clawing up the back of your throat. 

You want to tell him you love him, but you think he already knows. 

He breaks away to set his helmet down. When he turns back to you, his hands roam over you, free in their movement, tugging at the band of your trousers. 

You can’t stop staring at him, suddenly overwhelmed, drinking in the sight of him, the naked expression of him, everything he’s thinking spread over his face like a well loved language. 

All you’d wanted was to know the name he gifted you, instead - this. 

You map your hand over his face, tracing the divot between his brows, the curve of one sharp cheekbone. “I never thought I would see your face,” you whisper. 

Those soft, vulnerable eyes meet yours, arm wrapping around you again, as his bare forehead presses to yours, “And I always knew you would.” 

Thank you for reading! Please let me know your thoughts!

Translations:

Riduur - spouse, partner, wife, husband

Ner riduur - my spouse, partner, wife, husband

Cyare - beloved

Cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart

Udesii - Relax, take it easy

Ad’ika - little one, baby

Su cuy'gar - Hello

Aruetii - outsider, foreigner, traitor

Ni ceta - an apology, rare

Osi'kyr - exclamation of surprise

Elek - yes

Mesh’la - beautiful