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formylovetodaryldixon · 1 month ago

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"For life." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Not my gifs)

Daryl tells his daughter about the day she was born (And she asks him an awkward question)

A/N: Just a continuation of my first imagine with dad!Daryl. My everything. I don't know why but I always imagined his daughter as Lexi Rabe, Iron Man's daughter, (I took a scene too, sorry hehe) but as always, you can imagine her differently. Thanks for the love my imagines are receiving! I had so much fun writing this so i hope you like it♥

“Shit…” Daryl whispers, and the group around him sinks into silence.

The few present, some members of his family, including his wife, stare at the map on the dining room table, plotting in their minds what was the best option to attack Negan’s clan before he attacks Alexandria again, before he puts at risk the lives of the innocents who had been caught in the crossfire.

But the silence is broken by a small voice, as sweet as honey since she learned to speak.

“Shit.”

They all turn to the staircase behind them, especially Daryl, who could recognize his daughter’s voice among a sea of murmurs, even if they were louder than her small voice. Daryl had a good memory, and he had memorized her voice since Marley said her first word, which, to his delight, was daddy. But now Marley Rose Dixon is 4 years old already, and although her bag of words as he used to call it was still limited, she had learned to memorize a lot of things at her young age.

Daryl walks over to her, who is sitting on the bottom step, wearing her pajamas with little baby elephant prints on them, and he lifts her up in his arms, enveloping her in his warmth. For her part, Marley hugs his neck, and she smiles back at him, a little sleepily because it is already past midnight.

“What are ya doin' up, youn' lady? It’s late and ya should be sleepin'.”

“Shit.” She repeats, laughing, just to make him uncomfortable, although she didn’t know she was actually doing it.

You chuckle, as do Rick, Michonne, and the others.

“No, angel, it ain't 'kay to say that word.” Daryl scolds her, softly as he uses one hand to push some strands of her brown hair out of her face. “That word belongs to mommy, so only she can say it.”

Marley frowns, tilting her head to look at him with her deep blue eyes and an accusatory expression.

“But you said it, daddy.”

He clears his throat before answering.

“Yeah, but only 'cause Mommy lends it to me sometimes, right, Mommy?” Daryl glances in your direction, and when everyone turns their gazes to you, the weight falls on your shoulders, so you just nod with a solemn expression. “See? Now we’re gonna take ya back to yer room, 'kay?”

Marley hugs his neck closer, their noses touching, making Daryl smile.

“But can you tell me a story?”

Before you or Daryl can speak, though, Rick ends the meeting. Everyone retreats to their own homes, kissing Marley on the cheek or stroking her hair on their way out, and when the three of you are alone again, you all head up the stairs to her room.

Once there, Daryl sets Marley down on her bed, tucking her into her blanket as you grab a book from her shelf. There weren’t many children’s books in that new world, so the two of you had started reading Marley books about wild animals, exotic flowers, and more.

He lays down next to her on the blanket, their heads touching on the pillow as you hand him a book. But Daryl skims through it first, frowning as he looks back at you.

“What? No pictures this time?”

“Borin’!” Marley replies, mimicking her father’s expression.

Her words make you let out a deep breath, but you chuckle too, just because even though you had given birth to her, she looks more like her father than you.

“Oh no. Look what we did. We created a little Daryl Dixon. As if we didn’t have enough with the one we already have at home.” Shaking your head, you walk out of the room, hearing your husband’s voice behind you.

“I’m so proud of the daughter I raised!”

You hear the laugh in his deep voice, but before Daryl can open the book, Marley gently pushes it away.

“Daddy, tell me one of your stories.”

He settles down on the bed, looking into her eyes that were just like his own. Daryl could get lost in the depths of her blue eyes, all day, all night, or all his life: it was like that from the first time he saw her anyways.

“Did Mommy tell ya about the day ya were born?”

She shakes her head.

“Well, we were waitin' for ya for several months now, but ya were two weeks early. It seems that Mommy’s belly wasn’t very comfortable anymore. That night, Daddy had gotten to the gates after a run when Aunt Maggie told me that Mommy was ready to give birth, and when I got to our room, she was very, very scared. So I sat behind 'er on the bed and told 'er how brave she was, that she jus' needed to endure the pain a little longer to meet our baby.”

Daryl smiles slightly at the memory despite the fear he felt, because there was always a chance of losing his wife or his daughter, and Marley looks at him curiously.

“Were you scared?”

Daryl chuckles, stopping himself from saying shit again.

“Terrified, angel. Daddy couldn’t do anythin’ to stop Mommy from havin’ that pain, but we both know how strong Mommy is, and I knew she could do it. Ya took a long time to be born, but in the end, yer cry was the most beautiful sound I ever heard. Ya were healthy, and that was all yer mommy and I asked of life. Then the doctor put ya on mommy’s chest, and suddenly ya stopped cryin' when ya looked into 'er eyes.”

“How did I look at Mommy?”

Daryl smiles, bringing a hand up to Marley’s face to caress her cheek.

“Ya looked at each other like ya’d known each other forever.”

“And how did I look at you?”

Marley chuckles as he leans closer to her, so close that he can rub his nose against his daughter’s, hearing that sweet sound he’s memorized as well.

“Ya looked at me like ya were goin' to love me yer whole life.”

Marley smiles.

“But I love you, Daddy.”

“For life?”

She nods quickly.

“For life.”

For Daryl, who was never given a touch of affection, he knows well that he would give his life for his daughter, because she had loved him long before she knew what love was. But she grew up surrounded by it, by her family, by her mother, and most of all by him, who always knew how to love despite not having been loved when he was a child.

And it is easy for him to say the words that he never received.

“Daddy loves ya, Marley, with all his heart.”

She smiles, kissing his nose before wrapping an arm around his neck.

“I love you too, daddy, with all my heart.”

“That’s good to know, ma little angel.” Daryl caresses her cheek one more time before pulling away from her, getting up to tuck her in before leaving. “Ya must sleep now, sweetheart. It’s late.”

“Daddy?” Just as he adjusts her blanket for the last time, he stops. “Can I have a pet?”

Daryl thinks for a moment: it’s been a while since anyone had seen a pet.

“How about a fish? Daddy can take ya fishin' and we can come home with a pet fish.”

Marley wrinkles her nose.

“I don’t want a fish. You can’t take them for walks.”

He chuckles.

“And what animal would ya like?”

“An elephant!”

Daryl can’t help it, he frowns at her, head cocked to the side.

“What’s that word Mommy always uses when I get obsessed with somethin'?”

“Fixation.” She laughs, finding the word before her dad does.

Daryl chuckles.

“Ya really got a thin' for elephants, angel.” He leans down to kiss her forehead before leaving, but on his way to the door, her voice stops him again. “Yeah?”

“And how did I get into mommy’s belly?”

Daryl chokes on his own breath: but he would rather face 100 walkers than explain to his daughter how a baby was made.

“What?”

“You said I was in mommy’s belly.” Marley cocks her head, an action she learned from him. “How did I get there?”

“Well…” Daryl frowns in a thoughtful expression, because Merle had told him about it when he was a kid, but in a very grotesque way. “Daddy will try to get ya an elephant, I make no promises, but I'll try, 'kay?”

Marley smiles.

“Okay.”

Daryl can feel the relief as he closes her door, but he knows that sooner or later, she’ll ask again. When he gets to his own room, he can see you standing in front of the window, staring out at the cold world, but at least inside his home, it was always warm. Like a good hunter, Daryl comes to you quietly, wrapping you in his arms, his face hidden in your neck, his warm breath tickling you.

“How did yer parents tell ya how a baby is made?”

You laugh.

“What?”

“Marley asked me how she got into mommy’s belly.” Daryl lifts his head, meeting your amused gaze. “Merle told me when I was 6, and I ain't repeating the words he used to ma daughter.”

You shrug, agreeing with him.

“I met him, so I can imagine his words. I was never told that babies are delivered by the stork or anything like that. But, we already talked to Marley about calling her private parts by their names, so we can start there.”

Daryl growls.

“I’ll be there but, could ya do it? I ain't ready to teach ma baby how to make a baby.”

You laugh.

“Fine, I’ll do the talking. Although now that I think about it, my brother once told me that he was explained it when my mom was pregnant with me, so it was easier for them and him.” When you look back at him, Daryl is looking at you with an amused smile, the one he used before asking you if you wanted to make love. “I’m not saying we have another baby! So keep your hands off me.” You pull away from him a little, looking at him with a serious expression. “Before you say it, no. No, no, no, and definitely not. And if that wasn't clear to you, hell no.”

Daryl shoves his hands into his pants pockets, smiling like a child.

“I jus' think maybe it’s the right time to give Marley a little brother or sister.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? Are you planning on giving birth to that baby?” You ask, but when he shakes his head, you narrow your eyes. “Then think twice, Dixon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. And if you dare lay a finger on me, I’m going to bite it. I’m not kidding.”

The moment you turn your back at him, however, Daryl has you in his arms, kissing the arch of your neck before you can ask him to let you go.

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon twd #dad!daryl dixon

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grimesgirll · 10 months ago

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the first thing rick wakes up to is you telling him you want to be double stuffed.

he’s just opening his eyes and you’re straddling him, whispering, “now is the perfect time. we never have this much alone time,” into his ear as you work your mouth up and down his neck.

his dick is already twitching in his boxers at the sight of you, all needy on top of him. your hair is down and disheveled from sleep and your activities just a few hours before.

and who can stay soft when you’re begging to be double stuffed first thing in the morning.

“sweetheart, are you sure you know what you’re talkin’ bout?”

you shake your head yes at him. “yes, i want you and daryl to double stuff my pussy.”

rick wonders if this is a stepping stone to them fucking your ass.

“you sure you want this, baby?” he asks, looking to you. you liked it rough but both of their cocks in your tiny pussy was a lot to figure out.

“mhmm.” you confirm. “i know it’s gonna feel so good - the stretch.”

you must be fucked out from the night before still to want them both inside of you this early.

“well, let’s ask daryl,” rick tells you and you lean over slightly off of rick to tap on daryl’s chest lightly. you even bestow him with a kiss as his eyes flutter open.

“hey, sleeping beauty,” you greet softly, watching as his blue eyes blink open. “wanna double stuff my pussy with rick before everyone wakes up?”

it’s like you can feel his cock shooting through his pants when all of the sudden you’re on your back next to rick and daryl is prying your pajama shorts off. “of course, i wanna double stuff this pussy,” daryl moans as he nearly rips off your panties. “gotta get you ready for two cocks first.”

“yeah i’m kinda worried about you fitting,” you turn to rick on the pillow beside you.

“don’t worry, we’ll make it fit,” rick promises. he takes your chin in his hand and brings your lips together, slipping his tongue into your mouth while daryl dips a finger into your heat. your legs buck at the intrusion and even more when daryl works another finger into you.

“baby, if you’re squirmin’ on my fingers like this right now, i can’t imagine how you’re gonna feel on top of both ‘a us.”

you pout at his words. “don’t make me change my mind.”

“just sayin’.”

rick rolls his eyes, before looking down to your glistening cunt. you follow his gaze before getting an idea. “daryl,” you chirp.

“yeah,” he doesn’t stop his fingers or break eye contact as you open your mouth to speak.

“i wanna give you a blowjob while rick eats me out. is that okay?”

rick huffs. daryl isn’t usually the one you ask for permission.

he doesn’t say no of course and suddenly he and rick are swapping places so the ex-cop can spread your legs open and plant a finger inside of you. your mouth opens almost as if on cue for daryl as rick’s tongue makes contact with your lower lips.

meanwhile, daryl’s cock breaches your lips. you open your mouth wider in an “o” shape, reacting to how rick’s fingers curl inside of you. he picks up the pace as you moan around daryl, slowly working more of his length into your mouth. he hisses at the feeling of his cock being surrounded by your warm, willing mouth. this encourages you to start bobbing your head up and down faster, making sure to punctuate every satisfying twist of rick’s sturdy fingers inside of you with a moan around the archer’s length.

daryl almost cums down your throat at the sight of you looking up at him. doe eyed and aching to be double stuffed, you had one thing on your mind - or two, to be precise.

he’s still surprised that you were the one to bring up them both filling your pussy. being stuffed with one of their cocks in your mouth and one inside of you was exciting enough to get you grinding on their laps. this would rock your world.

rick is already eliciting all kinds of scandalous noises from you as he dives nose deep into your soaked pussy. just the idea of being completely full of rick and daryl set a fire in your core. a fire that rick tries to put out with his tongue, even holding your legs down as you start to buck up into his face, barely keeping in position with daryl nearly down your throat now.

you know you’re a goner when the sheriff reaches forward to clutch at your breast while sucking down on your most sensitive bundle of nerves. you wince like you stubbed your toe but in fact you’re barely holding your (first) orgasm from breaking through.

“rick,” the sound comes out garbled around daryl’s dick.

“gotta’ get ya’ nice and ready, sweetheart.” with that, his tongue drags torturously across your clit.

you’re almost pulling off of daryl with how rick is lapping up your pussy. you loved both of their mouths on you but there’s something about rick and how smug he is between your legs that has you humming again, the sound vibrating around your boyfriend’s dick and sending those familiar pleasure signals to the brain. you don’t complain as he tugs your head further into him; a quick gag stops you in your tracks for a moment before you relax your throat again and swallow.

feeling daryl grow painfully hard in your mouth, you let his glossy cock fall out of your mouth and take a moment just to enjoy the man between your legs. he understands and is happy to give you a moment to breathe before they stretch you to the limit. he tucks a strand of hair from your blushed out face. pale lips find your breasts again and a tongue swirls around your areola, helping to scoop your hardened bud into a warm mouth.

with both of your boys on you, mouths repaying you for every kiss, every time they stuck a tongue or a cock your throat, you can't help but come undone on rick's lips. your leader is more than ready to lick you clean, flattening his tongue against you.

rick's chocolate curls are in your hands when he starts on your poor, pulsing pussy again. without a break to collect your thoughts between orgasms - not that you had many aside from coming undone with both of them inside you - you whine into daryl's shoulder. "its so much." you pant into the man beside you, "so sensitive, daryl."

"already?" rick questions, lips covered from when you came on his face.

you nod, and mewl into daryl when he bites down on a tit.

"how're you gonna handle two, honey?" rick is eager to know your plan.

"how do you want me to handle it?" you challenge through labored breaths as they both work you towards an overload again.

rick chuckles. he speeds up enough for you to start bucking into him again, gripping the back of your head. daryl helps him out when his teeth travel up your neck to bite at your pulse. you yelp and drops you arms, giving rick the opportunity to pin them down, handsfree and filling every corner of his mouth with you.

you groan and gasp in his arms, nowhere to run from the inevitable waves that wash over you as your orgasm hits you like tidal force. "rick!" you're squealing so loud that daryl leans over to shut you up with an open mouthed kiss. you take it; kissing back with a passion while you rock your hips into rick's mouth.

the older man comes up for air after he's made sure your pussy's thoroughly saturated, and already needy again; this time for both of them.

blissfully unaware, you're barely comprehending the looks rick and daryl are giving each other. articulate plans made from a shared gaze at you, a grunt, and some words from rick have the man sitting up next to you steal a kiss from you too and ask, “think you’re ready, honey?”

you grin at him. rick's thumbing your lip while he studies your face until you nod your head an enthusiastic yes still trying to catch your breath. he watches as your chest heaves, leaving kisses and bruising hot marks on your torso while the bed squeaks with daryl's absence.

rick lays back on the bed, patting your lap for you to straddle him. he pulls you down onto him by your hips, easy work after he and daryl put in the time to prep you for them. you're always dripping but this morning, rick thinks this is the wettest you've ever been and they haven't even given you what you asked for yet.

daryl palms his hard on at the edge of the bed. "think y'all are gonna wanna be as close together as possible for this," he advises.

"bend down more, sweetheart," rick instructs and you do so, folding into him until your chests were plush together. "good girl," he punctuates with a kiss on your neck.

behind you, you feel the bed dip slightly. you tense but relax when rick's mouth finds your shoulder, distracting you with pecks as daryl bullies a finger into your already crammed hole. rick pauses his ministrations to clench his jaw. you wiggle slightly, earning a noise or two from rick.

"you like this?" daryl's voice breaks you out of the tension started to build in your core again.

you nod your head, almost too enthusiastically. "want more!" you request with a grind of your hips.

daryl chuckles. "it's coming," he adds another finger.

"fuck, daryl," rick huffs, face glistening with sweat and a rose color started to creep into his cheeks.

"daryl, wanna feel you," you agree with rick and rotate your hips again until both of them are sighing.

rick's muscles are tensing under you and he's bucking into you when you feel daryl's lips on your neck for the first time in a few minutes. "so, tight." he mumbles in your ear.

he's so close that you arch into his touch until he's ushering you back down with a palm against your back. "don't wanna us all to slip out, baby," he tells you and that's when you realize that he's replaced his fingers with his cock.

“i think you can move more now.” you tell daryl as your breath picks up.

he takes the opportunity to heed your words, beginning a slow, pounding pace. "you want me to go faster already?"

"i wanna come on both of your cocks," you clarify, core starting to turn to molten lava as you wanted to be even more full of your two favorite men.

"little slut," rick exhales at your words.

"don't you like being in me at my tightest?" you whisper as you lower down to his ear.

"this how you pictured it?" rick grins at you lazily when you nod. "wanna get fucked like this all the time?"

"mhmmm!"

"such a good girl," he muses.

"the best," daryl croaks, snapping his hips to push you closer to the edge.

your head is buried in rick's shoulder when you feel the heat from your core start to ravage your entire lower body. "so, full," you utter as the reality that you're being stretched to your limit hits you. you had not one, but two dicks inside of you, one absolutely ruining you with his ravenous rhythm.

daryl squeezes at your ass, massaging the flesh further once he hears you whining his name. it feels like out of nowhere that a hand comes down and smacks your ass, sending a signal straight to your pussy.

you nearly purr and babble into rick's shoulder. "feel you tensin', darlin'," rick notes. you murmur in agreement, barely computing now aside from how overwhelmed you were by the liquid fire consuming your loins.

the two of them can't make out a word you're saying and you're pressed completely into rick's clavicle when you squeak and gush. your swear you black out for a split second as the delicious pressure overtakes you - the feeling of convulsing around two cocks has you almost screaming, biting rick's shoulder, ass angling towards daryl.

for once your legs aren't numb but definitely not usable at that moment and you feel like the embodiment of a puddle. they haven't even spilled inside of you yet and you're shuddering between them through the aftershocks of your climax.

it takes you a moment to realize that they've both stopped; rick isn't kissing or biting up and down your shoulder, and daryl is barely thrusting into you.

as the heat builds up again you get annoyed. "guys!" you whimper. "stop staring and do it again!"

#the walking dead #twd imagine #rick grimes imagine #daryl dixon x reader #rick grimes x reader #rick x reader #daryl dixon imagine #rickyl #rickyl x reader #rick grimes smut #daryl dixon smut #twd smut #f/m/m #dvp #still getting the hang of writing smut #easiest dvp to ever happen #grimesgirll

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queenimmadolla · 10 months ago

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𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

Summary: Tired of seeing Eddie with other women, you reflect on how much longer you can take it.

Warnings: no mentions of y/n, fem!reader, heavy on the angst, hurt with attempts to comfort, both reader and Eddie are bad at feelings, self-deprecation, Eddie is toxic and doesn’t know why, infidelity (but not technically), no happy ending.

The house is quiet as the front door creaks open, you’re quick to slip inside—chill of the October air nipping at your back. The lights are all off and your arms curl around your exposed midsection. It was colder outside but still chilly in your home, your parents out of town on a romantic anniversary road trip.

You sigh, tossing your keys on the table to run around searching for in the morning, and make your way to your room with a quick detour at the thermostat to turn on the heat. It’s a blind fumble to reach the antique lamp, once you enter your bedroom, but you refuse to use the overhead light. It would cast your room in non-aesthetic lighting, and you’re already annoyed, pissed off and depressed enough.

An irritated breath is huffed from your lips, top lip curling as you recall the very reason for your negative attitude, hands yanking your top right over your head. It’s only when you’re in your pajamas, faced with your own reflection as you prepare to remove the makeup that had been so empowering to put on but you can now feel on your face like an unpleasant mask, that you allow the hot tears of anger and hurt to fall. You almost want to laugh at yourself, mouth curling into a bitter smile as you swipe the ponds cream all over your face. As you massage it in, making sure to focus on your eyes, the smile wavers, corners tugging down as moisture still leaks from your clenched eyelids.

You don’t have to be mean to yourself, you shouldn't. Not when the guy you’re in love with already does such a good job of it.

You purse your lips, trying to hold back sobs as you recall the images of him all over a girl you didn’t know at a party he’d convinced you to go to. You couldn’t even describe her, couldn’t remember what she looked like—all you saw was your Eddie, the guy who drove you to and picked you up from work, took you on cute dates involving picnic baskets, fields, lakes, empty lots to stargaze in, nearly empty movie auditoriums so the two of you could canoodle, your tongues tasting each other as the two lovers on screen professed their undying love.

He even bought you stuffed animals, would pretend to give them life and personalities to go with it, all to amuse you. Did arts and fucking crafts with you.

But anytime you so much as brought up the status of your relationship, he’d wave it off, claiming labels were for Petri dishes, not people.

You were his girl and that’s all that mattered.

It’s what you’d repeated in your head the first time you’d seen him playing with Bianca Anderson’s fingers while the two of them were tucked away in the corner of the hideout, after one of Corroded Coffin’s sets. And again when you’d stumbled out of Rick’s house party to see him laid out on the grass, his head in the lap of a former cheerleader from high school he used to admire, her head bowed to connect their lips and his hands in her hair.

By the time he was tugging at Tina’s hair, playfully shouldering her while they stood in front of the bonfire at another gathering, you’d stopped repeating it in your head. Not even when you watched her lead him to her car.

You lost count of how many times Eddie had made other girls his, too.

And like some pathetic worm with no backbone, you let him. Okay—it’s not like you could physically stop them, though tonight your drink had ended up all over him, maybe that put a little stutter in his plans. But there wouldn’t be a too if you just fucking stopped.

Just . . .stopped.

Stopped taking his calls, stopped answering your door for him, your window, let your co-worker take over the counter the moment he stepped in, stopped looking for his car, stopped thinking about him and that stupid fucking dimple, stopped thinking about how special you felt when he had your naked body pressed against his under the warmth of blankets, his rough fingertips tracing over your sweaty shoulder. How he’d always get so tender, pull you even closer and whisper how much you meant to him while pressing slow kisses to your face. How he never wanted to lose you, wouldn’t know what to do, couldn’t live. It was the sweetest agony.

Most of all, you wish he would stop being there in the morning, all soft breaths and fluttering lashes as he tried to be as close to you as he could, even in a deep slumber. It’s how you know he means it. He means everything he tells you. There is truth to those sweet nothings, declarations, proclamations. You know it.

And that’s why it all hurt so bad, because you know he cares about you as much as he says he does and he still always fucking hurts you, always breaks your heart, but because you know he cares, you’d just let him back in like some fucking clown.

He gets to break you over and over again and you let him because he always puts the pieces back together.

You know what people say about you—everyone knows the two of you are involved and they’d see him out and about with others. Your fumbling answers about what the two of you aren’t just make it clear to them that you’re a doormat and you can’t even deny it. Just avoid their pitiful looks thrown your way.

After washing your face, you take a long hard look at yourself in the mirror; eyes rimmed red, lashes clustering together, face etched in misery. When you can’t stand the person on the other side of the mirror any longer, you flip the light switch and leave the bathroom, pick your favorite tape to listen to, set the volume low and slip into bed.

You’d teetered with the idea of smoking a little, but that would just stave off the heartbreak. Might as well feel it in the moment while you still have the sense of mind before—

Knock, knock, knock.

A humorless chuckle escapes you, muffled into your pillow as your eyes slip shut. Sometimes by the front door, just about always by the window. You think it’s another one of his little relationship doorstops; can’t be serious with you if he uses your window to sneak into your house, it’s much too intimate to walk through your front door.

Of course, he can’t let you have a moment of peace, not even when you’re down. No, he has to fix you now. That’s how the toxic cycle goes. So, dutifully, you play your part, though this time, things have changed.

You toss the blankets off and pad over to your window but you don’t open it right away. Instead, you stare at him. Take him in.

Eddie is in different attire, shirt and jeans swapped out for one of his old club shirts and some sweats. His hair isn’t as voluminous, it’s wet. He’d had to shower to rid himself of your wine cooler. There’s no trace of the Eddie you saw at the party, this one has eyes filled with sorrow and depth, almost like he’s known nothing else. You know better.

Please, he mouths through the glass. You stare a beat longer before the latch is unlocked and he’s hastily pulling it open, clambering in ungracefully.

As you watch him gain his footing, part of you wants to taunt yourself about how you’ve let this man, so below your league and wonderful, ruin your life. He’s hot, sure, but you're hotter. That’s just the truth. You denied it a lot at the beginning of your shitty cherished relationship, felt so insecure to have a man like him paying you attention when he can have everyone. But he was no man. And he still had everyone along with you. Those pitting glances weren’t just because of what you let him put you through, it was because they knew you could do better.

For some reason, the idiot who got his shoe caught on the window sill is the one your heart wants.

God, you hate him.

Rolling your eyes, you go back to your bed, climbing back into your warm blankets. Your back is to him, yet you can still feel his hesitance, see the look on his face, how his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. His stare is intense but it doesn’t unnerve you. Not this time. You feel the bed dip as he climbs in behind you.

There’s still some distance between the two of you, you can tell he’s uncertain. Then, he scuttles forward until he’s pressed to your back, arm slipping around your middle to drag you impossibly closer.

He’s surrounding you, the scent of Eddie’s all-in-one shampoo and body wash filling your nostrils, underlying smell of the joint he’d smoked to calm his nerves before coming over, and the cheap body spray he’d soaked himself in to try and hide it.

“I didn’t fuck her,” he whispers, lips at your ear. “Swear I didn’t. Couldn’t.”

You don’t say anything, just stare at the poster of Roxette pinned to your wall. His arm tightens around you and you can feel his heart hammering against your back.

“I-I couldn’t do that to you,” he continues and you huff, that bitter smile from earlier returning. Eddie goes stiff behind you, but he has nothing to worry about. You won’t kick him out, won't toss him to the curb like you should. You both know you won’t. He knows you should, knows he hurts you and he honest to god doesn’t know why. Couldn’t tell anyone to save his own life.

He just—he just fucks shit up. It’s not self-sabotage because Eddie knows he risks losing you and he doesn’t want to, doesn’t ever want to exist in a world where you don’t want him, don’t want to be with him.

But he still does it anyway. Still goes and kisses girls knowing you’re watching, does worse when you’re not.

The worst part—other than hurting you—is that he doesn’t even want them. Not really. Other than in that moment, Eddie couldn’t give a single shit about them beyond being a Good Samaritan. It’s you he wants all the time.

You’re the only constant thing he needs in his life, wants around him all the time, craves, lusts after, loves, cherishes. For the rest of his life. But Eddie hurts you, and he doesn’t know why.

That’s why he can’t be your boyfriend. Evidently, he’d be a shit one. Not that he’s doing a spectacular job being your…whatever it is he was, whatever the two of you were.

Yes, he always fucks up, but he keeps part of you safe from him by not being your boyfriend. One day, you’ll leave him.

He knows it. It scares the shit out of him and he prays to deities he doesn’t really believe in that it won’t happen, that he’ll get this shit together and make right by you, but he knows you’ll leave him. You genuinely deserve better.

“I wish I didn’t know you,” Eddie tenses once more at your voice, at your statement. It’s said with nonchalance, like you were commenting on the weather. He relaxes, heart clenching in pain as he somehow holds you even tighter.

“I know.”

“I hate that I love you. Wish I would just stop.” You shimmy around until you’re facing him, Eddie’s hold on you loosens to allow it, and when you’re settled, he pulls you close again, your nose nudging along the neckline of his shirt.

“I know.” He whispers out again, vision blurring with unshed tears. He loves you, too. Neither of you ever say it directly, just make references to it.

“I will, though. Maybe not tonight, but I won’t always love you.” It’s said with certainty. You’ll take this treatment for now, but you know you won’t forever. Despite the pathetic place you’d found yourself in tonight, again, you’re making strides. Gone was the loser who would just watch him betray you after spending the entire day making you feel like the two of you were the only ones on earth who mattered. Tonight, you’d stepped in. You were growing more self aware. Soon, you would stop answering the door. Stop answering his calls. Stop loving him.

And you’d look back and cringe, maybe laugh with your friends about how stupid and naive you’d been. You’d move on, too. Meet someone who treats you as good as Eddie does when he isn’t sucking another girl’s face. They won’t kiss or fuck anyone else, they’ll only ever know you from the moment that spark ignites. You might worry from time to time, effects from Eddie, but they’ll gently coax it out of you, build your trust up and one day you won’t worry. All you’ll know is their love.

Yeah, you’d stop loving him.

Eddie makes an indistinguishable sound, you know he’s fighting sniffles. Can hear the emotion in his voice, “I know.”

You nuzzle your face into his chest before your cheek settles there, listening to the fast paced beating coming from within it and you wonder if it’ll happen tomorrow. If you’ll wake up, see Eddie sleeping in your bed, and have your first thought be how much you want him out of it and away from you without a trace of fondness for him. You’ll just wake up and not love him anymore.

You slip a leg between his to tangle your limbs, breathing in his scent as deeply as you can when your eyelids flutter shut.

And while you spend your last moments of consciousness hoping tonight’s the last night you’ll let him hold you, Eddie spends the rest of it wide awake, and hoping. Hoping if he doesn’t fall asleep, he won’t wake up to you telling him you don’t love him. Hoping he’ll miraculously become a better person for you overnight. Hoping he won’t lose you.

Hoping you’ll always be his girl.

divider ℗ cafekitsune ♡

#Eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson x black!reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction

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libraryofgage · 1 year ago

Text

Harlequin Prince

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One Harley Quinn One (you're here!) 10th Doctor and Rose (on the way! might take a little, I have plans for this one) Scooby Gang (there are also plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz)

I'm a simple woman who believes Steve deserves to be a little unhinged sometimes, and having Harley Quinn as a mother is the perfect excuse to make that happen lol

Anyway, I know I haven't updated some of my other series in a hot minute; I've just been busy with work and a little sick ngl

If you'd like to be tagged for any new parts in this series, let me know!

And, as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

-------

Steve's earliest memory is of being tucked into bed with a Batman night light plugged into the wall and his mother squeezed in next to him. She's wearing her softest pajamas, and Steve idly rubs the fabric under his thumb. In her lap is a huge book that she flips through, humming "Pop Goes the Weasel" under her breath before finally stopping on a page. "Okay, Dumplin', let's read about Narcissistic Personality Disorder," she finally says, wiggling some to get comfortable before clearing her throat.

Her voice is soft and a little nasally, and Steve obediently closes his eyes when she starts reading. After a few minutes, she gently cards her fingers through his hair, her palm warm as it slides over his scalp. Eventually, he drifts off, his dream so vivid that he still remembers the oversized hammers with their white doctor coats and floating clipboards.

The first time Steve's mother is sent (back) to Arkham, he doesn't realize anything is wrong until Uncle Bruce picks him up from school. Steve had been waiting long after the other kids were picked up by their parents, a misshapen pink-and-blue coaster for his mother that he made in art class in his hands, when one of Uncle Bruce's fancy cars pulled up to the school.

The passenger window rolled down, and Bruce looked almost pained as he met Steve's eyes. "Hop in," he said, leaning over to open the door from the inside.

Steve walked up to the door but didn't get in. "Mom said I should only go home with her," he said, "unless you know our secret code."

"Cognitive Behavioral Therapy."

Steve stood for a moment longer before nodding and climbing into the passenger seat. He closed the door, pulled on his seat belt, and carefully held the coaster in his lap. "Where's Mom?" he asked, watching as Bruce turned down the radio and slowly pulled away from the school.

"Your mother is....going to be away for a while," Bruce said, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "She did something bad, and now she's going to stay in time out because of it."

"Mom says you shouldn't dumb things down just because I'm young. She says it's not good for my development."

Bruce got a slight smile at that, his lips twitching up as he glanced at Steve. "Is that so," he said, his grip on the wheel loosening some. He seemed to think for a moment before saying, "Your mother blew up a warehouse. She was apprehended by Batman and has been sent to Arkham for a few months. Since I'm listed as your godfather, you'll stay with me until she's released."

Steve didn't reply. He just looked down at his coaster and wondered if he'd be able to convince his Uncle Bruce to visit Arkham so he could give it to her.

He did not, in fact, get to visit her at Arkham during that stint. But Steve did get to visit on her next one, which was almost three years later to the day. Steve's first visit to Arkham was on his 8th birthday, and he was chaperoned by Uncle Bruce and Nightwing (he wasn't allowed to call Dick by his real name when he was in costume, so Steve just didn't call him anything at all).

That was also the first time Steve truly experienced Arkham's lax security. Through no fault of his own (and he would continue to argue this point; how did two superheroes let an 8 year old wander off?), Steve had somehow ended up in another part of Arkham altogether.

This hallway had large cells with reinforced glass walls that allowed Steve to look inside. He could name most of the people he passed, recognizing Killer Croc and Riddler and the Penguin by his mother's descriptions of their defining features. Most of them tried talking to Steve, but he pushed ahead, eager to see if his mother was at the end of the hall.

She wasn't. Instead, Steve found another woman. She had green skin and bright red hair and Steve hadn't been able to contain himself. He'd practically squished his face against the glass and asked, "Are you Poison Ivy?"

"Oh, her he talks to," the Penguin said, his tone mean and his voice carrying.

Poison Ivy ignored him, choosing to instead open one eye from where she lay on the bed. She stared at Steve before sitting up. "Do I know you?" she asked.

"Nope! But my mom knows you. She talks about you all the time. She said you're the baddest badass to ever badass," Steve said.

"Oh. You're Harley's kid," Poison Ivy replied, walking over to the glass and crouching down to meet his gaze. "What are you doing all the way over here?"

"It's my birthday, so Uncle Bruce said I could see Mom."

"Well, happy birthday. Now, what are you doing here?"

Steve blinked, looked around the hall again, and realized for the first time that he was, in fact, a bit lost. "Uh, I'm not sure. I was with Uncle Bruce before."

A moment passed between the two of them in which Poison Ivy said nothing while Steve tried to remember how, exactly, he'd ended up here. When he came up blank, he simply shrugged and looked back at her. "Hey, you like plants, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, kid, I like plants," she said, her tone taking on the same inflection his mother's did when he asked something she thinks is obvious.

Steve didn't linger on the tone. Instead, he dug around in his coat pocket for a few seconds, pushing past candy wrappers and erasers until his hand closed around an acorn he'd picked up off the ground a few days ago. He pulled it out and presented it to Poison Ivy on his palm. "Is it still a plant if it fell off the tree?" he asked.

"Yeah," Poison Ivy said, her voice soft like she was staring at something unbelievable. Steve watched as a huge grin spread across her face, her eyes lit up, and she pressed her hands to the glass. "Can you do me a favor, Steve?" she asked.

"Sure! Mom said you're a person I should listen to," he said, starting to close his fingers around the acorn. Now that he was thinking about it, he didn't actually know how to give the acorn to her with the glass between them.

"Your mom is right. You should always listen to me. And her. But mostly me right now," Poison Ivy said, her gaze a bit softer as she looked at Steve. "So, go ahead and put the acorn on the ground and stand as far away as possible."

Steve didn't question her. Whatever Poison Ivy wanted to do would probably be fine. After all, Uncle Bruce didn't warn him about talking to her like he had about the Joker. So, Steve put the acorn down and hurried to the other end of the hall. "Now what?" he shouted.

The only response he got was the acorn shuddering, spinning across the floor, and then bursting open. In the blink of an eye, a tree grew, its roots breaking through the ground and its branches shattering the glass of Poison Ivy's cell. Steve was just thinking that was probably why Poison Ivy told him to stand back when she walked out, rolling her shoulders and breathing like the air is fresh.

She looked at Steve and walked over, standing in front of him for a moment before sweeping him into her arms. "Thanks, kid," she said, opening her hand and letting a tiny purple flower grow from her palm. She tucked it behind Steve's ear. "Now, let's go find your mom."

Of course, Poison Ivy's escape had set off numerous alarms, and Uncle Bruce just about fainted when he saw her carrying Steve while Nightwing looked two seconds from laughing. But Steve's mom had smiled so wide that her cheeks must have hurt after only two seconds when she saw them.

It was, by far, the best birthday Steve had ever had.

‐-----------------------------

Hawkins, Indiana, is...boring. Steve has only been in the town for a few weeks, and he's bored out of his mind. He could have been sent to Metropolis or Central City. Hell, he would have preferred Bludhaven to the absolute snoozefest that is Hawkins. But, no, Uncle Bruce insisted on somewhere safe, which means somewhere boring, which means...Steve will just have to make his own fun.

That's why he's found himself in a dive bar on the edge of town, sitting at the bar as the owner (a woman named Bev who definitely killed her husband; Steve would know, he's met plenty of women who definitely killed their husbands) refuses to give him anything alcoholic. "Listen, kid," she says, her tone hard and unyielding, "I can give you water, a Shirley Temple, or a permanent ban. Which do you prefer."

After a few seconds, Steve sighs, slaps way more money than is necessary on the bar, and says, "Gimme a Shirley Temple."

Bev nods, swipes up the cash, and starts making his drink. He watches her with a slight frown before looking away, noticing another boy his age wiping down a table. He looks, and Steve cannot say this affectionately enough, like a wannabe goon for a motorcycle gang. Between the bandana stuffed into his back pocket, his slightly frizzy hair falling to his shoulders, and the leather jacket/vest combo, the guy is the first reminder of home Steve has seen since arriving in this sleepy town.

When he notices the guy's shoulders tense, Steve looks away to keep from being caught staring. A Shirley Temple is placed in front of him, and Steve represses a sigh, missing the sounds of fights happening behind him as he drinks with Jason.

"Aren't you a little young to be hanging around here?"

Steve slowly takes a sip of his drink, the saccharine cherry flavor washing over his tastebuds, and glances at an older man a few seats down from him. He looks the man over, lingering on the half-tucked shirt, muddy loafers, and circles under his eyes. Without permission, his mother's DSM-V rushes through his mind, a blur of his mother's voice accompanying the page flips. They finally settle on "Adjustment Disorder," accompanied by his mom saying, "Sometimes, that's just a fancy term for a mid-life crisis, Dumplin'."

Without thinking, Steve asks in return, "Aren't you a little old to still be going through a mid-life crisis?"

In Gotham, that might get him a laugh, an eye roll, and possibly an elbow to the ribs from whichever friend accompanied him. Here, it gets him a tense silence that he only thought happened in bad movies gearing up for a fight sequence. Seriously, what is wrong with Hawkins?

"I'll give you one chance to apologize," the guy says, clearly thinking he's being sufficiently threatening.

It takes every ounce of Steve's self-control to keep from laughing at the guy. Does that usually work? Do people usually find this guy threatening? He's got nothing on Alfred, so Steve just can't bring himself to even fake intimidation.

"Yeah, don't hold your breath, man," Steve says, rolling his eyes as he takes another sip. The Shirley Temple isn't bad, but it's not what he was expecting, and it feels like just another disappointment atop a pile of them.

They're building in his chest, now that he thinks about it. Steve is slowly suffocating under the weight of them. They buzz in his lungs, surging through him until the energy is so overwhelming that he has to bounce his leg and tap his finger against his glass to expel some of it. He shouldn't have agreed to leave Gotham, or at the very least, he shouldn't have left the location entirely up to Bruce. Holy shit, that was a dumb decision. He ought to know better.

A sudden, annoyingly harsh drag of chair legs against the floor rings in Steve's ears, making his shoulders tense and his fingers twitch. He looks over to see the guy standing over him, glaring down at Steve like that's supposed to scare him when nothing else has.

Steve sighs, drinking the last of his Shirley Temple before standing. Over the guy's shoulder, he can see the boy his age watching them, and...well, Steve kind of wants to make a good impression on the first person to remind him of home. Plus, a fight sounds great. He'd love a chance to expel some of this disappointment-fueled energy.

The guy suddenly snorts, pulling Steve's attention back. "You're young, kid, so I'll let you off the hook this time around, but learn some respect."

What? Seriously? All of that, and the guy doesn't even start a fight? Does he know how rude that is? He'd get killed in Gotham. "Oh," Steve says, his voice flat, "you're scared of getting your ass kicked."

Somehow, that's what the guy considers the final straw. It wasn't even that good. Like, that's just fucking small talk in Gotham, and Steve can't bring himself to understand what about it was so infuriating that the guy swings his fist.

Either way, Steve happily embraces the fight. His eyes light up, and adrenaline rushes through his veins as he ducks and kicks the guy's left knee. The familiar sound of a bone snapping rings out. Steve's ready for more, hands curled into fists and held up to protect his face, when the guy drops.

After one kick, he drops. Steve blinks, staring down at the guy cursing and holding his knee. He slowly lowers his hands when he realizes this isn't some kind of fake-out diversion and looks at Bev behind the counter. She's frowning at him, hands on her hips, and Steve comes to the conclusion that bar fights are not, in fact, a thing in Hawkins. "Do they usually go down so easy around here?" he asks.

"They usually don't fight at all."

Oh. Holy shit, this place is boring.

Steve sighs and pushes some hair out of his face, frowning slightly. "Well, uh, sorry about the disturbance, then. I'll just...get going," he says, awkwardly pushing his chair in and doing the same for the guy whose kneecap he kicked. Nobody says anything as he leaves, and Steve shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, frustration and disappointment and homesickness building in him.

He's halfway to his car when somebody shouts, "Hey! Wait!"

With a huff, Steve stops and turns, his mood only lightening when he sees the boy that was wiping down tables. He waits patiently, watching as the boy runs up to him and holds out a wad of cash. "Bev said to give this to you," he says.

"What, is my money not good enough?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow at the cash before looking up and meeting brown eyes.

"No, no," the boy says, "Bev only gives change to people she likes. She said you're welcome to come by and kick Phillip's ass whenever you want."

Steve blinks, studying the boy for any signs of lies. When he doesn't find one, he takes the cash and nods. "Good to know," he says.

"Yeah. Right. Um, I'm going back inside now."

"Hold on," Steve says, grinning when the boy listens and stands still. He takes a step closer, holds out his hand, and says, "My name's Steve. I'm new around here, if you couldn't tell."

The boy stares at his hand for a few seconds before taking it, the rings on his fingers pressing against Steve's skin. "Eddie. I could tell," he says, his shoulders relaxing some. "Where you from?"

"Gotham."

"Holy shit, no wonder you looked so ready for a fight," Eddie says, staring at Steve like he's incomprehensible. Steve tries not to preen under his gaze. "Hawkins must be dead compared to Gotham."

"Yeah," Steve agrees, glancing down at his and Eddie's hands still clasped together despite the handshake being over. "But I think I'll have some fun anyway."

#steddie #steddie fic #harlequin prince #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve deserves good parents actually #bruce wayne #dc comics crossover #harley quinn #poison ivy #this bitch has been sitting in my drafts for so long guys hfjkds #so excited to finally release it into the wild

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bouncybongfairy · 11 months ago

Text

Pretty Please?

Rick Sanchez x Fem Reader

Summary: Summer asks you to pet sit her hamster while her family goes on vacation. Of course, you agree because you're such an amazing friend. Definitely not because you and her grandpa would have the entire house for yourselves.

Word Count: 2.0k+

TW: Intox Kink, Worship Kink, Masochism, Dumbification, Nasty Smut

Best Ref Account Ever: @kaionyx

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

You were sitting with your friend group, eating lunch in the quad. Quite boring, the whole school seemed to be yearning for the end of the day. Summer was bragging about the ski trip her family would be leaving for, after school. In all honesty you truly couldn’t care less, happy for her, just not interested. Picking at your salad that had gone soggy as she went on and on.

“Do you think you could do me like a real solid?” she asks, resting her hand on your shoulder.

“What is it?” you asked with a sigh.

“Well, I need someone to come and feed my hamster while I'm gone. I was hoping because you're like, my best friend ever, if you would do that for me?” she asked, trying hard to butter you up.

“You want me to drive back and forth to your house to mine for 3 days?” you asked, trying to knock some sense into her.

“Oh my god obviously you can stay in my room,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Ugh isn’t your grandpa going to be there?” you asked.

“Yeah but he won’t come out of the garage. Please I’m literally begging you,” she pleaded, “What if I leave you an eighth of bud?” she whispered in your ear.

“Make it a quarter and I’ll do it,” you said, which delighted her beyond belief.

As soon as you got home, you started packing your bags. Starting to slightly regret ever agreeing to pet sitting. Folding your clothes and placing them neatly in your duffle. Suddenly it occurred to you that her grandpa would be home. Of course in front of Summer you put on a front like him being there would gross you out. When in reality every time you slept over at her house, you would find yourself staring at him. Taking in all his little details; like how far he spreads his legs when sitting on the couch. Or how his eyes dilate when he’s a little more than tipsy. Your mind started wondering about all the possibilities of how your visit would go. It wasn’t something you felt shame about. You had already made your way through all the halfway decent guys at your school. To be quite honest you’ve wanted to hookup with an older guy for a while. All the dudes you’d been with are just so inexperienced and you were tired of that.

Summer and her mom picked you up. She needed to show you around before leaving. Helping you with the bags, the two of you make your way to her bedroom. Where she gave you the weed she promised, even leaving her bong for you to smoke with. Showing you how to work the T.V and of course introducing you to Mr. Man the hamster. You laughed for a good five minutes over the name. Once she headed out with her family, you immediately started rolling up. Dumping the guts out her window, landing in Jerry’s garden, you felt bad but not really. As soon as you took a few hits off the blunt, you noticed it was strong. Giving you an intense head high, it did make you feel more relaxed. For a moment you were certainly feeling out of place. Getting bored, you start shuffling through your bag, looking for pajamas to wear. Immediately your mind went to Rick, thinking about what pare he would like the most. When you first got to the house, it felt wrong to think about him that way. After smoking, you really didn’t give a fuck. Even if Rick told Summer which is highly unlikely because.. Ew. Losing Summer’s friendship in exchange for hooking up with Rick sounded like a fair deal. You only took a couple hits off the blunt, after putting it out, you tuck it behind your ear. Making sure to stuff the lighter in your sock for safe keeping. Grabbing the hamster food, you put a couple scoops into his bowl.

“You’re such a cute little guy, i’m about to fuck your great-grandpa. Don’t tell mommy,” you baby talked to him through the glass while giggling.

Wearing a white oversize t-shirt with socks, you make your way down stairs. Hoping to run into him, the first place you checked was the kitchen. Even though you didn’t find him, it was a prime opportunity to raid the fridge. Taking a jar of pickles out and setting them on the counter before opening the freezer. Finding a dark green bottle with a white label with big X’s across it. Bringing it out and setting it on the counter with a crisp -clank- sound as the glass hit the counter. The bottle opened with a loud pop which made you giggle a bit. You brought it to your nose and immediately recoiled at the pungent aroma.

“Smells like fucking rubbing alochol,” you mutter to yourself, grabbing a cup and pouring some.

It wasn’t like you were a stranger to alcohol, you’d been drunk plenty of times. Thinking it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, you chug what you had in the cup. You truly felt like the wind was knocked out of you. The coughing and gasping was only making your chest burn more. Taking a few sips of water from the sink to help wash it down. Similar to the weed, the effects of the alcohol were coming on quick and strong. Your cheeks were flushed and you no longer were worried about appearing sober. A gasp of excitement falls from your lips as you remember the existence of the pickles. Your mouth was salivating as you pulled one out of the jar.

“What are you doing?” a rough voice rang through the kitchen from the doorway. You jump, turning around to face him.

One of the first things you noticed about him was how tall he was. Seriously, his head nearly hit the fucking ceiling. Eyes had thick, dark circles underneath them; this only added to his grumpy edge-lord vibe. He was wearing a wifebeater tank that was smudged with black soot. Shamelessly staring at the dick print on his pants.

“I'm pet-sitting for Summer,” you said, unable to hide your giggles. He started walking towards you, till he was literally less than a foot in front of you. This wipes the smile off your face, he reaches out and grabs the bottle that was sitting on the counter behind you.

“You drank this?” he asked, his breath smelled just like the bottle.

“Yeah -hiccup- sorry, but is it okay if I have another sip?” you asked while reaching for the bottle. At first, Rick held it out of your reach but then changed his mind. Taking a few swings from the bottle and then handing it to you. His hand just barely touched your chest as he gave you the bottle. Instantaneously making you wet, well.. wetter.

“If you wanna drink yourself sick that’s your choice,” he said before turning and walking back to the garage.

Not quite done shooting your shot, you follow him. Due to the room being made entirely of concrete, it was freezing. It was then that you remember how little clothing you had on.

“Out!” he called out.

“I’m scared and lonely all by myself in there, pretty please let me stay?” you asked, which made him turn towards you. You could feel the heat build in your belly as he approached.

“Awe you’re just so scared? I think it’s slightly endearing how you’re trying to play innocent but I know a whore when I see one. No offense but you’re low hanging fruit,” he said, now towering over you with a smirk on his face.

“Fuck if you don’t wanna fuck me then why are you saying these thing, making me drip down my thigh?” you asked, reaching down to hook your hand onto his belt. He smacks your hand away before responding,

“I’m a fucking god, I have queens on thousands of planets offering their ass to me on a plater. Why would I stick my dick in you?” he asked. In response you poured out some of the bottle onto the floor, right onto his shoes. At first he looked livid, like he was going to lay into you but you interrupted him,

“Oops sorry I can be so dumb at times, let me clean that for you,” you said, getting onto your knees and bringing your tongue to his shoes. Licking the alcohol off them while looking directly up to him. He chuckled, like he was humored by your actions.

“Judging by how you’re throwing yourself at me, I bet you were craving my cock for weeks. Every time you’re here I always notice you staring at me, who would’ve known you had such nasty thoughts behind those pretty little eyes,” he said, tilting his head as he watched. Taking the blunt out from behind your ear and placing it between his lips.

“May I light that for you?” you asked, pressing your cheek to his shoe, trying your best to flash your doe eyes.

He used his finger to call you up. Scrambling to your feet, you pull the lighter out of your sock. Bringing the flame to his face, admiring his features in the orange glow. He looked so powerful and strong, you wanted him to tear you apart. He blew the smoke directly into your face, you took a playful bite out of the cloud. Grabbing the bottle from you, he pours more onto his shoes. You took his hint and went back down, now licking the bitter liquid off his other shoe. Taking you off guard, he brings his other foot and presses the soul into your neck. At first you were giggling, liking the way he was degrading you. This was until he began adding more pressure onto your airway. Even as you were gasping and wheezing, you couldn’t stop yourself from admiring him. The way his jaw went razor sharp while exhaling a cloud of smoke. Watching his facial expression twist from a small smile to full on beam. Your vision was becoming blurry and a familiar burning sensation radiating in your chest.

Finally removing the pressure from your neck, coughing as you regain your full consciousness and breath. He bent down and pulled you up to your feet. A mixture of inebriation and lack of oxygen to your blood made him need to support your weight partly. He grabbed your shirt and lifted it above your head and threw it to the ground. Still slightly light headed, he grabbed your jaw so he could stare directly into your eyes. Reaching his other hand down, and feeling the wetness between your folds. You shudder and let your mouth fall open, now fully aware. He was shocked by how wet you were. Completely untouched and being treated like an absolute dog and you were still hanging on to his every touch and word. Staring at him, half-lidded and willing to take anything he gave you. This was enough to send him into a feral state. Without saying anything he picked you up and bent you over the desk. He used his foot to push your legs apart. Bringing your arms behind yourself, using your hands to spread yourself open.

“Holy shit you’re such a deranged little cocksleeve, you just eat my abuse up huh,” he said, pulling his pants down and fucking the entire length of his cock into your pussy. You cry out from him practically ripping you in half. Tears sting into your eyes and your legs that are on their tiptoes begin shaking. A mixture of moans and choked sobs spill from your mouth. He lifts your upper body from laying against his desk to being pressed against his chest. Using your throat to secure you there while whispering into your ear,

“What’s wrong slut, I thought you wanted this. You wanna stop? Maybe you can’t handle it,” he practically growled, still keeping himself fully inside you.

“No. P-please,” you cried out, willing to do anything to get friction between your bodies.

“Oh? You want me to keep tearing you apart? Beg me to,” he said, tightening his grip on your throat.

“Please, I w-want you to destroy me!” you screamed out, willing to do anything to get him fucking into you.

Once the words left your mouth, he began pounding into you at an alarming rate. Your wetness was leaking down both of your inner thighs. Letting your body go limp, letting him do whatever he wanted. He kept your back pressed against his chest, admiring your chest bouncing as he killed your pussy. Feeling you stretch and tighten around his dick was driving him crazy. It was more than your physique that was satisfying him. It was the fact that you were so horny from being at his command and control. He liked how easy you were to manipulate, how willing you were to be turned into a braindead, cock hungry zombie. Feeling his orgasm nearing, his thrusts were becoming more erratic and sloppy. Fucking into you so hard that sound was involuntarily being forced out of you with every thrust. As you begin to cum, you start panting, completely blissed out. Feeling your cunt clamp down on his cock as you rode out your orgasm sent him over the edge. Filling you with hot cum, spilling out the sides of your pussy. After the encounter you completely blacked out, passed out. He let you stay slumped over that portion over the desk. Cum still leaking out of your abused hole. Simply pushing your body over to the side slightly after pulling his pants up. Reliting the blunt and ashing onto your ass before continuing working on his latest project.

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cherrycherrylady2024 · 4 months ago

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Christmas with the Grimes'

(Dilf Rick Grimes x reader) Word count: 2,827

Warnings: 18+ drinking, mentions of sex/masturbation, flirting?

Chapter 4: Maybe in yours

Rick sipped at his whiskey, gazing out of the darkened window as you all but devoured your fried rice. Surprising nobody, he looked incredibly sexy in pajamas. Why is that always the case? It could be that it's more intimate. Private? No one expects to be seen in their pajamas. Your pajamas are yours alone, not typically to be shared with veritable strangers, yet here he was. He wore a black undershirt that clung to his hardened torso, long, thin, flannel pajama pants, and less-than-perfect hair, all of which had you hooked. He seemed to be in a trance, deep in thought. His thumb absent-mindedly stroked the ridges of his glass. It was fascinating, the fact that he could stand to bask in silence with you. Typically that sort of thing is reserved for very close friendships, where you don’t have to fill every second with yapping. When you’re comfortable with someone, entirely. Either he felt this comfortable, or he simply didn’t care about that sort of thing. Both were admirable.

Should you say something? No. Enjoy the silence. Suddenly he turned to you, his deep, somewhat sleepy-sounding voice breaking the spell of silence throughout the kitchen, “So, gonna tell me why you're awake?” Your eyes went wide and you nearly choked on the bite you had just taken. The question he posed was simple, light, not of great importance in normal terms, and thus did not denote the response you had. But this was not normal fucking terms. He took note of your reaction with a questioning glance. You chewed and swallowed, racking your brain for something to say. You tried to relax your face. Be bold, you reminded yourself. Fuck it. “I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, returning his gaze. He stared at you for a moment, as if weighing his options, before his face melted into a wry smile, “I just made you dinner, which you so rudely skipped earlier. You first.” He knocked back the rest of his whiskey. You were playing a game with each other. Except you didn’t know the rules. You tried to seem indifferent, sliding around the rice on your plate, “I had a weird dream. Woke me up.” He nodded with an unconvinced “Hm,” sliding his finger around the rim of the glass, “Wanna tell me about it?” he questioned. “No,” you declared bluntly. You cleared your throat, “I just- I don’t even remember what it was about.” Me when I lie.

He still seemed unconvinced but nodded his head. You took a bite of rice, “Your turn.” He chuckled dryly, staring out of the window again. He thought for a moment. “I just... I always seem to wake up ‘round this time. Don’t know why exactly. Started-” he stopped himself, “-well, a couple years past. I gave up tryin’ t’go back to sleep a long time ago,” He tilted his glass, reflecting the moonlight, “But havin’ a drink helps most nights.” This was the most words he had ever said to you, and you hung on every single one of them. You didn’t say anything. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand the implication he tried to play off. What were you supposed to say? The man can’t sleep at night because of his dead wife, were you supposed to crack a joke? He turned to you, “Not what you were hopin’ for?” he smiled. You let out a nervous exhale/laugh, “I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe fighting crime?”

He chuckled and stood up with his glass. You felt a bolt of panic run through your body. Please don’t go. “I’m not Batman,” he said, walking over to the bar cart. He gave himself another splash of whiskey, then turned back to you with his hand on his hip, waiting for a rebuttal. The game continues. “Maybe in your dreams,” you teased.

“Maybe in yours."

He took another sip of whiskey as if he didn’t just make your heart stop in your chest. If this was a game, he seemed to be winning. There was no comeback to that. “You’re really not gonna tell me?” he said, ambling back over to the kitchen island. He leaned over it, propped up on his elbows across from you, and made inescapable eye contact. With the way he was leaning, his biceps were flexed hypnotically. You felt a nervous blush begin to grace your cheeks, still not responding. SAY SOMETHING! Your mind was blank. “It must’ve been a scary dream to wake you up,” he prodded. It was beginning to feel like an interrogation, but why was he pushing? What was the goal? Did he know something? You were being sort of sketchy about it, but with good reason. “I wasn’t scared,” you mumbled, “When I woke up, I mean.”

“No?” he nodded his head in thought, “Interesting.”

“Not really.”

“I like to think so.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because dreams can tell ‘ya a lot about a person.”

“And why do you want to know who I am as a person?”

He paused momentarily, thinking. You had been face to face, throwing your words back and forth between you both. You liked it. You were learning the rules of the game. He mulled over what to say and you wondered if he has the same conversations in his head as you do. Is he thinking be bold?

“Because you're my daughter's roommate. It’d be a comfort to know you’re not a serial killer.”

Guess not. You didn’t break eye contact.

“Well rest assured my dream was far from anything like that.”

“Ha! So you do remember!” He exclaimed, pushing away from the counter, leaving his whiskey. Fuck. You let your face drop into your hands, in frustration. “This isn’t fair,” you complain, “your job is interrogating people.” He chuckled, pleased with himself, “Part of it, yes.” He leaned against the counter behind him, his hands gripping the lip. The tinny stove light which he had flicked on while cooking, highlighted his features. You could see the veins in his hands, the definition of his forearms, and the smug grin on his stupid sexy handsome dumb face. You had to do something. You wanted to keep playing. You reached out and slid his half-empty glass of whiskey towards you. He didn’t move, the look on his face still the same, “That’s not yours.” You looked up at him slyly as you silenced every part of your brain with any sense. You brought your middle finger to your mouth, and gently wet the tip of it with your tongue. You didn’t break eye contact as Rick studied every move you made.

You brought your finger down to the glass and began circling the rim. Before long a reverberating humming sound filled the room. He observed you for a moment before slowly coming back over, leaning across the counter towards you. You stop and look up at him through your lashes, “Can I have some?” Without missing a beat he responds, “Will you tell me what your dream was about?” You scoffed, “No.” He smiled, and took the glass back, “Then no.” You sighed, unsatisfied. He took another sip, a twinkle in his eye. You were struck with a mental image of a lion, playing with its food. You were his to play with, and he knew it. He liked this too. A few consecutive moments of silent tension passed, and neither of you broke eye contact. Without warning, he straightened up, “You should be gettin’ back to bed now.” Your heart sank in your chest. What happened? Did you do something wrong? It was past 3 am now, and he was probably right… but he would have to drag you out kicking and screaming to get you to leave him. “I’m not tired, I just slept like 8 hours. I’m ready to start the day,” you joked. He chuckled as he finished his whiskey, “You do that. I’m callin’ it a night.” He placed his empty glass in the sink definitively. There didn’t seem to be anything you could do to stop him. You tried to hide the crestfallen expression written all over your face. He walked over and grabbed your empty plate from behind, and in the same breath, his left hand came down to rest upon your shoulder. You felt the heat of his hand, the pad of his thumb stroking your bare skin imperceptibly. He leaned down just slightly towards your ear, “Sweet dreams, honey.” His hand gave your shoulder a small squeeze and before you knew it he had put the plate in the sink and was gone. You sat there, mouth agape, for an embarrassing amount of time, until you could hear his bedroom door close upstairs.

Fuck.

You returned to your bedroom in a daze, your mind blank. Passing by his door you had a fleeting thought. You imagined what he would do if you just walked right in. Joined him in bed. You wondered if he would even be surprised. You could picture the look on his face with the utmost clarity. For the first time, not every single part of you dismissed the idea as nonsense. You put on your pajamas and get into your own bed. You stared at your ceiling, willing yourself to fall back asleep, to no avail. You weren’t tired. Your mind and body were in a frenzy of activity. You thought of his arms, propped on the counter. His finger, delicately tracing the details in his whiskey glass. The look in his eyes as you played your game of verbal chess. His hand, unbearably caressing your shoulder. It was all too much. You turned over, trying to shake it off, coming to face his blanket. You breathed in his scent, and as your hand traveled down your body, you decided there were other ways to tire yourself out.

“Good morning!” All of the air was squeezed out of your lungs at the sudden weight on top of you. Half asleep, you tried to push off Judith who had jumped on and was now crushing you. “Off” you gasped. She rolled over, smiling playfully. “I already let you miss dinner, you’re not missing breakfast too,” she declared, shaking you. “I’m awake!” you exclaimed, shoving her away from you. She laughed, “Well you should be. You slept like 12 hours.” You grunted in response, rubbing your eyes. The clock read 8:13 AM. You groggily followed Judith downstairs through the kitchen. It felt like an entirely different world compared to last night. You were led to the quaint dining room right off the kitchen, where Carl sat eating cereal. Rick sat at the head of the table, his face obscured in the newspaper. “G’morning y/n!” Carl exclaimed. Rick flicked a corner of the newspaper down, his eyes skimming over you, “How’d ya sleep?” He knew what he was doing. “Better,” you replied, returning his knowing look. Judith plopped herself down across from Carl, leaving the other end of the table open for you. You settled in, directly across from Rick, who lowered the newspaper towards the table. “Help yourself to whatever you like, y/n,” he said, still reading. There were a few different boxes of cereal, some deep brown pancakes, eggs, bacon which verged on burnt, fruit, and orange juice. Your fried rice had not stuck with you, so you helped yourself to everything. Knowing that Rick cooked it, burnt food had never tasted so good. Judith, who had clearly gotten used to Rick's cooking, was busy polishing off two pancakes drenched in butter and syrup.

“So, what are you girls getting up to today?” Rick questioned, sipping his coffee. Judith chewed thoughtfully, “Mm, well, I think I’ll drive y/n around town, show her KCHS. Maybe we’ll go ice skating too, it’s ‘sposed to be colder today.” Rick nodded, “Tomorrow ya’ have to take Carl with you. Think up what you guys can do.” Judith groaned in protest, slumping in her chair. “I don’t want to babysit, Dad” she complained. Rick had a look on his face like he’d heard this a thousand times, “It’s not babysitting if it’s your brother. He’s going over to Sophia’s today for her birthday, but tomorrow you’re watchin’ him. Drag him shopping with you.” Both Carl and Judith groaned. “I need to do some Christmas shopping still. I’d hate to go to the toy store alone…” you offered. Carl brightened up then, as did Rick who gave you an approving look. “You should get your sister a gift for putting up with ‘ya. Maybe y/n too,” Rick said, standing and ruffling Carl's hair. It was only then that you noticed he was in uniform, his shirt unbuttoned showing his white tee beneath it. For some reason, you had been blind to the fact that, obviously, he still had to work. You felt a wave of disappointment overtake you, realizing you wouldn’t see him again until that evening. At least you would be distracted for a while. Rick began buttoning up his shirt. He bent down and kissed Judith on the head, “Be good, girls. Drop Carl off at Carol's around 10:30, okay?” Judith nodded, cutting another bite of pancakes. He smiled and winked at you, “Have a good day,” and exited.

He smiled. And winked.

...Which could mean nothing.

After dropping off Carl, Judith showed you around town. King County was completely decked out for the holiday season, which helped to brighten your spirits. It was like a Hallmark movie. She showed you her high school, her old softball field, her favorite coffee shop where you had the best hot chocolate of your life, and finally the ice skating rink. You were interested in it all, of course, but you couldn’t keep your mind from continually trespassing into forbidden territory. You counted down the seconds until you’d see him again. Two of Judith's friends from home met you both at the rink, providing further distraction. You tried your best. The four of you sat, lacing up your skates as they reminisced. You found yourself zoning out, giving up trying to tie your laces. “Do you need help?” You looked up. Judith’s friend, stood before you, a smile on his face, his skates impeccably laced. He had introduced himself earlier but you couldn’t quite remember his name. David? Daniel? He was still waiting for a reply. “Oh! Uh yes, thanks. I never do these right,” you say. He chuckles and kneels down in front of you, “It’s okay, I used to be the same way before I started hockey.” You didn’t say anything. You didn’t really care, to be honest. It felt like no one mattered but Rick. He laced up your skates in silence and stood with a satisfied smile, extending his hand to you. It took you a moment to register before you took his hand and shakily stood. David/Daniel offered his arm to help you walk over to the rink, “Uh I’m okay. Thanks,” you said, smiling half-heartedly. He nodded and walked over to Judith and her friend (Marsha! You remembered triumphantly), and you followed wobbling behind.

The four of you made your way to the ice rink, which was surprisingly full for a weekday. David/Daniel and Marsha entered the rink before a group passed the entrance. As you and Judith waited to enter, she turned to you, her eyes alight, “Dude. He totally likes you!” she exclaimed. You furrowed your brows, “Who?” She rolled her eyes, “Daniel! He had total heart eyes the second he saw you!” she deepened her voice, mocking Daniel, “Oh my god, like, do you need help? Ha ha I play hockey, wanna get married?” You knew you were supposed to find this funny, so you laughed, brushing it off, “Oh my god, no. He was just being nice, he doesn’t even know me.” Judith wiggled her eyebrows at you playfully and shrugged before entering the rink, with surprising agility. They all seemed to be able to skate very well, and you didn’t have the heart to tell them you had actually never been ice skating before. It was colder today, and your breath floated away in white puffs. You didn’t want Daniel to like you. It was fucked up, but you were developing a distaste for normalcy. He was your age, he was nice and fairly attractive. But it didn’t matter. You didn’t want him. You wanted nobody but Rick. Something had changed within you, the fire had been stoked to an inferno and you couldn’t turn away. You will play Rick’s game, your rules or his, and you will win. You set your brow, feeling righteous and determined, and entered the ice.

You made it about 2.5 seconds before what appeared to be an 8-year-old whizzed past you, causing you to lose your balance and eat shit.

Or ice, rather.

***

notes: sorry for the long wait but here it is! I'm already almost done with the next chapter so that will also be out in the next few days. Enjoy!

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bananaagos · 2 months ago

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‎♡₊˚ 𝗕𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗿. . . ・₊✧

𐙚 ─── ꒰ 𝘚𝘍𝘞. 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘰𝘷, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘕𝘰 𝘛𝘞. ꒱ ‧₊˚

It felt like hours.

You, a fellow student, had recently become friends with Summer Sanchez—a girl from the type of crowd you never quite clicked with. Being the good, dependable person you were, you figured the friendship would last about as long as it took her to copy a few homework assignments. But six months later, you were still hanging out, and now you found yourself in her bedroom at one of those dreaded "girly" sleepovers. Not your scene.

Staring up at the ceiling, you waited for something—anything—to happen. But nothing did. Just the steady sound of Summer's loud, rhythmic snores filling the room like a broken engine. Giving up, you sighed and rolled out of the makeshift bed on the floor, still in your 'pajamas,' which was just a band T-shirt, bunny slippers, and no pants. You didn’t even bother putting them on as you tiptoed to the door, the creak of the old wood matching the mood. Downstairs called to you—anything was better than listening to Summer snore.

It was 3 AM, the house blanketed in a stillness that felt almost eerie as you crept down the stairs. The dim living room was lit only by the glow of the TV, casting odd shadows against the walls. Empty bottles and cans littered the little table—Rick’s doing, no doubt. You knew he drank, but seeing this much booze was unsettling. The mess practically screamed his name.

Rick Sanchez, Summer’s grandpa. He was cool, in his way. Helped you out with math once or twice and didn’t seem to mind you being around. The thing was, when he got drunk and lonely, he was clingy. And clingy Rick was a whole different animal.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by the sound of heavy, stumbling footsteps—familiar, disjointed. You groaned internally. Here he came, Rick, in all his drunken glory. His disheveled figure loomed in the doorway, swaying slightly, flask in hand. His lab coat was crumpled and stained, and his eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were now hazy with alcohol. He barely managed to stand upright.

“Ki-kid… there ya are…” he slurred, stumbling toward you. He reeked of booze, his steps uneven, like he was puppeteered by someone as drunk as he was. His grin was crooked, an attempt at his usual smirk, but tonight he was just a wreck. Whatever genius lurked behind those glazed eyes was buried deep under layers of alcohol.

He collapsed onto the couch next to you, the flask clinking against the armrest as he sighed heavily. The smell of whiskey hit you full force, making your nose twitch.

“Y-you like the sh—show? Installed the antenna… ‘s called interdimensional TV…” Rick pointed weakly at the screen, where an ad featuring a man with ants crawling out of his eyes played. You raised an eyebrow, half watching the absurdity unfold on TV. For Rick’s sake, you nodded.

"Of course you do, princess," he muttered, trying to smile through his drunken haze. "Y—you know how to ap—preciate my work." His hand reached out, ruffling your hair awkwardly. It was clear he was seeking something—approval, connection, maybe just someone to sit with him while he drowned in his misery. And honestly, as uncomfortable as it made you, you didn’t mind giving him that.

You shifted, suddenly hyper-aware of your lack of pants, pressing your thighs together, trying not to look too stiff. But Rick, lost in his own world, didn’t seem to notice. He kept mumbling about the show, about how it “sucked” and how he could do “so much better.” His bleary eyes landed on the print on your band shirt, his finger raising as he poked the logo clumsily, inadvertently pushing against your chest.

“Hey! I—BURP—I know that band.” he slurred, his finger lingering too long before he pulled it away, embarrassed. “I—I had a band once… we—we were the coolest… I mean, I still am, right?” Rick leaned in closer, his drunken smirk widening as he stared at you, clearly expecting some praise. You rolled your eyes and looked away, not willing to feed his ego tonight.

Rick didn’t take the dismissal lightly. “Oooh, I’m so—so sorry!” he mock-whined, raising his arms dramatically. “Didn’t know I was talkin’ to miss ‘I roll my eyes 'cause I’m soooo cool’ instead of my—my BURP—precious girl.”

Before you could react, Rick’s lanky arms wrapped around you, and in a surprising burst of energy, he started tickling you. His fingers poked and prodded at your sides, sending you into fits of helpless giggles.

“Don’t even think you’re gettin’ away with bein’ all bratty with me,” he teased, his fingers dancing across your stomach. You squirmed, trying to escape, but his movements were quick, despite his drunken state. “I repeat—BURP—I’m the coolest, don’t I? Huh?!”

As his hands found their way under your shirt, tickling your ribs, your laughter turned breathless, tears pricking your eyes. Just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, Rick’s eyes softened. He stopped, his hands now resting on your bare skin, fingertips tracing light circles absentmindedly. He seemed to realize just how close the two of you were, how you looked flushed, your hair a mess, your chest rising and falling as you caught your breath.

For a moment, Rick’s expression changed. His eyes, usually half-lidded in a lazy smirk, softened, his face tinged with something almost… tender. His voice was low when he spoke again, and the words came out with a sincerity that felt foreign coming from him.

“So pretty. . .” he mumbled, as if the words were strange in his mouth, it felt right. His arms slid around your waist as he pulled you closer, resting your head on his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, hear his breaths slowly evening out. The warmth from your body seeped into his, the alcohol-induced haze seemingly lifting just a little.

You didn’t say anything. You just lay there, enveloped by him, the chaos of the night slowing to a gentle calm as his hold loosened, his eyelids drooping until he drifted off to sleep.

And then you knew, this night wasn't really a waste.

SO!!!!!!!! this is the second time i write a 'long' fic, so please excuse me if i have grammar/spelling errors here, hope you enjoyed (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #rick x you #rick x y/n #rick x reader #rick sanchez x you #rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez x y/n

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 10 months ago

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Series Masterlist

Chapter 19

Warnings: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SA/R*PE; Dead dove don’t eat; typical TWD violence and gore; physical violence (both man on woman & woman on man); flashbacks containing body/genital mutilation

A/N: This is a heavy, heavy chapter. Please consider the warnings before reading. It’s imperative to the story so if you need a different version with the details removed, please message me.

The floor was cold. Though the weather had been mild the day you left the prison, the concrete beneath you was achingly cold. You were still barefoot and in your pajamas, the chill easily creeping past the fabric to settle in your very bones.

The tray Millie had left was untouched, save for the emptied bottle of water. It wasn’t that you weren’t hungry, you were famished. The blonde had said the food was from Philip. Had it been from Jazz, such a meal would certainly have been poisoned. This Governor, you knew nothing of him, only that he wanted information on the prison. You had taken a risk with the water.

When the door opened, you sat up quickly and pressed your back against the wall, eyes narrowing at Todd in the doorway. The man scowled.

“Get up. The Governor wants to see you.” You didn’t move. In just two long strides, he towered over you with his fists trembling. “Give me a reason. Just one.”

“You never needed a reason before.” You retorted calmly, keeping your back flat against the cold stone as you stood. With a growl, he snatched your arm with a grip that would surely bruise, dragging you toward and out the door.

The hallway beyond was littered with windows that bathed the cold concrete in warm light. You couldn’t resist closing your eyes and relishing the welcomed heat. It didn’t last long, Todd jerking you forward even as you walked in step with him.

The place was a maze of halls and doors that you couldn’t possibly hope to memorize. I’ll damn sure try. Turning another corner, a door was open, the wall lined with three barrels and a generator in the middle. You stowed that information away, it could be useful.

Another long hallway, doors on each side and one at the end, larger than the others. You were led (dragged) to that particular entryway, Todd holding you in place while he knocked, loud and impatiently.

“Come.” A cool voice sounded from the other side. The door was opened and you were shoved inside, Todd not following. He sneered at you when you glanced back as the door closed. The room was the apocalyptic equivalent of elegant, unlike the areas you had seen on the trek to it. Rugs, dirty but their patterns clear enough. Various artwork littered the walls. A simple desk sat in the middle. A smaller room connected with an en suite that you suspected might even work and a two seater table.

At the desk sat Philip, his fingers steeled just in front of his chin.

“I thought you could use a break from the cell.” You held his gaze, every instinct telling you to run. Where would you go? They weren’t stupid. Todd was right outside. “What’s your name?”

“Why am I here?” You snapped, curling your lip at his impassiveness. “Why did you stop Jazz?”

He shrugged, the calm air surrounding him more intimidating than any of the men you had encountered under the club owner’s thumb. “Simple. You’re of more use to me alive.”

“I won’t tell you anything.” You challenged, squaring your shoulders. The man chuckled.

“Is that so?” He stood and rounded the desk, leaning back on it with his hands gently gripping the edge. “Rick and I have unfinished business. I’ve been informed that his guard dog has taken a liking to you.”

His name is Daryl. You couldn’t tell him that. The less he knew, the better. “They helped me, taught me how to survive. I was going to leave. That was the understanding but Jazz came before I could go.” Lie. You had no intention of ever leaving. The group had welcomed you with open arms. They had suffered with you through your struggles, never judging. You would have stayed as long as they allowed. As long as Daryl wanted you there.

“You’re a spunky little thing. I like that.” He pushed himself away from the desk and crossed into the smaller room, gesturing to one of the seats at the table. You hadn’t noticed the two plates and glasses of what appeared to be orange juice.

“What the hell’s this supposed to be?” You refused to move, pinning the man with an acidic glare. Your fists clenched at your sides when he smiled coolly.

“It’s breakfast.” His tone was so flippant, bordering on mocking.

“You think you can get me to roll over on my family with some eggs and bacon?” Each syllable was dripping with venom, verbalizing every ounce of bitter resentment you were being forced to contain. “Fuck you.”

“You’ve got me all wrong. I just want to treat you to a decent meal. Then maybe a more comfortable room.” He took his own seat and picked up the juice. “Have a seat.”

“You can’t—”

“Have. A. Seat.” He was no longer smiling, something sinister darkening his remaining eye. You flinched, unable to stop yourself. The gentle, polite man he had been parading around was gone, his true colors casting a shadow over the room. There was no other choice but to indulge him. Moving cautiously, you never looked away from him, even as you pulled out the chair and slowly sank down. “There. That’s better, isn’t it?” He gave you no time to answer. “Eat.”

You kept your eyes on him, equal parts terrified and infuriated. After a decent forkful from his own plate, he met your gaze, clearly daring you to force him to tell you again. Your hands trembled from fear and hunger, making it nearly impossible to keep anything on your utensil. The two of you ate in silence, three-fourths of your food remaining as he swallowed his last bite.

“Let’s try this again.” Philip sat back in his chair, watching you move around the items on your plate. If you ate anything more, you’d surely vomit. “What’s your name?”

Your gaze remained downcast, fear gripping you tightly in a way you hadn’t felt since before Daryl walked into that club. “Y/N.”

“Good girl.”

Your stomach rolled uncomfortably.

“I’ll be damned. Good girl.”

You knew he wouldn’t hurt you. You just knew it now, but those words from his lips still managed to make you feel nauseous. “Sorry.” You looked at your feet, feeling like you were back in that cage, back with those dirty men and their insatiable needs and—

His hand came into view, two fingers tapping softly against your chin. You didn’t want to look at him, see the disappointment certainly awaiting you, but you weren’t in the club anymore. You were safe. You looked up.

He looked nothing short of stricken, blue eyes filled with remorse and concern. “Shouldn’a said it like that.” His hand fell away from you. “Meant it as…well, uh, m’ proud’a ya.”

“Thank you, Daryl.”

Your chin wobbled with the effort of holding yourself together. Philip was watching you intently, something just shy of satisfaction in his smile.

“Here’s how this is going to go, Y/N.” You were shaking harder now, tracking every move he made once he had stood and began to walk into the other room, stopping by the window to gaze outside with his hands clasped behind his back. “I’m going to ask you questions. And each time you refuse to answer, I will allow my men to attempt to loosen those pretty lips.”

Daryl awoke with a groan, still sprawled out in the back of the van he’d staggered into the night before. He still felt groggy, disconnected. It was as if he was watching his body move as an outsider, just a spectator to the clumsy motions. Fetching the canteen from his bag proved to be arduous, unscrewing the cap even more so. His shoulder felt hot, the infinitesimal abrading of his shirt and vest near torturous.

He drank deeply, unskillfully replacing the cap before gingerly removing his vest. The leather was stuffed into his bag as if it were personally offensive. Sitting back against the cool metal of the van’s interior, he began to calculate his next move. He had to be at least ten miles from the prison. It was doubtful the new ‘club’ would be within such direct proximity but it was possible that his family could find him here. He had forced their hand. Even he had to admit that it would be easier with their help at that point. He had no tracks to follow, no indication of a direction.

He was beginning to lose hope.

His head was hanging when he heard it. Voices. Close. It wasn’t any of his. He knew his people, from their tone to their gait. Muscles coiled, ready to fight, he waited and listened. Two. He could handle two, even with the injury. He moved with them as they walked the length of the van, one stopping by the driver’s side door while the other appeared to round the front.

Knife out, Daryl laid flat behind the bench seat, listening as the doors opened and the vehicle moved with the new weight.

“Don’t know why Jazz has us scouting for new girls every goddamn day. There’s already six there. We should be searching for people willing to pay; finding the old customers.”

“Man, he ain’t thinking straight. Ever since he found his favorite toy at that prison, he’s been a loose cannon. Can’t even really consider him the boss anymore.”

The hunter’s teeth worried his bottom lip, pressing indents into the flesh until slick copper filled his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah. Can’t believe he tracked that bitch down. Did you ever get a piece of that before Jazz sold her off?”

“Oh, yeah. Still had fresh cuts from Todd too. Bled like a stuck pig but she was dry as a bone. Made things easier.”

“I fucked her too. Twice. Jazz let me have her a second time when I brought those two bitches and a shit ton of ammo back from Peachtree City. Had to smack her around to get any noise out of her though.”

Daryl felt bile creeping up his throat, burning his insides and leaving a taste he’d need at least three cigarettes to chase away. These men were useful and, rather than face any other grim details of your abuse, he sprang and sank his knife into the temple of the man in the passenger seat. The driver’s hand went for his gun holster but the archer was faster, pressing the cold steel against the man’s throat hard enough for a thin line of blood to color the blade.

“Don’t be stupid.” He hissed, sorely tempted to drag the weapon anyway and open a fatal wound just for the satisfaction of watching the bastard bleed out. “Toss the gun on the floor over there.” Compliance came quickly with the understanding that Daryl could kill him before he could fire a single shot. “Hands on the wheel.”

“Whaddaya want, man?” The man’s knuckles turned white from his grip, a fine tremor vibrating his body that shook Daryl’s hand.

“Tell me where the new spot is.”

“They’ll kill me if I do.” The lackey reasoned, his voice wobbling.

“I’ll kill ya if ya don’t.” The hunter’s tone was low and deep, his threat one that he was barely able to resist carrying out even without the information he desperately needed. “Better yet,” the knife disappeared from the bloody skin, a gun roughly pressed against the man’s head. “You’re gonna show me.”

You had tried to prepare yourself as best you could. Answering questions about the prison, about Rick and Daryl specifically, was never an option. Even when the Governor’s large hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing tighter with each refusal, you didn’t break.

Sitting in the room they had thrown you into, you counted your breaths and listened to the movements outside the door. Two girls had been sent in to dress you and you had intimidated them, sending them scrambling from the room.

They would have been more gentle than Todd but you could not afford to show any form of fragility. You would not be broken or otherwise persuaded. The prison community had stood up for you, and it was your turn to stand up for them.

Todd had taken the opportunity to strike you, twice in the face and once in the ribs. It was a futile endeavor from the start. In the end, you wore the clothes they had demanded: a three piece combination of white lace and sheer, garter belt straps tugging upwards on the thigh-highs. The bustier was tight, at least one size too small. It was probably intentional, both to exaggerate your cleavage and just to make you uncomfortable. Todd had made a valiant attempt to add a pair of heels to the ensemble but quickly dismissed the idea when you used one as a weapon against his groin.

The area around the wound from the prison felt hot, deep blue and purple already coloring your cheek from Todd’s fist. The bustier squeezed your tender ribs. You prodded the area gently. Not broken.

Muffled voices sounded from the other side of the door. Two—No, more than two. You knew what was about to happen, forced yourself not to tremble, to hold back the vomit creeping up your throat. The door flew open, two men stepping inside and leering at you. Their eyes raked over your body, dark and hungry. There was no kindness to be seen.

“You’re a pretty one.” The man had to be in his sixties, what hair remained was gray, his face sunken and eyes bulging. The urge to pull away when he roughly grabbed your chin was instinctively trampled. They weren’t as rough if you did as you were told. His fingers were cold and textured, calloused tips scraping over your skin. “You want her mouth or her pussy.” He addressed the other man while still admiring you, pulling a gun from his belt and a condom from his pocket, the former taking up residence on the small bedside table.

At the very least, Jazz had rules that the Governor appeared to have still enforced. Condoms were required. Pleasuring the woman was never an issue or intention but dental dams were available in large number. They couldn’t risk spreading disease in the fine establishment.

“Well, since I’m already back here.” The hands that grabbed your hips weren’t gentle, not that you expected that from these types of men. Forced onto all fours, your satiny panties were moved aside. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck is this shit?!” It wasn’t what was about to happen to you that brought the tears to your eyes, that made the sting so unbearable that you were forced to let them fall. It was the reaction, always the reaction to your mutilated body. There had been no mention of the scars on your torso and back, even the ones on your buttocks and thighs were overlooked. They were seen as par for the course, you supposed. But the moment your most delicate areas were exposed to any man, the reaction was always the same.

His boot was crushing your sternum. It was nearly impossible to breathe. Too concerned with failed attempts to pull oxygen into your starving lungs, you couldn’t focus on the way Todd bent over you, the way he pressed his other boot atop your left inner thigh. His large hand held you open, more bruising to be seen on the right thigh.

“Don’t wanna do as you're told? Think this cunt’s too good for our clients?” You shook your head frantically, not sure what you were answering. Maybe you were trying to say you didn’t want to die beneath his boot heel. “Jazz wants to make sure you know your place.” The metallic hiss of a switchblade preceded the first agonizing drag up the length of your labia.

You couldn’t scream. Couldn’t make a sound as he carved into you, over and over. Your blood was warm as it seeped into your folds, down into the cleft of your ass. He made sure to allow the cold steel to taste that part of you too, careful not to tear either opening or hit any arteries.

“Maybe I should take your clit.” You could barely hear him, his voice garbled as if you were submerged. The weight disappeared and you desperately gasped, working toward enough oxygen to scream. The pain was unbearable, unlike anything any client had put you through before. “It still wouldn’t be enough for what you took from me. You’re fucking lucky Jazz wants everything to still function or I’d fuck this right into you until you bled to death.”

“Please— stop, please—hurts.”

“Good.” He hissed, dragging the knife over just above your slit. “Good.”

You could hear the man behind you opening a condom, see the one in front of you doing the same. God, you hated the taste, the texture. You’d vomited before and received a dislocated shoulder afterwards. Over time, you’d learned to deal, suck it up.

“Say ah, pretty girl.” The old man tapped his cock against your chin. He was small, a fact for which you were thankful. The condom’s excess was bunched and rolled at the bottom of his shaft. You would have laughed if not so certain it would cost you. When you tried for a deep breath to prepare yourself, the man behind you thrust into you, sheathing himself in one go. Your mouth fell open in discomfort only to be breached.

“She’s so fucking tight, goddamn.”

You closed your eyes, let your mind drift while they used you. They weren’t being too rough—yet—so it wasn’t difficult to allow yourself to take shelter in your memories. Before the prison, you had to find the darkest places, the wide cracks to hide you from the pain. It was different this time. You had experienced happiness and safety. You had shared smiles and laughter. You had a place to run even if only in your mind.

You were a spectator to the memory, watching everything unfold down to the last detail.

“We deserve this.” You looked like a child on a snow day, happily staying in bed with your favorite snack and your favorite person nearby.

You looked back on the scene fondly and wondered how there always seemed to be a bowl of berries for you.

Daryl snorted, still stretched out with his head on the pillow. You gave him a look and leaned down to nudge his shoulder with your elbow. “Don’t feel right, layin’ on my ass while ev’ryone else works.”

“Just enjoy it, okay?” You offered him a berry. He kept his arms folded behind his head and simply opened his mouth, smirking when you dropped the fruit from several inches above.

It could have been one of the best days of your life, the way the two of you teased one another and laughed. Daryl was so carefree that morning despite the events of the previous night. He was playful. He had chased you, lifted and spun you around. You could still feel his arms around your waist, the warmth of his hands as you tried to free yourself.

You replayed it all over and over, never allowing yourself to venture further to where it all went to shit.

“S’in there?” Daryl asked, motioning with the gun but never taking it far from the lackey’s head—Dom, he had learned. The man trembled but didn’t answer. Tired, dizzy, and aching, Daryl had little patience to spare. The barrel of the gun was pressed in again with enough force to bend his prisoner’s neck sideways.

“It’s the generator and—and the fuel. If you go in that door, take a—a—a left.”

“Women.” Daryl coerced with a rough shove. “Where they keep the women?” His eyes darted to the left where a row of vehicles sat, along with three red gasoline jugs.

“Man, he’s gonna kill me. I can’t—”

“Didja forget who’s holdin’ the fuckin’ gun to your head right now?” He spat.

“You have to—to go around front.” Dom’s hand was shaking violently, but he managed to point toward the left. “There’s two doors there. Use the green one, the long—uh, long hallway to the right and then the second left. They’re all kept in those rooms.”

“All of ‘em?”

“The new ones—those go in the holding rooms. There’s three. Take that first left when you go in. The first three doors.”

You would be there.

The archer’s vision swam. He knew he was running out of time. Without a word, he pulled his knife and plunged it into the top of the man’s head, shoving the body over upon the withdrawal. “Thanks, Dom.” He huffed, shoving the gun back into the holster. As far as he was concerned, any man in the building was an enemy. If he came across the women, he’d let them go unless they interfered. His priority was you.

Staying low, he crept through the overgrown grass, allowing it to conceal him on his path to the door. He could hear the generator once he was a few feet away, rumbling and clicking. Huh. Tellin’ the truth after all.

The door screeched as he pulled, louder than made him comfortable. “Fuck.” He was already moving at a snail’s pace, slowing even further to control the sound. With enough space to slip through, he peered inside, exhaling softly to find the hallway empty.

He needed a plan.

Halfway to the containers of gasoline, he took pause and lowered to one knee, the world tilting and spinning. His stomach ached with a nauseating hunger, the sensations in complete contradiction. The bullet wound was pulsing, irritated. There was a brief thought of infection but he didn’t dwell, there was no time.

Soon enough, he willed himself to continue.

Beginning at the edge of the building, he poured a line of fuel toward the generator door, cautious and vigilant. So far, he’d seen no one else. What if they were inside—with you? Hurting you? His expression grim, he pulled open the door just as carefully as the first time and, upon finding the hall clear, continued the trail up to the barrels.

He could only dare to hope that you would be in one of those holding cells, a safe distance from what was sure to both crumble that side of the building and lure the dead to infiltrate. He dropped the jug with care and exited, walking a surprisingly straight path toward the corner, stabbing a lone walker along the way.

He struck his zippo against his thigh and ignited the flame, burning the end of his cigarette. There was no time for a proper break so he savored two quick draws and began to walk away as he flicked the smoke into the gasoline, the doused grass catching easily.

He was already halfway to the green door when the first explosion rattled the old factory.

The ground trembled and you fell flat onto your front, both men scrambling to tuck themselves away and get to the door. You were aching, but more confused, watching the men move in a panicked frenzy. You were on your knees when the door opened, a man much smaller than Todd filling the doorway.

“We’re under attack!”

All you could do was blink when you found yourself alone and staring out into an unguarded hallway. With no time to waste, you grabbed the gun that had been left behind and tucked it into the side of your stockings.

The door was closed behind you, giving the impression you were still trapped.

You knew you wouldn’t remember the twisting maze. You could even be sure you weren’t heading toward the blast instead of approaching your opportunity at freedom. Men and women were moving around you, too frantic to even realize who you were. Maybe they did and simply didn’t care.

The females all seemed to move a certain direction, including Millie. There was recognition in her wide eyes when they fell on you, but she said nothing, lingered for a mere heartbeat before she pushed her way through the others. You fell in behind them, certain they were moving toward safety, whether that meant escape for them or not.

A door was pushed open, barely closing to snuff out the light from outside before another woman would exit. A way out. I can go home. Hope ignited deep in your chest, your pulse hammering. Once you made it through that door, you wouldn’t stop until the prison gates. Until you could see Daryl, safe and whole, running to intercept you. You could almost hear that gravelly voice reprimanding you for leaving without a fight, even as he drew you against him.

You were nearly there.

“I don’t think so!” A hand twisted in your hair, yanking against your scalp with such intense force that you felt skin tearing and warm with blood. Todd wasted no time, pinning you against the wall by your throat, your feet kicking fruitlessly. He struck you; one, two, three times, your mouth and nose smeared and torn and dripping. “I finally have a way to be rid of you. For my brother.” Bones ground in your neck under his ever tightening grip. He was going to kill you. You were going to die.

“Show me.” Daryl narrowed his eyes and waited you out, the wheels turning quickly in your head, flipping through the catalog of maneuvers he had demonstrated. His hold on your throat was gentle but firm. “Arm up.” You extended your left arm straight up against the wall. “Good. Angle your shoulder, grab my hands with that’un but bring down that arm on mine.” You did as instructed, almost moving before the words left his mouth. “Ya loosened the hold, now what?”

Gritting your teeth, you straightened your left arm and pushed your shoulder forward before slamming down on Todd’s forearms. The very second you felt the give around your neck, you drove your elbow into his face as many times as you could before he staggered back. Your feet found purchase during his stunned moment, the image of Daryl sprawled on the ground with a smirk on his face playing like an old movie just behind your eyes while you grabbed the man’s hair and pushed him down to meet your knee.

“Atta girl.”

Todd fell heavily, shaking his head to send crimson splatters across the wall. You were already moving, barreling toward the door, now closed after the women had all made their way out. Just as it flung open again, a bruising grip surrounded your ankle and brought you crashing down with your palms barely taking the brunt of the fall.

“You’re done for, bitch!” Todd roared. He was dragging you back to him while getting to his feet. You rolled onto your back and kicked at him wildly yet futilely. His smile was bloody. His hand was pulling the switchblade from the pocket of his jacket.

This was it.

I tried. I’m sorry.

The loud crack of a gunshot echoed against the stone walls, prompting a surprised shout from you. You covered your ears, wide eyes meeting Todd’s. The hole in the center of his forehead barely bled at first, a simple trickle down the bridge of his nose as he collapsed heavily to his knees and then to his front, never to rise again.

Todd was dead.

Your chest heaved, the sight of one of your violators growing cold at your feet was both a relief and a shock. The trembling was beyond your control. You were in a fog, suddenly lost and blank. The pain, the torture. He’d never touch you again and you just couldn’t process that it could be real. Until…

“Y/N.”

Eyes going impossibly wider, you rolled onto your stomach and sought out the door.

“Daryl.” It was only a whisper, that was all you could manage. The light from outside made him a shadow, a silhouette lowering his right arm with the gun still in his grasp. Your legs moved at the same time his did, but as yours kicked to push you upright, you couldn’t seem to gain traction. Growling at your ineptitude, you clambered to your knees. “Run.” You commanded your body out loud, a painful need that was driving you forward, to feel him and assure yourself he was real.

Somehow you met him in the middle, your arms wrapping around his neck. He staggered slightly, off balance when you locked your legs around his waist. He wrapped his left arm around your back with a grunt.

“You came for me. You came for me. You came for me.” You chanted against the right side of his neck, no longer caring about radiating strength and ability. A guttural sob shook you from the inside out, a noise so heart wrenching that it took a moment to realize it came from you.

“I gotcha. M’here.” You noticed that the archer was trembling just as fiercely, tightening his hold. He leaned his head against yours, nuzzling his cheek into your hair. “M’gonna take ya home.”

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dudeshusband · 1 year ago

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sorry i had to map out their apartment so i can imagine being in it

#and sitting on rick's bed watching him while he gets into his pajamas #typewriter dings

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lilypadeater · 1 year ago

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request idea!

farmer’s daughter reader in the kitchen late at night in her panties and tank top and rock walks in and they have sneaky but quiet intercourse in the kitchen 🤫

Secret Desires

Rick Grimes x Fem!Reader

Summary- (Request)

Content information- +18, MDNI, Cussing, age gap (20s and 40s) Smut, p in v, unprotected, fingering, food getting involved I guess, Unedited

A tired sigh left your lips when you felt the ache of hunger rumbling in your stomach. Rick had been running through your mind all night, leading to this restlessness.

The attraction between you and Rick was clear as day. Fleeting touches, glances, and subtle flirting strengthened your desires for him. The only thing stopping you from acting on them was your father. Being his eldest daughter meant setting an example for your younger sisters, Maggie and Beth. Dating the leader of the survivors on your farm was not an ideal example, especially when he's double your age.

Your thoughts of Rick were once again pushed aside by another pang of hunger. Rolling off your creaky bed, you decided to get something to eat. Laziness got the best of you, so you didn’t bother putting on pants as you tip toed out of your room. Your pajamas consisted of a thin tank top and pink underwear with lace around the edges. No one would be awake at this hour, so you didn’t think much of it and went downstairs.

The only illumination in the kitchen was the moonlight shining in through the window. It gave you just enough light to prevent bumping into things. After searching through the fridge and cabinets, you decided the on the last apple sitting on the counter. You were about to reach out and pick it up, when someone else's hand you beat you to it.

You almost yelped in shock when you realized someone else was also in the kitchen. Facing the counter, you mustered the courage to whip yourself around and see who it was behind you.

Standing in front of you, in all his glory, was Rick. You let out a relieved breath and looked up at him. Confusion was etched onto his finely sculpted face. He appeared to be just as surprised to see you in the kitchen this late at night.

After a few moments of silence, he was the first to speak, "What are y'doing this late?" His voice was barely above a whisper, laced with curiosity and suspicion.

Your eyes fluttered up to meet his ice blues. "I wasn't able to fall asleep and I was hungry," you mumble shyly, feeling a tinge of embarrassment from being caught in you skimpy pajamas. He was simply wearing a white t-shirt with grey sweatpants, but his rock hard muscles underneath made your mouth water. It was so surreal, as if this was just another one of the wet dreams you had about Rick. But when his warm minty breath brushed over your lips as he moved closer to you, you knew it was all very real.

He leaned towards you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and whispering "I couldn't sleep either." His raspy southern accent made your knees weak and sent chills down your spine.

It took everything in him to resist kissing you. The way you nervously bit your soft lips drove him crazy. Your skin glowed under the moonlight and he could see your hardened nipples through the flimsy tank top.

Your eyes traced over every feature on his face before locking on his lips. Rick broke you out of your trance when he quietly asked, "Y'want this?" and held up the apple. The hunger you felt for the apple was replaced by the hunger you had for him. As if he could read your mind, he set it down on the counter and gently grabbed your face, sliding his tongue through your parted lips. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him onto your body. His cock hardened under his sweatpants as you grinded against him.

Gasping for air, you finally broke the thirsty kiss. "It's all yours," you whispered and brought the apple to his mouth. He took a bite out of it and held it between his teeth before kissing you again, sharing the it with you. Your hand went to his chest and trailed down to the waistband of his sweatpants.

He broke the kiss and breathlessly whispered, "Y'sure, baby?" His hands cupped your face, forcing your doe eyes to look at him.

"Fuck yeah," you panted and pulled him back into a kiss. The huge erection in his pants rubbed against you, causing a moan to escape your lips. He pulled away and brought his finger to your mouth.

"We gotta be real quiet, okay? Don't wanna wake everyone up with your sweet sounds," he whispered and slid his hand to your soaked underwear. You nodded your head and he began kissing your neck. His fingers massaged your clothed clit and his mouth sloppily sucked on your skin, leaving marks.

You whimpered as his fingers slid your underwear to the side, giving just enough room to slip his fingers into your pussy. His fingers curled in you his thumb rubbed your clit, sending you over the edge. Whines and moans filled the room before he quickly covered your mouth again. "Shh," he urged and turned you over, so you were facing the counter.

His hand was still over your mouth and now your ass was pressed over his erection. You squirmed around for some friction, resulting a quiet groan from him. He gripped your hip to hold you in place before freeing his cock and slipping your underwear off. "Be quiet for me, baby," he whispered and entered the tip of his cock into your drenched cunt. You arched yourself against body, getting him deeper into you.

Rick's thrusts were slow at first, getting you adjusted to his massive size. He pushed deep into you before slowly pulling away. Your hips moved in harmony with his, and he quickened the pace. "Fuck, baby, just like that," he groaned. His cock filled you to the hilt, making you scratch the granite counter tops in pleasure and pain. Your walls wrapped around him tightly as he pounded into you.

The only thing running in your brain was how euphoric it felt to have so deep inside you. His free hand slipped under your tank top and up your body, squeezing your nipples. The feeling sent chills throughout your body, resulting in an even harder thrust from him. He roughly slid his hard cock in and out of your throbbing pussy, pushing you to your second orgasm. All your erotic cries and moans were muffled by his hand as pure ecstasy washed over you. Rick fucked you against the counter, even while your cunt tightly clenched around him.

His thrusts became slower but even harder as he approached his own climax. He leaned into your ear and whispered, "Be fucking silent," and removed his hand from your mouth. Placing both hands on your hips, he held you in place as he sunk into you one last time. Heavy breaths and quiet whimpers were the only sounds you could make without waking anyone up.

His cock twitched inside of you before filling your pussy with cum. It painted your walls white and leaked down your thigh when he pulled out. You both were heavy breathing as he tucked his cock back into his sweatpants. Rick grabbed some paper towels from the counter and cleaned the trail going down your thighs.

You moved away from the counter and pulled your underwear back up. Then you picked up the already-bitten apple and took a bite. Rick opened his mouth to say something, but you shoved the rest of the apple into his mouth and whispered mockingly, "Y'don't like being silenced?" before disappearing upstairs.

🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎🍎

Ty for this request!! I felt like a cornball while writing this but I hope you guys liked it!

#rick grimes #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes fluff #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes smut #rick grimes x oc #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #the walking dead

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dwobbitfromtheshire · 2 years ago

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What if Eddie had been hidden at Steve's house after Chrissy?

A/N: This was supposed to be just a headcanon, but it sort of just ran away from me. Oops. It's really long, and there's going to be one more part. I may have mixed up a few things, considering I tried to write it all from memory, and I have the memory of a goldfish.

Summary: They sort of messed up with keeping Eddie safe from the public. Never once did they think that if they could find Eddie through Reefer Rick, then other people could, too? I bet Steve thought Eddie would be safer at his house, but he was unsure of saying it. He wasn't sure if it would be smart or not. Where is the last place they would look? Steve Harrington's house. What if Steve did say it outloud?

"Hey, Dustin," Steve said softly. "If we found Eddie through Reefer Rick, then can't other people find him too?"

They had finally found Eddie and were about to leave the boathouse when Steve got the idea.

"Well, where else do you suggest we hide him, Steve?" Dustin asked.

"Where's the last place, if at all, do you think they would look for him?" Steve asked.

"Well, they would never look for him at your place," Dustin laughed, and then he stopped. "Holy shit, they would never look for him at your place."

Dustin scurried back to the boathouse, coming back with a confused metalhead. Dustin went to climb into the passenger's seat but was pulled back by Eddie and pushed to the back seat.

"Parentals sit up front," Eddie replied, and Steve scoffed. "Especially ones who are new to all this shit. So, who's idea was it for me to hide at Harrington's?"

"It was Steve's," Dustin said casually.

Eddie stared at Steve as he drove off, unsure of what to make of him.

"Well, uh, thanks, man," Eddie said.

"No problem," Steve said, coughing awkwardly.

Once he dropped everyone off, it was just him and Eddie on the drive back.

"So, why are you doing this? Putting me up?" Eddie asked.

"Because Dustin looks up to you, man. I couldn't stand looking him in the eye, knowing something happened to you. I hate to say it, but we all know what's going to happen once they find Chrissy in your trailer. Besides, no one should be alone after discovering this shit," Steve said.

"Speaking from experience?" Eddie asked and Steve blushed.

He reached over to turn on the radio. "Cum on Feel the Noize" blasted through his speakers. Steve began beating on his steering wheel, singing loudly. He snapped his fingers at Eddie until Eddie had no choice but to join in. They were laughing almost all the way to Steve’s house. It had gotten a little awkward when Steve, laughing, had placed his hand on Eddie's knee. After Steve invited him into his house, given him some pajamas, he made him another offer.

"Look, you can pick any room, or you can share my bed if you don't want to sleep alone tonight?" Steve asked.

"You trying to take advantage of me, Harrington?" Eddie asked, and Steve stared at him before he realized that he was joking.

"Yeah, no, you'd know if I was taking advantage of you," Steve said and then paused. "Wait, that doesn't sound right."

Eddie laughed, taking the clothes Steve had given him, and began to strip right in front of him. Steve quickly averted his eyes, looking up at the ceiling when Eddie accidentally pulled down his boxers slightly when he started to take off his pants. Eddie had flashed him his ass.

"Whoops!" Eddie cackled. "I swear I'm not trying to make it up to you by putting on a show."

He pulled on the plaid pajama pants and flopped shirtless on Steve’s bed. He rolled around on Steve’s bed, standing up a couple of times to jump on it, and then finally laid on his back as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Seriously?"

Steve rolled his eyes and slipped into the spot beside him. Steve was startled when Eddie pulled him to his chest. His cheek was pressed up against his tattoos.

"I left my teddy bear at home, so a Stevie bear is going to have to do," Eddie said. "Thanks again for letting me stay here."

"It's not a problem," Steve muttered sleepily.

As Steve’s eyes began to flutter close, he felt a hand drift through his hair. Considering the situation, shouldn't this be the other way around? The next morning, Eddie was gone. Steve jumped up, panicking until he heard music coming from downstairs. He walked into the kitchen to find Eddie wearing one of his blue sweaters and cooking breakfast.

"Morning," Steve greeted and Eddie jumped.

"Good morning, my liege. Our son called. He and the others want to come over to talk," Eddie said.

"Really sticking with the whole he's our kid thing, huh?" Steve asked.

"As smart as he is, that kid would stick a fork into a power outlet if he was curious enough and if we weren't there to stop him," Eddie replied.

"That's fucking true," Steve laughed. "I think there has to be some sort of balance when you're as smart as Dustin. You also have to be just as dumb and reckless."

"You might be onto something, Steve," Eddie said with a laugh.

After breakfast, Steve took a shower and then went to get Dustin, Max, and Robin while Eddie started making breakfast for them.

"I do not want to listen to that little shit complain," Eddie had said.

While they ate breakfast, Dustin gave him the rundown of what had happened over the last couple of years. Meanwhile, Robin was leaning against the counter giving Steve a look.

"He's wearing your sweater, cooking breakfast in your house, and sleeping in your bed. It's all very domestic," Robin said.

"Shut up," Steve said, blushing.

"Gasp. Does Steve Harrington have a crush?" Robin whispered.

"Yeah, I think he's cute, but that doesn't mean I have a crush," Steve said, blushing.

"Oh, how the tables have turned," Robin said.

Just then, the sound of police sirens was heard in the distance. Everyone except Eddie raced outside. They watched as the cops drove by. They were heading towards the trailer park. Steve went inside and told Eddie to lay low before he grabbed his keys. After finding out that Fred, Nancy's friend, was killed, she was now involved in trying to find who or what was behind these attacks. While Robin and Nancy went to the library to find out more about Victor Creel, the others, minus Eddie, went to the counselors and then went to break into the school. They learned that Max was Vecna's next victim. They had all gathered in Nancy's basement, and Steve watched as Max paced, worry etched on her face. It made her look older than she was. Steve hated that. At least Lucas was with them now.

"They're definitely going to think Eddie did it after this," Dustin moped.

"Eddie!" Steve said. "I need to check on him. Make sure that Carver didn't get to him. Nance -,"

"Nancy and I got this. Go," Robin said, ushering him out.

Steve paused on his way out the door and turned to Max.

"Don't bite me for this," Steve said and gave her a one-armed hug.

He was surprised when Max hugged him back tightly and then moved back quickly.

"No one saw that," Max said, glaring at them.

Steve unlocked the door to his house, and as soon as he walked in, once again, he was pushed up against the wall. Eddie had him pinned, his full weight against him. One of his knees was slotted in between Steve’s legs. As soon as he realized who it was, Eddie stumbled back.

"Sorry, I don't know why I keep doing that," Eddie said apologetically.

"Really? Cause I'm starting to guess why," Steve grumbled under his breath. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I mean, no offense to you, but your house is kind of -," Eddie said.

"Creepy?" Steve asked.

"I was going to say lonely," Eddie said.

"Well, my parents left me alone so many times I probably left an impression on the place," Steve said sarcastically.

"How many times did they leave you alone?" Eddie asked.

"Too many times to count," Steve replied casually.

"Okay. I'm going to do something that's probably a little intimate for two people just starting to get to know one another," Eddie said.

"Because you practically pressing me to your nipple last night wasn't too intimate?" Steve asked.

"I was using you like a teddy bear, Steven!" Eddie exclaimed. "It was completely innocent."

"Lay it on me, Munson."

Eddie threw his arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"Shh. Just let this happen," Eddie said. "This is called a hug."

"Fuck you, I know what a hug is, jackass," Steve replied, hugging him back.

"The first time I got a hug after my mom died was from my uncle. After she passed, my dad stopped being my dad. He ignored me a lot and became more reckless. I think I reminded him too much of Mama. One evening, he dropped me off at Wayne's and never came back. Hugs eventually became rather important to both of us. It reminded us that we weren't alone," Eddie said.

Steve hugged him tighter and burrowed his face into his neck. They stayed like that for a long time. Steve pulled back with a sigh.

"A student named Fred Benson died in your trailer park last night," Steve said. "And we discovered that Max is Vecna's next victim."

"Shit."

The next morning, Steve resisted the urge to kiss Eddie goodbye as he slipped out of bed. Eddie managed to mumble a goodbye before turning around and hugging the pillow that Steve had been sleeping on. Steve stared at Eddie's back and bit his lip as he felt a fluttering feeling in his chest. Steve fought another urge to slip back into bed and went to Nancy's.

When he walked into the basement, Max was writing furiously at the desk while Lucas and Dustin watched her. It turned out to be letters for everyone in case something went wrong. Steve was touched that he had gotten one but also concerned.

"So, how's your new roommate?" Dustin asked.

"Well, he kicks in his sleep," Steve said without thinking.

"All the rooms in your house and he's sleeping in your bed?" Max asked.

"After what he saw, would you want to be alone?" Steve asked, blushing.

"Oh my God! You like him!" Dustin exclaimed.

"Okay, just because I also like guys doesn't mean that I have to like the guy who I let sleep in my bed, wear my clothes, and who I sometimes let cuddle me. Okay?" Steve said, throwing up his hands.

"Right. Because I do that with all of my guy friends," Dustin grinned.

"Okay, yeah. He's cute, especially when I walked in the other day when a rollie pollie had gotten into the house. He was just crouching there, watching it scuddle along. He wasn't bothering it or anything. He was just watching it living its life, his head tilted to the side with a fond look - Oh my God, I like him!" Steve exclaimed.

"You know, if it had been a spider, it would have been creepy," Max said.

"Seriously, Max?" Lucas asked.

"Hey, I'm cursed. You can't scold me," she replied.

"You want me to do some infiltration? Find out what his situation is," Dustin asked.

"No, no, no. Don't do that," Steve said quickly. "I told you guys about me in my own time. If Eddie is also the same, he should be given the same opportunity to say it in his own time, right?"

"Right," all three coursed.

"You know I would never tell him that you like him, right?" Dustin asked.

"I wouldn't have told you guys about me if I didn't trust you guys to keep a secret," Steve said.

"We want you to be happy, Steve," Dustin said.

"My happiness isn't dependent on whether I'm in a relationship," Steve said. "My family makes me happy too."

"Dude, your parents suck," Lucas said.

"I wasn't talking about them. I was talking about you guys," Steve said, looking at all of them and looking pointedly at Max last.

Max sniffled and threw her arms around Steve, hugging him tightly.

"You assholes didn't see that either," Max said.

"Oh, dear, I think I've gone temporarily blind," Dustin said, waving his hands in front of his face.

"Shit, man, me too," Lucas said.

"Idiots."

Nancy and Robin had come into the room, announcing their plan to go see Victor Creel, where they found out that he survived by music pulling him out of his hallucination. It's what eventually led to them saving Max when she got cursed at Billy's grave. The imagine of her eyes and her floating in the sky would haunt Steve for a long time. Like Lucas, he would be forever grateful for Kate Bush.

"You guys want to meet up at my house this time?" Steve asked. "I have more room."

Max, Dustin, and Lucas shared a knowing look before nodding. Dustin was first through the door and into Eddie's arms. He was still wearing Steve’s blue sweater and a fresh pair of pajama bottoms. His hair was wet from taking a shower. Once Dustin broke from the hug, Steve swept Eddie up into his own arms. He hugged him tightly, smiling when he smelt his own shampoo in Eddie's hair. Steve told Eddie what happened and Eddie broke the hug.

"Shit, Red, you okay? Well, that's a stupid question. Of course, you're not okay. You know what, you will be. You're tough as hell. In fact, you could just scowl at that fucker and he'd melt. If anyone is made of hellfire, it's you," Eddie said.

Max rolled her eyes before throwing her arms him and hugging him too.

"Oh God! I'm blind again!" Dustin exclaimed.

The next morning, Steve was up before Eddie and everyone else. He decided to make breakfast. As he was cooking, Eddie and Max stumbled in. They were carrying paper and a large box of crayons.

"You guys are up early," Steve said.

"So are you," Eddie pointed out.

"I wanted to make breakfast for everyone," Steve replied.

"I couldn't sleep. Some people kept playing music in my ears," Max said as she started to draw.

Max out her earphones back on as Steve flipped on the radio to Eddie's favorite station. Just then, Nancy skidded into the kitchen and sighed in relief at the sight of Max. She plopped down next to her and watched her draw. Steve placed a cup of coffee in front of Eddie, just the way he liked it.

"Thanks, babe," Eddie said absent-mindedly, and Steve blushed.

Max and Nancy raised their eyebrows. They had heard that. Steve leaned over to see what Eddie was drawing and sighed, pinching his nose.

"Eddie, why the hell are you drawing a bunch of dicks?" Steve asked.

"You are what you want to eat, Stevie!" Eddie cackled, rolling the paper into a ball.

"Not in front of the child, Munson!" Steve exclaimed, and Max rolled her eyes while Nancy struggled not to laugh.

Steve opened his mouth to say something else when Eddie shoved the paper ball into his mouth.

"Eat a bunch of dicks, Harrington!" Eddie cackled and frowned when Steve spat it out. "You're supposed to swallow."

"I wish someone told me that before I ate a bunch," Max quipped.

Steve, Eddie, and Nancy all turned their heads to blink rapidly at her. Steve and Eddie both looked like they wanted to rip off their own ears.

"Relax, guys, I'm joking. Jesus, I'm not ready for that," she said.

Steve sighed in relief, clutching his chest. Meanwhile, Eddie was checking his pulse. Nancy rolled her eyes at both of them, but the color was just starting to come back to her own face.

"What are you drawing, Max?" Nancy asked.

Max explained to her that she was drawing what she had seen in Vecna's red soup mind as Steve had called it. Nancy watched her draw, and she eventually pieced together that Max was drawing Victor Creel's house.

"We'll go there after breakfast," Nancy stated.

"Everyone but me again," Eddie said, pouting.

"You're a wanted man, Eddie," Nancy pointed out.

"Yeah, baby," Eddie said, grinning.

"Not like that," Steve said, rolling his eyes.

"So, there's no one here who wants me like that?" Eddie asked innocently, batting his eyelashes.

"I mean, I didn't, I didn't mean that no one - KIDS, BREAKFAST!" Steve yelled.

Eddie cackled into his cup of coffee. They heard the sound of feet pounding down the stairs. Dustin and Lucas came running into the kitchen to fix themselves food. Robin came stumbling into the kitchen a moment later, rubbing sleep from her eyes. After they all sat down to eat, a news report came on the radio. Patrick McKee died at Lover's Lake. Steve had been right. They did try to find Eddie at Reefer Rick's. Everyone stared at Eddie, and he sighed.

"Go, I'll clean up," Eddie said.

Everyone started rushing out the door, and that's when Eddie noticed that Steve had forgotten his keys.

"Stevie!" Eddie cried, and Steve skidded to a stop as everyone was leaving. "You forgot something, big boy!"

"Right!"

Steve rushed back into the kitchen, cupped Eddie's face, and kissed him before running out the door.

"You forgot your fucking keys," Eddie muttered in shock.

Meanwhile, Steve was diving into the back of Nancy's station wagon with Dustin. As Nancy was driving away, Steve realized what he did and he hit his forehead.

"What?" Dustin asked.

"I forgot my fucking keys on the counter."

Part 2 (hopefully the final part) is coming soon!

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