Man Over The Radio: I Have One Of Your Friends.

🥵

Y’all always out here giving some new TV boyfriend to obsess about

♡ Hotline ♡

Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: You and Mikey have been casually seeing each other for a few weeks. After a late night text from him, you make the drunken insomniac executive decision of calling him back. Naughtiness ensues.

Or: the one where you and Michael have phone sex.

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, M/F. Minors DNI // PWP, P!rn With Feelings. Phone sex, flirting, teasing, sexual innuendos, dirty talking, mentions of oral sex (m. receiving), masturbation (m. and f.), sexual fantasies, role-playing scenarios, librarian k!nk, mentions of rough sex. // Blink-and-you-miss-it angst, alcohol use, mentions of insomnia, anxiety and self esteem issues.

Word count: 3.8k

Read below the cut OR on AO3

Notes: Reader wears glasses in this - don't look at me like that, it's integral to the plot 🙄

For the history nerds, the quote at the beginning is from the book "Fire from Heaven" by Mary Renault, about the relationship between Alexander the Great and his friend and lover, Hephaestion.

Enjoy! As always, likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated ♡

His feelings were confused; he wanted to grasp till Alexander's very bones were somehow engulfed within himself, but knew this to be wicked and mad; he would kill anyone who harmed a hair of his head…

… you yawned at the page you’d been reading (i.e., staring at without absorbing a single bit of information), before turning your head to the nightstand and seeing the clock mark 2:49 am.

“Good god”, you whispered, tiredly rubbing your face with one hand, while the other reached for the half-full glass of red wine keeping you company in your insomnia.

Technically, you knew drinking was the last thing you should be doing on a weeknight, when you were having a hard time falling asleep and were expected at work in the morning. But living alone was really not helping you behave like a responsible adult with bills to pay. So, you slowly sip your wine, read your book, and hope that eventually your brain will give up and allow you to pass out for at least a few hours.

Suddenly, your phone lights up with a text. Michael B., it says on the screen. A pang of excitement hits you, and you immediately scoff for reacting so earnestly to a text from a guy you’ve been with (not even biblically, just the daytime coffee dates that people with busy lives manage to pack into a crazy week) for a grand total of two times and less than two hours, overall. Not pathetic at all.

Still, you can’t help but reach for the phone.

Hey, I know it’s late and you probably won’t read this until morning, sorry. Wanna have dinner at that spot we talked about? I can pick you up at the office ;) – M.

You smile, and without really thinking, hit the call button.

He picks up quickly, an amused tone in his voice. “Well, I was not expecting that. What the hell are you still doing up, princess? No work tomorrow?”

You laugh. “God, I wish. I just can’t sleep. Haven’t had one of these nights in a while… my brain won’t shut up, even though I’m so tired I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck”.

“Ooof. That fucking sucks.”

“Yup.”

“Well, I’m glad to be your booty call in this desperate time.”

“Michael”, you laugh so hard you choke on some wine and must set the glass back on the table. “I really don’t think that’s what this is”.

“Oh, no?”, he feigns innocence.

“No…”, chuckling, you continue with the most sultry, mock-seductive voice you can muster “… a booty call is if I was like: Sooo, Mikey… are you, like, busy right now? Do you wanna… come over? I’m aaall alone…”.

You make sure to put particular emphasis on the word ‘come’ and Mike sounds like he is doubling over with laughter. “That was the worst proposition I have ever heard, no doubt”.

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re officially off my booty call list. I don’t need this kind of negativity in my life.”

“Ah, shit… I fucked up now, didn’t I?”, you swear you can hear his grin from the other end of the line. And see the laugh lines that form on the corner of his eyes when he smiles genuinely, the rare but so cute nose crinkle that makes your belly flutter…

You would love to get a fucking grip, thank you very much, but the wine was making you incapable of keeping a level head in this flirtation.

“Well… all is not lost. Taking me out to dinner is a good start to redeem yourself. If your game is on point tomorrow, your booty call list status might be revised… in the not-so-far future”, you add, suggestively.

“Shit. Now the stakes are on. I gotta be on my best behavior tomorrow, then”.

“I don’t know about best behavior…”. You feel like slapping yourself for your lack of subtlety.

He chuckles. “So… you like them a little nasty, huh?”

You’re glad he can’t see you blush furiously. “Not like that… but I do like a man who isn’t afraid to… take what he wants. Respectfully, of course.”

“Of course… damn, girl. You’re getting me thinking about all sorts of things…”

“Well, you’re the one who started talking about booty calls. It’s technically your fault”.

“That’s fucking rich. I was being a gentleman, sent you a sweet text and all. Not a single sex reference!”, he says, proudly.

“Ok, that is true”, you concede, laughing softly. “Are you still at the restaurant?”

He sighs deeply. “Yeah… paperwork coming out of my eyeballs. I don’t even understand how the hell I organized this mess”. You hear rustling through the line, and imagine the mess of letters, invoices and bills that must be covering his office desk.

“That fucking sucks”.

“Word”. His chair squeaks loudly. “So… what are you wearing?”

You laugh. “You’re unbelievable”.

“What? I’m just trying to keep the conversation light, you know? Nobody wants to hear about my fuckin’ paperwork at 3 am”.

It was subtle, but you could sense something deeper in his words (sadness? self-deprecation?).

“I wouldn’t mind hearing about your ‘fuckin’ paperwork’ at any time of day, Michael”.

The line goes silent, and you fear you went too deep, too soon. Made this weird in record time, wow.

“I didn’t mean it like… I meant if you want to talk to me about your shitty day, you know, you can, but I don’t want you to be uncomf-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay sweetheart. I get it… thank you for that”, he says, softly. “Maybe some other time. Right now, I honestly just wanna forget about this for a little while... I was really pumped when you called”.

“That’s okay. Really?” You smile, relieved.

“Yeah, really. So… wanna make a guy happy and tell him what you’re wearing?”

With a chuckle, you concede. “Well, nothing. I’m in bed and I sleep naked, so… yeah”.

There’s a heavy pause. “Holy shit. Are you for real?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Jesus, fuck… baby, you can’t say stuff like that and expect me to be normal about it”.

You grin, having just decided that, actually, you wanna play dirty.

“Who says I want you to be normal about it? Besides”, you throw back, suggestively, “I hardly think a woman can be held accountable for what she says after four glasses of wine on a Thursday night… naked and alone, in such a big bed…”

“Now, see, that was a much better pitch for a booty call than the first o-”

“I’m gonna hang up.”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry”, he laughs.

“You’re an asshole”. Even as you say it, you’re smiling.

“And you are a minx, lady. Gettin’ a guy all worked up…”

“Oh, my... I don’t know what you mean…”, you whisper into the comforter, now balled up in your fist over your mouth, as if to cover up your blushing cheeks from an invisible audience.

“Oh, I disagree… I think you know exactly what you’re doing”. There’s a note of sarcasm in his voice you find exhilarating. A sudden noise – like a chair squeaking loudly on a panel floor – can be heard from his end. Followed by… a metallic rattle, more subtle but still clear. A… belt unbuckling?

Wait. Is he…?

You grin, amused. “Mr. Berzatto… I’m hearing suspicious noises. What is going on over there?”

A deep grunt. “Nothin’ much, sweetheart. Just making myself comfortable, is all”.

“And how exactly are you doing that, mister?”

“You know… freeing the junk.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Well, that certainly helps set the mood”.

“Hm… baby, can I ask you for something? It’s totally fine if you don’t wanna do it… but I figure I might as well shoot my shot.”

You notice you are sitting up very still against the pillows in your bed, holding your breath in anticipation. “Sure… what is it?”

A heavy pause follows. Your heart feels like it’s about to beat itself out of your ribcage, your throat feels dry, and your tongue sits heavy and thick in your mouth, the taste of wine suddenly overpowering your senses. And you are so horny.

“Could you… send me a photo of you right now? Are you wearing those new glasses?”. He sounds… eager, almost nervous with the way he trips over the second question.

Oh. Something clicks for you, then. You smile. “So, you really liked the new glasses, huh?”

“Shit… c’mon, don’t bust my balls about it”, he says, with an embarrassed chuckle of admission.

“I’m not! It’s very flattering, actually”. You hope you conveyed how much you are not making fun of him. However, you hate misunderstandings, and to dispel any that might be going on here, you decide there is only one acceptable solution.

“Give me a minute”, you tell him, determined. You don’t wait for an answer before you drop your phone and get to work.

Meanwhile, Mikey sits in his rusty office chair, in what he thinks must look like a very… undignified position. Cock out, right hand stroking it lazily, slumped back with his jeans barely down his ass, work shirt dirty and stinking of cooking oil, his entire body tense in a mix of anticipation and shame. A part of him can’t help but wonder if you are fucking with him: laughing from the other end of the line, leaving him hanging – literally and figuratively (he chuckles dejectedly at the realization that he still remembers something from high school Lit class). He guesses he would kinda deserve that. What type of freak asks for nudes after two… dates? Do those rapid-fire coffee-grabs even count? He is so shit at this. Anything more than a casual hook-up or a quickie behind a sleezy pub is rocket science for him. ‘Congrats, loser! You just fucked it, yet again’.

Then, his phone pings. 5 photos received.

In the first one, you are lying on your side, in bed, a dim warm light illuminating the scene. He can see the contours of your body clearly, despite being covered by a layer of nearly sheer white sheets. His gaze follows your exposed collarbone, to the silhouette of your breasts – he is sure you purposefully allowed a bit of side-boob to slip past the entrapment of sheets… just for him.

He swears he could stare at the shapes of your body all day and never get tired – or limp. His dick is throbbing painfully, now.

It does not get better when he sees the rest of the photos. Your face is visible, on those. The last two are his favorites. You are laying on your stomach, with the reading glasses on, as promised – except they sit lower on your nose than usual, so that your eyes peak out from over the top of the frames. Your hair is down, tousled and wild like it’s just gotten messed up. ‘Is this what she looks like after…’. You are holding a glass of wine to your mouth – lips plump and lightly tinged red – that detail drives him a little insane –, and in front of you lays a book, delicately held open with your other hand. And in the last photo, the sheets have slipped lower down your breasts, revealing a generous cleavage. You’re staring directly at the camera with an inquiring gaze, biting your lower lip. ‘Come get me’.

“… Mike? Are you still there?”

It’s been some time since you sent the photos (twenty seconds, which your anxiety tells you is actually half an hour), with no reaction from him. Your cheeks heat up, and you suddenly feel very silly and insecure. Are they even… good? What makes a good nude? Do these even qualify as nudes? You’re not showing anything super explicit… they’re suggestive, at best. Is he going to think you’re a prude? God, why is this so diff-

Mike clears his throat. “Yeah, I… fuck. Fuckin’ hell. Holy shit. Sweetheart… these are so hot. Jesus… thank you so much. You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous…”. The last part comes out as a whisper, like he’s starstruck.  

You didn’t know it was possible to get more flustered than you already were. “You’re welcome… I’m flattered I managed to make Michael Berzatto incoherent over some low-res thirst trap selfies.”

“Baby, these are genuinely the hottest pics I’ve ever seen. You look like a hot librarian or something”.

You laugh out loud, triumphantly. “Ah! I knew it!”

“What?”, he laughs along.

“Something you wanna share with the class, Mr. Berzatto?”.

“Fuck, don’t stop calling me that, sweetheart”, he says, sounding out of breath.

“Yeah?”, you whisper.

“Fuck, yeah. It’s just… I’ve got a thing for girls with a kinda nerdy, librarian type of vibe, you know? And when I saw you this last time, holding a book and wearing your reading glasses… I gotta admit, my mind went straight to the gutter.”

Interesting. “Really? What did you imagine then?”.

A pause. “I’m not sure you want to hear it… I don’t want you thinking I’m a pervert or something”.

You sigh. “Mikey, I just sent you near-naked photos of me. We’re having phone sex. We are two horny adults having fun. Besides…”, you switch your tone to what you hope comes across as faux innocence, “… I asked you about it. It is kinda my fault, right? I guess I was kind of… bad”.

“Oh, is that what’s happening?”. He chuckles, as if saying challenge accepted. “Alright, then. When I saw you like that for the first time, this image popped into my head, right? I mean, you looked like a really hot librarian. So, I started picturing you in that scenario, with big glasses and all – just like the photos you sent me… except you had your hair in a cute ponytail, and your lips were even redder with lipstick… and you were wearing fishnet stockings up to your thighs – fuck, you got such nice legs, baby –, and you had a pair of those… what are they called. Uh, kitten heels. Yeah. Fuck, your ass would look unbelievable like that. I mean, it is unbelievable, you know what I mean? When you show up at the restaurant wearing those cute little dresses and skirts, I feel my dick twitching in my pants… that’s how hot you are, baby… that’s how crazy you make me feel.”

His words were streaming out like an avalanche – a filthy stream-of-consciousness. Flash images of all the times you were together pop into your mind. He was always nice and polite to you, if cheeky – that was his personality, after all. You’d never felt disrespected or threatened around him. Maybe that’s why, now that you knew he had been actively thinking about you like this… you were very turned on.

“Too much, sweetheart? You wanna keep listening to this filth?”

“… yeah, Mikey. Keep going. What happened then?”

“Then, I took you to a hidden corner in the library, rucked up your pretty little skirt and ripped your real nice dress shirt open… you know, so I could suck on your tits while I fucked you hard against some shelves. Didn’t even need to rip your panties off, ‘cause you weren’t wearing any. Just lifted you up and slammed my cock right into your pussy… God, you were drippin’ wet for me, and you mewled so sweetly… loud, too. Had to shove my fingers into your pretty mouth to keep you quiet. That’s what I imagined, sweetheart. More or less.”

The crass and vivid way in which he described his fantasy made you speechless. It was exhilarating. Knowing that all those times he had talked to you with a straight face, he had been actively fantasizing about fucking you hard. His words.

“Jesus Christ, Mikey”, you breathe out. “That’s… I can’t believe we had entire conversations while you had a cheap porn flick playing in your head”, you laugh softly, unconvincingly.

He sighed deeply. “See, I knew this was a bad idea… honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit. I guess I’m just a fucking perv-”

“Babe…”, you interrupt him, gentle, but firm, “shut up, please. I’m messing with you. I told you, it’s very flattering that you’re attracted to me. In fact… it’s super hot. Knowing you were having all those dirty thoughts about me while still being a gentleman… is making me feel all kinds of things, right now.”

“Yeah? What kinds of things?”

“Good things, Mikey… I’m so wet right now”, you mewl, the need for release in your core overwhelming the embarrassment you would be feeling otherwise. Without thinking, you kick the sheets away from your body and cup one of your breasts, kneading it and flicking your nipple – a moan leaves your mouth in a desperate plea.

“Fuck”, he whispers, “you got wet over that filth? Jesus Christ, baby. I won the fuckin’ lottery”.

You are burning with desire, and you can feel your pussy throbbing when you finally give in, sliding one hand down and shoving two fingers inside with barely any resistance. “Mikey… I wanna come so bad. Can you talk me through it… please?”

“Fuck… yeah, sweetheart, anything you want”. He moans, then, and you don’t think you have ever been so turned on in your life. Mikey Berzatto, a horny, moaning mess, jerking off in his mess of an office at 3 am… because of you.

Chicago’s Helen of Troy. You chuckled softly at the thought and decided to up the ante. “Baby… do you know what I was thinking when you were telling that beautiful story just now?”

He laughs, voice recked. “What, baby?”

You pout, and add another finger in, increasing the pace of the thrusts. “I wish you had pictured kissing me real hard, while I unbuckled your belt… would you let me get down on my knees for you, baby? I really wanna have you in my mouth, Mikey, like, right now”. Your words come out broken, sentences all messed up – you sound pathetic, but you are so past caring.

“Shit-”, a gasp, followed by a deep breath and the noise of something hitting a surface really hard. “… holy shit. Baby, I imagined all that and a whole lot more – seriously, you have no idea. Hell, if the lady wants to suck my dick, who am I to deny her, uh? Fuck. Would you let me fuck your mouth, baby…?”

You moan loudly at that and realize you need both hands, putting the phone on speaker – fuck the neighbors – and bringing your other hand to your clit, rubbing lightly, but fast. You were so close. The thought of kneeling on the floor, clothes and hair all messed up from Mikey’s hands, lipstick smudged… looking up at him, and watching his composure unravel because of you…

“Hm… yeah, Mikey, I think I would… ‘cause you’re so nice to me… such a gentleman, even when you’re fucking me hard… would you ask me real nice, baby? Hold my face gently in your big hands, while you fuck it?”

“Fuck, baby… I would treat you so right, you deserve everything-”, he chokes up and, for a few moments, you hear a distant cacophony of noises, like he’s put the phone down. Then, he’s back. “Sorry, sweetheart, I need both hands now”, he chuckles.

You giggle, “Me too… you got me so hot I’m fucking myself on my fingers and rubbing my clit at the same time… and it’s still not enough. I need you…”

“Fuck, that’s so hot. You fuckin’ yourself because of me… I know it’s not enough, baby… you need my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes! Mikey… please…”, you howl, completely out of your mind.

“How do you want me to fuck you, baby? Hm? Want it nice and slow? Nah… I think you like it fast and rough, don’t you? Long as I keep kissing you real good, touchin’ you real gentle, all over your body… you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”. How he manages to say such filthy things with so much honey dripping from every syllable, is beyond you.

“Yeah, fuck, baby… it doesn’t matter. I’m so wet already, you don’t need to do anything else, just hoist me up in your arms and pin me against the shelves… and shove it in me”.

You are still holding onto a shred of decency because you blush at your own crass admission – still, there is clearly not a whole lot left, as you start rubbing your clit and fucking yourself harder and faster. “I don’t want you to be gentle when you fuck me… I just need to feel your cock stretch me open… wanna feel the sting of it for days, be at work and not be able to focus because all I can think about is how you fucked me so good-”

At this point, you have no idea if he can understand anything you’re saying, because your words are intercut with moans and gasps and mewls and incoherent babble, as you’re about to reach your peak imagining Mikey’s on top of you, railing you into the bed.

“Baby, I’m gonna come… fuckin’ Christ”.

“Mikey- fuck!”.

Your body shakes and your eyes roll back from the strength of your orgasm. Distantly, your brain registers a broken string of moans and curses from the other end of the line.

A few seconds pass, and you feel yourself coming back down to Earth. You lazily stretch out on the bed, completely relaxed and fucked out. “That’s so cute… we came at the same time, babe”, you happily whisper, a ditsy smile on your face.

He huffs, amused “Yeah… what can I say? I’m a romantic at heart”.

You laugh sincerely. “This was… so good, actually. I’m glad I gave into my instinct and called you”.

“Well, I’m even more sticky now”. You both laugh at that. “But I’m also glad you called… like, really glad. Uh, can I ask you something?”

You notice a shift in his voice.

“Yeah… what is it?”

“I don’t want things to get weird between us after this… Like, I don’t want you to feel like you need to do all these things to get me off. You know what I mean? It’s just a fantasy… I’ll have you in any way you want me. Okay?”

You feel a tightness in your chest, and you wish, not for the first time tonight, you had him right in front of you so you could kiss him all over and hug him.

“Mikey… I genuinely liked tonight. And the more we talk, the more I like you. You’re not the only one who feels like you won the lottery…”.

“Baby… you’re too sweet. Don’t you think you already got me blushing enough for one night?”

“That’s fucking rich. I must’ve gone through all shades of red tonight, because of your filthy mouth”.

“Please. You loved it”, he chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess I did”, you concede, with a smile.

After saying goodbye – and confirming that yes, you would very much like for him to pick you up and take you to dinner later – you fall asleep fast, your mind finally catching up to the pleasant tiredness in your body, a soft smile on your lips.

You Are Sunshine

Long time lurker, first time writer... fanfic writing is new to me, please be kind!

Warnings: brief mention of alcohol and loss

This is all fluff, I hope you enjoy!

Daryl x reader (no gender specific descriptions)

Word count: 1800

Summary: you and Daryl exchange gifts and you learn how he feels about you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house was warm, slightly too warm if you’re being honest, and you’re beginning to regret the heavy knit sweater you decided to wear to the party. You don’t know why you didn’t realize how warm the living room of the Grimes’s Alexandria house would get when all these people – your family – gathered together. The living room was big, but with this many people and the fire roaring, the space felt small and stuffy. You could crack a window, but your best guess told you it was no higher than 25 degrees outside, now that the sun had set, and you could imagine the groans and complaints about the draft. Instead, you just roll your sleeves up as high as they could go, and take a sip of your drink in hopes that it would make you more comfortable. You choke a little as you remember you’d poured yourself a whiskey, and prepare for the heat that gulp would send radiating from your stomach to the rest of your body. You wouldn’t be here much longer anyway, it had to be close to midnight, Judith and Carl had already gone to bed, and everyone finished exchanging gifts half an hour ago.

You loved this holiday, or at least what your group had turned it into. The idea came to you the first winter in the Prison. Everyone had been through so much, and it felt unresolved with the Governor still unaccounted for. The anxiety hung in the air. You called a meeting, making it known to everyone that if your math was correct, New Year’s Eve was just a couple of weeks away, and it was time to do something fun, something that felt normal, and something to celebrate your lives. You declared to the group that New Year’s Eve would officially be celebrated as a Christmas/New Year combo – a way to tell each other how glad you were they’d made it another year (of course with gifts), relaying how important to you they are, to celebrate the future you were planning together, and to remember and grieve those lost that year. You didn’t expect it to catch on quite as fervently as it did, you expected to awkwardly push for it each year – and you were willing to do that, it was that important you. The need never came, though, as each year everyone began talking about the gifts they were gathering before you even had to remind them the date was approaching.

The memories of the holiday celebrations of the past brought a smile to your face, and looking around now as everyone chattered together, you felt the sense of gratitude the celebration was meant to elicit, and not just because of the handful of gifts you’d been given. Looking at the small pile of scavenged goods and handmade items, and a massive cast iron skillet that Carol had gifted you (you’d be sure to make her something delicious in it soon), you remembered you still had one gift to give. Where is Daryl, anyway? You thought as you scanned the room – you’d seen him earlier sitting between Rick and Carol. Your eyes had met across the room, as they had been doing for months now, and you felt that flush in your stomach that you always felt. You’d both lingered in each other’s gaze for a minute, before Rick leaned over to talk to Daryl, and Maggie began asking you what seeds you’d received from Carl and comparing hers to see if either of you wanted to swap. That was at least 20 minutes ago, and you haven’t seen Daryl since. You run a hand on the back of your neck to wipe away some of the sweat your cowl neck was causing – it is sweltering in here now – and remember your idea to open a window. As you look toward the windows overlooking the front porch, you see him. He’s standing against a post on the porch, looking in at everyone. His gaze sweeps your way and your eyes do that meeting thing again – and, yep, there’s that heat in your abdomen that follows.

You grab the little wrapped package you left in your coat pocket as you head out the front door.

“Did you get as hot in there as I am?” you ask him as you stride up to him and lean against the railing of the front porch beside his post.

“Yeh, I jus’ needed a minute to cool off.” He replied, not turning away from watching the party inside.

“Well, I’m glad I caught you alone out here, I have a gift for you and if you hate it, at least everyone here won’t see you open it.”

He turns his head at that. “You got me a present?” he asks, and you can hear the surprise in his voice.

“I did. You are hard to shop for, you know? I don’t know anything about motorcycles and you’ve been wearing the same ratty vest since I met you. I have no idea if you will like this at all,” you drawl as you pass the parcel to him.

He looks you in the eyes for a few long seconds as he takes the gift from you. Your heart is already racing from the eye contact when he turns his attention to the small metal box he is unwrapping, and you begin to sweat as if you’re still inside that living room. This was a dumb idea, he is going to laugh at you, why did you even think this was a good gift?

“ ‘Spretty… what is it?” he sheepishly asks you, and you laugh.

“It’s a cigarette case,” you chuckle again as you take the box and pry it open from the right side, expanding it on its hinges to show the compartments inside. “Your packs always get so smushed in your pockets.”

You see a grin slowly spread over Daryl’s face – god, you love that grin – and he meets your eyes, and for the fourth time that night your heart wants to leap out of your chest. “ ‘sgreat,” he says, not looking away from you. “I love it.”

“Really? It’s okay if you don’t. You won’t hurt my feelings,” you lie to him, but he can already see on your face how happy you are to give it to him. There is no trace of a lie in his eyes as he replies, “really. I love it.”

“I got ya somethin’ too.”

Your brow furrows, “wait, really? You got me a gift?”

He nods, and reaches into his pocket to bring out a small velvet draw-string pouch. You shyly accept the pouch, carefully pull the opening apart, and lightly dump the contents into your palm. A dainty gold chain with an attached pendant falls out. You hold it up into the light from the window to examine it, and your breath catches. In the center of the pendant is an opal stone, rounded and displaying a shimmer of pinks and greens as you move it. The gem is nested in gold and surrounded by outstretched rays of tapered gold bars, uneven in length, each twinkling with small embedded diamonds.

“Was out with Aaron in some nearby towns, saw a jewelry store. Tha’ made me think of ya” Daryl breaks the silence while you study the necklace, your mouth open in disbelief. He shifts nervously on his feet.

“Daryl, it is absolutely gorgeous! It’s…it’s a sun?” you ask, finally looking up at him. He nods subtly. “A sun made you think of me? Because I think the world revolves around me?” you tease, nudging his arm a bit with your elbow.

“Nah… ‘cause tha’s you.” He says back, with a shy seriousness.

When you raise your brows in question, he continues, “Yer… warm. Ya bring warmth and brightness with you. You… ya seem to light up a room, and make this dark world...” he trails off, “Yer smile is sunshine. Yer sunshine.”

You want to gape at him – you are pretty sure you’ve never heard him speak that much before – but he is already avoiding your eyes in what looks like embarrassment, and gaping would definitely not help. You’re shocked by the revelation that he has feelings for you. Daryl feels what you have felt for him for months. You wonder how long he has felt that way, how long have you both been pretending not to feel that way, too scared the other wouldn’t reciprocate?

You touch your hand to his arm, pulling his eyes back to you. You want to say so much in that moment. You want to tell him everything you feel for him, tell him that was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to you, tell him that you are so thankful for the gift, and you just want him to know that everything he feels for you is returned. But you can’t. Not a single word comes to your mouth. Instead, you gently touch his face, stare longingly into his eyes, and travel your gaze to his lips. And then you kiss him. He tenses at first, and you begin questioning everything you just read into this moment. Uh oh… Did you totally blow this? Suddenly both of his hands are holding your face, and he’s returning the kiss. Not just returning it, he seems to be pouring everything he wants to say into your mouth with his. Your heart is pounding in your chest so hard you’re sure he can hear it, too. You want to stay in this moment forever, his warmth and his passion breathing life into you, his smell surrounding you, the taste of his lips consuming you. That’s when you feel it.

Something off… not with Daryl – god he is perfect, this moment is perfect – no, something off about the house. It’s quiet – too quiet, compared to the low hum of voices that was drifting from the party just moments ago. Do you feel eyes on you? You pull back from the kiss and look toward the windows and almost jump. Everybody is staring at you, all of them crammed against the two windows of the living room, watching you both kiss. A mixture of shock and knowing looks across their faces, and no one seems to be blinking.

“Uh, Dar…” you say, trying to draw his attention to your audience, when suddenly applause erupts from inside. Clapping, cheering, some whoops you think came from Rick. You can’t help but giggle as you hide your face in Daryl’s neck in embarrassment.

“We should probably go inside and get their mocking over with,” you say, slowly pulling away from Daryl and heading towards the door.

“Righ’ behind ya, Sunshine.” He says, following you.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 –

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 –

affectionate, approving, beaming, bright, brilliant, broad, charming, cheerful, compassionate, dazzling, encouraging, enthusiastic, friendly, gentle, genuine, infectious, innocent, irresistible, placid, playful, pleased, radiant, reassuring, sweet, soft, sunny, tender, warm, welcoming, windsome.

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 –

cold, condescending, cruel, dazed, devilish, dry, enigmatic, evil, feeble, fixed, forced, furtive, grave, grim, haughty, helpless, ingratiating, insolent, ironic, malicious, meek, melancholy, mocking, mournful, mysterious, oily, reluctant, rueful, sarcastic, sardonic, scornful, shy, slight, smug, sober, strained, strange, stony, thin, timid, tremulous, triumphant, ugly, vague, weak, weird, wicked, wistful, wry.

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 –

amused, crooked, knowing, mischievous, quiet, quick, rusty, sudden, vacant.

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲 –

chapped, cracked, moist, plump, thin, tight.

reader pronouns: she/her

“Not everything can be solved with a knife,” Maggie said, watching you throw gear into your pack.

You stopped and looked at her. “I know. That’s why I always carry two,” you said, pulling both of your knives from their sheaths at your hips.

Daryl, standing in the doorway and watching the discussion, couldn’t stifle a gruff laugh in time despite the tense atmosphere. Maggie rounded on him, looking exasperated. “Daryl,” she pleaded, in hopes he could perhaps stop you.

He straightened up. “She needs to do this Maggie. But I’ll go with. Ya think I’d let her go off alone? Nah. Despite the two knives…” he said, one corner of his mouth twitching up.

♥️

Things that don't make you less of a writer:

-Writing dark topics/sad or tragic endings -Writing fanfiction -Writing a lot of projects at the same time or just focusing on a single one -Having difficulty naming things -Having difficulty writing dialogue or descriptions or action sequences -Having areas in writing that you find difficult -Only writing in a single genre -Only really covering one topic in your writing -Being scared to branch out of your comfort zone -Never wanting to publish -Being rejected by publishers -Not using clever word play in your writing -Having literal writing style -Writing slower than those around you -Being unable to finish any of your projects you start -Having to take long breaks even though you didn't write a lot -Getting exhausted by writing (it's not that you don't love it, it's just exhausting!)

There are so many more things I can add to this list. Literally every single habit of writers, I could add to this list. These are just some really big ones I've seen people get down on themselves about. So just remember: you are no less of a writer than those around you. Be proud, love your writing. You put the time and effort into it. No one has put the time you have into it, so you should love it more than anyone in the whole world.

Love your writing, no matter what kind of writing it is, no matter how diverse the subjects and genres are... it doesn't matter. YOU made it. You alone.

He’s my current hyper fixation and I’m good with it.

I'm coming to you sweetheart... 🖤

Found on Pinterest

AI

Y’all gonna make me feel old.

it used to be 2007 you know

“I Should Like to Worship You Tonight”

This is probably (definitely) the most niche smut I’ve ever written, or even daydreamed up. I grew up in the Bible Belt and Feature Films for Families were a staple in our home. Rigoletto (1993) was my favorite. I’m a sucker for a Beauty and the Beast themed story, and the music was so beautiful. And of course, as an adult, I’m wildly attracted to the MMC. (Confession - I find that with any BatB story, I tend to prefer the “Beast” before his transition in the end. What does that say about me? Maybe I’ll ask my therapist.) I recently rewatched the movie a thousand times, and I have a whole fic plotted out with stories before this one, but I needed to get this one out of my head an onto “paper.” I hope someone enjoys my warping of a family movie into something not family friendly at all. ;-)

It had been three nights since I was last alone with him, my brooding master of the manor. Three nights since I’d somehow mustered the courage, or maybe it was simply a lack of inhibition?, to boldly confess how my body ached for his touch and burned with the thought of his lips trailing kisses down every bare inch of my skin.

My work had certainly suffered in the days following, constantly drifting into a daydream -memory, really- of the passion that followed . I’d find myself forgetting why I entered a room, not knowing how long I’d been standing there staring at nothing, or holding an item I didn’t remember picking up. The trance his touch had left me in… the spell I was under… it was incurable and unbreakable, save one remedy.

As I tiptoed through the dark manor, conscious of every little sound, my heart racing at who might be around the next corner, who might catch me on my secret quest, I prayed he was awake and as hungry as I.

I’d had little opportunity to be near him, and none at all to be alone with him since that night. Hans, the ever loyal manservant, had -unfortunately- finally recovered from his days long illness that had allowed me such closeness with Ari to begin with. I’d made sure to tiptoe past his door first, where I was relieved to hear him snoring like a bear.

As I descended the last few stairs to the main foyer, the door to his study and music room in sight, my prayer was answered. He was awake, and playing his pianoforte, as he did more often than he didn’t. It was his most beautiful quality, although his voice rivaled it, and the songs he made the instrument sing often filled the halls of this enormous house. I had been haunted from my first day here with the enchanting loneliness of the tunes that seemed to pierce straight to my soul. As the days went on, though, they turned to somewhat brighter notes, lonely but with a tinge of hope. From there they drifted into scores of longing, an unrequited love. Since our union three nights ago, the halls had been filled with lovely romantic tunes, sometimes sultry and passionate, sometimes light and airy like rays of sun slipping through the trees in the early morning hours. It was this type of tune I followed now, my bare feet padding lightly on the wooden floors.

I slipped through the sliding door of his study, silently closing it behind me, and through the open doors into the room beyond I saw him, his long, dark hair shining in the gentle candlelight. I could see the shadows dancing on the scars of his face as he moved with the music. I thought to walk over and touch them, to caress the evidence of all the pain of his previous life. But tonight, I was feeling a bit playful.

As his tune drifted like those morning rays of light over a misty field, warming and awakening something deep within me, I began twirling and moving with the rhythm. I have never been accused of being a lovely dancer, but I felt graceful as I lightly moved across the room. I stopped in front of the bay window, opening the curtains to let the rays of moonlight in. The beauty of the full moon illuminating the front courtyard gave me pause and for a moment I was lost in the night, with the low, beautiful melody of his song in the background.

I don’t know how long it had been, but I suddenly became aware that the music had stopped some time ago. I turned my back to the window and found him still at the piano, but with his hands stacked on his cane, watching me. I had the feeling he’d been staring at me for quite a while, and the feeling brought a blush to my cheeks. I felt bared naked, though I was still wrapped in my silk robe.

“You are a goddess,” Ari finally broke the silence.

I smiled shyly at him, trying to think of something clever and flirty to reply. My words failed me as he rose. The light tap of his cane filling the quiet room as he moved slowly toward me.

He towered over me, his gaze piercing mine, as he held my chin between his thumb and forefinger. I closed my eyes, desperately wanting him to close the distance between our lips, to start our dance together.

His hand left my chin and as I opened my eyes in confusion, I felt the belt of my robe tugged undone. As he slipped it from my shoulders, baring my completely naked body, my breath caught in my throat.

“I should like to worship you tonight,” he continued his thought, his eyes raking over every inch of my moonlit form.

His hand found my waist and gently pushed until my back touched the window, a gasp escaping my mouth at the shock of the cold glass on my skin.

He grinned devilishly at the sound, and using his cane for support, made his way down onto his good knee. Before I could make another sound, he’d lifted my leg and draped it on his shoulder, baring my flower to his hungry gaze.

He began with slow, warm kisses at the top of my thigh. It tickled and I giggled, but ran my hands through his thick hair in encouragement. His kisses moved inward, finding my petals, and the tickles quickly turned to tingles. He moved inward still, his lips finding the center of me, and his kisses became sucks. His tongue began making long, lazy strokes, and I knew I was dripping wet from more than his mouth. My groans could not be stifled as he continued, alternating between sucks, licks, and kisses.

The sudden sensation of fingers entering me caused a yelp of pleasure, and I felt him smile against me before continuing his skilled work. His fingers moved as expertly as his tongue, and I soon felt the crescendo of an orgasm building within me. My hands tugged in his hair, my back arching away from the window and pushing my core further onto his face. His remaining hand cupped my ass, and as he forcefully sucked one long time, I unraveled against him, gasping sharply and exhaling his name, “Ari”.

He was gentle as he continued his work while I came down from my high, and when he finally set my leg down and rose, his own arousal was evident under his robe.

He stopped me when I moved to reach for his erection, more than willing to return the favor. He smiled as he kissed me, moving my hand to his face.

“I said I would like to worship you tonight,” he whispered onto my mouth, “how should you like to be worshiped next?”

I kissed him deeply, and then led him by the hand back to his piano bench.

“With the piano, I think,” I said, giving him a sincere smile.

The melody he played will follow me the rest of my days- it’s beauty, I’m convinced, can never be matched.

I see no lies.

The comfiest of comfort movies

Watching labyrinth again and all my problems have dissipated