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bowieandqueen11 · 2 years

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Dating Westley Would Include...

Request: Hello! I was wondering if you could do Westley from princess bride relationship headcanons?

The Princess Bride is one of my favourite movies (I watch it every year on my birthday) so thank you! <3

If you enjoy, please leave a comment and let me know! Thank you for your kindness!

Warning: mentions of injury/ blood and swords.

(I do not own the Princess Bride or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @thekatebishops.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

As a young babe, the fairy tales your mother used to read to you at nightfall, so full to the brim of hope and true love as they were, always seemed like a strange fantasy to you. Little did you know, as you grew up alongside that strange farm boy who hovered behind your every step as if he worshipped the ground you walked on, that true love had been lingering behind your eyes for as long as you had lived.

That all changed one magical day on a late spring morn, when you decided to try and cure your lack of sleep by wandering down to the barn. Sitting amidst the starlit lavender thickets, the few cows you owned came shuffling away from their warm hay to come moo by your face as you sat cross legged beside them. Despite the sleeting rain that muddied the brick outhouses, you could see a thatched window swing open from the opposite side of the farm, and Westley’s curious face peeking out at the sudden uproar of noise. Once he spotted you, I swear, a smile bright enough to blight the most sweet of angels bloomed across his face; it took him less than a minute to throw his shirt on and to come through the verdant storm to sit beside you. You didn’t think you could get any cosier: the gentle pitter patter on the creaking roof-beams, and the warmth of the young man settling himself beside you without a word. That was until Westley unravelled the cloth he had managed to hide underneath his elbow, and gently wrap the straw stern blanket he had brought around both your heads, until you were tucked together under the stars like a fresh bud waiting for the sunlight.

‘You look freezing, my love’, he says gently as he takes your hand from where it’s resting on your knee and wraps it in his under the blanket. ‘It would be my honour to share what little comfort I may bring with you.’ The glow of the speckled stars makes his eyes seem to grow tenfold, despite how bright and wide they are already, when filled with an unutterable and primordial love. You turn your head towards him, and he follows your every movement. Taking a chance, you ask squeeze his fingers and ask if you can kiss him, and with a love-fraught sigh, as quiet and gentle as the wind brushing through the violets, and an overjoyed shut of his eyes all he says is... ‘as you wish.’ And then the heavens seem to open above you: spurting out gold and silver bursts of shooting stars across the pearled horizon as you press your lips onto his pliant ones, and the two of you spend the growing dawn growing to learn the aspect of each others lips.

Since Westley doesn’t have much money, spending time with you and acts of his service are his ways of showing the outpouring of love that dwells within his heart. He teaches you to bake bread, the one skill he can remember being taught to him by his mother back when he was a child, bless her soul. The two of you sweat away by the barn’s oven, tucked away from the rest of the world in the small grove by the edge of the woods. Westley grows weary of not being able to touch you, and so he abandons his own progress to come lean over you and press his fingers on top of your own; he’s so close, you can feel the tufts of curls that cover his eyes brush over your own, and you swear every time you dart your eyes shyly towards him, he’s quickly looking away from you and back to the dough with his own bashfully fluttering eyes. The playful smile never leaves his face, though. not even when he flicks a bit of flour onto your nose and makes you sneeze so loudly you can hear the horses whinny in fear from outside. He finds it so sweet, he can’t help but lean over and press a tender kiss against your cheek, lingering for so long against you that you end up growing impatient and moving his nose away from his cheek. Grasping the bottom of his chin, you squeeze his face and turn it till he’s kissing you once more, thrilled by the way his remark of surprise soon melts into a hoarse moan. You only pull away when you notice from the corner of your eye that your thumb has left a smudge of dough on his face. He lets you hold his head in your hands, gazing up at you like a tired puppy as you wipe the remnants away with a shared laugh.

From time to time, the two of you will steal a horse away; bouncing up on the saddle behind him, you grasp tightly onto his waist as he leads you both away from your father’s farm for the afternoon. The two of you take a break from the labour to go sit out in the nearby orchards, watching the sun begin to fall past the rows of snapping firedragons and dew-drop snowdrops. From where you lie, stalking like a vine around his chest, you disturb the way he’s stroking his fingers up and down the side of your face to tuck a stalk of lavender behind his ear. In the sweet solitude, before the two of you become too sleepy laying in each others arms, you shove yourself off of him and begin running through the fields. In a fit of giggles, you try to cover your hand and stay quiet as you begin to hear his boots run over the rolling bends of the hill after you. Just as you were turning around to try and spot his outline on the horizon, a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist and spun you up from the ground.

‘I found you again, as I always will my dove’, he whispers against the shell of your ear, only disturbed by the sounds of your father yelling from his cart for the two of you to return home.

From then on, Westley waits outside your window every night, crouching down among the mud and flowers until he’s sure your father has gone to bed. With his arms out waiting, he catches you when you unlatch the glass and begin to climb leg first over the sill, jumping down into his arms until he’s holding you bridle style against his chest. With a smirk, he carries you away to the hay bales for the night, so you can spend it away in each others arms. He can’t bear to be apart from you, not even within dreams, and so every time your eyes begin to shut you can feel him slide over you again; with his waist pinning you down, his hands come up to rest in bunches in your hair as he fervently caresses your face with trailing lips, mapping out the route to his heart over you: the key to it.

And then he leaves to find fortune: to find a happier, easier life for the two of you, and your whole world breaks apart in an instant. You run away as soon as your father relays the news of the Dread Pirate Roberts and your love, managing to join a misfit troupe of bandits and becoming best friends with a strange, Spanish, fencing drunk called Inigo Montoya. The two of you would spend nights on Vizzini’s ship with your legs swinging over the side of the deck, looking down at the lilac hued river bends and the placid stream that fished in between the looming rocks. Side by side, you would share a bottle of whatever bottle Inigo had managed to swing by the nearby village, and talk about the loves the two of you had lost with tears cresting behind your tired eyes.

Before you knew it, five years had passed, and the world still seemed as stilted and empty as it had when you had lost Westley. And then he returns one uneventful day. It doesn’t matter how different he looks, or what name he tries to call himself: you would know your Westley from the sound of his footfall alone. From the hitch of his breath when he docks his ship and first spots you standing on bow of your own, having been told years past that you had been captured and murdered by a gang of bloodthirsty outlaws. By the strength, yet the simultaneous tenderness of his arm as he swings a rope through the boat and yanks you around the waist, lifting you up past the mast and back onto the docks. Trying to gasp through your surprise as your feet plant on solid ground, you hold up a hand to Inigo, trying to calm him and to tell him to sheath his sword once again. He jumps down from the edge of the ship with an earnest glare at the masked bandit standing in front of you, but you’re too busy roaming your hands over his shoulders and back to care.

You go to try and peel off his mask, but in a sudden pang of fear that you’ll revoke him: that you’ll abandon him: that it will break your heart to see him so changed from the plain farm boy who had laid his heart at your feet so long ago, he curls his fingers over the top of your own and pulls them back down to rest instead over his panging heart.

‘Please, Westley’, you’re nearly gasping. ‘I’ve missed you more than I can bear. I need to know this isn’t a dream.’

‘As you wish, my love.’ He slowly brings your intertwined hand back up to roll the mask up, letting it drop with a flop into the dark depths of the waters. You nearly break out into weeping fits of relieved laughter, your hands roaming over every inch of his face: over the dip of his nose, the distinct cupid’s bow that trembles at your touch, the furrowed compress between his eyes that shakes as your pointer finger passes. He tries to follow your path until he goes cross eyed, instead flushing a deep crimson in a mad desperation to feel your soft hands cup his cheeks again, and bring his forehead down against your own.

‘I thought you had left me’, you nearly cry.

‘I told you, my primrose, that I will always find you. The path between true love can never be broken, especially by something so insignificant as time.’

Even though he joins your merry band in the end, and ends up being especially good friends with Inigo, any time he makes a joke about the two of you swords are immediately drawn. You roll your eyes as they start jumping about the cragged cliff edge, swinging about like acrobats as fencing swords start flying once again. He always wins, and always comes immediately back to sit by your side again after a shaking of hands and a satisfied smile. Even in his defeat, as Inigo settles down on his perch again, he can’t help but feel his heart lighten at the way the adoration and tenderness seems to glow and seep out of Westley’s every fibre as he looks over at you.

You have to patch Westley up after the many, many times he manages to get himself into trouble. Although he always tries to act the perfect gentleman, and tells you that having to look after him ‘is no job for a miracle such as yourself’, he secretly loves being taken care of as well. You sit in between his spread legs, Westley holding your hunched back close to him through the brackets of his arms. Even though you’re using a damp cloth to try and wipe away the fresh spouts of blood from his jagged cut, there’s no pain on his face. He’s watching you with a content beam twitching his lips, using the fingers that lie over your spine to try and distract you by tickling your back from time to time. Even in his darkest moments, he still wants to see you happy: this is why, with every wrap of the bandage around his arm, he tries to chase your knuckles with his lips before they disappear around his armpit again.

He always tries to protect you - especially when you have to go creeping through the fire swamp to get back home. He’s got a hand on you at all times through the enclosing darkness of the bristling canopies for two reasons. 1) To remind him that you’re still there with him and 2) to ground him - to bring him back, a reminiscence of his youth when he did naught but spend his life dreaming of the perfection and sweetness that he now holds in his arms.

At one point, when you stop to catch your breaths after nearly being attacked by another rodent of unusual size, he accidentally leans against the bough of a knobbled tree and opens a secret hatch in its trunk. Going and sitting in the dew crested dirt, he just holds you for a while as you sit on his lap - doing the only thing he ever wants to do and breathing you in.

He grips your waist and quickly tugs you out of the way of yet another fire swallowed sink hole, and he decides right there and then that he would be more than happy to die right there and then if it meant seeing you safe. You’re just a golden haze: a light of pure goodness and hope that keeps him from falling into despair, and he knows in the depth of his heart that he would be left wandering through the burning cosmos as a lost soul if he ever were to lose you: unsettled, blighted, forlorn and perishing without his true love to give him life.

He doesn’t have much else to give, so everything he has, everything he is will have to do.

#the princess bride #westley #the princess bride imagine #westley imagine #cary elwes #westley x reader #westley headcanons #the princess bride headcanons #the princess bride x reader #westley the princess bride #westley the princess bride imagine #westley the princess bride x reader #westley the princess bride headcanons #tpb #tpb imagine #tpb headcanons #the dread pirate roberts

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kaleidos-copia · 2 months

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I just rewatched one of my favorite films, The Princess Bride, for the first time since becoming obsessed with Ghost, and now I can't stop thinking about Copia as Westley. All black outfit, gloves, mask, and even a little moustache... it's so Copia coded.

Not to mention Copia is witty and agile, just like Westley. He would scale the Cliffs of Insanity, duel strangers, and sprint great distances to rescue you, all because you're his true love.

The quote, "Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while," is also very Copia, isn't it? And just imagine Buttercup and Westley's reunion as you and Copia...

Need I say more?

#we need a princess bride/ghost au !!#cardinal copia #Westley #the princess bride #the band ghost #the dread pirate roberts #papa emeritus iv #copia #ghost band #ghost band headcanons #ghost band alternate universe #ghost band fic #the princess bride au #Spyre's thoughts #papa emeritus iv x reader #cardinal copia x reader

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lord-westley · 1 year

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Hi! I just saw the scent request and thought that it was super unique. I’d love ones for Thranduil and Aragorn. I’m in nursing school right now, so my hands smell a lot like hand sanitizer, but my shampoo/conditioner/soap smell like lavender and vanilla. I can’t wait to see how this turns out!

Your scent reminds Thranduil of the cold nights early on in your marriage. How the two of you would warm up in a bath with lavender and roses. Simply enjoying each others company- sharing soft kisses and silly stories that happened throughout the day.

Bonus Angst version

Your scent reminds Thranduil of his days in the healing ward. Suffering from the burns of dragon fire, and the pain in his face that has never left. How his throat went raw from screaming, and the flames roaring in his ears.

After a long day, despite how much he would love to hug you and kiss you. The smell makes his stomach churn and face burn. Struggling to not be sick all over the ground.

Your scent reminds Aragorn of his adventures around middle-earth. How one day, he came across a beautiful field of flowers- filling the air with a sweet smell. It brought him peace, and for once he felt calm.

When he feel's that he's getting stressed, you can guarantee a short cuddle session. Burying his face into the crook of your neck; overwhelming his senses with the calming smell of lavender and vanilla.

#Sorry not sorry for the bonus angst #it was the first thing i thought of and i couldnt resist not writing it #i heckin love this gif of Thranduil #mans looks like a mom at a grocery store trying to silently tell their kid to stop being menaces #Westley Writes #Tolkien #The Lord of the Rings #LOTR #the hobbit #lord of the rings x reader #lotr x reader #the hobbit x reader #Thranduil #Thranduil x reader #Aragorn #Aragorn x reader

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zepskies · 4 months

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As You Wish

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When Dean agreed to watch your favorite movie with you, you didn’t think it’d come with live subtitles.

AN: Here’s a little something in honor of Dean’s birthday! If you haven’t seen The Princess Bride, do yourself a favor. 🥰

Word Count: 600

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, and nothing but the fluff. (Established relationship.)

“My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!” Dean says, right in time with the iconic swashbuckler on the screen, complete with his best approximation at a Spanish accent.

You giggle against his side, hard enough to rock both of you on the bed. When he agreed to watch your favorite movie with you, you didn’t think it’d come with live subtitles.

“Are you gonna quote the whole damn movie?” you ask.

Dean brandishes an imaginary sword with his fist held out.

“HELLO! My name is—”

Biting your lip, you cut him off short by playing dirty. You wrap your arm around his middle and dance your fingers across his ribs. He’d never admit it, but he’s got sensitive sides.

He flinches and laughs on reflex. “Hey, hey! That’s a foul move!”

His arm tightens around your waist while his other hand closes around your wrist. You try to grapple with him, your bare legs tangling with his pajama-clad ones, but you both know it’s a losing battle.

Dean gathers you tighter against his chest and traps your wandering hand.

Huffing another laugh, you relax again. His heart clips at a faster pace under your ear. Your hand smooths up his chest and finds its way up the back of his neck.

Dean can't help it. He lets out a contented hum when your nails give his scalp a little scratch.

For a moment, his attention drifts away from the movie and down to you. He spies the soft edge of your smile, feels your hair starting to itch against his arm, your soft curves under his hand, pressing against him.

You two don’t get these quiet days often, but he wants to make sure you get some rest. You, Sam, and Dean spent about three straight weeks in a row with back-to-back hunts, and the last one had really taken it out of you. So now, Dean’s satisfied to see you so relaxed. Happy, even.

Yeah. You really do seem to be as happy as he (secretly) feels.

Sometimes, he finds that part hard to believe. If you could want this with someone like him, then maybe…maybe he doesn’t screw up all the time.

Dean tunes back into the movie just in time for Buttercup to jump out of the window in her pretty white dress. She and Westley join Fezzik and Inigo on white horses, and the couple shares the kiss that left all the others behind.

Dean glances down at your face. He’s amused by the way you’re eating up all this sappy rom-com crap. Your eyes are shining with unshed tears. He ducks down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You just spring a leak over anything, don’t you?” he teases. You shove at his chest with a halfhearted hand.

“Only over the good stuff,” you retort.

He accepts that with a chuckle. When the credits start to roll down the screen, he reaches for the remote and searches for the episode you guys left off in Game of Thrones. You tap his chest.

“Hey, wanna go out to dinner tonight?” you ask. A warm smile plays on your lips. “Just you and me?”

Dean blinks. He doesn’t remember the last time you two went on an honest-to-God date. No time, no privacy, always something evil on your asses…

A decision made in his mind, Dean gives you a smile back. He brushes his thumb across your cheek.

“As you wish,” he says.

AN: 😘 Hope you liked this one!

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

#As You Wish #Happy Birthday Dean Winchester!#dean winchester #the princess bride #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female reader #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen ackles #jensen ackles characters #zepskies writes

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abibliophobiaa · 9 months

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Summary: You’ve never been one for love. Especially after your last round with it. Halloween rolls around and in comes Eddie Munson. He’s only in town for a couple days, you’re looking for no strings, and chances are you’ll never see him again anyway.

Easy, right?

That is, until you end up with an unexpected party favor.

mini series masterlist

next chapter

——

warnings: alcohol; smut; unprotected p in v; unplanned pregnancy and associated symptoms; major miscommunication. eddie munson x afab!reader(7k words)

——

“You’ve been staring around for hours. No one is catching your eye? Not even slightly? You’re not doing brain surgery, you’re just trying to get your toes wet.”

You knew this. But the music had been too loud, the room too heated, your body tucked away against the bar as you sat beside your best friend, sipping on a watery margarita that the ice had long since dissolved into.

All around you people bobbed and swayed to ‘Monster Mash.’ Cliche by all means, and yet it felt fitting when you appraised the crowd once more and noted the mummy dancing with his zombified partner. Further out you caught a werewolf in a particularly compromising position with a vampire, and a group of clowns crowded together hosting what looked to be a meeting.

“What about that Westley guy?”

Right — the one everyone had been talking about all night. The man who had the nerve to dress up as the direct counterpart to your own costume. With a huff, you hiked your leg up, crossing one over the other against the stool. The red dress around you shifted and moved, fingers reaching to adjust the belt around your waist.

“I haven’t seen him.” You shrugged, taking another sip of your drink. “For all I know, he doesn’t exist.”

Micah glanced about the room once again, her makeshift halo wobbling on her head. Somewhere in the distance her boyfriend, Jeremiah, was invested in a deeply riveting conversation about football with some of his friends from college. All of which had dressed in their old football jerseys, dark lines drawn haphazardly under eyes, helmets covering heads. She lingered on him for a moment, and then glanced further over your shoulder, lips tugging upward into a devilish grin. Oddly fitting for the girl dressed as an angel.

“Actually, he’s right there.”

Gravity sent your heart tumbling into your gut. Silly, when you’d thought about it. Just because he’d worn a costume from one of your comfort movies didn’t mean he’d be anything special. Multiple pirates, doctors, and the occasional Michael Myers and Freddy Krueger had already attempted to rouse a conversation, only for it to fall flat. This could very well end up the same, and this night was lost to the turmoil of the inner workings of your mind, still reeling from the sting rumbling in your chest over the past few months.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

But it wasn't a joke when you swiveled around on your stool and faced him. Not at all. In a dimly lit bar, packed too tight with too many bodies bumping you to and fro even as you presently sat, you spotted him. Found the guy people had been mentioning all night as the other half of your ‘couple’s costume,’ saying you both looked amazing together, despite the fact none of them knew he was quite literally a stranger to you.

He sat at a lonesome table. Leaned on an elbow with a cheshire grin spread across the prettiest set of pink lips. His dark curly hair was tied behind his head, tucked into the mask that covered the upper half of his face. Even partially obscured like that, he was handsome, freezing you in place with those piercing brown eyes that were locked unwaveringly on your silhouette.

So he’d noticed you too. Inwardly, you were beaming. After two months of couch surfing and feeling sorry for yourself after a failed relationship wherein you’d walked on your partner of two years with someone who most definitely wasn’t you, you’d decided tonight was the night you’d get back out there. A night of fun, a night to meet someone new, to let loose a bit.

“What are you waiting for,” your friend Micah asked, shoving you forward with a hasty push. “He’s your Westley. If this isn’t some weird ass fate, I don’t know what is.”

Your Westley’s smile grew wider as you approached. Corners dragged upward to form that broad grin, bracketed by the sweetest set of dimples you’d ever seen on a man. Heart pounding a bit, you leaned up against the table, letting out a noncommittal huff. Puffed out a deep breath that caught his attention and had those chocolate brown eyes solely on you.

“Is this space taken?” you asked, and he dipped his head in greeting. “So you’re the guy everyone has been talking about all night.”

“Ah, yes,” he laughed, and you couldn’t help but to smile at the very sound. It’s a lovely, hearty sound. The kind of laugh that seemed dangerous, because you might like it too much. “And you’re the girlfriend I didn’t know I had.”

“You too, huh?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, taking a step closer. “Though it’s all very flattering. Prettiest Princess Buttercup here.” He dropped the lowest part into a whisper, “Definitely a compliment because, if I’m being honest, you’re way out of my league.”

Your cheeks burned with the compliment, feet fidgeting beneath you where you stood. He reached over and slid a chair beside his hip, patting the surface so you could hop on up and join him, a hand of his reaching out to steady you when you wobbled a bit. Another round of drinks were ordered and you learned quickly his name was Eddie and he’d been in town only for a couple weeks now. Had a few gigs in the city for the band he played in and would be off in another two days. Blew in and out like the storm that presently raged outside, wind howling, rain splashing against sidewalks, lightning painting the night sky in a shock of white before leaving it dark once more. He’d grown up in a small town, but realized he’d only ever had dreams that were too small for the walls he’d been raised in.

So he’d ended up on a short tour and would head off to California to start laying down tracks for the band’s first ever album. He sounded so hopeful and eager, so rejuvenated and excited about life, and it had you endeared to him. Drifting closer as the night went on and he asked you about your own life. Learned you grew up here in the city but craved something quieter, very much unlike him. You’d studied creative writing and English in college and wanted to write the stories people would one day know and love and shelve in their homes, but in the meantime you worked at a library. It wasn’t the most thrilling job, but it kept you abreast, and he regaled you with the endless fantasy titles he’d known and loved through the years.

It wasn’t long before the hours trickled on by and Micah approached the two of you with a sulking Jeremiah in tow. The latter of the two a little too inebriated based on the slight sway in his form and the hand Micah kept firmly planted around his forearm.

Her blue eyes flickered up at Eddie’s face, then drifted back to yours. “I’m taking this idiot home. He’s in time out —”

“Noooo,” he moaned, forehead pressing into the crook of his girlfriend’s neck.

“Are you coming back with me or…?” Micah’s eyes trailed back upward to Eddie once more, brows arched curiously.

Eddie looked at you and shrugged. “Up to you, Buttercup.”

“I’m gonna stay…actually.”

Micah nodded, giving you both one last glance over before tugging her boyfriend along behind her in the direction of the door. As she passed, she leaned up against the hollow of your ear and said loud enough over the music, “Be careful. Have fun. You’re beautiful and I love you and you deserve to enjoy yourself tonight, okay?”

Once they were gone your attention returned to the man swathed in black standing before you, shoulder bumping his. “It's too loud in here,” you shouted for emphasis, insides nearly rattling from the music booming from the speakers positioned about the room. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s a little more…”

“Private?” he asked, leaning down toward your ear. Chills skittered along your arms as his lips nearly brushed your skin there, gooseflesh pimpling in its wake. “I have a hotel room two blocks over. How do you feel about running?”

“Let’s go.” You grinned.

“As you wish.” He beamed, holding out a gloved hand for you to take.

Outside, the two of you huddled up beneath the small awning growing smaller by the second with the other patrons who had similar ideas of waiting for their rides and cabs or braving the fall storm head on and taking off into the soaked streets in their full Halloween costumes.

Laughter bubbled up from your lips as a particularly hard jolt against your back sent you tumbling into his form, a quick hand of his reaching out and curling low around your back. He tensed, eyes locked on yours, awaiting your response and you leaned further into him, relishing in the heat of his form.

Moments skittered by under the awning. His eyes roamed your form, dark and beautiful, ringed with those little crinkles that appeared in the corners whenever he smiled. He’d been smiling all night — at you, a thought that has little butterfly wings quivering low in your belly, and lower still at the suddenness of the desire ramping up in your bloodstream.

The glowing lights from the bar filter out onto the street. Flashed orange and red across Eddie’s features, painted him in vibrant color, highlighting the plushness of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the bump of his chin. Hesitant fingers reached up to brush at the curls tied behind his head, curled one of the ringlet strands around and around a fingertip, your forearm spreading over the space between his shoulders, around his neck until he pressed in closer to you. Those chocolate brown eyes flickered southward. Lingered on your lips briefly before traveling back up, asking that question without words. Your only answer was the upward tip of your mouth, leaning into the space, waiting to feel him warm against you.

Electricity danced in the moments shared between you. In the fingertips that pressed into his shoulder and gripped tight as his nose nudged at the space beside yours, your mouth tipping up closer to his. From here, you could smell the mint he’d tossed in his mouth on the way out, could feel the tremble of his breath against your sternum, feel the heat of it fanning over your lips.

But the kiss never came. Behind you, a group of friends pushed and shoved toward the front door, nearly sending you and Eddie into the sidewalk and out of the shelter provided by your awning. It dawned on you then, however begrudgingly, that maybe you should move, give others a space to wait for their vehicles, and start to head in the direction of his hotel room.

He seemed to agree, sliding his palm down your forearm to twine his fingers between yours. “Guess that’s our cue, huh?”

“Bet you’re glad you wore the equivalent of tights for pants today, huh?”

“Suppose it makes it easier for me to whisk you away in the night, now doesn’t it?” He barked out a laugh, and clutched your hand tighter, dragging you out onto the street and into the rain.

——

You were presently in the midst of what was officially the weirdest, most endearing hook up you’d ever had. Moments after rushing out into the busy city streets and getting absolutely drenched from head to toe, Eddie tugged you toward a grocery store, suggesting he had nothing back at the hotel. Had looked a little bashful about it, even when you reassured him it was fine and you’d manage without, though he wouldn’t hear any of it.

As a result, you trailed behind him, dress sopping wet and clinging to every inch of your body, helping gather some things you might need in between what you hoped would be an eventful afternoon. Water, snacks, and the like. He seemed so giddy with it, and you hated the way his dimple in his cheek had your heart and thighs clenching. You preferred only the latter of the two, and couldn’t afford yourself the emotional aspect that came along with the former.

Eventually you had both found yourselves in the frozen food aisle, his shoulder bumping yours, your fingers dancing in the spaces between the two of you, the anticipation of after burning brighter with every minute that passed.

“How do you think they know what…oh, I don’t know…Moose Tracks taste like?” Eddie asked, turning his head over his shoulder.

Fortunately for you, he’d removed his mask, revealing more of his features. Those curls that dangled along his brow line, the smattering of freckles along high cheekbones, the crinkled corners of his eyes whenever he smiled at you.

“What?” you asked, once more reminding yourself of just how differently this night was going than you’d originally anticipated.

“Like what makes a Moose Track a Moose Track?”

“I think it’s just a…mix of things that remind them of…you know what?” His eyes twinkled, and you shifted a little closer. It really sucked that he was cute — obnoxiously so. “I actually don’t know. But, I do think we have more than enough stuff here to feed an army. And I think the rain finally let up.”

“You want to head out?”

“I think we should,” you agreed, tugging him along behind you down the aisle, in search of the nearest check out line.

The walk to the hotel room reminded you both of what you’d intended for that evening. The curious glances you would catch him shooting your way, the way you’d do the same when he focused his attention ahead. It increased with every step closer to the looming building, the desire for closeness, to feel, to touch, to taste.

Burned brighter when he swiped his key card and you started shoving the things he’d brought inside of the mini fridge, before snatching two water bottles and placing them down on the bedside table. He whistled as you walked around the room, fingers snapping, one of his curls tucked against the fullness of his mouth.

“You know, we don’t have to do anything,” you reassured him, sensing the nervousness radiating from his form.

Those dark eyes settled on yours as you approached, palm coming up slowly to rest against his sternum, right where you could feel his heartbeat clanging against his ribs.

“It’s been a while,” he settled on, voice softer than it had been all evening, a tremorous quality catching your attention.

“We’ll go slow,” you promised, leaning up to finally, and happily, close the space between the two of you.

It felt like a long, shared exhale. The way he immediately knew which way to turn his head, how you liked for his calloused fingers to rest against your cheekbone, that you wanted to be as close as possible, pressed flush against his form. Your head swam as he turned you around and walked you backward until your backside thumped against the edge of the dresser positioned against the wall opposite the bed. Grunted as he reached a hand up the back of your neck and sought out that pesky zipper you wanted so badly pulled down.

As if he’d read your mind, the man in question gave the zipper a nice, hard tug and the fabric shifted and dropped around your shoulders, baring the similarly colored bra beneath. So maybe you’d gone shopping for your first foray back after your break up? Based on the darkened eyes honing in on the lacy fabric, you’d picked correctly.

“Such a shame,” he groaned against the curve of your collar bone, fingers pushing the dress down and onto the floor, “really liked that dress.”

“My turn,” you mused, fingers reaching forward to tug the tunic free from his obscenely tight pants.

He helped you with ease, arms lifting just enough to help pull it over his head, giggling as his endless mane of curls sprang free. Tattoos jumped to life before your eyes. The multiple on his arms and torso, some looking faded and older, likely done in someone’s house, and others freshly inked, leaving a tapestry of stories he’d likely tell you if you’d only had the time.

“Fuck it.” He reached down and cupped your jaw, bruising kiss after bruising kiss laid upon your mouth, your toes digging into the carpet below as pale fingers trailed down the center of your chest, and then lower still, pausing at the hem of your panties. “Can I touch you?”

You might burst into flames if he didn’t. “Please.”

“Never have to say please with me, Buttercup,” he said, fingers pushing past that lacy barrier until they met your flesh, knowing exactly what he’d find there. “Sweetheart…this all for me?”

“Don’t tease.”

A broken sigh spilled from your lips, fingers clutched tight around his forearm as those expert fingers dragged a slow circle around your clit before sliding back to your center, pushing in. Your head rolled back against the wall, heat blooming anew as he stepped closer into the circle of your thighs, watching the rapid rise and fall of your chest, enjoying the sounds made only for him, the slickness of your center practically pulling his fingers back in with every perfect thrust curled in that spot right where you needed him the most.

“Fuck, just like that, sweetheart,” he panted, mouth pressed tight to yours, grinning against your skin as you keened high and tight, creeping closer and closer to your edge.

And just when you’d thought you were about to explode into dozens of tiny stars like in the night sky above, Eddie stopped. You nearly cried out his name in your frustration, only to find him dropping down onto his knees in front of the dresser, capable hands tugging you closer to the edge, before he pushed the dainty fabric back to the side and swapped his fingers for his tongue.

One long stripe from center to clit was all you'd needed for the rubber band to snap. For the shaking to start, the chanting of his name like a mantra or a prayer to rouse the neighbors likely next door and alert everyone in the building to what magic Eddie had worked between your thighs.

“Not,” you gasped, leaning your head forward to rest against his heaving chest, “fair.”

“What’s not fair, sweetheart?”

“Too good at that.” Another rasped breath pooled from your lips, quieted by the sound of your lips pressing to his chest. Hazy eyes lifted to his face, a satisfied exhale slowing the rise and fall of your chest. “Get on the bed.”

“What do you —”

“On the bed,” you repeated, grinning wickedly as he backed up just enough so his kneecaps hit the mattress. “I want to look at you.”

And god, what a sight he was. Once you’d finally managed to tug his pants down, revealing the boxers beneath, you were rewarded with the fullness of Eddie Munson in the flesh. The narrow waist, the smattering of hair you kissed along his abdomen, the curve of his chest, the freckles along his chest and shoulders. Traced along the tattoos on his chest, the sides of his ribs, the one on his upper thigh, before dragging upward to slide over the increasingly — and massively impressive — hardened cock peeking out from the waistband of his boxers.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he blew the words out on a shaky exhale as you squeezed a little tighter, gauging what he liked.

Your grin grew as you wiggled the remnants of his clothing off his hip and cupped the weight of him in your palm. Perfect. He was absolutely perfect, and you wanted so badly to show him just how much you thought so, sliding down further onto the edge of the bed, tongue dragging a long line up the underside, along that prominent vein that had him bucking upward off the bed.

“Can I, Eddie?”

He watched through hooded lashes as your eyes zeroed in on his leaking tip, thumb sliding over the pre-cum there, before gliding your palm in a slow downward motion around him. He nodded, breath nearly cutting off completely as you finally, and blessedly, welcomed him into your mouth, immediately knowing nothing would compare to this moment and this girl.

Ruined. You’d ruined him for others, your pretty smile around his cock driving him too swiftly to a precipice he didn’t want to see the end of. Not yet. “Wait, wait, wait. Fuck. Your mouth is perfect, sweetheart. But — mmm — I need you.”

He pulled you upward with a gentle hand on the back of your neck, rolling you over beneath him, tongue marking a path along your chest, the peaks of your nipples, the delicate skin of your abdomen. With each pass of his lips over your flesh, you sank deeper into the mattress, knee bent, foot digging into the space above his hip, drawing him close enough that you could feel his glistening, wet hardness brushing your abdomen.

“Someone’s impatient,” you teased, moaning as his finger circled your wet entrance. “Want you inside me.”

“Patience, Buttercup,” he practically purred, reaching over into the bedside table to find…nothing. “No. Oh shit. We didn’t get condoms. I’m such an idiot, I —”

“Shit,” you whimpered, jolting upright and nearly smashing your skull into his as he double checked the inside of the drawer. “What about your suitcase? Wallet?”

“I told you I don’t exactly do this often.”

Those dark brows knitted together on his forehead, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. You remembered then the fortunate and recent development of starting birth control after Micah suggested she could never live without it, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than to clasp your hands together and thank the heavens for the little pills you had back home in your friend’s bathroom.

“I’m on the pill,” you told him, swallowing the nervousness that grew with every beat of your heart. “And I’ve been tested recently. I’m clean.”

Maybe it was stupid. Maybe you should have known better.

“I’ve been tested since my last time too. I’m good,” he said, unmistakable desperation filling his voice.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whispered as he rolled onto his back.

“Me neither,” he agreed as you clambered over his lap and bracketed his hips with a thigh on either side.

Lured with the wonderful bliss that was Eddie Munson’s lips warm and plus against yours, you gripped him in hand and slowly lowered yourself down onto him, completely bare. There was something so raw about the moment. About the shuddered breath you both released, the way his hands cupped your hips as he pushed in deeper than you ever thought possible, his voice a broken mix of ‘that’s a good girl,’ ‘taking me so well,’ ‘look so good full of my cock,’ as you move over him.

You wanted to hate that you end up doing something between fucking and making love. For something so casual, it feels almost too intimate, the way you collided together like two pieces fitted together of a puzzle that had only been missing those parts.

And it wasn’t gentle, his fingers clutched in your flesh, feet planted on the bed as he eventually pounded up into you — but it was also somehow tender. A complicated mess, just like the shattered pieces of your heart as he groaned one last time and urged you to come with him, pulling you closer in his arms. His fingers circled your clit until you cried his name and clenched down around him, whimpering at the warmth of him spilling inside.

As you both drifted back to reality, he maneuvered around the bed and washed himself from between your thighs. Cooed when you winced at the cold contact, dropping a kiss against your forehead and telling you that it had started storming again. He could either call you a cab or you could stay the night, he’d suggested. You hadn’t anticipated spending the night with him, but after he dug around for the ice cream and M&Ms you got from the supermarket, you found you couldn’t say no to him.

Especially when he turned on the television and, funnily enough, The Princess Bride was on. Fate, or something more, seemed to laugh in your face. Gleeful as you sprawled out beneath the covers naked as the day you were born beside the man who you quickly learned enjoyed handfuls of popcorn mixed with his sweet chocolate treats.

It didn’t take long before he’d grown hard again, the lights dimmed and the food forgotten, your soft sighs and pleasured peals filling the room as he pushed in and watched as your eyes rolled back and back arched prettily for him.

And later, after you were both satiated and satisfied, you fell asleep to the sounds of Inigo Montoya’s famous speech, and the gentle inhales and exhales of the man sprawled out beneath you.

——

Daylight streamed in through the olive curtains positioned against the wall across from you. You hadn’t noticed them last night. Hadn’t noted the wooden walls, the pale ceiling above, nor the cream bedspread across your hips. Hadn’t noticed a lot of things, it seemed, other than the man who dozed behind you, tattooed arm slung low around your waist, keeping you in close.

Fallen asleep — you’d both fallen asleep watching The Princess Bride, much to your grunted amusement as you shifted up and into a sitting position. Eddie’s arm thumped onto the bed, leaving a wrinkled mess around his sinewy forearm. Sparing a glance over your shoulder, you took in the curve of his jaw. The way he looked more boyish than his nearly thirty years, lips parted in a sleepy breathing pattern, curls strewn all about his face. A smile graced your lips, fingers of yours rolling over the curve of his back, the heft of his shoulder, the breadth of his bicep.

Part of you craved curling back up beside him. Wanted to feel his mouth roving over yours, across your skin, between your thighs once more. Would probably dream about the way his face had scrunched up in pleasure before he came apart beneath you last night for weeks to come. But your eyes noticed the time ticking on the far wall, alerting you that work started in two hours. Some weekend reading activity for the children in your town you’d volunteered to work weekend hours for; hindsight, as they say, was twenty-twenty.

“She’s running away in the night,” he grumbled beside you, mouth rolling over to press into the pillow you had slept soundly on for a shocking eight hours, letting out a loud yawn. You couldn’t recall the last time you’d done so. That curly head of hair lifted, too-long strands falling into his gaze as he pinched one eye shut and glanced toward the giant bedroom window. “Or…morning, I guess?”

“I have work,” you said, reaching over to snatch your underwear from off the floor.

He watched with rapt attention as you whirled around and clasped your bra into place, cheeks burning despite the fact he’d seen every inch of you merely hours ago. The man propped himself up onto one elbow, your eyes catching the bat tattoos on his arm as his fingers reached over to curl around your hip, dragging you back down into bed.

Soon enough it was loud giggles, his fingers dancing along your sides, noisy kisses against your own. But it didn’t take long before you were reduced to breathy sighs. His fingers against the span of your hips, his chest pressing yours into the mattress. Lips over yours, against your cheek, the curve of your throat, the hollow between your breasts, the valley of your abdomen. He stopped with a nip along your hip bone, tongue laving over the sensitive skin there.

“Do you have to go?” he groaned against your stomach, placing a final kiss there before crawling back up your body and cradling the back of your head with one hand, his body weight perched on the other elbow, face hovering over your own. Pretty, he was so damn pretty and you wished you could hate him for it.

“I guess I have a few minutes,” you suggested coyly.

And it was all Eddie needed before he had you beneath him once more singing a tune he knew he’d never forget.

You dressed in silence after. He pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and a thin sweater while you glanced at the wrinkled heap of your dress from the night before. It hadn’t dawned on you the complications of getting your feet wet on Halloween — at least, not until now.

“I can’t walk back to Micah’s in that,” you groaned, pointing to the messy ball of fabric on the floor.

“Wait — I have an idea!”

Eddie rummaged around a box in the far corner of the room and tossed a tee shirt your way. Across the front was ‘Corroded Coffin’ in a messy font that reminded you of how your brain often felt after one too many cups of coffee in the morning.

“Your band?” you asked, turning the shirt around to show him.

“Yeah.” He nodded, white teeth flashing with his smile. “You know, you could see us some time.”

You quickly slipped the dress over your head and let the skirt ruffle messily along the floor, then moved to roll up the billowy sleeves to your shoulders.

“I can’t say that I’ll be in California any time soon,” you told him, pulling the tee over your head next and draping it over the belt. Like this, it looked more like an oddly fitted skirt and a top. You already decided that was much better than a Halloween costume, so it would do until you got home and could change.

He nodded rapidly, like he knew that, but hadn’t realized that you’d be coasts apart in only a couple of days.

“Well…” he trailed off, searching around the bedside table for a moment.

Once he procured a pencil and a piece of paper, he scribbled down a string of numbers you immediately knew were the hope for something more from a boy with kind eyes, a beautiful smile, and a heart of gold. Your chest ached. If only you’d met him two years ago, at a better time, in a place where you were more open to whatever this could not be.

“My number — for the place I’ll be staying at for the next couple months,” he explained, tucking it into the exposed circle of your palm, closing your fist within his fingers. “Maybe, I don’t know…we can talk?”

“I can do talking,” you conceded, already hating the fact you knew you wouldn’t be utilizing the number.

It was better this way; he was better off this way.

You both parted with a kiss in the doorway. With his arms looped low around your waist in a way that felt too familiar. A way that suffocated, heart twisting at the soft smile that graced his pretty mouth when he wished you a good shift and you wished him a safe flight.

The walk home was all inward grins that flowed on your face until it hurt. Waves to random strangers passing on the street, curious gazes from onlookers at the billowing sleeves you kept shoving up into your tee shirt as you passed. Memories of the night before flashed in your mind. Of his fingers tugging the zipper on the dress, tossing your underwear alongside his on the floor, mouth on yours, hands learning the contours of your body, the way he fitted perfectly inside you.

Another time, another place, another day maybe.

And that day was not today.

Micah was sprawled across the kitchen island when you entered. You shut the door as quietly as possible behind you, only to find she’d already been awake anyway. A cup of likely long gone cold coffee rested beside her along with a bottle of painkillers, her forehead pressed against the cool tile, nursing what you imagined had to be the headache from hell.

“You’re home late,” she grumbled, pushing her head up into her hands. Blonde hair spilled around her forearms, face covered behind her palms. “I’m assuming you had a good time. Which will at least make one of us. Jere passed out as soon as we got home and snored all night.”

“Sorry, sweetie,” you apologized, stepping further into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator immediately for some water. “I…we had fun.”

“I’m going to need you to spill, because he was cute even with the mask. Don’t think I didn’t notice,” she mused, suddenly healed of her headache, what with the way she looked at you like she’d received the best news of her life.

“I accomplished exactly what I wanted to. I got my toes wet.” You shrugged, lathering some butter onto a freshly toasted bagel.

“You like him,” she screeched, making her own self wince at the sheer volume of it.

You did. You do. But those feelings would fade. Your resolve had already hardened because he wanted romance and flowers and you needed no strings. He deserved that much — he deserved so much.

“We had sex, that’s all. And he’s leaving for California in a few days. I’m never going to see him again. So it doesn’t really matter, now does it?”

——

It hadn’t felt real. For days, you’d doubted every symptom. Every inkling that might have alluded to your present condition.

First, it had been the realization that your period was late. Not even the one or two days you would have pushed aside as a result of stress, the extra hours you’d taken up at work to try and save a little money here and there for a new apartment, or your severe lack of sleep. Then, the nauseousness started. In waves, most days, and definitely not only in the mornings like you’d been led to believe your whole life. Your chest ached next; a fullness that felt unlike your normal, monthly symptoms. Chalked it up to your oncoming period. The same period by that point was nearly two weeks delayed. There was also the fact that no matter how much you slept, you’d still felt like it wasn’t enough. Found yourself dozing off at work, yawning standing in the line for groceries, losing focus while out with friends.

There was also the fact statistics were on your side. You’d done all the right things and were on birth control at the time. So it couldn’t be…that, right? Statistically improbable, unlikely, unwarranted. At least, that was what you had chosen to reassure yourself with, quieting the shouting in your skull that suggested otherwise.

It wasn’t until you were sprawled out against that obnoxiously crinkly white paper in the doctor’s office a little over a month after Halloween that you’d even allowed the thought to enter your mind. It also happened to be the first moment you wondered if you were about to have the entirety of your life changed by a night with a boy in too tight pants you’d definitely not thought about even once since you’d spent the night with him. And you most definitely didn’t picture his dark pupils expanding in the night as you rolled over him, his palms gripping your hips, your hands on his chest, heads thrown back in shared ecstasy.

No.

Not at all.

Six weeks, they told you, with sympathetic looks and uncertain smiles as you exhaled shakily and stared up at the ceiling to stop the room from spinning out of control around you. Six weeks pregnant and undoubtedly so, based on the rapid thrum of the baby’s heartbeat on the screen before you. Strong, they’d said. Perfectly healthy for someone at this point in your pregnancy. They printed pictures up for you of the tiny gummy bear with arms and you held it in trembling hands as they began to speak. Words strung together to form sentences you’d barely understood. Options for next steps, vitamins to take, habits to stop, foods to eat and foods to avoid, how much caffeine to drink, how much weight you could lift and what activities you should start to limit—your head spun with it and continued the whole quiet walk home back to Micah’s place she shared with her boyfriend, Jeremiah.

She welcomed you with open arms as you entered their apartment with a pamphlet on pregnancy in one hand and your pocketbook in the other, whimpered cries of not knowing what to do soaking through her knitted sweater. She’d accepted it without hesitation, just as she always did and would. Held you close to her chest — and hissed at Jeremiah to leave when he’d eventually poked his head in — as you processed the emotions swirling like an endless kaleidoscope in your mind.

And later, when your tears had dried and she’d plopped a freshly opened box of ice cream in your lap and demanded you eat, she asked, “Please just…tell me it’s absolutely Westley’s and not Paul’s.”

“Six weeks,” you sighed, watching her shoulders relax. There was no mistaking who the baby’s father was, and at least that brought you some comfort, “Definitely Westley’s.”

Though you weren’t sure if that made it any better.

“I just want you to know it’s going to be okay,” Micah reassured you, reaching over to rub at your forearm. But did she really know that? How could she? Because to you, it felt like the earth had fallen out of orbit, spinning dizzily now with no signs of stopping any time soon. “I know we don’t have the most space right now, but the couch turns into a futon. It’s yours until you find something otherwise, you know that.”

Telling Eddie his world was (potentially) about to change happened two weeks later. You needed some time to process, is what you’d told yourself was the reason why you’d delayed. After hours of debating, you decided to keep it, and knew that there was always the chance Eddie didn’t want kids — always the chance he’d want to pretend it never happened and that he didn’t want to be a part of its life. Regardless of what he chose, you’d set your mind on being a mother, and you’d do it alone if you had to. But he at least deserved to know; deserved the option of choosing them, even if all you’d had was a night fueled by lust, because you weren’t interested in anything more than that.

Fear had clamped your mouth shut, preventing you from forming those two words for fourteen days. Just two simple words that would have opened the dam to let in the floodgates for the conversation that needed to happen.

Eddie, I’m pregnant.

I’m pregnant.

You’d rehearsed it all afternoon, pacing a certifiable hole in the ground from how rapidly you’d moved. Had even stood in front of your friends and had them listen to it until you felt confident enough to do it for real. Gripped Micah’s hand tight as you swiped the man’s number from your pocketbook and dialed. It rang once, then twice, and you worried he wouldn’t answer or you’d caught him at a bad time when the line exploded with sound. Voices. Dozens of voices spilled through the other line, and music along with it.

You winced. “Uhm, Eddie? Is this the right number?”

A long pause extended, drowned out by guitar strings and drum beats. “Uh — uh, yeah. This is him.”

He sounded gruffer than you remembered — voice tinged with a smokier quality that seemed almost unfamiliar to you now. Not that you’d spoken much that night. Maybe he’d caught something, maybe he was sick. Maybe it was merely the weeks that had grown on since you’d seen him, and he'd become another person in the crowd already — someone you knew if only for a night. Heart pounding, you gripped Micah’s hand tighter and wound the phone wire around a pointed fingertip.

“Hi…I’m sorry I’m only calling now. Busy, you know?” A lie, because you’d never intended to call. It had been one night; that was all it was ever meant to be. “It’s the…girl from the party. The Buttercup to your Westley costume on Halloween.”

He chuckled in reply, and you wondered if maybe he was shy. He’d been looser the night you met — louder. Boisterous and passionate. Carefree and fun. But you wondered briefly if that was the glass of whiskey he’d drunk before you slipped away to his hotel room hearing him now. But you remembered that next morning, too; his splendid affection, the kissing, the exuberance of his persona, the way he’d made you fall apart around him again.

It seemed…strange now. Cut off, cold even.

“I’m…pregnant. I just —” You swallowed the knot of fear forming in the back of your throat and continued, “I just thought you should know…because it’s yours.”

There was another prolonged pause.

Nervousness welled up in your throat the longer it continued. Joined that roiling nausea that had become your friend and foe these weeks. Swallowing thickly, your fingers pressed over the span of your abdomen, over the knitted sweater and skin protecting your tiny secret — still not visible to others yet, but wholly your own all the same. You’d already decided you would love them fiercely enough for the both of you if he didn’t want anything to do with it, just so they’d never feel like they were missing out.

Then, after what felt like decades, he asked, “Who is this again?”

You repeated your name, nervousness rattling your bones, fingers trembling in Micah’s. Micah mouthed out ‘Breathe,’ even though you were doing anything but.

The line went dead, and your heart along with it.

——

let me know what you think! 🩷

#lunaloveseddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfiction

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midnightfictionlibrary · 11 months

Text

Oh, Honey - Jamie Tartt x Fem!Reader

Jamie Tartt x Fem!Reader

Content : jealousy, friends to lovers, a bit of violence, flirting, kissing

Word Count : 1.6k

Plot Summary : Jamie doesn’t know how to react when he sees you flirting with a West Ham player.

A/N : More of my love, Jamie, there's a criminally low amount of Jamie fanfic---as always pls like and reblog if you enjoy <3

“Well don’t you look gorgeous?” You hear the voice before you see its owner, and you roll your eyes before picking your drink up from the bar and turning around.

“And you are?” You deadpan.

“Westley Smythe. But I’m better known as the star player of West Ham.” He quirks a smile at you and you try hard not to laugh right in his face.

“You do know who I am?” You ask him, and he raises an eyebrow, looking you up and down as if there was no way he could know.

“I’m Richmond’s athletic trainer. ” You watch the wheels turn in his mind, and you smooth your dress on yourself, flashing him your own brilliant smile. “I don’t really associate with West Ham.”

He shrugs. “No one has to know.” He says, and this time, you do laugh out loud, actually tickled that this man was being so bold.

But your laugh alerts your own star player, a certain number 9. Jamie’s jaw clenches when he sees you laughing with Smythe, and the grip on his beer bottle (a rare treat Roy allowed him) tightens. He feels Roy lean over, and he rolls his eyes in anticipation for whatever Roy has to say.

“Bloody fucking hell, Tartt. Just tell the girl you like her.” Jamie can’t help but steal glances at you, where you’re chatting away with the West Ham player. And…are you enjoying his company? He thinks about you, how you move when a song you like comes on, the smell of your honey scented perfume.

“I can’t.”

“Yes you fucking can.” Roy grunts, and with that he puts another beer in front of Jamie and wanders off to mingle with Ted and Beard.

This leaves Jamie with admittedly, a lot to think about, even though Roy hadn’t said much.

You keep a tight smile on your face, and you glance to the boys, noticing Jamie was watching you. Your face flushes and you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. Even though Westley was definitely not your type, you decide you could maybe use him to make Jamie a bit jealous.

For the past few months, it always seems like Jamie is on the edge of asking you something. There’s stolen glances, smiles that linger a bit too long. You even find yourself checking over him after games more often than other players. You and Jamie were friendly, even friends, but you couldn’t deny the extremely large crush you held on the Mancunian.

You reach out and brush a light hand on Smythe’s arm, causing him to step a bit closer to you. You glanced again at Jamie, the muscles in his perfect jaw jumping at the sight of you and Smythe. You grin to yourself, angling your body so you’re facing away from Jamie. You felt maybe a little evil, but maybe it would push him to talk to you a bit more. Of course, you could talk to him, but it seemed like anytime you tried to flirt, Jamie was completely oblivious to what you were trying to do.

You roll your eyes as Westley continues to drone on, casting a peek over your shoulder. Jamie was still watching you, but he was standing now. He sets his bottle on the table and skulks out of the bar, and you can’t help but smirk.

The next day, you’re up in the box with Keeley and Rebecca, who you inform of your jealous-Jamie plan.

Keeley grins. “I love it babes.” And Rebecca nods.

“Maybe it showed him what he was missing.” She suggests, and you point a finger at her, settling into your seat. You cross your arms and gaze down at the field but the huge monitor over the stands shows closeups of the team. You can’t keep your eyes off of Jamie, and Keeley leans in.

“He looks grumpy, I think your little plan worked, yeah?” She grins, nudging you. You shrug, but secretly you were pleased. If he was jealous over you, surely that meant he liked you.

The game starts, the usual fast paced back and forth making your head spin. You notice that Smythe has the ball, about to score, when suddenly -

“Oh my god!” You exclaim, standing straight up out of your seat. Jamie had slide-tackled the other player, knocking him down, causing Smythe to roll a little bit. Westley Smythe stands up and charges towards Jamie, who didn’t seem like he was going to back down, in fact, he was smirking, walking to meet Smythe. Jamie pushes Smythe hard, but before a real fight can break out, the referee interferes, gesticulating to Jamie.

Finally, the referee pulls out a red card.

Keeley and Rebecca sit next to you, stunned.

You look up at the monitor and catch Jamie smirking, tongue out, cocky expression on display as he walks back towards the dugout. You sit down, slightly stunned. But also, slightly into it. You watch Roy shake his head at Jamie and send him into the locker room. You quickly stand up, making your way out of the box.

Your tennis shoes make a soft tap, tap, tap on the floor as you walk down the long, bright hallway to the locker room. You round the doorway and stop, right as Jamie looks up at you.

“What the hell, Jamie? A red card? Not to mention, you could have hurt yourself and then work on your ankle would have had to start over.” You put your hands on your hips, moving forward towards him.

“Oh sorry, are you worried about your little West Ham boyfriend?” He says, scoffing as he stands up, turning to face his locker.

“Boyfriend? I don’t care about Westley.”

“On a first name basis, huh?”

You clench your teeth. He was going to be difficult about this. “Why do you even care?”

Jamie shrugs, still facing away from you. “I don’t.”

“So why’d you tackle him, then?”

At this, you can see Jamie’s body tense. “He’s a bloody wanker, that’s why.”

At this, you scoff. He was really going to stand in front of you and pretend as if you didn’t know what this was about. At the sound of your noise of indignation he turns around to face you. There’s a glint in his eyes and he steps closer to you. Very close. Noses almost touching close. He’s slightly taller than you, so he looks down at you.

“Maybe I don’t like the way he was looking at you last night, yeah? Like you were a piece of fucking meat.”

“I can take care of myself.” You assure him, biting back a smirk. You can’t help it though, a devilish smirk was playing on the corners of your lips. “Are you jealous, Tartt?”

You expected him to smirk. You even expected him to maybe laugh, that beautiful smile on display. Instead, he licks his lips, quirking an eyebrow at you. “I think you know the answer to that.”

“Then say it.” You challenge.

At this, Jamie smirks. “Yes. I was jealous. You are smart, funny, and kind, and seeing Westley Smythe all over you made me want to tackle him on the pitch.”

You’re a bit taken aback. You didn’t expect him to pile compliments on you, and your eyes soften. “Oh..” you breathe out.

Jamie continues to gaze down at you, leaning in even closer than he was before, his lips hovering centimeters above yours. You watch, mesmerized, drunk in his presence.

“Seems you might like having me jealous over you, yeah?” Jamie teases. “But that’s okay, as long as I get you all to myself.”

You swallow, your eyes trailing to his lips. “You’ve always had me all to yourself.” You whisper, glancing up to meet his gaze again. But the look on his face is different. Where before it was smirking, sexy, teasing, now it was surprised and anguished.

“Wh..what?” He manages to get out, and you kick yourself, believing you said the wrong thing. “Just how long have you been trying to make me jealous?” He asks, reaching up to gently push a strand of hair behind your ear.

You shrug, suddenly bashful, cheeks burning red hot as he brushed his hand there briefly. You feel a gentle hand under your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his. He searches your face, a small, pleased smile playing on his lips.

“Only since last night. I couldn’t take the tension anymore.” You whisper, and Jamie laughs softly. He slides his hand to the side of your face, lifting his other hand to mirror it. Cradling your face gently, he leans in.

Before anything happens, his eyes travel from your lips to your eyes. “Can I kiss you?” He whispers. Your mouth feels dry, but you nod, and he leans in, gently connecting his lips to yours.

You kiss him back, feeling as if you were melting, and you slide your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him. His hands leave your face and snake around your waist, holding you as close as he can. “You are as sweet as honey.” He breathes into your ear, and you shiver.

“Oi!” You hear a booming voice yell from the doorway and you instinctively look over, still tangled in each other’s arms. There stood Roy, an eyebrow raised. “Not that I don’t think it’s about time the two of you kissed, but Ted wants to see you, Tartt.”

Jamie looks at you, stealing another kiss before winking at you, following Roy out of the locker room door. You stood there, smiling and blushing to yourself. You guessed Jamie just needed a little push, is all. You couldn’t wait to continue what you started.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt #jamie tartt fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #jealous trope #jealousy #friends to lovers #jamie tartt x y/n

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moonlightisdancing · 7 months

Text

Dancing With the Devil/ s.f.k

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 2243

Warnings: NSFW MINORS DNI 18+, drinking, touching, teasing, masturbation (f), priest rp, defo some sort of religious trauma, rough oral (m receiving), begging, slapping, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!), overstimulation, praise, daddy kink

A/N: this fic was a collab with @belovedsamuel she gave me the sauce and i wrote it out <3

~~~~~~~~~~~🩵~~~~~~~~~~~

As you walk into the bar, you’re met with your boyfriend's brothers already several drinks in. You were supposed to be there an hour ago, but Sam looked criminally good in his priest costume. As his little devil, you just had to take care of some business before leaving.

“Hey! Look who finally showed up!” Josh pops up out of his seat to give you a hug. “Ahhh! It buuuuurns!”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that?” You gesture to his pope costume.

“Touché.”

You walk over to Danny and Jake at the bar. Danny’s dressed in an all too short pharaoh costume with now smudged eyeliner. Jake is dressed as Westley from The Princess Bride, his partner seated next to him dressed as Buttercup.

“Ordered you guys drinks.” Jake points over to two glasses on the counter.

You thank him and take a seat, Sam sits between the two of you. His cologne catches in the air as he settles in, filling your nose with the familiar scent you’ve grown to love so much. Josh finds his way back over and starts telling one of his stories, everyone paying half attention. They’ve all evidently had a few drinks before you and Sam arrived, but you feel yourself not too far behind. The liquor surely was working its way into your system as you continued sipping down mixed drink after mixed drink. Past a slight buzz, you only find yourself paying attention to Sam. Watching how his fingers wrap around the glass as he nurses his drink, lips perfectly parting to take in the liquid. The familiar fuzzy feeling finds its home inside of you, getting lost in his mannerisms. Josh goes on with more stories, Jake joining in now that his liquor had hit him enough to crack his introverted shell. The noise in the background is exactly that, Sam being the only thing to fully consume your thoughts. You reach your hand over to Sam and place it on his knee. He turns enough to acknowledge you without drawing attention from the others.

“Hey, sweetheart. Doin’ okay?” He asks, placing his hand on yours and caressing your knuckles with his thumb.

“Yes, I’m okay.” You nod.

“Okay. I love you.” He whispers, leaning over to place a kiss on your cheek.

“I love you, too.”

His attention is quickly brought back to his brothers who are growing quite rammy. You slowly slide your hand up from his knee to his thigh, fingertips tracing circles closer and closer to his length. Sam clears his throat as your hand gets dangerously close to making contact, causing him to turn and shoot you a threatening glare. You can feel the slick building up between your thighs.

“I’ll be back, gotta use the bathroom.” You announce to the group, sliding your hand down his thigh as you get up.

You watch Sam’s eyes trail up and down your frame as you walk away. You walk towards a flight of stairs descending to a hidden bathroom in the basement. It’s typically for employees, but your group frequents the bar so much they’d let you use it whenever. You stumble into the dark bathroom, fumbling for the light switch on the wall. You lock the door behind you, making your way toward the toilet. You rest your phone on the toilet paper holder and pull up the tight red dress as you situate yourself on the toilet in attempts to clean up. Sam has you a mess and he hasn’t even touched you yet. Giving into your temptations you decide to have some time to yourself.

“They won’t notice anyways…” You mumble to yourself.

You rest your back against the cold porcelain lid, spreading your legs a bit wider for easier access. You run two fingers through your folds, tipping your head back in ecstasy as you work light circles over your sensitive bud. Your mind flashes through images of Sam from earlier today, eliciting soft moans of his name that echoed against the stone walls. God how you wished he was here right now, making you feel how he did before coming out for drinks. As if the universe heard your silent prayers, you hear a knock on the door. The knock quickly turns into rustling of the handle, making your heart race.

“Y/N, open this door.” Sam’s voice angrily whispers from the other side.

“H-hold on.” You stand up and fix your panties before flushing the toilet and quickly running your hands under the water.

You wobble to the door and unlock it, creeping it open enough to see Sam’s face on the other side.

“What? I just had to use the bathroom.” You defend yourself before he opens his mouth.

“It’s been 15 minutes, and I have ears.” He chides.

“You were listening?!”

“Yeah, because I kept knocking and you weren’t answering.”

Fuck, how out of it was I?

“Sorry, I was-”

He steps into the bathroom and shuts the door, locking it behind himself.

“Moaning my name in here all by yourself? After pulling that shit out there?” Sam’s hands quickly find their way to your hips, coercing you against the wall.

He presses searing kisses to the exposed skin on your chest, working up your neck until his mouth lingers near your ear.

“Sounds to me like a little someone needs to repent.”

“Do something, Father Sam.”

“Daddy, to you.” Dominance drips from him as the words leave his lips.

He nudges his knee between your legs, pressing it against your core. You try to lower your weight on his knee, but his hands on your hips prevent you from going anywhere.

“Daddy, please?” You beg.

“Only thing you should be begging for is forgiveness.” He moves his leg as fast as he placed it there. “Knees. Now.” He demands, backing away and pointing to the ground before him.

Without hesitation, you find yourself dropping to your knees.

“Always looked so good on your knees for me.” He teases as he firmly grips under your chin with his hand. “Show me how much you want to be forgiven, sinful little thing.”

You reach your hands up, pressing them against his hardened length before teasingly unzipping his pants. You place a kiss against him through his boxers, earning a breathy moan from the contact. The fingers of his free hand find themselves tangled in the hair at the back of your head, gripping up a handful as he pulls your face up to look at him.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy.” His eyes slowly move around your soft features, taking in every detail as he looks down on you.

You reach back up for his cock, releasing him from the restraints of his boxers. Sam, hands still holding your head, guides your mouth to his dick, your hands holding balance on his hips. He presses his tip to your lips, staining the tip in cherry red lipstick.

“Would look better smeared all over that pretty face of yours.” He moves his hand from under your chin to grab his cock, using his tip to smudge your lipstick across your face.

“That’s better. Now go ahead, repent.” Sam places his hand back under your chin.

“I tried pleasing myself without you, and then lied about it. I was wrong.” You look up at him submissively. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. Forgive me, daddy?”

“Good girl. How could I not forgive such a sweet thing like you?” He asks, placing his cock back to your lips.

An unspoken consent is exchanged as you open your mouth, displaying your tongue for Sam’s use. He works his lipstick covered cock into your mouth, hands tightening their grip on your head. His strokes start off slow until he’s fucking himself into your mouth at a steady pace.

“Is this okay?” He breaks character for a second, only continuing after you hum and nod yes.

Sam pushes himself down your throat until tears begin to threaten your lash line, guiding your mouth up and down his shaft. He continues until a mascara stained tear rolls down your cheek, pulling himself out of your mouth.

“Really want forgiveness, don’t you, little thing?” He gently slaps your face and returns his hand to your neck, pulling you up to your feet.

With his grip still around your throat, he pushes you against the wall, pressing his weight against your body. The cold wall causes you to groan from the harsh feeling on your warm skin. You lift a leg up and wrap it around his waist, watching his cheeks grow pink.

“I need you.” You whisper, leaning in to place a kiss to his lips.

“Need me for what?” He urges.

Oh, he’s really getting into this.

“Need you to fuck me until I behave. Until I’m a good little thing just for you, daddy.”

Sam pins the leg around his waist to the wall, allowing your red dress to roll up your thighs. His other hand snakes down to grip his length, brushing the head of his cock through your slick. He drags the tip of his dick up to tease your swollen clit, rubbing painfully slow circles until your knees are about to give out.

“Please? Please just fuck me?” You beg, trying to move your hips to place him at your entrance.

“Slow down, satan. Wanna fuck you so good you forget how to sin.” Sam peppers kisses along your jaw, working his way down your neck.

Once his lips find their home against your collarbone, he gently bites into your soft skin as he pushes himself into you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He whines, allowing his head to fall weightlessly into your shoulder.

You maneuver your hands so one is resting on his exposed cheek, the other tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Sam slowly starts working himself in and out of your aching core. He brings his free hand between the two of you, settling the pad of his thumb on your clit, rubbing tight circles.

“Think you can take more?” He asks in your ear.

“Mhm. More.”

He halts his movements, rubbing a finger against the space he’s already occupying. Sam slowly pushes his finger inside of you, watching your eyes for any discomfort before moving his hips back and forth a few times.

“One more?” You beg with your fucked out voice barely able to speak.

“Okay. Tell me if it hurts.”

He dips another finger into your core, eliciting a guttural moan and furrowed brown from you.

“Too much?” He asks.

“No, feels so good.”

Sam’s thumb begins working circles over your clit again, curling his fingers up into you as much as the tight space allows. Your head falls against Sam’s as you grow dizzy from over stimulation.

“I love you.” You tiredly moan.

“I love you more, little thing.” His breathing is hitched as you begin to tighten around him. “Can you be a good girl and cum for daddy?”

Almost in command, you fall apart beneath him, explicit noises escaping your lips, his name rolling off of your tongue in a mantra.

“Good girl, such a perfect girl. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” His hips stutter, movement faltering as he fills you with his warm release.

Combined moans echo off the bathroom walls surrounding you guys. Sam removes himself from you, cupping his hand to your core to stop his seed from spilling onto the floor. He reaches over for some paper towel to help clean up the mess he contributed to. He removes his cum covered hand from your center and replaces it with paper towel. You grab his unholy hand and bring it to your lips, cleaning his release off of it with your tongue. You lick his hand until there’s nothing of him left covering it.

“I love you so fucking much.” He says, planting a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you, too.” You giggle as you wobble to the toilet, legs practically jello below your weight.

As you relieve yourself, Sam takes the time to wet some paper towel to help fix your smudged makeup. He comes over and begins to wipe off your lipstick before dabbing the paper towel along your cheek to fix the running mascara.

“Fuck, I cannot go back out there like this. That was… unholy.”

“S’okay. Let me talk.” He reassures discarding the paper towel into the trash can beside the toilet.

Once you’re as fixed up as you can get, Sam grabs you into his hold. The two of you make way upstairs, the entire party suggestively looking at you. Your hair was still messed up from Sam’s hands being gripped in the roots.

“Y/N got sick. I went to check on her and she wasn’t doing too hot.” He pouts, your orgasm weakened body helps with the sickly look.

“I’m sorry guys, I shouldn’t have drank on an empty stomach…�� You play along, you’d rather have them think you’re a lightweight over the truth.

“Awh, okay. Well it was nice seeing you Y/N, I hope you feel better!” Danny offers condolences paired with an awkward side hug, he was trying not to hurt your sickened body.

“Bye guys, we’ll see ya.” Sam says, reaching for his wallet.

He discards a hundred on the table before taking you under his arm again.

“Let’s get you home, baby. I think you’ve repent enough today.”

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theteasetwrites · 1 year

Text

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 100: Happy Ending

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 11 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT—gentle sex, missionary, just very basic stuff really, and I don't think there's really anything else! ❧ Word Count: 7.8k

❧ In This Chapter: A year after the events at the Commonwealth, things are falling into place, and Alexandria is back on its feet. Daryl returns home from diplomatic duties at the Commonwealth, but he has an idea to run past you, and it involves a new journey.

❧ A/N: We made it. This is the last chapter of the series. It's been a wild ride. For the last chapter, I had to throw in a little smut, as a treat (and also @normanplusdaryl would've murdered me if I didn't have them have sex again before the end <3). I also wanted to tie a few loose ends, like the character I introduced in 11A (Billy—who was initially intended to be a love interest for Lydia, but then Elijah and Lydia got together and I wanted to follow that from the canon because they were so cute) and Robin's bunny. I will probably make a separate post talking about what this series means to me and how happy I am that I've completed it and that so many people have enjoyed it. For now, though, I'll just say thank you. <3 Hope this final chapter is adequate.

You felt a tiny tug on your corduroy skirt. It startled you for a moment, but then you remembered Westley’s little habit.

One year old and he was already crawling all over the library, touching everything he could get his little hands on. As you looked up from your cataloging, you met the boy’s impossibly round, silvery blue eyes. “Westley Owen Dixon, what on earth are you doing?”

He smiled up at you, in his hand a glob of dirt. His face, too, was smudged with the stuff. You quickly lifted him in your arms, removing the dirt on his cheek with your sleeve. “Where did you get this, huh?”

The child was fond of dirt. He hated being cooped up, you were quickly realizing. Being outdoors was his favorite pastime, but he was much too young to play outside on his own, like Robin.

“Billy?”

“Yeah?” The young man looked up from his book. He knew the routine well now, but you had to make sure to let him know. After all, it was what you always did. A year of library training under your tutelage had worked wonders. You were glad he’d decided to join Alexandria, after he’d helped you and Lydia what seemed like yesterday.

“I’m going to take him out for some fresh air,” you said, as you usually did. “Watch the desk for me? Make sure no one steals any books?” You eyed Mr. Gibson playfully. The old man had a habit of forgetting to check out the books he borrowed, though he always brought them back.

“Sure.”

Outside, you were greeted by a gaggle of children running past, including Gracie and Robin. When Robin turned on her heel, running back to you, you laughed in confusion at her sudden approach, but she was reaching her hand out, and you knew what that meant.

“Tag! You’re it!” she giggled, looking up at you and the baby with a wide grin.

You scoffed, looking back at the other children as they giggled. “I most certainly am not!” you said, leaning down to ever so slightly hit Robin’s shoulder. “You’re it!”

It caught the child off guard, who didn’t think you’d be quick enough to tag her. “Hey!”

As you scurried off, Westley let out a series of burps and giggles in your arms.

“(Y/N)!”

You stopped in your tracks to see Aaron, calling out to you from the garden. Nearby, some of the other children were swinging wooden swords, while a horse-drawn carriage wheeled through town, carrying the latest harvest for trade. In the busy Alexandria square, people moved to and fro, some hard at work, others just chatting. It didn’t really matter, though. All the work would get done.

“Hey, there, boss man,” you said. He scoffed, always rejecting that nickname. He wasn’t the boss, really. No one was. Still, he was a leader of Alexandria, like Gabriel, like Daryl, and, you supposed, like you. In your own little ways, you ran this place, too.

“Told you to stop calling me that.��

“Since when do I listen to you?”

“That’s a good point…” Aaron’s attention quite quickly turned to his nephew, the baby in your arms. His baby voice was always vastly entertaining. “Well, hello there, wiggles.” On account of Westley’s… bouncy nature, Aaron had bestowed upon him that nickname not too long ago. There was no telling where such a little child could get all that energy from, but he had it in spades. Aaron took the child in his arms, lifting him up and down as he held Wes by his underarms. “Whoa!” he said, watching the child laugh and coo at the movement.

“Be careful with him!” you said. “Don’t break him.”

You watched in amusement at Aaron’s silly faces, how he stuck his tongue out and crossed his eyes for the baby’s enjoyment. “Aw, he likes me.”

“Yes, you’re his favorite uncle.”

“I better be.”

Outside the walls, you heard the faint hum of a motor. Not just any motor, of course. There were very few motors left in the world, besides Daryl’s.

“My dad’s here!” you heard Robin exclaim to the other children.

The girl ran between you and Aaron, and you watched as she sprinted towards the gate. The motor had stopped a little while after she’d gone out of sight, but you did hear his voice very faintly, speaking to Robin in that soft voice of his.

As soon as he saw you, he waved with one hand, the other resting upon Robin’s shoulder as they came forward. Beside him was Carol, and behind him was Lydia and Elijah, with Judith and RJ following along. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He was home again, and everyone was safe, for now.

He took Wes in his arms, bestowing a kiss upon his head. Soon after, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close. Over his shoulder, you watched as Robin greeted Judith, the two girls rocking each other back and forth in their hug. They hadn’t seen each other in a while now. Daryl made monthly trips to the Commonwealth and Hilltop, helping to supervise his trades, but the children rarely came along. One day, you knew Robin would beg to come along, too. And then Wes, and then you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself.

“How are ya?” he asked. As he bounced Wes, you concentrated on fixing his windswept hair.

His thumb drew absentminded circles over your lower back, just at the junction of your skirt and your tucked-in blouse. You missed your clothes getting wrinkled by his touch, as much as you tried to look as neat as possible. When he was gone, there was an unmistakable absence of his very particular touch. It was sloppy, but tender. Somehow, he simultaneously put no effort into his movements, and all the effort in the world.

When your fingers finished meticulously sorting out his hair, you let out a refreshed sigh, breathing in the crisp April afternoon. You could practically taste the newly harvested strawberries, finally in season after a long winter. A year ago today, this field you stood in now was barren, dry. Now, it was so green, and even better than it had been before. Lush tangles of vines and leafy greens were lovingly planted in rows upon rows of wooden planters. Alexandria had never been so alive, literally and figuratively.

“I’m fine,” you said happily. As usual, your eyes began to wander his body, examining the new holes in his clothes you would have to patch up. At least he was clean. He must’ve caught a shower at the Commonwealth, where he’d picked up Carol and the kids. She was a leader there now, helping Ezekiel and Mercer run the place. “How was the event?”

The memorial day, the anniversary of the end of the Commonwealth as it once was. No longer a police state run by greedy politicians, it was still the biggest settlement you knew of, but not the best. That was, and always would be, Alexandria, as far as you were concerned.

“All right,” he said with a shrug. The movement made Wes giggle as he found fascination with the piece of Daryl’s chestnut colored hair that he held between his little fingers. “What’cha doin’, scout?” he asked, bouncing Westley until he giggled some more. “Already one year old…”

You leaned close to get the child’s attention. “Look, Daddy’s back,” you cooed, pinching his rosy little cheeks. They felt like dough in your fingers, so soft and warm. “Can you say ‘hello, Daddy?’” He’d only turned a year old last week, but you were eager to hear him eventually speak his first words. If you could gently coax them out of him, you would. “Say, ‘hi, Dad!’ Or just say, ‘Dada?’”

He only stared blankly at you, blinking his wide eyes as a droplet of drool began to slide down his chin. “Da,” he mumbled.

Close enough.

When the sun had set and the day’s activities had come to an end, you found refuge in your living room, watching Robin sit cross-legged on the living room floor, holding a white puff of fur in her arms. Daryl sat beside her, holding Wes, who stared in infatuation at the creature.

“Say ‘Daisy,’” Robin instructed him, holding the rabbit closer. “C’mon, Wes! Say ‘bunny,’ pleeease. This is a bunny. This is Daisy, my bunny.”

The only person who wanted Westley to speak more than you was Robin, who was so eager to have a little brother to talk to. He only blinked, wriggling slightly in Daryl’s arms. He reached out, patting Daisy between her long ears.

“Gentle,” said Daryl, who guided Westley’s little hand. “Nice and gentle… Look at ‘er little nose, Wes. Ain’t that funny how it wiggles?”

Dog, whose nose was resting upon your thigh as you sat petting him on the couch (so he wouldn’t get jealous, as Daryl said), lifted his head up with alert ears. He still didn’t trust the rabbit entirely, but he was learning, just as Westley was, to be gentle.

“No, Dog,” you said in a low tone. “You just stay right here.” The dog whined as he looked up at you, his tail wagging so much it made a noise against the couch cushion. “Oh, really?” you replied. “Well, I’m sorry, but you’re not going anywhere near that bunny until―

“Mommy,” interjected Robin, “can’t we let Dog come close to Daisy? He won’t hurt ‘er.”

After all, it had been several months since the rabbit joined the family. There just wasn’t any end to Robin’s pleas after the baby rabbit had been born. Ezekiel wasn’t helping matters, either. He insisted upon Robin taking the only pure white rabbit in the litter. Still, you had terrifying visions of Dog tearing apart the poor defenseless creature right in front of Robin and Wes, scarring them for life. Dog did have a bad habit of bringing home small, fluffy creatures, though they were always mangled and bloody when he left them on your doorstep. Daryl had only cooked two of them, and that was a miracle in itself. He would’ve cooked up all of them if you had let him.

You looked between Daryl and the dog, whose big brown eyes seemed to glimmer with the light from the fireplace. He whined again. “Oh, all right,” you said. “But don’t let go of her.”

You loosened your grip on the dog, letting him cautiously leap off the couch. His ears perked up, he slowly sniffed towards Robin and the rabbit.

“Come ‘ere, boy,” instructed Robin. “Come see Daisy.”

Your heart seemed to stop for a moment when the dog got so close that he pressed his nose against the bunny’s, just for a moment. At the same time, Wes reached out his hand to pat Dog.

“Daw…” the boy cooed.

Your eyes lit up, so did Daryl’s. “What did you say, sweetie?” you asked.

Daryl gently bounced the boy, as if trying to shake the word out of him.

“D—dog.”

“Dog?!” you exclaimed, excitedly climbing off the couch to crawl over to Daryl and the baby. “Oh, Daryl, his first word!”

Robin grimaced as she pet Daisy, who was also the object of Dog’s attention as he sniffed her small puff of a tail. “I wanted him to say bunny.”

“Maybe he’ll learn that next, sweet pea. Can you say it again, Wes? What is this?” You pointed demonstratively towards Dog. “This is a…”

Daryl smiled widely, amused by the boy’s confusion. “Hey, buddy. Good job, why don’t ya say somethin’ else…” He pointed towards you, his eyes gazing over you affectionately. “Who’s that, huh? That’s Mama. Say ‘mama.’”

“Blah bluh.” The baby’s nonsensical sounds erupted from his mouth with a small bubble of spit.

You all broke out into uproarious laughter. “Aw, that’s close enough,” you said, your voice faltering a little. It could’ve been worse. When Robin said her first word, “Dada,” you were overwhelmed with happy tears. This time, you were a little more composed.

“Look, Mommy!” exclaimed Robin. “Dog likes Daisy, see.”

You averted your attention from the baby to see Dog’s nose gently nudging the rabbit’s body. He seemed to recognize that the creature was a friend, not food. You’d seen the dog’s reactions to rabbits and squirrels and the like before, but he’d never seemed so calm and collected. Perhaps he was smart enough to know that Robin loved her bunny, and that any friend of Robin’s was a friend of Dog’s.

“What a good dog,” you said, patting his back. “Everyone’s reaching a milestone today, huh?”

Not long after that, Aaron came knocking on the front door. He was on his usual Friday evening business—picking up Robin to spend the night. Tonight was special, as Judith and RJ were visiting, too. It was more like a slumber party at Gracie’s house, with Aaron dutifully volunteering to take care of all the children that night.

The best part for you, of course, was getting to be alone with Daryl.

The man didn’t let go of Westley until the child was falling asleep in his arms. He’d been gone only three days, but when a child grows so fast, it feels as though just one day is a whole year. As he put the infant to bed upstairs, you tended to the fire, dropping in another log with a flurry of bright orange and red sparks. You quickly used the poker to maneuver the logs. Two hands held tight to your hips as you bent over, squeezing your waist.

“Baby asleep?” you asked.

He turned you around shortly after you stood up to replace the poker. Upon his face was a lopsided smile, the kind that was infectious. Your own grin carved itself into your cheeks, lifting them high until your eyes began to squint.

When his arms wrapped tight around your back, pulling you close against his chest, he craned his head to find your neck, where his lips latched onto your exposed skin. Eyes closed, you nuzzled into his neck, too, where you caught faint notes of pine and soil, and a hint of cigarette smoke.

“Daryl,” you sighed, your hands finding themselves feverishly clawing at his strong, broad shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

His mouth zig zagged up your neck, dotting kisses along your jaw, then finally settling happily on your lips, where they seemed to fit so perfectly. “Me too, angel… Wes is sleepin’ like a rock. Dog’s all tuckered out by his crib.”

“Precious,” you spoke against his lips. “I can’t wait for him to learn how to walk. Remember Robin? She was following you all around the house.”

“Knowin’ Wes, he’ll be chasin’ me. Little terror’s already got so much damn energy with the crawling.” With a laugh, you imagined the idea as you lowered yourself to the ground, tugging Daryl down with you. “Perfectly good couch right there, woman.”

“I want to enjoy the fire,” you said, leaning your back against his chest. He knew the position well, spreading his legs as he leaned against the side of the armchair. You shimmied yourself until you were slotted between his legs, while his hands settled upon your stomach to pull you in even tighter. “Mm, perfect.”

He seemed infatuated with your neck tonight. Perhaps it was your new homemade perfume, scented with apple blossom and honey. Indeed, he seemed to be practically devouring you with his lips.

“You smell good,” he mumbled between kisses. “Good enough to eat.”

With a teasing grimace, you turned your neck to face him. Though his words and the languid movements of his hands as they pawed at your silky nightgown were tempting, you were more determined to hear about his travels for the time being.

“Any news from the Commonwealth?”

“Jus’ the usual. Carol’s got some plan to talk to Aaron ‘bout gettin’ the railroads workin’ again. They already got a lot of people ready to work on it, just gotta make a plan, and Eugene is comin’ up with ideas for fuel… I dunno, he told me all ‘bout it but it went right through my head.”

“How’s Rosie?” Eugene’s daughter was born just a few months ago. You were still hoping to meet her soon.

“She’s fine. Looks nothin’ like Eugene, maybe that’s a good thing.”

You shook your head at his joke. “Well, not everyone can be as handsome as you, my love. And the books, did you pick up the books?”

Daryl had a new job added to his long list of responsibilities. In fact, you considered him to be his own position at your library: the official interlibrary loan delivery man.

“I did,” he said with a nod. “Got ‘em in my bag, ready for ya to… do whatever you do with ‘em. And I dropped off the books they asked for. How you gonna keep track of all these books comin’ and goin’? Ain’t it difficult? Don’t want you stressin’ yourself out with this… interlibrary thing.”

If Daryl had it his way, you wouldn’t have to lift a finger or do anything at all, but you wanted to run the library. After all, he built that library for you. It meant the entire world.

“It’s not stressful, honey. It’s important. Making sure everyone has access to the information they need, or the stories they want to read to keep their minds off things, that’s all important. When Maggie gets the time to start thinking about a library at Hilltop, we’re going to start an interlibrary loan program there, too. Lydia told me she’d like to run that library… It’s going to be wonderful.”

No matter how many times you told him your dreams, your plans, your hopes for the future, he would always look at you like you’d just shown him the biggest, brightest star in the sky. That’s why he built that library, why he did everything he did to keep Alexandria and the other communities together. Though he thought his actions were small, what he did, he did so you could be happy. There wasn’t anything you could want that he wouldn’t give to you. Just to hear that swell in your voice, and to see that flash of radiance in your eyes.

When you spoke of your dreams, you were the most beautiful thing in the world to him.

“Jus’ as long as you’re happy. Ya know, I’m real proud of you, sweetheart.”

“Oh? What for?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

His forehead leaned against yours, his hand cupping your jaw with the utmost tenderness. “Yeah. You’re doin’ everything you wanted to do, bein’ everything you wanted to be. And ya make this place feel like home. Alexandria ain’t nothin’ without you.”

“Stop,” you laughed. “I’m just a librarian.”

“Nah,” he said. “You’re much more than that to me. I mean, you are a librarian. That ain’t all you are. You’re changin’ the world, in your own ways.”

“Well, I… couldn’t have done anything without you, Daryl. You gave me everything I wanted, and more. You made me feel like I was strong.”

“You are strong,” he corrected. To punctuate his statement, he placed a firm kiss upon your lips. “My strong, beautiful woman.”

A sudden burst of laughter erupted from you as he used his body to pin you to the floor. With your body now underneath him, you wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping him pressed to you.

“You’re such a charmer,” you said, lips brushing against his ear. His tongue spread warm saliva over the expanse of your neck. Between slow, drawn-out licks, his lips pursed to kiss you, his hand wrapped up in your hair. Your lips desperately searched for his in the dimly lit room, with only the warm glow of the fire to guide you. Raising your hand to palm at his face, you clasped his chin to pull him down until your lips met.

It was an unspoken chain of events now—words weren’t necessary. Tonight, you’d make love together, with no chance of Robin hearing or walking in on you, and little Wes was just a baby, all snuggled up in his crib upstairs. Dog wouldn’t know what the two of you were doing, he was just a dog. Still, Daryl always shooed the canine away if he happened to try to climb into bed during your more intimate moments.

But tonight, he didn’t seem to care about privacy from the dog, as he clawed at your nightgown, trying to pull it off on the living room floor.

“Daryl, we could go to the bedroom if you want. Wes won’t wake up.”

“No, right here. Want you right here.” You didn’t mind.

As he sat upright, he stripped himself of his black button-up shirt, the buttons on which were already stretching beyond their ability on account of his broad, stocky build. Your nightgown peeled off easily over your head before you tossed it somewhere behind you, into the warm darkness of the increasingly balmy room.

With a frustrated grunt, he stood to begin undoing his belt. Beneath your now naked body, you felt the high pile of the plush rug underneath you. It wasn’t as soft as your bed, but it was enough. Still, an equally as naked Daryl crossed over to the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows.

“Here.” He leaned down to tuck the pillow underneath your head. You bit your lip as you watched him maneuver himself until he was atop you again, breathing deep, heavy breaths. “You comfortable?”

“I love you,” you answered, in a complete haze. “Come here.”

Your lips clasped together again, this time kissing with open mouths and lustful tongues. As his body began to move against yours, you both felt the heat of the nearby fire begin to just barely sting your skin. It was a good sting, though. It reminded you that you were alive, after all this time. You were still alive, together.

“I love you,” he repeated. The phrase was bookended by more kisses, each more sloppy and impatient than the last as the heat and arousal rose up in him. “I love you... I’d die for you.”

Between your bodies, his erection twitched against you, tucked somewhere between your thighs. It all felt so warm.

“You don’t have to,” you said, heaving and panting as your body rocked up against his. “I’d much rather you live for me.”

You could feel him smile against your cheek, his hand planted firmly beside you as he lifted his body enough to see yours. His other hand traveled south to feel you, to insert his fingers inside you.

“Oh…” His knees dug into the carpet as he steadied himself, focusing on pleasuring you. His thumb tickled your most sensitive spot mercilessly, causing you to squirm and writhe underneath him, just the way he liked. “Daryl…”

When you said his name, a fire of some otherworldly kind ignited within him. It was wild and demanding and took complete control over him. He could no longer keep himself away from you, so he buried himself inside, letting out a drawn out sigh as your arms reached up to envelope him.

“Oh, yes, Daryl… Please.” Your begging only emboldened him.

He bestowed another kiss, then dragged his lips down over your neck, finally grazing over your aching breast. His warm, sweet breath soothed your nipple, where your teething baby was slowly but surely being weaned from breast milk.

“They still hurt, angel?” he panted, almost whimpering. You felt so good around him, he could hardly stand it. Your body was made for him, having been filled by him after all these years, but every experience was slightly different, with new pleasures for him to reap from you, and to give you.

“They’re… a little tender.”

Without sucking, he licked the slightly swollen flesh, tracing gentle circles with his tongue. He eyed you, but your head was thrown back, with only a breathy sigh to signal your approval. The softness of his tongue was so soothing, combined with the steady rhythm of his body as he pumped himself inside you. While one hand kneaded the tender flesh of your other breast, his other hand stroked your clit, matching the slow, loving movements of his hips.

“I’ll make ‘em feel better,” he said, moving his lips to the other breast.

His open mouth drenched your sensitive nipple in his saliva, then his tongue swirled it around in slow, languid circles. Only Daryl could make love to you with such sweetness and gentleness, but with such great desperation and need. It took all his willpower not to suddenly increase his pace, but he knew that what you needed now was his sweet, slow love. Besides, in this room, in this moment, you had all the time in the world. Everything else outside of the junction of your bodies didn’t matter, for the time being.

Your back arched, you jolted upwards as a sudden shock of pleasure ran through you. Daryl’s touches were getting you more and more aroused, closer to orgasm. Meanwhile, he buried himself deeper inside of you, twitching with each involuntary movement of your body. The wetness that pooled where your bodies met was dripping down your bottom, surely being absorbed by the carpet. You made a mental note to wash it tomorrow.

With only yours and his soft pants, grunts, and sighs mingling with the crackling of the fire, the house was quiet, peaceful. The sound of skin on skin became more prominent as Daryl’s speed increased inevitably—your passageway was so slick now, he slid in and out of you with ease.

Though his head was now buried between your breasts, you reached down to lift him up until his arms stretched out to hold him up, hovering over you. In your throes of passion, your ultimate peak of pleasure incoming, you needed to look at him, to see his face as he watched you fall apart.

“You’re beautiful,” he huffed. And you were. Your skin was drenched in sweat, probably from the immense heat of your bodies and the nearby fire. Beads of sweat and saliva that speckled your breasts were glimmering with the sparkle from the light. Your arms were flailed above your head, though not for long, as you reached up to pull his hair back, giving you a better look at his face. He was sweating, too, panting with agape lips that were made puffy from your kissing. He always had deep-set eyes, but they looked so dark now, filled with lust and the utmost desire for you to feel the pleasure you so deserved.

As you squirmed underneath him, you managed to smile at his compliment. No one had ever made you feel as beautiful as him, and he really made you believe it. “I feel beautiful,” you panted. “I’m so close…”

He straightened his back a bit, digging into you from a slightly more extreme angle. It caused you to let out a gasp of surprise at the change in feeling, the new stimulation his tip was creating as it hit into you. “Oh, oh!”

With such an incredible feeling came the need to cry out, so you covered your own mouth with your hand, trying not to wake the sleeping baby upstairs. Though your hand muffled your moans, the sensation was so strong that your other hand dug into the skin of his shoulder, making him grunt in return.

It wasn’t a bad feeling, though. He’d let you use his body in whatever way you needed to. In fact, he liked it much more than he should’ve. When you were rough with him, even though it was unintentional, it awakened a wildness in him that he often thought he’d grown out of, but it was always within him, you just had a way of bringing it back out.

The newfound confidence he gained made him move faster now, yet still with the gentleness he started out with. He breathed out a huff, then a few words. “You like this?” he panted. “You like what I’m doin’ to ya?”

“You know I do,” you mumbled against your palm.

“I feel ya about to come,” he said. “Feel ya squeezin’ me.”

Another jolt of pleasure, another tightness throughout your core. His movements didn’t give you a chance to recover—you arched your back and gasped as the string inside you broke. Your legs spread further apart by instinct as your hips writhed and gyrated with every pulse.

Even in the dim light, he swore he could see your entrance twitching and tightening around him where his body met yours. He certainly could feel it, that enticing pressure that commanded him to stay in you, begging him to let himself go.

Well, the last time he did that, you ended up with a surprise bundle of joy.

With your body still squirming and moaning underneath him, he pulled himself out, tugging with his hand as he watched you enjoy the last moments of your bliss.

You opened your legs up even more, reaching your hand down to stroke your slit, just to give him something to look at. It was quite amusing to watch him, too, how his hair hung loose over his face as he hung his head down to watch your movements. He finally reached his peak, his other hand catching his spend.

With that, his energy left him. He allowed himself to fall back down onto you, then roll himself over with you in his arms, until you were snuggled against his side.

It didn’t last long, though, because you were cold, so you fetched the quilt draped over the edge of the couch, along with another throw pillow for Daryl. He’d insisted he didn’t need one, and that you should have both, of course. You ignored him.

The fire was low now, almost embers, but it was still bright enough to bring light to your faces. You traced the curves of his features for a while, tickling his nose any chance you got. It occupied you as you thought of new worries.

“You’re going to the Hilltop tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, then Commonwealth, then back home. Like I usually do.”

You knew the routine well—the trade route always involved several stops at the three settlements, and the whole circuit took about a week to complete, but one week out of the month without him was still the one thing you wished to change in your life. Granted, you were quite spoiled if the only problem in your life was not getting your husband to yourself twenty-four seven. Maybe you were just clingy, but Daryl always liked that about you, and, anyway, he was clingy, too. Possibly even more than you.

“Hm…” You tightened your arm around his waist, nuzzling your head further against his chest, as if to never let him leave. “Well, say hi to Maggie and Hershel for me. Oh, and Robin has another little letter for him she wants you to deliver. It’s on her desk, I’ll get it in the morning before you leave.” The two children had become pen pals ever since Maggie returned to Hilltop. You found their new friendship to be quite sweet, knowing that Glenn would’ve loved to see all the children getting along.

“Guess I’m a glorified mailman now, huh?” he said with a huff, which you knew to be his form of laughter. “Well, uh…”

His voice trailed off and his small smirk faded as he began to think. He didn’t look worried or upset, but nervous, almost. It was strange, he’d hardly ever looked nervous around you anymore.

“What is it?”

“Nothin’, just… There’s somethin’ I been thinkin’ ‘bout for a while. Been meanin’ to ask ya.”

There was a strange quality to his voice, almost like he was… excited? Nervous, and excited. It made you shake your head in slight bewilderment. He seemed so youthful, with the subtle, flickering glow of the nearby embers accentuating the angles of his high cheekbones.

“Go ahead.” Whatever was making Daryl so excited, it was bound to make you excited, too.

“Well, I was thinkin’… Maybe tomorrow you could come with me on the rest of the trip.”

That wasn’t all he was thinking, but it was the first step. Luckily, the first step went over well. You immediately beamed at the thought. In fact, you’d wanted to ask, but you feared that Daryl might grow irritated at your desire to be with him when he was doing his “job.” The fact that he asked you was a relief.

“Oh, that’s a great idea! I’d love to go, honey. I really want to see Maggie, and I’d love to meet Rosie. I’m sure Ezekiel would like to hear about Daisy. Aaron could take care of the kids, and I know Gabriel would help, too.”

“But, uh, that ain’t all I was thinkin’.”

“Oh?”

He cleared his throat. “Ya know… Ya know how, a while back, I said I’d take you on a vacation?”

The thought amused you as it came back to mind. Indeed, it was almost exactly a year ago, down in the sewers underneath Alexandria. It was a dark time, but in the midst of that darkness were moments like that.

“Yes, I remember. You said something about… riding off into the sunset on your motorcycle,” you laughed. “Well, that’s how I interpreted it, anyway. Why?”

He shrugged, though he knew why he was asking. “Guess I was jus’ wonderin’ if maybe we could do that soon, that’s all. Maybe when we get back from the trade, we can just… be gone for a little while. Few weeks. I dunno.”

As your fingers absentmindedly traced shapes through the wiry hairs sprouting from his chest, you thought of the logistics of such a plan. You knew that Aaron wouldn’t mind taking care of the kids, and Gabriel did owe you a few favors after you’d taken care of Coco. Lydia and Elijah lived in Alexandria, too, and would surely keep an eye out for the children that Lydia came to know as her family. Some of the other neighbors would be fine with helping out, too. They all loved Robin, and many of them had offered to babysit Wes whenever you needed it. Dog was already eating off everyone’s porch, and Robin was now an expert at caring for her rabbit.

“Where will we go?” you finally asked.

“Jus’... anywhere.”

And so, the next morning, you were off.

At the Hilltop, Maggie expressed interest in your “vacation.” She said it would be a good opportunity to find new people, and to find leads for new resources for the communities. Of course, before you’d leave, you’d stop again back at home to say goodbye.

It wasn’t an easy goodbye, not in the slightest. You held onto Wes for some time that morning, while Daryl went through extra care to go over the “security protocols” with Robin. You weren’t entirely sure what that included, but it had something to do with operating the complicated lock on your front door.

Outside the gates, Aaron met you to see you off, with Lydia holding baby Westley. Beside his bike, Daryl held Robin’s cheeks in his fingerless-gloved hands, kneeling down to the girl’s height. He squinted his eyes as he examined her face, clenched somewhere between forced strength and the strength she was born with. There seemed to be a glimmer in her eye, where a tear threatened to fall.

“We won’t be gone long,” he said, brushing the tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Few weeks, month at the most.”

“But it’ll feel a lot longer,” she said weakly. Still, she allowed her lips to curl into a half-smile. “Can you bring me back a new Barbie? A veterinarian one?”

Ever since you began telling her about Hershel, Maggie’s father and her friend’s namesake, she dreamed of becoming a veterinarian, taking care of all the animals in Alexandria. It was a dream that you hoped would come true for her.

“Yeah, I’ll look for it… And I promise we’ll be back ‘fore your birthday.” She beamed at that. She was turning eight in a month. Time was going so fast.

He took her in for a hug, and with his chin resting upon her shoulder, he quietly said, “Keep an eye on your brother, all right? And take care of Dog. Make sure he don’t eat that bunny.”

She laughed before placing a small kiss on his cheek. “Okay, Daddy. I promise.”

“And be good for your uncle. Listen to him…” He trailed off, knowing he didn’t really have to waste those words on such a well-behaved child. Now, Westley was another story, but alas, he couldn’t quite understand anything Daryl would say to him. “I dunno why I’m tellin’ ya, birdie. You’ll be just fine.”

As he rose to his feet, you came towards them, Wes on your hip as he chewed on his teething ring. His little feet wiggled in his tiny cowboy boots (the ones Daryl brought home because they reminded him of a certain police officer he used to know) as you handed him to his father, who held the restless child up in the air as he made a wide-eyed face to entertain him. “Hey, scout, now you’re the one I’m worried ‘bout.”

You felt Robin’s arms wrap around your waist, and her cheek leaning against your upper arm. As you looked down, you freed your arm to squeeze her close. Your hand settled in her hair, brushing back the silky, pale brown waves. “Will you be all right, sweet pea?”

“Yeah, just…” She looked up with glassy eyes and slightly quivering lips. “I’ll be worried, s’all. There’s climbers out there.”

That was the newest threat. A new… adaptation. Some walkers were climbing, even picking up objects. Not many, but enough to warrant new protocols. That was part of what you were interested in exploring. Maybe someone, somewhere, knew something about these new walkers. Or at least, maybe you’d get some leads. It couldn’t hurt to look.

“Mm, well, I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but… I’m pretty good out there.” You pulled your ice axe from its loop on your belt, flashing the thin silver blade. “And nothing’s going to stop me and Daddy from coming back home to you and your brother, you know.”

“I know.” You took her in for a full hug, squeezing her so tight she squealed a little. “I’ll miss your hugs.”

“Me too…” You sighed as you pulled away to look at her. She looked so much like Daryl, as she always did, but for the first time, you noticed a quality in her face that resembled… you. It was a brief resemblance that seemed to only show itself in certain angles and lights, but it really showed now. Maybe she was growing up, not anywhere near a young woman yet, but you could see it in her. It was coming, and it brought a tear to your eye. You didn’t want to miss a second of it, but this would be good for you, for Robin, for everyone.

“I think this might be the longest I’ll have ever been away from you, chipmunk. Your daddy’s been away for months before, but…”

Robin’s kiss distracted you from your imminent tears. “It’s okay, Mommy. We’ll be okay. Everything will be okay. Maybe when you get back, Wes will know some more words.”

You felt Daryl’s warm presence beside you, and you heard Wes’s babbling. The little boy just looked so happy, smiling wide with the few tiny baby teeth he’d been growing. As you brushed back his wispy brown hairs, Daryl pressed a kiss to his cheek before handing him back to Lydia.

“You sure you’re okay with taking care of him?” you asked. “You can always ask Gabe and Aaron for help, too. They’ve babysat him before.”

The young woman extended her metal arm for a hug. You sighed against her shoulder, knowing you were going to miss her, too. “We’ll all take care of them both,” she said. “It takes a village, right?”

“Thank you… It means a lot to me.”

Aaron was the last one you had to say goodbye to. It took a lot of willpower to end that hug, but wherever you were going, you had a long way to go.

“Be careful out there,” he said. “And don’t worry about everything here. Just… just be careful, okay?”

There was no mistaking that look in his eye, and that slight frown on his face that aged him a few years. You much preferred his smile, but you knew he was a lot like you, and that it was hard to smile when there was so much to worry about. “I will. I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He nodded with a strained smile. “I know.” With a sigh, he pulled you in for another hug. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he had a bad feeling.

“Aaron,” you said, “stop worrying. I told you I’ll be careful. You know, I lived out on the road for a while, unlike some people.”

His smile seemed natural now, more warm and relaxed. “You’re my baby sister,” he said. “I’m always going to worry about you. Dad used to say I had to watch out for you, make sure the other kids didn’t pick on you.”

And yet they still did, but he tried his best.

“And you always did watch out for me. Now I can watch out for myself.”

“I know, (Y/N). Still, be careful.”

When you pulled yourself away, Daryl stepped in to hug Aaron. It was a far cry from the first day the two met, you thought. You rather clearly recalled Daryl’s first words to Aaron being, “No one gives a shit.” If you’d been asked to imagine the two men sharing a hug back then, you weren’t sure you could do it.

“Take care of my sister,” he said, quietly enough so that you couldn’t hear as you strapped your bag to Daryl’s bike. Light packing wasn’t your strong suit, but somehow you managed to fit everything you needed into one knapsack.

Daryl chewed his bottom lip as he nodded. Aaron had spoken in a stern voice, but underlying that was a clear understanding between brothers, not just friends. “I will.”

As he climbed onto the bike, he turned the key into the ignition, bringing the engine to life. When you settled behind him, grasping at his shoulders to steady yourself, you were alerted to Westley’s cries, no doubt spurred on by the loud engine, though you were a little gutted inside, thinking maybe, just maybe, he knew you were leaving.

“Bye!” you called out over the roar of the bike. Robin, Lydia, and Aaron matched your wave, and soon Westley’s cries calmed down. Maybe it was the sound of your voice.

Daryl flashed a smile towards them, then turned his head to speak over his shoulder to you. “Ready?”

With a deep breath, you wrapped your arms tight around his waist, but not before adjusting his poncho slightly. “Ready.”

It was a beautiful April day, with fluffy clouds rolling slowly in the pale blue sky. Beyond the nearby hills, you could just see the sliver of the moon begin to dip below the horizon. Darkness was far away now, and for a moment, you thought back to the beginning of a different journey, one that started in darkness, but ended in the light.

Well, it didn’t end. Nothing ever really ends.

With a kick of the stand, the wheels were rolling, and Daryl stepped hard on the gas, jolting you to grip onto him tighter. Your chin dug into his shoulder, just the way he liked. That way, he knew you were really holding on, and that you were there with him. It was what he needed. In his heart, he knew one thing—he’d never be able to leave home again without you.

The road went on straight for a while, and every chance you got, you looked back to see those three figures getting smaller and smaller, but Robin’s little arm was still waving. You let go of Daryl for a moment to wave back, even though you were sure she couldn’t see you.

I love you all.

Soon the road bent, turning into a grove of trees that finally separated you from your home, the place you fought for, and the people that made it worth fighting for.

But then, there was still Daryl, and that was more than enough to remind you of every beautiful thing you had in this world. In fact, it all started with him. It started that day the bolt from his crossbow tunneled through a walker’s skull, the walker that very well would’ve killed you if it weren’t for him.

If it weren’t for him, you’d have never known love at all. That was what you believed to be true. There was no love like his before him, but whatever love you did have, it wasn’t his. His was what you’d been waiting for all your life, what you were put on Earth to feel.

Today wasn’t unlike that day you met him, you supposed. It was a time when everything was changing, and as one world was ending, another was beginning. Though this time, you didn’t feel anything was ending, only that today was the start of some great journey. You couldn’t explain it, you just felt it.

However the world would change next, you found yourself repeating that old mantra: Don’t ever be afraid.

You were so lost in your thoughts for a while that you didn’t even notice the great speed at which you were going. As you pinched his side, signaling for him to slow, you shouted above the sound of the engine, “Slow down!”

He shook his head as he let out a laugh. “Thought you’d never notice.” His foot eased up on the gas pedal, and now you could more clearly watch the trees go by, one by one.

You weaved through a small group of walkers stumbling on the road, but their mindless groans were easy to ignore. In fact, you didn’t really notice them at all. Nothing could spoil this moment, this beautiful world that you’d come to know and love, despite everything that threatened to take it away from you.

No, nothing could take this away from you. Nothing could take away this bright light of love that seemed to move at the speed of sound down the old dirt road. It was unstoppable, and wherever the two of you went, you’d take it with you, and never let it go.

Now, you just had to figure out where you were going, but something told you that the light of love would guide the way.

Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs of any kind are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist

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quirkykaty · 1 year

Text

Busted

Pairing: Crowley x F!Reader Warnings: SMUT (the one and only I've written so far, so feel free to judge), bit of fluff, bit of angst, getting caught (duh) Summary: When the cats are away, the mice will play. Sam and Dean pop out for a few hours and Crowley decides to pop in for a visit. Wordcount: >1000 Author's Note: I can't remember when or why I wrote this but it still makes me grin when I reread it so whatever. Crowley is such an ass but gods I love him.

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“Bye! Call us if anything comes up, okay?” Sam called out to you from the door of the Bunker. Dean grinned at you over his shoulder and winked as he dragged his brother out the door. You laughed as the door closed on them, shaking your head at the grown men’s teenage antics.

Spinning on a heel, you made a bee-line for the kitchen. With Sam and Dean off to chase down a lead on the English Men of Letters, you had the Bunker all to yourself for a few hours and that meant one thing. Booze and a movie marathon in your pajamas. It was going to be fantastic.

Within an hour, you were splayed out on the couch in a ratty shirt that was several sizes too big and a pair of fuzzy black socks, with a bottle of Jack in one hand and the remote in the other. Having the boys out of the Bunker meant you could pull your secret stash of movies, ones that you’d never live down if the boys found out. The first on the list was the Princess Bride, a guilty pleasure even you were ashamed of.

“Westley was a bloody idiot for leaving Humperdink alive, if you ask me,” a voice behind you drawled, the familiar accent making your face go red in seconds. You cut off the movie and leapt up, whirling to face the smirking demon that was currently leaning against the wall. “Hello, darling.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” you squeaked as you came around to the other side of the couch, frantically glancing across the room to the Bunker’s main room. The boys could be back at any time and if they caught you here with him, there’d be hell to pay. No pun intended.

“I heard that Rocky and Bullwinkle were going to be out for the evening and thought I’d pop in to see my favorite little hunter,” he said with a dramatic pout, pushing off the wall and striding toward you until he was right in front of you. “Miss me?”

You flushed slightly at the closeness, his rough voice only adding to the fire building inside you. “You.. You can’t be here, Crowley. Sam and Dean will be back soon. If they catch us…” you trailed off, biting your lip nervously.

Crowley simply smirked and hooked a finger under your chin. “Then I suppose we should be quick about it, hm?” His eyes smoldered their smoky red as they travelled across your face. He knew exactly what it did to you to see his eyes like that. Grinning smugly, he leaned toward you, not touching you, not kissing you, just moving far enough into your space to make your whole body tense with anticipation. “Dammit, Crowley..” you growled, grabbing ahold of his jacket and pulling him the rest of the way to you. Crushing your lips against his, you gripped fistfuls of his jacket and shuffled back until your hips were against the back of the couch.

Without missing a beat, Crowley wrapped his arms around you and pinned you to his chest, kissing back with a passion that never failed to make you go weak in the knees. His hand slid down your back and hooked under your thighs, hoisting you up and spinning around. With a thought, you were across the room, trapped between the wall and Crowley’s body as the two of you moved together.

You broke the kiss first, head falling back against the wall as Crowley’s lips moved to your neck, nipping and kissing here and there to drive you wild. Your legs came up and wrapped around Crowley’s waist, prompting him to grind up against you. A small whimper rose out of your throat and you ran a hand into his hair, tugging gently. “No time for teasing.”

Crowley grunted and tugged your earlobe between his teeth, smirking impishly as he rolled his hips against yours once more. The two of you vanished again, back to the couch, where he pushed you down, shedding clothes while you tugged off your panties.

Within seconds, he was on top of you, one hand under your thigh and the other trailing up your side, under your shirt. Your lips met in a desperate kiss as he pushed into you, drawing a moan from you and a faint hiss from him. He set a rough pace from the start, hands wandering, seeking flesh wherever they could find it.

It wasn’t long until you were both tumbling over the edge of ecstasy, your moans and his echoing off the walls of the Bunker. Panting heavily, he pressed his face into your neck as you both came down from the high. Your fingers traced shapes on his back while you caught your breath, chuckling weakly as you pressed a kiss to the side of his head.

Pushing up on a hand after a moment, Crowley gazed down at you, head cocked to the side as he gave you his trademark smirk. “Well, that was a rather rousing workout, don’t you think?”

“I’ll have to send the boys away more often,” you said with a giggle, leaning up to kiss him softly.

“When you do, make sure you find out when they’re coming home,” a third voice piped up from somewhere in the room. You squeaked and bolted up on the couch, moving so quickly you smacked your head into Crowley’s. He yelped and put a hand to his head as the two of you turned to see Sam and Dean standing in the doorway of the Bunker’s living room.

“Busted,” Crowley muttered, giving you an almost apologetic smile before vanishing from the room, leaving you to face the fallout on your own.

#supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural crowley #spn crowley #crowley #crowley x reader #crowley smut

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mattey-stu · 4 months

Text

MATTEY-STU'S MASTERLIST

Fandoms i write for:

Supernatural

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Castiel Novak

Saw

Adam Stanheight

Lawrence Gordon

Mark Hoffman

Peter Strahm

Daniel Matthews

Five Nights At Freddys

Michael Schmidt/Afton

William Afton/Steve Raglan

Mortal Kombat 1

Johnny Cage

Kenshi Takahashi

Resident Evil

Leon Scott Kennedy

Luis Serra

Carlos Oliveira,

Agent Patrick (from Resident evil: infinite darkness)

Ethan Winters

Chris Redfield

Albert Wesker

Scream

Billy Loomis

Stu Macher

The Witcher

Geralt Of Rivia

Jaskier

The Princess Bride

Westley

The Crush (1993)

Nick

Cooties

Doug

You

Joe Goldberg

Forty Quinn

Gossip Girl

Dan Humphrey

Devil May Cry

Dante Sparda

I literally dk anything about the game or fandom hes just hot😞Someone educate me rn

American Horror Story

Tate Langdon

Kit Walker

Kyle Spencer

Jimmy Darling

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington

Jonathan Byers

Billy Hargrove

Jujutsu Kaisen

Yuji Itadori

Megumi Fushiguro

Satoru Gojo

Other people I'll write for:

Skeet Ulrich, Matthew Lillard, Devon Bostick, Josh Hutcherson, Eddievr, Ronnieaintavampire, Juicyfruitsnacks, Chico Lachowski, Jordan Barrett, Cary Elwes, Evan Peters, Luis Gerardo Méndez, Joe Keery, Charlie Heaton

What i WILL write (as in smut):

Choking, degrading, maybe petplay, ftm reader + cis character, cis reader + ftm character, cis reader + cis character, ftm reader + ftm character, hair pulling, blood kink, if requested breeding kink, younger reader + older character, if requested stepson x stepdad (dont even ask.), teacher x student (both 18+), incest (again, do not even ask.) MIGHT write noncon.But only if requested

What i WONT write:

Minor user + 18+ character, 18+ user + minor character, pregnancy smut, sa, scat kink corpse fucking, foot kink, fem reader, fem character

What i WILL write (as in platonic fluff):

Dad x son, brother x brother, uncle x nephew

This is a male reader only blog.Females aligned please DNI.

LMAOO WHYD I WORD IT LIKE THAT

When writing smut i will make any possible 18- characters 18+.

Whatevers not on here i might write. :P also i dont kinkshame🫶🏼

I do not condone any of the acts i write about.

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captainsophiestark · 1 year

Text

The Dread Pirate Roberts

Westley x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my Year of Olympians and part of a bigger challenge being run by @yearofcreation2023 which features a ton of awesome creators and runs all year! Go check it out if you haven’t already!

Also, this fic wasn’t a request, but I’m dedicating it to @auroracalisto who is my fellow Princess Bride fangirl searching desperately for fic with me

Fandom: The Princess Bride

Prompt: Poseidon; Sea, Water, Storms

Summary: Prince Humperdinck has set his sights on Y/N to marry, but she can't simply forget the love of her life, Westley, and give that up for a life with the prince. So, she decides to run, taking a boat and setting sail for new horizons like her farm boy did so long ago.

Word Count: 3,192

Category: Angst and fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I glanced back over my shoulder one last time as I undid the last of the lines holding my boat to the dock. In the dead of night, I couldn't see much, but in the far distance the lights of the capital city of Florin stared back at me. This would likely be the last time I saw this place.

A few weeks ago, I'd been in town to do some shopping for my family, taking a bit of a rare adventure away from our farm. While I'd been walking through the market, a procession had ridden through on horseback. Among the group of young soldiers and officials was none other than Prince Humperdinck, apparently in the city to visit his subjects before going back behind the walls of his massive palace. By some strange stroke of luck, he'd seen me, and apparently decided I was someone he wanted to get to know.

We'd spent the rest of the day walking around the market, surrounded by his guards, talking and taking in the day. At first, I hadn't minded. What other opportunity would I get to speak with a prince, after all? I told him of the troubles I faced in the countryside, and about things I thought might help or fix them. He listened closely, and I thought I might actually be making a difference. He even invited me to return to the capital city and the palace in a few days' time to continue our conversations. Of course I'd said yes, excited that the prince had listened to me and wanted to hear more of what I had to say.

And then, when I arrived at the castle, he proposed to me. To make matters worse, it was clear from the minute I set foot in that place his proposal came out of a place of attraction to me physically, and absolutely nothing else.

I immediately knew I wanted nothing to do with him, especially not in that way. I'd already met the love of my life, and although I'd lost him when he went off to sea and left my family farm, my love for him had never faded. Perhaps, someday, I'd be willing to love someone else, but that day was not today, and no matter what I knew it wouldn't be love for Prince Humperdinck. However, there was no saying no to the Crown Prince. So, to escape the fate of the loveless life I surely faced if I agreed to marry him, I'd decided to leave this land once and for all.

I'd had very little time to make plans or preparations, since my window to escape Humperdinck was incredibly small. I'd managed to pull together some provisions and to secure a small boat, that hopefully I'd be able to sail on my own. I was no expert sailor, but I could get by well enough to leave the country. I'd had no time to tell my family or anyone else I cared about, but eventually, I'd decided that might be for the best. This way, they'd have deniability when people eventually came asking about where I'd gone or why I'd left.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself, then chucked the final tether ashore and away from me. I ran around, adjusting the rigging and sails on my small boat as I drifted out of the harbor. There was a light wind tonight, perfect for helping me make my escape. The gods of the sea were watching out for me, or else my darling Westley, the love I'd lost to the sea, now acting as my guardian angel.

It was fitting, I supposed, that I'd eventually follow him out here. I hoped to find a new place to call home, somewhere no one knew me or my connections to the Prince of Florin, but nothing was guaranteed. This may well be the place I perished, to finally join Westley after he lost his life to the Dread Pirate Roberts.

I sat up all night, manning the lines and making sure my sails were always adjusted to catch the winds. I made good progress, leaving Florin in my wake, and eventually got comfortable enough that I could sleep for short periods of time in between making sure everything went smoothly. I'd actually managed to gather a decent amount of provisions, and I started to feel more hopeful about my prospects on this ship to find a new land.

At least, until a storm hit.

I woke up just after twilight on the third night since I'd left, being almost rocked out of my seat by the waves tossing my boat about. I shook my head, trying to clear it of the remaining sleep fog as the waves continued to grow around me. I swore as I looked to the horizon, only to find darker clouds and bigger waves. I was headed straight into the center of what appeared to be a very big storm.

I ran to the rigging, trying to change course. I wrestled the ship into a sharp right turn, thinking I could run along the edge of the storm until, hopefully, I past it. I'd never be able to outrun it by going back the way I came, and the odds of me finding the eye of the storm before I capsized were fairly low. I had no other way out.

I wrestled the rigging until my arms burned, and then found a way to keep going. Despite my best efforts, however, the storm only got worse around me. I clung to the ship, praying for a miracle or some way out of this, and then suddenly, I was underwater.

A massive wave must've finally managed to swamp my boat. I floated for a moment, letting my natural buoyancy show me which way was up so I didn't accidently swim further from the surface before I at last made my push upwards. I gasped once my head broke the surface, searching frantically for something to help keep me afloat.

I found a piece of my now-smashed ship not too far from me and swam towards it wildly, clinging onto it for dear life once I reached it. I frantically tried to come up with an idea to save myself, but I kept drawing a blank.

I was going to die here, tossed among the waves, resigned to a similar fate as my dear Westley. There was a certain poetry to that, I supposed, even as I fought back tears at the hopeless feeling now welling in my stomach.

Then, out of a break in the waves, I saw the mast of a ship coming closer to me. My heart leapt, and I started shouting and waving, doing my best to catch its attention. It was a far bigger ship than mine had been, meaning it hadn't lost its struggle with the massive waves around us. Maybe I had a hope of making it out of this after all.

That hope immediately died when I caught sight of the flag flying over the mast as the ship got closer to me and the wind changed. They were flying the Jolly Roger.

I stopped waving, debating mentally whether it was better to stay in the water or be caught by pirates, but apparently a decision had been made for me. They'd already seen me, and I could hear shouting and see people pointing to me as the ship came even closer. I braced myself, trying to be as ready as possible for whatever this new challenge brought. I had been the one who'd decided to run, after all, and I knew in my heart I didn't regret that decision one bit, no matter what this new hell might bring me.

Before I knew it, I'd been fished out of the water and hauled on deck. I quickly backed away from the men who'd gotten me on board, and although most of them didn't pay me any attention in the chaos of trying to keep the boat afloat, two followed me as my back came up against the main mast, halting me in my tracks.

The men stared at me as they stalked closer, and every muscle in my body went into fight or flight mode. The man a bit further back from me seemed to be taking cues from the other man, his eyes darting between me and who I assumed must be the leader. The leader, the one closest to me, was dressed in all black with a mask on his face, his ice blue eyes tracking my every movement. My heart stopped dead in my chest. I'd never seen him before, but I'd heard enough legends and stories to know beyond a shadow of a doubt who this man was.

Before me stood the Dread Pirate Roberts.

A fury like none I'd ever felt raged through me, replacing the panic and fear that came before. This man was responsible for the death of my Westley. I glared at him, putting the full force of my hate into the look, then glanced around for a sword or something else to attack him with. I'd most likely die on this ship anyway, so I might as well go out attempting to get some justice for my lost love.

"You! What were you doing out in this storm?" yelled the pirate over the waves. I glared back at him and ignored his question.

He waited a few long moments for my response, then huffed in irritation. He looked around at his crew and the storm still raging on all sides, then back at his first mate.

"Keep us from sinking! I'll be back!" he roared at the man behind him before turning back to me. The man rushed off to fulfill his orders, leaving me more or less alone with Westley's murderer.

Before I could even attempt to make a move for revenge, the pirate surged forward and grabbed me by the arm. His grip was like iron, and although I fought against him, I couldn't break away. He dragged me across the deck of the ship with surprising strength, up the stairs to the ship's wheel where a navigator wrestled against the wind and waves, and then through a door to what I assumed must be his private quarters. He shoved me into a chair as soon as we were through the door, slamming it behind us before turning back to me.

I moved to stand from the chair, but before I could, he had his sword at my throat. I glowered up at him as he spoke again, a deadly calm to his voice.

"Now, I'll ask you again–and I expect an answer this time. What were you doing out in that storm?"

I clenched and unclenched my fists, debating whether it would be worth it to answer or if I should just let him slit my throat. After a moment's hesitation, however, I decided I didn't really want to die if I could avoid it, especially not before I found some way to get even the slightest justice for Westley.

"I was escaping the hell of being married to a man I don't love, a monster second only to yourself," I hissed. The pirate stared back at me for a few moments, seemingly considering my words, then spoke.

"Explain."

I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, trying to get my temper under some kind of control.

"I caught the eye of Prince Humperdinck," I finally managed. "I had no desire to marry him, but he's not a prince who takes well to the word 'no'. Running was my only option, so I secured a boat and set sail as soon as possible."

"On your own?"

I nodded once, not bothering with a verbal answer.

"And being a princess was such a horrifying fate that you risked death in its stead?"

I sneered. "Being wed to someone I don't love after knowing what true love feels like is a fate worse than death, yes. And thanks to you I will never have my happy ending with my love, for he died at your sword while he was out attempting to gain enough fortunes for us to finally marry."

"...And what was this man's name?"

"Westley," I replied without hesitation. Up until now I'd been staring back at the Dread Pirate in rage, but my tone softened and my focus shifted to the distance as I got lost in memories of my beloved farm boy. "He was good and kind, something you'd know nothing about. He loved me, and despite the simple life we led together, we were happy. We could've lived long, wonderful lives together, but now that will never happen. So threaten me with your sword and whatever else you want. Nothing you say or do will ever match what I've already had to endure."

I faced the pirate again as I delivered the end of my speech, only to find him staring back at me with slightly wide eyes. When I'd finished speaking, he stared at me for a moment longer, before finally dropping his sword to his side. Another beat, and then he'd dropped to his knees before me, staring up at me like I was the sun. I leaned back a bit, confused, until he tore off the black mask covering so much of his face and looked up at me again.

Westley. Somehow, by some miracle, I was staring into the face of Westley, the love of my life.

"I... How... What kind of trick is this?" I demanded, trying to get my head straight. Had I been drugged somehow?

"No trick, my love," he replied, staring at me dreamily. He scooted a bit closer to me, but didn't touch me, instead letting me work through my thoughts.

"Tell me what's going on," I demanded, sounding a bit more desperate than I wanted to.

"As you wish."

He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but I didn't bother listening. That was enough to satisfy any lingering doubts I had. I didn't understand it, but I could also say with complete certainty that this was, in fact, my Westley.

I slid out of my seat, joining him on the floor on my knees. We were face to face, and he smiled softly at me, but I didn't give him a chance to do much more before I pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss.

After a few seconds of shock, he kissed me back, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me tighter to him. I ran my hands through his hair, over his arms, across his shoulders–anywhere I could reach. I'd gone years without Westley, my darling farm boy, the love of my life, and I needed every bit of confirmation I could get that he was here, and this was real.

We stayed like that for long minutes, only pausing our kiss once or twice to come up for air. When we finally broke apart, I laid my head on his shoulder, holding him tight to me as he likewise held onto me, a few tears finally starting to fall.

"Westley..." I breathed, relief flooding through my system as I felt his strong arms around me and heard the steady beat of his heart. "How is this possible?"

"When the Dread Pirate Roberts raided my ship, he didn't kill me," Westley breathed, speaking softly against my ear as he ran his hands up and down my back. "I begged him for my life, and I told him about you. My love, who I needed to return to. I told him I couldn't die because I couldn't leave you.

"He ended up sparing me that day. He kept me prisoner, and told me each day he'd most likely kill me in the morning. Over the course of time, he trained me, and I learned everything to do with being the Dread Pirate Roberts. Eventually, he told me his secret. He was not the Dread Pirate Roberts. He was a man called Ryan, who had inherited the position from someone else who was not the Dread Pirate Roberts. The title carries more weight than anything else, and so the name has been passed down every few years, the previous Dread Pirate Roberts retiring with their fortune after choosing and training their successor. He'd chosen me to be his, and a few days after he told me as much, we docked at a small island port. We hired a completely new crew, and then he left. I've been the Dread Pirate Roberts ever since."

"I... I can hardly believe it."

"Imagine how I felt when I found you bobbing in the water just as I was finally on my way back to you," he chuckled. I huffed a laugh with him, then at last pulled back to look him in the eyes again.

"So... what now? What do we do next?"

"Well, we can't stay on the ship. It's not the best place to start a life together, to say nothing of the questions it would raise that I left you alive."

"Of course."

"And you can't return to Florin or, truly, any country near it, lest the 'prince' find you and throw a wrench into our newfound happiness."

"Agreed."

"Then that really only leaves one option, doesn't it?"

"And what might that be?" I asked, smiling and leaning into Westley as he stared at me, a playful smile tugging at his lips.

"To find a completely new place and start over, of course. I've already picked my successor–I was planning to promote him once I reached the shores of Florin, but now I'll wait until we find our new home."

"My love, I can't think of a plan I'd more like to initiate," I said, beaming happily back at him. He leaned down and kissed me again, then pulled away to stare at me with love in his eyes.

"So, where shall we go?"

"I'd say you know the lands far from Florin's reach far better than I. You choose. But... pick someplace with green fields, and perhaps a gorgeous lake we can swim in on hot days. With land enough for us and any future children to roam and have adventures, and room for a home for us to curl up in on cold winter nights."

"Well, that's not much to ask for," he teased, leaning into me a bit. "Anything else you'd like to add to the list, my love?"

"Yes. I want our new home to be some place we can live happily together, without anything to ever separate us again so long as we both shall live. I want it to be a place where we can be by each other's sides for the rest of time, where we finally get our happy ever after."

He smiled at me warmly, leaning down to place a soft kiss on my lips before pulling back just enough to look me in the eyes.

"As you wish."

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