#his hands are so tiny against Rick's

[ultraviolet-explosion]

Y'all look at Morty's baby hands

[writella]

Thinking about Rick and slightly innocent, touch starved, virgin, fem!reader— ♡

Just smut this time, 18+, mdni, wc: 1.8k.

Read part two: here!

“I usually just touch myself at the top,” you explain, verbalizing your actions as you rub your clit with your middle finger, your pointer and ring brushing up against either side of your lips. You’re breathless, already panting. Doing this in front of him was too much. You just couldn’t believe this was happening, that he was here watching, enjoying. “Barely even put my fingers in- I get nervous- never feels good.”

“Never?” There’s a bit of surprise in Rick’s voice, but the grin he’s hiding loves every second of you showing him how much you need something- something bigger, something or someone like him and his fingers— his cock.

You pout with a hmph, “No,” you whine, your eyes trailing desperately. “They feel like nothing when I do it. And I don’t know how to make it feel good.”

Your actions, your words, it makes his tongue peek out of the side of his mouth. It’s only just a little, but a tiny bit drool is at the edge, almost rolling down and onto his chin. He licks it away before it falls.

His eyes are dark and lustful, dazed with the sight of you in only a shirt, underwear discarded, rubbing your puffy, wet pussy so fast right in front of him. He had been talking to Daryl outside the house, came up to get you for dinner at his, but then he caught you. He didn’t mean to, but the door was just a crack open: with one eye he could see your legs dangling off the bed, nose and eyes scrunched so tightly as your fingers played with yourself, whispering his name. That’s what set him off, the sweet little “Rick… Rick, Rick,” pants that came out of your mouth. That’s what made him come in without knocking. He told you not to stop.

And now, he stands right in front of your bed. Any closer and he’d be in between your legs. He can see you staring down every inch of him, eyes so wide, hopeful yet hopeless. You’re pathetically whimpering and whining at his own— those sparkly blue and wandering ones. He’s just as invested in the sight as you are.

You look at his pink parted lips and his tongue you want so badly in your mouth, and lower too, so much lower. You see his slick, curly hair, and that scruffy beard— you wouldn’t even care if it would make your sensitive lips burn down there. You want it. So bad. Your eyes go down further, seeing the way his hands are placed low at his hips, his groin jutted forward… Fuck. You need to see what’s underneath.

You rub your clit faster with two fingers now, biting on your bottom lip, looking at his fat bulge and wondering if he’s just getting hard or if it’s always looked big like that. It makes you feel like this one of your daydreams… you don’t know if your mind is enlarging it, but wow it looks good. You’d honestly sit on him right there, jeans and all with your bare pussy. Who cares if he’s been working all day, dealing with God knows what outside these walls. You’ll take anything. You bet even the littlest bit of something from him probably feels better than when you’re alone doing this anyway. You were tired of it, you wanted to be touched; you wanted to be fucked— fucked by Rick Grimes.

Rick finally sits on the bed. His face closer to you now as he asks, “You’ve ever made yourself cum, sweetheart?”

You're hesitant to answer but you shake your head, shy and slow. You feel embarrassed.

A chronic overthinker you were sometimes, you could never be in the moment and finally get yourself over the edge. Thinking about Rick always led to thinking about how you shouldn’t be doing it. He was the leader of your group, he had a daughter and a son, ones that you were far older than, but just enough to not possibly be their mother… at least not the eldest, anyway. This was wrong, but there he was: watching, staring, gazing. It only made you more and more wet, you almost couldn’t breathe.

“Poor baby,” Rick drawls and you whimper at the phrase.

He decides to relieve you, but only just a little bit by brushing his hand on your leg, stroking your thigh as he finally sits down next to you. It makes you gasp as you continue to pleasure yourself. Reaching lower to collect wetness to put over your clit. Your back arches at the feeling of him.

The sight makes him grin, laughing endearingly. Just that— just his hand, not even on your pussy and you’re already reeling.

“Such a pretty little thing, and no one’s ever made you feel good…? Can’t even do it to yourself either?” He tisks at the thought. “It’s a shame, honestly.”

All you do is whine. You want him to do it but you’re too scared to ask. You want him to want to do it, without asking, go all in and make you his. Why won’t he? It makes your moan, mix with a groan as you think about it.

You look up as his hand moves higher to your hip and his name comes out all desperate and needy as you plead, “Rick-”

“Yes?”

“Please.”

He ignores you. “Put a finger inside yourself. Let’s try again, okay? How about that?”

You whine his name again, but you still do as he says. Your hand trails lower, inserting your middle finger into your wet hole.

“Start pumping… and how ‘bout this time you try to curl your finger upward after you go in, hm?” You try, humming in response to his voice and his hand moving back to your leg, softly rubbing up and down your thigh as he watches you.

He notices your breath hitching. “Good girl,” he coos, “add another.”

You attempt to pump yourself faster now with the two fingers inside of you, looking up at him. Your pussy twitches and you jut upwards at the sight of him licking his lips. “Just pretend it’s me,” he tells you, “And don’t stop. I wouldn’t.”

His hand rests back on your hip, fingers daring to reach your mound as they slide slowly, but he’s hesitating. He wants you to do it all by yourself, but he sees your face, sees what just his voice and his watching does to you. You were always a good listener, a team player, never skipped on doing your part when he asked it of you, but this, this new power he had over you? It was something else. He can’t help but want to see what happens when he gives you just a little more.

His fingers now lightly ghost over your lips and your eyes implore. Your gasp is shaky. You’re almost holding your breath waiting for the full press but… he doesn’t do it yet.

He’s being a fucking tease.

The cockiness is evident in his voice when he asks, “Want me to?”

“Yes,” you moan, loud and instantly. It’s pitiful, you’re a mess and you want him so bad you couldn’t help it, but the beg worked. Right after, he starts rubbing harsh circles into your clit, making you vibrate.

“Oh- ohmygod, Rick.” You try to keep pumping yourself but it becomes hard. You’ve dreamed about his hands, right there on your most intimate parts, making you feel good and showing you how it’s supposed to really feel. And finally. He’s doing it. His rough fingertips felt like heaven.

Your own fingers stutter. His hand and yours are just too much for you, especially because of how deep and fast he’s rubbing against your skin and bone. “Rick, please,” you want him to go lower, take over, and he notices how your fingers slow.

“No,” he warns. “Keep goin’.” His voice is stern, stopping you before you do, he takes your hand and helps you pump your fingers into yourself before letting go. “You’re doing that yourself. Go faster.”

Your cheek falls to the opposite side of the bed, whimpering sadly at his words, but you continue.

“You got it,” he encourages. “Put another finger in.”

“Another?” Your voice incredulous as you ask.

“Gotta train yourself with your fingers before you get mine.” He pauses. “And before you can get up to my dick… How do you think it’s gonna fit if we don’t open you up?”

You let out a moan, it’s the kind that you had only heard on tv in the past. Just the sheer thought of him insinuating that soon he would put himself inside of you sends you spiraling. You add a third finger, it feels tight, but good, especially with him there.

“There you go,” he says, stretching out the syllables. He feels his jeans tighten further as he watches you.

And you only get wetter. The squelching sounds from below are nothing you’ve ever heard from yourself before. Your pussy shakes and sucks your fingers below with Rick rubbing and pinching your clit at the top. You speak between pants, moaning again, “Rick… Rick, its too much.” You’re trying to keep up your pace but you feel your energy withering again. You close your eyes.

“That means you’re making yourself cum soon. Keep going.”

“It hurts, I can’t do it!”

“You can do it,” he nods, “and if you don’t… I’ll just leave you here.”

A quick, “No!” and a string of “mmms” come out as you whine. You don’t want him to go, so you try, you keep up.

Rick lets go of your clit and it makes you gasp sadly at the loss, but he’s pushing up your shirt, exposing your breast. He takes one hand to rub your clit again and another to roll one of your nipples. “This is the only extra help you get,” he tells you. “Now are you going to cum for me?”

You nod, “Yes, yes,” you chant, “I can do it for you, Rick.”

“Show me.”

You continue to pump fast, curling your fingers as he suggested before. You find a spongy part that makes you feel extra tingling in your lower stomach and you keep trying to push up against it with each pump of your fingers. You decide to open your eyes again to watch Rick as his eyes trail between your breasts to below, you choose to focus the way your fingers look as they go in and out of you and how his hand rubs and shakes you at the top. Indescribable noises come out at the sight. “I’m losing it,” you tell him.

“Just keep goin’,” he tells you. “See it through.”

You start panting in between your stringy moans, it’s breathy and hurried and long. You force yourself to not stop. “I’m gonna cum, Rick. I’m gonna make myself cum!”

“I know, sweetheart. I know you can. Be a good girl for me, you got it.”

And then you do. The butterflies spring. You continue to pump as you ride your high and then it’s done. You came.

Rick smiles, licking his fingers filled with your wetness. He stands up, knees making their way between your own that lay on the bed as he starts undoing his belt. As he drops his pants and his boxers you see his cock spring up. It’s glossy at the tip and although you haven’t seen many, you’re completely sure it’s longer than most.

But it gets you scared. There’s worry in your eyes. Your lip quivers despite the drool that comes out on the side. How’s it gonna fit?

“You ready?” He asks.

“But I thought you said your fingers first.”

He kisses your lips, fingers caressing your cheek as he whispers, “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll go slow.”

Then he pushes himself in. Right to the hilt.

He didn’t go slow.

[grimesthinker]

Stepdad!rick having a bunch of friends over for a poker night or something and you come downstairs to get some water and popcorn, wearing the tiniest, tightest pyjamas he’s ever seen. And ur unaware of the several wandering eyes cause you’re way too busy with your nose in a book, standing by the microwave. And Rick has to excuse himself for a moment to tell you to get back upstairs before he loses it and fucks you in front of his friends…

the stepdad!rick spam is EVERYTHING. i audibly squealed. i am in love with you.

you come down the stairs into the kitchen, a cherry lollipop stuck in your mouth and a book in hand. you take the candy from your mouth and smile sweetly to the group of men sitting around the kitchen table, stacks of cards and half empty beer bottles littering the scene.

"hi, daddy!" you greet rick with a kiss to his cheek. you think nothing of it. you're just being polite, after all. you skip to the cabinet and stand on your toes to reach the box of popcorn tucked inside. rick works his jaw as both your thin tank top and tiny pajama shorts ride up, exposing much of your skin. he tenses, gripping the beer bottle in his hand a bit too hard.

he loudly clears his throat when his friends' eyes linger on you for too long. your pretty bare skin, the way you suck on the lollipop as you put the bag of popcorn in the microwave. the men quickly go back to their card game, not wanting to displease rick anymore. you don't notice it. you bend over the counter and put your nose back into the book, reading while you wait for the popcorn to finish popping.

as rick watches you bend over the counter like that, lips sucking on the lollipop and eyes moving along the pages, he can't take it anymore. he gruffly excuses himself from the card game and treads to you, back to his friends so he can block their view as he admonishes you.

"what the hell do you think you're doing?" he asks, voice in a scolding whisper. you place the book on the counter and look up at him, head cocking to the side in confusion.

your voice is sweet. innocent. what a little actress, he thinks. "i don't know what you-"

"upstairs, now."

your eyebrows furrow in confusion and your bottom lip becomes wobbly. "but i-"

"now."

you know he means it. you do as he says, pouting and stomping up the stairs to your room. he excuses himself again and follows you, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

minutes later, your pajama shorts and panties are thrown to the ground, thighs pushed to your chest. you weep as his cock thrusts into your slick cunt, deeper and deeper. "m'sorry! was jus' being nice!" you cry, eyes teary and swollen lips pouty.

what a sight it was. you, the picture perfect embodiment of innocence, taking your step father's cock on your pretty pink bed while his friends wait downstairs. you whine and cling to him, moaning when his cock brushes against your g spot.

"open." he ignores your apologies and holds your jaw with his big hand, spitting on your tongue when you stick it out like the good girl you are.

he gives a slight nod so you can swallow, eyelashes fluttering up at him. your eyes are glossy, hands grabbing for him. he knows what you want. he always knows. he dips his head down to connect your lips. you mewl as he messily kisses you, nipping at your bottom lip. "fuckin' brat."

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Polaroid perfect

Daryl Dixon x Grimes!Reader 🔞

Rick learns the truth about his daughter's relationahip in a very unpleasant way.

A quick in and out, that was all Rick and Daryl had planned for the day.

Rick sat crouched in an abandoned hallway, planning their strategy of going through the section of houses they had selected.

"You brought the list, right?" Rick asked Daryl who was busying himself with the initial walker check.

"S'in ma bag." The archer's voice sounded as he stepped back after declaring the house safe. " ya know, like e'rythin' else cuz ya refused ta bring yers."

Rick only responded with a mumbled repeat of Daryl's words and reached over to grab the dull green canvas bag that sat against the dust covered side table.

He had to take another folded up bag out that laid on top of their supplies. 'Really? We've got bags in the car..' Rick shook his head to himself and fished for the supply lists people had given them, pulling the papers out and scattering them over the floor as a corner caught on the bag's drawstring.

"The hell?"

Rick's voice of surprise had Daryl turn and look his way, freezing the second his eyes landed on the items scattered on the wooden floor.

Both men were silent as they stares from one photo to the next.

A simple photo of you smiling, with Daryl kissing your cheek.

"Oh, look! It has a tiny mirror thingie! Can we try to take a photo together, please?" With an eye roll and a huffed laugh Daryl complied and sat down next to you for a photo. "Dunno why yer willin' ta waste film on a guy like me." He mumbled against your skin as you raised the camera to position it right.

Just as you pressed the button to snap the photo, Daryl pressed his lips to your cheek.

Next to it a less innocent one, of your chest. Rick easily recognized it with how your hair was visible and the scar on your shoulder he tended to when it was a fresh wound. Daryl's tattooed hand was covering one of them, a gauze patch peeking up from underneath his hand.

"Tha' wasn't so bad now was it?" Daryl kissed your cheek as he readied a gauze to place over the freshly cut lines in your skin. You winced as you moved, but shook your head. "It was okay I guess.."

After Daryl had applied the gauze you slumped down on your back, arms crossed around your chest. It was a sight to see, according to Daryl, who had placed his hand over your gauze covered skin and snapped a photo.

As Rick scanned the images one by one, Daryl stood frozen with his eyes on just one of the frames.

Your lower half, marked in bruises and fresh bitemarks. Legs spread around scarred hips and a cock buried to the hilt inside of you. On your thigh a small fresh cut heart still bled.

Sighs and pants filled the air in the small, dusty room you were holed up. "Shit, yer gonna be the end'a me one day.." Daryl's gruff voice was barely above a whisper, thrusting into you and staring at where you teo connected. It looked like he was in a trance, until your voice pulled him back. "Why don't you take a pic? For when you're on the road."

There were more, some laying faced down but it was clear the whole collection had the same theme.

"Daryl.." Rick didn't bring his eyes up to meet the hunter. Instead they were focused on the most explicit photo that was in his view. He had no interest in seeing what Daryl packed below the belt. And even less in seeing it inside of his daughter.

A hand slammed down on the printed paper, a loud smack sounded through the hallway.

"You're sleeping with my daughter?" In his eyes a dark stare, his hand still spread over a photo. Daryl knew exactly what photo.

Daryl nodded his head. "..yeah. She asked me. Asked 'er ta keep quiet, dun wanted folk talkin' bout shit tha had nothin' ta do with 'em." Daryl paced the two half steps between the walls of the hallway, chewing his thumb til he broke the skin.

With a sigh Rick picked up the photo his palm rested on.

"This?" His palm covered the worst of the image, his other hand pointed at the bleeding heart. "And m'not even going to mention the obvious, is in no way acceptable."

Daryl struggled to find his footing, nervously staring anywhere but at his brother who looked dead at him.

"I swear, I.." He stumbled over his words, unsure which ones would anger Rick the least. "She was fine with it. Ne'er did anythin' she didn' want."

There was a moment of silence between the two men. The only sound heard was the shuffling of pictures being gathered and stacked.

"We're going to drop this and finish this run." Rick stuffed the photos back all the way at the bottom of the bag.

"You, me and her. Tonight over dinner." With the bag on his hand he walked over to Daryl and shoved it against his chest. "First we do what we came here for."

And the run went well. They found the needed items, along with some requested things as well. Their haul was better than expected, but the two men still shared no words besides the needed ones for the job.

The drive back to the community was silent and getting all the items to their destinations was done in seperate ways.

There was no way the two men could look each other in the eyes right now. Rick went home and hoped to not find you until dinner, too afraid he might snap, unable to hold back all that he was feeling at this moment. His mind was reeling the second he sat down, making him jump up from the chair and pace around.

Dinner. He was going to focus on dinner.

With that in mind he set off to the pantry, going through all the recipes he knew, deciding on a meal with the ingredients he found.

A couple of houses down, Daryl needed a nap. He laid down on his couch but sleep wouldn't take him, his mind wandering off to all possible bad outcomes of tonight's dinner. He as well couldn't lay still, tossing and turning until he sat back up in frustration and hauled himself up the stairs and into the shower. He focused on cleaning himself up, scrubbing off the thoughts of a ruined friendship and rinsing away the fear of banishment.

Rick stood in the kitchen, thanking whoever listened for the fact that his family was busy and not available to question his clearly frazzled mind as he busied himself chopping down the greens he picked and cutting the few potatoes he was given in thin slices.

With care Daryl sifted through his clothes, trying to find any that didn't scream 'dirty redneck' at him from where they sat in the drawers. He dug past checkered flanels with torn sleeves, black buttown downsthat were once nice clothing items but now were nothing more than once expensive fabrics with holes in them.

Rick sighed as the warm water his his skin as he cleaned the cutting board. Pans with the greens and potatoes sat ready on the stovetop, and the meat sat prepped in the fridge. He was content with his work, looking around the kitchen as he dried the used items and placed them back in their respective cabinets.

Daryl's hands found plastic at the back of the drawer, pulling at it to reveal the bag Carol had gifted him, an outfit she brought back from a run with the Kingdom.

He stared at the thick, fancy patterned fabric. Shining threaded flowing patterns over a dull black fabric. The sleeves were long, with a small button and clasp to keep them rolled up. Along with the nice button up were sleek black pants that fit him perfectly.

Back in the kitchen Rick stood at the stove, finally having changed out of his gear and into home clothes. Now that he had a full kitchen and ingredients available again he enjoyed cooking, and even though Michonne and Carl weren't joining tonight he still put effort into it.

He had just put the meat in the pan when you came home, quickly questioning him about the food.

"Just go change and get back, dinner's almost ready." You watched your dad wavee his spatula in the direction of the stairs and for a second you wondered if he had found someone's stash and Daryl had comvinced him to smoke some as well before you did as he asked and went to change out of your dirty work clothes.

Before he left Daryl gave himself one last look in the large mirror that hung by the front door. He looked nice, he heard Carol's voice in his head as he looked ar how the few strands of shorter hair fell around his face while the rest was held together in a low ponytail.

By the time you came back downstairs your dad had set the table and was moving pans onto their coasters.

Wait.

Why was the table set for three? No one else was home for dinner tonight.

Rounding the corner the kitchen came into view and your stomach fluttered but you were unsure about what caused it.

Was it the butterflies that came with Daryl standing in your kitchen, seemingly filling three glasses with water in what looked like clean, fancy clothes? Or was it the anxiety moths that made thoughts of why he was here dressed up nicely in the first place?

"Looks good, dad." You mused as you walked past him to the sink.

"Let me take one." Next to Daryl you took one glass and the full pitcher, mouthing a subtle 'what the fuck?' at him, getting an eyeroll and a nod towards Rick.

"No need to fake the niceness, hon. I saw your little private photo collection."

You felt the glare at the back of your head and your body froze, hands stuck on the glasswares, unmoving.

Daryl murmured a soft apology before he moved to set the glasses on the table, coming back to take your items as well.

"C'mon, let's sit down 'n eat." With careful hands he maneuvered you to your seat at the table, where you had not dared to look anywhere outside of the scratched white of the plate in front of you.

The sound of spoons hitting pans and cutlery scraping plates all muddled as the panic rung in your ears.

You had kept part of your life secret with the utmost care, never a single moment of worry yet and nkw here the two most important men in your life sat, and ate in peace.

"Sweetheart, you should eat." Your father reached a hand across the table to take yours in comfort.

How were they so calm under all of this?

"I won't scream, or yell. I just need you to eat." With his hand withdrawn from yours he tilted the pan of potatoes for you to scoop some onto your plate.

The atmosphere at the table slowly settled as you all ate, but the more empty your plates became, the closer the dreaded topic came.

With pans and plates empty, Rick's voice cleared the awkward silence.

"So, how long?" He glanced between you and Daryl, seeing who'd answer first.

"After the prison fell." At Daryl's quick response you perked up. You listened how he recollected the events of your time spent separated between the fall of the prison and reuniting after that unfortunate meeting with the Claimers.

"Oooh look at this! Do you need some help, pretty lady?" The door to the storage unit you hoped up in got toen open to reveal a group of men, old and clearly mad in their doings.

"Claimed."

A voice you recognised sounded from the back of the group.

Daryl.

He went on to share how laying claim on you kept the men away from you and how he thought after reuniting it'd be done and over, but the oposite proved itself fairly quick.

"You know you didn't have to do all that, right? I mean, I know it was all to keep up the act, but I also know you don't like getting close like that." You and Daryl walked along the tree line, carefully eyeing a boar in the distance. "Hmhm, s'alright. Was nice, really." He dropped the subject immediately after and decided to focus on teaching you to hunt properly.

With focus and precision you took the shot, hitting the animal and joining Daryl to go see. "Great shot."

Upon seeng the animal lay lifeless on the forest floor you jumped into Daryl's arms with glee, quickly pulling back upon realizing your mistake.

Daryl's mind raced those few seconds, screaming at himself to make it happen now or never and his body moved out of its own.

His hands had remained on your hips and pulled you back in, ever so carefully nuzzling your cheek and making his way to press his lips against yours.

It was clear in Daryl's wording he wasn't having fun sharing the stories, but the glances he couldn't keep from happening told Rick more than Daryl's words.

"Ya gotta know, I care fer 'er. Really do." There were no truer words, nothing he could make it more clear he never had any ill intentions with you.

So now Rick stared at you, a look in his eyes that told you he was waiting for you to speak.

His look did nothing but frustrate you. "Really? You really think I'd sleep with just anybody just because the world went to shit?" Daryl could do nothing but smile behind his glass of water as you glared at your father. It was all true and he knew it firsthand.

"Reminds me of when ya smacked tha' Woodbury guy cuz he assumed ya were an easy fix." You sputtered out a laugh at the memory. "I don't even know how he thought that would work.."

"Hell, ya even turned me down lord knows how many times 'fore we found 'im again." Daryl nudged at Rick, recollecting the time you spent together with the Claimers.

His comment had you shy away again a little, still not comfortable to discuss any of that with your father in the room.

"Look." Rick interrupted the silence that had fallen again. "I'm not entirely agreeing with this, but at least I know Daryl's able to take care of you."

A stern finger pointed between the two of you next. "I just don't want to see any of it. Understood?"

You looked at Daryl and then at Rick. "So, that means you're okay with it?" The blessing turned the moths from before back into fluttering butterflies that spilled the words right past your lips, not even time for your brain to filter them.

"I promise it's not just what you saw in the photos, there's so much care and love, too. He even taught me how to hunt so I'll have food if we ever got separated." There was excitement in your voice, happiness even. It sang through the room as you rambled on about the feelings shared between you and the hunter.

"Think yer dad's heard 'nough fer today." There was a smile on Daryl's face as he could feel the unease radiate from his dearest friend. "M'headin' home. Ya get sum rest an' we'll talk t'morrow, yeah?"

As Daryl retreated you moved to go wash the dishes in silence, only the sound of running water and clanking plates to be heard. You didn't even notice the scrape of the chair across the floor, or the shadow cast beside you as your father joined you at the counter to dry what you washed.

"You know what?" His voice spoke suddenly beside you, pulling you away from your task."I'm glad it's Daryl you picked to be your partner."

A/N: Lords this took way too long. I hope it's any good 🙏🙏

[sinsandsweetness]

“consequences” - part 4 of PICK YOUR POISON - (a dads best friends love story)

part 1, 2, and 3

pairing- (Rick x fem!reader)

warnings- 18+ content, age gap, smut, needy + desperate reader, sneaky sex, almost getting caught, unprotected p in v, light choking, mutual pining, cream pie, poorly proofread. wc 3.9k

notes- i know this took forever, so thank you all for the patience. i rewrote this like three or four times because i just wasn’t as happy with it as i am with the first three parts. i’m pretty happy with it now but I feel it isn’t as playful as the first three. regardless, please tell me what you think:) comments and reblogs are always incredibly appreciated and your feedback means a lot to me <3 enjoy!

3 weeks.

That’s how long it took you to break him. Since that day up in your room, during the barbecue. When he was insistent on showing you how much better he could take care of you than anyone else could. 3 weeks from then is when you finally broke him. And who’d have thought it’d be in your own home, with your dad passed out on the main floor. Unaware of the downright filth happening upstairs in your bedroom. Filth that if he ever found out, would send him into cardiac arrest. Though you’re always careful, and to you, the risk is definitely worth the reward.

But it’s not like you haven’t had a couple close calls. Stolen kisses and flirty glances can’t go unnoticed forever. Your father hasn’t ever said anything. Even when he can see Rick’s hands on your waist, lingering a minute too long. Or the way you always sit right next to him. Pressed up as close as humanly possible. Practically in his lap. Well... sometimes actually in his lap. Your father’s not stupid. But, he’s also not exactly the most confrontational man. And he’s never actually caught you. There’s been no real confirmation of his suspicions. Until today that is.

After a long day of work at your dads construction site, Rick arrives at your house before any of the others. Freshly showered with a case of beer. It’s just you and him in the kitchen. Making small talk as he tries to pretend there isn’t a band of tension pulling the two of you closer and closer with every meaningless question.

“Didn’t know you were coming over,” you say, chopping up some vegetables on a cutting board. Glancing up at Rick who can’t seem to look you in the eyes. Distracted by the tiny little outfit you have on. A skirt, despite the brisk weather. A tight, fitted long sleeve that’s pushing your breasts together in the most enticing way possible. No bra. Clearly. And then there’s the best part. The part he keeps glancing down at while licking his lips and taking in a deep breath. Your thigh highs. White knit thigh high socks that make him want to pin you up against the counter and fuck you then and there.

“I uh- your dad told us to come for some drinks,” he looks up at you again, this time you’re leaning against the island, brushing your hands together to dry them off.

“So… where’s my dad then?” You ask, stepping even closer to the man. Too close, you realize at the hitch of his breath.

It’s been a really long 3 weeks.

“Uh- I imagine he got sidetracked. I know Maggie was looking for him. Probably caught up in conversation.”

“And Shane? Daryl?”

“On their way.”

“Hmm.” You hum. You’re right in front of him now. You can smell his cologne and the shampoo he uses. Damp curls forming at the base of his neck. Casual black jeans on, and a simple grey tee shirt. He places the case of beer right next to you on the counter, stepping in close so he’s pressed up against you. Trapped between his warm body and the cool marble.

You stay like that for a moment. Both of your minds going back to the night last week that you snuck out. To what happened in that truck. But more importantly what didn’t happen. What you’ve been praying would happen for weeks.

Finally he leans in, pressing a sweet little kiss to the corner of your lips before dipping lower. Breathing in your perfume.

“Missed you,” he admits into your neck. The warmth of his breath sends little pinpricks down your arms.

You breath in a quiet gasp when he kisses your neck. Warm, soft lips making their way down to your collarbone. His hands on either side of your waist, planting you against the counter.

God, you want him so bad it hurts.

Your hand goes to the back of his neck, pulling him up so his lips are forced against yours. Kissing him with the same fervor and necessity that had been building all month. Since that very first kiss in your dads garage. Since that day at the barbecue when Rick took you upstairs and showed you how much better he is at making your legs shake than Shane. Since the pool party, the day you were a complete tease and they all knew it. When Rick decided to take you down to the pool shed and teach you a lesson. You had no idea fingers could even feel that good. But Rick’s do. Everything Rick does, feels good to you.

And then, there was the night last week. The one that both of you have been thinking about every hour since.

You’d snuck out your bedroom window just to see him. To go for a drive and park on the side of the road. You kissed him til your lips were swollen and your panties were soaking through.

You know he’s wanted you from the very start. When he first met your dad and started coming over. Well before you’d ever kissed him. Showed interest in him. But that night, it hit him. How much he wants you to himself. How much he loves being alone with you. Just you. But no matter how tempted he may have seemed, he still refused to break the agreement. He still wouldn’t fuck you.

Yet.

“Rick-“ you gasp against his lips as he pulls you up onto the counter, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist. Skirt riding up to expose your lacy panties. You can feel him against you. How badly he wants you. How hard he is for you. How hard he’s been every night since the night you snuck out to see him. Touching himself to the thought of you, wishing he’d just fucked you then, on the side of the highway in the dead of night. Just you and him and the stars acting as the only witnesses to your risky little love affair.

“Want you,” you say against his lips, his hand starting to gently wrap around the front of your throat. His other arm pulls you in by the waist so you’re completely flush with his chest.

“Want you so bad,”

But before he can mumble a response into your mouth, both of you hear the garage door open. You both freeze. Eyes going wide, you slide off the counter, immediately pulling your skirt back to an appropriate length. Rick rubs a hand over his face, turning the other direction. Giving you a moment of privacy to get yourself situated and to deal with the tent in the front of his jeans.

Your father walks in first.

You can't even look at him. Blush so very apparent on your pretty face as you look down at the cutting board, pretending to be occupied with the assortment of vegetables. Daryl and Shane head straight for the fridge. Only giving you a smirk of acknowledgment as their gaze is darting in between you and Rick.

Your father notices. The way you won’t look him in the eye. The way Rick is nervously running a hand through his hair and how his eyes keep darting over to you. He sees it. He’s not stupid. But for whatever reason, he doesn’t say anything. He just stalks over and slaps Rick on the back with a, “thanks man, really needed this after the week we’ve had.”

Rick nods in agreement, taking a sip of the bottle your father just handed him. Rick looks over at you. Something unspoken behind his eyes that you can’t quite make out. Yeah, it’s been a long week indeed.

You don’t stay downstairs long. When Shane and your father start getting all loud and rowdy in the living room, the empty bottles of their fifth beers being knocked over onto the hardwood as their play fight begins, that’s when you decide to head upstairs with a quick wave, “g’night.” Rick is the only one who catches it. Nodding back at you as you climbed the stairs. Watching you sway your hips with every step. Skirt so short that the bottom of your ass cheeks are on full display.

You try sleeping. But every time you close your eyes you see Rick. That night in his truck. Straddling his waist and unbuckling his belt. The way he kissed you so deep. Filled with so much lust. So much need. You’d never felt that before. And even though he told you exactly how bad he wanted you, he didn’t have to. You could feel it. With every touch. Every kiss. That’s why it surprised you when you tried to go all the way and he still wanted to stop you.

“Not like this. I can’t- I'm… we’re not doin’ it like this.”

“Why?” You were out of breath, still trying at his belt but his hand came down to stop you, firmly calling your name. Grabbing your full attention to his stormy blues.

“We’re on the side of the road for christs sake. It should be- fuck. We should be at home in a real bed. Not sneaking around in some beater pickup in the middle of nowhere-”

“Rick-”

“No.”

“This is perfect.” You tried to assure him.

He sighed and pulled your forehead against his, catching your lips before mumbling, “You’re perfect.”

“I want this. I want you.”

“I know. And you have no idea how badly I want this too. But I can’t. I just- we can’t.”

He still made you come. Regardless of the fact that he wouldn’t fuck you. He wasn’t going to let you go home without a proper orgasm.

But you needed more. Needed him.

And now, laying in bed, reliving the scene in your head with your hands trailing down to your panties, you’re soaking right through. Your stomach doing backflips at the memory of his hands roaming your body in the dark.

With a frustrated groan, you sit up. Fuck. A cold shower is what you really need.

You get up and open your bedroom door, immediately met with the sight of Rick on the top step of the stairs. He’s got his index pressed to his lips when he sees you. Telling you to be quiet. Hush.

He’s smiling behind his hand. Dropping it as he reaches your bedroom door. He brings his arm up to the doorway, leaning on it. Other hand sporting a half empty bottle of beer. You wonder how many he’s had.

“They’re all passed out on the couch aren’t they?” You ask, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorway. Arms only inches from his chest.

“How’d you guess?”

“Well… it’s quiet, for one,” you turn around and head to your bed, sitting down and waiting for him to follow.

He does.

“And two… you’re here.” You say.

“I am.”

He sits down. A quiet moment passes and he takes another swig of beer before placing the bottle on your nightstand.

“Y’know, if you really don’t wanna sleep with me, you should probably stop inviting yourself into my bedroom. It’s sending some pretty mixed signals.”

He chuckles at your comment. “Mixed signals huh?” His hand goes to your leg, tracing the band of your thigh highs. You’re no longer wearing your skirt. Just panties, socks and an ex-boyfriend's baggy tee shirt.

“Yeah,”

“I was thinkin’ the same thing about you, sweetheart,” his hand makes its way up your thigh. His palm is rough against your smooth skin, the attention sending a jolt straight between your legs.

“How so?”

“Shane? Daryl?” He says it like it’s obvious. You fooling around with the other best friends.

“That’s different.” You look up at him now, the tiniest scowl on your face.

“How so?” His tone is soft but it’s clear he’s mocking you.

You open your mouth to respond but something stops you. Deep breath. You’re looking at his lips now. And he knows it.

“I wanted you, y’know. They’re fun and all but…“ you swallow. You need Rick. From the very start it’s been pretty obvious that you like him best. Always sitting next to him, as close as you can get. There’s just something different about Rick. The way he makes you feel. The way he was so quick to claim you. How he’s possessive and attentive and so insanely infatuated by you. It’s just… different. You can’t explain it.

“But what?” His nose is nearly touching yours at this point. One hand on your thigh and the other one reaching for your face. Thumb running across your jaw as you lean in.

You’re voice is quiet when you finally speak.

“I want you.”

He lips graze yours and you have a feeling that he heard you this time. Like, really fucking heard you. Not just the words leaving your mouth, but everything else that you’re trying to say. The way your heart is beating fast and you’re breathing is all shallowed. How he can see every nervous little tic that goes through you as he leans in to kiss you.

So he gives in. Reluctantly of course. If asking, “you sure about this?,” while peeling your panties down your legs is considered reluctant. Or worriedly whispering that “we could get caught,” while tossing your shirt across the room and leaning down to suckle at your breasts, nipping and sucking a few little love bites where no one else will see but him. Because that’s so very reluctant of him.

His hands are wrapped around your waist as he kisses down your stomach. Soft lips making their way down between your legs, propping one of your legs up and kissing your inner thigh. He takes his time, biting your leg and dragging his teeth down your sensitive skin. The action makes you whine, hands going straight to his curls.

“Rick just- c’mon,”

“Why don’t you just lay back and look pretty, huh?”

“Rick-” you’re on fire. Need pulsing through your bloodstream with every touch. His hands are holding your hips to the mattress, preventing them from squirming around. The featherlight kisses he’s peppering over your clit are bordering on the side of torture. You know he’s just trying to take his time. To savour the feeling and drag it on. Make it last and make it special. But he doesn’t realize how badly you need him to push your knees to your chest and fuck you til you’re a moaning mess.

“Rick.” You tug on his hair, trying to get him to just fuck you already. You’ve been waiting over a month for this. And judging by the arousal dripping onto your pink, cotton sheets, you definitely don’t need the foreplay.

“Maybe you’d get what you want if you used your manners a little more. Ever thought of that?” He looks up at you. And despite his words, he follows the hand urging him to come up and kiss your lips. To replace his shoulders with his hips in between your legs.

“Please,” you breath out. If manners is all he wants, then you’re a lucky girl. You’d tell him whatever he wants to hear if it mean he’ll fuck you. “Please, please, just fuck me, just-”

“God, you’re such a brat,” he cuts you off with a kiss, you’re legs instinctively wrapping around his clothed torso. And the feeling of his denim against your bare clit isn’t helping your incredibly desperate situation.

You reach for his belt mid kiss and you can tell that his instincts are telling him to stop you. To tell you that you’re dad’s downstairs and that it’s wrong. But with his forehead pressed against yours, warm breath fanning over your lips he dips down to kiss your neck. He doesn’t stop you. He lets you unbuckle his belt and push his jeans down, enough to reach his cock, standing tall and eager. You tug on his tee shirt and he helps you take it off, throwing it onto the pile of both your clothes building on your floor. You pull him in close with your legs, knitted socks all soft against his bare back, almost locking him into place. Your hands are on his jaw, pulling him in as you bite his bottom lip, gently dragging it out and earning a groan. At the same time, he lines himself up with your aching cunt. He enters you slowly with a muffled moan. A gasp leaves your lips at the stretch. He’s much bigger than anyone you’ve been with. In length and in girth.

Once every thick inch is completely inside of you, he can tell that you need a minute. Your breath is caught in your throat as you adjust to his size.

Well, no going back now.

“You okay?” He asks in between kisses. Keeping his hips still as you get used to the feeling.

You nod, “Just- go slow, ok?”

You can’t help the moan that’s crawling up your throat when he does as you say. Slow, intentional movements in and out. Fuck he’s big. But fuck, does it ever feel good.

“You feel so good,” you tell him. You need to tell him. To let him know how much you love it. How much you needed it. Needed him. “Please don’t ever stop.”

His breathing is heavy. Pushing down the groans and sounds you so desperately wish he would let you hear. He’s trying so hard not to come. You’re so wet. So warm. So tight around his cock and so fucking pretty laying there underneath him. Moaning all sorts of praise.

“You’re so big,”

“Rick, yes.”

“Right there, please.”

“Feels so good,”

And your words add fuel to the fire burning inside of him. The way you’re holding onto his neck, legs locked behind his back. Lips parted in the long awaited bliss of being filled right up. Taking him so well. And he makes sure to tell you it, too.

“That’s it, baby. Doin’ so good,” he kisses you again, “taking me so well.”

There’s a lot of hands. Grabbing at arms, necks, hair, faces. Whatever either of you can reach as he snaps his hips against yours. He’s done going slow. His pace is making your back arch off the bed and guttural, almost pornographic noises start to pour from your lips. Swollen and rosy and constantly catching his with every opportunity.

“Shhhh-“ Rick brings a hand up to your face. Forehead still pressed agains yours as he covers your mouth. “Gonna wake em’ up if you keep making so much noise.”

That’s not the only reason he needs you to shut up. It’s true, but it’s not the only reason.

He can’t take it. Well, at least he doesn’t think he can.

When he pulls out, your eyes go wide. No. Don’t stop. Why the hell is he stopping?

“What- oh.” your head falls back to the pillow at the feeling of his tongue on your clit. His fingers already knuckle deep and curling upwards to hit your sweet spot. Those fucking sounds you’re making are driving him crazy. But at least he knows he can last a little longer this way. Maybe make you come before he fucks you again. A little less pressure to perform when you’re already dumb from his fingers. From his tongue. From the way he’s sucking on your clit and pushing up on your thigh, fingers driving into you so hard you could scream.

You have to cover your own mouth. You know you’re being too noisy. And you also know the last thing either of you want is for your father to wake up to the sound of his daughter getting finger fucked by his best friend. By his friend who’s at least 15 years older than you. The one he’s been suspicious of for a few weeks now, over analyzing the way he looks at you. The way he listens to you. The way he brings you up and asks what you’re up to. All of it. And then earlier. The flushed faces of guilt and embarrassment when he got home in the middle of your moment.

You don’t need any kind of interruption. Anything that might put off the thing you’ve been pining for so badly for so long. But you definitely don’t need the interruption to come hurling up the stairs, drunk and careless and ready to fight.

So you bite your lip til it bleeds. A hot wave of pleasure erupts from your core, and spreads through you like a wildfire. Fuck. Those damn fingers.

Before you can even catch your breath, while your muscles are still twitching from your orgasm, his forearms find their way to either side of your face and he pushes inside of you once again.

“Ohmygod,”

You’re soaking. Both of you can hear it. The sounds of your slick, wet cunt perfectly taking every single thrust. So wet. And all for him.

“Ohmygod,” you repeat, nails raking down his back as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, deepening the angle to something otherworldly. Heaven or paradise or whatever utopia you can think up, couldn’t even compare. Not to this. Not to him. The way his cock kisses your cervix with every snap of his hips. The way his hands are roaming over your body. Trying to touch every square inch he can. The way he’s whispering all that dirty praise, telling you how good you feel. How wet you are for him. How fucking perfect you are. For him. The way he kisses the leg propped up on his shoulder, leaning back to admire what a mess he’s made out of his best friends daughter. So pretty and perfect. All flushed and glowing with a thin sheen of sweat coating your chest. Eyes glossed over in complete and utter ecstasy.

Nothing can compare.

“Rick, I- I-” your voice keeps catching in your throat.

“What? What is it?”

“Rick I- uh,” Ricks thumb runs over your bottom lip, dragging it out.

“I’m gonna come.” Your voice is hushed but your words don’t go unnoticed. Your grip tightens on his shoulders as his long fingers make their way down your body, pushing down on your lower stomach. It’s an intense pressure, sweet and comforting and so fucking enraptured that it brings tears to your eyes.

“God, you’re so pretty. Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock. ” He coaxes it out of you. Sultry moans leave your lips as you both reach your climax. Locking your leg around his waist as he fills you with his seed. Dipping down to press a passionate kiss to your mouth. Tongue tracing your own as his hips stutter to a stop. Heavy breathing with your chests pressed together. Thigh muscles straining from the angle but you can’t find it in you to care. Too overwhelmed by such an incredible high.

He whispers your name against your lips.

“Yeah?” You’re out of breath, doe eyes glancing up at him like he’s some kind of god.

“You are so fucking perfect.”

You know that while he means it, it’s not what he really wants to say. As if it might scare you off if he speaks the truth. If he tells you what he’s really thinking. It won’t. But he doesn’t know that.

Slowly, he pulls out of you. You can’t help but wince at the loss of contact. Leaned back on his knees, Rick tucks himself back into his jeans, forgetting all about his belt at the hypnotic sight of his cum dripping out of you. Both of you too caught up in the moment to think about a condom. And too blissed out now to find it in yourselves to care. His fingers trace through the warm liquid. You find yourself flinching at the sensitivity when he brushes over your clit.

“I’ll uh- I’ll grab a washcloth. Just- stay here, ok?”

You smile up at him. So predictably sweet and caring and clearly starting to overthink as he comes down from his high. Mind racing with “what if’s” and the overwhelming fear that you might regret it. Regret him.

But you don’t.

“Wait,” you grab his arm as he starts to stand up, heading for the bathroom to clean you up. To take care of you.

“Can we go again?”

A flash of surprise and then a wave of relief washes over his face as he sits back down.

“Jesus, kid.” He smiles and settles back in between your legs.

Right where he belongs.

-

taglist- @rickswh0r3 @elnyrae @catt-leya @miinbun @murder-jacket @ankhmutes @grimesthinker @eternalrose81 @cl0wnb0yyy @whatthefuuuck @olive3oil @taylormarieee @imyourbratzdoll @fanngirl19 @spidermonkey2423 @belaballs @virtualreader @darylsdix0nn @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @cavillsgirl105 @movidita @flomrpus @summergirl37

(crossed out means I couldn’t tag)

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Blood Ties Chapter 29

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Slightly graphic depictions of labor and childbirth A/N: Maybe a cliffhanger. Maybe not. You'll have to read to find out! ;) Daryl is definitely ooc in this. I'm sorry, I tried to get as close as I could to how he might react. Also, the saying he uses is one we use in the south that means "how is that relevant?" You'll know it when you read it, lol.

“About 4cm now. Progressing nicely.” Hershel informed, wiping his hands on a cloth that Carol had provided. 

Rick and T-Dog were out doing yet another night run in the van. It was also low on fuel but the map showed another town close by. Fuel, gloves, and other necessities were on the list. Glenn was on watch with Daryl for backup if anything happened. It wasn’t an ideal situation but it couldn’t be helped.

Thumper was calling the shots at that point. 

Before the men had left, Daryl had confiscated all the blankets except for those that were for Lori and Carl. When Glenn began to complain, one look from the anxiety-driven archer had brought the young man very close to hiding behind Rick. While some blankets were used for your comfort, others were fashioned into a tent-like structure over the bare branches of a decently sized bush. You needed some sense of privacy. 

Carol and Lori had dug through the maternity clothes that hadn’t been lost on the road and found a button up dress. It was comfortable and made things much easier than leggings. 

After your immediate needs had been met, Daryl then perched himself just beside your shoulder and hadn’t moved since. 

“S’the number we’re aimin’ for?” He asked with frustration lacing his tone, making sure the blankets were back over you and tucked tight to keep you warm. He had been muttering to himself how he wished he had made time to read the rest of the books. Daryl was not a man that liked being in the dark on anything. It made him feel helpless, as you had learned over the last several months. 

“She needs to be at 10cm and the baby needs to be in the correct position before she can push.” The old man positioned the ear tubes of the stethoscope before pressing it against several spots on your belly. “Heart beat is strong. Everything is looking good.”

You had remained quiet until that moment. “Do I just—I don’t know—lay here?”

“Walking encourages the cervix to dilate and soften. Once you dilate a little further, the contractions will likely be stronger, whether painful or not.” The calmness that man practiced really made you want to strangle him with that stethoscope. “Make sure you don’t go alone, and—”

“She ain’t.” Daryl snapped. 

Hershel shot him an admonishing look. “As I was saying, take breaks. Sleep when you can. I’ll check you periodically. You’ll need to keep timing the contractions, son.” Daryl nodded. “Sip small amounts of water, no food. Keep me informed of any changes. And as unpleasant as it may sound, if you feel the pressure and urge as if you may need to have a bowel movement, call for me immediately.”

You, as well as Daryl, reared back, lips curling. 

“The fuck that gotta do with the price’a fish?” The archer queried, not so nicely. 

“Settle down. The pressure from the baby’s head moving into the birth canal can feel similar to that.” Shaking his head, Hershel shuffled his way out of your tiny tent. 

Finally alone, you turned onto your side and scooted your upper body toward Daryl. He stretched out his legs so you could rest on his thigh. 

“Get some rest.” His hand wiggled beneath the blanket and rubbed up and down the length of your upper arm, but moved to your belly when another contraction took over. Without prompting, he slid his warm palm around to your lower back and applied the least bit of pressure, rubbing small circles. You buried your face into his thigh to ride it out, but you had to admit the light massaging helped, if only a little. 

“You’re supposed to be—” You were panting when you rolled your head to remind him, but found the watch already lifted to eye level, his gaze shifting from it to your stomach. 

“Sleep if ya can. I got this.” His brow was furrowed in concentration, your heart swelling and warm. Any worry you had entertained of him running when things got real, just gone in an instant. He was there. He was there. 

“I’ll try.” You whispered, the pain finally an afterthought. You felt him slide his hand back to the side of your stomach before you let yourself succumb to exhaustion. 

“Sorry, Sunshine. Doc says up, so up ya get.”

You let Daryl take your dead weight and pull you up by a grip beneath your arms, making it as difficult as possible so you might get to stay in your warm little nest. You were still at 4cm. Hershel had said you had to start walking to help labor progress. 

“This isn’t fair.” You whined, rubbing your back once you were upright. The pain that accompanied each contraction had lessened but was still ever present. “Can’t you walk and I dilate?”

Daryl snorted. “Don’t think that’s how it works.” He placed a careful hand on the small of your back and kept your pace, slow as it was. 

“Okay, then how about if it gets worse, I kick you in the balls and punch you in the kidneys so you can participate properly?” You were only half joking. 

“If it gets ya through this, I guess.” The archer shrugged. You regarded him with a skeptical brow arched. 

“You’d really let me do that?”

“Hell nah, but s’the thought that counts or some shit like that, right?” He didn’t even try to dodge the smack you aimed at his shoulder. 

“You’re hilarious.” You deadpanned, even as you leaned into him while you strolled in circles around the perimeter. The moonlight caught the watch in his right hand, his finger tapping against the casing. Bless him, he was taking his role of supportive partner very seriously. You gasped when the next contraction came, stopping to bend slightly and breathe through it while Daryl secured an arm around you and flipped open the watch. 

When it was clear you weren’t falling, he slid his hand to the middle of your back and massaged the length of your spine using gentle pressure from the heel of his palm. He never said much—if anything—during the episodes themselves, but kept you informed of the timing of each one. 

“Oh, goddamnit, this one sucks.” You managed through clenched teeth. You swayed slightly when it was over, grasping blindly for the man next to you. 

“Thirteen minutes since the last’un. A minute, twelve.” He was slow and careful when turning you back toward camp. “Let’s getcha back to Hershel.” 

You shook your head. “One last loop, then we can go back.” Daryl didn’t say anything but you felt him tense. “I’m sure. They’re just getting a little more painful in the stomach, less in the back.” 

He still hesitated. “Alright. One more.”

Hershel stepped into your path before you started the second loop, allowing Daryl to fill him in on the last contraction. 

“Do one more. Rest. And then again.” The old man ordered curtly. 

Once he had vanished back toward the small fire, you mocked his words. “Rest and then again.” Daryl shook his head beside you. “I mean seriously, how much help can walking actually be?”

“Fuuuuuck!” You were digging your fingers into the blankets below you, swatting away Carol’s hand when she tried to dab your face with a piece of cloth. Daryl was sitting beside you, wide-eyed and lost, the watch forgotten by his leg. Hershel was between your knees, sporting his medical gloves that had been brought back by Rick and T-Dog. 

The archer cleared his throat. “She alright?” 

“Do I look alright, Daryl?!” You hissed, making an admirable attempt at breathing the way Carol was instructing. The contraction finally ended and you fell back onto the folded blankets. “I’m sorry.” You found his worried blue eyes easily and fumbled for his hand. 

“S’okay.” He whispered, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. 

“She’s at 6cm. We can still time the contractions but I think she may need your attention more than that watch does now.” Hershel reached for the item and placed it in his pocket once Daryl handed it over. “Keep moving but stay closer, no more perimeter walks.”

Daryl nodded, you whimpered. 

“I’ll be back soon to check again. If we’re lucky, things will move a little faster now that you’re in active labor.” Hershel left the tent while Carol fixed your dress. 

“I know it hurts, but you two will have little Thumper in your arms in just a matter of hours.” She smoothed your hair and tucked it behind your ears. “You’re doing great.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing great.” You murmured, ducking your head almost bashfully. “I’m really sorry I snapped at you, Daryl. It just—well, it hurts and it’s hard to think.”

“Ain’t mad.” He tried for a half smile but it was weak. “Better than gettin’ kicked in the balls, I reckon.” You laughed and squeezed his hand. “Guess we oughtta getcha up again.”

“I’ll help.” Carol offered. You could see that a refusal was on the tip of Daryl’s tongue but he never voiced it. With Carol under one arm and Daryl under the other, you were pulled upright. 

Your body already felt wrung out and sore, and the epic finale hadn’t even begun. Still, you allowed Carol to pass you off to Daryl. 

“We movin’ on? Be better to find a house or somethin’.” He looped an arm around your back, following as you shuffled your way around. 

Carol shrugged, not touching you but keeping up with your small strides. “Both vehicles have fuel but Hershel isn’t sure we should move her. He thinks the baby will come soon and she needs to be kept in one place.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back in frustration. “She is right here. And if my opinion matters, I’d rather not—” The contraction came on strong, halting you suddenly with your hand fisting into the lower part of Daryl’s vest. The archer stepped around in front of you, rough but gentle hands grasping your wrists to guide your arms to his shoulders. 

“Try to breathe. Sometimes humming or even moaning helps, like an outlet.” Carol advised while rubbing your back. 

Your head fell forward against Daryl’s chest, a deep but quiet moan muffled against the firm muscle beyond his shirt. His hands had fallen to your hips, his body followed you as you swayed back and forth. The episodes were growing more intense, coming closer together and lasting longer. It wasn’t difficult to surmise that things would be growing more difficult to handle. 

“Ain’t nothin’ we can do for ‘er?” Daryl asked quietly above you, each word blowing his warm breath over the top of your head. Carol must have answered in the negative because his fingers flexed against your hips. 

The skin of your belly was pulled so tightly that you swore it would tear open, the muscles feeling as if they would pulse right out of the gaping hole your torn flesh would leave. 

“Shit.” You whimpered, your voice finding its way back during the last dregs of pain. You almost didn’t register warm hands gliding up and down your sides, a smaller hand on your back. “I don’t want to have the baby here.” You argued weakly. “It’s too open. Things will be too chaotic, too loud.”

“I know, Sunshine, but the doc says—”

“I don’t want to risk Thumper here in the open, Daryl. With—with walkers or people.” With enough strength having returned after the pain, you lifted your head, eyes pleading. “Please.”

The archer was visibly upset. He was just as vulnerable as you were at that moment, torn between what he felt was right and what Hershel said was for the best. His tongue wet his bottom lip before he pulled it in between his teeth, looking to Carol for guidance. 

“Could lay down the seats in the van. Use the back.” He suggested. “Plenty’a room an’ if we need to move fast—”

“I don’t think that’s unreasonable.” Carol agreed, rubbing your back in a few soft strokes before beginning to move away. “I’ll go talk to Hershel. You two keep walking.”

You watched her go, turning your gaze up to Daryl when he shifted back to your side to urge you along. “Gotta keep movin’.” You groaned, dragging your feet with your head falling back in frustration. 

You were in the middle of a contraction, when you heard it. A snarl, a raspy growl much too close. You were already clinging to Daryl and breathing through the pain that was readying your body for Thumper’s arrival, but you’d have to let him go. He had to protect the baby. And to do that, he had to protect you. 

But he didn’t move. He was nearly vibrating, rigid beneath your hands on his shoulders. He was just as scared as you were, even more so. He knew he could take the walker but that would mean letting you go. He needed to protect you but he wanted to support you. He had told you he'd never let you fall and you knew he had meant it.

“Go.” Your hands slid from his shoulders, down his chest before they released him completely to clutch your belly.

His boots disappeared from your view of the ground but you couldn’t focus after that. The pain was growing in intensity, immobilizing you with your lips tightly pressed to withhold the cries that vibrated behind your teeth for release. You couldn’t, you just couldn’t make a sound. You’d attract more, endanger everyone. You’d endanger Thumper. Daryl. 

There were scuffles. More snarls. Tears were threatening your waterline. Pain was coursing through you like a serpent, slithering around each muscle and tendon and pulling them tight. You felt disappointment and guilt over all the agony when your mouth fell open with a guttural moan, your will to cut off the scream that begged to follow barely holding true. 

“D—Daryl.” You cried out. And he was there, hands on your face, your biceps, your belly. 

“M’here. M’here. Gotta move, though.” He swept you up with the slightest strained noise. “Gonna getcha to the van. Gonna find somewhere safe for ya.” The pain was fading. You could focus on the dark blood on his face, the dirt and grime. 

“Herd?” You whispered. 

“Ain’t your fault.” His expression emanated fear and stress. “The hatch.” Someone was with him. The small hands that opened the back of the van and spread out the blankets, those were Carol’s. She sat a pile of smaller blankets and squares of fabric toward the indents on the floor where the seats had been stowed. 

“Get as many in the truck as you can! In the cab and the bed!” Rick was calling out at the same time that Hershel climbed into the van. Daryl was careful when he placed you inside, climbing over you before pulling you further in to make room for Hershel and Carol. 

Through your haze of exhaustion, you saw Rick climb in the driver's seat and Maggie beside him. That meant that five others had to somehow fit into the truck. 

“Is everyone okay?” You asked, eyes pleading with Daryl for an honest answer. 

“Yeah, they’re all good.” He nodded, smoothing a hand over your hair. 

The van was moving, though you didn’t realize when it had started. Hershel was between your knees when another contraction came. It felt like only moments had passed since the last one. In the safety of the van, though you couldn’t be bothered to consider that, you bowed forward with a scream. Daryl gingerly worked your fingers loose from the blanket to take your hand. 

“She’s at 9cm. This baby is coming soon.” Hershel didn’t move this time, he and Carol began sorting things that you couldn’t see. Panting, you leaned to the side, knowing Daryl would be there. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and squeezed. 

“What—” He swallowed audibly. “Tell me what I need to do.” 

“Just be with her.” Carol poured some water from a bottle onto a piece of fabric and passed it across you for Daryl to take. “Wipe her face, put it behind her neck.”

The archer’s hand was trembling fiercely when you felt the blessed cool cloth touch your forehead. The moan that left you was not one of pain but utter relief. “Oh, that’s nice.” You breathed. Your skin was on fire, every cell of your being felt twisted and wrong. But that trembling cloth wiping at your face grounded you, centered you around what your body was preparing to do. 

You were so close to being a mother. 

But that didn’t stop the scream that ripped from your throat when the next contraction tore through you. You sat up, propped on your elbows with your eyes screwed shut. Tears leaked from the corners, the wailing cutting off into wretched sobs when you felt Daryl’s forehead fall against the crown of your head, his mantra of m’sorry m’sorry m’sorry shattering you into a million shards. 

You couldn’t tell him it was okay. You couldn’t remind him why you hurt. You couldn’t reassure him that he was the one you wanted and you were more than happy to do this with him. For him. You didn’t have the breath. 

“Don’t push, Y/N. Not yet.” Hershel’s tone was even but not cruel, his gloved hands on your knees. 

“It fucking burns!” You shrieked, squeezing Daryl’s hand until you were certain you felt the bones shift. The contraction let up, the fiery sensation dulling but ever present. 

“What’s happenin’?” Daryl sounded breathless. Terrified. You were still catching your breath when you looked up at him. His tan skin was white as a sheet, no color in his lips. His blue eyes were brighter than you’d ever seen them. From tears or fear, you couldn’t be sure. 

“The baby’s in the right position. Y/N, it’ll be time to push soon. It’ll be very important for you to listen to everything I say. Can you do that?” Hershel wasn’t looking at you, between moving around things Carol was handing to him and keeping a constant eye on your progress. Distantly, you wondered why it was Carol at his side and not Maggie. Maybe because you were close with Carol? For your comfort? 

“Yeah. Yeah, I can.” You turned your attention back to Daryl when his grip on your hand loosened slightly. He swayed, the pallor of his skin growing more concerning. “Daryl?”

The archer shook his head almost violently. “M’good.”

“Okay, I just—oh, fuck, already!?” You grit your teeth as your stomach tightened, a visible shift beneath the fabric of your dress. 

“Maggie, can you climb back here?” Hershel requested calmly. His eldest said nothing but maneuvered her way into the back and on your opposite side. “I fear we may lose Daryl at any moment and Y/N will need support.”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Daryl snapped but it was a weak effort. He inhaled deeply and began squeezing your hand to keep you from dislocating his fingers. 

“Here.” Carol passed him an opened bottle of water. “Drink a few sips. You’re white as a ghost.”

You were barely aware of everything happening around you, shaking almost violently to refrain from bearing down until Hershel told you to do so. It was bordering on excruciating. 

“Jesus Christ, it feels like you’re holding a flamethrower to my fucking pussy!” 

Hershel sighed while Maggie and Carol chuckled and Daryl snorted out a quiet nice, Y/N. 

“It’s just the birth canal stretching to make room for the baby.” The veterinarian explained coolly. 

“Just?” You mocked. “Just, he says while it’s my—oh Jesus fuck!” With all the presence of mind you could summon, you managed not to start screaming at Daryl for putting you in that position. You knew that beyond the pain and fear, you wanted Thumper in your arms more than anything in that fucked up world. 

“Okay, Y/N,” Hershel patted your bare knees just at the tail end of the contraction to ensure he had your attention. You had fallen back against Maggie while Daryl held the cool cloth against the back of your neck. His hand was vibrating your skull to the point that you nearly asked him to move away. “You’re ready. On the next contraction, you need to push.”

“God, your calm voice makes me want to kick you in the teeth.” You didn’t mean it—mostly. Hershel must have known that because he chuckled. You could feel the next contraction already building when the van lurched to a stop, throwing everyone in it. 

“We got a herd in front of us!” Rick called from the front. 

“Go ‘round it! Turn ‘round! Just keep ‘em off us!” Daryl yelled as the pain peaked. “Fuck!” He bellowed when your hand began to shake with how hard you squeezed his own. 

“Push!” Hershel shouted over the bumps and jerks of the van doing whatever Rick had deemed best. “Good, good!” He began to countdown from ten while you screamed.

You were being torn open. Thumper was going to rip you in half on their way out. Your throat was raw, surely bleeding from your wails. When the old man reached one, you fell back against Maggie but Daryl’s hand was there too. 

“Maggie, Daryl, hold behind her knees. Help support her legs. It’ll keep her hips open.” Both moved forward, taking you with them to sit you up a little straighter. Daryl had to release your hand to hold you and your leg. The archer hissed with the pressure against his abused palm. “Perfect. Alright, Y/N. A nice, strong push this time.”

You almost snarled. “Last one wasn’t good enough?”

“Easy, Sunshine.” You felt Daryl's lips against your temple and yearned to keep them there. 

“I’m sorry, Hershel.” Once again, the man simply smiled. Lori had told you that childbirth in the movies was often dramatized but so far, you weren’t seeing the truth in that statement. When the contraction reached a crescendo, you leaned forward while Maggie and Daryl held your legs steady. The pain was extraordinary. You almost wished you could see what was happening, but any train of thought was derailed with Hershel’s next words.

“The baby is crowning!” 

Gasping, you swallowed hard, glancing at Daryl—who had a front row seat to what was happening—and then back to Hershel. “Crowning?”

“The head will be out soon.” 

“All this and we don’t even have the head out?!” You screeched, just as your stomach rippled into a rigid mound and you were pushing again. This pain was different. Thumper was definitely ripping you apart. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! It burns!”

“S’that—” Daryl cleared his throat and swallowed, swaying on the spot. “S’that normal?”

“Perfectly normal.” Hershel glanced up at the archer, back down, and then up again. “Carol.” He needn’t say anything else. The other woman was moving to grab the back of your leg and let Daryl fall against her so he didn’t smack his head on the side of the van.

You were completely unaware, your entire focus centered on the inferno between your legs. There was no way any woman would willingly do this unmedicated. Never in your life had you wanted drugs more than you did in that moment. Thumper. Thumper, Thumper. You chanted internally, even as your vocal chords vibrated harshly with your screams. And just as you thought you would lose consciousness from the pain, it lessened. It hadn’t disappeared but comparatively, you would take that over the prior. 

“The head is out!” 

Panting, you smiled but then fell into confusion when you saw Carol beside your leg and Daryl slumped against her. “Daryl? Daryl?!” You shifted but Maggie held you still. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” Hershel chuckled. 

“Who knew a man that could gut a walker without batting an eye couldn’t watch his baby’s head come out?” Carol smiled but began to act, jerking her shoulder to jar the archer. “Daryl. Daryl, wake up. You don’t want to miss this.” He stirred and started to lean back. “Think you can take a look without losing it again?”

“Shuddup.” He shook his head hard, grunting. His hand was the first thing to move, sliding beneath Carol’s to take hold of your leg. Then he was looking at you. “M’sorry. That was—fuck, m’a pussy.” Maggie was moving your hand and pulling you forward as you watched your partner. 

Then your fingers were touching a soft, albeit slimy, head. 

You gasped. “Daryl.”

The man gulped, but then sat up on his knees a little. You watched the fear and apprehension melt away into awe, his jaw loosening, eyebrows rising, and eyes beginning to shine. “S’that—”

“That’s Thumper.” You were able to say before Hershel announced your miniscule break was over. He didn’t need to say a word, your body was already letting you know. Daryl’s hold felt stronger now and he was watching with an awestruck intensity that just made your heart want to explode even as you rode out the waves of agony. You were going to be a little family.

Then, out of the blue, you could feel something was different, wrong.

“Her—Hershel—Ow, fuck—” You fingers clawed at Daryl’s chest, his wet eyes going wide with concern. The contraction ended and you were gasping and swallowing convulsively, feeling nauseous regardless of your lack of food. Daryl’s eyes were darting back and forth between you and the old man. “Daryl, something—something’s wrong.” You could tell the baby had not moved an inch during the pushing, but not only that, it felt like they had actually pulled back toward your opening. 

“I know.” Hershel’s voice had lost the calm and was taking on an emergent edge. “The baby is stuck.”

Panic flashed over Daryl’s face in the form of anger. “The fuck ya mean stuck?!”

Still trying to catch your breath, sweat dripping into your eyes, you thought for certain Daryl was going to jump across your leg and attack the old man. Thankfully, he remained at your side. Trembling and breath stuttering, but he wasn’t moving. 

“Shoulder dystocia. The baby is turned in such a way that the shoulders can’t fit through the pelvis. Carol, I will need your help, please.” You were already on the edge of the next contraction when Hershel nearly barked “Y/N, don’t push.”

“What the fuck’re ya doin’?” Daryl snapped, leaning over your leg to investigate. So many emotions were battling for dominance in his expression that you couldn’t even begin to imagine how he was feeling.

“Daryl, please.” You pleaded, trying your hardest not to sob. For once, you cared nothing about being self-reliant or what the group thought of you and how much you needed Daryl. As you fought through the pain and against your body’s natural insistence to push, you just cried. Daryl kept a hand below your knee, too afraid to move unless Hershel gave the okay, but he leaned as far as he could to hold you without influencing your position.

“S’okay, Sunshine. S’gonna be okay.”

“Y/N, listen to me. I can feel the shoulder.” Now, the veterinarian’s tone was just downright frightening. “Maggie and Daryl are going to pull your legs back on the next contraction. I’m going to apply some pressure above your pubic bone. It’s not going to be pleasant, but if I’m correct, the head should come and then the baby. I need you to push with all you have, do you understand?”

You pressed your cheek further into Daryl’s chest and nodded, hiccuping through ragged, exhausted breaths. When the contraction began to tear through you, Maggie and Daryl reacted immediately, pulling your legs toward your belly while you curled inward with a guttural scream. Hershel pressed into the area just above your pubic bone, the pressure only compounding the whirlwind of pain you were already caught in. And then it was over and you let the two supporters take your weight.

The van rocked again, but was ignored. Hershel looked at Carol gravely and shook his head. 

“S’that ‘bout?” Daryl hissed, trying hard for your sake not to lose his cool.

“It didn’t work.” Before Daryl could speak, the old man continued. “We’re going to try one more time. If it doesn’t work, there are a couple of other things we can try but time is of the essence. The baby isn’t getting the oxygen they need like this.”

“Whatever ya gotta do. Just take care’a both’a ‘em.” 

Hershel nodded. “Alright, same thing, Y/N. A big, big push for me.”

You shook your head, exhausted. “I can’t.” You whispered, your eyelids heavy as hope attempted to flee and you accepted that once again, the world would take from you. It would take from Daryl. “I’m so tired.” You felt movement beneath your left leg and then Daryl’s hand was grasping your chin, firm but gentle. 

“Hey. Cut that shit out.” He wasn’t angry. He was using the same tone you’d heard him use when he had told Thumper to cut you some slack. When he had started communicating with the baby. “Ya’ve gone through hell an’ back for this an’ I ain’t lettin’ ya quit at the goddamn finish line, ya hear me?”

“I’m tired, Daryl.” Your face screwed up in pain as the next contraction began to build.

“Nu uh. Ya ain’t gonna bust into my life an’ fuck up my world six ways from Sunday, make me love ya an’ this kid, an’ then just give up. S’you an’ me an’ Thumper. S’what ya said!”

You blinked at him, slowly starting to sit up.

“I’ve seen ya be a badass before, Sunshine.” Your breaths were coming faster, the contraction nearly on top of you, but you only had eyes for Daryl. “Be a fuckin’ badass now.” His hand left your face and went back to your leg, pulling it toward you at the same time Maggie moved the right one. 

You screamed so loud that you were certain the rocks and bumps of the van were due to your wails alone. Something shifted, you felt it and it hurt. You were on fire and aching at the same time. When the contraction ended, you still felt painfully stretched and bruised and uncomfortable. “Did—did it work?” You panted, grasping desperately for Daryl’s shirt.

“The head is out, the shoulders are turned. One more big push, Y/N. Just one more.”

You breathed harshly through your nose, trying to amp yourself up. Maggie and Carol were throwing encouragement your way, but you didn’t hear them. You only felt Dary’s breath against your ear, his stubbled cheek rubbing against your skin.

He whispered, only for you to hear. “I love ya.” Kissing your temple, he moved back to his spot and when you looked at him, exhausted and crying, the corner of his mouth twitched and he nodded.

You could do this.

When the next contraction ripped through you, the world went silent. It was only you and the pain, white hot and all consuming. You were indeed being torn in half but if it meant Thumper would take that first breath, would open those little eyes to see the world—fucked up or not—then you would gladly be wrenched into pieces. 

The moment the baby slipped free of you, you felt the emptiness. You still hurt, but the worst of the pain was suddenly absent. Sound and sight came back to you in an onslaught that had you sucking in a breath like your lungs had been starved. 

“Is—Hershel, the baby?” You asked, trying to move as Daryl and Maggie lowered your legs. The archer was leaning across your knee. You couldn’t even tell if he was breathing, but his eyes were wide and darting. 

“Doc—”

The ferocious first cries of the distraught newborn echoed throughout the van. Maggie had moved behind you to keep you sitting up while Daryl had staggered backward and fallen on his ass against the interior wall, eyes on the little thing that Hershel was looking over intently. Maggie reached over your shoulder and began unbuttoning your dress, whispering in your ear as she moved.

“The baby needs to nurse, bond with you on your skin and it’ll help when you have to push out the placenta, okay?” You blinked at her, concerned. “It’s okay. It’s nothing like what you just went through. One or two small pushes and it’s out.”’ You nodded robotically, watching Hershel maneuver some sort of tape around a slimy cord.

Thumper was not happy. They were probably cold and that thought made your heart ache. Your baby should never be uncomfortable. Daryl was slowly, clumsily making his way toward you, but wasn’t taking his eyes off the baby. When he was sitting beside you, Hershel finally leaned over you and placed the squirming, slippery baby on your chest.

“Congratulations. You have a daughter.”

[etclouie]

kinktober day eight - jealousy

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 summary: your relationship with rick is new, so when you get to alexandria and a new guy tries flirting with you, rick doesn’t like it (Rick Grimes x fem!reader)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 setting: alexandria

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 warnings: jealousy, un-named alexandrian flirts with reader, poorly written smut, oral (m receiving), implied age gap (not mentioned but rick is older), ricks possessive, rewrote this halfway through so hope it actually all makes sense, teeny tiny threat of rick cumming over readers face (he doesn’t), lmk if i missed any

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 word count: 970

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 a/n: actually already had this idea, so two birds with one stone 

prev day | next day kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

you’d recently made your relationship with Rick official, instead of sneaking off together and all of the secret moments. 

your relationship wasn’t hidden from the alexandrians but you weren’t screaming about it from every rooftop, so when a man you never knew flirted with you at one of the first get togethers you’d attended, you weren’t really surprised. 

sure it wasn’t wanted, or reciprocated, but you weren’t entirely surprised. but Rick was. 

he was watching from across the room, his conversation now being ignored as his gaze focused on you. his eyes flicking between you and the man opposite you, who was pulling laughs from you from whatever he was saying. the act making Ricks blood boil, and he had no clue what either of you were talking about. 

a shrill of jealousy filling his body and his brain turning on autopilot, placing down his glass and heading straight towards you. 

his hand taking hold of yours while he dragged you out towards your house, ignoring any and all calls of his name from everyone. 

kicking the door shut behind him as he got you into the house, one of his hands lifting to cradle your jaw and holding your gaze up at him. 

“who’s your friend sweetheart?”

he huffed out, thumb soothing across your cheek while his gaze fell to your lips and then back up to your own eyes. gaze soft and questioning as you locked eyes with him, trying to answer his question before he continued on. 

“you looked real friendly with him”

he gritted his teeth, walking you towards the stairs and up them towards one of the bedrooms — wanting you as far away from any possible prying eyes. 

watching him kick the door shut behind him and stalk towards you, his face held an expression you’d never seen from him before. one of jealousy mixed with a twinge of possessiveness, his head tilting towards the side as his eyes continued to search yours. 

“you gonna answer me sweetheart?”

batting your lashes up at him while your mouth went dry, any and all words long gone and your mouth hung open from the lack of words coming out. 

gulping as he reached for one of your hands and pulled it towards the bulge forming in his jeans, groaning lowly at the contact and rocking his hips into your touch. 

“fuck, feel that sweetheart? see what you do to me?” 

he groaned out, letting go of your wrist to work open his belt and pulling down the zipper of his jeans. his eyes locked on yours as he freed his aching cock, the sight of you being flirted with had him getting possessive and wanting to make you remember who you belong to. 

his jeans and boxers pooling at his ankles, and his cock springing free. humming at the sight of his leaking and flushed tip, eyes flicking back up to his in silent request. 

“need’t help you remember who’s you are, huh?”

he suggested, his hands pushing you down onto your knees before he wrapped a hand around his cock. pumping his length a couple of times, his free hand holding your jaw and two of his fingers pushing your lips apart. 

hearing him groan as he slapped the head of him against your lips, pressing soft and chaste kisses to the tip of him before taking him into your mouth. tongue swirling around him and your eyes fluttering shut, your hands resting on his thighs as he started to rock into your mouth. 

your eyes fluttering shut as his pace picked up, both of his hands holding your head in place while he continued to push into your mouth. the tip of him hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag briefly before he pulled back. 

“breathe bubs, there we go”

he soothed, his thumb brushing across your cheek and his hips pushing back into you. swirling your tongue around the head of him and letting your eyes flutter shut again, moans muffled as the taste of him filled your senses. 

an all too familiar, and welcome, taste. 

“this what you needed? my cock in your mouth to remind you of who you belong to? hm, sweetheart?”

his tone was fully teasing, chuckling to himself at your muffled ‘mhm’ in response. 

jaw falling slack as his pace picked up, eyes flicking up to meet his while spit spilled from the corners of your lips. the head of him hitting the back of your throat with every thrust, and his cock pulsing as your tongue ran across the underside of him. 

“god, gonna cum sweetheart. gonna paint that pretty face and throat, remind everyone that you’re mine”

he groaned out, thrusts growing sloppy and the taste of him overbearing. tip leaking and flushed a red colour, while his cock throbbed against your tongue. 

a shuddering groan leaving his lips, and his hips stuttering before stilling. eyes locking with his as his release washed over him, rope after rope of white shooting into your mouth and coating your throat. 

humming as he panted, waiting a minute before he was pulling you off of his cock and a string of spit joined your lips to the tip of him. leaning in to press a wet kiss to his head, while his thumb soothed across your cheek. 

“my good girl, huh? fuck, never letting you near that guy again, yeah?”

lifting your hand to wipe your mouth with the back of it while swallowing down his load, voice hoarse as you spoke. 

“you jealous Rick?”

watching him roll his eyes before helping you up off of the floor, hands already reaching to get you undressed. his lips attaching themselves to your throat while he kissed across the skin, his voice gruff against your ear. 

“watch it”

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[villifix]

fairy wings and bloody knees ♡ | daryl dixon

word count: 1.9k

A/N: this is really just daryl and reader's daughter. reader is mentioned but not seen during this fic. eventually i will get around to making a part 2 with daryl x reader! this idea was inspired by @louifaith and i included a piece of artwork by @vaebun at the end of the story that is absolutely ADORABLE. please take a moment to view both of their blogs for great content! ♡ also i didn't do much proofreading so forgive meee

"I like your fairy wings."

It took a moment to register the words before Daryl realized they were directed at him, and another moment for him to realize that - shit - so was a pair of big brown eyes. His boots came to a slow stop as he regarded the child. The girl couldn't have been older than six, a tiny little thing with unruly curls and scabbed knees, gripping a piece of pink sidewalk chalk in one hand. Her curls fell into her face as she leaned to try and look behind him, clearly wanting another glance at the wings on his vest.

The fuck?

"Ain't no fairy." Daryl muttered gruffly, unsure of what to make of the girl. A lock of hair clung to the corner of her mouth and she pushed it away, smearing pink chalk over her cheek in the process. He let her walk behind him as he quickly scanned the area, looking for any sign of a guardian but it seemed the girl was just out playing on her own; it was strange to him, to be in a place where someone would feel safe enough to let their child outside without being right behind them. It reminded him a bit of his youth, before his mother died, when she'd send him out to ride on his bike and tell him to be back when the streetlights came on. Different times. Now, that sort of thing felt too irresponsible. Too risky - even with walls.

He felt a pressure against his back and jumped, turning to look at the little girl as she grinned up at him. Her hand was still raised in the air, fingers outstretched and tinted pink. Daryl had half a mind to tell her to quit it, to go find her mom or pops and leave him be, but a little giggle tumbled past the girl's lips and he found himself short of words. Not a moment later she turned and bounded, leaving Daryl alone. For the remainder of the day, he was entirely unaware of the little pink handprint lingering on the back of his vest.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The following day, Carol was the first to notice that Daryl had managed to acquire a shadow. She met Daryl’s eye as Aaron led him and Abraham down the road and the archer found himself pausing at the hint of a smirk playing on her lips. “What?” Daryl questioned, eyes narrowing at the amusement painting his friend’s features. Ahead of him, Aaron and Abraham noticed him hanging back and came to a stop, waiting. “Spit it out.” “Just think you’ve got an admirer, that’s all.” Carol teased, looking past him with a knowing smile. Frowning, Daryl turned to follow her line of sight just in time to see a familiar mop of curls duck behind a mailbox. Daryl let out a quiet huff, shoulders relaxing minutely. The girl wasn’t any good at hiding - not with the way her whole body could still be seen behind the base; she’d clearly dressed herself that day, too - floral overalls clashing with a bright, striped shirt. It didn’t look like she had any chalk that he’d have to be on the lookout for, at least. He could still hear Rick’s chuckles from the night before when he’d pointed out the handprint on his vest. With a dismissive shake of his head, Daryl turned back, moving to continue on with Aaron and Abraham. “Ain’t nothin’. Just a kid.” “Look at you, already a hit with the ladies!” Abraham chaffed, earning a pointed scowl.

“Stop.” Aaron glanced between the two men with a relaxed smile, sparing a glance towards where the girl peeked her head out from behind the mailbox, watching from a distance. Aaron offered a little wave, to which the girl returned a cheeky smile, pressing a finger to her lips as if her presence was a secret between the two of them. “That’s Remy.” “Remy?” Daryl echoed, unamused. “Yeah, Remy. Short for Remington, but for your own safety just call her Remy.” “Remington?” Abraham cut in, unable to contain the amusement in his tone. “Like the rifles?” “I think so. I’m pretty sure her dad picked it.” Aaron told them, motioning for them to follow as he continued down the road. He’d mentioned wanting to introduce Abraham to one of the community members that ran the construction projects for Alexandria, and planned on taking Daryl to speak with Deanna after; she was still figuring him out, trying to decide which job would suit him best. He might’ve had time to brew on how much he couldn’t stand Deanna’s attempts to categorize him if his thoughts weren’t still stuck on the girl - Remy. Daryl glanced back over his shoulder, just enough to notice that she was trailing behind as they walked, eyes downcast and focusing hard as she balanced on the curb of the street while she followed. “She always just out here on ‘er own?” “Not exactly,” Aaron explained, considering his words before adding, “mostly just in the afternoons when she doesn't feel like sitting in class with the other kids. She's usually with her mom whenever she isn’t helping in the infirmary. Actually, I've been meaning to take you all by there - have you met (Y/N) yet?” “Nah.” Daryl muttered, finding no recollection of the name. “What about ‘er dad? He dead?" “Well, no. That’s, uh… a bit more complicated.” A brief silence fell over the them, and when Aaron peeked from the side of his eye to see that Abraham and Daryl were both still waiting for an answer, he let out an uncomfortable sigh. After looking back to ensure Remy was far enough that his words wouldn’t carry, he continued in a softer tone. “Her dad is around but not really around. It’s a long story - and really, not mine to tell - but... alright, they have an arrangement that Deanna settled between them. He gives Remy half of his rations every week, outside of what he hunts for the pantry, and (Y/N)... well, I guess you can say she has 'custody'. Like I said... it's complicated.” While Daryl’s lip twitched with irritation, Abraham let out a low whistle. “Well, ain’t that 'bout a bitch. Whole world goes to shit and you still can’t get outta child support.” It took a solid few seconds for the redhead to register that Daryl and Aaron were both staring at him, deadpanned, before he held up his hands in surrender. “I’m just sayin’!” Daryl didn’t find any of it funny in the slightest. It was bad enough that a kid had to grow up in a world like they were living in, but to have a deadbeat dad on top of it? And the Alexandrians, they just let it slide - let him give her some food and throw the rest of his duties as a parent aside.

Bullshit. This place, these people, this attempt at 'normal' life. A bunch of bullshit.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Talking to Deanna left him in the same spot he was in before. For whatever reason, she couldn't seem to figure out what to do with him even though he already knew the answer was obvious. He didn't belong in these walls, wasn't built for playing house and acting like there weren't monsters lingering around dark corners beyond the streets of Alexandria. It wasn't the dead that really bothered him, not after Terminus... not after the Claimers or Grady Memorial.

There were people out there that would come across a place like this and do the unthinkable and it wouldn't matter how nice their houses were or what casseroles they could make - they would suffer because they were weak and unprepared. He wasn't built to sit back and be vulnerable. He needed to be out there, hunting or scavenging or making sure the people that would hurt them stayed far enough away.

He thought going out and catching some game could clear his mind some. So, after stopping by and checking out his crossbow, Daryl headed towards the gate without much of a plan except to get out of the walls. But of course, it wouldn't never be so easy.

If he hadn't been so on edge in this new place, he wouldn't have heard the sniffle. It didn't take very long to find the source of it - Remy, pressed up against the trunk of a maple tree, blood trailing from her knees down to her ankles. She'd had to have fallen, tearing open scabs that were still healing. Though her knees were bloody and raw, cheeks wet with fresh tears, she didn't seem to pay them any mind.

Following her gaze to where she stared off in the distance longingly, Daryl quickly pieced together what was really upsetting her. Lingering by the front gate, in conversation with one of the other Alexandrian men, was a man with a hunting rifle strapped onto his back. A Remington rifle. That was her dad. Her dad, getting ready to go out on a hunt while she sat here with torn knees and a yearning heart. Well... he'd be damned if he were going to walk away from that.

"Must be clumsy." His own voice sounded foreign to him as he took a step into her view, trying hard to sound casual though he wasn't entirely sure how to approach the situation. Those big puppy-dog eyes looked up at him and he could have sworn he felt like somebody kicked him in the gut.

"Clumsy?" Remy echoed, confused, and sniffled again as she reached up and swiped her nose with the back of her arm.

"Means ya fall a lot." Daryl explained.

"My daddy's leaving." Remy blurted, lower lip quivering a bit as she looked past Daryl to see the man finally stepping out the gate, pushing it shut behind him.

Daryl looked over his shoulder towards the gate, acknowledging the man's departure with a sideways glance. "He come tell you goodbye?" Remy merely shook her head in response and Daryl hummed, unsurprised. He looked down to her knees, considering, before pulling a rag from his pack and kneeling down beside her. "Here, lemme see."

Remy extended one leg as Daryl gently reached for her ankle, watching with a pout as he wiped the blood from her shin before switching to the next leg and doing the same. Her knees were still bleeding a bit, but her legs weren't dripping blood anymore, at least. When he dropped her second leg, Remy blinked up at him through watery lashes. "I want Mommy."

Daryl met those doe eyes of hers, thinking back to the conversation with Aaron earlier that day. He'd mentioned Remy's mom - (Y/N) - helping in the infirmary. Seemed the girl probably needed to get some gravel cleaned out of her knees, anyways...

"C'mon. Let's go find yer ma." Daryl told her, pushing himself back to his feet and holding out a hand for her to grab onto to. As soon as Remy pulled herself up, though, she tried to take a step and limped, whining loudly. Not a second later, Daryl was instinctively scooping her up, resting her on his hip; and Remy, instinctively, reached up to wrap her arms around his neck as he carried her towards the infirmary to see you. Her messy curls tickled his stubble as she tucked her head against his neck, and if it weren't for that alone, then surely it was when he walked into the infirmary and laid eyes on you for the first time that Daryl Dixon knew one thing for certain...

He was so fucked.

artwork by @vaebun !! ♡

[grimesgirll]

somewhat obsessed with the idea of wearing rick’s boxers.

it’s like second nature to you. it has to be.

after every time you slid into bed, every time rick and daryl strip you of your own undergarments, every time they fuck you dumb, everytime rick maneuvers you into your position bundled against his chest, you’re wearing a pair of his boxers.

the two had been surprised at first when they found you face down on the bed after a long day in nothing but a tiny tank top and rick’s blue and white striped boxers.

it took everything in them not to pounce on you right then and there. but when you woke up, you were more than happy to fess up to stealing rick’s boxers to wear as shorts.

rick could barely contain himself one afternoon in alexandria. you were taking judith on a wholesome stroll but you were wearing a pair of pale blue boxer shorts with a soft, white long sleeve and one of rick’s white button ups thrown on. later, he had to explain to you that he wasn’t snubbing you when you caught sight of him and tried to wave him over, just trying to keep his zipper from busting.

you had just laughed and quipped that they were the perfect bottoms.

from then on, rick found his boxer shorts going missing; on runs, he’d found you in the men’s underwear section, stripping down to try on a pair of striped ralph lauren boxers. that’s how the two of you ended up sweating and shamelessly blushed out on the cramped car ride home.

the rose painting your countenance couldn’t cease because you knew you smelled like sex. rick too. from the creamy ring you’d left around his cock as he lifted you off of him and onto the mahogany sales table, you knew you two had overdone it. with the wide block of time you had today to secure supplies, rick felt free to fuck your pussy twice, filling you up enough to have you seen stars on the sales floor.

all because you’d styled his underwear as shorts.

daryl teases his friend about it.

“can’t even wake up without seein’ her in ‘em and gettin’ hard.”

daryl’s a hypocrite however.

even the woodsman isn’t immune to your figure in those boyish bottoms.

it’s twenty-five minutes into your small game hunt when daryl’s hands are in your boxers. you had actually wanted to catch a rabbit or some quail, but once your boyfriend’s fingers are between your folds, you can’t find the will to complain.

the two of you start with him holding you against a hemlock, arms wrapping around you while he fingers you nice and slow, boxers down around your ankles. as he massages your plush walls, daryl counts how casual you are about going commando as one of his blessings.

then it turns. then suddenly there’s a pine needle in your mouth. you spit the green thing out and try to brace yourself against the forest floor. it had happened so fast; his tongue tag teaming you with his fingers to crack you open like a safe in record time. then you were face down with nothing but a denim jacket quickly strewn beneath you.

you love when he or rick spring this kinda thing on you - it’s spontaneous, wild, a little risky in all the right ways. yes, most nights you’d prefer to be rolled up into a blanket burrito with your boys and a glass of wine but the adventures like this really do something for you.

pupils expanded, your chest is heavy when daryl’s the first to come out of your post-romp fog and collect your boxers. your legs are still shaking when the fabric touches your skin.

“daryl!”

you’d protested when the man began to pull up your boxer briefs. full of his cum, you want to clean up before you soil your bottoms but daryl disregards the swats to his hands. slightly annoyed, you hurried ahead of him through the tract of woods back towards alexandria. it’s fine. he just enjoyed the view of your ass.

complaints crawl out of your mouth as soon as you’re in the door and you’re haphazardly hanging your rifle on the wall. daryl brings in the rear behind you while you’re stomping up the stairs to rick.

your chocolate curled lover is taking off his watch, ready to drop it into the ceramic dish on the dresser when you appear next him, shimmying down your bottoms in a huff.

“hey, darlin’,” he greets, expecting more than a scowl from you.

“hey,” you reply curtly, face still in a pout.

“-make sure you don’t take off those boxers, baby-,” daryl stops dead in his tracks at the sight of your bared pussy in the bedroom lamplight. rick’s also taking it in, eyes trailing from your waist to the trimmed bush, and the puffy pink pussy peeking out, now leaking with daryl’s sticky cum.

you bend over to pick up the soiled shorts. “you’re not the only one who likes these,” you point out.

blue eyes narrow. but before he can give you any lip, you’re giving him not one, but both of yours. smashed against your mouth, rick’s tongue delves between those pillowy lips while walking you towards the bed where daryl’s waiting to situate you on his lap once more. daryl’s antics weren’t enough to turn off the blazing furnace between your legs. no, your temper can handle a few more rounds. it’s not hard when your mind paces back to the eye rolling, all consuming inferno that had cyclones through your core.

they trap you in a kiss. sandwiched between both of their hard ons, you’re shifting and grinding in each direction.

“thought you were pissed off with me,” daryl breathes into your ear, fingertips skimming your waist.

you snort, leaning back into him to grant full access to your bared neck. without hesitation, he’s licking a wicked pattern up the column of your neck. “dare’,” you sigh. gasp after gasp, you melt into his touch.

daryl’s hands are beneath the fat of your rear already and all of the sudden, one of rick’s fingers has snaked its way down to your clit. the fervid flicking against your ardor flush tissue culls any anger you could have towards the two men. you can’t even think about holding a grudge once rick gets a finger into you. at two fingers, daryl’s kissing you with the ferocity of a wildfire. three fingers inside of you and you’re babbling;

“rick, faster, please.”

“what was that?”

“please - faster, can you please?”

the grin on his face is as wide as the pacific. his lips turn upwards into a sly smile. “you want somethin’ a little faster, darlin’?” you shake your head as if it’s obvious. he hmmphs. “you oughta’ sit on daryl’s cock.”

you can’t imagine a world where that’s an unpopular idea.

back onto daryl you go.

those hands at your hips come in handy; daryl raises you a few inches once rick’s removed his fingers. eyes focused on rick and the way his mouth closes around one pruning finger. sucking it clean while daryl’s tip brushes your slick entrance. any yearning radiating off of you can’t be hidden. that kind of heat and wetness down between your thighs is no lie.

so a hiss is to be expected when the muscled man wiggles his way into you. rick is saving a mental image of you - adjusting to the familiar stretch of daryl. your blush doesn’t ease once daryl works another half inch inside.

one moment you’re trying to process daryl’s cock as it’s suddenly seated in you to the hilt. the next rick catches your gaze again. this time he’s doing more than teasing you, taking advantage of your parted lips to invade with his tongue.

“rick,” you mumble against his lips.

“you gettin’ close, angel?”

“should feel ‘er,” daryl rasps. with each thrust of his you’re clinging to rick. “so fuckin’ tight like you didn’t get this perfect pussy fucked in the woods.”

“that’s where you guys went?”

your mischevious grin is hidden in the crook of rick’s necks. the telltale tightening around daryl’s length is all consuming. your grin turns into an open “o” shape when daryl drags across your cervix. sensations from your convulsing core are consuming him too.

that same lust from the woods washes over daryl like the tide and you’re the moon, pulling him in and leading him to crash into you. usually this is rick’s wheelhouse, but one glance into daryl’s darkened pupils and you’re ripped from rick. on top of daryl’s lap, you’re wrapped in his arms, bouncing up and down on the rock hard cock beneath you. he sets the pace while you can only claw at his chest. he returns the favor and reaches forward to palm your tit, relishing in your sweet moans when he rolls a hardened bud between two fingers.

riding him on the bed is such a break for your knees compared to the forest floor. gyrating your hips activates not only the core that keeps you fit but the molten hot bundle of nerves at your core. daryl ruts against you deliciously to deliver just the perfect level of pressure.

rick can’t help but be bewitched at everything unfolding on the surface of the mattress. daryl’s length disappears inside out of you, reappearing with each erratic movement of your hips. there’s no reason to be jealous but if looks could kill, daryl’d be dead simply for the privilege of burying himself inside those heavenly walls.

meanwhile, heat bursts down below like a mini neutron star collision within you. forehead cast with sweat, the energy is fading from your movements as you messily move your pelvis to brush against daryl.

a “fuck, baby,” escapes from his lips and you’re done for. and so is he.

shooting into the sheets and collapsing by your side. you’re prepared to slide into daryl’s embrace when there’s suddenly a familiar feeling breaching your bared pussy.

nails dig into your hips and daryl’s back at it again - lapping his tongue up and down your slit. you were thinking that you two would at least catch your breaths but daryl’s taking no breaks. rick isn’t either.

in true rick fashion, he’s tapping your lips with his impressive cock. how can you say no to that?

you open your mouth and moan around his cock once you feel those devious fingers in your hair. it’s like that sense of overwhelm’s been replicated again. tongue against your clit and yours on the underside of rick, you never imagined your afternoon going this way. all this thanks to your little fashion trend.

“princess, your mouth feels amazing.”

you bob your head in appreciation. just like daryl’s taking care of you, you’re taking your time swallowing around the man in your mouth, treating him to the tight embrace of your throat.

“you like gettin’ a cock down your throat while daryl licks you stupid?”

“mhmmm!” you nod forward onto rick.

as soon as your moans reach daryl’s ears, his tongue’s kicking into hyperdrive. goaded by your delightful little whimpers, daryl begins swabbing a vicious pattern across your folds. the redneck alternates between racing over your sopping tissue to flattening that tongue and saddle you with a finger.

“ooommph,” is the only sound that comes out with rick’s steel hard cock down your throat.

spit slick, rick throbs in your mouth. that painful hardness he’s enduring is granted some sweet relief by your hollowed cheeks. you don’t stop there. driven by the lust addled, cock crazy part of your brain, you’re fully sending rick down your airway. breaths come briefly when he lets you up for air or to howl or cry, “dare’!”

right on time, your core is heating up again. the kiln inside of you scorches. neutralizing you, the ecstasy of another orgasm has you nearly folding into your leader. the blue eyed sheriff even leans back, tugging you up by the hair to keep you from actually choking on his cock. daryl’s diligent puckering around all of your important parts is overwhelming you against, a strategic hand on your clit as well.

as if you were all in sync, rick comes in your mouth first, fingers weaving through your gossamer locks while your thighs quake. you gag at first, before swirling your tongue under the twitching cock and swallowing it all. like a good girl.

once rick’s coming undone, daryl continues swirling his tongue around you. your pussy weeps for him. it contracts around his tongue until even rick’s raising his eyebrows at the vulgar slurping sounds filling the room.

“dare’,” you whine.

“gonna’ be a good girl and come all over dare’s tongue?” rick teases.

“yes, please!” you beg, banging a fist against the sheets.

“you gonna’ let daryl taste all of that perfect pussy?”

tears well in your eyes from the overstimulation but you nod as enthusiastically as possible. “pleeaase!”

you don’t have to ask again because you’re too busy arching into your third orgasm of the day. clenching and unclenching, your insides flutter. “ah!”

“so pretty when you come, baby.”

you’re dissolving into rick’s touch as your climax rings through your cunt. starry eyed and panting the pleasure out through your lungs.

you could fall asleep right there. and you do.

it ends as it always does.

following the flush and the lips leaving the surface of your skin, you feel a familiar fabric traveling up your thighs and double kisses mandating that nap that had been on your mind. the bed and the cozy comfort of sleep swallows you whole. rick too. he can never get close enough, not when you’re wearing his boxers.

[rickgrimesfever]

My Love

Synopsis: In which you force your grumpy boyfriend to take a nap in your arms. Rick Grimes x fem! reader.

The dark bags underneath Rick's eyes are more prominent than usual and his blue eyes are heavy and exhausted. His curly locks are messy and hanging over his eyes.

He's standing out on the porch, freshly shaven face after just arriving in Alexandria. Although, the tiny pricks of his beard have started to grow back.

You stand up from the couch where you had been admiring him for an hour and walk out onto the porch.

"You know, we're safe here, right? It's been a few days," you point out, standing by his side.

"Yeah," Rick nods his head, not even bothering to tear his gaze away from the dark street. You let out a heavy sigh and nudge his shoulder slightly.

"Rick, we're safe here. There's guards along the walls. You need some sleep," you point out and his tired eyes finally shift down to yours.

"No, I'm good," Rick assures you with a stern voice. You press your lips together and cock your head.

Rick always get a grumpy attitude when he hasn't gotten much sleep and it's very obvious to the entire group, especially you.

"And that is exactly why you need sleep, grumpy," you point out and his eyes slightly widen.

"I am not grumpy, y/n," Rick dares to crack a tiny smile at your teasing.

"Hey...come here," you grab onto his hand, squeezing it. Rick lifts his head up and follows you inside the house. The lighting inside the living room is dim, candles sitting on the coffee table.

The tiny flames quiver as Rick and you walk past them, sinking into the couch. You watch the knot in between his eyebrows disappear and the heavy weight pressing down on his chest, lift and disappear.

"You know I can see right through you, right?" you ask, grabbing onto Rick's shirt and pulling him down as you lay down on the couch.

Rick obeys and lays beside you, an arm thrown over your stomach. His eyes glisten in the candlelight and his nose twitches.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he grumbles out as your hand flatten against his back, gently rubbing up and down. Rick's arms circle around your waist, pulling you closer and letting his head fall on your chest.

"Yeah, sure," you reply dryly, reaching a hand up and combing your fingers through his curly hair. Rick's eyelids become heavier than ever and his heartbeat is slow and steady.

He feels so safe and warm in your arms, legs sprawled out on the tiny couch. His eyelids slowly flutter close and a smile tugs on your face.

Your skin flushes as Rick slowly fades off into a sleep. His pinks lips are slightly parted open, soft breaths inhaling and exhaling. Your hand gently rubs his lower back as your other hand reaches down and your knuckles run across Rick's cheek.

It's certainly not an easy task for Rick to allow himself be vulnerable and let his walls down. But every minute he spends with you, feeling comfortable and safe is worth it...

[violettwrites]

Since youre taking requests, well uh, hi! Can i ask for Rick G x Sassy!Reader (who loves to dress to impress and isn’t suited for the apocalypse at all lol) and reader keeps calling Rick ‘fav dilf’ or smth like that? If you dont wanna write it, feel free to ignore this tho! Tysm, take care💗

you can be the boss 🗡️ rick grimes

author’s note: hi nonnie !! thank you so much for your support 🫶🏻 i’m sorry if this wasn’t what you had in mind, but i tried my best ! i also based this in alexandria (pre-saviour) bcos idk it’s one of my fave eras. i’m truly sorry it’s short, but i do hope you enjoy x

summary: reader loves to prance around in the cutest little outfits (especially in front of daddy grimes), despite it being the middle of the apocalypse.

warnings: age gap, suggestive comments, reader is 20+

word count: 658

ever since the apocalypse had started, you had been safely situated behind alexandria’s walls. having been close family friends with deanne and her family, she had offered you refuge when you needed it. and you happily obliged. you had watched people come and go, yet alexandria always seemed to stay the same. so when a new group had come along, you were intrigued. and of course, that’s when you had laid your eyes on one of the hottest ‘dilfs’ you had ever seen.

rick grimes seemed to occupy your thoughts from there on out. he had been wary of you at first, but slowly started to warm up to you, finding your clueless, yet sassy attitude quite adorable. you were always quick to compliment him, or noticing if he had shaved that day. and when he had been given the title of constable, and you caught him in that outfit? boy, you were smitten.

you were currently relaxing on the porch of your house, a book in hand as you enjoyed the sunshine hitting your skin. you were in a pair of blue denim shorts ( that seemed to leave little to the imagination ) and a little white tank top. you enjoyed spending time outside; people watching was definitely a favourite past time of yours. especially when one of the newer members of the community would walk his route past your house.

laying your book flat on your stomach as you noticed rick making his way up your street, you watched as he waved at you, a smile on his lips as he headed towards you.

“mornin,” he nodded at you, leaning against one of the beams, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes trailed over your skin. he had noticed how you always seemed to have more skin showing than anyone else. it wasn’t very practical for the apocalypse to have shorts so short and a tank top like you did, but then again, he had never seen you leave the walls of the community, so he understood a little.

“ah, my favourite dilf!” you chirped back at him, sitting up a little straighter in your chair with a smirk on your lips. ever since you had met him, you had always come up with silly little nicknames for him. dilf, daddy grimes, officer hottie— whatever seemed to come to your mind whenever you saw him. “shouldn’t you be out stopping crime?” you questioned, tilting your head to the side a little.

rick had taken a liking to you, which surprised him more than it surprised yourself. he was always weary with new people, but there was something about you that just made his head spin. he tried to ignore his thoughts though, because you were much younger than him, and he didn’t want to be labelled as a creep.

he chuckled at your words, shaking his head. “not much crime around here to stop.” he chuckled, reaching up to rub his hand over his, now short, beard. “unless we’re talkin’ about those shorts. should be a crime to wear somethin’ so tiny.” he motioned to your legs, raising an eyebrow.

you scoffed, shaking your head as you looked him up and down. “it should be a crime for you to look so good in that uniform,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest as you looked up at him. “as for my shorts— there is nothing wrong with them.”

“you’re gonna get your leg bitten off by a walker.”

“yeah, yeah. whatever you say, fashion police.” you rolled your eyes at him, waving him off. “i’d have to leave the gates to get my leg bitten off by a walker.”

god, you were so oblivious to the outside world.

he shook his head with a smile on his lips, turning to make his way back down the steps, heading towards the sidewalk.

you called out to him before he could walk off, standing up and moving towards the railing of your porch as you leaned against it. rick turned towards you, hands on his hips as he looked up at you curiously.

“don’t forget to save those handcuffs for later, sir.” you teased, a smirk on your lips as you watched his cheeks go red before he shook his head, walking away with a smile on his lips.

god, you’d be the death of him.

[chronically-ghosted]

i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies. 

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet. 

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.” 

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year. 

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life. 

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel. 

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.” 

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.” 

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin. 

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale. 

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.” 

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers. 

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?” 

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

History says no. 

So, maybe you’d just carry everything. 

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now– 

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap. 

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house. 

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand. 

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face. 

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.” 

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe – 

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit. 

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers. 

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money. 

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.” 

The bastard winks at you. 

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived. 

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet. 

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling. 

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair. 

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with. 

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point. 

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did. 

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world. 

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too. 

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren. 

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy. 

“Mhmm hmm.” 

“When are you going to have some of your own?” 

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie. 

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee. 

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven. 

This, this Dieter, feels wrong. 

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”. 

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger. 

Shame. Guilt. 

Hot embarrassment. 

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister. 

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage. 

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world. 

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral. 

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in. 

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.” He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.” 

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye. 

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.” 

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink. 

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.” 

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.” 

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed. 

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder. 

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back. 

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.” 

And out of nowhere, he smiles. 

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue. 

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.” 

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara. 

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.” 

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth. 

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his. 

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back. 

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark. 

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans. 

Oh. 

Maybe he did mean it like that. 

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly. 

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs. 

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you. 

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.” 

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.  

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” 

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.” 

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit. 

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself. 

  “No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?” 

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need. 

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms. 

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes. 

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold. 

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant. 

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to. 

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck. 

“Face down, baby,” he says. 

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do. 

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on. 

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.” 

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw. 

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle. 

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you. 

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps. 

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades. 

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror. 

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring. 

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning. 

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb. 

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,” 

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back. 

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides. 

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?” 

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time. 

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.” 

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass. 

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter. 

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.  

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it. 

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him. 

“Dieter, please –,” 

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.” 

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.” 

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then. 

“Harder again, please.” 

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt. 

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade. 

“Say it again.” 

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter. 

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.” 

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage. 

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life. 

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge. 

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later. 

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth. 

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling. 

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder. 

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours – 

And you’re laughing. 

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands. 

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.” 

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle. 

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest. 

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at. 

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant. 

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?” 

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.” 

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach. 

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world. 

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

Your heart says yes. 

[grimesthinker]

Dads best friend! Rick…? I’m thinking like ur someones (legal age) daughter in Alexandria and Rick notices you so he just HAS to have you. So he befriends ur parents in order to get close to you too… and… well… let’s just say you absolutely LOVE when Mr. Grimes comes over for dinner…

absolutely WILL be adding to this thought because dad'sbestfriend!rick makes me soooo;') arghhhh

you eagerly skip into the garage, catching your father and his friend peering under the hood of an old car. "i thought you guys could use some lemonade! made it myself." you beam and watch as they turn around. your father takes a glass from the tray you hold out, and you smile sweetly as the other man wipes his hands on a rag already covered in oil. you bite your lip.

"for you, mr. grimes!" you hold out his glass, eyelashes fluttering innocently and brushing against the apple of your cheeks.

your father seems to be oblivious to the way his friend runs his eyes up your bare thighs. your father averts his attention back to the car and you accidentally drop the plastic tray. rick works his jaw and bites back a remark when you bend over to grab the tray, your tiny denim shorts almost too tiny.

minutes later, you're propped up against the bathroom counter, rick's rough hands holding your waist so hard you're sure there'll be marks later. he made it so you could watch as his cock rams it's way into your weeping cunt. your eyes are teary, grabby hands trying to hold onto him.

"didn't mean anything by it! jus' wanted to be polite, promise!" you ramble as he swipes his thumb over your tear stricken cheek. you whine while his other hand moves down, thumb brushing against your swollen clit. his hips slow down, yet his thrusts stay rough. your breath hitches. he coos and presses his lips against your wobbly ones.

"quiet, honey. you don't want your parents to know what a whore their little girl is, hm? we wouldn't want that." he mumbles against your lips. he's so mean, he thinks. taunting you like this when he's giving it to you so good you can barely form a sentence.

of course you knew you'd end up like this the second you skipped your way into the garage and innocently taunted him with your tiny shorts and fluttering eyes. in your favor, though, your parents were oblivious. they'd never suspect a thing. they adored rick. and you did too.

[ghostboneswrites2]

The Girl in the Shack || One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Summary: Daryl & Aaron are out recruiting when they find you holed up in an old shack.

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: profanity, nongraphic allusions to SA & general abuse, killing, TWD typical violence, description of malnourishment

        The sunlight filtered through the small cracks in the tiny shack, dust particles floating peacefully in the small beams of light. You had been there for days, too weak to move on. You didn't even feel the pain anymore, not from the bruises or the hunger. Not from how dry your throat was or how cracked and bloody your lips were. All you felt was tired as you stared up at the ceiling, crumpled up on the floor like you were already dead. You would be, soon, probably.

        That day was particularly nice. Daryl enjoyed the light breeze as it blended with the warm air. Perfect weather. He and Aaron were trekking silently through the woods. Aaron said he had a lead on a small group of men before Rick's group came along and he decided to pursue them instead. Now that Rick's people were settling in among the Alexandrians, Aaron wanted to give that lead one last chance before they moved on to scouting a different area.

        "Last I saw them, they camped out right over here, outside this little shack." Aaron told Daryl, as the two men came to a halt when they emerged from the trees into the small clearing around the dilapidated wooden structure. Daryl didn't speak, instead silently making a circle around the shack, examining the small signs of life left behind by this supposed group of men. There was definitely a fire there, and people, as he could see the tracks and some singed fallen foliage, but he wasn't sure the tracks were fresh enough to follow. They were hard to identify as it was. After all, this would have been at least two weeks ago, now.

        Daryl circled back to Aaron and gave him a nod, to signify that the coast was clear, before they decided to check inside. They moved for the door with silent steps, slowly pushing it open. You, in an act of pure, fear fueled adrenaline, shuffled to your feet and pushed your back against the wall opposite to the door, squinting at the raw daylight that cascaded over you. The two men stood stunned, taking in the tragic sight of you.

        You were clearly malnourished, as your bones were defined anywhere your skin was showing. Your lips were as crackled and bloody as they felt. Most of all, you had bruises over your entire frame, head to toe. Not just ordinary bruising, either. These were the kind that looked painted on. There were so many shades of green, yellow, purple, blue, and almost black. You pressed harder against the wooden panels behind you the longer they stared.

        "A--Are you okay?" Aaron was the first to speak. You didn't answer, you just studied him intently, watching his hands for any sudden movements before your eyes flicked over to Daryl, and back to Aaron when he spoke again. "Are you thirsty? I have water."

        You swallowed dryly at the mention of water. You didn't know how long it had been since anything liquid made it past your lips but it had been long enough to kill you by this point. Aaron could read the signs of dehydration all over you as he slowly reached in his pack and pulled out a full bottle of water. He held it out to you. "Here you go." He offered. "Untouched. Still sealed."

        After you took some time to consider, you ultimately decided you couldn't resist even if you wanted to. In the blink of an eye you snatched the bottle, causing Aaron to flinch at the quick movement. The two of them couldn't take their eyes off you. The way the whites of your eyes contrasted the dark bruising around them was uncanny. Your hair was so matted up that you leaves and dust clumped together within the knots. You looked absolutely feral, and your actions didn't exactly give off a different impression. You cowered in fear, but your eyes were full of rage, like a feral cat.  Beyond that, your clothes were torn and hung from your body loosely, like tender meat sliding off the bone. You had definitely been through something unimaginable.

        "Would you like some food?" Aaron offered softly, after they watched you down three quarters of the water in just few gulps. You looked at him with that same look of desperation and apprehension. He nodded, and passed you over a jar of applesauce that he liked to carry around, just to show people that they had an apple orchard nearby. Part of his selling point, he guessed.

        You flipped the top of the jar and poured it in  your mouth quickly, gulping loud as you swallowed the sweet sauce. When it was gone, and the men were still there, you realized you had no idea why they were helping you, or what they wanted. Aaron picked up on the sudden curiosity and offered you a smile. A warm, friendly, welcoming smile that you hadn't seen in a long time. The only people that smiled out there were the ones who relished in pain and suffering of others.  This one was different.

        "My name is Aaron, and this is Daryl." He introduced himself and his partner. Your eyes flicked between the two. Quite the contrast, as Aaron was clean cut and maybe even  a little casual, while Daryl was more grungy and dark, at least in the wardrobe department. The way Aaron looked at you was open and maybe even a little nervous, while Daryl's gaze was more narrow and calculated, as if he'd catch even the slightest sign of malicious intent.

        You decided neither of them could have been helping you out of the kindness of their hearts. Kindness always came with strings attached, at least in this world. You clenched your jaw, grinding your teeth together tightly,  and sucked in a deep breath. You clenched your fists as you mustered the courage to speak.

        "Just get it over with." You said. Your voice was laced with defeat and irritation. You looked away from the two men, staring blankly at the aging wooden walls.

        "I'm sorry?" Aaron tilted his head, knitting his eyebrows together.

        "Easy way or the hard way, right? If I surrender now can you just make it quick?" You asked with a quiver in your voice. 

        "Woah, we're not here to hurt you." Aaron said, eyes growing wide at the realization of what you were implying. 

        You allowed your eyes to peek back  over at them. They eyed you sympathetically. Even Daryl's untrusting glare softened when he realized what had happened to you, why you looked so rough.

        "Why don't you step out here?" Aaron suggested. "I--We come from a community. A big one, with walls, and food, and lots of nice people. We can help you. That's our job."

        "Community?" You asked. The word seemed to take your breath away. "I--I--'

        "It's okay." Aaron assured, stepping back a little and offering you his hand. "We promise. No tricks. Just good people trying to help. Come on out."

        When you took his hand and stepped out of the tiny shack, the sun illuminated you in your entirety. Daryl took notice of where your shirt had been ripped, exposing a large portion of your ribs. He noticed a boot print shaped bruise and his fists clenched a little.

        "That bruise." He nodded to it. "You know who did it?"

        "Not their names." You shook your head. "Just some guys."

...

        A week had gone by. As promised, Aaron and Daryl led you back to their community safely. Alexandria. Aaron's pictures did it no justice. It was an absolute paradise. A warm bed, hot showers, food, water, everything you could ask for at your own disposal. 

        A nice blonde lady named Jessie had come by on your first day and detangled your hair. She even trimmed it up to get rid of the split ends. She told you it would help keep it from matting up again. Later that day she brought you a basket of supplies, like food and hygienic products. Soap, a brush, even toothpaste and a toothbrush. You were still convinced it was all a dream, even a week later.

        Deanna, the leader, had checked in on you daily and reminded you that whenever you were ready, to come see her and she would give you a job chosen specially for you. She also still needed to finish your interview, as you weren't really in the place for that upon arrival.

        You were getting ready for a dinner at Aarons.  He stopped by to check in and offer you a meal. You had a little trouble eating a lot at once with how much your stomach shrank with starvation, but you couldn't turn down a real, homecooked meal. Not when a week ago you would have probably killed for a slice of bread.

        You smiled as you put on soft, clean clothes that actually smelled good and didn't feel stiff and crusty with blood and sweat. You couldn't believe you were in such a dilemma, but you had a hard time choosing a shirt. What was proper dinner attire? You just settled on a long sleeved gray V-neck that clung to your body. It reminded you of something you would have worn to high school or something. 

        When you checked the time, you realized you only had a few minutes until seven, when Aaron told you they'd be ready. You hadn't met Eric, but you heard about him from Aaron and how he was a nice cook. You took a breath to inflate yourself with some semblance of confidence before you headed two streets over and knocked on the door. It didn't take long for them to open the it, Aaron's smiling face greeting you nicely.

        "(Y/N). Glad you could make it." He grinned, stepping aside to allow you space to enter. You stepped in and looked around the house. It was nice, a little bigger than the one they gave you, but that was okay. You didn't need much space, and more space meant more places for threats to hide. "Dining room's that way. Make yourself comfortable. Eric's just finishing up the food. I'll go get the wine."

        "Wine?" You gawked, earning a small chuckle from your host. 

        "A particularly sweet one, I might add."

        Before long you were sipping wine and enjoying a mouthful of mashed potatoes. Aaron and Eric made small talk with you, and surprisingly you felt pretty comfortable chatting back. There was a small knock at the door that interrupted the conversation.

        "Oh. Must be Daryl. Hope you don't mind, (Y/N), we usually have Daryl over for dinner on Tuesdays." Aaron said as he stood from the table. You shrugged and shoveled another spoonful of mashed potatoes into your mouth as he walked away, chuckling at your content attitude. 

        "When's the last time you had a real meal?" Eric asked. You set your spoon down and wiped your mouth, looking up to the ceiling as you tried to recall.

        "I'm honestly not sure." You admitted. "Probably the night before the outbreak hit my hometown. I had made alfredo and chicken parm for the first time. Burned the chicken to hell but the noodles were good."

        "Wow." He said, sadly. "I'm sorry you've had it so hard all this time."

        "Yeah." You nodded.

        Aaron entered the room with Daryl, who looked much cleaner than the day you met him, and the two of them took a seat. Daryl sat beside you, opposite to Aaron and Eric.

        "I'll get your plate." Eric announced, heading into the kitchen.

        Daryl snuck a few glances in your direction. You were still bruised up but they had faded into a lighter range of yellow and purple, as opposed to how dark they were last time he saw you. Your hair looked shiny and soft, and most of all you looked human. He thought about how long he and his people had been on the road, how close they were to losing their humanity. They still looked better than you when they first got here. He thought you were a goner when he met you, that maybe the world had taken away everything that made you a person. He was glad to see that he was wrong, and shocked at how friendly you seemed to be. 

        All things considered, you cleaned up well and you were actually pretty now that he could see you without all the grime and suffering. 

        "Hey." You said timidly, offering a shy, thin lipped smile.

        "Hey." He grunted. "You been alright?"

        "Um.. Probably better than I've been in years." You chuckled nervously. He nodded, understanding.

        "It's a lot to get used to." He said.

        "I think I stayed in the shower of over an hour that first night." You admitted. 

        "Hope you like chicken." Eric chimed as he stepped into the dining room and set Daryl's plate in front of him, along with a glass of wine. The man began eating immediately, bite after bite, finishing before anyone else, and sucking his fingers clean. You could tell he was used to being out there in the world, and that he was good at surviving. You wished you were the same.

        "So, (Y/N), Daryl and I.." Aaron trailed off, taking a breath as he tried to find a gentle way to ask. "Well, the men that did that to you. We were hoping you could give us a description, maybe."

        "Why?" You asked, suddenly tense. Your throat felt tight as your mind raced at the mention of them. "Do you think they're here?"

        "No! No. Nothing like that." Aaron assured. "We just--"

        "I'm gon' find them bastards and beat 'em for all they're worth." Daryl spoke up. You looked at him with wide eyes, still trying to calm your racing heart.

        "What he means is that we wanted to make sure they never  cross paths with any of our people here." Aaron added.

        "Well, they had, um.. There were three of them, and they all had beards, and they, um--"

        "What were their races? What were they wearing?" Eric asked, trying to help guide you as you recalled their appearances.

        "Oh. I think they were all white. Not old but not young. Maybe in their forties? And they all had jeans and boots on and different shirts."

        "Perfect. Thank you. We're sorry we had to ask, but--"

        "It's okay."  You cut Aaron off. "If it helps then I get it."

...

        That dinner was two weeks ago. You were surprised when Daryl stopped by your house every few days to check on you. Sometimes he'd even stay for a while and watch a DVD with you or let you make him some food.

        When he came over one evening in the middle of one of your movies you were welcoming.  You were glad to make a friend. 

        "Hey!" You grinned. "I was just watching this corny rom-com. I'll restart it so we can suffer together." 

        He didn't say anything as he stepped in, and you giddily rushed over to the DVD player to restart the film.

        "Oh! Eric brought me some whiskey, too. I'll go get it." You rambled. "And, that lady Carol brought me some cookies, and I found some chips at the pantry. Jessie said they usually go to Deanna's family but she let me take them this time--"

        "We got 'em." He said. You paused, confused.

        "The chips?" You tilted your head.

        "Nah. Them assholes. We got 'em." He said. "Bunch o' sorry pricks. Just killed some guy for his car when we found 'em."

        You stared at him, wide eyed, as you took in what he was saying. You let out a breath as you plopped back on the couch.

        "Y'alright?" He asked, stepping closer to you.

        "Y--Yeah, I--I just wasn't--" You stuttered, unable to form a response. He gave you the time you needed to gather your thoughts. "I guess I just didn't think you'd actually find them. Figured they'd be long gone by now."

        "I told you I'd get 'em." He said, taking a seat beside you. You chest felt tight. You wanted to feel the relief he worked so hard to give you, but somehow the image of them just sent you into panic, alive or dead. "Hey." He said, gently pushing a finger under your jaw to tilt your head toward him. You looked at him as you blinked back tears. "They're gone. Ain't nobody gonna hurt you like that again. Now go get them snacks and that whiskey and lets watch this corny ass movie."

        And there it was, the beginning of it all. Daryl came over every two to three days after that and did whatever mundane activities you suggested. Sometimes he'd put his arm around you during a movie, or sometimes he'd give you a tight hug before he left after dinner.

        One night he came with some wine and a casserole Carol had made. 

        "Two nights in a row?" You asked him as you let him in.

        "Figured you were missin' me already." He teased. You rolled your eyes with a little smile. He went straight to your kitchen and got wine and casserole ready for the two of you before he met you back on the couch. You sipped the wine and dug in, as did he. He finished before you as he always did, and once you were finished, he pulled a DVD out of his jacket. 

        "Austin Powers?" You laughed, taking the movie and walking over to the DVD player to pop the disc in.

        "Never seen it." He shrugged.

        "I loved these movies when they came out." You told him, taking your seat back on the couch.

        "Guess I picked a good one." He commented as the movie started to play. When the movie finished, he looked over to find you sleep, curled up on the other end of the couch. He huffed a laugh and shook his head, standing up and scooping you in his arms, carrying you down the hall and to the single bedroom, before gently laying you down. Your eyes fluttered open as you watched him stand up over you. "Didn't mean to wake ya." He apologized, noticing a small glisten in you eyes as you looked up at him.

        "You carried me to bed?" You asked groggily.

        "You fell asleep." He said, clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably.

        "It's okay." You smiled. "Wanna stay?"

        "Huh?"

        "With me. Wanna stay the night?" You clarified.

        "Like a slumber party?" He scoffed.

        "You're right. That was stupid. Goodnight Daryl." You said, scooting over to the side of the bed you usually slept on and rolling over, feeling a tad embarrassed.

        You heard him walk to the door and pause, before you heard quiet shuffling and then some silence. You were surprised when you felt a weight on the other side of the bed. The mattress rocked a little as he wiggled under the covers and found a comfortable position on his side, facing your back.

        "Wasn't stupid." He said quietly. You smiled to yourself as you scooted back. He took the hint and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him.

[unclewaynemunson]

Steve has only known Eddie for a couple of days.

He thinks back to the way they met in Reefer Rick's boathouse; the desperation in Eddie's eyes, and the fear that had every inch of his body trembling. How utterly defeated he looked when Dustin told him about everything that had been happening in Hawkins over the past years.

He thinks back to the few times he saw him after, when bringing him food or checking up on him. He remembers how anxious he seemed at all times, how the despair and the fear never once left his features.

He thinks back to when they found him at Skull Rock, how his heart skipped a beat in a way that none of the girls he kissed in that same place ever managed to do. He had attributed it to relief, back then, shortly followed by this weird feeling in his chest when Eddie embraced Dustin – jealousy, but not of Eddie, like he had mistaken it for.

He thinks back to when Eddie handed him a flashlight when he was about to jump into Lover's Lake. A light in the darkness. A beacon. All those cliches.

He thinks back to the way in which Eddie waved that oar around when he had already thought himself a dead man. He remembers how right in the middle of that chaotic battle, the thought came to him that Eddie was brave not because of his fearlessness but because of his fear.

He thinks back to the look on Eddie's face when he threw his denim vest at him, and the way it did something to him that was so different from what Nancy's wide-eyed gaze only a second earlier had made him feel.

He thinks back to the honest conversation they had in the woods; the sinister particles that got caught in Eddie's curls like snow, and his fear still so clearly present in his expressive eyes, even though it had gotten pushed to the background by then. He thinks back to their lingering touches; to Eddie leaning into him as if the concept of personal space didn't exist at all and to the warmth he emitted; to Eddie calling him a “good dude” and making his stomach float like it hadn't done in years.

He thinks back to the pure relief on Eddie’s face when their attempt to talk to Dustin worked out; to his elated smile and the way he pumped his fist in the air; to his hand reaching out and squeezing Steve’s shoulder in nothing but excitement upon hearing Dustin’s voice call out to them.

He thinks back to how warm Eddie felt when their legs were pressed against each other while they were sat next to each other on Max’s couch. He remembers looking to his right and seeing how terrified Eddie looked; his quivering lip and his wet eyes, his head resting in his hands. He remembers how he wanted nothing more than to wrap an arm around him and tell him it would all be okay.

He thinks back to the way in which he couldn’t stop staring at Eddie's hands when Eddie was working on starting the motor of the Winnebago. He thinks back to Eddie telling him all about the Munson family name; Eddie calling him big boy with a huge grin on his face; Eddie jumping up from his seat and trusting him enough to let him take the wheel; Eddie cheering behind him like they were going for a rollercoaster ride instead of stealing someone’s house...

He thinks back to the fluttering he felt in his stomach when he watched Eddie mess around with Dustin in the fields; a tiny spark of happiness while they were getting ready for what could be the end of the world as they knew it.

But most of all, he thinks back to the last time he heard Eddie's voice.

Steve? A beat of silence as he turned around, Eddie's eyes piercing into his own. Make him pay.

All he had done was nod. He should've said it, back then. He thought he'd have more time. He'd only just met Eddie, after all. Surely they'd get the opportunity to figure their shit out at their own pace, after the battle would be over.

Don't try be a hero, was the only goodbye he had said to him.

We are not heroes, Eddie had promised him.

“Then why the hell did you do that?” His voice is trembling; Eddie’s hand feels cold in his own. “I liked you better when you weren't a hero, you know.”

He tightens his grip on Eddie's hand, allows himself to imagine that Eddie squeezes back.

“Me too, big boy.”

Steve's eyes snap back to Eddie's face. For a moment, he isn't sure if it's real or if his sleep deprived brain has started full-on hallucinating at this point. But it has to be true; there's no way he could hallucinate those big brown eyes so perfectly, even though they're dazed and glossed-over.

“Was definitely less painful.” Eddie's breathing sounds erratic and his grin looks anything but reassuring, but he's here. He’s alive. He woke up.

They got more time after all. He’ll get to hear everything Steve wanted to tell him. And there's no way Steve is gonna waste another precious second.

[starshideurfics]

Tasty Tuesday - Ring my bell, part two

part one

steddie, omegaverse, flagging/signaling culture, nsfw, mdni 🔞

Eddie’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating. Or maybe Rick lucked into a better strain of weed this month, because that’s the only explanation he has for what is happening right now.

The only explanation for why Steve Harrington is gently holding Eddie’s head and guiding his face towards the omega’s crotch. 

He’s about to ask what’s happening—the dumbest question ever, Steve asked what he smells like, called Eddie on his stupid alpha bravado—and takes a breath.

Cherry pie and sweet cream floods his nose, and Eddie growls, surging forward to get closer to the scent, to the source. He presses up against Steve, the denim under his cheek hot and damp.

Steve chuckles, warm and sweet like his scent, fingers rubbing little circles over his scalp. “So what is it, mushroom pig? How do I smell?”

Tongue heavy, Eddie nuzzles deeper against Steve’s crotch, his hands coming up to hold tight to Steve’s hips. He moans, open-mouthed to huff that perfect cherry scent at the same time.

“Huh, Piggy? What do you smell?”

“Mine,” Eddie whines, high and needy, pressing his nose into Steve’s hardening little cock. “Perfect omega.”

“Eddie…” Steve gasps, his hips bucking towards his open mouth.

“Please, Steve… Need a taste. Need you.”

“Yeah, uh-huh,” Steve moans, holding Eddie tight in place, then realizing that he needs space to pull down his pants to free his hot pussy, and removes his fingers from Eddie’s hair.

Eddie leans back, watching as Steve undoes his fly, revealing a simple pair of white cotton panties, a tiny pink bow at the waistband and a wet spot seeping up from the gusset with a smaller one at the center front from his dick.

Another growl escapes Eddie’s throat as he holds himself back from diving into Steve’s core before it’s been unwrapped for him. Steve must sense his urgency, tugging everything down, managing to kick one leg free of his jeans and spreading his legs wide in invitation.

Eddie hasn’t been this up close and personal with a pussy in his life (he does not count being born, that’s his mom, PERVS), and to have *this pussy* before him, red and glistening with slick, smelling like tart cherries and buttery pastry… He doesn’t simply want to taste it, he *needs* to taste it.

He doesn’t think, lets instinct take over as he goes back in, licking and slurping at Steve’s pussy lips, bracketed by the soft skin of his inner thighs. There’s no finesse to his movements, his only goal to touch and taste and swallow down as much as he can.

But he must be doing something right, because Steve moans, his fingers sliding back into Eddie’s hair. The alpha preens, gets sloppier in his enthusiasm, only for Steve to pull him back by his hair and growl, “Watch your teeth. Don’t care how good it tastes, no biting.”

“Sorry,” Eddie whines, pulling at Steve’s grip on him, wanting to get back to making him feel good, to being good for the omega. He tucks his face into the crease of Steve’s thigh, brings a hand up to carefully pet over his neatly groomed bush, and murmurs, “Tell me what to do. Taste so good, wanna be good.”Eddie can feel the drool escaping from the corner of his mouth, and he doesn’t bother to wipe it.

Steve’s grip on his hair relaxes. “Like I said, watch your teeth. When you’ve got more experience maybe you can use them, but not now. Just start with your tongue. Licking anywhere is good, and you can use your fingers.” 

Eddie does as he’s told, licking at Steve, paying attention to his dick as he gently pushes one finger inside Steve, moving it around to see how the omega reacts. 

“Good job, Puppy,” Steve says, voice breathier than before. “Now I want you to crook your finger and slide right… There.” His breath catches, choking on the word as Eddie complies, stroking Steve from the inside. “Okay, get my cock in your mouth, and suck.”

He sucks, adding a swirl of his tongue around the sensitive head because he at least knows what feels good when he’s jerking off, his finger still moving inside, until Steve shudders, slick coating Eddie’s chin.

Eddie is so hard in his jeans, the taste of sweet slick, the pride in making his omega come, it only takes a few seconds of rutting against the floor of his van to cream his pants with a groan. Then, much to his surprise, Steve guides Eddie up to face him, his pupils blown wide in his pretty hazel eyes, and brings their lips together in a wet, hot kiss.

The kiss is more than Eddie’s ever done before, Steve’s tongue licking at him, the omega sucking on his upper lip.

“Not bad for your first time, Munson,” Steve murmurs when they break apart.

Instead of denying his lack of experience, Eddie noses his way down to Steve’s neck, drops a messy kiss on the side and says, “Really?”

“Yep,” Steve says with a little hum. “Gonna get you trained up real good. Have you eating this pussy like a champ.”

“Good.” Eddie scrapes his teeth against Steve’s neck, a little frustrated at his lack of scent there. He’s tired, kinda wants to kiss Steve some more.

Mostly he wants more of Steve’s scent, so he squirms his way down to rest in Steve’s lap, deeply breathing his heavenly scent.

“You never told me what I smell like,” Steve adds with a laugh.

“Cherry pie,” Eddie mumbles. “My favorite dessert.”

30 minutes ago, Eddie would have said his favorite pie was apple. Now, he’s pretty sure he’ll never eat apple pie again.

part 3