#Climbing Perch Fish | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

turtletaubwrites · 2 months

Text

A Good Catch ~ Part 2

Thank you so much for all of your support! This was part of my 600 Followers Celebration, and I am so happy y'all voted for Shanks. I adore him 🥰

Pairings: Shanks x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5030

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 (End)

Ao3 Link

Summary: You've got a few burning questions for this charming captain, but soon you'll be answering his. Is it really safe to trust a pirate?

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Swearing, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Teasing, Flirting, Alcohol, Brief Discussion of Family Trauma, Hair Pulling, Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Unprotected Sex, (Be safe out there), Birth Control, Aftercare, Shanks is such a fucking tease

A/N: I just love this hungover pirate 😅

A key pressed into your palm. A gentle hand on your lower back. A whispered demonstration, keeping your secret.

Shanks stared at you through the doorway, looking down the hall before grabbing your chin with his thumb, another slow smile on those lips.

“Sweet dreams.”

His eyes crinkled as all you could do was nod, watching him walk away down that lantern lit hall.

The key still held the warmth of his skin.

Fuck.

The metal thumped onto wood as you tossed it on the desk, shoving the chair under the doorknob, just like he’d shown you.

Exhaustion pulled you down, and you rolled yourself into soft blankets, grateful that your mind only had the energy for a few more conflicting thoughts before sleep took you.

He’s done everything he can to make me feel safe.

He’s a pirate.

His crew are all so kind, it feels like they’re a family.

He’s a pirate.

He’s gorgeous, and funny, and sweet, even though he’s annoying as fuck.

But he’s a pirate. And he’ll be leaving in three days. I’ll never see him again.

Dreams of life on the high seas left you foggy in the morning, panic running through you until you remembered where you were.

Thank gods there’s a bathroom in here.

The guest quarters didn’t have a shower, but the toilet, mirror, and sink were a godsend. Cringing at your hair, you got to work, managing to tame it before you climbed back into Shanks’ clothes.

They smell like him.

Resisting the urge to sniff his shirt took more willpower than you’d like to admit.

Quiet.

There was hardly a sound on the entire ship as you struggled to remember the way out.

“Mornin,” came a gruff voice on the deck, waving from his perch on the railing. The light of the sunrise made his brown skin and dark blonde dreads seem to glow.

You would have thought he was attractive if your eyes hadn’t gone wide at the two large pistols on his hips.

“You’re up early,” he continued, tilting his body and moving his hands away from his weapons.

“Fisherwoman,” you choked out.

“That’s right,” he laughed, standing to take a few slow steps toward you. “I’m Yassop. I can bring you down to the beach if you’d like, but I'm sure everyone’s still snoring like sea lions.”

“Is the captain down there?”

“Oh, he’s down there,” Yassop teased, his smirk making you clench your teeth. “Yours might be the only face that could wake him up this early.”

“And why’s that,” you growled, following him across the deck.

“Oh no, I’m not getting into the captain’s business.”

You scowled at the chuckling marksman all the way down to the beach.

“Wake up.”

Shanks whined, weakly batting away the driftwood stick you were poking into his chest. You definitely weren’t getting distracted by the pull of those muscles as he stretched on his makeshift hammock.

The camp looked just as it did last night, except that every mug, plate, and pirate was now on the ground, quiet and still besides the orchestra of snores that Yassop hadn’t exaggerated.

“Get up.”

Shanks rubbed his hand over his face, somehow managing to look stunning even as he struggled to get his eyes open.

“Ugh, fish girl,” he yawned, keeping his hand over his eyes now, blocking out the light. “Are we under attack?”

“What? No. I need to talk to you.”

He peeked through his fingers at you, the hint of that teasing smile already showing.

“If you wanna spend time with me, all you have to do is– ow!”

Another quick jab to those lovely pecs had Shanks rolling out of the hammock, hanging onto your shoulder as he wobbled on his feet.

The driftwood stick fell to the ground as his pretty eyes, heavy lidded with sleep, came so close to yours.

“Sorry,” he rasped, letting his hand trail down your arm before letting you go. “Somebody woke me up too early.”

“I guess pirates are just lazy degenerates after all,” you said flatly, holding in the shivers his touch had caused.

“Degenerates,” he laughed softly, rubbing along his brow as he took in the sight of his hungover men sprawled across the sand. “I suppose that’s fair.”

Groaning, you picked up the stick, gasping as his hand gripped yours. He trapped your fingers around the dry wood, tracing his thumb along your knuckles as he prevented you from poking him.

“Please, fish girl, have pity on an old–” he cut himself off at your frown, “on a handsome, young, very hungover pirate.”

He chuckled as you tried to wrest yourself from his grasp, and he didn’t let you go this time.

“I can’t think this early, love. Not without breakfast, or a shower at least.”

“Fine, let's go take a– I mean you! You take a shower! You’re all sandy…”

His laughter followed you as you stomped your way back to his stupid ship.

Shanks’ laughter had been replaced by more whines as he held his hand over his eyes, getting you lost in the ship on the way to the bathing room.

Finally at the large door to that tiled room, the shaky captain spun to face you. He managed to catch himself on the door frame as he stumbled, then leaned against it as if it were on purpose.

You rolled your eyes as he pulled a scarf from his pocket, dangling it in front of your face.

“Guard the door for me?”

“What? Why?”

“Guess I’ll just go back to slee–”

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth, grabbing the scarf as you slid to the floor. “Aren’t you too tired to be this annoying?”

“Not in the slightest.”

You could feel him crouch beside you, and saw his feet beneath the blindfold.

He traced around the scarf to check your work, rubbing his thumb along your temple before tugging the fabric further down your nose.

“No peeking,” he purred, and you hoped he hadn’t seen your toes curling, your feet still bare without clean shoes.

“Like I’d want to.”

“Lying is bad for the soul, fish girl,” he teased, tapping the tip of your nose with a finger before heading inside. The sound of his satisfied laughter made you want to crawl out of your skin.

Sitting there, listening to the rush of water as this man showered on the other side of the door, was making you absolutely insane.

He’s a pirate. He’s here for a reason. I can’t get distracted.

“Sorry, I forgot to bring a change of clothes,” his deep voice poured through the door. “Someone interrupted my beauty sleep.”

“So?”

“So, I’m in a towel, we’ll have to stop by my quarters. You can keep the blindfold on if you like.”

“You’ll get us lost again,” you complained, pushing yourself to your feet as you pulled the scarf from your face. “Besides, your shirts show practically your whole torso anyway, so it won’t be much different.”

The door opened wide, Shanks’ smile even wider as your lips parted.

“You really like my shirts, don’t you?”

You managed to frown at him as he grabbed his sandy clothes and shoes, holding them against his hip, just a towel around his waist.

And that line of dark, red hair.

“Mind closing the door for me, darlin’?”

You jolted out of your stupor, shutting the door before following him down the hall.

Some water still dripped from his hair, slow rivulets flowing down the muscles of his upper back, some trailing even further…

“What,” you chirped, trying to remember what he’d just said.

He clicked his tongue a few times, shaking his head to let more shining drops of water dance down his skin.

“Waking the captain up early just to ignore him? Did all your manners fall off your boat with your missing oar?”

“Shut up,” you huffed, standing to face him in front of the door to his quarters.

Shanks was not doing well at suppressing his self satisfied grin, and you were having trouble focusing on anything at all.

“Will you get the door for me, love?”

“Why,” you countered, still trying to keep your eyes glued to his face.

“You really argue about everything, don’t you?”

He shook his head, then dropped his clothes and shoes to the floor. The sound of the shoes startled you, bringing your eyes down.

Just in time to see his towel slipping, more of that dark red hair traveling down before you squeaked, turning around and clamping your eyes shut.

Shanks brushed past, the heat of his body, the scent of his skin, so close. He paused behind you as he opened the door, and you couldn’t hide your small gasp as he breathed that deep, dangerous voice along your neck.

“Guess you should have kept the blindfold on.”

You held your breath as you tried not to shake, listening as he moved away. Soft chuckles teased you through the air as he shut the door.

Breath came back to you, heavy, and too loud, as you turned to find his clothes and the damp towel on the ground.

It had just happened, but the memory of him breathing on your skin with nothing on his own sent heat twisting in your core.

He’s a pirate. He’s leaving. I’ll never see him again.

Shanks came out with a smirk, the shirt he’d chosen today not tucked or buttoned at all, just the sleeve tied off at his missing arm.

“What’s the point of wearing a shirt at all,” you huffed, taking the change of clothes he offered.

“Because you seem to enjoy it so much,” he called through the door as you changed.

It felt like your head was about to explode with all the shit he was doing to you. It was embarrassing, and you had to focus.

You crossed your arms when you faced him in the hallway, trying to shut down every part of your brain that wanted to fucking giggle when he looked at you.

“What are you–”

“That color looks good on you,” he hummed with a crooked smile, tugging the rolled up fabric of his shirt at your elbow.

You stuttered, but he turned on his heel.

“W-Wait!”

“Let’s talk over breakfast.”

That stupid red hair walking away almost made you scream.

The Red Hair Pirates were in various stages of wakefulness now, but many were already drinking, laughing, and singing as if the night had never ended.

Shanks moved through them with an effortless joy, clasping hands, patting backs, laughing and joking with every crew member that wasn’t still passed out.

That dingy table. Mismatched chairs. Surprisingly good food.

A knee that kept brushing against yours, rubbing along your thigh everytime he turned to talk to you.

He was pushing all the boundaries. And you’d let him. You pulled him in last night, and now he was playing, testing, torturing you.

But you knew he would stop if you asked.

How can I trust someone so fast?

“You wanted to talk about something,” he asked, leaning back after his last bite.

His wicked grin made you regret asking to speak in private.

Warm sand slowly shook from your feet as you crawled over rough stone. Shanks whined a few more times after you led him away from camp, but soon he was walking beside you, with another breathtaking smile. Now and then over the gentle waves, you swore you heard him humming the notes to a song.

“Y/N, look at this one,” he laughed, pointing to another tide pool.

You sat on the rock beside it, the hint of a smile on your lips as he joined you.

So close.

“So what did you wanna talk about,” he asked, voice still soft like those soothing waves. He reached out to hand you a little stone he’d picked up.

The warm stone fell into your palm, helping you stay present as you rolled it between your fingers.

“What are you doing on my island,” you questioned, finally meeting those pretty eyes. “You said you have business here, and I need to know that you aren’t endangering my home.”

“Endanger–,” he cut himself off with a laugh, his brows furrowing as he shook his head at you. “You didn’t need to make up excuses if you wanted to spend the day with me, fish girl.”

“Shut up,” you growled, fighting not to let his annoying charms distract you this time. “You’re pirates. You said you had business on this side of the island for three days. What are you doing here?”

“I did say ‘business,’ didn’t I,” he mused, nodding to himself before looking across the beach.

“Well,” you pushed, struggling as he met your eyes, his face so relaxed, amused.

“This is it,” he gestured vaguely, his crooked smile giving you a headache.

“What do you mean? You mean your business is here, at this beach?”

“No, Y/N,” he rasped, grabbing your hand and squeezing it, the little stone pressing into your palm. “This is it.”

He nodded toward the camp, and let out a sigh.

“We’re on vacation.”

This smile of his made him look like a little kid that got caught stealing sweets. You blinked at him.

After a long pause, he took his hand from yours, bringing it to your chin to push your mouth closed.

“Don’t fucking mess with me.”

Your voice came out rough as you pushed yourself back, almost slipping into a tide pool as you stood.

“I swear I’m not messing with you,” he let out with a small groan as he stood. He moved in close before he wobbled his head back and forth. “Well, I’m not messing with you about that.”

“Fuck you,” you seethed, head going foggy with the overwhelming flood of emotions from the last day.

Shanks moved in slowly with his arm outstretched as if he were trying to calm a frightened animal. Or a child.

And you acted like a child, frustrated tears burning in your eyes, hitting your fists against his chest as he got too close.

“Stop lying to me! Please don’t hurt people here, please don’t–”

“Shh, shh,” he hushed you gently, somehow managing to hold you against him with one arm, your hands shaking between your warm bodies.

“We’re not here to hurt anyone. I swear on my life, and the lives of my crew. All we wanna do is relax until we have nothing left to drink. Then we’ll buy up all the booze your village has to sell, and be on our way. Plus food and whatnot, but–”

Your ragged breaths brought that spicy scent of him into your lungs, your forehead falling against his chest as you started to calm. A bit.

“Are you telling me,” you growled against his skin, “that you took me hostage while you all go on a three day bender?”

You felt his laugh as he held you to him, resting his cheek on your head for a moment before releasing you.

“We didn’t take you hostage. You paid for a ride.” He held up his hand as your mouth opened, itching to argue.

“Besides, fish girl,” he teased gently, “after hearing your story last light, it sounds like you could use a vacation too. When’s the last time you had any fun?”

“I have fun, asshole. Quit changing the subject.”

“Lying’s bad for the soul,” he hummed, touching the tip of your nose again.

The energy drained from your body, and you left him to climb off the rock, falling onto your back in the sand.

“So what do you do for fun?”

Shanks’ husky voice rolled over you. You didn’t need to open your eyes to know that he’d sat behind your head, leaning over your face as he spoke.

“I’ll have fun once I get off this shitty island.”

Finally, the pirate stayed quiet. Waiting. Until those rough fingers smoothed the hair from your face.

You didn’t stop him as he traced along your skin, letting relaxation wash over you. He moved from your temples, your cheeks, your jaw, behind your ears. Making sure to move his hand to both sides, evening out his slow caresses.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you confessed, fighting the heat of tears rising in your throat. You rolled that little stone in your fingers, the motion soothing your nerves.

“Why’s that?”

“... Because I’m ‘Fish Girl.”

Shanks paused, and you wondered if he’d stifled a laugh.

“What do you mean,” he asked, voice like the gentle waves just a few paces away.

It all came spilling from your lips. He listened to everything, fingers still tracing your skin.

All the pain. Your mom leaving you with grandma, never coming back. You were so young, and it didn’t feel that bad at the time. You didn’t understand.

Grandma would tell you stories, you’d sit together on her boat for hours and hours. She taught you how to fish before you were strong enough to reel anything in.

“That sounds wonderful,” he said, his voice somehow telling you there was a smile on his face.

“It was. But kids are mean. I didn’t know we were poor until I went to school. I didn’t know I stank all the time until they called me ‘fish girl.”

His fingers tensed on your skin, a guilty pause before he kept up his soothing touch.

“I never relax. I’m always working because I want a better life. All those mean kids grew up with me in our shitty little village. A few have tried to connect now that we’re older, but I don’t feel like it. I’m still 'fish girl.”

Shanks started to speak, but you cut him off.

“I know they were just kids, but they were brutal. I was a kid too, and I could never imagine hurting anyone the way they hurt me. I don’t want to be friends with those people.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

A heavy sigh left your lips, then a small gasp as his hand moved to the side of your neck, the touch of those fingers more satisfying than anything you could remember.

“Fishing used to be something I loved. But since grandma’s been gone, I can only bring in half of what we used to. It’s not enough to save anything. I wanted to sell that stupid fish so bad,” you admitted with a laugh, a deep hum coming from the listening pirate.

“Where do you wanna go,” he asked, his fingers trailing into your hair.

“I want to go somewhere where I can love fishing again. I want to live stories like grandma did. I want to be a fisherwoman. I don’t want to be ‘fish girl’ anymore.”

The loss of his touch was heavier than you expected.

“Come on.”

You opened your eyes to meet his, shining at you over his outstretched hand.

Tucking the stone in your pocket, you let him help you up, surprising yourself with a laugh as he shook the sand from your hair.

“Well, I’d say you deserve a vacation. What do ya say?”

Laughing at his silly wiggling eyebrows, you nodded, giving a breathy “okay,” as he took your hand.

He leaned over you as you walked, sending shivers across your skin as his breath touched your ear.

“Fisherwoman is a mouthful, so I’m gonna keep calling you ‘damsel.”

“No, you won’t,” you commanded. You cursed at him as he giggled, dropping your hand to run toward the camp.

“You sound like you’re in distress, do you need help,” he yelled back.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

You chased his laughing form until he slowed, grinning at you as he started to walk backwards.

The look on his face when you launched yourself at him would be seared into your mind forever. You both grunted as he toppled onto his back, his arm hanging onto your waist as you fell together.

The look on his face with you straddling him in the sand was even better.

Your hands had planned to slap him, but those eyes, those lips, and that look of joyful surprise did you in.

That gentle hand fisted roughly into your hair as you crashed your lips onto his. A quiet, needy moan left your throat, and his answering growl made your eyes roll back.

Thunderous cheers erupted from the crew, and you almost looked up at the camp until his fingers gripped your hair tighter, making your thighs clench around his waist.

He pulled you away gently, his parted lips and near frantic eyes matching yours.

“You sure,” he checked in, voice barely audible over the singing and shouting pirates. “Let’s get away from the crowd.”

Shanks kept looking over at you, that crooked smile following you back to the ship. He kept asking what you’d like to do, where you’d like to go.

“These clothes are sandy,” you noted, your voice low. “We should go to your room to change.”

He came in for a kiss, his deep voice rolling over you.

“We’re sandy too. We should probably shower.”

“Okay,” you agreed, melting under his dark eyes.

He pushed your sandy hair aside when you reached the door to the bathing room, kissing and nibbling from the crook of your neck to your ear, holding your waist as your knees went weak.

“Should we take turns guarding the door,” he rasped while your hands smoothed over the muscles around his waist and lower back.

“No.”

Practically stumbling through the door as you tried to keep touching each other, you stood in the center of that tiled room, and tore the clothes off of each other's skin.

There were no worries in your mind right now, just the electric touch of his hand and lips over each part of your body as it was revealed.

You cried out as you felt the hard length of him through his pants before you'd freed him from the fabric.

“You want me that much already, sweetheart?”

The urge to bicker was overridden as you pulled his pants from his skin, his thick cock springing up toward his stomach.

The need to touch him overwhelmed you, and you wrapped your hands around him, loving the moan he let out at your touch.

“Let’s shower, damsel,” he choked out as he kissed your cheek. “I need to bring you to the bed, now.”

That delicious smelling soap coated your skin, giving you an excuse to explore as you washed each other’s bodies. With as much of the sand and soap gone as possible, Shanks pushed you against the wall, his fingers traveling up your thigh.

“I thought you said you’re bringing me to the bed?”

“Just a minute,” he pleaded, teasing fingers until you nodded.

“Still this wet after washing it all away?”

Those rough fingers rubbed along your clit, his name dropping from your lips in needy moans.

“Mm, keep saying my name like that, beautiful,” he rasped, plunging in one finger, then two as your back arched against the cool, tile wall.

“Shanks, please…”

“Please what? What does my damsel need?”

“Take me– fuck. Take me to bed.”

You gasped as his fingers left you, finding his mouth as he sucked the taste of you off of his skin.

He tossed you a towel, kicking the clothes into a corner.

“Come on.”

“Wait,” you called, rushing to that pile of sandy fabric.

His crooked grin made you blush as he watched you grab that silly little stone.

“Come on,” he whispered onto your lips after pulling you into a deep kiss.

A trail of water followed your path, practically running and gasping with laughter all the way to his quarters.

He didn’t get you lost this time.

Now he was the one calling for you to wait as your hand reached for the door.

“We don’t have to do anything, Y/N. We can still relax and have fun together. Please, tell me if you’re not comfor—“

“Take me to bed, Captain,” you demanded, walking through the door before him.

The only answer he gave was to slam it closed, then wrap himself around your back, kissing your neck until you moaned.

“Shanks…”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said before licking and nibbling at your earlobe.

“I don’t know,” you laughed, arching against him. “I just wanted to say your name.

The deep rumble that came through his chest had that pressure building in your core. His hand grasped yours, until you opened to give him the stone.

You stood smiling with your eyes closed until he pressed himself against your back again.

He pulled at your damp towel, then trailed that perfect hand down the front of your body, feeling everywhere he’d touched under that warm water and delicious soap.

Those fingers found you again, slipping easily in the dripping mess he’d already made of you.

“Mm, so wet. So good for me, aren’t you, beautiful?”

All you could do was whimper as he circled your clit, until you cried out at the towel covered press of him along your ass.

“Please…”

“What darlin’? Tell me what I can do for my damsel?”

His raspy voice was too much, and you gasped as he palmed your needy pussy to hold you up as your knees went weak.

He chuckled in your ear as he kept grinding the meat of his palm against you.

“Please, Y/N, please tell me what you need. I’ve got you.”

His whisper brought desperate tears prickling in your eyes until you could finally speak.

“Fuck me now, Shanks. Fuck right fucking now, or I’ll never forgive you.”

He grabbed you, easily moving your weight with one hand until you fell back onto the edge of the bed.

He left you then, digging though his desk, tossing things out of drawers in a frantic search.

“I said right fucking now,” you demanded, still breathless.

“Yes, but—“

“I’m on birth control. Now hurry up before I find another pirate—“

Your sentence ended in a yelp as he pounced on you, his thick cock rubbing through your folds as he ate your moans.

“Don’t go saying shit like that again,” he rasped as his dark eyes bore down on yours.

“You’re the one who keeps calling me damsel. If you’re not going to help me—“

A filthy moan left your lips as he guided his tip to rub circles over your clit.

“Oh, I’ll be helping you plenty, don’t worry sweetheart,” he promised, this dark smile of his going in your list of favorites.

“What was that you said about ‘right fucking now,” he taunted, giving you no time to brace for the press of him.

He worked his way in slowly, putting your leg over his shoulder while he watched your face.

“How’s that sweetie,” he teased, his own voice breathy and desperate now as his hips finally met yours. “Is this what my girl needed?”

“Fuck, Shanks. Fuck me please.”

“You are a very demanding woman, you know that?”

Any retort you would have had died in your throat as you screamed, his deep thrusts making your toes curl.

“So fucking gorgeous. Gods, Y/N, you take my cock so well.”

Shanks gripped your thigh against his chest, pressing it to him until he locked you into place.

“Oh right there, sweetheart? I’ll help my pretty girl right there, just say my name again.”

He hit that sweet spot inside you over and over as if it belonged to him, claiming it, taking it back. Every word from his lips felt like vibrating pleasure down your skin, and in no time at all, you were screaming his name, arching your back against those red sheets as you fell apart.

He fucked you through your orgasm, sweet praise almost impossible to understand as your mind disappeared.

“You feel so good coming on my cock, you made such a beautiful mess. You're gonna go again for me now, okay?”

He chuckled at the pathetic whine from your lips, but never stopped his rhythm.

“Please, pretty damsel? I helped you out. Now let me watch those dainty fingers on your clit. Let me feel you milk my cock one more time before I fill you up.”

He moaned along with you as your body clenched around his.

You couldn’t argue with that heated smile. His hungry eyes watched your fingers slide over your clit, scraping his lip between his teeth as he tightened his arm around your thigh.

“Just like that. Let me see my girl come on my cock again. Fuck... You feel so good, so fucking good for me, baby.”

“Shanks, you feel… I’m close.”

“I know, sweetheart, can you feel me too? Come for me, I’m gonna— fuuckk…”

Shanks leaned over you, shoving himself as deep as he could go. Pleasure ripped through your body as you clawed at his back, more screams filling the air.

The sensation of both of you coming at once, your body milking his as he spilled ropes of heat inside you, had your mouth slack, body limp and useless as you twitched together.

Shanks leaned his forehead against yours, staying hilted within you as he caught his breath.

You gave him a droopy smile as he lifted his head, and he laughed before covering your face in kisses while you squirmed.

This made both your bodies twitch again, moaning as he pulled himself out of you.

He grabbed one of the damp towels as he knelt at the foot of the bed, kissing your thighs as he gently cleaned your sensitive skin.

“Stop,” you begged weakly as his soft touches across you body kept your aftershocks going.

The mattress shifted under his weight, bouncing you lightly until he pulled you up the bed onto his chest. His arm wrapped around you, still leaving lazy circles of touch across your back and hip.

“Now what,” you whispered, fighting to keep the real world from invading your brain.

“Anything my damsel wants,” he hummed, leaving a soft kiss against your still damp hair. “Your vacation’s only just started.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Hi, I have once again gone INSANE over another One Piece character. I need help. Someone please lock me away.

Part 3

#shanks x reader #red haired shanks #x reader #reader insert #fem!reader #one piece x reader #one piece fics #turtletaub fics #follower celebration #fic requests #mine #fluff #one piece fluff #shanks fluff #shanks fics #shanks smut #one piece smut #smut #use of y/n

220 notes · View notes

luveline · 10 months

Note

Hello!! For the zombie au, I would love to see something (no pressure at all tho - I love you and any of your writing regardless ❤️❤️) where the reader gets overwhelmed at the camp and goes off on her own for a bit, causing Steve to go absolutely insane with worry in the meantime. Totally up to you whether something dangerous actually happens or not. Thanks a ton either way!!

thank you for your request! i didn’t make him as worried as I could’ve potentially so please request again if this isn’t quite what you meant! zombie au steve x fem!reader

There are three different children having tantrums at breakfast. You wince at the sound, hands at your knees and squeezing, looking for relief. You have a headache the size of Mount Everest, in the midst of recovery from a cold that had you weak with fever and aching, and this isn't what you'd pictured when you crawled out of your tent this morning.

Steve had been snoring, and Robin's newly adopted cat had been restless, climbing up and down your bodies like you were nothing more than lumpy pillows, and combined with your headache it had been a little too much to bear. Rather than wake either of them to amend their problems, you saw no harm in getting up for a walk and a moment's respite in the small communal area of camp near the fire pit.

The fire hasn't been lit. For a while you'd all operated on nocturnal time, worried your smoke trail would attract the unkind, but it hasn't been a feasible plan to stay that way with so many young children living in the commune. These days you make very small fires when you need to warm food or boil water, and you try to stick to dry wood to minimise the amount of smoke.

You're not sure what's causing the tantrums, perhaps they're setting each other off, but things are starting to get too much for a second time. Without a friend at your side, it's easy to fall into despair. You're sick without medicine, you've been sleeping on the floor outdoors for weeks and it's making you incredibly sore. The children are here and alone and most of them are orphans now because the unspeakable happened and it keeps on happening. Your life is a tragedy novel, the situation is dismal, and you're not sure life is ever going to get better.

You stand up and walk for the river. The sound of rushing water will cover everything else, at the least, and there's a tree you can climb with minimal effort, a branch you can perch on that's high enough that nothing can reach you while you're overstimulated and distracted.

Today could be a good day. You need to clear your head first, is all.

—

Steve frowns at the empty blankets beside him. He'd prefer you didn't leave without waking him, 'cos he won't be able to breathe properly until he knows you're okay. He wishes he lived in a world —that you all did— where you could go wherever you liked without telling him and he wouldn't need to worry. He hates that he needs to know where you are.

He wiggles his toes in his shoes, trying to wake them up as he stands from the tent and casts his gaze over the camp. There's a little boy crying near the single fold out table they have. A man scoops him up and starts to rub his back, shushing him. A gaggle of girls laugh beside a small fire, camping pans and cans of soup in tongs held over the flames. Dustin and Will are already up, coming back from the river with a bucket between them.

"Hey," Steve says, jogging up to them. He looks around. "Seen Y/N?"

"She wasn't by the river," Will says.

"But we caught you guys a fish," Dustin says.

Steve looks down into the bucket, where a few smaller carp lie dead. "Oh, nice going. You didn't stab them, right?"

"We're humane," Dustin says. "You have to debone your own. We're not doing all the work."

Steve pats his shoulder. "Hey, thanks. Just as soon as I find Y/N."

He doesn't find you soon. You aren't at the campfire. You aren't in the general area surrounding it. You aren't in someone else's tent, and he's sure they all think he's a control freak for checking.

He tries to calm down. Chances are you needed the bathroom and wanted privacy. He isn't freaking out, he isn't freaking out, really, he's just– he's thinking logistically, because nothing good happens where he can't see you.

Steve turns in a frantic circle, eyes everywhere, searching for your hair, your big coat.

He's about to admit defeat and start shouting your name when you chirp up from behind him. "Hey, handsome. Fancy seeing you here."

He turns, sees you all in one piece in your big warm coat, your clean face shimmering with damp.

"Oh," he says, feeling like he's been punched, "those losers lied to me. You were by the river?"

You trudge over long grass to nudge him. "Just for a bit. My head was hurting. I saw them catching fish for a while, they're pretty good, but don't blame them, I don't think they knew I was there."

"Idiots," he says, not meaning it. His head is pounding. "Why, where were you?"

"Sitting on the 'dangerous' tree branch."

He takes your shoulders into his hands. He can see you preparing for a kiss, your eyes closing slowly, your chin lifting just a little. Newsflash! You made him worry and now you're climbing up trees. He shakes you gently, and when it doesn't upset you, he shakes you more. You laugh infectiously and let your head loll back and forth. You don't ask him to stop, but he feels bad, and he hugs you rather than scramble your brains any further.

"You have a conniption?" you ask into his neck.

"Maybe."

"Sorry, honey," you say, which is funny and sweet, because it's the name he always gives you.

He rubs your back. "Hmm. I should give you a speech on not wandering off along and unnecessary risks."

"Don't do that."

"No, I'm going to, actually."

He sits you by the fire and makes breakfast. The speech isn't a speech, really, just an excuse to talk at you, thankful that he still can. You give him all the meatballs from the weird canned spaghetti and he starts to forgive you for the heart attack. You wipe a dab of spaghetti sauce off of his lip with your thumb before giving him a peck, and he forgets what he was talking about in the first place.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

406 notes · View notes

morallyinept · 2 months

Text

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 9

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it; harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak; but he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter word count: 6.2k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Frankie deals with the aftermath of the boat sighting. Frankie and Jude grow closer. Smut contained in this chapter.

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapter 8

Things get bad after that for a short, scary while.

Jude wakes the following day - post his beachfront breakdown - to see Frankie’s already vacated the shack.

At first she isn’t concerned - he’s usually up before her - heading out to see the fire still smouldering away and glancing out to the ocean.

She can still see it; that white glimmer in her mind's eye of the boat that never came back. A continual taunt on the grey line of the horizon, forever ingrained to torture her relentlessly; a haunting mirage of a rescue that was so near, yet so far out of arm’s reach.

She can still hear the sound of Frankie’s shrill yells whip around her on the breeze; a pair of red, watery eyes that refused to look at her after that.

As Frankie had crumbled in her arms, his facade of strength shattering like glass, Jude’s own heart had clenched with worry and cold fear. She’d held him close, feeling the weight of his anguish pressing against her chest; his sobs still echoing around the stillness of the island. She hadn’t really known what to do or say to offer him any comfort.

It’s then she realises that all traces of Frankie seem to have disappeared completely. A hideous feeling sweeps over her when she can’t find him in the usual places she’ll expect him to be.

She frantically searches for him, looking out from up on the ridge. Her heart pounding in her chest as she pushes her way through the thick underbrush, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she calls out for Frankie again and again.

Panic claws at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to overwhelm her as she imagines the horrors - Frankie lost and alone, injured or worse. She’s shouting his name and can hear it echo down the overlook, but there’s no response from him. He’s not in the bay fishing, he’s not in the cave either.

Shit, where are you, Frankie?

Jude checks the shoreline to see if he’s been for a wash, and as she looks out at the ocean, an unsettling thought of him walking into the sea to willingly drown fills her head with its vile imagery. She shakes those horrific thoughts away.

No, he’s here somewhere. I’ll find him.

She dashes through the trees towards the bay and calls out his name again. She clambers on some rocks and scans about on the horizon on this side of the island, convinced in her blind panic she can see the boat again.

She wanders down to the shell of the fuselage and calls out his name.

“Frankie, you here?”

Jude peers in expecting not to find him, but sees him sitting on one of the stripped seats, motionless; his gaze fixed on some distant point that only he can see.

His expression is blank, his features devoid of emotion as he sits there, lost in his own thoughts, staring out at nothing.

Tentatively, Jude climbs up and perches on a seat in front of him, as uncomfortable as it is without the cushions - cool metal presses into the back of her thighs, and she observes him carefully with some relief.

“Hey, I was looking for you.” She says, softly.

Frankie doesn’t say anything; just stares straight ahead through unblinking, dull eyes.

She sits back in the seat a little deflated, and doesn’t say anything else; instead riding through this silent grief with him. There if he needs her, but giving him enough distance to do what it is he feels he needs to do to get through this.

The devastation is paramount, a seemingly unshrinking guttural ache that becomes more ferocious as time wears on.

The boat was there, right in their midst and yet gone just as quickly. Snatched away as though it were sent deliberately; a dangling carrot to tease them. Jude bites down on the inside of her cheeks with despair and is as vacant as Frankie is for a little while.

As the days stretched into weeks and the weeks into months, Frankie's sense of dread grew with each passing moment. At first, he’d clung to the hope that rescue would come - that somehow, someway, they would be found and brought back to civilization. But as the days passed, and their makeshift signals went unanswered, that hope began to wane, replaced by a gnawing sense of despair that seemed to settle deep in the marrow of his bones for the long haul.

Each day brought with it a new wave of anxiety, a relentless onslaught of doubt and fear that threatened to consume him whole.

He tried to push the thoughts aside, to focus on the task at hand - to gather food, to build shelter, to survive. But no matter how hard he tried, the nagging voice in the back of his mind refused to be silenced - a constant reminder of their precarious situation, of the vast expanse of ocean that separated them off from the rest of the world.

In those moments of quiet desperation, Frankie found himself longing for the familiar embrace of oblivion - a refuge from the overwhelming weight of his own thoughts.

But there were no drugs to be found on the deserted island, no quick fix to numb the pain and silence, and the voices of doubt that echoed in the dark recesses of his mind.

Desperation claws at Jude’s chest too as she searches for some way to break through to him - to bring him back from the depths of his despair. But the silence seems to swallow her words whole, leaving her feeling helpless and alone in the face of his silent suffering.

He looks so tired, the shadows under his eyes seeming more purple and the greys in his scruffy beard more prominent. Almost like he’s aged terribly overnight.

And so she sits there with him, her heart heavy with the weight of his pain, offering him her silent support and understanding.

Because that’s all she has left to give, finally running on empty like he is.

As Frankie sits unmoving, lost in the turbulence of his own thoughts, his companion's invading presence triggers a vivid flashback to a time long ago - close to his retirement days when he served in Delta Force on the unforgiving frontlines of conflict.

A memory of a day that would forever be etched into his soul.

He finds himself transported back to a time when he’s at the controls of an OH-58 Kiowa, flying high above the rugged terrain of a war-torn landscape on his last mission in active duty.

Two decades of dedicated service, and he’s never felt more tired. Frankie can't shake the twinge of uncertainty that rumbles in his stomach.

For so long, the army has been his home, his family, his everything. The thought of leaving it all behind fills him with a sense of brooding unease - a fear of the unknown that lurks just beyond the horizon.

And yet, despite the uncertainty, there’s also a sense of queried anticipation building within him. As he imagines the freedom and opportunities that retirement will bring. No more early morning drills, no more deployments halfway across the world - just him, living life on his own terms.

It’s an intimately terrifying thought.

His brothers in arms are around him, idle banter flowing in his ears through the headphones, conversation about what life will be like thrust back into civilization.

The rhythmic thumping of the helicopter blades fill the air as Frankie and his buddies sit in tense anticipation; their minds occupied with thoughts of the future. Retirement looms on the horizon, a tantalising prospect after years spent in the crucible of pointless wars.

"So, this is it, huh?" Santi remarks, breaking the heavy silence that has settled over the cabin. "Our last mission." His voice crackles with a smirk inside of the headphones they’re all wearing.

Frankie nods, his gaze distant as he contemplates the weight of the words.

"Yeah, it's hard to believe it's finally coming to an end," Will replies, his voice tinged with a mixture of relief and uncertainty.

“Stay focused boys, we ain’t outta the woods yet.” Tom stoutly reminds them.

Retirement is supposed to be a chance for a fresh start, a chance to leave the horrors of war behind and embrace a new beginning.

But as the helicopter rumbles on towards their final destination, Frankie can't shake the feeling that the regimented past will always be a part of him - a shadow that follows him wherever he goes.

Santi nods, a nostalgic look crossing his features. "Remember when we first enlisted? Feels like a lifetime ago."

“If I knew then what I knew now,” Will says, stoically.

“If I knew I’d be stuck with you old fuckers, I’d have quit.” Benny pipes up.

"You know what I heard?" Frankie says, a mischievous glint in his eye as he casts his gaze over his shoulder back into the cabin.

His comrades and life-long friends turn to him, their curiosity piqued.

"What's that?" Santi asks, a grin spreading across his face.

"I heard that Benny already got himself a job at Walmart," Frankie replies.

“Fuck you, you red neck hick.” Benny remarks.

"Hey, nothing wrong with an honest day's work, Ben," Tom agrees.

Benny lifts up his gun and pretends to shoot both Tom and Frankie in the cockpit.

“You boys are leaving me to fend for myself.” Benny remarks sourly.

“Benny no-mates.” Santi mocks.

“Old ass motherfuckers.” Benny chortles.

Their laughter is soon interrupted by the crackle of the radio, signalling an incoming transmission. Frankie reaches for the receiver, his brow furrowing in concentration as he listens to the message.

"What's the word, Fish?" Tom asks, leaning in closer to hear.

Frankie shakes his head, his expression grim. "We've got reports of activity in the area.”

“Go round.” Tom replies.

“Keep your eyes peeled, boys. This could get dicey." Frankie responds.

The roar of the chopper's engines fills his ears as he guides the aircraft through the turbulent skies, his senses sharp and alert despite the chaos unfolding below.

He sees himself at the controls, his hands steady despite the tension in his muscles. Around him, his team sit poised and alert, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of danger.

Suddenly, the heavy tranquillity of the moment is shattered by the deafening roar of an explosion. The helicopter shakes violently, sending Frankie and the guys lurching forward in their seats.

"What the hell was that?!" Will shouts, his voice tinged with panic.

Before Frankie can respond, another explosion rocks the aircraft, sending flames licking at the edges of the cockpit.

"We're hit!" Frankie yells over the pierce of the engine, his heart pounding in his chest as he fights to maintain control of the chopper. “They’re firing at us.”

“Keep us in the air, Fish!” Tom bellows. “We can’t land here!”

“You think I don’t fuckin’ know that?!” Frankie bites back as he fights to steer the falling bird away from the conflict below, but the quickly waning engines force him to make a decision in that moment.

A split second of cognitive ticking. Fight or flight - a snap.

“Ain’t got a choice, we’re going down!” Frankie says. "Hold on!"

“What the fuck are you doing, Catfish?!” Will yells in his ears as the ground hurtles closer.

"Brace for impact!" Frankie shouts, his voice firm and authoritative, despite the chaos unfolding around them.

As the helicopter plummets towards the earth below, Tom and his team exchange a series of terse commands, their voices calm and steady despite the fear gnawing at their insides.

"BRACE! BRACE!" Frankie yells, his grip tightening on the controls as he prepares for the inevitable crash landing.

In those final moments, as the ground rushes up to meet them, Frankie feels a sense of calm, unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Despite the overwhelming danger they face, there’s a moment of peace, of acceptance.

He welcomes it in, a rush of brightly white euphoria.

And then, with a deafening crash, the helicopter slams into the ground, sending shockwaves rippling through Frankie's body.

For a moment, everything goes dark, the world reduced to a chaotic blur of fuzzy noise and movement.

But when Frankie regains consciousness, he finds himself surrounded by his team, their faces grim but determined, as they work together to assess the damage and tend to the wounded.

"You okay, Fish?" Santi asks, his voice filled with concern.

But before he can reply, they’re showered with bullets; a drone of hornets tearing into metal and exposed flesh.

“Down! Down!” Tom yells as they scramble.

His heart racing, Frankie belly crawls along the length of the chopper, his gun poised and firing off rounds at enemy targets moving towards them.

He looks around, dazed, his head hammering. He can't see Will. Or Benny.

He yelps out as he feels the burning sear ripping through his hip.

“I’m hit!” He puffs as he takes up position against the chopper body, out of firing range.

Santi scrambles towards him with a medkit as Frankie pulls at his camo.

“Just a mosquito bite, hermano,” (brother) Santi assures, although Frankie’s fingers are slippery with blood - too much blood.

“Fuck!” Frankie growls, holding himself in.

“Hey! Look at me. You’re alright. Stay awake! No cierres los ojos, joder!” (You don’t close your fucking eyes!)

But his eyes close anyway and everything goes black.

Frankie wakes up sometime later - he’s not sure when - in a med bay at the local hospital, groggy and clumsily stitched up, with nurses who don’t speak any of the languages he knows when he asks them where he is; a bag of his piss taped to his ankle.

Sluggish groans of wounded soldiers greet him as he struggles to sit upright without feeling like he might shit himself with the pain.

Tom fills him in. Frankie was shot, lost a lot of blood; a man without a spleen now. Benny's leg is pretty fucked up, but he'll be alright. An early discharge no doubt on medical grounds, and a shit ton of rehabilitaion, but he'll be alright.

He learns that Will’s in a coma. Head trauma from the crash, and the sinking feeling that he’s at fault somehow, plagues Frankie like a cold sweat.

Tom, Benny and Santi are there, weary but alive, as they wait for news of Will’s recovery. And when Frankie’s able to walk unaided, he’s left with another scar on his body, and a friend teetering on the edge of life with tubes coming out of him as Frankie pays him a visit.

He looks down at his hands, stained with blood and sees them shaking.

And he can’t seem to stop them, no matter what he tries.

Jude turns to look back at him some time later and Frankie’s still staring at the fuselage wall completely unmoved and unblinking.

“Okay, enough of this shit, Frankie. You’re scaring me now.”

He doesn't say anything again and it irks her further.

“I get it, okay? The boat, it fucking left us... And it’s probably not coming back.” She sighs heavily. “We just have to deal with it and move on. We can’t stop. We have to keep going, right?” She says to him; although it’s more of an affirmation out loud to convince herself of it.

Either he hears the words and chooses to ignore them, or he’s so far removed from reality at that point that he doesn’t notice she’s there at all, lost in sweet catatonia.

“Frankie!” She prods at him, and once more he doesn't even flinch.

She stands up and goes to leave the fuselage, but decides that she isn’t going to take this shit anymore.

She needs him to be strong and she needs him to be okay, because if he isn’t okay then she won’t be okay. And she isn’t okay with any of that, okay?

She rounds the seat and stands in front of him, ankles aching from the slant, blocking whatever it is that only he can see, but his eyes don’t move, sculpted in a thousand yard stare.

He looks dead; a corpse void of any emotion with a chest rising and falling, but his face is completely lifeless - those usually soft, inviting eyes so incredibly dull.

Not knowing what else to do, she lurches forward and slaps him clean across the jaw - hard. Her hand stings and her heart pulses inside her chest as she stares down at him and his unchanging expression.

Jude hears him breathe out, his plump lips parting slightly, and then his eyes focus onto her face fuming down at him.

She sees his Adam’s apple somersault as he swallows and then he sits forward slowly like a zombie coming to life in want of her brains.

She’s unsure if he’ll slap her back, but he doesn’t. He sits there observing her, seemingly void, but eyes on her nonetheless.

“I’m sorry-” Jude begins, shakily.

He simply swallows and flops back in the seat and sighs.

“Just leave,” he murmurs in a pleading whisper.

Jude shakes her head. “No. I’m not leaving you like this.”

She watches as he closes his eyes and pulls his cap down over his face.

It feels like hours later when he pushes it back up, and spots that Jude is still there, curled up on one of the metal seats, eyes closed and asleep.

He watches her for a bit, knees drawn up and chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His mind is blank, empty and he's undecided if that’s better or worse.

Frankie nudges her awake gently and she looks up at him with bleary eyes. He doesn’t say anything as he follows her out of the fuselage and back towards the shack.

She checks behind her to see if he’s still following, and he is, hands swinging loosely by his sides as he stares out at the ocean as they walk in splintered silence.

Once inside the shack, Frankie stops and pulls her back by the wrist gently.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs through a hoarse whisper.

“I thought you’d done something stupid...” She whispers back in a frightened gasp.

“No. I… just needed to deal.” He confirms.

“Have you dealt with it?”

He shrugs and looks away.

“We’re gonna be okay, Frankie.” Jude reassures him.

He doesn't say anything to that.

It takes Frankie a few weeks to fully bounce back and part of her wonders if he’ll ever be the same again.

It’s like an unspoken darkness you carry within you, and when someone else sees that darkness you harbour, it alters the both of you for a while. Like their most vulnerable parts are exposed and you see their bloody, veiny messes that are barely held together.

She’s keeping an eye on him; watching for any signs in his behaviour for a relapse or regression of some sort. But he seems to be smiling at her, talking and dealing with it well as the scorching days wear on.

But he slips a little when Jude’s convinced he’s fully over it, when she finds him floating in the water by the rocky shore, just staring up at the sky staring blankly as he bobs on the surface one afternoon, letting the sun burn him.

She crouches down in the shallows beside him and looks at him as he stares back up at her; the slow recognition of her face coming back to him.

“This fuckin’ sucks.” Frankie mutters to her with a dipped smile etched into his tired features.

He looks so damn tired.

“Come on; let’s get you outta the sun.” Jude says gently to him, stroking his face affectionately and he grips her hand and squeezes it tightly, their fingers crushed inside one another’s.

She helps him to his weary feet and walks with him back to the shack.

Their routine carries on the same; they continue to get to know one another further.

They only have one another to converse with and it keeps the swamping loneliness at bay that would have undoubtedly consumed either of them by now had they been alone all this time.

Frankie’s sitting on the cushion bed writing in the notebook when Jude comes in wearing the bikini. She’s been fishing down at the bay, getting better and better at it the more practice she has.

“Hey,” he greets her as he looks up, and his eyes betray him instantly, roaming hungrily over Jude’s body in the black string bikini.

He tries not to look at her cleavage as she bends forward for her clothes.

Frankie looks back down at the notebook quickly as she glances back at him smiling.

“Hola, mi amigo.” (Hello, my friend.) Jude reaches for her towel and wraps it around her.

Frankie scratches at his ankle idly as he writes; tiny little scabs are dotted there like constellations and itch with that satisfying fire when his fingernails rake over them.

“Don’t scratch it, it’ll bleed.” She says, noting him going at the bites dotted all over his skin.

“It’s my own fuckin’ fault for tasting so good,” he remarks up at her with a slick smile. “The bugs’ll finish me off soon enough.”

She smiles back. “Writing anything good?”

“Just some thoughts; how many did you catch?” Frankie enquires, as he scribbles along the page absentmindedly.

“Only two; there didn’t seem to be that many today.” She frowns at him.

He looks at her as she perches on the end of the cushions and he raises his legs up to make space for her. “Hopefully they’ll be more tomorrow.”

“I was thinking we should probably build some kind of lookout post on the ridge. Put something up there that’ll attract attention in case another boat happens by...” Frankie looks at her with big, cautious eyes as she absorbs what he says. They’re intensely chocolate and shimmering almost at her.

“I think that’s probably a wise idea.” Jude nods gently.

He closes the notebook and places it on the case beside the bed.

“I’ll go scout it out,” he announces, getting off the bed and walking past her quickly.

“Now?”

“Yeah. No time like the present.” Frankie says with a quick flash of a grin.

“You okay?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll make a start on supper once I’ve washed up; I stink.” Jude groans.

“Sounds good,” Frankie smiles at her before he leaves the shack, adjusting the raging hard-on inside of his shorts discreetly as he goes.

Up on the ridge the breeze is more fluttery than usual.

Frankie notes the sky is still clear blue and the sun is high, but the winds have picked up significantly. He wonders what the change in the season will bring to the island; surely it can’t be sunshine every single day?

Frankie scouts around on the ridge and kicks away some branches and sticks idly, imagining in his mind what the lookout post will look like.

He’ll need to erect some sort of shelter maybe, to block out the sun and maybe they could rig up a flag or something with one of those horrifically patterned shirts he refuses to wear…

He wanders towards the ledge, and peers down at the steep overlook below, then his eyes wander afar and he can see Jude emerge through the trees on the other side of the bay, carrying her towel and some toiletries.

He steps back, disappearing out of sight out of respect, but the sweet, caustic thoughts infect his brain immediately.

His cock too as he feels it grow uncomfortably hard again, clearly with a mind of its own.

Since he’s been on the island, Frankie’s relieved himself once or twice, mostly when he’s been bathing in the sea. Lying back on the sand or standing in the shallows with his legs submerged, but his bare hips exposed to the elements as he tugs on himself gratuitously. Butt naked, wet and wearing only his cap.

Thinking about previous porno’s he’s watched, or letting his imagination run wild for a brief spell before the plague of realistic concerns would come flooding back and render his dick limp in his hand again.

How on earth can he summon the sexy feels to jerk off when faced with imminent death or starvation each day, I hear you ask? Well, it’s easy. For starters, he’s only human. Even in dire circumstances we can switch off, distract ourselves and get our sexy on. That’s the gift and power of having an imagination.

And then there’s just doing it for the sake of boredom, for release; even for comfort. A lot of guys will just jerk off for the sake of it; it’s a comfort thing for sure. They’ll be sitting watching a boring ass documentary on TV, nothing sexy about that in the slightest and then bam! Morales Junior is out and squirting yoghurt all over the joint.

Who knows why Frankie jerks himself off on the regular, maybe he’s thinking of Jude? Maybe he’s thinking that they’re two people, alone in this world and that finding some comfort in each other, even by bumping uglies, will feel great - amazing even.

And then he soon finds he’s thinking about it a lot more with the time they spend together on the daily. The more he catches her smiling at him randomly, or the way in which she’ll laugh at his jokes and keep her eyes fixated on him with a cheeky glint in them that perhaps he’s misreading for something else.

The scent of Jude as she sleeps beside him, within touching distance. All he knows is that he likes the way it makes him feel; a glimmer of light amongst the swamping dark.

And he likes the way she looks in that fuckin’ bikini too.

Up here on the ridge, Frankie turns back and crouches down between some rocks, sitting and able to peer through the gap. He can see her on the beach laying the towel on the sand and proceeding to remove her bikini by pulling on the strings behind her back.

Frankie clutches his hand over his hard cock swelling inside his shorts, daring himself to do this and trying not to listen to the nagging voice in the back of his head telling him he shouldn’t be doing this; shouldn’t be spying on her like this.

But the voice is slowly being strangled as his hips move gently up into his grip. He sees her stride naked to the shore and watches as her body disappears under the water.

She bathes, washing herself, and then retreats back onto the sand and sits on her towel, running something over her legs again and again which he assumes is the razor.

She then takes what appears to be some lotion and rubs it all over her body; down her arms, across her stomach, over her ample breasts...

“Fuck.” Frankie reaches inside his shorts and clamps his hand around his raging cock and pulls it out, all the while watching her through the slit in the rocks with unblinking eyes fixated on Jude like laser beams.

He’s so hard; he feels weighty in his own hand, swollen and throbbing with that delicious ache.

He begins pumping slowly and groans out at how good it feels; his eyes rolling into the back of his head for a moment before he focuses back on her down there.

Frankie watches Jude lay back on the towel and she begins running her hands over her stomach and then watches in sweet astonishment as her hand trails between her legs.

“Fuck...” He whimpers out again as he jerks himself off harder to this wondrous vision.

He watches as Jude pleasures herself too on the beachfront, and wonders how often she’s done this.

Clearly they both have needs, and it would be naïve of him to think that she’s abstaining from getting herself off too. The stresses of survival have to be released in some way, right?

He grips tighter round himself, looking down at it and enjoying the sight of his own hand sliding around his cock; up and down with precum oozing out the tip that he squeezes out, and wonders what it would feel like if she did it for him instead.

Frankie looks back through the crack and she has her back arched and is writhing on the towel more intensely now.

“Fuck, yeah. Come for me, Jude…” He murmurs out, upping the pace.

He spits into the palm of his hand and then rubs it around his cock making it wetter. His hips jerk in response at how sensitive it feels - how damn fucking good it feels squelching around his grip.

“Fuck. Mmm.” Frankie groans out again as the slick, tight slaps increase and intensify, as does his grip, making his cock work through his hand like he’s fucking her wet pussy for real.

He pants, sweat beading on his forehead and looks back at Jude down there on the sand, as her body jolts and her right leg shakes and judders.

“Shit!” He throws his head back, his eyes rolling once more into the back of his skull as he comes hard all over his hand, some of it squirting up his arm and it feels warm and gluey against his skin.

Frankie breathes out, letting slip a little satisfied chuckle and glances down at her again to see Jude lying back with her arms thrown over her face, enjoying the last few moments of her own come down also.

They finish eating the fish that evening, their bellies rumbling for more despite not having any, and sit back watching the moon as it lights the entire beachfront.

It’s large and brightly lunar in the sky; the craters visible with the naked eye.

They speak for ages about all manner of things; space, politics, cheese...

“I’m telling you, it’s the best damn cheese I’ve ever eaten.” Jude says, side smirking at him.

“Can’t confirm. I’ve never had it.” Frankie remarks with a grin.

“I’ll get some for you. You’ll be a converted man.” She promises.

“Oh, I will?”

“Mhm, I am a fantastic cook.”

“I’m not too bad myself. I can make a good meal.” Frankie confirms confidently.

“What’s your signature dish?” Jude puts to him.

“Fire cooked fish,” he mocks and then shrugs. “I can make some good Tapas dishes that you’d probably like. I like making Mexican food too.”

“Is that an offer?”

“Maybe.” He smirks.

“If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?” Jude asks.

“Oh man,” he looks up at the moon thinking. “Steak... Arepas… Chilli cheese fries… Empanadas. A fuckin’ Big Mac. There's nothing like a good plate of tacos from this little taqueria on the corner near where I live. I swear they’re the fuckin’ best."

“You’re in Florida right?”

“Yeah. Pensacola.”

“Key lime pie.” Jude says, with raised eyebrows.

“We have some good key lime pie.”

“I’d prefer a big, thick slice of chocolate fudge cake,” she says, nodding at him.

“Stop it.”

“With ice cream.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.” Frankie snickers.

“Filthy.” Jude grins. Her stomach rumbles again and she giggles. “Man, I could eat a fucking horse right now. I’m so sick of fish.”

“Me too,” he agrees, his mouth watering somewhat.

As Frankie and Jude sit by the crackling fire on the shore, the conversation drifts to the topic of home. The flames dance in the darkness, casting flickering shadows across their faces as they reminisce about the comforts they’ve left behind.

“What do you miss most about home?” Jude asks, softly; a wistful smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“So much,” Frankie replies bleakly.

He can’t bring himself to tell her that he also doesn't miss that much either, because in the end, he didn’t have that much left.

They fall into a comfortable silence, lost in their own thoughts as they gaze out at the endless expanse of ocean before them.

For a moment, the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore seem to transport them back to the familiar streets of their hometowns.

But as the fire crackles and pops, reality comes crashing back down upon them. They’re stranded on a deserted island, thousands of miles from home, with no way of knowing when - or if - they’ll ever return.

Frankie sighs quietly, the memories of home flooding back with each passing moment. “I miss my own pillow.” He says.

“Oh, me too - my comforter!” Jude rolls her eyes remembering the snug feel of it when she’d wrap it round her like a toasty marshmallow on frosty mornings in the Big Apple when she’d indulge in a lazy sleep in.

“I miss clean water.” Frankie continues.

“I miss my socks. And my camera.” Jude adds, remembering her equipment that’s at the bottom of the ocean.

“I miss the gym,” Frankie says.

“I miss my vibrator...” Jude says, flippantly.

They both laugh out loud, even though there’s absolute truth in it.

When they finish laughing like they’re twelve years-old, Frankie regards her and smirks with something gleaming inside of his eyes.

He looks back at the moon and relives the moment this afternoon when he was up on the ridge. He feels his cock pulsate at the recall, plus the added wayward thought now of her using a vibrator on herself.

He squeezes his eyes shut trying not to see the images.

Jude stands up stretching with a yawn. “Bedtime I think. You coming?”

“I’ll uh… be a minute. Nature calls.” Frankie smiles up at her, feeling the tightness growing inside his shorts unbearably.

Once inside the shack, Jude changes quickly into a t-shirt and some clean shorts, and flops down on the cushion bed.

Frankie comes in a little while later, and lays beside her after kicking off his ill-fitting flip flops.

His cheeks are rosy and he looks a little sweaty. He tosses his cap onto the case beside him; curls a scraggly, sweaty mess sticking out under his ears.

They both lay there in a muted silence in the darkness, until she turns in the bed and faces him.

“Have you thought about fucking me, Frankie?” Jude asks him directly, and seemingly out of nowhere.

He baulks at her, but his eyes give him away. “That’s a little presumptuous.” He snuffles through his nose, the breath escaping it in little whooshes.

“No, you know what I mean. Base urges and all that... We’re only human after all. Last two people on earth kind of deal.”

“Uh, have you thought about it?” He questions, peering at her; scleras milky and shiny in the light of the moon.

“I asked you first.” She states.

“Uh, d-do you want me to think about fuckin' you?” Frankie asks her cautiously in a quiet voice.

“I saw you up on the ridge today.” Jude says, carefully.

“I didn’t see anything-”

“Yes you did.” She smirks, even though he can’t see it fully in the dark. “Is that what you thought about whilst you watched me?”

“I know you’ve watched me too.” Frankie admits to her and she smiles devilishly now.

“Well, I guess we’re both guilty.”

“As charged,” Frankie confirms.

He looks at her lips as she speaks and how she licks them with her tongue moistening them up.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.” He says.

“Did it feel good?” Jude asks him, biting down on her lip.

He breathes in deeply, slowly through his nose. He nods, but doesn’t answer verbally.

She smiles as they look into one another’s eyes.

“We should stop talking about this.” Frankie whispers with a little smirk, his cheeks flush and his eyes shining at her with want and need.

His cock hardens again and he can feel the heavy ache inside his balls, weighing him down.

“Yeah,” she agrees, composing herself and rolling onto her back.

She can feel the back of her neck and collarbone damp with perspiration, matching the feeling inside her shorts.

“Besides, I won’t let you fuck me, Frankie. Not until you’ve taken me on a date, at least.” She declares with a grin.

“A date?” He chuckles; she can feel him jolt beside her.

“Yeah. Just because we’re on the island doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to be wined and dined, you know, treated like a lady.”

“You’re no lady,” he teases. “You burp louder than I fuckin’ do!” He guffaws and she laughs with him, and it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

“Alright, tell me what you wanna do for a date.” Frankie puts it to her.

“Nu-uh, I’m not going to make this easy for you.”

“I gotta work for it, huh?”

“Yeah. You gotta surprise me. Take my breath away.” Jude’s grinning epically, and he can see her teeth shining at him in the darkness of the shack.

“Prepare for immense disappointment then,” Frankie smirks.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Jude looks into his eyes smiling, and the pull of them makes him feel lightheaded.

“Okay, smartass. You’re on. Pick you up tomorrow night at seven?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“In your flashy sports car?”

“I drive a rusty, piece of shit Pickup.” He says rather deadpan.

“That’s disappointing.” She laughs.

“Just keeping it real.” Frankie surmises.

“I look forward to it."

“Challenge accepted. Prepare to be swept off your feet.” He smirks.

Jude laughs again. “Goodnight, Frankie.”

She rolls over, away from him and he’s left staring at her back, bemused and bewildered at her confident gall.

He enjoys it, he enjoys her very much.

“Dulces sueños, hermosa,” (Sweet dreams, beautiful) he replies, smiling.

As he shuts his eyes, he feels her reach for his hand.

They interlock their fingers and he shuffles closer to her on the bed, slipping his other arm under her neck and shoulder.

Frankie holds her inside his arms tightly as they fall asleep together.

To be continued...

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know.

Tagging everyone who asked to be tagged/commented on/re-blogged my initial teaser & prologue:

@suzdin @missladym1981 @magpiepills @millennial-teenybopper @legendary-pink-dot @linzels-blog @msjarvis @tightjeansjavi @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @sin-djarin @rhoorl @disassociation-daydreams @quinnnfabrgay @chronically-ghosted @fuckyeahdindjarin @chiriwritesstuff @copperhalfcent @bluestar22x @5oh5 @gobaaby-blog-blog @myloveistoolittle @pastawench @maggiemayhemnj @secretelephanttattoo @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @thethirstwivesclub @seratuyo @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @toomanytookas @survivingandenduring @lizzie-cakes @sawymredfox @iloveenya @elegantduckturtle @covetyou @undercoverpena @connectioneverywhere @trulybetty @nerdieforpedro @thisneozonerecs @fckyeapedrothots99 @goodwithcheese @anavatazes @doughmonkey @lilmizmoz @76bookworm76

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x ofc #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales angst #triple frontier fic #adrift with you series #jett's writing

181 notes · View notes

dilf-din · 9 months

Text

Emergency Contact

Poe Dameron x f!reader (college friends/modern au)

WC: 2700

Warnings: language, harassment mention (not Poe), alcohol mention, all the pining and fluff, only one bed 👀, reader has a nickname

A/N: inspired by the Pierce the Veil song of the same name. I’ve got Poe on the brain, fellas. Golden retriever guy that we all know and love. Let me know if you want a part two?? He’s so fun to write for. Enjoy, my buttered noodles 🫶🏼

PART 2

Your feet dragged through the door to your apartment like they did every Friday at 5:42. You kicked your boots off as the heavy door swung shut behind you, tossing your keys onto the counter, a skittering sound of metal against smooth stone filled your ears. The stagnant air of your apartment was a stark contrast to the biting wind you had navigated on your way off the train. Heat pricked at the back of your neck instantly, prompting you to shrug off your jacket and scarf and hang them on the rack by the door.

August, your orange tabby, jumped onto the counter nimbly, batting at your keys.

“Hey, bud,” you smiled wearily, leaning your forehead down for him to butt against.

You liked your job, but Fridays were your busiest day by far, leaving you too tired to go out with your friends for after work drinks or bar hopping. You usually settled for a documentary and some pizza, pulling up your favorite place on speed dial to put in an order for dinner. While you waited the 25 minutes you knew it would take, you got everything ready so that you could crawl in bed by 9:30, the same routine every weekend.

You stripped your work clothes into your nearly full hamper, knowing you’d have to make a trip to the bottom floor to wash it all tomorrow. You wiped your face clean of any makeup and pulled on your trusty sweatpants that you had stolen from a college fling. Just as you finished scrubbing out your coffee thermos and Tupperware from lunch and setting them up to dry, you heard the familiar buzzing indicating that your pizza was on its way up. Pulling your purse off of the back of one of your barstools, you fished two twenties out of your wallet, noting the frayed edges and thinking it was time to replace it.

You swapped the cash for the pizza, wishing the high school aged kid a good night to which he huffed in reply. With your veggie pizza next to a half empty bottle of wine and a glass, you settled on the couch and switched on your tv. The penguin documentary that made you cry was already pulled up on your home screen, so you selected it and snuggled back into your throw pillow pile. August sat perched on the top of the middle cushion, an indent from his weight already there to welcome his soft body.

The hours ticked by quickly and slowly all at once. As the clock crept closer to 9:00, you found yourself mindlessly scrolling through a dating app, turning up your lip at the unappealing offerings it brought while the local news droned on in the background. The weather girl warned of a some late night snow headed to blanket the city. You paid no mind, knowing you’d be in bed soon enough. It was at that point in the year that you needed to pull your extra quilt down to nestle under at night.

With a sigh, you folded your throw blanket and tossed it over the arm of the couch. You drained the last sip of your wine and gathered your dishes to wait in the sink to join tomorrow’s load. The pizza box fit easily in your near empty fridge. “Lunch for tomorrow,” you thought as your bare feet padded down the chilly wood floor to your room, stopping to crank your heat up by a few degrees.

After moisturizing your face and brushing your teeth, you climbed into bed, ready for another restful night’s sleep, but secretly longing for a break in your routine. You had no idea that interruption would come in the middle of the night.

12:37 A.M.

Your phone buzzing on your night stand pulled you from your sleep. You fumbled for it in the dark, pulling it to your ear without checking the number first.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ace, it’s me,” an embarrassed voice came from the other end of the line.

“Poe? Is something wrong?”

You haven’t heard from Poe in months, one on one, that is. You two still ran in the same circle with some friends from college, but the two of you were by no means best friends any more. Still, you knew the exact expression on his face and the way his hand was behind his head ruffling through his hair the way it always did when he messed up. The years you spent in each other’s dorms quizzing each other and drinking cheap beer didn’t fade with time. Neither did the parade of girls he always had on his arm, so many you stopped asking for their names. He always said you were different, too good for any of the guys on campus. He didn’t know how much you relished his presence and the smell of his cologne on his collar. Everything started flooding back at once. His laugh cutting across a crowded room, the winks he would send you in a conversation to let you know he heard you, he was still with you even when your quiet comments got swept away.

The sound of his voice brought you back to the present even though you had one foot caught in the past.

“I need some help, Ace,” he hesitated, “I’m in jail. Can you come pick me up?”

“Jesus, Poe. Yeah. Yeah of course, I’ll be right there.”

“You’re too good to me, thank you,” relief flooded his voice.

You kicked off your covers, not even bothering to change into jeans. A quick look out your window revealed that snow had already begun to line the sidewalks below. You pulled your boots and scarf back on over your sweatshirt and pants, stuffing your keys and wallet into your pocket. The elevator was thankfully on your floor. The doors opened quickly to carry you to the bottom floor. You buttoned your coat and drew your scarf over your mouth before stepping out into the New York winter. Flurries and wind stung your eyes as you made your way down the steps to the subway that sat just outside your building.

The ride went quickly. There weren’t many other riders this time of night with this weather. The hum of the car gliding down the rails made a pleasant background noise. There were no hushed conversations or blaring music like during the day.

You arrived at the station, checking the time on your phone to see it was 1:13.

You approached the counter and smiled at the bored looking woman on the other side of the glass. She talked you through the process of picking up your friend, and within three minutes, he was making his way to you escorted by two officers.

He flashed you a toothy grin, his left eye swollen and bruised. One of the officers undid his cuffs and pushed him towards you.

“Thank you gentlemen,” he nodded, earning an eye roll from the pair of men who retreated back out the hallway.

“You don’t have a coat?” you frowned.

“Didn’t have time to grab it,” he shrugged.

You unwound your scarf and draped it over his neck. He smiled once more, softer this time.

“It’s good to see you, Ace.”

He followed you down the stoop into the cold November air. There were about two inches of snow on the ground by this point, nothing compared to the inevitable feet that would pile up in the coming weeks.

“So what happened?” you broke the silence, turning your head to meet his dark eyes.

“I know it looks bad, but it’s not that bad. I was out with some friends and a buddy of mine was way too drunk. Started getting handsy with this chick so I decked him. It turned into a whole thing. We all got kicked out. Me and him got taken in.”’

“Thank you,” you replied.

“What?”

“Thank you. For standing up for a girl. Not enough guys do something when they see shit like that going down.”

The look on his face told you that was unfathomable to him.

“Do you need a place to stay?”

“If you don’t mind. I’m not going back there until tension blows over,” his teeth started to chatter so you picked up the pace. Grabbing his hand, you pulled him towards the station with you.

“C’mon, Dameron, let’s get our hero warmed up.”

The two of you sat nestled on a bench together, personal space be damned, just like when you were teenagers. It wasn’t until you were in the dimmed fluorescent light of the train that you noticed his split knuckles. Deep purples bruises bleeding into raw spots on his right hand. Your fingers traced over the marks with a featherlight touch and he swallowed hard, leaning his head back against the icy window.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“No, no, you’re good,” he cocked his head to the side to give you a genuine smile. “So how’ve you been? I’m sorry I keep meaning to check in.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Work’s been kicking my ass. I don’t do much besides work, sleep, and eat,” you admitted with a shrug.

“That’s no life,” he scoffed.

“It’s my life,” you responded, “I’m not like you, Poe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Fun doesn’t befall me at every turn, I don’t have a dazzling personality and tons of friends like you. I do my best to keep my head above water in every social situation. I’m always talked over or ignored. So it’s easier like this, just to bury myself in my work and fade into the background.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said that’s bullshit, Ace. That person you described doesn’t sound anything like you. You’re kind and smart and a crazy good karaoke partner,” this drew a laugh from you before he continued.

“You make people better, myself included. So don’t feed me those lines about you not being good enough to have a good life. You don’t want to look back at this time and have everything be a blur. You’ve gotta take risks, stay up late, do something spontaneous.”

“Like pick you up from jail?” you teased.

He sighed and put a hand to his face.

“You always see the best in people,” you murmured at the ground.

“No, I see what people show. You are the best of us, don’t get so down on yourself,” he squeezed your knee twice.

The walls started coming into focus as the train slowed to a stop at the platform under your street. Poe followed you up the steps and into the lobby of your building, thankful to be out of the wind.

“So what awaits me on the other side? You got a boyfriend up there who will be mad to see me?”

You laughed, “No boyfriend, just me.”

“No cute coworker with his eye on you?”

“No?”

“I’m just trying to make sure I won’t have to swing on anyone else tonight,” he smiled cockily, carrying himself with that signature swagger that he always made look effortless.

You stifled a laugh as he followed you off the elevator and to your door. August mewled loudly at your return, curious eyes following Poe’s movements. You pulled your boots off by the door once more, and he followed suit leaving his snow caked shoes next to yours.

“Coffee?” you asked from the other side of the kitchen island, already pulling a fresh filter from the cabinet.

“Yes please,” he called back. He was holding his hand out for August to sniff. “Who’s this handsome guy?”

“Are you looking in the mirror again?” you teased. “Oh, that’s August. We found each other at the beginning of the year.”

“I haven’t been to your place yet, it’s nice,” he remarked looking around.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. If you want to give your guys a few days.”

“I might take you up on that,” he said sheepishly, taking a seat on your couch.

“Here,” you tossed him a bag of frozen peas and he held them against his eye. You crossed the room to sit next to him while the coffee maker bubbled in the background.

“Are you wearing Tommy P’s sweatpants still?” Poe asked with a grin, taking in your outfit for the first time.

“They’re comfy! Nothing else! Besides, he’s married now. Do you think I should call and see if they want them back?”

Poe threw his head back and laughed.

“See, that’s the Ace I know,” he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“That looks bad,” you knelt forward to take a closer look at his eye, clutching his jaw lightly.

“I’ve had worse,” he murmured. His breath was hot on your cheek, and you realized just how close you were sitting. You pulled back hurriedly, straightening your coasters to keep your hands busy.

“Do you need anything for pain? Advil?”

“Nah, I’ll be alright. That coffee’ll warm me up enough to pass out.”

On cue, the pot beeped a little melody to let you know it was full. You grabbed two mugs and filled them.

“Black?” you called over your shoulder.

“Splash of cream?” he smiled, reciting back your preference.

“Some things never change,” you smiled, carefully handing him the dark blue mug and taking a sip from yours.

The two of you fell into conversation easily, as if no time had passed. You blinked and you were twenty again, tucked into his bottom bunk and laughing until tears fell while he did a dramatic retelling of his encounter with a history professor. You were nineteen and crying on his couch because your date stood you up and how could you be so stupid. His broad shoulders were always the perfect landing pad for your heavy head. You were eighteen and he was clinging to you like a life support on the anniversary of his mother’s death. And now you were twenty five, sharing your couch and a cup of coffee, talking about all the life that had happened since your last long talk. Neither of you could even place when it was. One day, things just got in the way.

He noticed the heavy pull of your eyelids and cut himself off.

“I’m talking your ear off, Ace. Let’s get some sleep. Don’t worry about pulling the couch out, I’ll be fine like this,” he reassured, reaching for the blanket that was draped over the arm still.

“Don’t be silly, just come sleep with me,” you said groggily.

He hesitated.

“It wouldn’t be the first time we shared a bed,” you shrugged.

He switched off the lamp and followed you down the hall.

“I’ve got an extra toothbrush in the drawer, you can have it,” you said. You pulled a fresh pair of sweats and a tee shirt out of your bottom drawer and handed them to him. “Take your time,” you smiled.

“Thanks,” he said softly, excusing himself to the bathroom to the left of your bed.

You crawled under the covers and were out in a second. It was well after four at this point. Some time later, a few minutes you guessed, you heard Poe cross the room and pull the covers up on the other side.

“Do you need a phone charger?” you mumbled.

“Nah, my phone shattered at the bar. I’m gonna have to get a new one tomorrow,” he explained, fluffing your extra pillow and tucking his arm under it.

“Okay,” your eyes closed again.

You were both quiet as sleep blanketed you like the snow on the ground outside.

“Poe?”

“Yeah, Ace?”

“If your phone is broken, how did you find my number?”

“It’s the only one I know by heart,” he said simply.

“Oh.”

“I’ve known it since freshman year.”

You smiled into the dark.

“I’m glad you called me and not someone else.”

“There’s no one else but you, Ace,” he said, voice barely a whisper.

#poe dameron x female reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fluff

213 notes · View notes

imagineredwood · 3 months

Note

hiii can u do HC for Miguel dealing with a bratty reader when he's just trying to work?

Wasn't sure if you wanted this to be SFW or NSFW so I did two 💗 They can be read separately or read consecutively if you want to read the NSFW one as well. The NSFW one could be read as like a part 2 of the first

SFW

He had told you to hang on

That as soon as he was finished signing these documents, you would have his undivided attention

But that hadn't worked for you

You had missed him all-day

All alone in the big mansion by yourself

Now he was finally home

And ignoring you :(

He'd been sympathetic at first

Telling you that he was sorry and he would make it up to you

But you had decided that being a brat would get you what you wanted

And that was exactly what you had done

Barging into his office to offer him a bite of your yogurt

He'd taken the spoonful you had offered him and then sent you out

Thinking that'd be the end

Foolishly

You'd returned merely 4 minutes later, asking him which shoes he thought you should order

He'd picked the cream ones and sent you on your way again

And once again you'd returned, asking him to peel and orange for you

And he'd told you to leave again

Yet here you were, once more, sitting on the side of his desk, eyes burning holes into him as you waited for him to acknowledge you

NSFW

He told you to wait

That he was busy with this paperwork and that as soon as he was done, he would give you attention

That if you were good, and patient, he would make it worth the wait

Yet here you were

Perched atop his desk

Legs swinging

Your bare foot coming up higher to press at his thigh sometimes

Pressing at his crotch others

Your hands resting on the desk on either side of you

Your pussy bare and begging for attention from under your skirt

He wasn't sure if you had discarded your panties somewhere along the way

Or if you had entered his office with them already gone

But he was ignoring you, or trying his best anyway

Eyes stuck on the papers in front of him

Ignoring you and your pouty mouth and lonely pussy

Ignoring the sporadic whines of "Miguelllllll" that left your mouth every few seconds

He remained stoic

Not wanting to encourage your brattiness

But you weren't giving up so easily

Hopping off his desk with a huff and then coming to stand beside him

Hand on his shoulder playing with the collar of his shirt

Nail 'accidentally' scratching lightly at the side of his neck with a falsly innocent "oops"

Your knee pushed and prodded against his, your voice whiny as you spoke

"Let me sit in your lap at least. I won't bother you. I swear."

That was bullshit

And you both knew it

But Miguel was going to make you regret pushing him

So he sat back slightly and let you climb into his lap, chuckling as he watched you settle into his chest, thinking you had won

His hand reached into the drawer to his right and fished out the vibrator

Your back straightening as you heard it switch on

He was nestling it between the two of you then, pressing it firmly against your bare cunt

Sucking his teeth at you as you whined

"You wanted to be a little fucking brat and get attention right? Now you have it. So you're going to shut up and sit there until I'm done."

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114 @destynelseclipsa @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses @weirdosandhopelessromantics @kola95 @black-repunzel99 @xonickibaby @cruzwalters @myakai13 @mrsstevenbuchananstark @lyly00 @kaystacks17 @cole-winchester @alexxavicry @savagemickey03 @fanfic-n-tabulous @gangstaliciou06

Mayans MC taglist

@dazzledamazon @abunnykisses @briana-mishell24 @wrcn9fvlcver @thesandbeneathmytoes @krysiewithak @appropriate-writers-name @blessedboo @megapeacelovemusic-blog @emoengelfurleben @blowmymbackout @abby-splace @kola95 @black-repunzel99 @redpoodlern @myakai13

@cruzwalters @danimals1096 @po3ticb3auty @lyly00 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @angel-121 @fanfic-n-tabulous @90sisthenew80s @lovelytricia @librarian1002

#mayans mc #miguel galindo x reader #miguel galindo #brat!reader #headcannons

69 notes · View notes

forasecondtherewedwon · 3 months

Text

a tall, tall tale no one believes

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Pairing: Sally/Poseidon Rating: M Word Count: 875

Summary: How do I feel? she asked, and he told her, weak in all his strength, Wet.

Sally can’t sink, which is a strange trade-off for raising her little boy alone, but it’s just a fact of her life. The ocean bears her up. At the cottage, she rinses vegetables in a colander in the sink and, if her hands dip in to agitate some brussels sprouts, the water floats them to the top, refusing to sieve through the holes, refusing physics, cradling the back of her hands. Her fingertips never prune.

It’s the same in her apartment’s bathtub, the Finger Lakes, the model boat pond in Central Park. Percy isn’t sure about it, only four, but she helps him set his boat on the still water. The moment Sally slips her hand beneath the surface, a current propels the boat along. Her son is surprised and delighted. She wonders whether Poseidon can see, whether the water is a two-way glass, whether he feels any paternal instincts that aren’t too supernatural to put in a parenting book. Regardless, it makes her smile to watch them playing together at the park, the sunshine on Percy’s hair.

She teaches him about it: how wild water and domestic water touch. About rain and rivers, aquifers and Arctic thaw, treatment plants and tap water. How it’s all connected, like her and him. She rubs her thumb across his freckled cheek. All one thing that will always find its way back to each other, to the ocean. Those concepts are so bound up, but Sally doesn’t tell him, not yet. Instead, she laughs when Percy puts his ear to the closed tap and claims he can hear the ocean. Sally, unsinkable, would believe him in a heartbeat, except that he’s giggling the whole time. She tells him, Well, it’s time for bed. Try not to get any perch caught in your toothbrush. He’s at an age now where his end of their make-believe will drop away unexpectedly. Those are freshwater fish, Percy corrects. Her mistake.

Older, and he’s at school. The bathroom is unbeatable for oasis per square foot; it’s where she goes when the apartment is loud, or quiet, or it’s pouring and she’s in a mood that makes her afraid of what the people in the building across from hers will think if she climbs out onto the fire escape and gets too friendly with the rain. In the shower, where the water came from the ocean, sometime, someway, somehow, Sally makes it cry down her body before it returns to his domain. Remember me? is the question she doesn’t speak aloud. Her boyfriend keeps complaining to the super that the pressure’s for shit, that the spray is cloudy, that he gets out of the shower grimier than when he got in. But water pours clear as glass from the head and runs over Sally’s closed eyelids, her parted lips. It’s her lover on her skin, and sometimes she feels crazy for thinking it, but then the water streams along the blue veins visible on the pale parts of her breasts that were (usually) covered during their long summer at the beach, and traces the grooves of stretchmarks in her stomach and thighs, and she’s sure that he’s tracing her, her lines that wind like rivers, her body of water.

She remembers being pregnant with Percy. Back to the cottage, the shoreline in the fog, her hands in the kitchen sink. Oh, she would wade into the shallow water and ache for Poseidon. Her clothes discarded on the sand, Sally would hold her buoyant belly and understand what it felt like to be bigger than the skin that held her. Was that how he felt, when he was there? The size and shape of a man, but so much more? And less? Contained in one form, and then—she would stroke the place where Percy kicked—another.

She remembers before she got pregnant. How do I feel? she asked, and he told her, weak in all his strength, Wet.

Fire and water don’t go together, and that seems cruel, because she’s always sitting in the rain when she misses him most. Matches often won’t stay lit long enough for her to touch them to an offering. Tic Tacs from her purse stick together in her palm as their coating dissolves. A partially eaten granola bar Percy left in her coat pocket goes soggy as its silvery wrapper fizzles away from the weak flame. Cruelest, the toast she burnt by accident in the toaster refuses to catch as she dances fire along the crust on purpose. Some days, it’s more than she feels able to bear.

When she wants to, Sally can dive deep. Down there, it feels like she’s holding her breath longer than most people—most humans—can. It could just be her imagination. She’s not a god.

Water, for her, will never wash things away. It’s a tide, seemingly made up of equal comings and goings at first, but drawing everything in eventually. Her floating is an uninsurable chronic condition. Sally isn’t complaining, she just has to wonder sometimes. About fate. About the urge she has to cup her hands at the mouth of a downspout and splash her face with the draining water. To make him touch her as he passes through.

#my writing #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #PJatO #Sally Jackson #Poseidon #Percy Jackson #Sally x Poseidon #Percy Jackson fic #PJO fic

84 notes · View notes

devine-fem · 5 months

Note

whats ur biggest damijon hc

biggest? no idea. my hc are usually boring asf and any headcanons i do have get put into a fic some where down the line.

i just have a bunch of headcanons altnerating through my head.

the most recent i was thinking about jon having a habit of collecting things. i headcanon jon keeps trinkets that just happen to belong to damian in one of his drawers, he has robin batarangs, he has a torn out page of dami’s sketch book, he has a picture of them together ofc, he also keeps love letters in there, not written by him but girls in his school that asked jon to give them to damian, lastly i feel like he has torn out pages of his diary he’s too anxious to leave around inside that drawer… its a hobby he tells himself, its no concern most of those things relate to damian. (ill post this today seperste from this post)

i also headcanon that damian subconsciously tries to climb jon at times and jon doesn’t even bat an eye to it because his kryptonian biology makes him numb to it

i also headcanon that damian will perch up/sit on one of jon’s shoulders when he’a lazy, just like a bird

i also feel like damian is subconsciously clingy, nuzzling up to jon like a cat at times.

i also feel like after a mission damian gets all nervous and looks around like hes bracing for an attack and his teammates are confused as to whats wrong but suddenly theres a streak of blue and jon’s crashing into damian with a hug sending him feet across the ground. which damian was expecting the whole time

i headcanon that damian climbs through jon’s window and sneaks up to him to give him a kiss while jon pretends he didnt know cause that would ruin the fun

i headcanon for the span of like weeks damian and jon had this inside joke where damian would speak in arabic and jon would speak in kryptonese.

and thats putting aside the possibility theyll call each other pet names in those languages

headcanon damian as the little spoon

headcanon jon’s terrified of horror movies even though hes a superhero and damian can’t focus on movies because his eyes are always stuck on jon’s expressions

headcanon that damian will get art block but he can still draw jon for some reason

headcanon that damian does all the house work like sewing jon’s capes and helping him get dressed in the morning

headcanon that damian hates kissing jon first because the act of getting on his tippy toes is mortifying

imagine jon getting his cape put on with the help of damian and damian’s somewhat struggling to do it due to his height so jon spreads his legs apart like he’s doing the splits to meet his height

jon is still stuck in his crush phase and gawks at damian

jon says “damian deprived” unironically like its a condition

its canon that they watch anime together so its fun thinking of the type of stuff theyd watch

jon asks before he does anything “can i kiss you” “can i see you” “can i hug you” ugh, i love it so much

they love to cuddle, fish, nap or talk on the back of goliath for no reason just because it feels homey since it was the first few things they did when they met

thats a few

#jondami #damian wayne #jon kent #supersons #jonathan kent #super sons #damijon #jondami headcanons #asks

56 notes · View notes

webslinger-holland · 2 days

Text

The Sergeant's Senator | Epilogue

Summary: A few years have passed. The Bad Batch finally think about settling down on Pabu.

Warning: fluff, reuniting, mutual pining, kissing

Pairing: Hunter x Fem!Reader Senator

Type: Short Series

Word Count: 3.5k words

Series Masterlist

Over the course of the next three years, Hunter had come across lots of different beaches during their missions. He'd often take a short moment to take in the scenery at the end of a mission, judging the features that in his mind made the beach a good one or a bad one.

No matter how many beaches he came across, Hunter was never fully satisfied with the beach in front of him. There was always something that made it fall short of being a perfect beach. Whether it was much too rocky, the waters weren't the right shade of blue, or a few unfriendly critters littered the place. He came to the conclusion that none of these beaches were up to his specific standards.

That was until Pabu.

During the Bad Batch's first stay on the planet, Hunter found himself walking down to the shoreline on his own one evening. His heavy boots pressed into the soft white sand, thinking slightly under his weight. He searched some of his surroundings, glancing up and down the coastline for anything out of place. But Hunter couldn't really see anything just yet.

The crystal clear blue water created the smallest curved waves, splashing white sea foam along the shore. The sinking orange sun shone through the billowing wispy clouds, kissing his tanned skin and keeping him warm in the sunlight. A handful of colorful seashells littered across the sand, but not too much that it would be difficult to avoid stepping on them. The beach looked like a masterful painting. And it felt like the world seemed to stand still.

This was the place; Hunter was sure of it.

The Pabu port was certainly a hotspot for the remote island. Many fishing boats would travel out into the waters every day to catch fish to bring back. They also transported various goods including resources to rebuild and supplies to distribute. There were always a lot of people hanging around the docks.

Just as a boat was pulling into port, Wrecker was sure to wave from his spot on the perched ledge. He held a fishing pole in one hand, gently tugging the line with the other. The small boat docked and a number of people began carrying the supplies up to the lower level of the city.

Meanwhile, Shep and Hunter were carrying two heavy crates up the stairs to the lower level. They wasted little time in setting the crates down with the rest of them, getting ready to go back down for another trip.

"This friend of yours who's stopping by, he's another clone?" Shep wondered while throwing a glance towards the sergeant.

"Yeah, but don't worry. He's not with the Empire," Hunter reassured him. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

"If you trust him, that's enough for me," Shep smiled.

"The new fishing dock's rebuilt and moored," Wrecker announced. He had just climbed the last few steps whilst carrying a massive purple fish over one shoulder. "And I caught some dinner," Wrecker added proudly.

"You've been busy," Hunter recognized.

"You're got that right," Wrecker smirked. He propped the pole of his fishing rod over his right shoulder. He was quickly called away by some others who were looking for help to fortify the seawall. And he hurried after them.

"He's become an integral part of this community. You all have," Shep praised. His tone changed slightly as his next words came. "Any chance you've reconsidered staying permanently?"

"For soldiers, putting down roots is an occupational hazard." Hunter tried to explain. He knew this from first hand experience that he wasn't meant to form attachments to anyone or any place.

"Is that all you are? A soldier?" Shep asked sadly.

For a brief moment, Hunter pondered his words carefully. It'd been a long time since he questioned his status as a soldier. The times had changed and the war had ended since then. But he didn't have a long time to think about this before he heard the engines of his ship flying overhead.

Looking up, the Marauder flew over the docks and the port. It began flying higher into the sky, growing smaller in the distance. The two of them walked towards the edge of the steps to watch the ship fly away.

"More flying lessons?" Shep chuckled.

"Uh-huh. Tech's got his hands full," Hunter commented with a small smirk on his face.

Meanwhile, Tech and Omega were doing another flying session since she had begged him earlier that morning. She sat happily in the pilot's seat, maneuvering the wheel with two hands. Tech was currently seated beside her, but was holding onto the sides of the seat for dear life.

It was safe to assume that Tech found Omega's flying skills incredibly inexperienced and rather reckless. She'd often pull up at the last minute or use the thrusters way too much. He tried to critic her, but she kinda did her own thing.

After a moment, there was an incoming vessel approaching them that showed up on their scanners. The two of them leaned forward in their seats to look at the blinking red light on the panel.

"Incoming vessel on approach," Tech explained.

"It's him!" Omega exclaimed happily. She pressed the comm channel. "Havoc-4, this is Havoc-5. Do you copy?"

"Affirmative, Havoc-5. I see you've been keeping up with your training," Echo's voice sounded through their channel. A smile was evident in his tone.

"As promised," Omega replied.

"Good. Race you to the landing zone?" Echo challenged.

Before Tech was able to protest the idea, Omega had already accepted the challenge and grabbed onto the thrusters. She pulled a sharp turn in order to head back to the landing zone, following the ship closely behind.

Only a few minutes later, Echo successfully landed his ship near the landing zone. The engines powered down and the ramp lowered slowly. He walked down the ramp to be greeted by a familiar face. Both Hunter and Echo came up to each other and clasped their hands together in a brotherly manner.

"You weren't kidding. This place is remote," Echo told him, having never visiting the desolate planet beforehand.

"That has its advantages," Hunter agreed. The Marauder ship began to slowly descend over the landing platform, coming down a little rougher than expected.

"I'm surprised you're not on Ord Mantell with Cid," Echo pointed out.

"We've been...reevaluating things," Hunter responded.

In the short distance, Omega emerged from the entrance of the ship. She called the clones name, waving her hand wildly in hopes that he would see her. She broke into a run down the ramp, following by a dizzy looking Tech who stumbled down after her with a hand on the side of his head.

Just as Omega drew closer to them, she ended up leaping into his open arms and wrapped her arms around his next. He was a little taken back by the gesture to say the least, but he hugged her back nonetheless. She smiled so brightly.

"We've missed you," Omega said cheerfully.

"It hasn't been that long," Echo chuckled. He was careful to set her back down on her own two feet.

"Feels like it has," Omega shrugged her shoulders at this.

Turning his attention back towards Hunter, Echo's face grew more serious. He had come to them for a reason; this wasn't just a friendly visit. However, Echo did come bearing good news. And he needed to tell the sergeant.

"I've just come from Coruscant," Echo confessed. The sergeant immedielty straightened his back in posture and his breath hitched in the back of his throat at the mere mention.

"Did you happen to--" Hunter stopped his words short.

"Yes," Echo nodded. His lips tugged into a gentle smile. "I saw her. She's doing just fine."

Upon hearing this, Hunter nodded his head understandingly. His gaze fell to the floor as he tried pushing his emotions and reaction down. However, this didn't go unnoticed by Tech or Omega. They studied him carefully.

"Actually," Echo corrected himself. "She's doing more than fine."

Without another word, Echo had turned around in his place and walked right back up the ramp of his ship. The others who had been left behind were confused by his sudden disappearance. But it all seemed to make sense a moment later when he reemerged at the entrance.

This time, Echo wasn't alone though. He gingerly helped escort the former senator down the ramp slowly, being extra mindful of her weakened state. She needed to watch her steps because she didn't want to loose her footing. The two of them descended down the length of the ramp until they reached the bottom. Now they lifted their gaze to look at the others.

In that moment, Hunter felt this stirring tension growing in the pit of his stomach. Everything around seemed irrelevant as he stared directly into those mesmerizing eyes once again. He honestly never thought he'd lay eyes on her again, yet here she was, standing only a few feet away from him. He heard his heart skip a beat. And he swore that he'd just fallen in love with her all over again.

Having been apart for three years, Y/n looked different from when they spent time together and from when the picture of her hologram was taken. She no longer wore extravagant clothing fit for a senator, instead opting to wear bland and boring civvy clothes. Not only that, but she also cut her hair and it now rested in soft waves just below her chin. She looked different; she looked as beautiful as ever.

Feeling overcome with emotions, Hunter took a single shaky step forward. He moved with caution in fear that this was all just some horrible nightmare torturing his mind. But as he drew closer to her, his hesitation didn't waver. He just couldn't believe his eyes.

Very quietly, Echo and Tech silently gestured for the young girl to follow them away. She was going to protest, but they quickly reminded her that they needed a moment together. The three of them began taking strides backwards, giving the couple some space. They watched from a distance instead.

"Is that the senator he likes?" Omega asked with slightly narrowed eyes. She looked up at Tech and Echo for an answer.

"That's her," Echo nodded once in confirmation.

"She doesn't look like a senator," Omega commented on her appearance.

"That's because she's not a senator anymore," Echo replied without taking his eyes off the pair. He crossed his arms over his chest. "She stepped down a few months ago," Echo added.

"So why'd you bring her here?" Omega always seemed to have a million questions on her mind.

"She needed a place to go. She's always had a target on her back. Now more than ever," Echo said with a hint of sorrow in his voice. He didn't want to get too deep into the details, thinking it wouldn't be wise to share that information with a child.

"She'll be safe here," Tech reassured him. "Plus...Hunter's here too."

At this comment, Echo's lips began to tug into a smart smile. He nodded his head in agreement. He looked between the two of them with admiring eyes.

"It's exactly what they both needed," Echo responded. It was almost like it was all apart of his grand plan to get them back together. And it worked perfectly in his favor. "She needed a place to take refuge and he needed a reason to stay."

All the while this conversation was taking place, Hunter and Y/n were still trying to come up with the right words to greet one another. They both simply stood in front of one another with shocked looks on their faces. Each of them unable to find the courage to speak first.

"Hi," Y/n spoke gently. She sent him a nervous smile. She wrung her hands together, realizing that they had become incredibly sweaty.

"Hi," Hunter breathed back, still a bit lost for words. He cleared his throat awkwardly, shaking himself out of his trance. "I--I can't believe you're standing in front of me," Hunter spoke.

"I know," Y/n agreed. "Me neither."

"Cause I never thought I'd see you again," Hunter confessed. There was a strong sense of sorrow in his brown eyes. A heavy heart still kept him stationed, remembering all those lonely nights longing to be able to see her or speak to her.

"Well...I'm here now."

Without saying another word, Hunter took the remaining steps forward to close the distance between the two of them. He wrapped his arms around her body, pulling her into a tight embrace. Dropping his head onto her shoulder, Hunter took a second to bask in the feeling of having her this close to him after all those long years. He closed his eyes shut, sighing in a form of contentment.

For some reason, Hunter was holding onto her so desperately at the beginning. It was almost like he was afraid she'd slip through his fingers so he clung to her as a lifeline. He buried his nose into the waves of her hair, inhaling the sweet familiar scent of fresh lavender. She grounded him back to reality.

"I missed you," Hunter mumbled into her hair quiet enough that she was the only one who heard him.

"I missed you too," Y/n said with a hinted smile in her tone. Her arms remained locked around the space behind his neck, holding him down to her for a while. They swayed ever so gently in their place, feeling an overwhelming sense of happiness taking over them.

Finally, Hunter drew away from her, but he kept his hands on her hips steadily. He held her at an arms length so his eyes were able to scan over her new appearance. He chuckled softly to himself.

"What happened to this?" Hunter prompted with a smile. He had brought a hand up to grab a few strands of her short hair, tugging on it teasingly.

"I cut it," Y/n replied happily. She subconsciously grabbed a few strands as if to fix it for approval. She gazed up at him with sparkling eyes. "Do you like it?"

"It suits you," Hunter agreed with a firm nod. "I like it a lot."

There grew a settled comfortable silence between the two of them. They once again found that they were at a loss for words, choosing to simply bask in one another's presence for the meantime. Eventually, a thought slipped through the sergeant's mind. And he was reminded of the thing he did on every previous mission.

"I have to show you something," Hunter stated as the realization dawned on him suddenly.

"Lead the way," Y/n encouraged. He took hold of her hand gently, glancing down at her for a quick approval. When she sent him a smile, Hunter took that as the 'go ahead.'

They began walking through the various streets of the little island, talking and catching up on the latest development in their lives. She had mentioned what had happened to the senate as of recently, stating that the corruption of this new empire was only creating more problems throughout the galaxy in her opinion. She also had come to realize that there weren't too many others who agreed with her, which became one of the reasons why she stepped down.

After this, Hunter talked about to events that occurred after the end of the war. How Order 66 went down for them, how they met Omega in Kamino, how Crosshair chose the Empire over them, and how they had been on the run ever since. It felt like they talked for hours as they mindlessly walked through the quaint streets.

It wasn't until later in the evening when they made their way to the lowest level of the city. They passed by the now empty ports, heading towards the shoreline in the distance. Stepping off the platform meant that their feet settled on the soft sand of the beach.

When the former senator raised her head, Y/n was greeted by the most magnificent and breathtaking sight she'd ever had the pleasure to witness. As the sun hovered over the horizon, it casted a warm, golden glow across the sky, painting it with a palette of oranges, pinks, and yellows. The ocean waves created the most gentlest of sounds, lapping against the shore in a rhythmically slow manner.

The sand was bathed in the warm light of the settling sun, casting these long deep shadows that stretched down the length of the beach. The air filled with the silly sound of seagulls quacking at each other over the sounds of waves crashing against nearby rocks.

While the sun sank lower, the colors scattered across the skyline began to intensify. The oranges grew richer in ripeness, the pinks changed a shade deeper, and the yellow more pronounced than ever. The fluffy clouds were transformed into a canvas of swirling and mixing colors; each cloud becoming a unique piece of art never seen before. It was the most beautiful sight known to man; a beach bathed in the warm light of a setting sun.

Taking a moment to admire the beauty, Y/n wanted to commit this picture to her memory forever. She closed her eyes temporarily. She inhaled deeply through her nose, smelling the salt of the sea. As the waves crashed near her feet, a spray of seawater kissed her face gently. The gently wind blew the hair out of her face and the sun's warm brought a beautiful glow to her skin. A bright smile overtook her face.

All the while, Hunter was looking down at her like she was the only thing in the world. He didn't care about the view of the beautiful shoreline in front of him; instead choosing to look at the person who he believed could rival the view. He truly thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on and he had believed that for years now.

"It's beautiful," Y/n breathed, still taking the time to admire the view.

"Well, I always promised that I'd take you to the beach," Hunter recalled. His thoughts turned wary for a second. A frown fell across his face. "I just hope that it lives up to your expectations."

"It exceeds them," Y/n answered without a moment's hesitation. Her eyes remained trained on the landscape in front of her. "I've never seen a more pure and perfect beauty than this."

"I have," Hunter confessed.

Since getting there, this was the first time that she'd taken the chance to look at him instead of the view. She turned her head to look up at him only to find that he was already looking at her and had been for some time now. Her breath caught in the back of her throat and her heart skipped a beat. She saw the way he smiled at his and she was reminded about his heightened senses.

Feeling slightly embarrassed with herself, Y/n went to avoid his gaze, but he stopped her from doing so. He grasped the tip of her chin between his fingers, lifting her head to meet his gaze once more. The two of themselves discovered that they naturally gravitated towards one another. Their gazes switching between looking at their eyes and glancing down at their lips.

Finally, after three years of being apart from each other, the sergeant and the senator's lips brushed together in a soft delicate kiss. Their eyes fluttered shut beforehand. His hands went from the sides of her head and down to my neck, holding her steadily in his place. Mouths moving in a slow manner to swallow one another's breaths. She tasted as sweet as he recalled from their first kiss and his scruff tickled her face ever so slightly.

They tried to savor this moment together. They held onto each other in fear that they'd lose one another all over again. Their lips fit together like two perfectly matched puzzle pieces, destined to be together from the start. They were reunited.

Pulling away, Hunter already missed the feeling of her lips against his own. He leaned forward to press his head to her own. Their noses bumped together. He kept his hands on the sides of her neck, fighting the urge to simply pull her back into another kiss. She brought her hands up to hold onto the backs of his hands. She gazed up at him with a gentle smile on her face.

"I love you."

No matter what challenges were ahead of them or what was they'd be up against in the future, neither of them feared it. Because they knew that, despite what may come, that they'd always have each other. And they didn't have intend on letting go anytime soon.

It would be the two of them against the rest of the world. And they were okay with that.

Taglist:

@leotatombs @justhavingsomefun1 @totally-not-your-babe @jedipoodoo @gyllord @roam-rs @totallyunidentified @redheadgirl @mrcaptainrex @whore-of-many-hot-men @graciexmarvel @qweenrogerina @arcsimper5 @queenofspades6 @cadihyo @jediknightjana @elthoughtzos @lokigirlszendaya @sleepycreativewriter @moonwrecked-blog @ravenclawbitch426 @waytoooldforthis78 @left-in-the-motel-bar @fic-force-99 @ayyyy-le-simp @swaggykermit

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL WHO FOLLOWED THIS SERIES! I DO HAVE A FEW DELETED SCENES THAT WILL PROBABLY BE POSTED WITHIN THE NEXT WEEK OR SO IF THAT INTERESTS PEOPLE. THANKS AGAIN!

25 notes · View notes

i-need-entertainment · 1 year

Text

Character: Edgar Allen Poe x female reader

Warnings: minor angst (unrequited love), ranpo being a gremlin and stealing candy

Pt.2

“No, don't eat those! They aren’t for you Ranpo!”

Poe lunged towards the coffee table and picked the candy bowl up and out of Ranpo’s reach before setting it gently on his bookshelf.

Ranpo huffed as he sat down on the couch, letting out a sound of dissatisfaction at having the candy bowl placed out of his reach.

“Then who are they for then? You don’t like them.”

Ranpo raised a brow as he watched his friend fumble around before clearing his throat,

“W-well, you see.. they’re uhm…they’re- just don’t eat them! And please don’t try climbing up my bookshelf to get them again, the candy for you is on the other table.”

Ranpo let out a sound of delight as he spotted the other candy bowl before grabbing it and plopping himself back down on the couch.

Happily munching on his candy Ranpo hummed as he unwrapped another piece, “So…Y/n huh?” His emerald gaze shifted over to Poe for just a moment before he reclosed his eyes and busied his fingers with sifting through the bowl for yet another candy.

“I beg your pardon!” Poe sputtered as he tried but failed to act casually about Ranpo’s blistering accusation.

Ranpo sighed, “Well it’s obvious you like her- why else would you keep a candy you don’t care for and not allow one of two of your only visitors to eat it? If it’s not for me and it’s clearly not for you, then it must be for Y/n!”

Ranpo seemed pleased with himself at his friend's flustered state and broken sentences. His superior detective skills had long since allowed him to work out his friends feelings, but watching him flounder around like a fish out of water was never anything less than amusing for the detective.

“W-well yes, they are for her, but that doesn’t mean I have feelings for her!”

Ranpo sighed as he set the bowl down on the table and crossed one leg over the other, propping his head up by his hand while his elbow sat perched on the arm rest. “You’re right, it doesn’t. The poem you wrote with her name on it though? Yeah, that kinda gave it away.”

Poe grimaced as he rushed to gather the papers he had haphazardly left on his desk into a pile before shoving them into his desk drawer.

“Are you going to tell her?”

Leaning against his desk with a sigh he crossed his arms over his chest, eyes shifting over to his friend who was devouring the candy he had replaced for the 3rd time this week.

“...we both know telling her would be pointless, so no…I don’t plan on ever telling her.”

“And you’re okay with that? You’re fine with her going out wi-"

"Of course not Ranpo...but none of that matters now, as long as she’s happy, I’ll-”

He’ll…what?

You were the light at the end of the tunnel when revenge had consumed him. You were his tether to this world and his rock- never ceasing in your support of his writing or his dreams as a detective. Your smile had brought him inexplicable feelings of joy and completeness - two feelings he wasn’t sure he would ever feel again.

He wanted nothing more than to have you be his, his to hold and cherish and love and care for-

But none of that mattered- his feelings for you would never leave the pages upon pages he wrote them on, and he was dedicated to ensuring you never found out about them. There was no deeper purpose to the poems and letters after all, in fact they had never so much as been properly addressed to you. Simply thrown into the drawer he had started shoving them into when company came around.

There was nothing wrong with the poems or letters- most of them were either elaborate declarations of love or well-thought out words he had only ever dreamed of having the courage to say to you. There were some compliments scribbled down on scrap pieces of paper, wishing dearly he could say them to your face but never quite finding the strength to say them out loud. More recently however he had begun writing apologies.

Apologies for being a coward, and for being unable to tell you the deeper feelings he held for you. In fact his most recent addition had been an apology letter he had written just the day before, it had been an apology for lying to you.

“There’s still time y’know.”

Ah, the gala the agency had been invited to. It was still a few hours away, so he’s sure Ranpo was suggesting he use this time to call you or text you and tell you of his feelings before you followed through with your plans to attend with another.

But surely Ranpo - the world’s greatest detective - had already deduced it was Poe who had encouraged you to not only go, but to accept your co-worker's gracious invitation in the first place. His smile had been tight and he’s sure he was tripping over his words when he spoke, but years of repressing his emotions and keeping to himself had taught him valuable skills in regards to hiding how he felt. And afterall, you had been smiling when you left- so you must have been looking forward to your date.

Date..

Poe sighed as he left his spot at his desk and walked over to the window, kneeling down slightly to pick up Karl who had scampered over and put him on his shoulders, suddenly grateful for his comforting presence.

“I know, but…” He paused to look out the window, watching as the nearing storm began to snuff out the blue afternoon sky and the once sunny landscape slowly became consumed by the growing shadow of the thunder clouds.

“It’s better this way..”

‘She’s better this way’

He knew letting you go without so much as an attempt to tell you of his feelings was a mistake, a mistake Ranpo had thankfully chosen not to comment on - but as he watched the dreary weather continue to move in he couldn’t help but know in his heart that this was for the best. Someone like you didn’t deserve to be stuck with someone like him, and someone like him didn’t deserve someone like you.

“Besides, I’m sure she’ll have more fun with him than she would with me - she loves to dance,”

Poe knew he wasn’t fooling the detective but it didn’t matter, he had fooled himself and that’s all he needed to do. You would continue to see him only as a friend and occasional co-worker who let you play with his pet racoon and kept your favorite candy stocked full in his office, and he-

Well he would keep loving you and admiring you from afar, and maybe someday the pain would numb and he would grow content with watching you give the love he so longed for to someone else.

“And I heard Dazai was quite the dancer.”

The candies on his shelf and papers in his desk spoke volumes, but when it came to you it seemed Poe lacked the one thing he wished he could give you - his words.

@i-just-like-goats thanks for beta reading queen😩

#will i continue to write for bsd? i hope so but ive been wrong before #poe x reader #edgar allen poe x reader #edgar allen poe bsd #bsd x reader #ranpo edogawa #hes a pretty important part so i'll tag him #this will have another part :)

148 notes · View notes

daryl-dixon-daydreams · 2 years

Photo

Words: 13,742 (SHE'S A BIG 'UN!) Pairing: Teen!Daryl x Teen!Reader and Daryl x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Requested by: anonymous! thank you so much for your kind words about my writing, love! I hope this is everything you envisioned and more! fic inspired by a song (Riverside by Agnes Obel) that happens to be on my favorite playlist and is one of my faves to sing and play on the guitar—not even kidding, I was SO STOKED to see this request in my inbox. *heart eyes* I'll probably share a little cover of the song soon just for fun! Era: pre-apocalypse, outbreak day, Post-Negan Alexandria—specifically the time after Rick's "death" Warnings: language, child abuse (physical and verbal), violence, injury, gore, blood, frightening scenarios and imagery Summary: Bonded by shared trauma in their childhoods, Y/N and Daryl share a deep connection. But when life begins to distance them and later the cataclismic outbreak causes everything to fall apart, Daryl wonders if he'll ever see Y/N again and whether she is even alive.

Your name: submit What is this?

“Ya got any nibbles yet?” Daryl drawled, glancing over at where you were perched on a rock, line drifting a little in the faster current in the center of the river. The sun shimmered on your hair when you turned at the sound of his voice.

“No,” you said. “I thought you were supposed to be teaching me how to fish, not how to waste time,” you teased him.

Daryl rolled his eyes at you, but a boyish smirk graced his face. “I can’t make the fish bite,” he snarked back.

“No, but you said this was your best spot. I’m now a little skeptical of your abilities overall,” you joked.

He stuck his pole down in the sand on the riverbank and climbed to his feet. “If yer havin’ problems, dun ya think it’s prob’ly more likely that yer doin’ somethin’ wrong and the problem ain’t my spot?” he asked you.

You shot him a look with your eyes sharply narrowed, but you were smiling too. “Come over here and say that to my face.”

He let out a low laugh. “I just said it to yer face ‘n I’ll say it again.” He continued his way over and stopped beside you. “Gimme that,” he drawled, taking the pole from your hands. His fingers brushed yours and the tips of them were rough and callused. You didn’t mind. Comparatively, your skin felt like silk or like wet rice paper that might tear beneath even his lightest touch. Both of your hearts responded with abrupt jumps and Daryl was very conscious of the fact that his palms immediately started sweating. He ducked his head, suddenly unable to look directly at you, and focused on reeling in your line. The hook popped up out of the water finally and it was bare of bait.

He glanced over at you with one eyebrow raised. “Ya ain’t got no bait on here anymore. No wonder ya can’t get a bite. Somethin’ prob’y already bit it off…”

“Or maybe someone didn’t put the worm on securely enough,” you retorted. He watched with curiosity as you bent and started untying your shoes, slipping one off followed by the sock, which you shoved inside the discarded sneaker.

“What are ya doin’?” he asked, watching as your bare foot sunk into the sand at the edge of the water.

“I’m bored of fishing. I’m going in for a swim. You coming?” you asked him. “It’s hot.” He had already noticed the beads of sweat rolling down the side of your neck and catching in the cotton of your shirt collar.

It was hot. And Daryl was feeling warmer by the second. “Uhh… guess that means ‘m done fishin’ too. Ya go in and any fish that were hangin’ around will be gone.”

“Yep. So, I guess you better just come in,” you said with a smile. You moved your shoes to the top of the rock you’d been sitting on.

Daryl hurriedly and pointedly looked away as you suddenly started slipping off your shorts. He gulped again, averting his eyes anywhere but in your direction. “What are ya doin’?” he asked again, focusing his eyes up toward the rustling leaves in the sun-soaked canopy overhead.

Your response was a light, careless laugh. “I’m not going in swimming in jeans! But don’t worry. I won’t lose any more layers.” There was the sound of soft splashing as you slipped into the river.

Daryl rolled his eyes and hazarded a glance over at you. “I wasn’t worried…” he murmured to himself. He reeled in his own line and set the discarded rods up on the shore before ambling back over to the edge of the water. You were drifting lazily in the current, your hair floating out around your head and wavering in the water.

You were humming something, a low and melodic song that drifted to him and seemed to keep time with the breeze and the little waves lapping at the shore.

“What is that yer hummin’?” he asked you.

You didn’t even look over at him, arms outstretched and toes pointed up toward the trees as you floated on your back. “Some song my mom likes. I think it’s called ‘Riverside.’ Probably why it’s in my head.” You slipped completely underneath the surface for a moment and then stood up again, wiping water from your eyes and pushing your hair away from your face. It clung to the graceful curve of your neck. “Aren’t you coming in?” you asked him.

Daryl hesitated and you watched him wring his hands a little anxiously. You started back toward the water’s edge again with long, lazy strokes. “We’ll be dried off already before we have to go home. It’s a furnace out here today,” you said. “Or maybe even an incinerator.” There were still tiny droplets clinging to your eyelashes, like morning dew.

Daryl hummed a vague noise and chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “It ain’t that…”

“Mmm,” you hummed back, understanding cresting over you. You walked slightly back toward where he stood on the shore. “Daryl—” you said softly. His name leaving your lips snapped his eyes back to you. “It’s okay. I already know. It’s okay…” you reassured him. Your expression was soft and sad, your eyes clear and shining, and it produced an ache in his chest and a desire to throw all his timidity away and go press his hand to your cool cheek.

Instead, he simply ducked his head for a moment before he nodded and reached for the hem of his shirt, sweeping it off and dropping it on a nearby boulder. He hurriedly toed off his socks and shoes and barreled into the water as if he was hoping to hide beneath it. The river was tea-colored and although a little murky, there was still no hiding his faintly pink scars and recent bruises beneath its waters. Besides, as you’d said, you already knew. You’d already seen them before. Hell, you’d helped patch him up a few times after a particularly bad episode with his drunken asshole of a father.

He dunked himself under and the deeper and cooler layer of water beneath the surface was refreshing and reviving. He came up shaking out his shaggy hair, eliciting laughter from you as the spray showered you again.

“There. See? It’s nice,” you said, smiling at him.

“Yeah… yer righ’. Like always,” he drawled, mopping more water off his face. He tried not to stare at how your shirt was alternately plastered to your curves and then billowing out around you depending on the way you turned in the water. You were ethereal, like if he reached out to touch you his fingers would pass right through you, a shape of only light. He stood still, his toes finding purchase in the sandy bottom only to keep him upright and in place against the current. He watched you take a few more strokes up the river and back, humming to yourself all the while, but you caught sight of his expression again and your brow furrowed. You made your way back over toward him, reading something on his face he didn’t know was written there.

You stopped squarely in front of him and his blue eyes lifted and met your gaze. “Want to see my latest?” you asked him. His brow furrowed in a question, but he didn’t have to wait long. Beneath the surface of the water, you pulled the cotton of your shirt aside and even through the cloudiness and tannin-stained hue he could see the bloom of a bruise near your hip that wrapped around toward the front of your stomach.

He felt a spasm of anger run through him. “What happened?”

“Geoff shoved me into the edge of the counter,” you said matter-of-factly, referencing your stepfather. “Held me there for a minute and—whatever…” you trailed off, dodging his eyes for a moment, a role reversal.

“Fuckin’ prick,” growled Daryl, scowling down at the dark mark on your skin, a surge of rage welling up inside him. When he let himself focus on it, he felt more anger toward your stepdad than he did even to his own father, regardless of whether that was logical or not. It entered his bloodstream and burned like poison, but another glance at your face and it melted away.

You dropped your shirt back into place below the water. “Yeah… Still—” You reached out and touched Daryl’s shoulder with your fingertips, your eyes going to a round scar near the end of his collarbone that looked like a cigarette burn. He almost shuddered under your fingers, but he would have mourned them had they left. No one touched him with anything other than violence, except for you. That alone was enough to make him fall for you… You moved around to his side and your fingers walked toward the back of his shoulder. “Not as bad as yours,” you said sadly, your eyes traveling over the puzzle of marks on his back, in various stages of healed and healing. Your stomach knotted into a pit.

Daryl felt strangely safe with you seeing this most painful part of him. ““I dun think it works like that…” he drawled. “One ain’t worse than the other. S’all bad.” It was almost a gift to be able to share his nightmare with someone else, though he wished you didn’t understand it as fully as you did under the hands of your stepdad.

You moved back around to face him again, and this time you were standing even closer. “You want to know what I think?”

There were no sharp edges to you in that moment—you were all of velvet and folds of fog over a beach of silky sand; he wanted to sink into you. You could be his escape. He gulped, and nodded in response to your question. He thought he could almost feel the warmth of you drifting toward him in the water that ebbed around your body and continued to his.

“I think you’re beautiful. No one tells boys they’re beautiful, but they should—especially you.” You reached up and smoothed a strand of his wet hair away from his forehead with the pad of your finger, your lips curving in a smile as you did so.

The only thing he could do was stare back at you, stunned. He wished he could unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and say what he was thinking, which was that even if what you had just said was true, he was nothing compared to you. To him, you were the most beautiful damn thing in existence, inside and out. You were his best friend, his complement, a kindred spirit of a kind he’d never dreamed existed until he met you. If he could have summoned up some buried courage from somewhere deep inside him, he would have bridged that small buffer of space between you and kissed the soft pillow of your slightly pouting lips, tasted the river water still clinging to your skin. He would have rested his hands on the indent of your waist as he sometimes imagined doing late at night when he was home and couldn’t sleep and anxiety was eating him alive and every creak in the trailer was perhaps his father coming to drag him out of bed by his hair and beat the shit out of him for no reason and—just the thought of you stilled everything. And sure, he was a teenage boy, and sometimes his mind went to wholly lustful places, but more often he thought about gentle moments with you that were far purer, and for a while everything was good as he sunk into those recesses of his mind, indulging in a dangerous hope, inhabiting an innocent kind of fantasy.

But he didn’t say any of that, or do any of that, and then you were moving away as if you hadn’t just said something that went straight to the center of his heart. He watched as the curve of your eyelashes fanned out as you shut your eyes and floated away from him on your back, paddling softly with your arms and your feet against the current. You were humming that song again and it was like a soundtrack for the day.

Not long after that, you waded out of the river and sat on the sun-warmed stones and dried in the summer sun, side by side. And Daryl felt safe and whole. For once in his life, he inhabited the present moment with no worry or fear of what was possibly coming next.

He turned and glanced over at you where you were lying next to him, your eyes closed as the sun warmed your skin and damp clothes. “Did ya really mean what ya said earlier?” he asked you suddenly, not even really meaning to speak it out loud.

“About the fishing? Yeah, you suck,” you said, looking back over at him, a crooked smile on your lips. He loved that mischievous glint in your bright eyes.

He rolled his eyes at you and directed his attention back up toward the blue sky, framed by the billowing willows and cottonwoods. His fingers drummed anxiously on his stomach.

You laughed lightly and rolled onto your side facing him, propping yourself up on an elbow resting your head on your hand, wet strands of hair still clinging to your neck. “You mean the other thing,” you said. “When I said you’re beautiful.”

Daryl gulped and used all his courage just to look over at you again, still lying flat on his back, his skin against the warm sand and smooth stones. You read his doubt easily and sighed, your expression turning serious again. “Of course, I meant it.” There was no trace of sarcasm in your voice.

Daryl felt an electric shudder run through him and pulled his eyes away from yours, staring up, unseeing, too distracted by your words to fix his gaze on anything. “Ya shouldn’t say stuff like that,” he drawled.

You pushed yourself up on the palm of your hand, folding your legs beside you. “Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not a reason,” you countered, your brow furrowed now. You sat cross-legged facing him, dusting the sand from your palm.

“Ya just shouldn’t,” he drawled. He licked his lips nervously.

“Why?” you asked again, more strongly. “You can’t just say that and not explain.”

He leaned up on his elbows, his ribs outlined in shadow on his skinny frame. “Nah, you can’t,” he snapped. “Ya can’t just say that to me and then—then just act like ya ain’t said somethin’—somethin’—” He let out a frustrated noise, unable to find the right words to fit. How could he tell you that those words would consume him, would take up the entirety of his mind? Your brows were still drawn low over your eyes, fixed on him.

“You think I said that without any thought behind it? Is that it?”

He tore his eyes away from you again.

You scooted closer to him. “Sit up,” you said. He was still only leaned up on his elbows.

“Y/N—”

“Sit up,” you said again, and your tone compelled him to look at you. He pulled himself into a cross-legged position, mirroring you, confusion painted on his face. Your eyes flickered over his features. Suddenly, your hand, cool and light, was resting on the side of his neck. “Can I kiss you?” you asked quietly.

“…what?”

Your lips twitched into a small smile for a moment. “I’m asking you, Daryl Dixon, if I can kiss you. Do you want to kiss me?”

He stopped breathing. His heart stopped, suspended from your words, maybe floating somewhere outside his body, up with the fluttering willow leaves or even beyond. The only thing he could do was nod. He watched in amazement as you leaned in toward him, your head tilting slightly, your eyes closing just before the soft pillow of your lips met his. His eyes shut just as the space between the two of you vanished. You kissed him softly, so gently it was as if you were worried that he would break beneath your lips. It was all over too fast—before Daryl could even be sure that it was real, but when you pulled back the weight of your hand stayed on the side of his neck. Your eyes were again traveling over his face, this time trying to read his expression.

“I didn’t say it like it was nothing, with nothing behind it.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Two weeks later

Daryl stood up abruptly from the steps of his dad’s dilapidated trailer, already nervous just from the sight of your approaching silhouette. As you came closer, the light above the door of your mobile home, where you lived with your mom and stepdad, cast you in a warm, orange glow that somehow seemed a little dingy. Even in that shitty lighting Daryl still thought you were the most beautiful fucking thing he’d ever seen. He tugged absently on the hem of his baggy t-shirt. “Hey,” he said, taking a couple quick steps toward you.

You broke into a wide smile like you always did when you saw him and his stomach somersaulted. “Hi,” you said. “Were you waiting out here for me?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, just—knew ya would be comin’ home kinda late and wanted to make sure ya made it inside alright,” he drawled. You were working a job after school to help your mom and to save a little money for whatever you decided you wanted to do in the future—mainly get the fuck out of that shitty trailer park.

You nodded and bit your bottom lip. “Thanks. But honestly, it’s probably inside that’s more concerning than out here,” you said darkly.

Daryl’s face fell. “He—he been givin’ ya a hard time?” he asked in a low voice.

You nodded, readjusting you bag over your shoulder. “More than usual.” You eyed the dark trailer behind him which you knew held the vast majority of his demons. “What about you? Are you okay?” You didn’t need to mention his father for Daryl to know what you meant.

“Me? Ah, ‘m fine. ‘M always fine…” he drawled. You gave him a sad, soft look. Fuck. Those big doe eyes you had seemed to turn him to an incoherent pillar of stone.

“You don’t have to be,” you said, stepping closer to him. “It’s okay to be—not okay.” He could smell the sweet scent of your shampoo, and he wanted to reach for you and kiss you right there. He couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you ever since that day by the river... He’d been trying to figure out some way to ask you about it, to bring it up, to find out what exactly it meant, but he never seemed to be able to take that scary step.

Daryl was about to reply when the screen door to your mom’s mobile home slammed open and rebounded against the siding. “What the fuck are you doing?” Your stepfather appeared at the threshold, drawing in a long pull on a cigarette. He paused and took a deep drink out of a glass in his other hand. “Get in the fucking house. You know how long I’ve been waiting for fucking dinner?” he spat.

“So, cook it yourself!” you snapped back. “You’ve got two hands!” You knew you’d probably pay for that but you were so incensed by him trying to tell you what to do while he sat around all day getting loaded, drinking and smoking your mom’s money away.

The look he gave you was cold and severe. His eyes landed on Daryl and a smug smirk broke across his face. “What are you lookin’ at, boy? Got something to say?”

Daryl hadn’t realized it, but his hands were clenched into fists and his blue eyes were sharp in a glare.

Your stepfather laughed and leaned casually on the doorframe. “Well, I guess when she comes home knocked up, I’ll know who’s to blame,” he said, taking in Daryl’s furious expression.

You felt your face and chest flush with humiliation. “It’s—it’s fine,” you murmured to Daryl. “I’ll just—I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Are ya sure yer—”

“Get in the fuckin’ house!” he roared again.

“Fine,” you said, already turning around to leave. “I’m fine.” And Daryl knew you meant ‘fine’ in the same way he’d just used it about himself.

It was maybe two hours later, while Daryl was sweating on his cot in the back of his dad’s trailer, sleep elusive as usual, when he shot upright at the sound of arguing from next door. That wasn’t uncommon, but this sounded worse than normal. Your stepfather was letting loose with a torrent of abusive language hurled at you at a volume that surely had all the surrounding neighbors awake. Daryl swiped a hand over his sweaty face and listened as your voice sounded back. At first your tone was also confrontational, but that all changed quickly when he heard loud bangs and crashes punctuated by fearful shouts. Daryl kneeled on his cot and squinted through the crooked blind slats at the trailer house you were in as if he’d be able to see through the walls. He could vaguely make out a moving shadow on the blinds of one window, but that was about it.

Your mother worked the night shift at a manufacturing plant. You were in there alone with him…

Another crash and the sound of shattering glass. More yelling from him. Then, a yelp. That was you letting out a yelp of pain and then a cry that stopped short suddenly.

Nah. Nuh uh. Not tonight, fuckface. Daryl’s own father had been passed out drunk by eight pm, but Daryl still yanked the screen out of his window and boosted himself through instead of going out the front, fear of somehow rousing his dad so ingrained that Daryl didn’t even think about it. As his feet landed softly in the dried grass below his window, he could now clearly hear you crying and pleading with your stepdad. Nausea and anger rolled his stomach.

Without even really thinking, Daryl burst into the mobile home and found you cowering on the floor of the kitchen, your back pressed against the cabinets, one arm up as if to shield yourself from more blows. Your stepdad had a fist raised, clearly getting ready to strike another blow even while you cried where you were cornered, eyes wide and panicked, begging him to stop. There was broken dishware and glass all over the laminate floor of the small kitchen area. You had tears pouring down your face. Half your face was already red and swelling and your eyebrow was split open. A cascade of blood flowed down your cheek.

Your stepfather lunged toward you again and Daryl reacted reflexively, rushing in and grabbing hold of his arm before he could bring his fist down to make contact with you again. “Hey! Don’t touch her!” he yelled, tugging Geoff’s arm back and away from you with all his strength.

Even from your place on the floor you tried to stop Daryl from getting involved. “Daryl, don’t!” you managed through a staggered breath, syncopated from your crying. “D—don’t! Just go!”

Geoff spun around, tossing Daryl off and locking his eyes on the teenager, who was simply standing there with his fists clenched, dwarfed by the towering man in front of him. He was a kid of sixteen challenging a violent bully twice his size. Your stepfather let out a cold laugh. “Oh, I’ve been lookin’ for an excuse to get my hands on you,” he growled to Daryl. “Your old man has told me what a piece of work you are, boy.” Behind him, Daryl saw you trying to pull yourself to your feet, grabbing onto the edge of the counter, but you slid back down, clutching your arm around your middle. Your knees seemed to give out and your eyes squeezed shut tightly.

“N—no, Daryl, go!” you yelled desperately, trying to stand again and managing to pull yourself partially to your feet this time, gripping the edge of cabinets hard.

“Shut the fuck up, you little bitch!” Your stepdad whipped around and back-handed you across the face so fast it was over before Daryl could do anything to stop it. You were splayed out flat on the floor now, stunned, your palms and knees pressing down into the broken glass scattered across the peeling laminate. Daryl had had enough.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her!” he roared, drawing Geoff’s attention again. That was fine. If he could just keep your stepdad’s attention on himself instead of on you…

Geoff only laughed again. The level of enjoyment he seemed to be getting from this was disturbing. It was as if he fed on the fear permeating the air. “What the hell are you gonna do, boy? Yer just a dumb kid who’s landed himself in a man’s game.”

What the fuck was he gonna do? His mind was working so quickly now everything around him felt like it was crawling along in slow motion. You were still prone on the ground, trying to get your bearings. His eyes hurriedly scanned the room for something he could use as a weapon. His eyes landed on the knife block on the counter. Right when he was working himself up to lunging for it, grappling with the reality that he might be about to pull a knife on a grown man, hurt him if he had to, maybe even kill him to protect you, there was a pounding on the trailer door behind him. Then he realized blue and red lights were flashing through the slats in the blinds, lighting up the entire inside, bathing the chaos in garish color.

“Sheriff’s office! I need everybody to come out of the house slowly with their hands where I can see them!” The voice was urgent and demanding.

Someone, one of the neighbors, had called 9-1-1. Daryl had never been so glad of the close quarters in the trailer park before.

Geoff let loose a string of expletives and shoved Daryl aside carelessly, not even sparing you a glance, going to the door and already yelling at the officer who was standing there with his flashlight raised and a hand on his gun. Daryl rushed to where you were stirring on the floor, lifting your head where a small pool of blood had formed from the gash in your eyebrow. Part of your hair was stained crimson. His stomach twisted.

“Y/N—Jesus, what the fuck did he do to ya?” He helped you sit up and fumbled for a kitchen towel hanging behind you on the fridge handle, pressing it to your wound. With the other hand he clasped your face. “Hey—hey, can ya hear me? Y/N, look at me.”

You were disoriented and seemed only vaguely conscious. “D—Daryl?” you finally stammered.

“’M here. ‘M right here. Yer okay. The cops—somebody called ‘em. Yer okay.” Behind him, Daryl could hear your stepdad arguing loudly with the police. The sound peaked and then stopped altogether. They seemed to have hauled him away to calm down, probably to cool off in a squad car. There was another series of knocks on the door.

“I need anyone else in this residence to make themselves known! Sheriff’s office!”

“Here! We need help here!” Daryl called over his shoulder. You seemed to be coming around and you fixed your eyes on Daryl’s face.

“Daryl,” you murmured. A fresh wave of tears began to pour out of your eyes. The swelling on your face seemed to be getting worse by the second. Daryl realized there were specks of glass ground into your cheek and forehead from your fall to the floor and his rage made his hands shake, all while he tried to speak softly to you, tried to calm you.

“It’s okay. ‘M righ’ here.”

Two officers moved into the small mobile home and found the two of you huddled on the kitchen floor. “Is anyone else in the residence?” one of them asked anxiously, edging toward the doorway that led into the rest of the trailer.

“No,” Daryl answered, not breaking contact with you. His hand was warm against the side of your neck. “No, there’s no one. We need—we need an ambulance—a medic, somethin’,” he urged them. They reassured him that one was outside. As soon as they were satisfied that no one else was lurking around or involved in the unfolding nightmare, they helped Daryl get you on your feet and ushered both of you to the door and out into the night.

Daryl had an arm around you, supporting you as an officer escorted you both to the waiting ambulance. The EMTs hurriedly sat you down on the back and rushed to action. Daryl tried to step away to give them some space to help you, but a look of terror seized you and you grabbed his hand and clung to it. “S’okay,” he soothed you. “S’okay. ‘M here. I ain’t leavin’ ya…”

He sank down beside you and wrapped his arm around your back again. Your fingers found his other hand and quickly laced between them. You moved toward him until your side was pressed against his. He could feel you trembling slightly. The medic recommended that you travel to the hospital to get checked more thoroughly for a concussion and broken bones and several times there were mentions of shock, though you seemed to be more aware of what was happening now, less disoriented. Of course, the police needed to talk to both of you, get statements, ask questions… and get evidence.

Evidence. The word stuck between Daryl’s lungs. It held a heavy weight and dredged up the horrific reality. Jesus Christ. He could have killed you. He might have, if Daryl hadn’t—

An officer was talking to you both. “Is there someone else we can call for you? Your mom?”

You gulped. “My—my mom is working… we—we can’t call her. They’ll fire her if she has to leave the factory floor.”

The officer frowned. “Another relative then?”

You shook your head. “My dad isn’t around. And we don’t really have family here.” You drew in a shaky breath. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine… If Daryl can come with me, I’ll be fine.”

“We’ll call a social worker for you. They’ll meet us at the hospital. And then I’ll need to talk to both of you separately. I’ll ride with you there,” he said, climbing into the ambulance and sitting alongside one of the EMTs.

As they closed the ambulance doors, Daryl was vaguely aware of his own father standing back at the edge of the reach of the flashing blue and red lights, watching with a scowl on his face that sent a shiver up Daryl’s back.

The ride to the hospital was silent. You and Daryl sat side-by-side on the stretcher and you leaned into him again. His thumb moved against the skin on your upper arm softly, up and down. Up and down. Up and down. You wavered beside him a little, fighting the upwellings of pain that seemed to shoot through your entire body. The weight of you against him grew. He tightened his arm around you reassuringly. Finally, you arrived and were helped into a room in the ER. Here, you had to separate. You looked almost frantic as a nurse led you away to change into a gown, accompanied by complete strangers; the social worker and the hospital staff. He felt nauseous at the sight of your injuries, the worsening swelling on your face, the limp in your walk, and the desperation with which you glanced back at him. Daryl watched as you disappeared behind a closed door.

He became aware that the cop was asking him something. “Huh?”

“Your relationship to the victim?”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “The victim?” he repeated. He hated the sound of that.

The cop cleared his throat. “Sorry. Y/N. Your relationship?”

It was a simple question but Daryl was puzzled about how to answer. I’ve been in love with her for years and we kissed two weeks ago, and maybe she loves me too, but I don’t really know what we are still. Stupid. That was stupid. He’d sound like an idiot kid. He was an idiot kid. But he still couldn’t say that. “I live next door and we go to school together. But mostly, she’s… my best friend,” he said.

The cop scribbled on his note pad, surveying Daryl afterwards. “Alright. And why don’t you just tell me what happened tonight?”

He recounted all of it as accurately as he could remember, starting with waiting for you to come home after work. The verbal altercation outside. The argument inside your mobile home later. Hearing things being thrown, crashing. Hearing you scream. Rushing in and seeing—all of it.

The police officer’s expression was grim. “Has this happened before? With her stepfather?”

“Yeah. But this is the worst it’s ever been. I mean… that I know about.”

“What about her mother? Any… concerns there?”

Daryl shrugged. “Her mom is good people. She’d never hurt Y/N. But I’m pretty sure that piece of shit—uhh, sorry—I think Y/N’s stepdad hits her mom too.”

That was pretty much the end of Daryl’s statement, except for one last thing that scared him so much his blood ran cold. The officer looked him right in the eye and stuck out a hand for a handshake. When Daryl grabbed it, he said, “I think you may have saved Y/N’s life tonight. You and the woman who called this in. It’s just a feeling. After you’ve been a cop for a while, sometimes you just know. You did the right thing, even though I wouldn’t recommend you make a habit of this kind of thing. You could have been seriously hurt too.”

Daryl shrugged. “I didn’t think ‘bout it. I just knew I had to get in there and do somethin’.”

And that was it. He sank into one of the stiff green chairs outside your room and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, the door opened and he was immediately on his feet. A nurse was standing at the threshold.

“Are you Daryl?” He nodded. “She’s asking for you. Come in.”

He gulped and chewed on his bottom lip as he stepped into your room. You were lying on a bed in one of those gowns that feel like they aren’t quite made of fabric but aren’t paper either. A doctor was beside you, prepping something. Nurses were standing around. Your eyebrow was still bandaged. There were dotted red marks on your swollen cheek from the glass. Your palms had some light bandaging around them too. He wondered how badly you were bruised in places he couldn’t see… Even now there were glaring marks forming on your arms, clearly places where your stepdad had grabbed you.

You seemed more alert, maybe as a result of the passage of time or from the IV fluids minimizing your pain and rehydrating you after such a traumatic shock. But seeing your swollen face was still a punch in the gut. Daryl moved around to your bedside. He felt small and useless in that place, with doctors and nurses rushing around.

“You look like shit,” you said suddenly, and one corner of your mouth tugged upward briefly. Daryl’s expression didn’t change, didn’t ease. “Relax. It’s a joke,” you said dryly.

All he could do was reach for your hand. He held it gently, keenly aware of the bandage around it. His brow was deeply furrowed, casting a shadow over his blue eyes.

“They’re about to give me a shot in my face and stitch my eyebrow up,” you explained. “I could use the moral support.” Your voice had an unusual rasp in it. Daryl sat silently next to you and held your hand as they stitched you up. You barely flinched.

Afterwards, once the nurses and doctors had told you that you could get dressed again and departed, you sat up and glanced over at him.

“That was really stupid, you know,” you said. Tears burned in your eyes again. “Running in like that… He could have killed you.”

Daryl shook his head. “I was worried he was gonna kill you,” he drawled. “I did exactly what I shoulda.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I saw your dad standing there, when we were leaving in the ambulance. …Are you gonna be okay?” you asked him.

A dry laugh of disbelief left him. “Are ya kiddin’? Y/N yer in the hospital and yer worried about my old man?”

“Of course I am. It could be you in the hospital next.”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine… He’s probably just worried I’m gonna say somethin’ to the cops about what a piece of shit he is...”

“Maybe you should,” you said. Daryl didn’t respond. You’d had this conversation endlessly together before, much more often about the abuse against him than for you, and it always ended the same way. Neither of you told anyone anything, too afraid of the fallout. But tonight it wasn’t your choice. Someone else had made the call, and it had gone far enough that you knew it couldn’t be undone… You wanted your stepdad gone, of course, but this would be messy.

“What’d the doctor’s say?” Daryl asked.

You shrugged and gulped, avoiding his eyes for a moment. “Fractured cheekbone. Fractured rib. Concussion. But they said I don’t have to stay overnight. And I don’t need surgery or anything, just the stitches. They gave me some painkillers.” You paused and glanced back up at him. You could read turmoil behind his eyes.

Daryl felt lost sitting there, still holding your hand, his eyes drifting over your battered face. He would have taken it. If he could have exchanged places with you, he would have. He would have taken it to stop you from having to go through this. He’d have taken all of it and more. That son of a bitch better rot in jail.

Merle or his dad would probably mock him for being “soft” if they knew the whole of what had happened, or rather how Daryl felt about what had happened, how sick it made him, how it seemed to have opened an achy blackhole in his chest that was seemingly filled with both emptiness and rage. But Daryl thought that even if nothing else in his life turned out, at least he’d been there to keep you safe that night.

He stepped outside so you could change back into your clothes. Your shirt had bloodstains on it that immediately drew his eyes when you stepped out again. His chest swelled with anger again. But you stepped forward and gently grabbed his hand again, lacing your fingers together as you had done all night. “Come on,” you said softly. “My mom should be here soon to pick us up.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

One Year Later You slowed as you caught sight of his familiar broad-shouldered frame across the parking lot. You sighed and continued your walk, crossing toward him. Most of the spaces were empty now. You’d lingered behind after school for a little while at the library. Daryl was parked on his bike, his curtain of dark hair ruffled around his face from the wind. He climbed off as you approached and you stopped next to him, fiddling aimlessly with your keys.

“Hey,” he drawled.

“Hi,” you said, surveying his expression carefully. It was unreadable.

He shifted his weight a little anxiously. “Can I—give ya a ride?” he asked.

“Is that why you’re here?”

He shrugged. “Not exactly…” he drawled.

You sighed, your brow furrowing heavily. “Daryl—you’re making this too hard,” you said softly. “You can’t just keep showing up here…”

“I just wanna give ya a ride. Tha’s all. Since you and yer mom moved I never see ya anymore and—” he broke off.

You shook your head, a distinctly pained expression on your face. “That isn’t why we don’t see each other anymore.” He ducked your gaze, staring down at his boots for a long moment and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “If you hadn’t dropped out—”

“If ya didn’t hate my brother so much me droppin’ out wouldn’t be a problem,” he interrupted. “We could see each other all the time.” Heat was flaring in his chest and he looked up and met your gaze again. You still had that wholly aggrieved expression on your face, like this conversation was physically hurting you. He didn’t realize that in a way it was. Every time you had to rehash this with him it was a tug of war between your feelings for him and your deeply ingrained past trauma. The scar on your eyebrow was still pink. If your nose or cheek got bumped on accident it still brought you to your knees from the pain if the all too recent fractures. It hadn’t been that long since Daryl had stopped your (now ex-)stepdad from beating the shit out of you. Just the mere mention of your stepfather still triggered a wild panic that you had no control over—and Merle? Merle Dixon reminded you of your stepdad when your mom had first met him.

“Your brother isn’t a safe person,” you started. “And the other people he runs around with aren’t either. I don’t want anything to do with it. Do you really want me around them? You really think that’s a good thing for me?”

“He ain’t a psychopath,” Daryl argued, pacing closer to you, emphatic as he tried to convince you for the umpteenth time. “Sure, he gets in bar fights and pops pills but he ain’t—he ain’t—”

Suddenly, there were tears running out over your cheeks and Daryl stopped short. “Why can’t you see that that isn’t what I want for you? And it definitely isn’t what I want for myself! I don’t understand the choices you’ve made! You could do so many other things and you’re following Merle around getting into shit so far beneath you—”

“He’s my family,” Daryl argued back. “What am I s’posed to do? Just turn away from that? He’s the only thing I got left. He’s my blood.”

You hastily wiped the tears from your cheeks. “So was your dad,” you pointed out.

Daryl flinched at the mention of his father and a shadow passed over his face.

“Family means something else, Daryl. And if you still don’t understand why I can’t be around all the shit you’re getting into then—I don’t know what else to say.” You studied him for a moment and then stepped forward and cupped his face. “You’re worth so much more than all of this.”

He felt desperation swelling in between his lungs. He wanted your hand to stay there on his cheek forever. “Look—ya ain’t gotta be ‘round it. I can just—we can just see each other, just us two, when we can, ya know? We can figure it out.”

You wiped away another tear that had escaped and let out a dry laugh. “What, you want me to share custody of you with Merle?” you said. “Daryl…”

“We can figure it out!” he insisted. “Y/N—the way I feel about ya—”

“Daryl, stop! Don’t say it! Don’t… okay? That’s not a life! Seeing you, what, every other Friday? Worrying myself sick all the time that something horrible is gonna happen to you when Merle shorts a drug dealer or picks a fight with the wrong MC? I just—with what’s happened to me, I can’t. You’re making this too hard showing up here all the time… And I feel like I’m torn in two. I can’t… If this is what you’re choosing, you’re going to have to do it without me. I’m not saying we can’t still be friends but I just—I can’t…”

Daryl saw your walls closing in around you again and his heart sank into the bottom of his stomach and laid there heavily, like a brick. He tore his eyes away from you again and tried to breathe. It was hard to get his lungs working again… “Can I at least just give ya a ride to work? Please?” He just wanted to feel your arms around him again one more time.

You nodded.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m tellin’ you, boy—that’s about the dumbest shit you could do, headin’ that way!” Merle said loudly, following Daryl back over to his bike where he continued strapping down his hastily gathered gear. “Use yer fuckin’ head! All that shitstorm in the city is gonna be spilling out every which way.”

“Shut the fuck up, Merle! I don’t give a shit what ya do, but ‘m goin’ back that way and ya barkin’ at me ain’t gonna change a damn thing!” Daryl roared back.

“Yer gonna wind up dead, goin’ back toward the damn city! And I ain’t gonna cry for ya. ‘M just gonna tell ya I told ya so,” Merle spat.

Daryl straightened up and fixed a hard glare on his older brother. “How the fuck ya gonna tell me ‘I told ya so’ if ‘m fuckin’ dead?” he growled. He swung his leg over his bike. “Do whatever ya want—I don’t give a shit!” He started his bike and made ready to leave.

Merle let loose with a string of expletives. “Go get yerself eaten by one of those freaks walkin’ around, or better yet—shot by some amped up pig tryin’ to ‘keep the peace’! I’ll be settin’ up shop out by the old gravel pit catchin’ myself some fat fish for dinner!” he roared over Daryl’s engine. “All this for some broad who ain’t givin’ ya nothin’ more than a—” Daryl didn’t even respond, just took off, letting gravel fly behind him, drowning out whatever final spout of bullshit Merle was spewing.

Daryl quickly lost track of how many wailing sirens and emergency vehicles he passed, speeding back toward Atlanta. If he hadn’t been on a motorcycle, he would have hardly been able to go a mile before he would have joined the gridlocked traffic clogging the highways or the tangled masses of crashed vehicles, some still emitting steam or even actively burning, flames licking out from under the hoods, billowing black smoke swirling overhead. Disoriented and wounded people were standing aside dazed. He wove his way through all of it, his heart pounding so hard it was running wild. Scenes of horror occasionally flicked past him as he rode; staggering infected still walking with missing limbs, or others bent over unidentifiable piles of gore and slowly chewing, looking up at the sound of his bike blankly. And there were survivors—blood pouring down the sides of their faces or some walking without shoes, clutching dirty bags as they tried to flee from nowhere to nowhere. Shit, they’d really hid just how bad this really was… until they couldn’t hide it anymore. Daryl didn’t really know who the “they” was that he was thinking of—the feds, the state, the media, the military, all of them—but it was obvious no one had been telling the full truth on the nightly news. Fifty percent of the population was dead from the disease and infected straight away, and with what he was seeing now another half of whoever was left would probably be gone within another day. He tried to keep himself focused, keep his head down and his bike speeding along. If he didn’t, waves of panic threatened to swamp him under.

In the distance, black columns of smoke rose up from the city and Daryl could see what looked like dozens of helicopters circling. Everything was chaos. It was like he’d suddenly been transported into some warzone. But he didn’t pay any attention to any of it. His mind was bent solely on getting to that little bar and café where you worked. He took the final turn onto the gravel road so quickly that he nearly skidded out on his bike. He left a hazy brown cloud of dust behind him as he hit the accelerator and the engine rumbled. There were no cars in sight on the rural road that led to the lonely little building, save an old farm truck in one ditch.

Daryl didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. He couldn’t decide if the quiet and deserted scene was ominous or not.

He raced into the little parking lot, which still had some cars and trucks parked in it like any normal day. The lights were on inside the building, but when he glanced through the big front window as he jogged up to the door his stomach sank. He didn’t see anyone, and the place looked like a tornado had torn through it. He pushed inside and stopped on the mat, his eyes surveying the scene. Stools and chairs were overturned. The bar was in complete disarray with broken bottles of booze smashed on the tile floor. Glass crunched beneath his boots as he took a few more hesitant steps in, the door slamming behind him in the wind. Worse still, there were dark, rusty spots glaring horribly on the tile—blood. Some were small circular droplets but others were large swipes and smears, all in various stages of dried or drying... His stomach twisted. God, no. Please, let her be okay.

Suddenly, he heard some clattering in the back room, and his hand went instinctively for the gun he’d stowed on his hip. He raised it, adjusting his grip so it was secure, and strained his hearing. “…Y/N?” he called out hopefully.

The only answer was more banging from the kitchen area. Daryl moved slowly toward the sound. As he passed the bar, heading for the swinging door to the kitchen, he glanced to his right and saw an unmoving bloody body sprawled on the dingy rubber mat. Part of it had been—there was no other word for it—eaten. His stomach responded with an automatic swell of nausea and he had to shut his eyes for a long moment to prevent himself from vomiting. Daryl was no stranger to blood. Beyond his fucked-up childhood, Merle was quite good at getting into fights when he was high or drunk that Daryl had to help finish. They’d been in plenty of tight spots. But this—this was something else entirely…

He refocused on the noise ahead and pushed the swinging door open with the toe of his boot. The kitchen seemed to be less ransacked than the front room, with the exception of plates of food and dishes left where they lay, as if the whole restaurant crew had just walked out a moment earlier. There were a large number of flies buzzing around, however. The banging was coming from a supply closet and Daryl edged his way toward it, reaching out a somewhat shaky hand to grasp the knob. A sudden, horrific thought seized him: what if he was about to find you as one of those—those things.

No. No… a stronger voice inside him answered. No. Not possible. It isn’t her.

He readied his gun and pulled the door open wide.

There was an infected… zombie? (He didn’t know what else to call them) inside, but it wasn’t you. It ambled toward him as he backed up, its rotting fingers reaching for him. The sickly sweet and repulsive smell of decay was overwhelming and another swell of nausea hit him.

Daryl fired his gun squarely into the chest of the advancing zombie. The shot knocked it back, almost off its feet, but amazingly it only started toward him again. “What the fuck?” he murmured, narrowing his eyes. He squeezed off two more rounds, which both hit the infected squarely in the chest, but it hardly staggered. Panic started to seize him as he backed up and it continued forward. “You piece of shit,” he growled. He emptied five more rounds into the zombie and it fell backwards to the floor. He only had one shot left and the damn thing was still moving. Daryl rushed forward and slammed his boot down on its chest to hold it to the ground, took aim at its head, and fired the last bullet in the magazine. Finally, with a sickening spray of gore, it was still and silent.

Daryl was gasping in tremendous breaths as he lifted his boot from the still corpse and turned his eyes away to scan the scene again. He found himself searching for some trace of you, but what? What was he even hoping to find? He hadn’t seen your car in the front of the lot. He pushed out through the rear door and scrutinized the dirt, hoping to see a footprint that was your size, some proof that you’d gotten out of there safely, alive. He found nothing but some scuffs in the gravel and tire marks from a large truck or SUV.

He cut through the kitchen and into the main room of the café again. His empty gun still hanging by his side, clutched tightly. Daryl’s eyes returned to the stains on the tile floor—so much blood… And no sign of you. He was too late. Whether you were dead or alive, he was too late…

His hurried back to his bike and kicked it in gear, turning it back toward the gravel road and zipping along, kicking up a steady brown trail of dust in his wake. Your house. The little farmhouse you rented. That was his last chance of finding you, or getting you out, of making sure you’d be okay. His mind was racing… he wished now more than ever that he’d listened to you those years ago after he’d dropped out—wished he’d done whatever he could to stay by your side and to be more. Instead, he’d wasted all this time running around with Merle, seeing you only every once and a while when he stopped in at the restaurant for a meal as an excuse to see you again. And now when it really mattered, when the entire world seemed to be ending, he hadn’t been there with you…

He knew something was very wrong as soon as he pulled up to the little house. The screen door out front was hanging on by one hinge. The wood was broken and dangling by the remaining metal screen. He stopped his bike and squinted at the windows, praying that he’d see you looking out of one, scared but here.

His train of thought was broken when a flood of infected, attracted by the sound of his engine, suddenly began pouring out of the house.

Terror seized him. “Son of a bitch,” he swore under his breath. His hand fumbled for a knife he kept in one of the saddle bags, but as he watched the dead continue out of the house and slowly amble toward him, he knew there were too many of them for him to handle. If you had been in that house, Daryl knew you were either dead or one of these things now. The awful thought struck him cold…

He felt tears burn in his eyes as he turned away, speeding in the direction of the gravel quarry to find Merle. The hopelessness that blanketed him was heavy and all-consuming. He had no thoughts, his eyes were nearly unseeing, and he felt empty the entire ride, surprising himself when he arrived and suddenly looked up to see Merle’s bike parked beside a tent. His brother was perched on an overturned bucket, a small metal camping dish in his hands. Daryl pulled to a stop beside Merle’s bike and turned off the engine. His body felt heavy and moving seemed to take a great effort as he climbed off and began to pull his gear free from the back of his motorcycle. He could feel Merle watching his every move, but did his best to ignore it.

Daryl dumped his gear in a pile and began to pull his own tent from its pack. Merle finally spoke.

“No broad,” he commented, his mouth twisting into a half-smirk. Daryl’s fist clenched but he simply continued laying out the poles for his tent. “I told ya,” Merle said. “She dead?”

That was too much. Daryl stood and paced over to his brother, his expression hard, his jaw clenched. “Y/N ain’t just some broad. And if ya ever say anythin’ else ‘bout her, one fuckin’ word, even if ya just say her name, I’ll break yer jaw.” He turned his back and returned to setting up camp. Merle, in classic Merle-fashion, only laughed and let out a low whistle.

“Oh, I’m really scared, baby brother. Shakin’ in my boots,” he said. He shoved another forkful of fish into his mouth. “Guess it’s still just you and me…”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl rose before the sun. The morning air was chill and heavy with moisture as he pulled on more layers and revived the fire, setting a pot of leftover fish and broth over it to heat. He rubbed his hands together and turned an ear toward the forest and listened to the chattering and singing of the birds. They heralded that autumn was approaching. The raspy croak of a raven. The melodic lilting of a thrush.

Dog moved closer to the fire and laid down to bask in its heat. Daryl’s eyes went to the river. This section was unfamiliar to him, but it wouldn’t be after today. He and Dog would spend all day combing the banks, pushing through rushes and cattails, scattering puffs of seeds that would drift on the wind, hoping and yet dreading any sign of Rick. It was a lonely task, but he was determined to do it for his friend, his brother.

The liquid in the pot rolled to a boil and Daryl used his spoon to hunt the remaining chunks of fish from the day before. He tossed one to Dog who gulped it down so quickly he could hardly have tasted it. The warmth of the broth helped Daryl shake off the rest of the morning’s chill.

He gathered his gear and whistled to Dog, and set off down the bank, scrutinizing the little areas of mud flats which tried to wrest his boots from his feet. He saw only sign of deer and rabbit and raccoon. He looked for trails in the long grass that nodded and bowed toward the brown water and he found them—but they weren’t made by boot or foot.

By the time it was near noon and Daryl was preparing to ford across to the other side his heart had sunk and he began to lose momentum. What could he possibly hope to find this far away from where the bridge had blown apart? A corpse.

Suddenly, Dog let out a high-pitched bark and fixed his gaze across the river. His tail began to wag furiously and he let loose with a few more excited yips.

“Shhh!” Daryl quieted him, squinting across the river, scrutinizing the shadows on the other side. That was no bark to signal a walker… Dog sat perfectly still, except for the tip of his tail continuing to wiggle. That’s when Daryl heard it; a soft humming, drifting across the water, rippling to him in faint phrases that were sweet and smooth.

There was something familiar about it. His heart stirred in his chest and rose from the depths it had sunk to. It quickened. Daryl stared, watching the shadows for the shifting of a someone. He saw nothing. But that song… It was bringing uncontrollable sensations of warmth and sunlight and sun-dappled stones, of long summer days and water droplets on skin and—

The next moment, Daryl waded into the water, leaning on the sharpened stick to steady himself, and crossed to the other side. The music seemed to float between the trees. He had trouble determining where exactly it was coming from. His heart was hammering in his chest as he attempted to trace the melody like he was tracking an animal. It grew steadily louder over the sound of Dog’s panting behind him. As he felt he was nearing the point where he’d be able to see whoever was humming, words suddenly drifted to him, in a voice low and sweet, and his stomach somersaulted. He silenced his steps and crept closer and closer, moving from one shadow to another, straining his eyes and ears desperately.

Finally, there. The figure of a woman, knee deep in a bend of the river that had been out of his view from the other side, with a fishing rod in her hands. She hummed and sang aimlessly as she recast her line into deeper waters, bouncing the tip of the rod to attract fish and then letting it all still. She was all patience, a statue as the current swirled around her. She seemed part of the river herself, dressed in olive tones and muddy browns, adopted into the scene as a quiet wild thing herself. Her back was to Daryl, but the longer he watched from his place tucked beneath an ancient cottonwood tree, the more certain he was, until he couldn’t wait any longer.

He stood and quietly stepped out from his hiding place, striding toward the small opening that was soft with grass at the edge of the water.

He watched as the figure suddenly jerked the rod and began to steadily reel in line. The tip of the rod was bent beneath the weight of a fish that eventually broke the surface in a riot of splashing. Daryl was now at the very edge of the water behind her and paused as she grabbed hold of the fish and carefully removed the hook.

“Yer better at fishin’ than I remember,” he said suddenly. His voice was gravelly from disuse.

The figure spun around in shock and fixed her wide eyes on him. He saw her brow furrowing and her eyes hurrying over him, from his heavily patched pants to the poncho draped over him to his curtain of wavy brown hair.

She was stunned into silence, the fish still dangling from her hand, the rod in the other.

“Y/N—” He could see the distinctive scar that cut across your eyebrow, the spot that still never grew any hair.

You stared up at him where he stood on the bank, feeling your shock finally pass and be replaced by a wild wonder and disbelief. Your eyes flickered over him again and your lips parted slightly, as if you were about to speak, but nothing came out.

He shifted nervously and held his hands up palms out in a sign of goodwill. “S’me. S’Daryl,” he drawled softly.

He was surprised when this elicited a sudden laugh from you, and he saw tears burning in your eyes when you finally spoke.

“I know it’s you, Daryl Dixon,” you laughed. The tears broke out and ran down your cheeks.

Daryl’s heart thudded away in his chest. You saying his name seemed to bring back a dizzying rush of memories and sensations and hopes and he felt like his damn knees almost gave out. You were alive. And you were here, standing right in front of him. And you were just as beautiful as he remembered. Maybe even more so… The passage of years seemed to have imbued you with a steadiness and a strength that was unmistakable.

Dog suddenly bounded out from where Daryl had made him wait, barking and prancing around him happily, tail a blur of movement. “Friend of yours?” you asked.

“Huh?” Daryl was still just staring at you, dumbfounded. “Oh—yeah. This is Dog,” he said, grabbing him and making him sit, patting him on the head and turning his blue eyes back to you, where they fixed on your face and didn’t stray.

“Dog?” you repeated. “Well, it’s accurate anyway.” There was a pause that seemed filled with tension. You were staring right back at him, your eyes still a little glassy. “…Are you going to help me out of here or do I need to embarrass myself trying to climb out?”

“Righ’. S—sorry,” he said hurriedly. He went to the riverbank and took the fish from you, tossing it on the bank where Dog immediately inspected it and gave it a few eager licks before testing his teeth on its head. “Dog! Leave it!” Daryl scolded him. “Sorry… he likes crunchin’ the heads for some fuckin’ reason,” he murmured. He extended a hand to you and helped pull you up onto the bank. Even when your feet were firmly planted on solid ground, he didn’t step away and he didn’t let go. The two of you were just looking at each other up close, both afraid to glance away in case the other would vanish.

Daryl cleared his throat, which felt constricted. “Ya were singin’ that song. From that day at the river,” Daryl drawled, his deep voice resonant in his chest. “I heard it and—I thought it couldn’t be—” he broke off, suddenly struggling with emotion rising up in a turbulent torrent. “But I knew it was…”

You nodded, unable to speak. You studied his face. He had scars he didn’t have before and he was weathered from the passage of years, but you thought he was even more beautiful than ever.

Finally, perhaps realizing the time he should have let go of your hand had long since passed, Daryl gulped nervously and stepped back, and his fingers slipped from yours.

“Come on. This way,” you said, gathering up the fish and retrieving a bag from nearby. Daryl followed you on a game trail that led through the trees. In a short while, you both came to a little cabin, not more than a shack really. You began setting down your gear and reviving some flames in a fire circle ringed with smooth stones.

“This is yer place?” he asked, peering around. Minimal gear and belongings were organized carefully inside.

You were stirring the coals with a stick. “For now, it is,” you said. “I keep on the move. Follow the game and stick close to the river and its tributaries.” You tossed more dry wood on and the fire danced and crackled.

“Smart,” Daryl said, one corner of his mouth twitching up reflexively as he watched you busy yourself about camp. He sank down onto a round of wood and pet Dog who sat next to him.

You straightened up, dusting your hands off, nodding. “Are you hungry?”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Night had fallen in earnest and you and Daryl were still side-by-side, warming by the fire as the blue shadows wrapped around you like a cloak. You’d covered a lot of ground, sharing the larger points of what you’d both gone through since the outbreak. Then a lot of time had passed in silence, both of you turning memories and questions over in your minds, but as Daryl watched you sip some hot tea from a tin mug, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I looked for ya,” Daryl said suddenly. “When it happened, that day. I went to that little farmhouse ya were rentin’. And I went to the restaurant and—I was too late. And—” he shook his head and gulped, remembering the fear and panic and horror of those early days, “—it looked bad. I—I thought ya might not have made it…”

You read pain in his eyes and nodded, your eyebrows drawing down low over your eyes, which seemed striking to Daryl even just in the glow of the firelight. “I had been at the restaurant that day—when they started calling for all the evacuations and then the bombing started… Things went bad so fast. Some people came in and just started looting the place, being violent, and then some of the walking dead got in. I made it out with some of the other servers, the kitchen staff, but—we didn’t stay together long. I honestly don’t remember too much from the first few weeks. I probably blocked it out,” you said with a wry laugh.

Daryl turned to face you more fully. “I shoulda been with ya,” he said forcefully. “I shoulda been there when it all happened. ‘M sorry I wasn’t.”

You gave him a questioning look and shook your head. “It isn’t your fault you weren’t. I was the one who couldn’t—who stayed away, who put the distance between us.” You ducked your gaze now, showing the dark fans of your eyelashes to Daryl. The fire cast shadows of them on your cheeks, gray half-moons. “I have a lot of regrets about that,” you said, lifting the mug to your hands, breathing in the fragrant steam. “I should have—” you sighed heavily and shut your eyes for a moment. “But I was just scared. After that night, I was scared of everything back then.” You stared into the coals of the fire, watching the heat move over them like waves in the ocean.

Daryl nodded and chewed on his bottom lip. “Ain’t like ya didn’t have a reason to be.” He shifted next to you, shaking his hair out of his eyes. It made you smile. He used to do the same thing when you were kids. “Besides,” he went on, “ya were right ‘bout it anyway. Got into a lot bad shit because of Merle and his crew. And even after shit went to hell, Merle kept findin’ ways to make things worse, and for a while I just went along... until I met some people who showed me that ain’t how it has to be.” He shook his head, obviously upset at his past self. “Stupid…”

You nodded. “Well. It doesn’t matter now.”

Daryl watched the look in your eyes grow a bit distant and vague as you returned to watching the fire lick over the logs. Night was getting on. Dog was dozing by the fire, flopped over on his side to warm his belly.

The last thing he wanted to do was leave, but he was suddenly struck by the thought that he would overstay his welcome. He stood and your eyes flew to him. “Well—s’late. I should prob’ly get outta yer hair,” he said. “My camp ain’t that far from here.” He paused, coming to a sudden realization. “Though it is on the other side of the river…”

“Oh—” you responded, looking up at him, your eyes big and—was that disappointment? “You’re going?”

Daryl scratched at a non-existent itch on the back of his neck. “I dun wanna—overstay my welcome is all…” he trailed off.

You were suddenly on your feet too. “You’re not.”

He gulped. There was suddenly electricity in the air.

“You should stay,” you said. “I have spare blankets and stuff inside. And… it’s been over a decade since we’ve seen each other,” you added with a laugh. “And you already want to go running off into the dark?” You felt the air crackling like it did before a lightning strike.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, nervously for a moment and then shook his head. “Nah, I dun want to…”

And you smiled at him. You fucking smiled. And Daryl’s heart skipped a beat the same way it always used to when you smiled at him. “Good. Come on,” you said, tipping your head toward the little building. You shifted some things around and produced a second bed roll. “I usually layer with this one when it gets really cold, but it’ll work just as well as a spot for you tonight.”

“Hold up,” Daryl said as you started laying down the spare blankets. “Put mine by the door over here.” You straightened up and were giving him a queer smile he couldn’t entirely decode. “What?” he asked, shifting his weight anxiously.

“Still trying to protect me, Daryl?” you asked softly. That was exactly what he was doing. He didn’t know if he should apologize or— “I will, but you should know I’m a lot less helpless these days,” you said.

“Oh, I—I didn’t mean to imply that—” Your laugh interrupted his stammering.

“It’s alright. I know you can’t help it. That’s just who you are,” you said. “Some things don’t change. Besides, it’s sweet…” You finished laying out the spare bedding and straightened up to look at the two bed rolls next to each other. “Sorry it’ll be a little close in here.”

Daryl was thinking it wasn’t close enough. Since he’d let go of your hand by the riverbank he was mourning the loss of your touch. Every second he was just trying not to do or say something that would be off-putting. You were practically strangers now, weren’t you? But in his mind, all he could think about was hugging you tightly and not letting go, of breathing in the scent of you—wondering if it was the same as it had been then, like warm maple syrup. You still felt like home. You still felt safe. And he wanted so badly to collide into you, to kiss you and put all those feelings that had had nowhere to go for 13 fucking years into it, to sweep you into him, to tell you over and over again how much he’d missed you, how he’d thought of you every fucking day—at his lowest and at his highest. How could he still feel so instantly connected to you after all this time? Fuck, what if you didn’t feel the same thing? Should he—

“Daryl?”

“Uhh—sorry. What?”

You had a questioning look on your face. “Are you alright? You look a little flushed.” You actually reached out and pressed the back of your hand to his cheek and then his forehead. Goosebumps rose on his skin at the contact. You were absently biting your bottom lip and the drawing of his attention to your mouth was only making him feel warmer.

“Nah, ‘m—‘m good,” he said as you withdrew your hand, still looking concerned.

“Are you sure?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m good…” You seemed to yield to his reassurance and peeled off your outer layers before settling down on your bed roll. His eyes roamed the shape of without the bulkier layers and he gulped again. You looked up at him expectantly where he was still standing a little awkwardly just inside the door.

“Does Dog want to come in?” you asked.

Daryl’s hands were fiddling anxiously. “Nah. He’ll guard the door all night outside.” You nodded and then propped yourself up on your elbow.

“Are you… uncomfortable? I mean, being in here with me?”

Daryl shook his head in a hurry. “No. No, it ain’t that… S’just—tryin’ to wrap my head around this. Last time I saw ya, ya were waitressin’ at Lou’s, ya know. Pouring that shit coffee into my mug and giving me this damn look like—like ya wanted to tell me to go to hell and ya wanted to hug me at the same time.” You let out a small laugh. Daryl went on. “And then all these years I thought—I dunno,” he murmured. “Part of me thought ya were gone that day, but another part of me just held onto hope. Or maybe I knew somehow that ya were out here somewhere… I know that dun make any sense.”

You were giving him a half-smile, a soft look in your eyes again, illuminated by the brightness of the lantern you’d lit in the corner. “I knew you were alive. I knew you’d beat all this shit. You’ve always been a survivor.”

Daryl sank down on the bed roll you’d laid out for him finally, prodding the makeshift pillow into the form he wanted before lying down on his side. You were facing each other, only six inches apart. “Yeah, well, so were you.”

You let out another dry laugh. “No, I just got lucky. My best friend was fierce.” There was something in the way you were looking at him now that was drawing him in. He felt the pull of you like a magnet and that electric tension was hanging in the air again like humidity. It was there—humming, buzzing, and then it was gone all of a sudden as he ducked your gaze and rolled onto his back.

Fucking coward, he thought.

You shifted beside him and clicked off the lantern, plunging the interior of the little cabin into blackness. Outside, a few lazy crickets chirped. The silence stretched for a minute before he dared to speak.

“Y/N…”

“Hmm?”

“I dun ever wanna lose ya again…” He heard the rustling of fabric as you moved beside him, and he sensed somehow that you were closer.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” your voice came back in a whisper. There was something strained in it and he turned toward you again.

He leaned up on his elbow. “…are ya cryin’?”

“No,” came back your stubborn answer, but he could hear it in your voice.

Daryl knelt and fumbled for the light, managing to hit the switch in the dark. There was no denying it now as he saw the tearstains on your cheeks. You sniffled and drew in a shaky breath, looking up at him with an almost ashamed glance. “…Why’re ya cryin’?” His expression was pure worry.

You shrugged and laughed sardonically. “I don’t know! Just—this! You! Here! And I—Daryl, I can’t even tell you how much I missed you. It was like walking around with part of me gone. And maybe that’s—maybe that’s fucking stupid because we were kids… We were fucking teenagers, but I don’t think that’s just it! I think when you meet someone that’s your soulmate, who understands you on some deep level you can’t even describe, it doesn’t matter if you meet them when you’re ten or when you’re forty!”

His brow was drawn over his blue eyes.

“And I—I think I’m still as in love with you now as I was back then and I’m really sorry if that’s weird for you to hear, and maybe I shouldn’t have said it but—we’re practically strangers now but—”

Then he was kissing you. His fingers were in your hair and he was tugging you into his body, and you were sinking into him, surprised at first but then softening beneath his hands, melting into it. He kissed you desperately, like he needed you to breathe instead of air. His hand clasped your face and then drifted to your shoulder and then to your waist and you were arching into him, gripping on to the lapel of his shirt and pressing your other hand flat to his strong chest and almost melting into a puddle of sensations as his strong arms were around you, holding you up.

Your eyes flickered between his, still a little wide, but now crinkled slightly at the corners in a smile. “I wanted to kiss ya since the first second I realized it was you standin’ in the river,” Daryl said. “I just thought—s’been so long… maybe I was the only one feelin’ what I was. But s’like we ain’t spent a day apart. Even though I know I’ve sure put a lotta damn mileage on since the last time I laid eyes on ya…”

You ran your fingers through his hair and he leaned into your fingers, his eyes closing. Every worryline on his face relaxed. “Shush. You’re still beautiful, Daryl Dixon.”

His blue eyes opened again and he clasped your face gently, studying all the ways you were the same and different. His thumb swept lightly across the pillow of your lower lip. “Ain’t nothin’ compare to you.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #daryl angst #twd angst #teenage!daryl dixon

616 notes · View notes