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room-surprise · 4 months ago

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IS LAIOS A FURRY? AN ANALYSIS.

(Laios imagining himself transforming into a wolf in Marcille's mindscape.)

(SPOILER WARNING FOR THE ENTIRE MANGA! This is an excerpt and elaboration from The Essay about cultural and linguistic references in Dungeon Meshi)

WHAT IS A FURRY?

The furry fandom is a subculture interested in anthropomorphic animal characters. Some examples of anthropomorphic attributes can include human intelligence and facial expressions, speaking, walking on two legs, and wearing clothes, but not all of these traits must be present at the same time. Warrior Cats, The Lion King, Zootopia and Sonic the Hedgehog all have huge furry fandoms, to give a few examples.

Many furry fans feel a deep connection to these characters and desire to “become�� one through designing their fantasy alter-egos (a furry persona, or fursona), making artwork, role-playing, and if they can afford it, building and wearing costumes called fursuits that allow them to dress up as their fursona in real life.

(Laios' ultimate monster design, you could argue this is his fursona that he's been dreaming about, and refining since childhood.)

Ryoko Kui self-identified as a furry on her blog a long time ago, saying that she “was a furry in high school.” I’ve been unable to track down the original artwork or blog post that states this in order to cite it properly, but I think by looking at Kui’s extensive history, interest, and skill in drawing animals, monsters, and anthropomorphic characters, one can clearly see the “furry” influence.

She has a very clear interest in the intersection between humans and animals, several of her characters are furry characters, and a lot of her work appeals strongly to furry fans in ways that work made by non-furries often does not. She even makes an extremely specific joke about the Japanese furry subculture in a comic about Lycion and Laios arguing about authenticity, which I will get to in a moment.

But whether or not Kui has ever considered herself a furry, I think it’s safe to say that she’s on the internet enough that she must be aware of the subculture, and so it’s possible that she wrote Laios with that in mind.

Laios’ intense desire to become a monster, the way he repeatedly fantasizes about being a dog or wolf, his fascination with all animals (but especially monsters), his skill at drawing animals (and lack of skill in drawing people, or anything else), his interest in becoming a beast-man, and his desire to visit a kobold country because they look like dog-people, all paint a very vivid picture of his interests, and his experiences match up astonishingly well with the experiences of many people who identify as furries.

Western fans often call Laios as a “furry,” or a “monster fucker” mostly as a joke, however I think this should be taken as seriously as interpreting him as asexual or autistic, which are other labels fandom commonly applies to him in a more serious manner… And, incidentally, there is a great deal of overlap between the autistic, asexual and furry communities, so if Laios is one of these things, it’s also very possible that he’s some of the others, too… Even if Kui didn’t intend it, and simply modeled Laios after “some people she’s known” without realizing they were furries, autistic, or asexual, or any combination of the three. This happens frequently in fiction.

I think the most accurate broad labels for Laios would be “therian” and “monster fetishist,” because I believe these two terms encompass the canonical behavior we see from him in the manga and extra materials in a way that I think “furry” and “monster fucker” do not.

JAPANESE FURRY FANDOM: KEMONO VS. KEMONOMIMI

Japanese furries use the terms kemonā (ケモナー) to describe themselves, or kemono (ケモノ) to describe the characters they create and love. Both words mean “furry,” as in, covered in fur.

In the What-If comic where Lycion and Laios meet, Laios awkwardly says that Lycion isn’t a real furry because turning into a beast-man didn’t change him into a wolf on the inside.

“Isn’t that just like wearing a pair of animal ears on a headband and saying you’re a beast-man?” Laios asks, to which Lycion derisively tells Laios that he is just a “beast-man wannabe” or “poseur.”

This is a direct reference to one of the major conflicts in the Japanese Kemono fandom: are characters who are mostly human, but have animal ears and tails really kemono, or do they not count? The general consensus in the fandom is that ears and tail alone are insufficient; these characters are called kemonomimi, literally “beast ears”, like the headband Laios references. Most “cat-girl” characters fall into this category.

A real kemono character includes a muzzle instead of a normal human face and/or an animal-like appearance on the body surface, such as fur, scales, or feathers. According to researcher Inokuchi Tomohiro, this is due to the recognition that "disconnection from humans" is a crucial factor that distinguishes between kemono and non-kemono. He then defines kemono as "an animal that is depicted as a non-human being, but with the potential for mutual understanding/communication with humans.”

By this definition, Izutsumi in Dungeon Meshi is a kemono (furry) and not a kemonomimi (cat-girl), since her body is covered in fur, and she doesn’t have human breasts, but a more beast-like torso. The Winged Lion, the Goat, Kuro the kobold, and possibly the orcs are all kemono (anthropomorphic animal) characters as well.

IS LAIOS A THERIAN?

Though the terminology is very modern, and wouldn’t exist in the Dungeon Meshi setting, it’s possible that if Laios existed in the modern world he might identify as a type of Otherkin known as a Therian. Otherkin and Therians are sometimes part of the Furry fandom, but the two subcultures do not overlap completely.

Otherkin are a subculture of people who identify as nonhuman. Some Otherkin believe their identity derives from spiritual phenomena (such as possessing a nonhuman soul, reincarnation, or the will of God), ancestry, symbolism, or metaphor. Others attribute it to unusual psychology or neurodivergence and do not hold spiritual beliefs on the subject.

Therian refers to people who identify specifically as a real animal of the natural world. The species of animal a therian identifies as is called a theriotype. Therians mainly attribute their experiences of therianthropy to either spirituality or psychology, and often use the term "species dysphoria" to describe their feelings of disconnect from their human bodies and their underlying desire to live as their theriotype. The identity "trans species" is used by some.

Therians may seek out opportunities to perform species-affirming acts like wearing costumes, adopting animal-like behaviors such as making species-specific noises, eating species-specific foods, or moving/performing actions that their theriotype would do.

For example, someone with a horse theriotype may experience joy from snorting and neighing, pulling a cart, stomping their feet, or having a vegetarian diet. Someone with a shark theriotype may want to swim every chance they get, or enjoy eating a lot of raw fish. They may have special accessories they like to wear that make them feel connected to their theriotype, like animal ears on a headband, an actual animal’s tail or a symbolic tail hanging from their belt, an animal tooth necklace, or even just a t-shirt that has an image of their theriotype on it.

In Laios’ case, we know that he likes to imagine himself as a wolf, and in the real world he enjoys/is proud of his ability to bark and move like a dog. He’s practiced and performed this dog impression so often and so well that Falin thinks it’s his most noteworthy and amazing skill. He clearly holds hunting dogs in high esteem and admires them, and says that he learned many important life lessons from spending time with them. He enjoys playing with leftovers from monsters they kill (bones, skin, seeds, fur, etc.) and sometimes tries to collect them for either practical or sentimental reasons… And at the end of the manga he takes the pelt of his ultimate monster form and chooses to wear it as a cape, something that he continues to do for the rest of his life, possibly just because he likes to wear it, or because wearing it eases the pain of no longer being the ultimate monster.

It’s also possible that he’s only wearing it because he thinks it is a pragmatic, politically expedient move, but I think Kui very clearly communicates to us that Laios likes his monster cape, and it is the one thing he immediately thinks of when he wants to try and be king “on his own terms.” He’s willing to accept being king… if he can wear his monster cape. Whether or not it’s a good idea to wear it is secondary to the fact that he wants to do it.

Otherkin and Therian are of course both modern names for this phenomenon, but the concept of people strongly identifying with and being fascinated by animals is as old as humankind itself, so it isn’t impossible that Laios may feel this way, since so much of his behavior overlaps with things a Therian might do or feel.

MONSTER FETISHISM

In English, the word fetish originally described an object believed to have supernatural powers. Fetishes are often used in a spiritual or religious context. However, over time the word fetish has been used so frequently as a euphemism to describe a type of unconventional sexual interest that “sexual fetish” has become the primary meaning of “fetish” in English.

Fetishism is a sexual fixation on an activity, inanimate object, living thing, or human body part that is not normally involved in sex. The object of this interest is called the fetish; the person who has a fetish for that object is a fetishist. The current medical consensus is that sexual fetishes are very common, and as long as they do not negatively impact a person’s life, they are harmless.

Like the English word fetish, the Japanese word 趣味 (shumi), has multiple meanings, such as “hobby”, “interests/tastes”, but it is also used euphemistically to refer to “sexual taste, vice, or fetish.” What meaning is intended must be intuited by the context surrounding the word. I believe the other words used to discuss fetishes are the loan words フェティッシュ (fetisshu) or フェチ (fechi), but these are extremely blunt and direct, and shumi is preferred in situations where polite euphemism, ambiguity or plausible deniability is desired, or is perhaps even necessary in order to make a joke.

Shumi is used throughout Dungeon Meshi to describe various people’s interests, including Laios’ interest in monsters.

Meanwhile Namari’s interest in race-specific weapons and gear is never explicitly identified as shumi as far as I’m aware, but she is called 武器マニア (weapon maniac) in the World Guide, and in the Bicorn chapter, Chilchuck labels her as 武具フェチ (armor/weapon fetishist), and uses the English loan word フェチ (fechi) which is very unambiguously “fetish.”

(The official English translation from Yen Press changed this to “armor fiend.”)

It seems odd to me that Namari’s interest in weapons and gear is identified by most readers (though not Yen Press) as a fetish, but Laios’ interest in monsters isn’t always, when their behavior around their special interest is shown to be the same in the manga:

Both Namari and Laios blush while talking about their respective interests, and get embarrassed and/or excited about the subject. In the post-canon comics, Laios blushes, hides his face, and has to be prodded to confess to Yaad, Kabru and Marcille that he wants to have his body eaten by monsters when he dies. He obviously finds the idea embarrassing and titillating somehow, and is too shy to admit it out loud until they force him to do it. He also blushes on several other occasions in the manga while thinking or talking about monsters.

I think this is because having a “weapons fetish” is normalized: many people have a fetish for weapons or armor and find it sexy. However the idea of a monster fetish makes people uncomfortable because in a story were monsters exist and are a type of animal, they assume Laios having a monster fetish must mean he wants to participate in bestiality.

This is not necessarily true. A fetish of this nature can (and most often does, for reasons of morality and safety) exist entirely in the realm of imagination, and the sexual fixation may not even involve the act of having sex with the fetish object.

WHAT IS A MONSTER FETISH?

In a world where monsters exist, a monster fetish could involve a sexual interest in the sight, smell, sound and feeling of a monster (looking at or creating artwork of monsters, observing monsters in the wild, wearing a monster costume, or owning monster pelts or body parts that can be safely touched, smelled, etc.), the experience of hunting monsters, eating monsters, the fantasy of being a monster, or the fantasy of performing sexual acts with or as a monster.

The fantasy element could be Laios simply wanting to be a monster, and that giving him sexual gratification without any further scenario being necessary, or it could be imagining himself as a human having sex with a monster, imagining himself as a monster having sex with another monster, or imagining himself as a monster having sex with a human.

All of these possible scenarios would fit under the “monster fetish” umbrella. We know Laios canonically does at least six out of these eight things, but we don’t know whether or not he derives sexual pleasure from them… However, we do know that talking or thinking about monsters makes Laios blush in a way that interacting with other human beings does not, and blushing is often a sign of intense emotion or sexual arousal. Kui’s meaning is intentionally ambiguous, but both meanings should be acknowledged: Laios might be emotionally excited, or he might be sexually excited and Kui is leaving it up to us to decide which it is.

This is, specifically, why I think “monster fucker” isn’t an accurate label. We don’t have enough evidence to assume Laios wants to have sex with monsters, or for monsters to have sex with him. All we can tell is that he becomes excited by the subject of monsters, and often times it is specifically the idea of eating them or being eaten by them that gets him the most excited.

VORAREPHILIA

Because so much of Laios' interest in monsters revolves around eating them and being eaten by them, and Dungeon Meshi's plot revolves around the very concept of eating and being eaten, let me make a brief side-bar to discuss the extremely popular, but niche furry sub-culture of vorarephilia.

Vorarephilia is often used as the butt of jokes on the internet, and very poorly understood by most people, so I felt taking a moment to explain it would be beneficial. Most people are probably not even aware that a fetish like this exists, and therefore aren't able to identify that the things Laios is interested in are something he shares with an entire subculture of real people.

Vorarephilia is a fetish that revolves around the fantasy of devouring or being devoured by another person or creature. The prey can either be swallowed whole and alive, or killed and then eaten... But the former is vastly more popular, and most fetishists imagine themselves as the prey, not the predator.

The fantasy of being eaten or eating someone else is just an extreme form of power exchange. Since vore is an impossible fetish in the real world, it exists entirely as artwork, writing, or verbal role play.

Like in most sex practices, the majority of people want to be the submissive partner, and have someone else do the work of pleasing them. You could compare the "predator" in a vorarephilia roleplay session to a "dom" and the "prey" to a "sub" in BDSM. Incidentally, most predators identify as women, and the vast majority of prey identify as men.

Kui's personal work seems to involve some themes that are similar to vorarephillic art.

And Dungeon Meshi features a lot of content which appeals to vorarephiles.

Meanwhile, the many tiny Laioses being eaten by the Ultimate Monster is a classic example of Macro/Micro, another niche furry sub-culture that sometimes overlaps with vore... A giant monster eating mouthful after mouthful of tiny humans is a classic theme.

The vore fandom is extremely diverse, some of them are furries, others are not, and the exact element of devouring and being devoured that appeals to every one of them can be totally different.

What the demon does to Mithrun and Thistle, and Laios does to the demon, is specifically a fetish called "soul vore", where someone's personhood/soul/awareness is eaten and (usually) destroyed by the predator via some kind of "digestion"... Often while the prey is conscious and aware of the process.

For many, the fear and pain the prey experiences while dying is essential to their enjoyment... And remember, most people want to imagine themselves as the prey!

The art on these pages is indistinguishable from things you would pay thousands of dollars for if you hired a furry artist to draw them.

It's also very important to note that on the other end of the spectrum, some vore fantasies revolve around the prey wanting to be loved by someone so much that they would devour them completely, so that they can absorb the prey and keep them with them forever.

Sometimes it's about wanting to become part of something greater that the prey admires or idealizes… the way Laios admires monsters. He explicitly states that when he dies, he wants to become a part of the food chain… While blushing furiously.

And although it isn't about Laios, I think it's important to note that Mithrun's desire was for the demon to finish eating him. A key part of his depression is the fact that he felt he wasn't good enough to consume, that the demon didn't love him enough to want to eat all of him.

I won't go further into vore or macro/micro, because I want to keep this post as simple as possible, and it's already quite long... But if one wanted to dig even deeper into what specifically Laios' interests are, beyond the very broad umbrella of "monster fetishism", I think vorarephelia would be worth considering.

DO OTHER CHARACTERS THINK LAIOS HAS A FETISH?

Characters frequently notice that Laios gets very excited when he’s talking about monsters: he talks louder and faster, his pupils dilate, he blushes, and he forgets what he’s doing, where he is, and what the appropriate behavior for his situation is. This behavior almost universally causes other characters to react with intense scorn, disgust and disapproval.

I don’t think it makes sense for everyone in the manga to react as negatively as they do to Laios’ behavior unless they think there is something off-putting, unsavory, or creepy about it. Their reactions mean they must think Laios’ interest isn’t innocent. It isn’t just a hobby, but of course none of them will say this explicitly, it would be much too direct and rude, and also it wouldn’t be funny if they started accusing Laios of wanting to participate in something as horrible as bestiality.

Part of the joke Kui is frequently making is that nobody says what they’re thinking out loud. For example, at the end of the manga, Kabru gives Laios a disgusted look and warns him to “not talk about your hobby (shumi)” while addressing the participants of the feast. I think we can intuit that hobby/shumi in this instance is probably meant as a euphemism for fetish, otherwise why would Kabru have such a disgusted look on his face? If he just meant hobby, his expression would probably be much more relaxed. Shumi being a euphemism is the joke.

Another example is the fact that Chilchuck frequently calls Laios a psychopath, sick in the head, etc. Those are extremely harsh things to say if he thinks Laios has a completely innocent interest in monsters. He doesn’t call Senshi a psychopath, even though Senshi is equally interested in eating monsters… Because Senshi doesn’t engage in any of the other, suspect behavior that Laios does. Senshi’s interest in monsters is perceived as innocent, while Laios’ is not.

For clarity’s sake: I am not arguing that Laios’ interest in monsters is canonically a sexual fetish, I am only arguing that there is evidence that it is, and that other characters in the story perceive it to be a sexual fetish, whether it actually is or not.

DOES LAIOS THINK HE HAS A FETISH?

People who have fetishes, especially extreme fetishes that are not normalized, often try to hide them. They do this out of fear of social disapproval, and feelings of shame, because they feel guilty for having abnormal desires. This is true even though the majority of fetishes are completely harmless, and morally neutral.

Most people also know that things which provoke sexual excitement are supposed to be kept private, and it’s not acceptable to express those feelings in public spaces, so even if they see something related to their fetish while in public, they will repress their sexual feelings about it.

Laios, who has difficulty understanding social rules and nuance, is aware that his interest in monsters is socially unacceptable, even though there are many other social things he is not aware of.

Laios has spent most of his life hiding his interest in monsters as much as he can, and it is only during the events of the manga that he starts to express himself openly, because his monster knowledge has become useful for their survival, because Senshi encourages him, and because Falin isn’t there to act as a social buffer for him.

But Laios knows people won’t approve, he knows something about his interest in monsters and the way he expresses it will cause people to react negatively, like in the post-canon comic where he doesn’t want to tell his friends about his desire for his corpse to be eaten by monsters, and the part of the finale where he is hiding in the woods, too ashamed to let people see him because they now know that his greatest desire was to become a monster, and not reviving Falin, which he thinks is the "correct" desire that he should have had.

(This of course ignores the fact that the desires the demon preys on are unconscious, and cannot be controlled by the victim.)

This likely means that Laios has encountered negative reactions to his interest in monsters so frequently, and they have been so intensely negative, that it has trained him to conceal his feelings. It is one of the social rules that he has learned.

Laios thinks there is something shameful, wrong, and inappropriate about his desires related to monsters so he thinks it is something he needs to hide.

IS ANIMAL/MONSTER FETISHISM ANACHRONISTIC?

Some may feel that being a furry, a monster fucker or a monster fetishist is something only modern people do, and therefore anachronistic for Dungeon Meshi’s setting. However humans have been admiring, dressing up as and pretending to be animals for rituals (including fertility rituals) since the dawn of civilization, and continue to do so in the modern era every time someone dresses up in a “sexy cat” costume for Halloween, or wears a multi-thousand dollar fursuit to a furry convention.

There are many instances throughout history of people wearing pelts, masks and tails in order to “become” animals, poetry and art of people fantasizing about either becoming a beast/monster (modern werewolf erotica), or having a beast/monster ravish them (the many, many times artists choose to depict Zeus turning into an animal to have sex with women), or coming of age rites that involve animal sacrifice and the adoption of an animal-like persona as part of the process of becoming an adult.

The stigmatization of this behavior, where “sexy cat costume” is normal and “fursuit” is weird, most likely originates from the disappearance of religious and social context for it. In the past, the admiration, imitation and idealization of animals by humans was part of many cultures, but the modern dominance of religions that forbid the worship of anything other than one, immaterial god has left no room for such things, and so society can only view it as the deranged behavior of abnormal people, who have something “wrong” with them, rather than a harmless, common human impulse to admire, fantasize about, and imagine themselves as animals.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #laios touden #analysis #The Essay #furry #vorarephilia #monster fucker #laios thorden #laius touden #laius thorden

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bump1nthen1ght · 1 year ago

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A Very Monstrous Kinktober: Day 12 (Somnophilia)

Kink: Somnophilia

Pairing: NB!Shadow Demon x GN!Reader

Other kinks: Oral sex (r recieving)

Warnings: Dubious Consent (It could be inferred reader prior consented to somnophilia, but it isn't explicitely stated)

Word Count: 1119 words

Kinktober Masterlist

Xa’reth had never been more thankful for the heat.

Born in a void of inky black nothingness, feeding on dreams and ideas for most of their life, the human climate had never quite agreed with them. Whether it was humidity or biting cold, it always felt wrong against their skin, so used to the nothingness of subconscious space.

But now, looking down on your sleeping form, Xa’reth could kiss the heatwave that had washed throughed your town, and the AC repair guy who couldn’t come until tomorrow. All of it had lead to you, precious you, to discard pj’s for underwear and to throw aside your covers. Not to mention the way you splay out on your bed, trying to disperse any body heat and soak up the little coolness your two fans provide you.

All in all, it is quite a tantalizing sight.

Xa’reth feels them slipping out of the shadow in the corner of your room, soundless footsteps leaving imprints in your carpet as they step towards your bed. Their hulking form means the top of their horns brush against the ceiling and the bed creaks when they set their knee down. Neither sound is enough to wake you, breathing steady as Xa’reth sets themselves between your open legs, admiring the beads of sweat that decorate your thighs. Their form shifts and smokes, arms thinning to slip under your legs without you noticing, before bulking against to lift them over their shoulders. They take a deep sniff.

Oh, what an incredible smell.

Xa’reth murmurs, soaking up your human scent that enticed them so. You never seem to notice it, nose much worse than theirs, not even realizing the pheromones that leak out of your pores and drives them crazy. You’re so cute in that way.

Their clawed thumb brushes across your entrance, taking another sniff of the fabric covering. They can feel the saliva bubbling into their mouth, dripping through their razor sharp teeth and down their jaw. Xa’reth doesn’t need to eat, but at this moment they feel real hunger.

They kiss up your leg, tong trailing and soaking in the salt of your sweat. They can feel you begin to turn, still asleep but slightly reactive. Xa’reth sucks several bruises onto your inner thigh, lightly tugging at the skin and watching it pull back. A rumbling purr vibrates the bed. Your head tosses and you give a hesby exhale. Not exactly a moan, but Xa’reth revels in it all the same.

Xa’reth licks up the crotch of your underwear, sucking the fabric for just a taste of you. Its not enough, they quickly decide, hand shifting again to slip into your underwear and pull them down your legs, turning briefly incorporeal just so they won’t have to move. Glowing eyes in the darkness stare at your bare crotch, pulsing with desire.

Xa’reth digs in, tongue licking circles around your entrance before plunging in. Their eyes roll back in their head, sweet ambrosia finally on their lips. They are quick to prod at your walls, feeling you clench around them as they explore unhindered. Your feet kick, Xa’reth not feeling thing as a dreamy sigh comes out of your mouth. Xa’reth can see the content expression on your face, body soaking io the attention easily.

Xa’reth retracts their tongue to just the tip, teasing themselves before shoving it back in. Your thighs jerk around their head, clenching against their broad neck. The chill of their void-like skin must feel good in the heat, as your legs dance across your back like you're trying to soak them up. They lap at your insides with every thrust of their jaw, tongue lathering up and down. Drool slickens across your inner thighs, an erotic sound of sucking hidden under the white noise of the fan.

Your feet just barely touch around the broad muscles of Xa’reth’s back, legs warming up the sides of Xa’reth’s face like a muffler. Now this is a heat they can get onboard with.

Xa’reth crawls a hand up your stomach, petting at the skin, rubbing gentle circles into the soft flesh. A shiver runs down your sine, goosebumps across your thighs, unintentionally rubbing your hips against Xa’reth’s mouth. Their eyes roll back into their head, nuzzling their face back into your heat.

It’s damn near torture to detach themselves, to rip sweet divinity from their mouth, even for the moment. Only made worse by your sweet whines, your unconsciousness begging to be filled again. The ache it sends down Xa’reth’s chest is unbearable.

But there is reprieve, the sweet sighs as they sink two long fingers inside your whole. Properly stretched out by their tongue, the muscle relaxes as they scissor their fingers outwards, rough finger pads running along your walls. It's enough for Xa’reth to slip a third finger inside, now adding the sting of pleasure you were looking for.

Xa’reth can see your chest heaving in the dark, fingers curling around your pillow as your head tosses around. Sweat has begun to bead on your chest and stomach, the cool fans doing nothing to stop the fire Xa’reth stokes inside you.

Even as their fingers begin to thrust, fucking you open against their palm, Xa’reth can’t help themselves and go for a taste. They lap at the muscle around your hole, tongue wiggling in the gaps between their fingers. Your lips open in a pant, keening and whining so breathlessly.

“That’s it.” A discordant voice, layers of soundbites of conversations heard before. “Cum for me.” Xa’reth whispers, tapping into that haze of your sleeping mind. You may not be fully aware, but they can send the impulses well enough to your brain, have your body understand what they ask.

Your keeling voice goes higher, shorter bursts of moans as your hips rock back and forth on their fingers. Xa’reth smiles, eyes rolling over your desperate form. The way you ride their hand is euphoric, they’re sure there is no sight quite like in the rest of the world.

Your lower half raises up, a moan cut short as you tighten around their hand, orgasm racking your body. Xa’reth whispers more sweet nothings into your skin, kissing the sides of your legs as they let you ride out the rest of your high, only withdrawing their fingers once your body begins falls onto the bed.

They crawl up your side, their body too long for the bed, feet dangling off the edge. You still pant, sweatier than ever, but curl up against their side anyway. They watch as you nuzzle your face into their side, a content sigh of the cool skin against your flushed cheeks.

#my writing #reader insert #monster romance #gender neutral reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #demon

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writing-for-marvel · 1 year ago

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Night Shift

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 5 | Series Masterlist | PART 7 > >

Summary: When you’re stuck on night shift for two weeks, you and Bucky find it difficult to spend time together.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, mention of sending nudes/audio within an established relationship, implied food play, mention of dialysis and an elderly patient dying, soft fluff

Word count: 4.5k

A/N: I truly didn’t mean for this part to be this long, yet here we are. Some soft smut and domestic fluff after the angst of part 5. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

“My place next weekend?” Bucky poses as he peppers delicate kisses over your face. You scrunch your nose and let out a little squeal of glee that promotes him to continue his trail of kisses along your jaw and down the column of your neck.

The prospect of spending an entire week without seeing or touching Bucky seems like pure torture. You suspect Thor didn’t take kindly to you turning him down in favour of Bucky which has resulted in you covering the night shift for the next two weeks.

With Bucky still living with and taking care of his Ma recovering at home after being discharged from the surgical ward last week, and your now severely conflicting schedules, you know you won’t find the time to see each other until the following weekend.

You have to remind yourself that you only have to endure six days without him, not even a full week, but it’s the six nights attempting to fall asleep in an empty bed without his strong arms cuddling you into his broad, musky scented chest that you suspect will be more tormenting to endure.

“What have you got planned?” Your eyes narrow, trying to see if you can get any clues by reading his countenances. Unfortunately, all he does is smile, which gives away nothing except for the soft flutter of butterflies in your stomach that indicate how you enjoy being the cause of his happiness.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” God he loves to tease, and as much as you adore him for it, having something specific to look forward to at the end of the week would actually be very helpful in surviving the week.

“Can it be next weekend already?” You whine between peppered kisses around your face. Bucky simply chuckles, but he feels your pain, he doesn’t want to have to endure the impending week without you either.

“I promise, the week will go by in a flash.”

But this one time, Bucky’s promise isn’t truthful.

The week feels like it’s moving through tar.

You’re awake when it’s pitch black outside and when you attempt to sleep at home, the sun is seeping through your curtains, almost mocking you that you can’t be outside enjoying it.

The night shift drags on more so than a regular day because you don’t have Wanda keeping you company, and you know that you won’t be able to steal glimpses of Bucky which normally sustain you throughout your shift.

You then come home and crash on an empty bed in a lonely apartment when most people are only just starting their day. Your mind can’t help but wonder what Bucky is doing at this very moment. Perhaps he’s making breakfast for his mom, and you smile thinking about them joking together over their cereal. Or maybe he’s having his morning shower, the hot water cascading over his toned body, his wet hair falling in front of his eyes as he washes his naked body.

Possibly thinking about you.

Maybe even touching himself to the thought of you being right there with him.

And that’s the image you manage to fall asleep thinking about and which enters your dreams.

The following day is no better. Sporadic messages from Bucky during his waking hours is the only contact you have with him, until it gets too late where his communication ceases altogether, under the assumption he finally fell asleep.

After driving home, and two and a half long days without seeing him, you’re desperate to hear his voice. Sadly, the only time you manage to hear it is when his voicemail instructs you to leave a message because you’ve missed him. At a very minimum he will be able to hear your voice if you leave a voicemail, so you decide to tell him about your day.

“Morning baby, I know you’re probably with your Ma, but I just finished my shift and I’m on my way home and I’d thought I’d see if I could catch you before I fall asleep. It was a tough one today, Mrs Stewart, that lovely lady on dialysis who read my cards, the one I told you about last week, she came into the ER again and passed away overnight. I organised for her daughters to come in to say goodbye, but it felt like such an injustice, she should have had more time and been able to meet her grandbaby. I wish I had been able to come home to a hug and kiss from you.” You take a short pause, trying to compose yourself. You’re a doctor, losing patients is part of the job description and just makes saving lives that more extraordinary, but it is always easier to cope when you have Bucky there to run you a bath and help wash the day off you.

You don’t get that privilege this week.

“How’s your Ma? I know you said the other day she was meeting all her goals so I’m sure she’s breaking all kinds of records and continuing to be a mischief maker just like her son is.” You let out a chuckle, thinking of your cheeky boyfriend and his even sassier mom interacting with each other makes you grin. “Two nights down, four more to go. Honestly the weekend can’t come soon enough, I already miss you and it’s only been two days! Oh also, I sent you some pictures overnight, I hope you enjoy getting to look through those before bed later, I think you’ll like them. Sending you kisses and dirty dreams. I hope we get to speak soon baby.”

You hang up feeling ever so slightly better. Even though you weren’t actually speaking with him directly, in some strange way you feel like you have.

When you wake up, a good eight hours later, feeling more exhausted than when you went to sleep, one of the notifications you’ve missed is a call from Bucky, and your heart flutters when you realise he’s also left you a long voicemail.

“Hey darling, it was so great hearing your voice just before starting my shift, I feel like my day is already brighter from just listening to you talk. I’m sorry to hear about your patient, she seemed like such a sweet lady. If I were with you I’d give you the biggest hug and kiss, you deserve them both. Just know you are an amazing doctor; and her daughters will be grateful that they got their chance to say goodbye.” There’s a long pause in the recording, so much so you think your phone has accidentally switched off, but then you hear his voice again. “Ma is doing so well, we’re getting out and doing some small walks around her neighbourhood. She’s friends with one of the lady’s down the end of the street and her poodle puppy, so her motivation to keep walking is to see little Millie and get puppy kisses. I have to take her to a follow-up appointment after work, so it might prove a little tricky finding a time to chat but hopefully I can catch you before your shift.”

Your heart sinks, after not actually getting to speak with him earlier today you had hoped this afternoon would be your best chance to do so. But as disappointed as you are, you don’t blame Bucky one bit - he has to take care of his mom, and seeing the relationship they share only makes you adore him even more.

“I had a sneak at those pictures earlier and you made me harder than a fucking rock looking like a wet dream in that lingerie set. You can guarantee I’ll be looking at those when I go to sleep tonight. I might just have to send you some audio of how much I enjoy them.” Excitement tingles down your spine and you salivate at the thought of hearing Bucky get off to pictures of you. That of all the people he’s ever been with, you’re the one he can’t get enough of. “I hope you’re resting up baby, you deserve it. I’m sure we’ll speak soon, and if not, I’m just gonna keep listening to your voicemail on repeat so I can hear your voice again.”

You listen to his message three times. Firstly, just to hear his voice, how elated he sounds speaking to your voicemail. Second, to actually take in what he said. And thirdly, to listen to the sound of his voice again.

The remainder of the week wouldn’t be such a drag now that you could listen to his voice any time you want.

* * *

After your shift ends on Saturday morning, you have a pep in your step as you exit the hospital, on your way straight to Bucky’s place.

You’re finally going to see him again and nothing, not even the wet weather that you drive through towards his apartment, will dampen that.

When he answers his door, there’s a moment's pause where you simply stare joyously at each other, as if trying to determine if this is actually real or something concocted in a dream.

Seeing Bucky’s gorgeous, smiling face after a week apart is like a breath of fresh air. After a week of suffocating, you could now take a long, deep breath, oxygenating all those cells in your body which had been crying out for him. By the achingly doting expression on his face, you are positive he has longed for this moment as much as you have.

Someone else would probably think you had spent months apart with how hurriedly you pull one another into a crushing embrace. Your arms fling around his neck, pulling him down to you, and he pulls your waist flush with his as he buries his face in your neck.

“I missed you.” You whisper in his ear, taking in the familiar scent of his eucalyptus shampoo and that musky scent which was just naturally Bucky.

“Not as much as I missed you.” He mumbles, pulling back so his lips can capture yours in a tender kiss. His lips are soft and meld against yours with languid motions.

You stay in each other's arms for a long moment, basking in the warmth of each other's embrace, letting the rest of the world melt away as you revel in the delight of being reunited.

With a kiss to your forehead, Bucky takes your hand and leads you inside, not wanting to be deficient of your touch for even a single second longer.

“I have something to show you.” He proclaims with a mischievous grin. You’re left to ponder what it might be as he doesn’t give you any hints, however, you don’t need to wait long for when he leads you through the doorway to his living space the surprise hits you square in the chest.

“Bucky…” Your jaw drops open and you’re left speechless.

His lounge room is lit up with candles, casting a soft, warm glow over the entire room and filling the air with a sweet vanilla fragrance. The couch and coffee table have been pushed to the back wall to make room for a makeshift bed of multiple blankets and pillows. A small projector sits at the foot of the ‘bed’, pointing at a now bare wall, the few pictures Bucky did have up now stored on the coffee table. To top it all off, rose petals have been scattered all around the room, with a bouquet of the same flowers tied up neatly in a pretty bow beside the bed which you can only assume is for you.

“You did all this for me?” You choke out, trying not to let your emotions get the best of you but the lump in your throat betraying you.

“I’d do anything for you.” He responds without hesitation. “I wanted to have a romantic weekend together after not seeing you for so long.”

He looks at you with such extreme fondness, like something precious he values and wants to keep safe, and you have no choice but to kiss him. Not soft and sweet like his was, but instead ardently, fiercely. As a ‘thank you’. As a ‘I missed you’. As a ‘I care about you beyond what words can describe’. As a ‘I need you right now’.

Your hands find his hair and pull lightly, in the way you know he likes and which helps you open him up to you so you can sweep your tongue in his mouth.

You’re in control of the kiss until Bucky manages to slip a large hand past the elastic of your pants, fingers finding the wet patch forming in your panties. Even the feel of his thick fingers through the material is enough to make you keen, and all of a sudden you’re putty in his hands as he takes charge.

“How long have you been this wet for me, darling?”

“All week.” You moan breathlessly as he runs his fingers through your soaking folds, making sure his thumb circles your clit with the just the right pressure he has come to know with experience makes your toes curl. “Jerking off to your pictures just isn’t the same.”

“You need the real thing, baby?” Bucky nips at your earlobe before sucking on your neck, the sensation making you dizzy with lust. You want him - no, need him, more than you’ve needed anyone before, more than you need to breathe.

“Yes, please.” You beg, hands reaching down to feel his hardening cock underneath the material of his sweatpants. His lips connect with yours again as you cup his balls through his pants, a gravelly grunt escaping his lips

“Lay down, darling.” Bucky instructs, his spare, strong hand running down your back to assist you falling backwards onto his provisional blanket bed. “I got you.” He promises as you let him hold your body weight, placing you down carefully and ensuring your head rests on one of the pillows.

Bucky cages you in, his muscular form and intoxicating scent consuming your vision and filling all your senses. His eyes are brimming with desire, observing you underneath him as if you are the most alluring sight he’s ever had the pleasure of gazing at, and it only makes the wet patch in your panties grow.

“Need you, James.” He smirks as his real name falls from your lips. Bucky knows you mean business when you use it, and though he loves to tease you, today is not the time for that, because as much as you need him, he needs you even more.

“I know baby, Imma take good care of you, make you feel so good.” Bucky coos before sliding down your body, pulling your slacks and underwear off in one go. “There’s my pretty pussy.” As soon as his plump lips suck on your sensitive bundle of nerves, you’re sent straight to heaven. Without giving you a moment to think about how almost painfully good he’s making you feel and how much you’ve missed the feel of his tongue swirling at your core, he’s slipped two fingers inside you, fervently stroking your velvety, fluttering walls.

“Shit, Buck. God, I’ve missed your mouth.” If you were with anyone but your precious Bucky, who you trust implicitly, you might be embarrassed by how quickly the band at the bottom of your stomach is tightening, ready to snap at any second. But you never feel self conscious when you’re with him - his utmost concern with your pleasure, ensuring you always feel safe and comfortable when you’re with him nourishes the trust you share.

You look down at Bucky between your legs still fully clothed, rutting into the blankets beneath him, as if he’s getting off on purely the taste of you. You swear you’ve never been with a partner who actually enjoys eating you out as much as Bucky does, rather than seeing it as a chore to get through so you’ll suck them off.

Through his long hair, strands of which have fallen in front of his face, his piercing blue eyes look up to find you watching him intently, overflowing pleasure etched on your features, whimpers and moans cascading from your mouth. This only spurs him on. With a smirk you can feel against your sensitive folds, his movements become more frantic, pushing you ever closer to your impending high.

“Make a mess on my face, darling.” His breath is hot against your centre, before diving right back in, tongue feverishly licking up every drop of arousal he himself is responsible for, as his fingers curl to find that spot inside you which makes you see stars.

“Buck- oh god, oh please, right there, fuck yes, yes, right there, don’t stop.” Your thighs squeeze around his head but it doesn’t slow him down. He’s been starving for a week and nothing, even not being able to breathe, is going to stop him from taking you over the edge of ecstasy.

And that’s exactly what he does. With a simultaneous thrust of his fingers and suction on your clit, you cum with a cry of his name, thighs quivering and toes curling as your back arches off the pile of blankets and pillows that are now in disarray.

“That’s my good girl.” He praises, continuing to pump his fingers inside you as his other hand frantically rubs your clit, prolonging your pleasure and causing your body to involuntary jerk as your orgasm fires through every cell in your body.

When you finally come down, completely out of breath and sweat beading on your brow, Bucky smirks at you in his signature, cheeky way where you can’t help a reciprocating smile blossoming in your own features.

“Now, let’s see how many times you can cum on this fat cock.”

* * *

“Bucky?” You mumble with a hoarse voice as your eyes blink open to the bright early afternoon sun streaming through the cracks in Bucky’s curtains, even though you can tell he’s tried to pull them across as far as they will go so you can sleep in mild darkness.

When you don’t get a response you turn over lazily, arm reaching out to the spot beside you on the makeshift bed only to find cool sheets and spare pillows. Your heart drops that even though you got to fall asleep beside Bucky, you haven’t been able to wake up beside him.

That moment of happiness and contentment as you both open your eyes in the morning, being the first thing you each see in the day, after being the last before falling asleep, as soft smiles spread simultaneously over both of your features, is a type of pure magic you don’t want to be deprived of once you’ve had a taste.

Hearing movement and faint sizzling coming from the adjacent kitchen, you pull Bucky’s discarded Henley over your naked form and, with a stifled yawn, shuffle towards your boyfriend.

You take a moment to lean on the doorframe and admire your burly boyfriend, shirtless, with grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, long hair tied back from his face in a small bun as he pours batter onto a frypan.

You could get used to this.

The muscles of his bare back flex as you rest your cheek on his shoulder blade, your arms snaking around his toned midriff

“Did you sleep well?” He asks softly as the hand he’s not using covers your left hand, fingers naturally slotting between yours. One of your favourite things since officially becoming his girlfriend is how physically affectionate he’s become. He’ll make any excuse to hold your hand, to sling an arm around your shoulders or have you sitting in his lap.

The fact that he seeks out that contact with you, makes your heart flutter each time. Warmth blooms in your chest knowing you’re the only person he wants that affectionate, lovey-dovey connection with.

“Hmm I guess. Wanted to wake up next to you though.” Your arms tighten around his waist, as if to reflexively keep him close and prevent him from moving away as he had done while you were asleep.

“I’m sorry darling, our sleep schedules are just off at the moment.” You kiss a freckle on his shoulder blade, a silent recognition that you understand what he means and you aren’t upset. You observe a shiver running down his back at your soft kiss so you do it again with a smile, loving that you’re the one person who gets to elicit that kind of reaction from him.

“Watcha making?” You ask lazily, standing on your tiptoes so you can see above his shoulder to what he’s cooking in the frypan. The room smells delicious, like sugary sweetness and melting butter

“Pancakes. Figured we’d need some energy after what we did this morning.” He chuckles as you let out a little squeal of delight. No man has ever put the effort in to cook for you before, and now Bucky’s making one of your childhood favourites. “Plus, they’re one of the only things I can make well.”

“They almost look as yummy as you.” You flatter, poking him at the ticklish spot he has just above his hip which makes him squirm and giggle.

“You’ll have to make sure to save room for your dessert then.”

You fall into comfortable silence as you remain resting on his back and Bucky continues to cook the pancakes one at a time, treasuring the closeness given your separation over the past week, but not needing conversation to feel at ease with each other's presence.

“Are you gonna fall asleep on me again, huh?” Bucky’s voice pulls you away from the dark void of sleep you were falling into without realising.

“Maybe… you’re just so comfy.” You mumble, your tired lips barely articulating the words, but Bucky chuckles like he knows what you’ve said.

“Here…” He places the spatula down and before you know it, he’s grabbing you by the hips and lifting you onto the counter beside his stove. He stands between your legs, casually kissing you and hands smoothing over your bare thighs. In this moment it feels as though nothing can come between you, even the prospect of spending the rest of your career on the night shift. “My sweet girl.” He mumbles against your lips, hooking your legs around his waist, getting lost in the taste of you to the extent that he almost forgets about the batter cooking on the pan and has to frantically untangle himself from you to turn them before they burn.

Once the pancakes are done, Bucky serves them up on a plate for each of you and leads you back to the living room with your hand in his, only leaving you huddled in the blankets alone for a moment to go grab all the topping options he purchased specifically for this occasion.

You start eating your pancakes as Bucky fiddles to connect the projector, cursing under his breath when it doesn’t work. You tell him not to mind, because after finishing your pancakes, you’re interested in other activities that don’t involve watching a movie, and making use of the rest of the whipped cream Bucky bought.

Though the weekend will surely go by in a flash, you want to stay in the moment with him and enjoy every sweet and sinful second you get together.

* * *

Before you know it, Monday has come round again and you’re back on the night shift. Yes, the week without Bucky had been difficult and you didn’t like it one bit, but you made it through once, so you know you can do it again.

Besides, your weekend of indulgence certainly made up for the lonely nights and days without seeing him, so you’re using the prospect of a similar weekend as motivation to get through another gruelling week.

Early on in your shift, as you’re preparing to send a young man in for an x-ray of his possibly fractured wrist, a familiar voice calls your name as they approach the nurses desk.

“Buck?” Your heart starts beating frantically thinking something must be catastrophically wrong for him to be in the ER at this time of night. “Is everything okay? Is it your mom?” Your voice is shaky, but your concern isn’t reflected on his face.

If you weren’t in a state of panic, you would have realised that him being in his EMT uniform was an indication of the true reason he found himself inside the hospital, but you fail to notice that detail in the moment of anxiety.

“Darling, everything is fine.” He punctuates his reassurance with a sweet kiss, his large hands calmly cupping your face and savouring the feel of your lips against his. “I swapped shifts with someone on nights for the week. I didn’t want to have to go another whole week without seeing you or sleeping next to you.”

Surprise stuns you for a split second - Bucky changed to the night shift because he missed you that much last week. Your stomach does a flip at how thoughtful his gesture is.

“Or do you mean sleeping with me? Are you a little pussy drunk, Barnes?” You tease.

“Oh I’m most definitely pussy drunk. Pussy addicted even.” He affirms with his signature smirk. Warmth blooms in your chest at how shamelessly he’s into you - you have become accustomed to men’s ambiguous signals, their aversion to commitment, but with Bucky, as soon as you proclaimed yourself as his girlfriend, he’s been nothing but unabashedly yours.

“You really swapped the night shift just for me?” You ask, voice softer and more vulnerable now. No one has ever gone out of their way to inconvenience themselves for you before. Part of your brain can’t believe seeing you more is the only reason Bucky has made the switch. Surely he must have some ulterior motive?

“Of course I did.” He says with an amused lilt as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Your stomach tingles with something of devoted affection when you perceive no trace of deception in his features.

“What about your Ma?” You question, very appreciative of what Bucky has done but concerned he hasn’t thought it through the whole way.

“Steve offered to help out, and I can still see her before each shift in the afternoon and afterwards in the mornings.” He reassures with a smile that relieves any doubt you were feeling. “Spending time with you is important to me. No one makes me feel as happy and content as I do when I’m with you, so when the opportunity presented itself, of course I took it.”

Looking into his steel blue eyes, which regard you with a familiar warmth and devotion, your stomach clenches as the realisation hits you - you have something in this world you’re terrified to lose.

Perhaps his edges are a little jagged by his past, but Bucky makes you feel like you’re in the exact right place at the exact right time, that there’s no rush, nothing to run or hide from, that you are precisely where you’re meant to be.

And though you don’t tell him that you’re falling in love, you kiss him like you do.

Part 7 > >

Be added to the series taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @roschele @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @fallenlilangel99 @princezzjasmine @mdrovert @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @netflixxgoddess @pop-rocks-818 @dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @marvelhoeland @thesadcatto-queen @kayden666 @amiimar @razor-blayde @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @Vickie5446 @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @moonymagician @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet @wishingwell-2 @unaxv

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j2h5b5 · 2 months ago

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Oh hey. Another side quest into a world of married Sterek where Stiles’ little sister is Derek’s beta and how delightfully messy that could get. Because my last little snippet didn’t scratch the itch. Like? I got more a’brewin.

###

"Stiles, let me handle it."

"Don't pull rank on me, Derek."

Derek scoffed. "This isn't about hierarchy. This is about you being furious right now and me being calm. Well, relatively," he amended when Stiles raised an eyebrow at him. "And I promise you that coming down hard is not the best way to get through to your hard-headed sister."

"I'm not not looking to get through to her. I'm planning to kill her."

"See, now that's my point. I can't let you kill one of my betas, baby."

"She was my sister before she was your beta."

"Stiles. Look at me." Derek placed both hands firmly on his husband's shoulders, angling his head down so Stiles couldn't avoid meeting his gaze. "When she walks in that door, she's going to expect a confrontation. And if you give her one, you'll be playing right into her manipulative little hands." His lips curled into a little smile when he saw that Stiles was actually considering his words. "I've got this, okay? This is not my first time dealing with a rogue teenager. I managed to wrangle you and Scott into line, and THAT was no small feat."

"You didn't wrangle us," Stiles objected. "The way I remember it, you were involved in most of the stupid stunts we pulled." He sighed. "But fine. You want to handle it, you handle it. But save the killing for me."

Derek answered that with a kiss, then gently urged Stiles backward until the backs of his knees met the couch and he flopped gracelessly into a sitting position.

That was the moment the door opened and the Stilinski of the hour walked in. Derek took several beats to pin Stiles to the couch with his eyes, reminding him silently of their agreement, before turning around to face his problem beta.

"Before you start yelling..." she began, both hands extended outward toward her two guardians. "I can explain."

Derek folded his arms across his broad chest and gave her a look. "No one's going to yell," he said, squeezing Stiles's shoulder slightly. "We would love to hear your explanation."

She looked between Derek and Stiles with open confusion that melted into suspicion. "Oh-kaaay."

Faced with this curveball, she didn't seem to know how to proceed. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she stood there lost for words. So Derek decided to help her along. "Let me get you started because I'm very curious. Was your mission successful? Did you manage to steal the book and get out of the Alpha Pack den without getting caught? I mean, you must have, seeing as how you're standing here and not, you know, dead. So I'm assuming you were at least partially successful."

"I ... Scott..."

"Oh, that's right!" Derek clapped his hands and nudged Stiles, who was just as weirded out by this uncharacteristic display as his sister seemed to be. "I'd almost forgotten. We heard about Scott and Isaac showing up in the nick of time, just when you were about to be skewered to bits. They did mention that they lost track of you while they were fighting off the Alphas. Don't worry, though, they didn't get hurt too badly. Luckily Scott was there to help Isaac or things could have gone sideways." He let his words linger in the air, watching the color drain from her face as she pictured her Pack brothers hurt and bleeding. "But what matters is that you got the book. Let's see." He took a step across the room toward her, and she matched it with a step backward, not meeting her Alpha's gaze.

"Um, no. I didn't, um."

"Didn't what?" Derek pressed, deceptively gentle.

"I didn't get the book, I... somehow they knew what I was doing there and..."

"Ah, I see," Derek's eyes glittered, the faux jovial tone he'd been using up until now transforming into something darker, sharper. "So somehow, an entire pack of powerful, pissed-off Alphas who know full well that you're one of ours didn't get outsmarted by a fifteen-year-old? And they turned the tables on you? Who could possibly have seen that coming?"

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and looked down, suddenly finding her shoes very interesting.

"Scott and Isaac are okay though," she said in a small, husky voice. "They called you after, so they must be okay...right?"

"No thanks to you." Stiles' voice, cold as ice, cut through the silence Derek had been letting build up.

Her eyes snapped up to meet her brother's, tears liquefying her vision almost instantly when she saw the anger, hurt, and disappointment there. "I didn't mean for them to get involved," she tried, and it was a weak argument and she knew it. "They weren't supposed to..."

"What? They weren't supposed to save your ass? They weren't supposed to put their own lives on the line to protect their Pack sister just because she made a series of FUCKING RECKLESS decisions that could have gotten everyone killed?"

"Stiles..."

"You're not the only one your actions affect, not ever, but especially not anymore. I mean, I get that you don't give a shit about me; that's been clear for years, you've been risking your damn life at every turn since Dad died and I've never been able to stop you. But now? Now there are so many more people WHO I LOVE who will lay down their lives for you without a moment's hesitation, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you exploit that because you're too selfish and stupid to think about anyone but yourself. Now get the fuck to your room. I can't even look at you right now."

Somehow she managed to make it to her bedroom before the sob broke from her, but Derek didn't need to have werewolf powers to hear it.

"Stiles..." he started, sitting next to his husband and reaching for him, but Stiles jerked back out of his grasp.

"If you're going to tell me I was too hard on her I don't want to hear it."

Derek nodded. "That's not for me to say. But I am going to go talk to her privately, and while I do that I'd like for you to go take a long hot shower. Okay? It always calms you down, and then you and I can talk when you're feeling better."

Stiles pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as he tried to soothe the oncoming headache. "Are you going to punish her?" he asked. "I know I'm usually kind of opinionated about the whole Alpha-Beta discipline thing, but right now..."

Derek paused, considering. "I'm pretty sure she's doing a good job of that herself, at least for tonight." He leaned over and kissed Stiles softly, catching his lip between his teeth in a gentle, playful nip to show he wasn't upset with him. Although if anyone else spoke to one of his betas that way...

"Shower," he reminded, standing up and heading toward the stairs. "I'll be back soon."

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neo-my-geo · 1 year ago

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Hey gang, it’s your old pal Neo here. If you know me, it’s probably from one of the several very stupid TF2 comics I’ve posted to Tumblr.

However! I am also an English major (unfortunately). One who has read millions of words worth of fanfiction in their life. I have been part of the Sherlock, BNHA, Disco Elysium, and, of course, TF2 fandoms; I’ve been around the block.

The further I’ve progressed into my English education, the more I’ve noticed which mistakes are the most common in fanfiction. Many of them are easily fixable; writers just need to be pointed in the right direction.

“Neo! Does this mean you think people shouldn’t be allowed to post their works online without a background in formal English education?”

Of course not! I can explain why if you’d care to venture below the cut with me!

Yes, I will explain how to use commas.

It’s important to note that this is NOT a post about formal writing. You aren’t writing an essay. Please, for the love of god, do not write fiction like you’re writing an essay.

There are no stakes to writing fanfic. No one is going to get hurt if an author doesn’t know what a dangling participle is. One of my favourite things about fanfiction is that it’s one of the only art forms left that’s done exclusively for fun! You should write what you enjoy, and share what you make with like-minded people.

What I want to do is provide assistance as best I can to writers who want to improve their fundamentals without having to take the same university courses I did. Nobody is going to be getting a formal education to write fanfiction unless they’re ridiculously dedicated, and I’m not expecting that of anyone.

The point I need to stress is that knowing these grammar fundamentals can instantly improve the flow of your writing. Punctuation is a ridiculously important tool for writers, ESPECIALLY in fiction. Commas, semicolons, and full stops (including periods, exclamation points, and question marks) steer the pacing in the reader’s mind; did you notice how your brain stopped for a second after that semicolon? I can show you how to do that.

You may be wondering why I’m going through so much effort to teach all of this to strangers on the internet. The answer is that I enjoy sharing this knowledge with others and helping them grow. By seeing this, my goal is to help you become more proficient at self-editing. Showing this to people who actually want to learn will, hopefully, benefit the community as a whole, and I think that’s very worth it.

Also, while this post is obviously themed around TF2, the points I’m making can be applied to any fiction. Grammar is for everyone, and the church of the semicolon always has room for more initiates.

Also also, as an edit, I should clarify that this is meant to cover the more objective facets of self-editing, which is why I'm mostly covering punctuation. Maybe I'll do another post about using adjectives someday.

With that out of the way, let’s get going!

I’ve teamed up with several English teachers (real ones! One of which may or may not be my mom!) and an editor to gather a list of the most common problems we see in amateur fiction. This post is going to be split into three broad sections: apostrophes, commas/semicolons, and other common problems.

The apostrophe

This section is short, but it holds weight. Other than commas, apostrophes are the most typoed grammatical tool in any fanfiction I’ve edited. This is because, much like the rest of English, the rules surrounding them can be annoying and inconsistent.

Apostrophes have two main uses: possessives and conjunctions.

A possessive is a word that denotes the ownership of one thing over another. The vast majority of the time, this is done using an apostrophe and an S.

There is, however, one glaring exception to this rule, and it’s the bane of my existence.

When denoting possession of an object over something else while using the pronoun ‘it,’ you do NOT add an apostrophe before the S.

A conjunction, on the other hand, is when a writer uses an apostrophe to combine two words. The following are examples of common conjunctions:

What’s (what is)

They’re (they are)

It’s (it is)

Conjunctions are not often used in formal writing. Thankfully, we aren’t dealing in formal writing. Go crazy.

Time for a lightning round of the most commonly mistaken for each other possessives and conjunctions!

Your is possessive. You’re is a conjunction of ‘you’ and ‘are.’ When you can’t decide which one to use, imagine replacing it with ‘you are’ and seeing if it makes sense. If it doesn’t, use your.

Their is possessive. There indicates a location. They’re is a conjunction of ‘they’ and ‘are.’

The comma and the semicolon

You knew it was coming. I knew it was coming. It’s time to talk about commas.

Commas and semicolons are far and away the biggest grammatical hole in the toolset of fanfiction writers everywhere. They’re often treated like the rules surrounding them are complicated and difficult to understand, but the exact opposite is true!

The big issue I’ve heard time and time again is that the rules of commas are often explained through metaphor instead of example; this means that writers everywhere have slightly different ideas of how you’re supposed to use them. The fact of the matter is that, yes, there are correct and incorrect ways to use commas. Knowing when they’re appropriate and when they aren’t is easily the fastest way to bring your writing from looking amateurish to sounding professional and experienced.

In order to know how to use a comma, you must first understand the difference between a dependent and an independent clause.

An independent clause is a section of writing that functions perfectly well as its own sentence. It MUST have both a subject and an action/verb.

A sentence without an independent clause is known as a fragment, and they’re the bane of English teachers with highlighters everywhere.

A dependent clause is a section of writing that does not have both a subject and an action; it does not function as its own sentence.

Now, let’s say you want to combine the two. When joining a dependent clause to an independent clause, the order in which they are placed is crucial to whether you use a comma or not.

When joining a dependent to an independent with the independent clause first, you do not need to use a comma.

When joining a dependent to an independent with the dependent clause first, you MUST use a comma.

Keep in mind that, if one strives for total grammatical perfection, all narrative sentences MUST have an independent clause. This, however, does not apply to dialogue. Human beings do not think about whether what they’re saying is a dependent clause, and neither would the vast majority of fictional characters. Don’t be afraid to break the rules of grammar as long as it’s contained within quotation marks.

Alright, that’s the easy part. Time to learn about joining two independent clauses. It’s semicolon time, baby!

If you join two independent clauses without properly using a comma or a semicolon, it is a run-on sentence. You do not want these in your writing. They’re awkward to read and mess up the flow.

When joining two independent clauses, you can use EITHER a comma or a semicolon. You just need to follow these rules:

If you’re joining two independent clauses with a comma, you MUST use a joining word (and, but, so, etc.) AFTER the comma.

If you’re joining two independent clauses with a semicolon, you do NOT need to use a joining word.

Did you know that a sentence with a comma counts as its own independent clause? This means that you can make a sentence that includes a mix of both without it being a run-on! Just make sure that, no matter what, the semicolon is between two independent clauses.

Still, try not to write more than two clauses in a sentence too often. Sentences with a lot of punctuation are very attention-grabbing, but shouldn’t be overused. Full stops aren’t your enemy and variety is the spice of life.

It’s also important to remember that you should avoid using more than one comma in a clause (with the exception of the rule below). That part loops back to the 'avoiding run-ons' bit.

It’s really that easy!

Commas are also used in informal writing to inject a separate thought or descriptor mid-sentence without breaking the flow by adding a period. This is often used when describing the perspective of a character experiencing something in a story, but not (usually) when using omniscient perspectives.

The final issue I frequently see with commas in fanfiction is in regards to dialogue. Sometimes you end it with them, and sometimes you don’t. What gives?

Well, my friend, the answer is, thankfully, much simpler than the previous section.

When following dialogue with a dialogue tag, use a comma instead of a full stop. If you’re continuing the previous sentence after the tag, use a comma after it as well.

Note that a dialogue tag is a short phrase that identifies the speaker. It isn’t a complete sentence on its own.

When following dialogue with an action that does not serve as a dialogue tag, use a full stop instead of a comma.

Other common problems

This section is dedicated to putting specific grammatical errors into words, along with how to solve them.

Not sticking to the chosen point of view

Always choose your point of view before you start. Is it in the first, second, or third person? Is it omniscient or limited? Does the point of view switch during the story?

First person perspective is told as if the POV character is directly describing their experience to the reader. The character uses I and we to describe their own actions.

Second person perspective is told as if the reader is a character in the story and their actions are being described to them. This is the rarest, and the most difficult to write.

Third person perspective is the most common and the simplest to write. The events of the story are a separate entity from the reader altogether and the narrator uses they/he/she/it pronouns for characters.

Omniscient perspective means the narrator of the story knows all, including the thoughts and feelings of each character.

Limited perspective means the narrator of the story only knows what the POV character knows.

Past and present tense

When you decide between writing a story in past or present tense, it is crucial that you do not switch between them unless it is narratively intentional. Reading a past tense story that mistakenly switches to the present tense is like being pulled out of the room someone is telling a story in and suddenly taking part in it yourself. It’s disorienting and gives the reader unwanted pause.

Overly-long paragraphs

A common adage spread by English teachers is that most paragraphs should be at least eight sentences long. This is great advice for beginner essays. You’re writing fiction.

If you have a new thought, start a new paragraph! A concise and well-read single-sentence paragraph is infinitely better than one that drags a thought for too long. Aim to have a blend of paragraph lengths when you write, alternating between the descriptive and the punctual.

Dangling participles

A dangling participle is when a word is used to describe a noun that isn’t actually present in the sentence. Much like how a sentence without an action isn’t grammatically correct, neither is a sentence without a subject.

Malapropisms

A malapropism is when an author mistakenly uses one word or phrase instead of another similar-sounding one. I’m not about to list every single malapropism ever made, but these are the ones I notice most often:

To comprehend is to understand something, to apprehend is to arrest someone, and to be apprehensive is to be anxious or fearful of something bad happening.

Could care less means you do care. Couldn’t care less means you don’t.

A lot means a large amount of something. Alot isn’t a word and you shouldn’t use it.

The only real solution to using malapropisms is to make sure you fully understand any words you use in your writing. Never guess, and make sure you always google it. Having beta readers also helps.

If you made it this far, congratulations! You now know the most common errors in amateur fiction and how to solve them! Thank you for listening to me complain for two thousand words.

The most important thing to remember is that it’s okay to make mistakes. First drafts are always gonna be a little bad. The real key to success is knowing what your end goal is, and how you plan on achieving it. Here’s hoping this was a helpful tool for that!

Shoutout to @salmonandsoup for helping me think of the list of issues to address! You're a real one. Also shoutout to my mom, who doesn't have Tumblr. Also the third person. You know who you are.

#grammarposting #tf2 #grammar #educational shitpost #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #writing advice #fanfiction writing advice #team fortress 2 #tf2 fanfiction #bro your participle is dangling

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deathmoth-blog · 2 months ago

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The mahi-mahi or common dolphinfish (Coryphaena hippurus) is a surface-dwelling ray-finned fish found in off-shore temperate, tropical, and subtropical waters worldwide. It is also widely called dorado (not to be confused with Salminus brasiliensis, a freshwater fish) and dolphin (not to be confused with the aquatic mammal dolphin). It is one of two members of the family Coryphaenidae, the other being the pompano dolphinfish. These fish are most commonly found in the waters around the Gulf of Mexico, Costa Rica, Hawaii and the Indian Ocean.

The name mahi-mahi comes from the Hawaiian language and means 'very strong', through the process of reduplication. By chance in Persian, mahi (ماهی) means 'fish', but the word mahi-mahi is Hawaiian. Though the species is also referred to as the common dolphinfish, the use of dolphin can be misleading as they are not closely related to dolphins; see Coryphaena for the possible etymologies of dolphinfish. In parts of the Pacific and along the English-speaking coast of South Africa, the mahi-mahi is commonly referred to by its name in Spanish, dorado. On the Mediterranean island of Malta, the mahi-mahi is referred to as the lampuka. In Indonesian, they are called ikan lemadang.

Linnaeus named the genus, derived from the Greek word, κορυφή, koryphe, meaning 'top' or 'apex', in 1758. Synonyms for the species include Coryphaena argyrurus, Coryphaena chrysurus, and Coryphaena dolfyn.

Mahi-mahi have compressed bodies and one very long dorsal fin extending from the head almost to the tail fin. Mature males have distinctive "foreheads"; it grows as the fish matures and often protrudes well above the body proper, which is streamlined by the musculature of the back. This "hump" is a sexually dimorphic feature; females have a rounded head. Their caudal fins and anal fins are sharply concave. They are distinguished by dazzling colors – golden on the sides, and bright blues and greens on the sides and back. The pectoral fins of the mahi-mahi are iridescent blue. The flank is broad and golden. Out of the water, the fish often change color (giving rise to their Spanish name, dorado, 'golden'), going through several hues before finally fading to a muted yellow-grey upon death.

Mahi-mahi can live for up to five years, although they seldom exceed four. Females are usually smaller than males. Catches typically are 7 to 13 kg (15 to 29 lb) and a meter in length. They rarely exceed 15 kg (33 lb), and mahi-mahi over 18 kg (40 lb) are exceptional. Mahi-mahi are among the fastest-growing of fish. They spawn in warm ocean currents throughout much of the year, and their young are commonly found in rafts of Sargassum weeds. Young mahi-mahi migrate past Malta where they are called lampuki and Sicily where they are known as lampuga or capone; there they are fished using nets and floating mats of palm leaves under which they collect.

Mahi-mahi are carnivorous, feeding on flying fish, crabs, squid, mackerel, and other forage fish. They have also been known to eat zooplankton. To pursue such varied pelagic prey, mahi-mahi are fast swimmers, swimming as fast as 50 knots (92.6 km/h, 57.5 mph).[citation needed]

Males and females are sexually mature in their first year, usually by the age of 4–5 months. Spawning can occur at body lengths of 20 cm (7.9 in). Females may spawn two to three times per year, and produce between 80,000 and 1,000,000 eggs per event. In waters at 28 °C/83 °F, mahi-mahi larvae are found year-round, with greater numbers detected in spring and fall. Mahi-mahi fish are mostly found in the surface water. Their flesh is grey-white when raw, cooking to an attractive white with a clean, non-fishy flavour.

#deathmothblog #beauty of nature #nature #wildlife #animals #sea creatures #sea life #artists on tumblr #fish

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tinygarbage · 11 months ago

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Do I Wanna Know?

part one

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x f!reader (Cheese)

word count: 4.4k

summary: december is passing and you start to wonder what you mean to your lieutenant.

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, alcohol consumption (reader and ghost have 3 drinks), no use of y/n, reader is mentioned to have hair (no specific length), readers call name is “Cheese”, American reader, mutual pining, fluff, implication of severe anxiety, swearing, military inaccuracies, drunk soap and gaz, not really edited lol (let me know if i missed any)

au: this chapter is inspired by hozier’s cover of “do I wanna know” by the arctic monkeys 😚 i linked it in the title just in case y’all wanted to give it a listen! im thinking about one more part for this bad boy :)

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹

The pub is busy when you step in. Loud music and noisy chatter smacks you in the face as you shove your hands into your pockets. You feel your heart beating faster as your eyes search for the team's faces. The painfully familiar feeling of anxiety crawls through your brain as you walk through the crowded space. People are dressed in all sort of attire, a mix of casual and fancy outfits scatter across the dark pub. Party hats and sunglasses work of people heads. Cheap, plastic necklaces around peoples necks. They all chatter, drinks in their hands as they watch TV at the bar or cheer of the people on the karaoke machine. You recognize a Bon Jovi song being sung horribly by a middle aged woman. Her friends crowding the stage with their phones in hand, drunkenly recording her screeching performance.

Your heart races and your breathing quickens as your eyes continue to dart between the overwhelming amount of people. You were already late. Dreading coming since Simon gave you the invitation during training one day. Quietly mumbling about how the guys were carrying their tradition of going to Price's favorite pub. Inviting you to come along. Which you immediately accepted. Not stopping to think about the fact that crowded pubs make your head spin and stomach flip like the worlds most dangerous amusement park.

"Cheese!" You hear Soap's thick accent call out through the crowd. His voice immediately sending a soothing blanket over your jittery nerves.

Your head snaps in the direction you heard it from to see your team grouped up together at a large booth in the corner. They all sit tight together. Gaz and Soap clearly having indulged in their alcohol quickly. Soap's cheeks are rosy and his faux-hawk is tossled slightly. He's wearing a dark grey hoodie with some band graphic fading on it. Next to him sits Gaz. Who's wearing his worn baseball cap backwards. A navy hoodie with a grey and blue flannel over it. His eyes droop as he seems to be searching for where soap spots you. Across from them sits Simon and Price. Price wearing his typical beanie and a flannel. He's in the process of taking off his brown leather jacket. Next to him is Simon. Wearing a black hoodie. You cant see anything but his broad frame and the hood pulled up. But you can guess he's wearing his "civilian" balaclava or a black surgical mask.

As you approach, Soap is still waving his arm like a maniac and Simon slides out of the booth. Turning slowly to watch you approach. You don't even try to bite back a smile as you get closer. He's in his black surgical mask and a pair of dark denim. Thick leather boots on his feet. Jeans cuffed to reveal the lighter denim on the inside. Hiding the very top of his boot. His pale hand reveals itself, gesturing for you to slide into the booth. To sit right between him Price's broad frames.

You slip right in. Sitting close to Price. Your cardigan brushes against his flannel and he looks down at you. Giving you a sweet, genuine tight-lipped smile. "Hey, Cheese." He rasps, nudging your shoulder lightly.

You smile back in response. Glancing back over the busy pub as Simon squeezes in next to you. Both of your arms pressed against each other. "It's packed." You observe, adjusting between the two large men.

"Well, you did show up at 22:00." Gaz chuckled.

"How long have y'all been here?" You ask. Your American accent standing out in the pub full of Brits and Soap.

"Y'all!" Soap repeats in a southern accent. Surprisingly nailing it despite the fact that he's completely tossed.

The group ignores it, Gaz answers. "Soap and I got here around 19:00. Price and Ghost got here about an hour ago."

Before you can respond to Gaz, Simon speaks up from beside you. His gaze darting from you to the glass of whiskey sitting on the table in front of him. Pale fingers fidgeting with the wrapper of a straw. The straw from Price's coke. "How come you came so late?" His voice is quiet. Only being heard by you and maybe Price.

"Oh, I was calling my parents. And i got a little distracted."

It wasn't a lie. Not entirely. Just withholding the full truth. Not wanting to explain the fact that you had been doing every single chore and calling every single family member instead of getting ready to meet them at the pub. So you just wear a baggy, knitted cardigan over a grey cami. The lavender color of your cardigan and it's marble white buttons standing out amongst the men you were with. Who were wearing rather dull colors. A pair of light wash jeans on your bottom half and your trusty converse. The pair you've had since senior year. The fraying canvas and scuffed soles giving them character. And a sense of nostalgia. A birthday gift from your older brother. Who saved up all of his tips that he got working as a barista while attending college.

You shift awkwardly under his intense stare, waiting for any sort of response from him. Nothing comes. Instead, Soap leans over the table and speaks loudly. His accent thicker with the more he drinks, "Gaz and I have bets going on some pool games, you want to join?"

"I'll pass, I'm not very good at pool." You chuckle, speaking up so they could hear you over the crowded bar.

"That's better for us, means you'll lose!" Gaz chimes in, leaning against Soap.

"Maybe next time. What are you getting anyways?"

"Loser sings karaoke. Winner chooses which song." Soap answers with a drunken giggle, Gaz joking in. You've never seen either of them this drunk before.

"You're going to force an entire bar full of people to listen to your awful singing?" You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

"Cant be as bad as the Cougar screaming on stage." Gaz nudges Soap as they laugh loudly. God, they were obliterated already.

Time passes and eventually Price has moved to the bar, leaving you and Simon to watch as Soap and Gaz play pool together. You cant tell who's winning, so Simon updates you with each play. You now had a vodka cranberry sitting in front of you. After Price begged you to let loose for once and stop being a "block of cheddar." Whatever that meant. But when he said it was on Shepherd, you couldn't refuse ordering a few drinks on the dreadful man's pocket. Price giving a big belly laugh as you make a remark about Shepherd's bald head.

With the drink and Simon's calming presence, you feel your anxiety starting to rinse away. A second drink comes and you and Simon are still pressed together despite having more room in the booth now that Price disappeared. The two of you watching Soap lose brutally in a game of pool. Most likely due to the fact that he can't even stand straight. You watch as him and Gaz stumble to the karaoke machine, which is vacant now that people are more focused on midnight approaching. Typing in the song Gaz had chosen as the pair giggle and try to read the screen. Their vision most likely blurred and spinning. The song starts playing once everything is set up, the microphone in Soap's hand as he leans on Gaz for support. Probably needing a glass of water more than a song. You cant help but giggle as Come on Eileen starts playing. Typical karaoke song.

You're still sat in the booth with Simon, watching as Soap curls his arm around Gaz. His singing getting louder and increasingly incoherent as he attempted to read the words on the screen. His accent thick with each word. You wish your hearing was non existent as you watch the shit show in front of you. Simon sitting silently at your side.

"We're going to have to roll that man out," You say with a grin. Soap's an idiot but he's the team's idiot.

"I say we leave him to Price." Ghost replies, glancing at you while you take a chug of your drink.

You glance over to Price, who has his arm loosely around a blonde. A charismatic smile as he leans against the bar, the pint of dark beer half empty and her flashy margarita with nothing but the salt around the rim and the flimsy umbrella laying. It's place as a decoration looking rather sad in the empty glass.

"It seems like Price is on his own mission," you say with a raised brow.

"At least the old man is getting out there," he grumbles. You watch subtly as he lifts his mask to finish off his whiskey. Catching a glimpse of a scar down his pink lips. The sight bringing a familiar pool of heat to your stomach. Your ribs squeezing from the desire building.

You swallow your alcohol infused thoughts, turning back to your drink when you notice his brown eyes shifting under your gaze. You weren't being nearly as subtle as you thought. He had felt the tension build between the two of you the moment your eyes landed on his lips. Clearing your throat you speak up, "Yeah, he's been getting irritable lately. Maybe some stress relief outta do him some good."

You hear a small huff of laughter next to you, watching as his shoulders shook slightly under his black hoodie. A small smile creeps on your lips. Not able to hide the giddiness you feel every time you manage to break his shell. Even if it was something as subtle as a huff of laughter or a sheepish expression.

"Can't remember the last time I've seen the poor bastard do anything for himself." He responds, a hint of a smile in his voice. It was light, airy. But it was everything to you. A moment worth a mental picture in your brain.

"Good for him," you conclude with a proud nod. Watching as the blonde places a hand on Price's bicep. Which looked like it was screaming to be let out of the flannel he wore.

Your eyes flick back to Simon, admiring the curve of his nose. The very top of it peaking out from the surgical mask. The mere sight of him drowns out Soap's awful singing. Drawing you in and letting your mind wander to all the places you wanted the talk, blonde man to take you. You couldn't help but imagine how his nose would feel against your skin. His breath fanning on the open landscape as his lips trace every inch of you. Breathing you in with each peck. You imagine how it's feel as he leaves a trail of kisses down your stomach. Or pressed against your sensitive bud as he buries his face in your dripping cunt. Jesus, Cheese. Slow down.

With that last thought in mind, you stare down at your drink. It's your third. And probably your last. Given the fact that midnight was approaching minute by minute and you needed to be sober to try and get Gaz and Soap out. Simon was on his fourth and final glass as well. Announcing he was cutting himself off before he would have to endure a nasty hangover the next morning. Soap was finished singing, gesturing to you and Simon that they were going for one more round. A round that would probably tie them over to midnight.

And it did. Leaving you and Simon to drag him and Gaz out of the bar and to the Uber you had ordered. Price having left swiftly after midnight with the blonde he was chatting up. Her dragging him out as they laughed like a couple of teenagers. Price giving you and Simon a smug smile and a wink as he passed. You waving goodbye and Simon glaring at him. Pissed at the fact you two were left to taking care of the drunken babies screaming in the karaoke machine. Especially when Soap turned into a runner after 3 pints.

You and Simon wrangle the drunken toddlers into the Escalade. Gaz sobering up quick once you had buckled him in and gave him a bottle of water that the bartenders were handing out. On the other hand, Soap was being a straight menace. Making Simon's life ten times more difficult than it needed to be. Acting like a toddler in the middle of a bloody, screaming tantrum. Trying to slip out if Simon's tight grasp to take off through the streets. You and Simon having to resort to scaring him into sitting still in the Uber. Leaving you in the middle of him and Gaz, holding onto Soap's hand as he babbles. His thick, slurring accent completely impossible to understand. He even asks you a question. One that Ghost has to translate for you.

"Why do they call ye Cheese?" He slurs, head turning to look at you.

"Grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin." You explain with a shrug. You had gotten used to people asking by now. But internally you were certain you had told him already.

"Oh," he pauses, his lips pressed into a small pout as he thought more about it. "Well, that's silly."

"Your name is Soap. What if I think that's stupid?" You say flatly, watching his pout grow.

Eventually, you're back to base. Gaz walking up on his own, but you stay next to him. Ready to catch him if he takes the wrong step or needs to puke. Simon practically carrying Soap behind him. Who's now singing old Scottish folk songs while Simon grumbles profanities. Your favorite being a threat to make him sleep in the bushes. Which causes infectious laughter from the Scot. Which you are quick to quiet as there's other people on base.

Once you're in the confines of your groups own little sector. You and Simon get Gaz into the respective rooms. Propping them on their sides in case there were any accidents. Leaving a water bottle and a couple tablets of Advil for their heads in the morning. Simon was partial to dumping them and heading to bed. But you made sure they were out of their jackets, in their beds, converse with blankets, and had water for the morning.

Soon, you find yourself in Simon’s room. Listening to him grumble endlessly about the behavior from the other three men you live with. You watch in the corner as he lazily unties his leather boots. Body hunched over completely as he sits at the edge of the bed. Kicking them off with a bit of a tipsy struggle. Letting them plop at the end of his bed with a large thunk!

Awkwardly, you shift in your place by the door. He had invited you to come in. But this side of him was so foreign to you that it still felt wrong. Like you were in forbidden territory. But you bury the anxiety. Reminding yourself that the flipping of your stomach could be blamed on the three mixed drinks you had indulged in.

He’s sat up now, stretching his back. A loud crack sounding through the room as his spine arches like a cat. You watch as his hand reaches for his surgical mask. You don’t think twice of the motion. You’re occupied with a fuzzy brain. Crossing the room with a shy stride, blinking a few times as your vision adjust to the dim lighting in his dorm. Your eyes flicking back up to catch his movements. And it isn’t until the mask is pulled completely off that you realize what is happening.

“Simon?” You ask quickly.

His eyes snap to you, head turning towards you ever so slightly. Revealing the rest of his face to you. And god, he’s fucking gorgeous. The curved bridge of his nose that you always noticed is paired with a straight, and narrow length. Slightly tipped downwards. The pale scar you noticed earlier seeming to glow in the dim lighting. Crossing through his pale pink lips. His jawline strong and the shape of his face a little longer than you’d ever noticed when he was wearing the mask.

“You take that thing off?” You ask without thinking. Voice laced in disbelief and shock.

He lets out a huff of laughter. A small, boyish grin tugging at his lip. “Of course I do.”

You stare at him for a moment longer, taking in his strong, prominent features. Trying to drink in every centimeter to engrave in the back of your brain. “Why are you taking it off now? I thought you were hell bent on hiding your face.” You question, frowning slightly.

“You’re the only one who hasn’t seen my face.” He says bluntly.

“What? That’s no fair!”

“Perfectly fair.” He responds. You find yourself speechless. Now you got to put a face to the snappy, dry comments he had an endless supply of. Seeing the full expression of his face when he’s giving an unimpressed stare. You adore it.

“Why haven’t I seen it?” You ask, faking offense with a dramatic gasp.

“Because you’re insufferable.” He answers dryly. But the crooked smile on his lips give his intentions away. You grin, moving your body from its place on the edge of the bed with him. Leaving over to snatch the balaclava that rests on the nightstand where he had tossed the surgical mask. His “civilian” balaclava. The one with the skull print. “What are you doing?”

“Trying it on.” You giggle.

“Don’t touch it.” He says sharply, moving to reach for it.

Your reflexes are heightened. Holding his mask out to the side with a giggle, trying to push his massive body back. But he's too big and overpowering. Not to mention the three drinks you had were still buzzing through your system. He grabs your hand on his chest, pulling you into him as the other arm snatches the skull mask. He tosses it to his nightstand before using both hands to pick you up from the edge and throw you down gently on the middle of his bed. The wooden bed frame creaking with age. "You're a brat," he says in deep voice. His dark, playful glare making your heart spike as you're pressed against the mattress.

"Am not!" You argue, laughing as you realize he's about to tickle you. Picking up the lower half of your body as he inserts his larger frame between your denim covered legs. You wonder if it's third grade again as his hands move from holding you down to your sides.

He then laughs and tickles your ribs, causing you to gasp out into a fit of giggles. Your hands shooting up to his wrists to stop him as you try and speak through the laughter erupting from your chest. He laughs mischievously. His hand moving down to your stomach and up your sides again. The action making you laugh even harder while begging him to stop. Words broken and squealed as you giggle. He finally stops the tickling but he keeps his hands on your sides, looking at you with a crooked grin on his face.

You try not to dwell on the fact that you've never seen him smile before. And have never ever imagined it would look this good. Or boyish. This felt completely out of character. And it was. All you could think to do was blame it on the glasses of whiskey he had downed just before midnight. But that wouldn't stop you from memorizing each inch of his face without the mask on. Taking in the sight of his blonde lashes that are just a little bit lighter than his thick eyebrows. Or the scar running down his cheek to his jaw. The line dark and uneven, a contrast to his pale skin. The other scar just below his nose and through the pale pink lips that spread thin with his smile. He was everything.

The veins in his pale hand popping against your hips as he keeps your ass in place on this thick thighs. "You are and you know it." He finally says, a bit breathless from laughing at you.

"You're so mean." You say breathlessly, giving him a playful pout.

"I know, that's why you love me...right?" He asks you, with that charming smile and a smug voice to match. His hands on your sides, leaning down towards your face.

You just giggle again, nodding slightly as you admire how he looks above you. Your breathing starts to calm as you two sit in the warming silence between each other. Your back is against his sheets, hair spread on his pillow. He's sitting between your legs. Your thighs pressed over his hips as his large body leans over you. As your giggling ceases, you notice him getting closer and closer. Your heart beats faster as his face leans a couple inches forward. Stopping for a second to look over your features. His breath was warm. The scent of a heavy mint mixed with a bit of whiskey. The slow exhales fanning your jaw slightly as his eyes flicker to your lips. His hands on your sides started to get lower the closer he got. Thumbs digging into your hips lightly. Like he was trying to imagine how your flesh would feel gripped beneath his bony fingers.

Suddenly, you realize what's happening. It hits you like a train coming full speed ahead. You feel your heart lurch as a fire erupts through your hips. His thumbs brush over the skin that is exposed. The cardigan you're wearing rides up to reveal more of your skin peeking between its hem and your jeans. Wires in your brain start to connect when you realize the severity of your situation and your rising feelings. This was Ghost. Simon fucking Riley. These thoughts weren't allowed. These feelings are forbidden. This isn't real. This isn't him.

You sit up, scooting back as you come to your senses."I...I should probably get back to my room." You clear your throat. Trying to even your breathing.

He moves back, sitting up completely as your close proximity starts to sink in to his senses. You hear him swallow slightly, shifting back more to allow you to move. Sitting up, you shift towards the edge of the bed. Your feet dangle as you try and calm down the screaming arousal pumping through your veins. As you sit there, you wonder what thoughts run through his brain. Was this all good fun? Was this something he wanted or thought about? Were you something he thought about?

"Right," his voice deepens and his dark eyes run cold, "you should probably go."

Fuckin' hell. The tension in the room grows thick. It's painfully obvious the affects of the alcohol have taken over their senses. Creating a false perception of each other in a close proximity. You internally calm yourself. Reminding yourself that you're human and a very large, brutally attractive man was hovering over you just second ago. Of course you'd be turned on. But he's your lieutenant. The second in command. The man who'd take over if Price left or retired. Your superior.

"Right." You repeat. Your voice just above a whisper.

Another consequence of drinking rears it's ugly head when you feel tears start to burn at the corners of your eyes. Why were you so upset? You scold yourself, repeating the fact that you were the one to stop things from progressing. And he's your superior. Not like it should happen anyways.

But your scolding only goes so far. Instead, a dark shadow of guilt and shame starts to crawl over your skin. You pull your cardigan tighter against yourself as you stand up from his bunk. Your converse tapping on the floor as you start to step away. Glancing at the way her shifts to sit on the bed. Long, large legs planted on the floor. His pale, striking face observing you.

This type of look wasn't different from the look he always gave you. But this time, you could see his entire face. You can see his thick brow knitting together as his dark eyes scan over you. His eyes stained with dark circles. You could see all of the flaws he so desperately wanted to hide from everyone. But you. The face he allowed you to see. The one with a crooked smile. The sheepish smile that he'd try to bite back. Or the way his nose was a little crooked at the end. And it scrunched up when he lets out a boisterous laugh.

But all you see is the dark wall that began to rebuild itself. The glaring eyes and the shadow from his thick brow. The rest of his face void of expression as the hand on his leg squeezes his thumb a few times. A nervous tic you had noticed. Something he does when he has so much more to say. When he has an overwhelming amount of feelings bubbling up in his throat. Threatening to spill out like when a toddler spills their milk. Accidental. Inevitable.

Slowly, you make your move. Spinning around and walking towards the door with your arms wrapped around your torso. Feeling the overwhelming urge to crawl into yourself like a little shell. Hiding from the reality of you being completely enamored by him. Hiding from all of the pining you shamelessly embraced. Shielding yourself from the fact that you want him to pull you back into his bed. Knowing that if he did, it would ruin this. All of the effort you made to get this close to him knocked over like Jenga blocks. Leaving him to be nothing but a stranger. This is for the better. You know it's for the better.

A choked breath stops you in your tracks. Your footsteps halt and you turn your head over you shoulder. His large frame still sat on the bed with hunched shoulders. His voice monotonous, speaking out your name into the dimmed room. "Happy New Year."

Your words come out fragile, on the verge of tears. "Happy New Year, Simon."

༝̩̩̥͙ ༓༝̩̩̥͙ ⊹

moot tags: @annasinterests @pertinentpostmortem

#simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #ghost cod #ghost x reader

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catmansquad · 1 year ago

Text

Winged

Angel!Miguel x M!Reader (Body/wing appreciation, size difference, Miguel having a low opinion of humans)

Out of sheer curiosity, you try to summon an Angelic figure. You do not expect that one will answer...

Enochian Magic. The spells that supposedly allowed the evocation and communication with angelic beings. All you saw was a headache in the making; a mess of painted symbols and candles and half a dozen books on the translation. Not to mention the huge amount of wasted time and resources if nothing even worked. In fairness, you held out hope that it would work, just so it could. It would be simply fascinating, to speak with an Angel. You carried out the rituals to the letter, trying not to splutter over the more complex words that you had practiced several times over and still struggled. Hopefully, it wouldn’t cause it to fail. Your words fell into silence, and only silence answered in response. Did the candle flames just flutter? Was that a sign? Hope fluttered in your heart as you lifted your gaze and called out, asking for the presence of an Angel to make themselves known. Nothing. Sighing, you began to recognise the folly of your efforts and blew out the candles one by one, the melted wax could be cleaned up quickly before it set.

You had finished packing everything away, a box that could gather dust in some lonely corner of your home as a forgotten monument to yet another failure into a cult. Bundling the box in your arms, you turned with disappointment in your heart, and it fell from your arms with sheer surprise, crashing by your feet as your wide eyes took in the sight of the towering figure who now barred your path. In every respect, he was huge; from his sheer stature, and rippling physique of sheer strength. Your eyes wandered higher up his tan skin; gold bangles around his ankles and wrists, and a simple white kilt around his narrow waist. His arms were folded across his impressive chest, his broad shoulders were taut and bristling. You gulped at the sight of his handsome face, of his smoothed brown hair, and felt fear in your heart as his ferocious red eyes narrowed softly. The most startingly impressive thing about him was the pair of massive red wings folded tightly against his back. ‘…Wow…’ Your voice was a whisper. His eyes narrowed further as he leaned down from his towering height, so tall he had to stoop to not hit his head on the ceiling. ‘Do you hear and see me now?’ He demanded with a scowl, voice deep and heavy with irritation. ‘I am. Right. Here.’ His great wings ruffled and spread out, spanning so wide that they could reach from one end of your room to the other and still need further to spread out fully. You nodded frantically, eyes wide, still drinking him in; here was an Angel, a real, living, breathing Angel. He was impressive, handsome, and looked very annoyed. The combination became quite intimidating with growling tone of his words. ‘Y-yeah, I can definitely… See you. Wow…’ You didn’t even realise your shaky hand had been reaching for him until he seized your wrist sharply in his huge, warm hand, there was a threatening pressure behind his grasp that was just shy of pain. ‘Do you assume that you can just touch me, human? Such arrogance. I am not your obedient pet, here at your beck and call. I am powerful, I am majestic, I came here because I was curious, and I am offended by your callous ignorance and obliviousness.’ Your eyes widened, and swallowed the thick lump that had settled in your throat. ‘I.. I’m sorry…’ You pleaded in a soft voice, trembling with apologies. ‘I-I didn’t mean to offend you, I just really wanted to see if it worked- I just wanted to speak-‘ ‘Stop. Talking.’ You were not making the situation any better. Your mouth was going to get yourself into deeper trouble. His red eyes closed as a low sigh of irritation escaped him, his broad shoulders slumped.

Slowly, he pulled his wings back in and his grip relaxed on your wrist, letting it slip through his fingers and fall back to your side. When he opened his eyes, his gaze was still haughty, but softened somewhat as he rose back to as close to his full height as he could manage against the ceiling. Your gaze wasted no time in racing up and down his sculpted physique once again; power coursed through each inch of him for every minute movement. If there was any sort of higher power, this Angel was a masterpiece of creation. You swallowed again and lifted your gaze up higher; those powerful legs, narrow waist, rippling six pack, sinewy arms and massive hands, up to his broad shoulders and… and handsome face with those crimson eyes staring right at you. The haughty smirk curled onto his lips as your eyes widened, and you knew that you’d been caught staring and admiring. ‘Hmm…’ His eyes were bright, sparkling with pride. ‘When you have had your fill, human, I may charge for the pleasure.’ ‘F-forgive me…’ You spluttered, head bowed with eyes on the floor until a huge hand cupped under your chin and lifted your gaze back to his eyes. ‘Ah, my dear human-‘ ‘I have a name…’ You gave it to him and watched him nod in quiet understanding. ‘I am Miguel.’ He answered, widening his posture, hands on hips, wings ruffling. ‘… and I will forgive you when you earn it. Now, get on your knees and beg.’ Deciding that “Saint Michael” was a smug Angel, you shoved the box aside and knelt before him, hands trembling.

He sighed in soft delight as your hands ghosted down his calves and rubbed softly across his ankles. ‘Hmm… Perhaps I should have you rub my aching feet if you are so inclined to adore my form.’ You glanced up to meet his crimson gaze, he was still smug. ‘I… Think I’ve got enough of you to get on with already, big guy.’ Your hands ghosted further up his legs, blushing as he moved again, shifting his weight, flexing powerful muscles beneath your touch. ‘Wow, you… Really don’t skip leg day….’ He beckoned with one hand, fingers curling, to draw your gaze and grasp further up. You heard him snort a laugh as you pressed a kiss to his bulging thigh that could crush a watermelon or a man’s head with equal ease. Looking up, he peered down at you over the swell of his pecs. ‘Hmph… Do not hesitate, your appreciation of my form, there is so much left of me that requires your… lacking touch.’ ‘Lacking touch? Wow, you really are an ass.’ His gaze narrowed, one hand curled into a fist. ‘Hmph.’ His wings ruffled, a loose crimson feather tumbled to the carpet. Then he leaned down from his towering height once again, one hand bunched the front of your shirt and when he rose back, he pulled you back to your feet with effortless ease, then lifted you clean off your feet, leaving you to dangle helplessly from his grasp, near the ceiling. ‘It is very unfortunate, little one, that even at eye-level with me, you still cannot see things from my perspective.’ Your hand wandered across his grasp, tracing a bulging vein down his forearm and up his bicep. It was like the rest of him; huge and solid. He hummed in thought as you squeezed a hand against it, and the muscle remained unyielding. He could lift you with one hand and utter ease, just how strong was he really? Combined with his impressive size and physique, your mind plummeted straight into the gutter; the thought of him pinning you under him, that smugness on his eyes, the kiss of warm lips against your own, letting your hands roam his body, and him listening to your requests for him to flex for you. This Angel could ruin any human man for you.

‘Mhmm…’ The amused hum escaped him as your hands began to rub his broad shoulders. What was little strokes became firmer touches, an impromptu massage and you watched the Angel ruffle his wings again, crimson eyes closing as he rolled his head, a little groan of delight escaping him. ‘Mmm…’ He rumbled, gaze on you once more as you applied more pressure, trying to work the tension from his taught shoulders. A tremble ran through him and his tongue licked slowly across his lips. ‘This is it. Now, you are meeting my expectations… Ngh, my good little human…’ You felt his arm tremble, and he nearly dropped you as your touch ran across his neck and down his broad chest. The salacious moan that escaped him made your blush worse, you wanted to hear a few more moans like that from him. Your eyes ran down his form and gulped at the bulge that was beginning to form in his kilt. His hands were massive; their span over a foot, the rest of him was probably frighteningly proportional. Another crimson feather tumbled to the carpet and you gently rested your hands on his shoulders again. His gaze was far more relaxed, a small smile on his lips. ‘Can you-? Please, can you put me down, Miguel?’ ‘Why…?’ ‘Can I tend to your wings? A-are you moulting?’ That little twinge of irritation set across his face again, but vanished just as quickly as he slowly set you back to your feet and released his grip, leaving your shirt creased from his grip. You stepped around him gently, fingers hesitating short of touching those crimson pinions. ‘Do I have your permission, Miguel?’ ‘Yes. You can.’ He nodded slowly. You reached out with a tender touch, running slowly across the soft feathers. They were silken and warm, and you brushed against each one like, tending to the feathers that were already loose and tumbling. ‘Miguel…?’ ‘Mm…?’ ‘How do Angels tend their wings?’ Miguel sighed again at your touch and care. ‘With great attention and pride… Mm…’ One damaged pinion came away between your fingers, like all the others it was long and beautiful, a shade of scarlet that seemed to shimmer in the light and imparted a smoky warmth, like a gentle, tender flame. In the spur of the moment, you slipped it into your pocket, as a memory to cherish later.

‘Miguel, please could you… Uh, kneel down or something?’ ‘Why?’ He ruffled his wings as you took your hands away. ‘Uh… it’s because you’re huge and I can’t reach all of you. Please.’ A great, amused chuckle shook his form and the Angel turned to face you with a smirk, resting his hands on hips again. ‘Little one, you are too small…’ He spread his wings out as much as he was able and knelt down to eye level with you in a great woosh of wings, shedding more feathers. ‘I came because I was curious about your call. Amateurish, but still driven. But I struggle with humans, your kind are simply too small, I do not know how you live like this at such a stature. I had to make myself as small as I could manage to fit in this very home.’ He took your hands softly in his own, swallowing them in his grasp, eyes watchful. You took him in and met his red eyes once more. ‘… H-how big are you normally?’ He hummed in thought, eyes narrowing with a smug smile on his features. ‘I do not believe you could comprehend it…’ ‘Try me.’ He chuckled softly at your annoyed expression; his smirk only grew. ‘Very well, little one; imagine that you were the size of a single grain of rice. That is it.’ He released his grasp on you and pointed to himself with one hand. ‘Me, myself; my true stature.’ He held up his other hand, thumb and finger almost pinched. ‘You; a single grain of rice. Think on that, if you are capable. I do not have a high opinion of mankind, for I do not understand how such small, frail, and short-lived beings can achieve anything of explicit worth in their lifetime. My brother would disagree with me, but he is not here… It is just you and I, little one…’ He closed his eyes, teeth gritted briefly, as if he was on the verge of admitting something he could not bring himself to speak, then it passed his lips. ‘… Your touch is divine. Perhaps you can change my stance… Perhaps…’ His smug smirk returned as he turned his back to you once more, wings still spread and glancing over his shoulder. ‘Now, return to your task, little one.’

As soon as you massaged the points where his wing joints met his broad back did you draw the greatest reaction from him yet, his whole form shuddered, his wings twitched, and a great moan passed his lips. ‘There.’ He growled, voice rumbling with pleasure. You paused with hands hesitating over where you had touched, and Miguel looked back at you, you could see the blush on his cheeks. You had apparently found the erogenous zone of your Angel. His crimson gaze narrowed. ‘Touch me there again with such presence and I will not be responsible for my actions, little one…’ You slowly drew your hands back and watched his gaze narrow further as he rolled his shoulders. ‘I did not say to stop.’ You glanced frantically between his eyes and your own hands, before Miguel exhaled slowly, head bowed. For a being so large, he moved incredibly fast and the very next instant you found yourself shoved against his chest, scrambling to wrap your legs around his waist hands lost amidst warm feathers, ghosting over them, finding the joints, the warm muscles, and finally the point where the two met once more. He moaned again as you stroked, and he bucked up into you. Your eyes went wide, meeting his own hungry gaze. Proportional, indeed. ‘You are playing with fire, little one… I could burn you with it… Is that what you want-?’ ‘Oh, stop speaking and just kiss me, handsome.’ You saw that brief glint of annoyance in his eyes before he closed the distance between you, moaning into your mouth as your hands continued their work.

You were sprawled on his chest, surrounded by crimson feathers as his hand softly stroked through your hair. You looked up to meet his gaze; relaxed, at peace, still smug. ‘Did I improve your opinion?’ You asked with a smile, listening to his heartbeat calm, the rise and fall of his chest that carried you like a moving mattress. He hummed in thought, arms moving to embrace you against him. Miguel had been amazing. He had been utterly mind-blowing, his size, strength, and presence had taken you to the heights of pleasure and the crashing ecstasy that waited beyond, over and over again. You had taken everything he had to give you. A fine way to spend an evening. ‘My opinion of you has improved… You will have to try harder than that to drag up the rest of your species, little one.’ The smile on his lips was fond. ‘Perhaps, when you finish tending to my wings, I will give you a treat…’ You lifted your head from his chest, curious. ‘Perhaps- perhaps, I will take you in my arms, spread my wings, and show you sights that only I can witness. Great places of beauty that elude your kind…’ He licked his tongue across his lips slowly, eyebrows raised. ‘Then, we may relive our passions in such places. But you have work ahead of you, no? Mhmm… A task for later.’ His arms were secure, inescapable. You did not wish to be anywhere else right now. You would make his wings look beautiful, and maybe one day he’d show you just how big of a man he really was. Miguel considered the human in his arms, of the swelling fondness in his chest, and quietly decided that Gabriel had the right opinion on humanity after all.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x male reader

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theteasetwrites · 2 years ago

Text

Healing Touch | Part 2

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Season 5 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT—bathtub sex (slippery, I know), handjob, fingering, missionary, str8 people sex, oral sex (m receiving), ball stuff (?), praise kink (!!!), dom(ish?) Daryl, language, mentions of injury ❧ Word Count: 9.1k

❧ Summary: Daryl returns for his follow-up appointment for his injuries, and this time, he's not leaving without the special treatment you so boldly promised him.

❧ A/N: Finally! I think this is my second most requested sequel, after Soft Spot (which I WILL make a part 3 for...). Sorry it took me like over a year to do this lol but I hope it was worth the wait! I simply had to write a smut piece for the sequel because the sexual tension was through the roof. I mean Daryl sported a big boner throughout the first one so... It was inevitable that this would happen. Also I realize Daryl might be slightly OOC here (I made him kind of more confident than I usually write him), but also, I feel like Daryl actually would get kind of confident once he gets in the mood. I mean he definitely does have his nervous moments here, but I like writing confident Daryl making the first move. Also I realize bathtub sex probably isn't all that great irl but a girl can dream ok? Plus any kind of sex with Daryl is amazing to think about, let's be real. Enjoy!

He could’ve changed the bandages himself, but maybe you wanted another excuse to touch him. Well, there was no maybe about it. That was your plan.

You wondered if maybe you’d been too bold by suggesting you could “help him out” the next time he got a hard-on, but then again, you took the opportunity to shoot your shot, and he still agreed to come to the office today and let you change his bandages.

That night, you hadn’t been able to get to sleep for a few hours after settling into bed. Though you tried to clear your mind, you couldn’t shake the thoughts that had formed in your head since that day. Daryl’s body was beautiful to you, even if it had been covered in road rash from his crash. It only made you want to touch him more, to heal his wounds so he wouldn’t have to feel the burning of the dirt digging into his skin.

Even as you touched yourself, fingertips getting more and more desperate and moving frantically towards pleasure, you thought about him. The comforting weight of his broad body on top of you, thrusting and panting and grunting and groaning and—

“Oh, Daryl…” Finally a wave of vibrations, a swell of bliss, a series of tiny, breathtaking shocks… “Yes… Yes…. Oh, yes!”

In the hazy images that played in your pounding head, you saw his half-lidded eyes blinking softly at you as his own body became overwhelmed with the release your body had granted him. With his thick, work-worn fingers tangled through your hair, he let out a grunt and sunk his head into your neck, where his open lips pursed to drag a sloppy, tongue-heavy kiss across your skin.

The ghost of his body over you, you writhed in pleasure between sweat-soaked sheets. You swore you could hear the man’s gravelly whisper in your ear, the sound of your name on his lips, in his low, honeyed voice.

You imagined him still inside you, keeping you warm and filled. Your fingers, though, were hardly an adequate substitute for the real thing. When you saw the “problem” growing in his underwear yesterday, you could just barely make out the length—substantial, and very tempting. Even his thickness made you instinctively swallow hard, with a nervous lip bite that nearly broke through the sensitive skin of your lips.

Two fingers weren’t enough, so you’d tried for three, and that seemed to feel more like what you imagined he would, opening you up almost to the point of discomfort, but quickly soothing you the deeper he went, soon hitting a spot inside you that had your other hand tightly clawing at the bedsheet.

Several minutes of straining, thrusting hard against the palm of your hand as the fingers inside you curled and pulsed impatiently. When the pressure became too much, you felt release again, and now, in your mind, Daryl nestled his head between your bare breasts, with hands pawing at the supple tissue.

When his mouth moved to suction around your nipple, you imagined his sleepy bedroom eyes tilted back up at you, admiring your lips as they fell open, and a breathy moan escaped into the night air.

“Daryl…”

Sleep had so rudely interrupted your bliss, ripping you from the man’s embrace to plunge you into a restless, dreamless slumber. Perhaps it was for the best. After all, in your heart of hearts, you knew it couldn’t work out. Daryl was a patient, and you shouldn’t have been so forward with him, even if it was some kind of half-serious joke.

Would he even come to the office the next day?

You busied yourself with whatever tasks you could find—disinfecting the counter, reading up on Pete’s appointment notes, preparing prescriptions…

Only a small handful of patients passed through. Little Nina came in with a scraped knee, Mr. Treneman had a routine checkup, and Ms. Sherman picked up a new inhaler for her asthma, but no Daryl.

But he was across the street, watching the last patient leave the house.

His teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, eyes narrowed as he tried to spot you. He felt like a pervert, standing there, waiting for his moment.

Of course, he didn’t even know what his moment was. He could still hardly believe the things you said yesterday, and how he somehow flirted back. Whatever it was about you, it emboldened him, made him… confident.

Well, as confident as he could be, considering most days he didn’t think much of himself at all. Still, you could ignite something in him, and he’d only felt a taste of it yesterday, with that small burst of confidence which promised you he’d return today, with the hopes of changing his bandages and cleaning his wounds once again.

Your touch hadn’t left him. Of course, the physical feeling wasn’t there, but the feeling you left inside him remained. There was a roaring fire in his belly when he saw you, and there was no quelling it.

As he made his way across the street, hands anxiously stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, he made a promise to himself in his head: if he got… excited again, he wasn’t going to hide it. He was either going to wait for you to make a move, or make one himself. Either way, he was mentally preparing himself for rejection, but also… sex. Just in case.

When the bell on the door chimed delicately, signaling that someone was making their way into the doctor’s office, you straightened your back in your swivel chair, dropping your pencil to subconsciously fix your hair and smooth your plaid wool skirt. Looking at your oversized cable knit sweater, you pulled off a few cotton “fuzzies” as you cleared your throat before calling out, “Be right there!”

Please be Daryl, please be Daryl, please be Daryl, please be Daryl… The phrase was repeated like a mantra in your head. It was strange, though, because although you desperately wanted it to be Daryl, to see him and to take care of him again, another part of you was so nervous and embarrassed that you almost wished it was anyone but him. The man was doing things to you that turned your brain upside down and inside out.

“Hi, Daryl.” The words slipped out a little too soon, a little too enthusiastically, but the moment you saw him, awkwardly loitering in the kitchen turned examination room, you couldn’t help but smile so wide that your cheeks began to ache. It was such a pleasant ache, though. Daryl was here, and that felt good. “What brings you in? Oh! The bandages.” You noticed that today he wore a jacket over his vest and button-up shirt. You were slightly disappointed, considering his arms were so… pleasing to you. But if you were going to change his bandages, he’d have to strip down again. Well, maybe you could have him strip a little more than he needed to. Maybe.

I’m a terrible nurse.

“You got time?” he asked, not knowing what came over him. Indeed, he wanted to make sure you didn’t have any other patients after him, in case… Well, the air was thick and heavy with whatever tension there was between you two. It should’ve been obvious. He wanted you all to himself, however long that would take. Preferably, it would take a very, very long time. All the rest of the afternoon, into the night. That would be ideal. Daryl certainly had nothing on his schedule, having denied Aaron’s suggestion of taking the day to go on a recruiting mission, due to his minor motorcycle accident yesterday. It was the only time he’d ever milked an injury, just because he wanted to see you.

“Of course,” you said, turning to prepare another bowl of warm, soapy water. “I don’t have any other appointments. I’m off the clock in an hour… Well, there’s no clock.”

You turned back around to see Daryl sitting himself on the exam table, slowly removing his jacket as he let out a hiss of discomfort between his teeth. “Damn,” he said with a wince. Your breath faltered as you set down the bowl on the counter before coming to his aid, taking the other sleeve and gently pulling it off.

“Poor thing,” you sighed, setting his jacket on a nearby coat hanger. When you returned to his side, you began stripping his vest, then his shirt. He watched you bite your lip, concentrating on undoing the buttons. He could’ve done it himself, but you wanted your hands as close to touching him as you could get. “How’s your head?”

It took him a few moments to register your words, as he was finding himself lost in the hue of your hair, the way it so beautifully framed your face. “It’s uh… It’s fine. Woke up with a bit of a headache, but I’m all right.”

You tilted your head and clicked your tongue. Even the thought of him with a headache made you want to wrap your arms around him and make all his pain go away. “It will go away,” you assured him. “You should really rest for the next few days. Have you been resting?”

Daryl didn’t get any sleep last night, none at all. Maybe he dozed off between thoughts of hearing your imagined voice whispering sweet nothings, your soft words settling on his ears like the delicate dewdrops on a flower’s petal in the haze of early morning. When the sun had risen, he took a walk outside the walls of Alexandria, trying to clear his mind, but all it did was remind him of how lonely he was, how much he wished someone was there with him.

Not just anyone, though. Just you, you and him together. Him holding your hand and keeping you within arm’s reach, safe and never in danger of the dead that roamed aimlessly outside. You’d smile as you told him about your day, all the things you did at the infirmary. Maybe he’d learn a thing or two about medicine, but mostly, he just wanted to hear your voice, to hear you speak about things he had hardly any grasp on. Just to see your face light up as you spoke about your work was enough to keep him interested.

Love had never really occurred to him before as something available to him. It always seemed like something people talked about in movies, or something everyone else had but him. Now, with these feelings you had awakened in him, he couldn’t stop wondering about the possibility of it being real for him.

As he trudged through meadows of sunkissed wildflowers, he found himself pondering, wondering what your favorite flower was. You seemed like a rose kind of girl… Blush pink with a dark green stem and red-tipped thorns. Maybe an innocent, sweet daisy on some days, but a fragrant, beautiful rose most days.

Where the hell was he going to find a rose bush, though?

“Daryl?”

He shook his head and blinked hard as he removed himself from his thoughtless thoughts. “Didn’t sleep much at all last night,” he replied.

Though you meant to ask him why, you remembered the arousal in his jeans, and maybe that had something to do with it. “Well,” you sighed, and suddenly Daryl realized he no longer had a shirt on, “this shouldn’t take long, I’ll just change these bandages and then…” You trailed off, as you didn’t know what would come next. You certainly hoped for something… special, though maybe he’d forgotten about your less than subtle flirting yesterday. After all, he was slightly concussed. “Yeah.”

You went to work slowly unwrapping the gauze around his right arm, revealing the bright red rash spread all along the surface of his skin. That gravelly road must’ve done quite a number on the epidermis, and maybe it was the different lighting of the new day, but his rash almost seemed worse than yesterday. Squinting at the marred flesh, you spotted several tiny pieces of gravel and dirt that you hadn’t gotten out yesterday.

It made your eyes shoot wide open. How could you be so neglectful? Of course, those pieces were very small, and it was inevitable that there would be some missed spots, but you should’ve been more careful. Maybe you were too busy letting your eyes roam over the defined muscles in his arm. You’d never seen any man with arms like that, deltoids so firm and triceps so distinctly separated from the biceps when he flexed. You could point out practically every little detail of them, even the brachioradialis and the flexor carpi radialis…

“Oh, Daryl,” you sighed, and he had to admit, he’d thought about you uttering those words in a much different, more intimate setting. “I think I might need to do a deeper clean. There’s still dirt and gravel in there… Oh, I’m so sorry, Daryl. I should’ve done a better job.”

“Huh? It’s fine. A little dirt ain’t ever hurt nobody.”

“But… It’s not fine.” You wrung out your washcloth in the bowl, then gently dragged it up and down his arm, trying to find the balance between scrubbing too hard and not hard enough. No matter how hard you tried, though, it seemed the more stubborn bits of dirt lodged in his skin refused to budge. You didn’t want to hurt him, though. If you scrubbed any harder, you might make the rash worse.

He caught your worried expression, and eyed the guilt in your face. You felt horrible, like you’d neglected your duty as a nurse all because you were infatuated with your patient. If the world was anything like it used to be, you would’ve been fired. If you’d acted on your fantasies, you’d lose your license.

Now Daryl felt for you, your worry permeating the air and translating into his own sympathy. “Hey,” he said, using his other hand to place it gently upon yours. The feeling stopped you from scrubbing, your hand and the washcloth underneath it frozen in place on his bicep. His strong, firm, warm bicep.

You swallowed hard as your eyes met his. They were so kind, and so blue. It wasn’t an electric, vibrant blue, though, it was more like a subdued ocean blue, calming and deep. You didn’t even notice that your lips had split open slightly, agape in your awe of him. It didn’t help that his hand held yours so tightly now, and neither of you wanted to let go.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I ain’t gonna sue you.”

You laughed under your breath at the idea. “Oh, thank God. Well, um… I think the best thing would be to soak these rashes in warm water for a while, loosen the dirt.”

“You mean like a bath?”

“Mhm… Would you, um… We have a bathtub here.”

Perhaps it was unspoken, but there was no doubt that you both had the same thing in mind. It had escalated so fast, and there soon became no other option for either of you. The mind is a powerful thing—it can convince you that the least practical solution is the best one.

Once again, you didn’t need to bathe him, and you knew you shouldn’t, but Daryl didn’t protest, and you only went with your gut, your instincts telling you that you needed to, quite simply, rid this man of his dirty old jeans and get him into a tub of hot, steamy water.

You’d shown him briefly to the bathroom, then turned on the bath, putting your hand through the stream to test the temperature. It was hot, but just right. That comfortable, steamy heat. “I’ll be right back,” you said, voice shaky in slight disbelief of how things had escalated. “I’m just going to get you some towels and a washcloth.”

As you walked down the hall, retreating to the linen closet, you knew there was only one logical conclusion to this. Well, there was only one you were thinking of, and that was… You couldn’t even let yourself think of the words. There was no universe in which Daryl would need you to bathe him. He was perfectly capable of doing it himself, in his own home, without you scrubbing him. You’d taken this all too far, and you had no excuse this time.

Still, he hadn’t protested, hadn’t said anything about the proposition making him uncomfortable. He seemed happy to let you wash him, and he was.

He was so happy that, once again, he couldn’t quite fight the urge he had been so desperately trying to hold back. As he undid his belt, watching the water rise in the bathtub in front of him, he chewed his lip, wondering if he’d stepped into a dream.

As far as nudity went, he wasn’t too prudish. He valued his privacy, but you were, as you reminded him yesterday, a medical professional, and you’d seen it all. Plenty of nude men, he was sure. Granted, he was still self-conscious. At least a nice bath would soothe the pain of his rash that, he had to admit, was hard to bear. If you used your healing touch on his naked body, maybe he’d get more out of the experience than just another fantasy.

But what if it became something real? How else is this going to end? he wondered. He needed to make his move, that was certain. Now or never.

His injured, aching leg caused him to hiss in pain as he pulled off the right pant leg of his jeans. When he kicked off his socks, he was completely naked, vulnerable. Still, somehow it felt right. At least he trusted you, though his interactions with you were limited. After this, he’d know you much more… intimately, he was sure.

When you returned, a few bath towels and washcloths in your hands, your eyes widened to see Daryl sitting in the bathtub, the water now turned off and filled much higher. He sat with his legs tucked up to his chest, and his arms wrapped around his knees. Chewing his lip, he looked your way, then lowered himself a little, as if in embarrassment.

“I, uh…”

You laughed and shook your head. “I told you,” you said. “It’s fine. I have seen plenty of men naked. In medical contexts, of course.” Setting the towels upon the counter, you turned to close the bathroom door. “When I was in college, I worked at an old folks’ home. I can’t tell you how many old men I’ve—” Catching yourself, you shook your head as you sat yourself on your knees beside the bathtub.

Luckily for you, he smiled. A small, playful, lopsided smile. He’s so cute. “You callin’ me an old man, nurse?”

“No, no,” you replied nervously, laughing under your breath. At least he seemed rather easygoing. When you first saw Daryl, he seemed like he would rather be surrounded by a herd of walkers than talk to anyone. Little did you know, your charm had worked wonders on him, and even if he really was quite shy, since yesterday, it became clear that he could no longer resist you. “You’re not old.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Why you bathin’ me then?”

Because I am a very, very bad nurse.

“Because you’re hurt,” you replied simply, but sincerely. As you soaked the washcloth in the bathwater, his gaze softened. You cared about him, you really did. Maybe you went a little overboard, but he didn’t care now. He knew he was in good hands, and if you wanted to take care of him in this way, who was he to stop you. Besides, if it meant getting your hands on him again, he was happy to oblige. “And yesterday, I didn’t take care of you as well as I could’ve. I need to make it up to you…” You trailed off, then cleared your throat. You felt his eyes on you as you wrung out the washcloth, water trickling back into the tub. “So you should let me really get this gravel out. I think I’d never forgive myself if you got an infection.”

You lifted your eyes to him again, and grabbed a hold of his right arm. Squinting, you tried to spot the stubborn dirt, and when you did, you raised your washcloth to his skin, and began scrubbing once again.

“You, uh… You give all your patients baths?”

Your cheeks reddened as you cleared your throat. “N-no… I, um… No. Is this weird?”

He huffed and shook his head. At least he was still smiling. “Nah, just different. I mean, yeah, it’s a little weird, but after yesterday… Figure there ain’t many awkward situations left between us.”

“Hm, I haven’t given you an enema… Or a prostate exam… Or a colonoscopy. Do you need any of those done, too?”

Though you were joking, if he needed it… You’d do anything for that man. He was everything you wanted—attractive, funny, smart, brave… Well, you didn’t know him too well, but from what you’d seen, what you’d heard, what you’d known, you could tell he was a good man.

“No, ma’am.”

The giggle you let out was heinously adorable. The way he called you “ma’am,” in that southern accent of his, with that gruff undertone and that wispy softness of his voice, it was too heavenly not to giggle at. It sent shivers up your spine.

And then his body, dotted with thousands of tiny water droplets, reddened by the steam of the hot water that surrounded him, soaked and soft and just so beautiful. He still kept his legs hugged to his chest, but soon you’d need to scrub there, too, as you knew he had a great deal of skin peeled off just above his right nipple.

“Could you…” You gestured to his chest with your washcloth in hand. “I just need to get your chest wet.”

He loosened his legs until they were stretched out further, allowing access to his chest. You tried so hard not to look down, where his… penis—oh, God, you thought, his penis.

Terrible. Absolutely terrible. You had no right to look down there, no right at all, but you did. Just for a second. A quick glance was all you needed. It was submerged in the steamy hot water, while his body lowered itself more. The squeak of his bare skin against the porcelain tub alerted you back to your task. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice your stare.

“Thank you,” you said, not quite sure of exactly where you were or what was happening. You eyed his chest now, focusing on the raw, red skin that expanded from his right side to his right pec. It looked so painful, like it must’ve stung so bad. Your heart skipped a beat, both from the idea of the pain he must’ve felt, and the fact that his broad, strong chest looked so enticing.

Just as you’d never seen arms like his before, you’d never seen a chest or a pair of shoulders like his, either. Strong, wide, muscular… Even his collarbones tempted you, begging for kisses and your delicate finger to trace along them. Further down, his chest hair had caught little droplets of water, and soon, you were meticulously washing his chest, soaking it in hot water as you cleaned the wound. You hadn’t even noticed the time going by, having been so consumed by his body.

As your stare got more intense, his eyes settled on your face, where you held your lower lip between your teeth. The sound of water trickling from the washcloth into the bath brought you back to your senses, and your eyes met his.

Moments passed in idleness, until his lips curled into a half smile, and a breathy laugh emerged. “What’re ya lookin’ at?” he asked, though he knew he’d been looking first, watching your every move and wondering when he was going to make his.

You cleared your throat and smiled back. It was a smile you couldn’t ignore, one that couldn’t be held back. Like the sun always rises in the morning, the crescent moon of your smile was inevitable. A face like his could send you into orbit, and the way he was looking at you… It was like someone had hung little stars in his eyes. Those pretty, gentle blue eyes, shrouded in darkness by deep brown locks that framed noble cheekbones. You always had a thing for brunettes with blue eyes.

The question lingered in your ears. What’re ya lookin’ at? The most perfect man you’d ever seen. You couldn’t say that, of course. Well, you’d already broken every rule in the book, but you were determined to be a little more subtle.

“You have very pretty eyes,” you said with a shrug. “That’s all.”

He seemed confused by that. Indeed, no one had ever told him he had pretty eyes. All he knew was they were blue and sensitive, and he needed a good pair of sunglasses. “Pfft,” he scoffed. “Nah.”

“You do!” you exclaimed with a laugh. “And a nice face…” You trailed off, feeling yourself about ready to say, “and a very nice body,” but you didn’t thank God.

“You, uh… got a real nice face, too.”

“Thank you,” you laughed. “I… I really shouldn’t be doing any of this.”

He shook his head, and as you removed your hand and the washcloth from his chest, he quickly grabbed you, returning your hand, and keeping his above yours. He began to guide it, instructing it to keep washing him. “Keep goin’,” he said, his voice low and nearly a whisper, like what you’d heard so many times in your head last night, begging you to touch him. “Feels good when ya touch me.”

It felt so good that he knew what was coming… Down beneath the water, his cock strained and began to throb slightly, almost twitching. He could feel it rising, getting longer and harder with each circular movement of that warm, wet cloth on his aching skin. The unavoidable tingles along his shaft became concentrated at his tip, gradually reddening as blood pooled there. Veins became more prominent, bulging along the lengthening shaft. His instinct was to hide it, tuck his legs back into his chest in the hopes you wouldn’t see it, but another instinct was becoming stronger, and that was his need for you.

Instead of hiding it, he guided your hand lower, now just above his navel. Your eyes widened almost innocently, but there was no real innocence inside you. It was pure lust, and at the sight of the little light brown hairs that led down from his belly to his cock, you forgot to breathe.

“Daryl…” Your eyes followed his happy trail down to his swollen, hardening cock. Unabashedly now, you nearly salivated at the sight. So this is what he had tucked away in his boxer briefs yesterday. Impressive, thick length, with room to grow… You could think of a few ways to get him even harder.

Though he tried to maintain his confidence, Daryl could never quite rid himself of his shyness. He looked away for a moment, clearing his throat, but keeping your hand just under his belly button.

“I got that problem again,” he said lowly, his voice gravelly yet somehow breathy and sweet like honey. It entranced you. “Said you’d help me out… That offer still stand?”

As he lowered your hand down his pelvis, your shaky grip on the washcloth finally relented. It dropped into the water, and soon you felt a new type of flesh between your fingers. It was coated in a patch of tiny hairs, and his hand took you even further to the base of his cock, where his own fingers gently curled yours around the thick shaft.

The heat of the hot, steamy water combined with his own pulsing body heat to warm you from your hand up to your chest, which was heaving with each heavy, nervous breath.

His eyes grew soft, almost sleepy, but your touch was invigorating. Despite the utter relaxation in his face, inside there was a deep, demanding need to pull you in and use all his stamina to feel every sensation your body had to offer. He needed to explore every inch of you, every twist and turn of the inside of you. He’d bend his aching body every which way just to get every last angle of you. He wanted it all, everything, and that’s exactly what he’d give to you, too.

With his question still lingering in the steamy, heady air, you swallowed hard, hoping to lubricate your dry throat enough to speak. “I—I… I really shouldn’t.”

“But I need it,” he said quietly, controlling your hand to slide it downwards, very, very slowly. Of course, you could’ve stopped him, as his touch was so gentle, so respectful, but you didn’t want to stop him. He felt so good between your fingers, and he really did need it. He was so hard, so swollen. You could feel the topography of his veins all along the shaft, each one so defined and practically pulsing.

When he saw your face soften as you watched his hand instruct yours, he knew he’d struck a cord there. You wanted to take care of him, to help him. You wanted him to be safe and warm and healthy. It turned him on, far more than he anticipated.

He needed a woman like you, to make him feel loved, to care for him even if he didn’t always care for himself. Of course, he’d care for you, too, and take you in his arms to keep you safe from a world that could take you from him at any second. There wasn’t any time in this world for waiting. There was a woman right in front of him, someone who was everything he could ever hope for. If you’d let him, he’d never let anything hurt you, and he’d always be there to show you the tenderness you deserved.

“Daryl…”

He never cared much for his name, until he heard you say it. The tone of your voice was breathy, almost begging. Every inch of your face was a reflection of your blissful confusion. As much as you hesitated, you knew you wanted him, too, and when his hand tugged on yours, forcing it to wrap around the tip of his cock, whatever strength you had in your arm faded away like the last strained breath trapped in your throat.

Your sigh coincided with his as his strong, large hand put pressure over yours, squeezing around his swollen head. He moved your hand back towards the base of his cock, encouraging you to stroke him. He needed this more than he needed you to change his bandages or clean his wounds. He needed this kind of touch from you, not anything else.

“Come on,” he huffed, leaning back slowly against the edge of the tub until his back lay against the white porcelain. He released his hand, but yours stayed put, coiled around his cock. It was a little harder now, and you couldn’t take your eyes off it, but when his hand pulled your chin so you could face him, you got lost in his eyes once more. “Please.”

His self-control was strong, and it was the only thing keeping him from rather abruptly lunging towards you and pulling your body into the tub with him, but you were wearing a rather fuzzy sweater, and getting it wet might’ve been an issue. Tearing it off would be the next best thing.

You leaned over the edge of the tub a little more, getting a better view of what you were doing. Just looking straight down at his hard cock under the water made a tingle surge between your legs. You leaned forward more, bringing your other hand to rest on the base as you stroked along his tip. His legs twitched slightly with every circle of your thumb, and though you were concentrating on your task, out of the corner of your eye, you saw his mouth drop as his eyes shut closed and his head fell back.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath.

He was so sensitive, more easily stimulated than the other men you’d been with. Maybe he hadn’t been touched in a long time, like you. “When was the last time?” you asked, your mouth moving faster than your thoughts.

His heavy eyelids labored open, with slivers of silvery blue shining back at you. “Don’t even remember,” he said. His gaze drifted hazily downwards until he could watch your hand tug gently on his length. With his hands submerged in the water, he clenched his fists, trying to hold back his urges. He needed to savor the feeling, he knew that, but it was taking so much willpower not to get to know your body more intimately.

You kneaded his cock with more pressure, now almost squeezing around the base and the tip with each pass. It was so long now, and thick with blood and swollen vessels that pumped his cock with arousal. It curved gently towards the end, leading you to wonder if he could reach some special spots inside of you.

As it stood up higher, now poking out of the steamy water, you could get a better look at his testicles, which looked heavy and almost burdensome. He let out a hiss between clenched teeth when your other hand moved down beneath the water to gently massage them, moving your fingers tantalizingly slowly.

Your touch became a slight squeeze, but it felt good. There was an ache there, where his body begged for release. He’d get it soon, if you kept touching him the way you were.

“Is that good?” you asked, your voice softly quierving. You hadn’t touched a man like this in so long. It got you excited, too, as you found your thighs squeezing themselves together to try to satiate the tingling sensation between your legs.

Daryl returned his heavy gaze to your face, where your lips were trembling in starvation for him and his affections. You could only think about dragging your mouth across his wide, heaving chest, painting it with your kisses and leaving love bites wherever you pleased. When he tilted his head side to side, it displayed his thick neck, the muscles and veins slightly bulging, the skin reddened and glossed over with a sheen of sweat. You’d leave a few heavy kisses there in the dreamscape of your mind. Well, you already had your hands in a very… intimate place, so maybe he’d let you get closer next.

“Real good… Don’t stop.”

You wouldn’t dream of it. He felt so good in your hands, so hard and pulsing and begging and throbbing and—

Some moments later, with a low growl punctuating his sudden movement, he jolted forward, arms bursting open to envelope you and pull you forward. The bathwater splashed, some spilling out over the side of the tub, wettening your lap.

His swift attack on your lips left you little time to think. He himself had forsaken thought, opting instead to ravish you much more spontaneously than he’d initially intended, but you held him, kissing him back, reciprocating his gesture by thrusting your tongue into his mouth and swirling it around his.

Whimpering against his lips, you pulled away for just a moment, eagerly bringing your sweater up and over your head to reveal your bra. Without a moment’s hesitation, he tugged at the straps to pull the cups down, and you quickly undid the clasp on the back.

“Get in here, girl,” he warned, his eyes dark and heavy as they gazed over your heaving breasts, your nipples hard and cold against the air. “Need ya to take care of me.”

You stood briefly to slide off your skirt and socks, followed by your underwear. “Are you sure?” you asked, despite your actions as you stepped into the tub, your feet on either side of his legs. “I mean… We shouldn’t.”

He reached his arms up as far as he could to grasp your hips, coercing you down until you knelt in the tub, knees and thighs submerged beside his. “Yeah, we should,” he said.

He couldn’t help but latch his lips to your nipple, sucking desperately at the hard tissue. “Oh…” you moaned under your breath.

His tongue swirled and flicked wildly, his hands laced around your lower back to bring you even closer. You felt his cock against your mound, throbbing and twitching. Looking down, you watched it practically move on its own. “Your cock…” you panted, hardly even aware of your own voice and what it was saying. All you knew was that he needed you badly, and you needed him, too.

His lips separated from your chest for a moment, his blue eyes dreamily looking up at you. “It’s hard for ya,” he said, and you swore you shivered under your skin with each pass his hands made up and down your sides. They rose up again to cup your breasts, massaging them, and giving them a squeeze which made you gasp. He smiled slightly, crooked and naughty. “You like it?”

You liked it too much for your own good. You weren’t ready for him, but you were in the perfect position to ride him, and it was so tempting. “Oh, yes… Daryl, you’re perfect.”

His cheeks blossomed with a pink hue. When you noticed, you laughed and cupped his face as you settled deeper onto his lap. “You’re blushing, tough guy.”

His arms wrapped around your back to pull you closer until your lips touched his. He pecked your lips, then your nose. His short, scruffy facial hair tickled you, making you giggle softly. You felt one of his arms loosen up, and his hand reached down between your bodies to guide his wet hard cock to your slit.

You flinched and locked your hands around the back of his neck when the feeling of his tip grazing your clit sent shivers up into your belly. Your entrance tightened and contracted, already preparing for him. Letting go of his cock, he brought his hand up to your clit, putting pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Oh,” you whispered, letting your head slot into the crook of his shoulder. “That feels… Daryl, that feels so good.”

The sounds of the water became more boisterous as his hand moved faster, harder, increasing the pressure. Your knees dug into the hard porcelain surface of the bathtub, but it was impossible to feel any discomfort when the tightening and tingling started to overtake you.

With his cock tucked firmly between your folds, he maneuvered you slightly to get the tip at the entrance, where it tickled your sensitive flesh. You couldn’t help but rub yourself harder against his firm hand, sending ripples through the water.

One of his hands came to the back of your head, gently pulling your loose hair to lift your face from his shoulder. “Pretty girl,” he said, leaning forward to kiss your lips. His hand still moved, with one thick finger sinking slowly into you. “I wanna fuck you so bad.”

He slipped another finger in, and it felt like Heaven. If his fingers felt this good, you couldn’t even imagine what his cock would feel like. “Please,” you begged, lips trembling against his. “I’d let you do anything to me.”

“Mm,” he hummed with a smile. His fingers dug a little deeper, curling up inside of you as his thumb drew tight, hard circles over your clit. You threw your head back, moaning so loud that your voice echoed slightly in the spacious bathroom. “I wanna do all kinds of things to ya… Dirty things.”

He leaned forward to catch your nipple with his lips again, this time biting down gently, causing you to yelp and giggle. “Daryl!” This was a side of him you’d never known before, of course. It was strange to see his confidence reach such a new height. All you knew of him previously was that he was the shy, mysterious, slightly grumpy archer of Rick’s group. They were new in town, and most people were a little scared of them, but something about Daryl was comforting to you. His presence in Alexandria didn’t frighten you at all, really. It made you feel safe, and many other things, too.

Water nearly splashed over the side of the tub as he pulled his hand out of you and firmly grabbed your bottom. “Why don’t ya put it in?” he asked. “Nice and deep.”

You missed his fingers inside you, so surely his cock would be the best replacement. You grabbed a hold of his cock, angling it towards your opening. Of course, you didn’t take it in right away, instead opting to use his tip to tease your clit.

His fingers dug into your bottom as he let out a hiss between his teeth. “Fuck.”

You circled your hips over his cock, then lowered yourself, his tip now just breaching the entrance. “Ooo…”

The hot water felt so good flowing into you with his cock, warming you up from the inside. He could feel every ridge and curve of your body enveloping him. Soft, pulsing flesh massaged his cock with each movement you made to get him as deep as you could get him.

When he was all the way inside you, you leaned forward slowly, your chest pressed against his as you lay there for a moment, eyes closed in pure bliss. Being filled by him was unlike any other sensation.

You felt his strong arms wrap right around your back as he, too, shut his eyes. The pain he’d experienced from yesterday was all gone now. The warm embrace of you and the water surrounding him seemed to heal him more than any ointment or bandages could.

Despite the pure beauty of that moment, he needed you to move, to let him prove to you just how much he had really needed you.

“Come on, angel,” he mumbled against your cheek before leaving a wet, sloppy kiss there. “Take me for a ride, huh?”

You laughed. “What if I slip?”

He tightened his grip around you even more. “Won’t let ya.”

You believed him.

You straightened your back, placing your hands on his shoulders so you’d have something to hang onto, and, boy, were those shoulders wide and strong, with those adorable smatterings of freckles that charmed you so. You pressed several kisses to them as you rocked your hips back and forth, slowly but surely.

“I love your body,” you said between kisses. “These shoulders… Your arms… You’re so big and strong.”

His breath got caught in his throat when you began to rock faster, now simultaneously gyrating your hips, round and round. “Fuck, (Y/N)…”

Every movement you made drew you closer to release, with your throbbing, sensitive clit rubbing against his pelvis, which he moved against yours.

“Baby…” you moaned like prayer.

He’d never been called that before. He liked it, so much so that he used his strong grip on your hips to manually bounce you on his cock, with his eyes lowered to watch as the water splashed where your bodies met.

Your toes were curled forward, trying to keep you steady. When they lost their grip, your knees slipped on the submerged porcelain surface. “Whoa!” you cried out, your forehead planting itself square in the middle of his chest.

He flinched and sat up a little straighter, still inside you. “You okay?”

You raised your head with a boisterous laugh, and, instead of answering, cupped his cheeks to kiss him. Your weight made him sink back down, and your continued movements had him groaning deep into your mouth.

You thrusted harder, now on the brink of orgasm. Lifting your lips from his for just a moment, you uttered the phrase, “I’m going to come.”

That sent a shiver of excitement through his cock. “Good girl,” he said. “Come all over me… Wanna feel it.”

You nodded frantically as you panted, now aggressively rubbing your clit on his pelvis as his cock simultaneously tickled you in just the right place. “Oh, God,” you sighed, your face straining as you worked so hard to feel your release. “I’m almost there, baby…”

He thrusted up into you as much as he could in his position, and more water seemed to splash all over, some pouring over the edge and surely pooling on the tile floor, but all that mattered to him was your pleasure.

You grasped harder onto his shoulders, your eyes now closed as your breasts bounced with each hard thrust. He could feel the twitches of your walls becoming more and more intense, and soon he’d come, too, if you kept squeezing him like that.

“Oh! Oh!”

“Come on, sweetheart.”

His honeyed voice was the last straw. The proverbial string inside your belly snapped, and a cascade of heavenly pulses erupted from your clit. You twitched and writhed on top of him, at first frantically, but soon your body fell into a natural rhythm as you rode him and your high.

“God,” you sighed through agape lips. “Oh, shit…”

It lasted so incredibly long, allowing you to languidly sway with the current of the water as it settled down. Daryl’s body had stopped moving, but his hands were delicately caressing your sides, the rough calluses on his fingers tickling your soft skin every once in a while. His hands settled on the sides of your cheeks where he brushed your hair back behind your ears. With heavy eyelids, you looked back down at him and smiled wide, deliriously happy.

“Feel good, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, your voice high-pitched and a bit dazed. Indeed, you felt a little bit lightheaded from the experience. It was the best orgasm you’d ever had, and now that you were looking back at him, that dreamy, mysterious man you’d fantasized about for so long, you were even more dumbstruck.

“C’mere.”

He pulled you back down until your chest was pressed up against his, and your lips were receiving a passionate massage as his hands laced through your damp hair. His tongue traced around your lips as you smiled deliriously. “Ain’t done yet,” he said, nodding his head as his nose rubbed yours. “Scoot back.”

He helped you off his lap until he could stand, his body dripping with water as he did so. You were a little confused, watching him step out of the tub. Still, he was hard, throbbing, and red. You knew he couldn’t be done with you just yet.

“Daryl?” you asked, a slight whine to your voice. “Baby?”

He grabbed a towel to quickly dry off his legs, then threw it aside. “I ain’t leavin’.” He stepped forward til his knees hit the edge of the tub. His hands came to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair once again. There was pressure to his touch as he pulled your head forward, and you realized now that you were in the perfect position. “You got such a pretty mouth,” he said. “Can ya finish me with it?” You nodded, of course. You’d be honored, and he was so ready to come for you, with clear liquid beginning to drip from his tip, and it definitely wasn’t water.

With one hand moving up the base of his shaft, and the other cupping his heavy testicles, you brought your lips to his tip, where you left a long, sweet kiss. Even that seemed to make his cock twitch, and a soft, yet deep, moan escaped from his lips. Your touch was so tender and sweet, and your soft, pillowy lips engulfing his tip was just so heavenly.

The deeper he entered your mouth, the more saliva pooled at the tip of your tongue, coating his shaft with every movement as you slid him back and forth with your hand. Each prominent vein bulged in your mouth, with the salty taste of the clear liquid on your tongue.

From his perspective, he adored how you looked with his cock in your mouth, how your lips pursed and your tongue stuck out to cushion the underside of his shaft as he went in, pulling out a little, then going back as far as you could take him without gagging. He didn’t want you to gag, or to hurt you at all. He just wanted to feel every part of your body in the most intimate way.

You pulled him out for a moment, taking the opportunity to place playful, sweet kisses along his shaft as your eyelashes fluttered up at him. He looked so beautiful in his pleasure, his head tilted back with his eyes shut and lips agape, a deep, sexy moan escaping when you suctioned your lips to one testicle. They were quite big, so only one could fit at a time.

“Ah, fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “Just like that, sweetheart.”

You returned to his tip after leaving another trail of kisses on the underside, and a few extras on his reddened, leaking head. “Am I doing good, baby?” you asked. You found that you quite liked his praise, and that his tendency to call you a “good girl” was something you’d have to try extra hard to elicit. “Am I being a good girl for you?”

“Mmm,” he hummed with that sexy crooked smile of his. “Such a good girl… Doin’ so good with my cock.”

Well, you thought, I am a medical professional.

But your tongue was unable to speak as you swirled circles around his tip, messily dripping saliva all over your breasts as they hung over the edge of the tub.

Just before you could open your mouth to take him again, he pulled back, his hand now stroking himself as his soaking wet chest heaved and his cock throbbed harder. “I’m gonna come,” he said. “Where do ya want it, nurse?”

You laughed as you straightened your back, jutting out your breasts. “My chest, please.”

Something in the way you said “please,” with your perky breasts and cold, hard nipples right in front of him, made him let loose.

He let out the loudest, deepest moan yet as his semen spilled over you, caught by your breasts. Your heavy eyes watched in lustful fascination at the display, and it seemed the white strings would never stop coming from the tip of his cock. He had so much that once he’d drenched your breasts, you brought your tongue to his head for the last spurts to be caught in your open mouth.

“Good girl,” he praised again, noticing how much you liked it. As you swallowed the last drops, you were quite suddenly picked up, with his hands lifting you by your underarms until he had you in his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you with a series of strained grunts.

“Daryl!” you laughed, wide-eyed and slightly terrified he’d drop you. “Where are you taking me?”

“There a bed around here?” he asked, hoisting you up so he wouldn’t lose his grip. He immediately regretted not asking where the bedroom was before picking you up, as he now stood naked, wet, and carrying Alexandria’s naked, wet nurse (who was also covered in his bodily fluids, mind you).

“The door to your left,” you laughed, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. “Don’t you drop me!”

He kicked the door open, then nearly sprinted to the bed, dropping you and himself on the soft mattress. You laughed as he frantically covered you both with the bedsheets and blankets, but the laughter died down when he bundled you up, rubbing your arms outside the blanket as he tried to warm you.

“Are ya cold?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head with a smile as you looked up at him, marveling at his beautifully rugged face. “Quite warm… What about you? Are you comfortable?” You unwrapped your hands from the bundle he put you in, raising them to rub up and down his pecs when you noticed his rash. “Oh, Daryl! You need ointment on your rashes.” You began to sit up, planning on running downstairs to fetch the burn treatment, but Daryl’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into him.

“Nah,” he said, a hint of a laugh coating his gruff southern accent. “All I need is you, ain’t no pain if I’m holdin’ you.”

“Oh…” You bit your lip as you rocked your shoulders, flattered and giddy. “Well, then I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s right,” he replied, tucking you back under the covers, being sure that you were snug and warm before he kissed you. You trapped him in your kiss by wrapping your arm around his neck, pulling him deeper. Your tongue slipped into his mouth to greet his, and they swirled around for a while, dancing so playfully.

Your feet found his beneath the covers, so you flexed your toes to tickle him, causing him to laugh into your mouth and nearly bite your tongue. “Hey,” he said as he pulled away.

“What?” you laughed.

He shook his head before diving back down to kiss just above your collarbone, where he licked and sucked at the skin. “Nothin’...”

“You’re easily distracted,” you laughed, watching him move to your shoulder with his tongue.

“Mm,” he hummed against your shoulder. “And you’re a sweet thing… Like to keep you.”

“Well, I’m yours.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his face turning a little serious.

You tilted your head with playfully narrowed eyes. “You think I have sex in a bathtub with every patient, Daryl?”

He chewed his bottom lip before leaning in to kiss your lips once again. “No, just… Don’t wanna mess this up by assumin’ nothin’.”

“I’d be crazy not to be yours.” Your hand lifted to brush through his messy, dampened hair. It was a little darker from the water, but still a lovely ashy chestnut brown, which complimented his sparkling blue-grey eyes just perfectly. “And I think you need me around. To tend to you… ailments.”

Indeed, you became Daryl’s personal nurse at times, patching him up when he inevitably got himself hurt in some sort of heroic escapade, or, more commonly, when he picked something up the wrong way and injured his back. In any case, you were more than happy to take care of him, and it helped that you soon moved in together, and that Daryl’s appointments often had… happy endings (if he wasn’t too injured, of course).

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Masterlist

Part 1

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