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grabby-smitten · 8 months ago

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Concrete Jungle: King of the beasts

Summary: Buying a hybrid was not what you had in mind when you asked for independence. Sylus didn’t like humans but his owner was the exception.

Subjects: Albino lion Hybrid!Sylus x F!Reader

Word count: 4.1k+

Content Warnings: Hybrid AU, smut, owner reader, kissing, cunnilingus, P in V, breeding, cnc if u squint really hard, biting, textured tongue. Use of words like predator/prey, cunt, pussy, kitten. Not edited and no beta.

A.N: I learned that big cats can’t purr and I was so disappointed. Oh, well….ah! I might do one for each li. k bye 💋

“Are you sure, I need one?” You’ve asked your parents that question for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, a hybrid is a good caretaker and it would make us feel better knowing one is protecting you.” Your father answered with a tired smile, understanding your uneasiness but they weren’t going to change their mind.

Moving out and finally becoming independent was just one step away from happening. Your parents were against it at first. Coming from money means someone will always be after your trail, danger and they had overprotected you, their only daughter since… well, even before you were born. They weren’t able to have natural children so you were conceived through artificial methods. Which, according to your parents, was a whole ordeal and suffering. Details that you rather not know.

It was time, though, to deep your toes into a world of your own. You wanted freedom for once. No dozens of bodyguards, no tracking devices and no fear of the unknown.

The part of convincing your parents was hard. No, after no, after no. Until, the head of security, taking pity on you, suggested buying a hybrid for you. Not just any hybrid; one specially made to protect and serve.

Now it was your turn to profoundly refuse. Everyone had one and those who didn’t, desired one… like some kind of accessory. It sickened you and besides, you didn’t want another responsibility. You wanted your own life! Not taking care of some… dog? Cat? Fish?

In the end, you had no other choice but to agree and here you were, in some facility. Breeding facility? Training? You didn’t care enough to pay attention, honestly.

Walking behind your parents in an all-white hall, smelling like antiseptic and gagging at the chemical sensation in your throat, you started to notice how the white walls began to turn into cages. Placards hung in the walls near the tinted glass and steel bars of the cages with descriptions of the… hybrids?

Looking up from the labels, you finally realized you no longer were alone. Each cell was occupied by humanoid-shaped shadows. The tint of the reinforced glass obstructed your vision but it was clear they were there.

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize a couple of strangers had joined your family. Paying a bit more attention to their chatter, you concluded they were doctors or scientists from this facility. They were explaining something about their products and that it was the best the market could offer. You frowned at their words. It was like you were buying a car… they even explained the insurance policy.

“And this specimen, right here, is our finest hybrid!” One of the men talking to your parents loudly explained.

You stepped closer to the placard and read the few words it contained. ‘Albino Lion Hybrid (Panthera leo Hybrid, large cat family Felidae). Apex predator (no natural enemy known). Renowned king of the beasts. More active at night. Preferable habitats: grassland, dense scrub, savanna, and open woodland. Nomadic male.’

Your eyes widened once your brain processed the information. This was no guard dog or house cat. Before you could utter a complaint about how obnoxious this all was, the tinted glass cleared and you were looking straight into a pair of scarlet eyes.

Sylus almost laughed at the face of the female standing outside his cell. The little mouse seemed in shock to see him there. What was she expecting? Where else would he be? If not caged and on display here— absurd, he thought. All humans that came here, came for one thing and one thing only; to purchase a wild species, a unique breed to flaunt to their peers. Sylus continuously thought about how weird these humans behaved in society. Their hierarchy dynamics were messed up and he despised that.

You felt his eyes mocking you, such deep red and the only thing you could feel was irritation. Frowning, you turned your head and left him. See how he likes grouching on his own.

Once you were a few steps away, the scientists or doctors stared at the red-eyed big cat hybrid with wonder and… respect? This place was bonkers, you thought to yourself.

“So this is the one?” Your mother asked and marveled at the sight of the lion hybrid. White-silver hair, large, powerful presence, and sharp features.

“Yes, ma’am. Our best subject. Well trained in all the aspects you requested and fairly knowledgeable which is hard to come by with these beats.”

Hearing all that gave you stomach reflux, the acidity burning your esophagus. Your dam was about to break and all your pent-up feelings would end up costing you your freedom if it wasn’t for the red-eyed hybrid. He knocked on the glass and you jumped, startled. You were surprised, he even beckoned you with a finger and again, surprised now with yourself, you automatically obeyed.

It was like a trance. A hypnotic daze of sorts. Both met face to face once again, only separated by the reinforced glass. For a moment you were distracted, the outburst you were about to have laid dormant in the back of your head.

What is this…? Sylus couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity. That’s why he was so close to the glass earlier too. He couldn’t see the other side a while ago but something was pulling him there. The whole day he felt restless and on guard as if something resonated within him.

Could this be—

“Ah! Marvelous! Look! They are already interested in each other! Sylus is not showing any signs of hostility or repulsion…” a different scientist exclaimed with eagerness, interrupting whatever connection you had with Sylus at that moment.

Not many words were needed to convince your parents after that show you and Sylus put up. Papers were signed, money transferred and a very confused Sylus was sedated and prepared for shipment.

The big city. Polluted air, noisy streets twenty-four hours a day, and hybrids everywhere. Most people carried one; a human with some animal characteristics, and now you were one of them too. Sylus was scheduled to arrive in a few minutes. All the things you would need to care for him were already in your apartment and even his paperwork. Name, birth, permits and you; listed as his owner.

The melodic tune of your ring bell announced the dreaded moment. You knew Sylus would be escorted here and that most of the traveling time he would have been sedated, but still the long distance between your new home and the facility he was kept in was almost six hours away. You feared a big grumpy cat.

Oh boy… grumpy was an understatement. He didn’t look happy. The moment he stepped foot in and all the straps holding him were taken off, he waited for the delivery people to disappear and he pounced. Surprisingly not on you. He went through all your stuff. According to the guide you received he was scenting. He went through your whole house; rubbing, scratching and overall making a mess.

“Stop! Hey, hmm… Sylus? You don’t have to scent my clothes.” You tried talking to him but he was not interested in your opinion, apparently. He just glanced at you and kept doing whatever he was doing before, like you were the one, not understanding. You had to snatch your underwear from his closed fist in a panic.

He went nonverbal for a week. A week! You were going insane. Yes, he obeyed. Yes, he was extremely independent and didn’t cause any more commotion besides the panty situation on the first day. But God… he was extremely quiet. It wasn’t until you commanded him to that you realized you should have read the manual until the last page; not only the summary.

“Sylus! Say something!” You demanded; going insane was not in your plans for the foreseeable future. They never told you he was mute or anything of that nature.

“Is there anything you need from me, my lady?” His deep and slow voice had your heart leaping out from your chest.

You just stood there, gaping and looking at him like you couldn’t believe he was able to make a sound. Yeah, not even his steps produced sounds. Sylus examined his human with a gleam of humor in his sapphire eyes. This face was a common one for her and he found it… almost endearing. It reminded him of the first time you two met.

“You can talk…” you whispered low and saw how his fluffy round, and white ears twitched. “You can talk!” Again, you exclaimed, pointing a finger at him in disbelief. “Why haven’t you said anything before?!”

“I wasn’t allowed to,” he calmly explained. That mischievous twinkle in his eyes never left, “my owner never requested me to do so until now.”

And that’s how you spend almost three days reading the darn manuals with a now very talkative feline.

You found that Sylus was more than just a pet. He could cook, clean and even force you to exercise which ended up backfiring. You couldn’t keep up with his supposedly healthy routine. A healthy lifestyle means a happy owner, and you would curse under your breath every time he repeated it.

In general, you were happy, he seemed happy and living with him was easier than you thought. Quickly, you two began to build a bond and it was a matter of time before he began to realize why it had been so easy to adapt to this human. His human which is how he referred to you.

Following the manual, you always made sure to have everything Sylus would need. Even his heats. At first, you tried to get him a heat partner and it was a mess. More like you were a mess. Even Sylus was surprised at how you ended up kicking out the poor rental gazelle hybrid in less than five minutes. You didn’t understand what took over you to be so… overprotective.

Oh, but Sylus was not complaining. Watching you almost declare war in his name gave him a deep satisfaction. So much so that he accepted to take suppressants for the time being.

After that incident, things began to change drastically. Sylus in return became a bit more aggressive towards any living creature that was in less than a mile radius of you. Growling, pushing, and even wrapping you with his tail and pulling you towards his body anytime he felt you were in danger. Yeah, you were in so much danger from the tube man… that air dancing balloon from the car wash a couple of blocks away.

“It can be that bad…” you took hold of his arm around your waist in a reassuring manner.

He’s been walking with you in his hold since you crossed paths with the inflatable dancing man.

“It has erratic movements. You never know what he might do next.”

Yeah, it was a recurring situation.

Yeah, he was prepared for everything and anything. Well, except one morning when his nose woke him up.

A sweet intoxicating scent traveled through his nostrils and shook him awake. He felt his mouth water, his canines aching, and his eyes turning into thin lines. The predator in him had been disturbed and its awakening meant trouble.

In all his years in captivity, he had never felt such hunger. Something was clawing in his chest, desperate to come out, each intake of air was pulling his sanity deeper and deeper while the monster surfaced.

Like any good hunter, he let his nose guide him through the house. Following such an intoxicating aroma took him to your door. There he stood—elaborated breathing, sharp fingers encrusted on his palms searching for restrain. You were inside; sleeping soundly in the early hours of the morning. He could hear your soft breathing mixing with his wildly beating heart. Knowing you weren’t aware of the predator outside your door sent a jolt of excitement through his body. Easy prey.

Was it you? Were you the one producing such… inebriant aroma? Why?

He took the handle with a death grip, his rational side fighting against instinct. He felt the urge to hunt, pursue, chase… this… this aroma and make it his own. With an internal battle raging inside him, Sylus felt the door weighed heavy on his palm, the handle burned, but he still stepped in.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, it made no difference to him that you slept in complete darkness; his ruby-red eyes could see just fine. Then, his gaze focused on your sleeping form, little movement from your steady breathing and you had no idea that a hungry predator stood at the foot of your bed.

But Sylus didn’t move, didn’t pounce on you like he wanted. Torn between instinct and duty, he was frozen in place, sweating and overwhelmed with indecision. Your scent was clouding his every sense, making it even more difficult to do the right thing. It was like time had stopped and the only thing on his mind was the palpitations in his groin for even letting his skin touch the hair surrounding you.

What was the right thing? He asked himself. Neck—cracking as his body suddenly shuddered in pain, Sylus was holding himself back by a fine thread.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. You were not like his kind who would accept mating just because of a sudden heat. You were human and he had that fact ingrained into his mind. With a whimper of pain and trepidation, Sylus walked over to the side of your bed; every step was excruciating for the hybrid. Once he reached the edge, he did like every other night shared with you. Sylus, silently whining, laid beside you and wrapped his arms tightly, but this time he kept a generous distance between his hips and your back.

He was not a mindless beast. Not to you.

“Sylus… I can’t breathe…” you don’t know when, you don’t know how, but Sylus always ended up sleeping on top of you like a weighted blanket. “Sylus!”

“You don’t wanna know what I did to the last person who woke me up.” Each word came with a little slur at the end, he was barely waking up. No a second goes by and you felt his spiked tongue grooming the nape of your neck and soft growls shaking your whole body.

“Someone’s happy today, hmmm?” You asked in a short breath, reaching for his round and fluffy ear. As you scratched, you heard the deep grumbles of satisfaction increasing.

“Smells good…”

You felt him sniffing all over your chest, deeply inhaling, moving his head downwards. Sylus pulled your covers in a hasty manner and kept descending. Your eyes widened as you realized where he was going and your feet quickly stopped him; placing them on his shoulder and chest.

“Sy-Sylus! S-stop!” Your hands joined your legs and feet, placing your palms on his mouth and the rest of his face. “What do you—“

You stopped mid question as you felt a bit of moisture in between your legs. In a panic, your mind counted the weeks since you moved in and you have forgotten to make an appointment for your birth control replacement… which meant you must be ovulating. How could you forget? It’s been weeks! With everything happening after moving, getting Sylus and adapting to the new city. You had completely forgotten…

A muffled sound came from behind your palm and then a rough tongue pushed against your skin. You slowly retracted your arm, looking at him with apologetic eyes. It was your fault, after all.

“I was saying that you seem to be in need of assistance,” he uttered, arching an eyebrow at your saddened face.

His heavy body was pressing against the sole of your feet, your legs kept him at bay and it surprised you how… physically insistent he was being.

“What do you mean?” You quickly replied, feigning ignorance and he seemed to know your every trick because his first reaction was to give you one of those salacious smiles of his.

“You can’t exactly lie to my nose, kitten.” He almost growled every word, sending shivers through your body. “You’re fertile.”

Before you could even utter a word to contradict his truth, his hands brushed the back of your raised legs for then his fingers gently tapped your skin. You let out a squeak of surprise and swiftly moved your legs, thus giving him an opportunity to nestle in between your thighs.

“If you’re making fun of me, it’s not funny,” you rebuked, but even as you said that the pressure and sudden ache in your lower regions began to increase with the proximity and weight of Sylus.

“I’m not.” He chuckled and it reverberated down your tummy, sending deep palpitations through your core, “you didn’t read the whole manual yet, now did you?” His finger gently tugged your chin, making you stare right into his crimson orbs.

“No…” you sheepishly mumbled, embarrassed of being found again and your lack of knowledge about some stuff still in the encyclopedia-like book you were given.

“Give me the order and I will deliver, Kitten.” He whispered, eyes calling for your surrender. Sylus was pushing the right buttons by being so close, touching you, and having you cornered right where he wanted you.

“You mean…” voicing your hesitation didn’t deter him from destroying your inhibitions, brick by brick. His eyes were hypnotizing, he would give you anything you wanted and you knew you would be safe, right?

He had you caged between his body and the bed, your mind going a mile per second and your heart racing just as fast. No, he wasn’t moving an inch more and you knew he wouldn’t unless you said so.

“Okay…” you sighed finally removing a burden from your shoulders, “h-help me.” You wanted him to alleviate your aching.

“As you wish, Kitten.”

Not soon had those words left his lips, he was on you. You felt the heaviness of the impact of his lips on you. He had seemed calm while talking but his actions spoke differently. Sylus’ kiss was demanding, fiery even. His tongue took no time to slip in between your abused lips, delivering tentative licks to yours; as if tasting and enjoying you.

He kept his low throaty snarls flowing over your body, crushing you against the sheets. You could taste him too, wild, intense, so Sylus. Two bodies lay in the bed, limbs intertwined. Sylus hands traveled up your body, fingers gripping at anything he could find, your moans being greedily swallowed.

His tail kept a steady thumping behind him, lulling you deeper into his embrace. You would let him do anything, be anything if it meant this fire ignited in your chest would never cease to exist.

Sylus grasped the back of your head, fisting strands of your hair for him to pull back and expose your neck to his aching teeth. He felt euphoria ran through his veins as soon as his pearl whites connected with your tender skin. A growl and the stinging stab on your neck made you gasp, hands gripping his collar to bring him even closer as if that was possible.

In a hurry, his other hand began to tear away your pajamas as his teeth continued to gnaw almost painfully at your throat.

In a blink of an eye, you were lifted and bent. Your face harshly met the warmth of pillows. Gone were your clothes. In what moment exactly? You don’t recall and you didn’t really care at that moment.

“I knew it– fuck– the moment I saw you, I knew it.” Sylus rasped out, breath suddenly hitting your nude backside. “This was mine before you even knew it.”

He suddenly lifted your hips, exposing your dripping core to his crimson gaze. You whimpered as the cold hair hit you, hands gripping the bedsheets, and that’s all you could see. Your own fist and abundant white.

“Sy-Sylus!” You shrieked.

Your exposed pussy was invaded by his mouth, and a low vibrating sound joined. His bumpy tongue lapped eagerly, the texture making you mewl and tremble as you unconsciously tried to pull away. Now the chuffing sound changed to a growl of displeasure, his hands quickly moved to your lower tummy and pressed you back against his awaiting lips.

A mess, a wet and sloppy mess. That’s what Sylus was, still holding your body against his face. He couldn’t care less about anything other than your flavor and sounds overtaking his entire being. He slurped, nipped and spit back in just to repeat it all over again.

It took no time to have you trashing and shaking on his grip, cuming on his face, the chuffing sounds intensifying with your moaning.

Skin on skin, no clothes separating him from you, you didn’t register when he freed his body of them. Too lost to care, too much at once to have a sense of anything other than Sylus.

“You take me so well… My kitten—made for me…” he growled as he slipped every inch of him. Your warm walls protested at the intrusion as he mounted you.

Pinning you down, chest pressed against your back and your face shoved into your drool-stained pillows.

“If you keep struggling, kitten… I– fuck, fuck– you’re making it really hard to hold back” he groaned as his eyes zoomed in on your head trashing and shaking. The predator in him just looming around the corner, his female ready for the taking.

“It’s too big!” Your scream was muffled by the pillow. As your wailing reached his ears, his cock throbbed and released a few ropes of white.

“You’re being so good, kitten. Just a… bit longer…” Sylus sighed with pleasure as the creaminess made it easier to thrust into you. Incessantly, hitting that spongy spot, making you cry out as you felt more burning cum filling you up. Both breathless, both panting and an arrange of noises filled the room.

“I feel so full! Sylus! I can’t!” Tears streamed down your face at how bloated you felt, but he kept pushing and bursting inside you. One after the other; face down you had no other option but to take it.

“Not full enough— you need more…” hips slamming into you, the squelching sound of your insides consuming the silence— him bottoming out again and again. “My cunt… will only have my cubs…”

You’re not sure how long it was, you were in and out. Lost a daze, being shoved, pressed and pounded mercilessly… Sylus voice swirled through your mushy brain— satisfaction, and ecstasy running wild through both of your bodies.

Blinking once, twice. You felt heavy and your foggy vision wasn’t helping. You still felt the aftermath of it all. Legs sporadically spamming, lower tummy so heavy and sore.

“You… came so much…” you whispered in between breaths. His cum was dripping from your tender hole, rapidly pooling on the bed. “Why?”

He shrugged, as he caressed your cheek.

“A lion’s thing,” he mumbled softly, pulling you closer and gently holding you.

The rest of the day you were spent. Too exhausted to do anything else. Sylus bathed you, changed the bedding, brought you drinks and food, and gave you the darn manual to finish it for once.

“Sylus!” You slapped his naked chest with indignation. “Here,” you pointed to an article you highlighted, “it says that lion hybrids can copulate for two to three days? Two hundred times in succession? Are you insane?” That explains a lot.

“I am just waiting for you to rest, humans are more delicate than I thought. We’re not moving from this room.” He deadpanned.

Your expression fell as his eyes seemed to show how serious he was being.

“I read that lionesses bite the male’s ballsack when they are upset or something,” you grinned wickedly. “I will do that if you don’t behave!”

“I wouldn’t oppose, sweetie.” He goaded. Your smile slowly faded as your threat was not working as planned. “So… I see you are feeling more… energetic.”

You threw a pillow at him before he pounced on you.

Ah, yes… a gentle protector a trusted guardian, but a beast on the sheets.

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pencil-n-pen · 5 months ago

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I WANT AN INNOCENT LOVE

.☘︎ ݁˖

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alexandria! rick grimes x fawn! fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

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

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

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

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

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

title taken from Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers

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₊ ⊹❀

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

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

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

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

If he could just convince you to get close enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. “Sure am.”

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

“Are you currently accepting new members?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hums. “You killed anybody?”

“Walkers or live?”

“Either.��

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

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

“And the living?”

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

Shame. Fear.

“Twice.”

“How come?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

And he’ll stop thinking about you.

—

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

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

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

He snags Daryl’s arm as he passes by.

“Wha—“

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

Daryl follows his eyeline, finding you easy enough.

“Mm. She ain’t settlin’?”

“No.”

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

“So?”

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

Rick huffs. “She’s afraid of me.”

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

Rick doesn’t respond, just keeps watching you.

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

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

“That is not what this is about.”

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

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

“But ya ain’t.”

“That isn’t the point.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

—

You’ve gone missing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She wrong?”

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

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

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

As in, outside of them.

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

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

You won’t meet his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn.

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

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

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

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

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

“Scavenging.”

“Seriously?”

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

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

“A body.”

Your response hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

“…Family or friend?”

“Friend. Haven’t found her yet.”

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

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

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

You sag a bit into him. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

Huh.

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“The fawn.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The fawn?”

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

“Daryl.”

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

“I can’t just— she’s half my age.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I got kids to think about, and—“

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

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

Something occurs to him.

“She ever get close to you?”

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

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

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

“Why fawn?”

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

“No she doesn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Very different, his mind supplies. You know that.

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

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

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

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

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

Fawn, he thinks to himself.

Fitting.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except Rick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Daryl.”

“Now, that ain’t no good.”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

It’s cute. Real cute.

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

“Would you practice with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

The move being a quiet: “Hi, Rick.”

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

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

He chuckles. “Afternoon, darlin’.”

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

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

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

“Oh? Let’s see it, then.”

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

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

And it’s pink.

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

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

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

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

“Um. How was your day?”

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

“That’s… good?”

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

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

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

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

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

“No. It’s fine.”

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

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

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

You hang there a little, arms dangling.

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

“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

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

“…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. So that’s what it’s all about.

His approval, once again.

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

“What are you gonna do?”

“Take it easy.”

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

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

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

His good girl.

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

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

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

I can get used to this.

—

It becomes a little thing, after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then one day, he does. Kind of.

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

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

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

“Wha—“

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

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

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

“Alright, come here now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Once you’ve calmed down enough, he speaks.

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

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

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

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

You shake your head.

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

You take in a few shaky, shuddering breaths.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A camera. A working film camera.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s my girl, he thinks.

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

Oh, your poor little brain.

“You need a minute?” He snorts.

“Maybe?”

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

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

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

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

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

“S’ not what I meant.” You mumble.

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

You look away, unable to meet his eyes.

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

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

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

“…afe.”

He leans down. “What was that, now?”

“You’re safe.”

Oh.

That’s… not the answer he was expecting.

But he likes it.

Rick is a leader. A protector.

And you need him.

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

Feeling bolder at his interest, you nod.

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

Yes.

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

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

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

“Pretty little thing like you needs protectin’.”

You frown.

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

You lean closer, and he follows, heat rising—

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

He grins, nose brushing yours, then steps back.

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

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

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

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

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

His little fawn, finally his.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

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darkbluekies · 1 month ago

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Edmund coming home to a darling who keeps having "nightmares" but one day he sees a bruise and finds out the maids have been hurting her, causing her to cry

"Name"

Yandere!king oc x fem!reader

Summary: Edmund realises that the maids have been bullying you behind his back ... and he's furious.

Warnings: bruises, bullying, threats of harm and murder, jealousy, darling feels responsible/guilty for their deaths, guilt, mention of murder, possessiveness

Word count: 1.8k

He’s had to work night multiple weeks in a row, leaving you alone in the bed chamber for hours before he joins you, often in the transition between night and the cold hours of the morning. It had been fine in the beginning. Dare you admit you even found it a bit therapeutic? Being alone for once, without him, where else he’s breathing down your neck like some kind of puppy.

But then it had shifted. The maids who usually patrolled the corridors started sneaking in when it was clear that Edmund wouldn’t come. At first they talked to you about mindless things that seemed harmless, but you could feel something in the air. That feeling, the one where you know the second you part ways, they’ll start talking. Laughing. Mocking. They always asked you about your background, made comments about your clothes and jewelry. Never any direct critiques, but not any compliments either. A grey zone that made your stomach uneasy.

The talking didn’t last long. In a matter of a few days, it shifted. Evolved to something worse. Darker. They have started to mock you to your face when no one else hears, and hit you when you cry. You don’t dare say anything back, just take it … knowing very well what will happen with them if Edmund gets to hear you shout. So every night you bite your lips shut and take it.

A part of you screams that you should tell Edmund. Let them die, let them see you’re not someone one can mess with and get away with … if only if it wasn’t for the fact that they will die. Edmund’s not a half-assed guy. His love is never a “I would kill for you”-mantra. He has, and will undoubtedly, kill for you again. Over and over. He’d kill anyone you point at, if you wanted to. And oh, how it makes you feel dirty. You’re not the one pulling the trigger or swinging the sword, but you’re the commander. The reason why. In some capacity, you would be a murderer.

It doesn’t matter how much you hate these women. Death—murder—is never a justified punishment. Not for jealousy. They deserve to be removed and possibly punished, but not killed. Never killed. Their deaths will wreck the lives of innocents who have nothing to do with their behaviour. And you will be blamed.

You look down at your arms. The darkness hides the marks, but you feel them like bleeding, salt infected wounds. Edmund hasn't noticed. When he comes to bed it's dark enough to hide them. In daylight they're hidden under your extravagant dresses, thanks to Edmund's modesty rules.

Maybe you want him to notice. Maybe you want a reason to tell, to get comforted and reassured that their words aren't true. To have someone on your side. Maybe you want him to never find them.

You sob, pulling the covers closer to your body. They've left for the night. You should lay down and try to sleep, or at least pretend to. But you're unable to. Your body refuses to move from its sitting position. If you lay down and they come back you're powerless. Three against one. One laying down. Easy to overpower.

You're not sure what you're most scared of them doing to you. Cut your hair to the scalp? Touch your features and make you unrecognizable? Too ugly to be attractive to him? They've threatened it one time— “what if we just decide to break your nose? Your jaw? Who'll love you then, your majesty? You'll be thrown to the slums, like everyone else. You're not untouchable just because he finds you pretty. That ‘prettiness’ can easily be taken from you.”

Or are you more afraid of them killing you? They've gotten worse over the days. A quick slippery slope down to madness wouldn't be impossible. They could easily pin you down and slit your throat, stab you.

You’re too in your own head to hear the door opening.

“You’re still awake?”

Edmund’s voice rips you out of your thoughts. You gasp, breath getting caught in your throat. Your hands are about to move up to your cheeks to wipe your tears, but you know he’ll catch that. Instead you turn your head away slightly, hoping the darkness will hide the tears streaks. His footsteps seem to echo behind him.

“My jewel, you’re supposed to be asleep by now”, Edmund says and you feel the bed shift as he sits down. “Having trouble sleeping?”

You nod without looking at him. It has the opposite effect you wish for.

“Why aren’t you looking at me?”

His fingers touch your cheek, turning your head to him. You’re unable to stop it. You meet his eyes, those ice blue ones that seem to glow in the dark, and feel yourself crumble under his gaze. Your eyes fill, once again, with new tears. Edmund’s jaw clenches and he quickly moves closer.

“What is it?” he asks, voice tight. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You shake your head, lowering your chin. Edmund’s eyes start to wander, desperately looking for clues. His eyes stop at a particularly dark spot on your shoulder, just below the neck line of the flowy night gown. His fingertips touch it gently, as if trying to see if it’s real, and you flinch away before you can react.

“Y/N …”, Edmund breathes out. “What the hell? Don’t tell me that’s what I think it is.”

When you don’t answer, he shifts closer. Close enough for you to feel his breath on your skin as he brings a small, electrical lamp close enough to see the bruise clearer. There’s only a word leaving his throat, but it is enough. “Name.”

“No.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“It won’t solve it.”

“It will. It’ll stop them from hurting what’s mine. Give me the name.”

You turn your head down, looking at your hands trembling in your lap.

“It’s not ‘the’ name—”

“There’s more?” His voice has a sharper edge. “Okay then, give me their names.”

“I don’t want blood on my hands.”

“There won’t be any blood on your hands. Only mine. No one else is allowed to touch you. Nothing else, is allowed to. And if you don’t tell me who gave you these ugly marks I will hunt them down, and I’m sure a few innocent will be struck that way. Give me the cowards names. Do you think a king will let his queen be hurt by unworthy?”

You don’t answer. The sobs come back, rippling through you. You’re on the edge now, so close to ending someone’s life. You have the gun in your hand and all you need is to pull the trigger … or put it down. But if you put it down, he’ll pick it up and shoot without hesitation. As long as you hold the gun … nothing happens.

“Gosh, these marks makes me nauseous”, Edmund gags as he holds your arm in his hands. He has pulled up the sleeve to get a good look at them. “So brutal.”

“Please don’t look.”

“Tell me their names. My pretty jewel, tell me their names. Please, Y/N. Tell me who did it.”

You shake your head again, sobbing. Edmund sighs heavily.

“Can you at least tell me how long it’s been going on?” he asks, and you can hear the frustration in his voice, even if half of it is pure worry.

“Since you started working night”, you mumble, hiccuping through sobs.

“Since I started work— … you have to be kidding me?”

You shake your head. Edmund bites back a scream and looks around, as if trying to find something to ground himself on.

“So, people have been coming in here when you’re alone and hurt you?” he asks, voice shaking. “And you’ve been silent about it? It’s been two weeks. Why haven’t you said anything?!”

“Because I’m scared, Edmund …”

His eyes immediately soften. Not to a gentle one, but one that isn’t piercing. He pulls you closer, letting you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Y/N, darling”, he says with his trembling voice. “I’m the king. I am the highest power in this kingdom, yeah? You are my wife, correct? You are the safest person in this country. But I can’t help you if you refuse to tell me when someone is hurting you.”

“You will kill them.”

“Damn right I will. That’s what happens when people think they can touch what’s mine. Touching you is a war crime and I will not let them get away with it.”

He cups your wet cheek, turning you to him.

“Who hurt my pretty girl?” he whispers sorrowfully.

Your finger trembles on the imaginary trigger. And, before you can register it, you press.

His face lights up—not in a happy way, but relief. He’s about to fly up form the bed, but you grab his arm.

“No, no, Edmund please!” you plead, voice breaking with sobs. “Don’t leave me!”

“I will get those bitches for this”, he tells you, his voice now a venomous deadly calm. “I will snap their necks myself.”

“No … no please, don’t go.”

You hug his arm, pleading over and over again. Edmund seems torn between revenge and protection, but in the end he gives in and climbs back into the bed, pulling you flush against him.

“Fine”, he gives in, squeezing your trembling form. “I will let them have their final night … but tomorrow they’ll get what they deserve. For now I’ll take care of my beautiful queen.”

He kisses the top of your head.

“I will never let those creatures near you again", he promises, showering your face in kisses. Too soft for his usual behaviour. “They don’t deserve to touch you. Only I am. I am the only one worthy enough to touch you. To kiss you. To hold you. To be near you. To see you. Tell me what they did to you.”

So you do. His grip on you tightens for everything you tell him, but his lips never leave your skin. They burn.

“I’ll enjoy tomorrow morning”, he decides, moving even closer to you, snuggling. “I’ll kill them slowly—well, if you can snap someone’s neck slow—and enjoy every bit of it.”

He holds you close, running his fingers through your hair. You feel his cold, golden rings against your scalp. Your face is tucked beneath his chin, against the warmth of his neck. It’s as if he wants to pull you into him, become one with him. As if you’re only safe if you’re beneath his skin.

“You’re so soft in my arms”, he whispers. “Really soft. Only mine.”

He hums and rests his cheek against your hair, falling asleep. But you? You won’t sleep for a long time. Relieved that you no longe have to carry it yourself … guilty that you’ve pulled the trigger. But you wouldn’t have won anyway. He always does. He always gets what he wants in the end … and this time, it’s to protect you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere king #female reader #yandere oneshot

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sergeantbuckybarnes · 2 months ago

Text

truth will set you free // bob reynolds

Summary: You are injected with a truth serum during a mission, and when you return to the Watchtower, you must avoid Bob in order not to spill your feelings for him, but this causes Bob to believe he has done something to upset you.

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Reader

Word count: 2.6K

Warnings: bob's self-doubt, forced love confession (cause reader is under the influence of a serum), misunderstandings, fluff

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. I didn't want to wait any longer to post this, so it hasn't been proofread, I'm sorry folks!

My first time writing for Bob!!! I hope I did him justice, and I apologize if he's a bit OOC. I'm still trying to figure him out.

marvel masterlist | main masterlist

When you had a hunch, you were usually right.

It was like a faint whisper in your mind, guiding you through the uncertainty and helping you make the right choice just in time. You could say that instinct was your secret weapon—a trusted friend in moments when logic alone couldn't see the whole picture. Even when doubts crept in, deep down, you knew to listen to that subtle nudge that had saved you more than once.

But this time, you shut it down and ignored all the red alarms.

Partly because you didn’t want to let the team down, and partly because you convinced yourself you were overthinking.

You pushed forward, dismissing the uneasy feeling gnawing at the back of your mind and telling yourself that everything was under control. Yet, deep inside, a small voice still murmured warnings, reminding you that ignoring your intuition could lead to unforeseen trouble.

And that was exactly what happened.

Regardless of your abilities, certain missions challenged your boundaries, particularly those requiring retrievals from shady labs, which were your least favorite.

You wouldn’t hesitate to fight aliens, villains from other universes, or even Valentina. But you despised slippery scientists—those who utilized their brains and intelligence to create questionable serums and conduct human trials.

There was something about their manipulation of life itself, their blatant disregard for morality, that made your stomach churn. You had witnessed the damage firsthand—innocent lives turned into test subjects, minds warped by their greed and arrogance.

You were perceptive and quick-witted, but the tension of the moment when you broke into the lab and the so-called brain people started to fight back caught you off guard. They moved with a calculated experience that belied their appearance, more than someone who spends over 12 hours a day in a white coat, peering at cells through a microscope, would have.

Ava wasn’t fast enough to reach you in time.

And before you could react, a sharp sting shot through your leg—an injection delivered with clinical precision. You barely had time to register what was happening before the world tilted, and everything blurred around the edges. The voices of your teammates were drowned out by the deafening chaos, and then, you were fighting not only to stay conscious but also to try to understand what was being injected into you and what it might do.

Despite the circumstances that led you to the vault on that fateful day, and despite being part of a team of people just like you, as well as all the bad decisions you've made along the way, you had always considered yourself an honest person.

So being injected with a truth serum wasn’t the worst outcome, right?

But that strange sense of detachment wasn’t you. Not at all.

Your instincts, the voice in your head that usually kept you grounded, had fallen silent. They were drowned out by the serum rushing through your veins.

Your mouth moved on autopilot.

No filter.

No control.

Despite your strenuous efforts to keep them contained, words spilled out. Confessions, secrets, and fears poured forth unfiltered and raw.

And there was one confession you simply could not allow to escape.

“It’s probably just temporary,” Yelena said with a reassuring look. “We’ll run some tests when we arrive back at the tower.”

Everything would be fine.

That’s what they promised.

But you weren’t so sure of that.

You had been confined in your room for two weeks, completely isolated. There was no interaction with anyone other than Yelena, who brought you food every day. However, she remained silent, respecting your request. And you battled to keep your words contained, to preserve control over what you might say.

The atmosphere in the tower was tense and divisive, to put it mildly.

Walker thought you were overreacting; he didn’t see the big deal. So what if you couldn’t lie? Did you have something to hide?

Ava and Yelena, on the other hand, seemed sympathetic to your situation. They understood the gravity of what you were going through.

Bucky, who knew what it felt like not to be in control of what you do and say, was also empathetic. He'd even explained the predicament to Sam in hopes he could help him find a solution.

Alexei... Well, he was the same as always.

And then there was Bob.

Adorable, sweet, and awkward Bob.

He had been eagerly anticipating your return from the mission. He missed you when you were gone, even though he lacked the courage to say so out loud.

Bob was confused.

Why hadn’t you come out of your room? Why hadn’t you been around? Had you been hurt during the mission? Had he done something to upset you? Were you mad at him?

Deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time before you got tired of him.

‘You’re too much.’

‘What did you expect, idiot?’

“It was… a tough mission. She needs to be alone.” That was what Yelena had told him in an effort to soothe him, knowing how close he was to you, how much he cared, and how his feelings lingered beyond friendship.

However, her words did not have the expected effect.

Tonight, he couldn’t endure it any longer. The nightmares had returned, creeping into his mind with a relentless, smothering power.

The darkness had once faded when he sought comfort in your presence, finding solace in your embrace. You had become his safe sanctuary, where the shadows could not reach him.

But now that refuge was gone.

He stood outside your door, fumbling with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He hesitated, unsure whether to knock or quietly retreat into the shadows. The wait stretched painfully until finally, he drew in a shaky breath, summoning every ounce of courage he had left to reach out.

“Yelena, is that you?”

Your voice sounded faint through the door, with a tinge of hesitancy that he picked up on.

“I-I’m Bob.”

He heard you sigh, and he knew you'd approached the door.

“Bob, it’s not a good time.”

His stomach clenched, but he pressed on, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please, I-I need you.” His words were filled with desperation. “I had a nightmare.”

There was no immediate answer, only a prolonged silence that seemed to last forever. For a minute, he worried if you were ignoring him, if you didn’t care enough to respond. Minutes seemed to crawl by as he remained rooted in place, caught in the stillness of the hallway. Still, he stayed there, vulnerable and trembling, hoping—praying—that somehow, you would hear his silent plea.

You slowly pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges slicing through the dense silence like a fragile whisper. The dim, flickering light from the hallway cast faint shadows across your face, accentuating the concern etched in your features. His eyes, glassy and pleading, met yours as he hesitated for a while longer.

Without fully thinking, you reached out and pulled him into your bedroom, locking the door behind him. He sank onto the edge of your bed, shoulders quivering, voice barely a whisper as he broke the silence.

“Thank you,” he murmured, eyes searching yours for reassurance.

You moved closer instinctively, trying to maintain your composure, fighting the urge to let anything slip. It crushed your heart to see Bob in this condition, knowing you were to blame. You were so set on avoiding him that you hadn't considered how much it would impact him not to have you at his side, especially at night.

“Come here,” you whispered, your voice soothing. Reaching out, you drew him into your embrace, feeling his body relax slightly as he buried his face in your shoulder.

He clung to you tightly. You stroked his hair, murmuring soothing words and giving him the reassurance he desperately needed.

You stayed there, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he gradually found calm. The tension in his body loosened, and his heartbeat steadied into a peaceful rhythm, no longer pounding with dread.

“Are you mad at me?” he finally asked, his voice small, almost cracking.

“What? No, of course not.”

“You've been locked in your room for two weeks.”

“I know, but—” You bite your tongue, fighting to keep the truth from spilling.

The last two weeks had been easy in some ways, since you had zero contact with anyone. But now, having Bob here with you, in your arms, looking so vulnerable and so starved of affection, your resolve wavered.

“Yelena said something went wrong during the last mission.”

“It did,” the words were out of your mouth before you realized.

‘Don’t ask what happened, please, don’t ask what happened.’

He stretched out gingerly, his hand trembling as he gently stroked your arm. “What happened?”

And, like clockwork, the truth spilled out again. “I was injected with a truth serum.”

Bob's eyes widened in amazement. “You–you what?”

“We were in the lab, and this guy appeared out of nowhere. I didn't see him coming. I couldn't react in time, and before I realized it, he’d injected me with a syringe.”

His expression sank as he tried to digest what you had just disclosed. “That's why you've been locked up here.”

You nodded. “I am not sure how much longer the effect will persist. And my mouth can't seem to control itself right now,” you admitted, your tone tinted with frustration. “I keep feeling like I want to say things I shouldn't—as if my thoughts are spilling out before I can stop them. It's like my brain and mouth are warring, and I can't keep the words locked inside.”

“But the team… They know, right? They wouldn’t judge you if you said too much. And it’s not like you had something to hide.”

Bob struggled to grasp the situation and your reasoning for isolation.

Although he had just told you that the team would not judge you, he knew Walker would probably make some snide comment, maybe even take advantage of the situation. He still believed that the guy was an asshole.

“It’s not the team I’m hiding from; it’s you.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you immediately saw the impact. It was written all over Bob’s face. And you hated yourself for hurting him, again.

“You… You are hiding from me?” He stumbled over his words, the crack in his tone reflecting the disheartened expression that washed over him. “Why?”

And then it happened. The two weeks of isolation had been pointless. You knew it the moment Bob had knocked on your door and you let him inside. There was no more running.

“Because I can’t be around you,” you started, voice trembling as the truth slipped out. “You make me nervous, and I can’t control myself around you. All I want to do is tell you how much happiness you bring into my days. And I think you’re so damn cute, like you literally make me feel butterflies, and that’s something I haven’t felt since… Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something like this before.”

Bob’s eyes widened in disbelief, breath catching as your words flowed out, raw and honest, leaving him dumbfounded. He stared at you, processing, overwhelmed by your confession.

You averted your gaze, ashamed of how exposed you felt. “I’m sorry,” you admitted softly. “I don’t know how to handle these feelings, how much I care for you. I–I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything. This is why I stayed away.”

“You–you like me?” He questioned, voice tentative, in astonishment. He was still trying to process what he had just heard. “Me?”

“‘Like’ isn’t even close to describing how I feel. I’m in love with you.”

You cringed as you pushed off from the bed, stepping away from him, overwhelmed by embarrassment.

This wasn’t how you were supposed to confess. You’ve ruined everything.

Fuck the lab. Fuck those scientists. Fuck the fucking truth serum.

As the weight of your words settled in, you wondered if anything could be salvaged from this moment or if the damage had already been done.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as it brushed across your arm, making you spin around to face him. His eyes searched yours, shimmering with awe, tenderness, and…hope?

“Y–You mean that?” He whispered, his voice hoarse as if afraid to believe this was actually happening.

“I cannot lie, Bob. Remember? Only the truth is being spoken here.”

He hesitated briefly before cautiously reaching out, his hand trembling slightly as he cradled your face in his palm. His thumb brushed softly against your cheek, and without thinking, you leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand, and allowing yourself to fall into the moment.

“I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way about me.” His voice was tremulous, yet sincere. “When you’re around, everything else just… fades away. You make everything better.” He drew back just enough to stare into your eyes, his mesmerizing blue gaze seeking yours. “I–I love you, too, Y/N.”

“Really?” You were almost afraid to believe it, yet your heart skipped a beat and you could feel your stomach doing somersaults. “You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings, you know.”

“I’m not lying. I promise.”

You reached out, instinctively brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and for a moment, everything felt perfect—as if the world had stopped just for you two.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” he hesitated.

You shook your head gently, “You’re not taking advantage of me. I want this. I have never wanted anything more.”

His cheeks flushed a delicate pink, but he nodded and leaned in carefully. The space between you narrowed until your lips finally met in a tentative kiss. His lips were soft against yours, just as you’d imagined. One hand clasped your cheek, his fingertips tracing the delicate curve of your jawline. The other rested on your waist, anchoring him as the kiss deepened.

His fingers curled slightly, grasping your side with gentle firmness. You laced your fingers through his brunette locks, pulling him closer, while your other hand rested on his chest above his heart, feeling the quick throbbing beneath your palm.

As your lips parted for air, still dazed from the moment, Bob rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, eyes still closed, savoring the moment. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted softly.

Your pulse was thumping hard in your chest, not just from the kiss, but also from the exhilarating realization that this moment was merely the beginning of something new. “Me too,” you whispered.

As you both lingered in the moment, wrapped in each other’s embrace, you let out a light laugh, breaking the silence. “Well, I guess the truth serum was good for something after all,”

“I suppose so.” Bob’s lips twisted into a small, bashful smile, and he giggled softly with you.

“Come on.” You took his hand and tugged him toward your bed. “You look exhausted. Let’s get you into bed so you can finally rest properly.”

Bob snuggled beneath the covers, and you slid in beside him, pulling the blankets over both of you.

Resting your head on his chest, you felt a sense of calm rush over you. Bob wrapped his arm around you, holding you close. You curled up closer, soaking in the warmth radiating from his body and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. His eyelids fluttered shut as he relaxed, and a contented sigh escaped his lips.

#robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x you #robert reynolds x you #bob reynolds imagine #robert reynolds imagine #marvel #lewis pullman

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amomentsescape · 7 months ago

Note

Reader runs behind slasher because someone else is harassing/chasing/stalking them. They don't even know they hid behind a killer for help and apologized to the killer for their awkward action of hiding behind them.

Imagine if reader is so polite that they do a apologetic bending bow.

Slashers Being the Protector (Rather than the Killer)

Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Includes: Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, Stu, Vincent, & Bo

Warnings: Being chased/stalked, maybe a couple cuss words?

A/N: Thank you for the request! I didn't do the bow for every Slasher since I felt like it would get repetitive after a while. But I hope you enjoy either way!

Obviously, walking home alone is never your first choice, but it's not like you had an option.

Your job kept you late. And as much as you wished you could have just set some damn boundaries for yourself, you couldn't say no. You were probably the only one that actually cared about your job.

You kept a fast pace, holding your head down as to not make eye contact with anyone you passed by.

And this worked for a while. You were at a point in your journey home where you found yourself completely alone. However, there was still a part of you that felt uneasy. They always say that humans are able to tell when someone is watching them, and you were clearly no exception to this.

You finally took a deep breath and paused, mustering up the courage to look at your surroundings.

The woods were beside you, the darkness only allowing you to see a few trees at a time, but thankfully, no one seemed to be there.

Ahead of you was just more concrete and not a single street lamp in view.

And behind you... was someone.

You hadn't expected to see anyone there, but of course your luck would prove otherwise.

Your eyes widened and your breath got caught in your throat. Why were they just standing there?

Without taking your eyes off of them, you took one step backwards.

They took one forwards.

You took another step.

They did too.

It was in that moment that you knew you had to think quickly.

Should you just turn around and keep running straight ahead? No, that would prove useless. They would surely outrun you and grab ahold of you in no time.

Or should you turn and run to the woods, hiding behind trees for long enough that they give up?

You didn't like this idea much more than the first, but you figured this was probably the only option that got you out of this unharmed.

With your eyes watering and jaw clenching, you sprinted towards the woods.

You could hear their footsteps behind you, branches and leaves snapping in the distance.

They were catching up.

A sob slipped from your lips as you could feel your legs burn.

Keep pushing. Keep going.

And you did, right towards a figure in the distance.

Freddy Krueger

He could hear your sporadic heartbeat from a mile away

He was already smiling, hoping that you were about to be another easy victim

But something about your fright felt off

Someone else was after you

The moment you came into view, his smile softened a bit

You looked so desperate and scared

In any other context, he would have loved to see it, but it wasn't him making you feel this way

Plus, you weren't repulsive to him like everyone else

He could see the split second of hesitation on your face when you saw his gnarled skin and sharp gloves

But clearly that other person had spooked you more

You were already apologizing, begging for some sort of help

You weren't even six feet from Freddy when he raised his arm and a sudden thud could be heard behind you

The person who was once following you no longer had a head

You turned back to the burnt man, suddenly feeling worried that you would be next, but instead, he grabbed the side of your face

"I can't blame the guy. I would have wanted to snatch you up too," he cackled

Michael Myers

Michael raised a single brow under his mask

Clearly, you were terrified of the person chasing after you, but was seeing another large man holding a bloody knife of no concern to you?

You ran up to him, coming to an immediate stop when you saw the blade glinting back at you

"I-I need help. Please," you could barely choke out

He could tell you were trying to figure out who to be more afraid of

It's not like Michael really cared that you were being chased, but this was his territory, no one else is allowed to do his job for him

He stepped in front of you, watching as the other person slowly came to a halt

He grabbed your arm and began to drag you towards the figure

You started to cry at this, thinking he was about to give you up

Instead, his knife plunged deeply into the other person's neck, their body collapsing to the ground

You had blood splattered on you, and you could still feel the fear in your chest

You gave him a soft bow, wordlessly thanking him before stumbling back out

It was only when you heard a branch snap behind you that you turned around

He was still behind you

As you kept walking, he kept following

You really thought he'd just help you without something in return?

Jason Voorhees

He thought he killed everyone already, so how did he miss you?

How did he miss someone so cute too?

Oh, you're running towards him instead of away

This is odd

If he had been any other average sized person, you would have tackled him to the ground with how hard you collided with him

"I-I need help. Please!" you cried out, rushing behind him

He quickly took notice of the person chasing after you, them stopping in their tracks at the sight of Jason

Now, who's being hunted?

The stalker began to run the other way, not failing to notice the freshly bloodied machete like you did

However, with Jason's stride, it didn't take long for him to catch up and knock the person's head clean off in one swipe

He took a deep breath and turned back to face you, expecting you to be running for the hills

Instead, you ran up and hugged him, thanking him through your tears

You weren't... scared?

He had no idea what to do, so he just stood there while you cried into him

At least he was right about his earlier judgment

You were cute

Too cute to turn into just another victim

Thomas Hewitt

He was actually making his way towards you both

He thought you two would be good additions to tonight's menu

But the moment he saw you look at him in relief instead of terror...

Something in him shook

Before you could even say anything, he was guiding you behind him, some protective instinct overriding his usual hunter side

The person who was following put their hands up, saying that they "didn't want any trouble"

And in response, Thomas through a meat cleaver at their head

You about screamed but he turned around, looking at you softly

"I-I'm sorry. You didn't have to d-do that," you said barely above a whisper

He just shook his head and continued to watch you, some internal battle waging inside him

He really really didn't want to kill you

But what would his family think?

Only one way to find out, he supposes

With that, he hoists you up and into his arms bridal style, carrying back home

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba is about three times the size of the guy chasing you

So despite the unpleasant mask, you felt like he was your only chance at safety

He tilted his head in confusion

Normally, people like you run the opposite way from him

So the moment you're in front of him, heaving and shakily explaining what's going on, he feels angry

He might be a murderous cannibal, but Mama taught him some manners

He quickly whips out the chainsaw beside him, causing you to jump at the sight

Now it was the stalker's turn to be afraid

You were left in the woods for probably 15 minutes alone, still too scared to unfreeze yourself from the spot

It was only when you saw a large figure in the distance carrying something that you finally got your bearings

Bubba walked a little past you, holding the body of the man prior

He stops for a second and looks at you, motioning his head for you to follow

And what were you going to do?

Say "no" to the man holding a chainsaw and a dead body?

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms was already on edge

He never strayed this far from the mansion, and the fact that he was out this far made him feel very jumpy

So when he saw you running straight for him, he was ready to attack

Until he saw the desperation on your face

"Help! Please!" you begged him

And a cute thing like yourself would be difficult for him to deny

He saw the figure stalking after you, slowing down when they realized they had company

Brahms stepped in front of you and gave the person a challenged look

And it seemed to have worked, because the person began to back off almost immediately

He could have killed the guy, sure

But he wasn't going to be a threat anymore

Why? Because you were coming home with him

And once you're in his territory, there's no leaving

He'll make sure of it

Norman Bates

Norman wasn't even sure how he got there in the first place

All he remembers was being at home when suddenly everything went black

And now he was here, watching as some person runs up to him him in a panic

Before he could say a word, you were holding onto him, spinning yourself around so you were behind him

And that's when he saw another figure in the distance

"P-please," you suddenly croaked, "I don't know who that is. I was just walking home alone and I-"

He shushes you, his eyes still locked on the man

He could feel your head bump into his back as you bowed, muttering apologies to him

"It's okay," he reassured. "They're not going to do anything."

His brows furrowed as his face twitched

Maybe it was your cute panicked face, or the way your soft hands were gripping his back

But either way, Norman could feel his conscious fading out

He won't hurt you, though the same can't be said for the other person

He just hopes you'll still be there when he comes to

Billy Loomis

You were terrified, that was obvious

But he was honestly surprised that you seemed more scared of a random weirdo behind you than the notorious serial killer straight ahead

You grabbed his arm, not failing to notice the sharp blade in his dominant hand

"I-if you're going to kill me," you gulped, "Then fine, but can you please kill them first?" you motioned

This may have been an odd suggestion to most, but the worst Ghostface was going to do was stab you, but you had no idea what the other person's intentions were

The creep was only a few feet away now, their hand also donning a sharp blade

Billy wouldn't have normally entertained such an idea, but he knew you from school

And God, were you pretty

"Shit," he whispered

He twirled the knife around as he approached the figure, the latter already stepping back

It was an easy kill, and Billy was back to your side in no time

"Thank you," you bowed, head down and awaiting your fate

Instead, he grabbed your chin and made you look at his mask

He couldn't wait to see you at school the next day

Stu Macher

He could see you freeze the moment you were in sight

The Ghostface attire was already pretty notorious in the town, and he could see the worry on your face at the realization

And clearly, the person chasing you also felt the same, because the moment they saw him, they ran off the other direction

Tears began to stream down your face at this

Although, he couldn't tell if they were from relief or fear at that point

He stepped a little closer to you as you stumbled back

"P-please, don't, I-"

He dropped his knife and reached out to you in response

You shakily took his hand, obviously scared of what he was going to do

But he simply began walking you out of the woods, checking around for the creep

He walked you all the way home before giving you a small wave and running off, leaving you completely dumbfounded

He spared you?

It took you a few days afterwards to almost forget about the situation

Until you turned on the news

There was a report of a dead body found in the same woods you were just in a couple nights before

Another apparent criminal from the area...

You gulped, realizing it was your stalker as the phone suddenly rang

"Unknown caller"

Huh, weird

Vincent Sinclair

Bo somehow got him to leave that musty old building

But of course, he ran off to God knows where and left Vincent alone

So the moment he saw your figure sprinting closer, he assumed that Bo would be the one to follow

However, he quickly noticed that the man behind you was not his brother, and he suddenly felt dumbfounded on what to do

Bo would surely be pissed, but something about you told him you shouldn't become just another wax figure in his collection

So the moment you were close enough, he was stepping in front of you, some newfound confidence leading him

The stalker hesitated for a moment before finally stumbling back, leaving the two of you alone

"Thank you, thank you!" you repeated, your head instinctively shifting downwards

Vincent took a deep breath in while looking at you

Yep, Bo was definitely going to be angry

But oh well

You were just too sweet to let go stale

Bo Sinclair

He could hear your erratic footsteps rushing closer to him

And unlike most of the others on this list, he comes off as a seemingly normal guy, so of course you wouldn't hesitate to go to him

His cocky smile only widens when he gets a look at your face

A mighty cute thing, you are

"Excuse me? Sir, I think I'm being followed and-" your voice cracked

How precious

Surely too pretty and too soft to be made into hard wax, hmm?

He steps towards you, and you think he's about to help you

But no

He grabs ahold of your shirt tightly, muttering some smooth nonsense to your stalker about finding "a good place for this one"

Tears begin to stream down you face

How could you have so blindly trusted a stranger?

He leads the both of you back to some empty building that you assume will be the last place you'll be alive

But the moment Bo turns back around, a pipe is swung into the other man's head

He'd be a great addition to the museum

You turn to your "savior" in confusion

"Can't let a pretty thing like you go to waste, huh darlin'?"

All you can do is tilt your head down in a silent "thank you"

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comikbook · 3 months ago

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so you talk about your religious trauma and it’s a major theme in your art, and i was wondering what your current relationship with religion is? is in, do you practice any religion or consider yourself religious? if it isn’t too personal :)

im willing to answer !! i dont talk about it on most of my socials outright because people tend to misinterpret things intensely when it comes to this kind of topic, but ill give it a shot trying to write it out. In fact, I will give the whole story of my experience with religion. So its gonna be long.

there will be talk of psychosis, eating disorders, delusions, and self harm in this post. However I will not be graphic in my descriptions.

To start out I suppose for context, my parents are not catholic. my mom doesn’t talk about religion, and my dad doesnt follow anything in the real sense, but practices a lot of principals of buddhism. My nana was catholic, and my extended family vary in their religious beliefs.

That being said, (i think to my nana’s influence) when i started school i attended a small private catholic school which has since been shut down. fun fact ! if you’ve ever watched the Netflix doc “The Keepers” my school was only about 3 miles from where one of the nun’s bodies were found. The priest who was suspected to be the one to blame previously taught at the school i went to before moving to the one he is known for teaching at. Not really relevant, but i did always feel a bit uneasy there as a child so it was a weird thing to find out later.

Anyways, I attended this catholic school for 3 years. pre-k, kindergarden, and first grade. I would often ask to use the restroom and just wander around the halls or hide in the bathroom. I would get scolded for asking questions that were “inappropriate”. The one i remember most vividly was “If God created all of us, who created God ?” to one of the nuns, who became upset with me. We weren’t taught whar we should have been, and when I did move to public school i was far behind my peers in specifically science, math, and history, but I digress. This is my one class photo from our yearbook !

It is important to note that my first remembered instance of psychosis started when i attended this private school. My mom was picking me up one day, there was heavy traffic. She was trying to get over and was complaining no one would let her. I caught myself staring at my reflection in the front mirror of the car, and the clicking of the blinker kind of overwhelmed me. In the constant clicking I “decoded” a message that involved me being told to do something particularly violent. In my small brain in addition to my outside influences, I thought the person that sent this message to me was God. I was confused as to why, but I felt i did something wrong to deserve it. i quietly prayed in the back seat internally for forgiveness.

So I started to receive more messages from “God” commanding me to do something or another, typically vile in some way. i would hear this voice in my head frequently, until eventually it faded out and stopped. I dont remember when it stopped, i just remember i had this experience as a child and then when i was a little older i just didnt think about it anymore.

I do have gaps in my memory of my childhood, pretty big ones, for reasons im still struggling to understand to this day. So that makes things fuzzy. I do remember falling back into religion briefly in middle school, but eventually fell out of it again.

As i approached the end of highschool my mental health was tanking. Mostly with depression and anxiety, however this wouldnt be the worst it would get. In 2019 I was in college and things were getting increasingly worse. I was one of the few people that loved the isolation of the quarantine actually, i fear if not for that what was to come would have been way worse.

My symptoms of psychosis started to creep back into my life. I was already isolating before the quarantine, but got worse after it had started. I know i said i enjoyed it, and i did, but it also fed into some bad habits. Anyways I was becoming increasingly scared and paranoid, I was actively self harming, I was extremely depressed. I had plans to take my own life, a few of them actually. I started eating less. I didnt think much of it, I was just depressed, i have been depressed most of my life so this was just a particularly bad bout for me is what i thought.

That is, until one night where I had my first psychotic episode. It remains to be the worst and only very big episode i have had. I dealt with it mostly alone, never alerting my family of it. I was on the phone with one friend i had at the time, although they were not the kindest to me overall. Despite that they sat with me. This episode led to me standing in one place for over 2 hours too scared to move. When I finally did, it seemed to trigger a more violent outburst.

I wont go into too much detail but i left the experience cried out, bloodied, and heavily bruised. My legs were entirely black and blue for over a month following. After this episode I finally decided to try to get help, and I met with my psychiatrist for the first time. I was immediately put on several antidepressants which ended up being beneficial but in the beginning caused me to lose my appetite entirely. This is when i fell more and more into my eating disorder. With this though, I was still experiencing delusions and hallucinations and got put on my first antipsychotic.

It helped with my symptoms, and it helped me get back to a normal weight. Even tho at the time I was abusing my adderall I was still able to get my body (mostly) back to normal, at least physically. That being said, while my symptoms were lessened they were not gone, it just became less scary to me. Maybe it was because I was being desensitized, but thats something to ponder another time.

I started to become more and more infatuated with catholicism again from that original episode forward. I was obsessed and that voice of god returned to me. I started hearing clicking and chirping coming from the back of my right ear, which ive dubbed as a “chip” in my brain placed by god for me to receive his messages. I thought there was an evil inside of me that needed to be let out, which i did by participating in frequent bloodletting to force out the bad, and make my body create newer, cleaner, and holier blood. This was something i felt I had to keep up often so that this evil force wouldnt take over. I was eventually able to stop self harming, and have been clean for over 2 years now. It is hard and i still feel the need to “cleanse” myself, but i try my best to push it down.

Fast foreward to 2022 and I would start the first piece in my painting series. I still experienced symptoms but much less frequently ! I started to detail my experience thru art. I would finish the first piece in my series titled “Forgive Me Father” in 2023. Since then I have made many more.

So we finally get to today. I have waited to talk about my current relationship with religion until the end as I felt the context was necessary, and to be honest it is complicated. As you can tell, It has effected me greatly and has come and gone in my life.

I would say from where I am now, I am not religious. A better way to put it i suppose is i consciously make the choice to not be. Like I said its complicated.

I like to think of it as there is two of me in my body. One is paranoid, scared, and extremely delusional. This is the part that still believes god is communicating with them. This is the person that still prays for forgiveness and cries over the fear of being sent to hell for their sins, all approved and constructed by god himself. and then theres my rational side, which exists im sure solely because of my medication. This part is extremely self aware, can tell when i am being delusional or irrational, who knows this is something caused by my illness. They exist side by side, at the same time, always. They fight in my head for control but always exist simultaniously, think of it like a pie chart. one may be more prevelant but the other is still always there.

So in a way, there is a lot I do personally believe. That being said the reason I do believe is because of my schizophrenia. So I choose to navigate my life as someone who actively does not believe as an attempt to not let the delusion control me. do i think people who are religious are delusional ? I do not, but I know in my personal case what leads me to believe these things is an unwell mind.

I still have an intense fascination with catholicism and religion in general. I think its a beautiful thing, it moves me, but i must keep it at a distance to avoid hurting me. It is not something I can actively engage in outside of general interest because it would kill me, and despite my previous statements i would like to live at least a little longer haha.

With all that said, and I doubt anyone will read this whole thing, its been a rollercoaster of a ride. If anyone has questions about it, feel free to ask. Im an open book about this stuff online most days, and Im willing to offer any information about it.

#my art #in gods hands #psychosis #mental health #mental heath awareness #schizophrenia #schizophrenic #psychosis awareness #religious delusions #religious trauma #mental illness #writing

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