#Lean Supply Chain Management

[biopharmaceuticalindustry]

Lean Supply Chain Management in Pharma Sector

In the pharmaceutical industry, where efficiency and adaptability are crucial, companies face unique challenges ranging from stringent regulations to complex manufacturing processes. To overcome these hurdles and deliver life-saving medications efficiently, many pharmaceutical firms are turning to lean supply chain management principles. Originating from the Toyota Production System, lean management focuses on eliminating waste, optimizing processes, and improving overall efficiency throughout the supply chain. While adoption has been slower in pharmaceuticals due to industry-specific characteristics and regulatory constraints, companies are increasingly embracing lean practices to streamline operations and ensure sustainable growth.

One significant advantage of lean supply chain management in pharmaceuticals is the reduction of lead times. By minimizing non-value-added activities and optimizing processes, companies can accelerate the delivery of medications from production to distribution, enhancing customer satisfaction and responsiveness to market demands. Shorter lead times also reduce the risk of drug shortages, ensuring consistent availability of essential medications to patients.

Additionally, lean principles promote inventory optimization, helping companies to manage stock levels efficiently while reducing holding costs and the risk of product expiration or obsolescence. This agile approach allows companies to adapt quickly to market changes and customer preferences.

Furthermore, lean supply chain management contributes to improved quality and compliance within the pharmaceutical sector. By standardizing processes, implementing rigorous quality control measures, and fostering a culture of continuous improvement, companies can maintain the integrity and safety of their products across the supply chain. This aspect is crucial in an industry where product quality and regulatory adherence are paramount.

Lean supply chain management promotes collaboration and transparency among supply chain partners, facilitating optimization of processes and innovation. Through strong relationships with suppliers, manufacturers, distributors, and other stakeholders, companies can share information, pool resources, and solve problems jointly, enhancing operational efficiency and resilience against disruptions.

[group-50]

https://www.slideserve.com/Group18/supply-chain-consulting-florida-powerpoint-ppt-presentation-13681212

Supply Chain Consulting in Florida: Helping Businesses Adapt to Market Changes 

Enhance your business efficiency with expert supply chain consulting in Florida. At Group50, we provide tailored strategies to optimize operations, reduce costs, and improve service delivery. Our experienced consultants empower your organization to thrive in a competitive marketplace.

[rubylogan15]

Revolutionize your manufacturing process with generative AI: predictive maintenance, enhanced design, improved quality control, and streamlined supply chains. Embrace the future!

[just2bruce]

Port call optimisation reduces greenhouse gas emissions in ports

Drewry is well-known for its expertise in maritime-related matters. In a recent market opinion piece, they suggest that maritime emissions can be reduced rather simply, with port call optimization. They mean to reduce the time ships sit near a port waiting for their berth to open up. Some ports have been successful with appointment windows. But the Drewry approach includes slow steaming to hit…

[arturbudzynski]

Mastering Logistics Management: A Comprehensive Guide to Streamlining Supply Chains and Boosting Efficiency

Logistics management refers to the process of planning, implementing, and controlling the flow of goods, services, and information from the point of origin to the point of consumption. It involves the coordination of various activities such as procurement, transportation, warehousing, inventory management, and customer service to ensure smooth and efficient operations. Logistics management plays…

[schooleymitchellbrianplain]

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[imrovementcompany]

Quality Management for Process Excellence - Basic Quality Concepts

Definition of quality What Do We understand by the word “Quality”? Definition and Example Most of the time, we get confused when defining the term “quality.” The meaning of the term “quality” varies from place to place. Such as: from the human viewpoint, the term quality refers to the distinctive feature of the individual. In other words, the quality of any individual makes them different…

[blackkatmagic]

Jon Antilles/any Opress brother; chained together and/or other forced proximity. (Or maybe Feemor, if you’re not in the mood for Jon)

“This would be easier if I were smaller,” Savage says, frustrated, and Jon can feel the boiling edge of that temper rising, ready to spill over into a fit of blind rage.

It’s happened before, and the only reason Jon's arm is still attached is because he still has some modicum of his healing ability, even drugged to the gills with something that makes it almost impossible to use the Force.

Containing a wince, he reaches back, twisting as best he can to find Savage’s hand on the other end of the short chain that connects them. The tunnel is tight here, but the press of hot skin under his fingers is familiar at this point, easy to find, and Jon just…eases the rage. It’s not mental influence, isn't control, but—an added barrier to keep the anger from overwhelming.

Savage keeps losing his own mind to that rage. This is just an attempt to help him keep it.

“Easy,” he says quietly, and when Savage’s eyes narrow, he tips his head. “This would be slow going even if you were smaller. The ground is unstable here, and we can't trust our senses. Moving slowly is the best way forward.”

Savage grimaces, but he pulls back slightly, takes a breath. This time, when he slides forward through the narrow crevice, he’s more careful, wary of his horns and his armor instead of just trying to force his way through. Jon helps as best he can when he’s not a small man either, works buckles free and takes the rough bundle of their supplies when Savage manages to work it through, wrapped up in Jon's old cloak. Everything else they were stranded with is halfway down a mountain and through a forest filled with vornskrs, and Jon isn't willing to go back there until he has at least one lightsaber.

Finally, with a grunt of effort, Savage tumbles forward into the slightly wider stretch of passage, his armor and skin scraped. Jon catches him, holding him on his feet as he catches his breath, and asks quietly, “Are you all right?”

Savage casts him a deliberate, unreadable look, then grunts, straightening as best he can given the passage’s low ceiling. “You still think this leads to a Jedi temple?” he asks instead of answering.

Jon nods, allowing the change in subject without protest. “There was a statue of one of the Founders carved into the cliffside,” he says. “I saw it as the sun was setting. My Master gathered rumors about this place years ago, and I remember that was the marker.”

Savage makes a sound of assent, following Jon down the passage. Jon lets him be, following the vague, half-vanished, distant sense of the Force where he can and listening to its warnings about loose rocks and shifting earth. It’s hardly the most objectionable mission he’s been on, and Savage is grim and Dark and full of rage, but…

He’s sharp with care, too, in a way Jon wouldn’t have expected in a Sith apprentice. And it gives him hope that maybe, by the end of this, that Darkness will have lightened slightly.

They’re just passing over a low arch of stone, so low that they have to almost walk double with their chained hands carefully braced between them, when Savage says unexpectedly, quiet but edged with something like humor, “Better I'm stuck here with you than the other Jedi. Feral’s.”

Jon glances at him, a little surprised by the easing of Savage’s tension over Feral being out of reach when he spent the first day here in a constant state of berserker rage over being apart from his brothers. “Master Feemor?” he asks, confused. Feemor is hardly objectionable, even for someone like Jon, who tends to avoid most people when possible.

Savage huffs, catching Jon's arm before he can leap down off the broken end of the bridge. Instead, Savage leans over the side, wary, and then slides down and offers Jon a hand. Bemused, Jon takes it, dropping down onto a thick carpet of white moss and then straightening to work the kink out of his back.

“He’s…cheerful,” Savage says, and that tone makes it a damning indictment of Feemor's character. “We were fighting, and he was still cheerful.”

That does sound like Feemor, Jon allows with a wince in agreement. He’s kind, and a Jedi to the core, but…it’s a lot of cheer, sometimes.

Savage grunts, apparently satisfied that he made his point, and keeps moving, feet careful on the thick moss. “I would have drowned him in the river,” he says flatly.

It’s not fair to Feemor, but Jon coughs to hide his laugh, putting a hand up over his mouth. Jon is a Jedi, and he likes to think his equanimity could hold through most things, but…Feemor really is a lot. Especially for people like Jon and Savage.

“It would have been a long walk,” he says deliberately, and knows Savage catches his meaning when he snorts. There's another stretch of silence as they make their way towards the sound of water, and after several minutes Jon says quietly, “I think the same about Maul, too.”

Savage looks like he wants to defend his brother, and he hesitates, then sighs through his nose. “He and that clone are both irritating. They deserve each other,” he finally says, and Jon chuckles, ducking his head to hide it. From what he’s seen of Commander Fox, that’s not entirely inaccurate.

“We should find somewhere safe to sleep,” he says, not about to argue that matter, either. “It will be safer to navigate the temple in the daylight.”

Savage nods, following Jon towards a stretch of particularly deep moss. After several more seconds, he says gruffly, “That thing you do. To keep me from losing myself. Can you teach me?”

Surprised, Jon glances back, finds golden eyes watching him warily in the gloom. That buried seed of hope is almost overwhelmed by the way Savage is braced for mockery, rejection, but—

It’s still there regardless, and that tiny spark deep down in the darkness makes Jon smile.

“Of course,” he says quietly, and pulls Savage down with him onto the soft moss.

[spnbabe67]

Fire Up The Night

Kinktober Day 30: Against The Wall (B.B.)

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Original Female Character

Warnings: Smut, Throw away character gets a little handsy, PiV, Sex in an Alley,

Summary: Butcher can't stand the sight of seeing Samarra flirt with someone else. But she isn't his, right?

Word Count: 2233

Authors Note: Title is the title of a song by New Medicine

I know I wrote something similar to this with my last Jake Seresin entry, but I what can I say? I'm a sucker for the possessive type, and I hopefully made this different enough to count. I also decided halfway through I could have written it another way, but by that point it was too late for me to go back and change it because I still had to study for an exam the next day.

Butcher was two seconds away from crushing the tumbler full of whiskey in his grasp. He didn’t know how long Samarra had been across the bar talking to a sleazy looking guy, a Supe high up in the Vought chain if the info they were given had any credibility. Not quite as god-like as one of the Seven, but definitely had enough clearance that if they managed to snatch the wanker, they could get some good intel off of him. But fuck, if he had to watch Samarra flirt with him for any longer, Butcher was gonna kill someone. The Supe, Steve or Tony or something, had her leaned back on her elbows against the bar, shooting her a thousand-watt grin, plying her with a seemingly endless supply of alcohol. Butcher could help the twinge of satisfaction he felt every time the Supe bought her some fruity little drink. At least I know what she likes.

Samarra, to her credit, seemed to hold her liquor well, holding out through the conversation like a champ. Maybe a little too well. Butcher gritted his teeth at the nagging thought. Her smile looked just a little too bright, laugh sounding a little too real for his liking. From his vantage point in the corner of the club, he could see the way Samarra didn’t balk from Tony/Steve’s hungry gaze devouring her body on display. Butcher had argued the dress made of gold-accented black gauzy material that hung off every curve and dip of her body was too damn revealing, but Annie had insisted, and Samarra had agreed with her. He knew she was stunning, but why choose that dress in particular; she could seduce a sworn celibate in a pair of week old sweats, she didn’t need all the makeup piled on her features or the glitz and glam. It was simply adding insult to injury.

The worst part was he knew he wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Wasn’t supposed to feel this raw and grating jealousy every time Samarra trailed her finger up the Supe’s arm. They were fuck buddies for fuck’s sake, not going steady. So all Butcher could do was watch on in silence, doing his best to keep his cool as she worked her magic, every tinkling laugh and featherlight touch on the poor sap’s arm, chest, shoulder, only pulling Tony/Steve further and further into her web of lies. Butcher should have been disturbed how easy this was for her, but instead it had the opposite effect. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the pounding music and flashing lights, mostly naked bodies grinding on the floors and poles, but he’d had to readjust his pants more than once watching her seduce Tony/Steve. 

After what Butcher deemed too damn long, Samarra’s gray eyes caught his, disappointment and anger ebbing over him at the subtlest shake of her head. Not necessarily at her, but at their informant for giving them wrong intel, wasting their time and needlessly putting them in danger. He’d definitely be killing somebody later. Maybe now, Butcher thought as Tony/Steve’s hand landed on Samarra’s waist. Way far past having enough, he downed the rest of his drink before weaving his way through the crowd.

Samarra kept the preformative smile plastered to her face, looking up at Steven beneath heavily lidded eyes, playing the drunken bimbo to a T. She had to stop herself from viscerally recoiling from his sweaty palm on her waist, feeling his humidity through the very delicate fabric of her dress. 

“Oi, cunt. You messin’ with me girl?”

That feeling of disdain and exasperation quickly faded as Butcher’s familiar accent came from her left. She had to bite her lip to keep from bursting into laughter as he muscled his way between her and Sleazen, as she’d named him in her head, Sleazen’s eyes going wide at the intimidating figure Butcher cut, immediately stepping off her. His familiar scent wafted over her, putting her nerves less on edge as they’d just been. She had full confidence she could drop Sleazen if she had to, but knowing she had back up only helped matters. 

“I’m alright, Baby.” Samarra turned to Butcher, feeling her heart pounding in her chest as she gave the quickest sidelong glance to the Not-Supe before passionately, and loudly, kissing Butcher, hoping he understood the angle she was playing.

He clearly got the message, big hands falling to her hips, replacing the same area where Sleazen had just had his own grip. After a second, Samarra peeked an eye open, checking to see if the coast was clear. When she saw Sleazen was nowhere to be seen, she pulled away taking a breath, giggling to herself.

“Holy shit was he a loser.” Samarra adjusted the strap of her dress, the satin strip having almost slipped off her shoulder. What she missed was the way Butcher’s dark gaze caught on the movement, pulling his attention back to her face. 

“I bet.” He guided her by the waist away from the bar and through the throng of people. “You can tell me and the others just as soon as we get back.” 

Samarra didn’t think too much about it when Billy led her out one of the side exits, the dark doorway leading into a small alleyway behind the club. The fresh air was welcomed, Samarra breathing it in deeply as the chill of the night sent a shiver down her spine. She damn near ran into Butcher’s back, her gaze skyward to look at the stars speckling the pitch black backdrop. 

“Butch, why’d you stop?” Samarra wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m freezin’ my tits off out here.”

Her brows furrowed as Butcher looked at her over his shoulder, turning around to face her. His pupils were blown wide and the way he was looking at her had heat pooling in her core. It was so different from the entitled gaze of Sleazen, this heated look was welcomed, encouraged even.

“What?” Samarra asked, laughing awkwardly as Butcher took a step towards her, making her step back. Or she would have had the cold stone of the brick wall hadn’t bit into her back, making her flinch at the harsh temperature contrast.

“Do you,” Butcher took another half step closer; if Samarra tilted her head up and leaned in just a little, their mouths would touch. “Have any idea, what you do to me.”

Samarra ran her tongue over her lips, her mouth parting open slightly as her breath hitched as he got closer. “I have an idea.”

All it took was Butcher dipping his head to capture her lips, kissing her deeply, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. Samarra let her eyes fall shut at the sensation of his mouth on hers, his body brushing up against her arms. He took hold of her wrist, unfurling her arms from around her body and a small noise escaped her as Butcher guided her hand down between their bodies to press her palm against the very obvious bulge in his jeans. 

“Alla that just from watchin ya work your magic on that sleazy cunt.” Butcher groaned against her skin, trailing his mouth down her jaw to her neck.

Samarra bit her lip, palming him through his jeans. “I think that says more about who you are as a man than it does about my skills.”

She felt him snort a laugh against her neck, nipping playfully at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Samarra tipped her head back against the wall, rolling her hips against the thigh he’d nudged between her legs, pinning her against the brick. Butcher’s hand slid up the outside of her thigh, teasing under the thin fabric of her dress, the hem having fallen about mid-thigh. A cheeky grin tipped the corners of her lips upward as Butcher cursed against her neck as his hands slid high enough on her thigh and hips to realize that she was not, in fact, wearing any panties. 

“Fuckin’ diabolical.” Butcher growled, kissing her harshly. “Gonna give this old man a heart attack pulling shit like this.” 

“Who said it was for you?” 

Butcher’s answering swat to the inside of her thigh had Samarra laughing breathily. The teasing was short lived as he palmed her ass, kneading the softness there before hoisting her upwards, wrapping her legs around his waist. The leather of his trench coat was cold against the bare skin of her legs, but the heat pooling between her legs more than made up for it, along with the warmth of his torso through his dress shirt

Samarra knew her arousal was soaking into the bottom of his shirt but she couldn’t find it in her to care as Butcher’s hip chased her hand as she deftly undid his belt and the button of his jeans. His beard chafed at the side of her neck as he worked to kiss and suck dark marks into her skin, his hand coming up to knead her breasts through her dress He groaned deeply, the sound reverberating into her body when as he went to kiss her, Samarra brought her hand to her mouth, licking her palm wrapping it around his length, pumping her hand up and down him loosely as she pulled him free from his clothes. He bucked his hips against her hand, rutting his cock through her fingers as she guided him to her center. 

They both groaned as the head of him slid inside of her. Butcher leaned in, reclaiming her mouth. Samarra’s desperate moans lived and died on his tongue as he slid in and in until his hips sat flush against her. Butcher slid back out, almost all the way, before slamming back in, making her cry out, the sound swallowed by his mouth. Again and again he rocked his hips back just to slam back in, driving her into the wall. Samarra could feel the roughness of the brick at her back digging into her skin, scraping and scratching every time he bottomed out with a sharp thrust. 

Samarra slid her hands up and down his torso, trying to find someplace to steady herself against the onslaught of harsh thrusts, ending up on his shoulders. She rolled her hips back against him, keeping up with his punishing rhythm the best she could. Her head goes hazy at his seemingly omnipresent existence; he’s around her, he's inside her, even as her breaths grew into ragged pants she breathed in his scent. Butcher’s lips migrated back down her jaw, ending up on her neck as he braced a hand on the wall beside her head. 

“Fuck, Mara.” Butcher mumbled, nearly inaudibly, and Samarra wondered if his utterance was meant to be incoherent as he continued. “I shouldn’t be jealous. You aren’t even mine.”

Samarra bit her lip hard as the revelation was punctuated with a harsh thrust, his movements becoming more uneven, snapping up into her harder and harder until she started to see stars behind her eyes. Samarra clung to him as that coil in her belly grew tighter, her thighs starting to go lazy around his waist. Butcher came with a string of curses into her shoulder, hips stuttering, gripping her thigh to keep it in place on his side. Samarra rolled her hips against him, garnering the friction of his still-on pants against his clit to supplement the change in rhythm. He continued to fuck into her until her inner walls squeezed around him, a keening moan falling from her lips as she came.

Butcher pulled away just enough as they both panted harshly in the post-climax high. He helped set her back down on her feet, holding onto his arm since her legs were still shaky. Samarra straightened the skirt of her dress back down her legs, running a thumb under her lip to swipe away her smeared lipstick. 

“You got-” Butcher gestured to her mouth as she did.

“Here?” She rubbed a different spot.

“No, a little more over-not that far.” Butcher huffed at her before grabbing her wrist. “Just, let me get it.”

Samarra stood still as Butcher reached up, dragging his thumb along the side of her lip, his minstations gentle as he removed her smudged lipstick before pulling his hand away. 

“Thanks.” She said quietly, suppressing a shiver as the loss of heat reminded her just how cold it was outside. “Shall we. I’m sure M.M. and the others are thinkin’ we got ourselves into trouble.”

Butcher nodded, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him around the back of the building. Samarra flinched when as they rounded the corner with the parking lot in sight, something warm encased her shoulders. Butcher’s cologne filled her nose as she realized it was his trench coat, patched many times over and warm, that he’d plunked down on her shoulders. She looked up at him with pinched brows, but his only reply was a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. Samarra opened her mouth to say something, anything. Maybe address what he’d muttered into her body minutes before. But in the end she shut it, chalking it up to the heat of the moment; it wasn’t like she knew how to broach the subject if it wasn’t anyway. Instead she stayed silent, sliding into Butcher’s car as he pointed the headlights back to the apartment.

[group-50]

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[zepskies]

Show Me - Part 2

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader || Sam Winchester x Eileen Leahy (background)

Summary: Dean meets your infamous ex-boyfriend at a fallen hunter’s funeral. You just forgot to mention that he’s a hunter as well. Maybe because he still has the power to get under your skin…in the worst of ways.

AN: I know I said I'd release this on Wednesday, but I thought I'd get this out a bit early. Here’s Part 2! **Read Part 1 here.

Word Count: 5,300

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, angst, body insecurity, hurt/comfort, body appreciation.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: “A Thorough Reminder”

It’s a few hours’ drive back to Lebanon.

Dean stops at one of your favorite restaurant chains for takeout, though he notices how you only eat about half of what you ordered. Even he managed to eat all of his bacon cheeseburger, and that was after an entire afternoon of snacking and day drinking.

“Thought you were hungry,” he says.

You shrug as you package up the rest of your dinner and lean back in the passenger seat.

“I don’t know. Guess I don’t have much of an appetite today.”

You’re normally a stress eater, by trade. But today, a familiar anxiety has crept in, taking root in your chest, and creating a mental block between your throat, your brain, and your stomach.

Despite what some people might like to believe, Dean does notice the small things, when it matters.

He glances at you, catches the way you rub at your tired face and release a small sigh.

“You okay?” he can’t help but ask.

You nod absently. “I’m fine, Dean.”

His lips press together. That doesn’t sound like fine. It sounds a lot like Winchester fine.

“I didn’t know he was a hunter,” he remarks.

You both know who he’s referring to. You look over at him, resigned, and a little annoyed.

Dean’s palms lift halfway off the steering wheel as he shrugs.

“You made it seem like he was a normal Joe,” he says. “Some dude you met in Miami.”

“We did meet in Miami,” you confirm. Part of you falters with another sigh. You don’t want to talk about this, but you suppose you might as well get it over with. Dean deserves an explanation.

“Okay, here it is,” you begin. “Carter came into town on a job. I caught wind of it not long after he did, and when we eventually ran into each other, we agreed to work the case…”

And you and Carter were good together, at least on the hunt. There had been a certain rugged charm and confidence to him that had drawn you in (apparently, you had a type). When he’d asked to stay with you for a few days, you hadn’t been able to say no.

“I thought it was because…he wanted to see more of me,” you explain. Your expression turns dry. “Maybe that was part of it, but mainly, he was broke. He literally couldn’t leave. Not until he scored some cash.”

Dean doesn’t want to think about how that guy charmed you, luring you in with what he thought you might want to hear. Though he processes all this with a nod. You’ve filled in most of the gaps, and he thinks he knows where this part of the story leads to: the one thing you did tell him about your ex.

“So you helped him get a job,” Dean supplies. His wry gaze meets yours. “At the local strip joint.”

“As a bouncer,” you specify. “He wasn’t qualified for much else. As it was, he needed me to talk to the manager for him. It was a Miami club run by Latinos. They weren’t going to hire a random white guy off the street who didn’t even speak Spanish.”

“Not until you finessed them,” Dean smirks.

You flash him a small smile. “I’m good with people.” 

You hadn’t realized it at the time, under the haze of a hunters’ romance, but everything with Carter had been at his convenience, and whatever he needed from you. A hunting partner. A bit of money (a loan, he’d claimed). Some good food and a place to stay, free of charge. Not to mention a warm bed.

The giver in you had been all too ready to oblige.

“And when he got enough money to hit the road, he asked me to go with him,” you continue. “My grandma was still alive at the time. I had never left the city for more than a few days before, in case she needed me, but she told me to go. To live my life…so I did.”

You turn to Dean then. You suck in a breath as your eyes begin to sting.

“It’s my biggest regret,” you say. “She was gone by the end of the year.”

Dean sobers. His eyes soften, and he reaches across your thigh for your hand. You lace your fingers with his.

“I told you, she basically raised me,” you say. You brush away a tear from your cheek, sniffling. “…I should’ve been there.”

Dean raises your hand to his lips. “That’s not on you.”

You shake your head instead of answering. You’d been on a hunt with Carter when you got the call from your grandma’s neighbor. For almost a year, you’d lost what you hadn’t realized was precious time.

Meanwhile, you’d become what you’d thought was a partner, both on the Job and in life. Turns out, you’d been more like a sidekick, allowing Carter to tell you where, when, and how. It took your grandmother’s death to snap you out of the trance. 

So you went home, picked up the pieces of your life…and you started again, somehow.

“A few months later,” you say, squeezing Dean’s hand. “I met you in a dirty bar in Las Cruces.”

He shoots you a more amused look.

“You mean you tried to hustle me,” he says.

Your lips curve into a grin. “Oh, please. You knew what you were getting into.”

Dean chuckles at that, tossing his head back against his headrest.

“Well, not exactly,” he says. Your hand is still tucked in his, and his thumb draws back and forth across your fingers.

He hadn’t known you were a hunter at first. He’d noticed your curves in those tight jeans and fitted top, your red lips, the shade of your hair, the perceptive gleam in your eyes—he’d liked it all.

Still, after he watched you hustle a guy out of all his money that night, just to give him $30 back so he could afford to get home…he’d known then that there was something special about you.

Then you’d slid into the seat next to him at the bar. Your English had been as smooth as your Spanish, and he’d been all too willing to get hooked into a game of pool with you.

He hadn’t known then that he was staring into the face of his future. 

“I knew I wanted you in my bed that night,” Dean says. His easy smile is flirtatious, but his eyes are honest, finding yours. “I just didn’t count on you being even more badass than I took you for.”

Your cheeks warm as you fight a deeper smile, shaking your head.

You lean over as far as you can with your seatbelt on and press a kiss to his cheek. You linger there, with your hand reaching out to caress his face. You don’t want his eyes to leave the road, but you want him to know what he means to you right now. 

After you pull away, he gives you one of those grins, and his eyes are dancing. It makes him both a giant dork, and incredibly charming all at once.

Not for the first time, you’re grateful to know this man—let alone be with him.

And yet, Dean knows.

Something’s not quite right with you.

He feels it in his gut when you two get back to the bunker that night. You shower quickly and alone, and you took a change of clothes into the bathroom with you, like he’s never seen you naked before.

By the time Dean finishes his own shower and gets dressed, you’re getting ready for bed as you putter about the room. He eyes your long pants and sweatshirt.

“You cold?” he asks, while digging in his dresser for a clean pair of sweatpants.

You spare him a glance, but you don’t fully turn to him while you go through your skincare routine with your hair clipped up.

“No, I’m good,” you reply.

“So why the long johns,” he quips, gesturing at your pants. He can’t remember the last time you wore anything but a shirt and underwear to bed (or less). He catches the look on your face in the dresser mirror: a slight pause, a press of your lips, but your face is otherwise guarded.

“I guess I am a little cold,” you say. You head to the bathroom again to finish the rest of your nightly routine, but you don’t see the way Dean’s frown follows you.

He later waits for you in bed. He pauses in his iPad scrolling when you slip in beside him under the covers. You've let your hair back down, nice and wild the way he likes it.

You heave a sigh. “Good night.”

“Hold up,” Dean says. With a hand on your shoulder, he stops you from facing away from him. He leans in and caresses your cheek with his thumb. You give him a small smile.

And he gives you a slow, purposeful kiss. He pulls away, just enough to see your eyes, beautiful and warm. He leans in again and angles into a new kiss, one that deepens with a spark of heat. He props himself up with a forearm above your head, digging into your pillows.

His thigh slots between your legs. For a reason you don’t want to name, you fight the instinct to press your center against him. His hand on your cheek slides down your neck, down the front of your close-necked shirt, between your breasts. He finds purchase on your hip and squeezes soft, tender flesh.

That’s when you stop him with a gentle push on his chest.

You slowly break from his kiss and lick your lips. Your eyes are apologetic.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m just…I’m tired,” you say.

Dean nods and lets out a sigh through his nose. He shifts more fully onto his side, lifting his weight off of you, and brushes your hair back from your face.

“You sure you don’t have anything you wanna talk about?” he asks.

You raise a brow at him. “Like what?”

“Like how you’re letting that asshole get back into your head,” Dean replies.

His gaze feels heavy on you, and you pause, staring back at him in soft shock.

“I’m not—”

“Look, I know you. And whatever this is, it’s more than what we talked about in the car,” he says, with a firm, yet gentle gaze. “If there’s something else you need to get out, you can tell me.”

Dean has worked hard to help you through the mental roadblocks you’ve had in the past—about you being comfortable with yourself, and with him. He’s not going to let some dipshit like Carter undo all of that, unraveling you with a single thread.

But your mouth works as you start to get annoyed, and even a bit angry at his accusation.

“Just because I don’t want to have sex, doesn’t mean I’ve got a problem, okay Dean? I just want to sleep,” you say tersely.

Dean’s jaw clenches at your tone. His head quirks, and he nods.

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll sleep.”

He turns around and shut off his beside lamp, casting the room in darkness. You huff and turn onto your side, away from him.

You cover yourself with the blankets up to your shoulders, but the longer you lay there in silence, the more that guilt prickles in your chest, along with the tightness of anxiety that welled up when he started to touch you.

Fuck, what’s wrong with me? you think, trying to work through the emotion clogging in your throat. You haven’t felt like this in years…

Slowly you turn back towards Dean. By now your eyes have adjusted enough to see the outline of his broad back in his gray shirt. You steel yourself with another shaky breath, and you scoot forward across the bed. Your curled hands rest against the middle of his back, where you also press your forehead. You feel his body tense up a little.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper in the dark.

After a beat, you hear him sigh. Dean reaches out to turn the lamp back on, filling the room once again with soft light. He turns and finds you haven’t moved, though you stare up at him with shining eyes.

His own soften. He takes one of your hands and presses the back of it to his lips.

“Talk to me,” he says, and he waits for you to gain your courage.

After another couple of steadying breaths, you begin.

“There’s too many things I didn’t realize at the time,” you say. “He didn’t force me to go with him, to stay with him. Even when I felt like shit inside, I thought he was right about me. About how I looked, and…and what I was good for, I guess. I thought he needed me, and that made everything else okay.”

You sniffle, and a tear rolls down your cheek. Dean’s hold on you tightens a fraction. He’s listening intently, but in his silence, there’s anger. He wishes he really had broken that guy’s hand. Or at least his goddamn mouth.

“I mean, what the hell was I thinking?” you ask, laughing a bit through your tears. “I always thought I was stronger than that, you know? I just realize now that…I must not have liked myself very much.”

Dean lets go of your hand, just to dry your face. He’s no stranger to looking in the mirror and not liking the man staring back at him, but he doesn’t think that’s your problem. 

He caresses your cheek, shakes his head, and he offers a rueful smile.

“Nah. You just have a habit of fallin’ for poor sons of bitches who don’t deserve you,” he says.

You read between his self-deprecating lines there, raising your brows at him.

“Hey. That might be true, but you better not be lumping my boyfriend in with the rest of them,” you say firmly. Your arms slip around his waist, and you press yourself in close.

Dean chuckles and welcomes you into his arms as well. His hand tangles in your hair, and his lips find your neck with a deep inhale.

He knows what kinds of thoughts are likely plaguing your mind, just like he knows that whatever he says will only go so far. He presses a kiss to your neck that grazes with teeth. You let out a little hum of surprise. He smiles and begins to move down, letting his lips brush across your skin.

“I’ll just speak for myself then,” he says. His hand trails lower and brushes the side of your breast. “If you need me to remind you how beautiful you are, how goddamn sexy…then I got no problem showing you.”

His hand moves down the soft slopes of your body and comes to rest at the curve of your waist. Hearing your faltering breath, Dean pulls back so he can see your face.  

“Let me take care of you for a change,” he says. His lips pull at a grin, and it makes you smile in turn.

You take his face in your hands and bring him down to you for a kiss, languid and a bit devouring. It makes heat lick up Dean’s spine.

“Okay,” you whisper, close to his lips. “Show me.”

His grin deepens, teeth shining. “Yes, ma’am.”

This man is nothing if not endearing, and it earns a giggle from you as he moves down your body. First, you help him with getting your sweatshirt up and over your head; the collar is close to your neck and he doesn’t want to choke you (yet).

His gaze focuses on the rise and fall of your chest, the familiar sight of your full breasts, waiting for him to touch and tease.

Before he can start to follow through with his mental plans, you sit up with him and your hands dive under his shirt, both to start inching it up, and to feel him. His stomach clenches under the soft graze of your nails, but he gently pushes you back down onto the bed.

“What’d I just tell you?” he chides.

You give him an incredulous smile. “What, I’m not allowed to touch you?”

Dean reaches up to pull his shirt off from behind his neck. It’s a smooth move, and your eyes roam over his chest, and lower still.

He smirks. “Just be a good girl and wait your turn.”

You bite your lip to stifle a laugh. You let him finish undressing you by peeling off the sweatpants. You were getting hot in those anyway.

He leaves your panties on for now, but he travels back up to slot himself between your open legs. With a forearm braced above you, he starts again from the top.

He caresses your cheek, and begins with a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

You sigh at the attention, tilting your head to make room for him. The sound of your voice is just one thing that he loves (and you know it), but Dean also loves the smoothness of your tan skin. He doesn’t mind a few faded stretch marks here and there, the lower he gets. He’s got a few scars and worry lines himself.

What matters to him is the sounds he’s able to pull from you as he nips and licks down between your breasts. He massages and teases one with his hand, while his tongue lavishes attention on the other. He earns a breathy sigh, a moan when his lips find the hardening buds, your knees starting to bend and squeeze his waist. He already feels the dampness of your clothed core brushing his thigh.

“Already squeezing on me, huh? I’ve barely touched you,” Dean teases. He nips at a plush spot on your left side, below your breast—something you might’ve been insecure about, if his thumb wasn’t also still distracting you by swirling over a nipple. His hands are sinfully good (something you love).

You utter a small moan and grasp his wrist just for something to hold onto as his mouth continues worshipping every curve of your body. Even the parts you’d usually rather him steer away from.

Dean senses your tension, however, when his teeth graze your soft stomach. He glances up at you, finding a bit of insecurity in your eyes.  

“Here’s the thing,” he says, and his lips move against your skin. “You act like I haven’t already seen and conquered every square inch of you. Like I haven’t torn you apart, time after time.”

He sits back up, and his hands squeeze your hips and thighs and ass. He moves up to look down on you with almost predatory focus. Like he’s trying to determine what part of you he wants to devour next.

It’s a look you’ve seen before, though it still makes your face warm and your pussy clench on nothing. Your mouth parts with an unsteady laugh. 

“You’ve got a point,” you nod. Dean shoots you a smirk, but he still takes your hand from where it’s been tangled in the sheets. He presses a kiss into your palm.

“You don’t gotta hide from anybody,” he says. “For damn sure, you ain’t hiding from me. You're too damn beautiful for that.”

You smile up at him, softer now as you thread your fingers with his.

He soon lets you go though. Because his hand moves down and down, to brush his fingers along your clothed core. You breathe deeper in anticipation, but his grin tells you that he’s not going to make this quick.

“Dean,” you implore him.

“Yeah, baby,” he answers. The pads of his fingers stroke and press into you. You lean into his touch, wanting and craving more. But he doesn’t give it to you just get.

He keeps teasing you, brushing your clit through the soaked fabric of your panties. It’s sort of what you want, and yet nowhere near enough. You can taste the edge of pleasure, just starting to make you squirm against his hand.

“You’re killing me here,” you whine.

“I’m ‘a need you to be patient,” he says. 

You laugh, both incredulous and frustrated. His grin is damn near insufferable now.

Dean’s fingers move your panties aside, but they do no more than brush against the wet seam of your pussy. You hum and try to press into his hand. He doesn’t heed your unspoken demand.

He thinks you’re sexy as hell like this, writhing and waiting for his touch. He just wants to savor that for a bit longer—that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. He’s the only one who gets to tease you, to be with you, to love you. 

You’re getting impatient though. With a ragged sigh, you sit up and hook a hand behind his neck and pull him down into your kiss. He chuckles against your lips when he feels your hand sliding from his chest to the generous bulge in his sweatpants. You stroke up and down the full length of him with a practiced hand.

“I get it, baby. I do,” you pant, “but I need you.”

He falters for a moment, grunting when your hand slips into the front of his pants and boxer briefs and takes his cock firmly in hand. Your touch is soft and warm and you know how to elicit a shiver running down his spine.

Dean has a plan though, and he forces himself to focus through gritted teeth. He takes your wrist, carefully guides it out of his pants, and pins it beside your head, using his strength against you. It’s as frustrating as it is hot, making your skin flush as you stare up at him. 

“We’re not there yet,” he tells you. Amusement gleams in his eyes. “But I like the enthusiasm.”

Without warning, he pulls away from you. He sits up on his knees and grabs the nearest pillow. He grasps your thighs and raises you up enough to slide the pillow underneath your ass, which he bares after snatching off your panties. You yelp and the suddenness of your underwear sliding off your legs. He tosses them elsewhere.

“What, now you’re speeding things up?” you remark.

Dean raises his brows at you. “What gave you that idea?”

He shifts down the bed and sinks down between your thighs. You lean up just on your elbows so you can try to figure out what he’s about to do (though you have a pretty good guess). For a delicious moment, you feel his warm breath against your pussy. You clench in anticipation…

Until he veers further down the inside of your thigh. His hand moves smoothly underneath one of your thick thighs and hooks it over his shoulder. He starts with wet kisses from the inside of your knee, steadily moving up your thigh. Your eyes close as your breathing shallows.

You force yourself to take deeper breaths as the gentle feeling of his lips, and a hint of teeth, continues to make your body tingle with pleasure. You feel warmth and wetness pooling between your legs. Your core is already throbbing with need.

Just as Dean draws near to the apex of your thighs…he changes course, starting the same path of kisses up your other leg. You blow out a shaky sigh and have to clench your hands into the sheets. His name falls from your lips, both a reverent sigh and a plea.

You know what he’s doing. He’s worshipping your body in the sweetest of ways. You knew he was going to take his time with you, working you up, but this is both heaven and hell.

“Would you relax?” he says, chuckling into your skin.

You release a breathy giggle. “Yeah, right. I love and hate you right now.”

Dean’s shoulders shake with near silent laughter. His free hand soothes up and down the thigh he holds propped up on his shoulder.

“As long as it’s more of the first one, we’re good,” he teases.   

You groan, but eventually you relax against the bed. You realize now that you’re more comfortable, more focused more on the pleasurable sensations he’s giving you than on how exposed you are right now. You smile begrudgingly, as you realize that’s probably what Dean wanted all along. 

Just when your body is starting to settle into this, you gasp when you feel his tongue finally lick a warm stripe up the seam of your pussy.

Your head raises, and you see your man’s mischievous green eyes and the edge of his smile between your legs. Your mouth opens to say something petulant, but you cry out when his fingers slip past your wet folds and find your clit.

He knows where you’re most sensitive, what’s going to have you even more slippery and pulsing with need. His tongue replaces his hand, licking and sucking at your clit, while his fingers slip into your tight entrance and fuck into you slowly.

“God, Dean,” you breathe. Your nails dig back into the mattress.

You feel his voice reverberate inside you when he says, “Relax…”

He's already hooked your thighs over his shoulders. The pillow under your raised hips just gives him even more leverage to work you over. His mouth is noisy and makes you blush down to your neck, but you can’t help fisting a hand into his hair and clenching tight as he brings you right to the edge…

And he tumbles you over. His fingers brush deliberately and firmly against that sensitive spot deep inside you, until your inner walls quiver and your legs shake around his head.

Then you’re coming all over his hand. Your whimpers turn into a moan of release as warmth travels from your center, throughout the rest of your body. His tongue doesn’t stop, and your skin tingles, causing a shiver to run up your spine and arch your back as you moan. 

He doesn’t pull away until your clit becomes oversensitive, and you start to squirm away from his hold. When he finally gives you reprieve, your body sags on the bed and your head rolls to the side as you try to catch your breath.

Dean’s panting hard too by the time he’s done. He has to wipe his mouth, nose, and hand, but he still strokes your thighs after he guides your legs off his shoulders and back to the bed.

Since you’re incapable of speech at the moment, you tug more gently on his hair to get his attention. He greets you with a grin as he takes in how wrecked you are.

You smile back and beckon him with a curling finger. “Come ‘ere.”

Dean obliges you, moving up your body to prop himself up on a forearm, next to your head. You grab his chin and bring him down to you for a searing kiss. You shudder a little, as you can taste yourself on his tongue. The press of his fingers along the small of your back brings more tingles across your skin.

You feel him hard and heavy against your thigh. You let your hands run down his back as well. Down the slope of his spine, and under the waistband of his sweatpants.

“I need you,” you whisper, in the small space between your faces.

“Yeah?” he pants, though his tone is teasing. “Where?”

“Inside me,” you reply. Your thighs squeeze his hips, pressing his length against your center and earning a groan out of him. “Fuck me ‘til it hurts.”

Dean’s grip on your hip tightens. He drops a biting kiss to your throat and nods. He quickly gets the rest of his clothes off, then he directs you to move onto your side. You’re a bit confused at first, but you oblige him. He kneels between your thighs, straddling the bottom one, then hooking your top leg over his.

He pushes his cock into you slowly, making you both breathe harder as he stretches you and finds his way home.

This angle is different, but it’s good. You feel him bottom out deep and snug inside. Already your inner walls respond to the feeling of him, and you tighten on reflex.

Dean makes a sound of pleasure and presses his forehead against your shoulder for a moment. 

“What’s this, like doggy style?” you ask.

“Kind of,” he says, giving you a grin. “This way, I can still see your pretty face.”

You can’t help a giddy burst of laughter, even though your face warms. Yes, he still manages to make you blush when he talks like that.

Dean smirks in amusement. Once again, he swipes a thumb across your cheek and presses a kiss to your lips. You hold him there and lick into his mouth. When he starts to move, rocking out, then back inside of you with ease, you shudder at the feeling of him. Your thigh curls tighter around his hip, and he squeezes your soft flesh there.

“I happen to like a little give,” he says, with a lusty gleam in his eyes. “You know why?”

You’re already panting for breath. His slow strokes make you feel every inch of him, but you lick your lips and meet his hot gaze. You start to smile as you humor him.

“Why?” you ask.

“Call it a ‘soft landing,’” he grins. “Makes it feel that much better when I fuck you good and deep.”

Your mouth falls open, this time more in shock as you blush further and shiver in arousal—not only at his words, but the sound of his voice, and his sincerity. You unintentionally clench on his cock, and he groans. He gives your ass a heavy smack. You jolt with a gasp.

“Keep that up,” his voice deepens, rough with pleasure. “’Bout to fuckin’ wreck you.”

All you can do is nod and hold on tight for the damn ride.

He builds up the pace, until he needs a hand on the headboard for balance. The old mattress creaks to the tempo of his pounding strokes, and he’s hitting your G-spot with every single one of them. Your toes curl and you grab onto his thigh to help keep both of you steady.

You feel that coil starting to tighten, but you’re not quite there. You reach down between your bodies and massage your clit in time with his thrusts. Your eyes close on a gasp.

And the coil eventually snaps. Your inner walls spasm and flutter around him, making his hips stutter.   

“That’s it, baby. Let go for me,” he grits out. He chases his own release as well as yours. “So fucking sexy like this, coming apart for me.”

He's spurred on by the way your voice echoes in his ears. A few more hard thrusts, and he’s spilling into you. He fills you up with his warmth and makes a shiver run through your body.

You’re gripping his thigh so tightly you’re probably giving him bruises, but it’s not unlike the fingerprints you often find on your ass and hips (and probably will find tomorrow).

You finally twist onto your back and relax. Dean catches himself against the bed before he crushes you with his weight. You welcome him anyway, with your hand soothing up and down his back.

“You okay?” he asks. Somehow, his gruff voice is still soothing to you. 

You smile, giving a teasing squeeze on his arm. “Much better.”

He chuckles at that. His skin is dewy and sticks to yours, but you don’t mind. In turn, he brushes your now frizzy hair away from your face and neck, so it fans out on the pillow instead.

After he untangles from you and rolls onto the bed at your side, he lays there on his back and tries to regain his breath. You turn toward him and press a kiss into his shoulder.

“Thank you…for reminding me,” you say.

For making me feel beautiful, wanted, loved…

You try to blink past the sting of tears, but you know your eyes are shining.

“I love you,” you remind him.

Dean’s face warms and softens. He reaches over and takes your hand. Again, he presses it to his lips. 

I love you too, that gesture says. Then he smiles. 

“Any time you need a little show and tell, I’m here.”

AN: 😮‍💨 Well then! lol I hope you liked this! For me it was equal parts fun and cathartic, being a plus-size girl myself. 💗💗

I was definitely thinking of that scene in 9.13:

Mala: "What can I say? Sometimes it's nice to feel a little give."

Dean *has an epiphany*: "Oh. Yeah, I get that. A little extra cushion for the, uh..." *fist pounding motion* (lmfao)

🎙️ Again, if you want to listen to the whole story narrated in podfic form, check it out here!

Keep Reading:

Next up in this series is "Get Stuffed":

Summary: Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks.

▶️ Next Story: Get Stuffed

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[starlessnightsblog]

daryl x reader

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MDNI 18+ | wordcount: 3k | smutt ⭑ fluff

daryl to the rescue

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Daryl decided we'd go out for a run. The prison could always use more supplies and he figured he could try to bring home dinner too.

I watched as he packed the trunk of the Prius with supplies we would need, n'case we would stay overnight. The sun was shining, it was a pretty day, the grass still glistening from the morning fog. It had rained on and off here at the prison these last few days. Daryl was eager to get back out there, I knew he liked providing for the group and he liked when I could tag along, he'd grown to not like being apart from each other for long.

I walked up to him, placing my hands on my hips as I watched him slam the trunk door down, "We all set?" I smiled up at him.

He grabbed his bow that was leaning against the car and swung it over his shoulder, "Yes ma'am," He squinted his eyes as the sun beamed in his face. With a raspy voice, "you driving?"

He tossed me the keys before I could answer, I caught them, and rolled my eyes playfully, "This time, but you're driving us home." He hummed paired with a nod.

Daryl opened the driver's side for me, and I looked up at him, my eyes asking him to kiss me. He caught on and leaned down to meet my lips, but in that moment, I saw Carol walking up to us and pulled away. Daryl noticed my gaze shift and he turned around to meet her. She hugged Daryl briefly and then me. "You two be safe, ...and behave." Her tone was stern yet hinted with sarcasm. Daryl let his head fall and his hair cover his face, trying not to smirk too much.

"We behave?" I questioned, pretending to be offended by her statement; though Carol never meant any harm.

Daryl walked to the passenger side and sunk in. "See you soon.' He reassured Carol and she nodded. I closed my door and started the car and waited for Carol and Carl to open the gate, they waved us off. I watched them grow tiny in the rear view.

Me and Daryl parked the car on the side of the road a few miles out from the prison, we  ended up in the woods before midday.  Stumbling through the forest on foot, I treaded right behind Daryl, as we stayed silent amidst the trees, getting a feel of the surrounding area, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to ourselves. I watched as he led the way, looking at sticks and piles of brushed up leaves, observing them. I watched his back as he was distracted by the prints in front of him, we hadn't encountered any walkers yet and I really didn't want too. My aim was still off sometimes, walkers made me freeze up. I hated having to encounter them, at all.

"We need to find an abandoned cabin or somethin'." He mumbled. "I think I remember seeing one out this way." He pointed and began walking adjacent to the direction we were going in, I just went along with it, trusting his every intention. "Okay."

"Least somewhere we can hold up for a night." He looked back at me, his eyes met mine.

oh, I thought. He side smirked and raised a brow. chewing his bottom lip, "Let's keep moving." He hummed and I nodded.

The day was growing dark and grey clouds had infused the sky; the wind picking up in waves. The ambiance of crickets and cicadas filled the swampy air. My feet would've been killing me if I wasn't already use to it, walking, running all day.

Daryl had managed to snag a few rabbits and now we were looking for somewhere we could build a fire. Though I think he was growing weary of the weather just as I was, and we were having zero luck with finding the cabin.

Instead, we happened apon a little homemade, car, junk yard. Though the cars were either stripped of everything that made them useful or already pieces of scrap metal, maybe even from before the world went to shit. Still, it looked untouched enough. There was a chained-up storage container sitting on the far side of the yard, almost blocked by two cars mangled on top of each other. I pointed it out to Daryl. "That might be good place to sleep tonight." I whispered.

"It'll have to be," He looked up at the ever-darkening sky, "come on." he ushered me, his hand hovering the small of my back.

We approached the fenced-in plot, finding a good spot spot to sneak in through. Daryl made a hole in the fence with his bolt cutters. He pulled the chain link down as quietly as he could, though it still made noise.

With caution, we began inspecting the yard. staying close to one another. After assuming it was fine, Daryl began opening a few of the hoods of the cars, inspecting the engines for anything useful. I held my knife out in front me, in case I needed it as I kept walking ahead, wanting to get to the storage building.

I wandered up to what seemed like an untouched mini-van. It had no tires, from what I could see, but all the windows were intact, looked promising. I tried peeking through the caked-on dust and dirt, maybe even guts or blood, I failed to make anything out, so I tried wiping the window with my fist. I wiggled the handle, it was locked, weird. I yanked the handle one more time, and then CLAP.

A pale, skinny hand from inside the car hit the window hard, I flinched, it scratched and bit at the glass so hard it was making its fingertips bleed. It was loud now, and I jumped back, wanting to evacuate the scene and maybe it'd magically shut up? I took a step back into the grasp of a walker suddenly appearing from under the same mini-van, I lost my balance, and stumbled back, hitting the ground fast and hard.

I slammed my foot against the rotter over and over, but was failing to do any real damage, I heard groans coming from behind me. I glanced back quickly. Another walker was crawling out the thick grass, it appeared to have no legs and half an arm, t was close but struggling at the very least, tangling itself in the weeds. My focus shot back to the walker beneath me, it was chomping and hadn't even reached my foot yet. I began to frantically search the ground for my knife, I must've dropped it when I fell. I cursed, wanting this to end but not knowing how.

Another wandering walker's attention snapped to me and this one wasn't stuck; it started limping quickly, it's one good arm shooting out, preparing to grab me at first chance. My heart was racing faster than ever, I pleaded with myself to do something, to move. I screamed as the walker beneath me bit at my shoe, I kicked it off before it could bite through, I scrambled away in the dirt, the moans and groans from the biters around me filled my ears and all I could think of was Daryl and how I couldn't leave him, not like this.

I closed my eyes, shielding myself as the walker that was stumbling towards me got hauntingly closer. Then, in an instant the air was silenced. I watched the walker collapse on the group in front of me, A bloody arrow had pierced straight through its skull. Then another arrow went straight through the eye socket of the walker holding onto my foot. Blood leaked from both the heads in front of me, though the weak walker behind me was still struggling, but still too close for comfort. I stared at the vicious corpse, still in shock from the last few minutes.

I didn't see Daryl till he was on top the corpse in front of me, he shoved his knife down and through the walker's brain, and stabbed again and again till the head was blood and mush. Dark blood splashed his face as he did so.

I took a deep breath in, and Daryl's full attention locked on me, he snapped out of it and rushed to kneel beside me, pulling me up gently. "You okay? You're okay right? They didn't-," His breath trembled, and he looked scared; he scanned my face up and down.

My eyes locked to his as they trained my face. "I'm okay, I'm good," my words wearier than my breathing, my body slightly shaking in the rush of it all, "they didn't- I'm okay." Tears formed in my eyes. I cupped the side of his face with my hand as I shook my head in reassurance. "I'm okay." He touched his forehead to mine and then wrapped his arm around my whole body, holding me tight. We lingered in the embrace, I wanted him to never let me go, and then it began to thunder. Daryl broke away first and looked around. "Let's get inside."

We hadn't even scoped out the container due to my little damsel in distress moment. but it didn't matter anymore, we were sleeping in that thing no matter what.

Rain began to poor, the dirt on our skin rinsing off, our hair dripping onto our faces; we hurried over to the storage container. Daryl puller out his bolt cutters swiftly and broke through the chains with ease, that, or he just made it look easy. He slid the door open slowly and it was dark inside but not so much so we couldn't see in it. I stepped forward but his arm shot in front of me, holding me back. He looked me up and down, "Uhh uh, No way." He murmured.

I didn't say anything. He grabbed a flashlight out his bag and stepped inside. It beamed through the shadows. He peaked around and made sure no dead would pop out the corners. He signaled for me that it was safe, and I stepped inside. He came to close the door behind me, shoving a metal rod through the handles.

I think it was safe to say we hit the jackpot. The container had shelves on either side, it was partially stocked with a decent amount of can goods, we found a first aid kit, and even a few boxes of ammo. I noticed some cardboard boxes that looked straight out of somebody's Saturday morning garage sale.

They were filled with ghosts of the past. I found someone's family photos, baby clothes and even toys. I stuffed my bag with anything I could fit in it. Some of these things would be useful to Judith and this helped me feel useful.

The place had a box full of beeswax candles, the kind you use when the power goes out. Daryl had a lighter handy, so we lit some and put them on the shelves to lighten the place up so we wouldn't trip on ourselves.

I then lay out us out a cot with a double sleeping bag, I tossed my favorite blanket I tote with me on every run as a finishing touch. It looked good enough. Daryl had opened a few of the cans and that's what we ate for dinner. No fire for the rabbits, what a bummer. (I was not bummed.)

We ate quietly. The groans coming from outside disappeared, though the rain only got harder and maybe that's why. We were closed in, nothing was getting in.

We huddled around our one lantern, and each ate a can of green peas. I finished the can and set it on the shelve just above my head. I looked over at Daryl who was also finishing up. He set his can down, away from the sleeping bed.

"Thank you, for earlier," I whispered, "I dunno why, I just froze." I started, wanting to make an excuse for my helplessness. "I shouldn't of-"

"Don't do that." He cut me off, shaking his head. "Nothing happened, and you're okay."

"I put us in danger." I retorted. I never wanted to put Daryl in danger, and he was so much better at the whole apocalypse thing than me.

"Hey, hey, look at me," He hummed, his tone smooth. I met his longing gaze. "we're in danger just by being out here, so it doesn't matter." He took my hand in his, our fingers intertwined. "I would never let anythin' happen to you... no matter what. It's you over everything, over everyone. You know that, right?" The look on his face was coated with sincerity, the flickering lights from the candles bounced on his skin. He was emulating complete and utter warmth.

If it wasn't for Daryl today, I might've ended up walker food. I replayed the moment in my head, the guilt still eating at me, "I never want anything to happen to you." I managed to choke out. I rested my forehead on his shoulder. he took me into his embrace, I squeezed him, and he squeezed back, tighter.

I thought about the man beside me, how he defended me and loved me. He'd take a bullet for me, and we both knew that. But did he know I would do the same for him though?

"I'm not going anywhere." He whispered. I glanced back up at him and pulled his face down to kiss me, brushing my lips to his, he placed his hand on my hip. I broke away for a moment, our eyes pulled together. Wanting to top that, but he crashed his lips to mine.

My hands snaked around his neck, and as our kiss grew more heated, he pulled me on top of him. His hands roamed my body, trying to make skin to skin contact. I ripped my jacket off, not even daring to break the kiss, my hands found their way back around his neck. He tried pulling me closer, grinding my hips below his torso. I ripped right through his vest, leaving him exposed. He smirked, trying to catch his breath, he pulled at my shirt, wanting it gone. He got it over my head and threw it away. He started kissing my neck and biting me softly. I loved when he did that. But I wanted his mouth on mine, and I tilted my head with his, he let my lips touch his and they moved in sync.

Our mouths stayed glued together as I fiddled with his belt and zipper. It didn't take long for me to find his hard-on, I rubbed him gently through his briefs, he groaned. I lifted up off him and removed my shorts, He moved my underwear to the side, and his own down, his cock shot up and his fingers grazed my warmth making sure I was wet. He hummed when he touched me, growing more eager to stick it in. He held his cock in place as I eased onto it. Letting out a breath of pleasure as I felt him enter me.

he started guiding my hips, rocking me back and forth, Daryl loved being in control, even if I was the one on top. He bit his lip, trying not to moan. His dick pushed deeper into me, and I couldn't help but make noise. I brought my lips to his, thinking it would mask my cries. It got harder as we sunk into each other. Whimpers leaving my throat, moans escaping through our kiss. He pushed me down, bucking his hips, I straddled him, and he wrapped his arms around my back, switching our position. He was on top now and I was floating below him. My shoulders barely touching the ground, He rested on his knees, his hands clinging to my waist, he began pounding into me. I whined as I felt his tip hit my cervix over and over again.

His breathing was heavy, and he cursed under his breath, He leaned in, my whole body on the ground now, my legs wrapped around his torso as he wrapped his arms around me. All I could do was plead with my whines. We were so passionate, yet making love with such haste like we didn't have all night. Daryl just knew what he was doing; and no one, not even before, could make me feel this good. I cursed under my breath as my body began to fill with pleasure, my nails digging into his skin, he knew I was close and sped up, with every thrust I could feel my climax getting closer. I bit his shoulder, if I made any more noise, I might attract walkers. his rapid breathing heavy in my ear, he sucked on my neck and left kisses in-between.

In the midst of our passion, Daryl pulled out and released onto my stomach, my release following, my chest was heaving up and down as I laid there on the cot. Daryl whipped the sweat from his brow and stood up, grabbing my shirt and shorts for me. He kissed me slowly as he handed me my things, and then kissed my forehead.

I put my clothes back on and he buttoned his vest back up, he laid down beside me, his head resting on his arms. and I followed, resting my head on his bicep, he pulled me in, I could still feel the heat steaming off his skin, he still had a few breaths to catch, I smiled at him, "I've been thinking about doing that all damn day." He admitted. He wrapped his body around mine and we just laid there, listening to the heavy rain on the metal roof. We started drifting off and fell asleep in each other's arms.

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[lovelykhaleesiii]

Servant to the Moon.

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Alpha!Werewolf!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 2,316.

SUMMARY: Aegon’s unfortunate condition, had him feeling unfavoured by the Gods, until he was blessed with your arrival... 

WARNINGS: mentions of ABO dynamic x human!reader, mentions of breeding kink, lactation kink, innocence kink, mentions of p in v sex, slight BDSM (biting), mentions of pregnancy/birth, mentions of complications in birth, swearing. 

A/N - my beloved friend, @ilikeitbetterangsty and I have created our own little monster, that is alpha Aeg, and now there is no turning back. I need him to bite me, claim me, breed me, and just down-right fuck me. in this little AU or in general, I always thought that Aemond leans more towards being a vampire and Aeg is werewolf coded. Perhaps Helaena could be a nymph hehehe <3 credit to the artist (I need to make proper moodboards)…

Aegon was bit and turned at a young age: King Viserys had wronged and broken a promise to House Stark, that had long been associated to the folklore of werewolves. 

Nonetheless, Rickon Stark had demanded and sought for bitter vengeance, and who better than to target the long-awaited firstborn son, King Viserys had dreamt of. 

From a young age, Aegon was a quick-tempered and unpredictable boy: this new found “disease” [Viserys often labelled it] did not help. Upon each full moon, the Dowager Queen, Alicent Hightower sought to it that her son be secluded and highly confined in a desolate strong hold of the castle, with no light but a few dimly lit candles, beneath the dungeons, heavily guarded and armed, if need be... 

As a child, Aegon relented in these periods where he was often forcefully dragged away, tearful to be locked in heavy, cold metallic chains to his lonesome self. 

During his adolescent years, Aegon did often try to escape, run away before he could be taken and imprisoned against his will before turning, only to be caught. 

His mother and Ser Criston had often given him endless earaches, lecturing him about the dangers of him freely roaming, had he not yet learned to control his strength nor anger. 

As he grew older and mature, into the young man that he presently was, the more acquainted he got with the process, and defeatedly went along with it. No longer needing to be dragged, instead he found himself walking upon each full moon cycle, sometimes even chaining himself down. 

It was blatant to say, he hated turning. It was excruciatingly agonising, often his yells could be heard bellowing beneath the castle floors if one dared to loom close enough to the dark, desolate dungeon halls. 

Once the cycle had ended, his mother often found him close to unconsciousness, covered in matted, ripped clothes clinging to his heavy, heaving body. It pained her, seeing him in such a weakened state, out of his control, she blamed Viserys for his damnation. 

Nonetheless, Ser Criston was determined to help Aegon in steering his carnal urges, especially when in heat. He located outcasted werewolves and appointed them to help the “heir”, negotiating in return for gold, property, titles and copious women. During this process, they’d come to realise that Aegon had a formidable power over them, deeming him an alpha amongst omegas. 

Aegon in heat though, was Alicent’s worst nightmare come true. He was relentless and incontrolable, and as reluctant as she was to admit it, there was no hope in stopping him. Instead of blocking his urges, she allowed him to be, often organising whores for him to bed (not imprint), only able to perform damage control, having the maesters create and supply moon tea and other methods of birth control. Avoiding the risk of “pup” bastards at all costs. 

That was until you arrived, waltzing mindlessly into his life.

Your scent was the first thing that Aegon had noticed about you [without even actually seeing you, he could smell you out], the sweetness of your aroma was intoxicating to him. 

He managed to swiftly sniff you out, finding you in the castle gardens in the dull company of the royal women of the court. 

Feeling his heart pace growing faster and stronger, feeling the intensity of each pulse against his chest, the heaviness of his breath, his fangs naturally growing, and the aching throbs in his hardening crotch: it was all a visceral response, not one that he inflicted upon himself, although he’d made the decision.

You would be his one and only mate. 

Throughout the days you remained within the castle walls, your scent became stronger and more potent: Aegon could feel himself growing weaker, more debilitating to it, desperate to control his urges as to not hurt nor frighten you off. 

Having you around feasts or in the court yard amongst the youth, he needed you far from him, but seeing the keen interest and lustful eyes of the young men you’d caught, he felt inclined to stay. 

If they dared to defile you, he’d rip their throats out. 

Etching closer and closer to you, he could hear your innocent laughter from across the room, and your delicate voice, it made him helplessly smile, looking like a smitten fool.

He could fervently smell your virginity oozing from you, untouched by another man, intact, your aroma remained untainted, and with no ring sighted attached to your proposed finger, it drove him even more savage to think he could be the first to renounce you of your innocence. Day dreaming of fucking you beyond the ability to walk, think or speak coherently, earning a teasing chuckle from himself. 

If he could without being frowned upon, he’d fuck you right there and then, before the eyes of the realm. 

The nights were gruelling for him: not a single night went by since having met you, that he did not dream of you. Constantly, the same image replaying over and over again in his tainted mind: it began with him lustfully devouring you whole, passionately making love to your bare, naked body, eagerly marking you all over, enough for other male wolves to know that you belonged to him. He bites you, imprinting himself on you, before knotting inside of you, pumping his potent seed into you, filling you to the brim till your cunt is practically drowning in him. The last thing he’d see before he’d inevitably wake, is you swollen close to full term with his pup, just lovingly caressing your belly, thanking him. 

It was torture for him to carry on about his day: unknowing of how exactly to approach you. 

Coming up to his next cycle, Aegon found himself wandering eerily close by to your allocated quarters, being able to smell you, hunting your exact location like some predator, he found himself face to face with your shut door. 

Mustering every fibre of strength to resist his primal desire to force himself deep inside of you, piercing his canines deep into your flesh, imprinting his DNA inside of you. Whether you fought against him, would be meaningless he knew, for his strength had heightened greater than that of a human [much to Aemond’s displeasure when training with Aegon]. 

Nonetheless, by some ungodly force, he mustered himself away hastily, from now on having a reckoning of guards between him and yourself. 

Close to his next cycle, he opened up to his mother regarding his intentions about you. She initially did try to convince him otherwise, that this was just his “heat” talking, although seeing how determined and hopeless he was to have you, she promised to make the formal arrangements to betroth you to him, before leaving him to his cell. 

 When he recovered from this cycle, he’d been met with the happy news that the betrothal was offered and approved by your family. In a days time, Aegon and yourself had formally acquainted, and he felt immense content like he never had before. 

He was determined to keep you sated, safe and happy at all times: much to your surprise, surpass the intimidating, formidable look he had, he was pleasant and loving. 

The night before the marriage, Aegon along with his mother, Grandsire and Ser Criston Cole, had initially planned to disclose his condition to you, after consummation. However, he could not bring himself to deceive you. 

Hoping his honesty would be enough to compensate, he remained doubtful, convinced that you would change your mind about wanting to marry a “beast”, and had he gone with the initially plan, you would have been forced to remain in such a union. 

Yet he was blessed: you were not repulsed by him, though more so grew sorrowful and nurturing towards him. Saddened by his story, you reassured Aegon that he was unfortunately a victim caught in a feud between old men, and that this form was thrusted upon him. 

You were keen to remain by his side, to nurse him, to abide by him and most significantly, to love him. 

Nonetheless, he did not disclose to his family that he had told you the truth, and the marriage ceremony proceeded and was sealed before the law of the realm. 

The night of consummation, Aegon informed you that it would hurt, regardless, of the endless promises he’d made that he’d attempt to control himself. 

Imitating his dream, the reality surpassed his expectations. It hurt nonetheless, and often at times, you had to voice Aegon to take it easy, although he did what needed to be done, imprinting and knotting himself deep inside of you, opening you up wide enough, keen to keep his thick, girthy cock inside of you all night long. Now your sweet scent was masked heavily in his musky scent, he was definite no other male would dare to smell you out. 

Bite marks on your ass, is a must for Aegon.

In a few moons, the maesters confirmed of your pregnancy: your changes were rapid as it seemed to be an escalated circumstance due to Aegon’s genes overpowering yours. 

Aegon felt somewhat guilty for this: he ensured that maids were present at your beckon call, instructing you to not lift a single finger, even the slightest of movement from your half, a maid came rushing over, pleading to help. He forced the maesters to keep you bed ridden, confined in the Red Keep of your shared, private chambers, although he allowed for visitors of people’s company you enjoyed, including his mother. 

He made sure you were well fed, bathed and even sought to massaging you himself. 

When he was forced to be absent due to his recurring cycles, he loathed being teared apart from you: genuinely, it infuriated him. It became a habit to keep guards posted outside your chambers, even entrusting Aemond to keep you safe; instructing his dear mother or Helaena to keep you constant company from inside. He would often return in a frail state, yet remained eager to prioritise your needs above his own.

At this point, now that Aegon had a mate, he was more in control of his primal instincts: and was allowed to roam at a distance, far from the walls of King’s Landing, beyond deep into the woods, where he could turn freely.

Reassuring him that you were fine, you would tend to his wounds, as he cherished having you give him your full attention. 

In the months to come, closer to the birth of the babe, Aegon became stupendously possessive over you, with the right reasons though. As irritating as he could be, being constantly on top of you, refusing to leave the bedside to fulfil his princely responsibilities, training and duties, he was simply smitten for you. 

He even grew infatuated with your pregnant body, how your hips grew in preparation for the birth, your breasts swollen, tender, occasionally dripping with the warm milk for the pup, he drank to give you relief [his bright idea], and would teasingly bite at your nipples. Reminding him to keep the supply ready for the babe. 

Your belly was swollen beyond relief, often struggling to sleep or lay still, he hated seeing you in such discomfort. The maesters were certain, it was either twins or simply just a physically big babe [like its father]. 

The time had finally arrived: Aegon promised he would be present at the birth regardless, and he upheld it promisingly. It was a torturous experience to say the least, what felt like days [12 hours], nor could milk of the poppy sustain the aching contractions for a prolonged time. At one point, Aegon grew pale, fearful that The Stranger would make an appearance, and take you from him: he couldn’t bring himself to see you pass in his arms, growing quiet and distant. At one point, he noticed you growing drowsy whether it was from the milk of the poppy you or the constant blood trickling from below, his mind refused to make coherent, logical thoughts. Gripping your hand firmly in his, his deep, soothing voice flowed to your ears, drawing your attention, like a moth to a flame, he whispered, tender, encouraging words into your ear.

“I have asked for too much from you already, my love, my sweet, sweet wife. Yet here I am, to plead for more. I need you to stay with me,Y/N, promise me that you’ll stay with me. I cannot bear to live with myself in this ridden state, no more if you are not by my side, promise me you’ll make it.” 

Justice to his words, you pulled through strongly. A healthy, baby boy was born in the dawn, kicking and screaming vivaciously, holding him warmly and gazing upon him, made every agonising second of his coming worth it. 

He was a split image of his father, as Alicent softly decreed, the sight of the babe bringing joyful tears to her eyes as she reminesced. 

Aegon smitten over his son, was more relieved that you were alive and well, now determined to have you fully recover until the next babe. 

The next time Aegon would organise for maesters and midwives with more preparation and experience in birthing pups of his kind, Alicent also advised “the first is always the hardest, eventually it eases on the body”. 

Aegon slipped into fatherhood with difficulty. Fearful that his condition was thrusted upon his son, without choice just as he was, he grew wearisome that his son would eventually hate him, as he did his own father, for his own reasons. However, despite the outcome you reassured Aegon otherwise.

“Our son will love you regardless, Aegon. And so be it, if he bears the same fate, he has his father to guide him, where he had no one else. He will be grateful for you, I am certain.”

general taglist - @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @teamaemond @elegantsplendour​ @randomdragonfires

Aegon taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter​