#I just drove back from Georgia

[idrinkpeanutoil]

AU Doodles before bed

[samandcolbyownme]

Summary: anon request: "Solby x reader, yn is modeling for them in their merch in their bedroom and it turns sexyyyy"

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, flirting, teasing, biting, hair pulling, scratching, choking, unprotected threesome, oral (f rec), facial, fingering, filth

Word count: 3.7k | not edited

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"Hey." You say as you walk into Sam's room, "Whatcha doin'?" Sam turns from his computer and shakes his head, "Nothing. Just making sure everything is in order for the next merch drop, what's up?"

"I have a coffee date with Georgia later and I was wondering if you had maybe an XPLR shirt that I don't have that I can wear?"

He motions to his closet, "Go for it." He watches as you open the door, sliding the hangers over the rack as you inspect each item of clothing.

"Hey, y/n." Sam says and you look over at him, "I have the new merch out in my car, Colby and I wore it for our shoot, but I can go get it if you want to look through that?"

You nod, "That would be great, Sam. Yeah. If you want to." He nods and gets up, walking out to go get it and you hear Colby coming down the hallway, "Hey Sam, what should I d-" Colby walk in and stops talking as he sees you, "y/n? What are you doing here?"

"Sam went out to his car quick and I came to steal one of his shirts." You look back at him, smirking slightly as you see his eyes shoot up to yours, "He'll be back, in like a minute or so."

"Mm. I see." Colby laughs and walks over to the desk and sits down, totally forgetting what he came to ask Sam about.

You've been friends with Sam and Colby for ever now. Practically your whole life. But ever since you moved in with them, there's been some.. tension.

Sexual tension.

You thought you were just crazy, or that they’d think you were, because you liked, no.. loved that you were the girl who lived with them. Got their constant  attention. You were in a position so many girls would absolutely kill for.

And the more you thought about it, the more you really didn't want them seeing anyone else - but you.

You felt kind of selfish for it, and bad because you noticed that you'd catch an attitude or stay in your room pouting if either one of them brought up another girl, even if it was just for an investigation and nothing else.

You honestly didn't think they'd go for a thruple ordeal, so you just kept it to yourself. You don't even know how you'd bring something like that up.

It made you nervous to think about, so you tried shoving your silly feelings down. Covering them up with jokes and telling them that you had something to work on, even when you didn't.

But as the days went on and you grew to be more comfortable with them. The thought of being with both of them actually drove you insane to the point you wanted to just throw yourself at one of them and hope the other got jealous enough to just join in.

You laugh at your thoughts, sighing to yourself. It must have been a little too loud because it catches Colby's attention, "What's so funny over there?" He spins the chair and brings one leg up to rest on his other knee, "Care to share?"

You look over at him, biting down on your bottom lip as you shake your head, "I just.. thought of something funny I seen on TikTok."

"Did ya?" Colby chuckles, eyes moving up and down your body.

As much as you wanted to just confess your feelings for both of them, you told yourself that you'd wait until they gave you a signal that was more clear, wasn't mixed.

"Yeah." You clear your throat, "I did."

"Alright." Sam walks in, clothing draped over his arms and shoulders, "Here we are."

You turn and watch Sam as he lays each item out on the bed from the pile he made from throwing them down.

You walk over, "Okay.” You pick up a t shirt and look over it, "That's a pretty sick design. I like this a lot."

"That's my favorite, too." Sam says, "What are you doing in here?" He looks at Colby and Colby shrugs, "I came in to ask you something but now I can't remember."

Sam laughs and sits down on the bed, watching you as you go through the clothes, "There's so many good ones." You look up, "You guys did good."

They smile, "Thank you. We're proud of it." Colby says with a nod. He looks over at Sam and they exchange a look while you continue holding each thing up.

"Why don't you.. um.." Colby clears his throat, "Why don't you try them on." He shrugs, and there’s your sign.

Clear as day.

You look up, "All of it?"

He nods and Sam steps in, "Yeah. Why not. We can see what looks the best on you." You chew on your lip to try and hide your smile, "Alright."

You slip your plain blue sweatshirt off, leaving you in your sports bra and shorts, which is nothing new, they've seen you in one a thousand times.

Sam tilts his head slightly, in awe of you like usual.

Colby tries to subtly adjust his sitting position, laying a hand over his lips as he watches you put on the first shirt, "Oh this is comfy." You look up and they quickly try to act like they weren't just staring you down.

But you could feel it.

"It is. They're so soft." Sam nods, "That looks good on you."

"Really?" You smile slightly and look down at it. Colby sighs, "She might take our job at modeling our own clothes."

You laugh, rolling your eyes, "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Those sweatpants are super comfy, too." Colby adds quickly, "They are my favorite thing out of this line." You look down at them, running your fingers over the soft pants, "I'll see for myself."

You knew what you were doing, and you knew what they were doing.

And vice versa.

As you slip your shorts down and step out of them, you turn to grab the sweats off the bed, “You know, if you take a picture it’ll last longer.”

You look up and you can see them smirking, “busted.” Colby mumbles lowly to Sam and Sam laughs, “Yeaahhh.”

As you’re putting on the sweats, adjusting them to how you like them, you see a flash out of the corner of your eye and the whirring sound of the Polaroid camera.

You look over at them, smirking as you roll your eyes, “Really?”

“Hey. You said take a picture, so.. you can’t really blame us.” Colby smiles and you bite your lip, “Uh huh.” You turn, modeling the pants and shirt for them, “I mean they don’t match but..”

“Mm. I think it looks great.” Sam rubs his chin with his fingers, “Do a little spin for us.”

You laugh slightly and smile as you slowly spin around, listening to them cheer you on.

“Alright, I think I’ll try on the sweatshirt now.” You slip the shirt up over your head, tossing it at Colby and he catches it.

“thanks. I like this shirt.” He smirks and you laugh as you flip the sweatshirt to put it on. You fix the hood and situate it on your body, “Well?”

They look at each other and you smirk, “Wait.” They look at you, watching as you kick off the sweatpants, “Okay..” you pull the sweatshirt down just to barely cover your ass, “How does this look?”

Sam blinks a few times, eyes moving down to your bare legs.

Colby stares at you, mouth parted slightly and he sighs, “Yeah, I say that also look good on you.”

Sam smirks, “I think we need to see a full three-sixty.” You squint your eyes, “I know what you’re doing.” He tilts his head, “Do you?”

Did you?

“Mhm.” You go with it as you spin around, “at least I think I do.” You spin around to face them, “You just wanna see my butt.”

“Wanna see a lot more than that.” Colby mumbles and Sam nudges him. You look at Colby, unsure of what he said, “Huh?”

“Nothing.” Sam says quickly, “Here.” He leans forward, grabbing one of the other t-shirts, “Try this one on. That’s Colby’s favorite.”

You glance at Colby and he nods, “Oh yeah.”

You slide the sweatshirt off, tossing it at Sam and he laughs, “Didn’t think we’d get a strip tease out of this, but hey. Who’s complaining?”

“Not me.” Colby holds up his hands and you laugh, “Yeah, because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

You were. You were totally trying to get under their skin, or under them. Something of that sort.

You slip on the shirt, letting it lay just at the band of your underwear, “Well, Colby. Since this is your favorite.. how’s it look?”

His eyes rake up and down your body, “I love it on you.” He nods, “Definitely my favorite one.”

You smile, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you bend over slightly to look through the other ones, “Oh this one is cute, too.” You hold up the shirt and nod, “I think this is the one I’ll be wearing.”

“Whatever one you want.” Sam bites his lip, leaning back on his arm. You lay the shirt down to strip from the other shirt you’re wearing, “This one is soft, too. I like this.”

You walk over to the mirror, modeling for yourself - and for the boys.

“Yeah that’s it.. Work it, baby.” Sam’s words catch you off guard and you spin around to look at him, “what?”

Sam smirks, laughing slightly as he looks at Colby, “Think the cat’s out of the bag, huh?” Colby nods, “Yeah, I think it is.”

Your heart starts to race as Sam gets up, walking over to you, “You don’t think we know about how you feel?”

“How do I feel?” You swallow as his fingers brush against your neck as he moves hair from it, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He stands behind you, slowly lifting the shirt from your body, “The looks you give us.” His lips on your neck feel like fire, “The way you throw little temper tantrums when it’s not just you.”

Colby gets up, walking over to stand in front of you, “Saying you have stuff to do when you really pout because we’re not giving you any attention?”

You look up at him and he smirks, “We know you better than anyone, darling.” He gently rests his fingers under your chin, “We know exactly what you want. And you want to know why?”

You nod, “Why?”

“Because we want you, too, baby.” Sam whispers in your ear, gently nipping at your lobe, “We’ve wanted you for a while.” He chuckles, “I’m not surprised that you modeling our clothes for us worked.”

“We knew it would get us right where we all wanted to be.” Colby’s hands slide down to your hips, his one hand moving over to slip into the band of your - very wet - panties.

You gasp, leaning back into Sam as Colby’s fingers put just the right amount of pressure on your aching clit, “from the moment you moved in. Strutting around in those little pajama shorts..” Colby leans in to kiss your neck, causing your moans to grow a little bit louder.

Sam groans, “Fuck. Those shorts, baby.” He sighs, “Can’t get enough of seeing your ass peak out every time you reaches for something on the top shelf in the kitchen.”

“You tease us. In every way possible.” Colby lean back, slipping his fingers down to feel the wetness that’s pooling between your folds, “We’ve just finally had enough of not doing anything about it.”

You gasp, moaning out as Colby hooks his fingers inside of you, “So fuckin’ wet.”

Sam kisses down your neck and back up, “We just didn’t know how to go about it but finally we just said fuck it and now we’re finally getting what we’ve talking about for months.”

You spread your legs more, eyes rolling back as you tangle a hand in their hair, “F-fuck.”

“That feel good?” Colby asks brushing his lips against yours. You nod, “Y-yes.” Colby’s lips plant on yours and you moan into his mouth.

“That’s it. Those are the pretty sounds we wanna hear.” Sam whispers and sucks a spot on your neck, “Let’s hear more.” His arm snakes around your waist, slipping in to rub your clit as Colby scissors his fingers in and out of you.

“Y-yes. Yes.” You tug on Sam’s hair, moaning louder as Colby moves his head down to kiss over your collar bone and up your neck.

“Let’s take her to the bed.” Sam nods towards the bed and they both take their hand away from you, leaving you whimpering at the loss of their touch.

Colby steps back, placing his hands on your hips to guide you towards the bed. He has you sit down and he stands between your knees as Sam moves to sit behind you, pulling you back to lean against his chest.

Your lip is held in a soft grip of your teeth as you watch Colby drop to his knees, “Lift your hips for me, baby.” You comply, rising up just enough for him to pull your underwear off your body.

“You can relax now, baby. Let us show you how good we can make you feel.” Colby rubs your thighs and Sam leans down, whispering into your ear, “do you want that?”

You nod, “For so long.”

“Glad you’re on the same page.” Colby pushes your knees apart, placing his thumbs on either side of your pussy and spreads you open before he dives in with his tongue.

You gasp as he moans against you, your hand shoots down to lay on the back of his head, “Fuck, oh my god. Fuck.” Your back arches against Sam’s chest and he wraps an arm around you, turning your head with his free hand so he can kiss you.

He swallows your moans that are caused by Colby’s tongue pushing in and out of you.

“F-fuck.” You reach up, tangling your fingers in Sam’s hair. He groans lowly as you pull, “Feel good?”

“So good.” You breathe out, “So fucking good.” You let out a whine, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum for him, baby. Then you’re going to cum for me.” Sam presses his lips to yours, slowly moving his with yours. Colby’s hands move to grip your thighs, pushing them further apart as he moves to suck your clit.

“S-shit.” You feel your body tense up slightly as your first orgasm approaches fast. Your eyes roll back and your head tilts, “F-fuck yes. Yes.”

“Let it all out baby. Tell us how good he makes you feel.” Sam whispers, nudging your cheek with his nose, “You sound so pretty.”

You roll your hips slightly, riding the high before Colby leans back, “Why’d we wait so fucking long for this?”

Sam chuckles, playing with the front zipper of your bra, “No idea. But I’m glad we’re done waiting.” He pulls the zipper down, your boobs popping out once the zipper is apart. Sam pulls the fabric down your arms and throws it on the floor, “My turn.”

He moves from out behind you, letting you lay back on the bed.

Your eyes follow Sam as he moves in between your legs, kissing from your knees to your hips. He licks his lips before dipping his head down, licking up your wet cunt before his tongue pushes in.

Your back arches off the bed, hands gripping the sheets tightly, “Oh fuck.” You let out a loud moan, whimpering as his thumb rubs circles.

Colby lays next to you, now shirtless, “You’re so fucking-“ he groans as he crashes his lips onto hours, hand sliding up to lay perfectly around your neck.

Sam slings your leg over his shoulder, getting as close to you as he can. He groans against you, switching places with his hand and mouth.

He slips two fingers inside of you, slipping them in and out as his lips wrap around your clit.

“Fuck.” You gasp out, throwing your head back onto the bed. Colby’s hand is still around your throat, squeezing slowly as he watching your face scrunch and twist with pleasure, “Come on, baby. Cum for him.” Colby whispers lowly, “I know you want to.”

You nod quickly, “Y-yes.”

A few seconds later, you feel that second orgasm rolling into station.

Colby’s hand moves from your throat to your boobs, going back and forth as he pinches and pulls at your nipples. His head dips down to nip and suck at your neck.

Your body twist slightly as your orgasm takes over. The heel of your foot presses into the middle of Sam’s back, and you become a moaning mess for them.

Sam slowly pulls away, breathing quickly as he crawls up your body. He brushes hair from your face and stares down at you, “You’re our girl.”

You blink a few times, trying to comprehend if you heard him correctly.

“He’s right. No one can take that place but you.” Colby leans down, kissing your cheek, “Our girl. Emphasis on the our.”

He chuckles and stands up, moving to take the rest of his clothes off. Sam leans down, kissing you before he stands up, too.

Colby takes the place on top of you and your lips part as you feel his cock rub against your pussy, “Please.” You beg quietly, “I-I need you.”

He chuckles and nods, “Oh baby, I need you too.” His brows furrow as he slips into you slowly, causing your eyes to roll back, “Shit.”

No one thought to grab condoms. It didn’t even cross your mind. The only thing on your mind was having them inside of you.

“Fuck you feel so fucking good.” Colby groans as he lays his hand next to your head, holding his body up as he slowly pulls out and thrusts back in.

Sam sits next to your head, playing with your boobs as Colby fucks you hard. You let out a loud moan, a scream at this point and your hands search for both of them.

Your hand wraps around Sam’s arm and your other hand digs your nails into Colby’s upper back, whimpering and moaning as you feel like you’re about to cum - again.

“F-fu- fuck!” You arch your back, clenching around his cock as your orgasm slams into you. Your legs cling tightly around Colby’s waist and your eyes stay locked on Sam as Colby sucks on your neck, right below your ear.

You felt overstimulated, but in the best way possible.

Colby’s thrust slow down and your legs fall onto the bed, “Shit.” You smile slightly and he leans down to kiss you as he pulls out.

“Roll over for me.” Sam says as he stands up to take off his pants and boxers. You roll over onto your stomach and Sam moves onto the bed to straddle your thighs.

His hands slide up to your ass, squeezing before he moves them to grip your hips. He lifts your hips up, just slightly, before rubbing his cock against your pussy.

You grip the sheets, waiting for Sam to be in you.

You rest your forehead on the bed, moaning into it as he slips his cock into your soaked pussy, “Oh fuck.”

Sam groans, resting for a moment before pulling out and sliding back in. The first couple thrusts were slow and teasing, but that quickly shifts into a punishing pace.

Colby kneels down on the floor beside the bed, reaching out to grab your chin, “Look at me baby.” You look at Colby, moaning out, “F-fuck.”

“That feels good doesn’t it?” Colby runs his thumb over your lips and you part them, tilting your head forward to take it between your lips. He watches as you suck, moaning around it as Sam brings you to your fourth orgasm of the day.

“So fucking pretty.” Colby pulls his lip between his teeth, pulling his thumb away, “Where do you want us to cum, darling?”

His wet thumb brushes over your cheek and you struggle to keep your eyes open as you cum around Sam’s cock, “I-I do-“

Your eyes roll back as Sam guides you through your high, causing your whole body to go numb from the pleasure.

His thrusts slow down and he pulls out, panting as he looks at Colby, “Cum on her face?”

You smile at the idea and Colby chuckles, “I think that’s a yes.”

You roll over, chest rising and falling rapidly, “Uh huh.”

“I’ve been wanting to cum since I seen you take your shorts off.” Colby chuckles and leans down to kiss you as Sam moves up by your head.

You whimper against his lips and he leans up, getting on his knee on the other side of your head. You lick your lips, leaning up slightly as you watch them both stroke their cocks, groaning as they stare down at you waiting for them to finish.

You close your eyes as Sam cums first, groaning as he watches his cum lay across your face.

Colby is super quick to follow, groaning as you stick your tongue out to catch his cum and to lick Sam’s off of your lips.

“Fuck, you are beyond gorgeous.” Colby breathes out and Sam sits down with a sigh, “Fuck that was amazing.” He rolls off the bed, standing up to go fetch a towel.

Colby stares at you and smirks as you look up at him, “What?” You question innocently. He shakes his head, looking back at Sam then back to you, “You’re just so fucking hot covered in our mess.”

You smile, closing your eyes as Sam wipes your face, and any other parts that need wiped.

“You might wanna call and cancel that coffee date with Georgia.” Sam chuckles as he tucks hair behind your ear.

You nod, “Yeah, I was thinking that, too.”

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

I know this was long awaited but I hope it’s up to par!

Thanks for reading!

Likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[inuyashaluver]

pranks - leah williamson

leah williamson x reader

description: in which you love to prank your girlfriend

warnings: quite long and random honestly hehe, swearing

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if there was one thing to know about your girlfriend, leah williamson - it was that she didn’t like to be the butt of a joke. and if there was one thing to know about you, you loved to make her the butt of jokes - in the nicest way possible.

you were notorious for being a bit of a prankster, both on and off the pitch. whether it was just pranking your teammates or tricking the opposition on the pitch, the one word your girlfriend would use to describe you as was cheeky.

one thing about you is that you’re going to prank and scare your girlfriend. it’s your job to keep her on her toes. leah doesn’t agree, you give this girl a heart attack almost everyday but she can’t help but love you and honestly couldn’t hold a grudge.

leah drove you both to training one day, as soon as the car came to a stop, you gave her a sloppy kiss and ran out of the car into the training facility. you, leaving your girlfriend utterly confused at your sudden enthusiasm for training, considering how an hour prior to this, she had to drag you out of bed and had to dress you herself because you were unbothered.

if only leah knew what you had planned. you were hiding behind a bush with a scary mask on. ridiculous you knew, but something was so satisfying about seeing your big, strong girlfriend clutching her chest at none other than you.

everyone was in on your plan, finding it funny that you were still obsessed with your pranks - something that your national teammates knew from the youth camps.

leah was walking out to the pitch with keira and georgia, lightly chattering about random subjects. leah couldn’t find you anywhere, slightly upset that her training buddy was nowhere to be seen. as you heard their footsteps approaching, you leapt out in front of them.

leah jumps backwards, clutching her chest and struggling to breathe, dropping her water bottle in the process. she slouches over, head looking down at the floor with her hands on her knees.

“oh my god that scared the shit out of me” she exhales, meanwhile, you, georgia and keira were giggling like school children at your girlfriend’s hunched form.

she stands up straight with her hands on her hips looking down at you, mask still clad on your face.

“my baby girl,” she smiles scarily at you, “you have 5 seconds to start running”

“baby, no-” she was going to get you for this. her stern glare felt even through the mask

“baby, yes, 5-”

you start sprinting immediately, ripping the mask off in the process, you dart towards the pitch and see millie standing there talking to mary. you jump on her back,

“brighty! save me please” you breathe, watching leah stride over to you, stern face prominent on her features and hands behind her back.

“millie, drop her on the ground for me” leah smiles,

you wrap your arms tighter around the defender’s neck. shaking your head frantically.

“you’re kinda choking me, love” millie places a hand on your arm

“millie, she’s going to kill me, please!” you plead

“millie” leah tries again, “captain’s orders”

millie visibly tenses, dropping her hand from your arm.

“sorry, love” millie places you on the ground, you’ve never looked so small in your life - leah thinks.

you immediately start running again, leah quickly catching up to you and slamming you to the ground.

you’re on your back while leah straddles your waist.

“hey, I like this position” you wink at her, trying to diffuse the situation. leah can’t help but grin at your comment, she grabs both of your hands in one of hers and places them above your head, your breath hitches as she mischievously smirks at you. you were in for it.

she reveals the water bottle in her hand, holding it above your head.

“baby, no!” you plead, she mockingly pouts at you,

“baby girl, you know I don’t like to be the butt of jokes” she tutts, you try and give her your best puppy dog face, she almost gives in but knows she needs to stay strong. she squeezes the entire contents of her bottle onto your top half, completely drenching your shirt. you gasp as the cold water makes contact with your skin.

“you just had to have fucking ice water, didn’t you, williamson?” you glare at her,

“you just had to scare me, didn’t you, (y/l/n)?” she retorts, moving to give you a peck on your lips.

“our actions have consequences, beautiful”

you watch as she moves off your body, pulling you up on your feet with her.

she takes in your appearance, your shirt completely drenched and hair slightly damp from her water bomb. she lets out a small giggle and a wolf whistle as you rip the shirt from your body and throw it at her.

“very hot, baby. my cheeky girl,” she winks, you shake your head at her before running to the change room in need of another shirt.

leah had forgiven you, both of you returning to your lovie dovie state. hugging each other from behind, exchanging small kisses and whispering sweet nothings to each other. absolute bliss and you just have to disrupt the peace.

—

you were lined up for training drills. leah in front of you in the line. the ball was lined up for her to kick, as she ran up to connect the ball with her foot, you from behind kicked it first, meaning she kicked nothing.

everyone bellows out in laughter, you were on the floor, laughing so hard, tears were brought to your eyes. leah, returning to her ‘hands on the hip captain’s stance’, she poked her cheek with her tongue. exhaling a small scoff as she watched you rolling on the floor laughing. she immediately moves on top of you, settling her entire weight on you, tickling your sides - prompting you to laugh even harder.

leah was smiling at you full of adoration as your laughter infiltrated her ears. one of her favourite sounds in the world. she got off you and pulled you up once again, this time pulling you into a headlock but places a sweet kiss on the crown of your head.

“you’re a little shit, you know that?”

“yeah, but you love me” you teased

“yeah, I do” she grins, “turning me soft I think, how on earth do I put up with you?” she lets go of you, but not without placing another sweet kiss on your lips. you smile up at her, lightly squeezing her bicep.

one day, you decided to show your girlfriend just how much she meant to you. being awfully spontaneous and deciding to get georgia to tattoo your wrist with a small ‘L. W’.

you enter your shared flat, finding leah lying on the couch watching mindless television. you flop down on top of her and she giggles.

“hey, baby, you alright?” she gently traces shapes on your back, under your (her) hoodie.

“hi” you muffle out in her neck. you move up to straddle her waist on the couch

“I have a little surprise for you” you smile down at her, she slightly moves up, balancing on her elbows while maintaining eye contact with you - looking for any trace of mischief.

“go on then” she nods her head at you in encouragement. you lift up the sleeve of the hoodie and she spots cling wrap around your wrist. she sits up fully this time, you slightly being moved down in the process. she had been trying to convince you to get tattoos ever since she got her own - every time you declined, as you felt you had nothing special to get tattooed on you (lie - you just wanted to surprise leah)

“you’re lying” she gasps, not even looking at what your tattoo was yet. still shocked you actually got a tattoo at all. you shake your head at her and she gently grabs your wrist in her hands, gasping when she saw her initials. tears began to brew in her eyes,

“if this is another one of your fucking pranks, so help me-”

“no, baby! it’s real!” you exclaim, tears forming in your own eyes. “I just wanted to show you a token of my appreciation for putting up with my bullshit”

“I’m a saint, aren’t I?” she lets out a wet laugh, tears rolling down her cheeks

“you really are”, you kiss her tears away, she pulls you into a searing kiss, you absentmindedly rub your thumb on her ‘lover’ tattoo, knowing it was dedicated to you.

“i love you” you grin at her,

“i love you too, my cheeky girl” she lightly pinches your cheek.

the next day, leah had a matching tattoo on her wrist, your initials plastered on her skin. sure you were a prankster, but god did you love each other

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just pretend it’s you - mwah x ily kei

liked by stanwaygeorgia and 44,232 others

leahwilliamsonn: my cheeky girl, stop pissing me off, love you, thanks! @/yourname

view all comments

yourname: hi! thanks so much for your message, i’ll work on it, thanks again, love you!

↳ leahwilliamsonn: you’re so lucky you’re cute

↳ yourname: naww, thanks cutie pie

↳ mbrighty04: traumatised

[am-i-obsessed---maybe]

Growing up suits you (Spencer Reid x GN!Reader)

Imagine graduating from high school with Spencer Reid and years later working on a case with him.

Word count: 600ish

Look at that, a blurb that actually stayed a blurb.

Warning: smoking (herbal cigarettes) and mentions of teenage drug use

You had driven two hours to the middle of nowhere Georgia because your boss had invited the BAU into your investigation. It wasn't how you wanted to spend the day but you could either complain or catch your serial killer. Not both. You chose the second one, so you drove down from Atlanta to meet the BAU at the site of the newest crime scene in a spree of murders over the past year.

When you stepped out of the SUV you took in the scene.

There were small crowds of people looking in, not so many that it was distracting but enough that the local PD had to have officers keeping the crowd back. You showed your credentials to get in and walked up to who you recognized as SSA Aaron Hotchner, the BAU's unit chief.

"Agent Hotchner" You called out, getting the man's attention.

"Agent L/N" Hotch greeted, shaking you hand and leading you to the where the rest of his team were huddled.

"Guys, this is special agent Y/N L/N from the Atlanta field office" Hotch introduced.

"Agent L/N, these are SSA's Rossi, Morgan, Jerau, Prentiss and Dr. Spe—" Hotch wasn't even able to finish before you cut him off.

"Spencer Reid. Wow, it has been a long time" You said and you saw him searching his brain for where you knew him from before recognition flashed through his eyes.

"Last time I saw you you were much shorter and had just gotten your first breakout" You said and his cheeks flushed.

"I was 12" He said quietly and you chuckled.

"I'm sorry, you two know each other?" Rossi asked and you smirked.

"We graduated high school together" You answered and Morgan looked very curious to ask what you were sure would be very embarrassing questioned before Hotch cleared his throat.

"Agent L/N led the preliminary investigation with the Atlanta field office and will be working with us on this case" He said and you all went back to work.

---

You stood on the roof of the local precinct, coat wrapped around you and a cigarette between your index and middle fingers.

"You still smoke" Spencer said as he walked across the flat roof to stand beside you.

"It's herbal, I quit tobacco a couple years ago" You told him and took a puff.

"Herbal cigarettes are actually just as harmful as tobacco products. Even without the tobacco the herbs in the cigarette burn and create tar, carbon monoxide and about 73 other toxins, 40 of which can cause cancer" Reid said and you laughed.

"Right, I'll put this out then" You said, putting out the cigarette on the edge of the roof.

"You didn't have to do that" He said but you shrugged.

"wouldn't wanna expose you to the dangers of secondhand smoking" You joked.

The two of you stood in a somewhat silence for a while. You'd just given the local police your profile and as soon as you finished you'd gone out.

"How's your mom?" You asked.

"She's good. Still back in Las Vegas. How's your brother?" He asked in return.

"He's good. He's in a band touring with some singer, I can't remember who" You said and then silence again.

"So, the team" You said and he flushed.

"I'm sorry about the questions" He said.

"Don't worry about it, they just wanna know more about you. It seems like you all don't tell each other much about your pasts— and you don't have to— they're just curious about you" You said and he nodded.

"High school's not exactly a time I like remembering" Spencer admitted and you nodded. You remembered what he went through. The bullying, the humiliation, you couldn't imagine it. Not that your high school career was particularly pleasant but his was so much worse.

"I understand" You said and smiled, deciding to find a lighter subject.

"But you grew up well, that height suits you" You said and you saw the blush rise to his cheeks.

"Thanks, you uh— you you look really good too" He said.

"We should get in, I can't tell if it's my compliments that are making you that red or the chill" You joked and Spencer was slightly too embarrassed to say anything as he followed you back into the precinct.

[sydsaint]

Happy to say I have an addiction to this man. <3

Summary: GM Reader gets a concerning phonecall about her boyfriend being arrested after assaulting AJ Styles at his home.

It’s well past midnight on the road up through rual Geargia. You’ve been on the road for about four hours now, grinding your teeth and mumbling to yourself in frustration. Roughly five hours ago you were in the middle of a meeting With your fellow GM, Adam Pearce, and a few others regarding Wrestlemania coming up when you received the most peculiar call.

Shaun Ricker aka LA Knight, both one of your employee’s and your longterm boyfriend, has been arrested for assault and trespassing up in Georgia.

“That motherfucker is in so much trouble.” You mumble to yourself as you pull into the precinct that you got the call from.

You head inside like a woman on a mission and make your way to the officer at the front desk. “Hello, ma’am. What can I do for you?” The officer asks you when you come up to her.

“Hi, yeah. I’m here to bail out my idiotic boyfriend.” You explain. “Shaun Ricker? I got a call a few hours ago that he was being held here?”

The officer nods and types a few things out at her computer for a moment. You sit and wait for a minute before the officer finds the information that she needs. “Ah! Here we go! We got your man on trespassing and assault, ma’am.” She explains. “Right this way, I’ll take you to him.” She gets up from her desk and gestures for you to follow her.

You nod and follow the officer through the precinct and back to the holding cells. You spot Knight leaned back in his cell, head against the wall with his eyes closed.

“Mr. Ricker!” The officer goes up to the cell and fishes her keys out of her pocket. “Your girlfriend is here to bail you out.” She announces.

With a hand on your hip you watch Knight open his eyes and turn toward the cell door. “YN, darlin’!” He grins at you and rises to his feet. “I knew you’d come get me eventually.” He winks at you, arms out in front of him still locked in the officers cuffs.

“Stop talking.” You snap at your boyfriend as he steps out of his cell.

The officer shuts the cell door and fishes her other set of keys out of her pocket. She uncuffs the braclets off of Knight and puts them away. “You’re free to go, sir.” She steps out of the way.

“Thank you, officer.” You nod at the officer before grabbing Knight by the arm and dragging him out of the building.

You drag Knight out to your car in silence. You both climb inside the car and sit for a moment before you start it up again.

“Are you mad at me?” Knight speaks up after a lengthy silence.

“Oh, mad doesn’t even begin to describe it.” You grit your teeth.

Knight nods, knowing that he’s fucked up and you’re pissed at him. “Okay. Let me have it.” His lips crease into a line as he waits for you to start berating him.

“What the fuck is the matter with you, Shaun!” You raise your voice, trying to focus on driving. “It’s less than a week before Mania! And you go and do something stupid like this?!” You fume. “I was in the middle of a damn meeting! Do you have any idea how bad it looks when I have to step out of one of the most important meetings of the year to take a call and find out one of my employee’s has bee arrested for assaulting one of my other ones!?”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Knight rubs the back of his neck. “Thank you for driving up here to come and get me.” He adds.

Your angry expression softens a bit of Knight’s apology. “Come on. I wasn’t going to let you rot away in there. It’d make me look bad. Both as your girlfriend and your boss.” You sigh.

“Why don’t you let me drive?” Knight offers in a soft tone, regonizing the bags under your eyes.

“Don’t try and butter me up!” You scoff. “I’m still angry at you.” You insist.

Knight bows his head and sets a hand on your arm. “Darlin’, I’m not trying to do anything.” He insists. “You drove all the way up here after you’ve been at work all day. You’re tired. Just let me drive, please.” He asks you again.

A sigh escapes your lips and you find a place to pull over to switch spots with Knight. He take over driving and you take some time to answer emails from your co-workers about everything going on.

“Great! That’s just great.” You grumble to yourself when you receive an email that you were dreading.

“What’s the matter?” Knight glances at you briefly.

You huff and shake your head before typing out a few words. “They want me to suspend you.” You glance over at your boyfriend.

“Well, I do sort of deserve it.” Knight shrugs. “I’ll take any punishment you dish out to me. And I won’t complain.” He assures you.

You shake your head, still typing your reply out on your phone. “After all the trouble your ass has caused me?” You roll your eyes. “Hell no! Your ass is going to work Mania night 2 against AJ and you are going to finish whatever this beef is.” You insist.

“Whatever you say, darlin’.” Knight nods. “Does your two boytoys know about my little run-in with the law?” He asks you, just trying to make conversation and lighten the mood at this point.

“Pfft. Who do you think paid your bail?” You laugh. “Cause it certainly wasn’t going to be me. Not in full anyway.” You joke.

Knight laughs with you and your anger about the whole situation begins to fade away. A few hours later the two of you finally make it back to your apartment so you can get some rest. Knight takes a shower and you finish up a few more emails before you can’t fight your exhaustion anymore.

Knight returns from his shower and joins you in bed. “Did I mention that I was sorry for making you drive so far to get me? And for getting you into trouble with your bosses?” He scoots over to you.

“You did, yes.” You nod and set your phone down on the nightstand. “It was kind of half-assed though.” You add.

“Well then let me make it up to you.” Knight replies and leans down to place a kiss on your neck. “I’m sure that I can find a way to make the trip worth your while.” He grins against your skin.

[sourpatchys]

I really love how beautifully you wrote Daryl❤️ Could you write about him wanting to know every inch of his partner's body? touching her gently, counting her moles, kissing every scar. I just know that you can write this in the poetic way you always do..

Of course I can! Sorry I’m getting to this so late :(

Note: this is SFW!! I fully intended to add smut but the fluffiness got the best of me ❤️

A/n: it’s been awhile since I’ve written for Daryl so I apologize if he seems a little OOC

Guidelines masterlist Daryl!Masterlist

— — — —

Daryl wanted to know you, he wanted to see every part of you there was.

He looked at you all the time— quick glances to make sure you were okay and hard stares when you were in danger— but he wanted to see you. To understand every nook and cranny that made you who you were.

It was confusing and soft, harsh and bashful. Just the idea of just taking you apart and putting you back together drove him insane.

You had said you loved him— and he was beginning to fully believe it, now that he could feel his own love festering under the surface.

You held his hand at night, tucked your head into the crook of his neck when you were scared or needed comfort. And now? Now you were lying with him, staring at a ceiling that wasn’t caved in, in clean clothes with freshly washed hair.

It was a side of you he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before— at least not to this degree.

In the prison— you would wash up— but you still came out to a rusted cell, sweat caking in within minutes in the hot Georgia sun.

And at the farm he hardly knew you at all, so he had no reason to glance your way— let alone care how ‘fresh’ you really were.

But now—? he could see it all. Every blemish, every scar, every scrape and indent. He was finally seeing you for the first time and it still wasn’t enough.

Your face fit like a glove in between his hands as he peppered you with kisses, running his mouth from your forehead, to your plump cheek all the way down to your soft throat.

His touches to your body were tender, soft and with purpose as he ran his calloused hands up and down your sides, his palms fitting perfectly into the indentation of your waist.

It was like you were built for him, or— he supposed he was built for you. He had never known softness like you— and now he simply couldn’t get enough.

[wosoluver]

Not good at saying goodbyes.

Part 3/4 - previous - next

Lena x childhood bestfriend!reader

Lena Oberdorf Masterlist

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

Today you got ready like any other day. Had breakfast, got into the car and drove to work.

What you weren't expecting, walking

in was to see Lena's mother there.

When she saw you, her eyes were full of sparkles.

"Y/N! I can't believe this! You're all grown up!" quickly giving you a tight hug you had missed very much. "You're so beautiful. You look just like your mom. How is she? How are you?"

"I'm good, she's doing well, she's planning on retiring and moving back here."

"It's so good to see you. Can't believe Lena didn't tell me you were here."

"I can."

And she quickly looked for her daughter, who had opted for walking away, minutes prior.

"You meant no harm. I know it, sweetheart. And now that you're here, she'll come to terms eventually.

She still celebrated your birthday every year. And hung up your Christmas stocking, oh and she still hasn't watched that movie you had made plans to see together."

"I kept a full diary of the first two years after I moved, so she could catch up, when we were reunited. And watched as many of her games as I could fit in my schedule. Also, I kept the big bear she won me, at the fair we would aways go to."

"Everything is going to end up in the right place. I'm leaving, but just in case, let me give you my number."

"Thanks, it's so good seeing you again."

"You too honey, you have no idea. Have a good day at training, and if you see my daughter, let her know I went home and that I don't appreciate her walking away."

"Of course."

She was just like you remembered. And for a second it made you feel like you went back in time, when you'd aways pass on her messages to Lena when she tried running away from trouble.

You made your way to the locker room but most girls were already at the gym.

"Obi, your-"

"Lena." she harshly said.

"Everyone around here calls you Obi, I'm the one who came up with it!"

"Well you lost the right to it, when you betrayed me!"

"I didn't betray you! I was a kid! Who didn't know what she was doing!"

"You hurt me!"

"I was hurting too! And I thought the best way to protect you, was not saying goodbye."

"Now it doesn't matter why you did it! I can't go back in time, and tell the younger version of myself that! I can't tell her that everything was just a misunderstanding. I can't unbreak her heart!"

"If I could go back in time and change everything, I would. I swear. And I'm sorry that's all I can give you."

"Yeah."

What was that even supposed to mean? 'Yeah'?

In truth Lena didn't know either. She didn't know what say. She only knew how she felt and that was, confused.

"As I was going to say in the first place, your mom went home and you are in trouble."

"For what?"

"Leaving while we were talking."

"She can't be serious! You did it first! And I'm the one in the wrong?"

You only gave her a sad look as she walked out of the room. It was like you were eight again, and getting in trouble for doing whatever the other was doing.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

You tried your best giving her some space after that. After all you had nothing else to say to each other. She had bursted out her feelings and you had apologized. And you had been trying to accept the reality. You were far from doing good, but you decided to put her feelings first. Being respectful, to her wish to not be in touch with you.

"Hey Y/N! We're going out tonight, please come with us." Said Georgia.

"Sorry, I can't. I have some plans I can't bail on."

"No you don't!" said Giulia. "Stop saying that, just so we leave you off the hook, for not showing up at our get togethers."

At this point Stanway had went her own way.

"You can't keep doing this. You're isolating yourself from the team. This has got to be affecting your mental health, the girls are worried."

"No they are not. They think I'm busy because of a relationship."

"Only Syd thinks that. And I know the truth. Please reconsider it?"

"Okay, I'll text you if I change my mind."

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

You didn't. Of course you didn't. And that had been the last drop, for her and some of your teammates. After a long talk through the weekend, they had decided on keeping to themselves. To not make things worse.

But Giulia could not hold back when you walked into training, Monday morning, with deeper under-eye bags, and a emotionless look in your face.

You were tired. Tired of crying. Tired of isolating, and only talking to your parents, through a phone. Tired of blaming yourself constantly.

As you left to the field, they all shared a look. Even Lena. You seemed to be doing okay... until stoped pretending you were.

"Don't act surprised! Your the one doing this to her!"

She said looking Obi dead in the eye, and going after you.

"Y/N! Wait up. We can warm up together."

"Is that an excuse for another lecture?"

"No. But you can vent out if you want to."

"There's nothing much to say... Except that leaving Barça was probably a mistake."

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Thank you, for trying to include me the best you can, and for taking care of me. You and the girls are great."

"I wish you gave yourself a chance, to be happy here."

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"Give her a chance!" said Lea trying to get it through her friends mind. They had stayed back inside.

"She did worse to me!"

"You're taking this to far! She made a mistake and apologized. And I think not having her best friend for the last 15 years, was punishment enough."

"But-"

"No buts. What she did was wrong. But she was a kid and she thought she was doing the right thing.

You're an adult, and you know you are doing the wrong thing! It's not the same."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Do you think your younger self would approve of this? Of anyone treating her this way? Because the Lena I know, would never treat someone like this. Especially someone she loves."

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"You still care a lot about her huh?"

"I love her and I don't think anything can change that. I promised myself to never leave her again."

"Just don't break your own heart, to keep that promise."

"I don't think a heart can be broken twice. But I'll try my best not to push everyone away."

"That's a good start. You need to feel better for the match this week. Frankfurt is a little harder to beat."

It felt good having someone to talk to again. And you knew you could only blame yourself for the loneliness you had been in. And she was right, you had to give yourself a chance, with or without Lena. Although that isn't how you ever planned your life to go.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

Next part out either today or tomorrow 🩷

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Neighbours｡⋆.

Daryl Dixon x plus size reader

You have a little crush on your handsome next door neighbour

Warnings: modern!au, mutual pining, Negan, fluff

WC: 1.1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

4k Follower Celebration

King’s County was a very cute town. Barely an hour outside of Atlanta but not so far in the sticks that you were completely isolated, it was the perfect place to set up roots. You got a house at the edge of town for practically nothing and immediately a job landed in your lap.

Of course, it was a difficult adjustment having moved from New York where you worked at a cafe to being in Georgia and getting the teaching job of your dreams but what really helped was your next door neighbour- Daryl Dixon.

You first met him the day you moved in. 

Alone with a singular U-Haul truck that had your entire life in the back of it and the mid-July sun on your back, you could think of no worse torture than this as you slowly but steadily moved box after box into your new home. You felt like you were drowning in sweat and your arms were about to fall off when you heard a deep raspy voice from just outside the truck.

“Can I help?” His accent was so thick, it took you a minute to actually understand what he said. 

The sun was at his back, covering his face in shadow but from what you could tell, he was just under 6 feet with hugely broad shoulders and slightly bowed legs. “Um yeah! That would be so great, thank you!” He nodded and grabbed the two boxes in front of him. 

You were in awe as he lugged the boxes of books up your front steps without even a grunt of exertion. You followed behind with the last of your stuff, desperately trying not to look at his ass in those dark jeans he was wearing. “You can just put that by the stairs.”

He hummed and dropped them gently right where you told him to put it. “Thank you again, could I get you some water or lemonade, I’m sorry I don’t have anything else to repay you with”

He shook his head, causing his long dark hair to cover most of his face. “Naw, jus saw ya needed help. It’s what neighbours do ain’t it.” You smiled at his bashfulness.

“Well it was still a nice thing for you to do.” You reached out your hand and gave him your name. His eyes (you could now see that they were blue) flicked to your outstretched hand and then back down to your hardwood floor but he gave you a firm shake anyway.

“Daryl.” As he pulled back, he left a smear of what you thought was motor oil on the back of your hand. His face went beat red and he opened his mouth to apologise but you spoke again before he could.

“Let me get you dinner then, I was planning on ordering a pizza and I doubt I could eat a whole pie by myself.” That got a smile out of him, a small one but it was genuine and it made your heart skip a beat.

“Alright.”

Finally, it was the winter break, after four months of trying to wrangle multiple grades (it was a small school and you were the only history teacher), you could relax. You could feel the tension melting off your body as you drove up to your house.

You pulled your car into the driveway and immediately spotted Daryl. He was perched outside his garage, once again tinkering with his motorbike, a cigarette hanging from his chapped lips. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t notice how you just sat in your car and stared at him longingly.

Daryl was a drop dead gorgeous man and apparently he didn’t even know it. He was incredibly strong with biceps almost the size of your head and a general bad boy biker appearance but with a heart of absolute gold. You sighed and grabbed your school bag that unfortunately had paper you still needed to grade.

“Hey Daryl!” You called out. His head shot up so quickly, his cigarette fell to the ground between his booted feet. He cursed under his breath and picked it up again. “Some teachers are coming over to my place for some drinks if you want to join, no pressure though!”

“Sure.” He dismissed but you smiled brightly.

“See you there!”

Rock music crooned from the speakers, just barely audible over the chatter of your coworkers and neighbours as they mingled. You were in the kitchen, making margaritas at the behest of the school’s gym teacher. He hovered over you as you made the drinks, he was either telling you some story about his ‘glory days’ or insulting you, you couldn’t quite tell.

“Negan, it doesn’t need that much tequila!” You snatched the nearly empty bottle from his hand which he had been pouring into the blender when your back was turned.

“Of course it does!” He tried to wrestle the bottle back from you but you stubbornly held on. It quickly became a childish game of tug-of-war that neither of you were really taking seriously, just happy to let loose after dealing with idiotic students for 4 months.

Just as you were getting the upper hand, a voice caught your attention. “Hey.” Hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped forward with a small blush dusting the apple of his cheeks. 

“Hi.” You immediately greeted, unbothered that Negan had stolen back the bottle of alcohol and had subsequently dumped the rest of its contents into the half-made cocktail mixture. “There’s pizzas in the living room and some beers chilling on the deck if you want.” You offered and the shy mechanic just nodded, wandering off into the small crowd.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes dip down to his ass, watching it as he disappeared into the hall. “Seriously? Him?" Negan’s voice startled you from the hypnotising sight, your head snapping back to face him. He was smirking at you with a mixture of disgust and a strange proudness.

“Shut up.” You grumbled and grabbed some extra ice from your freezer to throw into the blender.

“I thought I was more your type but I see it now, a redneck shotgun wedding! Maybe you’ll have roadkill hors d’oeuvres with moonshine- ow! The fuck was that for?” He rubbed at his hurt shoulder which you just punched.

“At least my wedding won’t be fucking baseball themed, you has been.” And as you bickered back and forth, neither of you noticed the figure standing in the doorway, face beat red and blue eyes practically sparkling. If it were up to him, your wedding would be the most lavish event the world had ever seen and by god, he hoped that he would be the one standing at the end of that aisle for you.

Request: Can I please get "neighbors" and "Seriously?Him?" for Daryl for your celebration?

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[fangirldreams101]

Coming Home pt. 1

DBF! Daryl, Rick, Negan, and Shane x F!Reader

You come to your dad's hometown for college and meet some very very attractive individuals.

TW: None for this chapter (I think?)

pt. 2

Your mom and dad met in college up in Washington and ended up having you as an accident. They tried to create a happy household for you to grow up in but they soon realized that a one night stand was not a good base for a sudden marriage and decided to part ways. While you and your mom stayed up in Washington, your Dad went back down south to his hometown near Atlanta, where you would go and visit him for the summers and holidays. Eventually, it was decided that the trip back and forth was too taxing for you especially for the important high school years, but you wanted to spend college in Georgia so it was decided that your mom would get you for 4 years, and your dad would get you for the next 4. Holidays were shared and you would always call and chat. As unorthodox as this may all sound, you had a great relationship with your parents, so you were excited to spend the time with your dad.

You drove down with all of your stuff for college packed into your car. It was an old piece of junk but your mom was a mechanic so she managed to prolong its life as long as possible. You arrived in your dad's town and decided you should pick up some of his favorite foods as a gift. Pulling into a neighborhood grocery lot, you noticed some shady looking guys leaning against their motorcycles and arguing. Deciding to ignore it, you parked and grabbed a few bags to carry your items in. Spotting one of the arguing men, you took note of his fun vest, angels wings sewn on it. He was rugged looking, and if he wasn't yelling right now, you would have thought he was rather attractive. You didn't pay much attention to the actual words being exchanged, just enjoying the view as you made your way inside the store. After grabbing a couple of things, you made your way to the home supplies aisle, looking to see if they had the wrench your dad mentioned needing in passing on your last phone call.

"Dang, only one left, talk about lucky," you said, dropping it into your cart before continuing to browse.

Suddenly, you see the man in the vest from before make his way around the corner, grumbling under his breath. He stopped a little way from you as you pretended to not pay attention to him, his eyes sharply moving from object to object.

"Where the 'ell is it," he grumbled, "he said it'd be here."

At this point you were pretending to read the back of a glue stick, wanting to watch the ruggedly handsome man for just a little longer. He called a clerk over, and his next words made you perk up.

"'Ey, do ya know if ya have anymore of these wrenches?" He motioned towards the exact spot you grabbed your own from.

"‘m sorry, sir," the teen clerk said, "that was our last one."

"Mind checkin' in the back fer me-" the man began to say before you practically bounded over.

"I'm so sorry," you practically purred, "I couldn't help but overhear about what you needed. Would you like mine?"

You fished out the wrench from your cart and handed it over to the man that caught your eye.

The man looked at you, briefly glancing down subtly before his eyes darted back up, "Ya don' wan' it?"

"No, it's okay," you smile up at him through your lashes, "Seems like you need it a bit more."

“Uh, alrigh'," he stutters under your gaze- you look so young -and he twists the packaging around in his clasp, "I can, uh, get ya sumn for the trouble?"

You perk up even more at the prospect of getting to know him a bit more, "Oh you don't have to!"

"Oh okay then, thank ya," he nodded, turning around and not seeing how your eyes widened that he didn't seem to catch the hint.

"Um! If you'd like to make it up to me, could I have your number?" you decided to make the leap.

You would never have been so bold back in Washington, but everyone was kind of ugly back there anyways. Not to mention that college was supposed to be the time for fun and adventure and the man before you was pretty darn hot. Seemed like too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Daryl Dixon had a damn near heart attack at your words. Such a young, pretty thing like yourself was not only giving him the time of day, but was actively showing interest in him? This had to be some kind of joke Merle put you up to. There was no way someone who looked like you would ever be into someone like him. An old, worn down hillbilly.

"Sorry, kid," he shakes his head, looking at you and trying to ignore the fire that lights in him and the way your lips form a small pout.

He quickly walks away, feeling a blush begin to heat up his ears and he speed walks to the checkout aisle.

"Aw man," you mutter underneath your breath. It was a good shot at least. You also made your way to the checkout aisle after grabbing a few more things, the man that caught your eye nowhere in sight. He must've left already. Such a shame.

Getting back to your car, you made your way to your Dad's house, the earlier rejection from the hot looking man now pushed to the back of your mind. Pulling up to the classic suburban looking house, you spot a familiar looking motorcycle parked in front of the garage. Parking, your notice your dad and the man in the vest from before conversing.

You hop out, carrying your offerings to them, "Hello!"

Your dad spun around with a huge smile on his face, "Sweetheart!"

He bounded over, crushing you in a hug before pulling away, "Why are you carrying so many things? Let me help!"

Your dad picked up some things from your straining arms before seeming to remember his guest, "Oh! Daryl! Let me introduce you to my daughter!"

You gave a coy smile at Daryl, introducing yourself, "Nice to meet you sir.”

Daryl felt his heart drop at the word, 'daughter', "Um, yeah nice to meet you to."

He turned to your dad, "Hey, listen, I just wan'ed to give ya that wrench ya had been hunting for the past few days," he set it down on your dad's workshop table in the garage, "I actually have ta, uh, head on home now. Bye."

Your dad and you watched him scurry away.

"Huh, haven't seen him act like that before," your dad mused, causing a wicked grin to light up your face before dropping it as he turned back to you, "I'll invite him and a few other buds of mine over for dinner some time so you can know who your old man is hanging out with."

"Sounds good," you smiled, thoughts of Daryl running through your mind.

[blueywrites]

new skin

The diner’s signature dish: Fresh-baked soft pretzel knots with sweet Georgia peach jam, topped with bitter trauma. Recipe includes a dash of pining, a sprinkle of faith, and a generous heap of healing love.

Linecook!Eddie x Waitress!Reader. 60s Diner. Slow Burn.

Follows canon, except Eddie lives, and Vecna is defeated after causing the 'earthquake'. This is written in second person 'x reader' format, but you've been given a name. The name and nicknames that appear throughout the story are listed below; use the InteractiveFics extension to replace them if you'd like!

full name: emmaline louise. nicknames: emma, emmy

series content warnings -> eventual sexual content (18+), fem!reader, plussized!reader, fatphobia, domestic violence, domestic abuse, miscarriage/pregnancy, discussions of suicidal ideation, significant religious themes, found family, hurt/comfort, slow burn, angst with a happy ending

chapter content warnings -> 18+ for mature themes. mentions of blood, numerous Christian religious references, disordered eating habits, anxiety, references to emotional abuse and manipulation, body image issues, internalized fatphobia

one: an empty room (10.3k) | next | masterlist | playlist | AO3

You surrounded me

and my windows are breaking

Something is rotten inside of me

I have to find it and

cut it out

House Song — Searows

It was a mortal man who drove you away but divine providence that guided you to Hawkins.

You’d been dropping off the key to your motel room when you saw it: a cockeyed paper pamphlet in the dusty wooden holder mounted beneath the counter. Stuffed beside “Indiana Caverns” and “The World’s Largest Ball of Paint,” it advertised a place where fissures had unfurled like the spindly legs of a spider, all radiating out from the center square. ‘Visit the town that hosts the gates of Hell,’ it read. You knew the town couldn’t really host the gate of Hell because Hell is a lake of fire and not a crack in the earth, though even the thought made a chill of foreboding shudder through you. Still, as you gazed at the name written in big red letters across the faded paper, you rolled it around in your mouth, seeing how it felt against your molars and exploring the way it tasted on your tongue.

Hawkins.

You’d expected bitterness. Ash and fire and brimstone, if the leaflet was to be believed. Instead, Hawkins tasted of pine, of sweet corn, and drugstore laundry powder. And that was odd, certainly. But maybe odd was what you needed— something wholly unfamiliar, nerve-wracking in its foreignness but peaceful in the knowledge that, if nothing else, you know he would never expect you to escape to somewhere like this. 

You’d been cutting a path from your home in Georgia due north, aimless and wandering, restless like a frightened prey animal consumed with nothing but thoughts of flee, flee, flee. The instinct had brought you from parking lot to roadside fuel-pump to motel six day after day, bouncing as the stacks in the cashbox wedged beneath the passenger seat began to dwindle. A pawn shop helped resupply your reserves, and your ring finger was lighter for it, but the running is beginning to wear on you. And there's just something about the taste of Hawkins lingering in your mouth, yeasty like wheat and clean in a way you haven’t felt since the day after Christmas when the bleeding began.

Your fingertips twitch before you snatch up the folded paper from the holder, spilling out into the gray of early morning. You cut a path back to the crack of warm light leaking from your room, where you’d wedged a stone against the metal edge of the door to prop it open. You slip inside one last time before you depart. 

There isn’t much to gather. Inside, there's just a musty floral bedspread and a side table with a bolted-down lamp. You flick the switch, leaving the room cold and dark in preparation for your departure. Your few personal belongings are already packed away in the car waiting outside, and it’s with a sense of familiar shame twanging at your heartstrings that you duck back into the tiny tiled room nestled in the corner of the bedroom. The pamphlet crinkles as you fold it and slip it into your coat pocket, freeing your hands to do what they will. 

This place is just one in a long line of stark rooms, transient nests that shelter you briefly as you flee. It's what made you think you were aimless and wandering, but you weren’t. Not really. 

During your flight from Georgia, you’d stopped in Lexington, Kentucky. And when you drove on, you could have, just as easily, chosen to go northeast, toward Columbus, perhaps curving over toward western Pennsylvania. But you decided to go northwest instead, dipping into the southern edge of Indiana, avoiding Cincinnati and its choked smog until you nestled into fields and farms again. It was divine providence that guided you that way, that bid you stop at this motel for the night, that helps you now discern the notes of flavor you hadn’t noticed back in the office as the leaflet crinkles in your coat pocket. Because beneath the unfamiliar— pine and corn and laundry powder— there is the familiar musk of fresh hay, mown on a sweet summer morning by your pa as soft whinnies huff from the stable. It warms you, though the January wind cuts through to the bone as you scurry back out of the motel room and let the door thump closed behind you. Your eyes dart for lookers-on, though the sting of self-consciousness isn’t quite as acute now as the first few times you’d waddled to the pastel blue Lincoln and fumbled the back door open with laden hands.

When you found that pamphlet and chose Hawkins, Indiana, as your final nesting place, God was calling you home. You will know that in the end, but you don’t know it now. Now, you’re just a scared girl carrying toilet paper, satchets of soap, and tiny bottles of mouthwash in your fists, pilfered from yet another temporary room. They tumble to join the pile of stolen treasures in the backseat, right beside the pillow from Tennessee and the scratchy blanket from Kentucky.

You've known since you were small that you aren’t a lamb— only Jesus is the lamb. Still, you'd hoped you are a sheep, pure and white, close to Him. Yet it turns out you’ve been wrong all this time. It turns out you're just a dirty, thieving crow, poking your beak in the dirt to search for shiny things to sustain you. As you stare at the pile of your baubles, the shame tugs again at your heartstrings, clawing up to settle heavily in the base of your throat. Thick like the beginnings of tears.  

You slam the back door and climb into the driver’s seat, sitting motionlessly for a long moment as you speak with your Father. You've always talked to God as long as you can remember but never had your prayers been so consistent as they've been this past week. First the waiting. Then the bleeding. Then the forsaking. Then the stealing. In all, you ask the same.

Please, Father. Forgive me.

 You pull the leaflet from your coat pocket, unfolding it carefully, avoiding the inflammatory language about gates and fissures as you search until you spot the tiny map and the star in its center that demarks the location of Hawkins. The instructions say that, from the south, you should take route four-thirty-one to route three north. 

Your aimless crawling has suddenly gained a clear direction; with it, your prayers shift for the moment. A hymn comes to mind, and you close your eyes as its melody plays in your head: Lead me, guide me, along the way. For if you leave me, I will not stray. Lord, let me walk each day with thee.

“Lead me,” you sing, a breath of a whisper as your eyes open. “Oh Lord, lead me.”

Beside your Lincoln, a businessman is loading his trunk into the passenger seat of his station wagon.

You crank down your window hastily, resting your fingers against the doorframe as you peek out without making a sound; working yourself up to speak with this strange man takes some effort. He has just closed the door and is about to cross around the front bumper when your voice finally comes, timorous but sweet as Georgia peaches. “Excuse me, sir,” you say, brows tipping as he turns to you. “Do you happen to know the way to route four-thirty-one from here?”

The cloud cover never wanes as you meander along the highways that lead to Hawkins. Even as the hour deepens to late afternoon, there is no glow of warmth from the sun; only cold bright grayness follows you as your gas gauge edges toward a quarter-tank, and you pull off to find a gas station and something to fill your aching stomach. You shade your eyes as you stand beside the pump and squint across the street, gaze catching on a familiar mascot: a swirl of hair like a dollop of black whipped cream and the red suspenders of Frisch’s Big Boy. The sight promises cheap food which will almost certainly be filling enough for your single midday meal.

The place isn’t overwhelmingly busy inside, but you still need to wait by the empty hostess stand before you’re taken to your seat. Against the long smudged window, shiny stickers and little childish baubles crowd the twenty-five cent machines, but your interest lies in the considerably more drab newspaper dispenser beside those colorful globes. You aren’t quite at your destination yet, but you’re close enough that local ads will likely provide you with a taste of your chosen home before you reach it. You purchase one quickly, wedging the newspaper under your arm and jumping almost guiltily when the hostess returns and finally chirps a greeting at you. You feel as if you’ve done something wrong as you trail after her, though as she hands you a menu and leaves you with a pleasant smile, she implies nothing of the sort.

You don’t spend long perusing the menu before you make up your mind. You order with a soft voice as the waitress scratches across her pad, promising to bring your orange juice and coffee in a jiffy. “Thank y’ma’am,” you say, small with your hands folded one over the other in your lap. 

You wait eagerly, stomach rumbling in earnest now that it knows your meal is well on the way. If you had to choose one type of food to eat for the rest of your life, breakfast would surely be it. A smile plays on your lips, and your mouth wells up with wanting as you picture it: crispy fried potatoes, eggs any which way, fluffy sweet milk waffles, cream of wheat with maple syrup and cinnamon. That one’s mama’s favorite. Pa’s is country fried steak, with a crunchy crust but tender and pink inside. Paul’s is—

You hedge from the thought, skipping quickly along to yours: dense, crumbly biscuits and thick, well-seasoned gravy, with little savory bits of sausage mixed in. They hadn’t had that here, so you ordered the pancakes and sausage links with a side of over-easy eggs, plus the coffee and orange juice. You’d gotten into the habit of eating once a day, mostly because it was easier to eat one big meal than try to stop for several smaller ones. That means that, as you sit there waiting, the scents of the kitchen and the clinking of silverware quickly become a dizzying reminder of your hunger, one that necessitates a distraction. So you spread the newspaper out against the table, turning each page slowly as you scan for the town that tastes of fresh laundry and hay.

You spot it once you reach the classifieds. It’s in an ad blazoned with one bold word across the top: vacancy. Forest Hills Trailer Park, the paper reads. Ready-to-move-in trailers, spacious for singles and small families. Just a five-minute drive from downtown Hawkins. In tiny font, tiny enough that you need to scrunch your nose and draw your face close to the paper to read it, the ad remarks, No background check or references required. First month’s rent plus deposit due at lease signing.

Forest Hills Trailer Park will clearly be a far cry from what you’ve left behind, but it checks all the necessary boxes, especially the most important ones.

You fold the newspaper, creasing it carefully with your fingernails before tearing bit by bit along that manufactured edge until the advertisement comes free. You’ve just carefully deposited the clipping into your pocket as the food comes, steaming and succulent, making your mouth instantly water. 

“How’s it look?” Your waitress asks as if you aren’t itching to pounce on the plate the second she goes away, devouring your sustenance like a starved animal.

“Looks great,” you assure her, tiny and sweet and small and docile. “Thank you so much.”

But even once she leaves you to it, your manners forbid you from such a thing. You keep your elbows off the table and cut the pancakes with little even saws of your knife, spearing each square daintily with your fork before raising it to your lips. You eat your meal as if everyone around you is watching, even though no one is.

When your waitress returns with a refill for your coffee, you ask her for directions to Hawkins. For the first time, her eyes rove over you, taking in the winter coat you haven’t removed and the glinting silver cross at the base of your throat that peeks above the collar of your starchy dress. She squints at you and asks, “What, ya visitin’ family?”

When you don’t reply, she gestures with the coffee pot. “Take thirty-five west and keep drivin’ ‘til you reach the barn with the cow out front. Then turn left there. Y’can’t miss it.”

The ‘cow out front’ turns out to be a cow statue, bigger than any real cow you’ve ever seen and certainly not one you could miss, as she said. You slow and turn left, finally abandoning the highway for a scenic road lined with pine trees that stand like silent sentinels as you carefully guide your vehicle along the road to… 

Home.

Your new home.

Now that it feels so imminent— this decision you’ve made to build your nest at the feet of the supposed ‘gate of hell’— doubt begins to creep in, freezing at the edges of your ribs and creeping toward your center. You’ve driven more than twelve hours from your origin-place, and America is vast— so vast— with more motels than stars you can count across the expanse of the sky on a clear summer’s night. 

And you’ve set your mind on this place because you saw it in a pamphlet? 

Your fingers tremble as you pass tree after tree, branch after branch, leaf after leaf, a sea of unending forest stretching to enclose you and the road you follow. Might as well’ve spun myself around at the treeline, pointed a finger, and started walking, you think to yourself, the leather of the wheel creaking under your wringing hands. It is one thing to run aimlessly; it is quite another to plop yourself down the same way.

'Trust in the LORD with all your heart; and lean not unto your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct your paths.'

“Proverbs,” you whisper, your trembling beginning to subside with each exhaled word that passes through your lips. “Chapter three, verses five and six.” The fingers of one hand unpeel from the steering wheel to clasp instead around the silver at your throat. And by the time your fingers have warmed the metal, your doubt has calmed, and a sign on the right interrupts the treeline, declaring you’ve arrived. 

Hawkins, Indiana. The forest gives way to typical small-town life, though the evidence of what occurred here almost three years ago is still evident in the divots of scarred earth now frosted over with ice, like sharp gauze packing a wound. Some buildings are in permanent disrepair— collapsed, crumbled, roofs caved in, wood and brick sinking into the earth like sinew and bone, partially covered over by hairy weeds that expose the steady march of time. But as you drive slowly toward the center of town, where is rebuilt is teeming with small-town life, not unlike the place you’ve come from. As the sun begins to wane, warm lights slowly blink on inside cozy split-levels and ranches to take its place. Wives welcome husbands home from work before sitting down for supper; children are called in from the streets as mothers stand in breezeways, dropping bikes to be left abandoned in the frosty grass until tomorrow. Despite the present bleak midwinter and the past tragedy that befell them, life goes on for the people of Hawkins, Indiana. That fact conjures a sense of peace as you wander through, searching idly for Kerley— the road that leads to the trailer park. This is the place described as hosting the gate of hell? As you pass bare cornfields and sleepy suburban streets, Hawkins feels so far from it that your earlier fear seems suddenly silly.

You meander the town in your pastel blue Lincoln until you happen upon Kerley Street. By the time you finally reach the turnoff for Forest Hills Trailer Park, the black of night has fallen like a curtain over the vague rectangular structures that crowd beyond the gravel entrance. Your headlights swing and illuminate a slapdash sign that designates the land manager’s residence, and you’re relieved to see a vague glow seeping through the crack below the door and between the curtains, persistent despite the clear attempts to keep it concealed from the outside world. You park the car and hold onto the doorframe as you emerge onto gravel, which you waver over in your low heels until you reach the stairs at the base of the porch. There’s a cracked flowerpot on the bottom step, but instead of the husks of flowers you expect, it’s loaded with cigarette butts, decaying in layers of paper and used nicotine. 

You stare at the door for a moment before announcing yourself. You’re nervous to be confronted with the unfamiliar person beyond; foreboding clenches in your chest, but it can’t be helped. A rap of your knuckles conjures the man who’d tried so valiantly to hide that he was home. His shirt is dirty, his pants sag, and his shave isn’t close to even; he eyes you wearily as you stand on his stoop. “Locked out?” he asks dully, and you flounder a moment before replying, swallowing to wet your throat and hope your voice stays steady. 

“I don’t live here,” you say, “but… I’m lookin’ to. That is, I saw in the paper you had vacancies—” You shove your hand in your coat pocket and pull out the newspaper clipping, passing it over. The man surveys the ad perfunctorily, one bushy brow quirked. The toothpick between his teeth bobs as he plays with it, his eyes sliding to you as you ask hesitantly, “...Do you still have vacancies?” 

His chuckle comes so fast it’s startling. The sound is raspy, like he needs to clear his throat. “‘Course I have vacancies.” He pulls the toothpick from between his lips, flicking it heedlessly away. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

When you shake your head, he jerks his toward the doorway spilling light across the porch. “Come on, then. Let’s get this done.”

You forget his name almost as soon as he tells you, but your land manager seems nice enough. Brusque, sure, but harmless as you sign the papers and pay for the first month’s rent. He waives the deposit— literally waves your words away like irritating wings are fluttering near his ear— and explains, “Place is mostly unfurnished, but you got a bed at least.” 

You can’t do anything but stand there stock still as he tells you your house number— seven— and drops the key into your open palm. “Don’t bother callin’ me f’somethin’ breaks. I’m useless at plumbin’ and ‘lectrical. You’ll need to call someone in the profession.” You curl your fingers over cold metal, and the grooves of the key bite your palm as he wags a finger at you. “Y’lose your key, it’ll cost you a fiver to replace.” He waits until you’ve nodded enough to satisfy him, and then he sends you on your way, closing himself away again. The light leaking from the crevices is extinguished by the time you reach your car door.

You guide your car carefully along the gravel path, driving past darkened trailers, past a red dome made of bars and a picnic table, past a trailer with a caved-in roof you stare at as you pass. A great crack churned up the porch floorboards, and between them now sprout tall, dry, brittle grass made feeble by winter’s bite. There's a streetlight nearby, but it's broken; the moonlight that plays on the dilapidated structure makes you shiver. Still, there isn’t much time to react before you’re at your place. Your trailer is a carbon copy of the well-kept rectangular box beside it, except the other has a chain-link fenced-in yard at the front. A clothesline denotes the edge of your side yard from your neighbors’. 

As you cut the engine, the world goes quiet. You sit in the stillness, and for a moment, there’s just you, your car, and your new home beyond a scraggly dirt yard.

You think of the other places you’d called home before your temporary motel rooms. You think first of your childhood home, and your mouth fills with peaches, with the hollowness of piano keys and the rich dirt from under the wraparound porch. You think of that tall white house, where your delighted shrieks echoed through warm wood hallways as you ran out the back door toward the stables beyond. Your clumsy fingers had carved your name over your bedroom door in elementary scrawl. Pa’d been so angry when you did that, but he relented and ruffled your hair in the end, shaking his head. He always was too fond of you.

Then you think of the home you could call your own— not your parents’, but yours. Yours and Paul’s. Stately, proud, with more of a brick landing than a porch leading up to the dark oak door. Inside are gauzy curtains and rich wallpaper; plump pillows line the couches just so, and the servers display decorative crystal. As you remember, your mouth fills with powdered sugar and water lilies, the gloss of fine china and the silk of ruffled bed skirts. But there’s metal on the back of your tongue, the copper acrid and biting as it overwhelms the rest. You shudder a breath, breaking from your recollections to finally emerge from the car and face your newest home.

In the moonlight, you can see that it also has a porch, but it’s sagging. You mount its stairs, and they’re rickety, creaking under your heels. Inside, when the screen door cracks back into place behind you, the interior of number seven Forest Hills Trailer Park feels like a void of stillness. The light switch flickers erratically before coming to life when you nudge it with your fingertip as if it hasn’t been called to do its job for quite some time. A long narrow hallway directly across from you leads into darkness, with a living room on your right and a kitchen on your left. All of what you can see is empty aside from a thick layer of dust coating the window frames, which are cracked with dried paint, the drips of sloppy workmanship forever preserved in lacquer. There’s mildew growing at the corner of the wall in the living room, and you hesitate to explore it further, opting to head left instead.

At the threshold of the front door, you’d landed on a filthy, matted-down rug. You clack forward with hesitant steps as if afraid to disturb anything, as if this is someone else’s place, not yours. When you edge into the kitchen, cautiously pulling open the refrigerator door, the cold air leaking from inside is reassuring. But when it suddenly kicks and rattles as if sick or angry, the sound makes you tense and jerk away quickly. It’s empty in this room, too— every drawer and cabinet is barren when you tug them open, aside from the dried corpses of flies mounded in a strange pile on the linoleum in front of the kitchen sink. At least the land manager said there’s a bed. Vague unease begins to well in your chest; you hurry down that dark, narrow hallway, flicking the switch as you pass, but nothing changes. The light does not come on. In the back room, the bed is nothing more than the vague lump of a mattress, lonely on the floor. 

The screen door snaps closed behind you as you rush back down the rickety porch stairs. When faced with the choice, you elect to wrap yourself in your scratchy Kentucky blanket, your winter coat, and some extra socks to sleep in the Lincoln despite the bleak midwinter.

Because number seven Forest Hills Trailer Park trips off your tongue; it doesn’t taste like home.

The sun streams cheery light through the windshield, and you wake at just after six, mouth dry as cotton weeds. Your back and neck are sore, cricked from their position against the headrest all night, and the muscles spasm when you stir. You rub your bleary eyes clear, holding your palms against your lashes as if reluctant to remove them and see the state of your new home as it was last night. Eventually, you relent; in the light of day, you peek again at the worn trailer with its gray siding, faded and covered with moss at the concrete base, that rickety porch, and the dull brass knocker concealed behind the screen door… 

You take a moment to consider but can’t decide if it’s any better in the light of day.

With a handful of your stolen toiletries, you venture back inside, and the screen door makes you jump as it snaps closed while you’re standing closeby. Your heart hammers, blood rushing in your ears, and you chastise yourself lightly once it calms. I have to remember to lower the door closed, otherwise people’re gonna get mad with me making such a racket in the morning. 

A quick glance past that closed door you hadn’t explored yesterday reveals that the bathroom is in a bad state, so you avoid it aside from what’s necessary. You brush your teeth at the kitchen sink, setting the toiletries— tiny bottles and sachets of soap— in a carefully-laid line along the side, conscientiously avoiding the pile of flies near the toes of your kitten heels. With minty freshness on your breath, you feel finally awake, and it’s clear what your first order of business should be: getting this place spic and span. No use living in a pigsty, as mama would say.

You take a moment to survey the trailer more carefully, walking in circles around the living room, the kitchen, and the singular bedroom as you peek into nooks and crannies and compile a mental list of the supplies you’ll need. You move gingerly as if you still do not want to disturb this place, though it’s not quite as foreboding as it was last night. 

It’s just an empty box, after all.

You don’t bother unloading the rest of your meager belongings before driving into town for your cleaning supplies and other essentials: bedding and bath towels and cooking utensils and furniture to provide you with somewhere to sit and eat. It hits you then, as the ranches and yards subside into businesses and parking lots, how little you truly have. How much you’d relied on others before, how much you’d taken for granted.

Downtown Hawkins in the daytime is a bustle of quaint activity. The streets aren’t overly crowded because the town is not overly populated, but you can take your time perusing the shops you drive past. And you do— your eyes scan them almost desperately as you try to stamp down on the feeling rising inside that writhes in the pit of your stomach. A video store. An arcade. A laundromat. None of use to you right now, though the laundromat has you thinking of the dress you’re wearing, the way it pinches your arms and pulls tight around your stomach as you drive. You’d managed to ignore the feeling during your flight, but now—gasping and huffing on the comedown as you stop running, and with the enormity of your situation looming before you— the writhing is spreading from your stomach to your chest, pressing outward as if you’ll burst, and the wardrobe you’ve been wearing for months now is finally beginning to suffocate you.

Seeing the thrift store feels like a gust of fresh air has been breathed directly into your lungs, and you don’t even need to ponder it before parking and throwing the car door open to access the backseat. After all, there is no reason to endure any longer; no one is stopping you now. So you dump the contents of your two trash bags onto the Lincoln’s backseat and the remnants of your old life spill over onto the floor. Almost detachedly, you sort the contents into ‘keep’ and ‘sell’ piles; you keep your undergarments and pantyhose and shoes, and you stuff all the dresses— all their linen and gauze and luxurious cotton, all their structured hems and nipped waists and darted busts— into the trash bags to be sold.

If the employee behind the counter is surprised to see the quality of the items you’re selling, more suited to a department than a thrift store, he doesn’t show it. Calmly, you pull out each dress, laying the fabric out carefully before you slide it over the counter towards him. As the garments emerge from your trash bags, their associated occasions flash in your mind. The yellow gingham you’d often wear when visiting family. The pink peony was often seen in your kitchen, protected by an apron covered in flour. The blue linen, one of your old favorites, makes you think of Sunday mass. All get passed to the man on the other side of the counter, all but one that sticks in your memory, left laid against the bedspread back in Georgia. 

The man examines each dress and punches staccato numbers into a calculator with the eraser of his number two pencil until they’re all gone from you, and in their place is a wad of bills you can use to shop for a new wardrobe.

If the employee behind the counter finds it strange that you’ve sold your department store dresses to buy thrift store ones, he doesn’t show it.

Gathering your replacements doesn’t take long because you know exactly what you want. Your new wardrobe should be modest and comfortable, comprised of a practical assortment of casual dresses and cardigans, a couple of nicer frocks for your Sunday best, and some loungewear for the house, including a bathrobe that makes your cheeks burn when it slides across the counter toward that same employee from before. After making your purchases, you carry the plastic bag into the dressing room, slipping behind the velvet curtain and pulling one casual dress out at random.

You rip down the tiny zipper on the starchy dress you've been wearing since yesterday, and the release of pressure is bliss. Though the cotton of your new dress is a little scratchier than what you’d been wearing before, you don’t hesitate in kicking the old fabric aside before gazing at yourself in the mottled thrift store mirror. 

The new dress buttons up past your decolletage. It’s almost long enough to skim your ankles, and it is at least one size too big, maybe two. It looks more fitting for a forty-year-old than your twenty-one years; some might even call it frumpy. But it’s what you want.

Because when you think about the clothes you’d been wearing— think about how, over the last year, your breasts and hips and thighs and stomach had gradually broadened, softened, begun to press uncomfortably against the fabric even after your mother had let out the seams as far as they could go— frumpy doesn’t compare with what you’d experienced.

You remember the sympathy in Paul’s tawny brow as he stared down at you. ‘No, Buttercup, I’m sorry. Think of it as an incentive,’ he’d said kindly when you’d asked for an allowance to purchase bigger clothes. ‘I’m just trying to help you.’ You remember how the ladies in town could see the way the beautifully tailored dresses, once so flattering, now bulged and bunched around the heft of your changing body, especially around your midsection. And you knew, though they were always too polite to say it, that when you gathered with them after church or ran into them at the grocery store, they couldn’t help but glance at your tummy and wonder if you were pregnant. But you weren’t pregnant. You were just…

Fat.

The reflection in the mirror suddenly doesn’t feel like you. That’s not your soft jaw; those aren’t your round cheeks. Your dress wouldn’t balloon so far outward over your breasts and stomach, and your thighs wouldn’t rub together because that isn’t you. But those are your eyes, and your hair, and your lips and fingers. And when you twist to look at your backside, so does she; when you smooth your palms over your ample hips, she does too. So she must be you.

You just wish she wasn’t.

You pull your attention from your body and focus instead on your dress, trying to detach from that knowledge again. The important part is that this dress doesn’t restrict or cling or reveal any unsavory lumps and bumps, and that’s what you want. You pull on some woolen stockings and a loose cardigan since it is still January, and after sliding on your low heels once again, you leave the thrift store behind.

You can run from that dressing room— can slip back into your car, load the new plastic bag into the backseat and coax the engine to life— but you cannot run from your feelings. And seeing yourself in the mirror has left you hollow and wanting, exposing the void inside that begs to be filled in that familiar way, the way you’ve grown used to over the last year. Your kitchen at home may be bare, but from beyond your windshield, you can see what will help you fill it. There’s a bright spot down the road and across the way in the lot beside the general store.

Miss Daisy’s Diner.

As you leave your purchases behind in the car, your eyes glaze over the help wanted sign written in beautiful script in the diner window; you’re more focused on filling that hollow place inside you. And inside Miss Daisy’s Diner is more than enough to satisfy the ache.

There isn’t just the promise of good food waiting for you at Miss Daisy’s. There’s the scent of grease and salt on the air, sure, but there’s something else there too. Something that beckons you forward, light and almost ticklish, like the heat of panting breath, the softness of a furry ear dragging under your chin to the tip until it flicks off. Before you know it, you’ve taken two steps forward, and a waitress in a swish of skirts and a flick of her manicured nails has plucked a single menu from the stand.

“One?” she asks, chipper as you nod. “Booth or table?”

“Table,” you answer, and she leads you to one. 

She leaves you with the menu, but you don’t yet look at it, consumed by the crowded atmosphere around you. The restaurant seems almost suspended in time with its black and white tiled floor, the retro-patterned tabletops, the chrome, the beveled glass windows, the teal and white booths and chairs that squeak with vinyl when you adjust in your seat. The walls are loaded with pictures and posters, memorabilia of the 50s and 60s: Coca-Cola bottles, old cars, Elvis and Marilyn, novelty signs advertising products for cents on the dollar. The effect is charming, made even more so when you realize that each table, including yours, is decorated with a white daisy in a glass of water. Somehow, the interior of this restaurant feels jubilant and comforting, like the bright joy of Easter, even though it’s January. Maybe that has something to do with how full it is— though it’s around ten o’clock on a Thursday, the place is no less than three-quarters full.

“Hey there, dear. You decide what you want yet?”

The croak interrupts your reminiscing, and you startle upon seeing a different woman than the one who’d brought you here— older, with gray hair coiffed into a beehive and pink lipstick crackled on her lips. “Oh!” You are immediately repentant. “No, ma’am, I’m sorry. I haven’t looked yet.”

The woman snorts, but it’s all in good humor. “Ma’am,” she echoes you, though where yours was respectful, hers is slightly sardonic. “No need to go reminding me I’m old, dear.” You crackle with nerves, but she grins at you with slightly yellowed teeth. “I’ll come back when you’re ready. Just flag me down, all right?”

You manage a nod, nerves easing as she taps the table with her wrinkled hand and leaves you to it.

The menu is not overly vast, but it takes some time to decide what will fill that void you feel, what you’re really yearning for. In the end, you settle on a Reuben sandwich with french fries and a chocolate milkshake. Though all the waitresses are dressed the same here to fit the theme, you’re grateful for your waitress’s distinctive beehive as you catch her attention, peeking at the nametag she has pinned to the right of her collar when she arrives. ‘Sherry,’ it reads, and oddly, there’s a little doodle of a shamrock beside it which looks to be drawn on in permanent marker.

“Comin’ right up, sweetie,” she promises you.

“Thank you, m—” you swallow the ‘ma’am,’ and Sherry’s smile widens as she wags a finger at you.

“Watch it, you; I heard that,” she says, her voice a croaking tease. “Don’t you start.”

You giggle, and when she leaves you again, it isn’t just the promise of food that makes you feel better.

The sandwich comes quicker than you expected, considering how busy it is, and it's delicious: creamy Russian dressing, salty corned beef and mild Swiss sliced thin, piled together with tart sauerkraut. The outside of the bread is grilled crisp and not too greasy, and the fries are hot and crunchy, a perfect balance with the thick, sweet coldness of your milkshake. It’s perfect; you couldn’t have asked for more.

As you eat, you watch the waitresses flit about in their matching yellow dresses with white collars, aprons, and cuffs, gathering behind the bar counter when not visiting their tables or pushing through the swinging doors to the kitchen. You watch them laugh and chat with one another, and it pricks at something familiar inside you. It’s been years now, but you still remember what it feels like to flit from table to table, to smile and serve, to share in that camaraderie behind the bar, though the place where you’d done it was nothing like this. 

Once you’ve thoroughly cleaned your plate, Sherry stops by again just as the jukebox kicks on to play Baby I’m Yours by Barbara Louis.

“How was it?” she asks, and you tell her it was very good. “Any room for more?” She follows up, eyeing your empty plate, and there’s a sudden hot flash of shame, a moment where you think she might turn wolfish. But her tone and expression remain nothing but sincere, so it wanes. Still, you hedge on an answer, deliberating whether to accept the offer.

She notices your hesitation and perks her brows, coaxing, “We’ve got a mean pecan pie.” A little encouraging smile plays on her crackled lips. “Sounds like that might be right up your alley, judging by your accent.”

It is true— you love pecan pie. And that void was lessened by your meal but not quite filled. So you accept, and Sherry brings you the slice.

And you think maybe this is what does it— this slice of pecan pie. The crust all golden brown, the pecans placed so carefully on top, the filling gooey but not falling into a gelatinous heap upon the plate. Your sandwich had been so good, and your milkshake, too, and this, now— this just looks so good.

You take a bite of the mean pecan pie, and it is not good.

You chew slowly, nose scrunched, brow furrowed just slightly. It’s not… horrible. But it’s not good. Certainly not as good as the pecan pie at home.

Miss Daisy’s Diner is so inviting inside, suspended in time, straight out of the glossy world of dreams. The chrome is shiny, the teal booths pleasant, and each table is adorned with a single daisy. The doo-wop of the jukebox mixes with the hum of conversation; the waitresses in their yellow dresses laugh with patrons as they fill up their coffee mugs and emerge from those swinging doors with plates loaded with delicious food. But the pie isn’t delicious, and you would hazard a guess, as you crane your neck to peek at the display of cakes and muffins beneath the far end of the bar, that the rest of their baked goods are the same way: good-looking under the lights, but nothing compared to what you’re used to.

Nothing compared to what you can do.

'Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.'

When Sherry stops by the table to ask if she can get you anything else, your reply comes swift and easy. “I saw the sign in your window. Are y’all still hiring?”

It’s a quick affair, becoming a waitress at Miss Daisy’s Diner. 

When you ask that question, Sherry’s brows flash, but she sits across from you right away, crossing her legs smartly as she asks you a series of quick questions. You used to work at the restaurant in a country club back home, and though it’s been a few years now, you know how to answer them all sufficiently. That kind of knowledge— the knowledge you gain from experience— never really leaves you. When you finish, she looks at you discerningly before shrugging. “Well, y’seem alright to me. Just wait here. I’ll get Willy.” She pauses half out of her chair as if a thought has just occurred to her. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Emma,” you tell her, and despite the croak of her lungs, your name flows like molasses off Sherry’s tongue when she repeats it back to you.

Willy is the owner of Miss Daisy’s Diner, and he looks nothing like the ‘Miss Daisy’ pictured on the menu. Where she appears crisp and plucky, Willy is doughy and lax. You learn that there is no real Miss Daisy, though Willy jokes, "All my chickadees here are Miss Daisy. That’s why they dress alike." He doesn’t even interview you after learning Sherry already talked to you; apparently, that’s good enough for him. Instead, he just rambles about scheduling, uniforms, and payroll, speaking in slow circles that loop back and around again until Sherry cuts him off.

“I’ll get her up to speed, Willy,” she says, and his face splits with a lazy smile. 

“Sher’ll get you trained up,” he concludes as if it was his idea.

He begins to turn from the table, and you pipe up before he can leave. “When can I start?” 

Willy shrugs lazily, looking towards his employee. “Tomorrow?” he offers, and Sherry concurs, and that is that.

When you leave Miss Daisy’s Diner, your Lincoln is parked down the street where you left it, the white plastic bag of your new clothes visible through the backseat window. When you get in, your pillow and blanket are beside you, reminding you of the lumpy mattress and the pile of dead flies that need to be tidied. Your original goal for the day still looms ahead.

But, God, you aren’t complaining. You swear it. Because Hawkins is a refuge, and you have a job, and the bleeding finally stopped this morning. And there’s security in the first chore you’ve decided to begin your new life with. You’re intimately acquainted with mopping, dusting, and scrubbing, having learned to clean well in the last three years. While you don’t particularly enjoy it, there’s comfort in making something dirty into something clean. By tomorrow, your trailer will no longer be a pigsty, and maybe you’ll sleep in your bed tonight. Tomorrow, you get to go back to Miss Daisy’s Diner, back to Sherry and the jukebox and the flowers on the tables, and maybe you’ll be laughing behind the bar this time.

‘For I know the thoughts that I think concerning you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you the end that you wait for.’

Thank you, Father.

In the few days following your first day in Hawkins, you learn many things. You learn that the daisies on the tables of Miss Daisy’s Diner are made of fabric and wire, and the water is dried glue. You learn that Willy— given name Wilbur— might own the place, but the girls run it. You learn that the coffee maker sometimes doesn’t spit out water unless you smack it hard and that you won’t get a shiny nametag to match the others until Willy orders one from a special shop, which may take a while. You learn that the yellow dresses and aprons might look cute, but they aren’t all that comfortable, though Sherry kindly accommodated your request for the largest size she could get. It's not quite as big as the dresses you'd picked for yourself, but she did her best.

Still, these cracks in the facade of Miss Daisy’s don’t make it any less charming to you. The pace is hectic, and though each restaurant has its own way of doing things, you fall back into that ebb and flow quickly with the help of all the girls, who don’t hesitate to welcome you into the herd. That’s another thing that helps— the waitresses are all kind and helpful, though more curious about you than you’d prefer, sniffing at your hair and shoes when you aren't looking. It becomes apparent very quickly that they’re all the same: goats who bleat at one another across the floor and nibble at the strings of one another’s aprons in friendly affection, yours included. You aren’t quite one of them, but they don’t seem to notice.

You can’t hide your accent, of course, so they know you're not from around here. There’s always that awareness in a small town— even your tables ask you about it. You remain vague about your past, reserved but polite with your coworkers and charming with your customers, treating them with hospitality just like mama raised you. The beatitudes guide your manner: meek and humble, righteous and merciful, pure of heart and generous. A peacemaker, bringing harmony to those around you. 

It’s almost enough to make you think you might have white wool after all, though you can’t quite shake the raven feathers that shudder when you return home to your nest with its barren sticks and its piles of stolen trinkets you gathered on your flight to Hawkins. That’s why you spend as much time as you can at work, soothed by the dulcet tones of the jukebox as you flit from table to bar to kitchen and back again until all begins to feel familiar and comforting.

Safe.

By the end of your first week, you’ve also grown accustomed to the back of the house. Even the sight of Harry, the line cook, begins to comfort you. He is large, broad-shouldered and thick, but his movements are measured and gentle, set with a pace that speaks assurance that things will get done when they get done. In fact, his movements are so predictable that every time you shuffle through the swinging doors into the kitchen at the start of your shift, you anticipate the repetitive sound of his thick bull hands scraping the spatula slow and even as he works the cooktop. 

So the sight that greets you now as you catch the door from Sherry is quite jarring. 

Before the cooktop stands a man who is both shorter and thinner than Harry but somehow far more imposing. He’s angular and jagged, frenetic in his movements: booted foot tapping tile, elbow jutting sharp as he jerks the spatula, a wild mess of curls shaking as his head bobs exaggeratedly. And the sound of the kitchen isn’t at all soothing in his presence. There’s some kind of tinny howling coming from him, some unholy noise that nearly makes you halt at the threshold of the swinging doors before you realize it’s coming from underneath his hair and not from him, exactly. You quickly spot the thin cord running down to the tape player clipped to his tight dark pants, though the handkerchief swaying at his hip— old and spilling loose threads, black and white and emblemed with eerie skulls— has your nerves kicking up again just as quickly.

Sherry’s voice is hoarse from smoke and age but, to your surprise, not filled with even a hint of the same nerves as she greets the man. “Afternoon, Ed,” she says, sounding almost fond as she shouts to be heard above the music. 

Almost instantly, the headphones are jerked down to hang around his neck, and when the man spins abruptly from the cooktop to face you both, your chest clenches again. His voice is brash and warm, mouth split wide to flash his eyeteeth as his gaze finds your coworker quickly. “Afternoon, Sher,” he says, mimicking her fond inflection, a teasing grin dimpling the corner of his plush pink lips. “How’s my best girl?”

Your eyes quickly dart from him to Sherry and then back, face frozen so as not to reveal your reaction: a mixture of wariness and confusion since he looks almost thirty years younger than her. Sherry just rolls her eyes and purses her lips, which are crackled with deep pink lipstick. “Yeah, yeah. We’re all your best girl, aren’t we, Eddie?” It’s said with long-suffering sarcasm like this exchange is akin to slipping on an old pair of shoes— worn in and comfortably molded to one’s foot. 

The man, Eddie, doesn’t reply, though his smile does widen. Sherry nods your way but addresses him. “This is the new girl. Be nice,” she warns, wagging a gnarled finger.

“Whaddya mean, Sher? I’m always nice.” Eddie huffs through his nose, showily stretching his arms above his head and holding his clothed elbows as his eyes slide to you. Yours dip to the dark stains beneath his pits, the evidence of his toil and sweat that begs the question of why he’d be wearing long sleeves if he’s that hot. “Hello, new girl,” he says lightly, and his voice hums like there’s a secret joke he’s holding back from laughing at.

The cock of his hip, the sharpness of his limbs, the narrowness of his waist where the apron is tied hastily, the stretch of his ribcage against the dirty long-sleeved shirt, the tilt of his lips— it hits you suddenly what he is, just as suddenly as you’d realized that Sherry and the girls are bleating goats and Harry is a gentle bull.

This man is a coyote.

Suddenly, that feeling of safety is threatened. What else could explain that rush of tingling awareness pricking up your neck when he acknowledges your presence, if not the fear that a predator is near?

Instinct drives a prey animal when confronted in such a way. You’ve seen it yourself back at home: hens clucking and skittering in the dirt when they sense a fox, horses swaying uneasily in their stalls when a wolf prowls the woods beyond the paddock. And like a prey animal, your body can either freeze or flee. It chooses the latter. 

You squeak out some semblance of a greeting— even fear can’t entirely overwhelm the graces you’ve been taught— and hurry around Sherry to duck into Willy’s office. You want to close the door, to wedge a physical barrier between yourself and those dark eyes and flashing white teeth, but you resist the urge knowing Sherry will be coming in right behind you, and the gesture is not only futile but potentially rude. 

You’re tying your apron when she enters, and she catches your eyes immediately when you look up. Sherry purses her lips at the sight of your flushed cheeks and wide eyes; she chuckles, but there’s an edge of sympathy. “Oh, come on now, dear," she consoles you. “Eddie might look some type of way, but he doesn’t bite.” Her wrinkled eyes soften as she regards you, the tease in her voice gentling as she adds, “He’s a good boy.”

You force a smile, but her assurances can’t dispel the goosebumps prickling along your flesh. They don’t calm your trembling fingers as they slip your notepad into your white apron, smoothing along scratchy cotton afterward as if attempting to press out the bulge it makes against the front of your body. Your body whispers danger and your mind does, too. And if the spirit guides the flesh, then you know you feel this way for a reason. 

Sherry’s platitudes are no match for instinct and belief.

After your initial spook, your shift progresses much the same as any other. You greet your tables, fetch them drinks, faithfully record their orders, deliver their plates, ask them if they need ketchup or hot sauce, chit-chat just a tad, drop the check, and bid them ‘have a good day now,’ parting with a smile. Your voice doesn’t even waver when you push open those double doors; your call of ‘corner’ is sweet and stable, less tremulous than how you began earlier this week. The only time fear squeezes your chest is when you must clip up your tickets. Because that means you’ll have to approach the coyote, draw near to his jagged elbows, those dark, angular legs, and the abundance of curls that cling damply to the edges of his pale jaw and conceal his expression from your view. At least facing Eddie’s back or side is considerably easier than his front; luckily, he’s so thoroughly occupied by the cooktop that he doesn’t acknowledge you before you scamper off. Your fear becomes a predictable wave: with each step toward him, your chest tightens, and with each step away, you feel the clench begin to ease. 

You’ve just swung returned to the floor, loose and nearly chipper, when Samantha hurries over, holding a loaded plate, her ponytail and yellow skirts swishing as she skids to a stop before you. “Emma! There you are.” She beams brightly, and the words huff out of her as if just the sight of you is a relief. It makes you feel warm inside, and that warmth blooms in the smile you answer her with before asking, 

“Is that mine?” 

You look down at the plate as she nods, noting that the steak has just barely been cut on the corner, not even all the way through. “It’s from table four. She wants it cooked a little more. More like medium-well,” she explains, and you take the plate without a thought.

“Sure thing,” you say, and it isn’t until you’ve pushed back through those swinging doors into the kitchen that you realize what this task will require.

Your throat dries as you approach Eddie, eyes darting over the white of his shirt, how the fabric has gone somewhat translucent where it sticks to the planes of his back. His shoulders roll as he stretches to the side to reach a hoagie roll without moving his feet, which still tap along with the rhythm coming from the headphones slung around his neck. The sound of howling has since subsided to resonant thumping and the faint melody of some screeching instrument, which grows clearer as you edge closer with your plate. 

Closer and closer still you draw until you can detect the faint scent of sour sweat, pungent smoke, and something earthy as the coyote turns his head back to the cooktop, still oblivious to your presence. You halt then, feet sticking as your clenched chest whispers that you’ve come close enough. Eddie continues to load chopped beef, peppers, and onions into the hoagie roll, and you hover some steps away until his chin happens to edge left, and he catches you in his peripheral.

His long eyelashes flick up as his gaze flashes to you, eyebrows jerking in mild acknowledgment, mouth soft and slack. The eye contact makes you hasty; you push out your voice and plate together, squeaking, “Can you cook this more? …Please?” You tack the pleasantry on, nudging your elbows forward as if urging him to take the plate as quickly as possible.

You want him to take the plate, but still, you must resist a flinch when his hand outstretches to receive it from you. His palm is broad, with callouses dotting along the meatiest sections, and his fingers are long and ruddy at the tips. Your breath hitches at the sight of his hand’s approach, but all Eddie does is grasp the plate. As soon as his fingers close around its edge, you snatch yours back toward the safety of your body. “Thank you,” you say, and you hazard a glance at his face.

A dimple forms on Eddie’s cheek as he grins, and his voice is warm and brash when he meets your eye and replies, “For you, sweetness? Anytime.”

And then he winks, a quick flash of those long lashes to conceal a sparkling brown iris. 

Such a small thing, really, to say and to do. Thrown just as casually as a smile for a stranger who holds the door for you, just a brief moment of banter between coworkers as they cross paths in the diner kitchen. 

But the swell of emotion Eddie’s words and wink conjures within you is not a small thing. You jerk away from him, a fierce spasm of your muscles to match the fist of fear that seizes you tightly and shakes you until you’re left trembling. The feeling is visible all over your body— in the tightening of your arms against your middle, the shrinking of your shoulders, the blanching of your face, the quiver of your lower lip, the widening of your wet eyes.

The sudden violence of your reaction clearly shocks him. Instantly, Eddie’s spine straightens, and his face falls. Those dark eyes go wide to match yours, confusion sinking into ruefulness as your back begins to bow— feet planted but spine arching, upper body inching back as if your only desire is to get away from him. All the warm brashness in his voice has deflated as he stutters, “Look, I– I was just— I’m—”

Had he gotten it out, would it have been an apology? An explanation? Would it have put you at ease, unclenched that feeling inside? Who’s to say. Because desperate to repair, to stop your backward flight, Eddie reaches out a hand toward you again. Soft, palm upturned, fingers slack. An entreaty to stay and let him fix things. Suddenly and acutely, your wrist aches at the approach of his palm; with that shock of pain, your freeze finally turns to flight.

In a burst of white and yellow, you skitter and spin toward the swinging doors, leaving your predator behind.

It’s a temporary balm, of course. You cannot avoid the coyote in the kitchen forever. After all, you have a steak to retrieve. This is your responsibility, and though the temptation to ask Samantha to fetch it for you is there, you know it would be wrong to give in to that impulse.

Out of the kitchen, in the front of the house, Miss Daisy’s Diner carries on as if nothing has happened. All is calm; all is bright. You hear the familiar clinking of utensils against ceramic, the swish of yellow skirts and the squeak of sneakers, the bleating of the girls mixed with the crackly doo-wop of the jukebox. Someone has put on Try Me by James Brown, and you whisper the words along with him as you shake off the tension like feathers ruffling to wick off water. ‘Try me,’ ‘hold me,’ ‘need you,’ you sing, the words repeating over and over like the lazy spin of a record on the turnstile. The slow beat eases you back into the rhythm of the floor as you steal precious minutes before you must return to the kitchen.

When you can delay it no longer, you edge back through those doors, breathing slowly to keep yourself from turning away as you anticipate the sight of his body, angular and jagged, coiled tight. But the slope of the coyote’s shoulders is low, and the frenetic swaying of his hips is still now. The howling has quieted, and the jerking of his spatula is slow, slow like Harry’s, which you’re used to. It helps to ease your cautious steps as you reach him, stopping a short distance away. You can see that the plate of your steak is prepared for you to retrieve it, resting on the counter just on the other side of him.

It doesn’t take as long for Eddie to notice you this time, and your chest threatens to clench when his chin turns your way. You try to push out a reminder of what you need. “C-can you—”

Eddie doesn’t make you ask. “Yeah,” he interrupts, “No problem.” 

The three words do not sound angry or sad; they do not sound like much of anything, really. His mouth does not open wide to say them. Instead, his white teeth hide behind his pink lips as he passes you the plate with no other words exchanged between you. And as soon as you receive it, Eddie turns his face away.

Each successive visit to the kitchen that afternoon proves the truth of the matter. Since that first encounter, the coyote’s tail has since been tucked between his legs. The points of his teeth have been filed, and with them, over the course of those hours, your fear of his bite finally begins to ease.

So why, then, does your wrist still ache? 

chapter two: I'll be seeing you is coming soon.

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@h-ness1944 - not taggable

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter twenty nine

close to home | chapter twenty nine

plot: the reader and Daryl keep watch overnight

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,604 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: thank you for reading!!!

Getting out of Georgia was easy, but the trip started getting slower as you had to keep stopping to move cars out of the way or recline the seats and hide from a passing herd. It was nearing evening, and you were only a quarter of the way into the trip. 

Rick must’ve pulled over because the van did, and then so did Daryl. You were sitting up front with him now. You were driving a few hours ago before Daryl took over. 

“I’ll go see what he wants,” You said, getting out of the car. You jogged over to where Rick stood by the van, talking with Abraham. “What’s going on?”

“It’s going to be dark soon. I don’t like the idea of driving around in the dark. I think we should get off the highway, stretch our legs. But we’re not familiar with the area. I think it’s a good idea to sleep in the cars tonight.” Rick said. 

“There enough room in the van for you guys?” You asked the redhead. 

“Yeah, half of them slept the whole way anyway,” Abraham said. “I like the plan. Let’s get a move on, don’t need our asses hanging out in the breeze.”

You chuckled as you walked back to the SUV, looking for walkers on the highway before climbing into the car. “Rick wants to stop for the night off the highway. He wants us to hold up in the cars tonight. He doesn’t know the area and would rather us all be safe and tucked away. How sweet.” You joked.

Rick led the line off the highway and into an underpass, where a decent amount of wrecked cars were just sitting there. Daryl drove the SUV into one of the wrecks, so it didn’t stand out. You grabbed your belongings as everyone unloaded from the car. 

“Wait, Daryl,” You said as he started to get out of the car. Everyone else had left already. “Don’t go hunting tonight.”

“What?”

You looked at where most of the group was, all talking and stretching their legs. “It’s just, we don’t know where we are, really. And if something happens, we have to leave, and you’re not here…” You trailed off. 

“We need the food,” Daryl said, looking at you in confusion. 

You closed your eyes momentarily and tried to push away your anxiety. “Please, Daryl. For me. Please.”

Slowly he nodded, and you thanked him with a nod before you both joined the group. Carl was getting reacquainted with Tora, who wanted nothing more than to be put down so she could go about her business. 

“Alright, guys,” Rick said, and everyone stopped talking. “We’re in unfamiliar territory. We can’t afford anyone getting split from the group. I know it’s gonna be uncomfortable, but I’d like to ask you all to sleep in the cars tonight. If something happens, I wanna be able to hit the road. I want each car to have a watch rotation going. We’ll park ‘em right next to each other so we can see. Work out the rotation amongst your cars. But for now, let’s stretch our legs, eat some food and enjoy the fresh air before we go to sleep.”

The group moved to the grassy area beside the underpass to set up a fire and get dinner going. You, Sasha, and Tyreese got to work while Carol and Michonne did a quick loop around the area to make sure it was decently safe. 

You kept an eye on Daryl to make sure he wasn’t going to sneak off. But he kept his word and stuck by Rick, talking in hushed voices about whatever it is they talk about. 

After eating, you and Carl played with Tora for a while to make sure she was getting her energy out. When the sun was nearly set, and Rick started nagging everyone to get in the cars, Carl begged you to let him take Tora for the night. You were hesitant, but you knew how much the kid loved the cat, and you couldn’t say no to him. So you made sure he understood that he didn’t let her out until the sun rose, to which he readily agreed. 

Once in the car for the night, you all discussed how you wanted to do watch rotations. You all decided to do it in pairs of two since you thought it was safer. Glenn and Maggie would take the first watch, then you and Daryl, and then Carol and Noah. You managed to score the back seat and got it to recline decently, so Carol and Noah could do the same. 

Too soon, Maggie was waking the two of you up for your watch. You yawned as you fixed the seat and shook your head awake. It was pitch black outside, which kind of gave you the creeps. Being under the underpass didn’t help. But this provided cover, and it would be safer in the event of something happening. 

Looking out your window, you could barely see Rick and Abraham’s cars. You knew they were there, but it still crept you out. 

You and Daryl were on watch for about four hours, and it felt like it would stretch on for eternity. The car was a bit warm but had cooled down considerably, and it was so dark you could barely make out Glenn and Maggie in the front. 

“This is really creepy,” You whispered to Daryl, pressing your face against the back window and making out a few shapes. 

“Ya fine,” He replied, his voice just as low as yours. 

You sighed through your nose and pulled your legs up. You weren’t sure how much time had passed; you were pretty confident that the clock on the dashboard wasn’t correct. It must’ve been about an hour or so of silence. You kept yourself amused by having fake arguments with Abraham, imagining everything you wished you’d said to him back when you were on the road to D.C.

Your eyes started to close just as you felt something thud against the car. You jumped slightly and scootched closer to Daryl, who was looking out the window.

“You see anything?” You whispered.

“Just a walker by itself,” Daryl whispered. “Wait, hold on…”

Your fingers twitched with anxiety, and you moved closer, so your knee bumped against his. “What is it?”

He didn’t respond, and you grew impatient, so you quietly moved so you were kneeling on the seat, and you leaned over his lap to look out the window too. It took your eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness outside the car, and you could spot two figures walking toward the cars. You couldn’t tell who or what they were, but when you heard a silencer go off and the sound of the walker dropping, you knew they were alive. 

You weren’t sure why you were feeling so scared. You hadn’t been scared like this since the beginning, but something about the group being split up into three cars and unable to see anything had your hands shaking. The past week had been hell, and you just wanted a break. Your anxiety was starting to get the better of you. 

“Daryl,” You whispered so low you weren’t even sure he heard you. 

“‘S okay, (Y/N),” He said just as quietly. 

You thanked God the back windows of the SUV were so tinted, and it was too dark to see anything through the front windows anyway. Still, your hands shook as you watched the two figures get closer and closer to the car. 

“Come on, we’re almost there,” One of them said. It was a man.

“I told you we should have found someplace to hold up for the night,” The other said; it was a man. 

“We’re almost at the safe house. Just another mile or so,”

“We should just hold up in one of these cars or something,”

Your breath hitched, and you tried to steady it. You felt a hand on your back, and you glanced at Daryl, who was focused on looking out the window. 

“Nah, I wanna get these meds back to Lily. The fever’s been kicking her ass. Come on, man, we’re fine.”

You watched as they started walking away, and when their figures fully disappeared you sighed with relief. You weren’t sure who from the other cars heard the two guys, but you knew they had to. You wondered if they were as worried as you. 

You sat back and let out another shaky breath. Your stomach was anxious, and you shivered a bit. But Daryl’s hand was still placed squarely on your back, and the heat from it made you warm up. 

“You okay?” He asked. 

You glanced over at him and realized how close you two were. His face was only a few inches from yours. You couldn’t distinguish his features well in the dark, but he was there. It was probably the closest you’d ever been to his face, and your heart started beating quickly. Your mouth was dry, and you felt your fingers twitch. 

“Yeah, sorry,” You finally whispered and moved back. His hand dropped from your back as you sat down. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then you grabbed your water bottle and took a small sip. 

“There a lot of us,” Daryl reminded you, “You’re safe.”

You tried your best to believe his words. 

[rite4fun]

devils’ ride

based loosely on this song,, realistically i only had a small idea of what i wanted to write but then it came out to this, it’s been sitting in my notes for weeks and i only like some of it but now i don’t know if i want to delete it all or just post it for funsies so.. here ya go (if there are errors, don’t look)

18+ content

••

blue ridge, georgia. 1998.

“here you go baby” you hear your mother softly coo as you enter the kitchen. you watch her slide pieces of bacon from a pan onto a plate that lies in front of your father who just grunts in return as he continues to read the newspaper in his hands, “morning my other baby” she sends you sweet smile that you return as she steps around the table to set a kiss on your cheek.

“morning ma” you return her kiss before making your way to your father, “morning daddy” you set a swift kiss on his cheek before settling into a chair at the table. your mother is quick to set a plate of eggs, bacon and toast infront of you.

“morning darlin’, sleep well?” your father sets the newspaper down before using his other hand to pick up his coffee, you hold his gaze as he takes a sip and sets it back on the table.

“mhm..” you nod with a hum as you shovel food quickly into your mouth. your fathers gaze returns to the newspaper in his hand.

for a few minutes, the room is filled with the sound of sizzling bacon on a pan, silverware scraping against glass plates, and the occasional rustle of paper when your father finishes reading a page.

until your mother gasps quietly, “oh! honey you will never know what i heard from janet at the grocery store” she turns around, her own plate in her hands and sits in a chair close to your father, “she was telling me she saw will’s son.. you remember will?” your father hums in acknowledgment, “well she said she saw will’s eldest down around them shady bars in the city.. said he was hanging with some gang, looked like he was on a bender”

“what in the hell is janet herself doing over there?” your father questions, finally setting the newspaper down and giving your mother his full attention.

“she wasn’t.. just drove by and he was just there, standing on the side of the building with some real silmey looking guys”

your father shakes his head in disgust, “will’s youngest? where is he nowadays since his ol’ man been locked up again?”

your mother shrugs in response before turning to you, “you ever see him ‘round school?”

you set your fork down on your plate, lifting the napkin from your lap to wipe the corners of your mouth, swallowing the food you had just shoveled into your mouth. you shake your head before opening your mouth to let one word slip through, “nah”

your father quirks an eyebrow, eyes narrowed and head tilted. you’re quick to straighten your back and correct the improper grammar that fell easily from your lips, “no.. no i have not seen him, ma.”

your mother hums and shrugs before returning to her own plate, continuing to eat but your appetite is gone as you feel your fathers gaze still on you. you meet his eyes as he shifts in his chair, straightening his back and leaning his forearms on the table, an unmannered trait that he would yell at you for. he points a finger in your direction, “you stay away from them dixons, good for nothing but trouble, the lot of them”

“oh john, that boy is nothing but a kid” your mother defends the dixons youngest.

“don’t give two shits how old that little twat is, his fathers’ a drunken asshole and his brother runs the streets for a little cooze, can’t imagine the state of tha’ boy.. destined for nothing stable, i’ll tell ya tha’”

you stand up quick, grabbing your half finished plate, “going to head out”

“you’ve still got an hour and a half until school starts honey” your mother protests as she looks up at your figure that moves around the sink, rinsing your dish and setting it in the dishwasher.

“i’m meeting mandy and kate at the library to study for the bio quiz today” you step back to your mother, pressing a goodbye kiss to her cheek. you step towards your father to do the same, it’s as swift as the first one you gave him. your body turns to leave the room but your fathers hand grips your bicep tightly, forcing your attention back on him.

“you see tha’ boy anywhere and you turn the other way, you understand?” his voice is stern, a hint of distaste in his tone as he spits the word boy out.

there’s something on the tip of your tongue, something sharp.. but you swallow it, nodding your head softly with a smile, “yes daddy”

he grunts as he lets go of your arm and you take your exit quickly before either one of them can utter another word. swiping your backpack from the doorway and stepping out the door, you take a shuddering breath of fresh air before walking down the steps of your porch and into the sun.

••

click

you lightly shade in the outline of a dress that you drew on a sheet of paper, you slip the end of the pencil in between your teeth as your finger smudges the ink.

click

your body shifts, adjusting the pressure on your shoulders as you lay on your stomach, upper body perched up by your elbows, knees bent as your feet sway in the air behind you.

click

you grab the pencil once more to shade the piece darker, smudging it again after. once satisfied, you move to another area on the sheet of paper to repeat the process. the shifting of the bed you lay upon disturbs your handy work and your eyes are quick to gaze upon the intruder.

the boy across from you leans back against the pillows of the bed, you watch as he shakes the box of cigarettes against his palm before taking one out, tossing the box on the nightstand next to him. shaggy brown bangs fall into his face when he settles back into the pillows but he makes no move to sweep them out the way, instead flicking open his lighter with a soft click and lighting the dart that lies between his lips delicately.

your attention no longer lingers on the work infront of you so you close the notebook and set it to the side before leaning your chin onto your palm, “my father spoke about you this morning”

blue eyes meet yours as the boys pink lips purse around the end of the cigarette, inhaling the smoke then releasing it into the open air, “yeah? wha’ sweet words did daddy dearest utter on my behalf?”

you shrug, “same old stuff..” you lift your body up and crawl closer to the boys body. his gaze watching every move as you throw a leg over his lap, “said if i ever saw you.. to turn the other way” you smirk playfully at him as you settle more heavily upon him, his free hand finding it’s rightful place on your hip, fingertips slipping under the tank top you wear and brushing over the soft skin underneath.

the boy lets out a grunt as your hips shift above his, “should listen to ‘im..”

you roll your eyes, “daryl… the day i listen to every word my father says, i’ll be a nun and wearing a shirt up to my chin”

daryls’ eyes wander to your chest revealed by your tank that has fallen enough to reveal some cleavage to his eager gaze before shooting back up to your face, “yer hot ‘nough to pull it off”

you scoff, slapping at his chest as he laughs. a smile creeping upon your lips as his body shakes with the action, in turn moving yours as you rest on his lap. he lifts the cigarette back to his lips, inhaling then exhaling shortly after. your gaze follows every movement but linger on his lips, his tongue swiping quickly over them, making them shine against the light. he reaches his arm out to stub the dart into an ashtray on the nightstand before his attention falls back on you. the hand not resting upon your hip, grips the one you lay upon his chest. he brings it up to his face and remains eye contact with you as he presses a soft kiss to the palm of your hand.

your breath hitches, hips shifting above his at the light feather feeling but he doesn’t stop there.. his mouth opens wider, pink slick tongue darting out to graze the skin of your palm before his lips close again in a gentle kiss.

in no time, you sweep the upper half of your body down to press against his chest and crash your lips upon his. you feel him smirk into the kiss, his hands moving to slip down your body, fingertips grazing the dip of your waist to caressing your ass and sliding back down your thighs with a tight grip.

a gasp escapes your mouth at the sensation, allowing him to swipe his tongue against yours, deepening the kiss. the ever familar lingering taste of nicotine in his mouth is enough to have your legs squeezing his body between them. you tilt your head to the side more and slip a hand into his soft hair, pulling softly but enough for him to release a throaty moan at the feeling.

you’ve just began to roll your hips against his when the sudden sound of an alarm goes off, forcing your lips to separate with a slick sound, your own stomach clenching and his hips twitching in reaction to such noise.

you refuse to remove yourself from the warmth of his lap, instead reaching your upper body for your phone further down the bed and turning off the alarm. you drop the phone and return your attention to the boy below you, his eyes are half lidded, lips spit slick and swollen, cheeks a rosy red, he is a sight to behold and you imagine you aren’t much better by the way his hands clench where they lay against your thighs once he gets a good glance at your state.

you let out a disappointed sigh, “time for school..”

daryl releases a grunt as you lift yourself out from his hold and off the bed completely. grabbing the sweatshirt you laid on the desk chair in the room, you pull it over yourself. a small cracked mirror sits above the messy desk where you are able to catch a glimpse of your appearance. you were right… you weren’t much better yourself, lips swollen and eyes glazed over just from a little bit of kissing. you straighten up your hair, adjusting your clothes before turning back to the bed and gathering your belongings back into your backpack.

all the while, daryl remains still in the silence save for your shuffling. he’s got one arm now bent, hand resting behind his head, the other splaying across his stomach. his blue eyes narrowing, captivated by every movement you make.

you can’t help but smile at him, knowing just what effect you had on him, similar to the one he too, had on you. you watch the corner of his mouth, twitching as it threatens to release a smile but instead he bites his lip to prevent it from actually slipping.

“come on. we leave now, we’ll make it just in time for the first late bell” you lean a hand against the bed as you glance down to slide your boots on. standing upright again, you throw your backpack over one shoulder, finally looking to where daryl still lays, his gaze now lowered, “you can’t skip again, daryl… that’s three days in a row. we even have that bio quiz third period today! we studied together all week, you’ll ace it!”

the encouragement does nothing to make him move and your shoulders drop slightly. you know he can do it.. you spent hours together going over your own notes. you even sat in his lap quzzing him on the subject as he claimed he could focus better if you were closer. kissing him after every answer he got right which was all of them. his eyes would light up at your praise, stealing extra kisses when he could, just to hear that sweet giggle of yours when you’d playfully push him away, claiming “you know the rules dixon, you only get one for each question” but you’d lean down anyway to slot your lips together because denying him- meant denying yourself.

you glance at the time, biting your lip as you realize if you don’t leave soon, you’ll be late again and your father will surely follow through with the threat to take your phone away.

“fine” you round the bed to the side daryl lays on, leaning down and pressing a quick but bruising kiss to his lips, “i’ll let miss o’donnell know you are still sick but i swear on everything if you miss the retake day of this quiz, i’ll beat your fucking ass daryl”

you turn away, his voice raspy as he finally opens his mouth, “such filthy words comin’ from daddy’s sweet southern belle, must be rubbing off on ya’ a bit too much”

you can practically see the smirk on his face from just the tone of his voice even with your back to him as you continue to walk towards his bedroom door, so you throw him a middle finger over your shoulder and you know he sees it when you hear his sweet laugh, smile spreading helplessly across your own lips at the sound.

“won’t be much rubbing off on me anymore if you don’t get your ass to school sometime this week” you threaten, it’s an empty threat but you throw it out there anyway.

you reach the door of his room, pulling it open but before your body can push through the doorway, he calls out to you. his tone gone soft and you turn to give him your full attention, leaning your body against the frame. he has sat himself up more, back leaning against the wall behind his bed, eyes casted down at his lighter that his fingers fiddle with, a nervous habit of his that you find endearing.

“we still on for tonight?” it’s a simple question but his tone is soft, vulnerable even as if you’ll reply with anything but a yes.

you wait for him to look you in the eyes, before sharing a smile, one full of reassurance that there isn’t anywhere you’d rather be than being with him, “nine o’clock on the dot dixon and not a minute late”

“yes ma’am”

••

you lay as still as possible in your bed, listening to your mothers footsteps as she begins turning the lights in the house off.

there is some quiet mumbling as she says a quick goodnight to your father who has passed out in his infamous arm chair infront of the tv. a few bottles of beer after dinner always left him in a deep slumber, you and your mother have learned it’s best to just leave him be then attempt to lift his deadweight all the way upstairs to your parents room.

there is more shuffling before you can hear her steps on the stairs, she passes the door of your room, then finally the click of your parents door shutting. you take a quick glance on your phone, checking the time 8:50, it reads. perfect timing.

you wait the extra five minutes for your mother to settle into her own bed, tv playing some soap opera she only indulges in when your father spends the night downstairs.

8:55. you carefully climb out of bed with practised ease, your following steps coming just as quietly when you gather your bag and step out onto the landing of your stairs. you chance one more look at your parents bedroom door, the obvious voices of your mothers favorite show loud enough to drown any small noise the old house may make.

years of living in this house has left you knowing every inch- stepping more to the left on the eighth step and skipping the fourth step completely. you release a soft but quiet breath when your feet finally hit the bottom floor.

you peek into the living room, a soft glow of light from the tv illumating the sleeping face of your father. his snores bounce off the walls on account of the many beers he had and the deep sleep he is encountering.

lingering no further, you step into the kitchen and taking a pit stop at the fridge to pull out the container you secretly packed. you had sent your mother and father to the living room after dinner, offering to do clean up. you’d pack the tubberware with leftovers before shoving it in the back of the fridge, hidden by the many bottles of beer and random condiments.

you reach your arm in to pull it out, the edge of the container skimming a beer bottle that teeters the edge of the shelf, your other hand is quick to grab it before it falls but not without jostling the other bottles beside it. you freeze with a pounding heart at the tinkering of the glass bouncing off one another.

you curse quietly under your breath because of course, the one night you decide to do something out of the ordinary, it goes wrong. you hear nothing else but your fathers snores and quickly decide that now, is probably not the right time to be second guessing decisions. you quietly shut the fridge before heading to the back door, opening it and slipping through.

you rush through your backyard, slipping into the dark with measured steps before you see the familiar old black cadalliac pulled up on the side of the street, door already open for you to slip in.

“yer late” 9:01, the clock reads.

you pull the car door shut as the car shifts to drive, “‘caused a big ruckus getting this” you lifted the container of food in question, “had to make sure there was no witnesses”

“wha’ is it?”

“dinner..” you look over at the boy next to you, the street lights casting a soft glow on his face, “janet saw merle in the city a few days ago and he wasn’t at the house this morning. assumed he has been m.i.a for a bit and figured it’s been even longer since you have had a home cooked meal.”

you watch daryl fight a smile, the car slows to a stop at a red light before he is turning towards you. his hand reaches out to grip your chin, pulling you to meet him halfway and crashing his lips to yours, mumbling a small “yer too damn sweet, belle”

you smile and hum against his lips, “it’s nothing…” your cheeks flare at the sentiment anyway before your pulling away and daryl is facing forward again just as the light changes to green.

the roads remain empty as the car navigates through the back roads of your small town. you share the gossip of the day at school to keep him in the loop, he really doesn’t give a shit about anyone that isn’t you but he listens anyway because he loves hearing you talk. finally, you hit the highway and you can feel your body beginning to tingle as daryls foot presses harder on the gas to match the high speeds of the road. he rolls the windows down and turns the music up.

it’s not his first rodeo, he knows you love this. the wind whipping through your hair and the music flooding your ears at a deafening height. you explained to him once that this..

just you, him, the open highway and the dirty lyrics of a rock song blaring from the radio..

this is where you belong. this is where you feel most you. free.

daryl wishes he could just stare at you as he drives but he takes the little glimpses he can get when he chances a small glance in the direction at where you sit next to him. a ghost of a smile rests on your face as you sing along to the music. your hair tangling from the wind, small pieces occasionally sticking to your lips but you pay them no mind. you hold an arm out the window, the cool air nipping at it.

you catch one of his glimpses and he is quick to face back towards the road, allowing you to take your turn in drinking him in under the moonlight.

his side profile is picture perfect. from his wind blown bangs that sweep across his forehead down to the sharp slope of his nose and his red bitten lips (thanks to his anxious lip biting habit), all the way to his even sharper jawline. god, you just want to fucking ruin him for sitting there so effortlessly, unaware that his presence alone makes you crazy.

he can feel you staring, how could he not? the lighting is dark enough to hide the color he is sure paints his cheeks but he still feels the heat of them. he tilts his head further towards the window, allowing the cold air to cool them down.

you watch his body shift, continuing to trail your eyes down. he wears a dark grey tee, the short sleeves leaving his arms naked, goosebumps spread as the night breeze flows in. his muscles flexing as he re-adjusts his hand on the steering wheel. your eyes narrow as they fall to the light wash jeans that cover his bottom half and it is then, you realize that staring is no longer enough but rather you need to feel him.

you’d endured a day in hell beginning with mandy and kate grilling you on your whereabouts this morning when you missed the study group, then miss o’donnell chose today of all days to be in a pissy mood, to finally going home, your father having a shitty day at work and taking it out on anyone who dare cross his path. the only thing that would have soothed the ever building stress under your skin was the occasional glimpses of daryl you’d catch throughout the day. the simple twitch of his lips when he catches your eyes lingering too long on him or the bravery to meet your eyes and sending you a sly wink when you pass in the halls. alas, he wasn’t there today. the beginning of the shitty day really began then.

you scoot your body to the middle seat, daryls’ eyes glancing at you in question but he says nothing as he refocuses back on the road ahead when you do nothing but stare ahead with a hidden smile.

you wait long enough that daryl no longer suspects anything, twisting half your body towards him, placing a hand on his stomach and pressing a kiss to the bicep of his outstretched arm that holds the steering wheel. your eyelashes flutter before your gazing up at him through them while your hand travels further south, settling on the zipper of his jeans.

the music still plays at the level you had originally turned it up too, talking was out of the question but you guys never needed words to communicate.

he presses his back further into the seat, hips lifting against your hand and sharing a quick glance with you before his attention is back on the road. it’s more than enough of an answer for you so you waste no time in unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down. your hand grips him through his briefs, his cock already hard and throbbing against your palm. you press your thighs together and you can’t help but bite softly at his bicep to contain a moan at the feeling of him twitching in your hand.

daryl can’t seem to keep his body still at your touch so he shifts again, both hands reaching out to grip the steering wheel now.

you press closer to his body as you pull him out of his briefs finally. his mouth drops as your thumb swipes the precum that spills from his tip before dragging it down the side. god, you wish you could hear him.

you lift your face from the side of his arm before latching onto his neck, trailing sloppy kisses anywhere you could reach. every twitch of his cock receives a squeeze as your hand drags up and down, thumbing his tip for more precum to spread to make the glide easier. the slight roughness of it all only turns daryl on more.

your kisses reach his ear and you take full advantage of his lack of control in this situation, “god, you feel so good in my hand” following your words with a quiet gasp before your back to trailing kisses down his neck.

his response is a slight jerk of the car as his foot falls heavy on the pedal along with a rough twitch of his cock in your hand that releases a larger amount of precum. you smirk against his neck, pressing one final kiss to the soft skin before leaning back.

your hand is able to move faster along his cock now, twisting your wrist everytime you your hand glides up towards his sensitive tip, something you know daryl enjoys. you glance at his face as you do the motion again, his head presses into the seat, eyelashes fluttering, threatening to shut but they stay half lidded to keep an eye on the road ahead as he chews on his bottom lip roughly.

you lean towards his ear again, “i want you in my mouth..” the car revvs as his foot drops again, “need you to focus real hard, yeah? can you do that for me?”

you lean back with a smile as he nods vigorously in response. you twist your wrist once more, a reward for being so gracious and allowing you do whatever you want to him. your next moves are quick, slipping under his arms and guiding him to your mouth. the second he feels your lips press against his tip, his foot drops again.

daryl takes a deep breath, trying to focus even more on not driving the car into a fucking ditch but it’s tough as your sweet, warm mouth envelopes his cock, sliding slowly down his shaft, your tongue flicking over a sensitive vein.

daryls releasing one hand from the steering wheel to turn the music down and you try to protest with him still in your mouth, the vibrations making his head spin, “fuck.. yer so good”

his chest heaves heavily, his free hand going to rest on the back of your head, fist only curling into your hair but not pressing. you’re so fucking perfect to him. from the kindness of your heart to even think of bringing him dinner to the sweet warmth of your mouth moving up and down his cock. he might just fucking love you. it should be a terrifying thought but it’s not the first time it came across his mind, maybe because he has always cared for you since you bounded into his life. you’re on his mind the minute he becomes conscious to the world to being his last thought as he lays in bed at night.

you are his. despite not a single soul on earth knowing what goes on between you two behind closed doors, you are it for him and he can’t imagine a life where you aren’t here with him.

“baby..” he growls the endearing term as he grips your hair tighter, “’m gonna cum… fuck” his train of thoughts are everywhere between keeping the car steady, his overwhelming desire to confess his love for you, and the need to finally cum.

now doesn’t seem like the right time to confess something that he feels so deeply as you give him head in his dads cadalliac. nevermind the fact that he actually wants to spend the rest of his life with you and he can’t do that if he crashes the fucking car, whether he dies from the accident or his father finds out and sends out a hit man for ruining his precious car. with a quick decision in mind, he slides the vehicle to the side of the road and shoves the gear stick into park.

you hum in confusion and stop the bopping of your head on his cock, lifting until just the tip lies in your mouth. you expect his hand to release your hair so you can sit up but instead, he presses you further down his cock slowly, testing the waters.. “‘s okay, just don’ want to crash the car all because yer pretty mouth wanted to suck m’ cock” he grunts as you’re quick to open your mouth wider, suctioning and swiping your tongue in agreement as he guides you with the hand on the back of your head.

“can ya’ swallow fo’ me, pretty girl?” his voice is rough, that raspy tone that lets you know just how gone he is. as if you didn’t know from the tensing of his thighs below your hands and the constant twitching of his cock in your mouth.

you reach a hand to grip the base of his cock as your mouth focuses on the tip. the swirling and flicking of your tongue matching the twists and squeezes of your hand. every sensation is different, it’s almost too much yet not enough.

daryl doesn’t even have time to question which feels better before the grip in your hair tightens and his body tenses. his head falling forward as he whines out quiet curses, “fuck, fuck, fuck”

the first bout of cum are violent spurts that make you jerk your head back a bit in shock but you’re prepared for the next, squeezing the base of his cock to milk him of every last drop and more.

his grip on your hair releases, softening instead to massage your scalp incase he pulled too hard as he was lost in bliss. you plan to clean up every last drop on his cock but the sensitivity gives way quickly as you suckle at his head, flicking your tongue over his slit and daryl releases a grunt, “tha’s enough”

you allow him to slip from your mouth but not before you can press a final kiss to his tip before fully leaning your body back and aren’t you a sight to see with your glossy eyes, swollen and slick lips, even your cheeks are flushed. you look utterly wrecked and daryl can feel himself twitch weakly when your lips stretch into a satisfied smile.

“yer fuckin’ insane, belle” he shakes his head as he carefully puts himself back into his briefs and doing his pants up again.

and just when he thinks your smile can’t get any brighter, it somehow does and you beam with that familar glint in your eye, the knowledge of what it could mean warming his heart. he can’t help reaching out to grip the side of your neck, pulling you to him and crashing his lips against yours.

your taste is mix of something you guys created together and daryl can see himself becoming addicted to it, if he isn’t already as he already regrets pulling away from your sweet mouth, “come on, buckle up. we’re almost there” he nudges his head towards the empty road and you nod before sticking close to him, laying your head against his body as he puts the car in drive again and takes off.

••

“he wants to send me to a stupid all girls boarding school, said i’ll be able to focus more on my studies there but i know he just wants to lock me away and not have to worry that i’m off somewhere doing something i shouldn’t” daryl sends a look from his seat across from you, “don’t say anything” you warn as your foot nudges his legs as you catch the meaning behind the sly look.

smoke releases from your mouth when you pull the cigarette away, tapping it against the built in ashtray of the car. normally you’d never pick up the small dart that lays between your fingers but sometimes a shitty day warrants for the burn of one.

the car sits stationed behind the familiar abandoned train station that’s roughly thirty minutes out from your house. you sit sideways in the backseat of the black cadalliac with your legs thrown over daryls own. the windows are cracked, letting the cool breeze in as music plays softly from the radio.

“wasn’t gonn’, belle” daryl replies, his feet kicks the empty container you brought him. the delicious spaghetti and meatballs your mother made was filling, sometimes he likes to visualize himself thanking her personally but then he remembers who he is and the vision dissipates into dust, leaving an ugly hollow feeling in his chest.

“saw it on your face” you huff, leaning forward slightly to hand him the cigarette and releasing the smoke you’ve just inhaled.

when you first met, he was never a big fan of words so over the years, you had gotten better at reading every look, touch, movement.. anything that he does to determine what they all mean.. he’d argued he is just as good at reading you.

daryl places the dart between his lips, taking a few hits before stubbing it out completely. he can tell you have more to say, your day seemed to irritate you more than usual and he can’t help but think that he should have just sucked it up this morning and gone to the shitty highschool.. even if he would have been miserable, he’d be able to keep an eye out for you.

admittedly all he’d do is cover up your attempts to look or brush against him in the halls. you were never particularly good at being sly but whatever you did was enough that nobody suspected anything. plus it amused him more than anything.

“what did you end up doing on your off day?”

daryl shrugs, “went into the city”

“to see merle?” he nods in response, “he coming home?”

“nah, said he had a couple more things to do out there” his voice is indifferent but your saddened at the thought of him being home alone all the time.

“maybe..” you shift your position and daryl grips one of your legs as you settle back again, “maybe i can come over this weekend.. and stay?” your voice ends softer than it began, a hint of fear at the possibility of rejection.

daryl is taken back at the tone, when has he ever denied you for you to feel scared to ask him anything, let alone offering to keep him company?

he’s moving before he responds, pulling his body over yours as he settles between your legs. one hand rests on your hip and pulls you further down the seat until he is face to face with you, “yeah?”

one of your hands reach up to brush a strand of hair behind his ear, your eyes meet his as you shrug, “if you’ll have me..”

you are unbelievable, daryl thinks. he mumbles mockingly your words as an arm wraps around your lower back to pull you closer to his own body. a small grin spreading on his face as you let out a giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, your noses bumping together.

‘course he’d have you. today. tonight. tomorrow. forever, if you’ll have him.

“what will ya tell yer dad?” his eyes flick from your eyes, to your lips and back.

you hum, licking your lips before responding, “i’ll figure it out”

daryl knows you will, you always do.

your faces are close, his swaying down to close the gap even more causing your lips to brush. when you lift your head up, his is pulling back; teasing you. you make for the motion again and your lips just barely press together before he is pulling back again and this time, you can’t help but whine and settle your head back against the seat.

you look at him underneath your eyelashes, your bottom lip jutted just a tiny bit more than the top one, not yet a pout but just as sweet looking.

“so pretty when yer desperate” his praise sends shivers down your spine and your eyes are fluttering shut, chest arching to brush against his.

“please..” you whisper when your eyes open, head tilted just a bit as you look up at him.

daryl is only so strong against you, he likes to tease but to ever fully deny you? he could never, especially when you beg and look at him like that, so sweet and ready for the taking.

his lips slot with yours as the kiss begins tender and slow but hot. so so hot. the heat of it making you let out a soft moan and daryl takes full advantage when your mouth drops open. swiping his tongue along yours, the tender moment gone as the kiss becomes sloppier.

he releases his hold around your back and allows his hands to roam your body as his lips stay attached to yours. they slip under the tshirt you wear, fingertips dancing over your sides making you squirm at the ticklish feeling. as his hands slip further up, your shirt does too until you lift up enough for him to slide it completely off, leaving it to fall on the floor of the car.

as you settle back, he admires the lacy white bralette that barely conceals the flesh underneath but it’s pretty, like you, he thinks.

he returns his lips to yours, a hand grazing over the thin fabric, thumb brushing over your nipple that’s already hardened underneath the lace. you push your chest further into his hand, a soft whimper releasing from your throat.

“’ve got ya’” daryls lips brush yours as he reassures you. you took care of him earlier and now, it’s his turn and he fully intends on following through with extra care as always. he trails his lips down your jaw, to your neck and finally your chest.

his teeth graze your collarbones before latching onto your skin, sucking and licking all across the expanse of your chest. some sure to bruise but you don’t care as your hands find purchase in his hair, pressing him into you more.

once satisfied, he trails kisses to the valley of your breasts, sucking another bruise to the area as his hands thumb at your nipples.

“ah..” you thrown your head back with a gasp when he finally places his mouth over your nipple through the fabric of your bralette, his tongue flicking over it, saliva soaking the lace which has you moaning out softly at the sensation.

“hmm.. tha’ feel good?” daryl mumbles around your nipple as he looks up at you from beneath his hair, always a sensitive little thing, he thinks. you bite your bottom lip from crying out more, opting to just nodding your head in response. he hums happily, “jus’ wanna make m’ girl feel good”

“you always d-do.. ah” a moan falls from your mouth as you look down to watch him and his smooth pink lips, he switches to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. your hands grip his hair tighter as his tongue swirls around your taut nipple, the sight making your hips buck against his, desperate for something to ease the throbbing between your legs.

you want to succumb to the pleasure, allow yourself to just let go and feel everything but there’s a thud that sounds like it came from outside the car. your chest pushes against daryls mouth and you fight hard to get your next words out, “w-what was tha’?”

daryl refuses to part from your breast but he does slow his movements, continuing to flick his tongue around your nipple through the spit soaked lace.

“prolly’ jus’ the wind” he finally concludes when he hears nothing but the whistle of the cool air flowing through the crack of the windows. he’s back to skimming his teeth over your sensitive breast, not wanting you to forget any pleasure that was building up from his ministrations. he shifts his body so his thigh presses to your core, allowing you to grind against it to ease the pressure that’s become so overwhelming you felt tears in your eyes at the slightest friction you gain even if there still lies so much fabric between your bodies. you can work with it until he gives you more.

as your hips ground down, daryl pushes his thigh against you and in no time, you’re both finding a rhythm that could finally release the ever building pleasure you’ve had since you gave him head earlier. your mouth opens to let out another moan, head rolling to the side and eyes falling to the back of your head at a particularly hard thrust of his thigh at the same time your own hips bare down. when your eyes flutter open, they’re half lidded in bliss and just as you feel them roll shut again, you swear you’d seen a shadow out the window over daryls shoulder.

you open your mouth to say something but all that comes out is a gasp of daryls name, your mind so utterly blank and helpless to the one person giving you so many good sensations. at the sound of your voice whimpering his name, he doubles down on his actions, wanting to see you succumb to the pleasure.

your eyes can’t help but glance to the window again expecting to see nothing but the night sky- instead you see a face. though the moonlight gives little shine to the surrounding forest of the abandoned train station, it’s enough for you to recognize the features glaring through the window and your heart stops before pounding so hard, you feel like blood might just leak from your ears to relieve the pressure.

daryl leans back when he feels your body tense and still, quick to detect the uneasiness and for a moment he thinks he has done something wrong but when he sees your face, your eyes aren’t on him but behind him, “wha’s wrong?”

you can’t reply though, well you can- could, but you don’t get the chance too before the door of the car is thrown open and daryls body is pulled roughly from yours and out the car.

“daddy!” you scramble for your top, slipping through the door as you pull it down to cover yourself. the moonlight illuminates daryls body that your father has thrown to the dirt road. “daddy, stop!” your father kneels on one knee, one hand gripping the boys tee to lift him to his face, the other pulled back in a fist.

“the hell you think your doin’ with your dirty hands on my little girl, huh?!” your father shakes him, growling the words with utter digust.

you feel a bit helpless to the scene, your eyes glancing to where your mother stands by the yellow volkswagen you nor daryl heard pull up behind you guys. she holds a hand over her heart, her wide eyes shining with tears and you want to say something to her. apologize even, not for being here with daryl, you’d never apologize for that but for making her worry. for having her out here, witnessing this.

“ya’ gonna answer me you prick or am i gon’ have to beat it out of ya?”

“just leave him alone daddy, he didn’t do anything!” you and daryl make eye contact, your eyes beginning to shine with your own tears while his remain clear and relaxed, an attempt to assure you he is okay. it does nothing to ease the pounding of your heart, reaching the point that you genuinely believe you might have a heart attack.

“you shut your month, i’ll deal with you later” your father doesn’t turn around, refusing to look at you.

“don’ talk to her like that” daryls eyes narrow at the man infront of him. your father stares him down expecting him to crumble in defeat to his heated glare but he doesn’t budge, leaving your father to laugh in faux disbelief.

“got some balls on ya’ kid” he pulls daryls face closer, voice low and reeking of alcohol, “you’d watch that mouth of yours.. don’t tell me how to handle what’s mine”

“yeah? gon’ lay your hands on ‘er like ya do her mother?”

and that’s it.. the final straw that has your father growling and pulling his fist back before colliding with daryls face.

“daryl! no!” you gasp and move to grab your fathers arm, attempting to pull him away but he shakes you off roughly, enough to have you stumbling back and falling to the dirt road.

your mother is quick to come to your aid but you brush her off as you get up, heading for the two bodies infront of you again. daryl holds a hand over his cheek as he looks up at your face which crumbles at the sight of blood that drips down from the split wound. you stumble closer wanting to help him but he holds his hand up to stop you before his attention falls back to the man infront of him.

“is that what she’s telling everyone?” your father mocks as he continues to lean over the boys body.

“’s what i know” daryl can sniff out a prick of a dad when he sees one, curtesy to having one himself. you rarely talked about your home life but bits and pieces would slip during your late night conversations. it wasn’t exactly rocket science to put together.

your father lets out another menacing laugh, “it’s what you know..” he drops his head, shoulders shaking with even more quiet mocking laughter before lifting to face daryl again, “if you know anything like she’s knows, it’d seem you both must be dumb as shit. while that fact can be hurtful, there could have been hope to fix it but her being out with you? dumb and slutty? tha’ just about makes her a downright disappointment”

you and your mother release matching gasps. you shake the initial shock off, it should bother you more to hear your father call you such shitty, degrading names but you can’t find yourself to care too much when all you want to do is diffuse the situation. in this moment, all you wanted was to get daryl as far away from your father as you possibly could.

shifting your eyes back to daryl, his chest heaves and for a second, it looks like steam may just be coming from his ears as his eyes stay locked on the older man’s figure.

call him all the names in the world, he could give two shits but calling you anything than what you are-

daryl is pulling himself from your fathers grasp, putting a good distance between them as he steadies on his feet. you watch him take a deep breath, his eyebrows drawing over his eyes as he narrows them.

you know he is gearing up for a fight, you’ve seen it plenty before at school whenever someone pushed his buttons or mouthed off some shitty comment about his family to him.

he stands there, glowering at the other person, still as ever except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. something about it left the other person bothered enough to swing first, allowing for him to finish it without strict punishment as he uses self defense as his reasoning.

“daryl.. don’t” he doesn’t even glance your way, eyes focused on the poor excuse of a man infront of him, mind filled with all the ways he’d put him down.

“now now,” your father pushes himself up, standing to full height, towering over daryls lean teenage figure, “let’s see what he’s got”

“so what? you’re just going to rough him up a bit?” your tone exasperated, “this has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me and you!” your fathers anger is misdirected. the false narrative he came up with vanished the second he saw you and daryl in that black cadalliac but the reality of the situation had him creating new ones instead of facing the facts.

you chose to be here with daryl and his mind couldn’t wrap around that.

the gravel of the dirt road crunches beneath your feet as you take slow steps towards your father. still refusing to look at you, you watch his back tense. shoulders rolling back in an attempt to make himself seem bigger although he has no need too as he continues to tower over the boy infront of him.

“has everything to do with this twat, can’t keep his hands to himself”

“he didn’t do anything i didn’t want him to do” it’s not the right words to say right now but you didn’t even know what you could to stop this.

your fathers’ head drops, a hand coming up to pinch the skin between his nose before shaking his head in disbelief? disgust? “don’t say that shit”

you’re close enough behind him that you can hear him mumbling but it’s hard to keep up with everything that tumbles out except for one thing you don’t even know what you want.

you shake your head at his words although he can’t see you, let alone know if you actually heard. he’s wrong though, you do know what you want. the minute you met daryl, you wanted him to stay but he never did. running off any chance he could to prevent you from getting too close but you waited. patient and sweet as always until one day he did stay, since then he refused to leave your side unless you’d ask him too - which is something you’d never do - and although it’d hurt his heart, he would because he just wants you happy.

more often than not these late night drives were filled with deep conversations, if the urge to feel one another didn’t overtake your mind first. you were teenagers with raging hormones, what did anyone else expect?

you remember one night that daryl actually let his feelings slip; the topic of the future was in the air, you spoke of what you wanted to see yourself doing, a smile on your face. he’s confessed before that he didn’t think about it much, truth be told he’d probably say either dead or in prison but since you came bounding into his life, that reality become less true.

“where do you think you’ll be?” he looks down at his lap where you lay your head across it, you eye him expectantly, always so eager to hear him speak as he did it so rarely.

he faces forward again before shrugging, “i don’ know.. prolly jus’ go wherever you are” he thinks nothing of it as he says it, the truth slipping through his lips easily. he doesn’t know what he plans to do or where but if he had a choice, it’d be with you.

you lift from his lap so suddenly that he is taken back as you turn to face him. his poker face has always been spot on but a lingering of worry reflects in his eyes, thinking just maybe he said the wrong thing. maybe you didn’t see him in your future the way he couldn’t see you without.

you see the moment regret flushes through him as he begins to pull away but you don’t let him get far, grabbing his face with your hands and forcing him to look you in the eyes, “…yeah?”

your gaze is overwhelming so all he can do is press his forehead to yours and nod. never to push or pull when he shows you such vulnerability, you smile and smash your lips to his before leaning back, “‘mkay.. don’t care where we end up, so long as i’m with you too”

it’s the closest thing to a love confession as daryl could give at that time and although it was said in so little context, you understood what he meant, what he felt, what he feels because you felt the same way and still do.

you’re close enough to reach out for your fathers elbow, “daddy.. i love him” your fingers just barely graze his arm before it’s swinging back aggressively, creating contact with your face whipping it to the side. the resounding smack of impact fills the empty train station.

dead silence settles into the air as you reach a hand up to cup the cheek that now throbs in pain and face your father who looks back in shock. your mother is silently crying as she stands powerless to the scene before her. and daryl…

daryl sees red.

your father reaches out to you but the contact is never made when a smaller body is pushing his away. as he staggers, daryl takes full advantage and swings a fist to his face, “ya best keep yer fucking hands off ‘er!”

your father gains his balance back quickly before he’s fighting back, throwing a punch aimed at daryls jaw then another at his eye. he leaves no room for the boy to gain any sense of control, plummeting him into the dirt road all over again.

daryls body falls to the side and you’re screaming for your father to stop, even your mother is crying out his name but both of your pleas fall on deaf ears.

“you think this little twat gives a fuck about you?!” your father asks, kicking his foot into daryls stomach making him release a grunt, “boys like him are only after one thing with girls like you, unfortunately you were dumb enough to fall for his tricks!”

you shake your head, “just stop it! you’re gonna kill him!” tears stream down your face as your father continues to kick and stomp anywhere he sees fit. daryls’ grunts and groans echo throughout the open air along with the nasty muttered words your father continues to spit at him and you.

you and your mother work together to tug at any part of your fathers body your hands can grip. grasping him tightly and pulling him roughly back, his body comes easily before he’s pushing forward again to stomp one last kick to daryls body, just to show you that he’s still in control, allowing you to move him away. he’d keep going if he could but he can’t go to prison and keep you away from that boy at the same time.

your mother continues to pull him away before she’s stumbling back, hands shaking in fear and covering her face in disbelief of everything that’s just happened.

you’ve dropped to your knees, rocks digging into them as you shuffle the short distance to daryls body. your hands hover shakingly, trying to find an exact spot you could hold that might ease the pain.

“o-oh my god daryl.. i’m sorry.. i’m so sorry..” your voice nothing but a whisper as sobs overtake your already trembling body. tears blur your vision but you make no move to wipe them, choosing instead to blink rapidly so you are able to keep an eye on the boy infront of you.

“not yer fault…” he barely gets out as he clutches his stomach, body curling in pain as he takes a shuddering deep breath. you shake your head in response, denying the sentiment before looking down at your lap as you cry because it is. his hand shakingly enters your vision as he reaches out to you, your own immediately latching onto it. he squeezes your fingers to gain your attention and when you finally meet his eyes, he gives you a stern look, “‘s not.”

you lean down to kiss the hand that lays in your grip, mumbling apologies into his skin.

“don’t you touch tha’ boy!”

“can’t you just shut up!” you whip your head around to your father who leans against the volkswagen, “please..” your voice softer as you turn back to daryl. the hand not gripped into his, goes to brush hair out of his face, revealing the damage your fathers fist had done. you feel sick to your stomach.

“it’s time to go, leave him” you shake your head at your fathers voice, “if you don’t get your ass into this car right now, i swear on everything i’ll send you to that boarding school an’ make sure they lock the keys up so you’ll never even get the chance to think about making this dumb mistake again!”

“i’m not leaving him!” you can hear your mother encouraging your father to just get in the car but he shuts her down with a sharp lip.

“you stay here with him, you better stay because if i see you enter a foot into my house..” the threat is left in the air. you make no motion to move as you cling to daryls hand, eyes closing as you release a shuddering breath.

it’s only a few moments later that you hear your father mutter a few curse words before the car door slams shut. the engine rumbling to life, shortly followed by the sound of gravel crunching under the tires as they sped away, leaving natures nightlife to fill the empty space.

daryls hand squeezes yours and your eyes open to meet his, the moon light illuminating the blue of them. you study the many spots of his face that are beginning to bloom a dark color, a small cut goes through his brow, another across his cheekbone and bottom lip. your stomach turns at the sight.

he attempts to sit up, even letting go of your hand to clutch his stomach as he uses the other to lean up on.

“careful..” still having no idea where to lay your hands, you hover them about as he unsteadily sits up. when successful, his gaze falls on you again, truly taking in your state.

he wonders if you even notice how bad your body shakes as the never ending tears slip down your face.

he lifts a hand to cup your wet cheek, thumbing gently over the cut that lies across the top of your cheekbone. his eyes flick to yours in question and you nearly shake your head in disbelief because of course he’d worry more about you even after your father just beat him into the ground.

he grips your chin firmly, forcing you to look him in the eyes. the question still reflecting in them, your hand comes up to lay over his, “‘m okay..”

you are, physically. the cut stings and your cheek throbs but nothing can compare to the stabbing ache in your chest.

he doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer but doesn’t bother pushing, he can tell you have no energy to fight him on it. instead he leans his forehead heavily against your own.

both of you sit there, basking in the sounds of nature around you and the empty railroad. your occasional sniffles and daryls soft hushes accompany the worlds natural sounds. you imagine you guys look pretty ridiculous but you can’t find it in you to care.

••

“ow!”

“stop it” you roll your eyes, the cotton ball you hold between your fingers hadn’t even touched his eyebrow yet when he jerks his head away playfully.

he sits on the closed toilet seat as you stand between his legs. his hands gently rest on the back of your thighs as you tend to his physical wounds the best you could after you made sure he popped a couple painkillers for his aching body.

“if ya keep frowning like tha’, yer pretty face is gonn’ get stuck” daryls been trying to make you laugh since you’ve left the abandoned train station and drove to his home. you barely spoke in the car, mind constantly wandering elsewhere and eventually he gave up trying to keep any conversation going.

you focus on cleaning up what areas of damage you could on his skin as you mentally feared what lay underneath his tshirt, it looked like your father did not hold back when he laid those kicks against him. you shiver as you remember the scene again, daryls grunts of pains still echoing in your ears.

his hands rise to hold your hips instead, shaking your figure lightly until he gains your attention, “hey… we’re okay”

“why do you do that?” you sigh in frustration, hands dropping to your sides.

“do what?”

“disregard your pain like that.. daryl, we should go to the hospital to get you checked out” he shakes his head, it’s not the first time you suggested to go. it was actually the first place you thought of when you got behind the wheel of the black cadalliac but he talked you out of it. you’re regretting it now, he could have serious internal injuries.

“‘m okay” you’re not convinced, “promise belle.”

you wanna press more, somehow convince him to go but instead you go back to wiping his face and disinfecting his open cuts. with the dirt cleaned up and better lighting, you’re able to see his injuries more clearly. the cuts aren’t deep, rather it seems that the bruising will get the better of his handsome face but nothing as threatening as what he keeps hidden, you imagine.

sighing again, you throw the cotton ball into the trash, “can i check on your stomach now?”

daryl shakes his head, “‘m good, told ya’.. have had worse, let me check on ya” he stands up, hands still holding your hips as he switches positions. his face screws up in a slight wince as he does but drops it once you have settled onto the closed toilet lid.

the cut on your cheek is small, similar to the one he has. in different circumstances, you’d probably make a joke about the matching wounds but your mind is struggling to keep up with anything solid so it passes as every other thought you have. silence fills the air between you two, you lost in your own thoughts and daryl wondering where your mind is.

“he’s never hit me before..” your voice is a soft but the emotion it holds is enough to have daryls hand stilling before he goes back to dabbing an alcohol soaked cotton ball at your injury. it’s really nothing.. something small that will be swollen for a couple days then be gone, leaving a faded scar behind but that too will disappear with time. “maybe.. i-i don’t think he meant too..”

you’re a bit stunned still. the first time you saw him raise his hands at your mother, you were five. you remember trying to push him away, squirming in his hands as they gripped your small arms tightly against the sides of your body, holding you in front of him as he spoke, sometimes women need to be put back into their place. it made sense to your five year old self back then when you had no idea what being in love was like. as you got older, the reality of it became more apparent. he never did it infront of you again after you caught him slapping her when your mother accidentally broke a dish.

at the age of thirteen, you had rushed at him. pushing him away as you once did when you were smaller. fear covered your body but you stood strong infront of your father. maybe he knew he couldn’t manipulate your mind anymore, instead choosing to walk away and never speak on the subject again. since then, you’d never seen it happen but the evidence was there. the random new bruises or scratches that would appear on your mother became more obvious than ever.

confronting her was impossible. she chose to lie, claiming she bumped into something, oh you know me, clumsy as can be. it was bullshit and when you told her so, she sent you to your room with your so called foul mouth.

so you lived with it. you had too. where else would you go? you never saw or heard it so maybe that was the price to be paid for your innocence?

“prick shouldn’t hav’ to put his hands on anyone for anythin’.. meant to or not, he still hurt you” daryls voice is rough, a ring of anger still lingering in his words.

humming in acknowledgment, you close your eyes as your head tilts up in daryls hands, allowing him to care for you in the only way he does. always so soft and gentle.. just how you should always been handled, he thinks.

your eyes stay closed even as he releases you and shuffles about. his hands cup your face, thumb tracing around the wound tenderly before he leans down and presses a kiss near it.

the corner of your mouth quirks up at the small gesture, not yet a smile but something. you hum again before opening your eyes, blinking to adjust to the light again. daryls eyes linger over your face, leaving not an inch uncovered from his gaze, sometimes he thinks you aren’t real. some perfect figment of his imagination he conjured up to keep him company when he got lonely.

“c’mon” daryl holds a hand out, yours falling easily into his as he leads you to his bedroom. the warmth emitting from your body behind him is enough for him to believe you are infact real and willingly choosing be here with him.. it’s something he will never be able to wrap his head around.

he maneuvers around his room as you sit on the edge of the bed. he lays a shirt next to you but you make no move to put it on. your head hangs down so he can’t see the pitiful face you make, “hey.. hey, wha’s wrong?” he sits next to you, his arms reaching out to pull your body close but you push him away.

“will you stop that?” your voice is watery, “how.. how could you sit here with me after what just happened?”

daryls really fucking confused. he fish mouths for a bit, trying to find the words to say to calm your sudden emotional outburst.

“my father could have killed you..” you shake your head, “i stood there and did nothing..” a sob escapes your mouth, “after everything.. we’re here and you’re trying to take care of me when you can barely walk..” you heave deeply, “it never should have happened.. it’s my fault, daryl.. i’m so sorry”

daryl feels a bit tossed around at how you got here but there is one thing he knows for sure, “this ain’t yer fault” his tone is stern, “what yer father did.. tha’s on him, not you, got it?”

your shoulders shake as tears fall from your eyes, your head turning into your shoulder as you refuse to look at daryl. the act is childish but you can’t help it as you feel so small, so upset, so…. dumb for thinking that you could keep this hidden. that one day you would just up and leave with daryl without a trace. a stupid pipe dream, that’s all you had for your future.

“ya’ not getting it. listen to me.” daryl huffs, chewing on his lips roughly as he considers his next words before gripping your chin to face him, “… i love you” you let out a soft gasp but he continues, “i’d take as many beatings as it took to keep doing so”

“i wouldn’t ask of that from you” you lean your forehead against his, aching heart warm at his words. ones you never thought you’d hear before.

“don’ matter.. would do it all over again if it meant saving you from being hurt” his thumb brushes over the wound you suffer, his own stomach clenching at not being able to stop your father before letting it happen.

you notice the slight grimace on his face, the hurt he holds at the smallest fact that you were hurting. he is unreal, you think.

“i love you too, ya know that?” that familar glint is back in your eyes as you gaze into his. daryl is transfixed at the confirmation and all he can do is nod numbly, because.. he knows. maybe he has always known but his use of denial was always stronger. in this moment though, it’s powerless to the way you look at him and not a single doubt that you feel the same way towards him- fill him.

you chose to stay with him after your fathers threat, you cleaned him up, you worried about him.. how could he think any different when you have showed him in every way you could tonight and every other moment you had together? deserving of your love? that’s a different story but right now, daryl would rather bask in the love you have for one another than worry about such things.

you press a kiss to his lips, one full of your emotions towards him but it doesn’t go further than that, both of you exhausted and still hurting. your bodies separate to change as you grab the shirt daryl laid out for you, stripping down and slipping into it. it’s soft, hangs just below your butt and smells so much like him- earthly with a hint of nicotine.

you’re quicker at changing compared to daryl who stands a few feet away, wincing as he bends over to remove his jeans. he jumps when he feels your hands graze his, he didn’t even hear you sneak up on him. when your eyes meet, a quick shared conversation between them, he lets his hands go and allows yours to take their place. you help slide his jeans down and he kicks the rest off as you rise back up.

your fingers fiddle with the end of his shirt before you begin lifting it. when it’s fully off, you hold his gaze, afraid to look down but soon your eyes betray you as they fall to his midsection. massive red and purple bruises scatter across his stomach, going as high as his ribs and trailing as low as his hips.

“god… daryl” your fingers barely graze the bruises, in fear of hurting him more as they look so painful.

“told ya ’m fine..”

“it doesn’t look fine, you’re clearly in pain”

“i’ve had worse.. can we jus’ rest? jus’ wanna lay down with ya.. please” his voice is tired but soft and when he asks like that, how could you refuse?

he slips into bed first with the help of you before he scoots back and holds an arm out. you shuffle to turn the lights off before crawling in, facing him as you lie down. it’s silent as you study each others faces with the only light coming from the moon through the open window.

“so pretty..” the glow of the moonlight is just enough for you catch the pink that spreads on daryls cheeks after he lets his inner thoughts slip. you shake your head, a smile finally slipping onto your lips.

“you’re ridiculous” daryl just hums, the corner of his mouth quirking up. his hand cups your jaw, thumb tracing the grin upon your lips and you can’t help but let out a small giggle at the ticklish feeling. a certain playfulness in his touch that has you quirking an eyebrow in question, “thought you wanted to rest..”

daryl lets out a soft scoffed laugh, his fingers playfully pinching your nose, “alrigh’ smart ass”

you turn your head to the hand on your face, kissing his palm, “i love you..”

daryl hums, leaning in so he can kiss your forehead, then your nose, and then a bruising one full of love onto your lips. i love you too. your bodies shuffle about the bed until your back is pressed to daryls naked chest, him closing the distance you had originally set in fear of hurting him but he simply wrapped an arm around you and pulled you back until your bodies laid flushed together. a breath of relief released from you at the contact.

“ya gonn’ go home?” daryl questions quietly.

you shrug, “maybe.. eventually i’ll have to, right?”

it’s silent for a bit, “could jus’ shack it up in ‘ere with me”

you let out a small laugh, daryl hiding his own amusement into your neck.

“we’ll figure it out, yeah? me and you?” your voice is unsure, something you have never been about when it came to you and him but the unknown of what’s next terrifies you as you lay there in the silence.

daryl squeezes your body, pressing a reassuring kiss to the back of your shoulder, “we’ll figure ‘t out.. now go to sleep.”

the reality is you’ll have to go back, you know that. daryl too. you both were only in highschool, graduation just a couple months out.. you weren’t sure what the plan was after but as you lay wrapped in daryls arms, it didn’t matter so long as you had him by your side.

[russolover]

Labyrinth II

Second part to Labyrinth I :)

"I'm sorry I should've never said something"

The words circled your mind as you were laying face-down on your couch. You should've never said something, who just decides to tell their best friend that they're in love with them?

Her shocked expression was more than enough for you to know her answer. The way her once loving eyes looked at you in utter disbelief made your heart clench. You couldn't even depend on your best friend to carry you through your heartbreak since she was the one breaking it.

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone ringing, you didn't look at the caller ID to know it was probably Keira or Georgia trying to make sure you're alright.

"what?" the muffled sounds of your voice rang through the phone

"Y/n stop ignoring my calls I-" the voice of your favourite blonde came through your phone rather anxious. You immediately sat up with your eyed wide open. As much as you loved hearing her you could not do it right now, the soaring pain in your heart was only growing stronger the longer you listened to her.

"I'm sorry less" you whispered as you ended the call

You would be lying to yourself if you weren't feeling like shit for treating her like this but this time you had to protect your heart.

Apparently alessia got the memo as she tried to give you space the next few days, which was getting harder everyday since you were on camp now with the lionesses.

You and alessia always used to be rooming buddies but this time she requested to be put with tooney, it stung in your heart that you drove her away from you like this. But how were you able to stay in a room with her after that night?

The tension between the two of you could've been cut with a knife and if it were for Keira or Georgia they probably would've. Even the rest of the team were sensing that something was going on.

"we can't just let them mope around like this" Georgia sighed as she sipped on her coffee

"I don't get why Y/n doesn't talk to her, its so clear that less likes her back" Keira replied in the same tone

"but why didn't she say something when Y/n confessed?" the younger girl asked

"Imagine me or Leah telling you that we've been in love with you for months-

"gross" the tatted girl gagged which earned her a slap from her ginger friend

"I'm just saying that she was probably in shock" Keira replied as she started typing something on her phone

"well they won't talk to each other on their own.. I wish we could just lock them up in a room together and make them talk" the midfielder said mindlessly as she drank the last bits of coffee in her cup

Keiras eyes went wide at the idea

"G you're a genius" she smiled brightly while getting confused looks from her friend

Unknowingly to you, Keira and Georgia set up a whole plan to get you to finally talk to alessia and this had to start with tooney getting the blonde into the storage room.

"Less I swear I put it in one of those storage rooms" Ella mumbled as she tried to find the room where Keira adviced her to get alessia in

"why would you ever put your boots in there" she grumbled at her already knowing something was going on

"Sarina told me to just put them anywhere- AH there it is!" Ella jogged over to the room as she went inside

Alessia followed her into the darkened room, the only light inside was from a small light bulb which looked like it was hanging on its last thread.

"tooney I can't find anything did you-

"Sorry less but you will thank me later" Ella shouted as the door behind the blonde got locked

"wha- ELLA OPEN THE DOOR" she screamed as she hammered against it

"what is even happening" the Italian mumbled confused as she sat down on the ground leaning her back on the wall. She tried not to concentrate on the smallness of the room by taking slow breaths but that could only do so much.

A few second later alessia could hear mumbles in front of the door and before she knew it, Y/n was pushed into the same little storage room as the blonde was.

You didn't even see alessia in the room as you started cussing out Keira and Georgia through the door.

"you too hm?" you jumped at her voice as you slowly turned around

"what are you doing in here?" you asked confused

"tooney locked me in here, you?

"G and Keira" you mumbled as you sat down with some distance beside her

The silence was growing thicker by the second and you could sense that something was going on with the blonde next to you. The situation you two were in aside, her breathing has been getting more erratic by the second.

"less are you okay?" you asked quietly as you watched her chest rise up even quicker now and she couldn't stop biting her lip

she only nodded as you tried to figure out what was going on but then it clicked

Alessia was claustrophobic and you two were undeniably in a very small room. You moved opposite of the blonde taking her hand into your, trying to ignore the effect it had on you.

"It's okay I'm right here" you whispered soothingly as you drew circles on her hand

The blonde took a moment to close her eyes and control her breathing before she opened them again. You looked at her intently for any indication that she's been feeling better. You've missed looking into her pale blue eyes like that.

You watched as her pupils grew the longer she was looking at you and how you automatically gravitated towards her.

"please stop ignoring me when we leave this room" she said sadly as your heart stung a little

"I just needed some space.. after that night.. less I shouldn't have-

"You didn't hear me out" she interrupted you which made your heart stop

"what?" you asked perplex

"You didn't give me the opportunity to tell you how I feel about you" she said straightforward

"I just assumed-

"Yeah you assumed Y/n, but you didn't want to listen because you expected the worst. If you would've just given me a second to process everything you would've known that I've loved you since the bar incident" your heart started making summersaults at her confession, you couldn't get a word out even if you wanted to.

At the same time you got flashbacks to the time you were acting like alessias girlfriend to get rid of one of the guys that were hitting on her. Your longing touches felt a bit too real to her to be just friends.

"I just knew in that moment" she whispered as she started caressing your hand

Was that how alessia felt when you told her? as happy as you were you felt bad for shutting the blonde out completely.

You pulled the blonde into your lap as you cupped her cheeks

"I'm so sorry for shutting you out I should've listened to you" you mumbled as you stroke her cheeks softly

"I guess that's why we're in a room" she mumbled making you chuckle

Your heart bursted with love as you were looking at the Italian on top of you. You felt the heat rising in your cheeks as you gazed into her eyes, knowing what was about to happen.

The Italian pressed her lips onto yours, sending shivers down your spine as you reciprocated the kiss. You smiled into the kiss as you tasted her strawberry chapstick and tried to pull her even closer, if that was possible.

Her hands softly caressed the back of you neck as you deepened the kiss by slipping your tongue in, catching her by surprise. The blonde sighed at the feeling of warmth you were giving her. If it was up to you, the both of you could've kept going but you were stopped by three heads sticking into the room with big eyes and smug grins and as much as you hated them for interrupting the moment you were glad that those three were the reason you and alessia were making out in a storage room in the first place.

[bloodstainedsaint]

of sweet teeth and indulgence (dick winters x reader)

summary: just home from the war, you and dick go on an ice cream date :)

word count: 1200+

warnings: domestic & post-war dick, who's also still shy despite an established relationship); fluff, fluff, and more fluff (+ mentions of war i guess but that's like in every fic); and mentions of nix bc he should be a warning in all winters fics lol

notes: inspired by this and this, happy christmas to anyone who celebrates 🎄 this is my present to you !!

“(Y/N), are you ready yet?” Dick called from downstairs. You were taking some time to doll yourself up, putting your hair in a trendy style, wearing makeup and accessories, donning a nice dress and heels — things that you haven't done for three years on account of your service in the war. While you wanted to dress up for Dick, this was also for you. You took a final look in the mirror and found someone you hadn't seen in years looking back.

“Coming, Dick!” you responded, almost losing your footing coming down the stairs due to your excitement (and the unfamiliarity of heels compared to the sturdy boots you'd become accustomed to).

Dick watched with wonder in his eyes and a smile upturning his lips; he thought you looked like an angel coming down from heaven.

Mistaking his expression as teasing at your expense, you lightly smacked his chest with your purse, a grin of your own gracing your face. “You could've helped me with my hair, you know.”

“No, you…” he started, his face turning the color of his hair as he cast his gaze off to the side, “...just look stunning.”

Heat rising to your cheeks, you decided it was your turn to soak in the other's appearance. It was much different than the fatigues and officer uniforms that you’d been admiring him in ever since you met him at Camp Toccoa, but you'd be lying if you said seeing him in a suit and tie didn't similarly drive you crazy.

You tenderly took his face in your hands and guided his eyes back to you, whispering, “You look handsome as well, Dick.” You brought him closer to give him a short, sweet kiss that made his heart stop beating in his chest.

He pulled away and gave you a quick peck on your forehead before offering you his arm. You gladly accepted it, and the two of you walked together to his car. His hand gently rested on your thigh as he drove, the radio playing swing music.

“Where are we going?” you asked as you took your eyes away from the window where you’d been watching trees pass by, their leaves falling to the ground in vibrant displays of red, orange, and yellow.

“Ice cream,” he said simply, a playful smile on his face and a quick glance to you.

You rolled your eyes with an incredulous look. “Yes, I know we’re getting ice cream. I was asking where.”

“Well, Nix recommended this one place. We’re going to see if Raritan’s ice cream is up to snuff.”

It really astounded you how much of a sweet tooth the man next to you had; even in autumn when the weather was chillier he couldn't turn ice cream down. You bet he could go for ice cream during a winter as harsh as Bastogne’s was, where his nose and ears had flushed cherry red and his face had become pale.

You smirked. “Of course. Because why would Nix ever lie to you?”

“Because he knows not to mess with me about ice cream.”

-

Dick helped you out of the car when you arrived and took your hand as the two of you walked inside. The interior popped out at you: checkered floor and a counter with a row of colorful stools across from the ice cream holders and soda fountains. Dick had said that the ice cream parlors (if one could call them that) were much more modest in the camps and forts he’d trained in prior to Georgia; in Europe, ice cream was hard to find at all — which was why his face lit up with joy at the selection of frozen treats.

Watching your lover, a usually private man, positively beam and hold your hand tighter in his as he led the two of you to the counter brought a smile to your face. He ordered one of his favorites: not plain vanilla, as one might think of someone like him, but cookies and cream, while you decided to go for a pumpkin pie flavor to match the autumn mood. Dick, being Dick, paid for both of them and took you outside to walk along a path shaded by grand trees on either side.

As you walked by his side, hand in hand, your conversations went wherever your mind took you. There was much to talk about now that the war was over and not occupying all of your time.

“How’s Lewis?” you said, having gotten to the ice cream cone.

“Doing better,” Dick said with a sigh, “though sometimes he still comes drunk or hungover to work. One time he showed up and asked if we were married yet.”

You raised your eyebrow. “Are you sure he wasn't sober? That seems like something he’d say sober.”

“Drunk as a skunk. But the promise I made then hasn't changed; we’re going to find a small, quiet corner of the world together and get married there.”

Imagining a ring adorning both his and your ring fingers someday, you squeezed his hand. “You’re a man of your word, Dick; I don't doubt you for a second.” You blissfully sighed and gazed at the sky, reminiscing about all of the stolen kisses and fleeting moments the two of you shared during the war. “We did so much sneaking around back then, but the whole of E Company knew anyway. D’ya think it was me helping with you shave during the Bulge that gave it away?”

He chuckled, a sound that only you and a few others had the pleasure of hearing often. “Nix will always remind us that he knew first and that he was the one who got us together. The sneaking around was just for us to look good around Sobel and everyone outside of Easy.”

“Couldn't have him knowing that his XO was running around with a subordinate,” you said, bumping his shoulder. “If only he could see us now, going on an ice cream date and planning to get married. Might shock him more than your request to be court-martialed.”

Finished with his ice cream, he sighed and said, “I've missed this.”

You turned to him with a simper. “What, ice cream?”

He smiled as he shook his head. “No, walking with you like we did whenever we got the chance to get away.”

“We have all the time in the world now for that and anything you want to do.” You slowed your walk to a stop and fully faced him. “This is our reward.”

Your eyes caught something on his lip, so you leaned in to kiss him, which he gladly indulged you in. Barely pulling away, your lips ghosting his, you said, “You had some ice cream on your lip, Major.”

“You know, ice cream’s not the only thing I’ve missed.” He brought his hand to the back of your head and kissed you unabashedly, realizing and taking advantage of the fact that finally no one was watching. Giggling into the kiss, you tasted not only the sugar of the ice cream but also the bittersweetness from years of yearning for one another. You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him closer, deepening the kiss, and all of the time lost during the war was made up in that one moment.

-

taglist: @mads-weasley, @ronsparky, @dcyllom, @malarkgirlypop, @joetoyesbrassknuckles101, @sweetxvanixlla

[rogersideup]

Nice to be Kneaded

Chapter Four:

Captain What’s-his-Butt

Series masterlist

Previous part: Nice to be needed Next part: absdoughlutely

Word count: 5,829

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

"Holy sh- Steven..." You panted, stopping dead in your tracks to slump your back. With your hands on your knees and your ponytail making it's way forward with your posture, you huffed and puffed trying to desperately get air in your lungs. "I think I punctured a lung. Or I have asthma. Or I have an asthmatic punctured lung."

When you mentioned in a casual conversation that you wanted to start working out a bit more to improve your mental health, Steven was quick to invite you along on a run with him.

Of course he knew he was going to have to cut his usual distance significantly, and he would have to slow down tenfold just to pretend he was of normal athletic ability around you, but around mile 4 was apparently where a normal person started to get tired.

"Come on, keep waking" He laughed at your commentary. "If you stop you're going to get muscle cramps in your legs."

"This is awful" You laughed while walking toward him, he was walking backwards with a smile on his face.

"Only a mile left!" He enthused, knowing it would annoy you.

"I feed you yummy desserts all day and this is what you do to me?!" You clutched your side as a sharp pain rang through the area.

"All things must be balanced, right?"

"No, if this were balanced you would be feeding me desserts all day too. This is not balance, this is a hate crime" You shook your head earning another laugh from the man.

"Okay, when we finish you can come to my house and I'll make you Toll House break and bake cookies" He joked.

"Why do you say that as if those aren't delicious?" You asked, still out of breath but preparing to run the last mile.

"Nothing is as delicious as your cookies"

"Yeah? Well, you're never eating one ever again because this sucks and it's all your fault."

"Was it not you who said you wanted to-"

"No. That was not me. That was me from yesterday. Me from yesterday and me right now are two completely different people."

"Okay, well you right now has another mile back to the car whether you like it or not." He giggled.

"Well then let's get this shit over with" You joked and started jogging. "I only have a mile left to watch your hair bounce when you run so I have to savor every moment of it because I'm never doing this again"

"My hair bounces when I run?" He questioned, jogging besides you.

"Yes, and it's glorious"

You two jogged the last mile before making it to his car, and he drove back to the neighborhood. When he pulled into the driveway, you could see Georgia on the porch swing. Sunglasses on, drink in hand, enjoying the summer air once again.

When the engine came to a stop and he took his key out and opened his door, he realized you weren't doing anything. And when he shot you a questioning look all you did was let your head fall back on the head rest.

"I can't move, my legs turned into jello and my front door is so far away."

He shook his head with a smile. "Alright, stay there. I'll come getcha"

He got out and closed the driver side door before coming over to you and opening your door. He turned around and bent his knees so his back would be on your level. "Hop on"

You carefully wrapped your arms around his neck and upper chest and your legs around his stomach, and he picked you up with ease.

"You're not even sweaty" You complained, letting your cheek drop lazily to the top of his head, too sleepy to support the weight of it anymore. "You're too perfect"

"I'm sorry" he apologized, "do you want me to be more sweaty?"

"Yeah next time maybe just sweat a little more. It'll make me feel better about myself" You smiled sleepily.

"Oh so there is a next time?" He picked up on your slip.

"Depends if you'll carry me inside next time too"

"I can definitely make that happen" He agreed.

You turned your head to look at Georgia and send her a wave, but when she didn't wave back, your stomach sank. Was something wrong? Did you do something to hurt her feelings? You made a mental note to check in on that later.

"Keys?" Steve asked as he walked up your driveway and approached your front door.

You used one hand to grab them from your back pocket and gave them to him. He opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him.

He walked through your house and set you down gently on the couch. "The princess made of jello is back in her castle."

"That makes you my magic pumpkin" You kicked off your shoes.

He realized the smile was no longer on your face as you wrapped yourself up in a throw blanket to protect your skin from the air conditioning that was such a stark difference from the hot air outside.

"Are you okay?" He questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah I'm fine." You nodded as he sat next to you on the edge of the couch. "It's just weird, I waved to Georgia cause she was looking at us but she didn't wave back or say anything. She's usually not like that."

"Oh..." His posture slumped. "It's probably because you were with me. I don't think she likes me very much."

"What?" You were genuinely shocked by that statement. Georgia loved everyone, and everyone loved her. "Why not?"

"I don't know" He shrugged. "I've introduced myself to her and tried talking to her a few times, especially since you said you were such good friends with her and it just seemed like she wasn't interested any of the times."

"Well that's disappointing" You pouted. "She's never said anything to me about it."

Your phone chimed with a text message, and as you pulled it out it was from her.

'Turn on the news.'

"Speak of the devil..." you mumbled.

"Did she say something about what happened?" He asked as you reached to put your phone on the coffee table.

"No, she told me to turn on the news." You explained. "Her and her husband are a little intense about the Sokovia Accords stuff, usually when she tells me to turn on the news it's about that."

Steve's heart started beating out of his chest, it was the first time you had ever directly mentioned anything about the war to him. Not only that, but if there was an update, he needed to know.

And if Georgia was intense about following along to the point where she encouraged other people around her to do so as well, and she didn't like him...

"Are you going to turn it on?" Steve asked, not knowing what he should do.

Was the update going to be about him? Was it about one of his team members?

Was this the moment he ran from Greenwood?

"No" You shook your head. "Not right now at least. If it's important I'm sure I'll hear about it eventually anyways."

"Why not?" He poked. He was desperate to figure out your stance at this point.

"I don't know how you feel, so forgive me if you disagree, but I'm just tired of the media treating these poor people like they're entertainment." You explained. "They had to make real life choices, they were forced in corners and they all had to do what they thought was right in that moment. Yet somehow it makes half the Avengers the good guys and the other half the bad guys? It's one of those situations where as you would say, the glass just is."

His big blue eyes softened at your empathy, but he didn't respond. It made you nervous, so you continued filling in the silence. "The same people who devoted their lives to saving ours are now being criminalized for choosing to continue to save lives in the means they thought was necessary. And the whole framing The Winter Soldier for the bombing thing broke my heart. I've been told that I need to have a deeper understanding of the government before I can express my opinion though so... I dunno. Maybe it's all just a bunch of hoopla. I just hope everyone comes to an agreement soon for Team Cap's sake. Nobody deserves that..... do you want me to put it on?"

"No, it's okay" He faked a grin, but he was proud of how genuine his voice sounded even after the mention of Captain America just slipped off your tongue. "It's just a lot to be constantly thinking about."

"Which is why I choose to not consume it at every waking moment" You agreed.

"That's smart." His voice was gentle. A big part of him was relieved at what you had just expressed to him, but it did nothing to relax the flight response pounding at his brain. "You seem tired, I'll let you take your well deserved nap now."

"You're leaving?" You complained, pouting out your lip.

He wanted to cry. You didn't even know the weight that question actually carried at a moment like this. Because right now, he's going to put on a happy face and tuck you in for a nap. He'll hug you goodbye and walk out that front door completely unaware of what was to greet him the moment he found out what was going on.

Depending on what the television told him, yes. He might be leaving. But for now and for you, this was as simple as leaving your house.

"What would Georgia think if she saw me carry you in and not leave for a while?" Steven reminded you. "She already doesn't like me, I don't want her to hate me. And I especially don't want her to hate me for taking up so much of her best friends time."

"I need to go talk some sense into that hardheaded woman" You shook your head. "But that's okay, I appreciate the effort. I'm sure it'll get better soon."

"If it doesn't, that's okay." He reminded you. "Not everyone is going to like everyone all of the time.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" You pouted.

Maybe. Maybe not.

"Yeah" He nodded with a grin but he was slowly dying. He leaned down to hug your form that was now laying down on the couch. "Enjoy your nap, I'll lock the door on my way out."

"Thanks, Honey. Get home safe, it's a long treacherous journey." You joked.

Once again, your words carried an unintentional weight on his heart. "I'm sure I'll be okay"

After he left, you settled for a nap. You tried and tried to shut your brain off but it just wasn't happening, it kept reminding you of that text. Maybe your brain would relax if you knew what was so important on the news.

So you gave in, you reached for the remote and turned on the TV. Immediately a breaking news story interrupted every program accessible to the public.

On it was two news anchors, taking turns back and forth explaining how it was recently discovered that Bucky Barnes had been put into cryosleep safely in the haven of wakanda as their greatest minds tried to develop a method of erasing the lingering mind control hydra still had over him.

They explained that other countries could no longer use force to try and detain him from the country, as nobody truly knew where it actually was. The anchors also speculated that once rehabilitated, Barnes would probably plea for a pardon.

It was also reported that Scott Lang and Clint Barton stayed behind to strike a deal with the government so they could be with their families. Each one was forced into retirement and placed on house arrest.

Lastly, they speculated that Steve Rogers was the one that brought Bucky to wakanda to seek refuge and rehabilitation. Though he chose not to stay himself, he allegedly visited every so often by means nobody was quite sure of. Nor did anyone know how he even knew where wakanda was in the first place.

Once again, they threw all of the unaccounted team members of Captain America up on the screen one by one as the usual warnings sounded in your ear like the most obnoxious broken record.

'... if you see any of these individuals, do not approach. They are dangerous. Call 911. Remember, failure to report these individuals will be considered a misdemeanor punishable by jail time and a hefty fine. Do not approach.'

First up was Wanda Maximoff, then Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson.

You unknowingly had a sad frown on your face as you watched theirs be posted for what felt like the hundredth time in the past week alone.

But when Captain America's picture came up, something about it really pulled you in.

You sat up on the couch and scooted to the edge of your seat. He was handsome, that's for sure. Perfect skin, and chiseled cheeks. The picture they used looked like it was an identification photo for S.H.I.E.L.D- the logo in the corner obviously blurred out. The golden dirty blonde hair on top of his head and his big blue eyes reminded you of your new best friend.

Steven.

Your brain came to a halt in just a split second and your hand searched for the remote, desperate to pause it on the picture but your eyes couldn't look away.

Your hand found it, and you frantically paused it. Then it all came together like snapping the last piece onto the center of an almost complete puzzle.

Strong nose and sharp jaw, the long eyelashes he used to blink at you sweetly to get his way, the pink lips that only stopped smiling whenever you could tell he was wrapped up in his own mind.

You hit play once more, desperately trying to process what you had just discovered, then they put his whole name up on the bottom of the screen.

Not Captain America. Not Steve Rogers.

Steven Grant Rogers.

Your first initial reaction was your brain working through thoughts too fast to even comprehend them. Immediately followed by feeling stupid for not putting it together sooner.

Then, in the span of an hour you paced back and forth across the expanse of the first level of your house.

After a bit of self loathing came an unexpected wave of anger towards him. He lied to you. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized he didn't lie to you at all. Next, you felt guilty that you had that rush of anger. You placed yourself in his shoes, walked yourself through the choices he probably had to make in order to get to where he was now. His first piece of stability in almost a year.

Then you had your own moral dilemma. With this knowledge and failure to report him to the government, you were now facing misdemeanor. Yet you never even had the thought of picking up the phone and doing that to him. It made you so sick to your stomach that you were nauseous for hours. Jail time and a fine were nothing compared to a whole life of suffering knowing you would've made the absolute wrong choice by reporting the sweetheart next door.

You needed to keep him far far away from Georgia and Micheal.

You needed to keep yourself away from running over to his house and pounding on the door until he opened it just so you could give him a hug and tell him it would be okay.

Thinking about the adversities he must've faced the past months made you want to cry. Long lonely nights in the cold, long lonely days in the heat, no sense of security, the whole country coming after him with blazing pitch forks, the loss of half a group of people he used to consider family. It must've been painful, and it must've been why he had that sad look in his eyes sometimes.

You knew now why he never wanted to talk about himself. All the times you'd catch him looking from your eyes to your lips, then back up to your eyes but never doing anything about the blush forming in both of your cheeks.

Whenever the two of you shared moments of deep conversation or vulnerability he'd go missing for a few days after.

He wasn't scared of commitment. He couldn't commit. He couldn't even promise his presence 10 minutes into the future. He was protecting you. Not from monsters and bad guys, but from himself.

You needed to find out a way to tell him without him bolting out of Greenwood faster than he arrived. But you also needed to let him down gently, let him know it was okay.

But even before that, you needed more time to let the whole picture sink in for your own sanity. You didn't care that you had work the next morning, or even that you committed to staying from before sunrise to after sunset. For hours you sat on the couch with your laptop, finally doing your own research on the Sokovia Accords and the Civil War.

You fell down a rabbit hole, and your research was extensive. But more and more you understood why anyone would disagree with the accords. Certain clauses mentioned human experimentation on them. Taking their blood, zapping them with electricity; it was immoral and invasive.

They didn't think they shouldn't be regulated, they just wanted to negotiate the terms of the accords and they were told no.

You even dug deeper into the personal fight between Steve and Tony Stark. However, that's where you decided to stop because it simply wasn't a matter you thought deserved public opinion. That was between them two, and it should stay that way.

You didn't sleep at all that night. In fact, you only set the laptop down to shower about an hour before you were supposed to go into work, then you stayed there all day.

Cake decorating really helped give you a clearer head. Of course you continued to think about it all day long, but the information was starting to settle.

Smoothing buttercream over crumb-coated cakes smoothed out the harshness of the words rushing through your mind. It reminded you to breathe calmly, stay steady and stable. By the time you had baked a few different pastries and gotten done with cake orders, it was already closing time.

The girls left one by one as they finished up their tasks, until it was just you left to decorate the sugar cookies they had baked earlier in the day. You even had them make a few extra for Steve for when he inevitably arrived so he could practice basic lining and flooding techniques.

When he walked in, you expected to feel some kind of way. Maybe he'd look more like the clean shaven hero you were used to seeing on the news, maybe that would reignite the anger.

But when he walked in, it wasn't shocking. It was just your sweet honey coming to spend time with you as per usual. You even managed to not show any of your internalized thoughts on your face or mannerisms.

Because if you could just spend a few hours with him without letting him know that you knew, you could prove he would be alright. You needed him to trust you.

So you took a second to greet him with a smile and a hug, then you helped him make his icing to the right consistency, and sat next to him to give him some tips and pointers on his cookies before returning to your own station, right across from him on the same table.

The two of you made your normal conversation, just as always it flowed easy. You laughed, listened to music, he gave you opinions on the cookies you were decorating, and you complemented his ability to pick up on the skill quickly every time he'd pick one up and show you what he'd done.

It felt normal, and it was normal.

As you were wrapping up your last order, there was a natural pause in conversation. He was concentrating hard on his cookies, and it was absolutely adorable.

His hair getting in the way of his eyes, his free hand holding onto his piping wrist to keep it steady, biting the inside of his cheek.

You knew it was the time to bring it up when you had to stop decorating because your hands were shaking too bad just at the thought of having this conversation.

But the doors were locked, and the blinds were drawn on all the windows. You weren't in either of your houses so it was a neutral space. As long as you could make him feel safe, everything should be okay.

"I have a question..." You started, dusting a cookie with edible glitter.

"What's up?" He asked, furrowing his eyebrows when he heard the slightest shake in your voice. But he didn't look up from his cookies, he was too busy filling in his lines.

"You're a smart guy, and given your last job I was wondering if you could give me some advice on something?"

"I mean... I can certainly try."

"So yesterday after you left I turned on the news like Georgia told me to." You started, that alone made his head snap up to look at you. You watched panic fill his body, and you immediately felt bad. But you couldn't rush through it, the situation was too delicate. "It got me thinking about how the feds could even prove that someone failed to report a sighting?"

"Well, if someone makes it known and clear they saw one of them, it travels fast by word of mouth." He answered slowly, and cautiously.

You slowly nodded your head as you thought of what to say next. "So let's say someone saw one of them, but had no intentions of reporting... they could just simply keep that information to themselves and it would be hard to prove?"

"Theoretically, yes." He slowly set the piping bag down as his heart thumped so fast and strong he could hear it pounding in his head. Would you be the one to send him back on foot? "But sometimes it's not that simple. There's security cameras, social media, people speculate..."

"Well I for one would never do that to any of them.... Report them I mean." You stated, and in that moment his eyes met yours. "You mentioned earlier that I looked tired, it's because I stayed up all night researching the accords."

"Why did you do that?" He swallowed the lump in his throat to no prevail.

"Because I saw a picture of Captain America on the news, and I thought I owed it to everyone around me to do the research before I express my opinions. And by the way, he looks just like you." You told him with a warm but empathetic smile as you momentarily looked up from dusting the cookies. "But now I'm certain that keeping the remaining four safe would be worth the risk. I mean... it's not like I know Steve Rogers personally or anything. I just know he has a lot of people who really care about him, and I'm sure they would do anything they could to keep him safe."

He didn't respond for a while, and that was perfectly okay. You knew he needed time to think about what to do for his own wellbeing.

When he did speak up, his voice was sad and broken. "I think that he's probably had a lot of people in his life make similar choices, and it's done nothing but make their own lives more complicated. He would probably advise against it."

"That just goes to show how loved he is, because time and time again he's been worth the fight." You pointed out. "Again, this is all just hypothetical but if he were ever in that situation I'd hope he could feel safe enough to trust that he was in good hands with nothing to worry about."

Once again you were met with silence, and it was still okay. You'd rather him sit quietly with his cookies than bolt out of the door.

He picked his piping bag back up and started working on the cookies once more, while you grabbed your edible marker and started drawing on small and final details on a set of cookies you did a few hours ago.

A few minutes of thick and almost intolerable silence was broken by nothing but the smallest sniffle, and when you looked at his face once more, his big blue eyes were blinking back tears.

You'd never seen an individual more broken than the man in front of you, and though you didn't want to fix him, you certainly wanted to be a support beam in his journey. All things considered, most of his life had been a tragedy that almost every American child studied in history class. The least you could do for him was be a friend.

His tearful eyes never looked up as his nose and cheeks became pink, and his bottom lip quivered.

"Oh, my sweet honey" You pouted, immediately dropping everything in your hands onto your desk and walking over to him without second thought. "You need a hug."

He dropped his piping bag and his elbows met the metal surface of the desk, his head dropping into his hands knowing he was passed the point of emotional stability. The tears that spilled over his cheeks had a no return policy, and at this point into his game of high stakes hide-and-go-seek, he absolutely knew better than to fight them.

"I'm sorry." He cried out as your hands wrapped around him from behind, your head resting in the crook of his neck. "I'm so sorry."

Leaning over the back of the swivel chair to hug him was a bit of an awkward position to be standing in, but you didn't care. All that mattered in that moment was holding him tight and closing your eyes. "Don't you dare apologize."

"When did you figure-"

"Yesterday." You answered his question. "Last night."

"Are you mad at me?" His voice cracked.

His sadness was breaking your heart. "No, honey." You squeezed him tighter for a moment.  "Not at all."

"Are you scared of me?"

You physically had to hold yourself back from chuckling at that question. It seemed silly to even begin to think that the big teddy bear would even hurt a fly, but you understood he probably felt like a monster in this moment. "Not even a little bit"

"I'm so sorry" He apologized again.

"It's okay" You reassured him. "I promise it's okay."

Letting go of him, you took a step back so you could slowly turn his swivel chair so he was facing you. He got the memo and dropped the hands from his face.

You stepped between his legs and gave him a more proper hug this time, lord knew he needed it bad. This time he wrapped his arms around you too, and his hold felt apologetic. But somehow yours did too, and when one of your hands ever so lovingly cradled the back of his head it was as if you were apologizing for how cruel the world had been to him.

He soaked in every moment of your touch, something he desperately lacked since this whole mess started. His emotions were somewhere between relief and moral dilemma.

He could never ask you to put yourself in the position you were currently in. If anyone else found out that you knew, you'd be in massive trouble. He was in massive trouble. He should've been on foot to a whole new country the moment you asked him the question, yet here he was clinging to you and hoping you'd never let go.

His body was begging for any ounce of security it could get, it needed a full night of worry free sleep, it needed a few days of not being anxious, it needed you to hold him tight and remind him it would be okay.

He needed to be selfish, and you were willing to let him be.

"I don't even know why I'm crying, I'm a mess" He admitted sadly.

"You're not a mess, you're exhausted." You rubbed his back and absorbed the moment. "When's the last time you've had any real rest?"

"It's been almost a year." He admitted honestly.

"Is Greenwood the first place you've settled down in since it all happened?" You questioned, he gently nodded. "You know you're safe here? Right?"

His lack of response confirmed a suspicion you've had since last night, he was still on edge even in the quaint little town.

"I'm not." He shook his head.

You let go of the hug and pulled away a bit so you could look him in the eyes. Your hands rested on his shoulders and his on your waist. "Well you're safe with me. No doubt about that, right?"

"Considering it's been almost 24 hours and I'm not in a cell yet, I don't think I have any doubts" He chuckled though his sad tears.

"Trust takes time I know, but if you need anything I'm here for you. Any time of the day, even if you just need me to keep an eye out for your own peace of mind to get some real sleep."

"Do you think you could take down a swat team and the Secretary of State?" He joked as a smile pushed through his burden.

"Mmmmm...no? But I can definitely wake you up and let you take care of it. I'm a pretty good cheerleader." You pondered. "Ooh! Or I could give them all cookies and ask them nicely to leave you alone."

"Well why didn't I think of that before?" Steve let out a genuine laugh.

"Right? Did you even try that first before going into hiding?" You jokingly questioned.

"Not everyone is as smart as you, honey." He joked right back.

"Maybe just keep that in mind next time" You smiled, happy to see even the tiniest bit of relief on his face. "Oh also, this hair and that beard are really working for you."

"Really? That's what you got out of this whole situation?" Steve questioned with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

You happily pat the top of his head before stepping away to go back to your desk, but you almost regretted it the moment cool air hit where his warm hands were once holding you.

"Yeah, was I supposed to get something else out of it?" You asked, cocking your head to the side.

"Maybe not being so trusting of strangers, doing some research on the people you let into your house..."

"I did eventually do the research, you can't really deny that now." You laughed.

"I guess I can't." Steve wiped the last of the tears off his face and picked up his piping bag again.

There was a few more moments of silence that were way more comfortable this time, the atmosphere was no longer thick, and you had one last trick up your sleeve to get your friend to smile.

"... You're still going to come hang out here, right?" You questioned.

"So long as I'm still welcome." He answered, you could hear the hesitation in his voice.

"Of course you are! Now why would you ever not be welcome he- you drive me crazy." You shook your head like a disappointed mom.

Steve puffed out a giggle at your reaction to his reluctance. "Do you understand my ability to lift that stand mixer a little better now?"

"Two men, Steven. I was going to get two men for that job, and even then I had my doubts. Here I was think you were about to pull a muscle in your back."

"I think Michael could've handled that all on his own." Steve shrugged, obviously joking.

"Well since you're not going to flee Greenwood I think I should tell you something..." You started.

"What?"

"Your circles are great, but your straight lines? A liiiiiitle shaky" Your voice went up an octave or two and you pinched your forefinger and thumb together with just a tiny bit of space between them.

He looked up at you, then back down at his cookies, and pouted when he noticed you weee actually right.

"Ugh!" He threw his head back dramatically. "You know what you just did? You just squished my feelings."

"Oh no!" You laughed. "It's just constructive criticism!"

"I do not care. My feelings are squished and there is no way to un-squish them!"

"Relax big buy, you're still a beginner" You took the seat right next to him and you instinctively rolled the chairs as close to each other as you could. You put your hand out asking for his piping bag, so he gave it to you. "Let me show you how it's done."

The remainder of the night, everything went back to normal. You taught him as much as you could the best way you knew how, and he made you laugh.

When the two of you decided to call it a night, both of your keys in hand and ready to head out, you were about to flip off the last light switch before he brought it up once more.

"Thanks again for being so kind to me. I've been having a really hard time since the war and you have been the best escape." He admitted in the comfort of the dark bakery. "Not many people have been so understanding."

"Of course, honey. I always look forward to spending time with you, and I've always got your back whenever you need it." You squeezed the top of his arm. "But I have no idea what your talking about..."

Genuinely confused for a moment, he was quick to remind you. "The Captain America thing"

"Who?" You said again, feigning confusion.

"The civil wa- oooooohhhh" He realized you were playing dumb for the sake of keeping this a secret to the outside world.

You laugh as you pushed through the door and held it open for him. He walked through and closed it.

"I've literally never heard of Captain what's his butt before" You mumbled under your breath as you locked the door.

"That's a better name I think" Steve nodded in agreement.

"You think?! I know!" You played along.

"You know what?" Steve asked.

"I know nothing." You insisted. "Goodnight, what's his butt."

"Goodnight, Honey." Steve smiled sincerely for the first time in a while.

Next part: Absdoughlutely

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[rickydixky]

Officer Friendly • Rick Grimes

a/n • not gonna lie I started to get lightheaded while writing this 😫🩷. Thank you @catt-leya for requesting this ☺️👉🏾👈🏾 ily baby girl 🩷. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think. This one is really short and honestly not my best. Also part 2??????? My DMs are open! I’m also taking requests baby girl 🩷

summary • you finally got out of a verbally abuse relationship and moved states. your shit ex finds you, forcing you to press charges. you meet officer rick and fall deep for him.

warnings • 18+ ONLY, mention of domestic violence, sweet Rick, smut, oral (fem!receiving), chocking, handcuffs, spanking, hickeys, scratching, biting, breeding kink,

wc• 4.8k

You finally moved away from that asshole and now they have found you again. You cling to your phone and look out the window as you see them at your doorstep. You can’t believe this shit. How did they even find me? You shook your head in disgust as you dialed the cops. “FINE BE THAT WAY THEN BITCH!” You heard them yell. It took so much in you not to open that door and just beat their ass. But in reality, you were too frightened by them.

You watched as they walked away from your door and went to their car. You then slid your back onto the living room wall until you felt the floor beneath you. You sat on the living room floor and started to cry. Why couldn’t that bitch leave you alone? You heard their car start and the wheels squeak as they speed away. It was finally over.

You got the courage to get back up and look out the window to make sure they were gone. You grabbed your keys and purse and walked out of the door to your car. This was the final straw. You put the nearest police station's address into your phone and drove there.

You parked and took a deep breath trying your hardest to stay as calm as possible. You repeated heartfelt words to yourself as you got out of the car and walked into the police station.

“Welcome to the King County police station can I please see some identification?” You heard the lady at the reception say. You flashed her a quick smile and gave her your temporary paper ID. “You’re new here ain’t ya?” She said and you quickly nodded followed by a “Yes ma’am.” She gave you a toothy smile and said “Welcome to Georgia sweetie, what are you in here for?” She asked giving you back your ID.

“I wanted to file a restraining order.” You chocked. The lady looked concerned and nodded. “You are at the right place, go ahead and take a seat and I will get with the sheriff’s deputy, here is this paperwork to fill out” She gave you a clipboard and a pen. On the paper, it was an application for a restraining order.

For 15 minutes you filled out the application. Going over every little detail. Even about the event from earlier. “y/n.” You heard a deep southern voice call out. You looked up and you saw a man with curly brown hair, blue eyes, and a gray beard. You awkwardly lifted up your hand and placed a small smile on your face.

You grabbed the clipboard tightly and brought it to your chest, crossing your arms around it. You were obviously nervous and felt frightened to even be there. “Hi y/n, I’m Deputy Rick Grimes,” he said as he brought his hand out to give you a handshake. Instead of shaking his hand you just stare at him. All you would hear was the receptionist typing on her keyboard. Deputy Grimes retreated his hand and calmly says “It is okay, I heard you are going through some trouble. I’m here to help, let’s go into my office to talk bout ya situation.” You nodded and walked into the restricted area of the police station.

He opened his office door and walked in. You instantly sat down in one of the chairs and he sat in his office chair. Without hesitation, you passed him your paperwork and he started to read what you wrote. You saw his eyes read every single line. Almost as if he was studying your words. He got to the end of the paper and sighed out of frustration, tilting his head to the side while clenching his jaw.

“First we have to make sure you are safe in your home. You could have a deputy come by your house and stay with you overnight or you could go to a hotel,” he explained. "Since they have a history of being violent towards you I would recommend you have an officer stay with you for a while just until this paperwork is processed and until the restraining order is in effect." The idea of a cop in your house seemed absurd but you needed the protection especially when this situation has to deal with your abusive ex.

It was silence for a moment and he patiently waited for you to respond. "I promise nothing bad is going to happen to you under our watch. We take these cases extremely seriously," he reassured you. You looked up and nodded. "How long does it usually take to process?" you asked. He flashed you a smile and said "Maximum two weeks, most of the time it doesn't take that long so don't worry." Your mind was scattered as you couldn't believe it came to this. Putting a restraining order on someone you thought loved you.

"I would feel safe if a deputy was at my house while I was there." you finally said. Deputy Grimes nodded and started to go over basic protocol. Telling you all the details of how this situation was going to work.

You left the police station feeling relieved as you know you were going to be in good hands. You were surprised that they took the situation so seriously. You started to think it was only because you were new to the area. You took a deep breath and started your engine. You drove home so you could relax and prepare for the rest of your evening.

___

You heard the doorbell ring as you were washing the dishes. You always did the dishes first before eating just so you could enjoy your food and not do dishes after. All the leftovers were in topper ware and in the fridge. You grabbed a towel and dried off your hands. You rushed to the door and looked through the pep hole and saw what looked to be a person in uniform. You immediately knew it was one of the deputies from the police station. You felt the weight fall off your shoulders as you opened the door and saw Officer Rick Grimes.

"Mr, Grimes, come in please," you said opening the door up even more. "It sure does smell good in here! What did you make?" Rick said in an attempt to make this interaction less awkward. "I made homemade pesto and chicken for dinner but what you are smelling right now is pineapple upside-down cake." You saw his face light up and a toothy smile appear on his face. "And yes you may have some Mr. Grimes, as a token of my gratitude," you said faintly smiling and then looking down to the floor. "Please call me Rick," he said reaching for his deputy hat and taking it off his head.

God, he was so attractive under that hat. His curls were placed beautifully on his head and the light hit his beard highlighting the faint black hairs mixed in with his gray hair. You watched as he looked around at all the decor on your walls. Examining every little detail. The silence was killing you. "You can put your hat here and you can take off your shoes here Mr.Grimes, sorry Rick." you pointed at two spots, the shoe rack and the coat rack.

You watched him as he hung his deputy hat on the coat rack along with his jacket. He then turned around to take off his shoes and put them on the shoe rack. You looked at his body as he did so. Looking at his biceps and the way they flexed along with the veins that ran over his arms. He turned around and you instantly snapped out of your trance. "Let me show you around Rick," you said walking down the hall into the living room.

"We are in the living room, there is the kitchen, and around the corner is the bathroom followed by my office. Upstairs there are just two bedrooms and a bathroom. Feel free to look around the house." you explained and Rick nodded his head. He walked off and you assumed this was a sign that he was looking around and getting familiar with his surroundings.

You went to the kitchen to cut a slice of pineapple upside-down cake for yourself and Rick. You then made your way to the living room, placing the plates on the coffee table. You grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels to find something to watch when you heard the water run in the bathroom. You then heard the bathroom door swing open. Rick's shadow reflected on the wall and then disappeared as he turned off the bathroom light. You then continued to look at the TV trying hard not to make direct eye contact with him when he came around the corner.

"I'm guessing this is for me?" he asked flashing you a cute smile, pointing at a plate and plopping down on the coach. "Yes, sir. I didn't know what you wanted to drink so I just grabbed you some water," you said giving him a toothy grin. "I appreciate that ma'am, I really do," he said in a low voice grabbing his plate.

You watched him from the corner of your eye as he took his first bite. You were surprised when a loud moan came out of his mouth. "Holy shit this is good," he said with a full mouth. All you could do is bust into laughter and Rick followed with a chuckle himself. "Well, it is nice to know someone likes my baking," you said, your smile disappearing. The room was silent except for the chatting on the TV.

You looked down at your plate and Rick instantly knew something was wrong. He read your case and saw the awful things that your ex did to you. He couldn't imagine the shit they did to you that you didn't say. He saw that this was hard on you. He was infuriated that someone would treat you like that.

"I'm sorry that he treated you like that hunny, no person should ever go through what you went through. Trust me if they come back here there is no telling what I would do. There must be fewer people like that in the world," he expressed, his demeanor changing when he talked about harming your ex. He saw you make intense eye contact with him. His heart fluttered at your eyes looking into his.

"Thank you, Rick, I appreciate your kind words," you whispered placing your hand on his. You put a small smile on your face and Rick did the same. "It has been hard on me you know, they were the only person I had a connection with. That's the only reason why I stayed for so long. I was afraid to be alone so I settled for less. Never again." you said as you slowly removed your hand from Rick's.

"They were my first and it was hard for me to let go. The first relationship, first kiss, first date, and the first person I had sex with. There are times when I wish I could just take it all back." you expressed to Rick and a tear came down from your eye. Rick just looked at you in your eyes and listened. He saw a second tear come down and he lifted his hand, wiping away the tears. He cupped your cheek in his hand and you grabbed onto his arm. You closed your eyes and let the tears fall.

"It's okay sweetheart," he whispered. Then moved his head closer, his lips touched your forehead. A jolt of energy went through your body. You never felt like this before, loved and appreciated. Your eyes widened as he withdrew back from you. Your ex never touched you like this it just made you realize how much of a dick head they were.

"Sorry was that too far?" you heard Rick say, throwing you out of your train of thought. "No, no, that's totally fine!" you protested causing Rick to smile at your cuteness. "That really helped me calm down a little bit," you said flashing him a smile. When in reality that made your heart race as you thought about his lips touching yours.

You put your head on his shoulder. And placed your hands in your lap. Rick was smiling from ear to ear. He really liked you but he didn’t want to come off too forced. It took everything in him to not kiss you passionately. But he had to hold himself back. He didn’t want you to think he was taking advantage of you.

You looked at the TV and then glanced at his crouch. You thought about how nice it would be to sit on top of him or even have your head between his legs. You squeezed your legs together as you felt your core swell up. Rick noticed your antsy movements and continued to watch the TV.

Your heart started to race thinking about the things that he could do to you. Why were you feeling like this? Why did he make you feel like this? You just meet him. And your mind was spiraling. You went back in forth with your options. Give in and let him have you or just be professional about the situation. You knew the obvious answer.

He took a deep breath and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you in closer. You leaned into him laying your head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat racing just like yours. You then put your hand on his stomach making him flinch a little. You then giggled and said with a soft tone, “I’m sorry.”

You felt so comfortable. This just felt so right to you. You suddenly put both of your legs across his right leg. He then slid his hand down to your waist, rubbing his thumb across the band of your pink silk shorts. You heard his heart race even more. The tension between the both of you was so high.

You looked up at him and saw that he was trying so hard to focus on the TV. You lifted your hand up from his stomach and placed it under his chin. You both made intense eye contact. You pulled him closer to you and your lips finally meet. You felt your core start to become wet as he rubbed your thigh. Both of your breaths were heavy as you exchanged kisses. Both of them collided countless times. Rick then slowly pulled back looking you into your eyes.

“Are you okay with this, are you sure” Rick questioned you. You simply just nodded and swung your leg around his waist sitting on top of him. You palmed his face and brought him in for another kiss. You both smiled into the kiss. “Yes, I’m sure,” you said against his lips. You both continued to kiss and you slid your tongue into his mouth. Both of your tongues danced causing you to grind against him.

He softly grunted into your mouth, putting his hand on your hips. You could feel his hard dick press against your core sending you over the edge. This felt so naughty especially since he was in his deputy uniform. The idea of him fucking you with his uniform on just turned you on even more. You bit his bottom lip sending him over the edge. He couldn’t hold it in anymore.

He firmly placed his hands on your ass making sure you didn’t fall as he stood up from the couch. You gasped as he effortlessly picked you up. You wrapped both of your legs around his waist. You then giggled as he started to place kisses down your neck. He carried you up the stairs and you pointed him to your room.

He opened the door as he held onto you with one hand. He walked over to your bed and gently laid you down on it. “Are you sure,” he said planting another passionate kiss on your lips. You loved how polite he was towards you. This made your heart flutter and made you fall in love with him even more. “Yes Rick please just touch me,” you begged.

Rick placed kisses all the way down to your belly button. He curled his fingers around the band of your shorts. He slowly pulled them down and was surprised that you weren’t wearing underwear. A string of your juices was attached to your shorts as he pulled them off. He then threw them across the room. You whimpered as you felt him place kisses on your inner thigh.

“You look so beautiful baby,” he whispered against your thigh. Causing you to moan at his words. You felt his hand slide inside your inner thigh. Finally making contact with your wet pussy. You gasped as he ran his fingers through your precious little pussy. He then started to run circles on your clit. You moaned at the sudden sensation.

“Let me please you, sweetheart,” he said kissing your core. “Please,” you breathed gripping your covers. You felt his tongue replace his fingers as he licked circles on your clit. You moaned loudly as you have never felt anything like this. Your eyes rolled back in your head as he continued to pick up the pace. This made you shake uncontrollably at the sensation. You then felt his index finger slide against your entrance. A small whimper came from you as he continued to tease your swollen pussy.

He finally pushed his finger into you. Making you gasp for air. He then wrapped his lips around your clit and started to suck while sliding his finger in and out of you. “Shit!” You moaned as you ran your fingers through his hair while your other hand gripped tight onto the sheets. He then slid another finger into you sending you over the edge. He stopped sucking and went back to rubbing circles on your clit.

You were so sensitive as you felt yourself reach your high. He again picked up the pace making you arch your back. He moaned into your pussy as you gripped his hair tightly. He knew you were close and you didn’t even have to say it. He felt your walls grip around his fingers as he started to suck on your clit once again.

Your legs started to shake uncontrollably as you felt an orgasm coming. He slowly pulled his fingers out of you and separated your thighs further. And at that moment you felt the knot in your stomach pop. A loud moan escaped your lips as you came. But he didn’t stop he continued to lick your clit. “Rick oh my god!” You screamed tugging on his hair.

You sat up and looked down and looked at the sight of Rick's face deep in your pussy. He slowly pulled away and looked up at you. His face and mouth were soaked and your juices were dripping from his beard. The sight was so beautiful you couldn’t help but stare at him. A smile formed on his face as he licked his lips. “You taste so good baby,” he cooed making you blush.

“Are you okay baby?” He asked you. “Holy shit I am now.” You breathed out letting out a soft giggle. “But now I want more of you.” You said pulling off your top. His eyes widened at your words. The thought of his dick deep in your pussy just excited him. He wasted no time and unbuttoned his shit. You watched him as he stripped for you. The moon hit beautifully on his skin as he stood in front of you shirtless. He reached to unbuckle his belt and unbuttoned his pants. He wrapped his fingers around his waistband and dropped his pants and underwear to the ground.

You saw how big he was and instantly breathed “Oh god.” Rick then got on top of you and started to kiss your neck. He then whispered in your ear, “Don’t worry I will go slow for you.” You grabbed his face and passionately kissed him. This kiss was slower than the other and more meaningful. “Are you ready?” He asked between the kiss. You slowly nodded rubbing your hand along his cheek.

Rick took his hand and guided it toward your entrance. He rubbed his tip across your soaking pussy making you whimper once again. He slowly pushed his tip into your pussy and you gasped at the sudden feeling. He slowly pushed in some more causing you to hold onto his bicep tightly. Your nails softly dig into them.

He then finally pushed all the way in allowing his tip to kiss your cervix. You both moaned at the feeling of Rick deep in you. You were trying to adjust to his size and he was trying to adjust to your grip. Rick took a deep breath and planted another kiss on your lips.

“Wow you are so tight,” he whispered in your ear. “Just for you,” you breathed out. Rick let out a slight moan at your words. That shit just drove him crazy and you noticed. "I'm all yours Rick," you said into his ear. You then wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer to you. "I'm yours y/n," he said attaching his lips to your neck and sucking.

He slowly pulled out and slowly pushed back into you. You both moaned at the sudden sensation. You reached for his back softly clawing at his skin. He kept thrusting into you at a slow pace making sure he wasn't hurting you. It was so nice for someone to be gentle with you and please you. You absolutely loved how Rick whispered sweet compliments on your neck.

You moved one of your hands to his head, running your fingers through his hair. "Rick faster please, I'm ready," you begged. He then started to pick up the pace. You moaned in pleasure and dug marks on his back. Rick let his lips press against yours, moaning into the kiss. He slowly lifted up putting his hands on under your thigh. He then pushed them up closer to your chest.

You looked back at him and nodded your head in agreement. And with one swift movement, he slammed into you. He hit your g-spot sending you into a trance. He started thrusting roughly in and out of you. You couldn't even moan your mouth was just left wide open. Rick on the open hand had his head thrown back as he started to moan loudly followed by sweet compliments, "Y/n, you are so beautiful. You feel so good. I don't want to stop." You moaned in response to his words as he filled you with pleasure, "Rick. Baby. Harder."

He then looked back down at you "Fuck." he breathed. He was hesitant but he wanted to give you what you wanted. With one swift movement, he held you close to him with his left arm around your waist and anchored both of you with his right arm on the bed. You then wrapped your arms around his neck. He then started to thrust in you at an ungodly pace.

"Yes! Just like that baby!" you screamed as he hit your g-spot with every thrust. Your pussy clenched around his dick causing Rick to grunt loudly. "Shit, you want it right there baby," he said in a breathy tone as he watched your eyes roll back in your head.

The room was filled with moans and the sound of the bed violently creaking. Rick put his head in the nock of your neck trying so hard not to cum. He wanted to please you for as long as possible. Giving you what you deserve.

You could tell Rick was getting tired by the sloppiness of his thrust. “Let me turn around, please. I want to get on my hands and knees” you moaned in his ear. He then slowly pulled out and kissed you once again. Your tongues danced in each other's mouths while his hand trailed to your nipple. Slowly flicking it, sending an overstimulating sensation to your core.

You turned around and Rick looked down. He saw your pretty ass in the air which caused him to smack it. I little whimper came out of your mouth as you wiggled your ass in excitement. He then looked at his dick and saw your cream all over his dick. He wanted there to be more on it.

He rubbed your ass and lined up his dick with your entrance. He slowly pushed in your soaking wet pussy. “Fuck! Rick!” You screamed as this position reached your g-spot better. Before he could thrust in and out of you, you started to move back and forth on his dick. He was staying still and watching you slide on his dick.

He laid his hands on your ass and watched how your pussy was wrapped around his dick. “Holy shit baby,” he breathed throwing his head back. He was enjoying every second of this. He absolutely felt like he was in heaven when he was inside you.

He looked back down and saw that his handcuffs were still attached to his belt. He quickly reached down to the floor as you continued to move up and down. He looked back at you and grabbed one of your arms. He then cuffed one of your wrists. You gasped at the sudden metal that touched your skin. He then grabbed your other arm and cuffed the other wrist. This forced your chest to be pressed against the bed along with the side of your face.

You whimpered as you continued to move up and down on his dick, knowing exactly what was going to happen next. He then grabbed onto your waist making you come to a halt. You felt his hand trail from your lower back to your shoulder. With one movement he grabbed onto the cuffs and your shoulder, pulling you up against his chest.

He then wrapped his hand around your throat. “You’re under arrest sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear. “What’s my punishment officer?” You whimpered. “Me filling you up with cum all the way to the brim.” He whispered letting go of your neck and the cuffs. This caused your chest to make contact with this bed again. “Fuck and cum in me officer.” You moaned.

Without hesitation, Rick started to thrust fast and steady into your core. This causes you to form a fist with your hands and Rick saw. You gripped around his dick as you felt him slide in and out of you. You felt your juices running down your thigh as he moaned your name. He was trusting in you so hard that the headboard attached to the bed started to knock against the wall, making a loud thud.

He was hitting your sweet spot causing your toes to curl and your back to arch. You couldn’t believe this was happening. That Rick was balls deep into you giving you the love and affection you needed. “Spank me please,” you begged and Rick behaved. You heard a loud slap and a heat form on your ass. You moaned loudly as the contact sent a wave through your body.

“Ri-Rick,” you moaned as he continued to slap your ass multiple times while thrusting into you aggressively. He then pulled you up near his chest once again by the handcuffs still pumping at a steady pace. He reached his hand around your waist and his fingers made contact with your clit. He rubbed circles on your clit sending you into a spiral.

You were so close and Rick could tell by the way your pussy clenched around him. He was close himself and your grip around him didn’t make it any better. Your legs started to get weak as you felt a knot in your stomach. “Cum for me baby,” you heard Rick demand. You obeyed and were finally released. Your legs shook as you felt Rick fill you up with cum. Loud moans filled the air followed by heavy breathing.

Rick pulled out and stared at your pussy waiting for cum to spill out of you. Just as he wanted cum dripped out of your pussy and started to run down your thigh. Rick smacked your ass one more time causing you to moan his name once again. Your ass had his handprint all over it.

He turned you around and placed kisses all over you. He laid next to you and moved your hair out of your face. He flashed you a smile and asked “Are you okay? Did I go too hard?” You giggled and placed a passionate kiss on his lips. “No it was perfect,” you responded. You put your head on his chest and rubbed his beard.

“Oh shit I have to put the cake up!” You yelled and instantly got up placing a kiss on his lips. He sighed and a cute smile formed on his face as he heard you run down the stairs.