#so i posted on my snap story asking if anyone could come over for a few hours to help me get back on track | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreamingdixon · 1 year

Text

Eyes on me

Anon request: “can you do something like what happened to Maggie with the governor when her and Glenn were kidnapped? maybe the reader was in that situation, and Daryl finds out and is like comforting them?”

This fic contains sexual assault, and everything that comes afterwards. This could be potentially triggering, so please keep that in mind before continuing. My intention is not to trigger, upset or make anybody uncomfortable. I will post an edited version, that will have any graphic content (including the SA itself, and any mentions thereafter) removed, so this story can be enjoyed by those who do not want to read the full/graphic version, but still enjoy the hurt/comfort element of a soft Daryl <3 If anyone is in a situation where they have experienced anything along the lines of harassment/SA, my ask box is always open to be a listening ear and a friend. I wrote this story from a place of my own understanding and experience, and I found it comforting to write a different 'afterwards'.

17,349 words.

“I’m sorry about Merle.”

You’d kept your gaze trained on the bloodied denim on your thighs when the heavy door creaked open, managed to keep your eyes averted even when you heard footsteps against the harsh concrete. You’d told yourself you weren’t even going to so much as look at the man who’d dared to hold a knife to your throat and drag you from your friends.

But this was a different voice.

Snapping your head up, you quickly blink away the fog in your vision to reveal a man, his hands held up high, palms towards you. There’s a smile on his face that you immediately hate and you instinctively pull against the tape on your wrists as he edges himself closer to you.

“Sometimes he just doesn’t know when to stop. I’ll be having a word with him.”

There’s a rawness to your skin when you continue to move your hands, your mind begging for your small movements to be capable of breaking the layers of thick tape, desperate - pleading as he reaches the other end of the table. He doesn’t seem overly satisfied when he asks ‘May I?’, gesturing towards the chair and receives no answer, his only response a continued glare, but he sits regardless and places a towel on the metal in front of him.

“I hope he didn’t hurt you too much, that’s not the way we do things around here. Especially not to young women, survivors like yourself.”

The sickly sweet voice phrases itself like a question that makes your skin crawl as he sits so casually, one leg over the other, hands across his lap. He carries himself well, you think to yourself. Powerful, or he thinks he must be - power that he’s brutally taken, not earned - as he watches your face for any sort of reaction to his presence or words. He continues when he sees none. We don’t want to hurt anybody, we’re a community of good people. People, food, walls. Woodbury.

He gestures around the damp room, apologising for the ‘inhospitable accommodation’ one of his men brought you to. It seems like a storage room, bits of old furniture leaning against the bare walls and corrugated metal sheets, and there’s a faint bitterness to the air - cold from damp gathering on the roof and an unwelcome breeze from the outside world making its way inside, and you can’t ignore the goosebumps prickling against your exposed arms.

“I’m not staying.”

Your nose and cheek throb from your movements to speak, but your words come out firm and final exactly how you intended, no trace of the fear that’s slowly building up inside you. You have your own people, food, and walls. You have gates you’re carefully reinforcing against men like this, people who have done more for you since you joined them than others had your entire life prior to the fall, and there isn’t much food but it’s better than anything this man could ever offer you. You ignore the blood that trails down past your lip and the metallic taste on your tongue. His confident smiles only widens with your words, shrugging carelessly as if you hadn’t turned him down - like he was happy with your answer.

“You don’t have to. We can just take you back to your people, I’d escort you personally, make sure you get there safely, maybe strike a deal with your group for extra protection, share supplies, ammo.. What do you think, would your group be interested?”

You wonder how many people have fallen for his act. In the span of what you’re assuming to be a few hours, you’ve been forcefully taken, knocked out, your nose most likely broken in your struggle and you’ve been tied up, and this man has the audacity to offer a deal? You manage to swallow down the laugh that you’re desperate to vocalize, but a small smirk escapes onto your lips instead.

“I think my group will kill you on the spot when they find out about you. No fucking deal, asshole.”

Your brows furrow because he laughs at your words, deep lines forming between your eyebrows because he doesn’t seem phased. He’s acting like he didn’t expect this conversation to go any other way, like he’s about to shake your hand and send you on your way and you’re confused. Waking up in the situation you did, you’d expected a few threats and a gun to your head at the very least, but it doesn’t come, so you wait. Leaning forward, he watches you, studies you and he can tell you’re not acting - you’re tough. You’re sitting up straight, but he knows you’re uncomfortable by how you flex your shoulders occasionally against the pull of the awkward angle of your restraints. Like a racing horse with blinders, you haven’t taken your gaze away from his - not even once - like you’re not in the precarious situation you’re currently in. Your chest isn’t heaving with nerves like others who sat in the same chair just last week, and he admires you for it.

Bringing himself to his feet, he grabs the towel as he edges himself closer to you and your mind runs, pure anxiety tainting all of your thoughts and you’re ashamed of the wave of cold that suddenly courses through your veins and you shiver.

Stepping behind the chair, the hairs on your arms stand upright because you can’t see him anymore. White noise fills your head because he isn’t even walking, there’s no footsteps to be heard until you’re being suddenly dragged, a deafening scrape of metal as your chair is slowly turned 90 degrees and he gradually brings himself into your view again.

There’s fear now, he realizes, from removing himself from your line of vision. It gave you courage to have your eyes on the man in charge and taking that away for even just a moment gave that courage a shake - and he likes that, given him just a tiny bit more control. Your eyes are wider now, not narrowed like just moments ago. He could get off on that fact alone, so he crouches down in front of you to drink in the sight.

He’s looking at you like a child looks at the highest ticket prize at an arcade, full of want, a craving to be satisfied and unthinkingly your nose scrunches in disdain but oh my god that’s a mistake because you can feel your pulse in your nose and a dull twinge that shoots through you at the motion that has you sucking air through your teeth.

He whispers a ‘shhh’ that absolutely repulses you, and his eyes don’t leave yours as he slowly brings the towel in his grip up to your face and he lightly dabs at the skin above your lip, the white terry cloth coming back a deep crimson. It takes a second to realize he’s trying to clean you, and he’s doing it like it’s second nature but his other hand is resting on your thigh when he goes to repeat the motion for a second time, but this time you’re ready because he’s touching you and there’s rage bubbling inside of you because who the fuck is he to be responsible for your broken nose, then have the audacity to mop up the evidence?

Before the material reaches your lip, you muster the energy and ignore the strain on your muscles and you spit on him. It’s discoloured from the blood that made its way between your lips, and it’s revolting and it’s the least he deserves. How dare he touch you?

The man scoffs before taking the towel in his hand and erases any trace of you from his cheek, as he raises his eyebrow and suddenly the air seems heavier and the room just got darker because so did his eyes, and within a second he’s behind you again, but he’s not silent or at a distance - the material of his trousers are pressed against your restrained hands behind the cold bars of the chair and he’s got an arm wrapped around your neck. The pretend silkiness gone from his voice, replaced with a gravelly ‘I was right, you’re feisty’ and he’s applying just enough pressure with his forearm for you to not move, and you don’t.

You’re completely still as you look right ahead, you’ve stopped your fight against the tape because he’s everywhere behind you and if you’re completely still maybe you can ignore him, but you can smell his cologne and it’s so light and delicate but it’s overwhelming. Waiting for the inevitable blow that doesn’t come, he adjusts his grip as he lifts his forearm slightly, tilting your head upwards against the pressure and when your eyes angle towards the ceiling, he’s staring down at you, shaking his head, tutting his disapproval.

The towel's still in his grip, but he’s rougher this time as he brings it to your nose - tugging the scratchy material firmly against broken skin, replacing the gentle patting of the earlier attempt and it drags out a throaty whimper from your throat and he feels the vibrations against his arm as he repeats his actions two, three, four times. Eyes screwed shut, you feel his grip harden against your throat when you try to pull your head away but the pressure against your windpipe increases and you’re not going to black out so you do your best to hold still instead, groaning at the feel of rogue droplets of blood escaping down your throat from the angle, and the way your face absolutely throbs by the time he lets go.

Stepping back in front of you, he assesses his handiwork and tells you ‘see, that’s so much better’ before striding out of the room, a thunderous clang of the door ringing in your ears after he leaves.

Hours are spent rotating between a few tasks - wondering how you’re going to murder this man, planning your escape, counting the individual bits of furniture in the room and thinking about the group. It has cost so much to clear the prison, people have paid with their lives for the remainder to have somewhere safe to call home, you will not be the reason it falls by giving anybody the location. This entire situation solidifies what you already knew - you’d die for the rag-tag assortment of individuals and you’d call them family any day of the week. You think about how lucky you were to be taken in by them after crossing paths on a random dirt track months ago, and how they spread their scarce rations even thinner to take you in.

Family.

Struggling to find the strength to hold yourself up, you sit with your head limply resting against your chest, the occasional thin streak of crimson collecting on the neckline of your vest. Stiffness dominates every part of your body by the time the door swings open again, and you roll your eyes at the familiar man who isn’t smiling this time.

He approaches slowly, and by the time he’s next to you he’s offering you a plastic water bottle that you reluctantly ignore by sealing your lips and turning away. The bottle gets placed on the table, and he tells you to ‘suit yourself’ before grabbing your chin, tugging you to face him and he’s relieved to see the flow of blood has slowed despite the majority of your upper lip, chin and down to your chest decorated in cracked, dried crimson. He tells you you’re looking in bad shape, and he’d love to take you back to your people so I’ll ask again - where’s your camp?

The back and forth gets him nowhere, and the frustration becomes visible. His velvety voice becomes forceful and loud in his demands, fists hitting the table when he’s answered with another ‘fuck you’ and his jaw clenches hard.

“Okay. We’ll try something different.”

He slips the mask back into place, allowing the mellow tone returns to his words, but there’s still an edge to his voice. He’s worked up, but he sounds like he’s got a plan and you don’t like how he perches himself in front of you again, but you like it even less when his fingers toy with the bottom of your shirt.

“You wanna tell me before or after I cut this shirt off of you?”

Your blood runs cold at the question. You stare at him while your brain goes into overdrive, how can I get myself out of this? But without any hesitation, he brings the knife to the base of your shirt, holds the material taut with his other hand and drags the knife all the way up, catching the skin of your abdomen and your chest a few times on the journey. It cuts so easily, like scissors through wrapping paper and the bloodied material hangs limply by the straps until he easily nicks through the remaining fabric, and you feel completely helpless when he holds the destroyed shirt in his hands before tossing it in the direction of the door.

You’d known violence since the fall, but this was a different shade of cruelty - one that had your chest heaving and embarrassment showing itself with redness on your skin, and you had no control over the trembling that took over you within seconds and it only worsens when he returns to his favourite spot behind you, and you wait for the first cut against your skin but instead, he carefully slices some of the tape away, splitting the section binding you to the metal frame of the seat while maintaining the integrity of the layers around your wrists as he pulls you to your feet, shoulders lifting away from the frame painfully.

He’s staring at you like you're rare mixture of gold and silver and diamonds, like you’re there exclusively for him and he's not planning on sharing his riches with anybody, without a care in the world for the redness around your eyes or the tears that are threatening to spill over, or the fresh blood pooling around tender wrists where you’re furiously fighting with the tape that somehow feels even stronger now.

He ignores your whimpers, telling you ‘it doesn’t have to be like this, you’re in full control here, got it? How this plays out is up to you, don’t cry, shhh.’ as you try your best to stand tall, you’re not going down without a fight.

“This is how it’s going to happen, alright? I’m going to ask you questions - about where y’all are hiding out, about your group, and for every question you don’t answer, I’m going to take something else off of you until either I know everything I need to know, or there’s a nice pile of clothes over there. Ball’s in your court, sweetheart, cause I’ll do much worse than this to them when I find ‘em, and trust me, I will find ‘em.”

Fear and hatred consume your features, and he whispers a ‘don’t move’ when he steps closer to you and you step backwards, his hand delicately moving overgrown hair away from your eyes and tucking it behind your ear. Despite the light movement of his fingers, the touch feels like sandpaper and you silently promise to cut off each and every one of his fingers with the dullest knife you can find. Standing in front of you, he starts with his questions. “How many of you are there?” which seems harmless enough, but you already know you can’t win in this game so you remain silent and sob when he cuts through the wire of your bra, letting it fall to the floor.

You wonder how this man came to be as he eyes you up and down. You try to pretend you aren’t completely exposed by wondering if this place - Woodbury, he said - existed from the beginning, or if he had a role in setting it up. Nowhere’s safe anymore, and you swear the only decent people who are still alive are your people who you pray are currently out looking for you. Would Rick try to interrogate him first, like he did Randall at the farm? Would Daryl - the man with the thickest shell, who’d warmed up to you slowly - hesitate to kill him for you? Would Carol hold your hand when you tell her what happened? Would Beth think of you when she sang over the campfire?

Frustration hits you like a wave when the man's eyes linger over your chest, and you swear you’ve never hated anyone more in your entire life so you do the only thing you think to do in that moment, you bring your head backwards for momentum and you aim for his nose to return the favour, longing for the sound of a crunch that doesn’t fucking happen. He’s too quick, too practiced. Fast reflexes and learned instinct told him what you were about to do, so he swerves and you loose your footing, a stagger towards that leaves you barely on your feet.

Disappointment hits you like a tonne of bricks, the chance presented itself to you on a silver platter and you were too slow. You’ve barely found your balance before there’s a bruising grip around your biceps, warm fingers digging painfully into haggard muscles and chilled skin, and the hot breath against your neck telling you to ‘turn around, slowly.’ brings bile to your throat that you swallow down as you follow the instruction. He re-adjusts his grasp when your eyes meet, bringing his fingers to your chin instead, tracing the discolouration along your jaw.

“Nice try. What’s it gonna take until you spill, huh?”

He notices the tremor in your muscles, the involuntary vibrations beneath the palms of his fingers that have you shaking. He’s telling you again about how he doesn’t want to hurt you, and you’re so desperate to call him out on his lies but he’s got the upper hand and you know it, so the words die before they’ve even began to form.

He takes his time. It’s almost worse when he isn’t actually doing anything to you, it’s like the anticipation builds and builds until you’re breathing is short and fast because he’s playing mind games - and winning. You’d almost prefer if he’d just get it over with, whatever it is.

There’s so much fire behind your eyes despite your sore state, so he decides to up the stakes.

“Okay, time for round two. For every question you don’t answer, not only do you lose something you’re wearing, keep in mind you’ve not got a whole lot left, but somebody from your group dies. Simple as that. You’re at two so far, and I’ll give you the honour of deciding who.”

His hand trails from your jaw, fingers tracing the curve of your neck to your collarbone, across the flaky, dried blood on your chest before drawing an agonizingly slow line up and down your sternum but his eyes never leave yours - threatening.

“Might even give you a pretty dress for the show, since it looks like you won’t have anything left on you by then.”

There’s tears forming that you aggressively try to blink away, burning against your dry eyes. He’s asking you then, where’s your camp? Must be near by, right? How long d’you reckon it’ll take my soldiers to find, hmm? But his fingers are just below your navel, now, and you’re shuddering because you want to be anywhere but here.

He waits. Patient in his resolve. Whatever your people have, he wants it. He counts your accelerated breaths in his mind, still smiling and it widens sickeningly when your features warp into terror and panic as his index finger reaches the skin just below your breast, vaguely following the curve of the flesh but his eyes are still trained on yours and he just watches the way your nostrils flare and eyes widen because he did that. He’s proud to get a reaction out of you, but you still haven’t answered his question, so he brings his fingers just a tiny bit higher, that tiny bit closer to where he shouldn’t be anywhere near and he’s humming, a firm reminder to answer. A question in itself.

But the question remains unanswered, and his patience has run out.

“Get on your knees.”

There’s no time to react before his hand moves from your torso to your shoulder, pushing down while his other drags down firmly against your now bruised bicep. You buckle against the momentum, your arms still restrained leaving you off-balance and you’ve never felt like an easier target in your life. Your knees collide painfully with the concrete, and you wince against the jolts that burst up your thigh from the harsh collision.

Your thoughts run rampant. Is this your execution, or something else? Is he going to bring a knife out again and murder you, a sharp puncture to your skull to prevent the turn, or will he drag it out by holding it to your throat first? Would the group ever find you, hidden away in a storage room of a community they don’t even know existed?

Would Daryl be the one to find you, to bring you back to the prison and bury you, even if you’d turned? You imagine him sweating in the prison’s yard, a shovel gripped between bleeding, sore fingers while you lay there, covered by a sheet and the tears flow down your face like a running tap at the thought. When he’d promised to look after you, you’d vowed to do the same and you meant it, and he’d wrapped his arm over your shoulder at the way you’d said it - so full of sincerity and commitment. If you didn’t make it out of this room you wouldn’t be able to carry out your promise and that made your chest ache.

Your face is angled upwards forcefully, thumbs brushing away the salty tears streaming down your cheeks. He’s telling you it’s okay, shushing you quietly as he continues to drag the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks, the warmth from your tears and his movements smearing blood across your cheeks haphazardly. He smiles softly, telling you once more that it’s okay, that he’ll be gentle before his hands move to the back of your head - one gripping the nape of your neck, the other against your crown and he tugs you towards him.

You collide with the rough material of his trousers nose-first in a way that makes you howl with pain, it shoots into the back of your eyes and you’d swear you’d felt something shift that shouldn’t. He presses you against the crotch of his pants, forehead digging into the cold metal of his belt buckle and pulling against him gets you nowhere, only a firmer grip against the nape of your neck that you’d swear just yanked out strands of hair. He holds you still, ignoring your wailing and he moves his hips against you, smears of blood staining the fabric with evidence of his violence. The warmth of his body heat and the fact you can smell the metallic edge of your own blood and you’re going to vomit any second. The room is too cold and the denim too rough and you can feel the gathered-together tape digging into the oozing blood gathering around your wrists. You try to focus on anything else you can - the design etched into the material of his pants, the feeling of how you wiggle your toes, the pattern of your breathing, anything to give you an escape.

He moves you then, making you look to the side until your cheek is pressed into the fabric instead, and he simply holds you there, and that’s when you decide this will be easier if you close your eyes - if you can’t see what he’s doing, maybe it won’t exist. But it does, and suddenly he’s grabbing fistfuls of your hair, a rough grip that burns with so much intensity that it prickles down your neck and spine and he tugs you away from him. He speaks then - something about your eyes, but you’re completely unfocused until he repeats himself, emphasising his words with a harsh tug and when your eyes shoot open - he looks so proud of himself.

The sound of his zipper is the next thing you hear, a dull noise that seems to echo way too loud against the metallic walls, vibrating against your ears until you start counting backwards in your mind in a desperate attempt of distraction that doesn’t work.

When the door squeaks open suddenly, and you feel like you’re saved when the man talks about a breach, men with weapons and he needs to come immediately, panic written all over his features as he stumbles over his words with white knuckles over the barrel of his gun, but always keeping his eyes averted from your direction. The man holds you where you are while he listens, completely shameless when he grinds against you one last time before telling you I’ll be back, before tugging you backwards and pulling up the zipper of his pants.

You’re left with your knees against concrete, tears that won't go away and the heaviness in your chest feels like you can’t breathe because you can still feel the lingering grip against the base of your skull and the roughness of his trousers pressing against you, and when you can’t shake the sound of his breathing out of your mind you lean over and empty your stomach, retching from your hunched over position until there’s nothing left but stomach acid and it burns.

Time doesn’t exist anymore, there isn’t a single window in the entire room and you’ve truly lost your sense of timekeeping - has it been a few hours or an entire day, maybe more? The way the air is colder now makes you think it’s the milder evening air seeping in through the walls, fresh and bitter in contrast to the usual daytime Georgian dry heat that you suddenly crave against your skin. You curl in on yourself, back against the furthest wall from the door, the metal behind you only adding to the uncomfortable position but you swear if you don’t lean against something you’re going to keel over and die so you’ll take it, ignoring the discomfort of your wrists digging into your lower back.

If it’s night time, you wonder if Judith is asleep and if Glenn and Maggie got back safe, are they together now? Are you missed? Is Daryl using his tracking skills to bring you back home, like he promised you he would after you lost Sophia, when he vowed he’d never lose you?

You feel like you’re waiting for the inevitable, a reminder of sitting in the hospital waiting room for hours as a teenager after falling on your arm - you knew it was only broken, the result of an unsupervised houseparty, but what if they found something else on the x-ray and told you in 6 months you’d be dead? Your mother was adamant that wouldn’t happen, but what if? Turns out it was a hairline fracture, and you wouldn’t be dead in 6 months because of it, but your mother held your hand regardless, promising to take you out for dinner in exactly 6 months to celebrate - and so she did. But you’ve never forgotten the experience of sitting in the waiting area and how sterile everything was and how everything was so blue and bright made you vow to never need a hospital visit again. This felt the same, like waiting for the terrifying result of that xray that you were so sure was going to give you an expiration date - but it’s worse, there’s no exit or your mothers soft skin against your own, no nurses to make you laugh when they see your anxious eyes, there’s only the heavy metal door that wouldn’t budge when you tried to kick it, the scraps of fabric that you can’t wear anymore, the empty space and the occasional trickle of warmth down your chin.

You bring your knees up to your chest and cry, because it’s all you can do and you shake from the intensity of it all. You’ve never felt so useless, you’ve been so productive and exhausted and helped keep everybody safe for so long and now you’re here, playing a waiting game with a villain. Like a mouse caught in a trap with your own vomit a few feet away.

There’s a commotion outside that you try to ignore, scrunching your eyes closed and you wish you could cover your ears and pretend it doesn’t exist - so that’s what you try to do. Resting your forehead against your knees you just pretend. You’re not trapped and you’re not crying and you’ve definitely not just had him touch you like that, but then you hear gunshots and there’s only so much pretending you can do.

/////////////

It wasn’t supposed to turn into a bloodbath, but it was their fault.

A new woman - Michonne, was the only reason they had any lead about where you might be, and of course it was risky to go along with it, but this was you they were talking about, and it was a risk that was absolutely worth taking. Daryl would have gone alone if he needed to, because seeing Glenn and Maggie run through those doors without you had his heart in his throat, and when Maggie started speaking ‘I didn’t see who took ‘er, she was right behind us when we went inside, then there was a.. A yell, and by the time we came out there was a car drivin’ away.’ he already had his crossbow over his shoulder and a goal of getting you back.

On Rick’s command, Daryl slowly pulls the bolt securing the door, easing it carefully enough to avoid drawing the attention of whoever - or whatever - was potentially inside. The rusted metal rang when it rested on the other side and he placed his hand on the frame, ready to push with the signal. A last look around confirms they’re alone except the unfortunate outline of an man who’d raised his gun towards the wrong people, and when Rick gives a nod of his head, Daryl’s swift in his movements, opening the heavy door with one instantaneous push and he’s inside with a single stride, gusts of lingering smoke following the movement.

There’s a vague smell of damp to the room, mingled with something else - something bitter that hangs densely in the air until there’s a faint taste in the back of his throat. Rick follows the archer’s lead, a crossbow and gun darting around each corner of the room, and within a second they’ve both detected the few items of clothing - one by the door and as Daryl inches closer around the table, there’s a bra that comes into his view. Behind him, Rick makes his way towards the shirt, he’s about to get Daryl’s attention because he recognises it, it’s yours, you’re here somewhere but Daryl’s already next to you.

When your eyes meet Daryl’s, your chest fucking heaves and you cry from relief because he’s right here and he promised he always would be, that he’d find you and he did. His crossbow points at your chest for only half a second before it’s quickly dropped to hang loosely from the strap over his shoulder and he’s running towards you, calling over to Rick that he’s found you.

He’s kneeling next to you, face only inches from yours and you want to touch him but your shoulders ache in resistance and your wrists sting but you need to touch him to see if he’s real but you can’t and you’re hyperventilating, pulling harder, cutting deeper into already broken skin. Panic sets in and it’s so ridiculous because why are you crumbling now? Daryl’s softly calling your name and trying to meet your gaze but your ears are flooded by the resounding noise of your own pulse and your eyes are darting between the concrete floor, the open door and Rick who’s keeping his distance - he doesn’t want to add to your fear by towering over you so he turns towards the door, protective, guarding.

“Hey, hey, you’re alright. It’s alright, I got ya.”

The voice is grounding, it brings you back just enough to look at him and see him properly.

“There ya go, keep those eyes on me, okay?”

So that’s what you do, you keep your eyes on him and it helps. It doesn’t stop your heart racing or the cold sweat that’s forming against your temples, but you direct all of your focus to him because he told you to and it’s all you can do because it’s Daryl.

He’s trying to keep his features soft in feigned confidence and calm, praying some of it transfers to you because you’re shaking so much he can see it and your eyes are blown so wide that he wonders what happened to you? He’s never seen you like this before, he’s not sure how present you actually are, or the extent of the damage, but he can see that your nose isn’t in the best condition - there’s a deep gash across the bridge and there’s a bump where there wasn’t before. He’s determined to keep his eyes on yours so he relies on his peripheral vision to tell him the blood trails down, ending in a thickly caked mess down your chest. His gaze doesn’t follow the stream of crimson, instead, his eyes stay on yours as he tells you ‘I’m gonna give ya my vest, gonna put it right here until we get ya on your feet’ as he gently tucks the material in the space between your raised knees and your chest, and the chilled leather warms you in a way that’s entirely new.

“Good girl, there ya go. Lemme see what’s goin’ on with your hands.”

He inches to the side, so when you shuffle forwards slightly he can see the bloodied skin and the grey tape around you in thick layers. He’s only got his crossbow on him, so he tells you ‘I’m gonna get Rick over, alright? He’s got a knife, shh, yer fine, then we can cut ya free and get ya back.’ before calling the man over. Rick’s next to you both then, kneeling down and asking if you’re okay - Daryl nods on your behalf when you don’t seem to have the strength to.

“Look at me an’ only me, that’s it.”

He reminds you, soothes you while Rick slices through the mess on your wrists despite the fury that’s bubbling up inside the archers chest. You look terrified at the sensation - the back and forth of the blade and the pull against your irritated skin has you pale, oxygen trapped tightly in the confines of your lungs because you’re preparing yourself for pain until Daryl’s prompting you to ‘breathe’.

He’s on alert, ears perked against any footsteps, voices or gunshots he might hear. Usually he’d never have his back to the door, but Rick has his eyes towards the entrance and his crossbow is loaded and ready on his shoulder and right now you’re his priority.

“There ya go, feel better?”

You want to speak, but the simple ‘yes’ catches in your throat like a dry pill so you simply nod instead, slowly rolling your shoulders against the tightness of your muscles to bring your hands in front of you to confirm they’re actually still attached to you. The cold air nips at the broken skin but Daryl watches the cautious wiggle of your fingers and hears the quiet hum of relief that escapes you from the newly found freedom, and your downcast eyes miss the tiniest smile that lifts the corner of his lips and how Daryl’s expression softens just a little.

It’s taking a stupid amount of effort and self control to not throw you over his shoulder and just run miles and miles and miles away until you’re safe, until you’re somewhere he can run you a bath, hold you, - or not, whatever you wanted - make you a warm meal with some tea and maybe even hold your hand because he always wanted to, and he was so fucking scared that he’d lost the opportunity to ever intertwine his fingers with yours, to have you safely tucked against him. You’d only been gone a day but he ached with longing, and he still would until you were safe.

“C’mere, lets get ya up.”

He notices how your hand wraps around his vest that’s still gathered at your chest, tightly clutching a fistful of the black leather like a lifeline while your other hand positions itself against the floor in an attempt to pull yourself up, and Daryl stays low, mostly to avoid towering over you but also so he can give you a hand if you need.

If this were any other day, any other situation, he’d have unabashedly grabbed your hand to pull you to your feet but he’s afraid of crossing a new, unknown boundary and making everything worse. He knows your broken nose will heal quickly, a few weeks at most with Hershels knowledge, but this is a different sort of healing that he isn’t familiar with and he’s going to have to wait to hear you to know how to help.

He ignores the twinge that shoots through his chest when you ignore his outstretched hand.

Your body aches against every movement, like when you’d catch the flu as a child and stay in bed for days until you felt better, only to be left with fatigued, aching muscles from disuse. Wincing against the burn of everything, you see Daryl coyly offer his hand but you can’t take it - you already feel so humiliated. It feels like you’ve lost some of your dignity to have needed a rescue, to be sat in a corner so exposed, so you need to prove to yourself you’re capable of something, trying your best to subdue the want of Daryl’s hand in yours that dominates your mind.

Finding your balance on wobbly feet, you manoeuvre the leather over your shoulders as Daryl averts his gaze to the other side of the room. He listens until he’s heard the pop of the fasteners on his jacket before he turns his head back towards you, just as Rick announces ‘we’ve got company’, the urgency in his voice followed by a much louder pop, a deafening gunshot in retaliation to the ones suddenly don’t seem so far away.

Daryl’s crossbow is in his hands with remarkable speed and he’s telling you to ‘stay behind me, alright?’, and you glue yourself right behind him as he makes his way over towards Rick but all you can focus on is the jumble of deep voices that are approaching much too quickly. Rick reaches behind Daryl, handing you a loaded gun with a reassuring nod - it’s heavier than you remember, but it’s familiar in your grip. You silently pray you won’t need to aim or fire with the shakiness in control of your body.

Rick leads the way with Daryl closely behind, and you obey without question when the southern drawl directs you, telling you to stand in front of him when the gunfire seems to come from behind or when he urges you to watch out. There are multiple casualties but none of them are you or your two saviours, and you’re back at the car before you know it.

The drive back towards the prison is strange, the atmosphere thick with jumbled emotions and unspoken words. It’s entirely dark, now, only the black outline of the trees visible against the deep navy of the sky that’s void of any stars tonight - they’re hidden away, ashamed and remorseful of what they allowed to happen.

Rick’s desperate to apologise, to tell you how he wishes he’d never asked you to go on the run, or how he simply should have gone instead because this is a trauma he can’t take back - that you shouldn’t have had to go through, and that’s on him. He feels the responsibility and blame somewhere deep inside him, a failure as the leader of a group he’d sworn to protect. He grips the steering wheel harder.

You’re desperate to apologise for endangering the group, to scream because you’re so overwhelmed but you remain silent because you’re empty at the same time, there’s a medley of relief, anxiety and fear consuming your mind that it’s turned into a forcefully loud static, an unbearable cacophony painfully gnawing at the back of your eyes. You dig your nails into the palm of your hand for a shred of relief - it doesn’t work.

Daryl’s desperate to apologise, to whisper a quiet promise of revenge but he knows this isn’t the time, so he doesn’t. He feels entirely chagrined, furious that he didn’t get to you sooner, that he couldn’t prevent some prick from hurting you - no, thinking about you - anything without your permission. He tries his best to swallow his anger, to focus on the comfort of the fact you’re alive, that you’re right next to him because you asked him to be. It makes his jaw twitch but he does it.

There’s an empty space between you and Daryl and it hurts so much more than the throbbing in your nose or the ache in your hands, because that space has never existed until today - you’ve always sat shoulder to shoulder, crammed into the back of the car or lounging together in the RV laughing over some ridiculous story, but you’re not squeezed right against him or begging him to play UNO with you over the table in the RV - you’re both sat by the windows and the middle seat feels like the size of a football field and it’s devastating.

“Keep me company?” The shyness in your voice surprised him, like you’d expected him to say no, but Daryl would never deny you of anything let alone his company, so he grabbed a blanket from the trunk before joining you in the back, gently throwing the thick material over you.

It isn’t a long journey, but it’s an exhausting one and by the time you park up by the prison gates your adrenaline has completely worn off and you’re shuddering under the blanket, grasping the scratchy material for a shred of warmth and there’s a familiar uneasiness in your stomach that you do your best to temporarily swallow down. Daryl’s watching you from the corner of his eye, protective.

He jumps out first, opening your door for you while Rick marches ahead to ask Hershel to check up on you. You peel the blanket from your bloodied skin as you shuffle yourself out of the car onto wobbly legs as a result of pure exhaustion, you’re so drained from today’s events and you’re so pale - so Daryl acts on instincts, reaching behind you for the abandoned blanket on the back seat. You’re shaking as he brings himself in front of you, and you do your best to overlook the unreasonable fear that forms from his towering figure.

It’s Daryl - just Daryl. Your Daryl, the same man who specifically went into a Walmart on his last run to get you fluffy socks because you’d told him the Prison was chilly, followed by a story about how you didn’t spend a single night without fluffy socks before the fall because it was your thing. He’d stuffed his bag on the next run, he already knew the Walmart was wiped of medicine, camping gear and food, but the clothing section was almost entirely untouched and it was worth the detour because you were ‘chilly’.

The same Daryl that jokingly told you he’d build you a treehouse because ‘don’t you think it’s the best way to survive an apocalypse? Daryl, shut up, why are you laughing? They can’t climb but we can, it’s logical.’ and technically you weren’t wrong, and maybe one day he will.

He’s so ridiculously tender as he opens up the bundled blanket, gently placing the fabric over your shoulders to protect you from the breeze. It feels risky, but he’s rewarded with a small smile and a quiet ‘Thank you’ that sounds so meek but genuine and it almost floors him, and he pulls the blanket just a little more snug around your shoulders, motioning you inside to get you fixed up.

Maggie’s the first to see you, and she’s so relieved she basically runs to you, pulling you in for the tightest hug that squeezes the air from your lungs but you’re so happy to see her that you don’t mind. When she steps back she takes a moment, scanning you up and down and it dawns on her that nothing looks right - and within a moment she’s calling for Hershel, a kind hand on your lower back guiding you to the veterinarian’s cell.

Daryl doesn’t move until you glimpse at him over your shoulder, and he hates himself but he hesitates, do you want him to go with you? Would he be intruding if he joined, or do you need time to talk without him? His feet feel heavy because why is every decision suddenly so big, so critical?

Your hand reaches from under the cloak of the blanket, reaching for him with outstretched fingers. You’d only taken your eyes off Daryl for a moment in your approach to Hershel, and that moment was all it took for an unsettled feeling to rip its way through your chest and your vision to blur because you can’t be without him right now. You’re somewhere between a rock and a hard place - you want to be alone but suddenly he’s a lifeline, a lantern in the darkness of the abandoned prison that you’re being pulled towards like a moth to an open flame. Maggie’s hand on you feels comforting but you want more - and that’s exactly what Daryl is, he’s more.

Maggie watches the interaction with hopeful eyes as Daryl slowly paces over, knuckles white over the strap of his crossbow over his shoulder and his bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth, nervously wearing away the dry skin out of - habit or nerves?

There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to reach out and touch you, and he wonders if he should just follow to prove he understands your gesture because he’s been burning for your touch for so long and he doesn’t want this to be a gesture born from fear - anxiety of whatever trauma you’ve just endured, but if it’s what you want, he’ll give it to you tenfold. If it brings you even a modicum of comfort, he’d keep his fingers intertwined with yours until the second apocalypse rolled around. He’d like that, and he doesn’t realise that you’d like that, too.

Wiggling your fingers just slightly, you prompt him and when he slips his hand into yours, Maggie feels your exhale through the muscles of the small of your back as you head towards Hershel again. There’s a clamminess on both of your palms from a combination of stress and adrenaline, and it’s an awkward grip because your wrists and fingers ache and Daryl doesn’t want to hurt you, but it’s him and it’s you so that makes it perfect.

You’re both too tired, too weary to blush and tease each other like you normally would have, but it’s a different sort of intimacy that relaxes the muscles between your eyebrows and warms a tiny corner of your stomach against the continuous queasiness.

Your hands rests lazily against your thigh as Hershel assesses the damage, and you’re all too aware of the small audience that’s accumulated by the door of your cell. You can feel the tension, the way everyone’s barely holding back the questions on the tip of their tongue, what happened? Who? How? but nobody speaks, and neither do you. Daryl's thumb traces your knuckles with indistinguishable shapes, and it’s a welcomed distraction.

His hand doesn’t move from yours when Hershel points out how there’s some bruising forming under your eyes now, a clear sign of a break, he says. He tells you he could try to re-shape it, put the bone back into place - an offer you fervently decline. You’d seen far too many accident and emergency shows way back, and you simply couldn’t bring yourself to willingly let somebody crunch your nose, so you’re content with keeping the small bump.

Daryl watches you the entire time, monitoring your reactions and gauging your body language, squeezing your hand just a little tighter when you flinch against Hershel’s touches. He tries to ignore the waves of protectiveness that wash over him with every wince, but he hisses out a ‘careful with her’ when you visibly recoil against the prodding on the side of your nose - a comment that doesn’t bother Hershel because your eyes flick over from your lap to Daryl’s and he’d have to be senile to miss the way your lips twitch into the smallest smile at the comment. Maybe you find it funny, maybe you’re grateful to have somebody watching over you - either way, he’ll let this one slide.

“Whoever did this, they didn’t hold back, did they? But you’re tough. Looks like the jaw is just some superficial bruising, but it might be sore for a while.”

No, he didn’t hold back. Not at all - you can still feel the pull of your hair and the impact of his palm against your jaw when you didn’t follow his directions quickly enough.

He asks if there’s anywhere else, any other injuries. Despite the fact you’re fully aware of the pattern of cuts between your chest and abdomen, you say nothing because the sting isn’t bothering you enough - it’s the least of your worries. When the only response he receives is a blank stare, Hershel speaks to both Daryl and Maggie, asking ‘If one of you could help her clean up, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.’ and gesturing to some clean towels.

Focus seems to be a thing of the past as you simply sit and exist. Maggie comes into your line of vision but it doesn’t matter because you can’t feel anything. Daryl’s hand on yours, the mattress, the cold.. It’s all there but you’re unaffected, in an unfeeling bubble. Maybe you’re safe there, maybe you’re not. There’s no way of knowing anymore.

Going through the motions, you follow Maggie to the showers instead, because there’s vomit caked in your hair and you’d rather die than have someone else ‘clean’ you with a towel again, so you opt for the constant stream of water instead.

‘Stay?’ was all you’d managed to rasp out from your bruised throat, and Daryl followed immediately with a nod, sitting outside the shower door with Maggie as they waited.

Maggie sits with clean clothes - baggy, dark colours. No bra. Daryl dug out a clean pair of the socks you loved as if they would be a magic touch, like they would heal you immediately. Maybe he hoped they would.

“The water might open up those cuts on her chest, dependin’ on how deep they are. Might need you to help me convince her to get stitches.”

The fact that you even have cuts, even a single cut makes his blood boil. He doesn’t fully understand what Maggie’s asking though - there’s nothing he could do differently to her, or Hershel. Maggie would disagree, though. Everybody in the prison would disagree.

“She’s struggling, Daryl. I think she’s gonna be leanin’ on you after this. She’s strong, and we all know it - stronger than most of us. But this is a different kind of pain.”

She’s leaning in just a little closer to Daryl to emphasize her point. Maggie’s always hoped you two would find a deeper connection with each other, been waiting for it to happen. It was inevitable. She’s heartbroken with the circumstances and she doesn’t pray as much as she used to, but there’ll be quiet prayers uttered from her bunk tonight - prayers for healing and connection and love, despite the anger in her heart at God.

“What’re ya telling me for?”

You are strong and he knows it, he’s witnessed it daily ever since you met.

“She looks at you different, Daryl. She’s already wanting you around a whole lot more than she wants anyone else around, she must feel safe with you.”

Chewing at his lip, he wants that to be true. He wants to be safe for you, he always has, because you’re safe for him, and it’s not a feeling he was familiar with before meeting you - there was a pull that couldn’t be ignored, a pull that was even stronger now.

“How is she?”

Rick joins then, sitting opposite your two guards.

“She’s been better. Broken nose, but she doesn’t want Daddy to fix it. Bruised jaw.. Saw some bruises on her back. Her wrists are pretty raw, too. Might need stitches on a few of the cuts on her chest, but we’ll only be able to tell when she’s cleaned up.”

Rick only nods, grateful you’re able to stand up long enough to take a shower.

“More worried about her head. Mentally, I mean. I don’t know exactly what she went through, but I think we’ve all got a good idea based on what y’all saw. She’s gonna need time.”

She tells the men about ‘traumatic shock, and how it’s similar to PTSD but different. She was so zoned out Rick, she was just starin’ at the wall. Helped her out of her clothes ‘cause she just couldn’t, and I wouldn’t expect her to be alright after today either. There was a literal handprint on the back of her neck..”

Rick can only bring himself to nod, but the information makes his heart hurt. He makes eye contact with Daryl, where there seems to immediately be an understanding between the two men - The Governor, and anybody involved will pay a heavy price, tenfold what you’ve been forced to feel.

When the shower shuts off, Maggie heads back inside with the clean clothes, guiding you to your cell to inspect your now clean injuries.

////

The night drags and counting sheep does nothing to help. It’s been hours and the pattern of the springs of the bunk above are ingrained in your mind in an attempt to keep your thoughts on anything but him. You bounce between thoughts, memories, people and events but nothing’s powerful enough to keep the feeling of his hands or the whispering against his ear away. It’s exhausting but overstimulating.

The metal frame of the squeaky bed is too hostile and the rusty shade grey is far too similar to the cold Woodbury walls and it’s making you want to crawl out of your own skin, and the silence within the cell block is so awful you’d swear it’s giving you double vision. It’s all so cold and the stupid

mattress is suddenly the most uncomfortable thing in the entire world - frustration rips through you, quickly turning into anger as you twist yourself into a sitting position and the thin blanket tangles around your calf, it feels like a hand grabbing at you and oh my god, anger turns into panic and it consumes you like you’re on fire, a lit match to sensitive skin and everything inside you is gasoline.

You burn and writhe, sweating as you wrestle against yourself until you hit the concrete floor with a dull thud, your spine taking most of the impact, and the pressure around your calf only increases in your struggle but it doesn’t matter because you’re being grabbed, but it isn’t just your leg - there’s more now, large hands around your arms and you’re gasping for air but there isn’t any.

“Hey, hey! Eyes on me again, c’mon, look at me.”

Everything’s so foggy, there’s a voice somewhere in the darkness but it feels so distant, maybe the words aren’t even directed towards you. It’s familiar but barely, you want to give the voice your complete attention but you just can’t because your heart feels like it’s in your throat and you need the grip on your leg to go away, it feels like the man who forced you to your knees - a tight, malicious hold that wants to hurt you again, but even your kicking and thrashing doesn’t shake it off.

The hands around your arm are so mild in comparison, they aren’t dominating or restraining, they’re just there - a light hold around the tops of your arms, warm. The voice is there again, shushing you and you didn’t even realize you were screaming until you have to quieten your cries to hear it for yourself.

“Shh, you’re okay. It’s just me, just me an’ nobody else.”

The voice is a tether keeping you where you need to be. You’ve never heard a southern accent so soft yet so authoritative - it’s telling you again, eyes on me, and it takes all your strength to try.

Your dreary cell slowly comes into focus, blurry outlines of your bunk and the door forming hazy lines in your vision. It’s Daryl - you know that now. He’s the only person in the world to ever be so patient with you, always the first by your side. It’s like he can read your mind, he’s so tuned into you it’s ridiculous, like you’re both on the same wavelength, harmonious even on a bad day.

He watches your eyes slowly come into focus and he makes a point to breathe slowly, albeit somewhat dramatically, in the hopes you follow his lead - and you do. His hands slide down from your biceps to your forearms where they rest just above your wounded wrists, hovering slightly. He held your hand earlier because you wanted him to so he prays this is okay, that his calloused fingers don’t feel uncomfortable against your skin or that he isn’t crossing a line. He wants- no, needs you to feel him, to understand that his touch is, and always will be harmless. When he sees no fear in your eyes and feels you steady beneath him, he lets his hands fully rest around the curve of your forearm.

“It’s just you an’ me in here, ya understand?”

You respond with a nod between shaky breaths, but his raised eyebrows tell you it’s inadequate. He waits because he needs to hear you say it, needs to know that you can distinguish between the cloud of anxiety fogging your mind and reality.

Patient. He’s so patient as he sits cross-legged on the floor of your barely lit cell, giving you all the time in the world to come back to him. He feels your pulse calm beneath his grip, a slowing beat under cold but clammy skin, hears your breathing even out until it matches his. You’re looking at him in such a daze and you look so exhausted - dark circles and the bruising at your jaw a daunting contrast against your skin, he wants to brush it all away with his thumb until there’s nothing left except unblemished skin - to be the reason you don’t hurt anymore.

“Tell me ya understand. Need to hear it.”

His words are demands but he says them so softly, and the way he’s looking at you makes you feel so good, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. The blue of his eyes is so him, so clear as he watches you behind unkempt waves and he acts as an achor, and all you can do is be still.

“I understand.”

The words sound so tired as they pry their way up the dryness of your throat, clawing their way up despite the tightness of your muscles. Daryl can see how much effort it takes to speak, and he nods in silent praise.

“Who’s here?”

He watches as you take a cautious look, a sweeping stare around the cell behind him. He gives your arms the tiniest squeeze in motivation. After inspecting every outline and every wall, you answer.

“Me and you. Nobody else, just us.”

You echo his words because he’s right. There’s nobody else here, despite Daryl’s presence being so overwhelming in the best way possible it is just the two of you, hidden away in the darkest corner.

“That’s right, ya wanna tell me what happened?”

“It was- fuck, it was around my leg and it just, it felt like-like him and I just, fuck.”

You slide your hands out of Daryl’s grip, bringing your hands to your hairline out of pure annoyance, clutching a fistful of hair as he shifts his gaze towards your outstretched legs where he understands immediately, nimble fingers unraveling the sheet around the bottom of your calf, letting it fall to the floor. Like it was so simple.

This is so fucking annoying, is this the life you’re sentenced to now? Crying over a sheet?

Weakness, is that what this is?

Conflicting emotions muddle together in a hazy barrier, separating fact from fiction.

Daryl’s looking at you so softly, eyebrows raised ever so slightly from his usual scowl and it changes his face entirely, and you wonder what you’ve done to deserve having his eyes on you so attentively, so caringly. He should be asleep, it’s the middle of the night, and he’s always the first one up every morning but you can’t bring yourself to send him away - not yet, anyway.

Guilt joins your already mixed emotions, because Daryl’s such a powerhouse, yet you’re here keeping the man who does so much awake for no good reason. Clutching tighter, you tug at the strands of hair still in your grasp until your scalp burns in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the cesspit of the direction of your thoughts.

“I’m okay.”

Too quick. Too unbelievable. Try again.

Loosening your grip, your hands fall into your lap in a fidgety attempt to look sane. People who are genuinely okay don’t pull at their hair, and it’s difficult but you manage.

Inhale. Exhale.

“I’m fine, really. It just- it was too similiar to, y’know.”

“Nah, I don’t know. Ya wanna talk to me about it?”

He truly doesn’t know. He assumes, but a million different things could have happened while you were captive, and he doesn’t want to assume wrong. There’s no guessing game when it comes to trauma.

“Not tonight.”

He wants you to talk about what happened - he’s always been somebody to bottle everything up inside and suffer because of it. He’s hauled memories and scars for as long as he can remember and he’ll be damned if he lets you do the same. It’s too damaging, too corrosive to carry alone and he knows that better than anyone. ‘Not tonight’ is good enough for him because it’s not a ‘never’, it’s simply ‘later’, and if that’s what you want then he’ll take it - he’d take anything you gave him.

Forcing the corners of your lips into a smile, you want to show Daryl you’re okay enough to survive the night. Daryl sees right through it - it’s the most insincere smile he’s ever seen in his life, especially when your eyes tell a completely different story.

“Okay. Not tonight.”

Sitting back, he gives you some space to acclimatize, to breathe.

He asks if you want him to stay the night on top bunk, which you decline. You convince yourself you’d be awful company because at times you don’t even feel like you exist. Other times you just want to cry and pace around your cell, and you don’t want to disturb him more than you already have.

‘I’ll be just in that guard room out here, ya know the one. Just yell if ya need me, okay?’ He tells you, emphasizing with a ‘M’ serious, ya come get me if somethin’ don’t feel right.’ as he stands in the doorway, hesitant to leave you alone.

After convincing (lying to him) that you’ll be okay, you spend most of the night cleaning your weapons and pacing the confined space of the cell that’s completely miserable. Too dark, too lonely.

Daryl finds you before dawn. He’d watched you during the night as you dragged your thin mattress from the creaky bed, out into the walkway outside your door. He was moments away from coming over, to ask what you were doing before he saw you simply lay down with your back against the wall. You had to have a different view, a different environment before you lost you mind. Hauling the mattress was easy even if you did have a headache afterwards, but the open space just felt so much better - windows, even with the discoloured bars, they were a blessing with the dark treetops in the distance. It was just a little bit easier out here, so there you sat until dawn.

In the morning, Daryl heads out, but not before checking in on you. He checks your nose and your jaw with delicate prompting, telling you to get some sleep ‘for me, please?’ even though you both know you won’t.

While Daryl’s gone, you find yourself trying so hard to exist and it’s difficult. Everybody’s trying so hard to distract you, to interact with you and give you something else to think about - and you’re grateful, but it’s so obvious. Beth talks to you the most and it’s nice, there’s no pity or questions, she just talks like she always does and although your answers are lacklustre she doesn’t complain.

“Ya alright?”

His voice takes you by surprise. There’s packs of candy in his arms, and a small, pink, fleece blanket that he places on the table, which Beth grabs. She excuses herself, telling you she’s going to give the newborn that’s currently asleep in Carol’s arms the new blanket.

“Yeah, just a bit tired but I’m okay.”

You look tired. Truly tired, it physically hurts him to see the dark shadows creeping into your face, but he knows the bruising isn’t helping your overtired features. He tries to convince himself it’s the lighting or a bad angle - the shades of purple almost look black beneath and around your inner eye, and your jaw isn’t much better.

“Hm, did ya eat?”

“There’s stew over there, did you eat??”

So, no, you didn’t eat.

It’s not quite a feeling of nausea or needing to vomit, yet it’s something more than just a ‘lack of appetite’. You don’t have a logical explanation, and you don’t try to come up with one, either.

“I’ll get some later.”

Any other day, you’d both be first in line for any meals going, relishing in the game you’d managed to catch earlier in the day. There was always a satisfaction verging on pride when you’d bring anything back, which was almost every time you and Daryl went out together. The teamwork you both shared was striking, celebrated amongst the group.

“Promise?”

Pointing his nose into the air is all the confirmation you seem to be getting, but you take it.

“What is it, are you okay?”

He’s alternating between chewing on his bottom lip, and his thumb.

“Got somethin’ to show ya.”

There’s no eye contact with his words, in fact there’s the opposite - is he.. Nervous?

Twiddling with his crossbow and biting his lip, the ground must suddenly be very interesting because it’s all he’s looking at now.

“Really? What is it?”

“Wanna see ya eat somethin’ first.”

“I already.. Fine.”

You change your course when you see the raised eyebrow. Knowing fully well he knows you’re lying, you make your way over to grab a bowl of the still hot stew, sulking as you swallow it down.

He’s quiet as he leads you outside, pebbles crunching beneath you as you make your way through the humidity towards a lone guard tower. His nerves make you nervous as you walk up the stairs behind him, but you’re so curious.

“It aint a tree house, but I know ya ain’t been sleepin’, so, uh..”

The door is held open for you at the top of the stairs, expecting to see yet another drab, cold guard tower.

“Daryl.. Oh my God.”

Oh my God.

It’s a guard tower - but it’s not drab, and it certainly isn’t cold. It’s colourful and homely and a chill runs up your spine from the thought that went into this - into the transformation he’s created because it’s wonderful. You were in this one just a few weeks ago. Rick wanted somebody to join him to finish clearing the area and the guard tower itself, and he’d asked you ‘Saw one of them in full protective gear, and I want your good aim for the job’ so you did without hesitation. There were some guns, some ammo, you’d told the group. Forgetting to tell them you’d peeled the gun from a grey corpse, the barrel aiming towards his own jaw was simply an accident.

There was no trace of that incident, now. Anything worth taking was with the group in the main prison, and the walls were.. Fluffy. Cracked windows were now draped with thick blankets acting as curtains, the floor almost entirely covered with similar fabrics and pillows in every colour. It was an absolute eyesore and you loved it.

“You did this?”

Disbelief has your mouth agape. Appreciation has you walking around, fingers tracing everything you can touch. Even the scruffier blankets feel nice, but those are over the windows, cloaking you from the afternoon sun. Tip-toeing around, you lean down to admire the absolute pile of softness at your feet. There’s so many. Light blue and knitted. Multicolour patchwork that’s just a little bit itchy to touch. Pale yellow, crocheted with thick, silky yarn.

Daryl nods with a grunt, using the excuse of chewing the nail on his thumb.

“This is.. Amazing. So amazing. The cell just, doesn’t work for me right now. I miss sleeping so badly, my eyeballs hurt. This is really for me?”

This feels magical - nobody’s ever gone to so much effort for you. There are tall candles standing atop the control panel with a box of matches right beside them, ready for nightfall.

“Course, can’t have ya in that cell right now. I ain’t like it, either. Found a Hobby Lobby while I had the car today. Didn’t know what half the shit was in there.”

You make a mental promise to pay him back tenfold. He broke into a Hobby Lobby for the sake of a few hours sleep, all for you. You knew he was soft for you, but this? Images of him lugging armfulls of fabric into the back of the beaten up little car flood your mind and you can’t help but smile at him.

When you’re done admiring, you head back into the prison to keep busy. Carol and Beth are experimenting with some of the prison supplies for dinner, so you try to be productive until Hershel pulls you to the side, to check in. He asks how you’re feeling, how you’re holding down food, sleeping, pain on a scale of one to 10.. Hershel knows you’re lying with most of your answers - you’re stubborn, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself and your situation, so he lets you go after reminding you he’s always available to talk to.

Daryl subtly observes how you play with your food, but still thankful you’ve managed some. Pushing re-hydrated mashed potato around your plate with heavy eyes and an orange glow from the fire, he’s trying to not stare but his efforts are in vain because he can’t help but shift his gaze to you, wanting to make sure T-Dog isn’t sitting too close, or that your wrists aren’t hurting too much even though he watches how you occasionally rub the tender skin.

While dinner gets cleared up, you make your way over to the archer who’s adjusting the string of his crossbow with a furrowed eyebrow.

“Busy?”

He finishes twiddling with a gruff ‘Nah’, standing to join you, crossbow in hand.

Good. You’ve wanted to slip away since the group gathered together. There’s so much love for every single individual sat around the log cabin fire Daryl built, but there were moments you were filled with exhaustion, craving peace and chunky knitted blankets instead. You adored when Beth sang, when Rick’s beautiful daughter cooed and the excitement that came with having an actual meal with friendships that were essentially family ties.

But not tonight.

Linking your fingers with his, Daryl doesn’t even consider protesting as you gently pull him behind you towards your little safe haven. As you walk, you miss the sympathetic smile from Maggie, and the one full of hope from Beth.

Once inside, Daryl tells you he can sit outside and guard, but you’re quick to remind him he can do that from the inside, too. There’s anxiety in your thoughts, nerves from wondering if those men will find you again. Find your camp, your people, Daryl. It occupies a dark, weary corner of your mind that you’re desperate to not think about for one night, you’re simply craving peace and rest. Daryl sits facing the door, quietly continuing his mission with his crossbow.

“You should lie down, too. Only one of us needs dark circles this bad, and I’m already claiming it.”

He scoffs, but oh how he loves hearing you tease. The playful edge in your voice sounds spent and dreary, but it’s still there and it sparks an entire new wave of thankfulness and admiration through his soul - feels it so deeply as he watches you gather a handful of fabric, clutching it by your chest like a child would a comforter.

He tells you he will, that he just needs to finish fixing this one part first. It’s a blatant lie - what he means is, he’s waiting to make sure you actually get some sleep. Actual rest. Not only do you deserve it, but you need it at this point. Your voice is barely above a whisper when you tell him ‘don’t take too long, okay?’ The room is so dark but you’re still so bright for him. He’s still not over the fact that somebody could willingly hurt you, someone so honest, so selfless - he can control his anger right now, mostly grateful you’re here in his company.

It takes a little while until you seem settled, when you toss and turn just a little bit less, only then does he close his eyes for just a moment, back still against the wall ready to defend against anyone who dares try to disturb you tonight.

Everything’s so bright tonight - the stars and the moon look like they’re trying to lure you in, desperate for attention against the pitch black of the night sky, and the air is muggy but it’s a welcomed distraction. Another failed attempt at sleeping finds you bundled out on the balcony with heavy eyelids and a million thoughts, but absolutely nothing you can focus on, nothing’s distinct enough or sharp enough to latch on to, so it’s easier to not try - looking at the sky is easy, and you don’t have to try, so it works.

You tried for hours. Sleep simply did not want to be your friend again tonight, and it was so frustrating. Every way you tried to lie was uncomfortable for no apparent reason, and when you felt a headache forming in your temple, you almost screamed into your pillow before remembering you had company. Daryl was slumped, a thick yellow blanket draped over his shoulders against the metallic chill against his back, despite the blistering heat that had the entire group in a chokehold every moment of the day.

“Can’t sleep?”

You’ve been so engrossed in the sight before you - the stars, the moon and just how captivating they are, that you don’t notice the footsteps of heavy boots against metal flooring behind you and you almost give yourself whiplash with the speed you turn to face the source. Daryl’s stood just a few metres away, back leaning against the frame of the open doorway with tousled hair, concern hidden behind a sympathetic expression and a question he couldn’t stifle.

“No chance, apparently. I could ask you the same question, though.”

Rubbing your eyes as you speak, you turn yourself back to the direction of the thick canopy of trees. You can feel the puffiness beneath your eyes, and the fragility of the delicate skin - a prominent display of just how exhausted you are, and you sharply inhale at the throbbing sensation that pulses beneath your fingers from the bruising.

Was it his fault that you couldn’t sleep? Was he too close to your personal space, too invading? He hesitates by the door, already fumbling over words that haven’t even formed yet, chewing down on his bottom lip as his gaze lingers on your dark silhouette.

“D’ya want me to go? If it helps ya sleep better, I can-”

As much as he wants to stay, if you need to be alone he’ll go - he’d find an excuse to be somewhat close, maybe he’d patrol the fences or collect some firewood, but not behind thick walls because he wouldn’t be able to see or hear you from inside and you might not know it yet but you’re his responsibility now. You’re fully capable and he knows it - so powerful and stubborn, passionate and perfect and Daryl's never had a single doubt in his mind about your ability to fight or overcome, and he isn’t about to start now because it’s you, and although you don’t need anybody to protect you, he still wants to. Right now you just need some time to heal and he’s consumed by the desire to help - to absolve you of the pain you’re going through because you deserve better. He would take your experiences and endure it tenfold if it gave you peace, he would kiss away the bruising around your eyes with the gentlest, most angelic brush of his lips if you let him because he only exists to make you feel better.

The words die in his throat the moment you turn back towards him, because there’s a trace of a smile on your lips as you tell him ‘No, I don’t want you anywhere but here.. only if that’s okay with you, though.’ and Daryl can hear the way you second guess yourself, the way the second half of your sentence drips with insecurity - don’t you know he longs to be by your side, aches to be yours, to get you through the turmoil you’re currently trying to dissect?

You watch as he makes his way closer until he’s next to you, crouching down until his eyes are level to yours and he shuffles himself until he’s sitting next to you, legs swinging over the edge of the balcony. There’s a warm breeze and you feel yourself relaxing into the warm gust of air, letting your head lull backwards and your eyes close for just a moment - the night sky and warmth used to be enough to pull you into a nights sleep, so why isn’t it anymore?

Your mind flashes with memories - you can feel them, hear the way your friends would laugh into plastic cups and the crackling embers of a fire, a blanket around your shoulders and the way your body would relax so deeply into the shape of your hammock that you could have slept for days. The breeze feels the same and despite your closed eyelids, you know you’re still sitting beneath the same flickering stars. You’re so deep in the memory and the calmness that corresponds to it that you might as well be back there - then it hits you that you’re not. There’s no overflowing party cups and no gossiping around the campfire, you lost your hammock long before the world fell and there’s an absence of burning ashes lingering in the air, and although you could swear you heard the repetition of jokes and laughter so distinctly that it must have been real - it isn’t.

But there’s a slight smell of smoke, and you know it’s real and you’re not losing your mind and it smells so much like your favourite evenings that you take a deep inhale, then another before slowly opening your eyes, letting the memory fade out as you focus on the stars for just a moment.

Your friends aren’t here anymore, but Daryl is.

Daryl watches you, wondering exactly where you went. He’s so content just observing you, admiring the rise and fall of your shoulders and the strands of hair that move ever so slightly in the Georgian breeze that he just can’t take his eyes away from your profile, doting on how you look beneath the silver of the night sky. He’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life, and when you open your eyes and turn towards him, it only solidifies what he already knew because the moonlight is reflecting in your eyes just right, and out of everything you could be looking at, you’re choosing to look at him, and when a light gust of air sweeps a cluster of hair into your face, he moves on instinct.

He’s slow as he raises his hand, and he expects your eyes to switch to his moving fingers, but your gaze remains on his as he inches closer.

You catch yourself, resisting the natural urge to simply push the rogue strands away, instead you find yourself yearning for the simple gesture - and when his rough fingertips brush over your cheek, you find yourself leaning into the friction, the way his calloused skin feels so effortless as he glides the hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. There’s a pang of something that shoots into your chest so suddenly, but as daryl’s fingers delicately trail the shape of your ear, you realize what that feeling in your chest is - it’s not fear or dread, it’s affection, and it’s blooming so intensely it’s threatening to spill over through your eyes because you’re not scared, you’re something that you can’t quite give a name to, but it feels good.

Slowly, Daryl reminds himself. Every movement is steady and gentle, two fingertips trailing one after the other in tiny little shapes and squiggly lines just below your lobe, and he swells with pride as you quietly sigh, comfortable enough to close your eyes against his touch, so he continues - mapping the contours of your face from your hairline to the slight dip beneath your cheekbone, gently tracing the discoloration along your jawline. The touch is so soft, so barely there that it almost tickles and it’s incredible. You spend minutes just letting yourself be touched, focusing solely on being in control of your emotions and how this is special, how Daryl is special and how this is completely okay and he’s not hurting you and he never would.

The archer changes his movements then, using his hand to cup your jawline, hovering lightly over the bruising, and when you open your eyes and focus on him again, he repeats the motion on the other side until he’s holding your face gently between both of his large hands, angling himself in front of you.

“Let’s get ya back inside, alright?”

You’re so pliant and warm and soft for him, completely oblivious as you relax into his hands. He’s supporting your weight with his palms as he traces his thumbs across your cheeks, every fraction of a movement is brand new territory, and he’s concentrating hard to not scare you - he’s not going to move until you do, because he might be the one touching you, but you’re in control, he’s not going to make any decisions on your behalf, no matter how small. As far as Daryl’s concerned, this is your world - he just lives in it.

You want to stay just like this, because he’s tracing over your darkened bruises with so much tenderness, and the damaged skin is so sensitive - the combination feels magical. Your gaze drops, suddenly you can feel the lethargy rest heavily on your eyelids because since when were they so heavy?

“Think you’re ready for a good night’s sleep, c’mon, let’s get you tucked in.”

When you finally nod, he’s careful as he takes one hand away first, giving you a moment to adjust to the lack of support, with just one last brush of his thumb from below your eye to your cheek before he pulls away, bringing himself to his feet beside you. Your hands slip into his outstretched ones, supporting you as you steady yourself against the dull thud of the metal beneath you, and he leads you back into the mess of tangled sheets.

There’s a moment of ‘when do we let go?’ when you’re inside, neither of you entirely sure because you simply don’t want to. Thick pillows call your name, and you’re the first to lower yourself against a velvety throw blanket, and in succession, as if he’d been doing it his whole life, Daryl follows the gentle pull of your locked hands, but he’s oh so careful to subtly leave space between your thigh and his - he hasn’t been invited to touch anything but your hand, so he doesn’t.

The softness beneath you is so potent you can feel it through your clothing, and although it feels like the most inviting thing ever, your attention quickly shifts from the gentle back and forth of his thumb over the back of your hand to the gap he’s purposely left between you, and you’re heartbroken.

Insecurity surges through every neuron in your body with so much ferocity that you feel absolutely annihilated, paralysed - your entire chest constricts, tightening at the sudden awareness of how feeble you feel, how damaged. Pulling your hand from his, your thoughts race with such force - why is there so much space between you? What did you do wrong?

You swallow hard at the lump in your throat, and Daryl watches the smile fade from your lips, and your knees pull up to your chest. He waits only a moment before perching himself by your feet, eyes on your downcast ones.

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?”

How can he sound so concerned, so doting when you’re so.. Broken?

He’s calling your name so softly, voice just above a whisper but you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to block him out. Even just his voice feels like an assault on your senses, and the small percentage of you that wants to listen is overpowered by the crushing weight in your chest, the doubt in your mind.

He waits a moment - caution at the front of his mind. He doesn’t understand exactly what just happened, but he’s going to fix it because he can see the way your hands tremble ever so slightly as they cover your eyes, hear the way your breath catches in your throat and he hates it. For every fear-induced vibration of your fingers, he vows to cause an hour of pain - no, a day, for the man who did this. He’ll slice off a finger for every cry he causes. He starts a tally in his mind.

“You’re gonna get through this, ya know that, right?”

He receives a shaky exhale in response, so he carries on.

“You’re gonna get through this ‘cause it’s what ya do best. You survive.”

Patient is all he can be right now, and he does it well. Lets you calm down, to process whatever it is you’re feeling right now without intruding, and when you finally speak, he can’t disguise the flash of anger that forms in the pit of his stomach.

“He- The Governor, when I wouldn’t tell him where my camp was, he..”

Inhale. Exhale. Again.

You can’t bring yourself to look at the man in front of you when you raise your head, quickly dragging your sleeve across your damp cheeks. Shame builds in your throat - if you don’t tell him what happened right now, this very second, you swear you never will but you need Daryl to know. If anybody’s going to know, it’s him.

“That’s when he cut my shirt off, that’s how I got the cuts on my chest. He left.. When he came back he kept asking. I would never, ever tell anyone about the prison, please trust me. I never told him.”

Daryl knows, and he tells you this as you pat the skin under your eyes a little too harshly.

“He.. He forced me to my knees, Daryl. I had to-”

You don’t bother wiping the tears away anymore as they ferociously spill over. Chills and shivers make their way down your spine as you recall the event and you can only imagine the pity - or worse, disgust that must be all over Daryl’s face right now. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t shy away from your confession, instead he dips his head lower to get your attention. When your red eyes reluctantly meet his, you’re surprised by his features - the lack of repulsion or horror, you’re astonished because he seems to have shuffled just a little bit closer, not further away, and he nods - there’s more, and he knows.

“I didn’t think I- I thought he was going to.. Until you came. I knew you’d come, but I was so scared. I was terrified. I fought back, that’s how I got the bruise on my jaw. After that he just held a knife to my throat.. Told me to be extra careful.”

Almost on instinct, your hand delicately touches the front of your neck, where you’d felt the sharp blade dig into your skin just enough to keep you docile.

“And you’ve been.. Here, right next to me ever since, and I know it’s stupid but when you sat down, you felt so far away and I thought I’d done something wrong, or that I’m.. ”

Daryl watched and listened as you spoke, heard the panic creep into your speeding up voice, saw you wince from the torment that was so clearly playing in your mind. Every word you’d just spoken had bile rising in his throat, an acidic taste to be quickly swallowed down because this is your ‘not tonight’, this is when he sits and listens. This is your experience to talk about, your trauma to unpack. He already had a vague idea of what happened - an assumption of your ordeal - and actually hearing it were two very different things. He can’t even fathom that you’d think he was even capable of thinking about you badly, that you’re..

“Broken, disgusting.. Patheti-”

“Hey, that’s enough. C’mere.”

He reaches out to you with open arms, and you sob an absolutely gut wrenching sob because Daryl’s always felt like home, and despite the voice in your head telling you how unworthy you are of his support, he’d never deny you. Shuffling into him, he cocoons you with his arms without a moment of hesitation, pulling you against him just a little more because it’s what he’s always done - he’s nervous, ready to release his hold at the first sign of unease. Instead he feels you press yourself further against him, tucking your head beneath his chin.

“Ya aint none of those things. An’ I’ll tell ya that every day if I need to, alright? Ya ain’t never, and never gonna be broken or pathetic. Sure yer gonna feel that way sometimes, don’t mean it’s true, and ya ain’t disgusting for what someone else did to ya, that aint how it works.”

Soft spoken words tickle the crown of your head as you take in the little patches of heat where his body overlaps your own, and there’s a warmth blooming in your chest like a bouquet. These words are so special, even more so because they’re coming from him, in a little hideaway he built to keep you safe.

Hearing your thoughts out loud forced him to voice his own that had accumulated over the last few days. Daryl’s no stranger to trauma, he’s masked his own distress and memories with a need to be protective - support the group, hunt, track, find shelter. There’s almost a responsibility that’s bubbled to the surface to prevent the people around him feeling even just a snippet of what he’s felt over the years, and he does it willingly, out of a love that he himself doesn’t even understand - and it’s a feeling that’s always been more prominent with you. He couldn’t let another moment go by with you thinking that way about yourself - ‘you didn’t do this, the Governor did, an’ your worth don’t change ‘cause of a prick of a man’s actions.’ Daryl’s careful as he tells you this, hoping and praying he’s choosing his words correctly. He mumbles into your hair that he’s ‘sorry about not sittin’ right next to ya, I just thought maybe to just.. I dunno, we were already’ holdin’ hands and I didn’t wanna cross no line. ‘M sorry.’ and although the tears don’t stop, the excruciating weight on your chest lifts just slightly, faintly circling his palm against your back to calm you.

“Aint nothing you could’ve ever done to deserve any of this. Nobody here thinks any different of ya, and I’m gonna be right here until you’re okay again, we all will.”

You’ve been by his side since you stumbled across their camp by the quarry. You had your sister back then, like he had Merle. Suddenly neither of you had your siblings, your best friends to survive the world with, but somewhere down the line you found solace in each other. You clung to cigarette smoke as he did your unfamiliar softness and the group could only admire from a distance - an admiration that only grew stronger, as did your affinity towards each other.

There’s a pause to his words, and before you can wonder why, he places the most delicate kiss against your hair. His stubble itches your scalp, and your heart flutters at the tender press of his lips - another source of warmth that has you raising your head and bringing your eyes to meet his.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry. I didn-”

You idiot. You didn’t ask, she’s going to hate you and rightfully so. His mind floods with regret immediately, waves upon waves of quick scenarios running through his mind - will you never talk to him again? Walk away from him, never to return? His arms relax around you just slightly, ready for the inevitable moment where you pry yourself out of his grasp.. But it doesn’t happen? The inevitable doesn’t happen, and when your gaze meets his, he’s surprised.

“It’s okay.”

Delicate. Fragile. Powerful. Understanding. Pretty. Soft. Gentle. Strong. Warm. Kind. Forgiving. Patient. Loving. Accepting.

Daryl sees every single good thing there is about the world in your face. You’re telling him that it’s okay, with your tear-streaked rosy cheeks and sad smile. Loss after loss after tragedy and you’re still here smiling at him, tucked between his arms like it’s where you belong, and he’s astonished when you re-adjust yourself until you’re sat across his thighs, but astonished would be an understatement when you willingly lean your forehead against his lips - innocently pining for the feeling of him against your skin.

Giving you exactly what you want, you’re so momentarily content with the control that you have with his lips against you, exactly where you wanted him - exactly where he wanted to be. It’s pure and beautiful and he doesn’t hurt you when he places a hand on your lower back to support you, nor does he when his other hand cradles the nape of your neck. Not forcing, not grabbing you or keeping you still - but there to hold you, like his only purpose is to be a pillar supporting a temple of worship. The man who hurt you - his hands were softer, free of calluses but malicious, whereas daryl’s are rough and dry from hard work, but every single movement towards you has always been filled with grace.

The same hands that pressed over yours the first time you used his crossbow, and guided you until you got your first successful shot on a walker. He’d been proud of that moment, teasing about how ‘you’re a natural’.

The same hands you’d babied from fights - scratches and burns, wear and tear from being in a fallen world. ‘M fine, stop wastin’ shit on me’ he’d tell you, and you’d always ignore him as you dotted lotions on broken skin and wrapped him in gauze.

Those same scarred hands weren’t to be afraid of, you’d refuse to be timid of Daryl. He was capable of so much and you’d seen it. Watched him take on dozens of the dead, unafraid to take on the living with dangerous weapons to protect his people - to protect you. He was there for others to be fearful of, not you.

But even if you were afraid, were cautious he would understand. He would hide his hurt feelings because they weren’t the priority here, he would back up and apologize and leave you alone with a single word and you know this. He knows trauma, acknowledges the healing that comes afterwards even if he never got it - he’ll sure as hell make sure that you do.

There’s a long pause before either of you move, you both simply sit and breathe and soak in the closeness and admiration that’s growing tenfold every moment. Your hands ended up resting on his hips for the most part, with the occasional play of the buttons on his vest as he continued to lightly knead into the knots of stress in your neck, his lips never wandering far from your forehead.

“Tired?”

He mumbles into your hair when you yawn, tears prickling your eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve slept in days. Yes, I’m tired”

Prominent dark circles are an obvious answer to his question, but he just wanted to hear the lighthearted teasing in your voice he’s been hoping for - not that you’d ever disappoint him. Daryl’s willing to stay up until dawn if sleep wasn’t going to take you, but he’s thankful at the opportunity that you might actually get some sleep tonight. You both agree to lay down, and you ruefully peel yourself away from him.

There’s an echo that rings when heavy, ill-fitting boots are pried from threadbare socks before Daryl’s shuffling, rustling blankets along the way until he’s crouched by your muddy shoes. Gesturing to your laces, he waits until there’s an unashamed smile and a giggle before un-doing the tangles, pulling them off your feet despite quiet protests of ‘Oh my God, they must smell so bad, I’m so sorry’ before joining you back against the pillows.

There must be a specific blanket and pillows store he stripped bare for your comfort, and you’re nothing but thankful when you come back into contact with chilled fleece and fluff. Pressure’s been lifted from your mind, alleviated just enough that breathing actually feels possible for the first time in days, and Daryl’s laying on his side, watching and cherishing the peace he can see between your bruises.

You join him, then. Rolling onto your side until you’re face to face, suddenly shy beneath his gaze. He asks how your nose feels - and when you tell him ‘it’s not awful, but I’m sure it looks awful, Daryl don't look at it, jeez!’ he can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. Awful is the least it feels - he remembers the day he broke his as a teenager. The man who did that to him didn’t apologise either, but he’s certain he was less bruised than you and it was tender for months.

Jokingly, you hit his shoulder and his grin kills you. There are strands of hair across his forehead and his eyes are creasing ever so slightly and you’re so flooded with the sincerity of him that you feel tears forming in your eyes again. There’s no desire to cry and you’re not upset, and you try to blink them away before he notices but he does.

You’re cocooned in a homely comfort as he grabs an extra blanket, bringing it over and tucking it below your chin, whispering a ‘thank you’.

“Look at me for a sec. I aint him. Gonna keep ya safe, want ya to know that.”

Nothing above a mumble in volume, but thunderously loud in promise. Safety and refuge abundantly thick in his words and immediately you’re curling in against his him, dragging the blanket with you until once again, you’re wedged beneath his chin, chest to chest because you want to feel his words, physically feel the shields that are his arms and hands. You don’t have to wait more than a second for reciprocation - he’s immediately understood, adjusting himself until he’s got an arm over yours and a hand cradling the back of your head. You tell him that you know.

It’s just perfect.

Innocent intimacy that just feels so right, so natural. He holds you so close, like it's a necessity, and honestly it might actually be.

Careful, gentle touches from rugged fingertips lulled you to sleep that night, and many, many nights after.

Hours turn into days, days into weeks, weeks into months.

Healing was difficult, especially when the war broke out. People - good people lost their lives. Friends were lost, blood spilled and the prison fell and things were hard.

Almost nothing was consistent - not the company, meals or housing. The sun would rise and things would change, the sun would set and things were dangerous. Daryl was consistent, though. The tips of his fingers against your skin were consistent, as were his lips against your forehead, your cheek, and one day, the very corner of your own lips.

He watched as you gained your confidence again, how you’d zone out just a little bit less every week. It wasn’t consistent. There were good days, and there were days you’d wake from paralyzing nightmares but he was there, ready to pull you against him - what’s goin’ through that head of yours, huh? He’d whisper with a gentle nudge of his fingers below your chin.

His presence was healing you, you would tell him - and he would always correct you. ‘Nah, this is all you. It’s you doin’ the hard work, not me.’ and you would always disagree, even if he was right.

2K notes · View notes

berryhobii · 10 months

Text

My Person(knj x reader)

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x black!female!reader

Word Count: 8K+

Warnings: fluff, established relationship but the first part is how you met, I’m not very good at dialogue but I tried to make them have funny conversations, (18+ but I don’t control what you consume.) Smut, unprotected sex(please stay safe and have conversations with every sexual partner you have!), vaginal sex, slight anal play(he sticks his thumb in readers-), squirting, rough sex, soft dom Namjoon, slight breath play, strength kink(bc look at Namjoon), spanking(he’s obsessed with reader’s ass), reader is dark skinned and curvy, reader also has piercings(ears, belly button) and dark stretch marks, mentions of micro aggressions and discrimination but not much. I didn’t have a specific Namjoon in mind for this except that he’s buff so imagine him as whatever you like!

A/N: Hi! This is my first time posting on tumblr. I don’t know how to work it very well but I’m getting there. If anyone has any tips, please tell me! This story is for all of my black army’s, more specifically my dark skinned ones. I love fan fiction but I hardly see myself in the stories. I don’t blush, my hair is tightly coiled, I wear braids, I have dark stretch marks and I know that’s true of so many army’s out there. No hate to any writers. I hope to be a voice for all of my melanated readers out there. Please enjoy my first attempt! Any criticism is accepted and feel free to pop in to talk! Thank you💜

Namjoon met you at a popular club in downtown Seoul. It was his birthday and his friends wanted to take him out to get “shit faced drunk”. Jimin’s words, not his. He wasn’t much of a drinker. Don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t a lightweight or anything, his college years had built his immunity. He just wasn’t very interested in risking his liver every weekend like most of his friends did. It still baffled him how Jimin was in perfect health. He’s seen that guy pound back shots without flinching and he could still stand up straight.

Instead, he enjoyed quiet nights in reading while sipping tea or cultivating his small garden. Call him a nerd or a homebody, he didn’t care. It’s what he enjoyed and that was perfect for him.

Still, he was young so of course he liked going out with his friends. He was turning 26 and not getting any younger. These were his prime years to go out and party like no tomorrow before his mother started pushing him to settle down and get married. Not that he didn’t want to but he wanted to find love naturally, not by some meet up that his mother would arrange. She’s already sent a few young women his way but none of them worked out. They were all nice women but they just didn’t click.

The music was bumping, speakers shaking the ground underneath his feet. The atmosphere didn’t feel like the shoddy bars they used to go to back in college. This one was more sophisticated. Honestly, Namjoon was expecting something more…..unhinged. Considering Jimin and Taehyung planned this, he was fully expecting strippers or maybe tigers in cages.

“Come on, I got us a section upstairs.” Jimin yelled over the music, guiding them through the bodies and past the multiple tables and other sections filled with other club goers. The club was packed with people dressed to the nines; Rolex watches, Gucci purses. And was that someone wearing a Givenchy necklace? He swore he heard Taehyung saying just how expensive that thing was.

“How did you get us a section? Isn’t this place super exclusive?” Jungkook asked as he checked out one of the bottle girls that sauntered past.

They reached the top of the black carpeted staircase—there were multiple sections up on the balcony, most already occupied by other groups. They all seemed to be having fun taking shots, dancing, and snapping videos on their phones.

The section Jimin reserved was behind a black curtain. Hoseok let out an impressed whistle at the decor. “This place is awesome. Nice work, Jimin. Who’d you have to bang to get us here?”

Jimin just winked and held a finger to his lips. “Don’t worry about that. This is about Namjoon. Let’s order some bottles!”

The night was in full swing. A few rounds of “necessary” shots served by scantily clad bottle girls, including the one Jungkook checked out earlier. He made sure to slip her some extra cash along with his phone number just in case.

“Make sure you girls give the birthday boy here some extra attention.” Taehyung said, clapping Namjoon on the shoulder. Those words immediately made Namjoon feel nervous. While it was his birthday, that didn’t mean he wanted all eyes on him, especially from a lot of attractive women.

One of the girls leaned over to pour him a drink, her mascara coated eyelashes fluttering at him and her red stained lips lifting in a flirty smile. He gulped down a block in his throat, suddenly feeling shy. This woman was very beautiful but he doubted she was actually interested in him. It was her job to act this way and he didn’t want to assume anything just because she batted her eyelashes at him.

He threw back a shot of tequila given to him by Hoseok, the liquid burning as it went down and his face turning but he felt himself loosen up a bit.

Hoseok must have noticed his facial expression because he let out a laugh. “Hey, remember last time you had tequila?”

Yoongi, who had been expectedly quiet during this trip, suddenly slammed his hand down on the table. “Don’t bring that up.” He glared, dark eyes staring right into Hoseok’s soul. Hoseok mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key. He was not about to poke that sleeping bear.

Namjoon laughed at their interaction. They all knew about that and no one ever mentioned it. Being a law major, Yoongi knew a lot of things about the legal system. A lot of things…..which probably meant he knew how to effectively get away with a crime….

He’d never do that though….right?

“Hey! Are you drinking tequila?” Seokjin exclaimed, drunkenly stumbling over to them. He was such a lightweight. Hoseok was too but the difference was that where Hoseok got quiet while drunk, Seokjin got loud.

Loud and loose lipped.

“Remember in college when both of you compared your dicks” a hiccup broke up his words, “took photos, and then accidentally sent them to Ms. Choi? And then she sent a nude back?” He guffawed a laugh, throwing an arm over a fuming Yoongi’s shoulder. If bodies could generate explosive heat from anger, Seokjin would be on fire right now. And if he didn’t die from that, Yoongi’s ice cold glare would surely freeze him.

Yoongi stood up, brushing his hyung off, mumbling something about whiskey before exiting the section.

Namjoon and Hoseok looked at each other before bursting in laughter—a confused Seokjin whining for his buddy to return.

All that laughter must have pushed his bladder to its limit. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be back.”

He made his way down the stairs, almost bumping into a girl carrying a tray of drinks on the way. Whew, that tequila must be getting to him. Ah, who is he kidding? He would have fully crashed into that girl completely sober. Does alcohol straighten out his normal clumsiness? He could test that theory later.

For now, bathroom.

After relieving himself, quickly since he accidentally walked in on two men incredibly close to penetration, he tried making his way back to the stairs. He passed the dance floor, seeing all of the packed bodies dancing and having a good time. He wasn’t much of a dancer but it looked like fun. Maybe when he got back to his friends, he’d suggest it. He knew Jimin and Hoseok would be down, Jungkook too. Yoongi had probably disappeared to the bar but they all knew he’d be against it.

Seokjin would……

Wow…

All thoughts about his friend’s willingness to dance were cut off when he caught sight of you.

You were absolutely stunning, a stand out in this overcrowded place full of drunken rich kids. The shiny decorations and strobe lights seemed dim in comparison to your effervescent beauty.

The silky expanse of your golden sepia brown thighs made him clench his fists, fingers tingling to sink into the plush fat. You crossed one knee high boot clad leg over the other, your ass practically smothering the little bar chair under you. Your cheek rested on your palm, deep brown eyes staring listlessly into the fruity drink in front of you. You were scrolling through your phone, manicured finger slowly tapping on the screen. Now that he looked more closely, you seemed…..down.

Were you alone? Why did you seem so upset in a place like this?

You must have felt eyes on you because you turned your head, locking eyes with him. His breath got caught in his throat. Your front profile was even more ethereal than your side; your skin was dewy and glittery, sparkling under the lights. Full lips outlined in black with a clear gloss over them, smokey eyeshadow made your eyes look even more captivating, and your hair was long and in braids he’s only seen in old school hip hop videos he used to watch.

You tossed your braided hair over your shoulder, the tips ending just below your thighs, eyes focused solely on him.

Your staring contest was cut short when someone threw an arm over his shoulders. He startled, quickly whipping his head around. His pounding heart calmed at the sight of Jimin.

Jimin leaned closer to almost yell in his ear. “Why are you just standing here? Let’s go dance!”

Namjoon nodded, about to follow Jimin but he couldn’t help but look back towards where that mysterious person was just sitting. Only to find you gone. He felt a slight pang of disappointment. Where had you gone? Did you leave? His eyes searched the crowd but he didn’t find you. He didn’t have a lot of time to think about it before Hoseok and Jungkook joined them, dragging him to the dance floor, their laughter almost as loud as the music.

Dancing had pretty much made him forget about you. While you were very gorgeous, he doubted you’d ever cross paths again. It was just a small connection in a club, it wouldn’t go anywhere.

He made his way off the dance floor, sweat rolling down the back of his neck and throat dry. He ran his fingers through his sweaty hair, letting out a breath once he made it to the bar.

“Can I get a water please?” He asked the bartender who nodded and moved to take another order.

As he waited, his eyes scanned the other people at the bar—the counter was a large circle that took up a lot of surface area, tall shelves held most of the alcohol, a draft beer tap area just in front of him.

Something moved to the left of him so he innocently looked to the side. And the alluring eyes that stared back at him caught him by surprise.

It was you again.

He almost couldn’t believe you had appeared before him once again, closer and looking directly at him. Now that you were so close, he could appreciate just how absolutely striking you were. Your lashes were long and delicate, a helix piercing in your right ear, a chain hanging from it that connected to the second piercing in your earlobe. He also spotted the cutest little mole under your left eye.

He didn’t even realize he was staring until the bartender placed his water in front of him, the feeling of the cold glass pressing against his hand breaking him from his frozen state. He blinked his eyes frantically, averting his gaze to his glass of water.

How embarrassing. He must have looked like a creep staring at you and the last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable.

“Can I get a strawberry virgin margarita please?”

He was surprised at how light and airy your voice was. It didn’t quite match your dark clothes and leather boots but he guessed that was just one surprise about you. He wondered if you had any more.

“Water, huh? You a lightweight?”

He didn’t answer at first. Were you talking to him? You must be. He was the only one with a glass of water across this entire bar.

Chuckling, he shrugged his shoulder, not noticing how her eyes focused on his muscles. “My throat was dry. Alcohol actually dehydrates you.” He instantly regretted saying that. Bore you with random facts, that’ll keep you interested. Clearing his throat, he motioned to the drink the bartender had just placed in front of her. “How about you? Drinking something that looks like alcohol without any actual alcohol seems more like lightweight behavior.”

That made you laugh, the sound hitting his ears and itching his brain in the best of ways. The sight of your sparkling teeth and the way your eyes crinkled at the ends made his heart speed up. You were captivating, he almost couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

It was your turn to shrug, index finger twirling the straw. “I guess I just like to feel adventurous while still keeping my inhibitions. Alcohol affects the prefrontal cortex first, the part of the brain that controls impulse, judgement and reasoning.”

His mouth dropped open in shock. Did you just….?

You bashfully giggled, eyes focusing on the designs on your oval, manicured nails. “Sorry. That was kind of weird to say, huh?”

He shook his head so hard that his neck could have cracked. “No! Not at all. I didn’t even know that. That’s really interesting.”

Your shy smile made you all the more endearing. “Is it? My friends say I’m kind of a bore.”

He smiled back at you. “Mine do too but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having a healthy dose of knowledge. Facts like that can save lives.”

“I’m y/n.”

“Namjoon. It’s a pleasure.”

Sitting and talking with you, Namjoon learned a lot about you. You were a 24 year old foreigner who moved here 2 years ago to attend Seoul University, a full ride scholarship under your belt. You taught yourself Korean through books and the nice lady at a grocery store from your hometown. You loved mangoes and hated ketchup, your favorite number was 4—and when you were 5, you accidentally walked followed the dolphin trainers at the aquarium and almost drowned. Now you were afraid of open bodies of water.

Namjoon also found you to be incredibly optimistic, charismatic, and sweet. He was absorbed in every word that passed your glossed lips, falling a little deeper with each shy giggle and tug of your ear that you did whenever you said something embarrassing. You were so adorable and Namjoon found himself wanting to hear more about you.

Currently, you two were laughing about a story Namjoon was telling you.

“No way!”

He nodded his head. “It’s true.“

You wiped a tear from your eye, laughter reducing itself to little giggles. “How do you fail a driver’s test 6 times? There should be a limit.”

“Yeah. The driving instructor knew me by name. My mom even invited him over for dinner when I finally passed. Apparently, he also had a bet going on with his friends on how many tries it would take me.”

Your laughter picked up again. “I’d make that bet too.”

“Hey, I’m not that bad.” He pouted. “I’ve never gotten pulled over or a ticket. I even keep both hands on the wheel.”

You leaned your cheek against your palm, much like how you did when he first laid eyes on you. This time, however, your eyes weren’t bored or sad—they were filled with mirth and light. He wanted to see you like that all the time.

“So what are you doing out tonight? Did you come with friends?”

He noticed how your eyes kind of dimmed, fingers lifting to tug at your ear again. A sense of panic immediately flooded his stomach. Oh no, had he offended you? And the conversation was going so well too.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Your eyes lifted to his, mouth slightly dropping open. “Oh! No, you didn’t offend me.” You waved your hands around. “It’s a honest question. I did come here with friends but I think they ditched me.”

He didn’t know these so called friends but right now, he wanted nothing more than to give them a piece of his mind for leaving you alone.

“What assholes. They don’t sound like very good friends.”

Your eyes casted to the watch on his wrist and then up to meet his eyes once again. “No. I guess they aren’t.”

“I’d never leave you alone like that. I’d at least have the courtesy to leave a text or something. It’s dangerous to go anywhere alone this late.” He didn’t even realize he was rambling or the frustration that was building in his chest.

A soft hand on his arm stopped him from his rant, his eyes meeting yours. The brown irises sparkled, a gentle smile on your face that made heat rise to the tips of his ears.

“Thank you, Namjoon. You sound like a really good friend. I’d love to have a friend like you looking out for me.”

The sincerity of your words made him feel all warm and dizzy. He didn’t even remember why he was upset anymore, not when you were looking at him that way. Not when you were touching him so softly and definitely not when you were so close.

A sheepish smile crossed his face, dimple indenting his cheek even deeper. His hand rubbed at the back of his neck, gaze going to a random spot on the bar. “Um….yeah. I just….friends should be like family. They should look out for you. I’d…..I’d look out for you like that.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.” Your hand moved from his arm, your warmth leaving at the same time and causing him to feel cold. “But enough about me, how about you? Why are you out to tonight?”

“It’s my birthday. My friends took me out. They thought I needed a night to let loose. I normally prefer to spend my time indoors or out in nature but they thought I needed to go out and party. It is my 26th after all, not getting any younger.”

You hummed. “Well, happy birthday. I hope you’re having a nice time.”

“I am.” He looked deeply into your eyes when he said that. Your eyes widened a little, fingers twitching to rise to your ear but you pushed it the feeling down. After a few seconds of staring, you coughed, reaching for your drink to sip down the remainder of it.

He offered you another smile. “May I buy you another?”

“It’s your birthday. Shouldn’t I be offering you a drink?” That little teasing smile and tone came back. You were too cute.

“You can offer next time.”

“So there will be a next time?”

“If you allow it.”

You bit your lip, trying to force down the smile that threatened at your lips. Damn, he got you.

Namjoon didn’t even realize how much time had passed until his friends came searching for him. Jungkook was balancing a sleeping Hoseok on his shoulder, Seokjin and Taehyung not too far behind and stumbling all over the place.

“We’ve been looking all over for you. Where’d you go? It’s almost 3AM.” Jimin said, the only one who looked normal but judging by that glassy look in his eye, he was wasted too.

“Ah sorry. I was just speaking to someone. Got caught up.”

You gave all of the conscious men a wave, flashing a smile as well. “Hi. Sorry I hogged your friend.”

Jimin and Jungkook’s eyes almost popped out of their heads at the sight of you. They looked at each other and then at you and then at Namjoon.

Namjoon coughed, noticing the looks on their faces. Jimin was the first to smile, shaking his head at you. “No, no. It’s cool. Hog him all you like.” He flashed a look at Namjoon that read “later” before smiling again. “Yoongi hyung’s waiting outside. Can you drive your car or do you feel drunk?”

Seokjin, Taehyung, and Hoseok definitely weren’t driving anywhere. And he’d feel bad if he let the others haul the family drunkies all the way home.

And then there’s you….

He turned to you, your eyes lifting to meet his and instantly smiling.

“Do you need a ride home? Or an Uber? I’d be happy to take you or request one.”

His offer gave you a weird feeling behind your rib cage. Shaking your head, you stood to your feet. “I drove here. I’m not drunk either. I’m pretty sure I can get back.”

“Are you sure? At least let me walk you to your car. The bar’s are emptying out and I want you to be safe.”

“I’m sure. Your friends look like they need you more than I do.” You looked behind him, seeing how the broad shouldered one was trying to lay a kiss on the pierced one who was balancing a sleeping one.

Namjoon waved his hand. “They’re big boys. I’m pretty sure no one would kidnap them. They’d bring Seokjin hyung back for sure. He’d talk their ears off.”

An indignant, “hey!” came from behind Namjoon.

You let out a giggle. “I think I got it. I’m a big girl. I cross the street all the time by myself.”

Namjoon ran a hand through his hair. He was sad you had to go. He really wanted to talk to you more.

“Do you think…..I could have your number? I’d love to see you again.”

You fluttered your eyelashes at him, leaning forward a bit to crowd his space. Like this, he could smell your perfume—fruity and feminine and oh so you.

“I’d like that. Maybe you can show me what helped you succeed on try number 7.”

He playfully rolled his eyes, cheeks hurting from how hard he was smiling. Fuck, you were amazing.

You exchanged numbers, you putting his contact as Namjoon 10 And 2💜. Him putting you down as y/n🐬.

You followed him and the others outside into the breezy Seoul air. Summer was just getting ready to leave but thankfully, it was still pretty nice outside.

“I’ll see you around, Namjoon.” The way you said his name made him want to hear it more and more from your lips.

He gave you a little wave. “Bye. Get home safe.”

“You too.” Tossing your braids over your shoulder, you gave him one final look before bidding his friends goodbye and starting your walk down the street. He watched you until you disappeared from his sight, letting out a dreamy sigh when he could no longer see you.

“Well, look at you, Casanova. Didn’t know you had it in you.” Jimin teased, clapping a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder.

“Yeah. She was…..amazing.“

Taehyung stumbled over, almost falling if not for Namjoon catching him. “Awwwww, our Joonie hyung’s in loveeeeeee…”

Rolling his eyes, he helped Taehyung stand a little straighter, bearing his weight. “Come on. You can crash at my place.”

And as Namjoon laid in bed that night, he thought about just how memorable this night had been. He’d spent time with his friends, celebrated his birthday, and met the most wonderful woman ever.

His phone pinged from his bedside. Leaning over, he grabbed it and unlocked it, a smile rising to his face at the name.

y/n🐬: made it home and in bed. I tried driving with both of my hands on the wheel. I felt lame

He rolled over, arm tucking under his pillow, phone illuminating the doofy smile on his face.

It wasn’t love. Not yet.

Not yet.

“What are you thinking about, baby?”

He looked up from his phone, attention going to your body as you climbed on top of him. You both had finished dinner and having a shower and were now getting ready for bed. He was scrolling through his social media, timeline bringing up memories from 2 years ago. It was a photo Jungkook posted, a candid shot of them—Yoongi and Namjoon were raising their glasses to the camera, Taehyung and Jimin cheering while clinking shots together, Hoseok was staring blankly at nothing and Jungkook was cheesing hard. He doesn’t even remember this picture being taken but he can remember how he felt that night. He felt so free and happy, being with this best friends and partying like there was no tomorrow. It was great.

He connected eyes with you. God, you were just as gorgeous as the first day he met you, maybe even more. Dressed down and barefaced, he thought you were the picture of beauty and allure. Everything you did enchanted him—even something as simple as when you’d put your chopsticks in your hand one by one or the way you’d shake your arms because they’d get tired when you braided your hair.

You were perfect to him. Everything he could ever want and need. You completed him. You gave him what he lacked, supported him wholeheartedly and genuinely, and loved him in a way that he’s never felt before.

You were his person.

He showed you his phone. You observed the picture for a moment. “Isn’t that from your birthday 2 years ago? But your birthday was last week, why is it just now appearing in your memories?”

He placed his phone on the bedside table, hands going to your bare thighs since you hated wearing pants to bed. Weird since you wore socks to bed, only to take them off in your sleep but adorable nonetheless.

“Jungkook posted it a week later. It was that week after he dropped his phone in that pond.” His fingertips lightly grazed over the dark stretch marks that stretched over your thighs and love handles. He loved every inch of you. You were so confident and sure of yourself, never letting anyone’s comments diminish your glow.

You let out an “ah” of recognition. “Oh yeah. He would carry his iPad everywhere.”

Namjoon chuckled. His friend was so silly.

“That was the night we met. Has it been two years already?”

He hummed and exhaled a deep breath. “Yeah. It went by so fast.”

You leaned down to press your foreheads together, one hand coming to rest on his collarbone. Your thumb gently stroked the skin there, playing with the silver chain that sat around his throat. You remembered when he had broken the clasp on one he had before and he was actually really upset about it. He said it was a gift from an old friend that had passed away a while back. While he tried to act like it was fine, you could see just how broken up about it he was so you wanted to do something to make him happy again.

So while he was away, you took the necklace to a jewelry repair store and got the clasp replaced. You surprised him with it the next day and the look of absolute elation on his face was enough to move you. That was the first time you had seen him cry. He hugged you so tightly, his warmth seeping into your bones and tears soaking your shirt. And you held him until he had fallen asleep, the repaired necklace clasped around his neck.

It was also the first time he said he loved you, the three little words sending you to cloud 9. You loved Namjoon too. He was really the first actual friend you made since coming to Seoul. Being a foreigner, people treated you differently. If not by their micro aggressions or blatant rudeness, it was how they ignored you and treated you like you didn’t exist.

The “friends” you went to the bar with that time were classmates of yours. They were nice at the start, always asking questions about your hair and about America. You were just happy to have friends so you didn’t mind. You felt like there was a bit of a gap between you and them. Your Korean wasn’t that good when you arrived so that language barrier often made things a little awkward.

And when they invited you out to a high class bar in the nicer part of Seoul, you were happy to tag along. You didn’t leave your apartment much aside from school and work. Mainly because you were still a little uncomfortable being in a new country despite living here for close to 2 years. It kind of felt like you were just drifting around and biding your time until graduation.

But you didn’t want to do that. You were in a new country! You could make new experiences and learn new things. You should be getting out and having fun.

So you dressed in one of your most adventurous outfits and you met your friends at the bar. At first, everything was going fine. They were taking shots and pictures and you were trying to loosen up. Eventually, your friends went to dance while you went to go to the bathroom. They were gone when you returned and you couldn’t find them in the sea of people.

That’s why you were sitting alone. You were waiting for them to come back but after about an hour and a half with no update, you were getting ready to leave.

That was until you saw Namjoon. Just from across the room, you felt a connection between you both. When you saw his friends come up to him, you sighed and got up to go to the bathroom. At least his friends looked like they wanted to be around him.

A few Korean men had approached you throughout the night while you sat alone and while you tried to be nice, they were much too imposing and forceful. That’s what led you to the bar. You wanted some space and maybe one more mock tail before going home.

Seeing Namjoon again was a complete coincidence. You didn’t even notice he was at the bar until you stood next to him, your eyes instinctively looking over.

And wow….

He was so much more handsome up close—tall, broad, and those biceps looked like he could throw you around a room without breaking a sweat.

Whew…you were repressed.

Those thoughts ceased from your mind the moment you two started talking. Namjoon was wholesome and intelligent, a little bit goofy and very very lovely. Unlike most of the men you’ve encountered so far, Namjoon wasn’t pushy or sleazy—he was a gentleman, he listened to every word you said, and he kept you engaged. It almost felt a little too good to be true.

But it wasn’t. You deserved it. And so did he.

“That’s okay. At least we know we cherished every single day.”

“And I’ll cherish each one after that.”

He reciprocated your wide smile, love and adoration flooding both of your gazes.

“I love you, Namjoon.”

“And I love you.”

Your lips met in a sensual kiss. You melted further into his hold, your chests pressing against one another. His thumbs rubbed at where your panties sank into your plush hips, tilting his chin so that he could kiss you deeper.

It didn’t take long for you to start moving your hips cover his crotch, sweats being your only barrier.

He pulled away from you, both of you panting, gazes locked and stirring with desire.

“You aren’t tired from my birthday weekend? We barely made our reservation.” Namjoon recalled.

You snorted, lifting back up. “If I remember correctly, it was you who couldn’t keep it in your pants right before we walked out of the door.”

“You looked absolutely ravishing in that dress. Did you see your ass?” Delivering a swift smack to one of your cheeks and then squeezing the burning skin. He was obsessed with your ass. It was perfect for your hips and thighs, perfectly round and it rippled in the most delicious of ways whenever he slapped it. Not to mention, it filled out whatever you wore; skirts, dresses, jeans….You in jeans should be considered a world wonder. For his eyes only though.

You didn’t try to fight down your grin. “Me? Did you see your arms in that dress shirt? I was ready to ride you the moment you buttoned it up.”

Biting his lip, his fingers went under the band of your panties. “Why don’t you ride me now? Give me a demonstration.”

Your eyes darkened at the feeling of his hardening cock pressing into your covered heat.

“I’ll give you more than that.”

Leaning forward again, you placed a sweet peck to his lips before trailing down to his throat. You sucked and nipped at the skin there, careful not to leave any marks too high that would show over his collar. Good thing the base of his neck and his collarbone were open and safe for marking.

He let out a sigh at the feeling, body shivering when you ran your lips over his soft spot. Lifting up to study your work and feeling satisfied at the darkening marks across his chest, you began kissing your way down his body. He’s been spending more time in the gym so the flat expanse of his tummy was starting to harden, light abs beginning to form. You loved feeling the hard muscle, your manicured fingertips ghosting over them. He sighed again, stomach seizing up a little at your touch.

Finally, you reached your destination. Eyes hungrily taking in the large bulge in his black briefs. Your hand raised to rub over it, feeling his cock jerk slightly from your touch. Reaching for the band of his underwear, you tugged them down, him lifting his hips to help you. Once the stupid fabric was tossed to the floor, you got to take in the thick and throbbing cock in front of you—a lush pink tip with veins running all over it and precum leaking from the tip. Delicious.

Licking your lips, you ran your tongue over the underside, all the way to the tip where you sucked him into your mouth. His legs tensed up, sighing at the feeling. Finally.

Your tongue flicked under the head of his cock, his most sensitive spot. His hand lifting to rest on your head, making sure to be gentle since he knew your scalp was still a little sore from your new hairstyle. He remembers coming home from work to find you in the bathroom laying down your baby hairs. When he left that morning, you were in your natural hair, the tight coils refreshed and bouncy. He loved any hairstyle you had and he thought it was amazing that you could transform it into so many ways. Throughout the summer, you had been wearing it more naturally and on his birthday weekend, you installed a beautiful honey blonde wig that he really liked.

Now, you were in shoulder blade length boho braids. You had sat in the bathroom for hours following a YouTube tutorial, arms constantly getting tired and a few of the braids turning out a little wonky but in the end, you thought they looked good. It was a good try. And when Namjoon came home, his eyes brightening and compliments flowing, you felt even more beautiful.

And much like right now, you had given him the blowjob of his life that day.

One hand grabbing his shaft, you pursed your lips to drool spit on his tip before sucking him back into your mouth. You did that a few more times to fully slick up his cock, hand pumping up and down his shaft.

“Fuck. Come on, baby. Stop teasing.”

Humming around his cock, you took him all the way down, relaxing your throat to swallow him all the way. His back arched, the warm heat of your mouth feeling absolutely amazing. Lots of practice made you a master at deepthroating his cock. Before, you could barely go down halfway without gagging but now, you could take him to the hilt without flinching.

You bobbed your head up and down his cock, both hands digging into his strong thighs as a balance. You hollowed your cheeks when you came up, cupping your tongue along the underside of his cock. You wanted him to feel absolutely every sensation and god damn, he did.

His eyes he didn’t realize were even closed finally opened, head lifting to look down at you. Breath hitching when he saw you were already staring up at him. If there was one thing you loved, it was eye contact. The way your brown irises stared directly into his made him feel fuzzy all over.

That feeling in the base of his tummy began to form and he knew he had to stop you. “Shit, stop baby. Stop.”

You pulled off his cock with a pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Trying to regain your breath, you crawled back up to straddle his stomach, leaning over him again to kiss him. His hands grabbed at your hips, rubbing the skin there before traveling up your sides under your shirt. He tugged at the fabric, you releasing his lips to take it off—your body now revealed to him and it was the picture of perfection.

From your deep brown nipples down to the pudge of your belly where a pink belly button piercing sat to the swell of your hips. You were dazzling, the picture of femininity, goddess like. So many words yet not enough to describe you fully.

You were just perfect.

His hands ran up to your nipples, tweaking the buds and squeezing your breasts. You sighed, eyes fluttering closed at the little sparks of pleasure you felt. That pleasure went right to the space between your thighs, dampening your already soaked panties even further.

“Get up here and sit on my face, baby.” Namjoon’s deep voice ordered and who were you to deny him?

Climbing off his lap and to the side of him, he lifted up to help you out of your panties. The grey fabric was now almost black with how soaked they were. He lifted the clothing to his noise, inhaling deeply.

“Fuck.” He tossed them to the ground, dragon like eyes staring deep into your soul. His gaze sent shivers down your spine. He was so fucking sexy—hair messy and thick lips bitten red. “Get the fuck up here.”

You barely had time to move before he was grabbing your thighs and hauling you up to his face. You moaned from the movement. Okay so maybe you had a bit of a strength kink. Who wouldn’t when your man was 6’1 with biceps bigger than melons and thighs thick enough to crush your head.

And Namjoon knew it.

Now with your glistening pussy right above him, he could show you another part of his body that you loved.

Tongue swiping through your slit, he hummed at the taste. You were dripping, a single strand of wetness dripping down to hit his chin.

You grabbed the headboard once you felt his tongue graze over your clit, a light moan coming from your lips.

His lips wrapped around the bud, sucking it with enough pressure to send you reeling. His fingers dug into the meat of your thighs, one hand on your ass to hold you closer. His tongue lapped over your clit, the little bud pulsing under his ministrations.

“Ahhh, Joon….” You moaned out. He hummed against your pussy, the vibrations striking right through you.

A swift slap to your ass made you squeal. “Ride my face, gorgeous.”

Always a good girl, you adjusted your knees before you started rocking on his tongue. The rough texture stimulated your clit in the best way, the feeling of Namjoon’s hands slapping at your ass fueling you on.

Your mouth was dropped open, head tossed back as hot pleasure sparkled all across your body. That band in your stomach beginning to wind itself tighter and tighter.

Hand coming down to wrap in his hair to pull him closer, you humped against his tongue, clit feeling so sensitive yet so fucking good. Namjoon knew you were close so he moved his head with your hips, hands gripping at your ass hard enough to leave bruises.

“Oh my god! I’m cumming! Fffffff-uhhhhh….”

Your orgasm crashed into your body, pleasurable waves radiating down your spine.

He flicked his tongue against your sensitive clit until you shivered in overstimulation, sitting yourself on his chest. Both of your chests heaved, gazes locked as you came down.

“Ready for more?” You asked, eyes squinting and a teasing smile on your face.

He smirked. “I believe a demonstration was in order?”

Working your way down, you straddled his hips once again, feeling his cock press against your sopping heat. Your lips locked in another kiss, this one a little more desperate.

Reaching under yourself, you grabbed his cock in your hand, stroking him a little.

A hand came down on your ass, the burn making you moan.

“Sit on my fucking cock. Right. Now.”

His voice sent shivers down your spine but you obliged. Lining his cock with your entrance, you slid down his shaft—thick girth stretching you open in the most delicious of ways, your walls constricting around him.

Namjoon’s hands gripped at your ass, feeling like he would float away. Your pussy was so warm and squeezed around him so tightly. He’s had sex in the past but no one would ever compare to you. The way your body reacted to him, how your pretty eyes crossed a little at the feeling of his cock filling you up. He was obsessed with you.

And he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life.

Once he was all the way inside, you let out a breath.

“You feel so good.” He sighed.

You kissed him again, loving the feeling of his lips on yours. “So do you. So big.”

Your hips began moving against him, gaining a comfortable rhythm. His cock rubbed against your walls—you could feel him pulsing inside of you, the head of his cock reaching deeper inside.

His head fell back against the pillows, eyes closing as he focused on the way your pussy felt around him.

“Feel good, baby?” You whispered in his ear, sucking the lobe into your mouth. You moved back and forth against him, your breasts pressed against his chest.

“Yeah.”

Adjusting yourself, you began bouncing up and down on his cock, the wet slap of your ass against his thighs filling the room.

He slapped your ass again, using his hands to help you move against him. “That’s it. Bounce on that cock, baby.”

You moaned. “Your cock feels s-so good.” Mouth dropping open in pleasure, you began to move faster on his cock. The head was rubbing right up against that soft spot inside of you. That band was starting to tighten again. Only Namjoon could push you to orgasm so quickly. Just as much as you knew his body, he knew yours. You two were perfectly in sync.

“Turn around, baby.”

You whined from having to stop but you did what he asked, secretly loving how he bossed you around. Keeping him inside, you turned around on his cock so he could get a view of your juicy ass.

You started your rhythm back up, ass jiggling as it met his hips. Your back arched, sweat dripping down your spine and making your melanated skin glisten. His eyes were mesmerized by it, cock throbbing at the sight. Namjoon could watch you bounce on his cock forever. If he could frame it, he would. But this was for his eyes only and he liked to keep it that way.

Your hands found stability on his knees, leaning forward to bounce even harder on him. Namjoon’s hands spread your cheeks to get a full view of your pussy. He groaned at the sight of your sweet cunt wrapped around him, your viscous wetness soaking his cock, a ring of cream starting to form at the base.

“Pussy’s so good, baby. So fucking tight.”

You clenched around him at the praise, basking in his attention.

“Mmmmm. M’gonna cum again….baby….” You breathed out, head falling forward as pleasure consumed you. His cock was scrambling your brain, your entire being consumed by him. He made you feel so good, so beautiful, so utterly loved and adored that you could burst.

“Me too. Do it. Cum all over my cock.”

Thumb swiping over your puckered hole, he barely stuck the tip of it in before you were cumming all over his cock.

The feeling of your walls gripping him like vice was enough to push him over too. He spilled into your warm heat, moving you back and forth against him to ride out both of your orgasms.

But it wasn’t enough.

Before you could even come down, you were being tossed onto your back, legs being thrown up until you were folded in half. You could barely react before his lips were wrapped around your clit. His head moved side to side, slurping up all of the juices you offered.

“Ohhhhh f-fff-uhhhh! Namjoon!” Your head kept lifting to watch him and falling back into the pillow. You wanted to watch but just the sight of him between your thighs was enough to propel you to another gut wrenching orgasm. Your hips jumped against his face, his hands holding your thighs to keep you still.

He pulled away from your cunt, juices all over his chin and cheeks. The sight made your pussy clench, more wetness leaking out of you.

Keeping your legs up, Namjoon brought his hard cock back to your opening, pushing inside with no hesitation. You screamed at the intrusion, walls sporadically clenching and unclenching around him. Your lungs burned, trying to suck in air but he was punching it all out of you.

The connections in your brain were going all haywire, all of your thoughts absorbed by him and the feeling of his cock bullying your walls.

Namjoon set a punishing pace, hips pistoling in and out of you until you could almost feel him in your throat. His eyes found where you were connected, your juices and his cum spilling out in a messy mixture. Everything was so wet. He was slipping in and out of you so easily and it felt so good.

Your eyes crossed, mouth open as screams and chants of his name left you. His right hand came up to wrap around your throat, squeezing slightly—not enough to cut off your already sparse air but just enough for you to feel it. Your hands scratched at his arms, the burn fueling him further.

Namjoon couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were truly a sight to behold. He almost wanted to tattoo this image on his eyelids. Your pleasurable state was one of his favorite sights, right next to you smiling, your ass, and that confused look you got on your face that first time you saw a pink strawberry. Strawberries were red, right?

He could feel your walls suffocating his cock once again. You were close. Incoherent ramblings fell from your lips, chants of how good he felt and how close you were. His hand released your throat, both coming up to hold onto the headboard and hips slamming into you even harder.

“N-Namjoon!” Tears welled in your eyes, overwhelming pleasure and love filling your veins. You loved him so much. He was everything to you. He was your person.

Your orgasm hit you so hard that your vision went white, ears ringing and toes curling. This orgasm was stronger than your others and it felt slightly different but very familiar.

Your walls forced Namjoon’s cock out of you, a short burst of liquid leaving your pussy. He used his cock to slap at your clit, prolonging your pleasure.

“Good girl! Squirt all over my cock.” He praised, a slightly sadistic smile spread across his face. He loved you like this—when your pleasure absolutely consumed you to the point where your body reacted this way.

A few tugs to his own cock and he came as well, spurts of cum landing on your pussy and dripping down your ass.

He slowly let your legs down, massaging your thighs. Leaning over you, he pressed a few kisses to your temple and cheeks, whispering sweet words to you as you came down.

After a few moments, you let out a hum, lifting your weak arms to wrap around his neck and pull him into a kiss.

“Are you okay?” He asked after pulling away.

“More than okay. I haven’t squirted like that in a while.”

He rubbed his nose against yours. “Mhmm. I love when you do. It’s so hot.” His softening cock rubbed against your ultra sensitive clit, your body jumping and a whine falling from your lips.

“Stop.” You whined. “I feel like my pussy is going to fall off.”

“Well, we can’t have that. Why don’t we go shower and have some cake?”

Your smile was dazzling. “That sounds amazing.”

After you were done using the bathroom and cleaning up, you went to cut the cake, not trusting Namjoon with a knife.

“Don’t want you losing any fingers. I won’t be able to live if you lost those.” You winked, giggling when he gave you a playful slap to your ass.

While you did that, he sat on the couch and went back to his phone. It was still open to the photo of his friends. Liking it, he closed out his social media and went to the page he was looking at before he opened Instagram.

The bright colored logo stared him him in the face, that feeling of anxiousness rising in his chest once again.

“I sliced some strawberries too. All fully red, as they should be.”

At the sight of you, that pressure alleviated, adoration swelling at how adorable you were.

Why was he so nervous in the first place? He couldn’t remember and for now, it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was you.

“Pink strawberries are valid.”

“They’re confusing! It’s like, why are strawberries red but strawberry candy is always pink? Then do they use pink strawberries for candy? It’s ridiculous.”

Yeah. You.

Staring up at the building, Namjoon inhaled a deep breath, palms feeling sweaty. The drive here had been full of nerves. He swore his hands were on 11 and 3 this time.

Calm down. Deep breath. Everything would be fine.

A kind woman greeted him at the door.

“Welcome to Euphoria Jewelers. How can I help you?”

“I want to buy a ring.”

#bts smut #kim namjoon #bts #bts fan fiction #bts imagines #black representation #bts x black reader #namjoon smut #rm #bts fic

329 notes · View notes

wosoimagines · 1 year

Text

Hoodie - Leah Williamson/Reader

part one | part two | part three | part four

prompt: Leah and Reader’s relationship is still building up together. And more people are catching on.

warnings: none

words: 3936

(Y/N) POV

“Shit! Shit,” I muttered as I threw the clothes from my bag. I could have sworn that I brought the hoodie with me for this camp. Especially since we were going to be in New Zealand.

“You okay there, (Y/N)?” Kristie asks as she comes into our room. “Oooh, that’s a mess.”

“Shut up, Kristie.”

It wasn’t here. Leah was going to kill me.

“What are you looking for?”

“My hoodie.”

“Your US one is right there,” Kristie said as she pointed at the chair behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder to look at the hoodie. It was my blue USWNT hoodie, but it wasn’t the one I was looking for.

“No, this one isn’t a team hoodie,” I said as I shook my head. I had to find the hoodie. “It’s a forest green hoodie. It’s got patches on it. Been adding patches to it whenever we go somewhere for camp.”

“You mean the one like Sonnett is wearing?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, Sonny’s wearing this green hoodie. It’s got a Hellfire Club patch, an astronaut on a skateboard, a penguin, there’s a couple of memes.”

“Where’s Sonnett?”

“Why do I feel like I shouldn’t answer that now?”

“Kristie! My hoodie! It was a gift!” I snapped. I knew what the hoodie had come to represent for me. For someone other than her to wear it was wrong. “I don’t want anyone else wearing it!”

“Um, I think she went out to get ice cream with some of the others.”

I was immediately rushing out of the room. The last thing I needed was for any pictures of Sonnett to make it to social media in my hoodie.

“I can’t talk right now,” I said as I answered my phone.

In hindsight, I should have looked at the caller id, but I had been too busy trying to dodge the people on the sidewalk.

“Why is Emily Sonnett wearing the hoodie?”

“Shit.”

“Why is Emily Sonnett wearing the hoodie?”

“Look, Leah, she probably came into my room and stole it. I’m literally headed to the ice cream shop right now so I can get it back,” I said softly. I knew that it meant more to Leah than being just some present now. “I would have never let Sonnett take it. I wouldn’t let anyone else wear it but you.”

“You promise?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you. Not to you.”

Leah went quiet on the other end of the line.

“Just get it back, yeah? And you have to add an extra patch.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to choose one for you. I’m almost there, so I’ll text you when I get it back, yeah?”

“You better.”

I grinned as I hung up the phone. At least Leah was still going to be talking to me. I made my way into the ice cream shop and it was easy enough to spot the girls. They were the largest group in the shop after all.

“Give me the hoodie.”

The girls all looked up at me as they froze.

“Sonnett. The hoodie.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Hey,” I said as I slammed my hands onto the table. “It isn’t yours. You didn’t ask to borrow it either.”

“If I had, would you have said yes?”

“No! Because it’s my hoodie! And it was a gift! It means a lot to me.”

Sonnett grumbled as she started to pull the hoodie off.

“I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.”

Mal shrunk back as I glared at her. Of course none of them would, because I refused to tell them.

“Sorry,” Mal said as she held her hands up.

“So, what is the story behind the hoodie?” Sanchez asked.

“Nothing that concerns you,” I said as I sent a glare her way as a warning. I turned my glare back to Sonnett since Sonnett had been begging to borrow the hoodie since she saw it in my social media posts. “Take the hoodie again, and you’ll never step on a pitch again. Got it?”

Sonnett gulped as she quickly nodded her head.

“Good.” I smiled as I patted the side of Sonnett’s face.

I held the hoodie in my hands as I headed out of the ice cream shop. I made a point to post a picture on my Instagram story with the hoodie in my hands to show that I had it back. I knew that it might spark some new dating rumors since Sonnett had obviously been seen wearing it on social media.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You were supposed to text me that you had the hoodie back.”

“Yeah, I got distracted. Saw a patch in a store that I wanted to get.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Too bad that you’ll just have to wait to see it until I get back unless I take good pictures in the hoodie in between games.”

“(Y/N), that’s no fair.”

I grinned at the whine. It had quickly become a thing for Leah and I to grab a patch anytime that we were traveling for the hoodie.

“Did you get any new patches? I know you were playing in Milton Keynes,” I said. I knew how excited Leah had been about getting to play where she grew up. “It seems cool getting to play where you’re from.”

“It was amazing. I wish you could have been there,” Leah said. My grin only grew at that. I would have loved to be at the game, but I had my own national team duties. “The game was amazing. We won! 4-0.”

“I saw,” I said as I thought back to their game. “Still makes me pissed that Man Utd. refused to let Alessia transfer to join us at Arsenal.”

“Tell me about it. You know, I’ve been trying to get the team to replace this one forward we have,” Leah started off. I shook my head at that. “You might know her actually. She’s this really cocky American. Thinks she’s better than everyone else.”

“Maybe she is?”

“Oh, my God,” Leah gasped, causing me to chuckle. “It’s almost like I can hear her right now.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Leah giggled at that but I scratched the back of my neck. My grin had fallen in less than a second and was replaced with a frown.

“Hey, Lee?” I asked, causing Leah to hum to let me know that I had her attention. “You don’t actually want the team to replace me, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Leah assured me. I softly smiled at that. “You might still be a little too cocky in my opinion, but you aren’t that bad... Usually.”

“Usually?”

“Yeah, usually. You got a problem with that?”

“Maybe just a bit.”

There was a knock on the door causing me to raise my head. I looked up as Kristie stuck her head into the room.

“Hey, we’re about to check out,” Kristie announced.

“Thanks,” I said as I smiled at her. “I’ll be right down. Let me just say bye.”

Kristie nodded as she closed the door again. I got up from my spot on the bed. I was wearing the hoodie with two new patches on it. I started to move to grab my bags.

“I gotta go.”

“Yeah, I should probably go too. Kiera’s been bugging me to go out with her at some point today.”

“Leah! You shouldn’t ignore your friends just to call me.”

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” Leah said. I didn’t need someone else to point out how all the blood rushed to my face as I blushed at that. “And to tell you that you did good against Canada. I know you take those games personally.”

“Yeah, well, when they’re the reason you break your leg right before the Olympics, it becomes a little personal.”

“Yeah, but they’re always physical against everyone.”

“You’re more than welcome to put on one of our jerseys and play against them. See just how physical they play when it’s us out there on the pitch.”

“I think I’ll stick with the three lionesses on my jersey, thanks.”

“Yeah, whatever. Look, I really should go. I wouldn’t put it past Vlatko to leave me stranded to prove a point. I’ll text you later though?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did Katie give you this one?” Leah asked. I looked up from my spot at the island to see that she was pointing to the orange juice box patch that had been added to the hoodie. “Tears of my enemies?”

“No, but I’m sure she wishes.”

“Also, a QR code? Where’s it lead?”

“I guess you’ll just have to scan it to find out,” I shrugged.

Leah rolled her eyes at that. I watched as she headed back to the living room. It wasn’t long though before I heard the song playing through the house.

“Seriously!” Leah’s voice echoed over the song. I couldn’t help as I laughed at her as she came back into the kitchen. “You Rickrolled me?”

I only shrugged at it. Leah scoffed as she shook her head. She turned her attention back to her phone.

“Hey, do you mind if some of the national team comes over?” Leah asked. I raised an eyebrow at that. I had gotten back relatively fast, but that was mostly because we had a game on the 26th against Chelsea. “Some of the girls have tonight before they go back to their clubs in the morning. The house has the most space, but it is yours and I wouldn’t invite them over if you don’t want them to come over.”

“I don’t mind,” I shook my head. I looked at the time on the stove. “I was planning on heading to London Colney.”

“You’re going to train?”

“I usually do when I get back from camps,” I shrugged. My body had adjusted back to USA time while I was in the States and I usually spent a couple of days to adjust back. “I went to a different time zone. It takes a couple of days to get back to time here.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

I looked back over at the clock.

“Want me to throw something together before they get here? I could make some pasta and garlic bread in like 20 minutes tops?”

“You don’t mind?” Leah asked. I shook my head. I really didn’t since I knew that Leah hadn’t eaten dinner yet. “I think the girls would love that.”

“You know where the wine is too, so help yourselves. Just don’t drink it all,” I said, causing Leah to nod. I stood up to start working on the pasta. “Save me some so I can eat when I get back?”

Leah nodded in agreement and I grinned at that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I dropped my keys onto the table by the entrance before kicking my shoes off. I could hear the girls talking through the house. I figured that they were probably still in the kitchen and living room. I ducked through the laundry room to get into my bedroom without being seen.

I peeled my sweaty clothes off before jumping in for a quick shower. Once I put fresh clothes on, I could still hear the voices in the rest of the house. I threw my dirty clothes into the laundry room before exiting my room to make my way into the kitchen. Thankfully, none of the girls in the living room had noticed me as all of their backs had been turned to me.

“Hey,” Leah softly greeted me when she saw me.

I sent Leah a soft smile as the others in the kitchen had turned to look at me. I ignored the looks that the other English women sent me as I grabbed a plate before getting some pasta and bread and heating it back up in the microwave.

“How was training?”

“Good,” I nodded as I pulled the plate out of the microwave. I moved to sit at the island. “Burnt off a lot of energy, so maybe now I’ll actually get some sleep tonight. Thankfully, Jonas understands if I oversleep, but I don’t think he’d be too happy if you don’t show up on time.”

“Am I missing something?”

I looked up to find Keira Walsh’s eyes trained on me.

“I thought we couldn’t stand (Y/L/N),” Keira said.

“No, we can,” Leah said. I raised an eyebrow as I looked over at Leah. “I’ve been staying here with her since Jordan and I broke up.”

“Oh, hey, did you get the patches you brought back onto the hoodie?” I asked. Leah nodded causing me to grin. “I still can’t believe you wouldn’t show them to me when I got in.”

“I can’t believe you Rickrolled me with a patch on the hoodie.”

I rolled my eyes at that.

“Hold up,” Lucy said, causing my attention to be drawn to her. “That’s your hoodie? Leah’s been wearing your hoodie?”

“You didn’t know?”

“Shut up, (Y/N).”

“Awwww, look Captain England is embarrassed that she’s my friend.”

Leah threw one of the cloth napkins at me. I couldn’t help but laugh as I caught the napkin.

“No one ate in the living room, did they?”

“No one ate in the living room,” Leah assured me. I nodded at that. It was one of the biggest rules I had and asked Leah to respect while she stayed here. “I think they have wine in there right now, but no one ate there. I know how you feel about it.”

“Thanks.”

“So, you two are living together?” Keira asked

“Until I can find another place,” Leah said.

“Unless you just want to officially move in here,” I said. Leah turned to look at me and I shrugged. “It’s been kind of nice having someone else in the house.”

“Maybe you should get a dog,” Keira suggested.

“No. No way,” I shook my head at that. A dog was a bad idea. “Dogs need too much maintenance. And we are gone far too often. It isn’t a practical idea.”

“Then get a cat.”

“I’m good,” I shook my head. “Don’t even know how to take care of one. Mom was allergic so we never had a cat growing up.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on moving out anytime soon,” Leah assured me. I smiled at that. It was nice to know.

“So, are you two a thing?” Lucy asked.

I froze at that. Leah and I sure acted like we were together sometimes, but I didn’t want to push her with everything that had been going on with Jordan and I knew her breakup was still pretty fresh.

“Honestly? I’m just trying to make sure that Leah has someone right now. If that ever turns into more, that’ll be up to her. But I’m not going to take advantage of someone who’s hurting.”

The women in the kitchen went silent as they took the words in.

“Who’s fucking golden boots are these!”

I looked over my shoulder, but I didn’t actually know the voice. I just turned back to Leah with a raised eyebrow.

“Georgia. Probably looking for the bathroom.”

I sighed as I got up from my spot. I made my way to the room where Georgia was standing looking at all of the stuff that was sitting throughout the room.

“Looking for the bathroom?” I asked. Georgia whirled around to face and her brow furrowed in confusion at the sight of me. “Just one more down. And on the other side.”

“This is all of your stuff?” Georgia asked. I nodded as I shrugged. Sure it was all cool and everything, but outside of the medals, most of it didn’t actually seem that much to me. “Dude, you should have this stuff displayed, even if you are an American.”

“Yeah, sure,” I nodded. My worth had been tied to how I did on the field for so long that I just wanted one place where it didn’t matter what I had won. “Bathroom. It’s one door down on the other side.”

Georgia held up her hands as she started heading on. My eyes caught something missing on the wall.

“Georgia,” I said. She turned around to face me. “My World Cup medal?”

“I just wanted to look at it closer,” Georgia said as she looked at the floor and held it out to me.

I took the medal back as I looked at it. I sighed as I looked up at her.

“How about you go to the bathroom and then you can have a closer look at everything in here?”

Georgia looked up at me with a grin on her face as she nodded. I hung the medal back on the wall as I glanced at the trophies that were thrown in boxes. Some of them were probably pretty cool. I shook my head as I went back to the kitchen. There was no avoiding the players who were still in the living room.

“Everything okay?” Leah asked when I sat back down.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Georgia just opened up the spare room where I keep all my awards and medals. I told her when she gets out of the bathroom, she can look at them.”

“Got anything cool in there?”

I looked over my shoulder at the newcomer.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I shrugged as Alessia moved further into the kitchen. “I mean, all of my stuff is in there. I think Georgia was more interested in looking at the World Cup medals than anything else when she realized they were in there.”

“You keep your World Cup medals hidden away?” Keira asked.

“It’s not like I have people over. No reason to exactly have them on display.”

“Dude! Is this the Ballon d’Or?”

“Oh, my God! I swear, Stanway, if you break it, I will break you!”

I needed to pack it up so I could fly it back to the States with me when I went back during the summer. I heard the feet hitting on the floor before the person came close enough.

“What’s this?”

I looked at the medal that Georgia had in her hands. I furrowed my brow in confusion as I took the medal from her to look at it. It was probably some medal that was worth like 20 bucks painted gold.

“A youth soccer medal.”

“And you have it up on the wall with World Cup medals?”

“I got this when I was 6-years-old,” I said as I held the medal back to her. “That was my first season playing soccer. And I fell in love with it and the championship game where I won that was the moment when I decided that it was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.”

“So, why aren’t these up somewhere to show them off?” Georgia asked. I shook my head at that. I didn’t want to get into it. “There’s some pretty cool things in there.”

“It’s kind of personal. No offense to any of you but I literally haven't had a conversation off the pitch with any of you besides Leah and Lotte.”

“Well, if you ever want help putting them on display, give me a call,” Georgia said as she looked back down at the medal in her hands. “I’d be willing to help just because of how cool it all is.”

“Do not invite her to help,” Lucy said as she pointed at Georgia. “She cannot use any tools to save her life.”

I chuckled a little at that. I could handle myself around tools. My dad had made sure of that.

“Also, what’s that huge trophy in there? It says ‘State Championship.’“

“You do not touch that. You will never tell anyone about it either. Do you understand?”

Georgia nodded before she scrambled off back to the room. I turned back to find four pairs of eyes on me.

“In our high schools, we have State Championships for each sport. Think of it like the division you’re in is based on the size of the school you go to and the other schools of the same size closest to you,” I explained. I rubbed the back of my neck. “My school won State four years in a row. My senior year, I kind of stole the trophy? They never figured out who did it. And I need it to stay that way because I go back this summer to announce that I’ve donated the money for the soccer teams to have their own field that they don’t have to share with the football team and their own locker rooms. They’re not gonna invite me back if they know that I took the trophy.”

“Wow,” Lucy said. She glanced over her shoulder at Leah. “Maybe Leah shouldn’t be staying with someone who just admitted to stealing.”

“You would steal it too if you won the championship and then they announced that you wouldn’t be considered part of the team anymore because it came out that you were gay.”

“Oh, shit.”

I ran a hand through my hair at that. It seemed that I was just going to be oversharing with British players lately.

I got up from my seat and moved my dishes into the sink before cleaning them off. I threw them into the dishwasher, but since it wasn’t full yet, I didn’t start it. I looked over at Leah.

“I’m gonna go lie down. If you need me, just come get me. If I’m asleep when you go to bed, just wake me up and I’ll move to the couch.”

Leah only nodded as I moved to my room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Good morning,” Leah said.

I looked at her over my shoulder as I smiled at her. Leah sat down at the island as I plated up the food before I grabbed the plates. I sat one in front of Leah before sitting the other one next to her. I turned back to grab the cups of coffee before putting them by the plates.

“Sugar and cream?”

“Yes, sugar and cream.”

I moved over to the other side of the island as Leah took a bite of her omelet. I took a drink of my coffee before I started to dig into my omelet.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” Leah asked eventually.

I raised my head to look at her. I wasn’t entirely sure what she meant considering we had talked about a range of things last night.

“About... us?”

“I mean, I won’t deny that I like you, Leah,” I said softly. I guess if I was going to tell Leah the truth, it wouldn’t hurt to tell her everything. “I would love to take you out on a date some time, but I don’t want to be a rebound and I don’t want you to go out with me before you’re ready to. You were with Jordan for a while. It would be understandable if you need a while before you’re ready to date again.”

“But what if I wanted to go on a date with you?”

“I mean, if you’re asking...”

“Well, I am.”

“Then you’re planning.”

“Only if I can wear the hoodie.”

“I think that can be arranged.”

Leah grinned at that before she pressed a kiss against my cheek. She got up from her seat and moved over to the sink.

“I’m wearing it today. And I hope you’re good at arcade games, because the loser is buying drinks,” Leah said as she looked over her shoulder. “And I am wearing the hoodie all day today.”

#leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagines #leah williamson #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader #uswnt imagines #USWNT #arsenal wfc #arsenal wfc imagine #arseanl wfc imagines #arsenal wfc x reader

1K notes · View notes

selunesdreams · 6 days

Text

Chapter 23: Desire

Smut chapter from ongoing fic Forms of Imprisonment. Full chapter/story on AO3.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion (post-tadpole) x OFC

Word count: ~1.7k

Warnings: 18+!!!, smut, piv, oral, blood drinking, dirty talk, cumplay, slight fluff, preexisting relationship, part of a series (but readable without context)

A/n: a very specific part/scene was inspired by this post from @looneylolita and they deserve credit!

—

“You know, darling, I could do this all night, but it would be more fun if you were paying attention while I did it.”

Astarion rises from his position between her legs, where he’s been watching her stare and sigh at the ceiling as he’s worked his mouth against her for the past twenty minutes.

Celeste snaps to attention and blushes. “Sorry.” She squeaks.

His tongue gives a few final lazy strokes against her cunt before he wipes his mouth, glistening with her arousal, against the back of his wrist. The vampire kisses his way up her torso until he’s hovering over her, hands bracketing her on the bed.

“I know that look. I invented it. You’re a million dimensions away.” He cocks his head. “What’s troubling you, my dear?”

Celeste turns her gaze towards the balcony. “My thoughts are so demanding,” she exhales slowly. “I want to be here. I’m trying…I just can’t find a moment of quiet in my head.”

“Only you could overthink yourself into oblivion far enough to only casually enjoy my talents.” His words are mocking, but there’s a gentleness to his demeanor as he speaks to her. “If you’d like me to stop, darling, you only need to ask.”

“I don’t want to stop,” she says, frustrated tears brimming her eyes, “It’s just…everything is so horrible and I can’t focus, can’t relax,” she lets out a sound of agitation, “I can’t come.” She says and flushes with embarrassment.

“Oh, little love,” he says, kissing her jaw, “I’m acquainted with that feeling better than anyone. Just let yourself enjoy something for once. That pesky guilt of yours is getting in the way,” He reaches down for his trousers and unlaces them with one hand, pumping himself against her thigh. “And getting on my nerves.” He adds with a growl. She whines as the tip of his erection weeps precum against her skin.

Astarion sits up on his knees, baring every inch of his chiseled torso to her as he continues stroking himself. “Are you sure about this?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

She nods and he removes the rest of his clothes, returning to his former position over her, catching her lips with his own.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to say a word.” He whispers against her upper lip, releasing it from between his teeth. Her throat feels dry and all she can do is whimper in response, eliciting a smirk from Astarion.

He teases the tip of himself against her entrance. “But I will need you to look at me so I know you won’t wander off again.” He purrs the words into her ear and grips her face, the tips of his fingers pulling at her skin as he enters her. A gasp of surprise escapes Celeste and Astarion offers her a roguish smile.

“Is this what you wanted?” He feigns a pout as he works in agonizingly slow, yet powerful movements that rattle her with every push, eyes locked on hers with a dominating intensity. She arches her back in response and rakes her nails down his shoulder blades, causing him to tense.

“That’s my wicked girl.” He says with a snarl that turns into a kiss, bringing his mouth against hers as he thrusts.

Astarion had fucked hundreds of people before her, but it was kissing that had always left him hesitant, not the sex. The vulnerability of baring yourself in that way to someone. He could flip a lover over, turn away to escape as he did nothing more than service them, but the meeting of lips, the exploring of tongues in mouths and hands tugging and pulling and grasping…it was hard to fake that kind of intimacy. Not impossible, especially for him, but it took more out of him. More care, more energy. With her, it made his chest ache, his throat tighten with want. Need.

Astarion’s hands squeeze her upper thighs apart as he drives himself into her, while his thumbs trace circles and lines, feather light, before they roughly dig into her skin. Her moans become sobs of pleasure against his shoulder, hands desperately grasping at his scarred back as she draws herself closer, as if she could merge with him, dissolve into his very being.

“Celeste?” He asks apprehensively, a pang of concern in the pit of his stomach as her cries become more and more tortured. He pulls away, tilting her chin towards him so he can search her face for signs of genuine distress. Her breath comes in pants as her lips crash into his, answering with a demanding buck of her hips.

Astarion wraps her legs around his waist and pulls her closer by the small of her back. He lifts her with him as he leans back on his ankles, situating her in his lap between his knees. She takes over his rhythm, riding him as he peppers her neck and chest with kisses. Her fingers weave through his curls as she straddles him, lowering herself so he’s buried deeper within her.

He lets out a groan as she grinds into him with her entire body, controlling her own pleasure, tightening around him every time he bottoms out inside of her. Celeste pulls away, hands grasping his shoulders as she watches him. Astarion meets her stare reverently, as if worshiping her from the mattress. He finds one of her breasts and sucks at its peak, languidly flicking his tongue against her nipple, looking at her underneath lowered eyelids.

She melts in his arms as she feels a warmth at her core, her cunt clenching and dripping more of her own desire onto the base of his cock. Astarion releases his mouth from her skin and closes his eyes, appreciating the sensation. His deft fingers crawl down her stomach, a thumb finding her slickened clit and tracing delicate, then firm circles. She bites down on his shoulder, muffling a guttural scream.

“Now, now, darling, if you get to bite, then I do too.” He teases as he kisses the base of her throat. She bends to nip at his ear.

“Do it.” She rasps, and he throws her onto the pillows without warning, realigning himself and rutting into her with rugged precision. His fangs brush her neck, waiting for permission.

“Are you sure?” He breathes, fingers twisting themselves her hair, tugging her attention towards him as he searches her face for hesitation. She bites her lip and nods. Astarion shakes his head and pulls back and looks at her. “I need your words, Celeste.”

“Yes.” She squeezes her thighs against his hips as he drives into her.

Astarion hums in approval and leaves one hand knotted in her hair while the other returns to her center, teasing at her while he fucks her.

“I think you’re close, Celeste. Let’s help each other.” Astarion grins before his fangs find her again, piercing her skin without warning. Her breath hitches and her chest buckles as he sups at her neck. The mounting pleasure nearly sends him over the edge and he tries to keep from spilling himself as her walls tighten around his erection. When she clenches again, he knows she’s doing it on purpose.

“Fucking hells, Celeste,” he murmurs between pulls at her vein. Blood trickles past his bottom lip and his tongue drags a sloppy line up her neck to catch it. “That’s going to make me come, and I’d rather not do it alone,” he grumbles as he reaches her ear.

She cries out and he licks away the rest of the blood as he pounds into her. Her throat bobs, as if stifling a scream, and his lips cover hers to capture it before it escapes.

“What was that earlier about you not being able to come?” He pants. The vampire listens to the racing of her heart and the blood furiously rushing through her veins, sensing her orgasm approaching. She squirms underneath him, a whimpering mess as her climax finds her. Astarion finally allows himself release, groaning her name like a prayer, his forehead pressed to her shoulder as she mewls in his ear. They stay intertwined for several long moments before he pulls back to assess her.

Her cheeks are flushed as she gazes back at him. A smattering of blood on her neck where she’d bled more while he’d been fucking her catches his attention and he sucks his teeth and smiles.

“Oh dear, I’ve gotten sloppy.”

Her brow furrows, and her fingers fly to the wound. She stares as they come away slick with blood, glancing at him with concern. Astarion takes her fingers in his mouth and cleans the blood from them before rolling her on top of him, his hands eagerly gripping her waist as he draws the flat of his tongue over her neck, moaning at the taste of her. She grasps his curls with both hands and presses herself to him, her breasts flattening against his torso. Astarion’s hand ventures over her ass and back between her legs, encountering the wetness of his own spend seeping from her cunt. He slides his middle finger inside, teasing more cum from her as he laps at her throat.

Satisfied, he eases her back onto the mattress, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Are you still with me?”

“Mmm,” she sighs contentedly. There’s a tug at his heart as he takes her in. She’s stunning, all mussed hair and flushed skin, like a painting against the white sheets.

“I love you, Celeste,” he croaks, the words catching in his throat. His chest tightens with icy dread as he anticipates her response. They’d been skirting around those three words for days, repeatedly prompting arguments and slammed doors.

Her fingers reach up, wrapping themselves around his throat, exerting a slight pressure as she pulls him down until his lips hover above hers. Astarion swallows nervously, surprised by the shift in control. What’s left of his erection pulses against her thigh and he hopes she doesn’t notice his revived arousal.

“Getting sentimental on me?” she teases, a sinful smirk gracing her lips as she kisses him passionately. Sensing his trepidation, she breaks away, holding his gaze as she whispers back, a mix of understanding and desire in her voice.

“I love you too.”

—

Thanks for reading! Please like/reblog/kudos/follow/interact on AO3/whatever if you did? It helps so much!

Full story on AO3!

#astarion smut #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion romance #astarion #astarion fluff #bg3 astarion #smut #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate oc #forms of imprisonment #formsofimprisonment

45 notes · View notes

ghiradellidarkchocolatebrownies · 10 months

Text

STORYTIME: DO NOT FEED YOUR CLOWNS THIS!!

I volunteer a few days a week at a clown shelter. Earlier this month, a Teacup-Birthday mix named Kiki was adopted by a (seemingly) very nice middle aged couple, and we were very happy to send yet another clown to a good home. But disaster struck this afternoon when the couple returned to the shelter, wanting to surrender Kiki back to us. Their reason? She was not performing any tricks and had been biting them nonstop for weeks now. I was of course very shocked and confused by this. Kiki was one of the most playful and least temperamental clowns I had ever cared for.

I asked them if she had the proper environment, if they had changed her costume or markings in any way, if they were feeding her the proper diet. They said that they were doing everything right, and were following the care instructions we had given them. I usually give people the benefit of the doubt, but their story just wasn't adding up. And they were shifting nervously, and talking quietly to each other when they thought I wasn't looking. I told them to wait while I took Kiki for a checkup. As I took her to the vet's office, I couldn't help but notice that she seemed to lack any energy at all. When I tried to tickle her stomach (something that she normally loves), she snapped at me (Luckily, I jerked my hand away before she could bite).

When the vet examined Kiki, it was revealed that she was suffering from malnourishment and a button infection. I went back out to talk to the owners, and they continued to deny any mistreatment. After some more questioning and prying, they finally broke down and admitted what they had been doing.

They had been feeding Kiki a mix of mice and small bones (no problem there). But for her candy intake, they had been feeding her SUGAR-FREE candy. My heart sank as soon as I heard those words. No wonder Kiki had been so sick.

Every clown owner should know that (in general) Clowns need a healthy mixture of raw meat and sugar in their diets. Feeding them sugar-free stuff can be very bad for them and cause a LOT of problems.

For one, they will not be getting their much needed sugar intake. A sugar deficiency will lower their mood, make them more easily agitated, make them sick, and can even be deadly for some clown breeds (such as Birthday and Circus). As Kiki is a Birthday clown, she might not have survived another week without sugar.

Another thing to keep in mind about sugar-free products is that they often have artificial sweeteners in them. These sweeteners are not ideal for clowns, as most clown breeds have sensitivities or allergies to them. Simply put, most clowns' digestive systems are not properly built to process sugar-free foods. Feeding your clown artificial sweeteners over time can even weaken their immune system (This is likely what contributed to Kiki's infection).

The owners claimed that they had no idea that sugar-free candy was bad for clowns (very unlikely since the care instructions specifically list sugar-free foods under the "DO NOT" section). My boss suggested to them that we take care of Kiki for a few days, but they told us they weren't coming back. As soon as they left, we informed other local shelters about them and even posted on internet forums about it, as they may go somewhere else and find a different clown to mistreat. They clearly only see clowns as entertainment and nothing else.

We gave Kiki some cotton candy, and she's already starting to return to her old self. Unfortunately, though, this means that she's back in the system. There's no telling how long until she's adopted again.

Before anyone asks, we make sure to look into anyone who's interested in adopting one of our clowns. We run background checks, call character witnesses, make sure they have the proper environment for a clown and have the money to support one, etc. Overall, the process takes about a month or so. Sometimes it can take even longer if we have a waiting list. It is extremely rare that a clown adoption goes wrong. In fact, this is the first time it's happened in the year I've been volunteering here.

TL;DR

Don't feed clowns sugar-free foods! It can make them very sick and cause a lot of complications.

#dont feed your clowns sugar-free candy #clown husbandry #clown posting #clowncore #clownery #kiki the clown #clown care #clownblr #pet clown #my post

273 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 6 months

Text

Well Met By Moonlight Part 7

Hello! It was a bit of a rough morning for me with the hate I got earlier. Maybe I could have worded it nicer, but I'm tired of gatekeepers that think everything ever has to be canon inspired, but if you have a difference of opinion about what is canon then them you're delusional.

And then my son nearly fainted at his school singing program this afternoon. He got sent home yesterday due to being over emotional at school (couldn't stop crying), but we thought it was just a bad mental health day. Apparently not.

So it was a little hard wanting to post today, even though I have a backlog of 15 chapters across 5 stories because I was feeling overly emotional.

So I hope you enjoy a little bit of sexy times for our boys. I told you I'd bring Eddie back sooner, rather than later.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

18+ Under the Cut

****

Eddie was in his room trying to nail down the bridge on a song he was writing when he heard a small scratching noise at the front door. He set his guitar aside and listened closely.

There it was again.

He wasn’t expecting anyone today. He got up warily and was at the door in an instant. He looked through the peephole and huffed out a laugh.

He opened the door and leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed.

“You barely left me last night and you’re already at my door step again?” he teased.

There was that wolfie laugh Eddie adored so much.

“Come on in before the twins next door think you’re a doggy to play with and chase you all over the trailer park.”

Steve laughed again and Eddie shook his head, moving to the side to let his boyfriend in.

Steve shifted back to human and wrapped his arms around Eddie’s neck loosely. “Hey baby.”

Eddie purred. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Even though he knew that Steve being naked wasn’t a sexual thing, it didn’t stop him from grabbing that beautiful bare ass anyway.

He dived into Steve’s lips kissing and licking his way into that perfect mouth.

Steve’s arms tightened around Eddie’s neck, grinding against the hard planes his body. He wrapped his legs around Eddie’s waist and let him carry him into the bedroom.

He kicked the door closed and proceeded to have his wicked way with him.

Once they had come several times and had finally wore themselves out, Eddie rolled over on his back and huffed out a laugh.

“I know you didn’t just come over to fuck,” he said, throwing his arm over his eyes, “so what’s the real reason for the visit?”

Steve laughed. “You are very distracting, you know?”

Eddie grinned. “It’s that ass, baby. I just can’t get enough.”

“That’s fair,” Steve said. He rolled over on his side to look at him. “You know how it was Josh’s first day with the pack?”

Eddie immediately straightened up and looked down at Steve. “Yeah? How did that go?”

“He’s a good kid and I don’t think we’ll have any problem with him,” Steve hummed.

“But...” Eddie asked, tilting his head forward.

Steve sat up and wrapped one arm around his knees. “When you were growing up did you have any days where the teachers would talk about supernatural kind? But not like on days the supernatural kids would be there?”

Eddie sat up too and frowned. He thought hard. “You know, now that you mention it, there were days like that. It was straight up bullshit, so I never really paid attention...” His eyes went wide. “Shit you don’t think that’s why Jason and them went apeshit, do you? The shit they were learning about on moon days?”

Steve bit his lip. “I don’t know. It worries me that they’re getting anything like that at all.”

Eddie nodded. “I don’t know of anyone who’s not supernatural, not anymore.”

Steve lifted his head. “Yes you do. The drummer of your band, what was it called, Carrion Coffin or something?”

“Corroded Coffin,” Eddie gently corrected.

“That’s the one,” Steve said, snapping his fingers. “I know Jeff is a vampire like you and Brian is some other supernatural being...”

“Siren,” Eddie said, rubbing his chin. “I’ve always suspected Gareth might be a supe of some sort, but I could never confirm it.”

“But if he’s still going to school,” Steve said hopefully, “and not allowed to take moon days off due to whatever kind of supe he is, then he might be able to do some recon for us.”

Eddie nodded. “I have band practice tomorrow, I’ll ask. Maybe Brian remembers something, too.”

Steve sagged in relief. “Thanks sweetheart. I appreciate it. If the schools are indoctrinating kids against supes that might explain the rise in hunters over the last few decades.”

“Leading to whatever the hell it was that happened to you...” Eddie said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, because why a cross?” Steve said. “Crosses are vampire lore, not werewolf.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “I’ll talk to Wayne about it when he gets home. Maybe he can get more out of Patrick and Jason tomorrow, too.”

“Thanks, Eds,” Steve murmured. “That’s weight off my mind.”

Eddie grinned. “Now where were we?”

Steve laughed and then tackled his boyfriend back to his bed. He straddled Eddie’s waist. “You are insatiable, you know that?”

Eddie snapped his jaws at Steve playfully. “You love it.”

Steve moved up enough so that Eddie’s cock caught on Steve’s taint, causing Eddie to gasp.

“Oh, so that how you want to play it, pretty boy,” he growled, slowly pushing Steve backwards onto his cock until Steve bottomed out.

“Fuck, baby,” Steve whined. “I love the way you fill me.”

Eddie lifted him up and then snapped him back down his cock. “I love the way you look when you’re stuffed with my dick, sweetheart. I love the whimpering mess you become when I fuck you so hard. But you’re on top this time, so show me what you’ve got.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. I can do that.”

He started off slow, allowing the drag of Eddie’s cock to come almost all the way out before slamming back down onto his hips.

“Like that, Stevie,” Eddie said his voice husky with desire. “Just. Like. That.”

Steve nodded. He kept up the slow pace, grinding up and down, touching his throat, his chest, his stomach, his thighs, everywhere but his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” Eddie cooed. “You putting on a show for me?”

Steve nodded, biting down on his lip. He ran his fingers through his hair and then back down his body.

Eddie was about to explode from the sight alone. His last ounce of control snapped and he flipped them over.

Steve let out a gasp of surprise. “Too much for you, rockstar?”

“Not even close to being enough, sweet cheeks,” he growled and then starting railing him hard and fast.

Soon Steve was spilling on his belly as he watched Eddie chase his own release.

Moments later Eddie was stock still as he filled Steve, his eyelashes fluttered shut and his breath came out in a shuddering sigh.

They were drenched in sweat, Steve was covered in come, and they both panted for breath.

Eddie slipped out and flopped on the bed next to Steve. “Fuck, I think you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

Steve giggled. “Supernatural sex tends to be better because we have better stamina, strength, and flexibility then humans do.”

Eddie rolled on his side and propped himself up on his elbow. “Despite what this town thinks I was no blushing virgin coming into this relationship, babe. I’ve been with human, siren, and werewolf–” Steve opened his mouth to ask but Eddie held up his hand, “no one you know, I promise. This is at a supernatural bar in Indy. But I have never had sex like when I’m with you. It makes all the noise in my head fade to the background.”

Steve smiled. “I’m glad. And of course I’m completely gone on you, too, you know. I don’t it’s the type of supe you are that makes being with you so easy, the sex so good. It’s you.”

Eddie smiled dopeyly at Steve as he watched his boyfriend get up and head for the showers.

He cleaned up the bed and got dressed again. He was back working on the bridge he was working on before Steve came around, but this time with added clarity.

“Sounding good, Eds,” Steve said when he came back in.

Eddie grinned up at him. “Maybe I should have sex with you every time I’m stumped writing, I mean it about the clearing my head.”

Steve leaned down and gave him a kiss. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Eddie giggled. “Go on, pretty alpha boy. Your pack awaits.”

Steve laughed, skipping away lightly.

He opened the door and then transformed, leaping down the stairs. He tore down the road and Eddie just shook his head fondly as he shut the door behind his boyfriend.

Steve loved his wolf form. It was two-toned unlike most of his pack. The dark brown of his upper pelt and honey color of his muzzle, legs, and belly made him look more like an oversized friendly dog most of the time.

It made it easier to walk the streets of Hawkins without people batting an eye at him.

There were those that recognized him on sight, of course. But they never called him by his name, they always called out, “Sandy!”

Which always made him laugh.

“Hey, Sandy!” Mr Thacher called from his tire shop as Steve loped by.

Steve barked his hello and continued on way.

A little boy spotted him and Steve patiently sat still as he buried his face into Steve’s fur until his dad tugged on his hand to make him come with.

“Not now, Charlie,” his admonished. “You have a dentist appointment.”

Charlie sighed and allowed himself to be led away with a mournful, “Bye puppy.”

He finally got to the mayor’s office and grabbed the robe waiting by the door. He went into the bathroom and came out with the robe wrapped around his naked form.

Lucy, Major Roberts’s secretary, shook her head. “It’s damn shame that Mayor Roberts put that robe there for you.”

Steve laughed. “You just like looking at my ass.”

She pretended to be affronted. “Darling, it’s your thighs!”

Steve laughed again. “Is he able to see me right now?”

She nodded. “I’ll buzz you in.”

“Mr Harrington!” Mayor Roberts greeted, standing up to shake his hand. “What an unexpected pleasure, how can I be of service?”

Steve sat down and told him everything Josh had told him and his discussion with Eddie about the possibility of anti-supernatural rhetoric being taught in the schools.

Mayor Roberts nodded. “I was aware there was extra-curricular subjects being taught on moon days, as the teachers can’t teach their subject to only half their class. But I don’t think I ever thought about what was being taught.”

Steve nodded. “If we can find the source here in Hawkins maybe we can get it changed on a national level.”

“Thereby stopping the rise of hunters in the country,” Mayor Roberts agreed. “I’ll look into it. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

Steve nodded again. “Of course. Thank you for your time.”

They shook hands and Steve was slipping through the door as wolf, the robe carefully carried in his jaw.

Lucy laughed. “Sneak!” she teased.

Steve put the robe back on the hook and looked at her innocently.

Mayor Roberts laughed. “He got you good there, Lucy.”

She shook her head. “Yeah, yeah.”

And with that Steve slipped out of the mayor’s office and back out onto the street.

He shook himself off and the broke into a run. He had a lot to think about but first he had one more stop to make.

****

Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @goodolefashionedloverboi @bookbinderbitch @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @itsall-taken @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @redfreckledwolf @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @just-a-tiny-void @potato-of-the-lord @goosesister @tinyplanet95 @anaibis @she-collects-smut @irregular-child

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #werewolf steve harrington #vampire eddie munson

122 notes · View notes

mvltisstuff · 10 months

Note

Hi! I accidentally stumbled upon your account and I really liked your fics especially on 911 characters. I actually requested a story before but posted it anonymously. It was a lengthy requested where Buck (911) and reader has to go abroad so they got separated and reader didn't know she was pregnant, etc.

And I think I wasn't able to say thank you in advance to that request so this is my thank you. Hope you'll pick it and make the idea worthy. And your stories are great! I love them! More ideas to you! ❤❤

come back, be here - e.b

summary: request

evan buckley x reader

gif from @marjansmateo

a/n: thank you for the request!! i don’t remember seeing it before, but i’ve been having problems w my inbox but it should be fixed now! hope you enjoy :))

every last second of bucks free time was with y/n before she went away. she was going to spain to study abroad for college, and buck couldn’t go with her. he had a life, and he’s happily settled in los angeles. she has a life too, though, one that she’s heavily planned out to give more to buck and her.

buck never wanted her to go. he knew it was her life’s dream to study abroad, but he would miss her like hell. he’s heard all the nightmares about long distance, and they don’t even know if they’re talking about it. y/n was supposed to leave in a week, so buck invited her over for dinner so they could discuss their future. he wishes he didn’t have to say goodbye to the one woman he’s loved more than anyone.

the air in his apartment was uncomfortable, trying to savor the days they had but the upsetting thoughts just kept returning to their mind. it’s been so long that they’ve been dating, they barely remember a life without each other, and that scared buck more than anything. he never wants to go back to his old ways, and y/n helped him.

“so, what should we do this week?” y/n asks, breaking the silence first.

“oh, uh,” buck stutters. “i wasn’t sure, i have work like every day but sunday.”

“that’s when i leave,” she reminds.

“i know, i’m sorry,” he says, breaking eye contact and turning around.

“what’s wrong, buck?” she questions his confusing state. she feels like she may as well just leave, as he’s not attempting to spend a good night together or start a conversation. “i know you’re upset but i didn’t expect you to not want to be with me.”

“i do want to be with you! it’s just-“ buck pauses, thinking about what’s really going through his mind.

bucks been with a handful of women who just up and left. abby was someone he truly cared about. not as much as y/n, but when she left, he was destroyed. he had to pick himself up, piece by piece. y/n was there every time he got hurt, had a bad day, or even had a good day. he doesn’t know how he’s going to go about his day with her being in another country.

“it’s just what, buck?” y/n sighs.

“i’m just thinking about abby and-“

“we’ve been over this, love. i don’t want anyone but you. this is just for me to get experience for work!”

“yeah, i get that,” buck complains. “but what about me? you’re leaving, and im just supposed to stay here? y/n, you are leaving the country. it’s a different time and it’s not as simple as a long drive.”

“buck, i understand what you’re saying, but i am coming back. and i need you to understand me,” her hands are playing with each other anxiously. they haven’t discussed this as much as now, and she has no idea what he might say.

“that’s what abby said.”

“will you stop with the abby shit?” y/n snaps. “i am not her, and i’ll never be her. listen, i don’t know what your deal is about this all of a sudden, but all i want is to be with you.”

“you know i love you,” he nods. “but i don’t know if i can stay here and wait for you to come back.”

“you’re serious?” she scoffs, completely taken aback by his statement. “so you want to break up? you’re going to sacrifice four years for a few months?”

“i’m sorry, y/n-“

“save it, if that’s what you want, then fine,” she gathers her stuff, letting the tears well up and bucks heart stings as he sees them. “i really believed you were the one but clearly, it was one-sided.”

“baby, please, i don’t want this to end like this-“ he tries to speak, but he can’t unsay the words he previously said.

“stop it, you told me what you wanted and you can’t just mess around with that,” she cries, trying to step away from him, placing a hand on his chest as he moves closer. “this is,” she lets out a sarcastic laugh. “this is so mean.”

it was an innocent dream that she’s had since childhood to go to spain. now, it’s finally an option and something she is certain she wants. she never, ever wanted to hurt buck but all of it backfired on her. she couldn’t say the situation was fucked up, disgusting, terrible. she could only muster up the word mean because she never, ever wanted to hurt him.

she whips around, speed-walking toward the front door before he grabs her wrist. she connects with his watery eyes, full of regret and pure sadness, maybe even a dash of loneliness. “i’m sorry,” he whispers.

“me too,” she nods, grabbing the door and walking out. she wipes her face when moving down the hallway, and wishes she could never look back.

on that friday, she got no calls, no messages, or anything from buck. she wanted to at least say goodbye, but the way their connection ended, the one that was so deep and true. she tried to take her mind on him, instead thinking of spain. she wanted to be excited to go, but it felt like everything changed knowing that buck doesn’t want her enough as she does.

the truth is that buck would drop everything in the world to run to her side. he’s so desperate to save himself from the agony of her leaving. bucks had people leave all his life. buck knows he can’t live without her. the only thing on his mind is how much he fucked up. he could handle some months, but he can’t handle her being out of his life for the rest of their lives. the spur of the moment tried to force his feelings into words, the wrong was. realistically, buck would wait forever if it meant she was at the end.

he thought he messed it up forever, that there was no reversing it. she deserved more than what she got from their ending. buck decided to pick up his phone, having no idea if she had left or not.

y/n walked up to the gates of the airport, taking any last attempts to gain the excitement. she wishes buck were right here next to her, to tell her it would all be ok in the end. now, she had to comfort herself with more doubt than she’s ever felt.

she zones out when walking in, looking at the flying airplanes and excited families. she watched them all, wondering where they were traveling. maybe a family vacation, maybe a wedding, maybe a funeral. she wondered if there was anyone in her position in this airport, trying to feel less lonely. her thoughts were interrupted by the vibration in her pocket, snaking her phone out to read the text.

1 new text : buck

have fun in spain!

her heart ached at the sight of the message. it all felt so small, a text that would’ve been appreciated from anyone else. from buck, it leaves a pit in her stomach as the plane takes off.

the lonesome weeks passed slowly, exhausting hours of working their minds on each other. y/n never planned for her stay to be this distant. she had everything right in front of her, but her mind was still in los angeles with buck. the thrills of a new country became minute grins after that night.

she eventually became so engrossed in her relationship with buck that she missed the fact that she was too many days past her period. at one attempt to distract herself, y/n slowly realized. she deep cleaned her whole room, throwing away all the food she had previously bought, wanting to gag at the thought of it. she was displeased because of the waste, but then she took a break.

she scrolled on her phone, getting a notification from her calendar app. she’s like clockwork, she’s always regular. when she spots the little reminder, her heart sinks. the amount of days she was late was certainly cause for concern. maybe she was having another medical problem? she tries to ease her worries but fails.

then she remembers buck. they definitely weren’t not active before she left. so, she does the walk of shame to the pharmacy and buys a test.

the forbidden stick sits on the counter, holding the most complicated thing in the world. there was no way she wasn’t pregnant, there are way too many signs comfort. her fingers shake and fidget on her knees, not even being able to look at it without having to chew at her nails and lips.

the distress and panic really starts turning it’s gears at the sight of the second line. it upgraded at the several other positive results. y/n was just staring at it for minutes straight before it finally kicked in. she was pregnant and the dad was in america.

she knows buck has to know, trying to think of her options while battling tears. he’s the only option to be the dad, and y/n has mixed feelings. she doesn’t know if she should be pissed, sad, or even a little happy. it sounds bad, but maybe it’s an excuse to see buck.

she’s known forever that she wants the rest of their lives together. every last part of him she wants to cherish. this makes it so real, so fast, and while they’re not even speaking. in the mix of all the emotions, y/n still knows exactly what she has to do and what she needs.

buck sat down with a beer in his hand, sitting next to eddie on the balcony. “i just, i wish it happened differently and i feel terrible.”

“buck, it’s not ending here,” eddie reassures. “you guys are meant to be. i didn’t believe in soulmates, until i saw you two.”

“she’s my entire world,” buck says. “i don’t know what i was thinking.”

“you were scared. she was scared. you’re confused, and it’s ok to feel that way,” buck felt like he was back in therapy.

“thanks, eddie,” buck smiles, sipping at the beer bottle and letting the alcohol settle.

the three hard knocks on his door make him sigh, having to force himself up to open the door. his grip on the bottle greatly improved when he saw y/n’s beloved face.

“hi,” she croaks.

“hi,” buck mutters. “w-what are you doing here?”

“i needed to see you, and we need to talk,” she sounds alarmed, scaring buck and making any other worries seem scarce.

“yeah, of course,” he moves. “i don’t want to bother you, so if you want to j-“

“i’m pregnant,” she speaks, her voice shaking and lowering at the words.

buck thinks he might need a hearing aid. there is no way he heard her correctly. buck loves kids, and it’s his life goal to have a family of his own to. he hopes he heard her right, because the only person in those dreams is y/n. he wants to marry her, to get old together, for her to be the mother of his kids.

“s-sorry, what?” he asks, clearly but with his eyes shot open.

“i’m pregnant, buck,” the look in his face could haunt her, the emotionless glance into her eyes makes her feel like she’s stone, and just because of his look.

“uh- ok! come sit down, please?”

she nods, stepping into the apartment as buck reads over every single test, shining lights and using a magnifying glass that he pulled out of nowhere. “you deserve to know.”

“i-im really happy, actually,” he smiles, looking at her nervous hands. he knows she’s scared from her body language, and by her face. he’s able to read her like the back of his hand. “how do you feel?”

“im pretty good,” she shrugs, releasing a sharp breath. “im scared shitless, but…”

“y/n, i cant hold it in anymore,” buck interrupts. “i love you more than anyone in the world. we’re written into forever, and i need you. i only want to spend the rest of my life with you and i know there is no one else out there for me. i don’t know why o said any of what i did, because i want to wait for you, wherever you are.”

as he inches closer to her, the pieces of her broken heart start to glue back together. “i missed you so much, and i only want you, ever.”

“i know,” she falls into his arms, wrapping his around her. “i’m so sorry.”

“i was so scared,” she sobs. “i only want you, buck. i’m never leaving you.”

“i’m here now, it’s all going to be ok,” he shushes, rubbing the back of her head. the entire fright from the whole day starts to disintegrate away, the other feeling nothing but security in the others arms.

278 notes · View notes

severalforraelee · 1 year

Text

Max’s Reaction: Prove It Short Story

Prompt: I was rereading Prove it for like the thousandth time and was wondering if you could do a blurb maybe of Max finding out about the labor! Like his reaction and rushing to get to you! And maybe some of Rowan's first like word and steps! I absolutely love your writing!!

Written by raelee / Posted Mar 19

Word count: 2,329

Masterlist

Formula 1 Masterlist

Prove It Masterlist

Max’s POV

I stare down at my phone screen, tapping it awake for what feels like the millionth time in the past five minutes. It shows my lockscreen, a picture I took of Y/N when she wasn’t looking because I knew that if she saw me taking it, she would yell at me. She’s looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, toothbrush halfway in her mouth with foam falling from her lips. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail, my Red Bull T-shirt falling to her mid-thigh and hugging the top of her baby bump. It’s her freshly woken in the morning getting ready for the day. I took this photo without her knowing because, In her words, she looks tired and gross in the morning. But it’s her, and that’s why I love it so much.

I’ve been trying not to contact Y/N every five minutes, knowing how exhausted she must be with the arrival of our son coming at any minute. But I feel anxious just from being away from her, despite it being for something as good as winning the Formula 1 Drivers World Championship. Hell, I’m even feeling exhausted from all of the worry.

“Max.”

I snap my head up at my PR officer’s irritated tone, giving her a sheepish look while she gives me an annoyed one.

“Did you hear anything that I just said to you?”

“No,” I admit.

She sighs, starting from the beginning. Truthfully, I don’t care what she’s saying. I don’t care what anyone’s saying to me. I just want to rush through everything that I have to unfortunately do after winning the second world championship before I can go home to my family.

Her sighing again snaps me out of my thoughts of holding my girl in my arms, and soon, my son.

“Max, you realize that the sooner you do this, the sooner that you can leave to go be with her?” She points out.

I nod, standing up to follow her to the filming room.

“Morning,” I sit down at the conference table, staring down at the hot coffee cup in my hands. I didn’t even add any sugar or creamer this morning, my mind completely preoccupied by the conversation that I had with Y/N last night.

I wish more than anything that I could be there with her. Hearing the anxiety in her voice as she asks when I’m coming home, reassuring me just to get my work done so that she doesn’t cause me any more anxiety than I’m already feeling makes me feel like shit. It makes me feel like a bad partner for even putting her in this situation, and a bad father for making my son’s mother feel so unsure.

I want her to feel valued. I want to be by her side, but it’s so hard when there’s so much pressure from everyone in the Formula 1 world. From fans to the crew at Red Bull racing to the FIA to other teams, everyone expects me to be celebrating right now. They’re expecting me to do media duties by day and celebratory duties, also known as getting wasted, by night. And I can’t help but give in to that pressure, not wanting to let down the tons of people relying on me.

“You’ve been awfully quiet over there, Maxie,” Christian calls across the table.

I swallow the lump in my throat, nodding. I open my mouth to speak before realizing just how dry my throat is, raising my coffee to my lips and taking a sip.

“Just wishing that I was with Y/N,” I confess.

Everyone at the table freezes at my words. They all know that the reason why I’ve been so calm about this championship as compared to my last one is because of the unknown delivery date of my son. But I’ve never really talked about it with anyone at Red Bull, wanting to keep such vulnerable emotions somewhat secretive.

Christian nods in understanding. He knows what it’s like to balance being a father and working in such a chaotic environment.

“Tell you what, let’s rush through what we have planned for today, get the things that we have to do tomorrow done today, then we can get you on a plane tonight and send you back to be with your missus?” He questions.

I nod in excitement, heart fluttering as he refers to Y/N as my missus.

Someday she will be.

My phone dings as the meeting comes to an end and I’m rising from the office chair.

“You know, we’ll get things done faster if you don’t have that to distract you all day,” my PR officer lets me know.

I pull it out of my pocket, handing it to her before rushing out the room without another word.

At the time, I was just so enthusiastic to start the media duties and other things that I have to do, wanting to get them done as quickly as possible, that I didn’t even think to check who was texting me or what it said.

If I did, I would’ve seen the first text of many that Y/N sent me. I would’ve turned around, ran out of the Red Bull complex, and gotten the hell out of Milton Keynes.

If I didn’t put so much pressure on myself to fulfill the duties of a world champion, I could’ve been there for the birth of my son.

It isn’t until I get my phone back half a day later- time slipping away from me without the device being on me and being hidden away in dark rooms for the media that I realize what happened.

“Hey, Max, Daniel walked in while I was having contractions and we’re on our way to the birthing center now. Call me back when you get this.” Her voice fills my ears as I ride the plane back to Italy to be with my family.

I wish I could fly this plane myself to get back there faster.

“I’ve been getting contractions about every- what did you say earlier, Daniel, every five minutes? Yeah, every five minutes, and contractions are lasting about a minute each. I’m five centimeters dilated. The predicted birth is in four to eight hours, so you still have time to get here.”

I listen to the one from Daniel next. “Hey, Max, Y/N’s in labor, as you probably know from the dozens of phone calls, texts, and voicemails that we’ve both left you,” he lets out a fake chuckle, “Funny story, Nurse Emma- you know Nurse Emma, right? She asked if the dad was going to be joining us for the birth and you know what I told her? I told her that he’s a-”I end that voicemail with a wince before it can get to the surely explicit part.

My fingers tremble as I click on the next voicemail. “This is the last time that I’m calling you, Max, if you wanted to be here by now you would be. The doctor just left to make sure everything is ready for our son’s arrival and when she gets back I’m going to start pushing. Hope getting media done was worth it.”

I just delete the one from Charles, already knowing that it’s not going to be a pleasant one to listen to. But I can’t blame him. I left one of his best friend’s and the mother of my child to go through one of the most traumatic and important moments of her life alone.

Well, she has Daniel with her, but if he wasn’t there- I shake my head, not wanting to go there.

I stare out the window, willing the plane to go faster. From the texts and calls, I know that she’s already had the baby. I wish I could be there with them both, holding and meeting my son and reassuring my partner that she did an amazing job.

And I’m sure she did, but I feel like shit for not even knowing that. I want to know all of the gritty details of the labor. I want to know if she needed any stitches, how loud our son cried when he came out, if he’s latching on properly.

But I’m the only one to blame for missing out on that experience.

I run through the hallways of the birthing center, wanting to get to her as fast as possible. The bouquet of red roses that my assistant greeted me as soon as I got off the plane to give to her is gripped tightly in my fist, the anxiety of seeing her reaction and holding our son for the first time causing me to hold them a little tighter than I’d prefer to.

Charles points at me as soon as I enter. “No.”

My eyes slide past him, focusing on her lying on the bed. She looks exhausted, hair messy and bags under her eyes but she’s never looked so beautiful. She looks so disheveled because she’s a mom. She’s a mom to our son.

Despite the clear anger and resentment in her eyes at the sight of me, I fall even more in love at the sight of her.

The guilt of not being there with them for the birth encourages me to work even harder to repair the relationship with Y/N and to spend more time bonding with Rowan. And it works, because I’m there for his first word.

As unfortunate as a first word it may be.

“Who am I, Rowan?” Charles holds the eleven month old baby in his arms, something that I’m already grumpy about. I can’t take him from Charles' arms, though, because he cries every time I try.

I hate this obsession-with-Uncle-Charles phase.

“Who am I?” He coos to the baby, bouncing him up and down in his arms in a playful action. “Am I Uncle Charles? Can you say Uncle Charles?”

“Cha,” Rowan cheers, clapping his hands in excitement at the attention from his uncle.

I freeze at his words. Y/N pauses her conversation with Carlos. Charles' face just- ugh, shows the arrogance of a man who’s name was the first word of a baby. Specifically his rival’s baby.

“Was that his first word?” Y/N questions, staring with wide eyes at Rowan as he stares back at his mom.

“No, Cha is not a word,” I immediately disagree, shaking my head.

Truthfully, I just don’t want my kid’s first word to be my rival’s name.

“Say it again, Rowan, say Charles,” Charles encourages, excitement lacing his tone.

“Cha,” Rowan repeats.

Carlos, Charles, and Y/N- then quickly after, Rowan, erupt into cheers, hollering at Rowan’s first official word.

“Good job, baby,” Y/N coos, leaning down to press kisses all over his face.

I suppose I’ll give Charles a win with this one.

And I’m there for his first steps.

As unfortunate as they may be, too.

“Little man’s not walking yet?” It’s one of the few times that Lewis and I actually get along. When we’re talking about Rowan.

“He’s working on it, he just gets so nervous,” I explain. We both watch as he pulls himself up on the chair in the hotel lobby, doing it with ease because of how often he does it at home.

“Come here, Rowan,” Lando grins, bending down and opening his arms for the thirteen month old to come to.

The blonde baby eyes him curiously, looking down at his feet, as if he’s wondering if they actually work.

“Don’t look at your feet, kid, that’ll sike you out,” Daniel advises, bending down beside Lando and opening his arms. “Come to Uncle Daniel.”

“Daniel, let me have this moment with him,” Lando whines.

“May I remind you-”Lando groans at the piece of information that Daniel loves to bring up every chance he gets. “He is named after me.”

“Just his middle name.”

“Still. He’s named after me.”

“Uh, guys?” Lewis’ tone cuts out the fight.

We all turn to see Rowan hobbling unsurely towards his uncles.

On two feet.

We erupt into cheers, startling the rest of the lobby.

“He just took his first steps,” Daniel informs everyone like a proud parent. The rest of the lobby erupts into cheers as well.

Rowan reaches Lando and the Brit pulls the little boy into his arms, rising to his feet and throwing him in the air playfully.

“Look at you go, mate.”

Rowan giggles at the compliment.

“Y/N,” I holler, looking around me to find my beautiful partner. “Y/N- wait, where is she?”

“Shit,” Daniel’s eyes are wide, “She’s still in that meeting.”

“Oh shit,” I rub my forehead in stress, “Okay, this never happened, okay? She will be so upset if she found out she missed his first steps. The next time she’s around and takes his first steps, we’re treating that as his first steps, got it?”

The three other drivers nod in agreement, knowing how momentous first steps are to a mother. Especially a first time mother.

Y/N exits the elevator, Carlos and Charles following her after their Ferrari meeting has ended.

An elderly woman stops in front of Y/N, patting her on the arm gently. “Congratulations on your son’s first steps.”

She leaves before we can say anything and Y/N stands there, eyes wide and jaw dropped.

“I missed his first steps?”

“No,” Charles cries from behind her, his face in his hands.

“Charles, are you- are you crying?” Daniel asks.

“I just can’t believe I missed his first steps. He should’ve been walking towards his favorite uncle.”

“He was walking towards his favorite uncle,” Lando chimes in, “He was walking towards me.”

“May I remind you,” Daniel interrupts, “He was named after me.”

Eye rolls and groans are heard around the group, Carlos even throwing a water bottle that hits him right in the nuts.

#formula 1 imagine #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #sfrproveit

394 notes · View notes

callofdudes · 11 months

Note

Hello it's me again! Do you remember me?You wrote my Headcanons request very well And now I'm wondering if you could write it for Grave and rodolfo and Alejandro as well?I'm starting to wonder about their reaction too. I was fascinated by your previous post and now I'm obsessed '_'

Here they are @greenkiki 😊 hope you enjoy them.

Forewarning but I fucking hate Graves with my entire soul. So it will not be the friendliest interaction. So be aware of some angst and minor gore.

Showing them your face

A part 2 of this story but with the Vaqueros and Graves.

You had never shown anyone your face. There was a part of you that you hid away from the others. When you worked with the 141 and the Vaqueros, your team, you didn't reveal your face. Meeting Graves soon after, he too questioned the mask, maybe you trusted him a little too easily.

Alejandro🎖️

Alejandro has worked with you for many years and has only ever seen your face on your recruitment file as you were required to have it off. Being your colonel he does know a fair bit about you.

That being said when you show him your face, when you open up about that part of you and show him the beautiful woman underneath he melts.

But he's a respectful man and gives you the space you need.

"There there, relax. Rubbing alcohol is over. It should only sting a little longer." He reassured you with a gentle touch.

Alejandro places a medical patch on your elbow, making sure to be gentle on the hurt area. You hiss, fidgeting a bit when he presses down on the patch.

"There, you'll live."

He smiles at you warmly.

"Thank you..." You feel over the patch and tuck your shirt sleeves back over it.

"You did really good out there. I'm glad you made it. I don't know what I'd do if I lost a soldier like you."

"Thank you for coming to get me." You take down your mask and smile at him, soft eyes accompanied by a beautiful smile. Alejandro is stunned for a moment, seeing your face in person.

His hand comes up and cups your cheek. He smiles back, admiring your beauty. "It's lovely to see you soldier."

Your smile grows a bit.

"You're very beautiful y/n."

"Thank you colonel."

Alejandro was honored to see your face. You were beautiful as he remembered your photo being. When you both stood to exit his office, Alejandro smiled again and took your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "I hope to be able to see such a lovely face again."

You pull your mask back up. "I'm sure you will." You lean in, pressing the soft fabric of your mask to his cheek, and it sent his heart tumbling.

How did he come to fall in love with you so much??

Rodolfo🥈

Rodolfo has always had a bit of a thing for you. He liked the way you fought, how you held yourself. He just liked you for you. How you always looked at him with those beautiful eyes, so full of emotion to replace your smile.

You liked to joke with him, and it was nice having someone other than Alejandro to talk to once in a while. Seeing your face was overwhelming for him. Seeing your face only made his love for you grow.

"We have to save Alejandro!" You argued, starting to pace around the room.

Rodolfo felt his fingers start to itch. His best friend was gone. "I know! I know!"

"Then why are we sitting on our asses doing nothing!!?"

"Because I need more time to think!!" He snapped.

You backed up a bit, seeing the anger and the worry in his eyes. He was shaking, trying to recollect himself.

"Did I ask for my best friend to be taken away?? No! Is his life in danger?? Yes!! Do I want to fuck this up and get him killed!!? Absolutely not!!" Tears filled his eyes.

You stood there a bit shocked.

"I-I'm sorry..."

You pull your mask down and approach him, cupping his cheeks. "Rodolfo, we're gonna do this together. You lead the way, whatever we need to do to get Alejandro back in right here with you. Ok?"

Rodolfo stared into your eyes, examined your face. Your beautiful face. It made his insides twist and more sorrow follow him.

Tears slipped down his cheeks as he nodded. "I know, I'm just worried..."

"I know you are." You offer him a smile, one he can see. You lean in and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, making him freeze.

"I'm not going to let you fight alone."

He hugs you tightly, all his emotions colliding into one giant mess. Your kiss gave him reassurance. Your kiss made him feel loved, seeing your face made him feel worthy. And he knew you wouldn't leave his side.

Graves 🪦

You had a crush on Graves when he showed up to work with the 141. Yeah, he's annoying and a cocky jerk without a good personality to make up for it, but you liked him. He charmed you.

Graves had become infatuated with you. Not just your face but your body, your taste, once you let him in you couldn't push him out. He became possessive and needed it every day, when he betrayed you he wanted to make sure your beautiful face was always only going to be for him.

You remember the day you'd shown Graves your face. He was still working with 141 at the time and you thought you could trust him. You liked him. He made you feel some type of way and looking back on it you shouldn't have done it.

You shouldn't have let him cup your bare jaw and whisper loving words near your ear before kissing your lips. You shouldn't have.

Every time he wished to catch a glimpse of your face behind a shed or the back of a transport truck you'd let him. And he'd kiss you, kiss you hard until you couldn't think.

And now you sat here, in a chair, looking up at him with tears in your eyes. Graves watched your blood drip down the tip of his knife, catching the droplet with his tongue and running it along the neck of the blade.

"Look at your pretty face." He bent down and cupped your bloody cheek. Seeing the fresh Glasgow's that would be accompanying you everywhere you went.

"Such a wonderful face, delicate skin and such a wonderful taste." You whimpered when he grabbed your jaw and turned it, licking the dripping blood from your face.

"Forgive me angel." He kisses your temple, having knocked your hat off a while ago. "But I can't get enough of you..."

You couldn't speak, letting him lock the dripping blood from your cheek before kissing your trembling lips with your blood on his tongue. The sting of his saliva in your wounds making your stomach curl.

"I love you y/n, I won't let any other man have you."

#call of duty #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #rodolfo x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #alejandro x reader #alejandro vargas x reader

306 notes · View notes

footballfanficwriter · 4 months

Text

The break up pt3

Summary:where Jude is Determined to get to the bottom of the reader's distress after finding her at Jobe's Match

⚠️mentions of abuse and physical abuse⚠️

A/n: This is still written from Jude's POV like pt.2 also don't play the song yet I'll let you know when to play it

We just got home from Jobe's match and he's obviously much calmer then he was when we left the house

"Ok what's the first order of business, Mr.stalker"

"Don't call me that, and the first thing we need to do is search all my fanpages"

"Why are we doing that"

"If this guy posted those pictures that we took together, which he most likely did, the fan pages will tag him and reveal his profile

"So what we're just going to wait until he posts the picture?"

"Exactly" I say

"For a detective, you're a very horrible one"

"Patience is the key to success"

"I wonder where that will get you"

After waiting for about 2 hours one of the fan accounts posted the picture of me and the guy with a tag to his profile

The rest of the night is spent trying to find any information that we can but everything is just a dead end

Y/n hasn't posted anything since we broke up, her "boyfriend" also doesn't post either unless it's on his story and he doesn't have anything highlighted so we can't even see previous stories that he's posted

"Don't you think it's time to give it all up?, we've been at it for hours" Jobe asks

"Jobe, I think I've actually lost her, there's no way we're going to find her now, nothing on her account indicates where she could be, or where she could Be living"

"Jude I think it's time to let it go"

I sigh not knowing what to so next

"I think I'm gonna go to bed" I say

"Why don't you just find someone else to be with I'm sure it won't be that difficult"

"But that's the thing I don't want anyone else, I want her, and the time I actually want to care for her and help her she's not reachable, I feel so stupid, she was right there In front of me and I didn't do anything, I didn't approach or try to at least make contact, I just stood there"

"You're being hard on yourself"

"This is the punishment I have to face for what I did"

"You went to therapy"

"It clearly isn't enough"

"You'll get over it Jude, sooner or later you will get over it and you'll look back on this moment and you'll laugh"

I give him a tight lipped smile as I can see that he's trying to cheer me up, I mean I love Jobe but sometimes the idiot is just annoying, most of the time he's supportive and is always there as my comfort

I call it a night and go to bed and fall asleep, well I try to fall asleep, I just lie awake staring at the ceiling

For the next 3-4 days my family and I are spending quality time and sharing family moments and making memories

"Jude, c'mon mate we're gonna be late for the reservation"

"Bro what are you on about I'm the only one that's ready amongst the four of us"

After everyone is dressed and ready to go to the restaurant that we usually go to when we spend family time

When we arrive we order our food and coverstation starts flowing

I glance out the window and see a woman walking with her child in a pram/stroller

That's Y/n, she looks totally oblivious to her environment around her and doesn't seem to notice the truck coming up next to her as she's crossing the street

I quickly get up and run out of the restaurant to try and save the baby that is about to be killed

I run as fast as I can and make it just in time to pull the pram/stroller back onto the pavement/sidewalk

All that seems to have snapped y/n out of her trans and she looks at me like she's only just noticing my presence now

(Play the song)

"What are you doing here Jude"

"I was saving this baby"

"From what?"

"The truck"

"What truck?"

"The one that was about to kill the baby"

She sight and whispers "not again" under her breath

"Give me my baby back" she says

"Your baby?"

"Yeah"

I hand the baby back to her and she takes him and places him back into the pram/stroller

"Hey listen why don't you come back home with us, you look out of it right now and it's obviously not safe for the baby, i'll drive you back home"

"No thanks"

"C'mon y/n don't be like that, I promise I'm not going to do anything, you're free to leave any time you want"

"Fine" she says

I call the rest of my family and they greet Y/n, we go back home after our dinner date was cut jot due to the events that took place

When we arrive back home mum won't let this child go, she just refuses to put him down

Y/n sits on the couch like she's scared she'll ruin something

"Can I get you something?" I ask

"No thank you"

"C'mon y/n, don't be like that, let's talk"

"Jude I've got a lot of things on my plate right now to be stressing or talking about the past"

"I don't like the way we ended things"

"We wouldn't have had to end things if you had just kept it in your pants"

I look down in my lap not being able to face her and look her in the eyes

"I'm sorry"

"How many times have I heard those words"

"This time I mean it"

"Whatever, can I have my child back now, I wanna leave, coming here was a mistake"

"Before you go I have one more thing to ask"

"What?"

"Is he mine"

"Why would you think that?"

"Because he looks like me"

"So?"

"That's usually an indicator of parental relation"

"Give me back my baby"

"Answer the question"

"I don't owe you anthing"

"I deserve to know, did you cheat on me?"

"Oh please Jude I am not like you, I don't cheat on people I'm in a relationship with"

"Then why won't you tell me"

"Because I don't want to"

"That's not an answer"

"Well then shame, give me my baby"

"Answer the question is that little boy in there my son"

She's silent

"Answer"

"Yes, he is"

To be continued...

Kidding, continue reading

"You kept that all away from me?, didn't you think I deserved to know?"

"Remember the day I left you, we had reservations made at a restaurant and we couldn't go because you'd forgotten we had plans and you came home drunk"

I nod my head indicating that I understand

"That was the day I was gonna tell you, that you and I would be parents"

"But still you should've told me"

"You came back home drunk, you'd forgotten the dinner reservations, you came back home with a hikey on your neck and having a feminine smell on your clothes, I obviously was'nt gonna tell you"

I step closer to her and place my hands on her arms and slightly grip on her arms

She flinches like I've just hit her

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah"

"I'm so sorry"

"I refuse to do this with you Jude" she says moving away from my hold

I try to ignore her rejection but I can't it's right there and I can't ignore it

"Can I have my child back now"

"He's our child"

"You were not there when he was born, all your rights of being a father have been revoked"

"I didn't know if I knew I would have been there"

"Well it's not my fault you decided to cheat, you made the choices you made and I never pressured you to do any of the things you did"

"So what are you going to do now?, this boy needs a father in his life, how are you going to fill the shoes of both a mother and a father?"

"I won't need to, because he already has a father"

"Who?"

"Chase"

"Who, the guy you were with at the stadium?"

"Yeah"

"You can't do that"

"Watch me, now I'm leaving"

"You convinced another guy that he was the father of our child"

"Oh no he knows, he's just there for support and to fill in the shoes you can't"

"Bit harsh innit"

"Whatever Jude"

She's about to go to the Kitchen to get the baby from my mom but I pull her by her long sleeve and it reveals her shoulder where I see a bruise

"What's that?" I ask

She looks at her shoulder and quickly pulls her shirt up

I have to get out of here" she says and walks away but before she can do that I pull her back

I take her arm and pull her sleeve up to reveal more bruises

"What happened"

"I bumped myself"

"You must have bumped yourself a lot of times then"

"Yeah I did"

"You're lying"

"What?"

"You're lying"

"What makes you say that"

"Your lip slightly twitches when you lie, but you have to watch it closely or else you miss it"

"You're such a creep"

"It's not creepy to notice, things about a person it just means I pay attention to the small things"

"Yeah well I notice small things as well"

"Oh yeah like what?"

"Like I notice how before every match you go to the pitch and you step in with your left foot then right, point each foot before crossing the line, poke the grass and wipe of the dirt of your pants"

"Yeah well that's not really something" I say

"Oh what about, when you're nervous"

"What do I do when I'm nervous"

"You wipe your eyebrows with your right hand, wiping your left first then your right"

"Ok fine then, I guess you do pay attention"

"See, I always pay attention to the little things"

"Yeah,and it seems like I can as well" I say

She pulls her hand out of mine and walks away

"Y/n, is he abusing you?"

She stops in her tracks and doesn't turn around

"No, he doesn't"

"Turn around"

She slowly turns around and looks down to the floor, I walk closer to her and lift her head up with my finger

"Does he abuse you"

"No" she says

"Your lip twitched"

"No it didn't"

"Y/n it did"

"No it didn't"

"So he abuses you"

"Sometimes"

"How often is somtimes?"

"Depends on what happens"

"What would provoke him to beat you?"

"If his favorite football team doesn't win, if I don't do something the way he wants me too, if the baby is crying and I can't keep him quiet"

"Y/n, that's not right"

"It's fine"

"No it's not"

"Jude it's fine, I've gotten use it"

"I'm gonna kill him, where is he"

"Jude stop , I have to live with it, I can't leave him, he took everything from me, he forced me to quit my job, took away my savings and took away any assets that I had for myself"

It's quiet for some time and I look at her and she looks like she's thinking about a lot

"Is my taste in men really that bad, am I really that desperate for love that even when there are clear and obvious signs that I'm not loved I still stay?" She asks herself crying

"What do you mean? I ask

" I was in love with a man that cheates then got pregnant by him, then I moved out and got into a relationship with an abuser and now I have nothing"

"Y/n, there aren't any words in this world to Express how sorry I am for everything that I've done to you, I just really need you to know that, and I'm working on myself i really am, I've started going to therapy and my therapist says that I've made a lot of progress"

"That's very good for you Jude, I'm proud of you for finally taking my advice, I know how scared you were"

She moves to the sofa and sits in silence, I move to the sofa next to her and sit next to her and we sit In silence until I break it

"Come live with me"

"What"

"I'm not saying get back together with me, I'm just saying come live with me, you and our baby boy, we'll co parent and that's as far as our relationship will go, we'll share the responsibilities of parents and we can help eachother"

"I don't know Jude"

"Please, I want to prove that I can be a good father and that I can be there for my son, I want to be present in my child's life"

"What about Chase?"

As she says that her phone rings, she looks at her phone then back at me

"It's him"

"Hello?"

"Yeah, I decided to take Enzo for a walk, he was restless and he didn't want to sleep so I thought I should take him out a bit"

"Yeah, we're on our way home soon"

"Yeah, I'll cook"

"He won't make a noise, yeah I promise it won't happen again"

"Bye, I love you too"

She hangs the phone and looks at me

"You're not going back there, I won't allow it, if I let you go there how do I know that you'll be safe?"

"Jude, please don't make this difficult"

"Y/n, I'm not letting you leave this house to go to an abuser"

"Stop"

"No"

"Jude"

"Y/n"

"Fine, but if he comes for me or my son you will be held responsible"

"Deal, so does that mean you're moving in with me?"

"Well I have no where else to go, my mother disowned me, and she doesn't know about Enzo, so yeah I guess we are"

"Great, we leave next week, so get everything you need cause we won't be back in England for some time"

"Ok but how am I suppose to do that with Chase as our obstacle, all our clothes and things are there in the house"

"We'll sneak into the house when he's at work and take your things"

"Ok"

"We'll leave tomorrow, for now just get comfortable and don't stress about anything"

"Thank you Jude"

"You're welcome y/n"

"Where is Enzo?"

"With my mom, c'mon I'll show you the guest room"

We walk upstairs and I show her to the guest room

"Here you are"

"Thank you"

"You're welcome, get some rest, I'll take care of Enzo"

"Ok thanks, remember he doesn't like to be held like a baby, also when you feed him use a spoon not a teaspoon, he doesn't like it, place a bib on him because he always makes a mess and if you want to put him to sleep hold him close to your chest and play late 90s-Early2000s R&B songs, he's just weird like that I don't know I think he gets it from you"

"Ok, don't worry I'll look after him"

"Thank you"

"No problem"

I walk out of the room and head downstairs to find everyone cooing at Enzo

"Are they staying?" Mom asks

"Yeah, they are, actually we're moving I

together"

"What?"

"They are coming with us to Madrid next week"

"Oh ok that's great" mom says

"So is he your child?"

"Yeah he is"

"Why didn't she tell you about him?" Dad asks

"Dad I wasn't honest with you when I told you the reason for My break up with y/n"

"Why did you do?"

"I cheated on her multiple times and eventually she got fed up and left but it turns out when she left she was pregnant with my child and she didn't tell me, because I had upset her"

"My gosh Jude, how can you mess up like that"

"I know, I know but now we're ok we're moving in together and I've been going to therapy so I'm working on bettering myself"

"So you're getting back together?"

"No we're not, we just gonna be co parenting and sharing responsibilities because Y/n's boyfriend has been abusive towards her and just because we're not together anymore, doesn't mean I can't protect her"

"Well I'm glad, you know I've always wanted to be a grandma" mom says

"But taking care of a child is not easy" dad says

"That's why we'll have eachother"

"And me" mom says

I give her a thankful look and she smiles at me

"We going to get her and Enzo's things tomorrow, it's just clothes so we'll be fine"

"And what if you meat her boyfriend there, then what?"

"We won't, and even if we do he won't try anything,especially with me there"

"Ok Jude, but just be careful, you don't know what he's capable of" Mom says

"I will, I promise,Where's Enzo"

"Who?"

"The baby"

"That's his name?"

"Yeah"

"Oh how cute"

"Yeah, it is anyway where is he, he probably hasn't eaten"

I pick him up and walk to the kitchen to try and find something to each, I finally decide to in mash potatoes since he can't eat solid foods yet

After making the mashed potatoes I sit on the couch and place a towel on my leg because y/n said it gets messy when he eats

after feeding him and swiping his mouth I try to put him to sleep

So I walk to my room, switch the speaker on and put them on low volume so it's not so loud, I take my shirt off and carry him and he lays his head on my chest right by my heart and I start swaying from side to side while lightly singing along with the song

He eventually falls asleep, but I don't want to lay him down yet, and as if on queue the door opens to reveal y/n

"Hi" she says

"Hey"

"Is he asleep"

"Yeah, he is, your advice worked, he wasn't restless at all"

"Wait until you actually see his restless side, it won't be so pretty

"Yeah I can imagine, hey are ready to leave tomorrow?"

"Yeah a bit nervous but I'm ready"

"Ok, well if you need anything just let me know"

"Yeah, I just wanted to check on Enzo, Denise told me he was with you"

"Yeah"

"Ok well uhm if you need me I'll be in the guest room"

"I'll bring him in a few moments"

"Ok"

She leaves the room and closes the door on her way out leaving us both with her scent

I sigh and continue swaying from side to side with my son in my arms

After about an hour and 30 minutes I walk out of the room and walk to the guest room where y/n is

I knock on the door and she opened the door

"I just came to bring him back"

"Oh yeah, uhm you can place him on the bed"

I walk into the room and place Enzo on t3 bed and he coos

"Thanks "

"Yeah,oh and by the way we're leaving at 8:00 am Tomorrow"

"Ok, I'll see you Tomorrow"

"Great"

I leave the room and go to my own and just let the say sink in

After some time I decide to go to bed and sleep but like always I can't and I just end up starting at the ceiling until I hear my bedroom door open

"Jude?" I hear y/n voice in the dark

"Mh"

"Are you asleep?"

"No, what do you need"

"Enzo won't stop crying and I've tried everything but nothing is working, do you mind taking him, maybe he'll settle down"

"Sure bring him over" I say

She walks over towards me and places Enzo next to me, but he cries even more

Y/n picks him up and starts bouncing up and down trying to calm him down

"Come here" I say

"What?"

"Just trust me"

"Ok"

She gets into bed next to me

"Now what" she asks

"Lye on the bed and get comfortable"

She sighs but does it anyway

I do the same and enzo lies on his back and stops crying immediately

Cheeky little thing

After a few minutes I finally fall asleep.

The next day

It 7:30 in the morning and y/n and I need to leave the house in 30 minutes

We reach the apartment at 8:30 and she opens the door to the apartment and to say it was a mess would be an understatement

There were empty beer bottles lying everywhere on the floor broken glass, a couch that looked like it came from the junk yard every piece of furniture was horrible

"I'll get started" y/n says breaking me out of my trans

"Ok"

I walk around the apartment and the more I walk the more in disbelief I am, the fact that Enzo had to live here and how much abuse Y/n had to endure

I walk into a room that looks like it was once a baby's room but the cradle is in a pile of wood like it was smashed and in the corner is a mattress with a huge stain of blood in the middle with a blanket and a pillow

Y/n walks into the room

"I'm done packing"

"So quickly?"

"Yeah well there was not much anyway"

"Ok, let's go then"

We leave the apartment and drive back home in silence

"So I noticed there was no bed there, where did you and Enzo sleep"

"On the Mattress that you saw in the baby room"

"The one that had a huge stain on it?"

"Yeah"

"How did the blood get there"

"He'd hit me very hard one day and it was painful I could barely recognize my face in the mirror and instead of putting ice on my wounds I just slept on the mattress and bled there and I tried to wash the stain but it never came off , so I just cuddled him like teddy bear"

"I'm sorry, you had to go through that?"

"It's fine"

When we arrive at home Enzo is fast asleep thanks to my mother

"Hey mom"

"Hi love, you alright?"

"Yeah, we got everything we needed"

"Oh that's great, Enzo is asleep"

"Ok, thank you Denise"

"No problem love"

"Uhm y/n, I forgot to tell you but I got a message from Madrid yesterday and we have to cut our stay short, we need to leave the day after tomorrow"

"So this is our last day here?"

"Yeah it is but we'll come back eventually"

"It's fine, it's not like I have anything keeping me here"

"Ok, just be ready"

"Yeah I will, anyway I'm going to take a shower"

"Ok"

She walks upstairs and heads to the bathroom

"You still like her don't you?"

"Unfortunately, more then I would like to admit it"

"Just take it slow ok, think about your baby boy and everything will fall into place"

"Yeah, but she seems resistant"

"She's heartbroken Jude, she's obviously going to start pushing all her Male interests away"

"Yeah, I guess you're right"

2 days later

"Bye love, we'll see you soon ok , and we'll call you as soon as we arrive

"Ok mom, I love you"

"I love you too Jobe"

We say goodbye to Jobe and dad because we're going back to Spain

The time I spent here was nice I really enjoyed myself and I found y/n after I had no hope of finding her and I found out I had a son which is also amazing but I'm concerned for y/n I think she needs therapy after the things she went through she'll definitely need it

After we arrive in Madrid, we drop mom off at her house we go back to mine and the minute we walk in y/n scopes the house

"I haven't been here in a while"

"Everything is still where you left it"

"Thanks, we'll tale the guest room"

"Cool"

She walks away with her and Enzo's bags then comes back to get Enzo

"Goodnight Jude"

"Goodnight Y/n"

She walks away toward the guest room

"Oh hey I was thinking, what do you think of going to Therapy, you know maybe get someone to talk to about your trauma and stuff"

"I'll think about it"

"Ok"