#and while I can't find anything on it at the moment

[hyperfixiation-station]

Behind Enemy Lines Pt.2

CW: Detailed description of wounds and torture, talk of derealization, disassociation, medical inaccuracies Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. ALSO I CAN'T FIND THE SAME GIF I USED FOR THE LAST ONE IM SO SAD and also this is shorter than the last one idea playlist part 1 thanks to @haven247 for being my beta

“I'm a medic, please I don't know anything!” wrists strapped, metal on metal, ears ringing

“Stop please I-” touching, pulling, biting

“Im just a medic pl-” it hurts it hurts stop it please

“I don't know anything!” I'm innocent in this

“Please!” just let me die

“Stop it, please!” hurts hurts hurts

God just let me go

Humans are a funny thing. They crave life and living, no matter how awful the circumstance. You thought a lot about the apocalypse shows you used to binge watch, though about how they all fought to survive, even when it would have been better to die. You never really understood them until now. How someone could lose everything, be betrayed and hurt again and again and still want to live. And yet here you are.

Maybe hope if foolish. You'd lost hope for a long time, or at least you'd thought you'd had. But as the soldiers came crashing into your prison, as they held you at gunpoint as you tried to save their friend, you could feel her crawling out of the dark recesses of your heart. Her light was flickering, but there.

Stepping outside almost sends you into shock. The sights, the sounds the smells, everything just came rushing at you like a freight train. For so long you'd been floating in some half-aware state, the world around you muted and dull, and to have it crash back in like this was startling, to say the least. You would have fallen if not for the dark-skinned soldier holding your arm in a vice-like grip.

You can hear gunfire and screaming, so loud it almost made your ears hurt. Smell the smoke and the burning rubber. Feel the wind in your tangled hair and the blood slicking your hands. The blood. It is hot and slippery, coating your hands and soaking into your ratty t-shirt. You can hear Ghost's rattling, wet breaths, smell the metallic scent of his blood, feel the way his meat, his muscles and fat, brushed against your hand as you kept him from bleeding out, can feel his organs pressing against your fingers with each shuddering breath he takes.

Oddly enough, these sensation help ground you. They were things you knew, feeling you had grown accustomed to since your first day in med school.

You reach a helicopter, the rotors already spinning. Its a bit of a struggle to get in while making sure you don't let go of Ghost, but you manage. The soldiers carrying him place him on a row of seats, and you kneel down next to his body, hand still firmly holding gauze in place.

It wasn't doing much good, but it's not like you could tell anyone.

"Help him." The soldier with the mustache orders the moment you're in the air. He thrusts a med-kit at you, and the dark-skinned soldier opens it for you, showing you the contents.

They don't give you much to work with. Some gauze, a needle and thread, bandages, and a lighter. Rudimentary supplies. But hey, you've done more with less. Probably.

Your free hand drifts to the lighter, a distant memory of a soldier and a gunshot wound in a similar area flashing through your mind. It's not quite the same, more than just an artery nicked this time, but cauterization is all you can really do.

You grab the lighter, flicking it on and holding to his body. a hand closes like vice around your wrist, yanking your hand away.

"What the 'ell are ye doin'" A man with a Scottish accent practically snarls at you. You whine in response, tugging your arm uselessly.

"Soap." The mustache man says sharply, "Let 'em work."

"Sir-"

"Let them go." Your wrist drops, and you fumble with the lighter before holding the fame to Ghost's skin. You watch in sick fascination as his skin bubbles and burns, the fat and muscles shrinking away under the flame, the blood vessels sealing precariously as the heat sears them shut.

You don't know what effects this will have on his organs, if he'll be able to function the same way again. But you have to keep him alive. You look at his pale face, watch the way his chest shudders with every breath.

God you hope he makes it.

~line break~

They don't let you was before throwing you in a cell. Okay, maybe they didn't throw you, but regardless, you were still cuffed to a table with Ghost's blood crusted to your skin. It was gross. And cruel. They had stripped you away the second you reached the infirmary, not letting you see what was going to happen to your patient.

The door swings open and you flinch, looking up at the soldier that comes in with eyes. Its the man from the helicopter. Soap, you think his name is.

"Yer lucky the medics sayd he'll live." He says, his voice distinctly Scottish. He stalks towards you, sitting on the table on your left side.

" 've been instructed tae question ye, but first we ha'e tae git a look at yer face." He reaches for your mask, tugging it off your ear. All he succeeds in doing is pulling your head forward.

The mask is secured behind your head with a metal clasp, and could only be opened with a specific key, ensuring you couldn't take it off. You had tried, at first, to pull the stitches out, and this was the solution. You can't pull out stiches if you can't touch your mouth.

Soaps brow furrows, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. HE grimaces as he touches your hair, finally just pulling a knife out of his pocket. You tense automatically, squirming away as he brings it closer to you.

"Oh for fu- hold still!" He grasps your head, sliding the knife through the cloth by your ear. The mask falls away, leaving your face exposed

"Lets see what we're-" He freezes, the knife dropping to the floor with a clatter as he sees the mess that is your face. Your lips are sewn together, and the skin of your cheeks is red and raw from the tape that holds your feedign tube on.

"Oh shit." the blood drains from his face, his hand fumbling for the comm unit on his vest.

"Cap? Yeah, we've got a problem."

A/N: Okay, i'm not sure I like the second half, but here it is! Part 3 will have more Ghost/medic interaction :) tags: I definitely didn't get them all, I'm sorry there was just so many of you @smile6890 @cricricorner @unclearblur @redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05  @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz  @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho @z-wantstowrite @i-ate-ur-fries @fakeguysarehot @shitrandom @yunho-leeknow @idontreallyexistyet 

[madebycloud]

Off The Script

jinx/powder x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: the scene is all going perfectly—until jinx decides to go... a little bit off script. warnings/themes: fluff, actors au, super ultra mega bff premium, friends to ???, practice kissing, making out, everything is casual....? words: 2.1k

You've known her for a few years already, and you're comfortable around her. You haven't known Jinx to be particularly shy, let alone shy about physical contact. But this isn't just physical contact like pats on the back, or hugs, or even her clinging to your arm during group hangouts... this is a kissing scene.

You can hear the director of the movie calling everyone to their places while you skim over the same words on the script, over and over again.

Across from you, Jinx's lips glisten from the fresh coat of lip gloss, and she puckers out her lips to check her makeup.

Five days ago, you remember how she came up to you and suggested that you two should practice the kiss. 

It was just an impromptu suggestion. It came out of nowhere.

—

FIVE DAYS AGO

“I just need to get used to the feeling. If I'm going to kiss you for the movie, shouldn't I get some practice in?”

She's sitting on your couch and looking down at her phone, not even looking up as she suggests you kiss together.

“...so that it's not as awkward, you know?” she continues. “We're going to be kissing on screen, and I can't have it look too awkward.”

Even though you've known her for years, the suggestion still surprises you. “You do realize how weird that sounds?”

Jinx groans and rolls her eyes, finally peering up from her phone to give you a look. “Come on. It's not that weird.”

“It is weird. Very weird,” you insist adamantly.

She huffs, setting her phone down on the coffee table. “I can't exactly practice with the other cast members, can I?” she points out. “And I doubt the cast members would be comfortable with kissing an actress they've hardly known for a few days, so…”

You shake your head in disbelief. What have you done to deserve this? Then again... it can't hurt to practice the scene. It's not like it means anything.

“Fine, for the sake of the film.”

She smirks and then turns her body to face you, shifting on the couch, and you mimic her, moving to face her.

This is fine, it's just for practice... and yet, your heart is responding as if this actually matters.

Jinx's lips part, and she whispers, “Come here.”

You comply and lean forward, pressing your lips to hers in a light peck. You pull your head back, separating by a few inches. “Like that...?”

She shakes her head with a scoff, dismissing your awkward attempt. “No, no. That was pathetic. Try again.”

Pathetic? Who does she think she is? Ignoring your annoyance, you decide to give it another try, determined to meet her standards.

You lean in again and repeat the gesture, your lips brushing against hers for a brief moment. Again, you pull your head back, looking at her for approval.

She just snorts. “That's weak. We're supposed to be in love, remember? try not to look like you're kissing your grandmother. Make it look like you want to kiss me.”

Like you want to kiss her. That's a difficult thing to make look natural. But you just have to think like an actor. You're acting. She's your ‘love interest’ for the movie.

Act.

You can't look like you're kissing your grandmother.

Your hand finds her face, and you gently cup her jaw, your thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. Your eyes flick back to hers as you lean in once again, pressing your lips onto hers more firmly and trying to push her back into the couch.

Jinx pulls you down on top of her as your hand moves from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair.

The brief, initial, light kiss is over. And despite the acting, you feel the briefest flutter in your chest.

She lets out a sigh against your mouth before she gently pushes you away. Then, with a shaky voice, she whispers, “Not bad.”

You're a bit proud of yourself, to be honest. She seemed much more satisfied with that response and even sounded surprised with your sudden effort. She also looks a bit flushed, maybe even breathless.

You look at her lips, noticing a slight smudge of lipstick around the edges of your mouth. “Uh... is that all?”

She glances up at you through her eyelashes, her gaze lingering for just a moment before she looks away.

Wait... is she blushing?

You want to call her out for the redness of her cheeks, but then she speaks. “No,” she murmurs. “That definitely isn't all.”

—

PRESENT

You both have been trying to pretend that things are normal since the ‘practice kiss.’ Neither of you mentions it nor acknowledges the way things feel different since then.

The kiss was entirely for the sake of the film. No big deal.

Just... two friends, practicing kissing for a movie.

It definitely didn't mean anything.

You glance down at your script again. The scene was simple—walk her to the door, say some lines, a simple, sweet kiss that should only last about three seconds, and it's over.

“Okay... places, everyone,” the director shouts.

The crew members then prepare the set and adjust the cameras, making sure every lighting angle is just right and adjusting the scene set-up.

You get up from your chair and walk towards the set.

Jinx walks next to you, smiling at the crew members who greet her. A makeup artist dabs at her face with a brush then pats her cheek. “Looking radiant as ever.”

“Thanks,” Jinx replies, smiling widely. “I'm born stunning, and makeup just enhances the blessing.”

You reach the set and watch as the director talks to a couple of camera operators.

The set looks like a simple apartment hallway. The lights are dimmed in a way that's supposed to emulate the night.

“Quiet on set,” the director calls out. “Places, everyone. I really, really want this take to be great.”

“No pressure,” a crew member adds sarcastically. 

The director glares briefly at the crew member, then continues. “This is a key scene, the audience is going to love this. The chemistry has to be perfect. You have to sell this.”

You nod at the director and then look over to Jinx, giving her a small smile, which she returns. Your eyes linger on her for a beat too long, but you look away when you hear the director shout.

“Ready? Aaaaand... action!”

You walk alongside as Jinx walks next to you. Your footsteps are in sync as the two of you walk together to the apartment door.

“Well, this is it.” You stop by the door and say to her, as stated in the script. “I guess I'll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah... I'll see you tomorrow. I'll send you a text or something,” she replies,placing her hand on the door handle.

“You never stick around to say goodbye?”

Her hand stays on the door as she turns, her gaze meeting yours. “No.”

“That's weird.”

She laughs and shrugs her shoulders. “I am weird.”

“I know.”

Jinx glances around and then leans against the doorframe with her back. “So... um... good night then.”

That's your cue.

You lean forward and press your lips to hers. It's brief, barely a few seconds, but it's just as the script says. Simple, normal, and part of the job. 

Your lips part, and you pull your head back a few inches, your gaze never leaving her face. Her eyes flutter open, staring at your mouth, and she wets her lower lip with her tongue.

That's it. That's it-

“Goodni-” you start, but then Jinx suddenly reaches around your neck and pulls you in, and before you can ask her what she's doing, her lips find yours again.

You let out a surprised sound before your mind and body quickly catch up with the moment. She's kissing you.

She's kissing you, not in character, not for practice, not for the film, not for the money. She's kissing you, with her hand clutching the back of your neck, and her eyes tightly shut, just because she wants to.

Your mind is racing, going blank, blank, blank, and your eyes slip shut.

You press your hand against the doorframe to keep your balance as her tongue runs over your lower lip, coaxing your mouth open.

You let her in, and you find yourself suddenly not minding—if anything, you respond and play along, matching her pace as you deepen the kiss. Her fingers tangle in your hair, and your hands grab the curve of her hip. 

You stumble forward, pinning her back against the door. She gasps softly, her lips moving against yours, the taste of her sweet tongue spreading across your mouth. 

It's too much, too much, too goddamn much-

You break the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to hers, until the distance gets too long and snaps.

You try to breathe, to catch your breath, but Jinx is impatient. She wants more. She yanks you back towards her, and her lips crash against yours again, harder, more desperately.

You feel her mouth curl into a smile before she drags her teeth over your bottom lip-

“Ow-” you pull away again as your tongue runs across your lip, tasting the copper taste of your blood.

“...and CUT!”

Your eyes fly open, and you feel her breath on your face. Then, you take a step back, your hand dropping from her hip.

Reality comes crashing back as the sounds of the crew and cast echo around you.

“That... that-” the director says enthusiastically, “-is what we're looking for. That's the energy the audience will love!”

Breathing heavily, you stare at Jinx as you wipe the blood off your face with your thumb. Her eyes meet yours, and before she can say anything, the director interrupts.

“That was an amazing kiss. I could feel the chemistry, the tension, the passion... that's it. That's the scene. This film is going to be a massive hit!” He reaches over, placing a hand on your shoulder and then Jinx's. “And that's thanks to you two. Fantastic work, fantastic.”

“Fantastic,” you repeat in a half-whisper.

The director pats you on the back before walking over to two of the crew members and starts giving more notes and directions. 

Jinx runs a hand through her hair. You can see her hand trembling slightly, like your own, as she tries to regain her composure.

“So…” She pushes a strand of her hair back behind her ear. “...that was a good take.”

“Yeah…” you croak out, trying to pull yourself together. “Good…” Too good.

She bites her lower lip, then averts her gaze. “Yeah…” Her eyes flick back to your face, and she stares at your lip. “...sorry for biting you. That was a little much.”

She smiles at you, and you smile back, even though your lip is really sore.

“I... it's fine, don't worry about it.”

She nods. “I just... got a little excited.” Excited... about what? “I'll be careful next time,” she adds.

“...right.” Next time. Next time. Next time. There will be next time? “...no worries.”

Jinx clears her throat as she fiddles with the sleeve of her shirt. She looks like she's going to say more, but a crew member calls out to her. “Jinx! Can you come over here for a second?”

She turns her head, distracted. “I'll see you around,” she says quickly to you, then heads over to where the crew member is.

See you around.

“You are too obvious.”

Huh?

You glance over to your right to see a co-actress staring at you. “Excuse me?”

“The heart eyes, the staring... You're way, way too obvious.”

“It's—it's not-”

“You practically had your tongue in her mouth. I'm surprised she didn't swallow it.”

You stare at her, then let out a bitter laugh. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You're really kidding me right now?”

“No, I'm being totally serious. I have no idea what-” you gesture vaguely in the air, “-what you're talking about.”

The actress sighs as she glances back at you, then shakes her head. “Honestly? I have no clue how you can be this dense.”

You sputter, but she's already turned away and heads off.

What did that mean...? You're not staring, you're not looking at her with ‘heart eyes,’ you're just... just...

Your fingers rise to touch your lip, which still feels sore from her biting it.

She's just a friend. A really good, close friend.

That's all.

You're just a friend... friends that kiss for a living.

Damn it, this is... this is really confusing.

[catssluvr]

first kiss, travis martinez

travis martinez x fem!reader (1k words) (request)

in which you are travis’ first kiss.

warnings: kissing, fluff :)

꩜ ꩜

It's a perfect summer day, the sun feels slightly unbearable to be under but the tree shades provide a pleasing cooling sensation. Almost everyone has come to either swim or sit by the lake, splashes and laughter sounding through the air.

The warm breeze feels nice on your skin as you come to surface, water dripping from your soaked hair to your back.

You take a moment to catch your breath, a small smile forming on your lips as you take a look around your surroundings. Van and Tai are doing a splash war, full of giggly voices and heart eyes.

On the corner of your eyes you catch Travis a few feet away, seemingly lost in thought. He's looking at you, you realize.

You turn to catch his gaze in yours, only for a split moment as he gives you a small smile before looking away.

There's something going on between you two, you've known it for a while now. He's closer to you than any of the other girls, both of you growing more attached with every day that passes.

But there's still that awkward feeling present, that usually dissolves when you spend time together but never evolves into anything. Travis is shyer than he tries to come off as, turning into a stuttering blushing mess when you both touch.

An idea pops in your head, having to stop yourself from chuckling as you put your plan in action.

You slowly get out of the water, making your way to your towel so you can dry off before pulling your clothes on again.

Turning back to look at where Travis is still in the lake, you wait for him to notice you before motioning with your head towards the woods.

You give him no time to say anything before striding the opposite way, walking until you find the tree trunk you both usually hang at and you know he will find easily.

You sit there for only a few minutes before he shows up, looking as if he had been on a rush just moment ago and with a dishevelled hair that looks way too good not to run your fingers through it.

"What are you following me for, weirdo?" You ask smugly as he takes a sit next to you, the closeness in which he settles for making your heart skip a beat.

"Shut up." He rolls his eyes, but there's an hint of a smile on his lips.

It feels comfortable and almost natural to be close to him, to get to tease him senselessly until he's too flustered to utter a single word.

"You look like a wet dog." Your hand reaches to ruffle his hair as the excuse leaves your mouth, receiving a light shove almost immediately.

"Oh, me?" Travis raises his eyebrows with a smile full of scheme.

You hum, puffing your chest jokingly. In a swift movement, he launches himself at you, fingers coming to place tickles on your ribs.

You shriek, flinching from his ticklish touches as he comes to be practically on top of you. He chuckles above you, as unaware of the proximity as you.

"Take it back." He threatens with a smirk.

"No!" You gasp between breaths.

"You sure?" He pushes, fingers stilling for a moment of peace before returning to your ribs in full force.

"Okay- i take it back!!" Your breath comes ragged as he pulls away, hands settling on the grass on either side of you.

His breath fans your face as he looks at you, a wide smile of now victory on his face as his eyes practically sparkle. You can't help but let out one more giggle of your own.

"You're smiley for someone who's supposed to think i'm weird." Travis points.

"I'm happy." You answer lowly, honestly.

"Yeah?" He seeks confirmation, leaving behind all the usual playfulness and holding back.

"Mhm."

You feel your eyes drop to his lips, stomach fluttering at the thought of them feeling as good as they look. The slight dryness to them only has you wanting to kiss them more and change that.

"I've never done this before." He whispers close to your own lips.

You can't help but shudder at the thought, it feels even more special than it already did. And you want to be the first and last to get to touch his lips with yours.

"Do you want to?" You rub his cheek with your thumb. Making sure he's comfortable with you is still way more important than what you wish.

Travis doesn't bother to answer, capturing your lips to his in an almost desperate way as one hand comes to hold your chin so that your mouth stays glued to his.

It starts of slightly clumsily, his nose bumping into yours a few times. But he gets the hang of it rather fast, mouth moving against yours until his lips feel numb.

You have to wonder how he's so good at something he's never done, clouding over all the other times you've done it before.

He slows his lips, pressing a pecks to your lips a few times before being forced to pull away by the smiles that form on both your lips.

You giggle awkwardly as you pull away, burying your face in his shoulder.

Travis moves to sit by your side again, wrapping an arm around you so you can rest on his chest again. His heart is beating wildly against your ear, and the way he plays with the belt loops of your shorts makes you sure he's nervous.

"That was really good, Trav." You squeeze his waist affectionately.

"Okay." He nods embarrassed. You smile against his shirt, cheeks hurting from the overuse of it.

"Might have to try again to make sure though." You lighten the mood.

"Dork." He says but doesn't contest it as he untucks you from his embrace to kiss you again, humming with pleasing against your lips.

"Want to go actually swim with me instead of looking creepily?"

"Yeah, yeah. Flatter yourself." He rolls his eyes, pulling you up and wrapping his arm around your shoulder again before pressing a kiss to your temple.

You grab hold of his hand hanging from your shoulder, retributing the kiss there. Definitely happy.

[foolishescapism]

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from? Eglantine Ingellvar is Nevarran, born and raised. The Grand Necropolis will always be the most beautiful place in the world, to them.

2: What is your character's alignment? Chaotic Chaotic Neutral

3: Race and subclass? Human Warrior (Reaper)

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found? Throwing punches and getting punched in an underground fighting ring, underneath an empty mausoleum, with rowdy Watchers cheering and skeletons taking bets

5: What emotion did they usually pick? Charming/Humorous

6: What companion are you platonically close with? All of them Harding is... was their best friend

7: Romantically close with? They're Emmrich's personal gremlin devoted bodyguard future spouse; there's something going on with Davrin but last time I tried to explain it I ended up with a 1500-words-long wall of text

8: Who are they suspicious of? Never trusted Solas but genuinely liked him, would have bet the entire Lighthouse on Illario's treachery the moment they met, was initially suspicious of everyone in Minrathous except Ashur and Dorian but warmed up to them quickly

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction? Absolutely

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments? People No, but they dance like no one's watching

11: Weapon of choice? Words Greataxe + shield

12: What is their orientation? They swing all ways

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it? They believe in redemption, so they generally dislike killing, although they also believe it to be inevitable sometimes; however, they enjoy hunting slavers for sport and making sure their remains are put to good use

14: What hobbies does your Rook have? Encouraging Manfred and Assan to cause all the trouble they want while making sure nothing bad happens to them; drawing, exploring places, necromancy and all kinds of funerary arts

15: What NPCs do they like? Which ones do they dislike? They're not getting married unless Vorgoth is the officiant, Myrna is like an older sister; loves Antoine and Evka, would protect Dorian with their life, has a major crush on Ashur, calls the Inquisitor their friend; can't stand Strife, had to be dissuaded from throwing a party when Shathann died, and describes punching the First Warden as one of the most satisfying moments of their life

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas? Emmrich Manfred and Assan, and every single wisp in the land

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer? They get in trouble like it's a religion and thrive in it

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric? They would have gone back to the Necropolis after a month or two, resumed that routine; would have joined the fight against the Evanuris and probably ended up in charge anyway, because they crave action, they love bringing people together, and are not afraid of that kind of responsibility

19: How do you think they'll meet their end? End? They're devouring anything and everything there has been written about how to become a lich; a lich won't die from natural causes but can be killed, in some circumstances, so... they would either die fighting, or have someone kill them to accompany Emmrich, should he decide to find out what lies beyond

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him? If Solas' plan was safe, if it didn't involve people dying or spirits being forcefully twisted into demons, they would have gladly fought for a world where mortals and spirits can coexist. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case, and the collateral damage was too heavy to ignore. Even while tricking him into causing his own downfall, they couldn't see Solas as an enemy

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability? They throw that shield at least a thousand times per day

22: What languages is your character fluent in? Trade, Tevene (both modern and ancient), a bit of Elvhen, and that patois of Orlesian unique to Nevarra, naturally; they're also picking up all kinds of idioms and profanities from their travels and friends

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis? Emmrich. Or they fall asleep with Assan on Davrin's bed, in a tangle of tears and feathers; if anyone comes looking for them, Davrin hits them with a "Rook? Haven't seen 'em"

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife? Of course

25: What specialization best represents your Rook? Reaper fits perfectly

26: What animal best represents your Rook? Probably a very chatty corvid

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard? Fighting boredom, chasing trouble, partying like there was no tomorrow only to wake up the next day in some unfamiliar place, with a massive headache, and possibly stuck in a cuddle pile

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader? Manfred and Assan They consider themselves to be the leader, and they love that: they love being the one to bring people together, the one to cause a domino effect of alliances and friendships, to support and encourage and inspire; they're also really stubborn and need to do things their own way, even if it means bearing all the burdens

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why? Shadow Dragons: see question 13

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook? They're brutally honest and unhinged, but also extremely respectful and committed to honoring tradition and ceremony

Rook Questionnaire

inspired by @cassieuncaged's BG3 Character Development Questions but for Rook instead!

1: Where in the Thedas is your Rook from?

2: What is your character's alignment?

3: Race and subclass?

4: If your Rook was a companion, where would they be found?

5: What emotion did they usually pick?

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

7: Romantically close with?

8: Who are they suspicious of?

9: Does your Rook get along with their chosen Faction?

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

11: Weapon of choice?

12: What is their orientation?

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

14: What hobbies does your Rook have?

15: What NPCs do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Thedas?

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

18: What would your Rook be doing if they weren't recruited by Varric?

19: How do you think they'll meet their end?

20: Would they side with Solas or fight him?

21: What is your Rook's favorite ability?

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

23: What do they do after an absolute crisis?

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

25: What specialization best represents your Rook?

26: What animal best represents your Rook?

27: What was their life like before the events of Veilguard?

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

29: If you could choose a different faction for your Rook, which one would they have joined and why?

30: What's your favorite thing about your Rook?

[vinnyvamppp]

Hii, i wanted to ask for a Death goddess reader, who can never die/wishes to, and some Mark variants who are just obsessed with the smuts that they can have... (No Goggles, Shiesty, Viltrumite, Sinister in special)

It can even be romantic a bit, like she sometimes has to die to be able to live/experience the other day and after her death, she comes back but can't remember so Mark is helping her (in the most twisted way possible because no matter what he does, she always comes back to him).

~🤫

"And Still, You Return."

A/N: See, for some reason… this story had me conflicted. Taking a different approach, I decided to make the variants slightly ooc to match the dark romance feel.

Synopsis: Each time you die, the world begins again. You awaken reborn, stripped of memory but not of sensation. And always, they are waiting for you. Four versions of the same man. Four obsessions. Four lovers who each remember what you’ve forgotten—and will do anything to make your body remember them in return. Warnings: Obsession/Possessive Dynamics, Mutual Power Imbalances, Sexual Addiction, Codependency, Mythological Themes, DubCon, Momemory loss, Smut, and Mild Descriptions of Violence (landscape).

(4) Invincible!Variants x Death Goddess!Reader

Word Count: Sigh... Its a series of characters, ya'll know the routine by now. It's LONG.

They say dying feels like falling asleep. For you, it feels like unraveling silk. There’s no pain—at least not the kind you can name. Just a slow sinking, as if your bones are folding into dust and your skin is being kissed by cold air. Your soul detaches like fabric slipping from a shoulder—gentle, even graceful. Almost arousing, in a way that should terrify you, but never does.

You crave that moment now, more than anything. Envy swells in your chest with each dreadful soul that transcends your domain. Because dying is the only time you feel. The world always dims before you leave it—like someone blowing out candles one by one. And then it happens. The fall. The float. The hush.

And then: light. Heat. Breath.

You wake—always somewhere different. Naked or clothed in ruin. Alone or accompanied by the scent of wine and blood and ash. Your memories are gone, scorched into the ether like burnt pages. But your body is not innocent. It flinches at echoes, trembles under shadows. You’re born again with want trapped in your lungs and bruises you don’t recall earning.

And they find you. Or maybe you find them—drawn like a compass needle to the pulse in the dark that never stops calling you. There are always men. Always him. Versions of a face you almost remember—soft eyes, sharp smiles, hands that tremble with need or violence or both.

And they love you in the only language you still understand. Touch. Their mouths. Their skin. Their hunger. They call you love. Goddess. Mine.  And they remind you how it feels to be wanted. They make you feel real again, if only for the moment you’re beneath them—sweat-slick, gasping, sobbing against lips you do not know but remember somewhere deeper than thought. They say it isn’t love. But you know better. It’s something worse. And something more.

Lenless Mark - You wake on soft sheets. Warmth clings to your bare skin, but you don’t know whose bed this is, or why your thighs ache like you've been opened recently—used, again and again. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you, hunched like he’s been there a while. Watching. When he turns, his eyes are red-rimmed. He looks at you like he’s just seen a ghost crawl back into its body.

“Dude, you’re awake,” he breathes, standing slowly. “Fuck… you’re really here.” You flinch as he reaches for you. You don’t know him. But the way your body tightens—anticipation, heat pooling low—it tells you some part of you does.

His hand touches your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll shatter. Then his mouth follows, soft, warm, trembling. “You don’t remember me. Shit, you never do,” he whispers. “But I remember everything.” He kisses you like it hurts not to. His lips press harder, his breath hitching as he drags you under him, your legs parting out of instinct.

His hands are shaking. He murmurs apologies as he pushes the blankets away, as he kisses down your neck and over your chest, as he runs his tongue over your nipple and lets out a choked noise like he’s about to cry. But he keeps going. Its unusual. A man who gratified by you using him to your will, its left in such a pitiful state. His deep smile lines now tainted through trembling lips.

“I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t—fuck, I just need to feel you again. I need to be inside you. You’ll let me right? Doesn’t matter.” He goes down on you like it’s the last time he’ll ever taste you. Moans into your pussy like it’s sacred, like it’s his, and he never forgot the way you sounded when you came. You gasp, thighs twitching, your hips lifting for more—and he takes it. He drags his tongue over your clit, slow at first, then fast and hungry as your gasps rise. He wants you to come fast. He needs to feel it.

“That’s it, babe—god, you still taste the same. I knew you would. You always do.” You come, legs wrapped around his head, and when he finally pulls back, his face is slick and his cock is already out, flushed and leaking, heavy in his fist.

“You don’t remember me,” he says again, voice cracking, lining himself up. “But you’re still wet for me. You still open up the same.”

He slides inside you slowly, thick and aching. His breath catches, forehead pressed to yours, and for a second, it almost feels like love. Like he could stay here, gentle, and pretend this is enough. But then you moan his name—a name you shouldn’t know—and he loses it.

He fucks you deep. Smooth strokes that grow faster, harder, sloppier. His hands dig into your hips like he’s trying to mold you to him. He whispers nonsense—you’re mine, you always come back, dude I missed you so bad—until it becomes a chant. “Dude, you remember. You do. I can feel it.”

You can’t answer. All you can do is arch and cry out, meeting each thrust with mindless need. There’s something inside you—some echo of recognition—rising with every stroke.

He kisses you again when you come around him, clenching so tight he gasps into your mouth. And when he follows, emptying himself inside you with a hoarse sob and a choked chuckle, he doesn’t pull out. He just holds you. “You’ll forget again,” he murmurs. “But your body never does. It always brings you back to me.”

Hooded Mark – You’re in a hallway now—dim, narrow, red light seeping from under the door at the end. You don’t remember how you got here. But the scent—leather, smoke, expensive cologne—hits you like déjà vu.

You knock once. The door swings open. He’s already smiling. That same cocky tilt of the lips that says I knew you'd come back.  The hood's down this time. He wants you to see him. “There you are,” he purrs. “Took you long enough.”

He steps aside, letting you in like it’s your place. And maybe it is. The room feels... familiar. The way his gaze crawls over you definitely does. “You don’t remember me yet, do you?” he asks, voice low as he circles you. “Good. I like it better this way.”

His fingers hook your waistband, tugging you back against him. You feel the hard press of him, already thick and aching through his slacks. His hand slides under your shirt—palm warm, thumb brushing over a nipple that stiffens immediately. “But your body remembers,” he murmurs against your ear. “It always does.”

He kisses your neck slowly, with practiced precision. Nips the skin. Sucks until you gasp. He knows exactly where to bite to make you moan. Then he spins you around, pins you to the door, and kisses you full on the mouth—wet, deep, tongue fucking you until your knees nearly give.

“Say you want me,” he whispers. You hate that you do. But your hands are already in his hair. Your hips grinding against his thigh. He chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”

He strips you fast—rough fingers, greedy grip. He doesn’t just undress you; he takes the clothes from you. Then he drops to his knees and buries his face between your thighs.

His mouth is ruthless. He licks you in long, hungry strokes, tongue flicking your clit just right, moaning like you’re the one devouring him.He fucks you with his mouth until your thighs shake, until you're grabbing his hood for balance. “Every. Single. Time,” he murmurs against your cunt. “I make you come before I even fuck you.”

And when you do—loud, gasping, face flushed against the door—he rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then pulls you onto his lap on the couch. He unzips, thick cock springing free. You barely get your bearings before he sinks you down onto him.

“Just like that. You remember now, don’t you?” You ride him hard, fast—his hands gripping your hips, guiding every thrust. You feel your climax building again, tight and hot and desperate. “Look at you,” he pants, eyes dark with lust. “You come back, you forget, and I still fuck you the same. You’ll never want anyone else. You can’t. I don’t want anyone else, no, not after this.”

You come around him a second time, your walls fluttering so tight it drags a strangled curse from his throat. He holds you there, buried deep, shuddering as he spills inside you. “Every time you forget me,” he says, panting, “I’ll make you remember this. I’ll make your body choose me. Every fucking time.”

He doesn’t kiss you after. He just pulls your head to his chest, and lets the silence settle.

Viltrumite Mark - You wake to rubble. The air is thick with smoke, ozone, and something deeper—metallic, hot.  You're lying in the wreckage of something that must’ve been a home once. You don’t know who you were here. But the ache in your body is wanting… perhaps familiar as you feel a familiar pull. Your body is humming, twitching with the aftershock of want.

You sit up—and there he is. He lands hard on the scorched earth, his boots cracking stone. He’s still panting, shirt torn down the middle, arms dusted with ash and a trail of crimson that’s not his. His gaze is heavy, but reminiscent of sorrow. “You came back.” He says it like an accusation. Like you owe him for the pain of waiting.

He’s in front of you in seconds, grabbing your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. You flinch—but your body doesn’t pull away. “You don’t remember me, do you?” he growls. “Then let me remind you.” He kisses you with teeth. With tongue. With fury. You gasp as his hand fists in your hair, pulling your head back, exposing your throat.

“You left me again,” he snarls. “You died. Do you know what that does to me?” He lifts you like you weigh nothing, tosses you against the half-collapsed wall, and strips you with a violence that shouldn’t be arousing—but is.

Your nipples harden in the cold air. Your pussy clenches, slick and ready, as if your body knew this was coming. Maybe it did. Maybe it always does. He tears your panties off and drops to his knees, shoving your legs apart like you’re his prize. “Mine,” he mutters, voice shaking. “You’re mine. You were made for me.”

He doesn’t tease. Tongue dragging through your folds, lips sealing over your clit, sucking until your hips jerk, until you scream, until you grind against his face like you’re chasing your own destruction. He doesn’t stop. Not when you beg. Not when your thighs shake. He pins them down and keeps going, licking you until you’re crying his name—his real one, the one you shouldn’t know.

“That’s it,” he grunts, standing up, cock already in his hand, throbbing, flushed. “That’s you. You remember.” He slams into you without warning, it’s deep and brutal. Your back hits the wall, legs locked around him as he fucks you like he’s fighting God. Every thrust is punishment and a plea. He fucks you so hard your breath leaves your lungs. So hard the wall behind you cracks. “This is what brings you back. Not the memories. Not the words. This. My cock inside you. Me making you scream.”

You want to deny it. But your pussy clenches around him. Your body knows. It gives you away.

He doesn’t slow down. His grip bruises. His breath is hot against your ear as he growls every filthy thought he’s had during your absence. “I fucked my hand thinking about you. I wrecked worlds because of you. I killed with your name in my mouth. Just why do you keep leaving me?”

You come hard. The kind of orgasm that shatters you. You scream until your throat goes raw, until your nails rake down his back. And still, he doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it. Then he finishes deep, thick spurts filling you as he throws his head back and cries.

When it’s over, he stays buried inside you.

He kisses your temple—shockingly soft—and breathes against your skin like he’s trying to calm himself. “You forget me every time,” he murmurs. “But I’ll fuck myself into your bones. I’ll live there. And you won’t ever get me out.” Sinister Mark -

This time, you wake in luxury. The bed is massive. The sheets are black silk, cool against your naked skin. The scent in the air is intoxicating—roses and spice and something darker, sharper, like a hint of blood in wine.

You sit up slowly. You’re not alone. He’s already waiting, lounging in a velvet chair by the hearth, wineglass in one hand, watching you like a predator watches prey that’s already been caught. “There she is,” he says smoothly, rising with the grace of a practiced host. He approaches with purpose, his voice low, warm, practiced—each word sliding into your ears like velvet over skin. “You’re beautiful when you forget me,” he says, setting the glass aside. “But I admit, I enjoy the moment when your body begins to remember more.”

He sits beside you, so close, but doesn’t touch you yet. Instead, he studies your face. Your lips. Your throat. “Do you feel it yet? That ache? That empty space I usually fill?” His hand moves then—slow, gloved fingers tracing the line of your jaw. Then your collarbone. Then lower. The gloves come off, one finger at a time.

“I remember the way you came last time,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “How wet you got when I said your name. You screamed for me. You bit me. I’ve practiced… over and over on how to make you feel good for when you return.” He removes the rest of your clothes with elegant hands, peeling the silk from your body like he’s unveiling art. Then he lays you back. And worships you.

His tongue moves over your skin in soft, maddening circles. He kisses the insides of your thighs, trailing slow, hot breath until your hips lift and your hands reach for him. He grins. “Still impatient,” he says, voice like satin over steel. “Good.”

He spreads your legs wider, lowers his mouth, and drinks from you like a god accepting sacrifice. He doesn’t rush. He teases. Licks. Circles your clit with slow, wet passes until your thighs tremble, until you beg, until you gasp his name and he stops.

“There. That’s it,” he says, eye twitching as if to fight tears. “You’re remembering, finally. One moan at a time.” He climbs over you then, and the sheer weight of him makes you gasp. His cock is long, thick, flushed at the tip and he knows it drives you crazy. He drags it slowly through your folds, teasing your entrance until you're whimpering, clawing at his back. “Tell me you want me,” he demands. “Even if you don’t remember why. Even if it’s a lie.” You say it. He slides in, inch by inch, and your back arches, mouth falling open as he fills you perfectly. Painfully slow. He kisses your throat as he moves, hips rolling in smooth, deep strokes, like he’s dancing with your body. He pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. “You belong to me,” he whispers. “Even if you forget every word, every touch—I’ll make your body remember. I will etch myself into you.”

You come with his name on your tongue, a trembling, shattered cry. And he watches you the entire time, eyes locked on yours, like he’s memorizing your face. Only then does he let himself go. Moaning softly, biting your shoulder as he pulses inside you, warm and slow and deliberate.

After, he stays inside you. Lets the silence stretch. Then he kisses your temple and strokes your hair like a lover, not a captor. “Sleep,” he whispers. “Tomorrow, we begin again.”

…

You walk across the room naked, unashamed. You move like you’ve done this before. Because you have. A dozen times. A hundred. More. You return and they wait because they need you.

It's not always in the same place. Not always with the same face. But always them. Or some version of them. Always you—soft and open, forgetting everything they did to you... and letting them do it all again.

You feel them under your skin. In the way your nipples harden at a voice you don’t recognize. In the way your pussy clenches when the air shifts. In the way your heart stutters at the sound of a door opening behind you.

You try to tell yourself it’s not real. That none of this matters if you don’t remember. But something inside you is waking. A flicker. No—more. A fire. Why do they all need to fuck me to prove they knew me? Why does it work?

You fall back into the bed with a sigh and close your eyes. The world is quiet. But you know it won’t be for long. You’ll die again. You always do. But now… now you wonder if you’re dying to feel, or if you’re dying just to see them again.

If this is a curse… Why does it keep making you come?

Note: This is my first time indulging in a more dom leaning Mark, my entire world crumbled and rebuilt while writing this. Its painful to see sub Mark leave but damn I loved how creative this request was. Please let me know if I interpreted this incorrectly, I’ll have it fixed!

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[asiatic-apple]

I know this is meta, but hear me out...

If Sylus found out you play lads

(and he exists outside of it)

Not only would he be utterly supportive (he loves seeing you happy because of your hobbies ofc), but he'd practically throw money at you so you can whale on the game.

You mentioned you don't have enough diamonds for that new myth pair you desperately want? Well Sylus either fills up your virtual wallet in your app store ahead of time, or he just straight up hands you his credit card while you're too busy staring at the new banner with longing in your eyes.

If you don't use his money, he logs into your game when you're not looking and does all the pulls for you until he's secured the memories you've been talking about.

Sylus also finds great joy in hearing you talk about the lore or the characters or how much you adore your favorite LI(s). He loves the way your face lights up when you mention the latest happenings in the game.

He also has his own personal fave LI for you, regardless of who your favorites might be. So he can't help but get a bit excited whenever you mention that specific LI or his lore/story as it evolves. Zayne is his favorite, btw.

You can definitely count on him to be your daily reminder to log into the game to do your dailies and check in on the lads. Will sometimes phrase it in his usual teasing way, like, "Sweetie, did you check in with your favorite doctor yet? Don't keep him waiting."

Sylus also LOVES the battle aspect of the game. He learns all the ins and outs of it so he can give you any tips or advice when you're stuck on a particular level of the deepspace trials or SHC. While you play, he sometimes watches youtube playthroughs or tutorials so he can stay up to date on any new companions, weapons, or battle strategies.

He's following all of the game's official socials so he can be prepared for any big events coming up that you might be interested in. He wants to be your backup just in case you miss anything yourself (and this helps him prepare for any moments you might purposely fail to tell him about an event you want to spend money on).

+Bonus:

Luke and Kieran also like to watch you play the game sometimes, but their most favorite part is helping you pick the right outfits, poses, and lighting for the glint photobooth. Followed by the claw machine and kitty cards minigames as close second-favorite.

[softsunnyy]

Kinnie with the Canucks ! ♡

you're filming a silly trend, a "mini-blog" of your son going to a Canucks game to watch his dad play. But seeing him so happy makes you think, and all you can focus on is him.

i started writing this a while ago and just remembered i never finished it, so here it is. Btw, the nickname is a short way of saying "pumpkin", bc i love that nickname and i already thought of a whole reason behind it. Also, i was inspired by this and this video + i was listening to "Love Story" while finishing it

i can make this a series if y´all want.

from the moment your little one got mic'd up, he started babbling and trying to narrate as best he could. And to make him feel more comfortable, they asked you to be the one recording him. So the boy constantly looks at you, talking about how excited he is to see his dad play.

now, this isn't strange or new to him; in fact, it's quite common. But it's always a new experience, and you know that Quinn's little copy idolizes him more than anything in this world, and he experiences every game as if it were Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final.

you unconsciously smile at how easily he talks about the place, showing the spectators around, the outside of the locker room, everything, and then makes his way to his special seat, near the glass, where he can watch the game up close.

“dad’s coming out any minute, we’ll see if i can get a puck,” he said, mouthing the words in a funny way, his cheeks flushed, his smile exactly like Quinn’s. Behind the camera, your heart melts once again, knowing your husband would give him every puck and every stick in the game if his little one asked.

you hear him talk, but all you can look at is him. His hair, his cheeks, his smile. His sweet chuckle, and the way he moves his head when he talks. The way now his big and bright eyes focus on the rink instead of the camera.

you used to jokingly comment about how you spent months carrying him for him to end up being an exact copy of Quinn. But it’s true. And he’s more than happy and proud to look just like him.

when your little one first became interested in hockey, you should have seen it coming. Of course he wants to play defense. Of course he wants to be the best.

he’s fast, he’s very agile. And everyone knows what he wants.

“i wanna play like dad when i grow up. He’s so cool,” he smiled. And at that moment, the players came out for warmups. Your little boy sat on the edge of his seat, more attentive than ever, and Quinn was quick to find you, quickly going to the glass, hitting it with his stick, smiling when his son laughed, tapping the glass with one of his little hands.

Quinn didn’t even have to hear the question; he immediately went to get a puck, tossing it over the glass, and you had to be careful, catching it and passing it to your son, trying to capture the moment without moving the camera too much.

you hear a few people around you making “aww” sounds, watching the moment when mini Hughes smiles, his face lighting up even more.

he’s like a little fan, even though he sees his dad almost every day, and when Quinn is away, they spend hours talking on facetime, no matter how tired both are.

and no matter how much time passes, you know he'll still be this obsessed.

as the game progresses, he starts yapping and just talking, talking about how good his dad is, how he's the star of the team, and how much he loves his uncles, Quinn's friends. You smile, listening and trying to pay attention to the plays. You know it was originally meant to be a mini-blog, something they could post on tiktok for the Canucks' account, but you can't tell him to stop, or just cut the recording. Not when he's talking so happily, so excitedly, melting your heart. You know this should be seen, that everyone should get this dose of cuteness, even if it's a thousand-hour video.

and when it's Quinn who scores a goal? oh god, he screams and jumps, and you're sure he's the loudest. The people around congratulate him, knowing who he is, and making his smile even bigger, to the point where his cheeks cramp and his eyes are barely visible.

your heart aches; you wanna see him this happy forever, because it's all he deserves. And you love that it's Quinn who brings all of that to him, because it happens to you too. From the moment you met him, he's always been the first to make you smile, to be there for you every moment, to make you feel safe and increasingly confident. Quinn has always been your sunshine, and it feels right that he also is for your son, the fruit of your intense love for each other.

after the game, you walk behind him, who takes short, quick steps, trying to reach the locker room and see his dad. As the others leave, they pat him on the head, then wave to you and the camera. Happy with this victory.

when Quinn comes out of the locker room, he barely manages to bend down, reaching his son's level just as he throws himself into his arms. You see them laugh, do a little spin, and you know that all of that can be heard in the video through the microphone. Joy and love, in their purest and most beautiful state.

“hi, Kinnie,” your husband laughed, saying one of his son’s many nicknames, securing him in his arms before walking over to you, giving you a small peck. “Hi.”

“hi, dad,” your son replied. Then Quinn noticed the camera, and you paused for a moment to explain, watching him nod before looking down at his tiny copy. “Did you enjoy the game? i think mom recorded you yapping.”

“i was paying attention! i was just telling ´hem about the game,” he tried to defend himself, slightly blushing. “Mommy wasn’t even paying attention,” he said this time, making you both laugh.

when the video was posted, everyone was asking for the extended version, knowing that the video had been edited to fit on tiktok, so soon everyone could enjoy the full version on youtube as well.

thousands of comments talking about how mini Hughes inherited his dad's yapping, or how similar they are, and how loved he is.

and even though you try not to expose him too much on social media, videos of him in his little-games sometimes go viral, because of the way he skates, perfecting skills that many kids his age can't do yet; or videos of him "training" in the summer with his dad, his uncles, and his grandparents, in a family full of success, talent, and love.

everyone knows that little Hughes is the most loved, and that his future is bright, surrounded by people who will help him become a star. They even talk about how he'll be better than Quinn.

and you love it, you love knowing that he´s loved, that he's supported. You love knowing that you chose the perfect man, and that he gave you the ideal family. Because the bad days don't matter when the day ends and you all cuddle on the couch again. Because the good days will remain in your memories for years.

because no one will love you both the way Quinn does, and no one will love him the way you two love him.

and the internet is here to see that.

[dixons-sunshine]

I need a whole week, maybe even a month, to recover from this. Holy fucking shit.

"Yeah? That so? The hell do y'all know 'bout it?" Daryl shot back, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "And what's he doin' with it after, huh? Sellin' it to the damn government? Oh wait, that shit don't exist no more, does it?"

Daryl is so sassy lmao. I love him with my whole heart. Early seasons Daryl truly is iconic.

He stepped closer, his height in comparison to yours making your pulse quicken like it always did. "Careful," he grumbled with a quiet growl. "Might decide to shut ya up."

Is that a promise? I hope it is. Please do.

"Yeah... Knew it. Knew ya'd be like this. Thought I'd give ya what ya been beggin' for," he'd whispered as his hand still cupped your jaw. "Go on. Show me how bad ya want it."

SIR?! GODDAMN.

But you didn't back down. "What are you gonna do, Shane? Hurt me because you're just some sad and whiny shit that can't get his dick wet anymore? Leave me behind and get me killed because you fucked up that affair of yours? Yeah, that's right, I know. And I don't care. In fact, I couldn't even care less about you and your pathetic problems. But sure, go ahead. See what happens."

Love the reader digging in to Shane like that. Fucking icon 👏

Then he had kissed you.

HELL TO THE YEAH!

"Least when she screams, it ain't 'cause she's realizin' she picked the wrong brother."

Oooohh. Apply ice to the affected area, because Shane just got burnt.

He smirked in response, tilting his head just enough to make your thighs clench. "Ain't sayin' I will. Ain't sayin' I won't."

Mm 👀 I think you will.

He shoved his shoulders under your thighs, grabbed your ass, and pulled you back with him and you down onto his face. "Ya heard me. Ride it. Fuckin' use me."

YES SIR. Consider it done 🥵

"Now actin' like ya were starvin' for it, huh?" He growled as his fingers stayed inside your throat, fucking your mouth with them. "Ain't the damn shower ya wanted. Nah. Coulda just fuckin' asked, ya know."

"Got ya down on yer knees suckin' me off in a fuckin' shower like it's the only thing ya ever wanted."

I MEAN 👀 What if it is the only thing I ever wanted?

"Won't say 'no' to ya, woman. 'S the damn problem," Daryl answered, both his hands finding your hips now, holding you steady while you rolled them over his pants again. Then his mouth was on yours once more—brutal, with no warning, and slow, like he was trying to crawl inside you with just his tongue. His hand gripped the back of your neck as he kissed you, pulling your wet hair to tilt your head back.

Me because Daryl can’t say no to me 🤭 (I am delusional, I know.)

But calm on Daryl never exactly meant safe.

Calm on Daryl, especially in moments like with Shane, can be terrifying. Do I love it, though? Absolutely.

"Ya ask what she tastes like?" Daryl hissed, voice low. "Tastes like me. Ya want some? Ya can suck it off my fuckin' cock if ya beg hard 'nough."

Fucking GET HIM, DARYL. I love the sass and the confidence, goddamn. It’s top tier.

This was so insanely hot and well written and I just? The talent? The beauty of this fic? It’s amazing! I’m honoured to be able to read anything you put out because it’s absolutely amazing and it hits all the right spots each time. I’m in awe of you. You are one of the absolute best writers and I adore you so much 💜

𝐀 𝐌𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐎𝐟 𝐁𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐦 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Daryl Dixon's hands were made to kill—rough, calloused, and strong. But at the CDC, with electricity, a bottle of alcohol, and your lips wrapped around his fingers, he learns what it feels like to crave his woman's touch more than survival. Hot water. Red wine. Your mouth. And the man who owns it.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ S1 Feral Daryl Dixon ⋮ Wine Play ⋮ Pussy Worship ⋮ Primal Kink ⋮ Cunnilingus ⋮ Oral Fixation ⋮ Finger Sucking ⋮ Dry Humping ⋮ Shower BJ ⋮ Teasing ⋮ Possessive Behavior ⋮ Marking ⋮ Spanking ⋮ Spit Play ⋮ Protective Violence ⋮ Language ⋮ Shane Walsh Being An Asshole

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 10.325 ⋮ 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S01E06 ⋮ 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋮ 𝑨𝒓𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝑶𝒇 𝑶𝒖𝒓 𝑶𝒘𝒏

The CDC was so clean it almost made you feel dizzy. After days of mostly smelling decay, the sudden lack of it felt wrong—like you'd walked into another world. Even though the world you once knew hadn't ended that long ago, it felt different nonetheless.

After the doors sealed shut behind you and once the whole group was inside the building, relief went through everyone, though no one dared to say it outright. It was the kind of relief you couldn't trust anymore, not in a new world like this.

Having introduced himself by cocking a gun at first, with the words, "Anybody infected?" Dr. Edwin Jenner stood before you, explaining the rules—blood tests first with no exceptions. "You all submit to a blood test. That's the price of admission," he'd told you before he asked why you were here and what you wanted, to which Rick had replied that you all just wished for a chance. Just one chance to survive for at least a little time longer.

As soon as you were all underground and gave samples of your blood away, you kept your expression neutral as Dr. Jenner drew a vial of it, but Daryl, on the other hand, didn't bother hiding his obvious annoyance.

"Can't say I blame him," you said quietly to yourself, watching as Jenner approached him with the syringe in his hand.

"Ain't no one stickin' me with nothin'," Daryl growled at him, but Rick stepped in quickly.

"We're all doing it, Daryl. He's just making sure none of us are infected, alright?"

"Yeah? That so? The hell do y'all know 'bout it?" Daryl shot back, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "And what's he doin' with it after, huh? Sellin' it to the damn government? Oh wait, that shit don't exist no more, does it?"

You couldn't help but laugh a little out loud, which made Daryl glare at you, but you simply shrugged in return, biting back a grin. "Oh, come on, Daryl. Afraid of a little prick now?"

That did it. He actually let Jenner take his blood, and when it was done, the man gestured further down one of the hallways. Dinner. Finally, you were about to eat food, something you hadn't had in days.

And as you followed the group, you couldn't deny the excitement of the luxuries around you, luxuries you all still had not that long ago. Running water, electricity, and not having to look back over your shoulder all the time in case a walker was about to attack. It was surreal as you kept looking around, and the thought of some normalcy, even as small as this, seemed too good to be true.

Daryl was still standing near a wall as Dr. Jenner and the rest of the group put the drinks and food on the table in the dining area, his eyes looking around like he was the only one preparing himself for a fight.

You approached him, leaning against the wall with a smirk. "Relax, Daryl. No walkers here."

"Place don't feel right," he grunted in response, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, well, neither does eating squirrels, but look where we are now."

As soon as his eyes looked over at you, they seemed unreadable. "Ya gonna run yer damn mouth now, or what?"

"Depends. You gonna keep pouting and standing far away from everyone else like some crying kid?"

He stepped closer, his height in comparison to yours making your pulse quicken like it always did. "Careful," he grumbled with a quiet growl. "Might decide to shut ya up."

But before you could think of an answer, Daryl backed off, leaving you to follow him in silence.

The tone of his voice seemed so casual, but the way he said it sent a thrill through you, and you couldn't help but remember how it all had started in the first place before you even became a couple.

You remembered how you hadn't thought much of it at first—his hands. They were rough, dirty, and usually smeared with blood or grime. But somewhere along the way, those hands became an unholy symbol.

Maybe it was the first time you'd really noticed them, back near the quarry, when you twisted your ankle while trying to escape several walkers surrounding you. Daryl had come out of nowhere, crossbow in hand and that feral look in his eyes that made your heart race for reasons you didn't want to admit back then. The bolts flew fast, and the walkers were down before you even had a chance to scream for help.

Then he was there, pulling you up with those hands—big, calloused, and so strong they felt like they could break you in half.

"Dumbass," he'd said as he carried you back to the camp, but the way he held you so carefully told a different story.

From then on, his hands became something you couldn't stop noticing. The way his fingers gripped his crossbow, the way he carved up whatever animal he'd managed to hunt, even the way he wiped the sweat from his face after a long day of hunting. Every move of his hands seemed primal in a way, and it wasn't long before your imagination had started wandering to places it shouldn't.

The first time it happened—really happened—was during one of those rare moments you had alone together. While scavenging, you'd been holed up in a gas station just outside of Atlanta for the night, and Daryl had found you sitting on the floor, trying to reload your gun. He'd grunted something about you being useless, then sat down beside you and taken over.

It should have been boring, just another one of those simple gestures. But then his fingers touched yours as he wanted to take the gun from your hands, and without thinking, you'd brought them to your lips.

"What the hell are ya doin'?" He'd asked, both with shock and curiosity.

You hadn't been able to answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you'd let your lips part, your tongue flicking out to taste the salt and dirt on his skin. The noise he'd made, just a quiet and low growl, had sent a shiver through your body.

"Shit," he'd growled, pulling his hand away, then looking slightly disgusted. But the way his eyes stared at you, the way his breathing had slowed—he liked it. And when you'd grabbed his wrist and brought his fingers back to your mouth, he hadn't stopped you.

That was the night everything changed between you. What started as teasing and stolen moments in the dark quickly turned into something more over time.

The image of his hands had stayed with you afterward, creeping into your mind at the worst possible times. You couldn't explain it, couldn't really shake it, and you couldn't stop wondering what it would feel like if he touched you like that—not like a man helping someone up, but with need, with lust.

The worst part? He'd caught you looking one too many times, and Daryl certainly wasn't the kind of man to let something like that slide.

An actual time he'd tested you again was weeks later, after the gas station incident. You were filthy, exhausted, and too worn out to care about much of anything—until you'd felt the touch of Daryl's fingers under your chin.

"Ya been eye-fuckin' me all damn day," he'd said. "Think I didn't notice?"

You'd opened your mouth to deny it, but the words caught in your throat as his thumb slid across your bottom lip. You didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do, because all you could focus on was the way his thumb had pressed against your lip and the roughness of his skin that was making you shiver.

"Open up."

Those words made you obey without thinking, your lips opening up just enough for him to slip his thumb into your mouth. The taste of dirt was immediate, and you should've been disgusted, but all you could think about was how completely he'd owned you at that moment.

"Yeah... Knew it. Knew ya'd be like this. Thought I'd give ya what ya been beggin' for," he'd whispered as his hand still cupped your jaw. "Go on. Show me how bad ya want it."

Pulling out his thumb, he'd pressed two other fingers against your lips, his other hand now sliding down your waist to grip your hip. Your body had reacted before your mind could catch up, your mouth opening again to take him in, your tongue moving around his fingers in an instant.

"Mhm… Got ya all wound up now, don't I? Ain't even touchin' ya for real, and yer already greedy as shit," he'd said, his hips grinding against you. "Thought 'bout makin' ya gag on 'em... see how much ya can take…"

And it didn't stop from there. He used it further against you, shamelessly even, teasing you in moments when no one else was around. Those fingers, those strong hands—they became your undoing. Whether he was teasing you in the middle of the camp or in the woods, Daryl knew exactly how to mess with your head.

Sure, he was rough around the edges, a man who didn't trust easily and didn't know how to show affection in the ways most people would. But with you, he didn't have to. The looks and signs you gave each other were enough—his hands, your lips, and the way you both seemed like two different pieces that would surprisingly fit the same puzzle.

The group had caught on eventually, of course. But only due to a fight. A stupid fight that made sure everyone in the camp knew exactly what was going on between you and Daryl. Even though you weren't exactly hiding what you had, not with the way he would turn overly protective, sometimes even aggressive, whenever someone so much as looked at you wrong.

Back then, it had to be a supply run again. Of course, it had to be. Together with Shane and Glenn, you were searching for medicine and canned supplies while the rest of the group had stayed at the quarry. It should've been simple—quick in, quick out—but Shane's tendency to live out his frustration had been messing with your nerves, and you had just about enough of his bullshit when he'd decided to start running his mouth about Daryl.

"Dixon's a loose cannon," Shane had said, tossing a can of food into his bag. "Don't know why we keep that redneck asshole around. Probably gonna get us all killed."

You didn't always agree with Daryl—hell, sometimes he pissed you off more than anyone—but Shane didn't get to talk about him like that.

"He's done more for this group than you ever have so far," you shot back at Shane, making him turn around and glare at you.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," you'd answered, stepping closer. "Daryl's kept this group alive, got us food when we needed it, even after Merle was gone. What the hell have you done, huh? Other than bitching around and crying about everything at once?"

"Careful," Shane had growled back at you. "Accidents can happen all the time, you know..."

But you didn't back down. "What are you gonna do, Shane? Hurt me because you're just some sad and whiny shit that can't get his dick wet anymore? Leave me behind and get me killed because you fucked up that affair of yours? Yeah, that's right, I know. And I don't care. In fact, I couldn't even care less about you and your pathetic problems. But sure, go ahead. See what happens."

But Shane didn't get the chance to act on the thoughts that you'd put into his mind. By the time you had made it back to the quarry, Daryl already knew something had gone down. He could see it in the way your jaw clenched as you walked toward the fire, trying to act like nothing was wrong, but Shane wasn't done.

"Why don't you tell everyone else what you were saying, huh?" Shane yelled after you, loud enough to get everyone's attention. "Go ahead. You got such a damn mouth out there; let's hear it now."

You froze mid-step, eyes narrowing as you turned. "Oh, you mean the part where I said Daryl's done more for this group than your sorry ass ever has? Yeah. I said it. I'll say it again, too."

Shane's laugh was bitter. "You know what I think? I think you two deserve each other. A bitch and a backwoods freak. Makes sense."

Those words weren't even fully said yet when Daryl was on him.

It was fast—him coming at Shane with his fists. Rick shouted something, Glenn went to help, but nobody moved fast enough. Daryl had Shane by the collar, dragging him down, fists hitting him again and again.

"Ya call her that again," Daryl growled. "I'll break yer fuckin' jaw so hard ya gonna choke on yer teeth."

"What the hell's your damn problem, Dixon?!"

"You," Daryl had spat, his chest heaving as he closed the distance between them. "Got a problem with me too, ya say it to my damn face! Don't run yer goddamn mouth 'bout us behind my back!"

He quickly pushed Shane away, and then his eyes went to you. "You," he snapped, walking toward you. "With me. Now."

"What?"

But he didn't answer anymore. Daryl grabbed your wrist hard, pulling you away from the group, dragging you toward the treeline like he owned you—and maybe he already did.

"Daryl—what the hell?" You hissed, stumbling behind him.

As soon as you were out of view, his hands pinned you back against a tree, leaving them next to either side of your head, caging you in. "Ya just gotta go pickin' a fight with that asshole, don't ya?"

"I was defending you, Daryl!"

"And I don't need ya damn defendin'!"

"Maybe I do! Maybe I'm tired of letting assholes like him talk to me like I'm some whore just because I'm not scared to want you!"

That did it.

In one rough move, he grabbed your chin, tilting your face up. "Ya wanna prove somethin' to me, woman? That right? Ya got somethin' else to say to me, too?"

"Yeah," you'd snapped back at him with a snarl. "I'm sick of you acting like you don't give a shit when it's obvious that you do!"

"Ya don't know what the hell yer talkin' 'bout."

"Oh? Don't I?" You'd shot back, your voice shaking with anger. "Just admit it, Daryl! Just do it! Admit something for once in your damn life!"

For a moment, he'd said nothing, just staring at you.

Then he had kissed you.

It wasn't soft or gentle. It was rough and desperate, like he himself was trying to prove a point. His hands had slid up your sides when he finally pulled back, and his forehead was pressing against yours.

"Stand up for me like that again, woman, I swear… I'll have ya on yer damn hands and knees and show ya what happens."

And show you he did. Right there against the tree, with the camp just out of sight and everyone else wondering what the hell had happened. By the time the two of you had returned, sweaty and disheveled, it was clear to everyone that something had changed.

"Guess we know where they stand now," Dale had sighed, shaking his head, his expression half amused.

Shane had been the second to say something, leaning against the hood of the RV with a shit-eating grin and holding a rag against his bloody lip. "Yeah… Never would've thought Dixon was the type to settle down with such a loud-ass slut. Sounded more like she was screaming for help out there, not begging to get railed," he'd said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Least when she screams, it ain't 'cause she's realizin' she picked the wrong brother."

That made Shane shut up. Glenn choked on his water. Rick furrowed his brow, confused—but Lori? Lori froze.

After that, the others were less loud about you both. T-Dog seemed more confused than anything, like he was trying to figure out what you even saw in Daryl, while Andrea gave you those knowing looks that made your face heat up and your cheeks burn red.

Back at the table in the dining area of the CDC, the food was already passed around as you pulled your focus away from the memories, along with an opened bottle of wine. The laughter and conversations felt uncomfortable for you at first, but then, slowly, you turned more relaxed as the rest of the group let their guard down as well.

You sat next to Daryl, who had barely touched his plate at first. Instead, you drank the alcohol and looked around with a smile that was barely there before he started to joke around, too.

"Keep drinkin', little man. I wanna see how red your face can get!"

The group laughed at his words, and you caught the way Daryl had relaxed. Liquid courage, maybe. Or just the comfort of not being the outsider for once.

"I thought you weren't a fan of the CDC?" You teased softly so that only he could hear. "Or are you now? Just like that, huh?"

"Shut it," he answered, but there was no real anger behind his words.

As the others continued to talk and laugh, you felt it all of a sudden—a quick touch of his rough fingers against your lips. It was so fast you almost thought you imagined it, but when you glanced at Daryl, you saw the corner of his mouth turn into a smirk again.

That bastard was playing with you.

He soon did it again, under the guise of reaching for his drink. This time, your reaction was instinctive. Your lips parted, your tongue sliding out to kiss and taste the tip of his finger.

You had to bite your lip to keep from reacting further as he then leaned back, closer to you.

"Careful, woman," he whispered. "Ya keep doin' that, and I might forget where we are."

This made you remember the last time he did exactly that—forgetting where you both were since you've been in a relationship.

A run gone wrong, the two of you holed up in a building with a barricaded door and walkers outside. It had started like everything did with Daryl: tension, silence, and then frustration when you'd made some idiotic remark.

But his eyes—God, his eyes—were locked on your mouth like he had wanted to devour you alive.

"Quit staring," you'd whispered, just to piss him off a little.

Big mistake.

In one motion, he had pulled you onto his lap, his hand pressing down over your mouth.

"Shut. Up."

His other hand was shoved inside your pants, fingers sliding over your pussy with zero warning. You moved, but he'd held you down, his lips close to your ear. "Told ya I'd shut ya up. If ya make a noise, I stop."

Biting his palm to muffle your cries, you'd felt how his fingers suddenly curled inside you, rough and thick. You hadn't made a sound—not when he pushed those two fingers deeper inside you, not when his thumb touched your clit just right, and definitely not when your body jerked on his lap as if he'd shocked you.

Outside, the walkers groaned. Inside, Daryl's breath hitched as you came hard on his hand, his growl vibrating against your skin. "Knew ya could be quiet."

Indeed, he was good at shutting you up whenever he wanted you to be silent.

Coming back to your senses again, you stole another glance at Daryl as you drank your own glass of wine in silence. His fingers tapped against the table, restless even now. Those fingers had become your undoing, and he knew it all too well.

It was almost cruel, the way he had brushed them near your lips only moments before, knowing exactly how your body would react. You tried to ignore him, tried to focus on the laughter and conversation around you, but his little smirk was still there.

"You two okay over there?" Glenn's voice made your heart jump as you quickly looked away.

"Fine," Daryl grunted in response, his tone still as gruff as ever, making Glenn shrug before he turned back to his conversation with the rest of the group, leaving you and Daryl to yourselves.

"Keep it up," Daryl then grumbled under his breath at you, seemingly out of nowhere, and his voice was low enough that only you could hear. "See what happens when we're alone."

You barely had time to process that threat as Dr. Jenner stood up, with the rest of the group suddenly following him. The group's laughter had stopped as he had explained the CDC's suicides, the desperation, and how everyone had lost hope. But you weren't listening. Not really.

Your skin still burned where Daryl's fingers had brushed your lips. Your pulse still hammered in your ears, having drowned out Jenner's words. All you could focus on were the memories of how it had all started with Daryl.

But what exactly would happen when you were alone and out of sight again?

The thought consumed you so completely that you barely noticed when Jenner finally started to walk down a hallway, gesturing for you all to follow.

"Most of the facility is powered down, including housing," he said, leading you all down a hallway. "You'll have to make do here. The couches are comfortable, but there are cots in storage if you like. There's a rec room down the hall—just don't plug in the video games. Or anything that draws power. The same applies... If you shower, go easy on the hot water."

"Hot water?" Glenn asked in disbelief, and T-Dog grinned in return.

"That's what the man said!"

As quick as those words about hot water had left Jenner's mouth, leaving everyone in shock and relief, the group was already splitting off to claim spaces. But you? The second he was done talking, you slipped away—further down the hallway, past the rec room next, toward a room to claim and the promise of a hot shower.

But what you didn't notice? Daryl stayed behind, his eyes locked on you like a predator tracking down prey.

You didn't look back at him.

Because you felt it—the moment he followed.

The second you slipped away, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. Daryl's presence was unmistakable, even without him making a sound. He was just like that—always close enough to be in your space, but never too obvious.

And he had no intention of letting you get away so easily.

Another full bottle of wine was in his hand as he moved silently behind you, and you paused, hand resting on a door, just as you reached one of the free rooms. You were so close to washing away everything—the grime, the dirt, everything that had happened over the past few weeks.

But then, without warning, you felt one hand on your wrist, spinning you around with enough force to make your breath catch in your throat. His face was inches from yours, and you could see the same look he always got when he was ready to claim something, and you knew it wasn't going to be easy to escape this time.

Daryl's lips were on yours before you could even think to answer, rough and hard, forcing a groan out of you as he backed you into the wall of the hallway. You didn't have time to resist, not that you really wanted to. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your head back as his tongue demanded yours.

It was a kiss that left no room for doubt before his hand was moving down your neck and over your tits next. It was reckless, almost violent, but that was Daryl. Always untamed.

You let out a breathy laugh, not that it mattered to him.

"Don't need no damn shower," he said between kisses. "Waste o' time." His hand soon slid down to your waist, fingers digging into your flesh with a roughness that only seemed to make you want him more.

You barely heard the words—too caught up in the sensation of his touch, his mouth, and his body pressing against you. It wasn't just the kiss, not just the way his touch felt—it was everything. The way Daryl made you lose control, the way he could bring you to the edge without ever needing to say anything much.

Yes, he was always like that. Rough. Raw. No apologies. And it drove you wild. You didn't know if it was the isolation of the world now or just Daryl's overwhelming presence, but you'd grown accustomed to that hunger. His hunger. And to the way it felt when he took what he wanted, no questions asked.

"Not here," you managed to gasp quietly between kisses, though you weren't even sure what you were suggesting. "We're still in the hallway, Daryl…"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up. Ain't got the patience for this," he growled in return, biting your lower lip and grabbing the door handle next to you. "Rather taste ya like this—dirty, mine."

Not giving you the time to answer, he shoved the door open behind you, pushing you inside, and kicking it shut again with his boot, before Daryl pushed you back against it, the wine bottle in his other hand pressed to your throat like a warning.

"Ain't no runnin' away now. Ya gonna drink first."

You nodded before he tipped the bottle to your lips, the red wine running down your chin, before he licked it off with a groan.

"Ain't 'bout gettin' clean," he growled against your jaw, his tongue licking along your skin. "Don't needa be clean for me."

"Daryl, please… Come on, just let me take that shower!" You managed to laugh, trying to hold your ground, but your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be.

"Ain't no damn shower worth this," Daryl answered, his free hand grabbing your jaw roughly, forcing your gaze upward. His thumb touched your bottom lip, and that simple touch made your heart beat faster. "Ya think ya can just go?"

It wasn't a question. It was a statement.

But Daryl's grip on your jaw loosened anyway as he stepped back like the war inside him had pulled him in two directions—fuck you stupid right here or let you go just long enough to drive him even crazier.

He stared at you for a moment, then dropped the wine bottle to the floor next to the couch in the room.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Go wash off, woman."

Opening the door to the shower for you, he was then standing to the side but still crowding your space, his eyes staring at your body like he was imagining you naked already.

"But ya leave that door open, y'hear?"

You raised an eyebrow at him, heart racing. "So you are gonna follow me?"

He smirked in response, tilting his head just enough to make your thighs clench. "Ain't sayin' I will. Ain't sayin' I won't."

You gave him a playful smile—half daring, half pleading.

"Daryl," you whispered, your voice breathy as your hands moved to his chest to push him away from you. "You still want me?"

"Ain't that obvious?"

You didn't answer. Instead, you turned around slowly, letting your hips move and your ass shake as you reached for your shirt. One glance back over your shoulder told you everything—he was sitting on the couch by now, legs spread wide, chest rising with every shaky breath.

Your fingers slid under the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head in one smooth motion, and the air hit your bare skin as soon as you got rid of your bra, your nipples hardening instantly.

Your pants slid down next, you shaking your ass on purpose as you stepped out of them until you were standing there fully naked, hair messy, lips swollen. And God, the way he looked at you like he was a few seconds away from fucking you right then and there…

He was sitting there, one hand grabbing the couch like restraint was the only thing keeping him from standing up again.

"Think I forgot something," you then whispered before you stepped back toward him, straddling his lap without hesitation. Your naked skin pressed to his pants as you started to grind against him slowly—agonizingly so.

Daryl's breath hitched, his hands shooting to your waist, thumbs digging into your hips as he hissed, "Ya teasin' me now?"

You didn't answer. Not with words.

Instead, you leaned down, guiding his face to your chest, and when his mouth closed around one nipple, his teeth scraped along it just enough to make you gasp. Both his tongue and lips were needy, licking and sucking as if wanting to mark bruises onto your tits like he was starved—like he didn't care about anything else but tasting you.

"Fuck, Daryl," you moaned, back arching, nails scratching down to his biceps, trying to hold on.

Then, when you knew he was ready—ready for more—you pulled back, grabbed the alcohol bottle that was still standing next to the couch, and brought it to your lips.

Red wine ran down your chin and onto your tits before you let some of it drip from your mouth into his, watching his eyes close as he tasted it and you all at once.

Daryl's deep groan hit you like a shock.

The second your wet lips let the wine drip into his mouth, you felt him twitch beneath you—his cock hardening under your pussy like it had a mind of its own. His pants pressed against your folds, the friction making your breath stutter as you ground down harder, slower.

And he felt it. God, he felt it.

His hips bucked up more, unable to stop, his cock straining so hard you rolled your hips again, dragging your soaked pussy along that thick, hard outline—once, twice, again, and again—until he was hissing loudly.

You smirked through your quick pants, teasing your clit against his bulge again with another slow grind. "Are you going to beg for it, Dixon?"

"Beg?" He smirked in response. "Ain't beggin'. Just takin'."

Daryl then snapped—grabbing a handful of your ass and lifting his hips to shove you down harder on his lap, so your pussy was pushed right along his cock again. You cried out, his pants now soaked through, his cock throbbing beneath you, twitching as hard as ever.

And he just watched you—breathing like crazy, his chest rising and falling fast as he stared at you with that wild look in his eyes, but it wasn't enough. He wanted more.

You let out another cry—half-laugh, half-gasp—as he flipped you onto your back in one rough move, his face already moving down your body. He dragged his stubbled jaw across your belly, biting your skin just hard enough to leave little stings of pain and pleasure behind. His hands pushed your thighs open, spreading you wide without an ounce of hesitation.

"Wine," he continued, and you didn't have time to ask before he grabbed the bottle, pouring a slow stream down between your tits, then down your stomach, until he was letting it drip between your thighs.

"Daryl—" You choked out, body jerking, but he didn't answer.

Not letting you argue, his mouth was on you in an instant.

He licked the wine straight off your skin, groaning low in his throat as he tasted every drop. His tongue was hot and rough, sliding over the curves of your body, to your inner thighs—closer—until he was right there.

You weren't ready. You thought you were, but the second his tongue met your clit, you arched off the couch like he'd shocked you.

"Jesus—fuck!"

Daryl growled against you, holding you down as your hips bucked helplessly. "Thought ya wanted a shower?"

His tongue moved in a punishing rhythm—quick licks that made you try to squirm away, but his strong hands were like iron fists. He shifted lower, burying his face deep, letting his tongue slide through your folds and suck hard on your clit until your back arched and your moan broke in your throat.

"Daryl, fuck, Daryl—"

That just spurred him on. His nose pressed against you, tongue working deep. He poured a little more wine, this time straight down onto your pussy, and the cold mixed with the heat of his mouth made you cry out, legs trembling.

Then he pulled back just enough to say, "Ride it."

He shoved his shoulders under your thighs, grabbed your ass, and pulled you back with him and you down onto his face. "Ya heard me. Ride it. Fuckin' use me."

You gasped—whimpered—but obeyed, rolling your hips slowly at first, grinding down onto his tongue as he groaned into you like he couldn't get enough. It was messy and wild, with wine running down your thighs and his chin, his stubble soaked with it and your wetness before he slapped your ass.

"Harder."

You obeyed.

Fingers tangling in his hair and your moans coming out uncontrolled, you rode his face like a savage. His tongue never let up—licking and sucking you with his mouth until your whole body shook.

Your back arched as he spit on your clit, then slurped it up like he'd been dying of thirst, and he didn't give a single shit. His face was soaked by now, and when you tried to move? Tried to shift away, even just an inch?

SMACK!

He slapped your ass so hard you wanted to cry out loud.

Daryl's hands weren't just holding your ass now—they were playing. One hand cupped a cheek tight, spreading you wide open while his thumb traced along between them, dangerously close, just to tease.

"Damn fuckin' view," he groaned into your cunt, spit dribbling down his chin. "Gonna fuckin' die right here, suffocated in this damn pussy."

Then—SMACK—his palm hit your other cheek, hard enough to make you yelp. "Grind harder. Rub that needy fuckin' clit all over my mouth."

You obeyed, moaning some more, your pussy soaking his tongue. His nose rubbed your clit with each thrust while his tongue slid down, licking deeper, dirtier. Then you felt it—his thumb pressing lower.

"Bet ya ain’t been touched here, huh?" He growled, his voice muffled but clear enough. "Bet not. But still beggin’ like ya want it here like the rest o' ya."

You choked on a gasp, grinding harder on his face as he groaned. "Keep ridin' like that, woman," he snarled against your skin. "Keep that damn pussy on my fuckin' face."

He kept you right where he wanted—his hands wrapped around your ass, spreading your cheeks wide, squeezing and pawing. He seemed obsessed—grunting and groaning, licking everywhere, switching between tongue-fucking you and just dragging the flat of it up and down your slit all shamelessly.

"Fucking hell, Daryl—" You whimpered, your body trembling.

But then came the wine again.

You didn't even notice him grabbing the bottle once more—you just felt the sudden chill as he tilted it up and let it pour all over your lower back, your ass, and down to your pussy. The alcohol hit your skin in streams, ran between your cheeks, and right down into his mouth in the front.

"Tastes like mine…" He groaned like you were divine. "C'mon, woman. Gimme all o' that. I know yer close."

Your head fell back, mouth open in a silent cry, your pussy dripping on his face, the mix of wine and your wetness sliding down his chin and onto the couch.

And your orgasm hit hard.

You moaned—loud, raw, shaking on top of him as your body convulsed. "F-Fuck, Daryl—!"

But he held you down, licking and sucking you through it, eyes wild beneath you like he was praying for his own religion to unfold. His mouth stayed on your clit, tongue still relentless even as your body shook, twitching with aftershocks.

And even then, he didn't stop.

He just kept going.

Your hands searched for anything to hold on to—his hair, the side of the couch, the wall—as he brought you to the edge way too fast once more. Your thighs trembled violently, your body collapsing forward onto the couch, but his arms wrapped around your hips and kept your ass and pussy in his face.

"Fuckin' perfect," he growled, licking and sucking you slower now, almost lazy, not wanting to let you fall a second time on purpose. "Can't get 'nough. Never gonna stop wantin' this sweet fuckin' pussy."

You whined, too far gone for words.

There was drool on your chin.

Tears on your cheeks.

Wine everywhere.

Finally, finally, he groaned into your pussy, gave your ass one last squeeze, and let you slide off his mouth.

You collapsed next to him on the couch, catching your breath.

Daryl just wiped his face with the back of his hand, then licked it clean with a smirk. His lips were swollen, his eyes seemed satisfied, and his stubble was soaked with wine and you.

"Now go take yer fuckin' shower," he casually said after a while. "'Fore I fuck ya face down on one of 'em cots from the storage next."

Soon stumbling toward the shower, you looked like a woman who had barely survived the possessed man that was just between your thighs.

And Daryl?

He sat back on the couch, legs still spread wide, cock hard, and his tongue running over his teeth, watching your ass sway the whole way into the bathroom.

But even as you stumbled, legs barely working, you didn't close the door, just like he had told you. After all, you knew he was watching.

So you slowed your pace at the edge of the bathroom, just enough to give him a show. You paused, leaning one arm against the wall like you needed the support, and glanced back over your shoulder.

He was still there.

Still on that couch with his legs spread wide, that cock of his tenting his pants like it was ready to rip through them, and his chest was rising and falling like he'd been running from a horde of walkers.

So you dragged your hand slowly up the wall, the other down your hip, letting your fingers move through the wine still glistening on your skin.

"Are you really just gonna sit there?" You breathed, your voice wrecked and eyes half-lidded. "Or are you that scared of a little soap?"

"Ain't scared of nothin'," he snapped back at you with a smirk. "Don't mean I gotta like it."

You arched an eyebrow, tilting your head. "Guess that means you're just gonna sit there and pretend not to be scared?"

"The hell I am," he answered as he shifted, one knee now bouncing like a fuse had just been lit.

Then—just to make it worse—you turned around fully, facing him now, flushed and sticky, and ran your fingers down between your thighs, feeling the mess he'd left behind. You brought them to your lips and sucked two fingers clean with a soft, wet pop.

"Still tastes like your dirty, fucking, nasty mouth," you whispered, letting your tongue drag along your fingers again before you smiled. "Disgusting as shit."

That was it.

His boots hit the floor hard as he stood up, his chest heaving.

"Disgusting and nasty, huh?"

Not giving him the satisfaction of an answer, right as you moved inside the bathroom and turned on the hot water of the shower, you heard how he was coming closer, taking his time just long enough to take another look at you.

That hard cock of his, still straining against his pants like it was fighting to break free, was now a problem—one he seemed pissed about. Glancing back over your shoulder, you saw the way his jaw clenched and how his eyes narrowed at you like you'd just dared him to stay uncomfortable for a moment longer.

With a grunt, Daryl stepped into the bathroom fully, the heat from the shower already fogging the mirror next to him. He stepped out of his boots as if they offended him; his pants were hitting the floor next after his hands went straight to his belt, yanking it open as fast as he could.

"Fuckin' shit," he grumbled, almost to himself, before shoving his boxers down. "This what ya wanted, huh? Fancy-ass hot water and soap?"

His cock sprang free, thick and hard, slapping up against his stomach—and God, the groan that tore from his throat when it was finally free made your pussy ache.

His shirt? He ripped that off with one rough pull, letting it drop wherever, and you watched the muscles of his chest and arms flex with every move before he turned to the door, closing it but still keeping an eye on you through the mirror. His scars were there on his back—ugly, beautiful, everything at once—and all his, just like everything else he gave you.

But Daryl caught you looking. Of course, he did.

"The fuck are ya starin' at?" He asked, voice rough, eyes dropping down to your drenched skin.

"You," you breathed quietly, backing up a step under the hot water, beckoning him in with just a tilt of your head. "Always you."

You were expecting another comment, maybe a grunt—but Daryl wasn't saying anything.

"Daryl…" You started softer this time.

He was still only staring until he was moving quickly, pushing you against the cold wall of the shower, the water pouring down on him, and his hand gripping your chin hard enough to tilt your head up and shut you up all at once.

"Don't," he growled. "Ain't gonna talk 'bout that shit."

You opened your mouth—but he kissed you instead.

No warning, no tenderness. Just claiming. Tongue and teeth and water-drenched skin pressed to yours, making you taste the wine and yourself on his lips, making you feel the way his hands trembled as they held you in place.

You didn't even try to argue.

Not when one of his hands grabbed your ass and pushed his cock against you like a warning.

And definitely not when he whispered, "Ain't scared of no damn scars. And you? Ya keep lookin' at me like that, woman, and yer gonna learn just how much I ain't scared of you either."

Still, it didn't take long for him to give in to it all. Into you. His body soon relaxed, the tension going away as he closed his eyes for a moment, letting the water run down over him and feeling the warmth of it on his skin. He wasn't used to this kind of comfort, but you could tell he was enjoying it in his own way.

Not giving him much time to lose his focus, you took one single step closer to him, the water streaming over your skin as you moved. His eyes opened when you reached for him again, but this time, your fingers slid over his flexing muscles, making him shiver under your touch.

"Shit," Daryl grunted, right before his hand shot out to stop you, his rough fingers sliding over your lips like he owned them. And you? You didn't even pretend to hesitate. Your lips parted on instinct, like they'd been waiting for his touch all along.

He watched you—those blue eyes narrowing as he slid his thumb into your mouth, slow, almost mocking you. You wrapped your lips around it and sucked, slowly, letting your tongue move around the tip of it like you wanted him to feel just how badly you needed more of him.

"That's it," he grunted as he watched you closely, that everlasting smirk returning to his lips. "Knew ya couldn't help yerself. Every damn time ya just gotta—"

He didn't even finish. It was as if the words got lost somewhere in the back of his throat before he pulled his thumb out and replaced it with two of his thick fingers. They pushed in deeper—past your lips, over your tongue, down until your jaw hurt, and you sucked on them just as greedily.

"Now actin' like ya were starvin' for it, huh?" He growled as his fingers stayed inside your throat, fucking your mouth with them. "Ain't the damn shower ya wanted. Nah. Coulda just fuckin' asked, ya know."

But you didn't wanna ask.

You never did.

Because with Daryl, it wasn't about asking—it was about taking. Anywhere. Even at a place like the CDC.

As the warm water continued to pour down, dripping off his head and running down his shoulders and chest, you looked down—truly looked down at him this time. That thick, veiny cock of his twitching, throbbing, leaking precum between his legs, and just begging to be touched.

With your hand immediately following your eyes, your fingers wrapped around his cock, and the hiss that came out of his mouth made your eyes widen.

"Fuck—" Daryl groaned out, his hips jerking forward the second you started to stroke him. It was slow at first, your fist tightening just a little near the tip to tease him a bit. "Ya tryna fuckin' kill me?"

But he didn't stop you. Didn't even want to.

Two of his fingers stayed in your mouth until you gagged lightly around them—but didn't pull away. His other hand came to grab the back of your neck, just enough to keep you there. Right where he wanted you to be.

"Look at ya… suckin' on my fingers like that while ya got yer hand on my cock... Jesus fuckin' Christ."

Drooling around Daryl's fingers by now, your lips feeling swollen from the pressure, eyes glassy as you moaned softly for him. You were grinding your thighs together again, barely breathing as you stroked him harder and faster, and he noticed—like he always did.

"Ya like that?" He asked, tilting his head as soon as he noticed how you were grinding and clenching your thighs together. "Like tastin' me while ya touchin' my cock?"

You nodded, or tried to, but his fingers pressed deeper down your throat and made your eyes water, long enough until he had you pushed down onto your knees in front of him.

Then he gripped his cock for a moment—just to line it up near your lips—and tapped the thick tip against them once. Twice. Smearing the water, his precum, and your spit across your mouth and chin.

"Open," he ordered, voice ragged. "Wanna see that mouth stretched 'round me."

Daryl looked as if he was close already. Due to need and by how your hand had felt on him, touching him like you never wanted to let go.

You parted your lips again, teasing him just a bit with the tip of your tongue.

"Hell, woman… I swear I'm gonna come just from this damn view," he growled. "Ya gonna swallow every drop I give ya?"

Biting your lower lip with a slight smile, you nodded slowly.

Your mouth opened obediently—eagerly—and your tongue moved out just to tease him once more, to taste the precum of him, and you knew he was trying hard to hold back.

He had one hand pressed against the wet wall behind you, the other in your drenched hair now, holding it tight enough to make it sting. "Bet ya been thinkin' 'bout this all damn day."

You didn't answer him anymore.

Instead, you sank your mouth down onto his cock, letting the underside of his shaft slide over your tongue until the tip pressed against the back of your throat. The groan that came out of Daryl was downright animalistic—deep, loud, and primal. He was already bucking forward before you even had all of him down.

"Shit—fuck—" He hissed, hips twitching as you sucked him in deeper.

You started to move—head bobbing, lips sucking tight, drool running down your chin as the water of the shower cleaned it away from above. Your hand worked what your throat couldn't reach, stroking the base while your tongue licked and flicked and worshipped.

"Yeah… just like that. Deep as ya can—don't stop."

His grip tightened in your hair, and he began to fuck your mouth a bit faster now, just enough to hear a few little gags.

"Got ya down on yer knees suckin' me off in a fuckin' shower like it's the only thing ya ever wanted."

You moaned around his cock—loud, needy—and the sound of it made him snarl, his other hand slapping against the wall, trying to hold himself together.

Knowing that he was right on edge already, since, after all, he'd been holding back so far, Daryl wanted to keep his focus only on what he worshipped the most. You.

But you felt it in every twitch of his cock, every groan, every grunt he couldn't bother hiding anymore, how much he wanted to let go. It made you suck harder, faster, one hand massaging his balls and the other gripping his trembling thigh.

"Shit, gonna—" He announced just as it was about to happen, shoving his cock in deep—just enough to make you gag one last time—before pulling back slightly with a strangled groan, hips jerking as he came hard, and his cum shooting onto your tongue and down your throat. But you kept sucking him, eyes looking up at him even though the water was still pouring down on you, tasting him.

Daryl's whole body shook, his chest rising and falling with quick gasps for air, with his mouth open as he stared down at you like he couldn't believe what you just did to him.

But before you could even swallow the last of his cum, he was grabbing you—pulling you back up against him with one arm around your waist, the other gripping your ass roughly. Your lips were still wet with him, so slick with drool and cum when he crashed his mouth onto yours.

He kissed you like a man starved. Tongue pushing in deep, tasting himself in your mouth, and growling like it turned him on all over again.

He didn't stop kissing you for as long as he could hold his breath, his hand sliding all over your ass again, fingers slipping between the cheeks, pressing right where you knew he loved to play and tease.

"Bet ya still want it," he then whispered against your jaw, pressing the tip of his finger deeper, not quite pushing inside, but just enough to make you whimper. "Even after takin' me down that pretty throat, ya still want it, don't ya? Wanting me…"

You moaned into Daryl's neck, clinging to him, your arms immediately wrapping around him as he held you like he was scared you might fall.

But he didn't push further. Not with your body still shivering, still breathless from how he'd handled you.

Letting go of you slowly, almost hesitantly, his eyes weren't leaving yours.

"Finish yer shower," he said after a while, that tiny smirk coming back onto his face again as he stepped out, still soaking wet, with the water dripping off him.

Not even reaching for a towel, he bent over, grunting as he took the shirt he'd ripped off earlier from the floor. It was wet, still dirty, and smelled like sweat—but that didn't stop him.

He just ran it down his arms and across his chest, barely bothering to dry himself off completely, though he didn't put it on, throwing it back onto the floor.

"Ain't closin' the door," he threw in, right before he grabbed his pants next, like anyone had asked. No boxers. He just shoved himself into his beat-up pair of pants like he hadn't just come down your throat like an animal. And then?

Then he dropped himself back on the wine-drenched couch.

Legs wide open. Shirtless. Still wet. One hand slid through his hair, the other resting between his thighs like he wasn't doing anything, but oh—he was doing everything. Just sitting there, smirking, and watching you.

Even when you thought he would maybe doze off from the heat and the exhaustion, you caught him looking from time to time—his eyes barely open, but still tracking you like you were prey.

You finished up slowly in the shower, dragging out every second just to see if he'd react once more. He didn't. But one hand did move just a little more south, his fingers resting dangerously close to where your mouth had just been.

And right when you thought he'd keep quiet, let you get that moment of silence, maybe even dry off in peace—Daryl was talking again.

"The hell are ya takin' so long in there for?" He grunted. "Ain't like ya gotta shave yer damn legs or nothin'. Who are ya tryna impress?"

"Maybe I just wanted a moment alone to clean your cum off my face, Dixon," you shot back, a towel half-wrapped around your waist as soon as you stepped out, not bothering to cover yourself much.

"Well, ya missed a spot," he grumbled, jerking his chin toward your mouth. "Right there."

Of course, you knew there wasn't anything left behind, but playing along, you licked the corner of your mouth just to taunt him and noticed how your legs were shaking again—but not from exhaustion right now.

From him.

From that man right there, sitting on a couch that smelled like sweat, wine, and you.

But you made no move to rush. No shame. No hurry. You walked toward him, still trembling, and without asking, you climbed right back onto him—straddling his lap, your thighs sliding over his pants as you sat down gently on top of him, like you were home there. His cock wasn't hard now—but it twitched under you anyway.

Daryl let out a low grunt when your ass moved into place, and one strong hand landed instinctively on your back.

"Ain't even dry yet, and yer sittin' on my lap like ya forgot how to stand straight…"

You leaned in, putting your arms loosely around his neck, brushing your nose lightly against his cheek.

"Neither are you," you whispered in return, smiling against his skin. "You'd say no?"

"Won't say 'no' to ya, woman. 'S the damn problem," Daryl answered, both his hands finding your hips now, holding you steady while you rolled them over his pants again. Then his mouth was on yours once more—brutal, with no warning, and slow, like he was trying to crawl inside you with just his tongue. His hand gripped the back of your neck as he kissed you, pulling your wet hair to tilt your head back.

And he didn't waste a second.

He bit down hard, just under your jaw, before sucking a bruise into your skin. Not a hickey—no, this was a mark. His mark. You felt your blood rush under the skin there, your pulse quickening, and the slight pain as his stubble scratched your neck and his mouth moved lower.

"Gonna wear that for me," he growled, his tongue licking over the bite. But before he could do anything further, you sat up straight, smiling, and reached for clothes of yours—wherever they'd landed earlier.

At least your shirt was within reach. Grabbing it quickly, you put it over your head as you stayed straddling him, and Daryl still watched, though he didn't speak. But those hands of his? They never stopped sliding over your body, even as you finished mostly dressing up.

Not knowing any better, you leaned into his ear and whispered, "Are you going to sit here looking like this, or are you gonna go get us another bottle?"

That got him.

"'Nother bottle o' red, huh?" He asked with an arched eyebrow. "Ya mean just like the one I poured down yer pussy while ya were all desperate for it?"

You grinned in return. "Maybe?"

He huffed—more laugh than annoyance—and smacked your thigh before pushing you off his lap. "Fine. But I ain't gettin' it just so we can talk feelings or none of that shit."

You stayed on the couch after he stood up, watching him as he went to grab his shirt again—the same one from before, dirty, soaked with some water, and wrinkled.

You half expected him to throw it aside again, but he didn't. He put it back on, scowling the whole time. "Fucked up my goddamn shirt."

"You ripped it off yourself, Daryl."

"Still counts."

He rolled his eyes—but a smile was there. Small. Tiny.

For another moment, the CDC was quiet. No walkers. No survival. Just you. Him. Another bottle of wine somewhere in the building. And the certainty that when he came back, you'd start all over again.

Then—because life clearly didn't know when to leave the both of you alone—you heard it.

A quick shout. Not far away. Muffled. Angry.

"Stay put," Daryl instantly said and walked out into the hallway.

That's when he saw him.

Shane leaned against the wall with several fresh and bleeding scratches across his face. He was clearly grumbling angrily to himself—pissed, drunk, and barely holding it together.

Daryl didn't say anything at first. He walked right past him like he wasn't even there, grabbed a new bottle from the dining area from before, and twisted the cap off to take a long sip as he walked back.

Then Shane opened his mouth.

"Dirty fucking redneck living off shit and actin' like he's got it all figured out…" He said to himself at first, right before coming at Daryl directly. "What are you looking at, Dixon?!"

"Hell, I dunno. Lookin' at some dickhead that got told ‘no' and got slapped the fuck down by someone who wouldn't piss on ya if ya were burnin'."

And just as Daryl answered, turning back to face Shane, you appeared at the end of the hallway. Barely clothed. Hair still wet. Lips swollen. And you were watching—just watching—in silence, with your arms crossed.

Shane looked you up and down—and then laughed. "That all you got, Daryl? That bitch will run away as soon as there's someone better! They're all the same!"

Daryl didn't answer right away.

He just stood there, the new wine bottle still in one hand. And his eyes? They were dead calm.

But calm on Daryl never exactly meant safe.

Then he took one long step forward. That wine bottle in his hand? He lifted it, right in front of Shane, and poured some of it onto the floor between them.

"Ya don't talk ‘bout her..."

Shane still laughed, but it was quieter now. "Jesus, what the hell's your problem?"

Daryl moved. Not his fist. No. Just got up in Shane's face until their foreheads almost touched.

"Ya wanna talk like a man? Act like one, 'cause right now? Y'ain't nothin' but an idiot that got turned down. I oughta rip yer tongue out and make ya choke on it along with yer damn teeth, just like I told ya 'fore. Ya hear me?"

One more look, and Daryl stepped away from him as if he'd already won. He walked right back toward you with that same death stare he got when he was about to kill a walker. Once in front of you, he took another long sip from the open bottle.

"C'mere…"

Daryl's fingers immediately gripped your jaw, tilting your face up as if to remind you—you're his. The kiss that followed wasn't gentle this time. He pushed your mouth open with his tongue only to spit the wine from his lips down your throat, making you swallow it all down as you grabbed his shirt, trying to keep yourself steady despite your trembling legs.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless. Drunk off him more than the wine.

But Shane? Shane still stood there, snarling like he couldn't stand to watch something he'd never have.

"Bet she tastes like regret and low standards," he said loudly, but he was too cowardly to look into Daryl's eyes anymore.

And just like that, Daryl turned back toward him, handing you the wine bottle. One last drop of it ran down his chin, but he didn't even bother wiping it off.

"Ya ask what she tastes like?" Daryl hissed, voice low. "Tastes like me. Ya want some? Ya can suck it off my fuckin' cock if ya beg hard 'nough."

You gasped—whether from the words or the way Daryl said them, you weren't sure. But your body was feeling weaker, and the wine bottle almost slipped from your fingers.

Then—only then—did Daryl step back, like he'd finished what needed finishing.

"Cop polish," he continued with a smirk, "still can't shine up a piece'a shit."

Looking you up and down slowly, Daryl took the bottle back from you like it belonged there—and so did you. His arm slid around your waist again, pulling you closer to him. And this time, when he kissed you?

It was feeling like ownership.

[middlingmay]

Idk what your feelings are on cheating in fic so if you’re not okay with that that’s totally fine but do you have any scenarios you could share about Marge (or maybe John’s wife) catching John and Gale in the act? Like how that would all go down and how and where she would find them and what position they’d be in, etc. And maybe her reaction wouldn’t be as negative as one would imagine? Or she comes around to it once she’s given time to think on it and she’s okay with letting Gale go OR she asks to be allowed to sit in an watch or something and touch and kiss and praise Gale while John is making love to him? I’ve also had an thought of Marge catching Gale having phone sex with John over the phone…

Idk these are just some vague scenarios that I have and was wondering if you’d ever thought of any similar and could elaborate or build off of it 😘

Hello hello!

Okay, so, I appreciate the flexibility of your ask 😅 I'm not big on cheating fics, but it definitely depends on how it's handled. So, I'd definitely lean towards Marge being okay with it in the end <3

There are a few very good fics that touch on Marge catching the Buckies in the act. There's obviously Close and Yet Closer, where John visits the Clevens, and he and Gale cheat on Marge a lot. It's emotional and passionate and painful, and I think it's pretty highly recommended across the fandom.

BUT. If I had to write a cheating fic, i think it would go along these kinds of lines:

John is visiting, like almost a year after the wedding because both he and Gale are aware of their feelings for each other, and know they have no place in Gale and Marge's marriage. But they can only stay away from each other for so long, genuinely struggle without each other, and eventually give in.

Marge is thrilled. Sees the difference in Gale immediately and John is a very entertaining house guest. Except there are these tense moments that she puts down to shared memories of over in Europe.

However, she wakes one night to an empty bed and goes searching for Gale. She sees the door to John's bedroom open and sneaks up to peek inside. And she sees them.

It's not a sweet peck or gentle embrace. Gale is in John's lap and John is holding him so tight it has to hurt, and they kiss like they're purging something, furious and angry and hurting.

Marge heads back to bed in a daze. Pretends to be asleep when Gale returns. She spends the next few days thinking about what she saw. There is hurt, but it takes her a while to realise it's not because Gale kissed John: it's because he didn't tell her about his feelings for the other man. They promised honesty and communication even-especially-when it was hardest, and at the first hurdle it feels like Gale let her down.

It's awful at home, because John and Gale won't look at each other, won't look at her, and she has no idea what to do but she has to do something because she can't take it anymore.

So she confronts them. Gale is instantly apologetic, begging her for another chance. But John? John doesn't say anything. Gets up from the chair, heads up stairs and doesn't come down for several minutes. When he does he has his suitcase in his hand.

And despite just begging Marge for forgiveness, Gale's face crumples when he sees it, and John looks a him sorrier than she's ever seen anything.

John just whispers a very quiet "I'm sorry" before he walks out the door.

And Marge is stuck still for a minute because she doesn't know what else to do. Doesn't know how to tell her husband that she wishes he had just talked to her, and doesn't know how to explain it to herself why she's not angrier about everything.

But then the door snaps shut she snaps out of it and rushes out the door after John. He's got long legs but he's not rushing so she catches up and grabs the edge of his suitcase and holds on to stop him from going anywhere. He tries to take it back and they end up it a tug-of-war until John can't take it.

"Jesus, Marge! I'm trying to do the right thing here! Let go!"

"Like hell!" And she tears the suitcase out his hand and rushes back inside with it, so John has no choice but to follow.

When Gale sees them come back inside, he looks equal parts miserable and hopeful and Marge throws down John's suitcase and finally erupts, points the finger at both of them, saying things like, "Why didn't you tell me?!", and "You're supposed to be my friend. You're my husband - and you lied!"

They stand there and take it, but neither of them are getting the fact that it was keeping her in the dark that's upset her so badly. So she changes track. Holds Gale's hand and says,

"You trust me or you don't. Which is it?"

He trusts her. More than anyone; more than himself.

So she kisses him and hears John's breath hitch on something sad sounding, and then she turns to him, takes his hand and leans up and kisses him too.

She admits to them then and there, she doesn't know what this is, or how she feels, or how anything is supposed to work, but if they want to be together, all they needed to do was be honest with her. The rest they can figure out.

And that's as far as I can think today! Thanks for sending in the ask 😊

[lowkeyrobin]

IV ; translation

summary ; translating for an awesome prog metal band didn't come with a warning that a guitarist would be so interested in you

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; reader knows both asl and bsl for plot purposes, but can still hear / isn't described as hoh or deaf but could be if you wanted to I think

word count ; 822

masterlist

he's HAD an eye on you, and for quite some time, at least a few years

he doesn't know shit about you, but he can't help but stare at you, considering you usually have a mini-stage off to his side

he loves loves lovesssss seeing how the language differs between asl and bsl, how your movements slightly change between continents when they're performing

and you do your job with such passion and emotion, like you're really singing with vessel, how you're genuinely dancing during instrumentals or swaying softly during sadder songs

you know all the words, you know all the beat drops, you dance, you actually want to be there

and it just makes iv's heart flutter to see someone love their craft like that

he lowkey starts developing a crush on you and he's never even spoken to you, let alone does he know your fucking name 😭

after a show, he asks sam "hey...what'ss the sign language translators name?"

sam giggles, "y/n. whyd you ask, iv?"

"...just asking"

he gets sad when you're put anywhere that isn't practically next to him during concerts

like no come back bro 😭

"we shouldn't perform at venues like this again,"

"??? why??"

"cause y/n the translator wasn't next to me and iii got all their attention, 'nd I didn't get to see them at all"

he starts gesturing toward you during parts of songs where he doesn't have anything to play

he actually picked up a bit of bsl to be able to talk to you during rituals

and he 'dedicates' his solos or screams (tmbte live scream, I live for you) to you

he loves imitating the language with you, like you're literally teaching him words to songs when he can

like the most during shelter, alkaline, telomeres, atlantic, rain, give, etc

he actually finds the balls to talk to you a few weeks after he went on stage with bring me the horizon

twas after a ritual when he found you backstage, phone in hand

he jogged over and tapped you on the shoulder, and you gave him the warmest, kindest smile he'd ever received

he kind of just hands the phone to you, he doesn't know what to say and is in hopes you'll just think it's to keep his identity anonymous or whatever

and its his fucking performance w bmth

you hadn't seen it, so you hold the phone close to your ear and listen, and the way your face shifts scares him for a moment

like your jaw is dropped, you're watching the video to make sure that's really his voice

he's so scared you think it's bad because he thought he looked and sounded sick as hell

"oh my fuck, is this really you?"

he nods

"dude, you're amazing!!!!"

the way you made him feel in that moment, butterflies in his stomach and shit, he knewwww he was falling for ur ass

after that, you're really paying extra attention to him on stage, and begin playfully flirting back with him when you're both able to

when he does the tmbte scream and drags the 'eden', you let it fade, then make a gesture like you're sweating

the crowd erupts in laughter afterward because you don't need to know sign to know what you're saying there, cmon

after a while of playful flirting, the fans are just jokingly shipping you now because you may as well be the new "vessel straddling iii during sugar" moment

the fanfics are slapping though holy fuck

he figures out a few of your favorite songs, and during silences or intros to songs where he starts first, he'll play the intro / instrumental to them

meanwhile, you're standing there confused because this wasn't rehearsed, then realize "omg this is one of my favorite songs"

he does get a little sad he can't be affectionate, even if platonic, with you on stage

like he wants to show and tell you himself that you're doing a good job, that you're literally a ray of sunlight to him, that all the audience members love you for a reason

he does pull you around backstage a bit too

like he loops his guitar around you and has you strum some chords while he's standing behind you, his fingers over yours as he guides you

and he does pick up more bsl to talk to you when he can or throw compliments or suggestive comments your way

he leaves likes on fanart and appreciation posts of you everytime he sees them

he has literally every picture adam has ever taken of you two saved to his phone, backed up and EVERYTHING

he shares songs he's found with you at random

and he's always finding a reason to bother you, even if he barely speaks / finds it more comforting or easy to communicate in bsl

plus it feels more intimate because only you two can understand backstage 💔

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

fluff idea: I don't know if you're familiar with this, but there's a cliché where ladies would give scarves embroidered with symbols or verses of love to knights. The reasons I've found vary: Portuguese ladies of marriageable age would embroider them to give to their suitor, who would show that he accepted the offer by visibly wearing them; other ladies would give them to knights when they participated in hastilude (medieval martial games) to wish them good luck and the participants would dedicate their victory to them; in TV Tropes, there's "the ladies favour" which is when the character lends the knight an object before he leaves for battle, to motivate him to come out alive and return it. I wish I could give you good sources (I have some from the Portuguese ladies, but only in Portuguese) but I can't find anything.

Anyway, I think it would be cute for Servant to surprise Sir Adam with this for whatever reason, especially since she never thought she'd have a chance to be loved again. She secretly (somehow since Adam always manages to sneak to her) does an exquisite job despite not being a seamstress. She probably would after a while of relationship

Omg this reminds me of a moment in Under the Oak Tree :o it inspires me a lot, thank you for sending this in!!

"The knights are going on another expedition in the coming days," Mary says to you as you clean the kitchen. She gives you a knowing smile. "Although, I'm sure Sir Adam will let you know."

You shake your head, but you cannot stop yourself from smiling.

"Have you ever given him a returning gift?" she asks.

"Ah... no, ma'am, I have not."

"Well, you should. You should show him that you desire him as he desires you." She stands straight, stretching her arms. "Perhaps some embroidery on a fine cloth. I can acquire some for you."

"My lady, please, tis not necessary—"

"I insist." She pats some flour from her apron. "I will go to the market tomorrow and find a fine piece of cloth for you, and some sturdy thread. You shall make a piece for your beloved, so that he will return safely. Then, he can return it to you."

The cloth she buys for you is beige, soft and mendable, perfect for needlework. The thread is thick, dyed with grass to give it a green hue.

You sketch a design first in pencil. You take it to Mary for her approval. When she nods and smiles, you begin your work.

Embroidery is not new to you. When training to become a servant, you learned many skills, including needlework in case you became a seamstress. However, the kitchen was more suited for you, so that is where you stayed.

You work swiftly but delicately, taking time as bread bakes to do your embroidery. The ladies tease you gently, asking who the lucky man is, although they already know.

You hide your work from Adam, under your apron or your cot when he visits. You don't want him to see or know of it until it is finished. Perhaps it is silly, but you want it to be a surprise.

When the day comes, you are rushing to finish the last stiches. You misjudged and thought you would have more time to perfect it, but you must hurry. The knights will be leaving any moment now, and you would be heartbroken if you missed them.

"Do you have your bow, brother?"

"Of course I do. I would never leave without my bow."

The knights are gathering their supplies in the stables, stocking their horses. They are laughing and joking when you arrive at the entrance to the stable, quieting when they see you.

You cannot explain why, but your heart is racing as if you had run for miles. You see Adam, and his smile makes your heart beat harder.

"My lady," he says as he approaches you. "What are you doing here? We shall be departing soon."

"I know, I..." You squeeze the cloth under your apron, chewing your lip. "I... I have brought you something."

"Brought me something?" His smile widens. "Perhaps a treat for my travels?" You scoff.

"No, sir, it..." You hesitate before pulling out the embroidered fabric. "I hope that you will accept it."

He blinks, taking the fabric from you and unraveling it. He breathes, slow and deep.

For weal or woe I will not flee

To love that heart that loveth me

"My lady..."

"I-I know I am not a seamstress. I know the the words are crooked and the flowers are uneven, but I—"

He grabs your shoulders and pulls your lips to his, right there, in front of everyone. Your eyes widen, body burning as you push at him, hitting his chest. He releases you after a moment and you gawk at him.

"What is the matter with you?" you snarl, wiping your mouth, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I could not help myself."

"You are a scoundrel." You snatch the cloth from him and turn on your heel, stomping away.

"My lady, wait!"

He chases after you, cornering you against a wall. He wipes at the tears that have fallen onto your cheeks.

"My lady, please, why do you cry?"

"You humiliated me! You kissed me in front of the knights a-and grabbed me as if I were a harlot—"

"My lady, my princess," he shushes you, holding you to his chest, stroking your back. "There is nothing to fear. They know of us already."

"Have you told them?!"

"No, my lady. They merely guessed correctly."

You sniffle, wiping your eyes with his shirt. He kisses the crown of your head, making you look at him.

"I am sorry for grasping you so. I was merely overjoyed and could not contain myself." Your eyelids flutter, and you sniff. He reaches for the hand holding the cloth. "May I have my gift back?"

You nod slightly, releasing the cloth into his hand. He takes it, holding it up in both hands, staring at it.

"It is beautiful," he says. He brings it to his face and smells it. "It smells of you." He pulls it away and reads it again. "And the words you made... do you truly feel this way for me?"

"I... It's hard to say..."

"Is it because of your past lover?" You shrug. "Do you still love him?"

You breathe deep.

"I think a part of me always will..."

"And the other parts? Is there space for me in your heart?"

You scoff.

"Sir... I feel as though you have taken the rest of it..."

He sighs deeply, stepping toward you.

"May I kiss you, my lady? Properly this time?"

You chew your lip and nod. He cups your face tenderly, bringing his lips to yours gently. It is much softer than before, and you melt into him easily. You mold your lips with his, like you do when you are about to bed him, and he pulls away quickly.

"You tease me so."

"You deserve it," you say, shoving his shoulder, "for grabbing me before."

"I apologize, again." He holds the cloth close to his chest. "I want to stay, but I must take my leave."

"Will... Will you promise to bring it back to me? The embroidery?"

He smiles, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

"I will bring this back and more, my lady."

[yours-truly-q]

~ Your Eunoia ☆·*○.

☆ Synopsis - Does L care about how smart his partner is? (spoiler alert: he doesn't) ☆ Warnings! - a LOT of low self-esteem from reader, NEOT proof-read (I am very tired, pls don't judge) ☆ Pairing/s - L. Lawliet x gn!reader ☆ Notes - Trying something new style wise, tell me what you think! I've also just got back into Death Note (OH how I MISS YOU L ‼️) w/c - 1.1k

"Why do you like me?" You ask L bluntly, the previous silence being disturbed by your abrupt question. Your eyes flick between L and the coffee table, which had recent crime scene photos resting on it, like you couldn't decide what sight to let your eyes settle on. You were nervous, and maybe L could see that through your fiddling hands and body posture which has you curled into the sofa you sat on, like it could personally hide you from his deductive abilities. You knew better though.

L gives it a bit of thought, hands pausing over a photo at your words, before they continue their descent, fingers brushing the paper. You wonder what he thinks sometimes, how he can find a suspect by their body language and speech pattern alone, what clues he sees as relevant and what ones aren't worth looking at twice. He's so smart it makes you wonder why he would choose you in the first place. You're not particularly smart, you didn't do things he couldn't predict, if anything he sees what you're going to do before you even do it, so why you?

"You're simple and nice to look at." L states bluntly, his voice breaking you out of your thought process.

"Thanks" You roll your eyes playfully at his comment, but consider his words carefully, trying to understand this from L's perspective, what he could mean. 'Simple?' Your face scrunches up in confusion at the word, 'But why does he want that? Does he even want that? If he didn't, then why would he even point it out in the first place?' Your eyes glaze over as you let your head try to break down L's words, hoping that dissecting his reply will lead to a reasonable answer.

"...You're thinking about this too hard." L mumbles loud enough for you to hear, while his large black eyes glance over to you from the corner of his vision. He takes in your expression attentively, before going back to staring intently at two photos that lay side by side.

"Well, it's hard not too when I can't figure out if being 'simple' is a good thing or not." You huff out a laugh, one hand coming up to fiddle with the fabric of your shirt sheepishly. You look away from his form entirely, not sure what to make of this conversation at all.

"It is-" L starts as his index finger taps his lip in thought, no doubt about the case that was presented to him no more than 2 hours ago. "-You are easy to emotionally read, no matter how subtle or obvious your tells are, simple in thought process, so, predictable-" He continues while reaching over the table to grab a file, from the other end of the table, to scrutinise.

"WOW, just call me stupid why don't you?" You joke quietly with a silly smile slapped across your face. Though L makes a mental note to pick apart the emotional and mental connotations that that comment comes with, along with your expression, later.

"-, and, to me, accessible." L finishes, opening the file and taking in the information it presents him, though, before he starts reading, he stares at you with a prominent expression and says.

"You're simple, and that very thing is a quality I appreciate and look for in my environment when all I see is complexity." Then L looks down to his file, like he never said anything in the first place. He almost looks distracted, even though you know for a fact he is nothing of the sort, like he's not listening and you take a moment to admire him, as subtly as you can, in all his glory. The way his black hair shines in the white fluorescent light of the hotel room, how his finger brushes over his lip in thought and most of all, how his dark eyes scan over pages of facts and data. He's so pretty so it's not fair how he's so smart on top of all of that.

'What do you have to offer to him? What do you do for him? What makes him stay?' You look away from L as you let the thoughts quietly fester in your mind, because, they were right, weren't they? Even if what he wanted was simplicity and you were, apparently, that very thing, It's not like you were easy to interact with or be with as a partner. Insecurity lurked in every corner of your mind tainting each thing you said, did or even thought. No matter how far you ran from it, it would always find you and curl its sharp, venomous claws into your heart. So maybe you were simple, but you were in no way easy to handle, and you were just waiting for him to get sick of you and your constant self-doubt.

A small hum brings you out of your thoughts once more, before you notice L placing down the file he was reading, onto the table, and shuffling towards you. He crouches in front of your chair, in his typical L stance, while his eyes bore into your own with a certain intensity you've only seen very few times.

"Do not think that because you doubt yourself, that you are less deserving of my affections. Your value isn't determined by your flaws, nor your failures; nor is your worth in this relationship determined by how much you 'contribute' or 'bring' to the relationship. Your insecurities don't take away from the amount of fondness I harbor for you." His voice holds an air of unwavering certainty, like the mere idea that this could be a false statement was a crazy thought. L's normally deadpan face softened as you scanned his expression, eye brows, lips, nose, for any sign of deception. Then the moment you gazed into his eyes, you saw it, a warm tenderness that L unusually didn't show so freely, but here it was, just so you could confirm that he meant this, confirm how he felt. He was committed to you, and maybe this was his silent way of showing it.

"You will see your worth, for yourself, one day, but for now simply remember that, once again-" L leans in closer to you, chest almost brushing your knees to emphasise his words even more. "-your value isn't determined by your flaws, nor your failures." His voice carries a weight to it that you couldn't name if you tried, but his eyes tell you all you need to know. So even though you're uncertain, even though you don't feel that you're enough, you nod because you know that even if you don't feel worth the trouble, L does and maybe that, in itself, enough.

☆ Bonus!

"...so you like me because I'm stupid is what I'm hearing?" You joke again while leaning towards L in your chair. Whatever tension that had been building between the you two immediately dissipates as you let out small giggles.

"You know that's not what I mean, but if you wish to take it that way then who am I to correct you?" L reaches for his cup, but it can't hide that rare smile of his, that spreads across his face.

[eatingherundercity]

Ellie x reader

My first time ever writing anything and for some reason I jumped to basically plotless smut. pls lower ur expectations 😭

Fem afab reader, fuff-ish, smut, modern AU, established relationship, oral (r+e receiving), fingering (r receiving), praise, making love rather than just fucking yk

UNFINISHED so some tags are uh bs lowkey sorry for edging u dearest reader

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

You're sat with your back to Ellie with your phone situated on your bedside table while (re)watching the office. Repositioning yourself starts to prove unnecessarily provocative to a very filthy minded and you-obsessed Ellie.

~~~~~~~

The cold open of whatever episode you're on starts playing as you're snacking on some very yummy chips. You absentmindedly move your hips a little more to the back to get more comfortable as the episode starts. As you do so, Ellie clears her throat but you barely even register it, too focused on Jim pranking Dwight for the millionth time.

Your giggles and the shows audio fill the otherwise silent room as you're watching the scenes play out in front of you and Ellie can physically feel her heart get warmer at the sound of your laugh, and that warmth travels down between her legs as she rolls her eyes at the realisation that she is so deeply in love with you, that hearing your laugh gets her just as frustrated as watching you grind on her with the skimpiest, tightest dress on. Her focus has now entirely shifted from the show and audio playing from your phone, to the now overwhelming scent and perfect view of you. The smell of your perfume and hair products filling the room, only feeding her need for you. Nevermind the look of you as you're layed on your side with your ass in comfy sage green pj shorts pressed against her front, and your boobs practically spilling out your top thank fuck for gravity ellie thought. She can't help but admire the way the light from your phone luminates your face and compliments your side profile so unbelievably well. Fuck she needs you.

She truly believes her hands have a mind of their own as they make their way onto your waist and down to your front, resting on your inner hip. She shifts closer to you trying to get a better whiff of you, what she's already smelling not being nearly enough for her anymore. "You're so beautiful, baby" she mumbles as she kisses your shoulder. You giggle in response "what?? You okay hun?" you say, very slightly lifting your head with your eyes no longer glued to the screen, looking back and up at her instead. She nudges your head back onto your pillow with her cold nose and nuzzles under your ear "mmhm just love you so much" Ellies thumb starts to trace circles on your hip. You're back to watching your show now however your focus is very short lived as it's interrupted by Ellie kissing under your ear, down your neck and shoulder. "Baby.." "Mhm?" Her response muffled with her lips still pressed against your increasingly sensitive skin. "You sure you're feeling okay?" You choke out "Never better" her grip on your hip tightening so very little that it almost goes unnoticed by you. Almost. Ellie's antics now having gotten to you, making you hyper aware of every little thing touching your skin in that moment, especially your pretty girl. You tilt your head back in order to give her better access and she smirks against you in response to you giving in. She continues peppering kisses all over your neck all while whispering sweet 'I love you's so soft, meant only for you to hear. Your hand finds its way to rest in Ellie's hair, and you allow your fingers to settle between her soft pretty auburn hair. "You have it down" you whisper, remembering how you told her how much you love when she has it untied so that you could grab and play with it better. Ellie smiles at you in response as she lifts her head, her eyes low with both tiredness and lust. You both lay there staring into eachothers eyes and your stare begins to falter and shifts down to her lips. She takes the hint and next thing you know her lips are pressed softly but also solidly against yours. The kiss speaks words that no language ever could, your love for eachother so clear through that one shared moment. After a little while she lifts her head to look at you again and your cheeks flush as you suddenly feel very exposed. She smiles as she takes in every aspect and feature of your face as you do the same. Once she's done, something in her eyes shifts and her hand trails down to the edge of your waistband. Your raised eyebrows and smirk contrast with her (attempted) innocent smile as she asks for permission to "please let me take care of you?" You laugh and nod and she takes that as her sign to slide her hand into your pants.

Her fingers barely gliding over your underwear only makes you even more impatient, but still, you wait. Once she's had enough of slightly torturing you in order to just get you a bit more worked up, which she can easily tell you were since both your breathing and heartbeat got noticeably louder and a bit more ragged, she slides your panties to the side and gently spreads your folds with her ring and index finger, making way for her middle finger to feel your heat. The contrast between the warmth of your body and her freezing cold fingers sends shivers down your spine in the most pleasuring way. Her fingers immediately start feelin the slippery substance coating your pussy and she cant help but say something "So wet already baby? I havent even done anything yet" She chuckles slightly mocking you but you both know that it turns her the fuck on when she can physically feel the effect she has on you. "Shut upp" you say grabbing the nearest throw pillow near you and covering your face with it. Even after over 2 and a half years of you two waking up to eachother, she still manages to make you melt in nervousness. "Nuh uh uh no you're gonna look at me or I'm not touching you" Ellie says as she brings her hand out your shorts and forces the pillow away from your face. You look back at her defeated and red then proceed to roll your eyes "fine.. I hate you y'know that?" Ellie smirks "suree you do" she says as she immediately dives back into your neck, peppering slow deep kisses as she goes lower, and lower..

Ellies now kissing down your chest and in between your breasts down to your stomach, stopping right above your waistband. "Can I take these off baby?" Shes looking up at you from basically right between your legs now, HOW could you possibly say no to that pretty face.

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

A/N

Hey okay so see my last post for clarification as to why this is unfinished pls thank u I'm sorry guys also I feel like this was lowkey ass like I said this is my first fanfic thing ever so be kind 😭

[askponyboymcurtis]

pony it's just a picture !!! honest i thought you'd like it ! ☹️

look, I'll give it back to soda or something, i swear no one peeked at it exceptformaybetwobitandsomegirlsatthedxandmaybetheylaughedabitbut i PROMISE ... IT DIDN'T GO NOWHERE !!

nowhere except for my pocket obviously — and i gave it right back to u so uh !!! yeah !!!

i'm awful sorry if i embarrassed you, silly guy !!! hehehe

Pony stares at the note. His jaw is on the floor. On the bed, tucked under the blanket to avoid any more prying eyes, was the oh so hated picture.

"Girls saw it? Like, real life girls? Real girls? Who could probably go to my school?"

"And Two-bit?"

He groans, pulling his cheeks down in an, admittedly dramatic, motion of defeat. "I ain't never gonna hear the end of this. He's gonna be brutal." There's a moment where he sits and just stares at the floor before he shakes his head, pushing himself off of his bed.

Grabbing his jacket from his desk chair, he digs through the pockets for his cigarettes. He pulls out the box and opens it up, only to find a distinct lack of cancer sticks.

"Just my dang luck."

He throws his jacket over his shoulders and shoves his converse onto his feet before making his way out of the house. Both of his brothers were working (Darry, as always. It was like he was seeing him less and less as time went on) which meant Pony was free to leave the house as he pleased.

Walking through the streets of the East side, Pony's hands were shoved in the pockets of his pants. His head was kept down, his feet scuffing against the concrete. There was a part of him that was trying to keep himself small. The amount of greasers getting jumped was going up by the day, and Pony didn't want to be the next name added to the list.

After a long while of walking, he stopped in front of a familiar house. He doesn't bother knocking, letting himself into the Shepard House and calling out: "Curly? You here?"

He waits. After a moment or so passes, he tries again. "Tim?"

And that warrants a response. "Who's there?" He hears Tim yell from another room, assumedly his bedroom.

" 'S Pony."

"What's good, Pony?"

"Curly here?"

"Think he's in his room."

"He awake?"

"The hell would I know?"

"Good point. Thanks, Tim," Pony waits for a response. Which does not come. After a second, he makes his way into Curly's room. Opening the door, his nose is immediately attacked with the smell of herbal smoke. He coughs as he breathes it in, waving the smoke out of his face.

"Pone! What're you doin' here, ain't 'ya supposed to be at school, or somethin'?"

"It's five pm, Curly, school ended awhile ago."

"Tuff." He takes a long drag of the blunt in his hand.

"Yep. Tuff." He nods in agreement, taking the spot next to Curly on his bed.

Curly's room was messy. Shirts and socks on the floor, a guitar shoved into the corner, sheets of paper strewn about. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, not for Curly. The only difference from normal was the grey smog collecting near the ceiling.

"Jesus, Curly, you're hotboxing yourself in here," He begins, only to be met by the boy blowing smoke into his face. Pony can't help but snicker in response. "Ay, ay! Quit it!"

He's greeted with a sly grin when he opens his eyes. Curly blows the rest of the smoke off to the side. "What got you comin' 'round here, today, Pone?"

"Ran outta cigarettes. Was hopin' you'd have some."

"Cigarettes?" There's a brief pause from Curly. "Nah. Don't got any, gave my last one to Tim a while 'go."

"Dang." He scratches his wrist uncomfortably, sputtering his lips. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Don't got a stash anywhere?"

"I don't got a stash no where."

"Could you ch--"

"I don't got no cigarettes, Pone." He says firmly, Pony's eyes darting away from Curly's with a small "sorry." His eyes stay firmly on Pony, before decidedly holding the blunt out to his friend.

He looks at it. "Nah. I don't like weed."

"It's better than not smokin', ain't it?"

He pauses. "Guess so."

"You can just chill out here 'til the high wears off. Your brothers don't gotta know."

"True, that." His hand darts out. He takes the blunt into his hand, taking a long puff and blowing it out.

For the next however long, they pass the blunt back and forth.

The letter is found back in the mailbox that night, the note on the back having written:

"ples dont shoow anyonre alese i will cry annd neevr beseen ever again thankm you"

-- pj 65

[scary-noodlesblog]

Soulbound Ch 7

Heaven and Hell

"No. She has to die."

"You want Anna? Why?" I ask, eyebrows furrowing.

"Out of the way." Uriel demands, taking a couple steps forward.

Dean interrupts, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Okay, I know she's wiretapping your angel chats or whatever, but it's no reason to gank her."

"Don't worry. I'll kill her gentle." Uriel taunts with a sarcastic grin.

"You're some heartless sons of bitches, you know that?" Dean asks.

Castiel looks at the ground then back up, "As a matter of fact, we are. And?"

I look at him in disbelief, arms crossed, giving him 'the look'. ya know, the one women give their partners when they did something shitty. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Anna's an innocent girl." Sam argues.

Castiel shakes his head, making eye contact with me, "She is far from innocent."

Sam's eyebrows crinkle, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means she's worse than this abomination you've been screwing. Now give us the girl." Uriel demands again.

The boys and I look at each other for a moment before Dean grins, mirroring Uriel's from earlier, "Sorry. Get yourself another one. Try JDate."

"Who's gonna stop us? You two? Or this demon whore?" Uriel throws Ruby into the window, shattering it. He then pins Ruby to the wall with his forearm, trying to bring his hand to her forehead to kill her. Dean goes after Uriel while Castiel advances on Sam and I.

"Cas, stop...please." Sam begs as him and I take steps back from the angel. Castiel touches his fingers to Sam's forehead, making him fall to the ground, unconscious.

I back up against the door Anna is behind, blocking it. I look at Castiel with pleading eyes, "Cas don't." My eyebrows furrow again as he gives me an apologetic look. "If you kill her I will never forgive you Castiel." That makes him freeze on the spot as I continue, "Cassie...please."

He hesitates, his hand twitching like he is thinking about knocking me out like Sam. Suddenly a bright light engulfs the room, making me cringe and close my eyes. 

"What the..." Dean trails off as I open my eyes. I let out a breath and kneel down next to Sam as he starts to wake up. Ruby kneels down on the other side of him before we hear Dean, "Anna. Anna!"

Ruby and I help Sam up and the three of us walk into the back room. We see Anna with her arm covered in blood and a sigil drawn on the mirror with her blood. "I sent them away... far away." She says.

"You want to tell me how?" Dean asks her, putting a bandana on the cut on her arm.

Anna gestures to the mirror, "That just popped in my head. I don't know how I did it. I just did it."

~~~~~~~

We decided Anna would be safe at Bobby's in the panic room. She sat on a chair with Dean and I standing next to her while Ruby sits outside the room. Sam is upstairs researching. Dean pats the wall, "Iron walls drenched in salt. Demons can't even touch the joint."

"Which I find racist, by the way." Ruby says with crossed arms.

"Write your congressman." Dean retorts.

Ruby tosses a couple objects at me, "Here."

"Hex bags?" I ask.

Ruby nods, "Extra-crunchy. They'll hide us from angels, demons, all comers."

"Thanks, Ruby." I smile softly and hand a hex bag to Anna, "Don't lose this. So, Anna, what's playing on angel radio? Anything useful?"

The redhead looks up at me, "It's quiet. Dead silence."

"Good. That's not troubling at all." Dean grumbles.

"We're in trouble, huh? You guys are scared?" Anna asks.

"Nah." I say after looking back at Ruby, who looks quite timid.

"Hey, Dean, (Y/N)!" Sam's voice comes from upstairs.

"Just stay here, okay?" Dean says to Anna before walking out of the panic room. 

I follow him out, putting my hand on Ruby's shoulder, "Keep an eye on her."

~~~~~~~

"How's the car?" Dean asks, making me roll my eyes.

The three of us walk into the kitchen, "I got her. She's fine. Where's Bobby?" Sam asks.

"Uh, The Dominican. He said we break anything, we buy it." I reply.

"He's working a job?" Sam asks again.

"God, I hope so. Otherwise, he's at hedonism in a banana hammock and a trucker cap." Dean says, making me cringe.

"Now that's seared in my brain."

Dean turns to Sam, "All right, what did you find on Anna?"

Sam puts a folder on the table, Dean and I looking at it over his shoulders. "Uh, not much. Her parents were, uh, Rich and Amy Milton -- a church deacon and a housewife."

"Riveting." Dean says sarcastically, making me elbow him lightly.

"Yeah. But there is something here in the report. Turns out this latest psych episode wasn't her first." Sam says.

"No?" I ask.

"When she was 2 1/2, she'd get hysterical any time her dad got close. She was convinced that he wasn't her real daddy." Sam explains.

Dean smirks softly, "Who was? The plumber, hmm? A little snaking the pipes?"

I smack his chest, "Shut up, Dean."

Sam blinks at him, "Dude, you're confusing reality with porn again. Look, Anna didn't say. She just kept repeating that this real father of hers was mad. Very mad -- like wanted-to-kill-her mad." 

"Kind of heavy for a 2-year-old." Dean says.

Sam continues his explanation, "Well, she saw a kid's shrink, got better, and grew up normal."

"Until now. So, what's she hiding?" I ask.

Anna's voice cuts in, sounding slightly offended, "Why don't you just ask me to my face?"

We turn to our left, Anna standing in the doorway with Ruby, "Nice job watching her." Dean chastises Ruby.

Ruby gestures to Anna, "I'm watching her."

"No, you're right, Anna. Is there anything you want to tell us?" Sam asks.

"About what?" 

Sam continues his interrogation, "The angels said you were guilty of something. Why would they say that?"

Anna's voice starts to raise, "You tell me. Tell me why my life has been leveled... Why my parents are dead. I don't know. I swear. I would give anything to know."

Sam nods, "Okay. Then let's find out."

"How?"

~~~~~~~

"We're here!" Dean calls from the stairs to the basement.

"Pamela!" I smile widely, hugging the woman.

"Hi (Y/N)." She smiles as well, hugging me back.

Sam steps up behind me, "Pamela, hey!"

"Sam?" Pamela says, confused.

Sam nods, "It's me. It's Sam."

"Sam?" She asks again, making me giggle.

"Yeah."

"Sam, is that you?" Pamela's hand comes up and cups Sam's cheek and he smiles.

"I'm right here."

"Oh. Know how I can tell?" Pamela smacks Sam on the ass, making me snort and Dean smirk, "That perky little ass of yours. You could bounce a nickel off that thing. Of course I know it's you, grumpy. Same way I know that's a demon, and that poor girl's Anna, (Y/N) is finding this entire exchange hilarious, and that you've been eyeing my rack." She says.

Sam stammers, "Uh... uh... uh..."

Pamela laughs, "Don't sweat it, kiddo. I still got more senses than most."

Sam chuckles sheepishly, "Got it."

Pamela walks up to Anna, her tone friendly, "Hey, Anna. How are you? I'm Pamela."

Pamela take Anna's hands making her smile, "Hi."

"Dean told me what's been going on. I'm excited to help." The psychic nods.

"Oh. That's nice of you." Anna smiles.

Pamela tilts her head, "Oh, well, not really. Any chance I can dick over an angel, I'm taking it."

Anna's eyebrows furrow. "Why?" 

I give Pamela a sympathetic look, knowing Castiel is the one that blinded her. "They stole something from me." Pamela takes off her sunglasses, revealing completely white eyes, "Demon-y, I know. But they're just plastic. Good for business. Makes me look extra-psychic, don't you think?" Pamela laughs, "Now...how about you tell me what your deal is? Hmm? Don't you worry." Pamela wraps her arm around Anna's shoulders and leads her into the panic room.

We follow, save for Ruby of course. Anna lays on the bed, Pamela sitting in a chair next to her. Dean sits on the desk, Sam sits by the door while Ruby stands outside. I sit at the foot of the bed, watching as Pamela puts Anna under. 

"Nice and relaxed. Now, I'm going to count down from five to zero. When we're at zero, you'll be in a deep state of hypnosis. As I count down, just go deeper and deeper, okay? 5... 4... 3... 2... 1. Deep sleep. Deep sleep. Every muscle calm and relaxed. Can you hear me?" Pamela asks.

Anna lays there with her eyes closed, under hypnosis, "I can hear you."

"Now, Anna, tell me... How can you hear the angels? How did you work that spell?" Pamela interrogates gently.

"I don't know. I just did."

"Your father... What's his name?" 

Anna mumbles, "Rich Milton."

"All right. But I want you to look further back... When you were very young... Just a couple of years old."

The redhead's tone turns slightly fearful. "I don't want to."

"It'll be okay. Anna, just one look -- that's all we need."

Anna turns her head to the side, "No."

"What's your dad's name? Your real dad. Why is he angry at you?"

She gets restless, thrashing slightly. "No. No! No." Anna screams, "No!"

"Calm down."

"He's gonna kill me!" Anna yells.

"Anna, you're safe." Pamela says.

Anna arches off the bed, "No!" The bunker door slams shut, separating us from Ruby, and the lights explode, glass shattering above our heads. I flinch, my hands instinctively covering my head.

Pamela continues to try and comfort Anna, who's still screaming in absolute horror. Dean stands up, making his way over to her, concerned, "Anna?"

"Dean, don't." Pamela warns. Dean, of course, doesn't listen, getting backhanded by Anna and ending up across the room.

"Dean!" I call, standing up from the bed and making my way over to him, Sam and I helping him up.

Pamela stands from the chair, "Wake in 1, 2, 3, 4, 5."  Anna... Anna? You all right?"

Anna opens her eyes and sits up, "Thank you, Pamela. That helps a lot. I remember now."

"Remember what?" Sam asks.

"Who I am." She replies, looking up at Sam.

"I'll bite. Who are you?" I ask.

"I'm an angel."

~~~~~~~

After that ordeal, we moved up to the library upstairs, reuniting with Ruby.

"Don't be afraid, I'm not like the others." Anna says, pacing.

Ruby leans against the doorframe to the kitchen, "I don't find that very reassuring."

Pamela leans against the desk with the boys, "Neither do I."

Anna walks up to Dean, "So...Castiel, Uriel -- they're the ones that came for me?"

"You know them?" I ask, sitting on the couch.

"We were kind of in the same foxhole." She smiles softly.

Dean looks at her. "So, what, were they like your bosses or something?"

"Try the other way around."

"Look at you." Dean smiles, oh I know that look too well. He's interested in her for sure.

"But now they want to kill you?" Pamela asks.

"Orders are orders." Anna continues to pace, "I'm sure I have a death sentence on my head."

"Why?" Pamela crosses her arms.

"I disobeyed... which, for us, is about the worst thing you can do. I fell." Anna explains.

"Meaning?" Dean asks.

Pamela answers for her, "She fell to earth, became human."

Sam's eyebrows furrow, "Wait a minute. I don't understand. So, angels can just become human?"

"It kind of hurts. Try cutting your kidney out with a butter knife. That kind of hurt. I ripped out my grace." Anna says.

Dean gives her a confused look, "Come again?"

"My grace. It's... energy. Hacked it out and fell. My mother, Amy, couldn't get pregnant. Always called me her little miracle. She had no idea how right she was." Anna paces again.

"So, you just forgot that you were God's little Power Ranger?" Dean asks.

"The older I got, the longer I was human, yeah." Anna leans against a bookshelf in the corner.

"I don't think you all appreciate how completely screwed we are." Ruby interrupts.

Anna nods, "Ruby's right. Heaven wants me dead."

"And Hell just wants her. A flesh-and-blood angel that you can question, torture, that bleeds. Sister, you're the Stanley Cup. And sooner or later, Heaven or Hell, they're gonna find you."

"I know. And that's why I'm gonna get it back." Anna says.

"What?" I ask.

"My grace."

"You can do that?" Dean raises an eyebrow at the newfound angel.

Anna nods again, "If I can find it."

"So, what, you're just gonna take some divine bong hit, and, shazam, you're Roma Downey?" 

"Something like that." Anna says.

"All right. I like this plan. So, where's this grace of yours?" Dean asks.

She shakes her head, "Lost track. I was falling about 10,000 miles per hour at the time."

"Wait. You mean falling, like, literally?" Sam questions this time.

Anna nods once more, "Yes."

"Like the way a human eye can see? Like a comet, maybe, or a meteor?"

"Why do you ask?" Anna tilts her head.

~~~~~~~

I walk up to Anna as she leans against one of Bobby's junk cars. She turns her head towards me, then back up at the night sky, "Pamela get home okay?"

"Yeah. She said she was sorry. It's just after last time, she, uh... This is just a little too rich for her blood." I say, hopping up on the trunk and sitting on it.

"I don't blame her. You guys should do the same." Anna replies.

"Well, we're not that smart. Can I ask you something?" I wait for Anna to nod, "Why am I bound to Castiel? Is it some stupid divine gene pool I'm supposed to add to?"

Anna shakes her head and chuckles, "God handcrafted your soul to compliment Castiel's grace. Soulmates, platonically or romantically. Then before your soul was given it's first body, God plucked some of Castiel's grace, putting it with your soul, and vice versa. So he almost always knows where you are, if you're injured, how you're feeling." She pauses for a moment, looking at her feet, "And no. It's against divine law for angel's to reproduce. Especially with humans. It's part of the reason I fell, now I can choose who I want to be with. Castiel can't, not truly."

Well now I feel guilty, "That's another question. Why would you fall? Why would you want to be one of us?"

She looks back up at me, "You don't mean that."

"I don't? A bunch of -- of miserable bastards... Eating, crapping, confused, afraid."

"I don't know. There's loyalty... forgiveness... love." Anna says.

"Pain." I retort.

"Chocolate cake."

"Periods."

"Sex."

I huff out a laugh, "Yeah, you got me there."

"I mean it. Every emotion, (Y/N), even the bad ones... It's why I fell. It's why... why I'd give anything not to have to go back. Anything."

"Feelings are overrated, if you ask me." I shrug.

"Beats being an angel."

My eyebrows furrow, "How's that possible? You guys are powerful and perfect. You don't doubt yourselves or God or anything."

Anna looks at me, "Perfect... Like a marble statue. Cold... no choice... only obedience. (Y/N), do you know how many angels have actually seen God? Seen his face?"

"All of you?"

Anna shakes her head. "Four angels. Four. And I'm not one of them. And neither is Castiel." 

"That's it? Well, then how do you even know that there is a God?" I ask.

"We have to take it on faith... Which we're killed if we don't have." She takes a breath, "I was stationed on earth 2,000 years. Just... watching... silent... invisible... out on the road... sick for home... waiting on orders from an unknowable father I can't begin to understand. So don't tell me that --"

I chuckle slightly, making her ask, "What is so funny? What?"

"Nothing. Sorry. It's just...I can relate, kinda. Being with the Winchesters so long I saw the boys do the same with their dad." I explain.

"Hey." Sam calls from behind us.

Anna and I turn around to face him, "Did you find something?" I ask.

Sam nods, "I think so."

~~~~~~~

"Union, Kentucky. Found some accounts of a local miracle." Sam says, pointing to a circle on a map.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Yeah. In '85, there was an empty field outside of town. Six months later, there was a full-grown oak. They say it looks a century old at least." Sam explains.

"Anna, what do you think?" Dean looks up at the angel.

Anna's voice sounds hopeful, "The grace. Where it hit, it could have done something like that, easy."

"So grace ground zero -- it's not destruction. It's..." Dean trails off.

"Pure creation."

~~~~~~~

Dean's driving the Impala down the road at night, Sam is in the passenger seat as always. I sit in the backseat, in the middle, squished between Anna and Ruby. Dean looks in the rear view mirror and laughs.

"What?" Ruby asks. I furrow my eyebrows, knowing where this is going.

Dean smirks, "Nothing. It's just an angel, a hunter and a demon riding in the backseat. It's like the setup to a bad joke... or a Penthouse Forum letter."

"Dude... Reality... Porn." Sam says.

"You call this reality?" Dean asks.

~~~~~~~

The sun had come back up by the time we get there, the five of us walking  up to the massive oak tree. "It's beautiful." I mumble.

"It's where the grace touched down. I can feel it." Anna nods.

"You ready to do this?" Dean asks.

"Not really." Anna leads the way as we walk up to the base of the tree.

"Anna, what are we even looking for?" Sam asks.

Anna puts her hand on the tree trunk, "It doesn't matter. It's not here. Not anymore. Someone took it." 

Of fucking course.

~~~~~~~

At an abandoned barn we are trying to come up with a new plan, Anna is zoned out, I'm assuming listening to the angels.

"We still got the hex bags. I say we head back to the panic room." Dean says.

"What, forever?" Ruby asks incredulously.

"I agree with Ruby, we can't just live in there." I shrug, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I'm just thinking out loud!" Dean yells, squaring up to Ruby.

"Oh, you call that thinking?" Ruby challenges.

Sam walks up to the two, separating them, "Hey! Hey, hey, hey. Stop it."

"Anna's grace is gone. You understand? She can't angel up. She can't protect us. We can't fight Heaven and Hell. One side maybe, but not both. Not at once." Ruby yells until Anna interrupts.

"Um... guys? The angels are talking again."

"What are they saying?' I ask.

"It's weird... Like a recording... a loop. It says, 'Dean Winchester gives us Anna by midnight, or...'" She trails off.

"Or what?" Dean asks.

"'...or we hurl him back to damnation.'"

Sam takes a couple steps forward, "Anna.. Do you know of any weapon that works on an angel?"

I tense up, not liking the thought of us having to kill Castiel. Anna looks at him, "To what? To kill them?" Sam nods. Anna shakes her head, "Nothing we could get to... Not right now."

"Okay, wait, wait. I say we call Bobby. We get him back from hedonism." Dean says.

Sam's voice raises, "Dean, what's he gonna tell us that we don't already know?"

"I don't know, but we got to think of something!" Dean replies, his volume increasing to match Sam's.

~~~~~~~

I open my eyes, sitting up and looking around. A sea of flowers surround me, different colors or petals everywhere. I stand up as I see the familiar trenchcoat and coal black wings a few feet away, "Cas? Where are we?"

He turns around, looking at me apologetically, "In your dream. You fell asleep."

"So what? You're here to tell me to give you Anna so you can kill her? Or you throw my brother back in Hell?" I cross my arms, shifting my weight to my right leg.

He takes a step forward, "I...don't want to have to do that, not to Dean. Not to you. But orders are orders."

I shake my head, "I know that you caring about me isn't exactly your choice, because you angels can't have any free fucking will, but if you do actually care, you'll let her go."

"I do care about you, (Y/N). And not because that's how my Father's divine plan is playing out. I care because I want to care." He says sternly, taking another step forward. "I am fulfilling these orders because I want to." 

"You want to kill Anna because she wanted to feel something that wasn't forced upon her?"

His eyebrows furrow, "I want to because she rebelled."

My blood boils, looking at him with hatred, "Damn you. Damn you, and damn your fucking Father too."

~~~~~~~

"I don't know, man. Where's Ruby?" I hear Sam's voice. I crack open my eyes, looking as Dean shrugs.

"Hey, she's your Hell buddy." He takes a sip from his flask as I sit up. 

Anna walks up to him, "Little early for that, isn't it?"

"It's 2 a.m. somewhere."

"You okay?" She asks.

"Yeah, of course." Dean nods. 

The wind howls outside and the barn doors burst open, Castiel and Uriel walking in, the doors slamming shut behind them. Sam puts his arm out in front of Anna and I, keeping us behind him and Dean.

"Hello, Anna. It's good to see you." Castiel says.

"How? How did you find us?" Sam asks before looking at his brother, "Dean?"

I look up at Dean in shock and disbelief, "You didn't..."

Dean looks at Anna, "I'm sorry."

"Why?" I mumble. 

Anna looks at me, putting her hand on my shoulder, "Because they gave him a choice. They either kill me... or kill you. I know how their minds work." She wraps her arms around my shoulders in a hug, my arms going around her waist. "Thank you, for being my friend." She whispers.

She pulls away from me, going over and giving Dean a kiss. Castiel looks guiltily, at them and then at me. Anna whispers to Dean, "You did the best you could. I forgive you." She walks up in front of the boys and I, "Okay. No more tricks. No more running. I'm ready."

"I'm sorry." Castiel says, his voice monotone.

"No. You're not. Not really. You don't know the feeling." Anna says bitterly.

Castiel's voice gets softer, "Still, we have a history. It's just --"

Anna interrupts him, "Orders are orders. I know. Just make it quick."

"Don't you touch a hair on that poor girl's head." A voice says behind me. The boys, Anna and I turn around quickly, seeing Alastair and two other demons holding onto a bleeding Ruby. Dean pulls me to the side, following Sam and Anna. Alastair drops Ruby, who scrambles away, as Uriel takes a couple steps forward. Castiel watches Dean pull me aside, a grateful look on his face.

"How dare you come in this room... you pussing sore?" Uriel insults Alastair.

"Name-calling. That hurt my feelings... You sanctimonious, fanatical prick." The demon retorts.

"Turn around and walk away now." Castiel demands.

"Sure. Just give us the girl. We'll make sure she gets punished good and proper." Alastair nods once.

"You know who we are and what we will do." Castiel takes a few steps forward, now shoulder to shoulder with Uriel. "I won't say it again. Leave now... or we lay you to waste."

Alastair smirks, "Think I'll take my chances."

Uriel pushes one demon into a beam, elbowing the other in the face. Castiel punches Alastair twice and then uppercuts him before trying to exorcise him. "Sorry, kiddo. Why don't you go run to daddy?" The demon taunts, pushing Castiel's arms away and knocking him to the floor. Alastair grabs him by the throat as Uriel exorcises one of the other demons. I give Castiel a worried glance as Alastair begins to exorcise him.. "Potestas inferna, me confirma. Potestas inferna, me confirma. Potestas inferma, me confirma!"

I look down, seeing a crowbar. I grab it and swing at Alastair like I'm hitting a baseball, making him let go of Castiel, "Get the hell away from him!"

I stand over Castiel protectively, crowbar still raised in case I needed to swing again. Alastair stands up, rubbing his head, "(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N)... come to save your little damsel in distress."

Alastair sticks his hand out towards Dean, Sam and I, his powers causing us immediate pain, "Oh Dean, you had so much promise." Sam collapses against a couple haybales, Dean next to him. I grunt and hit the ground next to Castiel, who is looking at me with concern.

"No!" Uriel yells, and I hear a smashing sound. I look up weakly, seeing a white light flowing into Anna's mouth. She falls to her knees, shouting, "Shut your eyes!" She gets to her feet, "Shut your eyes!" 

I feel hands grab my shoulders, yanking me back until my face is buried in their chest, one of their hands on the back of my head, the other on my waist. I hear Anna shout one more time, "Shut your eyes!" Then I hear her scream and a gust of wind blows my hair around, rustling my clothes as well.

When the hand lets go of my head I look up, my nose almost touching Castiel's. I glance around, Alastair gone, the pain leaving with him. Anna is gone too. Castiel had his back turned to where Anna was, using himself as a shield for me. Castiel helps me to my feet before walking over to Uriel. Dean picks up Ruby's knife that Alastair had, "Well, what are you guys waiting for? Go get Anna. Unless, of course, you're scared."

I glance at Castiel, who is staring at me, and I mouth to him, 'thank you.' He gives me a small nod and a hint of a hint of a smile. Uriel takes a step towards us, "This isn't over."

Castiel puts his hand on Uriel's shoulder, stopping him from advancing. "Oh, it looks over to me, junkless." Dean retorts. With a flap of wings they're both gone. Ruby gets up and stumbles over.

"You okay?" Sam asks her.

"Not so much." Ruby pants softly.

"What took you so long to get here?" Dean questions.

"Sorry I'm late with the demon delivery. I was only being tortured." Ruby replies sarcastically.

"I got to hand it to you, Sammy. Bringing them all together all at once -- angels and demons. It was a damn good plan." I smile softly.

Sam tilts his head, "Yeah, well, when you got Godzilla and Mothra on your ass, best to get out of their way and let them fight."

"Yeah, now you're just bragging." Dean says.

"So, I guess she's some big-time angel now, huh? She must be happy... Wherever she is." Sam comments.

I sigh softly, "I doubt it."

~~~~~~~

Sam and I sit on the hood of the Impala, Dean standing on the other side of Sam, all of us holding beers.

"I can't believe we made it out of there." Dean says.

I laugh softly, "Again." The three of us clink our beer bottles together before we all take a sip.

Dean speaks after a moment of silence, "I know you heard him." 

"Who?" Sam asks.

Dean licks his lips nervously, "Alastair. What he said... about how I had promise."

"We heard him." Sam confirms.

"You're not curious?" Dean asks.

Sam shakes his head, "Dean, I'm damn curious. But you're not talking about Hell, and I'm not pushing."

Dean takes a swig of his beer, staying silent for a moment before speaking again, "It wasn't four months, you know."

My eyebrows furrow as Sam asks, "What?"

"It was four months up here, but down there... I don't know. Time's different. It was more like 40 years." Dean informs.

"Oh my God." I mutter, my voice full of sympathy.

Dean recalls his memories, staring off distantly, "They, uh... They sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you... Until there was nothing left. And then, suddenly... I would be whole again... like magic... just so they could start in all over. And Alastair... at the end of every day... every one... he would come over. And he would make me an offer. To take me off the rack... if I put souls on... if I started the torturing. And every day, I told him to stick it where the sun shines. For 30 years, I told him." His voice breaks slightly, "But then I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy. I couldn't. And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it, and I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls." A tear falls down his face, his bottom lip trembling. "The -- the things that I did to them." 

I tear up with him, hopping off the hood of the car and wrapping my arms around his neck. Sam looks like he's about to cry too, "Dean... Dean, look, you held out for 30 years. That's longer than anyone would have."

Dean wraps his arms around me, still crying, "How I feel... This... inside me... I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing."

Soulbound Taglist:

@fairy-alix @delusional-paradise @ltotheucy @harryssatellitee @moon-trash1507 @bakusquadobsessed @cnme2003

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 178 (The Hands of Death Come Knocking)

cw: heart attack, cue the game's severe violin music when Grim has an *unscheduled appointment*

Ash's trip to Ravenwood was over before he knew it, and he left his Brindleton Bay family at the airport to return to the Landgraabs' in the city. When he arrived at the penthouse, he found his grandfather and half-sister in their bathing suits, dancing together to the music on the stereo.

He smiled. Ash loved living in Brindleton Bay, but he loved the Landgraabs, too. His fun-loving grandfather stopped dancing when he spotted him, changing into his regular clothes and welcoming him with a friendly hug.

Everyone was thrilled to see him, and Nancy suggested they capture the moment with a quick family portrait in the living room. "It feels right," she said, bossing everyone into position.

Ash set the table for dinner, telling his family about his time away. He knew he shouldn't mention ghosts, or the time traveler, so instead he talked about the wedding buffet and the stowaway black cat.

Bridgette pouted. "Can we get a cat? Sansa needs a fur friend!"

Miko shook her head as she stood from the table. "Not today, she doesn't."

While they waited for their dinner to arrive, Bridgette dragged her brother to the living room, peppering him with questions.

"Did you see any ghosts?" Bridgette knew a little of Ash's abilities, but only what she'd overheard from her parents' and grandparents. They didn't believe it was real, but Bridgette trusted her older brother.

Ash spoke quietly to ensure the adults wouldn't overhear. "A couple. They were nice, though. None of them wanted help with unfinished business or anything."

"Was the wedding fun? Was the bride in a pretty dress?"

"Lilith looked really pretty," he confirmed. "Her dress was cool."

"Bridal gowns are so nice," mused the young fashionista. "One day I'm going to wear the best wedding dress ever. A dress made just for me!"

"You're never getting married," said Malcolm with a smirk, overhearing the tail end of their conversation while he chatted with his parents.

"Daddy, stop!" Bridgette cried, aghast and laughing at the same time. "Mommy says when I'm a grown up I can do what I want!"

"Just don't grow up too fast," he said. "I don't like it."

"I won't, Daddy."

Malcolm returned to his conversation with Geoffrey and Nancy in the dining room, their voices hushed, drowned out by the stereo.

"Our best engineer just took time off to get married, and the biometrics project is essentially on hold until he gets back."

"This is ridiculous," Nancy moaned. "Is there no one else who could push this through? That lawyer - Felix Psyded, Esquire, what a name! - already sent a cease and desist letter and we can only ignore it for so long."

Geoffrey shook his head. "Jonathan Banks is the best. It's why Landgraab Engineering recruited him fresh out of the military. His work with biometrics is second to none. The only other person I'd expect to do it right would be our grandson, but he can't touch this project after the judge's custody ruling."

"If we don't figure this out before the judge's next custody hearing in a few months, their attorney will use it against us."

"Maybe we should be trying to buy the judge," Malcolm suggested casually. As a Landgraab does. "What do we know about her?"

The Landgraabs weren't yet aware that Geoffrey's prized engineer, Jonathan Banks, was in Ravenwood to marry that judge, Robin Marlow, but their considerable resources meant they'd find out as soon as they started to look.

But there was little they could do about it this evening, and they wanted to spend time together as a family. Geoffrey and the kids wanted pizza and ordered his favourite - Canadian bacon. No one knew what a Canada was, but if pizza this good came from there, Geoffrey thought it must be the greatest place on earth.

"It's been a long time since I had pizza," he said, breathing in the greasy sauce and melted cheese.

"Because it's not good for your heart," Nancy reminded him, but she was known to cheat her diet every now and then, too.

They ate before Ash excused himself to play with the ivory grand piano by the windows. He'd never gravitated to musical instruments before, but there was something inviting about tapping the keys his stepmother, Miko, used to write most of her commercial jingles.

At the table, Geoffrey stood to clear his plate, but he felt beads of sweat form on his brow. "Gosh, did you find the tomato sauce spicier than usual?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Not really."

Geoffrey shifted uncomfortably, shaking his head before he reached for his heart. A numbing pain froze his left arm and he lost his balance.

"Dad? Dad, what is it?" Malcolm watched from the other side of the table. "Dad, this isn't funny. Could you get up, please?"

But Geoffrey didn't get up, and the family slowly converged in the dining room. They knew something was very wrong even before the Grim Reaper appeared in a puff of black smoke.

"No! What's he doing here?" cried Bridgette.

"It's just his job, Bridgie. Grim doesn't choose..."

Ash tried to keep calm while he made eye contact with his old friend, Grim. The Reaper nodded silently, as Malcolm stood from his chair.

"Please," he wailed. "Please don't take him. He's still young, and his grandkids are watching...We'll support him in eating better. I promise."

The seconds dragged at an agonizing pace as Grim considered Malcolm's plea.

Would the ancient Reaper, who'd seen so many Landgraabs through to the other side, offer mercy this time? ->

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Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

WCIF: The Landgraabs' portrait is with Legacy pose pack by Tamara Roberts.

FUN FACT: They enjoyed Canadian bacon pizza here but I debated between it and my other favourite - the invented-in-Canada 'Hawaiian'. Yes, a Canadian invented the blasphemous and/or delectable (yes!) pineapple on pizza!

Am I distracting you with a pizza poll while Geoffrey's life hangs in the balance? Indeed!