#i'm all for self-indulgence and comfort

[blindmagdalena]

Heeyy a bit of a self indulgent ask here but I had a phobia/trauma trigger today and it caused me to have a messy sobbing panic attack. Do you have anything on how Homelander would deal with his s/o having a panic attack like that? almost completely inconsolable. I know this is self serving and indulgent and I’m sorry for over sharing homelander is a comfort character for me and you write him exquisitely. If you’re not comfortable with this just ignore

Homelander was sixteen when he had his first panic attack. He'd flown further and faster away than he'd ever had the freedom to and collapsed in a dense woodland, sobbing and rocking his body against the cool forest floor.

He'd pulled his hair so hard it should have come loose, grit his teeth so tightly they should have cracked, and choked so badly on his own constricting throat that it should have caved in.

They didn't. He's invulnerable, after all. As solid as marble.

It was the first attack, but not the last.

That's how he recognizes it so quickly in you.

"Hey," he says, ears attuned to the rabbit-like pound of your heart. "Heyy, hey, it's okay. I'm right here, you see me? Hey." He's only just found you, he doesn't know yet what your trigger was, but he can ascertain that later.

Your staccato breaths and sharp sobs, the sea salt smell of tears streaking your cheeks, are nearly enough to rouse his own panic by proxy. He needs it to stop. He needs you to stop. He cares about you too much for you to scare him like this.

"Hey, you hear me?" He asks, cupping either side of your face. You can't answer through it. Your tongue is gnarled with panic and you're sobbing so hard he fears you'll choke yourself on it. He's not even sure you see him.

He takes you into his arms, one moving smoothly around your waist while the other cups the back of your head. He holds gently at first, grip gradually tightening, compressing your body against his in the hopes that the hammer of your heart will meet and match the steady beat of his own.

"Sssshhhhhhh," he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take from you the weight of your own body.

"I've got you. Whatever it is, it's okay. It's okay. I've got you. M'gonna take care of it, alright? Ssshh," he says, rocking you the same way he used to rock himself in the corner of the bad room, soothing himself with the thump of his own skull against those sterile white walls.

He knows it's working when you slip your arms around him in turn. He continues to hush you, whispering more honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I'm here. You're safe. I love you.

It's everything he can think that he always wanted to hear in these moments of raw, horrifically human weakness.

Eventually, your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder in his ears, still convinced that the danger hasn't yet vanished. He tries not to take that personally and scoops you up the rest of the way into his arms.

"That's it, just like that," he coos, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. "Breathe. Breathe. Good... Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly," he tells you, sharing the greatest comfort he's ever known. His only real escape has always been his weightlessness, the ability to shed gravity at will. He uses his strength in an attempt to share even a sliver of that sense of freedom with you.

Maybe it works, maybe it doesn't. All he knows is that your heart starts to slow alongside the flow of your tears. He kisses your wet cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your forehead. He whispers praise and love with each one, voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry," you choke out. He's appalled that would be your first instinct.

"Don't," he says firmly, though his voice is still low. "Don't. I can carry it for you. Carry you. What's the point of super strength otherwise?" He murmurs, a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

You almost smile back, and that's enough for him. He kisses the crease between your brows until it smooths, and the highs of your cheeks until the tears dry up, and your lips until they're ready to speak again.

He'll hold you for as long as it takes your body to realize the threat was only ever in your mind, and that there isn't a thing in this goddamn world he would ever let hurt you.

[arttsuka]

[jojo-schmo]

Just Admit It- Part 1

I've been playing around with possible friendship dynamics of the Beast Council for fun!! I love imagining what kind of childhood they could have in the Forgotten Land all together.

What if Carol and Sillydillo are the fun-loving extroverts? Leon is the introverted one who's been smitten by Carol for a really really long time but he's too shy about it? And Gori is the friend who is an excellent observer and will bluntly tell you what he thinks (and maybe has a tendency to get grumpy when things aren't easily going his way).

Somewhat of a prequel to this other doodle comic about Leon and Carol- everyone here is still a kid ^_^

Part 2

[ferronickel]

To celebrate getting 100,000 page views on the Looking Glasses website I'll be doing a livestream on twitch this Saturday at 3:00 PM EST/ 7:00 PM GMT. I'll be answering questions and drawing some sketch requests. There'll be a VOD after the fact, so if you can't make it, feel free to send me your questions or simple doodle requests as asks or replies to this post and I'll get around to them in the video if there's time.

Hope to see you there!

twitch.tv/ferronickel_art

[javierduffy]

went back to comfort zone and ... got stuck there

[desi-yearning]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: มิตรภาพคราบศัตรู | High School Frenemy (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Saint Thamnithit/Shin Naruebet (High School Frenemy) Characters: Saint Thamnithit (High School Frenemy), Shin Naruebet (High School Frenemy) Additional Tags: fluffuary2025, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Love Confessions, Late Night Conversations, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Mutual Pining, Fluff and Humor, Attempt at Humor, and more tags that i can't think of at the moment Summary:

Shin’s heart melts looking at the sincerity in Saint’s eyes and all his doubts slowly dissipate. If Saint is saying that he is in love with him, then it must be the truth. Neither of them was ever able to lie to each other without making it obvious. And thus Shin dares to hope once again. Maybe they do have a chance, maybe this is all worth a shot.

[sixhumansouls]

Ralsei rambles

Sorry I'm a little obsessed but let me get into a collection of just. Random unorganized thoughts here for fun

So one of the first things we learn about Ralsei is that he's been waiting his whole life to meet Kris and Susie. I'm not going to completely deny the possibility that he's lying about any given thing here (we don't know for sure yet) but for the sake of this post I'll assume he's being honest because I don't think he's an evil liar and that's not how I'm looking at his character right now. So right off the bat- he's been waiting his whole life, in that castle, presumably not talking to people (the great door was closed, he seems very inexperienced in social situations, he's never hugged anyone before, he's never had friends before). So he's a very isolated, touch-starved person relying on a prophecy as his one hope in life.

The legend describes himself being some sort of hero, along with two companions. Before even meeting Kris and Susie, he wants to be friends with them, because he knows they will be heroes and he knows he will meet them and those are some of the only things he knows at all.

His mindset is also very "lightners are like gods, darkners are just objects", which isn't something exclusive to him and I am very curious how the narrative will explore that, I can't imagine it'll stay that way throughout the game (at least not in an all recruits route). Either way, this means he puts the other heroes above himself. You see a lot in chapter one this sort of worship for Kris ("if you ARE jealous, I could find a leaf and fan you!" "I could hem floral patterns into your ascot!"). It's especially with Lightners, but generally I think he is very desperate for validation which is pretty obvious because He's Never Had It Before and he wants to know he's doing things Right.

Also talking about this I am getting vague thoughts of his low self worth sort of being reflected in his stats, his defence and health are very bad and he's most useful to use as a tool to heal the other party members. Kind of interesting.

We don't know what object he is in the light world, but we do know that as a darkner he is a literal object (or I guess some darkners in cyber world are programs so maybe it doesn't have to be something physical? idk but he's probably an object and if not he's still not what we'd traditionally view as a person when not in the dark world) and I think that very much relates to how he views himself. When he says he doesn't know what "being Ralsei-like" means, I think it's in part because he's not used to viewing himself as a person. He is some sort of object, he is a hero in a prophecy already laid out before him, and he is the prince that lives alone in an empty castle. He doesn't have much perception of himself outside of these sort of roles he's been filling out.

I talked about this in my "puppet scarf" fic, but I think Ralsei is a puppet as well. Not as literally as Kris, of course. I think his metaphorical strings are the prophecy, and he's so set in his role that he can't even consider breaking away from it. And, until he does, I think he'll have a hard time finding himself, because he needs to have an identity outside of what's expected of him and right now he doesn't really. I think Susie will almost inevitably help with that, because she's sort of the opposite. She's nothing like what he expected and she's constantly breaking rules and expectations. I think that if anyone could teach Ralsei to be more independent and to break away from his current mindset and perceptions, it would be her.

And she's already started. She's taught him sarcasm, she taught him that a friend isn't necessarily a kind person and that she's great the way she is, she demonstrated that (while breaking away from the team and attacking enemies wasn't necessarily ideal) she was able to find belonging and friendship in that through Lancer. Lancer himself, as far as we've seen, is barely in the prophecy, so him becoming so important was probably unexpected to Ralsei- things are already somewhat diverging from the story laid out before him.

(Super irrelevant side note- Susie says in chapter 2 that she taught Ralsei sarcasm, presumably while the team was split up at the crossroads, but Ralsei actually uses sarcasm in chapter 1 independently from her. When in prison, he says "well this is a fine 'how do you do', isn't it Kris?" and I HIGHLY doubt that that was genuine so.)

Susie and Ralsei's friendship will definitely be an important one. It's harder to speak on him and Kris because we just don't know how Kris feels about him exactly. He clearly resembles a Dreemurr (to the player he most closely resembles Asriel, but we don't yet know how Asriel currently looks in this game and I don't believe any character has directly compared the two out loud yet? Their names are anagrams, but I think all there's been so far is Susie saying he looks like Toriel and Noelle saying "he looks kinda like" before being cut off. Anyway) , and I imagine that probably makes their relationship awkward considering Kris is currently really missing their brother. We don't know how much Kris might know about dark worlds independently of the player, they did have that save point prior to the game, but I doubt they know much more about Ralsei than we do other than maybe something from those brief moments they have alone with him while we're off with Susie.

Other than the resemblance to their brother, we kind of just have the tea to go off of, which gives me the impression that they feel neutral about him. Still heals them, but not as much as other teas. Ralsei and Noelle's teas heal each other just a bit less than Ralsei does for Kris, and I imagine Ralsei and Noelle are about as neutral feeling towards each other as you can get since they Don't Know Each Other, so it being a bit more is probably a good sign? Obviously both Susie tea and Kris tea heal Ralsei a lot those are his best and only friends and he loves them so so so much

I'm not much of a theorizer so overall my thoughts are: Kris feels pretty neutral towards Ralsei. They probably think it's weird that he looks like their brother and there may be context we don't have with their conversations away from the player. Considering that I don't think he has bad intentions, I doubt Kris thinks that either because where would they get that idea if there's nothing to imply it, so I don't think they actively dislike or distrust him. In Puppet Scarf I had them be upset at him for not helping with their soul but they don't hate him there they're just kind of annoyed that he won't even try to help them because he thinks it's all destiny ANYWAY THIS ISN'T ABOUT MY FIC

I do very much like his friendship with Lancer. I've explored it a bit in my fic "uncertainty" and it's certainly a dynamic I think about a lot, I might write another fic about them at some point. As I mentioned earlier Lancer wasn't really in the prophecy beyond "that one teardrop headed kid who's just there to represent darkners" and prior to the game Ralsei's perception of him is probably mostly just "this guy is the king's son and works for the king and therefore is working against us". So Ralsei had like no intention of being his friend because if anything they'd probably be enemies. And yet….

Ralsei I don't think has it in him to be mean just in general- he's not even mean to the King even though he really should be. And Lancer isn't very good at being mean either, considering the way he "insults" Ralsei tends to just be weirdly phrased compliments? ("Kindboy" "Delicious little apple" "sweet little peas we love to see" "earn a second doctorate smart genius"). They both can't help but be nice to each other and through Susie being their mutual friend it's sort of inevitable that they become somewhat unlikely friends. They come from completely different mindsets, Ralsei obviously being super dedicated to the prophecy while Lancer was completely dedicated to his dad and the fountain before meeting Susie (and still probably doesn't care about the prophecy itself, moreso about his friends in particular) but they're both like. Yeah of course they'd be friends anyway.

Also they're both princes which always seemed significant to me. Like we're drawing attention to a parallel. Although I guess now Lancer's a king but shhh. Also neither of them know how to run a kingdom who left these kids in charge

Anyway um. I like Ralsei a normal amount clearly. Very excited to see where his arc is going I hope he finds the journey of self discovery fulfilling and I hope he finds freedom from the roles he's been assigned

[buttercup-barf]

Under the cut are mostly self-insert doodles of decreasing quality. Again, not much directly tied to Team Fortress 2. Might as well toss these out while I have no access to my puter. Much yapping under the cut and in the tags incoming.

Another self-insert, this time less of a "here's me as a tenth class" and more of a "here's my game experiences translated into the class I would take the place of". The Cleaner. Although I guess they could still be wearing either suit. It doesn't matter that much.

That one Convict's Case taunt with Backup would be extremely funny, because the man would be on the verge of a breakdown (he does not want to go to jail so bad you have no idea). The second image- I owe no explanation. You know what I am. You see the pattern with my favourites.

The duality of the man. Resting face versus "just heard you express interest in religion/Russian folklore" face. He's not that hard to make friends with, when you pull him away from all the explosions.

Some doodles of trying to figure his face out. Unfortunately, the more I stare at him, the more I worry that he looks like A Certain Guy With The Last Name "Kazarin", and the fear of never being original in my life caught up to me.

Don't look at me, don't perceive me, I refuse to explain any of my actions to you.

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

/ mildly spicy art under the cut! --- sacredshipping ❤️‍🔥

clingy ghost types. 💕

[artheresy]

Changed my mind, deleted my post, I've decided to abandon the self doubt and ascend to fully realized self indulgence with my Yingxing fic

In the end I'm first and foremost writing this fic for Me. I can include the hcs I want, all the comfort ideas that I want, and whatever else I want to plan!

I can't doubt myself, I must simply be like Yingxing and embrace his attitude to do as I please with confident to rival even the High Elder

[kamen-fox-258]

how self indulgent can i get with my geats ar world before people start getting annoyed /hj

[akechis-special-case]

I never talked about this but I do have my little self indulgent headcanons for Akechi. I acknowledge that not being canon but I want to share it anyway - Akechi is bigender in my head. Or at least somewhat fluid with his gender. Hear me out why I like to think that...

So basically look at him for a moment. Look and tell me that he doesn't look at least a little feminine.

I'm not saying that he looks like a woman, no. That's foolish to assume. You can still clearly say that he's a guy. I just mean that he looks as if he has a feminine touch to his appearance. This is probably due to him being desgined to look like one of those 'pretty anime guys' but it still sticks out to me.

I headcanon it that Goro chooses to look like this - Still a guy, clearly, because he cannot be open about this. Yet he makes himself look like that on purpose, to be in touch with his more feminine feeling side. Therefore he watches his entire appearance - Hair, figure, skin, etc. Not just that but to keep his pitch I imagine that he practices his voice to never become too deep.

Essentially he strives for the balance, just enough to not arise suspicion that he may not be identifying just as a guy. Yet he also wants to still feel comfortable in his skin. He doesn't need anyone else to know, hence why he doesn't mind not being open about this. For him it's most important to feel comfortable with at least one aspect of his life and express himself.

Also when mentioning his 2nd Persona, Loki. This post has the screenshot I am referencing. Long story short, it points out that Loki in Norse mythology can also appear as a woman.

I like to think for this headcanon that a part of this reflects Goro's own identity. While I say bigender I could also see some fluidity, his mood shifting. Feeling more masculine or feminine depends. It doesn't influence interests and personality in any way, it is just a personal feeling deep down. Also I want to emphasize that you don't need to be 'traditionally masculine or feminine' to feel a certain way about your gender. It depends on what you feel most comfortable with!

Also I feel attracted to him. That's enough proof for at least having feminine traits. /j

Bonus: I like to think that he would be fine with he/him and she/her respectively. I would use both interchangeably but I don't know if it would become confusing. Besides, I fully acknowledge that this is a headcanon and by no means canon in any way! Just some self indulgence on my part. Canoncially Goro is male. The bigender thing is mainly coming from my own self indulgence.

Also it is kinda funny to think about being every flavor (since I identify as genderfluid). In the end it wouldn't matter to us though. We love each other and that's that. No need to shove our relationship under a label. Though it would be funny confusing people with this.

Ok ramble done. Sorry for taking up your time like that. Back to the usual program.

[moe-broey]

Oh. Huh.

[tiramissyoucake]

Self indulgent post, Mark being down bad

You were thankful you decided to stay home today, the storm was unrelenting outside as rain pattered down against surfaces like bullets, thunder and lightening exploding amidst the wind and rain. As ominous as it was, taking safety measures and remaining inside comforted you, you followed procedure, anything else is out of your hands.

A warm mug next to you as your favorite blanket draped over your legs, your laptop dimly playing videos of varying types. Everything was fully charged, your phone next to you, quiet as a mouse. You weren't going to move for a while...

A knock on the front door quickly stopped your train of thought, all appreciation dissipating.

Holding back a groan, you got up from the couch, adjusting your clothes as you made a beeline for the door— peephole be damned, who's crazy enough to be out in this weather?

Swinging the door open, you look up to a messy head of sopping wet black hair. You almost didn't recognize Mark since his hair is always out of his face. His eyes were swollen, and his lips tugged into a cross between a frown and a pout. This is the first time you've seen him since your break-up about a month ago.

"... Mark?"

"... Hi." He sounded glad, like he didn't expect you to answer. "... c-can I come in? I just- I need to talk to you, like REALLY need to."

"No." Your answer may have been cold, but your relationship ended on bad terms. "Go home, it's thundering outside."

His heart plummeted to his stomach seeing you close the door, his hand quickly reaching out as well as his foot to keep it open. "Wait— please. (Name), hear me out. Just hear me out and I'll go, I swear." His voice almost cracked as he begged you.

"Mark, it's over. I gave you back all your stuff and deleted your number, just move on—"

"I can't." He whimpered, "please, don't make me do this— I can't find anyone else like you." He sighed, unsure if it was shaky from the cold or the sob bubbling in his throat. "Don't leave me, please- just hear me out."

You grimaced, the door opening further by his hand. "(Name), you don't have to respond now, but please just... don't do this." Mark approached you, clothes soaked through his coat and hands hesitant to touch you. "I-I can't stop thinking about you, please baby—"

You looked away, wincing at the nickname. "I told you not to call me that."

"I'll call you whatever you want— fuck, (name), please—" you heard a thud, glancing back to him you found him on his knees, his arms caging around your legs. "Don't leave me, please- need you so bad.." he sniffled, a choked sob escaping him.

His rambling continued as he rubbed his cheek against your body. You're now mortified as your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself. "Mark. Get up. My neighbours will see—"

"Let them, I don't care." He huffed, the tears and sobbing returning tenfold. "Just take me back— I-I'll be good, I promise." Mark looked up at you with glossy eyes, the pink undertones of his skin now more evident from both the cold and the crying. "Please baby, lemme be your good boy again..! I'll be the best, I promise. I love you so much..!"

Your other hand landed on his head by mistake, he almost moaned at the feeling of you touching him in a way that slightly resembled affection, leaning up to your hand. "I know deep down you still love me too.." he huffed, that sentence was such a gamble.

"Let me in, let me show you how much I love you." He kissed your body wherever he could reach, causing you to yelp. "Mark!! What the hell?! I'm serious! Stop it!"

With renewed vigour, he looked up at you. "I'll stop when you let me in... please, baby.. it's so cold outside..."

[pencil-n-pen]

I WANT AN INNOCENT LOVE

.☘︎ ݁˖

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alexandria! rick grimes x fawn! fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

summary: you’re a new addition to alexandria. Rick’s just looking out for his group. That’s the only reason he finds himself drawn to you. Nothing else.

cw: LEGAL age gap (it is big, i imagine reader in her early 20s) canon typical depictions of violence, Rick is kinda mean to reader at first, Rick kind of struggles with the age gap a little, dom! Rick, slight possessive rick

tags/tropes: shy and skittish reader, she’s not used to dealing with people but she’s not helpless, honestly she’s just a sweet and soft person who became what everyone becomes in the apocalypse, hurt/comfort, insecurity, touch-starved reader a bit, YEARNING, no saviors or whisperers just Rick and everyone living happily in alexandria. Daryl is also here and he’s kind of like ur uncle bc i love daryl and i say so

a/n: i have nothing to say other than this is so insanely self indulgent it’s not even funny. nobody asked for this but writing it has kept me sane while i’m couch ridden. everything is terrible rn but rick grimes <3333

songs i listened to while writing: We'll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross, Work Song by Hozier (Rick's theme song) you were mine by Esha Tewari, Do I Wanna Know- Hozier's Cover, Somethin' Stupid by Nancy & Frank Cinatra, Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley (i'm so not normal about that entire album) Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers, Little Bit by Lykke Li (the original not the remix)

title taken from Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers

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₊ ⊹❀

You were just a little thing when you showed up at the gates.

All wide-eyed and skittish at the tree-line, clothes hanging awkwardly off your frame. Scuffed and dirty, when Rick goes up to the tower to scout you out.

You don’t quite come close enough for anyone to get any kind of information on you. Name, age, where you’ve been, what you’re doing at the gates.

These are all questions Rick, as leader, needs answers to.

If he could just convince you to get close enough.

Under different circumstances, he’d just let you do whatever it is you’re planning on doing, but the lurking is starting to make people uneasy. And he figured he ought to do something to ease their concerns. Easiest way is to either get you inside the walls or find answers to those questions.

You’re real good at staying out of reach, though. And you never stay in one place for long. By the time two weeks have gone by, you’ve made it around the entire length of the walls. Just to end up right where you started: the gates.

It’s just past the crack of dawn- dew is still lingering on the plants and grass and the sun’s rays have yet to actually provide warmth. Rick is up, making his rounds and checking in when one of the guards on rotation lets him know that you’re at the gates. Only time you’ve ever been that close.

So they’re opened, and you amble in— light-footed and unsure. Honestly, you remind him a bit of Daryl with your obvious hesitance to be in the company of other people and clear inclination towards nature. But where Daryl is hard edges and reclusiveness, you’re… softer.

A small group of people —curious onlookers, mostly— forms behind Rick as he saunters towards you, and he watches the moment you see the reality of your decision and begin to regret it.

He comes to a stop a few feet away from you, letting the silence hang in the air for a bit.

He finally takes you in with his own two eyes, without the aid of the binoculars, and he examines. Catalogs the nervous twitch of your hands and scuffs and scrapes he can see on the visible scraps of skin. Eyes the way you worry your lip between your teeth and can’t decide if you’re going to keep staring at him or look away- your mind clearly torn between vigilance and submission.

“You finish your tour of Alexandria?” He asks dryly.

You blink up at him, eyes wide. “Are you the leader of this safe-zone?”

He nods. “Sure am.”

You begin fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. The small motion draws his attention back to your hands, where me notices bandaids practically covering the entire surface of your skin. He files the information away in his head for later.

“Are you currently accepting new members?”

He can’t help but crack a smile at your question. The way you phrase it and your nervous demeanor remind him so much of the times before the dead started walking— you look like a college student looking for a job, not somebody trying to find refuge here, after the end of the world.

“Depends,” He rests his hands on his hips, and he notes the way your eyes dart to the gun at his side before back up to him, “You got any skills to offer? You alone? Or do you got a group waitin’ for you?”

Your lip is raw from where you release it from your teeth.

“I’m really good at mending. I’m a proficient hunter. I can hold my own in a fight. And I’m alone.”

At the admittance of your lack of company, you shift back a few steps, a subtle re-distribution of weight.

Ain’t been socialized a whole bunch, Rick thinks to himself. He’s willing to bet you either don’t have a lot of positive experiences with large groups of people or you just plain ain’t been around em’ much.

He hums. “You killed anybody?”

“Walkers or live?”

“Either.”

You shift your shoulders. He’s starting to wonder just how many nervous actions you have.

“I don’t think anybody lives alone who hasn’t killed walkers.”

“And the living?”

You don’t move, but your eyes look to the ground, not at him.

Shame. Fear.

“Twice.”

“How come?”

“They wanted my supplies. Wanted me dead. I decided I didn’t want to die.”

He looks you over again. You really are a cute little thing. He thinks, absentmindedly in the back of his head, that something like you shouldn’t have bloody, bandaid covered hands. Shouldn’t have a kill count.

But he dismisses the thought. The end of the world leaves no room for those unwilling to do what’s necessary.

He dips his head. “We’ll get you settled in,” He jerks his head to the some of the guys behind him. “They’ll get you sorted out. Get along, now.”

You slink past him, distance carefully measured as you go.

Your eyes don’t quite leave him, though. There’s a moment- either you pause or his mind slows. Maybe a bit of both. But the air stills, and your gaze locks on him for the first time since he saw you, nestled in that tree line. The memory is clear and vivid- the sun shining through the trees, dappling you in shades of amber and grey. And then he’s here, and you’re looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and the sun has risen just enough that it casts a similar glow, the only difference now he can see up close just how the light catches on your face, just how he knows your features would look so different, so much softer if you were cleaned, if someone minded the cuts and scrapes.

And then you step away, and he snaps out of his reverie. He blinks a few times at your retreating form, shakes his head, and then busy’s himself with other work. There’s always something to be done.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get the image of you gazing up at him, bathed in the early morning sun out of his mind.

—

A few days pass, and Rick sees little of you. He’s almost positive it’s on purpose. The few times he does see you, you look scared. And then, generally, you manage to make some sort of fleet-footed escape. The repeated spotting and fleeing reminds him of the time he accompanied Daryl on a hunt and startled a doe.

He can’t quite figure out why you’re afraid of him, though. He remembers being fairly decent to you when you arrived, and tried coaxing you towards the gates politely before you’d shown up on your own.

The sight of your scared expression ends up stuck fast in his head, usually super-imposed over the image of you on that morning at the gates. Two different versions of you, neither making any sort of sense.

He decides that it’s probably best that he stick away, if he scares you. You’ll settle, your ruffled feathers’ll smooth.

And he’ll stop thinking about you.

—

Neither do you settle or does he stop thinking about you.

He watches you from a distance, careful. You just… don’t relax. Ever. You creep away from every possible opportunity to connect with others like it might grow jaws and bite- you shrink back or freeze. Like you think if you play dead, if you don’t move, they’ll leave you alone.

He’s wondering what you hoped to accomplish by seeking refuge in Alexandria if this is how you act. You’re going to have a bad go of things if this is your plan. Or maybe you plain haven’t even thought that far.

He snags Daryl’s arm as he passes by.

“Wha—“

“The new girl,” Is all Rick says, still watching you remarkably avoid everyone who passes you. “She’s real skittish.”

Daryl follows his eyeline, finding you easy enough.

“Mm. She ain’t settlin’?”

“No.”

Daryl just hums again. “Well, she ain’t got nobody, does she?”

“So?”

The hunter shrugs. “Can’t relax. Ain’t got nobody to watch her back, take a watch. She’ll settle. Might take her a bit of time.”

Rick huffs. “She’s afraid of me.”

“No she ain’t,” Daryl snorts, “And since when does Rick Grimes care whether other people like him well enough?”

Rick doesn’t respond, just keeps watching you.

Daryl follows Rick’s gaze, then breathes out a low sigh.

“She is a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

“That is not what this is about.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Sure it’s not.“

“She’s half my age. I could damn well be her father.”

“But ya ain’t.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point, Rick?” Daryl sighs again, crossing his arms. “Either do something about it or move on. You got too many people dependin’ on ya for you to be eyeing up flighty young girls.”

Rick rolls his shoulders. “You make me out to be such a creep.”

The other man claps him on the shoulder. “Then stop acting like one.”

He attempts to take Daryl’s advice to heart. It’s an annoying truth that Daryl always knows exactly what Rick needs to hear. Not necessarily what he wants to hear, but what needs to be said.

And he is being creepy. He shakes his head as he walks away. Watching you, thinking about you. He can’t. That’s— you’re too young to be thinking any kind of thing like that.

No matter how there’s this half second, before you look scared, where you almost look relieved. No matter how he wants to personally take care of the bumps and scrapes on your face, wants to take off the bandaids and examine what’s beneath them.

Daryl was right. He needs to focus. Carl, Judith, everyone- they need him.

You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

—

You’ve gone missing.

Rick has been doing his best to heed Daryl’s advice— he stopped looking for you in the crowds, stopped trying to figure you out, stopped watching you from afar. He even made a fairly decent attempt to stop thinking about you. Not that the effort proves especially fruitful, but he tried, damnit.

All of those efforts go straight out the window when Daryl tells him that no one’s seen you since yesterday.

It takes him two seconds to grab his gun and follow Daryl out the door.

He barely remembers to tell Carl where he’s going, which scares him, because he doesn’t quite understand what’s been so invasive to his mind and day-to-day activities about you. Your eyes, the soft curve of your cheek, how you might feel in his hands.

They cloud his judgment. Make him do stupid reckless things like search Alexandria high and low for any sign of you.

He doesn’t find any. He searches the place you’re staying— nothing. Only sign of life is the unmade bed and bandaid wrappers in the trashcan by the bed.

He sighs deep and low as he stands over your bed. “Think she had enough? High-tailed it?”

Daryl leans against the doorway. “Nah. She likes it here well enough. She ain’t stupid enough to leave a good thing like this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken to her?”

Daryl shrugs. “Few times. She don’t like talkin’ too much, but I think she figures her and I similar.”

“She wrong?”

He scratches his beard. “A little. She fears situations and people the way a prey animal does. S’ why she’s a runner.”

Rick mulls Daryl’s words over as they scan the rest of the place but, of course, find nothing. There are no signs that you, specifically, live here. Nothing personal. Just the unmade bed and the bandaid wrappers in the trashcan.

The pair of them turn the entirety of Alexandria over in a matter of hours. He’s just about to call it quits, either wait for you to come back or send out a search in the morning when Daryl comes back over, telling him you’re at the gates.

As in, outside of them.

Opposite of how things went when you first showed up at the gates, people clear a path as he stalks towards you. They give the pair of you a nice, wide bubble. Even Daryl stays a few feet behind him.

The first thing he notices is that you’re covered in blood. From the way you’re holding yourself, most of it isn’t your own. There’s a backpack slung over your shoulder, but it’s not your usual one.

You won’t meet his eyes.

He stops an arms length away from you. “Where the hell were you?”

You shift backwards, away from him ever so slightly. “Scavenging.”

“Mhm, interestin’,” He says, rubbing his jaw, “Because the last scavenging party was yesterday. And you came back with everybody, so I’ll ask again. Where were you.”

Your eyes flick up from the ground for a moment, eying the people that have gathered to stare. He watches you mentally count them all, then attempt to put more distance between yourself and everybody else. Emphasis on attempt, because the second you take a step back, you stumble, wincing before righting yourself and going right back to scanning the crowd.

He works his jaw, anger and annoyance simmering just under the surface of his skin. He’s not going to get anything out of you here.

He grabs your wrist and turns, set in the direction of the medics.

He drags you along behind him, ignoring the little huffs or sharp intakes of pain when you walk a little too hard or too fast on your bad ankle.

You trip a few times as you go, and when you almost take Rick down with you, he sighs, pausing and turning.

The expression you give him is full of fear. He realizes, in the moment, that you might not remember where the medics are, so as far as you know, he’s angry at you and dragging you to a secluded area.

Guilt strikes him hard and fast, right in his chest.

Damn.

It’s too early to feel guilty about the random girl he allowed into Alexandria. Frightened eyes and shy nature aside.

He shakes his head once. “We’re going to see a doctor. Here, put your arm around me.”

He has to lower himself a little for you to drape your arm across the back of his neck. Your fingertips brush his shoulder, and he can feel the way you’re shaking.

It’s slow going from then on, with Rick acting as your crutches.

“Where were you? And don’t bullshit me.”

“Scavenging.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” You nudge the backpack still strapped to your back. “I was… looking for something. I can’t look for it with the others.”

“What the hell is it that you can’t look for it with the others?”

“A body.”

Your response hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

“…Family or friend?”

“Friend. Haven’t found her yet.”

Something clicks into place in his mental file about you. He feels like he just gained a new piece of the puzzle.

He readjusts your weight over his shoulder, tucking you a little closer and steadfastly pretending he doesn’t hear the little gasp you let out at the contact. Whether it was from pain or surprise, he can’t let himself think about it.

“Don’t go out by yourself. If you need to look, take Daryl with you.”

You sag a bit into him. “Okay.”

He glances down at you from the corner of his eye. You’re… pliant. You’d agreed quickly, and showed absolutely no fight or unwillingness when he, admittedly, manhandled you. You’d followed dutifully behind him and then simply allowed him to position your arms the way he wanted them.

There’s another little parasite that burrows into his brain right there. Right as he’s got you in his grip.

He slows to a stop, a little question forming in his head. He slips the arm that had been wrapped around your waist away, instead curls his fingers across your chin and jaw. He tilts your head up, looks down at your face, searching it for… something.

He meets no resistance. You only stare up at him, doe eyes blinking. He tilts your head to the left, then to right, and still, nothing.

Huh.

He lets go, and you shudder, a full body shiver. And he thinks, in this moment, that he could do whatever he wanted, and you might let him. He could break you, like this.

It’s a very dangerous thing, he decides. Because he doesn’t want to break you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to peel back the bandaids and see what’s under them. He wants to scrub the dirt from your face and give you soft clothes —his clothes— not those tattered rags that hang off your body.

You might let him do whatever he wants, but you’re the one who holds this power over him. You’re the one who made him sick— filled his head and clouded his judgement and made him the kind of man he never used to be.

But he can’t say any of that. Can’t even act on it. Not with someone young enough to be his daughter. He has a daughter for Christ’s sake. And a son.

So he just wraps his arm back around your waist and helps you to the medics.

—

“Rick,” Daryl says one afternoon, leaned on the post on the porch, “You’re drivin’ me crazy, here.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help with that.”

“The fawn.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The fawn?”

“You know. That nervous little thing you keep pretendin’ you don’t want in your bed.”

“Daryl.”

The man just keeps fiddling with his crossbow. “What?”

“I can’t just— she’s half my age.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I got kids to think about, and—“

“Carl don’t give a shit and Judith is ten. Only thing she’s concerned about is sneakin’ sweets.”

He entertains the notion in his head, thinks about what pursuing you might be like.

Something occurs to him.

“She ever get close to you?”

“No,” Daryl huffs, always knowing exactly what Rick means, “Keeps about an arm’s distance away. No matter what. She’s been inchin’ closer recently, but not by much.”

His hand on your face, moving it this way and that without any resistance at all, your body pliant in his grip—

“Hm,” Is all Rick says, crossing his arms.

“Why fawn?”

Daryl shrugs. “Looks like one. Kinda acts like one, around you.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Yes, she does. And based on the way you’ve been actin’, you like it.”

He opens his mouth to refute the point because no, he doesn’t like it, he just constantly thinks about how far he could take it, what you would let him do, if he could make you his.

And then he thinks ‘oh.’ Maybe he does like it.

He drops his hands to his hips. “What exactly am I supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know. Ain’t my area of expertise.”

“You’re the one who knows her better, said I was drivin’ you crazy.”

“So? I don’t know jack shit about romance, Rick.”

“Well, you keep calling her a fawn. How different can it be?”

Very different, his mind supplies. You know that.

Now it’s Daryl’s turn to sigh. “Don’t overwhelm her. She’s a nervous little thing, but she likes you. Once she figures out you ain’t gonna hurt her, she’ll latch on.”

“That’s specific. You deal with fawns a lot?”

He snorts. “No. I’m fuckin’ guessin’ here.”

The two men fall into silence, Daryl fiddling or cleaning his bow— Rick ain’t paying that much attention to him.

He’s thinking about you. You, you, you. Your eyes and your face and your hands and the figure you carefully keep hidden under layers of clothing, even under the hot Virginia sun.

Fawn, he thinks to himself.

Fitting.

—

He doesn’t make a plan or something stupid like that. He just thinks. And then he decides.

“You’re really coming with us?” Glenn asks, pack slung over his shoulder.

“Yep,” Rick says, holstering his gun, “Goin’ stir crazy in there. Just needa get out for a bit.”

You’re quiet as you get your things in order, but the group doesn’t bat an eye. They’re used to your silence, it seems.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, though. You look away every time you think he’s looking at you, but he’s good at looking at you out of the corner of his eye, so he sees it.

Throughout the run, you hover near him, never quite going out of range of his field of vision. He’s impressed by how quietly and efficiently you work- you spot things even he wouldn’t have. All the while watching for walkers, and of course, subtly eyeing Rick.

Despite being the leader, he heads up the back and watches for stragglers. He didn’t really come out cause he was stir-crazy, anyway.

He came out for you. He wanted to watch you work, wanted to do it with you.

To your credit, you work well with the others. You’re a woman of few words with them, but you help where you can and stay civil. Even if you don’t quite get close to any of them.

Except Rick.

As they’re scavenging an abandoned house, a few walkers shuffle out from the trees. Not enough to be a problem— the group outnumbers them easy. But you’re all busy getting supplies and he’s trying to keep an eye out, so he takes them out, one by one.

It really isn’t a huge thing for him, couple walkers ain’t really a big deal, but you notice.

Your eyes are trained on him, clothes now dirty with blood and gore.

He tilts his head, then makes his way over to you.

“You, um,” You say as he gets closer, voice a little hoarse, “Are you alright?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. It’ll take more than a few walkers to take me out.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He snorts a little laugh. “You ain’t too good at this whole conversation thing, huh?”

You flush, looking away. “Sorry. I’m just not… used to having them.”

You look up at him, earnest. “But I’ve been practicing!”

Oh, lord have mercy over his poor soul. You’ve done a full 180– turned from being afraid of him to very obviously wanting his approval.

“That’s good, that’s good. Who you been practicin’ with?”

“Daryl.”

“Now, that ain’t no good.”

You frown, shifting in place. “It’s not?”

“Well, it’s good that you’re tryin’,” He amends, “But Daryl ain’t good for conversation practicin’. He’s a little too much like you. Much too inclined to just sit in silence.”

“Oh.”

You pause, taking your lip between your teeth and mulling something over in your head.

“Would you, um.” You look up at him, clearly nervous.

And he can’t help himself really, from leaning down into your space a bit, a low “Hmm?” humming from his chest.

Your reaction is instant. This close, he can see the exact moment a flush crawls across your face, to even the tips of your ears.

And he’d suspected, you know, based on your behavior with him. But this— cold hard evidence that he makes you nervous. That you want him on you.

It’s cute. Real cute.

You steel yourself against your own nervousness, and he wants to coo at you.

“Would you practice with me?”

He leans back against the post, slides his hands into his pockets. “Course. Ain’t much to it.”

You smile. It’s small, a quiet sort of thing, but it’s there. He made you smile.

You gesture to the house behind you. “I’m. Gonna go back to scavenging. Um. Thanks.”

You turn on your heel, fleeing back into the house. He watches you go, something settling right into place in his chest.

You stick a little closer to him for the rest of the run.

—

After that day, you begin seeking him out. You don’t approach him right away, preferring to to trail behind him for a little bit before finally making a move.

The move being a quiet: “Hi, Rick.”

Today’s no different, other than it being a little later when you do find him. He’s taking a little stroll around, as is his usual. It… settles him, to see everything alright with his own two eyes.

Settles him even more when he hears the quiet patter of your footsteps behind him.

He chuckles. “Afternoon, darlin’.”

Your foot steps speed up, fall into step somewhat beside him. “Hi, Rick.”

“Hi,” He says, smile tugging at his lips. “How was your day?”

You clasp your hands behind your back as you walk. “Good. Weren’t many walkers on today’s run. I got something for Judith.”

“Oh? Let’s see it, then.”

You take something out of your pocket and hold it out to him.

It’s a pocket knife. One of those multi-tool ones.

And it’s pink.

“I know it’s a cliche, the girls knife being pink, and she is only ten, but I saw it and I thought of her, and—“

“It’s perfect,” He interrupts before you can start spiraling. “She’s gonna love it.”

You deflate almost instantly. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure.”

You walk for a few minutes before remembering the point of you coming up to him.

“Um. How was your day?”

He huffs a little, too fond to be upset. “Fairly decent. Ain’t got too much going on now.”

“That’s… good?”

He shrugs. “Just a little borin’. How’s that ankle of yours?”

This is usually how your conversations go. A few easy, back and forth questions. Easing you into talking to people, keeping conversations going. You’ve slowly gotten more confident. You talk a little longer, voice sounds a little more expressive.

“Fine.” You say, a little too quickly.

He narrows his eyes. “Really? No pain at all?”

It’s the looking away that sells it. You never look at him when you’re lying. Can’t stand to.

“No. It’s fine.”

He kicks his foot out a little, the toe of his boot just barely catching your ankle.

It’s a little more effective than he wanted. You let out a little yelp of pain and stumble forward, ankle almost immediately buckling.

He darts forward, catching you under the stomach with one arm.

You hang there a little, arms dangling.

“Fine, huh?” He hefts you up, so you’re back to standing upright, though now, visibly favoring your ankle. “So what’d the doctor tell you when I dropped you off?”

“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

“And which of those four have you been ignorin’?”

“…”

“Hey,” He says, tapping the side of your jaw with two fingers. “Don’t lie to me.”

“All of them,” You wince, “I just didn’t want to be useless. I can walk on it fine. You haven’t even noticed until now!”

Your voice goes a little high at the end, a little desperate.

He thinks about how animals that are lower on the food rung don’t show pain. A deer will break a leg and keep walking until it drops, till it slows too much and something picks it off.

But you ain’t an animal, and nothing’s gonna pick you off.

“That’s true,” He says, “But that don’t make it right. You’re just prolonging the healing process.”

You look down. “…You were mad. I didn’t want to make you more upset by being useless.”

Ah. So that’s what it’s all about.

His approval, once again.

“I’d rather have you useless for a week than useless forever because you didn’t rest properly,” He ignores the hypocrisy of it, the fact that he’s ignored medical advice more times than he can count.

“I really am fine, mostly,” You say meekly, “It’s stopped hurting when I walk. It’s just a little unstable.”

“I still want you taking it easy for a little, you hear me?”

You nod.

“Nah,” He moves, standing in front of you, more than a little in your personal space, “I wanna hear you say it. Use your words.”

It’s a little test of sorts. To see how you’ll respond. What you’ll say. If you’ll listen.

You swallow, eyelashes fluttering. “I hear you. I understand.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Take it easy.”

“That’s right,” You’ve been nice and obedient, so he figures you deserve a little reward. “Good girl.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your eyes get a little glassy.

Aw, that’s all you wanted. Just wanted to be someone’s good girl.

His good girl.

He nods towards your place. “Get along, now. Do I have to walk you to your door?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll go. I will. Uh— bye.”

He watches you scamper away, gait a little uneven, hands clenched at your sides.

I can get used to this.

—

It becomes a little thing, after that.

When you’re not busy with your own responsibilities, you’re usually with him. Either right beside him, or trailing a few feet behind. Your company is quiet and calm, like waves from a lake lapping gently at the shore.

You also begin to settle in with the rest of the group. You’re still more inclined to be near Rick or, if he’s not available, Daryl, but once you become comfortable talking with people, Maggie and Glenn are quickly added to your slowly growing roster of safe people.

Judith has loved you ever since she found out that you’re the one who gave her the most beloved pink pocket knife, and enjoys babbling and talking your ear off about nothing the way that ten year olds do.

Carl grows to appreciate your presence too, finding solace in the fact that you don’t feel the need to fill silence with conversation.

You still act different when Rick is around, though. Especially when it’s just the two of you.

With everybody else, you’re subtly but very strictly independent- despite growing close with the group, you still maintain a slight distance with most of them, and prefer doing things yourself, by yourself. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

But when you’re alone, just Rick and you, those hard edges soften, and your little personal bubble pops. He’s steadily growing obsessed with the change.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Having such a cute little thing follow him around, hanging off his words. Most days, it’s all he can do not to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to bed.

And then one day, he does. Kind of.

It must be the middle of the night, but the second he hears the knock at his door, he’s wide awake.

He hushes both Carl and Judith back to bed, then creeps to the front door with his hand on his gun. He has never, in his entire life, been awoken in the middle of the night to good news.

When he opens the door he sees you. And Daryl, but he’s really focused on you. You’ve got tears streaming down your face, you’re wearing a strange combination of sleep clothes and the clothes he’s seen you wear to do runs. Your boots are on, but not tied.

“Wha—“

“Caught her sneaking towards the gates, all shaken up. Figured it’d be wiser to take her here then back to her place.”

Daryl pats your head once. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Then Daryl’s gone, and you’re standing on Rick’s porch, still crying.

“Alright, come here now.”

He barely manages to get the door closed before you fall into him, face pressed to his chest and hands grasping the front of his shirt.

He hesitates for just a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

“Shh, shh. You’re alright, you’re alright now.”

He presses one hand to the nape of your neck, keeping you tucked close as you crack, just a little bit, nearly silent tears staining his shirt and tremors wracking your body.

Eventually, he guides you over to the couch, situates himself before helping you into a more comfortable position. He wraps your arms around his neck, your legs draped across his lap and the couch.

He keeps one hand pressed to your neck, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.

He presses his cheek to the crown of your head, breathing in deep and slow, a curl of satisfaction rising in his chest when you unconsciously mimic his breathing, silent sobs slowing, tremors fading.

Once you’ve calmed down enough, he speaks.

“What’s got you so worked up, huh? What happened sweetheart?”

The pet name slips out of his mouth unbidden, but honestly, he wouldn’t take it back.

“Nightmare,” You sniffle. “Daryl was gone and it was my fault and you hated me.”

“Well, none of that happened now, did it?”

You shake your head.

“No, that’s right. Daryl’s just fine, and I ain’t upset with you. You’re alright.”

You take in a few shaky, shuddering breaths.

He shifts, readjusting and tucking you closer to him. “Now, how come you didn’t come to me? Daryl said you were headin’ to the gates.”

You go a little rigid. “Didn’t think I was allowed. Didn’t want to wake you up for something stupid.”

“Oh, none of that now,” He nudges you away a little, taking your face in his hands. He needs eye-contact while he says this, “You need something, you come to me. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care what time it is. You come to me, you understand?”

You nod, lip wobbling a bit. “I understand.”

He thumbs your cheekbone. “Good. Now come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

In the morning, the kids are a little surprised to see your rumpled form at the kitchen table, but both recover fairly quickly. Judith especially, who rejoices at the prospect of someone other than Carl or her father whom she can hold hostage with inane, ten year old questions.

But you never quite shake that haunted look in your eyes. Like there was something else— something more in that nightmare, something that dug its little claws in and stuck fast.

It’s all he can do but pray it doesn’t last.

—

It becomes an unspoken thing that wherever Rick is, you’re nearby. Kind of like a little puppy, following him about and hoping for a treat.

He indulges you, because he can’t really help himself in the face of those eyes.

He also knows it’s the easiest way to get you to smile, which he’s been trying to bring about more, since the nightmare. You’ve shaken that haunted expression for the most part, but every now and then, it’ll come back, if just for a few moments.

You’ve been absent most of the day today, off on a run, and he wishes it didn’t get under his skin so much to not have his favorite girl right there behind him.

You’re his stress relief, and you don’t even know it. Don’t even do anything really, just kind of linger about with your adorable little face and occasionally help with your cute little hands. He’s hopelessly obsessed.

You’re smiling when you get back, bee-lining straight for him.

“Well, well,” He says, resting his hands on his hips, “What do we have here?”

“I got you something,” You say, practically vibrating with excitement, slinging your backpack off and rifling through it.

“Oh, something for me? Can’t wait to see it.”

You pull an honest to god polaroid camera out of your bag.

“You said once that you wished you had pictures of your kids to carry with you, and I found this, and it still works, and it still has film in it. I checked.”

You thrust it out to him, and he extracts it carefully from your hands, holding it with an almost reverence.

A camera. A working film camera.

You shuffle in place, and he realizes he’s been staring at it in silence for more than a few minutes. “…Do you like it?”

“I love it,” He says honestly, voice just a little scratchy, because he doesn’t understand how someone can survive the zombie apocalypse, and still end up so damn kind, and so damn sweet. “I’m so touched, sweetheart.”

You beam up at him. If you had a tail, you’d be wagging it. He’s never understood cuteness aggression until this very moment. He just can’t. He wants to squeeze you as hard as he can or just punch a wall or some stupid shit.

God, he’s pushing forty, he needs to get this under control.

“I was really excited when I found it. Tara took a picture of me to test it.”

You pull out a little polaroid picture, film developed, and he takes that with reverence too. In the picture, you’re smiling, that same soft, little smile you do when you’re really happy about something and don’t know how to express it. Your hands show two peace signs, a knife clutched in one.

That’s my girl, he thinks.

“Might just have to keep this,” He says, dumb smile on his face.

“Really?”

“Really. You know, it’s good luck to keep a picture of a pretty girl with you.”

“Pretty?” You squeak, flushing. It’s so easy to make you flustered. He loves it.

“Mhm,” He says, tucking the photo into one of the compartments on his belt, keeping it safe. “Real pretty, I’d say.”

“Oh.” You say, more than a little breathless. “Um.”

Oh, your poor little brain.

“You need a minute?” He snorts.

“Maybe?”

He chuckles, patting the top of your head. “Oh, you’ll be fine. Better get used to it.”

“You’re pretty too,” You blurt, then your eyes widen comically. “No, wait, I meant—“

He laughs, a real, actual laugh. “Me, a grown ass man- pretty. That’s a good one.”

You bury your face in your hands, a tiny little whine escaping your throat.

“Aw, come on, now. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m very flattered you think I’m pretty.”

“S’ not what I meant.” You mumble.

“No?” He says, prying your hands off your face. “What’d you mean, then?”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re… handsome.” You whisper the last part, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Aw, what’d I do to deserve a young thing like you thinking an old man like me is handsome?”

You mumble something again, a little too quiet for him to hear.

“…afe.”

He leans down. “What was that, now?”

“You’re safe.”

Oh.

That’s… not the answer he was expecting.

But he likes it.

Rick is a leader. A protector.

And you need him.

“I make you feel safe?” He hums, resisting the urge to step closer to you because you’re very much out in the open and he knows how you feel about wide open spaces, especially when there’s people in them. He’s torturing you enough as it is. “That why you linger around me, huh?”

Feeling bolder at his interest, you nod.

“You make me feel like… something special. Protected.”

Yes.

He’s always known that he needs to be needed. That he’s the kind of man who requires being a leader, taking care of what’s his, protecting.

To have verbal confirmation that he’s made you feel safe, protected, it’s.

Well it’s a lot more than he can unpack in front of the gates.

“Pretty little thing like you needs protectin’.”

You frown.

“Not because you’re incapable,” He amends, hands raised, “But because I rather like doing it.”

You lean closer, and he follows, heat rising—

“Please, save us all the pain of havin’ to watch, Rick.”

He grins, nose brushing yours, then steps back.

“Maybe stop creepin’ around, Daryl.” He calls to the other man, who just shrugs, ambling on by.

But Daryl does have a point. He doesn’t want an audience. You’re not that kind of girl.

Instead, he reaches down, snakes an arm around your waist and leads you away from the open space, towards his house instead.

“Come on, sweetheart. Think you’d rather be somewhere quiet for what I’m about to do.”

The heat radiating from your body and the shiver he feels under his palm is all the confirmation he needs.

His little fawn, finally his.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[incognit0slut]

Permanent attachment

in which you’re far too comfortable to move from Spencer’s lap, and he doesn’t mind carrying you around

content: fluff, 1.7k, established relationship, lots of kissing, sex talk, kinda fade-to-black smut, reader being very clingy, and spencer’s tummy (my fav) a/n: i once told @mandarinmoons that i wanted to climb the man and not even in a sexual way and she said “like a koala?” and to that i answered YES! self-indulgent fics are the best

Spencer smells nice. Like, annoyingly nice. And it’s not the kind of nice that’s vaguely pleasant. No, this is the kind that settles into your bones. A mix of soap and something uniquely him that you can't quite name but would probably pay an unreasonable amount to bottle up.

Now that sounds like a dream. Imagine Spencer in a bottle, spritzed onto your neck, lingering on your skin. Imagine a personal cloud of him following you everywhere, with top notes of freshly brewed coffee and a base note of comfort that leaves you no choice but to lean in just a bit closer. You shift on his lap, pretending to get comfortable, but really, it's because you want to catch another whiff.

Your boyfriend catches you mid-inhale. "Comfortable?"

You don’t even bother pretending to be embarrassed. Who cares if he knows you’re borderline obsessed? Who wouldn’t be? He’s smart, handsome, and smells like heaven bottled in human form. So instead of pulling away, you double down, pressing your nose right into the curve of his neck as your answer.

"I'm starting to think you might be a little attached.”

You sigh against his skin, “Might be? Spencer, I'm practically grafted onto you at this point. You better get used to it."

A hand runs up your spine. “Not that I’m complaining, but my legs might actually fall asleep if I don’t get up soon.”

“So dramatic,” you tease, smiling as you press a soft kiss to his jaw. The subtle scrape of his stubble tickles your lips.

“I don’t think you’ve moved an inch in the past hour.”

“I don’t even want to move an inch,” you murmur against his cheek. "I just want to stay like this. Forever. If I could just crawl under your skin and stay there, that would be perfect.”

Spencer laughs softly, the sound rumbling under your lips. You feel the warmth of his smile as he tilts his head toward you. “That sounds sweet yet incredibly creepy.”

“You know what I mean!” You slide your arms around him, weaving them across his shoulders. “I just… I want to—ugh, I don't know… squeeze you so tight you’d become part of me? Like an extension of my arm or something."

“That definitely sounds less creepy.”

“Shut up.” Your lips trace the rough scratch of his jaw, brushing along the curve until you reach the corner of his mouth. "Don’t you want someone permanently glued to you?"

“You’re definitely making a case for it.”

“Oh I’d climb you if I had to.”

His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck. “Is this where I find out you’re secretly a koala this whole time?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum against his lips, “and you’re my tall, handsome tree.”

His laughter vibrates against your mouth, and you let yourself melt into him, breathing in that comforting scent you’ve grown addicted to. You love him so much. You love him too much that your heart feels like it’s stretching to make room for all of it.

When he finally pulls back, you can’t resist reaching up to smooth your thumb over his bottom lip. “See? Permanent attachment.”

His own thumb caresses the back of your neck in lazy strokes. You're practically dissolving into him.

"I don’t have much of a choice, do I?" The tip of your nose brushes against his as you shake your head. He steals another quick peck from your lips. "I really do need to get up though.”

You pout immediately. “Why?“

“Because my throat is actually starting to feel a little dry. I could use some water.”

“Water is overrated. Stay.”

“Honey,” he croons softly, his eyes squinting with that familiar crinkle at the corners. He thinks you’re cute when you’re clingy. “The kitchen is only ten feet away.”

“Ten feet too far. Do you know the kind of emotional damage I’ll suffer if we’re apart for too long?”

“So dramatic,” he mocks back, planting a kiss on your jaw, your cheek, and you giggle when his mouth lands on the skin between your ear and your neck. “All I’m asking for is ten feet. I promise I’ll be quick.”

“I might wither away from loneliness by the time you get back.”

You feel the ghost of his smile against your skin. “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.”

“I miss you already,” you sigh when he gently nips at the soft flesh of your neck. “Maybe you should just take me with you.”

You’re mostly bluffing, half-expecting him to laugh it off because Spencer has never actually carried you before. Not that you’ve ever minded—it’s not exactly the first thing you’d expect from him. But before you can even process it, he shifts beneath you, sliding one arm under your knee and the other around your back with surprising confidence.

And just like that, the floor seems miles away as he lifts you up.

“Wait! Wait!” you laugh, clutching at his shoulders. "Spencer!"

“I thought you wanted to come along."

“I didn’t think you’d actually carry me!”

You’re met with his steady grip, and to your surprise, he’s not struggling in the slightest. Apparently, those arms are stronger than you’d given him credit for, and it’s… well, very, very attractive. He strides confidently across the apartment, and you can’t help but let out an impressed, slightly flustered, “Okay, this is actually kind of hot.”

The corners of his lips twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I did not know you were strong enough to do this,” you comment, then a thought sneaks into your mind, “Do you think we can try this position in the bedroom?”

He looks surprised and mildly amused. “Really? While standing?”

You loop your arms tighter around his neck. “You seem perfectly capable.”

“Wouldn’t I be doing all the work?”

“I thought you liked doing all the work.”

His chest presses against yours as he lets out another laugh. “If by that you mean spoil you, then yes, I do,” he says, casting a quick glance around the room. “Can I sit you on the counter, or are you planning to keep hanging on to me?”

“Tempting, but you can put me on the counter.”

With a gentle ease, he lifts you just slightly higher and sets you down on the cool countertop. “I can still carry you around if that’s what you want.”

“I know,” you reply, reaching up to brush a stray lock of curls from his face. “I don’t want to tire you out.”

“You’re not tiring me out,” he assures you as he reaches up to grab a glass from the top shelf, arm stretching just enough to give you a teasing glimpse of his soft stomach.

You can’t help yourself. You reach over and splay your hands over that warm skin, feeling the faint tickle of the fine hair scattered down his belly that disappears into his waistband. He doesn’t flinch—he’s long used to your hands finding their way to him like this—but he does cast a sidelong look in your direction. Behave.

If he’s expecting you to follow some sense of decorum, he should know better by now. You give his stomach a gentle, almost smug pat, and shakes his head as he moves to pour himself water.

“What do you want to do after this?” he asks, glancing back at you over his shoulder. You don’t give him an immediate answer, but he’s already suggesting a few ideas for the rest of the evening.

You can’t even pretend to pay attention. Is it normal to be this obsessed with your boyfriend? Because at this point, your focus isn’t even on the words coming out of his mouth. Something about a documentary, maybe. He’s probably rattling off the details right now, but you’re entirely distracted, your eyes shamelessly zooming in on the way his forearm flexes as he holds the glass. Even the soft hair dusting over his skin is doing things to you.

He catches your blatant stare and looks at you over the rim of his glass.

“What?”

“You are so sexy.”

He almost chokes on his water. The glass clatters against the countertop as he sputters, “What has gotten into you today?”

Probably ovulation. But you simply shrug, legs swinging idly against the cabinets beneath you. “I just love you.”

The answer is simple. Words spoken with all the casual sincerity you feel, but it’s enough to melt his astonishment into affection as he strides over and slips between your thighs.

“You just love me?”

“Yeah,” you reply softly, reaching up to brush over the delicious roughness of his stubble. “Like a ridiculous amount. Probably too much.”

His heart is swelling, so full it feels like it’s about to burst. “I love you too.”

“That’s it?”

You watch as his nose twitches, the smallest hint of a smile playing at his lips before he sighs, “I love you so much, angel."

"I think you can do better than that."

He huffs a chuckle, "I love you too much," he tries again, "more than I even know what to do with."

You smile in satisfaction, a little triumphant over his exaggeration. You’ve taught him well. “Say it again.”

The wide expanse of his palms settles on your waist.

“I am madly,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, “deeply,” another finds its way to your jaw, “hopelessly,” he murmurs as he grows even closer to your lips, “in love,” he’s a breath away from yours, “with you.”

The space between you shrinks to nothing. You swallow his last words, letting them dissolve on your tongue like the sweetest confection. What begins as a delicate melding of warmth and breath quickly intensifies, as though he’s determined to steal every bit of air from your lungs. And before you know it, his hands are sliding under you.

A surprised squeal escapes your lips as he lifts your weight, and an even louder gasp follows when he carries you toward the bedroom.

You know exactly what he plans to do for the rest of the evening.