#dead end x reader

[hoiststowline]

white fences

dead end x female reader originally posted on my ao3 here! tw: slightly suggestive & swearing

"You're the biggest dumbass I've ever met," The venom interlaced within shallow words accompanies the once-over offered to the mech, eyes surveying him top to bottom. "Literally."

Though teetering on the edge of completely going ballistic, he swallows the first retort that comes to mind in an effort to calm the impending argument. "Is that a joke?" He asks, peering down at you curiously, a little more than a smirk blistering on his mouth. "That's gotta be a joke."

The recoil he doesn't expect, watching as your shoulders slump forward as if to curl in on yourself. "It's so cold," A visible exhale displays a pang of worry, immediately understanding that this situation was the furthest from ideal. "If I lose a finger, it's all your fault, Dee." 

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine," The mech drops to one knee, venturing to reason with you though he does a horrible job of executing such. He finds himself now closer to your level, yet you remain sulking in his shadow. "I thought you were the optimist between us." 

The nastiest look he's ever received is thrown over your shoulder, and Dead End notices your shivering form and trembling lips, clearly uncomfortable. The only resource about organics he had blatant access to was you, and even then your demeanor only sent a beat of guilt throughout his processor. "Alright, alright. I get it,"

"Do you?" A persistent wave of regret washes over you at the way your sentence contains so much resentment. Dead End was many things, but you weren't so sure compassion was a trait you'd voluntarily surrender to stroke his confidence. "I should strangle you for dragging me out here." 

At this, his brow raises suggestively, as if you inadvertently invited such a response. "Oh? I'd like to see you try, sweetheart," 

The chill of the air sweeps around you and sinks deeper into the cavern enough that you're positive the warmness to your cheeks is nothing short of an embarrassment, only feeding his ego. "Dumbass," You repeat, crossing your arms over each other to keep the heat in. "I hate you." 

That allows a latent droop of his shoulders, subconsciously allowing his disappointment to show. You barely blink, half a second passes and a snarl has raised to his dermas, pushing off the dirt to glower down at you menacingly. "This ain't all my fault, slaghead," 

You never received a proper translation for the term, even if he's called you it more times than you care to count, but in this instance, it was not in the form of endearment. "Oh? Who's it is?" Spinning slowly around the cavern, you fail to find another soul as sarcasm bubbles up your throat and rears its ugly head. "I don't see anybody else!" 

"I-" His voice box hitches, optics catching the opening just a couple hundred yards north. The snowstorm was wildly unexpected, a hiccup in a long road trip he hadn't necessarily thought out well. He's the one who dragged you along, and set you up for promise of fun, only to stray off the major highways and end up in the middle of nowhere. 

To be absolutely fair, your navigation device did promise this was the quickest route. But Dead End would rather choke than try and point that out now and have you more disappointed with him. You're more angry than anything, but he's more concerned with your well-being than acknowledging he fucked up. "Fine y/n, whatever-" 

Dead End's dealt with nasty beings twice his size, and for some reason, no interactions are comparable to the vexation that you outwardly radiate. "Whatever?! Oh, you're the worst." 

One finger in particular seems to silently convey how you feel about it all as you hold it high enough for him to see, marching onwards into the cave in the opposite direction of the only exit. "y/n if you go in any further, you're going to get lost," He can't control the condescending tone of his voice, but it contradicts the yearn for you to believe him.

"Anywhere is better than here." Numb hands fumble to find your coat pockets, grabbing your phone before switching on the built-in flashlight. "I'm gonna go try and find a signal." 

His communication device was no help either, all a static reply on any channel he tried. "Would you cut it out?" You don't riposte, struggling up the small incline as your soles weren't meant for such a climb. "y/n, cut the slag, you're being the dumbass right now," 

Still, you continue onwards. Dead End rejoins you easily, matching your five paces in one long, loping stride, standing over you unimpressed. "Dude, seriously, leave me alone." 

A frustrated sigh escapes chapped lips, nearly dropping your phone as another more persistent shiver wracks your body. He's tempted to let you try and scramble up such a short incline, but he promised he'd keep you safe and wasn't to just let you get hurt because he was overwrought. "You're gonna fall." 

Then, short yelp tears from your mouth as you eventually do lose your footing, aggravation sending piercing jolts through your veins. The frustration that was slowly eating you up inside was finally free, the sting of tears welling within glassy eyes as you take your karma with as much dignity as you can, waiting painfully for Dee's relentless teasing. 

Your ass would be sore, and so would your amour propre, but the fall was not that far if you could even call the slip-up such. 

From Dead End's perspective, he's watching you fall in slow motion. A cruel joke, seeing an awful premonition pass his processor, leaving a shout breaking free as he lunged forward, scooping you into two servos as he hit the Earth with an alarmingly loud thud. 

Before you can ask if he's alright, he deposits you gently onto the ground as two massive hands slam on either side of you, successful in caging you in. "I fragging said you were going to get hurt!" His face looms so close, enough that your eyes catch all the small scars that litter his plating, nicks, and blemishes that were so minor, but easily seen by your surprised stare. "I know you're mad at me, but you don't have to be an idiot!" 

He hates the way you blink up at him, all doe-eyed, and the twinge of red that overtakes the apples of your cheeks. Catching your dumbfounded reaction, he becomes worried you're hurt, or more displeased with him for practically screaming in your face- when he catches the tears that brim to the surface, then run rivers down your icy skin. 

"Shit!" You hiss, scrambling beneath him, kicking backward on shaky knees in a futile effort to retreat. "Dee-"

Using the end of your sleeve, you scrub the tears away, but it's mostly in vain. He's seen them, felt their vividness in his spark, and wants nothing more than to erase such a picture from his memories. "Stop callin' me that." This is what comes out first, one servo lifting off the dirt to tug you rearwards, two digits gently pinching the fabric accessible at the bottom of your coat. "Are you okay?" 

"Are you?" You retort, shooing his hand away. "You just probably cracked your windshield," 

Your endeavor is futile as his strength outmatches yours by miles, a knuckle running along your cheek to catch a rogue tear. He opts to ignore you, understanding that all his systems were in working order and none were damaged. "Are you going to listen to me now?" There's a rumble in his voice, he isn't aggravated, but more so troubled by seeing you in emotions he's yet to perceive you in. "Brat," 

While most of the blame could be dumped directly on Dead End, you weren't being entirely fair in your nasty comments and obnoxious attitude. Not sure where it all came from, perhaps the accumulation of everything that has gone wrong, your lips flub as an apology lingers on your tongue. "I'm sorry," You say, feeling your heart sink into your stomach. "I'm being difficult, this is just as much my fault as it is yours." 

As if he wasn't expecting your plea for forgiveness, the red mech falters, nearly buckling under his weight as his joints creak ever so slightly. He doesn't believe you, lowering himself so that his chassis brushes your knees, noses nearly touching, vying to read the lies he can find in your face.

But he doesn't find what he expects, just that exasperating human honesty that twinkles in the iris' of your eyes. "Learned your lesson?" He gravels, an ex-vent following shortly after. 

"Yes," You squeak, unsure of where all your defiance has gone. You've never been afraid of Dead End, he was an enigma that you cared to figure out more than anything. "Can you-?"

His knuckle still rests atop your skin, warming the area wholly. "Can I what?" 

He knows, provokingly so, but wants you to say it. The heat that he radiates is intense, knotting your words in your throat as a jumbled whine echoes instead. "Ugh," Is what ultimately transpires, using one whole hand to push one of his fingers away. He allows it, of course, he's the one in control given your massive size difference. "I hope you did crack your windshield," 

At this, he drops the extra handful of inches, now using a forearm for support as his unoccupied hand cradles your side, thumb pressed gingerly into your thigh. "Shut up." The edges of his plating dig restlessly into your skin, but he doesn't perch any more of his weight onto your lower body. Instead, he presents the notion that you now have sway, waiting for you to complete the action. 

Tiny fingers find either of his cheeks, soaking in the mellowness that protrudes from his metallic skin, wordlessly conceding, though you wanted it as well. Initially, navigating was weird and consisted of bumping noses and noiseless breaths, but Dead End presented a softness you never knew him to have, leaving a trail of kisses up your neck and eventually landing on your lips.

Dee's careful. If there is one thing he hates more than seeing you hurt, it's seeing that he's the one who caused the harm. He's rough, but part of him likes that you challenge his snarky attitude, knowing there was something much more empathetic under all those layers of hardened metal. 

"You're infuriating," His words drip from his mouth like honey, gently pulling back as his thumb wanders a bit higher. "But you're so enticing," 

"You're no better," You breathe, cold air slowly fanning out before you. "You bring out the worst in me." 

"And what about it?" Once more, he dips downwards, lips pressing into the crook of your neck easily pushing aside the fabric of your coat. "Ugh, you are so cold."

A loud gasp bolts from your mouth as he ex-vents into your skin, the sensitive area rippled with his warm breath. "Dee-"

"I said stop callin' me that." He murmurs, but there's little gruffness or earnestness within his words. "S'not funny," 

Whimpering at his almost electrifying touch, you stifle another choke as his digit begins to rub circles on the inside of your thigh, his lips now carefully moving upwards to settle on the crown of your head. "I don't do it to be funny," You gulp, swallowing your heart. "I do it 'cause I love you." 

Dead End pauses, pulling back slightly, but not enough that you can meet his eyes. "What?" He asks, incredulity lacing his tone. "What did you just say to me?" 

"I love you," Firmer, and no hesitation rolls off your tongue. "How do you say it?" You scramble, the anxiety rising first that he doesn't quite understand what you're talking about, but the fear passes rather fast. The fist at your left clenches, taking a cloud of dirt with it as a contradicting laugh falls from his lips. Unable to read him, your fingers splay across his chin, attempting to yank his attention back to you. "If you're laughing in my face because I just said that, like actually genuinely, fuck you." 

Sensing your displeasure, he finally moves his attention fully to you, purple-tinted gaze gentle and full of apprehension, yet certainty together. "No. You said it right." Something gives way, he drops that hardened, arrogant demeanor, and presents a smile. "And I do love you too." He mumbles, averting his gaze at the tail end of his sentence as if he could never be seen going soft .

"You are such a drama queen," You squeal as he yanks his head back towards you, his digit moving higher, now brushing against the ticklish skin of your stomach. “God forbid you lose your bad boy facade for one second,”

He grins, dipping just close enough that you can hear his joints moving, leaving two kisses on each respective cheek before slipping a reply. “Facade? I’m hurt,”

“Grow up,” Stretching upwards, you kiss the tip of his nose. “I’m the one who’s gonna be stuck in here with you for however long,”

“Such a shame ,” Dead End challenges, his resident smirk returning. “Cry about it.”

The moment grasps you whole, only able to smile dumbly and offer a breathless laugh at his sarcastic reply. It’s a beautiful and mildly concerning feeling, wondering how you could have dropped your armor so quickly.

But it all comes back to the idea that you were never really certain you had armor up when it came to Dead End. He always seemed to shoulder his way through your layers of insecurities, and walls of doubt that others had built.

“It is a shame. Shame you look like that,” You suggest, a twinkle of mischief behind mirthful eyes.

The eye-roll you receive in return is unmatched, enough that he scoffs impatiently as his servo pulls from your thigh. “Can it, y/n. I've just about had enough of you." 

[emotionallyattachednerd]

Play Nice | Cyberverse Dead End x f!robot | Dub-Con | NSFW 18+

Word count: 2900+

Warnings: Dub-con, smut ( touching, fingering, first time, spike in valve and rough interfacing ), piercings, angst and au where decepticons win. NSFW 18+.

Notes: I really wanted to write someone from Cyberverse, and I have a weird obsession with this guy. I wrote him being such a jerk and controlling as he messes around with an autobot, so just a heads up that this is again dub-con. Eat at it! 🥰

☕ Coffee

The end of the war resulted in the autobots surrendering to the decepticons, not the way they expected it to go, yet it happened. Now they were prisoners of war, spoils, the strongest sent off to the mines to work while the weaker looking ones were sent to the sale yard and sold off to the highest bidder. That was the autobots fate, no choice given, and there was nothing they could do about it.

You were a femme, not built for war, simply a desk clerk, so it was no surprise to you that you ended up in the sales. Looking around yourself you notice most either fought against their retrants, some putting on a brave face and accepting their fate, while you on the other hand, you were utterly petrified, and you failed to hide this from anyone.

Warm lubricants continually stream down your cheek platings while your frame quivers uncontrollably, anxious whimpers sounding from your lips while you keep your helm bowed low the entire time. The decepticons in charge of the sales relish your fear, taunt you, even touch you, but they didn't force themselves on you, because you were one of the few with your seals still intact, and that was apparently a high demand through the sales. According to them, you were worth a lot. Not that it made you feel any better in the slightest, quite the opposite, it only made you feel degraded and ailing.

No help was coming for you, that's the reality.

Once shoved out onto the platform the bids were placed, the number climbing higher by the second while you stood there trying to tuck yourself into the smallest ball possible in your standing position. It's horrible, you want to escape, and you day dream in that moment that an autobot will swing in and save you, taking you away from the abhorrent nightmare.

Then it happens, the final bid is placed, and it's over. You've been sold.

Your cuffed servos are grabbed and you're tugged forward, optics meeting pedes before your chin is gripped between firm digits and you're forced to look up at the winning bidder. Piercing white optics bore down into your meek baby blue optics, looking rather pleased with his purchase holding a stretched smirk.

"You're mine, autobot." There's something about his voice that sends crawling shivers through your frame, on top of that there is no hint of kindness, and this makes your spark chamber clench tightly against your pulsing spark.

Most of it was a blur before you found yourself pulled into what you assume was where he lived. Very luxurious, fine dark decor, pointing out that he had high ranking, not that made you feel any better. He just purchased you, like property, and called you his.

"Relax, autobot." That rusty yet silky voice hits your audios. "If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't have spent a ridiculous amount on you. How you behave is up to you."

He comes back over and disables your cuffs. Finally, you're able to rub your sore wrists and not feel so tied down. You willingly meet his gaze and he still has that smug grin on him. He looked pretty damn proud indeed.

"The names Dead End. I'm one of Lord Megatron's favourite soldiers, so you should be very grateful with the life you'll have, but that all depends on you, if you're going to be a good femme and play nice, or to be a brat and give me a nagging headache. So, what will it be?"

The fight in you is gone, if it was ever even there before, you just don't have the strength or bravery to fight him. That would be stupid anyway.

"I'll be good." You barely manage to speak, but he hears it.

"Smart femme. Now, let's have a close look."

He grabs your servo and pulls you towards him, causing you to lift your other and hold it against his chassis while a frightened squeak left you. He lets out a light chuckle that vibrates against you and you bow your helm submissively. Weak and pathetic , that's all you are.

You bite back a whimper when you feel his servos dragging down across your waist and behind over your aft, digits gripping into your soft armour causing a soft creak to sound from the contact. He was mapping you out, feeling your frame, touching what was rightfully his now. His curious servos continue to roam, up and down over again, a long sickening dread flooding through your tanks.

"Stop." You barely whisper, voice meek and frightened. "Please."

"I don't think that's you showing me good behaviour. I didn't buy you so you can boss me around." He narrows his optics at you, boring deeply, making you cower under his dominating shadow.

"I'm just scared." Your spark was hammering rapidly against your chamber, as was your processor swirling wildly.

"I already said I'm not going to hurt you, so you shouldn't be so scared. Interfacing is fun, and you'll understand why soon. Like I said, you're mine, and we're doing things my way." Dead End continues his touching, admiring your frame and mapping you out, before he tilts your helm up to look at him again. "I hope you weren't lying when you were asked if you were a virgin and said yes. Are you still sealed?" His words dripped with a foulness, yet the air is clean.

"I-I am."

"So I'm not going to discover any unpleasant surprises?" He speaks so crudely, almost pouting a little like you were lying.

"No, no, I'm not lying, I promise." Meek, shuddering, your fear and anxiety corrupting through your entire frame and processor. How did it come to this? Losing the war, sold off like property, and now you're forced to do whatever this decepticon wanted.

His touch against your cheek plating was silky, in a sickening way, and he continued to caress the area with affection, before he took hold of your servo and pulled you towards the berth. The moment of dreaded truth. "Play nice for me, femme. Lay on the berth, spread those thighs, and retract your panel. I'm going to take real good care of you."

You don't want to, but you have no choice, and you let out a shuttered vent before moving towards the berth, a heavy sickening weight corrupting your spark chamber. Once on your back you find yourself staring at the ceiling, servos clenching against the berth covered in silks when you feel his weight crawling closer, his cold shadow looming over you.

Dead End likes the sight of your innocence, a growing hunger roaring through him with pride while he observes his new autobot pet. After everything, he's earned it, a prize to keep, and he was going to do what he liked with you. He'll teach you, have you moaning and begging for him, that was his promise.

Giving a silent prayer for yourself, you then spread your legs, taking a deep vent in and retracting your panel. Your helm turns on its side to avoid looking at him and that aggravating smug smile of his. Accepting this fate was your only option, that didn't mean it was going to be easy.

A startled yelp erupts from you when you feel his servo bluntly between thighs and cupping against your exposed valve. Your instincts kick in as your thighs close and you grab hold of his servo, trying to pry him away. He easily shoves your servo away and pins his weight on you.

"Don't do that."

Then you feel his knee pad pressing up against your valve that creates a surprising moan from you feeling your valve react from the contact. This makes you cover your mouth, optics wide and face heated with embarrassment that such a sound was made. You didn't mean it, or did you? He heard it, very clearly, and he seemed to really like it.

"Does that feel good? I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me. I'll have you making all sorts of sounds soon enough, it'll be fun." Dead End continues to rub his knee up against your valve while watching your reactions, relishing your confused growing desire that bursts from your face, no matter how hard you try to hide it.

Turning your helm to the side, all you can do is let it happen, even though this wasn't something you asked for, you can't deny the new bubbling pleasure pooling around your valve. Your sensitive node pulses, growing thrills rushing through your entire frame, dainty whimpers turning into low moans as you feel the pleasure he was creating in you.

Dead End's knee pad is already soaked with your fluids, and he grins with a happy greed filling him, drinking up your positive response. Leaning closer he tilts your helm to look back at him, before sealing your lips over his for a heated kiss.

Sure, you've been kissed before, but nothing like this. His kiss was hungry, dominant, and you feel his glossa invade between your lips causing you to let out a muffled whimper, before he lays himself between your thighs more snug and starts to grind his heated panel against you while devouring your lips.

He knew what he was doing, and he was bringing out all the forbidden pleasures from you. You hated it, but you also feel yourself liking it much to your scared confusion.

With shaky servos moving onto his shoulders, you start to kiss him back, innocently. He likes your response, letting out his own moan and deepening the kiss. Money well spent he thought to himself.

Your mind starts to blank while kissing him, slowly falling in sync with him and simply forgetting just how you ended up here, before your mind snaps back to reality when you feel his spike, now extended out, rubbing up against your valve. Breaking the kiss you shyly glance between your pressed bodies and let out a skittish whimper at his embellished spike.

Dead End had piercings, two frenum ball bars and a little ring at the tarped tip. He looks down as well with you and lets out a low chuckle. "Like what you see? These babies are going to become your obsession. Only my spike will be able to ever satisfy you."

Is that true? You don't have time to think too much before feeling his servo against your valve again and a digit being pushed in, prepping you. The small invasion causes you to let out a wince, clenching around his digit with dimmed optics. It hurts.

"As much as I do love a tight valve, you're only going to hurt yourself even more if you don't relax. Spread your thighs a little more, and ease your thoughts. I'll take care of you."

Listening, you do as says, trying to allow him to stretch your valve, feeling his digit curling against your inner channel and another slowly rubbing against your node, earning a skittish moan from you.

"That's it, good femme. You're a quick learner." Dead End praised before hooking his other servo under you, lifting your hips and aft up a little and shifting closer, before adding a second digit.

Another wince leaves you, before feeling his lips against your neck, nibbling against your soft cables, enough to distract you from the slight burning ache as he stretches your valve with his digits. He knew how to get you aroused, and that worried you.

Was this the fate of autobots? Sold off to the highest bidder? You knew Megatron was cold, but slavery? Were you a slave or his whore? Was there a difference? The overwhelming questions make you whimper softly, and you've been distracted so much that you didn't realise his digits were gone, only to feel a pressure against your valve.

Dead End decides it's time to claim his prize. He coats his spike with your fluids and starts to nudge your entrance, watching as the tip pushes through, along with the metal piercings. He lets out a gritted moan feeling you clench around him, before meeting resistance and smirks. "Good, you weren't lying."

You're tense, scared, embarrassed, you simply couldn't answer him. It hurts as he continues to press forward, seal slowly tearing, before he nudges through and you cry out, servos gripping tightly at his arms as he continues to push forward until he's fully flushed.

The pain wasn't as terrible as you imagined, but it still stings, and your emotions are running high, confused by the tingling thrill slowly boiling, there's a buzzing arousal slowly flooding through you.

"Nice and snug, perfect." He coos from above while looking rather proud. "Not so bad, hey? I'll have you overloading over again, you won't be able to help yourself."

You feel his ridged spike stretching you fully, pulsing through your channel along with the cold metal piercings. It causes your frame to quivery in ecstasy followed by another low whine, then he starts moving, withdrawing himself and thrusting back in, working himself at a steady pace while letting out his own moans.

Soft gasps leave you after each thrust, feeling his length and the metal piercings rubbing along your inner channel, him grinding down against your node in a luscious way. The pleasure bubbles rather quickly in you, and without even realising you clench your thighs around his rocking waist, drawing him closer as your servos hold onto his supported arms holding himself up.

Those piercings are oddly nice, an added stimulation through your channel that makes you let out light moans, falling into the forbidden pleasure that corrupts you. Something's happening, and you weren't sure what it was, but before you can think more about it your whole frame suddenly erupts with a bursting overload, frame trembling as your silky valve is soaked with sticky fluids as your back arches, followed by a sweet mewl from your vocals. At first you're confused by what just happened, never having felt like that before, and it's Dead End's amused chuckle that catches your attention.

"Already? Slag, knew I was good, but that was something else. Bet you've never had an overload like that before, not even by touching yourself." His words sink in and you're scared again.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" You're cut off by his digit against your quivering lips.

"Relax, you're not in trouble. You'll learn to control your overloads, and you've got a pretty good teacher. But I think you've got a second one in your still." There's no time to answer before he starts moving again, firmly snapping his hips against you that creates loud moans from you and tightly holding onto him.

All control was gone. Instantly, you cling onto him while letting out lingering loud mewls against his neck, unable to hide anything or keep quiet, rejoicing in the blooming pleasure quickly sparking through you even more. To feel such a luxury buzz, tingling from your sensitive valve, it leaves a confusing allure that you can't help but enjoy. You didn't want this or ask for it, yet it happened, and there's a small deep part in you that is glad it happened. Is that wrong?

"Beautiful fragging sight you are, perfect tight valve, singing loudly, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist." Dead End grunts through his smug proudness. "There will be even more pleasure once I give you your own little piercings. You'll be a dazzling sight."

There's no response from you, because you can't. The room fills with the sounds of both your moans, metal slapping together, the added creak of the berth under his rough movements as he grunts harshly with each thrust with your squeaked gasps. You feel it, the second overload about to pop in you, and he senses this before pressing his body more against your smaller body, grinding himself firmly against you over again and letting out growing heated vents. He's not far off either.

Then it happens. His warm fluids fill you, spike pulsing rapidly as his piercings press against your compulsing channel. His movements don't slow as he starts to rub your node with his digit, and that's all that's needed for your to fall through your second overload and clench around him even more tightly than before, a high pitched mewl sounding as you continue to hold onto him, before his movements finally slow into soft jerky thrusts.

Soft moans of pleasure is all that's heard from you, optics hazy and shuttering as your cooling fans kick in to help cool your quivery heated frame. Your thighs and servos still hold onto him, as if he's all there is, you just can't bring yourself to let go of him.

Eventually, he stops, and savours your valve a little more before removing himself, watching as his spike is extracted and leaving your gaping valve with nothing to clench onto. Your juices and his fluids soak between your two and the berth, and he's rather proud of the sight.

"Perfect. Leaking so much, good response from you babe."

Shame fills you. Allowing him to make you feel like this, to give in so easily, it makes you feel even more weak and pathetic. He notices this and caresses your cheek plating, surprisingly tender, affection even.

"You've got nothing to worry about anymore, I promise that babe. In time you'll see I'm not a terrible guy, and this life will grow on you. We're going to have so much fun you and I." Suddenly, his lips are over yours once again, slowly deepening the kiss between you two, and you give in yet again.

Yeah, plenty of fun.

[kalims]

⭒ㅤwhose (not) random kid

premise. crash landing from the future is apparently your kid, not that you know that anyway... in the form of a mixture between you, and your... supposed counterpart, clues are bound to pile up as to whose child this is.

parts. rosehearts, kingscholar, ashengrotto, al asim, schoenheit, shroud, draconia

cont. gender neutral reader, use of 'mada' which is just 'mama' and 'dada' cut in half for our resident shrimp (aka yuu), a yummy 5.8k words that I did not expect to get this long lol

note. I only have a rough outline of what's going to be included with the others parts after the names of the kids lol. I'll probably write leona's as usual after this but I can't promise I'll release one more part after his this month, the rest will probably come next month considering I'm bombarded sadge. paper defense, then final exams next month save me

also hello! my unnofficial: I'll try to post more

late edit: comment if you want to get tagged <3

riddle

when you slid a foot over the portal to heartslabyul there’s some sort of a strange–inexplicable air that surrounds it. usually the dimension is light to be in, unlike the tingling feelings of being in octavinelle or the eeriness of ignihyde. all dormitories had their own particular sensation that weighs on you depending on where you were.

you squinted, deciding to shrug it off. there was no way you had a sixth sense for feeling in the literal air!

barely a foot in though, was something you could only explain as an army of card… soldiers trudging from the other end of the sidewalk to the next. dumbly, you stopped right in front the shimmering portal that settles into a smooth sheen of silver behind you as they just kept coming.

they seemed to be looking for something–or whatever but you don’t really want to know what so you slowly inched to the side, hoping to sneak past them even if you had to go into one of the confusing mazes (which was a struggle considering you’re trying not to laugh as one of them trips).

must be ace’s wretchedness rubbing off of you.

the real question was, where in the seven were your resident idiots? you’d already sent a text over for your impromptu visit to the chat consisting of you three and figured they had seen it like they usually do then waited for you with feigned begrudging-ness that does not fit well with them showing up in the first place. 

you fish for your sad excuse for a phone in your pocket, cater’s words not yours. you’re more busy trying to merge your backside as you shuffle and pull up the chat to notice the ever nearing edge of the hedge wall that makes you stand out in comparison to the lighter shade of green brushing against your uniform.

not deuce: you guys ever notice the card soldiers infestation near ur mirror portal…?

not ace: you nedea to RNR RUN RN!!

not yuu: what???

there’s not much time to ponder about the cryptic, seemingly panicked expression of deuce’s message as you looked up from your phone, feeling a slight chill crawl up to your spine like you attracted some sort of unwarranted trouble that is also unwanted.

disclaimer: you (uu) did

“over here!” an unfamiliar voice yells, freezing you in your tracks just when you were about to make the sneak of the century. without a moment’s hesitation you darted deeper into the maze and shoved your device within the confines of your pockets as you held in a mortified scream at the sudden mob upon your tail as you ran.

WHY WAS THERE SO MANY? you yelled in your mind. number one rule in horror games don’t look back. don’t look back. don’t look back–

oh sevens you’re looking back.

the decision immediately fills you with regret when you spot the diabolical amount of card soldiers trailing after you like you just slaughtered their queen in front of whatever kingdom they came from! was this someone’s unique magic? there was no way riddle would let this sort of thing go rampant on his dorm!

you almost keel over in shock when the pointy end of a heart on the end of a pole sticks right on the patch of grass you just barely managed to trudge across with increasingly heavier steps. maybe you should actually take jack’s offer to join track and field–your stamina is horrible–you’re gonna get stabbed.

goodbye world. you thought warmly with a chorus of pants.

a deeper voice bellowed from the crowd from your behind. “three of hearts! are you thin-headed? do not harm the majesty!” the steps behind you stop almost abruptly, and you don’t stop running even as the voices fade. idiots for choosing to chastise their idiotic comrade but you’re not complaining as long as you get away from this horrid situation.

your majesty what now?

you don’t know how far you ran by sticking to all left turns until you flop down on the entrance of the maze, the archway barely offering you any relief as you took deep breaths and fought the urge to lay down on the grass and hope it camouflages your grey uniform.

that won’t work but you’re coping at this point.

not deuce: HELLO  I ALMOST GOT SKEWERED BY LITERAL CARDS?

not yuu: that’s a humiliating way to go down from

not ace: don’t be insensitive ace! are you ok?!

not deuce: NO? WHAT IS GOING ON

not yuu: riddle got dethroned and i'm not even happy

not yuu: it's the absolute WORST AT THE DORM!

not yuu: you better turn back rn and get away from ‘labyul coz it’s getting run by a kid

not deuce: BACK INTO THAT DEATH MOB? no thanks

not ace: yuu brace up, cater texted that the new boss is on his way to you

not yuu: F for yuu

not ace: F

not deuce: F u

what you expect to be the final boss of your life, you guess from the approaching pairs of footsteps nearing your defeated form sprawled across the flecks of grass and still heaving comes in a surprising form of softness, and youth.

“mada.” 

the blueness of the sky is shadowed by a tiny little head peering over your head. you’re startled by the tuff of red hair, and familiar pair of eyes which was strange, considering you have never seen this kid in your life. this was the new queen of heartlsabyul? you thought incredulously, since when were kids allowed in nrc…?

the thought was a breeding ground to raise the most evil person on the planet, considering the equally as evil people in night raven.

out of habit from the familiar chubby, round face you blurted: “riddle?”

the child blinked before they shook your head. “I am not papa.” their lips twitched into a small smile directed to you. if taken a closure look, this child’s resemblance with riddle really is uncanny. from the hair, even to a small golden crown sitting primly on the middle of their head. “mada, I am glad I found you. I have not seen papa yet.”

was this season 5 of stranger things?

they straightened. attention straying from you as you glanced to the other pairs of legs, whom you put a face to quickly. trey and cater both cast you a look of exasperation and pity.

then done like a true riddle–their face does a complete 360 and curls into anger as they stared off inside the maze. “all of you!” the tiny child rages with a concerning… change of color around their cute face, fingers pointed accusingly. how can a child be so horrifyingly scary?

the two third years do not mirror your confusion as you sat up, following the kid’s gaze to the archway where a myriad of thundering footsteps almost have you scampering away if not for them laying a small hand on your shoulder and somehow managing to ground you to stay still.

whose kid is this? you looked to cater who shakes his head uselessly

then to trey who wore a resigned smile.

the child’s brow twitches when the card soldiers lined up obediently. “I thought I had made it clear you not hurt mada.” they seethed, voice tilting in clear threat and a I demand you! sort of way. the card solider, three of hearts who had scared the living soul out of you trembled less subtle compared to the other guards.

of course this child had to get more terrifying by being observant, they caught the shiver of one soldier and narrowed their eyes. “ah, found the culprit. three of–”

trey shuffles forward with an awkward laugh that belies his usual laid back with–on his face is a twinge of concern as he raises his palms in a placating gesture. he steps forward three more times, sliding between the child and the line of soldiers but keeping the distance warily. “hey, kid. maybe we can discuss this with some tarts, and some tea?” he tries. children love sweets, right?

they keep their head level despite the astounding height difference. “I told you, uncle trey! being called ‘kid’ is disorderly! It's alice!” still, despite the brief protest their eyes sparkled with interest at the notion, even if they seemed a bit embarrassed to admit it. “i’m not supposed to eat sweets on mondays.” 

“huh.” cater mumbled before the thin line of his lips rose into a familiar grin. “as in, rule 102 of the queen?” he queries with a nervous slide of his fingers through his hair. he’s not so obvious to directly state that he’s tiptoeing around… alice but a bit of months knowing him, you can tell.

alice nods along. they no longer look as bothered as before, the card soldiers all slump their tense shoulders a little when alice shifts their piercing gaze from the three of hearts before settling onto cater, who they offer a brief nod of agreement before returning back to trey.

well, a kid is a kid. 

“but i can eat sweets on tuesdays.” they added hastily. like they don’t want the notion of trey’s treats slipping from their fingers but that would be strange, if the look of confusion you three share with each other you would have thought trey had initially baked for alice based off the tone of wistfulness in their tone.

trey smiles at them. “tomorrow it is.” reassured by their sheepish innocence he stops in front of them and grasps their shoulders, turning them away from the stiff soldiers. alice spares a brief glance at them. “what about these rule breakers?”

you stood up fully. “uh, don’t worry, they didn’t do anything wrong. i ran for too long.” you supplied in defense. if anything , a resemblance to riddle of all people meant that they could have the head offing in their blood. you did not want to stick around to find out, neither did cater.

alice considers you for a moment with a small sparkle in their eyes, with a wave of the small wand that maternalized in their hand, the soldiers fade into glittering spots of gold. only then do they let trey lead them back to the main pathway towards the dormitory of heartslabyul.

you fall into step behind cater who probably sees the question in your eyes so he lowers his voice discreetly, glancing at the back of trey who keeps the child’s bay attention so they don’t notice you two slowing down a little. nonetheless, still walking.

“that was little alice’s unique magic.” he says to you with a shrug, sighing after a glance at the former’s small, regal form. “pretty overpowered… kind of like my split card but less cute, and more dangerous.”

he winked, you frowned.

in front of you two, alice seems tame in comparison to the subtle bribing of trey questioning about their favorite sweets as you all finally reached the nearing entrance of the main dormitory

“where’s riddle?” you questioned.

he pursed his lips, navigating though the fountain in front of the dorm. “last i know, he went out early to campus cause of a meeting with his club for the upcoming NRC tour festival…” 

oh, right. I have not found papa. alice’s voice echoes in your mind, so you echo the question that appears in your mind right after the memory. “alice called riddle ‘papa’ which i’m pretty sure is a term for a parent…” you trailed off. riddle seemed to be the least likely person to have a secret love child of some sorts, he seemed like he had most of his life planned out.

if riddle bent over backwards for his rules then he wouldn’t stray from the path he had set.

there’s a flash of interest in cater’s eyes, it was already there before, just dwindled. you watch it spark to life. akin to lighting some sort of fire within the guy, a gossipmonger at heart as he leaned in eagerly just as you both trudged up the stairs to the front doors who opened politely, and closed behind you as you walked in the main hall of heartslabyul.

“they look, and act like riddle!” he chuckles. “imagine our shock when alice popped up straight out of nowhere with an army at their beck and call.” cater clutched onto his arms, and shivered. you leaned away when he reaches his arms out to you in a teasing manner.

he adds. not at all offended by the way you scrunch your face at his ‘affections’. “they seem to listen to you though. like someone.”

you only regard him with an impassive raise of your brows. “i don't think so. riddle doesn’t listen to anyone. much less me.” befuddled by the mere idea, you scoffed. in all your magic-less glory, the best thing you might have achieved here in this other dimension was having the ability to wake leona kingscholar up from one of his power naps.

cater doesn’t seem to agree. only sighing at you from what it seems to be an of course. “only you can be so oblivious to the chaos you leave behind.” he says in response, making an exaggerated show of peering behind your shoulder and widening his eyes in feigned shock.

you humor him as you turned your head. the scene of the main entrance of the dormitory was the only answer to your eyes as you both walked into the living room–where little alice sits alone. you caught a glimpse of trey’s dark hair as he disappeared into the kitchen, most likely going off to make her a treat.

vaguely unsure if the male had heard him, cater calls out a “make us some too!”

“not my fault the students here are so… unstable.” you remarked with a roll of your eyes. remembering the overblots to be the most plausible reference to the chaos cater was talking about as you begrudgingly sat down on the couch and reeled in any other remarks for the child in the room.

who was now shuffling closer to your seated frame even if they thought they were being subtle in the movement.

what was two seats in the space between you and alice eventually became none at all, as they settled beside you and peered up with innocent eyes.

you tilted your head at them, alice copies the movement.

then to the other side.

they mirror the lull of your head.

“besides those.” cater cleared his throat after a bewildered glance at the child. “what’s more impressive is that you’re still here, yuu-yuu. night raven is like… a pack of wolves trying to run you off crying, and you? you’re a very weird sheep.”

still a bit enraptured on this child, you replied without your stare wavering from the roundness of alice’s cheek as you reached up to pinch it. to yours, and cater’s surprise. their previous cute ferociousness is not present at all as they leaned against the warmth as though instinctive. “i didn’t do anything.”

you don’t entertain the accusing look in cater’s eyes.

“if that was you not trying to beast tame the school then i don’t know what’ll happen if you put in the effort.”

you both lapse into silence as cater–who seemed to sense the finality of the conversation lets it slip fully and instead, busies himself with the entertainments his phone provided. you redirect your full attention onto the elusive red-headed alice.

“so,” you started. “how did you end up here? must be a great feat if you were able to go past the barriers.”

alice curls their fingers within the fabric of your blazer, inspecting it as they reply softly. “i’m not sure, mada. i was just sleeping, and woke up in a garden. the hedgehogs showed me the way after i offered them a caterpillar.” they do not mention a bleary moment in their sleep where they curiously wondered how you and riddle came to be as they drifted off. “as pertaining by rule 210… if you are lost in a maze, give the hedgehogs an offering and they shall show you the way.”

you can’t help but let your mind drift over to riddle, who echoes the rules to be followed when mentioned.

your lips twitch into a smile, much to the delight of alice. “strange indeed. must have been scary.”

their eyes squinted. “i’m not scared.”

you chuckled and pinched their cheek. they pout.

“where are you from?” you ask instead, wanting to know more about the.. figurative alice from nowhere. 

alice looks at you strangely.

“from the queendom of roses…” could they simply be a relative of riddle’s? you thought mindlessly. drawing your fingers through the surprising soft red locks who seemingly part eagerly for your touch. “with my mada, and my papa. sometimes my uncles visit.”

unsure of how to reply, you merely nod along. parting their hair by half and twisting it into a braid. “you called me mada.” you hummed.

“because you are my mada.”

she says like it’s the only thing that makes sense in her small world, not relinquishing her grip on your blazer but instead tugging at the wrists to expose the small slither of skin and hold onto it. clingy. you thought, deciding not to question it.

… was this your freaking kid?

the smell of strawberries wafts over the space of the living room alongside the ticking of the oven–momentarily taking both alice, and cater’s attention. the latter stretches before standing to stride over to the source of the smell, no doubt requesting trey to change the taste once more.

alice’s eyes, like yours slid to your own. a bit shy in their demeanor as they clutched onto the skin of your wrist. “can i eat some of uncle’s tarts?” they queried under your breath, only meant for you alone. you felt a bit confused but nodded nonetheless. 

their lips twitched into an eager smile before it settles into a more controlled look of impassiveness.

that was adorable. you thought, unable to resist leaning down to scoop them into your arms as you stood. alice makes a sound of brief surprise before their arms loop around your neck. they sat pliantly still as you walked over to follow cater inside the kitchen, catching a glimpse of your scent that they sought for, so alice nuzzles their face into the warm pulse on your neck.

trey glances up from the animated retelling of cater about the crazy day. “new responsibility?” he wore a humored smile, apron long discarded and folded over the handle of the oven for the meantime.

if riddle saw this, he would not believe it no matter how intelligent he was. trey deduced.

he gestures to the tray set on the counter. “there’s frosted strawberries, blueberry cornmeal, and the good old mont blanc since i got left over ingredients from the last unbirthday party.” 

alice feels the shift of your head as you glanced down at them, they don’t remove their head from the crevice of your neck for a moment and meets your eyes with a raise of their own. “frosted strawberries, please.”

“good choice, little alice.” cater comments.

“careful, it’s hot.” trey chided gently as he watched you pick up one of them, drawing it near alice’s waiting hunger as they tilted their head up from your shoulder. they took a small bite at the corners of the tart, smiling at the taste and only wider when you wiped remnants of crumbs around the edges of their mouth.

alice chews, and swallows before they spoke again. their eyes gleaming with admiration as they stared at trey. “it’s always the yummiest when it’s fresh out the oven.” they recited.

trey blinks.

“you’re a bright one.” he remarked, ruffling their hair when he drew near. “don’t tell anyone about the wicked secret ‘round the kitchen, all right?”

they nodded vigorously. “thank you, uncle..” they spewed politely, but evidently genuine.

cater munches from the other end of the counter. “we gotta protect alice,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling as he pointed his phone to you, tapping to snap a picture of the scene despite your warning stare. “too nice for the vultures we call students here.” 

“you might be right.” trey shook his head, and you nodded mutely. more absorbed into letting them take bite by bite into the tart until it was about finished halfway. only then do you lay it back on the tray. how much sweets was ideal for a child to take anyway? regardless of you deeming it as enough, alice stays quiet and does not complain.

if they wanted more, you wouldn’t know.

“later.” you promised, leaning back when you were satisfied with their prim appearance. a pat of their hair to smooth down trey’s earlier disruption.

“later..” alice echoed. 

a resident third year enters the kitchen. only to pause in their tracks and back away.

“domesticity is really the enemy of the students here.” cater sniffed, earning a chuckle from trey who found the comment funny. “imagine being happy, being broody and emotional are the real requirements to get admitted.”

cater finishes his snack with a pleased hum, and a grateful nod to trey. “by the way i messaged adeuce, sent them to stall dorm leader from going back as long as the dorm was… kind of in a wre–predicament.” he cleared his throat, casting a brief glance at alice to spot if they had taken offence to his almost uttered word.

“so now they’re en-route?” trey guessed, transferring the leftover tarts to a glass bowl. leaving the tray in the sink to wash for later. cater nods in response, typing on his phone with one hand. likely in cahoots with the two right now. “told them the coast was clear! no more trampling soldiers scampering around.”

trey eyed him. “what about the–”

just then, whatever trey was going to comment in rebuttal of cater’s easy reassurance was promptly interrupted by new individuals peeking inside. ace, and deuce poked their heads from the corner. as if trying to ascertain the danger level of whatever may be inside.

ace rougly nudges deuce when he spots you with a child in arms. for two people insisting on their unique, varying selfs. they mirror each other’s look of bewilderment as though their brain cells crackled and connected into a singular one. “what the seven?” ace mouthed.

you all do not notice the look of familiarity on alice’s face.

nor the brightening when riddle strides in with a petulant huff,

if riddle thought strangely, or disapproved of the two’s behavior then he wouldn’t have had the chance to comment on it before he was leveling trey with a sharp, inquisitive stare. “i would like a very good explanation as to why my hedges have been mangled to the ground.” his eye twitches with the effort of containing irritation. “three hours i’ve been gone. three! and when i enter heartslabyul the first thing i see is devastation upon my gardens!”

perhaps emotionally, riddle cried out in the last sentence.

even though such an expression should have frightened a child to some degree, alice relaxes in your arms but their face clouds in shame at his voice.

riddle whirls back to the other two lingering by the doorway who both flinches imperceptibly–cater tries to intercept with a nervous chuckle but is only met with a steely don’t even start! “ace, and deuce have me running around the school. saying something about yuu getting kidnapped by those.. vermin excuses of… students from octavinelle!" riddle seethed, breathing still a bit labored as favor of his statement about running around.

“dorm leader!” ace stood straight stiffly.

oh, did he just come from a frantic search in octavinelle?

“i even had to threaten collaring azul who i thought was lying about yuu.” with a deep intake of air, riddle breathes out and pinches the bridge of his nose, collecting his temper. much to the chagrin of deuce.

“we apologize.” deuce added sadly.

cater feigns ignorance by looking away but it’s trey’s look that has him adding to the defense of the two, rather than using the opportunity to scamper away with his head in tact. “ahem… we had these two keep you busy. so don’t be too harsh on them, riddle. us upperclassmen will take responsibility.”

a nod of agreement from trey gets riddle quiet.

the former tilts his chin to you. “yuu is fine, they’re right here.”

like he hadn’t even noticed before (he really didn’t), riddle’s head snaps to you immediately. his eyes would have been stuck to you, prodding for a valid explanation to your ignorance to his angry calls but instead, settles on the bundle in your arms.

“who…” a blink. “why in the world do you have a child! they are not welcome on school grounds! especially this time in the school year–.” riddle sputtered, instinctively sauntering over to take a closer look at alice who only stared without an inch of fear.

“papa.” they mumbled, voice measured but still echoing in the now quiet kitchen.

ace leapt up to your side. “that’s not right!” he gasped, squinting dangerously at riddle. any traces of earlier mortification gave way to whatever emotion he’s got on his face. “how could you sully yuu! they’re not a babysitter for your kid!” 

“what?” riddle seethed, head flicking from ace, to you, then to alice.

despite a look of great reluctance, deuce nods from the doorway still. mumbling to himself. “dorm… dorm leader has a child…”

you vaguely remember trey offering the dazed guy a glass of water.

“unconfirmed earlier, confirmed now.” cater adds unhelpfully to the blazing fire of riddle’s rising anger.

riddle’s teeth grind together, jaw clenching as his fingers tightened into a fist. it was more of one his attempts at calming down rather than preparation for a physical alteration. “I did no such–!”

“don’t be mad at mada.” alice reaches for him, tugging at his blazer which surprisingly, quells the reddening of his face. now, he just looks a bit confused.

alice turns their head slightly. “mada, you can calm down papa.”

deuce paused before dropping to the ground.

“AH! he’s dead. this is why you don’t betray us by keeping secrets, yuu!” 

“uh oh… trey help me with deuce… wait, should we just leave him? i mean, he’ll be just fine here, right?”

“... just take the other arm, cater.”

all the way back to the living room, riddle’s face remained tinged with warmth. alice, while reluctant to part with your embrace, seemed wholly pleased to stay by the other red-heads' side. insisting you sit next to him when you moved to sit by your two friends.

you obliged them despite riddle’s interest with the carpet.

the couch dipped at the weight of another. even so, the non-verbal conversation between alice, and riddle continued. the former pressed their lips together thinly, seemingly assessing the… youthfulness of the latter. they aren’t so used to this kind of look from him.

cater flinched, and look away from the flash of his phone. he elbows a dazed deuce.

“so,” ace cleared his throat, blinking his still wide eyes. “who the heck is this kid?!”

“language.” riddle chided sharply. though softened from its usual end even he isn’t so sure why it is from the mere presence of alice alone. 

“rule 13, always present yourself with appropriate language.”

“always present yourself with appropriate language.” alice repeated.

riddle squinted at a relaxed alice, who tilts their head as if to ask ‘what?’.

“genetics is crazy. what’s next, the kid beheads us too?” ace points between the two. 

alice shrugged. “only if you break the rules.”

“i do not have a child!” riddle protested.

“i am your child.” replied alice.

“apparently this one’s our kid.” you agreed begrudgingly.

riddle stares at you with a mixture of disbelief, and confusion.

darting between you and the kid like they're gonna start collating him in all his glory! sure, alice had red hair like him but quite a lot of people in the island have it too besides his relatives. the idea of… of him and you is just so out of this world that he can't wrap his head around it.

you? you who he hadn't paid attention to when you arrived at the ceremony? the very first person in that event that broke the rules? you, the very fading into the background student whom he believed to be a bad influence to his students ace, and deuce? 

you he had almost hurt beyond repair at the bursting of his control so tightly held in his hands?

the brief skip of his heart when your eyes meet over the head of alice is enough to send blood rushing to his head, coloring it with his signature red whose warmth doesn't feel like the usual simmering anger he struggles to keep submerged. if anything, this feeling is practically leaping out the water and baring his face to everyone. 

riddle does not look away. managing a look of what he tries to name as conviction but easily crumbles to fluster.

then the idea wasn't so bad considering this young child has proved to be raised dutifully, correctly without any worries of what he used to be burdened with as a child.

it gives way to curiosity. 

despite his incredulously, riddle queries. “the gardens.” he starts with a measured narrow to his eyes, not too intense to possibly upset this.. future child of his whose eyes are strikingly familiar enough to halt the normal circulation of his heart once more for half a second. “were you responsible for the destruction of some hedges I've come across?”

alice shrinks into themselves. “i'm sorry papa.” they pursed their lips, voice genuine by the lower tilt. “i thought i could use my card soldiers to look for you, and mada. you told me about this place called heartslabyul before?”

“i have?” riddle blinks. the idea isn't too bizarre, it's only natural to think back on such things.

they nodded. “yes, papa. you talk about it a lot on our friday’s. about how it looked, how you were as it's dorm leader…” alice peeks a glance at you. “and your parties with mada.”

“unbirthday parties.” trey corrects. “sometimes birthday parties if it really is someone's birthday.”

ace perks up. “let me tell you then! from first hand experience!” he blanched. like opening light about his own struggles in heartlsabyul magically meant the truth to riddle’s own kid. “labyul is really strict on rules. you know on my first day, I ate a tart and—”

deuce stirred slightly.

at riddle’s glare, ace visibly wilts to which cater snaps a picture with snickers. “I mean… the tart was really good, made by riddle and all…” he sweatdropped.

“you shouldn't eat a tart that is not made by you.” alice replied thoughtfully. riddle can't resist a light smile at her words, feeling a sense of accomplishment as he nodded along. his hand hovers for a moment before it pats down on their hair. “that's right. I must have taught you well.”

you absentmindedly patted their head, taking turns with riddle to do so while  expertly avoiding his gaze. “you said friday though, why?”

“on friday’s we don’t go out.” alice says.

“that isn’t a rule by the queen of hearts.” riddle points out.

“you made that rule papa.” they replied innocently. “in our home, so we get to spend time together as a family.”

silence reigns.

“wow.” you cough. sparing riddle an approving glance. that… sounded nice… domestic, and nice. you supposed even as an adult riddle would still have some sort of grip on rules, considering he grew up with them, it helped him live.

and now rules he shaped helped him live with alice, and you apparently. 

tick.

tock.

tick.

tock.

alice peers down at the watch they pull out from under their little adorable coat, oblivious to the stunned silence they left behind. hesitantly, they place a hand on your knee, legs swinging as they rest the other on riddle’s. “mada.” they smiled, this time widely. “papa. I gotta go.”

“what?” riddle's eyes widened. “you haven't finished your tart yet.”

“it's okay. I already ate a tart earlier, papa.”

“you can eat another, just this time. if you want.” he insisted, strangely worried.

cater raises his hand. “can I?”

riddle disagrees immediately. “no.”

muttering something about favoritism, cater looked away with a long sigh.

riddle's eyes lingered on the roundness of alice's face. from the shape, to the more detailed parts of their features. eyes, your eyes. the lushness of their hair, the soft curve of their lips tilted with innocence sends an unexpected grip in his heart, like it's heart stopping.

gosh. his heart just stopped. would he really have his own alice? his eyes darted to you. with you?

alice huffed lightly, skin glimmering lightly as their shade slowly grew transculent and faded with each blink of your eyes. “I can always eat papa's tarts. they're so delicious.” 

“don't use too much magic.” riddle scolded with a crease in his brows.

you add. “don't anger riddle too much.”

“please eat his tarts.” ace encouraged.

trey shot him a look. “don't teach alice bad things.” he sighed, glancing at said child with a smile. “I'll teach you how to make your own tarts, ask uh… future me?”

cater, not wanting to be outdone quickly perked up. “as a future magicam star, I'll make you one too. little alice!” he added, self assured of his future fame.

when it all settles, all that remains is a space between you and riddle that feels too little than vast. and a remainder of your future.

“atleast we know what name we'll choose.” you can't resist but tease. riddle does not blow up like you would have thought from your remark, only sparing you a look of feigned annoyance with warming ears that doesn't support the idea of his irritation.

he resigns to a small nod. “I am assured they are taught well.”

ace glances between you, and riddle. “I miss alice already. riddle seemed a lot more lenient with them around. you think they got embarrassing stories from the future?” he comments off-handedly, leaning back against the couch and blowing on the fringe over his forehead. “when are you guys gonna make an alice? please make one now.”

cater whistles out of there.

trey shakes his head.

deuce–still passed out is thankfully considered by trey, who dragged his limp body with a nod of goodluck to ace.

you waved at ace. F indeed.

wait! don't leave me, upperclassman! ace cried in his mind, feeling the panic splinter his state of mind.

“ACE!” riddle gritted his teeth. “i'll hand down my sentence, the verdict comes afterwards–”

ace paled.

“off with your head–!”

trivia

alice’s name is very much inspired by alice from the one and only: “alice in wonderland”.

their unique magic is called: under my decree which is simply being able to summon card soldiers, and command them at their will! (in this case, after being sent to a maze and finding their way out thanks to the hedgehog. alice was able to discern that this was heartlsabyul, and figured they might be able to find their parents here, hence, why they used their magic.)

alice is written to be a well-behaved 8 year old.

the watch is a nod to my previous commissioned work who also dealt with the concept of time travelling and related to going back (ha, ha).

alice woke up by the sound of a clock ticking, and knew that hearing it again meant that their time was up.

the entire thing happened due to alice helping untangle a fae who happened to get stuck in their gardens at the backyard while they were looking for a hedgehog that had not yet eaten (spoiler: hedgehog was hiding in a small crack under the tree) the same fae visited them at night whilst sleeping and granted them a dream of whatever they wanted to wish. alice, feeling swayed by the magic despite being not aware made a wish to fulfill it.

boom! baby rosehearts in your faces!

alice woke up and immediately said young riddle was funnily shy to yuu. much to the confusion of actual current riddle!

their favorite tart is: anything with strawberries, like riddle.

rule 13, and rule 102 are entirely fictional and made up by me… for plot purposes…

not deuce = is actually yuu

not yuu = is actually ace

not ace = is actually deuce

deuce been sleeping for the entire time lol.

ace got roped into fixing the gardens with the collar on  #thatswhatyouget

riddle invites you to study for the nearing quiz season the following day.

[hazedmilk]

CROSS OVER ! - R. SUKUNA X FEM! READER

Pairings - ghost! r. sukuna x fem! reader

summary - your husband—who had now been dead a year, won't cross over, and it's getting harder for him to go to the light. You need to help him finish his business, so he can wait for you in the light. Oh yeah, you can see ghosts by the way.

words - 3.5 k

a/n -art by @/ kcokaine on X

"I'll ruin you," he promised against her neck, voice all sin and shadow. "Slowly."

She should have shoved him away. Said something righteous. But when his mouth ghosted over her collarbone, her only answer was the sound of her breath catching.

"Say stop," he whispered, fangs grazing her skin. "And I'll pretend to be human again."

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

You hummed, quiet and distracted, flipping the page with a soft flick. A calm smile played at your lips — the kind you wore when you were trying not to react. Trying not to feel anything at all.

Flick.

The lamp beside you turned on.

Flick.

It turned off again.

You let out a loud, deliberate sigh, eyes still on the page. "Sukuna."

His voice came from the other side of the room, too casual. Too smug. "So now you decide to talk to me."

You didn't answer right away. Just turned another page. Slow. Measured. You weren't really reading — hadn't been for the last few chapters — but it gave your hands something to do.

"Don't act like I'm doing it for no reason," you said eventually.

Sukuna shifted on the couch, the leather creaking under his weight. He made himself comfortable — because of course he did. Like this was still his house. His life.

"I haven't done anything," he said.

You finally looked over at him.

He was exactly where you'd left him — sprawled out, one arm draped along the back of the couch, the other resting on his knee. He looked like death warmed over, which made sense. Given the circumstances.

"If by 'haven't done anything' you mean 'haven't crossed over,'" you said, "then yeah. You're right. You haven't done a goddamn thing."

He didn't flinch. Just smiled. That lazy, dead-eyed expression he used to wear when he knew he'd already won the argument.

"I like it here."

You sighed. "Well you don't belong here—not anymore."

"Maybe I'm still here because you want me to be."

You stared at the book, unblinking. "That's not how hauntings work."

"It's exactly how they work."

"No, it isn't—I've been seeing ghosts since I was five, Sukuna. I knew what a haunting was long before you died."

"Yeah? Well, I am dead. That makes me the expert now."

You flipped to the next page of your book, the paper sharp between your fingers. "Just... go. You're dead. I didn't ask for that. And I definitely didn't ask for you to stick around and haunt me like some unfinished project."

He didn't leave. Of course he didn't. His voice was smooth, amused, almost fond.

"Still wearing my ring, though."

A pause.

"Not yours. Mine. Wedding and engagement."

You said nothing.

He drifted closer, or maybe you just felt him closer. The air pulled tight.

"Like you don't want to admit I'm gone. Like some part of you wants me to stay."

You shut the book.

"No," you said, carefully. "I'm grieving. I'm furious that you're gone.but I know what's right, that it's your turn to cross over into the light."

He exhaled — not quite a sigh, not quite a scoff. "But I don't want to," he said. "I can't."

You looked at him then. For real. The way the lamplight passed through his outline made him look half-finished, like he was fading already.

"But you can see the light?" you asked quietly.

He nodded, eyes flicking to the corner of the room. "Yeah. Right over there." He pointed to the left. You followed his gaze but saw nothing.

"Then go. Just go." You stood up. "I can't deal with you, not when I know I can't touch you, hold you, nothing! You're just there, like a piece of furniture." You exclaimed.

He chuckled.

Then he stood. Slow. Gentle. The way he never was when he was alive.

"Alright," he said softly. "I'll go. Just... go to sleep."

You tried to smile. You even managed half of one.

He turned toward the corner.

Took one step.

Then another.

And by the third, he was gone.

—

"This one's from the Heian era," you said, lifting the lacquered relic with practiced care. Your fingertips brushed the worn edge, reverent, steady. "Came in just yesterday. Beautiful condition, considering its age."

The woman leaned in, breath catching. "It's... stunning."

You nodded, lips curling into a soft smile. Five years of owning this shop, and that reaction never got old.

It had started after Sukuna. After the vows, after the chaos of loving someone like him — you needed something slower. Something solid. Something with a past that didn't whisper back at you.

Antiques gave you that.

Every item in your shop had already survived centuries. Breakage, loss, war, abandonment — and still, here they were. Still standing.

Much like you.

"I've always had a thing for the past," you added quietly, tracing a worn pattern in the gold. "The stories behind these things. What they've seen. Who they belonged to."

The woman glanced around, caught in the quiet spell of the shop — the soft light, the scent of old paper and polished wood, the air thick with quiet memory.

You placed the piece gently back on the velvet-lined stand and smiled. "So, what do you think? This one... or are you still thinking about the Kaidō-era incense burner?"

She hesitated, eyes flicking between the two — torn, enchanted, almost reverent.

"I'll take the heian piece."

You smiled clasping your hands together. "I'm very pleased!"

She smiled as you tucked the small jar of koso into the paper bag, wrapping it neatly even though you both knew she'd tear it open before she got home. Still, habits like that��soft hands, careful folding—had a way of making you feel human again.

"That'll be... 2,567 yen," you said, voice gentle but detached, like it had been rehearsed a thousand times before.

She didn't flinch at the total, already counting the coins from her purse with practiced ease. Then she placed the money on the counter, each clink of metal unusually loud in the quiet shop.

"Thank you very much," she said, taking the bag. She paused for a heartbeat. "Such a sweet woman."

You gave her a noncommittal hum, more acknowledgment than gratitude. She didn't seem to notice.

The bell above the door jingled as she walked out, the soft chime echoing for a beat too long. Then silence returned, thick and familiar.

You counted the coins again anyway, out of habit. Sorted them into neat piles. Slid the drawer of the till shut. The shop felt colder now. Not physically, but in that subtle way silence sometimes scratches at the back of your mind, just before—

"Hey there."

You screamed.

The sound tore out of you without warning, a raw, startled sound that echoed against the dusty walls. You spun around, breath caught in your chest, stomach already sinking before your eyes even landed on him.

And there he was.

Of course.

Sukuna.

Smirking, hands in the pockets of a coat he wasn't wearing when he died. Standing like the rules of reality had never applied to him.

You frowned, wiping a hand over your face. "Are you actually serious right now?"

He tilted his head, that lazy smirk growing. "Look at my pretty wife, working so hard. Don't you get tired being this adorable all day?"

You stared at him, jaw clenched. "Why haven't you crossed over?"

He shrugged. "Never said I would."

"You did last night! You said you would!"

He looked unconcerned. "I said, 'I'll go.' I never said, 'Yes dear, I'll go cross over for you.'"

"Same thing!"

"Nope." He stepped closer. His voice dropped just a little, almost soft. "I'm not going. I'm not leaving you."

Your hands curled into fists. "You have to go, Sukuna. You can't keep doing this—just showing up like nothing happened. I buried you."

"I know," he said quietly. "I was there, remember? Front row."

"Don't joke."

"I'm not." His expression faltered for a split second—long enough to catch it. "I just don't want to leave. Not yet."

"You have to!" Your voice cracked, sharper than before. "You're dead, Sukuna. This—whatever this is—it's not fair. It's not real. You're not supposed to be here anymore."

He didn't move. Just stood there, watching you fall apart like you always did when he pushed you too far.

You took a shaky breath. "Cross over... or I swear to God, I'll stop loving you. I'll never forgive you for this."

That finally made him blink.

He stepped back, but not far enough. His voice was quiet now. "That won't be the case. You'll always love me. You know that."

"I—" You faltered, words knotted in your throat. "Shut up. Just... shut up and leave me alone."

You turned your back on him, closing your eyes like that might undo it, erase him, pull you back into a world that made sense.

A breath passed. Then another.

He sighed—loud, theatrical, familiar. Like he always did when you won a fight and he let you pretend it was your idea.

"See you later," he said.

And then he was gone.

Again.

Just like always.

—

It had been five days.

Not a long time, really. Barely a blip in the grand stretch of a calendar.

But it mattered.

Because Sukuna hadn't come back.

Five full days of silence. Not just the usual quiet that filled your home when the shop closed and the lights dimmed—this was different. This silence felt unnatural. Hollow. A space where something used to be. Where he used to be.

And maybe... maybe he'd crossed over.

That was good, wasn't it? You told him to go. Begged him, really. Shouted it at him like an ultimatum you never truly meant.

So he listened. And left.

You should be happy. At peace. That's what people say—you helped him move on, as if that's some kind of achievement. As if you're a stronger person for letting go.

But were you really happy?

No. Of course not.

You sat in the silence, waiting. Pretending not to. Convincing yourself you didn't still glance over your shoulder, flinch at the sound of your own breath in the hallway, freeze every time the front door creaked—hoping, stupidly, that it was him.

It'd be selfish to want him back. He was probably at peace now. Maybe even happy, finally. Waiting for you. Watching from the light, like people in books and movies always do.

Still.

Your six-year anniversary was coming up.

That was the part that caught you in the ribs.

You used to joke about it—how he remembered the day down to the hour, even if he pretended to forget. How he'd scowl and roll his eyes when you brought it up, but still always showed up with flowers and your favorite wine. How he'd call you "ridiculously sentimental" while pressing a kiss to your wrist and pulling you close.

But this year, there was nothing.

No knock on the window. No voice behind you. No smirk in the mirror. No ghost.

Just silence.

You sighed and turned toward your mirror, pausing to look at your reflection. The room behind you was still, like it was holding its breath.

You wore the dress. The one he bought you three years ago on a whim because it was "too damn perfect not to." The one you wore when he proposed to you on the rooftop. The one he tugged off later that night, fingers reverent and teasing all at once.

It was the dress you realized you loved him in. Not just loved. Chose him. Completely.

And now, you were wearing it again. Alone.

You didn't even know why you put it on. Maybe you were trying to summon him, like a ritual. Maybe you just needed to feel something other than aching emptiness.

You reached for your bag, fingers trembling slightly as you grabbed your keys.

You knew where you'd go.

~

You stood at the edge of the rooftop, the city stretching out beneath you in dull glimmers and distant noise. The wind pulled gently at your dress, lifting the hem like invisible fingers still curious about you. The night air was cool, but not cold. Comfortable, if not a little lonely.

You set the old boombox down by your foot with a soft thud, the plastic casing scuffed from years of being dragged around—picnics, road trips, impromptu dance parties in your cramped living room. It still worked, barely. The rewind button was jammed and the volume dial crackled if you touched it too fast.

But it worked.

You clicked play.

The opening synth of Hungry Eyes bled into the night, too loud, too romantic, too specific. And perfect.

It was always this song. Always.

You set the bottle of wine beside it—a red, the expensive kind he used to complain about because "no one with working taste buds needs to spend that much on fermented grapes," but he always bought it anyway. The cork popped a little too early. You poured a glass anyway.

Tonight was going to be perfect.

Not in a dramatic, Instagram-worthy, movie-ending kind of way. But your kind of perfect.

You sat on the edge of the rooftop, dress pooling around your hips, heels kicked off somewhere behind you. Your legs dangled off the side like you were sixteen again, like gravity didn't apply as long as you didn't look down.

Your glass trembled slightly in your hand. You blamed the wind.

You looked out over the city. Some couples were probably slow dancing in their kitchens. Some were fighting over whose turn it was to take out the trash. Some were in love. Some were leaving each other.

You were doing none of those things.

Just sitting.

Just listening.

Just waiting.

The chorus hit

You closed your eyes. Let the song wash over you, bubble up all the memories you'd been trying to lock down for five days straight. The dance in your old apartment with the flickering lights.

The way his hand slipped onto your hip, warm and casual, like it belonged there. The grin that split his face when he saw you try to twirl and nearly fell into the bookshelf. The quiet after.

His breath near your ear, and the whisper: "You're it for me, you know that?"

You took a sip of wine. It didn't burn enough.

The city didn't stop for you. No one knew this was the night he asked you to marry him. No one knew what the dress meant, what the song meant, what this rooftop meant.

It was your secret shrine. Your grief. Your anniversary.

You didn't even know if he'd come.

Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe this was the real goodbye, and five days of silence was all you were going to get. Maybe the universe had finally listened to you—for once—and taken him away properly. Permanently.

You wiped your cheek before the tears could fall far enough to be real.

"Happy anniversary," you whispered into the wind.

Your voice sounded too small, too fragile—like it might break apart before the wind could carry it anywhere. But you said it anyway.

And then you waited.

Because no matter how many times you told yourself it was over—

Some quiet, unreasonable part of you still believed he might answer.

Then:

"Thought you'd be here."

You turned at once.

Sukuna.

He stood at the edge of the rooftop, bathed in that soft twilight glow that made everything feel like memory. Like dream. His hands in his pockets, that crooked, knowing smile you hadn't seen in so long.

You stumbled to your feet, breath caught in your throat as you ran to him. "I... I didn't think—"

Your hand hovered near his chest. You wanted to touch him, but the ache of what wasn't real, of what you couldn't hold, was already pulling at your ribs.

But then he reached first.

His fingers curled around yours—solid, warm. Like it used to be.

You looked up at him, disbelieving.

You could touch him, feel him. And he could feel the same.

"I had to give it time," he said quietly, raising your hand to his cheek. "I'm sorry I left like that. But I had to come back for this—for you. For our anniversary. To dance. To see my wife one last time."

Tears blurred your vision. His skin felt real. His voice sounded real. And that made it hurt more.

"Y/n" he murmured, "dance with me?"

You nodded, barely able to breathe, and let him draw you close. One arm around your waist, the other holding your hand. He took the first step, slow and steady, guiding you as if music filled the air—even though there was none. Just the wind, the faint hum of the city below, and the sound of your own trembling breath.

You moved together in silence, his movements careful and sure, yours unsteady at first. But muscle memory, that old rhythm, came back.

He pressed his forehead to yours. "You changed me," he said softly. "I used to be—"

"An asshole," you whispered, a soft laugh breaking through your tears.

He smiled. "Yeah. That. But with you... God, it wasn't even about your body, or what people saw. It was you. The way you looked at me. The way you never backed down, even when I was awful."

You clung to him tighter, swaying with him across the rooftop. It didn't matter that there was no music. You remembered the song from your wedding night. He must have remembered too—because he began to hum it.

It was off-key, low and gravelly, but it made your heart twist in your chest.

"I didn't deserve you," he said, brushing your hair from your face. "But you still gave me everything. And then I died."

More tears fell. He wiped them gently away, his thumb soft against your cheek.

"It wasn't your fault," he said firmly. "The crash, the road—it was me. I was distracted, reckless. But I would've done it all again. I would've driven through storms and fire for you."

"I can't accept that," you choked. "If I hadn't called you... If I hadn't made you come all that way—"

"Don't." He stopped, holding your face between his hands. "Don't carry that. I never blamed you. I never could. You were the reason I lived in the first place. For once, I had something worth everything."

The music in your head swelled again—memories of an old song and an old life. You kept dancing.

His hand pressed to your back, holding you steady, close. Your bodies moved like a memory, the kind that visits just before sleep. He spun you gently, then pulled you back in, arms wrapping around you tightly.

"I would've done anything for you," he said, voice thick. "And that night? It was enough. I had already been given more than I deserved."

You rested your head on his chest, listening for a heartbeat that wasn't there. And still, you swore you could hear it.

He whispered into your hair, "Will you be alright when I go?"

You hesitated. "No one will ever be you. But I'll be alright. I know what's right. You have to go, and I have to stay."

You looked up at him and smiled through your tears. "But you'll wait for me, won't you? You won't find anyone in heaven, right?"

He chuckled low. "Never. Never," he said, eyes shining. "I wouldn't dare."

He spun you once more—slow and tender, the kind of dance made for goodbye. Then he leaned in, brushing your lips with his.

Soft. Familiar. Home.

"I'll be waiting," he said.

And then he stepped back.

The light behind him had grown. It bled gold across the rooftop, casting him in something ethereal and whole.

"It's brighter now," he murmured, looking over his shoulder. "It's... beautiful." He laughed—just once, and it sounded like it used to, rich and full of life.

Then he looked at you one last time.

"Happy anniversary, I love you."

And then—

He was gone.

Not far. Not away.

Just... gone.

But you know he'll wait.

He always will.

And you love him for that.

a/n - watcha think for my first oneshot / post

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - III

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: The only problem with being in love with a flame is that you can actually get burned if you get too close… ✦ Warnings/tags: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Blowjob, angst with no comfort, cunnilingus, talking you through it, fingering. Reader has some self-esteem issues. Mention of difficult past relationships. ✦ Words: 5,1k Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. Hope this won't disappoint after all this time! AO3 link here!

Part I - Part II - Part III

Wet noises and moans. The wood near camp is filled with them, contrasting with the tranquil, usual melody of the forest.

"Jesus, girl, easy…" Arthur hisses, pleads, even. His voice is low and raspy and so deep, close to that tone he has while taming a horse, but with that desperate urgency hidden inside.

You let go of him just for a few seconds, his tip tilting up on its own, twitching in nothing as he gasps sharply from the sudden change; boiling volcano to harsh, frosty air of this fresh dawn. He instantly misses the sweet and warm sensation of your mouth wrapped around him.

"What, you want me to stop?" You grin, teasing, your lips still close –too close– to his cockhead, brushing against its soft and wet skin, rosy color glistening and beading in the sunlight like an unresisteable treat for you to suck on.

He let out a short sigh, somewhere between a laugh and a snarl. "Hell no, but y'know I ain't gonna last long if ya- aaah"

Your lips had opened and eaten him and the last of his words whole, fully and voraciously. He curses, too loudly for his own ego not to frown at him, but what could he do? He had never been able to resist you since the very first time he had seen that silhouette of yours; now how could he, watching you on your knees, head between his thighs, his cock buried inside of your velvety throat. Every time, you were making him get closer to Heaven, achieving the miracle of opening the Gates once more.

A big hand gently falls on your head, fingers messily tangling in your hair, while he lets his hips succumb to the irresistible rocking they're urging him to, his fat shaft pulling in and out of your mouth. Not too brutally, never. You can feel the hardness of it against your tongue, against the back of your throat, and you smile to yourself noticing just how close he indeed is already. Your hands hold his shirt from each side of his waist –that overused blue shirt he hadn't stripped from, his member only fished out of his pants and union suit. Funny, how you noticed meaningless details in moments like those. Remnants of reality to keep you grounded on Earth, maybe. How the abused cotton feel under your fingertips. How his body and cock smell strong and manly and fucking divine. How the few dark curls escaping his clothes tickle your nose every time you push your face to his base. The way he tastes under your tongue, salty and heady. How the tip of his fingers feel against your scalp.

"Oh god, damn it, how– how can ya be so good every' goddamn time…" He rasps, his eyes closing as he feels his orgasm coming at him with the force and speed of an avalanche; his hips thrust a bit faster, but it's subtle. You know he doesn't allow himself to be rougher than that with you. Invisible threads braided from his own problems, insecurities and griefs holding him back, pulling on his limbs as if he were only a puppet of theirs. His speech flows more freely, though, like to compensate, sinful, incoherent words flooding and flooding and flooding as he praises you again and again to the very end…

"Yeah, such a good girl, so god-damn perfect, taking me so good darlin'." His hand tightens in your hair, "Aaaall that' dirty mouth, jus' for me." His hips shudder, his eyes shut close as he pounds one last time and stays right there deep in your throat. - Oh, shit!"

His dick hardens as he spills inside, unable to stop it, secretly not wanting to. And it's so perfect, his head almost gets dizzy from it, his free hand holding the tree against which he's leaning to stop himself from collapsing. His cum warm in the back of your throat as he sinfully paints it. Balls empty, as almost constantly now, a stark contrast to their painful fullness of a few weeks ago, he groans softly in pleasure and fatigue, breathing in and out heavily through his nose in this blissful state.

His hand travels from your hair to your cheek, caressing your skin in a tender gesture. A gesture of gratitude. Thank you for making me feel like this. Thank you for doing it every day. For stopping the pain in my bones from burning me more, even just for a few minutes. For bringing solace to both my body and my soul.

Of course, no words ever cross his lips as he helps you stand up. His legs almost go weak again when he catches you swallowing with that proud, self-satisfied grin of yours. A nymph, he had thought of you the first time you had slept together. More like a succubus of Lust, he corrects and chuckles to himself.

"You're a wild one." He states, buttoning back his union suit, then his pants.

"You like that about me."

"Probably more than a' should, dalrin" … Ain't proper for a man to fancy a girl that much."

"Takling about that, it ain't proper neither to cary yourself with a cock that big…"

His hands fumble with his belt he had just picked up from the ground, his Volcanic revolver suddenly falling in the grass with a loud, muted sound. His head snaps up to look at you, his cheeks tinged a beautiful pink as a teenage boy getting his first kiss right on them. He's genuinely flabbergasted for a few seconds, his mouth slightly open in confusion, thin lips hanging a bit dumbly. It reminds you of that night you had caught him in the act in Rhodes, and you let a chuckle escape.

"Ya shouldn't say stuff like that, 'specially not a few feet away from camp." He protests, his usual frown settling deeply between his brows, instinctively rejecting your praise. He finishes buckling up his belt as he intended to in the first place, trying to brush off the primal, manly feeling of pride your comment had ignited in his guts. His enormous pistol he shoves back into his holster isn't helping with that either.

"You weren't that bothered about sound a few seconds ago…" You remark, brushing your knees then trying to fix your hair not to look too disheveled -as if you hadn't just sucked the hell out of the gang's toughest enforcer just a few seconds ago.

"Hush now, woman." He replaces his hat straight on top of his head with one hand, an amused smirk pulling his lips up. He looks down at you, gaze full of softness, deep blue color the only witness to the meanderings of his thoughts.

Looking at those eyes was like looking at the depths of a lake from above. You could always tell there was some life and movement under the water's surface, but couldn't point out what mysterious creature was swarming in those abyssal, muddy waters.

"I'll take care of ya tonight. 'm gonna make that cheeky grin disappear."

You shiver at the promise. You knew just how good Arthur surprisingly was at taking care of women that way. Biting your lips, you whisper some sultry last words in return, saying how you couldn't wait, before turning your heels and walking off to the numerous amount of chores still waiting for you.

Arthur doesn't bother to ogle at your ass as you do, your hips swinging subtly under your dress, the movment hypnotizing as you had almost reached camp. You both really should have walked further away from it, but damn it he couldn't had waited a second more with how hellish you were making his life at camp be. Stealing secret kisses, bending just in front of him, purposely getting your clothes wet, sometimes even downright caressing his crotch when no one was looking. And at the same time, you made it all heavenly, as some sort of devilish salvation. He scratches his jaw and walks the opposite way, not wanting to appear too obvious with the both of you coming back from the same spot together. There probably was not much to save, but still. His cock soft and satisfied and comfortable in his pants, his heart light, his good mood pushes him to accept Javier's friendly invitation to go fishing.

He can't help but let his thoughts get back to you, though. It had become more than a habit at this point, it was an obsession. Tasting your flesh, touching your skin, making love to you, and making one with you, it had all made him a devotee. He was a preacher who had the unthinkable privilege of having met his God.

He isn't catching much fish compared to Javier who was emptying the damn pond by himself. But he didn't care at all. It was a good, sunny day. One of the best he was having in a long time.

Your face isn't hiding the euphoria you're radiating with. All the contrary. Sat under the girl's tent not too far from the lake's shore, bucket of soapy water between your legs, you even hum a tune that makes Tilly smile next to you, her mending on Hosea's jacket a little less mundane. You don't complain even once about your tiring chore as you usually do. In fact, it feels like there's no worry in the whole world. Like those quiet moments of peace, pleasant good weather between two storms. The frogs croaking from the lake, the birds and chickens chirping, Pearson and Grimshaw in deep conversation a feet away from you. Uncle's banjo. Not even Micah's filthy shirt covered in blood from a few moments ago could bring you down; the now-washed and mended cloth hung on the thread to dry along the dozen other ones you had taken care of.

"You're quite in the mood today, mh?" Tilly asks, an amused expression on her young face, with that light tone of voice you had grown to love dearly.

"Could say so…"

You voluntarily stay elusive, too proud and happy with yourself about all that had happened between you and Arthur since the gang had settled here. The thought of him emerges in your head once more as you realise the next piece of clothing to wash is one of his workshirts, the torn and dirty red fabric feeling coarse between your hands. It reminds you of earlier. The strong smell of his sweat fills your nose. It should have disgusted you more than anything, but all the contrary made your body grow hotter. You let a small chuckle escape you.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"Is Arthur's shirt covered in some unknown substance again?"

"No, it's just…" You start, unable to resist the urge to finally tell someone about it, words simmering in your throat like an agitated pot. "It's just I can't help but think about what's actually under it, you know?" You hold the large shirt in front of you, eyes studying it with an obvious interest.

Tilly laughs quietly, her eyes still fixed on her knitting, slowly nodding with a knowing smirk. "Oh, trust me, sweetie, every girl here thought 'bout it at least once -

"No, I mean, I know how he actually looks… Without any clothes on…"

The needle stops in the air, and she turns her head to you, the biggest smile on her face, her eyes burning with that flame of curiosity that swallows everything once you've discovered the surface of something utterly interesting, a gold digger unable to stop searching for more. Her eyes dart quickly between the two of yours, as you can watch in real time the wheels turning in her head.

"Girl, are you serious right now?"

"We did it. Like, a lot of times." You drop a bomb, for the third time today. You can't help but love the way she's reacting, your heart swelling with pride, your brain bubbling from getting that sort of attention.

"I knew it! I just knew it! It was so obvious, I mean," the young girl expresses with the speed of a train, "Just the way he was looking at you, spending more and more time at camp, following you everywhere!"

You feel your cheek slightly burn, and your chest rising higher. Why was it all so important to you? You didn't exactly know, but it felt great hearing Tilly, a friend, maybe a sister even, expressing her excitement.

"Yeah, well, it was just for fun, you know? I guess he really needed to blow off some steam, and I was there, more than happy to help…"

"Oh my God, this is so exciting!" She puts her needle and Hosea's garment aside. "Tell me more! How is he like?"

"In bed…? Well, a bit like his usual self, I guess. Rough at times, but always… Gentle."

Tilly nods slowly in agreement, her lips still pulled into a mischievous grin.

"And he's needy and eager, oh my Lord Tilly, you have no idea how much he–

You were about to put Arthur's shirt in the laundry bucket and spill another juicy information before you're pulled off your perfect little cloud.

"I can't believe you're bragging about all this."

You tilt up your gaze, and you're met with Mary-Beth. She, so sweet and delicate, who had been so close to you since the first days you had joined the gang. Who had always treated you with kindness and understanding. You had never heard her talk to you this way.

Seeing you're not answering anything, Mary-Beth continues, her hands on her hips.

"Arthur's not your little toy to play with, [Name]. He's been through much more than you can imagine, and his heart should be nursed, not fooled."

Her tone isn't purposely mean, but it's still firm. It holds a deeper truth in it, something unsettling that puts you right back face to face with your flaws and responsibilities. She's scolding you like a mom would with her favorite daughter who had disappointed her. And it's moving, as difficult as it is to admit.

"I… I didn't think-

"Listen, I know you're not a bad person, and you don't think you're doing anything wrong," She starts, her arms now crossed on her chest, her eyes leaving you no escape. "But Arthur is fragile when it comes to love. I know he doesn't look like he could be fragile about anything, but it's the truth."

You search for words to answer, but nothing comes; it is as if you were trying to get out of quicksand with no branches strong enough to pull you out of the mess. You simply look at the ground, unable to hold her gaze any longer.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't break his heart, please."

And she vanishes as quickly as she had appeared, heading towards Pearson's wagon. You can still see her from afar, and a weird, nauseous feeling settles in your throat. No words from Tilly, trying to reassure you in multiple ways, saying Mary-Beth is probably jealous or too worried, and that you should do what you want, could make it go away. She tries to cheer you up and ask some more questions, searching for the blaze of excitement and amusement from before, but the mood has definitely shifted.

You finally put Arthur's shirt in the bucket, its ruby color turning into a brownish, muddy one as all the dirt lifts off in the water. You watch it swirl in thick whirlpools of mud and foam intertwined, and you start to wonder. Was he falling in love with you? Were you about to break his heart? Was he searching for more, for something serious?

You had always thought Arthur was not the type to fall easily for someone. In fact, you had never seen him being romantically enterprising with a woman since you had known him. And between the two of you? It was all so recent. It all happened so fast. Inevitably, your thoughts travel to your past relationships. How they had failed, every time. How those men had left you, all without exception. How you had been deceived and cheated on and lied to. After years and years of it, you had come to the only conclusion. You were cursed. You were not enough. You weren't meant to be loved that way. To build something stable. You were sure of it.

"His heart deserves to be nursed."

That was certainly true.

But what happens to hearts that can't be saved or loved? What happened to hearts that had been dropped too many times, and left alone to shrink in the dark? Do they slowly fade and rot after so much time spent unused? Do they gather in a graveyard to die altogether, like a melancholic last procession before the unthinkable?

Are they capable of nursing another heart, although they haven't seen one in what felt like ages? Although they're already doomed?

Like a trap of glue engulfing you whole, those questions and reflexions stick to your skin and take up all the space in your mind for the rest of the day.

Arthur's tongue has no mercy for you. Well determined to give you a taste of your own medicine from what you had done to him in the woods near camp the same morning, he had been quick to shorten his dinner and usual evening around the campfire, not so subtly commanding you to come and join him in his tent.

You didn't even know the flaps could close before. Now, they're closed almost all of the time, guaranteeing the two of you a semblance of privacy, or at least a shield from the other's nosy gaze. Tonight it would save them from seeing you lying on your back on Arthur's cot right now, legs spread open, his huge, coarse hands keeping them in place, his head buried in your center as he drank from you like he would have from the purest and freshest of water from a wild cascade. Slowly, almost lovingly –and the thought brings back the knot in your throat– his mouth kiss and licks relentlessly your entrance, before laping all the way up to your clit, lips suckling at it as if wanting to suck poison from a snakebite.

You moan, the feeling delightful, the sight mesmerizing. Oh, those two blue eyes looking at your face from between your legs, those golden brown locks falling on his forehead, his lips red and wrapped around you, his crooked nose buried in your folds. You can almost feel how afire he himself is, like every time he takes care of you like this. And it doesn't surprise you. Arthur, the protector. Arthur, the giver. Arthur, the man who could spend a whole month outside in the wild if it would benefit Dutch or the gang. Arthur, the man who knocks giants down when they get too close to the girls and rips families from their lifetime savings, destroying his honor and dignity for his own folks. No wonder Mary-Beth was so protective of him, in return. Arthur could and would move mountains for them.

For you.

And it hits you, right in the middle of it, as this man is giving his soul to you, more dedicated to your pussy than you had ever seen any men be, eating every inches of it and thanking the Gods for allowing him to, lips litteraly french-kissing your slit with his eyes closed and his brows tilted upward as if tasting the most incredible meal he had ever tasted, drunk from it.

Of course. Of course, he was a head-over-heels romantic too.

Your brain starts to get caught in that glue trap again, but hopefully for you, it's the exact moment when he decides to brush a finger against your entrance. Pressing gently, reverently, his fingertip softly swiping against your skin, collecting your arousal and his saliva in a sinfully wet noise. And he sighs deeply. Oh God, how could you not have noticed before? Every gesture from him is a prayer to you. To his deity. He looks at you, attentive to your every reaction. Wanting to make sure you're feeling good, that you're feeling perfect.

He must have noticed you're not in your normal state, your teasing and provocative comments missing from the picture. He leave your cunt just for a few seconds, and his lips rubs gently against it as he talks, stubble softly scratching,

"You okay there, darlin'?" You can feel his warm breath against you, your legs going weak at it.

"All g-good, don't stop. Arthur, please…"

I don't want to talk about it. Please, please don't ask anything else, just keep going.

"Relax, sweetheart, everythin's alright, okay?"

And something in you almost breaks at how tender he is. He doesn't even know what's bothering you. But he notices it. And he cares about it, about you. Like he would do for a scared mare, he gently comforts and praises you, resting his cheek against your inner thigh as he regains some of his breath and uses his fingers to take over.

"That's it, girl, juuuus' like that." He groans in an affirmative tone as he feels your inside, warm and silky and softer than velvet. "Yeah, let yaself go, honey, come on." His index finger penetrates you in a slow, very slow push, every inch of it filling you little by little.

"Good."

His first finger is quickly joined by his middle one, and their tip directly reaches and starts to brush against that spot you like so much, making you arch your back and moan for his own delight.

"That's it, y'see? So perfect, lettin' all go for me." He hums in approval. "Ma' girl." He adds with a curl of his digits.

His girl.

Do you want to be his girl? Are you ready for this? For commitment? The questions are back in your messy brain. You will screw this up like always. Every time you had trusted a man, he had shattered your heart into a million pieces and had danced on it. The same heart beats fast in your chest, and you're afraid the baldly patched up pieces won't hold.

A weird mix of feelings overwhelms you; your soul a painting that uses too many colors that don't fit together at all; a grotesque blend of green and pink, and black and red. Every brush stroke covers you one by one like waves wash the shores -pleasure, fear, excitement, panic, affection, affliction.

"Let it go, darlin'," Arthur whispers again, almost begging you, his fingers curling again and again, brushing exactly where you need them every time, the pleasure reaching vertiginous peaks. This time he looks at them, shoving them in you, then retrieving and again, like in a trance. He's almost drooling at the sight. It's impossible to resist him. To resist this.

And it is so good that it finally suppresses anything else - a bucket of red paint splashed all over the canvas. One of your hand instantly reaches for his head, roughly bringing it back to your clit, and he happily complies, still groaning his praises when he feels your pussy pulsing around his fingers or hears your moans getting louder, the smell of your sex filling both his nostrils and his animalistic appetite.

His tongue finally finding again that nod of pleasure on the oustide, along with his two broad fingers that easily feel like a whole cock fucking that spot on the inside, the red leaks from the canvas and swallows everything in its path. He pumps and pumps and pumps faster and fasterand with a few more hard licks against your pussy, you finally come all against him, his mouth answering with a warm deep growling sound of pleasure coming deep from his throat.

A few moments of relief, when all that is heard is the camp's life around Arthur's tent, the frogs croaking from the lake, unaware of your inner struggles, and your heavy breathings.

Then the red curtain rises, and everything's back, in an even stronger way. You wish there were a way to stay in that sort of foolish, satisfied, dumb post-sex state. But Arthur using his black bandana to gently cleaning up your cunt grounds you to the inevitable reality. He hasn't even bothered to clean himself up first, his mouth and chin glistening in the dark of the evening. Once done, he gets up into a sitting position at the edge of his cot.

"Did ya like it?"

No man had ever asked you that. Nor looked at you with those big, shining, expectant eyes. Almost like a puppy. You want to tease him, as you had taken the habit of, as your nature was telling you to, but now, Mary Beth's words were resonating into your head, caging you once again. You shouldn't even be there in the first place. Both of you were going to end up hurt. You were convinced of it.

"Yes."

You can't say anything else. He looks at you while quickly wiping up his mouth and beard with his bare hand, waiting for more. But if you start talking, you know it won't end up well. Your body is screaming at you to flee. You don't even know why. Everything is jostled and tossed about in your head. So you listen to the irrational. You get up and reach for your undergarments, dressing back quickly. You wrap yourself up in your red shawl, covering the last piece of your skin from his gaze. And into your shell you go. The scarf feels like it's strangling your neck.

As you are about to wish him goodnight, one of his strong hands grabs your arm, holding a bit of the fabric too.

"Wait, [Name]."

You slowly look up at him. He's still as expectant as before. Your heart tightens.

"I erm… Y'know I thought… I thought that you could stay here a bit?" The puppy eyes again. There's a softness in this picture that makes your own self spit at your face for knowing you'll destroy it just in a few seconds.

"You mean, stay here and sleep with you tonight?"

"Well, yeah, if you want t-

"I can't."

An awkward silence slowly falls after your words and cuts deep through his flesh.

Your heart still beating powerfully in your chest, you feel like the roles are reversed from that unforgettable night at the Parlor house, this time you feeling like you've been trapped, or exposed, you don't really know, but like a frightened animal, your panic is getting the better of you.

"What d'ya mean you can't?"

"Arthur, I… This is complicated, I can't, I…"

I can't offer you what you need. Tell him. Just tell him. Why are you stuck like this, fucking tell him.

Both up facing each other, his hand still holding you firmly, your eyes cross his and there's a thousand unspoken words shared between your two souls. Flying and clashing silently like a meteor shower crashing against another one a thousand light-years deep in space, sound lost but consequences devastating. And you're a coward. His beautiful, rugged features are shutting, satisfied grin long gone. The blue of his eyes forever inscrutable. Your feet are acting on their own. You need to fly away, now. Getting too close is going to destroy absolutely everything. Run away. Now.

"I'm sorry."

Those shitty, dumb words fall from your mouth as some tears threaten to fall from your eyes. You walk away, his fingers closing in on your shawl. You almost run out of his tent, leaving it behind.

You don't even try to look back. You can't. You don't want to verify if you're actually destroying him right now, doing the very same thing your past lovers had done to you. Maybe he doesn't even care after all. You don't hear him say a word.

The painting inside you is saturated. A few new colors added: shame, guilt, sadness. It doesn't get better, as you take refuge in the girl's tent, not wanting to sleep right next to his. You see the form of the others on the floor, and as you lay and curl up to your side, you whisper for Mary-Beth to hear, or for you to ease your conscience and be able to sleep,

"I've stopped it before it was too late."

The days after are out of time for you. As if isolated in another dimension away from the real world, things are happening around you but it fly high above your head. People talking to you, chores, Abigail and John arguing, music notes from an instrument, you weren't not even sure which. And, to your awful surprise, your throat still feels tight and knotted. Frustrated, you try to ignore your own urges, too, your body screaming from the sudden lack of sexual satisfaction you had granted him more than daily, as if you had stopped smoking all of a sudden and were physically needing a sweetly burning cigarette at all costs. But as much as you think about him, you try to avoid Arthur.

It's only for the better.

Every morning, you keep repeating it. Trying to convince yourself you had not made a complete mistake. But truth be told, not talking to him feels heavier than you had thought. Seeing him going out of town with Sadie and coming back laughing with her, too.

Heav heavy heavy. Heavy to hold for this shrunk heart.

On the seventh morning, you're convinced you've made the worst decision that night. But you weren't one to let life bring you down. You could fix it. You would fix it. At least, would try and talk to him again. Be friends with him again. Was it even possible? You didn't know, but you had to try. Arthur's absence felt too heavy to keep living your life like this.

And, to be honest, the poor man deserved at least a proper explanation.

That was settled. Determined, searching for him to break the mutism in which both of you had fallen is the first thing you do after breakfast. Soon enough though, life's revenge smacks you in the face when Hosea informs you you wouldn't be able to find him in camp because he had just gone on a mission with Dutch and Micah. Something to do with the O'Driscolls, apparently.

No matter. You were sure of yourself now. You would talk to him as soon as he came home and get off his horse.

But you should have known it by now. Life is having a fight with you, and it always is one step ahead. Because Arthur didn't come back that night.

Nor the day after.

a/n: Sooo 5k words again, guess it is a habit at this point. Also super stressed again because this series is definitely having some attention and I'm so scared of disappointing. Also, having Reader's pov and reversing the usual roles is a bit of a challenge so I'm even more nervous about it, hope it was enjoyable!

Oh, and also as always, please let me know if there are any typos! This isn't proofread!

Anyway, thank you so, so much for the amount of love you're giving to those fics, guys!!

tag list: @a-court-of-valkyries, @redwritr, @cassietrn, @esquilone, @starlightt180, @narcoticv3nus, @thoughts-of-bear, @emjiroki, @prettyundeadgirl, @eternalsams @amyispxnk @babybatss-blog @ardeniaa @sauvignon-velvet @sweeterlilith @arthurmorganist @blueskies664 @tranquilty @stilliwait @maxiismp @stottlemorgan @lizynownow (I tried to tag people who had shown interest in part3, really sorry if I missed anyone!)

[grimesbunny]

earn your spot

rick grimes

cw mean rick (?) face fcking. dirty talk / dumbification

summary: you get turned on by rick scolding you and make it up to him with mindblowing sloppy. i hate writing bjs #menshouldneverfeelpleasure but it’s rick. sooo like.

you always feared for the day you’d be on the receiving end of rick’s rage, much less his disappointment. but you should’ve realized you were setting yourself up by being on your best behavior since the group rescued you. gunning for the loyalest soldier category set expectations a smidge too high, made your mistake seem all the more dire. you can’t remember what exactly you did — veering off of rick’s plan slightly on your last run in with walkers because you assumed your role couldn’t be that important — but you jeopardized the safety of the group and that’s all that matters. it’s hard to recall all the tiny details when you have a man scolding you about the principle.

it’s not like you haven’t seen him angry before, quite the opposite— you’ve witnessed a height of his rage once and it’s stuck with you ever since. rick’s the type of person you don’t want to upset, and not just because you’re intimidated, but because he has a sense of honor about him that makes you admire him. makes you want to please him and be labeled good in his book.

you knew you were fucked after being shooed away by him like an insistent fly while on the run. exiled to wait in the car on “lookout.” the ride back to the prison is eerily silent, and your muscles ache with how tense they are by the time he finally unloads. he has the decency to pull you to the side, away from watchful eyes, but his voice carries.

it’s a chastising. there’s no other word for it. the tears that sting the corners of your eyes are to be expected— you could never handle being reprimanded very well— it’s the heat gathering in your core that comes as a shock. rick’s dirty and disheveled from the run, sweat sticking his curls to his forehead while his eyes bore into yours. seemingly looking past your pout and glistening stare.

“are you questioning my judgment, kid?”

you can’t tell what’s meant to be rhetorical or not at this point, but you shake your head anyway, a nervous laugh pushing from your wobbly lips. “of- of course not.”

“then help me understand.” he says, almost defeatedly. he’s got you caged in at this point, unconsciously backing you further into the grimey prison wall. “i laid out the instructions clear and simple for you, did i not?”

with you being new, and rick being pulled in three different directions every five seconds, it’s not often that you have his full attention like you do now. never for this long, especially. it’s pathetic, but you don’t know what to do with it. you shrink in on yourself, thighs clenching together while your face grows warmer and warmer.

“i thought you were smarter than this. if you can’t handle a run, i think we need to rethink your role here.”

“no!” you exclaim. flashbacks to being all alone out there for so long ring through your mind. “i can handle it, rick. i’m sorry, i fucked up, i wasn’t thinking.”

“i don’t think you fully grasp that when we’re out there— it’s life and death. there’s no room for you to turn your brain off.” he lightly taps the side of your head for emphasis, and you involuntarily lean into the contact. it makes his eyes go curious, brows caving in just slightly. “it’s us or them. i can’t have another threat— another liability out there. or you may as well join ‘em.”

his words pierce you in the stomach like a knife. the whirlwind of conflicting emotions is making your head spin, and you reach for his arm for stability without thinking. “rick… i understand. i promise you, i do. i won’t disobey you again.”

his gaze slowly drops and lands on the contact in what feels like several heavy seconds. you’re frozen in place, unsure of whether to let go or not. the muscle of his arm relaxes when he meets your eyes again.

“i’m… disappointed. i’m trying to do right by you, but i need you to show me that you want to be here.” the way his voice has dropped an octave is distracting, and you feel the words as much as you hear them. feel them as a tingle up your spine, a pulsing that blossoms in between your thighs.

if you allowed yourself, you might wonder if he was talking about the run anymore.

“i do.” you nod. feeling emboldened, you squeeze his arm, eyes widening up at him intently. “how can i prove it to you?”

his eyes darken, and a smug sense of pride swells in you at the way his mouth drops open but no words come out. his eyes do a quick sweep of the area the two of you are in. empty cell block. secluded. alone.

“what are you asking for?” he tilts his head, almost challenging. “do you even know yourself?”

a lapse of confidence suddenly makes you hesitate. before you go to apologize and maybe run out of the room, rick speaks again.

“yeah, you know good and well, don’t you?” he whispers it like a thought between the two of you. “christ, i’m tryin’ to talk some sense into you and you’re lookin’ at me like…” he trails off, eyes dipping down to your lips. and then he laughs, turns his face and shakes his head.

“like— like what?” you feign innocence. pulling as he’s pushing.

he takes a step closer you didn’t know was possible, and you can feel the ghost of his weight against yours.

he seems to consider his next words. “do you know how distracting it is to have to watch you blink at me like that whenever i speak, like i’m some kind’a god? watch you fein for my attention, knowing i’d be the bad guy if i gave it to you how i want to?”

you’re too stunned to speak. from where you stand, any sudden movements and he might back away, might talk himself out of whatever it is that the two of you are building up to.

“you like it, don’t you? teasing me until i snap. i bet…” he sucks in a breath, and you hold yours in anticipation. the hand of the arm you’re holding tentatively comes to rest on your hip. “if i were to reach my hand down you’d be soaked through these tiny shorts.”

you gulp down all the saliva that has collected in your throat. your heart is thumping so hard you feel like he can hear it as you take it upon yourself. guiding his hand where you want it the most, where you’ve dreamt of it several times. his fingers slide against your clothed lips, and sure enough, you can feel the dampness accumulating.

“fuck.” he breathes out. his resolve seemed to crumble, head dipping as his free hand goes to pin you against the wall. “get this wet whenever i talk to you? hm?”

you nod quickly. might as well not hold anything back, now that you’re finally in the position you’ve been craving since you laid eyes on him.

“cmon, what’s got you all quiet now, honey? i thought you could handle it?” his fingers have gone greedy, attempting to circle your clit through your clothing. the friction feels like heaven, and you can’t stop yourself from bucking into his hand. “i thought you wanted to prove it to me?”

“fuck, yeah. i want to.” all you can seem to do is nod, desperate with it. your eyes dart to the tent in his jeans. it looks so hefty, thick and bulging. you’ve never wanted to see anything more in your life. “i want to make it up to you, rick. earn… earn back my spot here. just tell me what to do.”

“yeah?” he dips his head lower to force eye contact with you again. you take your hand and gingerly glide your fingers along the outline of him pressed against his jeans, bottom lip catching between your teeth. he doesn’t move, keen on letting you feel for yourself. “well… i‘m not sure if you can take it.”

the faux sympathy in his voice almost makes you whimper. “i can, i promise. please.”

he reached down to undo his gun holster and it’s all you need to hear to drop to your knees, forcing back a wince at the impact from the cold floor. he leaves it to you to unzip his pants.

“look at me.” he orders, the authority in his tone gives you no choice but to oblige instantly. he’s larger than life above you, and somehow a much hotter view from below. it spurs you on, makes you more eager to free his cock from its confines.

you pull his pants down just enough to watch it spring out. nothing could’ve prepared you for it; long and thick and meaty, already leaking from the swollen, red tip. the sight makes you audibly whine, much to rick’s amusement.

“never seen a cock before, sweetheart?”

“never this big.” you admit, squirming to get some friction on your cunt. that draws a noise out of him, and you watch his cock twitch with it.

you grasp it hesitantly, looking up at him to check for his reaction. it’s been a long time since you’ve done any of this, and it’s not like you had much experience in the first place. you don’t want to disappoint him.

under the weight of his gaze, you reach out to place a kiss to his tip, letting his precum ooze onto your lips. his hips buck forward slightly into your mouth.

“christ, aren’t you pretty like this?” he sighs.

you feel yourself blush, kitten licking his tip to hide your smile as you gaze up at him. his eyes are lidded, his patience showing on his face. finally, you wrap your lips around his spongy head, suckling gently.

“alright, none of that. you don’t get to tease anymore.” he soothes your hair into a makeshift ponytail with his hand, using it as leverage to begin moving your head at the pace he wants. he stuffs your throat all too quickly, your gags and moans muffled by the girth of him filling your mouth. it’s too much and not enough at once, and for the second time today you feel yourself about to cry. “just fuckin’ take it.”

it’s messy and suffocating, but you can’t think of any place you’d rather be than on your knees for him, letting him use your mouth to get off.

“your throat — feels so perfect, baby. about time i put this pretty mouth to good use, huh?” he chuckles breathlessly. you grasp his strong thighs for purchase, willing him to slow down. “i should’ve known this is what it would take to get you to listen. you just needed your fill, didn’t you?”

you nod as best as you can, eyes wide up at him. merciful, he pulls you off to let you breathe, watching a line of spit follow your lips. his dick is covered in it, glistening and raw. you splutter, and somewhere down the line the tears you felt had started flowing freely down your cheeks.

“rick,” your voice cracks pitifully. “it hurts.”

“i know, but you can take it, remember? you’re a big girl.” he places a hand sweetly on your jaw, rubbing his tip against your spit-soaked lips. “gotta be good at something if you want to stay here.”

the throbbing of your knees is overpowered by the ache in your cunt. you can’t believe the predicament you’ve found yourself in.

“you don’t have to think anymore, sweetheart. not good at that today anyway, hm? just relax your jaw and let me in.” he coaxes, pushing past your lips. you do as he says, letting your jaw go lax and his lips stretch into a mean grin. “there you go.”

all it takes is a few more thrusts of his hips. the sight of you with tears streaming down your face, squirming all over your heel for friction on your clit. the feeling of your warm throat constricting around him. he pulls out abruptly, and you watch intently as he rapidly fists his cock.

“here it comes, baby.”

he’s aiming for your face, but you stick your tongue out, desperate to take catch some of his seed on your tongue. his orgasm is ripped out of him, shooting off thick ropes that never seem to end.

you swallow it happily, yet somehow your smile is still bashful afterward.

he’s panting, shaking his head. “what am i going to do with you?”

[joemama-2]

a dead end | masterlist

༺♰༻ gojo x fem reader

𓉸♱𓉸 synopsis: you were a star under stadium lights, gojo satoru a savior in sterile halls. now, the world rots, and survival is your only stage. amid the relentless dead and the horrors of the living, an unsteady bond forms—but trust is as fragile as life itself. in the shadows of ruin, love and death walk hand in hand. which will claim you first?

༺♰༻ tags/warnings: death, angst, violence, smut, cannibalism, murder, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse, crazy people, reader is a little bitchy at first, character development, torture, guns, weapons, alcohol, drugs, medical talk here and there, research talk, mentions of a leaked sextape, bullying, betrayal, lying, love, surgeon! satoru, cheerleader! reader, small age gap

chapter 1: the start of the end

chapter 2: keep going

chapter 3: one step at a time

chapter 4: stay on your toes

chapter 5: new crew, who dis?

chapter 6: new truths

chapter 7:

[no-more-a-mime]

**BASED AFTER SHIBUYA ARC TIMELINE**

: angst, heavy angst, gojo x reader, sad ending, gojo did something wrong

Gojo didn’t cry. He didn’t cry even when he killed his best friend with his own hands. He didn’t cry even when your soul-less, poorly bruised, dipped in cuts, body laid on the stretcher with a white cover on it. You looked peaceful, probably in some meadow, running barefooted on the fresh grass with a giant smile Gojo would kill to see again. Your eyes were shut close, he knew he’d never see that sparkle in your eyes when you ate dinner together. Your skin was pale—out of blood, he knew he’d never see your flushed cheeks anymore when he threw cheesy lines at you. Your hair spread on the stretcher, he knew he could never practice hairstyles on them, for your daughter, if you ever had any chance to have one.

He stood there with blank eyes looking down at your corpse which was a little strange because he would always make you stand/sit on the highest platform so he could look up at you and admire you like a lover he is was.

Right now, he stood still, probably reminiscing all your memories with him, all your dates, how you came into his life and became his personal sunshine, how you pulled him into your chest when his best friend died, how you kissed his cheek when you would try to make upto him and how it didn’t work the last time he saw you alive, How he got nervously angry and stormed out to Shibuya after he found your positive pregnancy test in your bathroom sink, and how you hid the fact that you were pregnant because you didn't want to "stress him out even more". His heart was sinking somewhere below the deepest point on earth. He was supposed to protect you, be with you— instead of storming off Shibuya.

All he aches now is death. And he doesn’t care if its peaceful or not, because to him, his peace is waiting for him after the death. He doesn’t care if he has to go beyond the universe— time itself—or even the gods— he will do anything just to see you alive and happy again. Even till his last breath, he will always consider himself the culprit for you and your unborn child.

A/N: guys idk this was the first time i wrote smthing???? 😭 ik its bad but whatever. I wanted to read angst but didnt find it so i wrote it myself😭😭

[twd-bee3]

Learning to Breathe Again

Summary: Daryl and you have to cross a freezing river to escape a herd. You get pulled under, and he has to fight to bring you back.

Warnings/Tags: hypothermia, drowning, descriptions of performing CPR, near-death experience, trauma, HEAVY angst, established relationship, female reader (she/her), season ten, no use of y/n

Word count: 1k words

A/N: I warned y’all that I like writing angst in my introduction post, and I delivered. Also, this is my first time writing in almost five years, and I'm still getting into the groove of things. Don't say anything if it's ass lmao. I promise that I will get better as I keep writing. Thank you @b1eedthefreak for being so sweet and encouraging me to post this. I would’ve been way too nervous on my own. Sorry for this being fucking depressing.

As the herd was closing in, the couple approached the river, and Daryl knew what you guys had to do. He understood that you were not a strong swimmer, and he was reasonably concerned, but you had no choice. The two of you needed to cross before it was too late.

“Baby, we gotta cross.”

Your facial expression immediately turned into one of panic, and Daryl instinctively grabbed your hand. He could tell that you were afraid of crossing, but there was no other option.

“We ain't have a choice. They're closin' in and I ain't losin' you to the dead. You trust me, yeah?”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and focused on his eyes. The fear was written all over your face, and you were trying your damndest not to shut down. You knew that you couldn't swim well and the idea of having to travel through the river had you scared shitless.

“I trust you, but I'm fuckin' terrified.”

“I know, sweet girl. I know. We have to move now, though. Just keep holdin' my hand.”

Daryl was speaking softly to keep his girl calm, but his tone held a sense of urgency. The walkers were getting closer, and it was only a matter of time before they reached the pair.

Not bothering to wait for your response, he kept holding your hand and pulled you into the river. The icy sting of the freezing water hit you guys fast, and it was a cold that could be felt in your bones. Both of your bodies were shivering, and it was so frigid that it was almost painful. He could tell that you were still nervous, so he continued offering gentle reassurances.

“You're doin' so good, baby. We're almost there. Just keep goin'.”

You had made it halfway across the river before the unexpected happened, and you were pulled under. Daryl tried to maintain his tight hold on your hand, but his grip faltered. You were submerged in the water, and he no longer had eyes on you. Ignoring the heavy chill, he took a deep breath and dove into the water. He could hardly see, but he felt around until his hand brushed against the fabric of your shirt.

He grabbed on and pulled you to him. His girl felt heavier, and it was taking all of his strength to get you both to the surface. Finally, Daryl was able to get his head above water, and he lifted you to allow you to get some air. You were coughing and gasping, but you kept slipping under. He fought hard to keep his hold on you, but he was quickly losing strength.

“Fuck. Baby, c'mon.”

Daryl continued to tug you up every time that you disappeared beneath the water, and he was moving the two of you the entire time. His vision started to go black around the edges, but he pushed on. After what felt like forever, you finally reached the riverbank. He hauled both of you onto land. He coughed and tried to catch his breath. He was exhausted, but he couldn't let himself fall asleep. Not yet.

After taking a few seconds to steady himself, he realized that you were eerily quiet, and he looked over at you. You were completely still, and Daryl felt the weight of dread build in his chest. He quickly sat up and moved over to you.

“No, no, no. Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

There was no response, and he panicked. Reaching over, he frantically shook your shoulder and waited for a reaction. Your face remained slack, and he saw that your chest was unmoving. Your lips had also taken on a bluish tint. Quickly, he moved you flat on your back and checked your pulse. There was nothing.

He had never performed CPR before, but he had seen it done. With shaking hands, he interlaced his fingers and pressed his palms against the center of your chest. He wasn't even sure if he was doing it correctly, but he was putting all of his remaining energy into the rhythmic chest compressions. The forest was quiet, save for the sound of Daryl's ragged breaths and his soft muttering.

“Breathe, baby. C'mon. Don't you fuckin' do this to me.

He was rambling, but he had never felt fear like this before. Daryl Dixon had fought walkers, experienced his fair share of loss, and been tortured. Nothing compared to the terror and adrenaline filling his body as his hands thudded against his baby's chest. The audible cracking of your ribs made him feel sick to his stomach, but he couldn't afford to quit now.

“I need you, baby. Please breathe. You gotta take a breath.”

At some point, he had started crying, and he could feel the hot tears as they ran down his face. His muscles were strained, and his whole body was shaking from the cold. Daryl was a stubborn motherfucker and he had no intensions of stopping. Continuing to press down on your chest, he remembered that he also needed to breathe for you.

Pausing compressions, he tipped your head back and made sure that your airway was clear. He then put his lips over yours and gave two quick breaths. Your chest rose slightly, but it was obvious that it was only because of Daryl's actions. His body was trembling, and he couldn't stop his teeth from chattering, but he refused to stop. Placing his hands back on your chest, he began chest compressions again and kept begging you to stay.

“Baby, you need to take a breath. Please, sweetheart. Just one.”

He gave you another round of rescue breaths and waited for something to happen. After what felt like hours, but was likely only a minute, you finally started coughing. As the water spilled from your mouth, Daryl quickly rolled you onto your side and gently rubbed your back. He was still sobbing and shaking, but it was out of relief.

“There's my girl. You're okay, baby. Just breathe. I got you.”

[messrmoonyy]

- Give me my sin again

Arthur Morgan x Female reader

Request- " if Arthur has a secret lover that he tells no one about and he goes to see her when he can after jobs maybe.shes so kind and devout and good that he thinks he doesn't deserve her. But he be besotted with her obsessed to worship the ground she walks on. Arthur not believing in anything but finding this good woman and wanting to be good for her but maybe knowing he can't

A/N- this is mostly a kind of dive into Arthur's head I like it idk. I also paired this with a request I had about bathing Arthur. It kinda fits. Anyway this is a lil shorter than I normally write but life had been lifing lately Imao. And this got me back into writing something for the first time in a lil bit so! Do enjoy.

Warnings- 18+ | some religious imagery, a small chunk of smut right near the end (oral, R receiving) { wc- 3.4k}

Masterlist | AO3

Arthur was not a good man . He feared he never had been. Not really. No matter how many people could try convince him otherwise. He wasn’t. He was bad. He did bad things. A good man didn’t murder, rob, manipulate.

He was no saint. So incredibly far from it.

And yet with you? Well… he felt he could be.

You with your delicate hands that soothed his bruised and battered skin, your voice like that of an angel on his shoulder that spoke to him with an airy tenderness that he did not deserve.

He was not a holy man. And yet for you he would renounce all sin and drop to his knees to beg for forgiveness and retribution. The only deity worth worshipping in his eyes. His slice of heaven always waiting to chase the darkness from his mind. If just for a few hours.

He was drawn to you like there was something mystical in your words, hypnotising him, controlling him, luring him in with nothing but a smile. He would find himself stumbling his way to your door, just to drop down at your feet and beg. Beg for you to erase his sins and show him grace, Allow him the privilege of being in your presence for a while. Because in that awful, terrible world he’d found himself in… nothing felt right but you.

And so there he was again. At your door. Standing there in the rain as he waited for you to answer. His knuckles bruised on the wood in the night, praying you’d be awake, two rabbits slung over his shoulder. As if they could be excuse enough to spend more time with you.

That he had brought you supplies. And that of course he wouldn’t mind skinning them for you. No it really wasn’t a bother.

Though deep down he knew he didn’t need an excuse. That you would always welcome him in with open arms and at times had even begged him not to leave again. But he always felt like he needed the excuse… maybe more to convince himself of something rather than you.

He knocked again. Hoping, praying you were still awake.

And you were. As if you’d been waiting. Maybe you had. But probably not. It has been weeks. 3. 4? He wasn’t sure. But weeks . Weeks that had felt like some kind of condemnation for his sins, being punished by having to stay away. Dutch in one ear, Strauss in the other. A gaggle of others behind him.

Like some guard dog sent out to attack. Kill. Rob. Threaten. And he was tired. Exhausted. He’d no chance to slip away, no chance to sneak his way to your cabin.

But he was there now.

And so were you.

“ Arthur” you looked ethereal. Stood there in the doorway, backlit by the lamp in the room behind you. You didn’t sound surprised to see him. More relieved than anything.

He knew he worried you. Knew you must be sick with it when he went away for weeks on end, no sign he was alive other than another article on the front of the paper about Dutch and the gang robbing something or other.

He walked in as you stepped aside, standing in the warmth of your small home. He’d arranged it for you some time back. Some place to keep you safe.

“ I missed you “ you said, your arms wrapping around his rain soaked torso. Your head resting against his chest, breathing out like you had just received your first gasp of air after being held underwater for too long.

“ I missed you too “ he murmured, his free arm wrapping around you. Strong. Secure. Steady. You were grounding, dragging him out of a haze he had been stuck in to coax him back to reality “ brought you these “ he said, his voice low. Gruff even. He felt like he couldn’t raise his voice in there. That if he did the illusion would shatter and he’d wake up in his tent. All of it some cruel dream to taunt him.

“ thank you “ you said, your voice soft “ I’ll skin them later “ that made Arthur smile, a chuckle escaping his lips. The first in 4 weeks.

“ darlin’ I’ve seen the way you skin game. I ain’t lettin’ you anywhere near ‘em you’ll butcher the damn things “ his voice was gentle with his teasing, but it was true. He’d once left you to it, letting you skin the game he’d brought you. Only to return to what looked like a massacre had taken place on your kitchen table “ I’ll do it “

You laughed a little yourself and nodded

“ yeah I… I ain’t the best huh “ he dropped the rabbits on the table and then turned back to you, he needed to be close to you again.

“ I really did miss ya “ he murmured, reaching out to tuck his fingers under your chin so you’d look up at him “ sorry I ain’t been around much “

He looked down at you, just looking. Admiring. You were so beautiful . So unbelievably gorgeous that it made his heart ache. So beautiful that even death would hesitate to pluck you up into his waiting arms. Because to remove you from the earth would be too vicious even for him, to devoid the planet of such beauty would be low even by his standards.

“ where y’been? “ you asked softly, leaning into his touch “ doin’ bad things again? “

“ real bad things sweetheart “ he murmured.

You never really asked him for more details. Never went delving into what dark and desperate things he found himself doing for Dutch. You'd push from time to time. But never asked anything too damning. You knew he was bad. Never asked him to confess his sins to you, you just let them lie. Let him forget them for a while whilst he was with you.

“ that mess in Valentine… was that you? “ you asked “ read about it in the papers. Claiming it was Van Der Linde boys. And I figured… that usually means you “ Arthur sighed, tucking some of your hair behind your ear as you looked up at him.

He didn’t deserve the way you gazed at him. The way you admired him. The way you peeled back each layer of terribleness to see the good hidden deep underneath.

“ yeah “ he didn’t attempt to lie. What was the need? You knew anyway “ Strauss took a bullet. Old bastards still breathin’ though unfortunately “ he murmured and stepped away from you. He felt tetchy. Needed to busy his hands.

You seemed to gather the point. That that was enough for now. That you didn’t need to know the who’s, the when’s, the why’s. He’d told you the vague outline. Skimmed the tale. And that was enough.

“ well… you gonna sort them rabbits f’me? I’ll cook you up somethin’ nice “ Arthur gave a small smile at your willingness to let his vague stories stay exactly that. To know he did bad things, but not wishing to know exactly what those things were.

And so you both fell into an almost domestic scene. The comfortable quiet that could settle around two people doing their own thing, two people just happy to be in each others company. Two people comfortable together.

He skinned the game as you pottered about doing something or other in the kitchen around him. It felt nice. A scene he could almost see himself having permanently.

Maybe somewhere back out west. Some little cabin or ranch, just you and him. And some sheep or chickens or… something. That damn rancher life Dutch had been harping on about for so long… but just you two.

A ring on your finger. A family. Domesticity that he never truly realised he’d craved.

But that was all some hopeless dream wasn’t it.

So he’d savour those moments for now. The quiet bliss. The escape from everything back at camp. His quiet comfortable time with you.

He finished the game, washing off his hands and placed himself behind you, arms around your waist and a gentle kiss to your cheek.

Those moments were his. His true escape and joy. When he could feel vulnerable. Affectionate.

You were the only true receiver of his affections. You brought it out of him. A constant deep desire within him to want to hold you. Kiss you. Love you. Something he usually tried to keep buried.

It was a tender scene. His chin propped on your shoulder, his arms around you. You often joked that it baffled you how this man that was so tender with you, so caring. So… soft. Was wanted dead or alive in multiple states.

His true moments of retribution came when he was with you like that. When he could hold you and be gentle. Pour out all his emotions and feelings via his actions.

Including the times when he was able to press you into your mattress. Your bed, his saving grace, his chance to truly worship every inch of you. And worship he did. Hands determined and insistent on your soft skin, mapping out your curves and edges to commit them to memory. Lips burning as they trailed your body to commit each inch to his brain.

The way your hands gripped at him, your fingernails piercing his skin and keeping him grounded. Reminding him it was all real and he was sane. And the sounds you made more beautiful than any angel, whispering his name in his ear.

He always made sure to worship every part of you. Kissing in the most uncommon of places. His lips brushing your hip bone. The inside of your wrist. Each and every divet of your spine. Making sure you knew he cared. That he appreciated every second he had of you. That you weren’t some hurried little triste that he kept hidden away until he felt an itch needed to be scratched. That this side of things wasn’t a necessity. But simply just a way to prove his points.

He made sure you knew you were his everything. The one thing keeping him holding on to his morality, his one tether to the right side of things.

Afterwards he would lay there with you. Your body’s intwined and your fingers stroking through his hair. And he’d wonder when he’d get to see you again. When he’d be able to return to your arms. Missing you before he’d even left

And he desired it now.

It wasn’t even an inherently lust fuelled desire. But a desire to simply be close. To hold. To touch. To feel. To be touched in a way of care and to touch in a way that showed love not violence. To prove he could touch with love. That not everything he did needed to be violent.

So he turned you gently, cupping your face in his hands. And kissed you. Firm. But not rushed. Purposeful. His hands moving and pulling gently at your hips to hold you flush against him. Some silent request for more.

But you held your hands firmly to his chest as he kissed you, like you could read his mind.

“ ain’t lettin’ you into my bed like this “ you said with a slight sternness to your tone that made him smile “ you look like you went swimmin’ in the swamps “ he chuckled at your words and nodded.

“ and I thought you enjoyed a rugged man “ he teased, his voice low and thick. He always spoke like he needed to be quiet with you. Like inside those four walls of your cabin if he spoke any louder he’d shatter the facade and you’d vanish.

“ rugged. Not swampy “ you teased with a smile and pressed a kiss to his cheek “ I’ll draw you a bath “

He watched you slip from his grasp, disappearing to arrange it. Simply because you wanted to. You didn’t have to. You weren’t the type to be some slave of a wife to a man that demanded everything of you. And he was not the type to be that kind of husband.

You simply just cared. Had too much care and kindness in your heart.

When it was ready you called him through. The whole thing still as quiet and calm as it had been since he’d stepped through your door.

The contrast always shocked him.

“ c’mon. Whilst it’s hot sugar “ you said softly, grabbing gently at his jacket from behind to help him shed it.

Being naked in front of you wasn’t always some lust filled moment. It was… natural. Intimate in ways different from those fuelled by sex. Vulnerable. Completely bare and unarmed. A way no one but you got to see him. A way he was certain he could never really trust anyone as much as you.

“need some time alone or ya want a hand? “ you asked softly, perching on the side of the tub. It was a little small. Or maybe he was a little big. Probably both.

He didn’t need your help not at all. But he’d take every single second he could have with you. Each tick of the clock was precious.

“ like my own personal bath girl ain’t ya darlin? “ he said with a smirk which made you smile, but roll your eyes.

“ I don’t think I’m as complimentary “ you said softly, dipping a cloth into the water to wash away the dirt and dust that came from sleeping outdoors and riding on horseback all day “ god the state of ya Arthur “ you sighed, gently washing over bruises and cuts.

You were used to that though. Arthur’s body had been littered in scars and bruises as long as he could remember.

“ ain’t nothin serious “ he said and it just made you sigh.

Your touch was so gentle against his battered skin. As if washing away all the bad he’d done in the 4 weeks between seeing you. As if he would step out of that tub and out of your door a new man, that he’d be restored to new from your gentleness alone. He could pretend at least.

“ need t’eat more “ you murmured softly, your fingers trailing down his side “ gettin’ skinny “ it felt nice to hear concern. For someone to worry about him. For someone to notice “ I do worry bout ya Arthur “ you said quietly as if reading his mind “ more so lately “

He sighed and nodded

“ I know my darlin’. I know “

“ ain’t never been this bad “

“ I know ” he glanced up at you as you ran soap suds through his hair, your fingers soft and gentle on the knots.

“ cant help feelin’ like… like one day you just ain’t gonna come back here “ he closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. He knew that this was how it was. That he worried you. That he caused you so much stress and anxiety “ I knew the deal when we first met but… Arthur what the hell happened back in Blackwater? “

His jaw involuntarily tensed at the mention of Blackwater. Because Arthur didn’t really know what had happened. He’d heard different accounts. Dutch said one thing. John another. The papers something else.

All he did know, was deep down even without the evidence to prove the fact, it had something to do with Micah. Micah and his impulsive tendencies

“ darlin’ “ he sighed again “ I ain’t even sure. I weren’t there you know I weren’t “ he hung his head a little and closed his eyes for a moment “ whatever it was it was bad. And Dutch… he’s got all these plans. Ranching or god damn mangoes in Tahiti I don’t know look- “ he reached out and grabbed your hand, squeezing it softly “ whatever that mess was, I gotta help them pick up the pieces. Y’know I do “

“ yeah. I know “ you said quietly

“ but once they got enough money, they can go off and have their South Pacific dreams… and I’ll be free to go where I like. Right back here. T’you “ he didn’t quite believe it himself. And it felt cruel to say it when he truly thought about it. But some part of him felt that if he spoke it out loud, maybe it could happen.

But then again. Maybe not.

You didn’t seem convinced. Not at all. That look in your eyes that seemed filled with sadness and longing. Longing for a life he couldn’t give you. Not yet.

“ sounds like a real nice dream “ you said quietly, standing up to grab him a towel to dry off

“ it is darlin. It is. And you keep dreamin’ it cause I will make it happen. I swear it to ya I will “ he wrapped the towel around his hips and stepped out of the tub, placing his hands on your shoulders “ I will darlin “

You gave him a gentle smile and reached up to brush the backs of your fingers across his cheek, nodding softly

“ I’ll keep dreamin “

As was the usual he ended up in your bed again, desperate to prove his point and show you his true devotion. Purging his sins with his head between your thighs.

His fingers softly traced along your folds, spreading them gently. He groaned as he felt you quiver and twitch under his touch, the feeling and sound making him more and more insatiable. More desperate to please. His thumb ran up and pressed against your clit, rubbing firmly, almost possessively like he was trying to mark the territory as his. Watching your reactions as you squirmed below him, heavenly sounds escaping your mouth.

“ so good Arthur “

Your mewling and whining was like music to his ears, he could listen to it all day. Hearing you moan out your praises only made his tongue move faster, his efforts to bring you to climax increasing. His hands gripping your thighs, using his free hand to push your hips down gently.

It was never about him in those moments. Didn’t care for getting any kind of release himself. He just cared about you. As if doing something so selfless would free him of his vengeful, selfish ways from the last few weeks.

He circled your clit, giving you the attention you needed and wanted from him, making up for his absence with every swipe of his tongue, listening to the pretty moans you made. His tongue swiped across you again and again, licking a strip over your sensitive skin just wanting to touch you everywhere.

Your soft moans and writhing movements were enough to drive him crazy, his hands gripping tightly at your thighs.

“ m’so… Arthur I- “ you spoke brokenly, your hand patting around softly before grabbing onto his “ Arthur “ your soft whimper of his name made him groan hungrily, his fingers instantly lacing with yours

“ right here darlin. Ain’t goin no where “

He hummed softly against you, feeling your muscles tighten under his tongue. He pressed his tongue flat against you, giving a long, slow lick. He was addicted to the taste, he just wanted more of you. Like he couldn’t get enough. Couldn’t get close enough. He groaned softly again, the vibrations of the sound clearly doing you wonders.

He could feel your walls beginning to clench around his tongue as he thrust it inside of you,your hand squeezing down on his and you softly mewled his name over and over . And a few more flicks of his tongue was enough, your back arching from your bed with a high pitched whine. Your thighs clamping around his head making him moan against you, not stopping in his ministrations. Fervently licking and lapping until you went slack, gently pushing at his head.

“ oh Jesus “ you whispered with a soft, breathy laugh “ I don’t know how you’re so good at that “ he smirked softly and crawled back over your body, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“ you give me enough practice “ he murmured with a smile, tilting your head so that he could kiss you.

“ did you really mean what you said earlier?” You asked quietly as he pulled back, your fingers brushing his hair back from his forehead “ that dream. We’ll really have that some day? “

He looked down at you. So hopeful. So desperate to love and to be loved. By him. He wanted to give you the world. To hand you anything and everything you wanted and needed on a silver platter before you could even ask for it.

Deep down he wished he could. A small, tiny part of him hoping that one day he really could fulfil that desire. Be… normal. A rancher or a farm hand. You, his wife. A kid.

But a louder, stronger part of him told him he couldn’t. That he’d never really escape. That something would always be in the way. Something would always stop him.

But looking down at you, that loving hopeful look. He couldn’t tell you that.

“ yeah. Yeah darlin’ we will “

[g1rld1ary]

lonely dancers - remus lupin x fem!reader

wc: 2374 summary: you and remus, both miserable at a party and in your love lives, find solace in each other cw: toxic!cheating bf!sirius, cheating!reader, drinking, kissing, grinding, dirty talk me: got this idea in the car home from uni and furiously wrote it. inspired by lonely dancers by conan gray! obvs i do not condone cheating or similar behaviour but this idea just would not leave my head remus is so hot

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Someone’s stereo was blasting music through the first floor of the house party you were stuck in. You’d come with your boyfriend, Sirius, but you hadn’t seen him in at least an hour.

So you were shoved in the corner, stranded at a party where you hardly knew anyone, and were friends with even less, with no way to get home without Sirius. It wasn’t so bad, whoever was choosing the music had good taste, and there was an abundance of free booze, but you couldn’t help your thoughts drifting back to your nice warm bed and how much you’d like to be there.

A few metres away, leaning casually against the wall, was Remus Lupin. He had a glass bottle of beer in his hand, occasionally swishing it around as if it would make it disappear any faster. You’d thought he’d looked rather down all night, but you rarely got to really speak to him.

Even though you hung around Sirius’ friends all the time, even having just had pres with them before this party, you never really got to talk to them. Sirius was very possessive of you, something you didn’t particularly mind, but it meant that you never got past basic small talk with his friends. Nevertheless, all that meant that you didn’t know if Remus was sad, why that could be, or if maybe he just had a terrible resting bitch face.

You pushed yourself off the wall, weaving slowly through the crowd to make your way over to him. Might as well be miserable with Remus instead of alone.

“Hi,” You said awkwardly, trying to determine an appropriate distance to stand from him.

“Oh, hey,” Remus replied, hardly looking up from where his eyes were distractedly trained on the ground.

“I know we’re not really close or anything, but is everything alright? You look kind of sad. No offence.”

“It’s alright, I’m sure I do look pretty fucking miserable,” Remus laughed pathetically, “I got broken up with this morning.” Your mouth dropped open, instantly regretting probing him for details.

“Shit, I am so sorry Remus! That’s awful.” You stepped marginally closer, resting a hand gently on his bicep. He looked up at you properly for the first time, eyes softening as they locked with yours.

“It’s okay,” He said, shaking his head slightly, “Nothing you can do about it.”

“Still, if you wanna talk about it…” Remus looked at you, seemingly seeing you in a new light. To be fair, it was probably the longest conversation you’d had alone, and the only one that had gone past basic niceties.

“Fancy a smoke?” You nodded, grasping his hand so he could lead you through the crowded house, out to the back porch where a few other stragglers were hanging around smoking.

You and Remus claimed your spot against the porch railing, a few centimetres between you. Remus supplied the darts while you fished a lighter out of your purse, averting your eyes with an embarrassed smile as Remus raised an eyebrow at the ridiculous hot pink apparatus.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You asked carefully, studying Remus’ face for any indication that he wanted you to move off of it.

“Not much to say,” Remus sighed, gazing out into the dark garden. “He said he couldn’t stand me anymore, fell out of love with me.”

“Christ,” You muttered, “What a dick. I hope this isn’t weird, coz, well, I barely know you, but he doesn’t deserve you. He was always kinda mean to me when we went out as a group — you can do so much better than him.”

“Thanks,” He huffed a laugh, looking over at you again. You looked back, sharing a small smile. He looked so pretty, only partially lit by the warm glow from the kitchen, catching on the amber of his eyes. “And what about you? Where’s your boyfriend?” It was your turn to look away, taking a long drag of the cigarette.

“Who knows? I saw him about an hour ago with some pretty petite blonde heading up the stairs, so I’d say he’s onto the next conquest right now — oh look, there he is now.” You turned just in time to see Sirius enter the kitchen, followed by a frankly very attractive young man.

You and Remus watched as the guy laughed at something Sirius had said, then pushed him up against a set of cabinets to kiss him hard. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Sirius didn’t just reciprocate it, but pressed his hips up against him with vigour, threading his fingers through the guy’s hair.

You turned back around quickly, not wanting to watch it any more than you had to. Remus followed suit, watching you white knuckle the porch rail. He silently, hesitantly, slid his fingers over to interlock your pinkies — a silent display of support.

“Guess we’re both having a shitty night alone then,” He said, exhaling a puff of silver smoke.

“Yeah,” You replied, desperately willing yourself not to cry.

“Why do you put up with this? You don’t deserve it.”

“He’s trying!” You protested, maybe more for yourself than Remus, “You know Sirius. He’s never been in a proper relationship before; he’s not used to not doing whatever he wants. And it’s only when he’s drunk! But I like him, Remus, and I know he does like me too, so I can deal with it.”

“That’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m friends with Sirius,” Remus gave a hollow laugh, and you forced out a weak smile. “You know, most people have the decency to at least not cheat on their partners at a party where they came together.”

You nodded, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying, but a stray tear rolled down your cheek anyway.

“Hey, hey,” Remus cooed, turning you towards him and running a gentle hand under your cheek to wipe it away, “Don’t cry. Come on, we’ll go take some shots and then have a great fucking dance. Okay?” You nodded through a hiccup, hurriedly shaking away the rest of your tears as you looped your arm through Remus’ and let him drag you back inside.

Walking back through the door, the music hit you like a wall, More Than a Feeling by Boston blasting around you as you weaved through conversations and dancers. You made a beeline towards the table of booze, watching with your arms crossed around your middle as Remus poured you three shots at once.

“I’m going to drop dead,” You snorted.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we’ll just get you loosened up, having fun and not thinking about your dickhead boyfriend.” You giggled, taking the first shot with a grimace.

“You don’t have to shit talk him, Remus. I know he’s your best friend.” You took the second shot, your chest heating up as the liquid made its way through your system.

“Look, I love Sirius. I really do. But he’s being a really fuckin’ shit boyfriend to you. And I’m not gonna lie just to convince you that that’s normal.”

“You’re the only one.” You took the final shot, bouncing on your heels to help it go down better. “I know they just love him, but even Lily and James keep telling me to give him another chance. I love him, but I don’t know how much more I can take before my heart starts to break.”

Remus took your hand, interlocking your fingers and leading you out to where the bulk of the party was dancing and chatting, spinning you around to get you in the mood. Despite your sour mood, you started to smile, getting into it as Remus pulled out dorky dad moves, clearly to make you laugh. It was working, though, and thoughts of Sirius started to fade in favour of being present with Remus.

It felt like you were the only two in the room, pulling out the lamest disco moves you could imagine until neither of you were thinking about shitty partners or exes, stuck in the bubble around the two of you.

You were in blissful peace until your eye caught on Sirius on the other side of the room, grinding against the same guy as before, his hands running up and down the boy’s body in a way that was not platonic. You really tried to ignore it and focus on the fun you were having with Remus until his face dropped, too. Morbidly curious, you followed his eyeline, zeroing in on his recent ex walking in with a pretty brunette girl on his arm.

“D’you wanna go get some space?” He leant down so his mouth brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded emphatically, Remus pushing you towards the stairs.

“Fuck, the bedrooms are all taken,” You mumbled, straining to think of somewhere you could go for some privacy.

“In here.” Remus pulled you into the tiny bathroom, locking the door behind the two of you. Safely alone, he cursed loudly, pounding a fist against the wall to blow off some steam. When you looked back at him, Remus was crying, sliding down the door to collapse on the floor. Seeing his utter defeat, you began to cry softly too, propping yourself up against the wall perpendicular to him.

You put your hand on his bent knees, rubbing it softly to comfort him.

“Sorry,” He said once the fit had died down, “That was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, Remus. You got dumped today, it’s shit.”

“Didn’t even wanna come to this fucking party, James made me to stop me from being depressed,” He mumbled, surely more to himself than you.

“I’m glad you came,” You said earnestly, looking at him in the dim light of the room, noticing the way his hair turned golden from the lamplight. “You’ve been so nice to me tonight, looking after me when you didn’t have to.”

“I’m glad I came too, if only for you,” He relented after a moment. “Why haven’t we talked more after all this time you’ve been coming around to our things?”

“Sirius,” You answered, “He doesn’t like me talking to you guys that much, I don’t know why.”

“He knows you’re too fucking good for him, doesn’t want us to start telling you that.” You laughed airily, shaking your head as if to wave him off, but Remus sat up straighter, more serious than you expected, “I’m fuckin’ serious. You’re a really nice girl, love.”

“You think so?” Your voice lifted at the end, your eyes hopeful and bright despite the low light.

“I’ll just say if you were my girl, I wouldn’t fucking look at another soul as long as I was coming home to you.”

The energy in the room shifted noticeably, the muffled music from outside making it seem like you were far further removed from the rest of the world than you really were. You looked at Remus to find he was already studying you intently, the tension between you palpable.

Slowly, like neither of you could believe what you were doing, you leant towards each other with lidded eyes, completely focused on the other’s lips. At first, it was so light you weren’t even sure you’d made contact, your lips brushing each other so slightly you might as well have missed.

With confidence you didn’t know you possessed, you finally closed the gap between you, letting out an involuntary moan. That seemed to send Remus into overdrive, his huge hands cupping both cheeks and pulling you into him with vigour. You followed his lead, clambering into his lap to straddle him on the tile floor, deepening the kiss and letting Remus’ tongue explore your mouth.

Your fingers threaded through his hair as Remus’ trailed down to your hips, moving them against him erratically, the two of you completely lost in each other. You were utterly absorbed in Remus, his taste, his smell, the feel of his rough fingers brushing the skin of your waist under your shirt.

It was only when he released your lips to press open-mouth kisses down the column of your throat that you came to your senses, pushing Remus away in a panic. Neither of you said anything for a moment, both panting in time as you made heavy-lidded eye contact.

“Remus — we can’t — I have a boyfriend,” You stumbled but made no move to get off of him, and Remus’ hands didn’t move from their place on your hips, long fingers sitting just on the edge of your arse.

“Dump him,” He begged pathetically, “Please. Dump him, give me a chance. I swear to God, if you give me a chance I’ll fucking worship you. Your body, your mind, your soul. I’ll never fucking look at another person as long as I live, I’ll never break your heart, Dove. Please.” He was babbling, words spilling out a mile a minute as he grasped at you, trying to convince you to keep kissing him.

You knew it was wrong on so many levels. Remus had just been dumped, you were cheating on your boyfriend, for God’s sake! But then Remus bucked his hips into yours, his aching hard-on brushing against your pulsing core. You moaned, high-pitched and breathy as all thoughts of right and wrong left your head in favour of the desire burning in your lower belly, compelling you to tighten your grip on Remus’ curls, a sign for him to continue nipping and sucking at your pulse point.

“Fuck! I’ll, uh,” You moaned, “I’ll break up with him tonight. Promise.”

“Good,” Remus grunted, dragging your hips against him aggressively, “He doesn’t fucking deserve you. I’ll fuck you till you can’t remember that bastard’s name.”

[slytherinsimp12]

♡𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓲𝓷’𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝔂𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭 ♡

Pairing : James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: You had a one stand with your long term rival, James potter, before Christmas break.

Now back at Hogwarts, James becomes more annoying than usual ; cock blocking you from seeing any other guy besides him.

Warnings : 18+, !minors dni! ,Jealous James potter , Angst , dramatic confessions, smut, oral (f receiving) , body worship , p in v. First time writing smut.

(Let me know if I missed any!)

A/N: This is the clean version of the same story.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

The snow covered windows blocked any trace of sunlight from entering the dimly lit Potions class room. The smell of powdered sage and fresh wormwood wafted in the air , creating a perfect ambiance for potion brewing. Students were filled with more energy than usual ; having just returned after Christmas break.

You take a seat at the very front of the classroom, excited for professor Slughorn to start the lesson. All the excitement drains from your face when an all too familiar figure plops down on the seat next to you. His messy black hair covered his forehead, making his Hazel eyes appear brighter and larger.

“Psyched to be back, are we?” James Potter said, flashing you that famous grin of his.

You were dreading this moment since last night; having to see James again after what went down before break. How was he acting so normal?

“What do you want, James?” You asked, annoyed, refusing to make eye contact with him.

“It’s lovely to see you too, y/n. My holiday was great, thanks for asking. How was yours?” He said cheekily.

“Piss off , Potter.” You mumbled.

The conversation was cut short, thankfully, after Slughorn entered the classroom.

You didn’t understand why James was being so nice. He was never exactly unpleasant towards you, but you and James were rivals in all the things that mattered. Whether it was Quidditch or the Grades you got, you both always had to be better than the other in everything you did. This lead to you both exchanging snarky remarks now and then , James teasing you whenever he had the chance. Sometimes, he would take it as far as publicly humiliating you in-front of the whole class by playing practical jokes on you. That’s why you hated thinking about what happened before Christmas break.

It was way past curfew, and the library was empty , except for an exhausted James Potter , sitting at the table across yours. You made the awful mistake of joining him for a cup of coffee. One thing lead to another, and the next morning you found yourself tangled in the sheets of the arrogant gryffindor boy. However, you thought that was the end of it, neither of you would acknowledge what happened and go back to usual. But, James clearly had other plans.

A month had passed and you noticed the fact that James had gone back to normal. Back to being your annoying rival. Nothing else. You didn’t understand why it bothered you so much. This is what you wanted.

One morning, during breakfast, you received a box of sweets from honeydukes and a bouquet of enchanted flowers that turned into butterflies at your touch.

“Who are they from!” Lily said, jumping with excitement by your side.

“I don’t know… there’s no note.” You said as you blushed uncontrollably.

“Someone’s got herself a secret admirer! I personally think they’re from that Ravenclaw boy, Marcus, she’s been talking to.” Marlene shouted, too loudly for your liking.

At this comment, James’ head jolted up, his eyes meeting yours and his expression almost… hurt.

That evening after dinner, you made your way back to your dorm, when you were greeted by a distressed Marcus. His face was badly beaten, a large bleeding gash was across his forehead and he had an enormous black eye.

“Oh Merlin! Marcus what happened!!??” You yelled.

“Y/n… just to be clear, I did NOT send you any gifts this morning. I think it’s best if we stayed away from each other.” Marcus said, as he practically ran away from you.

“Wait! Marcus! Atleast tell me who did this to you!” You shouted after him, but he was already 10 feet away.

The day after, in charms, a kind boy from Hufflepuff was teaching you the right way to hold your wand while performing a certain spell.

“So you want to hold it at an angle of 45 degrees, whilst making a ‘S’ motion with your arm.” He explained, guiding your hands with his. You couldn’t help but smirk, because obviously he was flirting with you. From the side of your eye, you caught a very irritated… almost jealous looking James, staring daggers at the Hufflepuff boy.

About an hour later, you went to Madam Pomfery to get some cream for your finger; you nicked it during potions, when you found that kind boy who had just helped you in charms, lying on a bed. His face was swollen ten times the normal size, and his body was shaking uncontrollably.

“Madam Pomfery! What happened to him?” You asked, worried.

“Nasty Hex. He claims one of the Gryffindor boys did it.” She explained.

Weeks went by, but you noticed something extremely unusual. Every single guy from your year was avoiding you. Even the ones you thought were your friends. Something wasn’t right.

“Lily! Wait up!” You called after the red headed girl as she walked to class.

“Hey y/n! How you holding up?” She asked, a pitiful expression plastered across her face.

“How am I holding up? What do you mean?” You sounded almost offended.

“Oh sorry… I thought you noticed by now-“

She countered.

“Noticed what? Noticed the fact that every single boy is avoiding me. Yea. I have bloody noticed that. Do you happen to know why the hell that is? “ you questioned.

“Oh… erm. I really shouldn’t get involved but, James has been beating up and threatening every guy who speaks to you.”

She told.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck?” You hissed through your teeth.

“I’m sorry, love. I thought you already knew. I’ve got to get to class…. I’ll catch you later!” Lily said, as she walked away.

You were furious. Where ever James Potter was, he better watch out, because you were going to END him. You burst into an empty class room to make sense of everything, and thats when you saw him. James was sitting on a desk, with a few books spread open in front of him.

“INCENDIO” you pointed your wand at his books, setting them on fire.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” James shouted, as he jumped up and away from the flames.

“Who the actual fuck do you think you are, potter? You pathetic piece of shit. Beating up guys who talk to me? It was a one night stand. Get over it. You are NOT my boyfriend.” You said, practically up in his face, with your wand poking at his chest.

“How oblivious are you? It may have been a casual thing for you, but it was not bloody casual for me!” He spat back.

“You think you can just exist. Exist being so perfect. Looking so beautiful, that it physically pains to be away from you. I ACHE EVERY MINUTE I AM NOT WITH YOU!” He shouted, pushing your wand aside and getting closer.

Whatever gap there was between your faces was closed by James smashing his lips into yours. You gave in. You finally just gave in, and kissed him back. Oh,with each kiss you were wondering why you resisted for so long. You kissed his jaw then his jaw line and then his ear, leaving hickeys as you went. James trailed a finger down ur spine, giving you shivers.

“James…” you trailed off.

“Oh.. do you not want to?” He asked

“No! No.. I definitely want to , but I don’t have-“ you hoped he’d get the hint.

“I have like an entire pack of condoms in my bag ,over there.”

“wow. Way to make a girl feel special…” you rolled your eyes , but also felt kind of sad , because why did he need so many condoms? Who were they for?. You were spiralling in a train of thought and just then James’ voice snaps you out of it.

“Y/n…. These are the ones i share with the boys… Remus got them from the muggles and this bag here is his.” James said holding up Remus’ bag.

That made you feel so much better.

James picks up where you left it.

James trails kisses from your mouth to you abdomen. You couldn’t help but let out a soft moan, earning a small smirk from him.

“James, what if someone comes in?”

“Colloportus” James said as he pointed his wand towards the slightly open door.

“There. No one is going to be coming inside, but there will be a lot of cumming inside…” He smirked as he made his lewd remark.

“Yuck James! That was corny even for you.” You complained as you threw your cardigan at him. “Unfunny freak” you sniggered.

After kissing for about 10 minutes, James unbuttoned his shirt, and then goes to remove your clothes.

“Is this okay, love?” James asked

You nodded.

“I need a verbal ‘yes’ y/n.”

“Yes.”

Now both of you were in nothing but your underwear. James started kissing you and slowly made his way down. Oh how you’ve missed this! Once he reached your lower abdomen, he gave you a look and removed your panties. He slid his tongue between your slit.

“Oh Merlin! James!” You gasped, clutching a fistful of his hair.

“Does that feel good , love? Wanted to get you a little excited, but it seems to me you’ve got that covered.” James grinned.

You reddened at that comment.

“Don’t be ashamed, love. Let me try something. You just relax and spread your legs. Thank-you.” James instructed as you spread your legs apart.

He stuck one finger, then a second , curling them inside. Oh.my.world. This felt so good, you wanted to scream. He bought his mouth down to your clit and started sucking it.

“Potter… I’m so.. c-c-close” you barely managed to say.

With two more thrusts of his fingers, you finished in his mouth.

“You’re so fucking sweet, darling “

“Ok darling, I need a verbal yes for this part” James said as he slid a condom on.

He aligned his length with you. “Darling?”

“Yes. Please James. I need you.” You begged.

“Oh love, you look so beautiful, begging for me like that.” He said as he pushed himself in.

Your eyes practically rolled to the back of your head due to the intense pleasure you were feeling. This was so much better than the first time. Maybe because both of your feelings are out in the open this time.

“Y/n , you feel so good my love. “ James cooed.

With a few more thrusts you could feel a knot coming undone in your stomach.

“Hold on for just a minute, darling” James said.

“I’m gonna cu- James-“ you pleaded

And just like that, both of you finished at the same time.

James cleaned you up, and you both redressed. As you were leaving the empty classroom, James grabbed you by your wrist. He placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Next time Potter, when you send me flowers, make sure to leave a note on them. Don’t want people to get beaten up for no reason.”

You teased.

“Next time Y/L/N , be better at acknowledging my feelings” James joked.

“Next time , be better at fucking showing them!” You countered.

You both laughed, as James pulled you in for one last kiss before class.

[mahalkitamully]

my good looking boy ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

: insecure ! carl grimes x reader

angst and reverse comfort !!

like my sal fisher one but carl vers </3

ー

carl who tried to seem strong, as if it didn't matter, even though everyone knew it did. after sneaking into negans place, no one could clean his bandages for him. not even michonne.

he'd avoid eye contact and always seemed self conscious- sure it could just be you looking too much into him but something was off. the first week after he was shot sure he was still adjusting but now, it seemed like he'd started over.

one day, you heard rustling in his room when you were visiting and immediately rushed inside, only to see a mess of medical supplies on the floor and a frustrated carl sitting on the edge of his bed.

that day carl tried to push you away as much as he could, but he couldn't fight your stubbornness. his body tensed as your fingers softly applied the ointment, delicately touching his scar. you gently put the bandage around his head, before smiling. "all done," your voice chimed, before carl looking away.

"thank you.." he mumbled before hesitatingly hugging you. it was unexpected, yet you let him hold you tightly, his body melting into your touch. melting as if he finally found comfort for something he believed didn't deserve any.

ー

if I had a penny for every character I've had a crush on with a scarred face and was insecure bout it I'd have 3! (carl, sal, zuko) bvro speaking of zuko I got a zuko Funko pop from PH im so happy also sorry for the lack of stuff i have my AP tests this and next week </3

[emswritingsstuff]

Home at Last (Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader)

another request from @caseylicious !! i love your daryl ideas so much!! hope you enjoy!! 🫶🫶

Summary: After being left on the roof with Merle, you're separated from Daryl.

WC: 2.7k

--

“Merle was a danger to himself and everyone else, your husband did the right thing.” Andrea looked over at Lori, she just looked up at Rick and nodded, still looking unsure about the whole situation. “What about (Y/N)? I mean she definitely doesn’t deserve to be left with him.” Dale inquired. Glenn shook his head and held it in his hands, just dreading the conversation they were going to have with Daryl. “It's not our fault she wanted to stay; she wasn’t listening to us. What more could we have done,” Rick said matter of factly. Head nods and sighs were a sign of mutual agreement with Rick. They all knew you, but they also knew Daryl. 

It was clear to everyone that you and the Dixons were a package deal. Daryl and you were together for a while before everything had started. Making Merle practically your brother at that point, meaning you weren’t just going to sit around and let a random cop handcuff him. You did agree Merle was out of line but keeping him tied down the roof was not the move. Determined to make them let him go, you stayed with him. Without a second thought too. But that plan failed, as they did actually leave you. Ironically, without a second thought. But they all knew once the news got to Daryl, Hell would certainly break loose within the camp. 

The morning sun casted over the camp, everyone doing the daily routine with their chores. Shane had just brought in the water when screams were heard, the children screamed. Everyone ran to action seeing a walker had made its way onto the camp, eating a deer with a bunch of arrows in it. After disabling the walker, rustling was heard in the bushes, all of them breathing in sighs of relief when it was revealed to be Daryl. But the sighs of relief turned into stressful breathing when they realized what they were about to have to explain to him. 

Daryl was ranting on about the loss of venison, shooting the brain, and whatever else as he marched his way back into the camp. Everyone was keeping their distance from him, not wanting to get too close in case he exploded. Daryl had started yelling for you and Merle, completely unaware of what he was about to find out. 

“Daryl, I need to talk to you about them,” Shane spoke. Daryl looked at Shane with a questionable look, not so sure about what Shane was about to tell him. “Something happened on the run-” 

“They dead?” Daryl looked more tense now, ready to take his anger out on whoever got you both killed. The more Shane and Rick spoke, the more angry Daryl grew. FInding out they had stupidly left you both there threw him off the tiny edge he was standing on. 

“Lemme process this, ya handcuffed my brother to a roof? And left him and my girl there?” The anger was obvious, he was pacing around Rick. Nothing could be said in that moment to make him feel better. 

“If it makes anything better, I chained the door shut so geeks couldn’t get them,” point proven right there. Right as Daryl went to throw a punch, Shane put him in a headlock, pinning him to the ground. “Chokeholds illegal,” he mumbled as he caught his breath still in the group. Rick crouched down to Daryl’s level and told him how it is. That it just had to happen in order for the group to be saved, but he wasn’t buying it. 

Just like how they knew how much he meant to you, they knew how much you meant to him. You were the rational part of him, the part of him that kept him level headed, the part of him they all missed right now. But it was their fault you were gone, at least to him. He had started to break down, just enough to where it was noticeable. 

Rick had made the plan to go out with Daryl and Glenn to retrieve you and Merle, but also the guns. T-Dog soon made the choice to tag along as well. Though, Daryl knew everyone just wanted the guns and could give less of shit about the people he cared about. A nervous gut feeling hit Daryl, he didn’t want to show it, but he was scared shitless. If neither of you were there, he didn’t know what he would do. 

Daryl was getting antsy with Rick and T-Dog taking their sweet ass time getting into the truck. He was pacing again, nervous habit, just needed to see you were okay. Merle could defend himself, he knew that. You could as well, he taught you to, but he couldn’t let go of you no matter what. His leg was bouncing like crazy, the eventual drive feeling like it was taking forever. T-Dog looked at Daryl, just watching him. The tension was high, and he wanted to try and ease the air. 

“So, you and (Y/N), how’d that happen,” Daryl shot him a glare. T-Dog looked away, regretting what he had said instantly. Bringing his rag to his face, Daryl wiped it off and proceeded to speak. “None of yer business, just needa know you messed up leavin’ her there,” Daryl's eyes darted down at his hands not even wanting to engage in anymore conversations. 

Once finally getting to the department store, Daryl hauled his ass through it. Getting to the roof faster than everybody else. Getting the door open, the bright light threw him off. As soon as his eyes adjusted, he was devastated. It was empty.

Blood was all over the floor, Merle’s hand was on the ground and both of you were nowhere to be seen. The only thing of yours left behind being a necklace, intentionally placed where it would be seen. It was a sign that you were alive, but also a sign you were gone. Like you wanted to leave something of you for him. He lost you, he fucking lost you. 

Ever since that day on the rooftop, he swore to himself that he would look for you. No matter what, he looked. Tracking anything he could, any sign of you, just anything. The group had tried to convince him you were gone, to make him stop risking himself out there. Which never worked, he didn’t believe for a second you were dead. When on the road after the farm, he still looked. Going into the woods constantly, claiming to hunt, but in reality just putting up a front so he wouldn’t get chewed out for still looking for you. 

Daryl didn’t want to admit it. He really didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to lose faith in ever finding you again. As the days went on, the tracks were growing cold. The faith he had rapidly dying with it. “She’ll turn up, she’s like you,” looking beside him, Glenn had snuck up on him. He didn’t blame Glenn for the rooftop, Hell, he couldn’t blame anyone for it. Daryl just shook his head and put it down. Glenn spoke up again, just trying to make him feel better. 

“She’s stubborn, should’ve seen her that day. Thought she was going to kill Rick herself for Merle.” Glenn giggled to himself, Daryl just huffing. Not an angry huff though, it was something more lighthearted. The idea of you defending Merle was amusing. “Her ass was probably more pissed at Merle than anythin’” Daryl had gotten used to thinking back on memories with you. Merle and you had never gotten along, ironically it's what he liked about you. Never scared to put him in his place. In return, Merle gave Daryl his approval about you, which was really unneeded in Daryl’s opinion. 

Unfortunately for him, once the group got to the prison so much was happening that he didn’t have time to look. He felt horrible about it, surely feeling like the biggest piece of shit to walk the earth. Everything that had happened became a blur, trying to keep the prison up, the multiple losses, the birth of Judith, just so much going on he could barely keep track. The thing that brought him back to reality was the ambush on Woodbury, and the reunion with his brother. 

But still no you, still nothing. He had to hold back the tears the minute he found out Merle hadn’t seen you in ages. Apparently you had run off when you Merle got with the Governor. When the brothers branched off from the main group, Daryl was silent. Part of him was mad at Merle for letting you go, but the other part was dealing with the fact you were gone. Probably for good. 

Walking through the woods, Merle was talking his ass off. Just saying shit and Daryl couldn’t care to listen to any of it. “Lighten’ up brother! The Dixons are back!” He roughly pat Daryl on the back. Daryl was quick to grumble and shrug off Merle's sorry attempt at making a joke. “Now, what's wrong Darlina? Gotten soft?” Daryl stopped and let Merle keep on walking. It took a minute for Merle to realize he stopped, which made him stop too and look back at his brother. 

“Why’d ya let her go.” Daryl's words were harsh but quiet. Just enough to wipe the smirk off Merle’s face. Stepping up to Daryl, Merle was trying to intimidate him. But Daryl wasn’t going to budge, he was never going to let himself do that. Not with Merle. “I didn’t let her go, the bitch got scared. Didn’t trust the Governor, chose to fend for herself. Like the dumbass she is,” Merle was quickly cut off with a swift punch in his face. Getting knocked on his ass by Daryl. 

He crouched down to Merle’s level and got in his face. “Speak about ‘er like tha’ again, I’ll kill ya next time.” Daryl jerked forward to imitate a punch which caused Merle to flinch. Scoffing, Daryl moved forward through the woods. Just those few interactions made him realize staying with Merle was a mistake, he needed to get back to the family that cared about him and that he cared about. 

It had felt like ages since they had seen anything other than the woods, when it was actually a few hours. When Daryl had spotted a small shed, he was grateful. Maybe there was something in there that could be useful. Daryl whistled to get Merle’s attention and make him see what he saw. Inching closer and closer to the shed door, crossbow at the ready but no finger on the trigger. If something was in there he could act quickly, but he didn’t want to be irrational. 

Throwing open the door, there was nothing there. Putting down the bow, he breathed a sigh of relief and looked some more. There were signs of life but nothing that alarmed him. Water bottles were scattered around, some still filled. Jackpot. Snatching them up Daryl put them with their other belongings. If the person living there showed up, he’d give them back no problem. But finders keepers for now. 

The brothers decided mutually that they were going to camp for the night in that spot, just creating a small campfire outside the shed before turning in. The night dragged on, heavy tension filled air filled the brothers atmosphere. Merle had walked off to look for “food”, leaving Daryl by himself. Just him and his thoughts. He had found himself sitting around the fire just staring at it. The memories came flooding back to him, he just missed you so much. He hates himself for not continuing to look for you. He’ll never forgive himself for giving up, but more could he really do. 

As if the universe was giving him a sign, he heard twigs snap in the distance. His head snapped in the direction of the sound, instantly on edge about the whole ordeal. Standing up slowly he equipped his crossbow but before he could raise it up, an arm wrapped around his neck bringing him down. This wasn’t a walker, this was a person. And a pretty strong one at that. 

Making quick work of getting out of the chokehold he separated himself and the attacker in question. A bandanna was wrapped around their face to cover it, they were wearing a heavy jacket with a hood up. Daryl could barely make out who this person even was, which made it all the more weird when the attacker said his name. Quietly of course, but he heard it. Trying to figure out what was happening he was lost in his thoughts. He never even saw the attacker charge at him again. 

Standing his ground he fought them off as best as he could, just trying to figure out how this person knew who he was. Pushing down harshly, the attacker fell on their back almost knocked out. Daryl took this as his moment to get rid of the disguise the attacker had on, and almost broke when he took the bandanna off. 

It was you, it was really you. He could barely believe it himself. 

Daryl stepped backwards and fell to his knees. Hurting you was something he never once wanted to do, and he just did that. He was defending himself, sure, and you attacked him. Guilt started to weigh on him, causing him to go crazy a bit. The whole situation didn’t feel real, which was a shared feeling. You weren’t in your right state of mind, he knew that. But Daryl was focused on the tears and the emotions he was feeling that he didn’t notice you get up and pounce on him again, successfully pinning him to the ground.

He was trying to explain himself, trying so hard to make you see reality. It surprised him how strong you had gotten after all this time, fighting so hard against your strength. “You’re not real. If you were, you would’ve found me sooner,” you said holding a knife up to his throat. Having him in such a bad position. Daryl acted quick and knocked the knife out of your hands and flipped you over so that he was now holding you down. His strong arm was across your chest and his legs held down yours. 

Tears streamed down his face as you thrashed against him, begging to be let go. Daryl could barely speak, hating to see you like this and him being the reason for it. “I tried, I looked everyday, I never wanted to give up. Please, it’s me.” Daryl’s head fell with his hair covering his face. A few more hits flew from you, definitely going to leave marks, but did not care. He needed you back. 

Surprisingly for him, the thrashing stopped. Just to make sure it wasn’t a fake out, he didn’t look up. But once he did look, he saw your face was softened. Moving his arm off your chest, he freed you a bit. Still weary on if you were in a better space or not. Your arm snaked up from your side where it was held down, taking the necklace Daryl had on in your hands.

“It's my necklace. It is you. You looked for me..” Your voice was breaking and soft, like the regret had set in. He had always kept the necklace tucked under his shirt so it wouldn’t get caught on anything and risk losing it, must've slipped out during the fight. Wiping his face, Daryl looked in your eyes, “Course I looked, never wanted to lose ya.” He eased up and stood up off of you, helping you up in the process. The minute you were up and stable, his strong arms were around you, this time in a loving embrace. 

Tears were falling like they never had before, the both of you just living in the moment in each other's arms. “They left me,” you silently whispered, voice breaking even more., Daryl just shushed you softly and put his hand in your hair. “I know, but now I got ya. Never leavin’ ya again.”

--

btw if anyone has s1-s2 daryl request pls, send them i love him

[kaayyyys]

Hey there! I would like to ask for a request? I was wondering if you could do a Daryl angst. So it’s set in the prison because I like just like Daryl when they were back there. (Sorry for my bad English, it’s not my first language) so what I was thinking is that fem reader has a crush on Daryl so she’s always like around him and wanting to help him especially after they left Merle on the roof. Daryl then lashed out at her for being too clingy and needy which she then tearfully apologised and started avoiding him, when he’s around her, she would lower her head and scurried away from him. He felt bad for lashing out at her so he planned on apologising when she came back from a supply run but when she did came back, she is unconscious (or dead, up to you :3) because they were attacked by a random group, Rick held her in his arms while yelling for Hershel. The rest I’ll leave it to you, tag me if you’re finished. Thank you!❤️

Oh my god . I absolutely love this request. Sorry it took so long I wanted this to be as good as I could .

@yanokokuboo

Would you like a part two ?

The prison loomed against the Georgia sky, a stark monument to survival in a world overrun. Inside, amidst the ever-present tension and the ghosts of the fallen, a different kind of battle was being fought – the silent, internal struggle of a heart yearning for a connection it wasn’t sure it deserved. (Y/N) watched Daryl Dixon from across the yard, her gaze drawn to the lean strength of his form as he sharpened arrows, his brow perpetually furrowed in concentration. She’d admired him from afar since they’d arrived, captivated by his quiet intensity, his unwavering loyalty, and the aura of untamed wildness that clung to him.

After Merle had been left on that rooftop in Atlanta, something inside Daryl had seemed to break. He became even more withdrawn, more guarded. (Y/N), her heart aching for him, found herself drawn to his side, offering silent support, a comforting presence in the storm raging within him. She’d bring him water, offer to clean his crossbow, or simply sit nearby, mending clothes, the quiet rhythm of her needle a counterpoint to the turmoil radiating from him.

She knew he was a loner, a man who preferred the company of silence and the hunt to the chatter of others. But she hoped, foolishly perhaps, that her presence was a comfort, a small flicker of light in his darkness. She’d seen glimpses of a softer side – the way he protected Carol, the gruff tenderness he showed to Judith. Maybe, just maybe, she could break through the walls he’d built so high, brick by painful brick.

One sweltering afternoon, after a particularly grueling scavenging run, (Y/N) found Daryl cleaning his crossbow in the shade of the watchtower. She approached hesitantly, offering him a canteen of water. "Here," she said softly, "you must be thirsty."

Daryl snatched the canteen, his movements jerky, his eyes dark. He took a long swig, then slammed the canteen down on the concrete. "Why are you always around?" he growled, his voice rough. "You're like a damn shadow, always followin' me. I don't need babysitting."

The words hit (Y/N) like a physical blow. The air in her lungs seemed to evaporate, leaving her gasping for breath. She stared at him, bewildered and hurt. "I… I just wanted to help," she stammered, her voice trembling.

"Help?" He scoffed, a harsh, humorless sound. "I don't need your help! I don't need anyone's help! Just leave me alone!"

The anger in his voice was like a physical force, pushing her back, shrinking her spirit. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. This wasn’t the Daryl she’d imagined, the one she’d built up in her heart. This was a raw, wounded animal, lashing out in pain.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the words catching in her throat. "I... I didn't mean to bother you."

Turning, she fled, the tears streaming down her face, a silent testament to her shattered hopes. She didn't stop running until she reached her cell, collapsing on the thin mattress, the sobs wracking her body.

From that day forward, (Y/N) made a conscious effort to avoid Daryl. The hurt was too raw, the rejection too painful. She still admired him, still cared for him, but she couldn't bear to be near him, to risk another outburst, another shattering of her fragile heart. She focused on helping the others, tending to the garden, learning to defend herself. She tried to bury her feelings deep, to convince herself that what she felt for Daryl was just a fleeting infatuation, a silly crush.

Days turned into weeks. The prison life settled into a grim routine. (Y/N) noticed Daryl watching her, his gaze lingering longer than necessary. She saw a flicker of something in his eyes – regret, perhaps? – but she quickly looked away, unwilling to reopen the wound he’d inflicted.

Daryl, meanwhile, was wrestling with his own demons. He’d pushed (Y/N) away, lashed out at her kindness, and the guilt was eating at him. He saw her helping others, her laughter echoing in the yard, but her eyes never met his. She was polite, distant, a ghost of the girl who had once shadowed him with quiet devotion. He missed her presence, the unspoken understanding that had passed between them. He missed her.

He knew he had to apologize. He had to tell her he hadn’t meant to hurt her, that his anger was a reflection of his own inner turmoil, not a judgment of her. He planned to talk to her when she returned from the next supply run, to swallow his pride and beg for her forgiveness.

(Y/N) volunteered for the supply run, needing to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the prison, to breathe fresh air, to feel the sun on her skin. She walked alongside Glenn and Maggie, the familiar weight of her rifle a comfort. The run was uneventful, but the emotional toll of the past weeks had taken its toll. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

On the way back, they were ambushed. A small group, desperate and crazed, emerged from the woods, brandishing knives and makeshift weapons. Glenn and Maggie fought bravely, but (Y/N), weakened and distracted, was quickly overwhelmed. She screamed as one of the attackers pinned her to the ground, the harsh fabric of his clothes scraping against her skin.

Hours stretched into an eternity. As dusk began to settle, casting long shadows across the prison yard, the gate creaked open. But it wasn't you who stumbled through. It was Rick, his face grim, his arms cradling a limp figure.

A strangled gasp escaped Daryl's lips as he recognized you. Your face was bruised and bloodied, your clothes torn. You were unconscious, your breathing shallow and ragged. Tears streamed down your face even in your sleep.

“Hershel!” Rick bellowed, his voice laced with panic. “Get Hershel, now!”

A wave of nausea washed over Daryl. He pushed through the gathering crowd, his heart pounding in his chest. What happened? Who did this to you? He saw the torn fabric of your shirt, the angry welts on your arms, and a white-hot rage ignited within him.

"What the hell happened?" Daryl roared, his voice a feral snarl. He grabbed a nearby survivor by the collar, his grip tight. "Who did this to her?"

The survivor stammered, "They… they were ambushed. A group of them… tried to take their supplies."

Daryl shoved him aside, his eyes fixed on your still form in Rick's arms. "Damn it!" he screamed, the raw anguish tearing through him. "Damn it all to hell!"

He watched as Hershel rushed forward, his face etched with concern. They gently lowered you onto a makeshift cot in the infirmary. Daryl hovered, his body trembling with a mixture of fear and fury.

"Get out of the way, Daryl," Rick ordered, his voice firm. "Hershel needs room to work."

"No!" Daryl refused, his voice defiant. "I ain't goin' nowhere."

He watched as Hershel examined your wounds, his movements swift and efficient. The silence in the room was broken only by your labored breathing and the occasional murmur from Hershel.

Daryl felt a wave of guilt wash over him, so potent it almost brought him to his knees. He had pushed you away, rejected your kindness, and now… now you were lying here, broken and bleeding. He had been so consumed by his own pain that he hadn't seen the danger lurking around you. He had failed to protect you.

"This is my fault," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "All my fault."

Rick placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip surprisingly gentle. "Don't do that, Daryl. It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was!" Daryl snapped, shaking off Rick's hand. "I should have… I should have been there. I should have protected her."

He paced the small room, his frustration building with each passing moment. “Why wasn’t I there? Why did I let her go on that run?”

He knew, deep down, that his anger wasn't directed at Rick or Hershel or even the scavengers who had attacked you. It was directed at himself. He had pushed you away, silenced his growing feelings, and now he might lose you.

As Hershel continued to work, Daryl remained by your side, his eyes never leaving your face. He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his fingers trembling. He didn't know what the future held, but one thing was certain: he wouldn't let you go again. He would protect you, even if it meant facing his own demons head-on. He would spend the rest of his days trying to earn your forgiveness, to prove that he was worthy of your love. He just needed you to wake up

[grimesbunny]

please give us some more rick!!! mean rick???

mean rick who treats fucking you like he’s conquering something. puts his entire back into it. dominance ingrained in the movement of tongue as he licks into your pliant mouth and invades all of your senses. he kisses you like he’s trying to devour you, pressing you against any surface he can find so he can focus wholly on bullying himself between your thighs and sucking on your lips. presses a knee against your cunt through your clothes and laughs meanly when you start to grind on it, even if that was his goal.

he likes when he’s completely clothed and you’re shed down to nothing, letting him undress you as he travels down the length of your body with his mouth. something about the authority of having you in your most vulnerable state while his shirt is only partially unbuttoned, his pants pulled down just enough to get his cock out. the feeling of your soft skin against his calloused hands, your cute mewls when he grabs and squeezes every inch of you. it makes his head spin.

he somehow makes missionary feel dirty, but not any less passionate. gathers the slickness drooling out of your pussy with his cock by rubbing and tapping the thick shaft against your chubby lips. he’ll insert two thick fingers in your mouth and gruffly tell you to shut up when you start begging too loudly.

when he finally sinks inside you, he’s relentless. the deep, thorough drags of his hard cock inside your tight walls is never ending. he brackets you in with his arms and legs, leaving no room for you to feel or see anything but him all over you as he plows into you like he’s trying to break you in all over again. the warmth and weight of him is intoxicating, enough to reduce your vocabulary to nothing but a constant stream of his name, over and over.

“yeah, that’s right, baby. ‘m right here.”

he punctuates the sentiment with a firm press of his palm below your navel, where he can feel himself bulging out of you.