Y/N: What House Would You Be In?

🔥

This is amazing

Heels

Daryl sees reader walking around in a pair of high heels from her new closet in Alexandria and it drives him wild!

Warnings: loving smut!

Daryl Dixon was a leg man. 

Whether it was the models in Merle's nudie magazines or the real live girls in his hometown, the first thing the shy younger Dixon brother noticed was a nice pair of legs. You had the best he'd ever seen. 

When you appeared at the gates of the prison in a t-shirt and shorts as Daryl and Maggie were clearing walkers from the fence, you were sunburned and bug bitten everywhere. They gave you a bottle of water, asked you three questions, then let you in. Daryl hadn't thought about things like attractive body parts since the world ended, until he watched you walk away up the dirt hill with Maggie. He was suddenly glad he had walkers to take his sudden, overwhelming frustration out on.

Daryl was glad you kept those shorts after washing them, and wore them often, even if it distracted him. But it wasn't just your legs. It was your smile, your kindness, your work ethic, your playfulness with Judith, and your devotion the group. Daryl fell in love with every part of you. 

You only saw enough of him to be intrigued. He never stopped, never rested, never stood still, and certainly never had a full conversation with anyone. He only said what was necessary and got back to it, whether it was going on a run or a hunt, building or fixing something, or keeping to himself. He wanted to talk to you the most, but he couldn't do small talk, he didn't know how to express his feelings for you, and he was afraid to say the wrong thing, in the wrong way. You tried to initiate many times. You could tell his gruff exterior shielded a shy, sensitive soul, but you never got very far. You mostly learned things from each other during runs, when the other members of the group got you both talking. You kept thinking there would be time, that at some point the two of you would become more than friends. Then the prison fell.

Daryl didn't know you escaped with Carol and Tyrese. He laid awake every night mourning you, regretting that he was too awkward and insecure to even be around you, despite how much he wanted you.

As he kneeled in front of a slaughter basin at Terminous, believing he was about to die, he saw your face and had a brief moment of peace, hoping to see you again on the other side. Carol caused the explosion that saved everyone, then led Daryl back to you. He fell to his knees when he saw you, wondering if he was already dead, but feeling like he was in heaven either way. You went straight to him, knelt down in front of him, and swept his long dirty bangs away from his eyes. 

"There you are," you whispered through happy tears. 

For the second time in less than an hour, Daryl Dixon broke down in a woman's arms. But he wasn't pried away from you as quickly or easily. 

Life on the road to D.C. didn't afford much time for romance. More fighting, more separation, more death, starvation, and moments of hopelessness kept you both from verbalising how much you felt for each other. But you both knew there was something between you. Fighting side-by-side had to be enough, though, for now. As long as your two legs kept trudging on, Daryl would follow you anywhere. 

Then Aaron brought you all to Alexandria. You and Daryl walked through the gates hand in hand. You both prayed that the safety and comfort of the community wasn't just an illusion. You hoped it was a place where you could finally stop and get to know each other. 

Once your group split up into separate houses, you and Tara shared one of the smaller houses a few doors down from Rick's house, where Daryl set up camp in the basement. 

It had only been a few days. There was still so much to do. You'd get to each other eventually. 

The night of Deanna's party, you went for a little while to be polite, looking for Daryl the whole time. After one drink you couldn't fake any more small talk or avoid Spencer's flirting and went home.

You walked around the few barely lit streets, still searching for Daryl, but gave up and went back to an empty house.

You didn't know what to do with yourself. Free time - what was that? 

You decided to snoop through your own house. It was only your second night there. 

You decided to dig into the closet first. You had pulled a few pieces of clothing from the shared pile when you all arrived but every house was full of necessities and luxuries.

The style wasn't exactly "you," but everything was brand new, clean, no holes, rips, tears, blood stains, or mud-caked fabric. There were pajamas, underwear, and stacks of shoe boxes. Most were loafers or sneakers, but you were shocked to find a pair of black high heels mixed in with the other unassuming shoe boxes. They weren't too fancy or dressy, just plain black patent slingbacks, about 4 inches high with a rounded toe. To you, it was like finding buried treasure.

You practically lived in high heels in your old life. As a teenager you never took a job where you couldn't wear them. You wore them to the grocery store, family bbqs, even church (surely God didn't mind a little kitten heel). 

You checked the inside for a size. 8 medium. Just like you. You sat on the floor of the walk-in closet and slipped them on. It was like going home. It didn't matter that were wearing a long boring skirt, that your hair was in a messy bun, that no one would ever see how fan-fucking-tasticly you slayed in those shoes. You felt it. You owned it. That feminine pride was just for you. 

Of course you could still walk in them. Bitch, please, you never forget how to do what you were born to do. You did a lap around your bedroom, the click-clack on the hardwood floors sounding like your second pulse. You strutted over to the wall-length mirror and rolled the waist of the skirt up. After the fall of civilization and 2 years of near-death experiences, the last fuck you gave was about any physical insecurities. So what about length, shape, scars, ankle width, thigh gaps, knee fat (which sounded absurd even in the old world), if your ass was too big, too small or not high enough. You were still alive, you had 4 walls and a roof, food to eat, people you loved, and a pair of classic high heels on your feet. 

You wished you had discovered them earlier. Maybe you could've worn them to the party? No, you wouldn't have. It was still the apocalypse, you were all fighters, you never knew what shit would hit the fan at any given moment, and being caught in heels or bare feet could mean your end. You all needed solid, practical boots and shoes to kick ass or run on a dime. And Spencer would've done a lot more than just flirt. 

But maybe Daryl would've seen you in them. Maybe he would've finally stopped - just stopped - and talked to you. 

You sighed and went downstairs for a drink. Every house had liquor in it too, and another glass of wine, in your heels no less, sounded like a perfectly civilized evening for a woman to enjoy.

After Daryl left Aaron and Eric's house with a stomach full of spaghetti, he ran into Glenn and Maggie walking home. 

"Y/N still there?" He asked, gesturing to Deanna's house. 

"She left hours ago," Glenn shrugged.

"Alone?" Daryl asked, cautiously. Did one of those pretty Alexandria boys get to you first, or was something wrong. 

"I think so. She just wasn't comfortable," Maggie said. "It's gonna take time to adjust, you know."

Time, Daryl thought, was all you had now. Time to build bikes and have dinner at a table and talk to the person you fell in love with.

"A'right, thanks," he said as a goodnight and headed to your house.

He climbed the few steps up to your door and saw the window blinds were still up. None of you were used to having any kind of privacy, and wanted to see what was going on around you at all times anyway. Before knocking he peeked into the window to see if you were alone. If any of those shiny assholes were with you, making you smile or worse, he didn't know what he'd do. But at least he was prepared for the possibility. The unexpected sight through the glass knocked him on his ass in a different way.

You were sitting sideways on a stool at the counter, nursing a glass of wine, your beautiful legs crossed under a short bunched up skirt, and high heels hooked in the foot rests. You were admiring your own feet, extending your leg out in front of you, letting the shoe dangle off your toes, then reaching down to slide the strap back up your heel. You looked as sexy as you felt. 

Daryl was frozen as he felt all the blood in his body rush to one place. 

You suddenly felt someone watching you and looked over at the window. You jumped when you saw Daryl standing there staring at you and you quickly kicked the shoes off. He snapped out of it as you ran over to open the door.

"Daryl? You scared me!" You said with a smile, trying to play it cool, like he didn't just see you acting privately ridiculous.

"M'sorry sorry, I just, I wanted, I gotta," he stuttered and stumbled over his words.

"You wanna come in? I found a really good bottle of wine," you asked, to his relief.

He cleared his throat, put his hands in his pockets and bounced his leg to calm himself down, then nodded and followed you inside.

You ran ahead to kick the shoes where he hopefully wouldn't see them and hopped back on one of the stools. Daryl walked over to the stool next to you but didn't sit. He looked over at the shoes, knowing exactly where they were, and where he wanted them to be.

"Why'd you take 'em off?" He asked in that low, gravelly voice that immediately turned you on.

You didn't lie or play dumb. You finished your glass of wine in one gulp and said, "I was just being stupid. Can you please forget you ever saw me in those?" You felt your face burning and concentrated on your empty glass.

"No, I can't forget. Don't wanna either," he confessed. 

You looked up at him as every part of you started tingling. His blue eyes were burning into yours. He moved closer, looked down at your exposed legs, and asked, barely above a whisper, "Will you put 'em back on?" He then bit his lip, almost ashamed at what he'd just asked you. 

You were silent, dumb-founded. Just as Daryl was about to say nevermind and run out, it was your turn to surprise him by asking "Will you put them on me?"

He spun around to pick the shoes up, then knelt down at your feet. He had no idea what he was doing. He'd never even held a pair of high heels before, nevermind knew how they went on, especially with that strap. But he finally had the chance to be so close to the perfect legs that he longed to touch for over a year. If he could literally worship you at your feet, he'd figure it out as he went. 

You held up one pointed foot for him. He slid the right shoe over your toes. As your arch rested against the sole, he realized how to place the strap, just as if he was re-stringing his crossbow. When both shoes were on he kept a hold of your ankle and softly ran his other hand up the inside of your calf. Both of you held your breath as he reached your knee and looked up at you, silently asking if it was OK to go further. You nodded and parted your knees a bit. Daryl stood up and stared you down as his fingers gently advanced up your inner thigh. Just before he got to the soaking wet center of your underwear, he moved to the other leg, this time caressing your outer thigh. He stepped closer to you, in-between your now open legs. 

"I've wanted to touch these legs since the day you walked up to that fence," he sighed peacefully as he finally got to hold the object of his desires.

"I would've let you," you said eagerly as you pulled him even closer and pressed yourself against him. "I'm letting you now." You lifted one leg to his waist and he panted as he rubbed all the way up your thigh to your hip. 

You reached up to cup his face and bring it down to yours. You moaned into each other's mouths as your parted lips joined. You could feel his chapped lips and the soft wet inside as your mouths joined. When your tongues began to dance, you lifted your other leg, wrapped it around his waist, and melted into him.

You both released a year's worth of pent-up yearning in the kiss. You leaned back against the counter and gasped when you felt his hard bulge pressing into your center. You moaned louder and started grinding against him. 

"Daryl? Take me upstairs?" You begged as you looked into his eyes.

He grinned and said, "Only if I can watch you walk up in them heels."

You laughed softly and bit your lip sheepishly.

He released your legs and you hopped off the stool and sauntered across the living room. He followed you but stayed at the bottom of the stairs as you ascended, watching you confidently sway your hips with each step higher. Daryl's leg twitched rapidly as more of the back of your thighs became visible and his cock was straining against his pants. When you reached the landing and looked down at him over your shoulder, he bolted after you, clearing 2 or 3 steps up at a time. When he reached you he pulled you up off the ground and you wrapped your legs around him again. He pushed you against the wall and kissed you deeply.

"You got the sexiest fuckin legs I ever seen," he grunted as he rubbed into you.

"Oh, these old things?" You grinned before capturing his lips again. His grinding became overwhelming and you cried out into his kiss.

"Which one's yours?" He asked, looking down the hallway leading into three bedrooms. You pointed to the closest one. He carried you in and kicked the door shut behind him, then laid you on the bed. He tried to stand up but you locked your ankles together behind his back and held on. 

"I'm not letting you go!" You smiled. "I've waited too long for this! Please, Daryl? Can we finally do this? All of it?" You turned serious. "Please stop avoiding me."

"I was never…" He squeezed his eyes shut, cursing himself for causing you to think such things. "I don't know how to say things. 'Specially to you. And it kills me cuz I never wanted to say so much to somebody before." He gulped and kept going. "Never loved a woman the way I love you. Never thought a woman like you would want me."

You realized how much he'd confessed before he did.

"You love me?" You asked as tears welled in your eyes.

He nodded and rubbed your noses together. "You don't gotta say it back."

"You think I let just any man between my legs?" He smiled and shook his head, ticking your face with his long dark hair. "I love you, Daryl. But right now, I'm not that interested in talking," you continued, feeling bolder than ever. "So if there's something you don't know how to tell me, can you show me instead?"

"I can do that," he said in a confident, heated voice. He stood up, turned the bedside lamp on, and pulled his vest off. You sat up to help with the buttons but he gently stopped your hand and held it. His eyes turned sad and vulnerable.

"You can leave it on," you said softly. 

He shook his head and swallowed hard. "I want ya to know. Just… never showed nobody before." 

He released your hand and you both unbuttoned it together. You pushed his shirt open by rubbing your hands across his chest and felt the raised, bumpy scars before seeing them. They stopped you cold, and you suddenly understood a whole lot more about him. 

He hung his head and looked down, ashamed. You lifted his chin and pushed the hair away from his eyes. "Don't you ever hang your head, Daryl Dixon."

He huffed appreciatively, humbly, with a faint smile. You pressed your right hand over his chest and wrapped your left around his back, only to feel more jagged lines marking his strong body.

"The back is worse," he said, barely above a whisper.  

"You can tell me," you said as you both held each other.

"Later," he said dismissively but assertively before kissing you deeply again. His fingers hurriedly bunched up your shirt to pull it over your head. He tugged at your bra straps too, then pushed down at the waistband of your skirt. His hands roamed everywhere but his mouth never left yours. You shimmied out of your underwear too and kicked off one shoe but he broke away and said, "leave 'em on."

You smiled and stepped back into it. He took a few steps back to look at you as you stood there in nothing but the heels. You felt instantly self-conscious, unsure of what to do with your hands, but Daryl's gaze steadied you. He nearly dropped to his knees to worship you but he willed himself to stay strong and instead asked, "You even real?" 

"I'm real," you answered in a voice breaking with emotion. "And I'm yours." 

You sat back on the side of the bed and waited for him. He began undoing his belt and jeans as he approached you. The size of his bulge was even more impressive up close. Once he was immediately in front of you he kicked his boots off and pushed his pants and boxers down, finally freeing his extended length. You wrapped your fingers around him and leaned in with your mouth open but he growled, "No." 

"I… I'm sorry," you said, taken aback.  

"Nah, don't be," he corrected, cursing himself for reacting so harshly. "S'just… I want your body, not yer mouth."

"You can have whatever you want, Daryl," you said in relief. You leaned back and lifted your legs up with your knees bent but still together. You raised your eyebrows and smiled. "I know you like these," you said as you kicked your right leg out to him. 

He smirked and grabbed your leg, lifted it straight up, and rested your ankle on his left shoulder, slightly parting your legs. He started kissing at your ankle and caressing up and down your calf and inner thigh, still bewildered that his year-long fantasy was actually happening. His mouth and hands had free reign on the pair of stems that he dreamed about, longed for, and jerked himself to every day and night at the drab, sterile prison you once called home. He pushed your other leg to the side and grazed your folds with his fingers. He worried that his lack of knowledge and experience between any woman's legs would betray him and leave you cold but your quiet little noises turned to prolonged groans. The sight and sensation of Daryl stroking your clit overwhelmed and weakened you, and you dropped flat on your back. He almost drooled at the sight of you splayed out in front of him, willing and begging, gripping his arms tighter with each movement 

"Daryl! Please! Now!" You cried. He couldn't wait anymore either. His jaw tightened as he held his cock and started dragging his tip through your juices. You bit your lip and whimpered, then begged some more, until he finally pierced your opening. You held on to his arms as he began to fill you. You both lost control of your voices, filling the entire house with half-finished words, yelps, and groans, the gibberish of ecstasy. You closed your eyes and felt every inch slowly invade your senses, stimulating places throughout your body and being that you didn't even know existed. When you opened your eyes you only saw the curtained windows upside down, realizing you had thrown your head back in the first throws. It was suddenly silent and you looked ahead to see Daryl again. He stood still, fully engulfed in you, his eyes squeezed shut, breathing through his nose like a bull, gripping your ankle as if it was his lifeline keeping him from falling into an abyss. 

"Daryl?" You asked hesitantly, almost afraid to pull him from wherever his mind had gone for balance. He opened his eyes and his jaw dropped at the sight of where you were fully joined. He inhaled like a drowning man coming up for air and whimpered as he tried to push into you further, rubbing the top of his groin area against your clit. You cried out his name and he froze again.

"Daryl? Are you ok?" You asked, growing concerned.

"S'fuckin good. So… fuckin good," he said through heavy exhales. 

"Come here," you said as you pulled him down over you. He released your leg and knelt on the bed. You wanted to ask if this was his first time having sex but didn't want to embarrass him. He seemed overwhelmed by the stimulation and unsure of what to do or how to move. He was indeed inexperienced but not completely. He'd only been with the only two other women - one paid by Merle to take Daryl's virginity at 15, the other a drunken girl he barely remembered who threw herself at him, then nearly threw up on him when it was over. But you, this, all of it - the connection between you, your survivor's body, your loving gaze, tender motions, and acceptance of a marked-up, middle-aged redneck - it floored him. 

You planted your feet on the mattress and lifted your hips, then dipped back down, pulling him out, but not completely. The loss of your tight, heated grip on his shaft spurred him into action. He lifted your legs from under your knees and started rapidly rocking back and forth into you, holding your lower half in the air as he pounded you. You gripped the quilt above your head and watched him fuck you as if he would lose you if he didn't. You knew he wouldn't be able to release his grip on you to bring you to your peak. You reached down to strum yourself with one hand and pinched your own nipple with the other. It only took a minute before you splintered internally and screamed his name. The sight of you pleasuring yourself and coming hard as he took you was too much for Daryl. The force of his heavy thrusts moved the bed on its wheels and knocked it into the nightstand. You felt him begin to sputter as you came down from your high. Despite not having protection, despite your shared risk aversion, despite watching Judith grow up without a mother, nothing on earth could stop either of you from experiencing Daryl finishing your first time together inside of you. It was too late anyway - he didn't have time to pull out before he exploded suddenly and deeply. 

You beheld the magnificent sight of Daryl Dixon's moment of pure ecstasy as the muscles and veins in his neck bulged while he leaned his head back and wailed at the ceiling, his biceps flexed to keep your open legs high, his scarred, heaving chest beaded with sweat. 

He stayed locked in place as his high ebbed away. When he finally shifted his weight and pulled out, you lowered your legs and rotated to lay with your head on the pillows. You patted the bed next to you Daryl smiled, then joined you. He laid on his side to face you and pulled your left leg up over his hip.

"You really love my legs, huh?" I teased.

"Can't get enough of these," he grinned as he stroked my thigh. 

"Do you mind if I take the shoes off now?" I asked.

"Alright. But just for sleeping," he joked. "Ya can't ever get rid of those."

"Never!" I promised.

Thank you for reading!

@littlegodzilla @mariannambl @darylsgarden @minervadashwood @ravenwings73

I can live with any trope except the “she/he/they had a chance to come clean about her/his/their secret/lie/misunderstanding but didn’t and now the situation has spiraled out of control and coming clean only gets harder and harder” trope.

I despise it.

I cackled

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Commonwealth diner Waiter: What would you like?

Y/N: A chocolate milkshake with two straws, please.

Daryl, blushing: I—

Y/N, putting both straws in her mouth: Watch how fast I can drink this!!

Daryl: …

I could spend hours imagining these incorrect quotes and would still want more.

They give me butterflies.

Y/N: Are you team Edward or team Jacob

Daryl: The fuck you talkin—-

Maggie: Edward. Definitely Edward

Carol: Seriously? You look like somebody who’d like Jacob

Rosita: Hear me out. Alice

Y/N: That’s a good one

Maggie: Agreed

Daryl: What the fuck are y’all talking about

Rick: You never heard of twilight?

Daryl: HOW DO YOU KNOW

Y’all gonna make me feel old.

it used to be 2007 you know

This is so precious ♥️

You made me dance in the kitchen with you | D.D

Description: It's early morning, and the reader makes Daryl dance in the kitchen with her before the sun is up.

Warnings: none!

His hands were placed on her waist heavily, his body the most relaxed it's been in months. He can't quite remember how they ended up this way. Swaying to the sound of the record playing in the next room over, his hands on her innocently, her arms around his neck like he was something to be held, loved, and cherished. No, he isn't sure how they got here, but if this moment could last forever, he swears he'd never feel unhappy again.

The air outside was thick and foggy. No one would be up for a few more hours. The candle sat dimly on the stove. It provided more light than the early morning sky. This moment was theirs alone. No one else existed now. Only Daryl and her.

These were the moments he lived for. These quiet moments were what kept him grounded. Being vulnerable and gentle and loving with her and her only. He didn't have to be a hero. He didn't have to be saving someone's life or driving a knife through the skulls of the dead. He wasn't covered in sweat and blood or tears or mud. He could simply exist in the arms of his favorite person in the world.

"You hungry?" She hums, her voice muffled in his chest.

He doesn't lift his head from where it rests on hers when he speaks. "I could eat," He whispers, hoping she'll let them stay here for a few more minutes. He's scared that he'll have to return to reality if this moment ends. The reality where at any given moment, he could lose her forever.

"Pancakes sound okay?"

He nods slowly, his eyes still closed. Anything sounded okay as long as it was with her, but he'd never let her know that he felt this strongly. It wasn't in his nature.

"Okay," She says softly, head still resting against his chest as the song begins to repeat once again.

Daryl holds her closer to him, and she smiles.

----

Inspired by the line "You made me dance in the kitchen with you" from the song The kitchen by Tow'rs

This has to be another of my favorite Daryl fics I've written!!

Thank, author, you for this 🥵

MORE FREEUSE JOEL PLEAKSE

Bail (Free use)

850 words / Joel x f!Reader / master

CW: unsafe P in V, consensual somnophilia, consensual objectification, very light manhandling. Sleep anon. I8 mdni

Joel gets a call from Tommy in the middle of the night. Again. He’s pissed but tries not to wake you up as he goes to bail Tommy out. When Joel gets back, he’s tense and wound up and knows he won't be able to sleep for a while.

But you. You're resting peacefully, head on your pillow. Fast asleep, not a care on your pretty face. You turn over and sigh in your slumber, and Joel twitches with the knowledge that this beautiful creature is his. All his. And your body is all he needs to calm down.

He carefully undresses. He doesn't feel like talking and prefers to let his intrusion wake you up. By the time he’s nude, he's at full mast, hand wrapped around his swollen shaft, in desperate need of release. He pulls down the comforter leaving just the sheet on top of you.

"Cold," you mumble and curl up in a ball.

“Shhhhh. I’m comin’, baby.”

Joel slides into the bed behind you and you stir in your sleep. "What happened?" You murmur.

"Shhhhhh. It's okay." He'd really rather you not talk. You settle again with a little sigh.

You're curled up on your side. He slides his hand down your side and lets out an exasperated sigh when he reaches your panties.

"Why to bed," he mutters to himself.

He grabs a handful your ass, can't help himself, and takes your panties down. He yanks the bottom side of them out from under you and tugs them down almost to your knees to make room for himself.

He presses his warm chest against your back, then he uncurls your body. He aligns your legs with his so he can feel your soft, smooth skin against his lightly hairy legs. He gets frustrated with the panties, tugs them down past your knees, then uses his foot to push them off altogether and fixes your legs again. He reaches around and presses on your mound to tilt your hips for access, then he dips his middle finger into your pussy to see how wet you are. He gathers saliva and spits into his fingertips. That'll do until your body obliges. He wets his cock, nestles the tip at your entrance, then wraps his arm over you.

He holds you so your back is firmly against him for leverage, then sinks his stiff member into your tight little hole as far as it'll go. You sigh and the sweet sound makes him swell even harder. His forearm and elbow dig into your torso as he pushes further and you moan as he bottoms out, filling you up completely. You're probably waking up now, but mercifully, you don't squirm or say anything.

Your warmth wrapped around him sends a rush through his body. On another night, he might stay just like that. Have you keep his cock warm all night. But he has too much pent up tension.

His first few thrusts are slow, letting your wetness gather around his cock. And when it's slick enough, he picks up the intensity, ramming all the way into you every second or so with a grunt. He gropes your tits as he pounds you with all his pent up frustration. The force of his hips moves you up toward the headboard until he takes his hand from your breast and curls it around your shoulder instead, pulling you down on his cock as he pistons into you faster and harder.

-

Fully awake now, you silently extend your own hand to brace yourself on the headboard. You tilt your hips to help his angle and he breathes, "fuck, perfect" as he pummels you with his full length. He slows down the rhythm but adds even more power, slamming into you over and over, to the hilt each time. The intensity is startling but welcome. He's obviously fucking away some frustrations so he can sleep. It's not the first time and it won't be the last. You don't mind waking up to the stretch of his girth when he fucks you this good.

He holds you tight, cupping a breast. He breathes heavily, vocally, grunting, "Mm" each time your bodies are flush, or "Ah." The head of his cock nudges the right spot inside you and you twitch, then contract around him.

"Shit," he whispers. He's not done pounding his frustration into you, and he knows he won't be far behind when you come.

You try not to make a noise but a soft sigh spills out as you're riding your high. He grabs desperately at your breasts and gnaws wetly at the nape of your neck as he plunges into you hard and deep. Then groans as he bottoms out and pulses heavily inside you, spilling his seed in huge bursts. He sighs and his arm loosens around you.

After a couple of minutes, the rhythm of his breathing slows. As his dick softens inside you, his cum begins to trickle out. You slowly, carefully start to reach for a tissue, not wanting to disturb him. But his arm tightens before you can move an inch. He would let you move if you said something, but instead you stay put and relax into him.

"I love you, baby," he whispers sleepily into your hair.

"Love you, too."

Within minutes, he's snoring.

-

Use the #free use!Joel☠️ tag for previous stories with this Joel. For free use OF Joel look at my objectification HCs.

As always, thank you so much for your engagement! 🖤 I always notice and appreciate every comment and reblog even if I don't comment.

PLEASE CHECK YOUR CONTENT SETTINGS. Many of my posts seem to get flagged very quickly now even if they aren't explicit (like lincoln 1) so if you don't want to miss anything, you might want to follow me and check my profile regularly (filter to "my fics" from my header) or get on the joel tag list.

-

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk

Y/N: Relationships should be 50/50.

Carol: I’m glad things are good with you two.

Y/N: Mhm. Daryl cooks us dinner while I sit on a stump and look pretty.

Carol, glancing over where Daryl is prepping a rabbit: Really?

Daryl, continuing with his task: Ain’t complainin’. You tried to eat ‘er cookin’?

Y/N: And I’m pretty.

Daryl, nodding: An’ she’s pretty.

I just started watching Buffy for the first time.

I’m really trying to decipher what it means that instead of an obsessive infatuation with Angel (cause, I mean, drool…) I somehow found myself here. Daydreaming about the mentor librarian.

I swear I don’t have daddy issues!

Hi me again! 👋🏻

I was wondering if you had time maybe to write a small fic (or one shot whatever you’re comfortable with) where the reader is Buffy’s cousin ( also library assistant or whatever you would like ) and the reader and Giles are in a secret relationship ( maybe smut?? ) and they’re navigating that and Buffy finds out and it’s this whole thing. If you’re busy I totally understand or if you just don’t want to, again it’s okay. I really do enjoy your work 🥰.

Not Unavailable, More Unimpressed

pairing(s): Giles x Summers!Reader

summary: what started out as a short term fling has gotten increasingly complicated when the reciprocity and sincerity of feelings is called into questions. pt.1 of ???

warnings: smut, fem!reader, drinking, hand job, a bit of breast worship, clothed grinding, riding, slight choking, age gap (Giles is in his mid to late 40's, reader is in her late 20s/ early 30s), reader has nipple piercings bc I said so and I think they are hot

an: This fic will contain smut so be warned. You are responsible for your own media consumption, read at your own risk.

The man at the bar was a mystery to you. He didn't quite fit into the bar atmosphere. He wasn't one of the barely legals or illegals who snuck in eager to drink, he wasn't one of the old guys who came to hit on the bottle girls, he didn't smell like a smoker or shoot whiskey like a drinker. He was also British, something that left an odd taste in your mouth.

You couldn't call yourself a regular here, more often than not you found yourself at the Bronze, purely per Buffy's request, which had okay enough booze and slightly better music. Here, some place clearly meant for an older crowd called Jack's, is where the older man sat. Alone, he sat at the far corner, sometimes looking longingly at the stage like he was a performer. He didn't look like a performer though.

He was older than you. He was greyed out and looked like he came from when TVs were still in sepia tones. He looked like Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird, like he was always a moment away from scolding someone. It didn't help that he always looked tired, like a lot of his age came from stress. If that was the case, it still didn't make sense as to why he chose a bar to be his spot to wind down.

It was loud. Not in the way that the Bronze was, a type of loud filled with life. A loud spurred by rowdy souls, people who couldn't let loose at home, so they came to one of the only shitty bars in the small town to drink a shitty beer and watch their favorite sports team lose. Not to mention the countless barely legals who got into fights with the bartenders after they failed to get their underage friends a drink. Jack's wasn't a place to have fun, it was the place to avoid doing something reckless during your midlife crisis. You were only there because of convenience, and after being there for a half hour were already beginning to get a migraine.

Job hunting was rough. When you moved to Sunnydale on behalf of your aunt, she offered to let you stay under her roof, but being a grown woman who got up to grown woman shenanigans, it would be more than distasteful to do it in Joyce's home. You were lucky enough that the housing market was great in the area, with all the supernatural happenings so one chose to move to Sunnydale, but that still didn't mean that a decent looking apartment wouldn't cost you a nice sum of money every month.

I could just work here, was your first thought. You were once a young college student also desperate for money, you had bartended, you could always go back if you lacked self-respect. You had a degree dammit, sure you didn't have a doctorate, but you shouldn't need one to get a nice quiet desk job. Neither option was all that fulfilling, but something told you that bartending in a town when demons just roamed the streets didn't seem like a great idea.

The mystery man looked like he had a nice job. Maybe a nice car. Possibly a nice house. He looked financially stable, and fuck was that hot. What did he do? What was there to do in Sunnydale? You could ask.

You looked at his hands to see if there was a ring or any indication that there was someone waiting for him wherever he came from. Maybe a picture of a kid, maybe a photo of a significant other. Nothing. Nothing.

You slinked over to the seat beside him, not meaning to make your presence immediately known yet he still looked up as he felt the heat of someone else beside him. His glasses perched low on his nose and his grey hair tussled. His eyes were green. He was pretty.

"Hello?" He looked at you confused. He took a moment to drink you in. Younger, gorgeous, clearly bold.

"Hello."

"Are you waiting for someone?" You shook your head.

"No. Are you?" and he'd be lying if he said he was.

☽✯☾

"You know, I don't do this often." He said between the rare breaths that were allowed in between suffocating kisses. Whatever he took up in his free time must've involved a great workout regimen. His hand sat comfortably at your neck, and you basked in the warmth that it provided in his cold apartment. His other held your cheek, his thumb mindless rubbing against it in a way that was hypnotizing. It almost had a numbing affect, your skin not being able to get past the feeling making your brain pause as he kissed your lips.

He tasted like fine wine. He smelled like old books. You half expected him to quote a classic at you, you didn't know him well enough to gauge if he was the type. His tongue contradicted his previous statement. These weren't the kisses of a man out of practice, that or he did it so much in his youth it was impossible to forget. Something like riding a bike.

"For a man who doesn't do this often, you're mighty good at it." He smirked; you could feel it against your lips. You wished you could see it, but he had the lights in his bedroom turned low and you weren't sure you wanted to open your eyes in the fear that you were dreaming. It was warm, he was so warm. So warm it was noticeable when his lips left yours and moved to your neck, hovering under your ears. His breath fanning against your neck was enough to send shivers down your spine.

"You haven't even seen how good I am, darling." The pet name alone made you weak in the knees, but you would be damned if you swooned at someone called you darling. Granted, you couldn't help how your mouth went dry or how your pussy clenched at nothing, but he didn't need to know that. He was going to find out, but he can find out later when your lust ridden brain stopped listening to reason and pride.

"Show me, then."

He dipped his head to kiss you, grabbing a fistful of your hair to tip your head back and you let him, grabbing on to his broad shoulders to stabilize yourself. You were pressed between the wall and him, pressing him even closer as you fisted his shirt to pull him closer, but he was hesitant to oblige. He was teasing, you could tell by the way he smiled into your kisses, pulling away like he needed air while you chased after his lips.

"You having issues breathing, old man?" The hand at your neck squeezed, not enough to choke you but enough to make your head even dizzier. His other hand travelled to any piece of skin he could get his hands on. Feather light, his fingers ran across your arms, then your collarbones, before knocking the straps of your dress off your shoulder. His kisses moved slow, his tongue damn near like languid waves that you were somehow managing to drown in.

Still, you chased after him, and still, he ran. His lips ran to the corner of your mouth, to the skin of your neck his hand didn't engulf, to where your strap lay useless. His kisses scorched your otherwise cold skin, his mouth sucking hickeys and then immediately soothing them.

He was so soft. Soft in how his hands found the back of your dress, soft in how his eyes looked into yours, asking permission without even saying a word, soft like the way the fabric slipped of your body and onto the floor. Soft like the bed he laid you on. Even soft in the way he continued to tease you, his knee meeting the crotch of your panties and him meticulously unsnapping your bra as if you couldn't tell he knew how to do it.

He then paused for a minute, finally coming across something he hadn't experienced before. His fingers took the ball of cool metal between his fingers, and you moaned at how it pulled ever so slightly at your nipple.

"What are these?" You chuckled.

"I got 'em pierced ages ago. Drunk night out with a few friends my senior year." He continued to play with the metal ball, well aware of how you keened and ground yourself into his knee.

"So, I can play with them." Fuck. It was how he said it. Like a nerd you might've messed around with in school because he was a good tutor but also because he had that nerdy charm to him. Like playing with your body was a game of Operations he had been so eager to play and was determined to get good at. It was easy to imagine Giles like that, fogged up glasses, eyes concentrated and focused on figuring out what buttons to press to get a prize. There was the curiosity in his lust-blown eyes, and in your lust addled brain you were fine with being his toy.

"Please do." He didn't need to be told twice. Avid learner he was, he went in, his large hands easily covering your breasts. His fingers pulled at the bars, drawing whimpers out of you the more he prodded. It wasn't too rough, Giles was too soft to ever be truly rough, but the feeling of his gaze, your clothed pussy rubbing against his soft slacks, and his large hands over your chest was getting a bit much. And he hadn't even put his mouth on you yet.

It didn't take long for him to realize the feeling of your pierced tits in his mouth was one of the best things he's felt, and it felt even better for you. A wet patch had long since been growing and he certainly felt it too, it egged him on. He wasn't even in you, he hadn't even tasted you, and you were almost there. You were so close.

You grabbed at anything you could, his shirt, his sheets, his hands that held yours as you rocked yourself onto his knee until you saw stars. Then he grabbed your face and swallowed your moans as he kissed and kissed you until you came down. A moment of clarity hit you, and you pulled on his shirt. "Off." you told him simply, and he obliged. You smashed your lips into his, peeling off button after button until the shirt was thrown to the side and his undershirt beneath was discarded with even less care.

"Issues with patience, darling?" You shook your head.

"Not fair I'm practically naked and you were fully clothed." His retort was cut off by your lips as you sat up to meet him, his hands absent-mindedly finding your breasts and yours finding his belt and making quick work of it before he even realized what was happening. You kissed him through it, anyway, still chasing after him as he pulled away to curse at the feeling of your hand around his dick.

"Gods." he muttered, words tumbling out clumsily as you rubbed the tip of his cock. He never had the control to pull away fast enough for an adequate breather, just a second to get a breath out and pray. You were flattered. His hand seemed like it wanted to swat you away, but it didn't have the strength to betray his brain like that. It felt good. Too good. So good he couldn't even think, and Giles never stopping thinking and now he was drawing blanks. He was sure you had mocked him once or twice, which went through one ear and out the other.

He caught himself thrusting into your hand before he caught himself, grabbing your wrist. "Hang on." He choked out, but you didn't listen. Your hand moved up and down his shaft terribly slow, and it was almost worse. Watching you spit on your hand and collect pre-cum from his tip and spread it like some sick simulation of what it would be like to be in you, and yet he couldn't help but watch his hand completely cover yours as you pumped him. Don't cum yet.

"I said hang on." His breath was ragged and his voice was deep. This time he meant it. "There are condoms in the top left drawer. Take one out for me, love." And you did as such. Did it with so much assurance that you slid it on without him even needing to ask you. Slid your panties off and sank down so fast neither one of you was ready.

You both sat there a moment, feeling your nerve endings tingle and burn, like you were both on fire. But you were on fire together. Like you could feel every atom in your body, like it had all been reduced to nothing but water, you were both feeling everything and anything yet absolutely nothing at the same time. So much feeling any nuance got lost in the moment. Just being there, breaths away, with a complete stranger you were sleeping with because he was pretty and looked financially stable.

You kissed him, a real kiss. Spontaneous. One with a feeling neither one of you could decipher and both assumed meant nothing. You rode it out until you had both exhausted each other, you falling on top of him and him catching you.

"Would you like to use my shower before you go? Did you need a ride home?" You cheesed to yourself. And they say chivalry is dead.

"Yeah, that would be nice." You had already rolled out of his bed in search of your dress and waiting for feeling to return to your legs. "I never got your name."

"Giles. Rupert Giles." You giggled as you shook of your dress after picking it up from the floor. Sounds about right.

"And what do you do for a living, Mr. Giles."

"Do these things typically end in interviews?" He made no effort to get out of his bed, he even had the decency to turn away while you get dressed as if he wasn't just balls deep in you.

"No, but I am new to town and would like to not be broke."

"I'm a librarian." Of course, you are. "Have you any interest in literature?" You did. You were a nerd. You had tried convincing yourself you weren't for years, but you majored in philosophy and minored in classic literature; and no one likes philosophy majors.

"I dabble a bit. Got a degree from all the reading I did if that counts." He looked at you like he knew you were trying to make yourself sound cooler. Nerd calls to nerd.

"Well, plenty of places are always hiring. The turnover rate is quite atrocious here." And even new to town, you believed it.

"I just might."

☽✯☾

You did end applying, you even ended up getting the job. Apparently, your little cousin's high school was in desperate need of a library assistant. You also had the pleasure of freezing when you saw Giles again and watching your little cousin greet her favorite teacher.

It was almost worth it for the look on his face, though.

you will live and you will say the wrong things and make mistakes and people will love you anyways.