#I think it cramped while I was sleeping because it is SO tired and sore today | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peachesofteal · 1 year ago

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I love me some angst and this baby trapped au is sustaining me!! But I gotta ask… what happens if darling just haves the baby then up and leaves in the middle of night?? Leaving Simon and Johnny to raise this baby they forced on her?? Or even worse (and forgive me for this) she dies in childbirth and then they finally have their baby but no darling…. They’re probably having some regrets about lying to her lol

This au has invaded my life and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m hooked ❤️🪝

SEEK HELP. But don't, because I love you. And this.

Baby trap au / Darling left after discovering her tampered birth control 18+ Mature themes. Character death. Childbirth. Hurt absolutely no comfort.

It starts with the twinge in the lower part of your belly, off to the left side. You had woken up with it, on top of your usual sore back and stiff muscles, the everyday occurrences that seemed plague you consistently since the start of your third trimester. You were always hot, always tired, always crampy, grumpy, and generally... miserable.

You didn't mean to be, but being pregnant was a hardship in so many ways, and being pregnant with no one to help you, was even harder. It took its toll. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically. And now, by the ninth month... you were just so ready to be done with it.

You hadn't seen or talked to the guys since the day you walked out, the day you found that fucked up piece of foil, the day you realized what they did, and you left. You hated them for it. Hated them, for taking away your choice. Hated them, for trying to control your body. Hated them, for removing your autonomy.

At night, when you laid down to sleep, it was impossible not to feel other things, the longing, the loneliness, the love, that still lived in your heart for them, against all odds, the ache of missing them growing in your soul as your baby grew each month.

You were in an impossible situation. One you didn't know what do with it.

But today, you were preoccupied with the twinge. The twinge, that had bloomed into a full spasm of muscles across your belly, the twinge that had your boss insisting you go to hospital as soon as possible.

"Let us call an ambulance. I've had four kids! I know labor when I see it." She had hemmed and hawed while you told her it wasn't necessary, that you weren't even in active labor yet, and that you still felt totally okay.

"I'm fine." you had reassured her. "Walking is good for labor right? I'm just going to walk the three blocks and be fine."

Six hours later, you're in a bed with your legs in a pair of stirrups with a nurse by your side, holding your hand as your contractions get closer and closer, your body seizing and cramping with pain through each one, the sting getting worse and worse as the minutes tick on.

You're doing this. You're having a baby. Alone.

The realization shocks you, startles you into a moment of weird, zen like reflection, like everything is moving in slow motion around you, like nothing is progressing as you think about the fact that the guys aren't actually here, that you never did call them, that you never did tell them that you wanted to forgive them one day. That you wanted to talk to them. See them again.

That you wanted them to be here with you, for this, to see the birth of their daughter.

Another contraction rips through you and steals your breath, and you faintly hear the nurse telling you breathe while your body locks up in unmeasurable pain. Something prods between you legs, and then there's a voice saying you're fully dilated, and ready to push.

Ready? Now?

No. No... you can't. It's too fast. They're not here. They need to be here. You have to call them.

"Oh sweetheart, don't cry." The nurse speaks softly to you, but you can't help it. You want them. They were supposed to be here. They were supposed to be ones holding your hand, helping you, cutting the cord.

"We're going to push on the next contraction, okay?" Your doctor tells you, but you shake your head vehemently.

"No. I want my partners." you sob, and your nurse makes a sympathetic noise, while stroking some hair out of your face.

"You have to push." The nurse encourages, and pain streaks across your belly, sharp and insistent, forcing you to gasp for more air. "Ready? Push!" She tries to coach you, but you can't do it, can't even move, your body just writhing through the pain as your head spins and you pant. Your doctor says your name, kindly but somewhat stern after the contraction passes, and you moan.

"This baby is coming. You have to push." She says, and you know she's right, but you just can't get there in your mind, unable to consider the idea of her being born without Johnny or Simon being here.

"I want them." you sob, another spasm ripping through your body, forcing you to curl forward with an anguished shout. The nurse blots a cool, damp cloth against your head, while someone else on your other side adjusts your bed. There are people everywhere, all moving around in flurry, except for the doctor who's settling between your legs, eyes locking onto yours above your mask.

"There's no time dear." She says, and when you look up into your nurse's face, she seems sincere, encouraging and sweet, but you don't care. You want Johnny. You want Simon.

"P-please." You moan. "My phone- the passcode is 6669." The numbers come as a grunt when another contraction pulses through you. It's awful, burning, biting pain that shreds your belly, the muscles in your thighs, your back, everywhere, and you scream through it, while the two nurses on either side of you fold your legs back and the doctor coaches you to push.

"I can't!" You really can't. You can't do this without them. You don't even care about what they did anymore. You don't want to do this without them. They have to be here. "I can't, I ca-can't. Please, call Johnny. Or, or Simon." You pant, and eye the nervous looking aide that stands behind one of the nurses. "Call them!" You shout, and your sweet nurse gives him a nod, urging him into action as he fumbles with your phone and steps outside.

"Okay sweetheart. We're calling them, okay? But you have to push. Your body is ready." You shake your head, but you know she's right. You can feel your body bearing down, your muscles working inside of you, everything aligning so that you can have this baby.

It fills you with fear. Dread overcomes you, and when you feel the next contraction coming on, you begin to hyperventilate.

You can't have their baby without them.

"No... nonono-" You protest, like you're telling yourself, your own body, not to do what it was meant to do. It's useless however, because as your contraction peaks, your doctor is counting, and you can't help but push the way your body wants to, screaming your pain as loud as you can.

"Good job." She encourages once it passes, her eyes checking a tablet that's held in front of her face quickly, before returning her gaze back to you. "Okay, next one you're going to push for the full ten seconds okay? You can do it."

"I don't want to." You protest with a cry, and your nurse pats your hand sympathetically.

"I know, I know." She helps shift you forward, and then the next one is coming, and you feel like you're being torn apart, like your body is burning and being ripped in two as you push.

"I can see the head, you're almost there." Someone says, but you're not sure who it is, or if you care, your focus moving to one sole thing now, getting this baby out of your body as fast as you can. You breathe for maybe five seconds before the next wave begins, and then you're dropping your chin to your chest while you push with everything you have, voices in the room rising and falling, everything feeling too loud and too overwhelming, and then all of the sudden, there's a shifting inside of you, and then suddenly an overwhelming emptiness before-

a screaming, crying, shrieking baby is plopped onto your chest.

"There she is!" Your nurse calls, and you stare, slack jawed, unable to speak, unable to move while they cover her with a blanket and someone continues to work between your legs. "Congratulations mum!" The baby cries, and you lift a hand to cradle her closer while someone wipes around the top of her head.

"Hi, Bee... I'm your mom." you cry, and lower your lips to her head, placing a soft kiss on her skin while someone rubs her down. She cries, lungs healthy and full of power, and you laugh a little.

"Did you get a hold of them?" You ask him breathlessly, and he nods with a gulp.

"They're on their way." They're on their way. The words slam against your heart, and the feeling of relief is immense. They're coming. They're going to be here.

"Thank you." You hardly look at him, keeping your eyes on Bee, and her little angel face, perfect in every way.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. The doctor works on you, pressing on your stomach a few times in an awful way that hurts but is necessary, and then your bed is moved to a better position for sitting up. Bee is removed from your chest for measurements and a quick clean up, before she's placed back in your arms, freshly swaddled and soothed. You're mesmerized by her nose, her eyelashes, her tiny fingers that wrap around one of yours. Your baby, your daughter. The one you carried for nine months, the one that you went through so much heartache for, the one that you struggled so much for, was finally here. You wish they were here already, to see her, to see how precious she is, how amazing, and you sniffle through some tears when you realize you'll get to see the looks on both their faces when they see her for the first time, when they hold her.

You lift your hand to stroke the softness of her cheek, and frown, when it doesn't really cooperate... the limb feeling heavy and stiff, like it's not even really on your body. That's... weird. You try again, and again, with no success, and then you realize the room is kind of shifting, kind of spinning slightly, like you're dizzy.

"Uh-" You call out to the nurse who's on a laptop at the desk, her back partially turned towards you, and she glances over with a smile that quickly changes to a firm line when she rushes over. "I feel funny." You tell her, and she nods, the mechanics of the bed whirring while you're lowered completely flat. Bee cries, disrupted by the movement, and you want to shush her, soothe her, but the words don't come, and everything is very loud all of the sudden, bells, whistles, beeps and alarms going off at a frantic pace overtop the voices that have quickly filled the room.

"-ake the baby."

"too much-"

"hemmorage-"

The words come in clips, and your vision becomes filled with white dots as Bee is lifted off your chest, the arm that held her close to your body falling limply to your side. What's happening? You want to ask, want to scream it at them. Where are you taking her? She's crying in the nurse's arms, her distressed little face the last thing you see before your vision goes completely black, and you fade away.

"Drive fucking faster." Johnny shouts, and Simon squeezes his knee to try to calm him as best he can in this moment, even though the two of them are the farthest thing from being calm.

You were in labor, and you had actually called them. Simon's heart had soared when he answered the phone, telling the guy on the phone to tell you that they were on their way, that they'd be there soon while he and Johnny sprinted to the car. You had called them. You wanted them there.

"Tell her we love her!" He had huffed while fumbling with the keys. "We love her so much. We'll be there soon."

"Settle, Johnny." He's trying to keep Johnny calm, trying to keep himself calm, while also trying to drive as fast as possible to get to you.

"Aye, 'm sorry. I'm just... I can't wait to see her. I can't believe she called." Simon can't either. He can't believe that after eight months of being apart, eight months of wondering if they'd even ever see you again, it was them you were calling for when you needed someone, them that you wanted by your side.

It felt like a gift. It felt like a second chance.

"I hope she's okay." Johnny hedges, nervous tinge to his voice and Simon rubs his thigh to try to soothe him.

"I'm sure she's fine, babies are born all the time, yeah?"

"Yeah."

They rush the desk when they get there, both spitting out your name and the woman jerks backwards before adjusting, typing onto her keyboard to locate your record. A full minute passes, while the receptionist's brow furrows, and they both nearly explode.

"She should be here, we got a phone call." Johnny blurts.

"Should be in labor and delivery." Simon tries to provide, helpfully and they both stand there anxiously, while she taps away.

"Ah! Sorry, there she is. I've paged the L&D department, and someone will be down shortly. You can wait in those seats over there." She points to some arm chairs, and they both ignore the suggestion, opting to stand right in front of a set of doors.

"Mr. Riley? Mr MacTavish?" A female voice calls a few minutes later, and they nod, overeager as she approaches. A million questions bubble up in Simon's head, where are you, have you delivered yet, are you doing okay, how's the baby... but they all come to a screeching halt when the doctor gets close enough for him to read her face.

No.

"Can you come with me?"

"And there was just too much blood. Once the hemorrhaging started, it couldn't be controlled." Johnny hears what the doctor is saying. He can hear her, loud and clear. He copies her.

But he doesn't understand. His brain can't make the words fit, can't make them make sense. What does that mean? He glances at Simon, who doesn't look at him, just stares at the doctor, face stricken, pale as ash. Like he's seen a ghost. Like someone has died. But that can't be right.

"Alright." He says slowly. "But she's going to be okay?"

"Johnny." Simon croaks, and the doctor shakes her head.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. MacTavish. She's gone." Who's gone? Not you, obviously. What's going on here?

"No. No, no she can't be gone." Johnny protests. This doctor is clearly confused. "She just had someone call us. She's having... she's having a baby. Our baby. She's-" The doctor gives him a sad look, sympathetic and understanding. "No. She can't be gone, we just... we just got here. We-"

"Johnny." Simon says again and Johnny pivots on him.

"Tell her Si. Tell her, she's alright." Simon swings an arm forward, grabbing him by the collarbone, and holding on tight, pulling him close to his body.

It's only then, when Johnny looks up into Simon's face, and sees the tears there, sees those eyes, flooded, sees his cheeks, wet, his face full of turmoil and distress, that it really makes sense.

"No." He whispers. "No, she can't be." He shakes his head, and Simon tries to hold it still, tries to cradle his face in his palms. "Simon." He moans, word splitting into a cry, and then he's burying his face into Simon's neck, spilling hot tears onto his skin. Darling. Their Darling. Their Darling girl. Gone.

Because of them.

They did this.

Simon's body is shaking, shoulders trembling with his sobs, while he holds Johnny close, and Johnny screams into his chest, he screams and he screams until there's nothing left inside of him, every second ticking by bringing him farther and farther away from a time in his life when you still existed, when you were still in this world with them. And he wants it to stop, he wants it to stop so fucking bad but it won't, and he can't make it, he can't do anything, except stand here and scream, scream and beg and plead an unknown entity who's never given him anything good except for you and Simon.

They never got to tell you they still love you.

They didn't even get to say goodbye.

Hours later, they sit in a room with an empty bed, side by side, while a nurse stands in front of them with a tiny, sleeping baby wrapped in a blanket.

"This is your daughter." She tells them. "Her name is Bee."

"Bee." Johnny whispers, and she nods.

"Would you like to hold her?"

"Yes." Johnny says, but the word sounds flat, and he feels numb. The nurse places little Bee in his arms, while Simon watches, unblinking from where he sits right next to him. "Bee." He says again, looking down at her, truly looking at her for the first time. She looks so much like you, more like you than either of them, and he can't stop the tears that fall freely, while Simon reaches over and hesitantly strokes her cheek with a knuckle.

"She's beautiful." Simon whispers hoarsely, voice coarse with tears, and Johnny agrees. Johnny tries to stifle a sob, desperate not to wake Bee while she sleeps, but Simon can't stop himself, and he covers his face with his hand to try to smother his cry. "She looks just like her." Simon chokes, and Johnny's arms shake around where Bee is cradled. He leans to the side, into Simon, who wraps his arm around him immediately, holding Johnny while he holds their daughter, your daughter. They cannot stop their tears, their hearts cracking wide open in both of their chests as they stay down her, their only piece left of you in this world, the only thing they have left to cling to.

"You look just like your mum, baby Bee."

#tw pregnancy #baby trap au #tw childbirth #peaches asks #peaches writes #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader

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ghoulfuckersincorporated · 5 months ago

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So of course we've all seen the smut where the ghoul eats you out while on your period...... and my question is this...... do you think that is strictly the ghoul thing? Because of the cannibalism? Or did Cooper prewar already have his red wings? He seems the type to do ANYTHING to make his girl feel better if you catch my drift. Just a thought 😂🤭

It's absolutely not just a cannibalism-related thing; while, ironically, I don't really see Prewar!Cooper Howard as someone who would really enjoy the iron-heavy taste of blood/very rare meat/game-type meat all that much, you are 110% correct in saying that he would do anything to make his partner feel better.

Plus, he's just a munch in general. If he wants to eat pussy, he wants to eat pussy now, not in 4-7 days. It being a little medium-rare doesn't bother him at all.

I didn't intend for this to end up this long. I just sat down to answer this ask real quick and suddenly I had like 2,500 words. I guess you could call it a spiritual prequel to "Bloodletting".

There are a lot of things you don't enjoy about being a person who menstruates. There are also a lot of things you don't enjoy about living in California, namely the summers with their unforgiving heat and brain-frying sun.

Menstruation in the California summer is downright unfair.

After a long day of enduring your body's seemingly intense resentment towards you, you feel disgusting when you finally make it to the home you share with your fiance and immediately drag yourself into a scalding hot shower. Cooper often likes to joke that you're trying to boil yourself in there, playfully chastise that it isn't good for your skin, but the way the heat seeps into your sore muscles is like a siren's call. Once the tap runs cold, you begrudgingly dry yourself, pulling your damp hair up and away from your neck and shoulders before rummaging through the medicine cabinet for something to hopefully ease the ache in your cramping abdominal muscles.

Too tired and sore to worry about scrounging up any food, you throw your still lightly-damp, nude body into your unmade bed and pull the top sheet around you. Normally, the thing would be nicely made before you left the house for the day, but since Cooper left long before you and it fell to you to do the making today, it simply hadn't happened. Cranky, you offer the sleeping dog curled up at the foot a few scratches on his sweet head before closing your eyes and getting in a short, fitful nap.

The familiar jangle of Cooper's keys in the front lock tugs you out of the dreamless void you'd fallen into at some point, and you smile briefly as you hear Roosevelt scuttle off from where he'd been watching over you towards the door. After a moment, you can hear the garbled greetings the older man gives his furry companion, the first step in his homecoming routine, with which you are now intimately familiar. The next step is to shed his boots and jacket, then to drop his keys and the mail on the small table inside the door.

"Honey?" he calls, footsteps moving your way. The two of you spoke on the phone around lunch and he had received a rather generous earful of your complaints.

"I'm here." you respond, turning to face the ceiling groggily as he enters.

"My poor sugar." he laments, the mattress sinking on one side as he sits down beside you, one warm hand patting your back sympathetically. Roosevelt sits briefly beside the bed, watching you curiously, but Cooper dismisses him to his bed in the living room softly, and the dog obeys quietly. "I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick. Can I get you something to take first? Or the hot water bottle, maybe?"

"I already took something, I'm just waiting for it to kick in." you reply, eyes closed as you try to soothe your abdominals with the warmth of your bare hands. "I would take the hot water bottle if you're offering, though."

You cuddle the warm sack of rubber he fetches for you, holding it snug against your stomach under the top sheet as you listen to the sounds of him quickly hopping into and out of the shower. When he emerges, you can see a faint amount of steam seep into the bedroom, as opposed to the thick clouds that typically roll out when you're finished.

"Feeling any better, sweetheart?" he asks, leaning down to kiss at your bare shoulder.

"Eh, sort of." you respond, smiling at the feeling of his lips on your back. The tickling feeling combined with the smell of his body wash encompassing you makes you clench a little, which both fans the low-burning coals in your gut that always smoulder around him and makes another cramp rip through you, sending you whining.

"Aww, poor thing." he coos, petting at your leg and knee. "Did you try anything else?"

"The stuff I took earlier is working okay, and the water bottle is nice." you say, setting the thing aside as you sit up to look at him. There's just a touch more white in the salt-and-pepper of his sideburns now than there was when you originally met him, but you find it very appealing. "I just wish everything wasn't so tight and tense, you know?"

"I hear you." he says, lips moving along your forehead. "I could try making you feel better, if you'd let me."

You chuckle in response, tossing yourself down flat in a dramatic display of exhaustion.

"If you can figure out how, be my guest."

Your words bring a massive grin to his face, and suddenly he's planted himself down between your knees, hands running along your inner thighs and rapidly up towards your mound.

"Cooper, what're you--" you begin, but he cuts you off with a gentle shushing and a light massage to your tight thigh muscles.

"Just lie back and let me help you." he says, lying down flat with his shoulders right even with your knees. He peppers kisses from your navel, down the little trail of soft, downy hair that leads to your mons before ghosting his lips back and forth, back and forth across the skin. It raises goosebumps on your skin almost instantly in anticipation.

"Honey." you huff as another cramp balls up in your middle at the sensation. "Don't tease."

"M'sorry, my girl." he apologizes. "I'll make it better."

Only a moment later, you're crying out as he spreads you open gently with his hands and finds your aching little bud with the tip of his tongue. He doesn't like rare meat all that much, from what you've seen, so you're not sure how crazy he is about the taste of blood, but he doesn't hesitate to slide his tongue fully along your wet, sensitive slit, using the wriggling muscle to worship every inch of you until your vision is full of stars.

The tension in your abdomen increases as he brings you closer and closer to orgasm, your legs quickly moving up to wrap around his head of their own accord, holding him tight in place with his lips and tongue against your clit. Eventually, you feel his fingers gently swiping around your entrance, and the gasp that leaves you when he slips two of them inside of you is echoed by a low groan from your partner. Your hands are knotted tight in the disheveled sheets, your hips bucking and grinding against Cooper's face like they have a mind of their own.

The rhythm he's playing against your bud increases as you whine and cry out his name again, and by the time he's made you cum for the third time, he's visibly grinding his hips against the mattress, licking and sucking at your skin until you tug on his hair for mercy.

His lips and chin are streaked in scarlet as he pulls himself back up, grinning down at you as he pivots to settle on his hip beside you, his warm, softly calloused hand hand still stroking your thigh lovingly as you ride out your last few scant shivers.

"Feel any better now?" he asks as he takes in your flushed cheeks and heavy breathing. You roll your eyes playfully, kicking softly in his direction, only to be undercut by him seizing your foot in his hand and peppering it with kisses, making you squeal with laughter.

"Alright, I feel a lot better." you admit when you finally calm down. You sit up a ways, nuzzling beneath his chin, planting wet kisses there and feeling him shiver in response. "But I still think you should have to split these stupid things with me. Or find a way to stop them, maybe. Write some scientists a check or something."

"Oh, I can stop them, sweetheart." he says bawdily, tucking his chin to tease your throat with his tongue as your hand moves to rest on his cheek. "For about a year, a least."

The hand resting on his cheek moves to the back of his head, threading into the thick, dark hair there and gently pressing there to usher him down towards you until your lips meet once more. He knows this is a hot button for both of you, and you want to chastise him for being such a tease. However, your mind is too foggy.

As he leans further towards you, tongue pushing deeper into your mouth, your hand is finally able to find what it's been seeking. His erection is already throbbing in your grip as you stroke him through his boxers, a groan seeping through his nostrils as he pulls back from your kiss. Despite this, you hook your leg around his hip the best you can, attempting to tug him back down between your legs.

"Coop." you whisper, pushing your hips at his.

"You don't have to do that, sweetheart." he says, eyes clenched as tight as his sudden grip on the bed sheets curled around his left hand. You know he wants to fuck you, that he needs to cum after everything he's given you; the evidence is in your hand. However, you also know he'll deny himself for your sake.

"Let me take care of you." you whisper, lips tracing along his throat as your hand continues to work him, concentrating your movements towards the tip and earning a genuine whimper from him. The throaty, vulnerable sound from him makes your entire gut clench, and your lips latch onto his stubbly throat, your tongue lathing his freshly bathed skin.

"I took care of you because I wanted to help you feel better. I don't need anything in return." he replies, his voice low and quiet as he strains to keep it even.

"I want you to feel better, too."

Your hand is fully stroking him again, and by the time you notice the growing wet spot near your hand, he's leaning down and forcing his tongue back into your mouth, sighing contently as he pulls himself back between your legs. One hand softly kneads your left breast, his weight balanced on his elbow and knee as he works his shorts down, kicking them off the foot of the bed absentmindedly.

A subconscious sigh leaves you as you drink in the sight of him, his leaking cock laying, flushed red and painfully hard, against his toned stomach. Trying your best to ignore the way he smirks at you, easy as you wrap your legs around his hips, his hand moving between you to guide himself teasingly along your entrance. You sigh his name when the head of him finally catches and sinks fluidly into your warmth.

Your tense pelvic muscles ache in protest for a passing moment as they adjust to him, to his weight pressing into you, but as you breathe deep, the stretch eases away some of the strain, leaving you sighing with relief as he begins to gently fuck you.

He's soft and slow to begin with, watching your face closely as you adjust to him, burying his face in your neck and latching onto it with his lips as you finally take him to the hilt.

"Oh, Cooper." you sigh, gripping hard at his shoulders as you grind your clit against his pubic bone, the soft texture of his pubic hair adding to the mountain of sensations he's making you experience. "I needed this so bad."

Your admission seems to only fuel him, groaning as his fingers move to strum at your clit again, pressing practiced circles around the swollen little nub just like you'd shown him to do. The rough feeling of the small callous he has on his trigger finger drives you absolutely mad with pleasure, making you tighten around him as you cry out.

"Fuck, baby, I've been thinking about this all day." he confesses in a low, hushed tone as his hips continue to slap against yours, still mindful of where his weight is placed over you, but growing steadily more forceful in his movements. Soon, he has you built up into a sweaty mess, crying out for more of his touch, more of him in general as he holds your hips tight.

"I'm gonna cum, Coop." you pant, face red hot and damp as the rest of you as he continues to work back and forth between your thighs. The sudden feeling of his white teeth, sharp and strong, digging into the crook of your neck makes you whimper, and the sound seems to teleport him right to the exact same spot you're in.

"Shit, me too." he hisses, lips and tongue still attacking your neck as his hips quickly lose their rhythm, driving hard into you once, twice, three more times before he pulls back and shoots his load all over your soft stomach, growling like a wild animal as jet after jet of thick, sticky cum coats your flushed skin.

Once you've both come down from your high, you wiping pitifully at your sweaty face as he extracts himself from you as gently as possible, hand threading through his damp hair, you both chuckle, lying on your sides facing one another at the foot of the bed, catching your breaths. He grabs for your hand like he always does after you make love, holding it snug in the palm of his own as you bask in the afterglow.

The only difference now is that there's an engagement ring on your hand for him to play with. Seeing it on you seems to make him swell with pride, and that makes you feel warm inside.

"How does a nice, hot bath and some takeout sound?" he asks eventually, running his lips along your forehead as his hands massage at your lower back.

"Sounds amazing." you smirk, pulling back a few inches to look at him mischievously. "But I already had a super long, hot shower when I got home. Is double dipping allowed?"

Smirking at your coy playfulness, he pulls you up into his lap and snug against his chest, both of you wincing slightly at the slick, wet feeling of the mess all over both of your stomachs. The man never fails to produce quite a bit.

"Normally, I'd say no." he fires back matter-of-factually. "But considering the circumstances, I'll allow it this one time."

"You did make quite the mess." you chastise, but your words are quickly interrupted by him quickly snatching you up, hefting you into the air as he takes a moment to balance you both before making his way into the en suite bathroom.

"Well, one could argue that the mess is at least partially your fault, but I'm willing to take responsibility for my part and help tidy you up." he chuckles as he carries you towards the tub. "I'm very thorough in my cleaning."

"Promise?" you chuckle suggestively.

"Promise." he winks.

#feeling this big time right now #thank you anon #cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #cooper howard smut #prewar!cooper howard #cooper howard headcanons #fallout tv show #fallout prime #submission

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darlingmisa · 2 years ago

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abby taking care of you on your period ⭐️💓

Cramps and Comfort...

Modern Abby bc it fits and I just love her sm,, why can't she be real (642 words)

๑ Abby is the type to keep track of when your period is going to start and is fully prepared to take care of you during it. She insists that she does everything for you, cooking and cleaning, even helping you shower. She just wants you to be as comfortable as possible.

๑ She's completely stalked up on anything you could possibly need. Pads, tampons, whatever you use. And you best believe she's got all the meds too, Midol, Tylenol, anything she think's you might need, she's buying at least two bottles. She'll run out and grab anything you'd ask for too. Your favorite snack? Done. Takeout for dinner? She's already ordering it.

๑ If your cramps get really bad, she's rushing over with the heating pad, ready to massage your stomach if you need it, which you'd never say no to. Her rough hands are already rubbing out your shoulders and neck the moment you mention you have sore muscles or feel stiff from laying around all day.

๑ When your emotions heighten, she's there holding you, letting you cry whenever you need to. She'll let you scream at her and sob about it after, she knows you never mean anything you say but that you have to get it out somehow, but that doesn't stop you from feeling awful about it after.

๑ Every cry sesh is followed by a cuddle sesh, Abby's arms wrapped tightly around you, running her hands up and down your bare back, stopping sometimes to draw small shapes with her fingers, all while your face is buried in the crook of her neck relishing in her scent.

๑ When Abby has to work, she tries her best to get out of it. Seeing if anyone can cover for her for the day so she can stay home and take care of her girl. Sometimes it works, and though you feel bad and insist she goes to work, she tells you it's okay and it's what she wants.

๑ On days she can't stay home, she's practically rushing back once her shift ends, speeding to get home to you as quickly as possible, despite calling you on all her breaks to check in. When she gets home to find you curled up in your shared bed, sniffling and holding yourself from the pain, she's already running you a hot bath, getting you clothes to wear after, making you dinner, and getting meds. Your comfort is her priority and she'll do anything to help you feel even a little bit better.

๑ Those nights where it's so bad you can't sleep, she's staying up with you. It doesn't matter how tired she may be, Abby isn't sleeping. Not until you are. She'll hold you tighter, rocking you back and forth in an attempt to soothe your hushed crying. She'll make you some tea and bring you something sweet with it as well, telling you stories to keep you distracted until you fall asleep in her arms.

๑ Even once you're fast asleep, soft breaths fanning her neck, she stays up for a little while longer just to make sure you don't wake back up anytime soon. Still holding you tightly, running her fingers through your hair. Slowly she'll lay back down with your head on her chest and fall asleep herself, not once letting you go.

๑ God forbid you start feeling insecure about yourself, worried about how your clothes just don't fit right from bloating. Abby is so quick to remind you that it's normal and that you're still the most beautiful person she's ever laid eyes on. She'll litter kisses all over your stomach, not giving you any time to feel bad anymore. She'll remind you every day because seeing you cry looking in the mirror just breaks her more than anything else ever could.

#for my lovely emi #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x fem reader #abby x fem!reader #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson #tlou series #tlou part 2 #tlou abby anderson x reader #tlou x reader

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storiesbyjes2g · 3 months ago

Text

3.159 About that thing

Life has been lifing, so I didn't get around to doing tummy time with Desiree until today. After my much needed trip to Sixam with Sophia, and a shower, I grab Desi and get to work. When we bought this house, I recognized it was a bit cramped, although much bigger than our last residence. We were content with that because it was the best we could afford. Besides, I think that's just the style of the homes in this area. But Desi is getting bigger now and will be mobile soon. She'll have very little space to crawl around safely. Alessia still hasn't decided what she's going to do yet, but I know she's gonna move; I can feel it. Maybe I'll start looking for a duplex like Dub's, just in case. Anyway, I take Desi into the hallway so I have enough room to get down on the floor with her and place her on her belly. This is a new experience, and though she's apprehensive at first, she has determination in her eyes and accepts the challenge. But that fire doesn't last long. When she realized all the muscles she needs to engage, and how weak she is, her face goes from, "bring it on," to, "wait what??"

I encourage her, saying she can do it. She may be weak now, but we'll practice every day until she's strong and zooming all over this place. I know she doesn't know what I'm saying to her, but I feel like she took the positive vibes and ran with them. She put away the tears and kept trying to hold her little head up until she got it! She looks over at me like, "am I doing it right??" I clap and cheer for her so she has no doubts how proud I am. Mama would be too.

I watch her as she decides how she feels about this new position she's in, and she stays like that for about 20 minutes! She might not know it yet, but she is definitely ready to crawl. I feel it. After tummy time, she's tired and a little cranky, so I put her down for a nap. Sophia came up to check on her while I'm coaxing her to sleep. I tell her about the milestone she reached, and she was so proud of her little sweet potato. So proud, she picked her up and gave her a tight squeeze. (sigh) She'll never get that nap now, and I will pay sorely for this in the morning. But she totally earned the cuddle time. She's an amazing child. Our little miracle.

That evening, I went for a jog with Rosie. When we got home, I walk in on Sophia being all geeked out because of another milestone Desi reached. She got her to take that nap, eventually. When she went back upstairs to check on her, she heard her babbling to herself before she entered the room. Naturally, she couldn't make out any words, but it was definitely the beginnings of simlish. Then, when she entered, Desi's eyes lit up like she hadn't seen her in days, and she blew her a kiss! I was so happy she got to experience that, especially since I'm with her the most. Still, I was high key jealous. I know it's impossible to catch every little thing, but I still want to see it all.

When she calmed down from the excitement, she invited me to sit with her for a serious chat. I thought maybe I was in trouble for hogging Desi and not giving her a chance to bond with her properly. Sophia has long since healed and rested from giving birth, but I guess I'm still in that mode of taking care of her and everything around the house. I just love being able to serve her and ensure she has no needs. But that wasn't what she wanted to discuss.

"Do you still want to adopt?" she asked.

I was not prepared for that question and felt like an idiot, sitting there with my mouth gaped like that. Another child was the furthest thing from my mind. I'm still trying to get the hang of having one child, let alone bring another into the chaos. But how did she feel? Why did she bring it up? If she's still wanting a big family, will I be okay with that? I have to tread lightly because this conversation could go in a million and six ways, and frankly, most of them would probably head south. I analyze her face, hoping to gauge how she feels, looking for signs of where she stands, but I'm clueless. Instead of giving her an answer I think she wants, I pivot and throw the question back at her. Even though Desi is probably the most easy-going infant there is, she admits to being on a steep learning curve on this parenting journey. It turns out she doesn't have a problem with me being with Desi all the time because she wants me to take the lead. Things haven't clicked for her as she expected, and she feels a little lost. Even though I hate she's not feeling confident as a mother, I'm relieved that my obsession with our daughter hasn't gotten in her way. But that isn't the challenge she's concerned about. Desi is still very young, and Sophia has many many more days to get her parenting wings. The mental wear and tear is the part making her gun shy. She has so many more things to think about now, and a thousand seventeen more to worry about. Most of the things that hem her up aren't even real and will probably never happen, but in her mind they're feel very real. I told her I agreed 3000% to everything she said, and that surprised her. She thought I had it all figured out since I'm so good with Desi, but I told her I'm just winging it like she is.

Knowing we're in the same boat seems to comfort her, and she gets to the point. She can't see herself adding another child into the mix and wants to know if I'm okay with just one child, especially since we also have a niece and two nephews to consider. I admit my relief and remind her I'd always have her back and support her needs. If she would have said she was ready to adopt, I would have been okay with it and figured it out. But knowing she doesn't want more children is a weight off my shoulders, honestly. What's more a relief is her already knowing and accepting how much I want to be in my niblings' lives, even without saying anything to her; she knows me so well. It already feels like I have four children. Sophia and I wanted Desiree to have siblings to grow up with, and I feel awful about denying her them. But I honestly can't see a fifth child in our lives. I don't think my heart can take it.

#ISBI challenge #sims 4 story #sims 4 gameplay #adolting #adolting gen 3 #luca winston murillo #desiree amari murillo #sophia aguilar #luca is a natural with the babies even vanilla but the talents and weaknesses mod gave him parenting as a talent #parenting is a weakness for sophia

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arsontastic-fandom-takes · 2 years ago

Note

may I have. jun comforting his s/o after a bad day. thanks!^^

Of course! I hope he's accurate, sorry if he isn't. Cw: chronic illness-related

____

The spirits must have had it out for you today because you woke up feeling like shit. Not just the general fatigue or sadness(which were still bad), your joints were acting up, your muscles sore for no reason, you were genuinely too tired to get up, and you were feeling depressed and full of self-loathing.

You've been in your body long enough to know that today would have to be a stay-in-bed day, but you hated those. You hated not being able to do anything and having to stare into space. Nevertheless, you knew there wasn't another choice.

The day had passed in excruciating silence, leaving you with your thoughts until the sky filled with dusky purple and pink hues. You were considering sleeping early when someone knocked on the door.

"Love?" Called a voice that you immediately recognized as your boyfriend, Jun. Shit. You forgot that you had planned to have dinner at your place tonight.

You spent too long panicking. The door slowly opened, revealing a concerned-looking Jun. He immediately noticed you laying in bed. "Oh thank goodness. I saw the field wasn't watered and you weren't answering the door, so I got worried." He stared for a moment, seeing you tearing up. You hated him seeing you like this, you always felt so vulnerable and useless. "It's one of those days, isn't it?" He spoke softly. You nodded, not trusting your voice.

His face softened as he walked over. "Oh, honey. Is it okay if I lay with you?" You nodded again.

He quietly got in the cramped bed with you, extending an arm around your torso and running his fingers through your hair in a soothing fashion. He muttered soft words to you, reassuring you in as many ways as he could think of. It might not have helped with the physical pain, but it did help comfort you.

After a while of comforting you, he started speaking. "I know you know all of this, but sometimes it helps to hear it from someone that isn't yourself." He was rubbing circles on your arms. "I'll always be here for you. You're not weak for having days like this. Even if this was what your days were like all the time, you still wouldn't be weak. You're not useless if you can't be productive all the time or can't always get out of bed. This is a part of who you are, and that's okay. Bad days will pass. Life is a constant up and down, and if today is a down day, you'll have up days soon. I'll be with you through it all. I love you for who you are, and these days don't make me love you less."

A while passed after that, and you fell asleep at some point.

_______

Thanks for reading! I hope this was up to your expectations, sorry if it wasn't. Likes, comments and reblogs appreciated.

#sun haven #anon ask #sun haven jun #I had a lot of fun writing this #I honestly needed to hear it tbh #cw chronic illness

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grumpy-zane · 2 years ago

Text

In Which a Man is Misplaced - Ft. Dareth in the departed realm.

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Something about the land had changed again. It seemed more alive somehow, more filled with life than it had been before. Even the black deep had changed its feeling some, feeling more like real water than it had been previously. The sunlight peaked into the mist, turning it a light navy and revealing sea grass and rocks. Small fish swam by them as they approached the shore.

Small talk filled their silence as Plexi rambled on about nonsense and the goings on of the realm as Favrile filled him in. Once more the 'event' was brought up, and Plexi seemed less than pleased on his outcome in the whole situation.

"You're an elemental master?" Dareth asked as his mind roamed, noting the bubbles that escaped his mouth.

Plexi scoffed, "Yeah, and it shoulda been me who got picked. Instead my old man got it, and I bet he's pillaging the seaside while I get to keep being stuck here in bumbsville. Why he's worse than me, he's a pirate! It was a 50/50 chance of either me or him! It's all rigged anyway, why I bet I wasn't picked because 'you know who' knew that I knew you and wanted to spite me for it."

Favrile rolled his eyes, "the world isn't out to get you Plexi. Where do we go next after we break the surface?"

Plexi ignored him and turned to look at Dareth with a smile, "So, are you hungry? Tired? Back killing you? I need to stop by my house before we get out, figured I would offer some hospitality. How do you like your coffee?"

"um," his preoccupied mind stopped for a moment as if to reconsider its trail. He was feeling sore from all of the running and on and off excitement, and exhausted too. Sleep dropped on him as they stepped out of the thick fog onto the shore, and he took a moment to stop and stretch. "Yeah, I would like a break..." he glanced at Favriles disapproving stare, "And I like my coffee with choclate in it."

"Wonderful! We'll hunker down at my place over lunch and after a nap we'll be on our way. Follow me everybody!" Plexi chirped and led the way, much to Far's groaning.

Everything felt just a little cramped in the mustard-yellow house, despite the lack of furniture around to make it feel that way. It was the style of the houses at the time in this part of the city, being built together like a wall guarding one roadside from the next. The kitchen felt just as thin as the entryway corridor, but at least the den was cozy enough.

Dareth found himself laying on the couch next to the old-style heater, listening to the hanging wall clock tick by without any hands. There was no concept of time in this place, the sun never set, and there was no moon nor stars. Was the departed realm really just a sort of eternal purgatory? He pulled at his fingers, cracking the knuckles as he attempted to empty his mind once more.

through the subtle ringing in his ears, he honed in on the muffled conversation a room over.

'You don't think it's true...' 'I know it is Far, so did all of those goons. Take a life, get yours back, it's just how it works. How do you think my brother got revived?' 'He's not dead?... who did he kill?' 'Favrile you're not really thinking of harming that poor man are you? What would your wife think? Your ma?' 'No, never. I did what I needed to do in life.... what about you?' 'Eh, I thought about it. He's so unlucky that I thought it might be a relief to him, haha!' 'Plexiglass.' 'I kid, I kid! Here have some coffee. This'll be just like old times, you and me against all odds, stickin' it to the system.' "Oh Dareth!" Plexi called and stepped in.

Dareth picked up his head from the arm and watched his host set the platter on the coffee table. His cup was set on one side, followed by a creamer and sugar bowl, as well as a few spoons and cheap napkins.

He pushed himself upright and took the cup, gently blowing on it and taking a sip. It tasted...

"Not good? Bah I knew I shouldn't have switched from a press to a machine." Plexi dismissed.

It certainly wasn't coffee flavored, not any that he was used to. it was hot in his mouth, but cold on its way down, and had a weird texture to it that made it feel like he was eating something straight out of a can of whipping cream. "What kind of coffee is it?"

"Rankins medium blend, its a little rough and bitter, but I tend to make it light. Oh and uh, just some cocoa powder for the chocolate part of it, no sweetener." Plexi said.

Dareth took another small sip, unfamiliar with the brand, before setting it down.

"Need a hot pad?"

"I'm okay, thanks." He slumped back down. the cushions were much softer than the ones on his couch at home, it was perfect support. "Maybe a blanket?"

Lunch tasted just as he expected it to taste, which happened to be different than what the other two thought. It was on the sweet side, being an orange and a few honey-onion fried sausages, which Plexi had made especially for the occasion. "My kids used to love these things, I wonder if they ever make it for their kids."

"They don't visit?" Dareth paused.

"They're not dead yet," his eyes shimered yellow, "well, Beeps is."

"You should write her a letter," Favrile said, "since you're too afraid to see her in person."

"She doesn't wanna see me," he stretched, the chair creaking. "Besides, we have more pressing matters, like getting you home."

Dareth bit into the last sausage, "mhm, hmhh?"

"Yeah, how is that going to happen?" Favrile asked.

Plexi pinched the bridge of his nose, "Dragons travel through the realms by going fast, we're going to do it that way too, but we need a high enough place as a starting point. Far, I know you can summon some sort of train dohickey, so we'll jump off the higest point together and let gravity do most of the work. Then presto, back in Ninjago we'll be!"

Dareths eyebrows shot up, "isn't there a less, ah, dangerous option?"

"You wanna get home or not?" Plexi asked flatly.

Favrile tapped his fingers on the table, "the highest steepest point I know is the monastery but..."

"That's a lot of steps to climb," Dareth added in.

"It's closer, the next area is the wailing alps and I think we'd all rather sneak up a flight than rent climbing equipment. If we get caught, well, lets make sure that doesnt happen."

"C-caught by who?" Dareth asked.

"The people who want your life, or even worse, The First Spinjuitzu Master." Favrile mumbled.

#Ninjago #Dareth

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hav-vok · 1 year ago

Text

cross posting from the wrong blog.

Oct 5

I'm not okay with my body image right now because I have to pack for Disney and the weather is warmer than I expected so I can't just hide in a big hoodie and I wanted to look cute but I just don't think I'll look cute or nice or anything other than a big fat blob of awful and I really don't want to ruin this with a fucking breakdown about how fat I am and how none of my clothes fit.

and the worst thing is I have no one but S to talk to this about. I have no girl friends I can't just pop up and say I feel like crap hype me up and help me find something fun to wear. I've never understood those scenes in coming of age films where the girls are all sat around in one room trying on each others clothes and doing each others hair. I never got that. I've never had anyone like that. I've never had a best friend that way. I've never even had a friend that way. not for 15 years.

half my life. half my fucking life I've not had friends to confind it and talk about this with and work through the trauma of societies expectations with. half my life. the half where it's mattered. no one cares as a kid. a little kid. but man as soon as you're aware of what this fucking world has its eyes on and what it deems is good and right and everything is it banishes as wrongs it's just traumatic trying to do anything else with that .

and now somehow I'm meant to have dinnerrmmmmmmsurbdn

I broke and nearly threw my phone so I dropped it and punched my leg lots instead.

I'm great. I'm good. I'm doing absolutely fine. about to go on the holiday of a lifetime apparently. what a delight.

Oct 6?

I keep opening and closing social media. like someone opening the fridge again to see if new food has magically appeared.

I realised that when I say friend, in most cases I think I should say acquaintance. because they're not friends. we were tied by a common place and most of our conversation rotated around that common place. maybe all I get are acquaintances. and I need to be okay with that level of relationship somehow.

Oct 8

so today I get on a plane for the first time ever and no matter how much I try I can't freak myself out about it which is good I guess. everything will be fine and it'll be so much fun and such a delight ✨

I'm sat in an airport waiting for a plane to arrive. it's ten minutes late which is wild but hey ho.

security was stressful and wild but nevermind I got through with only one misshap which for my first time isn't too bad.

getting random pain in my left toes though and knees hurt occasionally, and a slight headache which I blame on stress and stimulation.

Oct 12

so we'll Disney was a big ball of surreal crazy

idk why but mornings were not good for me. next time we go away like that I need to prepare for mornings better.

yesterday I felt quite bad, waves of sickness if I stood for too long, sharp pains in my stomach and guts. felt better if I sat for a while. didn't feel good enough to eat so I had a small yogurt, a few mouthfuls of lunch (cauliflower and pork mostly) and an apple when I got home. not lots of water either but I just didn't feel good. also got to experience a wheelchair for the first time ever, useful but not hugely.

feel a little icky today still but I'll try and eat nice plain foods here and see how it goes. Sam is out to work all afternoon so if I end up sitting in the bathroom then that's what happenes.

Oct 15

bs: weak+tingly hands, sore feet, achy hip R, little snotty, sleepy, weepy eyes, sore L shoulder

ms: flat, concerned about money this month

went to bed about 11ish last night, don't remember taking the hoodie off, don't remember S coming to bed, woke up a couple times during the night, once where the roof of my mouth was intensely itchy so I had some CBD , went back to sleep till S alarm at 8.40. 9.5 hours ish maybe ? obviously still tired from travel and Disney. but back at work today.

Oct 16

bs: mild cramps, can't tell if ovaries or intestines. L hand bad pins and needles during night, especially 3rd finger. sleepy

I was very snotty yesterday, and a bit coughy and had several long sneezing fits. I took some meds and went to work and it seemed to clear up. wondering if there's some dust or mould or something that affects me in my studio room. but it's so small and compact I don't really know how to go about changing that, since I have so much stuff. and things in this house get mouldy even in the warmer months let alone over winter when it's damp. oh to have central heating.

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caitlinsnicket · 3 years ago

Text

˚꒰ you on your period {arcane preference}

╭・characters; jinx, vi, caitlyn, ekko, silco, viktor.

┊ warnings; reader has a uterus. i tried keeping it as gender neutral as possible. mentions of sex and blood, obviously.

╰・ a/n; ko-fi.

| jinx

is not afraid to go down on you to ease your cramps and to have a good time

happily goes to the store to buy you everything you need, and if someone looks at her weird, she is not afraid to blow shit up

will make you laugh all the time, in any way she can

joins in on your mood swings: you start crying, she joins in, you're enraged? she breaks the whole house. you want cuddles? she'll squeeze you until you're breathless

period buddies!

after a while, syncs her period woth yours

support gf 100%

| vi

rubs your belly until you're cozy even if you don't have cramps, just so you're happy

showers together!!!

washes your hair and your body for you if you're too tired, and massages your sore muscles and kisses your neck softly

absolutely changes the sheets if it gets messy, gets you a new change of clothes, a piece of cake and a fluffy blanket

takes time off to be with you

your periods won't sync (hers barely happen), but might lose her temper simply because it's who she is

apologises immediatly after and hugs you tight

| caitlyn

you'll get the best health products you could want, only the expensive stuff for her pet

has you drinking relaxing tea all the damn time. when you least expect it, she'll pull a tea cup and the hot drink out of nowhere

becomes a cuddle bug and all she wants to do is hold you close and protect you

get ready for a lot of pampering

will innocently offer herself to massage your sore chest, and she swears it's only thinking about your comfort!

praises you a lot, so you know you're doing a good job

| ekko

"you're having your what?"

it's not like he's absolutely clueless about it, but what he knows is inconclusive and mostly incorrect

still, after you educate him on the matter, he brags about it like he's the one having the period

asks what's your pussy size

he's trying ok

get's you a warm pouch if you're having cramps and stays by your side until you fall asleep

arranges towels and plastic sheets so you two don't have to stop having sex

the perfect mixture of a helper and a dummy

| silco

buys you a whole building that he calls "peaceful getaway", which was made specifically for when you need to relax

massages your feet asking you about your day

makes sure you have everything you need all the time

is extra soft with you at times like these, cuddling you as you sleep more often, gives you forehead kisses and holds your face with both hands

respects you a lot more after witnessing your period for the first time

doesn't know how to react to your mood swings, is absolutely terrified

| viktor

brushes your hair when you don't have the energy to do it yourself

makes you an automatic heating water bag that just needs to have a button pressed to start working

educates himself in secret to take better care of you, starts annotating the dates of your period and accidentally starts tracking your period every month

calls you darling more often, asks you to stay around him in the lab, brings sweet treats home so you have a snack

listens to your ramblings all night long, and discusses them with you

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strawberrysunsets · 2 years ago

Text

The Empty World (Ch. 7)

Donald Pierce x Reader

Status: Ongoing

Summary: Pierce and the Reavers are sent to capture a mutant with mysterious abilities. This chapter: After striking a dangerous deal, the mutant travels to Transigen's laboratory in Mexico City.

Warnings: Injury, swearing, mention of death, manipulation.

Angst, slow burn, enemies to lovers

Author's Note: Y'all, shit hit the fan in my life this week in about ten different ways. There was also a hurricane. I feel like the final girl in a horror movie. Anyways, enjoy 😭

Comments/reblogs/feedback mean the world to me!:)

Chapter 7: Enhanced

It was a long flight to Mexico City.

The trip took a few days, given the delay caused by the cleanup, and you were utterly disoriented by the time you arrived – functioning on far too little sleep, sore in ways you didn’t have words to describe, and irritable beyond measure at the constant presence of Reavers around you. While you were technically allies, now, you couldn't shake the instinct that men in dark military gear meant danger. It hadn't made for a very relaxing trip.

The experience hadn't been helped by the fact that you'd been unable to dissipate your wings for days now, so they drew stares everywhere you went. You just couldn't muster the focus, or the calm.

Your shuttle from the airport arrived at Transigen’s gates just as the sun was beginning to set beyond the city skyline, and you gazed tiredly out the shuttle's window.

The facility was about what you’d expected; a few cinderblock complexes, surrounded by fences and official-looking signage. In all appearances, a reputable laboratory, though one with curiously tight security.

A guard let the shuttle through the gates, and once it pulled to a stop, you descended onto the pavement, blinking in the light. A man in a sharp black blazer walked towards you, greeting you as he glanced distractedly at a vibrating pager in his hand.

“U36?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes. “Sure.”

“Welcome. You’ve been asked to report to the infirmary for assessment. After that, you can find your way to your rooms; unit B14. While you're at the facility, stay only in the designated areas – don’t enter any laboratory spaces.” He handed you a clip-on pass as he talked, and you examined it. It had no photo; just your ‘name’, U36, and an ID number and barcode. “Dr. Ansley will meet with you once he’s returned. Tomorrow, most likely.”

Ansley was the man you'd met in North Dakota. The one who'd been overseeing the cleanup.

“Thanks,” you said, vaguely, shifting your satchel higher on your shoulder and ruffling your wings uncomfortably. You longed to stretch them wide, given how cramped they'd been for the last few days, but you didn't want to draw any more odd stares than you were already getting.

The evening sun was shinning brightly on the windows of the facility before you, and it suddenly hit you how far you were from any home you'd ever known. A wave of dizziness washed over you.

The assistant glanced at you in dismay, as you swayed slightly on your feet.

“Uh – do you want me to lead you to the infirmary?” He asked, startled out of his businesslike demeanour.

Too tired to be properly embarrassed, you simply nodded.

***

“You have a fever,” the nurse reported. “As well as an infected bullet-wound in your shoulder, second degree burns along most of your calves, bruising on your ribs, and what I think is a torn ligament in one of your, ah – wings – though I can’t be sure, because I’m not an avian anatomist.”

You were lying on a recovery bed, busy enjoying the feeling of being horizontal for what felt like the first time in a week, while a nurse stared at you disapprovingly over the rim of his round glasses.

“So what can you give me, Ben?” You asked tiredly. His nametag labeled him as B. Marín, and he’d told you the B. stood for Benjamin, when you’d asked. “I’m guessing pain killers are on the menu?” You grinned. “Anything you’d recommend?”

The nursed eyed you skeptically, then marked something additional down on his chart.

“I also think you’re exhausted, and may be experiencing delayed-response shock, based on your pupil dilation and heartrate. You need rest.”

You sighed, and closed your eyes. “Can’t argue with that.”

It felt good to lie down, though the smell of antiseptic and the distant radio chatter emanating from the hallway nearby still set your nerves on edge. That was going to take a lot of getting used to.

Benjamin returned with pills for you to take, and after swallowing them, you laid back down on the bed, staring out the window at the fading sky. The radio chatter soon faded into the background of your awareness, and your eyelids grew heavy.

I'll just lie down here for a minute, you thought. Just until I have the energy to go up to my rooms.

***

Donald Pierce sat in one of the private infirmary rooms reserved for execs and other people of importance, and glared at the socket of his cybernetic arm.

The kids had gotten away – and half his Reavers had been slaughtered by a junkied-up Wolverine. Zander was dead. And he himself had nearly been killed by the same mutant fuck-ups he’d been sent to retrieve.

He deftly wound two pieces of wiring together and secured them with a clamp, channeling his anger into the cold focus he always used when working.

The infirmary's lights had been dimmed for the evening, but he kept his bedside lamp on, illuminating the tray table before him. He'd been in to get his stitches removed, and would leave in a moment – but he'd gotten preoccupied with the touch-ups on his arm.

He was in the process of enhancing its kinetic linkages, to tighten its reaction-time down from a quarter of a second, to a fifth. Better than the average reaction time of a natural nerve ending, he thought, with some satisfaction.

After a moment, he finished the adjustment, and slotted his arm back into its socket with a sigh. On top of the events of the previous week, he was rankled by the delay his injuries were causing. He hated being cooped up.

The latest briefing sat on the tray table before him, and he idly gathered up its pages, scanning its headline again though he'd already read it.

New Direction, its subject line stated.

Alkali-Transigen will be moving away from the initiatives associated with Project X, and pursuing a number of new potential programs in their place.

So, he was being reassigned. He was pissed, but there was no arguing with funding. The kids – and Zander's pet project, X-24 – had been too damn expensive, and too uncontrollable. If there was one thing this whole shit show had taught him, it was that. An asset is only as useful as your ability to control it.

He pulled on his button-up shirt, wincing as it grazed his still-healing wounds, then stood. As he made his way into the main room and towards the exit, he snapped his fingers to get a nurse's attention, and instructed her to have his tools and other belongings sent back up to his rooms. The nurse acquiesced. But as Pierce turned to leave, his gaze caught on a familiar form in one of the non-exec recovery beds across the room.

He slowed.

It was her. The mutant.

She lay sprawled on the bed, wings jutting out at an awkward angle behind her, as if she'd fallen asleep without meaning to. Bandages covered one of her shoulders, and he could see purple bruising along her collarbone, as well as the yellow-green remnants of fading bruises along her jaw.

Honestly, she looked like hell.

He approached, and paused beside the divider at the end of her bed as he idly tightened the socket of his metal arm.

He’d been informed of her employment, of course – but seeing her here was a different matter. Her arrival certainly made for an intriguing turn of events.

He watched her for a moment more, then turned to leave.

There was work to be done unravelling the questions surrounding her, but for now, he had other things to do. Knowing she was here, though, meant that he’d have to meet with Ansley to discuss her handling. She’d make a useful asset, if she could be controlled well enough to accomplish that.

After all, an asset was only as useful as one's ability to control it.

***

By the time you woke, the sky past the infirmary's windows was dark. You sat up stiffly, to see that someone had moved dividers around your bed to give you privacy while you slept.

As you regained awareness of your surroundings, you realized that it had been nearby voices which had woken you. There were nurses near, it seemed; talking somewhere beyond the dividers.

“Yes, we took his stitches out today,” one lightly accented voice reported. “He just left. It was mostly bad frostbite, burns, and vascular damage – but Dr. Torres got it all under control with the Hyperbaric chamber.”

Someone else made an indistinct noise. “I’d be happier for him, if he hadn’t knocked over my fucking patient station last month. Didn’t even apologize. Took me an hour to clean up.”

You slowly moved to stand from your bed, stretching before wearily pulling on the hospital robe that the nurse – Benjamin – had given you to wear over your clothes. It was late, but you were determined to find your rooms. The privacy would be worth it.

“Así,” the other speaker sighed. “Es la vida.” That’s life. “Especially with those higher-ups. Now, have Mr. Pierce's things sent to his rooms, will you? I've got to go. Ramira's taking over the night shift.”

You paused while pulling on the robe, slow to process what you’d heard. That whole time, the nurses had been talking about Pierce?

Your brow furrowed, and you pushed aside the dividers, watching them depart towards the infirmary desk.

So he is alive. And unsurprisingly, still an asshole. Though an injured one, by the sound of it.

Well, you thought drily, orienting yourself towards the exit and forcing your tired feet to move, at least I’ll have one familiar face around here.

***

That night was difficult.

An aide had helped you find your rooms – while shooting your wings constant sidelong glances – but once beneath the stiff cotton sheets, you found that, though exhausted, you couldn't sleep. Sounds echoed in from the streets below – a barking dog, the clang of metal – and in the darkness, you couldn’t keep your mind from drifting back to the most painful memories of the last week.

Recognizing Caliban and Charles’ bodies.

Standing at Logan’s grave.

Your rooms had turned out to be a simple, cold, and functional unit; consisting of one open room that doubled as both sitting room and bedroom, and a small bathroom with a standing shower. The place felt like a hotel room, in a way – and its generic soullessness made you long to be anywhere that was warm, comfortable, and lived in. And most importantly, had people you cared about in it.

But there was no going back.

The life you'd had in the desert, with Logan and the others, was gone. And somehow, within the span of a week, your life had completely changed trajectory. Now, you had no idea where it was headed. Only that, once again, you'd be facing it alone.

Loneliness choked you, and suddenly, you were gripping the bedsheets against your face to stifle the tremors that wracked your body.

All the pent-up emotions from the last week seemed to be flooding you all at once, and it was all you could do to bit your tongue and stop the sobs from escaping.

You didn't know how you'd survive this. But there was no alternative – for you had to uphold your end of your bargain with Transigen. Come work for us, and they go free. You had to do this, for the sake of Laura and the others. So you'd find a way to pull yourself together.

For now, though, you could give into the tears.

Eventually, pain and exhaustion overcame you, and you were pulled down into sleep.

***

An insistent knocking woke you up around 10am, and you dragged yourself to your door to find an assistant waiting there. They informed you that you were to see an aide for equipment and a uniform, before your meeting with Ansley later that morning.

The gear turned out to be a pager and radio for communication, and a pair of combat-suitable boots, while the uniforms were two sets of identical, nondescript black clothing. The uniforms were functional, and with a hint of military flavour to their pockets and rigger belt. Therefore, despite your bad night, you arrived to meet Ansley looking and feeling quite a bit more professional than you had the day previous.

“U36,” he greeted, motioning you in as you arrived at the door to his office. “That’s what Zander called you, isn’t it?”

You nodded, unimpressed, as you approached to seat yourself in the chair before his desk. Despite the tumultuous state of your emotions, you were determined to remain composed. You were here for one reason, and one reason only: to cement a deal that would secure the safety of Laura and the other young mutants.

“Well," Ansley said, shuffling the sheaf of papers on his desk before setting them aside, "I’d like to start fresh on that count. What do you prefer to be called?”

You paused for a moment, considering the pros and cons of giving your true name. As far as you knew, there weren’t any records on you that would give them any more information than they already had – but it still felt dangerous.

“Ray,” you finally replied. A nickname an old friend had given you.

Ansley smiled. “Ray. Good.” He sat back in his chair. “As you've probably learned, I'm acting as Transigen's Managing Director, given Zander's death. As an organization, our priorities have definitely gotten a shake-up in the past week; but I believe we could still use an agent of your skills.”

You eyed him, waiting for him to continue.

“As Zander told you, we’d be interested in recruiting you into our Security Department. We still have a few intelligence operations that could benefit from an agent with your... mobility," he said, gaze moving briefly to your wings.

“And the kids?” You prompted. “The deal was that if I work for you, they go free. Completely free. Destroy any records you have on them, and stop tracking them. Forget they exist.”

Ansley’s brow furrowed. “Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as that. We’ve reported them amongst the fatalities in North Dakota, for the time being – but if it comes to light that they survived, we’d still be liable for their actions.”

It was your turn to scowl. You still didn't know why Transigen was so interested in the kids, other than the fact that they were the first mutants born in twenty-five years – and Transigen's liability for them was just as much of a mystery. Liability implied ownership – and how could that make sense? They were kids. But seeing your gaze darken, Ansley raised a hand to continue.

“That being said, I can promise that we won’t interfere with the children’s activities as long as they pose no threat to the general public and draw no attention to themselves.”

“So you’re still tracking them?” You asked.

“Not actively,” Ansley conceeded. “But if reports surface of a group of mutant children wreaking havoc across the Canadian border – well, I’m sure you can understand that we’ll be forced to intervene.”

You looked down, considering his words. In all honesty, you'd lost a lot of your bargaining power when you arrived at Transigen's gates – and though you disliked it, you understood Ansley's reasoning. If the kids' powers were endangering people, law enforcement would have to get involved. But if the kids didn’t draw attention to themselves, then Transigen would be happy to sweep this whole thing under the rug. It seemed as good an outcome as you could hope for.

“Alright,” you replied. “I’ll work for you, under the agreement that the kids aren’t tracked or surveilled, and you don’t interfere with them unless absolutely forced to. If that ever happens, I want to be the first to know.”

Ansley inclined his head. “Agreed,” he said, seemingly pleased. “In that case, my assistant will bring you a contract and confidentiality agreement, and you can join myself and our security team for a meeting tomorrow. Here, at 3pm. I'll send along a briefing to you by tonight. For any of your other needs, you can consult an aide.”

You ruffled your wings in preparation to stand, then paused, as if you’d just remembered something. “Oh – and what about my salary?”

Ansley glanced at you, one brow raised.

You stared back. “Zander promised me one.”

Zander had done nothing of the sort, of course – but you were sure Ansley didn’t know that.

The doctor sat back in his chair, assessing you. “Did he, now?”

You nodded. “Twenty-five hundred a week,” you said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

Ansley laughed. “Sure he did.”

Your eyes narrowed. “In case you hadn’t noticed, my abilities aren’t exactly a dime a dozen. I’m a specialist. And that requires a specialist’s rate.”

Ansley stared at you for a moment more, then smiled and waved a hand magnanimously. “We’ll start you at five-hundred a week. The rest will depend on your performance.” He turned back to his computer in dismissal. “See yourself out.”

***

You considered your small victory, as you traversed the hallway back towards the elevator.

Five-hundred a week.

Sure, it sounded like a great plenty, since you were literally penniless – but you knew that agents like Pierce were probably making ten times that amount. And if you were going to be working for Transigen, you might as well be taking as much of their money as you could. You didn’t want to have to depend on them for your every need.

***

That afternoon found you in Transigen Research's exercise room, grimacing as you tried to lift a small weight with your injured arm. The doctor had recommended you try to recover some muscle tone in your shoulder after the bullet wound, but right now, it felt more like the exercise was tearing it further apart. Still, the pain helped keep your mind off of other things. There were a million things you couldn't think about right now, if you wanted to make it through the day.

Breathe, you told yourself. Just relax. You'll make it through this.

You'd found the exercise room in your exploration of the complex, and stayed because of its large glass-fronted windows. They looked out onto the hallway beyond, and the parking lot past that, giving the room the distinct feeling of having been made for Transigen's agents and employees, rather than its prisoners.

You lowered the weight, grimacing as your shoulder twinged. You were about to massage it, when movement caught your eye. A familiar figure was passing down the hallway outside, and with a jolt of anxiety, you recognized Pierce's tall form.

His gaze slid past you, serious and preoccupied – and then returned to land on you, lighting with surprise. His blond hair was swept back from his face, and his blue eyes were just as sharp and calculating as you'd remembered them. He waggled his fingers at you in a cheeky wave.

You glared at him in return, and flipped him off.

When Pierce reached the door to the exercise room, he paused to lean causally against its frame.

“You know – I heard you switched sides, but I didn’t quite believe it.” His voice was as you remembered it, too; sweet as syrup, and dripping with the promise of trouble. “So you’ve joined the good guys, huh?”

You glared at him, massaging your shoulder, then slowly approached and came to a halt a few paces away. You were going to have to get this over with at some point.

“That seems like a stretch,” you replied. "Last I heard, you were trying to execute a bunch of kids.”

Honestly, you were surprised to see him on his feet and seemingly devoid of serious injury, given what you'd heard in the infirmary. But here he was, back to his regular self. Upon examining him, though, you did spot a faint line of bruising peeking from the top of his shirt.

“How’s the recoup, by the way? I heard they really did a number on you.”

Pierce smiled. “Oh, fine and dandy,” he replied. “Glad to know you’ve been keeping up with my recovery. Now – I have to ask.”

He stood from the wall, and moved to make a slow circuit of you, examining your wings. When he took the first step forwards, though, you couldn’t help your gut reaction – you took a quick half-step backwards, nearly a flinch. Pierce paused, assessing you, and then raised his hands innocently, as if to say: no need to be scared. He finished his circuit of you, and returned to the doorway, gaze cool and unreadable.

“Are these gonna be a permanent thing? Cause a sudden species change seems pretty odd, even for a mutey."

“They’re permanent," you replied, ruffling your wings self-consciously. "Until I can dissipate them, that is. Which is easier said than done."

You didn't know why you were being honest with him – but something inside you longed to tell someone else about your problems. Anxiety about your decreasing ability to control your mutation had been eating away at you, and it made it less scary, to speak about it aloud. Even if that honesty might come back to bite you.

Pierce raised a brow, and tilted his head to the side in consideration. “Interesting,” he replied.

“So I guess this means you officially failed in your mission of capturing me,” you said, moving to a safer subject and returning to the familiar territory of dry mocking. “Another strike on the record. At this rate, they must be looking for your replacement.”

Pierce’s gaze returned to you, and he inhaled before letting out a gusty sigh. “You’re here, aren’t you?” He asked, smiling in the playfully condescending way you’d come to associate with him. “Way I see it, that’s a win.”

“By no skill of yours,” you replied. “You were lying unconscious in a hospital bed when I made that decision.”

Pierce’s smile widened, and he stood from the wall. “See? You have been keepin’ track of me. That’s flattering. Now, if you’ll excuse me–” he tilted his head in the approximation of a gracious farewell. “I have places to be. And if I’m not mistaken, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow. 3pm sharp.”

He winked, and then was gone – whistling as he strode away down the hall and left you to glare at his retreating back.

Well, you thought idly, turning back towards the weight rack and massaging your shoulder in preoccupation. At least I know one thing.

If pain doesn't work to keep my mind off the current shit show of my life, there's at least one other dangerous distraction in this building.

***

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haruhey · 4 years ago

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Word count: 13k (i am SO SORRY i got carried away and this fic turned out SO FILTHY but i hit 300 followers so consider this a gift??)

Established Relationship Fluff | Smut

There’s only one bed shower, and Daryl Dixon is an opportunist.

the request:

every single fic of yours is seriously amazing. ur a great writer!! can i request a daryl shower smut bc wooweeeee

There’s always a giddiness inside Daryl when he returns from runs. No more sleeping in the RV for nights on end, no more eating cold canned chicken soup and - as much as he liked Aaron - no more hearing him talk about how much he missed Eric and making him miss you, too. He’s exhausted, his muscles sore from overuse, but the fact that you’re probably curled up in bed makes him so damn excited that all the ailments of his aging body are swiftly forgotten with each step he takes.

Houses fly by in a blur as he ramps up into a jog, his feet taking him to the dim light of a moving lantern in your shared bedroom window. By Daryl’s estimate, it couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11pm, but time meant little in the apocalypse - it was either dark out, or light and with the days getting shorter, he noticed you using the lantern more and more frequently. Just a few days ago, you had fallen asleep curled up on his chest, the soft orange light filling the room before he strained his body trying to turn it off without waking you. The next morning he had a terrible cramp running from his rib up to his bicep, but he never complained. Not even a wince in your presence since he thought the soreness was worth it. He would rather die several times over than lose the image he saw - of your pillowy lips taking soft, steady breaths of air while you slept against his bare skin.

Smiling, he lets himself remember the way you looked when he first gifted it to you, a grin that spread to the apples of your cheeks and crinkled at your eyes plastered on your face. It wasn’t a perfect replica, but it looked close enough to the one you would both light on nightwatches in the prison - which he thinks was when he first realized he loved you. Daryl also remembers the first night he saw you use it, the memory so vivid in his mind that he felt like if he reached out, the soft fabric of your pajamas would welcome his touch.

He could picture it now, your back against the headboard, reading one of the books that littered the shelves he never touches. Your face bathed in the lantern’s hue while your eyes scanned the pages and drinking in every word of whatever you were holding. He plucked that book right out of your hands that night and pulled you onto his lap, kissing the pout off your face until you weren’t annoyed at him anymore, rendered down to just laughing against his lips.

Fuck, he couldn’t wait to get home and see you again.

Daryl curses under his breath as he fumbles a little with the doorknob, but the profanities are quickly replaced with a huff of accomplishment as he practically sprints to the bedroom, boots shucked off haphazardly at the front door. He skips every other stair with long strides, desperate to feel you in his arms. When he enters the bedroom, he places his crossbow on the dresser and is surprised to see the room as dark as it is, the only source of illumination being the moon as it streams through the windows. The bed is empty and the blankets are strewn to your side, but neither you nor your pajamas are anywhere in sight. Panic flies through him before he registers the unmistakable sounds of the shower running, and he scoffs at himself when he sees the dim orange light peeking from beneath the bathroom door.

Had you known how worried he was for a second, you would have laughed at him. He was already so protective of you before the two of you got together, but it was another level entirely when you both made it official. It wasn’t just losing you to the dead anymore - it was also losing you to other people. Daryl knew you could take care of yourself, he had seen you hold your own on runs in the prison and trips outside the Alexandrian gates, but, God, if anything happened to you he wouldn’t know what to do. Being apart from you once when the Governor attacked was already almost too much for him to handle, but the thought of losing you and having to be okay with the fact you were never going to love him again? That was something he never wanted to experience.

Leaning against the wall, he pulls off his belt and places it next to his crossbow, his vest following not long after. The mattress squeaks slightly when he makes his way over to it and lies down, his body feeling almost instant comfort at the feeling of something other than the hard leather of his bike’s seat. Days like this made him think that maybe you were right in jokingly telling him that his motorcycle was a dumb choice for long runs - his tailbone was probably shaped like a rectangle from how long he’d been sitting on his ass.

A few moments pass as he allows himself to indulge in some rest, eyes closing and already in the first stages of a slumber before he shoots up, pushing himself to the edge of the mattress and sitting straight. Fuck, he needed to shower. He had given you his word that he would. Each time before he fell asleep after a run, he’d said; and Daryl Dixon was not one to break promises. Especially not to you.

Getting off the bed, he sheds his shirt and throws the old fabric onto the dresser, grimacing at the knowledge he would have to scrub at the dried walker blood come morning. His socks are next, pulled off by impatient hands and left on the floor, not even given a second glance as he then pulls open a drawer and grabs a pair of boxers from his meager pile. The only thought in his mind being the feeling of smooth sheets and your body against his skin. He’d pick up his clothes after his shower - if he could even muster up enough energy to.

Step by step, he makes it a good few feet out of the bedroom before he realizes the other second floor bathroom doesn’t work. If his memory served him correct, there were some plumbing issues and, before anyone could buy replacements, the world became, well, what it is now. After all, it was the only reason you and Daryl even took this house - nobody else wanted to have only one shower and, after becoming a couple, sharing one between two people didn’t seem all that bad. At least, that’s what he thought until now. Groaning, he rubs his eyes in an attempt to rub out the fatigue in them before his whole body lights up with an idea. Maybe he could have some fun with this. And if you asked, he could always blame the missing pipe or whatever it was that the Alexandrians couldn’t fix.

Practically thrilled, he mentally pats himself on the back and rushes back to the bedroom. Tired? Not anymore. Daryl can’t be if he wants to fulfill what just popped into his mind. Years of hunting leave his footsteps nearly silent when he enters the bathroom, but he’s not exactly at a disadvantage in terms of noise. The rhythmic beating of water against the tiled floor drowns out the slight squeak of the door as well as the hitching of his breath when he notices the gap. With how the room was designed, just standing at the door led his gaze in a nearly direct line of sight to you, the shower curtain lying an inch or two from the wall and offering him a vision which he doesn’t hesitate to indulge in.

It’s not like he's never seen your body - far from it, actually - but there was something about you that made him hesitate when it came to stuff like this. You deserved sweet and soft, affectionate with declarations of love between his kisses, and while he enjoyed giving that to you, sometimes he wanted something different. Sometimes Daryl wanted to act on impulse - to feel a different type of desperation - and tonight, he wanted to act out one of his long-hidden fantasies. One that involved you on many, many occasions.

Truthfully, he couldn’t fucking stop thinking about it since Merle and his buddies showed him that damn VHS as a hormonal high schooler. He never really had a committed girlfriend or anything like that to ever even pluck up the courage to ask, but that fantasy remained like a phantom in the back of his mind, lying just outside his finger’s reach. One that haunts him late at night and renders him withering in his own palm. At least, that was the case. Because he has you now and how he managed that? He didn't know. But he felt confident enough around you and trusted you enough to pursue the desire in him.

A shiver courses through him, running along the tip of his spine when he considers the possibility you might like it as much as him - and if you did, maybe he would divulge to you more of these secrets he’s always kept hidden so well.

With silent movements, Daryl unbuttons and unzips his jeans as he leans against the door of the bathroom, just barely suppressing a groan when his fingers graze the zipper. He curses himself, chastising his sensitivity at the mere image of you doing something as mundane as taking a shower, but he knew it was an inevitable consequence. Ever since the prison, anything you did got him riled up - even just seeing you sitting on his motorcycle made his skin light up with goosebumps. Left in only his boxers, he steps out of the denim pooling at his feet and picks it up, throwing it haphazardly onto the cream coloured counter as he waits for you to take notice of his presence. The metal button clashes against the smooth marble of the vanity, and its noises sound across the room, your eyes opening and your fingers catching the edge of the plastic curtain as you dart your head out, searching for the source.

Your body tenses up, no doubt the experience of living out on the road for so long, but the fighting instinct drains from you the moment you see the affectionate boyish grin playing on Daryl’s lips. It’s barely visible as he stands so far from the meager light source, but it sends an eager smile onto your face. Like all those times he’s returned to you, you want to run to him, feel his arms wrap around you and inhale his scent as you plant those incessant kisses he ‘hated’ everywhere on his face, but that urge only serves to remind you that you’re standing naked in a shower and he’s just staring at you.

“Daryl! What the- I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

Embarrassed, you speak, voice pitched higher than normal from the shock and excitement coursing through your body. However, he stays put, leaning against the door as he drags his eyes up the expanses of skin afforded to him; that is, until you pull the plastic curtain to cover yourself and run your free hand through your hair, tilting your head ever so slightly in order to urge his eyes to meet yours. You wait for his response as you brush the wet strands back from your face, but it never comes, him instead choosing to stride towards you and send you a pout before pulling petulantly at the shower curtain, trying to coax you to let go of it. Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, your grip loosens and he can barely hold back his excitement when you really do let go, tongue peeking out for just a second before he hooks his lip between his teeth.

Throughout your relationship with Daryl, you learned he loved looking at you, gawking at and admiring each angle, birthmark and curve until you felt heat flush through your body. Even before the two of you got together, his gaze stuck on you, longing and soft when you weren’t looking, only hardening if your eyes ever met his. Each time he saw you it was like he was still in disbelief that you were his, forever suspended in the wide look he had when you first confessed to him, hence why you didn’t pay much attention to his stare as you moved to pump out some shampoo. You didn’t really know why he was in the bathroom and he made no effort to tell you, but you were here to clean yourself. So that’s what you’ll do. He’ll probably leave sooner or later after making sure you weren’t hurt anywhere, anyways.

The way the light from the lantern bounced off your glistening skin made you look like some sort of goddess. Like an otherworldly being he shouldn’t be looking at. Or like a succubus, sinfully tantalizing, except you didn’t know what you were doing to him as you raked your hands through your hair again, bubbles forming already between your fingers as you scrubbed. Shit, this was way better than he expected, and he’s gladly taking in everything it was offering. Shifting his weight, he clenches and unclenches his fists - commanding himself to keep them at his sides - but then you turn around, allowing the water to rush down your back and his resolve withers away as he tries not to envy the path along which it’s falling.

Soon, the little space between the shower curtain and the ceramic tiling isn’t enough for him. He needs to feel you against him, his trembling hands and suffocating boxers egging him on like this was the first time he’s ever seen you naked. Clearing his throat, he urges himself to move, building his confidence which had seemed to dissipate nearly immediately as you locked eyes with him. What he wanted to do wasn’t sweet or affectionate, and even though he knew you would tell him if you didn’t like it, he just didn’t really want to risk even doing something you didn’t like in the first place.

“Sorry I, uh, I’ll go rinse out my hair somewhere else. Here, I’ll get out so you can-”

This was it. He had to act now or he’ll lose the opportunity. Running his thumb across his bottom lip, he watches as your hand reaches for the shower valve, but your movements and voice stop when Daryl shoots his dominant hand out, the calloused skin wrapping around your wrist in a warmth that makes you snap your gaze to his. While firm, he never applies enough force to hurt you - he knows what kind of men there were in this world, and he didn’t know what he would do if you ever thought of him like that. On the contrary, the feeling of his fingers around you is welcome, especially after what felt like years away from him. Giving him that same inquisitive look, except this time laced with a small smile, you can tell by the way he’s gnawing at his lip that he has something to say. Something that has him hesitating in a way you’ve never really seen him hesitate before, well, besides the first time you both kissed.

“Actually, mind if I join ya? ‘Cause ya see, the other shower don’t work and there’s this girl - my girl - she’s amazin’, but she doesn’t let me into our bed ‘til I shower and I’m damn tired.”

Oh.

Noticing the way you tense up slightly at his suggestion, he offers more, another reason to sway you into accepting as if the pursuit of his little fantasy would both begin and end with what drops from his lips. This definitely felt more daunting, like a much larger leap than him asking for permission to kiss you.

“I also heard showerin’ in pairs saves water.”

Oh.

Yeah, you get why he was hesitating now.

Honestly, Daryl really couldn’t give a fuck about the water he was talking about. What he had in his running mind had little to do with his environmental footprint and more to do with feeling your skin on his and the image of you coming undone for him. He hasn’t been home - been with you - in what felt like weeks, and he thought the generator could stand to work a little harder after running for one person for a few days. With a slight upwards twitch of his eyebrow, you can feel what little apprehension you had leave your body and his heart pounds in his ribcage with the anxiety of what’s to come. At least, he thinks that’s why its beating at 100 miles per hour.

It surely can’t be the residual hormonal anticipation or excitement from his youth.

“And who exactly did you hear that from?”

The slight joking edge to your voice causes him to smile, but it’s a mischievous one, one that holds promises and sends a shiver through your body. Daryl really had no clue what he did to you when he looked at you like that, his piercing blue gaze hitting you as his head tilts down almost sheepishly to the grip he has on you.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a glint residing in them that draws you to look at nothing but him as he runs his thumb along the bone of your wrist. With a tilt of his head, he speaks, muttered as he gnaws once more at his lips and lets go of his hold.

“It matter?”

So nobody, probably.

The amusing thought sends you shaking your head ‘no’ as you smile, pulling open the plastic curtain in invitation while trying to suppress the idea that just popped into your head. Daryl just wants to shower and the only reason he wants to shower with you is to fulfill that promise he had made. Because he just wants to go to sleep. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, he’s hopeful that you would be watching him - and he’s fully prepared to make a show of stripping his last piece of fabric - but he’s sorely disappointed when he sees your eyes closed in an attempt to keep the bubbling shampoo from burning at them.

Why weren’t you looking at him? Was he not overt enough?

Wow, he really wasn’t very good with… whatever it is he’s trying to do, huh?

You shuffle forward from the steady stream and he takes that as his cue to step in, gladly placing his body just a few inches from yours and sighing in relief when the water hits his sore muscles. The sounds don’t go unnoticed by you, and your heart sinks a little with each suppressed groan of pain Daryl lets out. He always worked so hard for Alexandria, and they still treated him like somewhat of an outsider, questioning his true intentions with harsh looks when he even so much as walked too close to them. But they didn’t seem to mind him much when they were eating the animals he hunted, though, and that sent your blood boiling.

Turning around, you try not to let your gaze drop too low as you place your hands on his shoulders, frowning when you feel the stiff knots that have burrowed their way underneath his skin. Almost immediately, Daryl submits to your touch, an all too familiar warmth bubbling in his heart as he, too, turns and exposes his scar ridden skin to you, allowing your thumbs to rub circles into his upper back. He always loved this - the domesticity of these moments, the wordless communications, your love and affection directed solely at him - and he’s starting to forget the real reason he crashed your shower in the first place, lulled into relaxation under your nimble fingers and the water beating down on his overworked muscles.

“Does that feel better?”

Your question warrants a response landing somewhere between a grunt and a groan, but then you laugh and he swears his heart swells tenfold. He missed hearing that. Even if you got embarrassed of it sometimes, or hid it muffled behind the palms of your hands, he loved hearing it. Because you glowed when you did, your eyes crinkling up at the corners with a smile that almost always brought him to his knees, and perhaps almost selfishly, the knowledge that he doesn’t want to be away from you any longer dawns on him - as well as the knowledge that it’s inevitable that he has to leave again soon. Whether it be with Aaron or Rick, or some of the poor bastards that piss their pants whenever they see him.

When you stop your ministrations, he feels himself frowning as you tap him once with your thumbs, but he elates almost immediately when you speak promise of a better massage come morning. He’s slightly ashamed of the way his whole body lights up in goosebumps in anticipation, but it’s not unwarranted. Spending late mornings with you was something Daryl never knew how the hell he had lived so long without, and they were his favourite types of mornings by a long shot. Especially when it ended up more often than not with you on him or him on you, the both of you thankful for the misfit house you had all to yourselves and away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

“You’re too damn good to me.”

But he deserves it, you think to yourself, He deserved to be cared for like this.

His praise drips with a softness he didn’t even know he was capable of until you came along and Daryl turns back around to face you, smirking lopsided when he sees a shy smile worm its way onto your face. He had to have known what he was doing when he said stuff like that - especially when he used a voice like that. Seriously, how long had the two of you been together? It felt like an eternity already, but he could still make you flustered from a simple compliment. Shaking your head, you rest your wrists at the nape of his neck and use the leverage to pull his lips to yours, thumb swiping at the blood dried at his cheek and hoping the distraction of your tongue on his will keep him from teasing the warmth crawling up your neck.

A ‘hm?’ noise falls from him, small and surprised as his eyebrows raise for just a moment before his hands loop around your waist by instinct. When you pull away, another noise falls from Daryl, but this time it’s more disappointed than anything, and he chases your lips with his bottom one jutted out, taking full advantage of the strong arms he has wrapped around you. Holding you in place, his eyes plead with the now perfected ‘one more’ look you’re all too familiar with and you can’t bring yourself to deny him - he knows you can’t. Closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he waits patiently, he hums when you finally kiss him again, his satisfaction vibrating down to the hollow center of your collarbones before begrudgingly letting you go when you pull away again.

The water runs a brownish red from the dried walker blood being washed off his body and he scrubs furiously at his arms, trying to gauge the right move that will get your thighs shaking and your moans bouncing off the ceramic tiles he’s seen less than he’s willing to admit. Should he just… go for it? Just pull you against him and push you up against the walls he wants your noises to echo off of? No, he should come up with a better idea. You deserved a better idea.

Running his thumb along his jaw, Daryl sneaks furtive glances at your body - who the hell he was hiding them from, he didn’t know - and picks even more skin off his chapped lips as he watches you twist at your waist ever so slightly to comb through your hair. Swallowing down his spit like some teenager, he watches your shoulder blades protrude and disappear, intently following the droplets of water as they fall along your neck and down the muscles you’ve developed. He had to hand it to the sorry rich prick who had designed this house because, all things considered, they did a pretty good job; there was just enough spread of it between the two of you to pass as a decent shower. Even if you or him had to oddly angle yourselves to warm a cool patch of skin.

Reaching towards the shampoo bottle, his arm brushes against your waist almost feather-light, but it sends a shiver through you, rattling your ribs and making your cheeks flush all the same. Daryl lingers for a moment longer than you expect, his body leaning as he stretches over and you think he’s going to step forward - wrap you up in him - but dutifully, respectfully, anxiously he stays put. You want his touch, especially after nights alone with only the scent of him on his side of the bed to keep you company, and, having caught a quick glance at his straining boxers before he joined, there’s little room for doubt in your mind that he wants you. But still, it exists.

Your own arms begin to sore when he finally pulls away, his hands now raking through the hair he seemingly never wants to cut. Clearing your throat, you turn around, eyes screwed shut as you face Daryl, fearing for both the shampoo you’re washing out stinging at your eyes and the fact that if you looked at him, your gaze would probably drop. God, was all it took just a few days without him to have you craving him like this? The close proximity coupled with the knowledge he’s standing next to you naked makes you tense up before a shiver runs up your spine, your thoughts causing your breath to hitch for barely a second. Despite your efforts to suppress it, your subconscious prays that he picks up on the little noise. Please let him pick up on it.

And he does, ever observant as he connects the dots, the initially surprised look on his face melting into a small anticipatory smirk before he all but races to lather his hair in the coconut - or was it grapefruit? - scent. This was good. This was damn good.

He dares take a step forward, tentative, testing out the waters as if he was unsure of your desire, but he knows he can read you, and that he can do it well. This was when he should do something, right? The subtle confirmations - a tense, a shiver, a hitching breath - beg him to. Under the streaming shower, Daryl impatiently scrubs at his scalp, teeth hooked permanently atop his lip as he watches the rivulets of watered-down shampoo catch along your skin, his fingers and mouth itching to replicate its path down your neck to your chest. He knows that path well, and perhaps that’s what makes him even more envious.

Thank God for the fact you’ve closed your eyes because if anybody saw Daryl right now, they would take a step back, maybe even several thinking he was angry. How could they not when he was glaring at you as if you had done something horrible? It’s a surprise to him, the fact that it seemed like you really could not feel the burn of his stare, but then a thought pops into his lust-fogged brain. Maybe you did know. And maybe you were toying with him, playing coy and pushing him to a teetering edge, letting him taste the tension on his tongue until he could hold back no more.

To say he’s impatient is an understatement. He isn’t simply impatient, no, he’s impatient. He wants to do something. He wants you to do something, to initiate the flurry of hands and lips he’s craving so desperately and, seemingly blind to that triad of signals, he scrubs frantic at his hair in an attempt to control himself. As he rinses out the shampoo, he manages to cling onto what little restraint he had over his body until you turn back around. It was like the universe was egging him on, trying to break his resolve by showing him those dimples on your lower back, reminding him of the way he gripped them when he took you that night before he left - and it works. Jesus fucking Christ does it work.

Daryl’s body crowds you then, muscular arms wrapped around either side of your waist and rough hands palming at your chest before sliding down to your stomach, pulling you flush into him while he grinds his hips experimentally against your body. The feeling catches you off-guard, eyes widening in surprise as you let out a gasp into the steam of hot water and you grip harshly at his forearm, attempting to steady yourself from the sensations blossoming from your thighs. He can feel them tense and begin to snap closed against him, but you hear the corners of his mouth twitch upwards with satisfaction.

“What- what are you doing?”

Restless, his fingers travel downwards, hooking a strong thigh between your two legs as he ignores your question, them parting immediately to accommodate him. Daryl’s veins thrum with adrenaline, feeling the all too familiar effects of your warm skin when he realizes you’re letting him do this - enjoying him, even - your hands pawing at his to beg him to speed up, to bring you that nirvana he loves to be the reason for. Heat flushes your body, knowing full well what he’s capable of, but despite it, your skin erupts into goosebumps under his touch, desperate for more.

“What’s it look like ‘m doin’?”

Your neck comes under his affection next, his lips meeting it as he mumbles the words against your pulse point, tongue darting out when he feels it speed up. Almost methodically, Daryl finds the marks he’d left days prior, darkening them with unadulterated determination and rolling his hips against you once more. The heavy motion draws a whine from you, short and needy as your nails dig into his wrist and he all but basks in it. God, this felt good. How the hell had he spent so long without you? Without your skin under his? Everything about you feels like a fucking drug to him.

“D-Daryl- what would your girl say.”

He smiles against your neck, a warm pride bubbling in his chest when he hears the slight shake in your voice. It always got like this when he was touching you, and he liked to think it was the anticipation raking through your body. All the possibilities he could bring to you. He loved listening to your voice as it was, but hearing it quaver as it bounced off the ceramic walls, mingled perfectly with the rhythmic thrum of water crashing against the two of you? It was almost alarming how quickly it made his head spin.

Submitting to your urging, he lets you slide his hands down to the apex of your thighs, groaning guttural into your ear when he feels your hips lift and rut into his touch, unintentionally grinding your ass onto his cock when you push yourself back onto him. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, you hear his breaths as he digs his palm an inch below your pelvis, thick fingers gripping harsh at your inner thighs as he nudges his further between them. It feels like fucking magic, whatever he’s doing, and a plea tingles at your lips before you bite it down. Daryl’s never been this bold, and this is new territory for the two of you. Very new. So you were going to let him take his time - let him explore every inch of your skin as if he didn’t already have it memorized - despite the fact every cell in your body screams for you to sink down on him right here and now.

His grip disappears too quickly for your taste, but before you can even register the decadent sear that marks his blunt fingernails and calluses, his palm makes home just below your stomach and he swipes two fingers against you, spreading you for him but avoiding that bundle of nerves you want so desperately for him to touch. An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips as he gathers evidence of your arousal, and the sound of him makes you claw at his wrist, your hands still blanketing his as you try to angle him to do something other than coat his fingers and smear you across your inner thighs. Amused, his middle finger curls, breaching you just until his first joint before pulling away, relishing in the way you clench as if trying to keep him in you.

“Hm, I dunno. What do ya think she’d say? I think she likes it.”

You can hear the self-satisfied smirk on his face as he feels your body react and you can practically see it behind your closed eyelids. Daryl knows all your buttons, every single movement that renders you down to a puddle of mush, but he’s avoiding them. His jaw clenches and unclenches as you buck your hips up to try and meet the talented fingers only getting further and further and further from you. Skin warm from the streaming water and the sheer amount of lust coursing through him, his left arm snakes upward, resting just under your breasts before pulling your shoulders flush against him. His teeth sneak out from behind his lips, grazing against that spot that made your thighs shake the first time you slept with him, and you become putty in his hands.

A gasp of Daryl’s name falls before a staggered whimper erupts from your throat, his hands moving so fast and sure along your body as if he had molded you to his perfection. Everything hits you at the same time, his sharp canines right below your jaw bone before they melt into the caress of slightly chapped lips, the hand at your chest palming and tweaking and toying like there was no tomorrow, his fingers swirling, nudging at that tiny bundle of nerves you’ve been silently begging him to touch just once, and you can’t stop the noises falling from your lips. No matter how much you try, they escape.

“Or d’ya think she’s too busy moanin’ for me to tell me?”

Oh, that fucking prick.

To make it worse, you can’t even bring yourself to be angry for that long because his voice drops into that low, husky whisper that makes your knees go weak. Had Daryl not essentially smothered you against his body, you just know you would be a puddle, pliable and aching after just a few days away from him. A jolt of pleasure rockets through you the moment you realize what he wants - to make you as desperate as he is for this - and you know he knows exactly how to get it. Biting your lip, you trap your sounds in your throat just to spite him and you dig your fingers into his forearm, seeking in any way to find another outlet for all the compounding stimulation he just keeps giving you.

Your heartbeat drums through your ears and you can barely register the growl against your skin, but the vibration of it is inescapable. He feels the crescent shapes already forming from your nails on his tan skin and he pulls his face from you, breath fanning your ear in preparation to express how disappointed he is at you robbing him of your noises, but you beat him to it, freeing the words that burn at your tongue to knock him off his high-horse. Daryl was never a very confident man, but fuck if it does not make your skin tingle.

“I think she’d tell you to- to shut up.”

The rebuke is futile, a stutter brought on by the push and pull of his deft fingers and he laughs. Daryl chuckles into your skin before everything from him detaches, only for him to grab at your waist and spin you around to face him, adjusting his hold to crowd you once more. Your back hits the ceramic tiles, a sharp whine escaping you at the contrasting cold, and you can see that smirk you had envisioned on his face when you open your eyes, taking in every inch of the swept back hair now falling into his face as he tilts his forehead slowly to yours. Running your non-dominant hand up from his arm to his face, you push the strands back, smiling slightly at the way he melts as his eyelids flutter shut for just a second. As much as he said he hated how damn soft you made him, he sought after your touch, your hands much too intoxicating for him to deny them.

You glow a ring of delicate orange from the lantern shining behind him, the light bouncing off your glistening skin and those sparkling damn eyes that shine with unguarded affection despite your ‘annoyance’ from just moments ago. Creating shadows over your body with his broad figure as he blankets you, Daryl nearly groans with delight at the image - the realization that you look impossibly better with the warm hue making his head spin. And when he remembers that you’re his to love? He tries to hide just how much it makes his mind run, but his voice comes spilling out without much thought, everything about you shrinking the filter between his brain and mouth that he so tenaciously keeps on during the day.

“That so? ‘Cause if I do then I can’t tell ‘er how much I missed her. Or what I was thinkin’ when I thought about ‘er at night.”

Daryl was already so worked up at the thought of doing this to you, you didn’t even need to actually do anything to him to have him throbbing against your stomach, begging to be touched after days of only imagined scenarios to keep him company. So you indulge him, tracing your dominant hand down the V-line of his pelvis and biting your tongue when his hips snap into your grasp, his grip at your waist tightening as he tries to still himself. He wants you to touch him, to let you give him what you want to give him and he tries his damndest to control himself, instead using his words to try and rile you up.

“Nothin’ I do feels as good as her. Nothin’ I’ve tried’s ever been close.”

Your whole body shivers at the insinuation, the ceramic sandwiching you to Daryl ceasing to feel as cold as it did when he first pushed you against it. He feels like centuries have passed when your hand finally wraps around him, running your fingers in a stroke that has him groaning and nearly keeling over you with how much that simple damn action makes heat pool in the pit of his stomach. Everything about this feels heightened, the steam of the shower failing in comparison to the heat pinging between the two of you. His eyes seek yours, cock twitching and catapulting him much farther to his climax than he would like to admit when he sees you watching your grasp, lips parted ever so slightly, pleading with him to lay his on them.

Heart thrumming in his chest, another groan of an expletive followed by your name drops from Daryl before his hips jerk forward, stuttering into your grip with no real rhythm as he pushes a rough kiss onto your mouth. When you let out a little surprised squeal, he pulls himself back immediately, as if shocked by his own lack of self-control, but your hand never stops, and your face leans closer towards his, the feeling of his ruined sounds vibrating along your tongue making you chase him. This must have been how he felt when he had you whimpering for him on those late nights and early mornings. No wonder you both loved them so much.

Twisting your other hand from the side of his neck to his nape, you pull him to you with equal fervor, the stroking of his cock forgotten in favour of his chapped lips turning into something more sinful with each movement of his talented mouth. His fingers begin to wander now, eagerly grasping at the two dimples at your lower back before his palms find all too familiar territory kneading and massaging your ass. Knees nearly buckling, you remember the leaking heaviness twitching in your grip and you nudge him between your thighs, your legs spreading just a bit wider as you inch him closer and closer and closer to where you need it most.

“N-no, wait- I gotta-“

His hands shoot downwards to still yours and he pulls his hips from you, his statement stuttered through a sharp, shaky breath. Whining, you nearly beg for him before you realize he succeeded in what he set out to do - and he was only gone four days, your subconscious chastises. Your head is swimming in desperation for him as you shake it, hair whipping into your face and onto the wall while you vehemently disagree with both his words and your own internal mocking. All coherent thoughts leave your mind, washed away in the stream of water running down your body and you come to the conclusion that you don’t fucking care if he would poke fun at you come morning, you need to feel him.

“Daryl you don’t need to- you can just- I can-“

You don’t need to keep-

You can just-

I can-

God, you sounded pathetic, your voice barely breaking above breathy through the heavy beating of water, and he loves it, it’s enticing him; he could die right now and he would feel nothing but satisfaction. Daryl was never a very confident man - well, with people at least - but around you, he felt wanted. Not just in moments like this when you craved him so debaucherously, but in moments when you would pull close to him while you were sleeping or hug him from the back. Just giving him your affection so freely and not expecting any back. It made his heart damn near break everytime he had to leave. Adjusting his grip on you, he digs his knee into the wall, perching you on either side of him and leaning closer and closer to your burning skin.

“Gotta get ya ready. Jus’- jus’ be a good girl an’ be patient. Don’t want ya limpin’ tomorrow ”

Despite his words, Daryl can’t help but think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be so bad to linger beside you the whole day, a constant reminder of the real reason you needed him to get you things, or why you would grip his arm as a piss poor substitute for a crutch when the two of you walked along the street. Nobody else would know - at least, neither of you would ever tell - but the satisfied puff of his chest and the fact he stands just a little bit prouder might make them connect the dots. That, and the lovebites that creep out from underneath the neckline of your shirt which, coincidentally, only seemed to darken after he came back. Nah, he thinks to himself, it wouldn’t be so damn bad.

“I thought you were tired.”

There’s a hint of concern in your voice, peeking out from between the teasing and he grunts, acknowledging your words before his hands wrap around your wrists and urges them to loop around his neck. He knows he needs to do this, the action a silent beg for you to just relax and let him treat you right in the way you know he always will. With his neck flush in the crooks of your elbows, you tug him, pulling his face to yours and raking your fingers through his wet hair.

“Never too tired for you.”

His stubble scrapes against your nose as he mumbles his confession between kisses down from your forehead, a delicious burn leaving a trail that makes your heart beat impossibly faster between your ribs. Grip falling to your waist, Daryl’s rough fingers inch towards the apex of your thighs, but he moves them so fucking slow you're tempted to just reach down and push them into you like you intended to do with his cock. Before you can entertain the idea any longer, he catches your lips in a clash of tongue and teeth and knowingly smirks against your lips. He’s dedicated, attentive, and what kind of man would have the heart to deny you? He would do anything for you, all you had to do was ask.

Daryl eagerly swallows the moan you let out against his lips when his middle finger curls into you, the vibrations spreading along his tongue and consuming him from the inside out. Your thighs spread wider for him, welcoming him - no, begging him - for more and it riles him up almost comically well. Whether it was intentional or not, he would never know. He pulls his face away just inches, breath heavy against your parted lips before he sends you a small smile, an underlying mischief peeking out from the tiniest sliver of teeth he exposes. Leaning more of his weight onto his knee, his left hand travels around your waist to your ass, digging his dull fingernails into the flesh and pulling towards him, bringing your hips off the cold ceramic and snaking that arm into the curve he’s just created.

Before you can even brace yourself, he pushes a second finger in, curling languid with accelerating speed, revelling in the heat you bring him with an audible groan that reverberates off the shower walls. Already so desperate, the feeling nearly makes your legs shake under your own weight, but Daryl’s prepared - he could keep you up with the hand he has splayed across your upper back and he’s secretly proud of it. His mouth returns to you again, tongue surging to meet yours as if just the taste of your kiss would satisfy his desire to taste what’s beginning to coat down his palm.

It doesn’t, but it’s a damn good substitute.

Nails scratching pathetically at his scalp, your lungs beg for oxygen, but you ignore your body’s pleading for as long as you can. You need Daryl. Just him. Just him. His fingers are ardent, all of them pushing and pulling and toying and touching you in a way that skyrockets you into an overwhelming nirvana and it feels good. It feels so good to be with him again, surrounded by his scent and his heat, that you start to entertain the thought of begging for him. You try to do just that, but every sound coming from your lips is only absorbed greedily by his before you pull him away by his hair, taking large gulps of oxygen as he does the same.

Not even a second passes before you’re grinding down into his palm with pleas falling into the steam of the shower, all your words going straight down to his cock. Gritting his teeth, he growls at your desperation, lips shooting down along your collarbone before catching the skin between teeth. He has your whole body memorized, proof of that fact littered across your body in the form of lovebites, memories seared into your mind of his everything and it’s almost too much to handle. Almost. But you need more. And Daryl knows, much too perceptive in all senses of the word.

His left arm snakes up to your neck, the nape of it secured in a grip firm enough to pull your hips down onto his muscular thigh, spreading you and rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves with his rough skin. Something between a swear and Daryl’s name chokes through your throat and he curls his two fingers just enough for you to repeat the sound, the movement perhaps pulling your hips forwards toward him. With the way you grind down so readily on him, it wasn’t easy to tell whether the roll of your lower body was from his fingers or the lust running through your veins. A satisfied smirk worms its way onto his face that you want to kiss off, but your head is stuck against the ceramic tiling by his hand tugging securely on your hair. Not enough to hurt you. Never enough to hurt you.

He can feel it now, the fact that you’re close, and it only makes him work harder. Maybe it was selfish of him, expediting your pleasure so he can finally seek out his, but he’s damn near shaking with the thought of finally being able to be with you in one of the ways he always wants to be. Sometimes Daryl felt like a teenager with all this certain enthusiasm he can’t seem to control with you around, but you had never complained - you made him feel alive in all the best ways - and he thanked whoever was pulling the strings in his favour for bringing him to you. Circling his thigh, he pushes everything he can up into you, the pressure making you feel like you’re floating. Fingers carding through his hair, your whole body tightens around him in a silent plea, and he's pretty sure he would have to be just about the biggest idiot in existence to ever deny you.

“Give it to me. C’mon, give it to me. Ya wanted my cock didn’t ya? Jus’ give it to me an’ I’ll make ya feel even better.”

Give it to me.

Daryl’s voice makes your mind swim, the growl rough and dangerous like everyone always tends to think he is, and incoherence drops from your lips, echoing against the confines of the walls as his breath fans your ear. Rutting your hips up to his hand, the knot in your abdomen snaps, the proclamation of it escaping you in a broken moan of his name. He can feel your body’s reactions before you start to get those familiar sparking waves of pleasure, the clench of you around him growing sporadic as he continues to unravel you with his teeth gritted, the unrelenting precision of his fingers sending you clawing and tugging at his scalp with no regard of your strength for just a moment.

His groan at the sensations edges out the haze of your climax and you immediately detach from him, pulling your body back from his so abruptly that he slips from you. Scrunching his nose in disappointment, his large hands cling at the back of your thighs, bringing your chest and forehead to his as if he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even just a few seconds.

“Sorry- sorry if that hurt I didn’t mean to-”

Face inches from yours, he shakes his head and cuts you off with a series of hungry pecks. One to your sinfully soft lips, then to the corner of your mouth, then one to your jawbone, devouring your apology right then and there as he overtakes your senses.

“‘S alright. It felt good.”

Then he kisses you again, urgent all the same, but he only pushes a firm brush of his mouth against yours. The movement is like a signature, as if it were his name scribbled easily along at the bottom of a letter - a soft possession that you wear along the tingles of your lips. It makes you claw at him again, tugging on the sides of his hips to pull him flush against you, fingernails digging crescent shapes he wants to see come morning, and your apprehension all but dissolves into the hot water of the shower. You were his, he was yours and in his mind, there was nothing he wanted more than for you to show him just what he does to you.

“Anythin’ ya do feels good.”

It’s stupid, how you could be in the middle of something so intimate and a simple compliment from him could leave you flushed from the neck upwards, but he loves it. He loves the little whimper you let out at his words and he smiles that lopsided boyish grin that makes your heart skip a beat. When he smiles at you like that, it makes you feel like the only person in the entire world. No walkers, no Alexandrians, no runs or patients at the infirmary to steal you or him away from the other. There was no one except you and Daryl - and it’s been too damn long since it was like this.

Body flush against yours, he snakes a hand down between his legs and the other grips at your thigh, hooking it around his torso and begging with a roll of his hips for you to rest your leg there. Each breath he takes sends a jolt of pleasure blossoming against your ribs, his skin rubbing against your chest so deliciously it makes your mouth fall open in silent pants of air. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but they open when Daryl says your name, broken by a curse that falls somewhere after the first letter. He looks good like this - eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched.

Gritting his teeth, his mouth can barely form a coherent sentence with how much excitement is coursing through him, and he’s trying his fucking best to hold back from slamming into you until you give him a nod or a pull or anything, but then something in him breaks. The feeling of just having you so damn close worms its way into his brain and he takes himself in his fist, dragging along to gather the remnants of your climax and notches himself, all the while groaning from the heat emanating off you.

“‘S this okay? Need t’know if this’s okay.”

Slurred speech. It was so uncharacteristic of the Daryl everyone else knew - the Daryl who was so sure of himself, the Daryl who wore a permanent scowl on his face, the Daryl who was so mysterious, never speaking anything above a growl - and you think you could have laughed had it not been for the fact the words themselves dig up memories of all the times he had said them to you before. Every cell in your body lights up, high alert now that he’s in you, but he’s not moving. He’s not inching into you or filling you in the only way he can and you push your hips towards him, greedy movements making you swallow more of him. Taking a sharp breath, he lets you rut against him, but still, he doesn’t fucking move.

“God, Daryl- yes. Yes, it’s okay. More- more than okay.”

Sometimes you hated him, and then hated how stupid you felt for hating him.

He waits for your words. He always does. Without fail he checks on you before he slides into you. He never wants to take because he always wants to be good for you, but sometimes you wish he would. Sometimes you wish he would just take from you - take everything you have. There is nothing in this world that is not shared between the two of you. Daryl’s wholly yours as you are wholly his.

Curses drop from his lips, your name thrown in once or twice as if he’s reminding himself you’re real as he feels you around him. They fly out of his mouth like the bolts from his crossbow and ricochet off every wall as he begins to move, slow at first, experimental maybe with his hand secure against your thigh, then he starts building and building into a heavy, sinful rhythm. Shakily, Daryl groans, the breath he lets out tendrilling at your chin before he sucks frantically at your bottom lip, your noises meeting his as they hit the ceramic wall.

He wants to live in this moment forever; immortalize the way you look and sound on one of those VHSes, write the damn date on it, and hide it away for his and your eyes only so it’s rewatchable and revisitable and reliveable. It's not enough to just sear you into his memory like he’s done so many times before because you’re damn near perfect. Like you were made for him - for him to give you everything he wants to give to you.

“Fuck- fuck- you feel better’n I remembered. How’s‘at possible?”

The words escape him, rushing out as if you’ve put a spell on him, and they almost escape you, too, your pulse beating in your ears. But he’s so close to you, growling out through gritted teeth into your ear and pushing his lips to the curve of your jawbone like they need to be on your skin. He pulls his body away, chest leaving yours, and you pull at his waist to bring him back, whining lewd for him and only him, shameless and betraying the blush you feel as you register his stutters, but he doesn’t. Instead, Daryl smiles, that same damn grin with his teeth hooked along his bottom lip and eyes hooded as he watches every change in expression. You groan, half in the way he rolls his pelvis just enough to rub against that small bundle of nerves that beg for him, and half in annoyance at the way that lascivious expression seems to make every electron in you buzz.

“Shut- shut up.”

He lets out a sharp breath, a singular amused ‘ha’ following it, cock hardening and twitching even more at the fact he’s making you blush like that first night he had lavished every inch of your body with his lips - like you didn’t deserve every single damn word escaping from him. Leaning his weight against his left forearm that lies on the side of your head, Daryl brings his face to yours, nipping at your lips and seeking your tongue before he starts speaking.

“You should see yourself like this, y’know. Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

For a man who only ever growls and mutters, he certainly liked to talk a lot when he was pounding into you the way only he knows how and you’re just so damn unbelievable for him. For him. You’re his to love and it sparks something within in him that makes his tongue fucking run and his hips speed up involuntarily. Hell, you probably heard more of his voice in this shower tryst than the whole first nightwatch you had with him. You’re not even sure the water is beating down onto you anymore because the heat of your body makes the shower pale in comparison.

The sweat accumulating on his back and chest and everywhere is washed away almost immediately as it forms and you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Clawing, you wrap both your arms under and around his shoulders and scratch desperately at his back, grinding up against him and making jumbled noises of moans and Daryl’s name when he drags against that spot he knows so well. It’s skin on skin, the ceramic wall ceasing to feel cold as you screw your eyes shut and let yourself mount and mount with each roll of his hips. You hear a nearly feral growl, feeling your leg being hiked up higher by the elbow hooked underneath your thigh, and a loud noise breaks from your throat when his thumb swipes where his cock meets you.

“C’mon, we ain’t got all night.”

You’re close and he knows it. It was like he was rubbing it in your face, the fact he could make you like this - how quickly he could reduce you into the incoherent, ruined state you always seemed to become for him. Attentive. He’s always attentive. You can tell by the way he’s memorized everything that makes you shake and capitalizes on them, thrusts coupled with the tight circles pulling you closer and closer to that precipice of pleasure, but he says those words anyways, hoping to get a reaction from you. Daryl’s not an impatient lover - he would spend hours buried in you if you let him - but he’s so damn close and perhaps almost selfishly, he wants to watch you succumb first. He wants to watch the water race down your body as you writhe for him against the wall, and he wants that to send him over the edge.

“Then- then do better, Daryl.”

You bite back, your breath grazing against his neck and a wet heat rushes through him, making him groan nearly wrecked as his hair tickles your cheek. Reaching behind his muscular body to his shoulder blades, one of his large hands is more than enough to wrap around both of your wrists and he takes them in his grasp, moving them until they’re secure against the ceramic wall behind you. You’re warm for him. Pliable for him despite the veil of distaste in your voice and he can’t get enough of it.

Daryl’s so fucking happy you bite back.

His hips stop and you let out an almost childish cry, but he stays buried deep, filling you up to the brim as the water beats down on the both of you and holding you against the tiles by the weight he’s pressing from where you meld to him. His face is so close to your ear now. So much so that you can feel the breath when he speaks, a dangerous growl resounding through your body before his teeth graze along your neck.

“Hm? I ain’t never heard a complaint from you be- before. That a- fuck- are ya challengin’ me?”

An expletive drops from Daryl’s lips when you clench around him, no doubt from the sudden crash of your mounting pleasure, and he pushes impossibly further into you, firmly pinning you down until he knows you won’t be able to move anymore. He wants to show you he can stop at any moment, that he can make you work for it, but you both know he’ll give in. Maybe you didn’t know the extent of which you have him wrapped around your finger, but if you even knew half of it, you would know he would never stop. Not when he was so desperate for you he can barely think of anything except the way you look and feel. At least, not unless you wanted him to.

“Are you g-gonna take it up?”

Although your mouth ceases there, your brain runs, pleas tickling at the tip of your tongue, but you can barely manage to form the meager few syllables that have already escaped you. Eyebrows knotted at your forehead, you try desperately to coax more movement from him - a whine, a whimper, a thrash of your pinned hands flattened by his strong grip - but Daryl’s so damn still and it’s driving you crazy. When your body settles for only ragged breathing and shaking thighs, he takes it as his cue to lean down, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s so affectionate you forget that, just moments ago, he was relentlessly pounding into you.

“Don’t know. Seems like you might be wantin’ it more’n me.”

Smiling against your mouth, he pulls away just enough to speak. A challenge in his words so obvious to you that you try in vain to buck your hips to his. If he didn’t sound so good and look so good and feel so damn good, you would have denied it, but you’re strung so taut, so close to the peak, that you can barely form a retort. A stupid, handsome smirk rests on his lips as he waits. Patient. Like it wasn’t affecting him, being buried in you. He’s just waiting for your words - goading you as he watches from underneath his lashes.

“Daryl, I swear to God if you stop right-“

The insincere threat is enough to spur him into action. Partly due to the fact you sound so desperate and ruined for him, and partly because he just needs to feel you again - he would lay you down and take you the way you deserved on the bed come morning, but right now was a different matter entirely. Swearing, his smirk drops in favour of a scowl, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he snaps up into you in quick succession. The hand at your thigh is roaming now, massaging and palming wherever his nimble fingers can worm their way onto before it splays across your ass, using the grip to pull your body impossibly closer to his. Daryl would have made you beg for him - he wanted to - but he can’t stop himself. Not when you look so pretty up against the wall and you’re taking his cock so well.

“Been gone four days an’ you’re already so damn needy.”

Whether that statement was directed at you or himself, you would never know.

An abashed whimper escapes through you and you want to deny it, perhaps just to see what would happen, but you can’t. You can’t because Daryl’s right. He knows he is, and you know he is. You thrash your arms so you can touch him, feel his skin underneath your fingers, but his grip around your wrists keeps you firm against the ceramic tiling - just enough to keep you pinned so he can admire the way you squirm for him. Grunts and groans of your name escape from him with each thrust, the feeling of your body melded to his much too intoxicating for him to keep his mouth shut.

“What, you embarrassed now? Wanna cover your mouth? Keep them noises from me when you’re soundin’ so damn pretty? Ya better not be thinkin’ about it. ‘Cause ya damn well ain’t gotta.”

Daryl tilts his head, eyes squinting in faux-concern and mocking you as his hips relentlessly hit up into yours, pushing out the breath from your lungs which escape in tantalizing gasps with each roll. You’re so close, and the only thing you can do is moan at the sound of his rough voice, the coil tightening in your abdomen because of his determined thrusts. You just need a little more - just a little more - and he reads you like a book.

Without warning, the hand pinning your wrists frees itself, his finger pinpointing back between your thighs with an unadulterated eagerness to pull your climax from you and you damn near cry out Daryl’s name as you claw at his back. It’s like second nature to him, the way he can touch you and make you crumble for him. Practice does make perfect, and he’s always been a persistent man.

“Ya sure as hell weren’t when you were bein’ a brat.”

Everything he’s doing to you is almost effortless. It makes your legs shake and without warning, your thighs tense up, a white hot surge of pleasure erupting from the base of your stomach and you gasp a broken moan of Daryl’s name as you clutch at his neck in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing onto him. He holds you close, chest pushed up to yours and breathing ruined into your ear as he works you through your climax with dextrous fingers, chasing his own as his rhythm begins to falter. Sporadic thrusts meet each flutter of your clenching warmth. until he can’t hold out anymore.

Screwing his eyes shut, a stuttered chanting of profanities mixed in perfectly with pleads of your name fan out from his mouth and he pulls out, rubbing himself harsh against your thigh before your fingers wrap around his cock. Fuck, Daryl nearly crumbles right then and there, a ragged groan rushing from him before his hips jerk upwards to your touch - nothing could even compare to it and he thinks nothing could ever come close. Nothing except you. Pulsing in your grasp, both of his rough hands dig into either of your thighs and he stills, teeth gritted as the evidence of his pleasure hits your stomach before being washed away in the steady stream of water.

Satisfied, you smile and lean towards him, your head coming off the ceramic wall, and he parts his lips immediately for your tongue, but you pull away after giving him a quick peck. Scrunching his nose, Daryl pats lightly at your thigh for your attention and seeks your lips once more, moving his with the same amount of overwhelming love and affection he always does. It makes you feel warm inside, like you were the only one in the world for him. And you were. At least, in his mind you were.

He releases the grip he has on your thigh and slowly lowers it, his hand still ghosting close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Both legs still shaking slightly, your foot hits the floor of the shower and you lean your weight on it, tentative and experimentally at first before you overestimate its security and half-fall-half-stumble into him. Daryl notices, of course he does, and he swallows down the pride welling in his chest as his sure grasp steadies you against his body.

“Hey, hey, I got ya. Jus’- jus’- I got ya.”

By instinct, he speaks, the rumble of his chest against yours making your heart well up with the familiar fondness you always experience when it comes to him. Daryl wasn’t a man of many words even though you had managed to break him out of his shell a little - at least with you - but there was no doubt in your mind that he genuinely and wholeheartedly cared about you. In his eyes, you had strung the stars into the sky and he always treated you with a softness he never thought himself capable of.

With one hand on his waist and one on his shoulder, you use Daryl as a crutch, continuing to lean your weight on your legs until they cease to shake. When you can stand on your own, albeit with wobbly legs, you link your fingers in both of his and meet his protective gaze - alert as if prepared to catch you again if your body gave any type of signal. He smiles when he sees the expression on your face and brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto the back of each of your hands before letting go and reaching for the bar of soap you two had ignored in exchange for something more riveting.

“Here, let me- I’ll help ya wash up.”

It meets your shoulder and it’s cold as he trails it down, lathering your right arm before moving across your chest and to your left. Smiling at his concern, you hum, nodding your head and content at the feeling of his tenderness as he continues to dutifully run the suds down along your body. Daryl unabashedly goes about copping a feel or two when his hand just so happens to fall onto your chest or your ass, a boyish grin meeting your quirked eyebrow when you question his intentions with a look. If you actually, truly cared to ask him, he would say he was helping you wash your body and making sure he was doing it to the best of his ability - quality assurance or some shit like that.

He helps you lather, too, calloused fingers rubbing off dead skin much better than yours could as he focuses the showerhead on him. You laugh when he pulls you into him, water streaming down your body along with his hands as the bubbles wash off your body and you run the bar of soap along the broad expanse of his shoulders, doing your fair share of subtle… touching too. Daryl all but melts into your caring hands, revelling in the way your attention is solely focused on him before he grunts, as if signalling you to look at him. When you do, his hands loop around your waist, head tilted to one side as he gingerly rubs those little shapes he always love to draw onto your skin.

“Y’alright? Was, uh, was that alright, I mean.”

Allowing you to maneuver him under the shower, he begrudgingly lets go of you to rinse off all the soap and feels genuinely clean for the first time in what felt like days. Smiling, you respond, saluting playfully and laying a small peck onto the corner of his lips before you spin around, pulling the curtain open just enough to reach for the towel lying just a few inches away on the towel rack but still keeping the warmth from the water in.

“Yes, sir!”

His cock twitches at the name, betraying the slur of fatigue in his voice and he sighs at himself, turning the shower knob off and opening the curtain fully, reaching for his own towel that hangs next to yours. He always did feel like a teenager when it came to you, and usually he didn’t mind it, but he really was tired before this and his back is killing him, so maybe another time.

Drying your body, you turn your head towards him and smile before making quick work of your wet hair and stepping out, pulling your underwear on from where you left it on the bathroom counter. It’s a small smile, one fully innocent and only ever reserved for him, but that look makes your words replay in his mind. A shudder runs through him as he tries to ease a smile onto his face too, admiring the scene of you for a moment. It’s domesticity, showing him a homelife he could actually feel loved and safe in; reminding Daryl something like that actually existed for him.

He imagines meeting you in a different world, wooing you like you deserved through coffee dates and Radiohead concerts, not through killing reanimated corpses or guarding Alexandria’s walls together, and his whole body calms down.

But then you pull on a shirt that’s much too big for you - one of his shirts that you said you liked wearing because it smelled like him - and he swallows his spit as if he hadn’t seen you naked just moments ago, a familiar shudder running through him again. Definitely another time. Near future, preferably.

Hopefully.

“You coming?”

Your voice breaks Daryl out of his daydream and he grunts an answer, smirking at the joke that just popped into his head as he replies with a curt ‘I just did’ and catches the pair of boxers you throw at him in response. Rolling your eyes, you comb your fingers through your hair and try to dry it as much as you can with the towel before reaching for your toothbrush. He follows suit, dressed in only his boxers as he brushes his teeth and shakes his wet hair at you like a dog, causing you to whip water at him off your fingertips after you wash off the excess toothpaste dribbling at the corners of your mouth. Smiling internally, he spits, tasting mint on his tongue that he'd much rather replace with the taste of your lips, even though he knows full well you’re just as minty as he is.

“Thank you.”

Meeting his eye in the mirror, you give him a confused look, eyebrows raised in an expression he thought was much too cute on your face for your own good. Your hands don’t still as you continue to rub out the water in your hair, determined not to go to bed with it too wet and risking it to clump up and dry tangled.

“For lettin’ me, uh, do that.”

His naturally gravelly voice clears up, turning slightly more timid than you were used to and you notice the shift in his behaviour. He avoids your gaze, waiting for your response as he fiddles with the lantern he now has in his grasp, unsure of what you would say and you decide your hair is dry enough. Hanging your towel back onto the rack next to his, you grab his free hand and lead the two of you back towards the bed, smiling affectionately as you turn off the lightsource and place it onto the nightstand. Wide-eyed, Daryl stares at you, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave - that you hated what he had done - but you break him from that train of thought as you slip under the covers and welcome him to join you.

Relief washes over him and he happily climbs in, groaning at the feeling of your body next to his and he succumbs to the comfort of the mattress. Pushing yourself into his side, his arms automatically open for you and he swears he could cry when you brush your thumb against his cheekbone and lean up to him.

“Anything for you.”

He feels the words as you whisper them just inches away from his lips, and he relishes in them when you pull away from the quick peck and dig your face into your pillow, closing your eyes and just looking so at peace. You’re so close to him Daryl’s in awe and he can’t help but stare. Wanting to hold onto the feeling of his skin a little longer, your finger draws a little heart over where his beats in his chest and you speak again, voice so warm and sincere.

“I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. That’s what it is to him now, too.

“Glad ‘m home too.”

With a final kiss laid on your forehead, Daryl echoes your statement and pulls your body closer into his. A small smile tugs at his lips and his arm slings lazily at your waist before he, too, closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into the lull of sleep.

It was good to be back.

Back to a home he had made with you.

──── ⋙

@daryldixonluv @pulplorrd @fuseburner @hells-mistress @maria--grey-blog @marylimlp @pncnsc @tinachristeen @hail-yourselves @whimsicallymad @just-always-tired @phoenixblack89

comment to be on my taglist!

#haruwrites #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon #daryl x you #twd smut #daryl smut #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl the walking dead #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #daryl dixon oneshot

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arc-misadventures · 3 years ago

Note

Reverse NNN with Team RWBY trying not to sleep with Jaune only for him to accidentally make them fail by being a good boyfriend (and I mean by being kind and considerate for the whole month)

NNN : RWBY

Yang: Girls, we’re doing NNN!

Blake: Beg pardon?

Ruby: What, why?!

Weiss: Why would we do something as asinine as that?

Jaune: Isn’t that a guy thing? Why would you girls do it?

Yang: Because of you!

Jaune: Me? What did I do?!

Yang: Be yourself; you cute sexy bastard!

Jaune: Eh?

Yang: We keep going after you and sleeping with you! And it’s starting to effect us! We’re tired, sore, and cramped!

Blake: But, thoroughly satisfied!

Yang: Extremely so!

Jaune: Okay… So, is this all my fault?

Yang: No, its our fault for always going after you!

Weiss: To be fair, he did have a hand to play in all of this…

Ruby: More than just a hand…

Yang: Down girl. But, nonetheless! We need to resist the temptation, and stop having sex with, Jaune! At least for one month!

Blake: Okay… As much as I think all of this is stupid, Yang’s right, we could use a little break. We’ve been going at it allot…

Weiss: I’d be lying if my hips didn’t need a brake…

Ruby: The limps I get in my legs is affecting my grades…

Jaune: Sounds like you’ve already made up your minds ladies. Don’t worry girls, I’ll do everything in my power to help you make your way through this!

Ruby: We’ve got our boyfriends permission! Let’s do this Team RWBY!

RWBY: Yeah!

~~~

Seventeen Days Later

~~~

Ruby: Yang…?

Yang: Yeah…?

Ruby: Fuck you…

Yang: W-What?! Where did that come from?!

Ruby: You! You making us do this damn challenge!

Yang: Hey, you agreed to go along with it!

Ruby: I wouldn’t agreed if I’d know you’d drag us into hell!

Yang: I did not!

Weiss: Like hell you did!

Blake: These have been the worst three weeks of my life!

Yang: Wha… what’s happening?

Ruby: Since you won’t let us sleep with, Jaune! Jaune’s been very kind and supportive of us, and its hell!

Yang: Wha-What did he do?

Ruby: I’ve been so upset and anxious, Jaune keeps giving me freshly baked cookies! Delicious, Arc family cookies! You know what that does to me?! I’ve been running like crazy lately, not to burn off all those calories! But, to keep my sex drive in check!

Yang: W-What, you don’t have a sex drive.

Ruby: I’m a fifteen years old, in the midst of going through puberty! Of course I have a sex drive of a horny rabbit high on caffeine!

Yang: I didn’t need to know this…

Ruby: We’ve had an orgy together!

Yang: Okay, okay! I get it! Its not that bad for you guys right?

Blake: He took, and hid all my… books! He said he didn’t want me to fail the challenge so he hid them. But, he promised me he would give me them back as soon as we’re done.

Yang: That doesn’t sound so bad.

Blake: No, it isn’t… What is bad, is that he said that if i managed to do it, he would read any book of my choice, in… The Voice…

Ruby: Oh gods, not the voice?!

Weiss: Can I join you, please?! I can’t handle this anymore!

Yang: What?! Weiss, how could you, you’re the strongest among us!

Weiss: Yang, I’m a high class, Atlasian who happens to be the daughter of the wealthiest, most despicable person ever! Hiding my emotions isn’t a skill, its a way of life!

Yang: Meaning?

Weiss: I want my, Daddy to play with his sweet little, Princess, and tell me I’m a good girl, while he smothers me in love! And, his seed!

Yang: Okay… Well, at least I’m not breaking apart like you guys.

Blake: Really…

Yang: Yeah?

Blake: Tell me Yang, hows your back?

Yang: Little stiff from carrying these girls around all day!

Blake: Yeah, so, I take it Jaune hasn’t been giving you those shoulder messages you like so much?

Yang: W-What?

Blake: You know, the ones where you lie on his bed, laying on your belly with nothing but a pair spats on to hide your modesty. All the while he rubs oil all over you, caresses every nook and cranny upon your flawless body. Going down your body, lower and lower, until…!

Yang: Ahh okay!!! I can’t handle it anymore either! He keeps offering his godly back rubs as a way to relax, when those get me going faster than Nora on coffee rush! And, I can’t go to the gym anymore to bent off steam, because they banned me, I kept on breaking all the training equipment in hormonal fits of rage! Ahh?! Why did I ever think this was a good idea?!!!

~~~

Jaune: Hey, girls, need something?

Ruby: Yes, you!

Jaune: Meaning?

Weiss: We give up! We can’t do this challenge anymore! You’ve been too good of a sweet and loving boyfriend that its making us unbearably horny!

Jaune: What…?

Ruby: The cookies aren’t making me feel better, they’re making me horny!

Jaune: Eh…?

Yang: Please pour your cream all over my back!

Jaune: Context…?

Blake: I’ve been a bad kitty, Master! I can’t keep doing this challenge anymore. Please, punish me for failing it, Master!

Jaune: Oh… Okay, what’s going on?

Weiss: Sorry… we just let everything come out there…

Jaune: You did…?

Weiss: Well… uhh… Ahem! What we we’re trying to say is, that because of your various endeavours to help us try, and endure this moronic challenge… It has actually brought us to the point of breaking… So, we’re asking you to take one of use, and end this horrific challenge… We admit our defeat and ask only one thing.

Jaune: That being?

Weiss: Please pick me first!

Yang: What?!

Blake: Oh no you don’t!

Ruby: Dips!

Jaune: Girls.

Yang: There is no dibs in love!

Ruby: Like hell there isn’t!

Jaune: Girls!

Weiss: I get, Jaune first!

Blake: Oh, because your a, Schnee you go first!

Weiss: Don’t bring me being a, Schnee into this!

Jaune: Girls!

Yang: Yes?

Ruby: Yes?!

Weiss: Yes, Daddy?

Blake: Oh~! The voice…

Jaune: Ahem… Blake goes first.

Blake: YES!

Yang: What?!

Weiss: Why, her?!

Ruby: Yeah, why does, Blake go first?!

Jaune: Compelling opening statement.

Blake: Yes! The Kinky Kitty wins again!

Jaune: P-Please tell me you don’t call yourself that…

Ruby: Its her account name on all the porn sites she’s on…

Jaune: Of course it is…

Yang: How do you know that?!

Ruby: Again, Yang; Hormonal teenager! Hormonal teenager!!!

#rwby #jaune arc #ruby rose #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #jaune x ruby #ruby x jaune #yang x jaune #jaune x yang #blake x jaune #jaune x blake #weiss x jaune #jaune x weiss #rwby knightshade #rwby dragonslayer #rwby lancaster #rwby whiteknight

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honeytae · 3 years ago

Text

I love when you talk nurturing to me.

hello my loves, happy wednesday! welcome back to regular uploads (rip thirst week lol) and you know what that means...mega fluff. this particular piece was requested by a few different people, but it was all the same general idea: DOTING. ON. JUNGKOOK. which is just...such a dream, right? anyways, i hope you all enjoy this. thanks to my requesters who have waited SO patiently for this to be written, i hope it was worth it!!!

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy, @the1921-monsters genre: fluff warnings: jungkook’s tired and kind of overworking himself :( oc takes care of him though bc duh word count: 2.6k

Jungkook hated his boots.

Well, not all the time. Most of the time, Jungkook loved his boots.

But right at this moment, he hated how heavy they were, weighing him down further than his already sore muscles as he trudged up the stairs to your numbered doorway.

Huffs escaped him every other step as he gripped the railing for support, letting his head roll to the side with a close of his eyes once he’d successfully made it through the fire and ache that was his muscles right now.

After fiddling with your stubborn lock and door handle, he sighed in relief as he entered your place, pouting a bit as he heard you clanging pots and pans in the kitchen. Glancing at his phone, he supposed it was dinner time. But he wanted nothing to do with food and everything to do with you.

Kicking off his shoes, he slid his phone back into his pocket, rolling his shoulders back as well as his neck. The burn eased only slightly from the action. This was worse than he’d felt in a while.

The pout stayed on his lips as he shuffled into the kitchen, pausing in the doorway for a second to watch as you stirred something over the stovetop, shifting your face over the open pot every once in a while to make sure you were doing it right.

The action made him feel slightly less tired and all the more fond, a gentle greeting smile from you brightening his attitude almost completely before he tried to take another step toward you, calf tightening into a painful cramp as he hissed in a breath through his teeth.

You immediately frowned in concern, taking the initiative to walk the one step to close the gap between you, wrapping your arms around him and letting out an ‘oof’ as he rested his body weight on you.

“Hi.” Jungkook mumbled through his pout, hair hanging into his eyes and blocking his full expression from your view.

Even without seeing the man, you could tell he wasn’t in his regular mood, heavy on his feet with nothing left to give. It irked you, seeing him like this.

“Hi. You okay?” You wondered aloud, a question you fully knew the answer to as you sneakily reached your arm back to turn the heat down on the burner, allowing the food to rest a bit while you investigated your boyfriend’s serious lack of Jungkook.

“Mm. Tired.” He replied flatly, shrugging a bit as his eyes drooped to stare back at you.

Frowning as he remained uncharacteristically silent after his brief answer to your question, you tucked some of his long strands back behind his ear, sighing through your nostrils at the dark circles the action revealed to you.

He was tired. He was so fucking tired.

Quickly making the executive decision to move the pot to a completely cold burner, you turned back around to place your hands on his chest, letting an arm slide around his back to support his slumped frame.

The man’s face remained unmoving as you encouraged his other arm to rest around your neck, your boyfriend grunting as the motion strained his muscle but sighing nonetheless at the relief it gave him. Finally, he didn’t feel quite as heavy as when he was holding himself up.

“C’mon, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.” You tugged at the hand of his arm resting on your shoulder gently, letting his exhausted body lean on you as you retreated down the hallway.

“Thank you.” He spoke weakly, melting into you further as you dipped your head to press a kiss to the hand resting upon your shoulder, his fingers stroking at your shirt in response.

Leading him into the bathroom, you propped the sleepy man against the counter, popping out of the room only momentarily to grab a towel from the hallway closet, placing it beside the sink for him and walking over to the shower to play with the water temperature.

“Shower or bath?” You asked to the man behind you, hand hovering over the nozzle to adjust the setting as he let out a deep sigh.

“Shower. I think I’d fall asleep in a bath.” He admitted sheepishly, making you chuckle a bit before nodding.

“Shower it is, then.”

As you switched the stream of running water from tub to shower head, the spray of the water against the tub drowned out almost every other noise, even the soft hum coming from your throat as you pulled the curtain all the way back for easy access inside. Holding your hand out to the man, you gestured for him to come to you with a fold of your fingers, Jungkook easily following your lead as he trudged over to you.

“Hi, lovey.” You greeted him again, softer this time as you slid your hand underneath the hem of his shirt to grip the fabric. Leaning forward to catch your lips with his, he planted a soft kiss to the flesh, the action gentle and tired as he tried to relay the gratefulness he felt in this moment. Pulling back with a slight smile, you lifted your eyebrows as your boyfriend chuckled at you.

“What?” You asked, making him laugh a bit more and only increasing your confusion.

“Every time we kiss you act like it’s the first time.” He commented, a bit of teasing in his tone as he smirked a bit back at you.

You let out a scoff at his words, lifting the material of his shirt to trap his head in the fabric and making him let out a loud laugh at the action. The moment was the first positive sign you’d seen since he arrived home, making your heart feel content as you smiled at his hidden face beneath the cotton. Releasing his head from the shirt, you tossed the black tee to the ground, Jungkook taking the lead on his shorts as he shoved them and his underwear down his thighs.

“It feels like the first time every time.” You said softly, stepping aside so that Jungkook could make his way into the basin.

“For me too,” he smiled, “you coming?” He referenced the running shower, an open invitation to join the man behind the curtain with pleading doe eyes.

“Mm, I should finish dinner so that when you get out-”

“Please?” He pouted again, making you blow a breath out past your lips before caving.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a moment, you get in and start without me.” You instructed, the man grinning a bit before stepping into the tub, letting out an immediate sigh at the ease of the water pounding down on his sore back.

Walking into your bedroom, you quickly made your way over to his drawer in your dresser, picking out another one of his black t-shirts and boxers for him to sleep in and setting them out on the bed.

Making your way back to the bathroom with an extra towel in hand, you held back your own yawn as you stepped inside the already steamy air of the bathroom, the curtain left the slightest bit open for your expected return.

Peeling your shirt up over your head, you dropped it onto the group of Jungkook’s clothes, letting your shorts slide down your legs to join the pile before pulling the curtain back a bit more. The action revealed a very dry Jungkook, leaning against the tile wall instead of underneath the water like you’d been expecting. Scoffing at his smirk as you stepped into the shower, you gestured to his dry strands of hair, raising your eyebrows in amusement.

“You were supposed to start without me.” You commented on the barely wet hair framing his face, the man full-on grinning at you as he pulled your body closer to his, guiding you both underneath the stream of water.

“Now why would I do that?” He asked teasingly, giggling when you shook your head at him.

“You’re annoying. Give me the shampoo.” You ordered, another big smile twisting at the man’s lips as he dutifully nodded, grabbing the bottle of your shampoo from behind him before you stopped him with a grasp on his wrist.

“Yours, love.” You directed him, pointing to the sweet-smelling shampoo Jungkook adored, having become his favorite shortly into staying over with you and now referred to as ‘his’ by the both of you.

“I wanna wash your hair.” He pouted, you swiping the unfavorable expression off with a kiss to his chin before reaching over to retrieve the shampoo you’d directed him to get.

“Another time. Right now I need to get you clean and in bed.” You said authoritatively, the man raising his eyebrows in amusement as you squeezed a dollop of the shampoo onto your palm.

“Aw, babe. I love when you talk nurturing to me.” He smirked, a chuckle exhaled out your nostrils at his words.

“Yeah, yeah. Just shut your eyes, unless you want me to burn them with this cherry blossom shit.”

After you were done washing his hair, having to occasionally pause to direct his hands back to your hips from where they sometimes started wandering over your body throughout, you began lathering the bottle of body soap in your hands, rubbing down his arms and torso and all around his back to wash away the sweat and aches from his day.

“Why won’t you let me touch you?” He practically whined after you moved his hand off your stomach the fourth time, letting you pick his arm up to run the water along the limb and successfully run the soap off.

“Because I know it won’t end there. And I need to get you to bed, remember?” You tutted, placing one more kiss to his jaw before leaning over to shut the water off, setting your hand on his back to encourage him out of the shower.

His legs didn’t budge, hand collecting your own to stubbornly guide you out ahead of him.

“You first.” He emphasized as you remained standing in the tub, rolling your eyes with a sigh before you stepped out with the help of his hand. Reaching for one of the towels you’d gathered, you spread it out in front of your body, holding it out by the edges for the man to step into.

“C’mon, Kookie.” You gestured with a nod of your head, your soft tone making a smile light up his face as he finally stepped out of the tub. Immediately enveloping him in the soft towel, you wrapped him in the dry fabric, hugging him as tired chuckles escaped his lips.

“Go get dressed. I’ll be there in a minute.” You patted his butt, eliciting more giggles out of the man before he spun on his heel to leave the bathroom.

You could tell the shower had done a lot for his muscle tightness and overall attitude, the familiar smile you’d fallen in love with so long ago making a reappearance within moments of the water making contact with his skin.

Grabbing the other towel, you wrapped it around your own torso, squeezing the ends of your hair a bit, lifting and setting your feet down against the carpet to dry them before stepping out onto the tile floor.

Shuffling into your bedroom, you whistled at the sight in front of you, a very bare Jungkook turning around to face you with the towel you’d wrapped around him bunched at his feet.

“Hello there.” You flirted, your boyfriend scoffing as he looked down to his spread boxers, ready for him to step into. The smile remained on his face as he pulled the underwear up his legs, settling them on his hips before directing his gaze back to you.

“Hi, gorgeous.” He crooned, walking over to you with a smirk as he dropped a kiss to your temple.

“Stop that.” You hushed, shoving his shoulder in an attempt to get him off of you from where he was latched onto your side, head down in the nook between your neck and shoulder pressing kisses to the still-wet skin.

“Oh, so you can flirt with me but I can’t flirt with you?” He raised his eyebrows, you nodding with a confirming hum as you successfully wriggled out of his hold.

“Precisely.” You replied, slipping a large t-shirt over your torso and opening your drawer in search of proper underwear.

“Mm. That sounds fair.” He hummed, feet padding against the floor as he exited the room, bent at the waist to ruffle the towel through his hair as he walked.

After getting some of your regular sleep clothes on, you followed the route your boyfriend had taken moments before, squeezing the water out of your hair with the towel much like he’d done previously.

“I love when your hair curls like that.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened at the suddenness of your voice in the room, meeting your fond gaze through the mirror as you watched him wet a cloth underneath the running faucet.

His dark hair was hanging in waves around his face, tendrils already half dry as they framed his cheeks. His doe eyes stared at you through the mirror, completely bypassing your comment as he turned to you, wet cloth still in hand.

“You look really pretty.” He grinned, your head tipping in confusion as you gestured to your old ratty t-shirt; it was your classic bedtime attire and frankly, one of the ugliest outfits in existence.

“How can you even say that right now?” You chuckled, the man mirroring your actions as his teeth beamed at you, eyes watching as you stepped forward and took the cloth from his hand, directing it back under the stream of water from the faucet.

“I can say that all the time. You always look pretty.” He shrugged, smiling at your exhaled scoff as you waved him off.

After squeezing the excess water from the washcloth with your hands, you twirled a strand of his hair around your finger, forming a firmer curl around your appendage and nodding once to affirm your work.

“You’re prettiest.” You concluded with a smile, backing him up so that the backs of his tired knees hit the toilet, easily giving out and letting him land on the closed seat with a grunt.

“You’re strongest, that’s for damn sure.” He huffed teasingly, watching you roll your eyes at him as you leaned over to grab his face wash. As you repositioned yourself in front of him to apply the foam onto his skin, his eyes poured into yours, making you hum in question at the glint in his eye.

“C’mere.” He said simply, arms tightening around your thighs to pull you down onto his lap, your legs reflexively wrapping around his waist as he smiled in approval.

“Much better.” He squeezed your hips lovingly, wiggling his eyebrows at you to make it harder for you to focus on your application of the foam as you finally locked eyes with him.

“Jungkook, I’m trying to take care of you.” You whined, making him stop immediately as he pursed his lips out, humming when you reflexively pressed yours to them.

“What?” You asked, genuinely confused at the softened look in his eye. For god’s sake, you were in your ratty old college t-shirt sitting on a toilet applying sticky foam to fight his acne. What was romantic about this?

“Just love you.” He said simply, leaning forward to peck your lips again and giggling when some of the foam from his nose smeared onto your skin.

“Love you too, you freak.”

#bts fanfiction #bts member x reader #bts x reader #bts reader insert #bts imagines #bts fluff #jeon jungkook fanfiction #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x reader #jungkook reader insert #jungkook imagines #jungkook fluff #writing #fanfiction #x reader #fluff

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roonyxx · 2 years ago

Text

Locked Chapter 10: Nights Like Thunder

By @roonyxx and @jay-and-dean

Pairings : Dean x reader ?

Summary : The Winchesters brothers are probably the most dangerous and mysterious criminals of the country, cracking them will require a professional.

This is inspired by supernatural episode 12x09, First Blood.

Serie Warnings : Captivity, Smut (please be 18+), Fluff, Angst, Swearing. Mention of physical pain, of torture and murders. Each Chapter will have detailed warnings.

Chapter warnings : angst, action, fluff, smut.

Word counts : 3550

Note : This is a collaboration between both of us. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like for Firefly.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

Locked Masterlist

Want to read more:

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

Text divider by @firefly-graphics

It could have been minutes, hours or days since they threw me in here. I don’t know.

It feels like months…

I am rubbing my hands up and down my arms, trying to heat up but it is no use. My clothes are still wet from when they dunked the bucket of ice cold water over my head.

I know what they are doing, how they work. I used to work with them. I never thought to be on the receiving end of these methods that I have always condemned.

Because the government doesn’t cut or punch or kick. They don’t want to break your body, they want to break your mind. To make you go crazy, to start doubting whether it is all a dream or the cruel reality.

They want you desperate for anything, desperate to make it stop. They want you to submit.

Sleep. I just want to sleep. I am so so tired… I can’t remember the last time I closed my eyes and slept.

The effort of rubbing my arms feels like pushing a hundred kilos.

My body stopped trembling a while ago but the cold, it seeped into my body, into my bones. Every move is agony, my joints are rigid from sitting so still in the same position for a while. My only indication that it has indeed been a while…

The light in this room, blue-white-ish TL lamps are buzzing and flickering above my head. The zooming of it, it is burned into my mind by now. I don’t think I will ever get it out of my head… If I ever get out of here.

My head is leaning against the cold concrete wall and I feel my eyes droop. I can feel the sweet hands of sleep caressing my face, my neck, my back and legs easing out the soreness, those hands that try to fight the cold and give me the sweet release of darkness.

A darkness that I welcome, that I need, that I want so badly.

Sleep I want to sleep.

My eyes close and my breaths start to even out, like falling back into the night, star speckled skies kissing my skin.

“Wakey wakey!” a voice shoots right before I am hit with another bucket of ice water, jolting me out of that soft darkness in the most brutal way..

My body aches with the sudden movement, my heart skips a beat when my muscles cramp painfully, a sharp wind fills the room. My wet clothes setting my body shivering once more.

“No sleeping, Y/n” Camp says from the door.

“F-Fuck y-you” I say between clattering teeth.

“Tell us where they went, and this can stop, then you can sleep.”

It sounds so good, the promise of sleep. But they won’t, they will just kill me and then capture my love. Never, I will never break.

“N-No” I wrap my arms tight around my knees, trying to keep as much warmth as I can with me, like I could keep it trapped against me.

“You’re even more annoying than when you worked here. I didn’t think that was possible” He sighs before he continues. “Doesn’t matter. I have all the time in the world.”

He pushes a button on the little remote in his hand and the wind starts blowing harder and colder.

“You don’t” he says with a smile and closes the heavy metal door again.

I stare at the wall in front of me and hang onto those words, the words he said, the only words that matter.

“I love you.”

“You are under no terms to negotiate, mister Winchester” I hear Sanchez’s voice through the door before it opens and he steps inside, looking at where I am still sitting in the corner of the room.

“I think I am” His voice answers through the walkie talkie, Dean’s voice.

My baby.

I crawl half towards the sound on instinct, my eyes strained on that little device in Sanchez’s hand, as if Dean could come out of it.

Wait… what is he doing, why is he talking to Sanchez when he should be as far away as possible from this place ?

“What do you even want from us ? Do you know how stupid you are in contacting us ?” Sanchez chuckles, looking down at me.

I guess they are letting me hear this to break me, but if it does anything, it’s giving me all the courage in the world.

“The only stupid ones are you. I want Y/n. Let her go and my brother and I will back off” The way my name sounds in his voice makes me glad I am already on the floor, my knees would have buckled at hearing it.

“And what if we don’t ?”

“Then you are making a very, very big mistake. Because I am coming for her and nothing,” his voice deepens to an icy tone that I haven’t heard before from him “Nothing will keep me away from her.”

Sanchez’s eyes land on me, and for just a second I can see the fear in them, in knowing that he could be hunted like prey.

Because Dean is the apex predator. The one who hunts predators. He is my wolf.

The flash disappears as fast as it came and a cocky smirk pulls the corners of Sanchez's mouth upwards.

“It’s gonna be a no, but I can make a trade, you for her.”

“NO !” I scream out. What is he doing ? I’m not worth getting in trouble for. He should be running !

Sanchez lets go of the button too late, Dean heard my scream, I know he heard it because it takes longer than usual for him to answer.

“You’re going to regret saying no to my offer, and if she’s hurt… I will stab your face” another little pause and I thought it was all he was gonna say before another crack sounds through the device, a sign that the channel is now open.

“I’m coming for you baby, hold on.”

Sanchez cuts the sounds too late again, I heard it and I am ready to hold on through any Hell they can give me now.

This time I am the one smiling before I close my exhausted eyes.

The cold water stopped, the freezing wind also stopped. Everything stopped aside from the few small meals I got. Have they forgotten about me ?

I didn’t sleep, I couldn’t.

“Hold on.”

These words keep me awake. The small hope that my wolf is coming for me but also the fear that he will get caught because of me.

Suddenly the lights turn off and I am basked in darkness before a red light turns on together with a heavy horn blaring through the building.

I look at the red lamp and see it flicker seven times followed by a little pause. Protocol seven, meaning there is a breach in the facility.

Don’t get hurt, don’t get hurt, don’t get hurt… Baby don’t risk it all for me.

“Dean” I try to scream to let me know where I am but my voice is weak and hoarse. “Dean…”

The metal door of my cell starts groaning. I scramble back when I see the metal bending before it snaps off its hinges and is hurled aside with a loud bang.

A man with black hair and striking blue eyes looks at me. His head tilted a little to the side, like he was more animal than human.

Considering he just pulled out a metal door like it is nothing, makes me realize he is high likely not human indeed.

A woman with short black hair slips beside him and takes my hands. Jody Miller. The sheriff and hunter. Dean’s friends whom I lied to so often..

“Follow me” she says while hoisting me up.

I groan at the lack of strength in my legs but I cling to her as we run into the hall.

“Can you take us out, Cas ?” Jody asks the strange man.

“No, I am not at full power. We will run to the side entrance and meet them there.”

“Dean.” I gasp. “Is he here ?”

“Yes” she starts and I hear gunshots in the distance. “They are creating a distraction. Hurry Y/n, we don’t have much time.”

I try to follow her as best as I can. We reach the same door where I last saw my baby and I feel my heart cave in. We can’t get past these doors without someone holding the button.

This won’t work…

The gunshots grow louder in the distance, I turn my head towards the sound, just in time to see Dean and Sam running around the corner and towards us.

He’s still wearing the gray overall. Sam too…

They never left ?

Dean and I make eye contact and he is running faster towards me, a soft smile on his face and tears start to pool in his beautiful eyes.

I let Jody go and stumble towards Dean, my love.

A sob breaks through me when his hands wrap around my waist and pulls me close, so close that I can feel his thundering heart against my chest, feel his breath fanning over my face right before he gives me a deep but quick kiss. And his warmth that is making my cold body painfully burn, but also bringing me back to life.

“I told you I was coming for you” he pants.

“Y-you did” I nod and can’t stop the tears from falling.

Heavy footsteps come from down the corridor and I look at the button.

“Dean… the door -” I start but he cuts me off.

“Don’t worry baby” he says and puts me behind him as the guards come closer and points a gun at them.

I didn’t even notice he was holding one.

I fist his gray suit wanting to move in front of him but his arm keeps me safely behind his body.

Metal starts groaning behind me and I look to see Cas breaking one of the doors open while Jody holds the button. Cas slips through the crack he made and is doing the same to the second door, the heavy thud of metal on concrete making the ground tremble, and worsen my already dreadful headache.

What is he ?

“Go” Dean tells me.

“No, not without you” I start walking backwards, pulling on his clothes to make him walk with me while the guards are coming closer.

Jody and Sam slip through the cracks and start running to the army humvee parked right out the door.

“Dean” I say as I pull him further.

We need to hurry before more men arrive. His head turns to the side, towards one of the pipes on the ceiling and smiles.

As quick as lightning he shoots the pipe and burning hot steams explodes from the hole straight onto the guards who jump back at the heat.

He grabs my hand and starts running, pulling me along to the car that is waiting for us. He pushes me in first and jumps in after me. Sam is already driving before the door is even closed.

“Everyone’s alright ?” Sam calls through the vehicle.

Everybody nods but the tension is still high. I want to look out the window to see a sort of gate or fence. I have never seen the outside.

A hand on my face pulls my attention away from the outside and towards the man that holds my heart. I lift my hand to cup his hand on my cheek.

“I… W-why ? How…” I breathe.

“I couldn’t let you there, Y/n” he begins and I wipe the tears rolling down his face. “I need you.”

His brow touches mine and I take him in, his scent, how he feels and how he looks.

He looks tired and dirty. His overall is ripped in certain places but he is not hurt.

He is here, with me.

“Brace yourselves !” Sam yells and speeds up the car, driving with high speed towards the fence, the closed fence.

Dean and I wrap our arms tight around each other and press our knees into the seat before us. Locking us in place.

Cas, who is seated next to Sam in the passenger seat does nothing, he is not even wearing a seatbelt, I guess he doesn’t need one.

Jody is sitting next to me and holds her arms and legs against Sam’s seat.

The fence bursts open when the car slams through. A shared grunt goes through the vehicle upon impact but the car doesn’t stop. Sam keeps driving.

“Where are we going now ?” I ask.

“Home” Dean smiles. “We’re going home, baby.”

I open my weary eyes and rub them. A heavenly colorful light is filling the car, and a ray of sun is caressing my cheek, making me feel like a treasure.

With the heat of the car, and the safety of Dean’s arms, I fell asleep almost right away, just after they explained what happened.

They had been hiding in the woods for almost three days, using improvised traps in an old cabin, gathering the soldiers’ guns one by one… Once free, the Winchesters can’t be hunted, they are the ones you are trapped with.

Three days, which means, with the night before I made them escape, that I didn’t sleep for around a hundred hours… I reached stage five of sleep deprivation and could have started to have hallucinations and psychosis…

A gentle kiss on my forehead makes me smile through the diffuse, almost comfortable, pain in my body.

“How long did I sleep ?” I mutter barely louder than the calm purring of the engine.

“Around six hours” Dean answers low, close to my face that is nuzzled on his chest. “Cas cleaned you of the drugs they gave you. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it faster.”

His hand is gently stroking my back. I look around to see Sam still driving, focused on the road, Jody turns to smile at me.

“I…” I tell her, without moving from Dean. “I lied to you, I’m sorry.”

“Dean explained who you are, what you had to figure out all by yourself, and what you sacrificed for them” she smiles so kindly. “Y/n, you really have nothing to apologize for. What you did was incredibly brave and fair.”

“You showed great bravery indeed” the man they call Cas says with an almost robotic voice.

I look up at the most beautiful face, the low sun of the end of a sunny day is making his freckled skin look like jewelry in a halo of warm light, his eyes like soft flames.

“You remember I talked about my angel best friend ?” he says softly, running his fingers through my greasy hair.

I look at Cas with wide eyes, letting go of Dean for the first time to sit straighter.

“A-are you an actual angel ?”

“I am” he says, looking in my eyes. “Thank you for what you did. I couldn’t find Sam and Dean myself.”

The shadows of the trees are passing fast on his angelic face, like a dance that reminds me of my brand new freedom.

“Why did you lie to me ?” Dean drops the question and it feels like the louder crash sound in my heavy head.

“There was no way of getting everybody out.”

He takes a deep breath and frowns.

“You knew they would torture you” he states.

I look down. I really didn’t intend to be caught at all, but I can’t say that out loud, I feel like Dean would be crushed just at this idea.

But when I look up, I can see he understood, and not just him, everyone in the car is receiving what I didn’t say crystal clear.

A very heavy silence fills the car and the early evening orange sun suddenly seems a little sadder, but I don’t really mind, because it is still warming my back, and I am free now. And not only from Camp and Sanchez, but from my life too.

“You realize you can’t go back ?” Sam asks, looking at me in the rear-view mirror.

“I don’t want to go back. There is no going back in the dark when you saw the light.”

“Our life is not the light” Dean states.

“You think mine was ?” I look at him.

I know Dean understands a lot of things because we talked about it, about the never-ending demands of life, career, money… Trying to find a purpose, forgetting to eat, losing sleep.

“Those are actual monsters” Jody insists.

“Monsters she can kill” Dean answers perfectly for me. “Monsters that are not human beings, but actual evil.”

I nod, and snuggle against Dean’s chest again, closing my eyes to see the shapes the bright light of low sun makes through my eyelid.

I wrap my tired arm around my wolf’s body and whisper “I love you”, and while Sam, Castiel and Jody start talking about some organization matters, Dean closes our bubble by wrapping both arms around me, putting his lips on my forehead and whispering “and I love you.”

Fresh orange juice, coffee and a plate with pieces of fruits, some bacon, pancakes and a piece of cheese.

Anything is allowed, no boss is waiting for me, there is no skipping meals anymore and life has twice more lazy sundays morning.

I put everything on my tray and stretch my bruised body. The nights are like thunder, fast and violent, sometimes scary, and the days are calm and wrapped in love.

Life is perfect.

Walking to my bedroom I come across Sam in the hallway, his lip is still cut from that werewolf hunt but he looks serene, a soft smile on his face.

“Breakfast in bed again ?” he chuckles. “You’re going to make him fat and lazy.”

“Hey fat and happy is better than fit and sad !”

“Donna called” he says in a calm laugh. “She is on some weird hunt, probably vampires but she has no idea how they lure their victims, always students… We need our monster profiler.”

“Monster profiler” I smile wide at the nickname that the hunter community gave me. “It is…” I check the handy but pretty ugly watch Dean gave me. “Nine am. Deanie and I can be ready to leave in around two hours, is that okay ?”

“Sure, I tell her we’re joining” he nods.

When he leaves, I open the door with my elbow and enter the completely dark room that smells like Dean’s shampoo and sleep. I walk in the dark and put the tray on the nightstand.

A big hand grasps my thigh and a bear grunt resonates in the intimacy of the room.

“Baby” I say low with a smile.

“Mh… that smells delicious” his hoarse voice resonates next to me. “Are you naked ?” his hand travels up, and he groans when he meets the shorts I am wearing. “It’s a scandal.”

“A scandal ?” I chuckle. “Donna needs our help for a vampire hunt.”

“Vampires only come out at night.”

I smile, picking a piece of melon to put it in his mouth, then one for me, and put a knee on the mattress.

“I said we take our time and come after a lazy breakfast and long shower.”

He hums and his fingers explore the front of my pajama, teasing my pussy through the fabric gently.

Big muscular arms wrap around me with the speed of attacking snakes and pull me in the bed, against his naked body.

“Come here, Doc” he states with a deep voice against my neck. “I need you to take care of me.”

Saying that, he pushes my pajama shorts down with one hand, keeping me flush against him with the other, and spreads my legs. I place my thighs around him in a hum, letting his impatient cock gently brush my folds.

He pushes inside right away, but chasing love more than pleasure, and stays still a long moment inside the heat of my body, before he even starts seeking friction.

I moan in his neck, thighs trembling around him, rubbing lazily on the man I love. There is no haste, no one is going to enter this room, no one is keeping us apart or risks to spy on us…

“Dean” I whisper, rolling my hips in a way that presses so deliciously on all the good places, inside and out.

His hands are holding my ass and the growls of the wolf resonate deep in his strong chest. He is guiding me on him, making me grind harder and harder, breathing loudly in the dark room…

My orgasm is not blazing hot lightning like some of them are, it is a series of waves on a beach, calm and enchanting, and I smile through it, letting my walls suck at him while his pulsating cock fills my core with the nectar of my one and only God.

I am a hunter.

I was locked in life and Dean Winchester freed me.

We are free.

#locked #Locked chapter 10: nights like thunder #collab #jay and dean #roonyxx #prisoner!dean #doctor!reader #angst #smut #fluff #first blood #spn #dean winchester #supernatural #spn fanfic #dean x reader #dean angst #dean smut

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