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anonymous-dentist · 30 days

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Or: the morning after

Cellbit finds himself getting rattled awake by the sound of an unfamiliar cell phone ringing. His pillow is lumpy, he doesn't have a blanket- or does he? His legs are bare, but his shoulders feel warm enough.

Grimacing, Cellbit squints his eyes shut and desperately shoves his face into his pillow in the hopes of drowning out the noise. Why does his pillow smell like alcohol?

What happened last night? The last thing he remembers is slipping away from Bagi and Tina and finding himself a seat at their hotel's bar, and then? Absolutely nothing.

But the phone keeps ringing.

Cellbit is mildly alarmed to feel his pillow vibrate beneath him as it groans- oh, God, it's alive. He's even more alarmed when his pillow moves and pulls him with it as it rolls onto its side and buries its face in the crook of Cellbit's neck and, fuck, this isn't a pillow is it?

Cellbit forces his eyes open and nearly has a heart attack as he discovers that he is not, in fact, in his hotel room. This isn't his bed. That isn't his window- his room isn't nice enough to have a fucking balcony attached to it.

...Those aren't his pants strewn carelessly across the floor just inches from the bed. That isn't his shirt, either.

Oh, God.

Cellbit's pillow, now Cellbit's blanket, which is probably an actual, real, living, genuine, breathing human person, nuzzles their nose into Cellbit's skin with a pleased, sleepy hum.

Cellbit absently looks down at the hands wrapped around his middle, and his stomach sharpens as he sees a shiny gold ring.

Fuck, they're married?

It's then that Cellbit notices the shiny gold ring on his own finger, his hand splayed next to his face carelessly. He stares at it in both shock and horror and an equal measure of mortification.

Fuck, they're married?

The phone is still ringing. Cellbit can see it on the floor next to his... spouse? Next to his... next to the person's pants. Its screen is lit up, showing off a wallpaper of a man and a woman and a child. Oh, God, what has Cellbit done?

He stares at the phone. He desperately tries to remember where he left his own. His pants are off, but his shirt is on. It's the same shirt he went out in, and it's really uncomfortable to be sleeping in, and the coat he wore with it is gone. Or, at least, it's out of sight, and that's where he was keeping his phone and his wallet and his hotel room key and- oh, fuck, Bagi. She's going to kill him!

The person clinging to Cellbit like a koala seems to settle down (how are they sleeping through the noise??), their breaths evening out and their grip relaxing.

Okay, Cellbit thinks, Escaping from a person can't be worse than escaping from prison. (Granted, he had "escaped" from "prison" at the bright age of eleven, and him "escaping" was him climbing out the window and watching the sunset from the roof of the juvenile hall he was trapped in, but the point stands.)

Carefully, he pries the person's arms off of him. He rolls out of bed and onto the floor and immediately gets onto his knees and ignores the rattling in his skull and the exhausted protesting of his bones and shoves an actual pillow into the person's arms.

He hesitates, just briefly, as he takes in his spouse's face for the first time that he can remember.

He's beautiful. Creases in his face from sleep, bags under his eyes, hair plastered to the side of his head, tiny bit of drool escaping from the corner of his mouth as he snuffles and buries his face into his new teddy bear.

Well. Drunk Cellbit has good taste.

Whatever, cell phone.

Cellbit doesn't think he could stand without vomiting, so he crawls over to where he thinks he vaguely remembers tossing his coat and his pants last night... or, rather, that morning. Something tells him it was entirely too late when he and his... person finally went to bed.

Blackout drunkenness be damned, Cellbit is still a detective, so his clothes are right where he thought they'd be: slung over the hotel room's desk chair.

First, he grabs his pants. He looks at them, considers the fragile state of his stomach, and decides that it probably isn't too smart to move too much. He doesn't know how much it'll take for him to throw up everything he's had over the trip so far, but he doesn't think it'll be that much.

So he abandons his pants for the moment and grabs his coat, instead. A brief search of the pockets finds all his things, plus a handful of stolen poker chips and a crushed pink flower.

Cellbit looks at the flower. What is it, amaranth? Is that it?

Whatever, cell phone.

He turns his phone on and is immediately met with a brand new wallpaper: a clearly drunk him, and an even drunker... husband(?) with his arms hung around Cellbit's shoulders. They're both smiling widely, their cheeks are both flushed, Cellbit is giving this guy a piggyback ride, and the Vegas lights are so bright behind them that it's giving Cellbit a headache just looking at them.

But that isn't what makes Cellbit sick. What makes him sick is the absolute mountain of texts from his extremely pissed-off sister. It starts with a simple, "Where are you?", and it ends with, "FUCK YOU DON'T COME BACK ME AND TINA WILL HAVE A GREEEEAT NIGHT TOGETHER BY OURSELVES WITH PAC!!"

Cellbit, deciding not to subject himself to any more torture, shuts his phone off and collapses backwards onto the floor. Even the carpet smells like alcohol; what did he and this guy do last night? ...Besides get married.

Cellbit raises his hand above his face and squints at his ring. Fake gold, he can tell. Cheap ring, glass jewels. Probably sold at the place he and the man got married at. Probably someplace cheesy with an Elvis impersonator acting as the officiant and a couple of equally-drunk tourists acting as the witnesses.

Groaning from the bed. Seems Cellbit's new husband is awake, then.

Cellbit keeps staring at his ring, anyway. It's... weird. He'd always dreamed of a big wedding, and now that he is married, he doesn't remember it. But it's fair, he supposes. He'd stopped believing he would get married years ago. Makes sense he wouldn't remember it happening.

The man in the bed swears and rolls around noisily.

"Fucking kill meeeee," he moans. "Son of a bitch!"

His voice is rough. Cellbit's probably sounds rougher. His entire body hurts.

The man keeps swearing. Cellbit listens, and he stares at his ring, and he quietly panics as the reality of his marriage sets in.

Are Vegas weddings even legal? Fuck, he's a detective, he should know this! But he's a detective in Brazil, he doesn't know American laws.

Abruptly, the man's complaining stops.

"Oh," Cellbit hears. "Hello."

Cellbit tears his eyes away from his ring and looks at the man. Their eyes meet, and, suddenly, Cellbit realizes why they got married.

If this man was beautiful asleep, he's absolutely stunning awake. His eyes are just so... and his jawline? What the hell?

Bagi always likes to tease Cellbit about his extreme romanticism. She says it's almost obsessive, but what does she know? What he and Pac had going on in high school was normal.

Cellbit just knows handsome when he sees it, and he supposes that Drunk Cellbit saw it and decided he had to put a ring on it.

It's a shame they're married. He doesn't think he'll be able to talk to this guy ever again after they sign the divorce papers.

Because they have to get divorced, right? Or annulled? Or... reversed? Whatever it is in Vegas, they'll have to do it. They don't know each other. Cellbit lives in Brazil. This guy seems like he has a family. It wouldn't work, no matter how pretty he is.

Slowly, Cellbit sits up. He winces, gags, props himself up against the desk's leg. He lets his stomach settle down. Tries not to smile back as the man smiles at him.

"Vegas," the man whispers. He sounds slightly awed. Cellbit feels the same way, but probably not for the same reasons. He's in shock over this man's beauty; this man is probably shocked that the Vegas stereotypes are true.

"Vegas," Cellbit agrees. He holds up his hand, and his ring. "Good morning. Can we get a divorce?"

The man gasps and looks down at his own hand. His eyes widen comically as he sees his ring.

"What the fuck?" he shouts.

Both he and Cellbit flinch at the volume. Ouch.

"A divorce," Cellbit repeats once the pounding in his head has subsided. "Because we got married."

The man's phone is still ringing. Cellbit kinda wants to throw it off the balcony, but he's probably already ruined this guy's life enough. (His family...)

The man, somehow, ignores it.

He crawls down the length of the bed and flops onto his stomach, head tilted just slightly as he takes Cellbit in. He props himself up on his elbows, and Cellbit can't help but admire his biceps because he's. He's shirtless. And he isn't wearing pants. He has boxers on, thank God- Cellbit doesn't know what he'd do if it turned out they'd done things last night after the wedding.

"You want a divorce?" the man asks. He shrugs. "I mean, sure, but... why?"

Cellbit stares at him. "We were drunk. I don't know you."

"Yeah but you did last night, and we liked each other enough to get married after a couple hours. That's gotta count for something, right?"

"I mean. Maybe? But- you don't even know my name!"

"Sure, and you don't know mine." His smile is blinding. "I'm Roier."

Roier... it settles around Cellbit's brain like a warm sweater.

"Cellbit," Cellbit responds. He swallows and forces his eyes away from Roier's arms. "Look, I'm sure you're a nice guy-"

"I am."

"-but we can't be married. My sister is supposed to be getting married next week and she'll kill me if she finds out I got married before she did. And we don't know each other and- dude, can you pick up your goddamn phone?"

Cellbit groans and throws his head back, eyes squinting shut from the pain in his head.

"Shit," the man swears, "hold on..."

Cellbit tunes him out as he finally answers his phone. He's a loud talker, but he's still quieter than his phone was.

He... has a nice voice. Cellbit can almost imagine hearing it daily, but that's literally just. Stupid. This is all stupid, they should be divorced already. And then Cellbit can go back to being single and miserable like he's used to.

With his eyes still shut, Cellbit flounders around for his pants. Once he has them, he starts pulling them on, desperately trying not to vomit as he does so. Fuck, his stomach...!

Bagi would be laughing if she heard about this. She'd be pissed, but she'd be laughing about it. She's been the one trying to get him to sign up for dating apps since he realized he's asexual and he stopped dating altogether. She's been trying to set him up with friends for years. She'd be furious if she found out that Cellbit went and married the first guy to flirt back with him. While drunk. In Las Vegas.

Cellbit manages to get his pants buttoned up just as Roier finishes his phone call. Out of breath and exhausted, Cellbit cracks an eye open and offers a weak smile at a very concerned-looking Roier.

"You don't look too good," Roier comments. "You can stay here until you're up to moving, you know."

Cellbit frowns. "Wouldn't that be awkward?"

"Why would it be awkward? We're married. Married people share rooms all the time."

"We aren't-" Cellbit tries to stand, immediately decides against it as the room swims around him, sits heavily back down. "Fuck. We aren't actually married, you know. We're Vegas-married."

"I know, but I'm not a dick. You look like shit, I'm not just gonna let you pass out in the hallway."

Oh, and he's nice, too. He's handsome and he's nice. Of course he's a package deal, what the fuck?

Only slightly annoyed, Cellbit lets himself flop to the side and lay down on the floor again. It isn't comfortable, but it feels better than sitting up does.

He looks up at Roier. "You're being awfully nice to a stranger."

Roier waves him off. "Nah, it's fine. If I trusted you last night, I can trust you now. I'm a very good judge of character."

"Really?"

"No, I'm actually kidnapping you."

Cellbit huffs out a laugh, a genuine smile growing on his face as Roier looks genuinely proud of himself.

"You're an asshole," Cellbit says. "I can't wait until we're divorced."

"Me, too," Roier agrees. "No offense- like, you're a really nice guy-" (Cellbit blushes.) "-but I kinda wish I got to, like, take you on a date or something before we got married."

Cellbit chokes on his own spit. "What?"

Roier's eyes widen and he sits up, alarmed. "What? Is that-"

"No!" Cellbit waves his hands frantically. "No, it's fine! I'm just... are you sure? You could still be drunk."

"I don't feel drunk."

"Maybe I'm still drunk, then."

"Maybe." Roier nods, faux serious. "We are in Vegas."

"Can you even date in Vegas? What can we even do?"

"Eh, I'm sure there's something we can do. Maybe we can get divorced this afternoon and get dinner?"

Cellbit almost turns him down. This is a bad idea. He's in Vegas. He isn't... they don't know each other. Roier doesn't know that Cellbit doesn't really do anything past kissing. That could be a problem, right? Maybe, but...

But Cellbit trusts himself to know that, even when drunk out of his mind, he would explain everything before engaging in any kind of intimacy with another man. He and Roier hadn't taken their underwear off, after all, that has to count for something. Roier seems like a nice guy. Cellbit thinks he can trust him to not be a total scumbag later on if it comes down to it.

So Cellbit swallows his hesitance and smiles and replies, "That sounds nice, actually."

(And if their divorce date could later turn into a real marriage? Well, Cellbit wouldn't complain.)

#a.d.'s fics i suppose.#a.d.'s fics i suppose #spiderbit #guapoduo #how have we not had a vegas wedding fic?????#it's kinda cheesy but i wanted to like. write it lol

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sourpatchys · 7 months

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Title: Warm Showers

Rating: fluff! 15+

Word count: 1.6k

Setting: The early days of Alexandria

Summary: Daryl Dixon isn’t afraid of anything. At least— he’s not afraid of anything physical. However the thought of belonging, that chills him to his core.

Basically! My friend asked me if I could write up something fluffy regarding Daryl’s lack of hygiene in Alexandria, and I simply couldn’t resist.

The first night you were able to sleep in your own bed was one you cherished more than anything.

Never in your life did you think a mattress could, or would ever, make you feel so utterly blissful. The soft sheets against your newly cleaned skin felt like heaven.

Of course, you weren’t alone. Daryl had stayed with you.

Your relationship with the archer was never a spoken fact, neither of you confirmed or denied your closeness to one another.

You supposed it started after the prison fell, maybe even before that. When he saw you were alive, with nothing more than a few nicks and bruises— he ran to you.

Of course he ran to Carol as well, but Carol didn’t get a tearful kiss on the forehead.

The one and only kiss the two of you had ever shared.

Even sleeping right next to one another, your lips never met, not each others, and not the skin between.

It was nice in a way, having someone all to yourself with no expectations. Especially being on the road as you were.

Every night, he sat by you until you fell asleep, and every morning he was there— ready to start the day with you.

He had held your hand on the way into Alexandria, dangling his dead possum in the other. You supposed he’d always been a bit feral.

The first few nights, you hadn’t showered. You were too afraid of having to leave again, you didn’t trust the water, you didn’t trust the food, you weren’t even sure if you could trust yourself.

Once rick had given the go ahead however, you took him at his word, and finally, even a bit reluctantly, you dropped your guard.

It had been a few days since then. And you didn’t know being a person could feel so good.

The hot water seared through your skin like cotton, the food felt like a warm hug, and you— for better or for worse, felt like you again. Albeit a different version of you, but it was still, undeniably, you.

Daryl however, wasn’t adjusting. Even as he slept next to you, his mind never stopped racing. His clothes stayed dirty, his food was only what he could find, and he wasn’t sure who he was supposed to be. Let alone how he should feel.

Sleeping next to you was the only thing that kept him there. Knowing you would wake up in the morning, with the same warm skin and glowing eyes as always— that’s what he looked forward too— that was his reason to live.

He didn’t need to understand himself, he didn’t need to feel a certain way, because he had you by his side, alive and breathing.

Slipping into bed that night, he felt you tense, and he heard a sharp nervous breath come through your lips.

“Why haven’t you showered yet?”

It was a question at the forefront of your mind, you knew why you took so long, you knew it was an adjustment. You wanted to know his reasoning though, if he even had one. Surely he felt that same itch under his skin that you had felt, that need to be clean but the fear of losing what you’d come to know.

He turned his head to you, his narrow eyes holding something you couldn’t place.

“Don’ need to.”

It was a very simple answer to an otherwise very complex question.

You turned your body on its side, curling up into yourself, your head flush against the soft cotton of the pillows.

“Are you afraid?”

Even with your relationship developing past more than just an average friendship, this was the first time, in all your time together, that you had ever pried into his mind.

Usually, if he wanted you to know something, he’d just tell you. He trusted you in a way he’d never felt with anyone else. But after Beth’s death, he stopped sharing. You really couldn’t help but voice your questions out loud anymore, otherwise you’d be in the dark forever.

He scoffed, turning his head away from you, a visible frown on his face.

“Ain’t afraid of nothin’.”

He was. And you knew that. He was afraid of being alone, yet afraid of being a part of something at the same time.

“I— I could help. I’ll scrub your back if you scrub mine?” You let out a nervous laugh, your humor was never in good taste.

You didn’t get an answer. His eyes just stared at the ceiling, counting any crack or imperfection he could find. In truth, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t cleaned himself.

At the beginning, he felt that same distrust that you had, that same fear of the unknown.

But now that everyone was adjusting, now that everyone had a job— even him. He just didn’t understand himself.

He could make a snippy remark about how he’d just get dirty again, he could snap at you and curse you for being too trusting too soon. But he didn’t want to.

Maybe a part of him just didn’t want to be vulnerable. The thought of himself enjoying hot water, enjoying fresh home cooked meals— while everyone else was out being productive— protecting what you’d found. It genuinely made him sick to his stomach.

Why hadn’t he showered?

He was afraid. He didn’t want to belong, he didn’t feel like he deserved to belong. He had to protect. Caring for himself didn’t fit into that role.

So after he was done searching the ceiling for answers, he turned to you again.

“M’ fine with that.”

Your eyes widened a bit, searching his for a moment.

“Fine with what?”

“You helpin’.”

If he was going to be vulnerable— he would only ever do it with you.

The trip to the shower was a strange one. You never expected your attempts at humor to get you anywhere in this world— but there you were— sneaking around the house with a man made of stone.

The two of you (just you) had decided a bath was the easiest way to go about it. Even with the hot water being limited during the day, you couldn’t imagine anyone else would be bathing at this hour. And you weren’t sure if the steady stream of the shower would hold its temperature long enough for the task at hand.

For a moment, you had tried to turn around, attempting to give the archer his privacy as he undressed— but it was quickly shadowed by the realization that you’d have to see him in the tub anyways.

The scars on his back were visible to you for a few seconds before he plopped himself in the warm water, leaning against the back wall. You decided to store that particular memory for another time, you’d asked enough questions for one night.

Your thoughts were soon interrupted by a very familiar gruff voice.

“You commin’?”

Daryl was leaning against the back of the tub with his knees raised and his arms on either side— he had made room for you.

You couldn’t help the surprised noise you made as you pointed to yourself in disbelief.

“Me?”

“You said you’d scrub me down— so hop to it then.”

The whole ordeal had become routine. You really couldn’t say you minded.

While being alone was nice, you’d become accustom to being in a pack of several— and now, it was a pack of two. You were alone together, even on your most vulnerable moments.

Every night, once everyone had gone to bed, the two of you would sneak away to bask in the hot, cotton like water. And once finished, Daryl would let you brush his hair, and you’d sneak right back into bed.

Carol had noticed the change. She had asked you how you’d managed to get him to shower, cracking a joke about how she was debating downing him with a hose.

You just laughed along, not giving her an answer. No one needed to know about your nightly exchange.

Tonight was no different than any other. The scratchy, but soft, soapy rag dragged along your skin. The rose scented suds carving their way down your body by the second as the hot, blissful water rained down on your bodies.

This was what heaven felt like— you were sure of it.

Rinsing out your own rag, you turned to grab another, sudding it up with the charcoal scented body wash sat by the faucet. You’d suggested that soap for Daryl after he made a remark of ‘not wanting to smell like petunias’, he seemed to enjoy it.

Raising your rag covered hand, you brought it up to his chest, taking your time cleaning any nook and cranny you managed to find. He had been building a bike from scratch, and as you were starting to learn, motor oil was not a quick and easy wash.

Daryl hummed at your touch, his own, newly cleaned hands, coming up to massage shampoo into your tangled hair.

The hair washing, would always be your favorite.

Drying off after the shower was always the same ordeal. You would put on fresh pajamas, and Daryl would put on his same shirt from the day before with a fresh pair of boxers. You’d given him grief over washing his clothes— but he wasn’t budging in that regard just yet. You decided it wasn’t worth the hassle as long as his skin was clean going into them.

And then finally, you both plopped into the freshly made bed. The silk sheets always gave you chills, their cool caress sending shockwaves up your spine. He seemed to feel the same.

Tonight should’ve been like any other night.

Tonight was like any other night.

Apart from the feeling of scruff against your freshly washed face, and chapped lips brushing against yours.

You decided then and there, you were definitely in love.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixion x reader #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #twd #I never know how to properly write people speaking #please help

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yandere-sins · 7 months

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Crisis Averted - Part I [Genshin Spoilers 4.1.]

New Genshin Updates always make my thoughts go brrrr. So here's a little something (with modified happenings to fit the story lol) of Wriothesley after he survived the encounter with the Primordial Sea!

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairings: Yandere!Wriothesley x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Topics of death (Fear of death, Near-death experiences, Fear of loved ones dying), Reader got locked into a closet, Forced Relationship, Dub-Con touches, Long post

Heavy were his steps as he finally made his way back to his office.

The stairs seemed to drag on endlessly after exerting more energy in a matter of minutes than Wriothesley had done in months—actually, years. He couldn't even remember when he last needed to drain his vision for just one more blast of ice and then one more. Luckily, Clorinde was neither a talkative fellow nor in much better shape than he was after they both struggled to hold back the Primordial Sea from escaping. They were both tough and hard to take down in a fight, but even they had their bodily limits.

She left him on the floor beneath his office with a short nod, a few words exchanged out of courtesy and thankfulness. Then she was gone, and Wriothesley's heavy boots continued their ascend, disregarding any weariness in his bones and the burning of his muscles. In a way, the Primordial Water was a prisoner of this place, and Wriothesley chuckled at his own thoughts as he came to this conclusion, exhaustion making everything sound a bit more funny in his head. However, despite knowing that the crisis was averted and the seemingly inescapable destruction and ruin had been contained like an unwilling prisoner of the Fortress of Meropide, he didn't feel like he had succeeded in keeping death away from what he treasured.

Muffling the yawn ripping from his throat, how could he not be elated by the thought of returning to you, the feeling giving him back the pep in his step? Even after all that happened—and Wriothesley had thought of many, many ways this could have ended—you were both still here. Alive.

Unless the ice had frozen you to the core by the time he reached you.

He skipped the last two steps with a jump to avoid this possibility, generating enough energy to jog from the staircase to the closet. Noticing the glistening ice still enveloping the doorknobs, Wriothesley let out a breath of relief before quickly grabbing them, unbothered by the frozen sting ramming into his hands. Not even his body heat would be enough to melt the ice, but he'd be damned if he let his own safety measures keep him from you.

Bracing his body against one of the doors, Wriothesley made sure to keep the closet standing upright while he pried the other one open. More strength was needed to loosen the ice that had seeped into every crack, an airtight grave keeping him away from you. But even so, it would have been a better death than what the Primordial Sea would have done to you had they not been able to contain it. Wriothesley forced himself to avoid the thoughts of the pain and agony the water would have caused you, the idea of him suffering such a fate enough to rampage his skin with goosebumps. He had put you into an awful position, but at that moment, he had believed it to be more merciful than being dissolved and drowned in the water.

Jerking the door again, he could hear the ice cracking, more relief washing over him. Relief that it would have succeeded in protecting you until the worst was over, and even more relief that it was giving way now, returning you to him. Surely, you must have already been panicking with the cold raking at you and the slow loss of air. He'd have to apologize later for putting you into this position, wipe your tears if necessary, and get someone to smuggle some cake into the Fortress as a well-done treat. But all he wanted to do now was to have you back in his arms. Everything else was a worry for later, like the Primordial Sea threatening to destroy all life around Fontaine.

One more ice-breaking tug and the door finally gave away, revealing a trembling, miserable person. His trembling, miserable person. Your first instinct was to gasp for air, the few minutes locked away having taken its toll on you. You were coughing and gasping, clawing towards the light, more than ready to exit your makeshift coffin. Wriothesley caught you before you fell, your eyes unaccustomed to the brightness after spending so much time in the dark, and he sat you upright again, helping you out of the blanket he had wrapped around you in a hurry when the commotion started.

More than any ice, your body had cooled down significantly, and other than when he touched the frozen doorknobs, Wriothesley noticed the temperature of your skin even through your clothes. It pained him, yet, it had been necessary. Pulling his trusty coat off his shoulders, he slung it around your violently shivering form, closing the front tightly so the fur collar would warm your cheeks and ears. There was no way he'd let you walk on legs that were fragile from the cold, and he never planned to let you go anywhere on your own in the first place.

Strong arms wrapped around your body, now engulfed in his coat. His scent was so prevalent, even when it mixed with yours. Wriothesley appreciated how well they worked together. Had scent been enough to mark you as his, he might not have had to do so many things to keep you by his side. You two could have lived pretty normal lives if all it needed was him rubbing off on you, but alas, normalcy wasn't something he had ever been blessed with. Given that there was a very real chance of him dying from being submerged in Primordial Water, not even his death would be able to be claimed as normal. But neither would yours.

But not today. Neither of you died that day, and Wriothesley thanked whatever godly entity he had to thank for that. Even just having the chance to hold you once more was enough to convince him that everything would be okay. At least for now. For one more day. Lifting you out of the closet, he held you, unmoving. Your arms wormed out, desperately holding on to him as if for your dear life, his warmth seeping onto you. Wriothesley felt your nails rake over his chest, panic driving you closer to him. Every shiver, every squirm through the thick material of his coat, and every sob ripping out of your throat, broke his heart more than you'd ever know.

"Why did you do that?" you asked, your voice so full of hurt and accusation, yet you pressed yourself harder against him, teeth chattering. For all you knew, you two had been drinking tea (albeit reluctantly on your part) when the alarms suddenly began to blare around you, and Wriothesley shoved you into the closet as if he was punishing you.

"I had to," he mumbled back, his words muffled by the fabric, his arms restricting tighter around your body.

"I could have died! It was so hard to breathe! And the cold… the cold…”

More sobs tore out of you, and Wriothesley closed his eyes, knowing he had to endure the blame your shaky, fragile voice rightfully accused him of. You were right, but would you understand? Could you understand that he'd rather allow you to die peacefully and whole than go through the same agony he'd be in at the same time? Wriothesley had laid awake countless nights thinking of the what ifs and what to do if push came to shove, only to still be unprepared and get run over by the events, wrapping you in a blanket and kissing your head before forcing you into a closet and sealing it shut. Your safety, or at least heightened chances of survival, were the only things he could think of at that moment, you being the only component in his plan that could make him panic.

But now you were crying in his arms, the fear of everything—the unknown, the darkness, death—spilling out of you. He wished he could have prevented it, but now he knew that the truth would only make it worse for you. If he told you what was happening, you'd react like most prisoners here would, and he couldn't guilt you. Not telling you and keeping you in the dark, doing whatever he had to do, regardless of the feelings, was the only way to keep you safe. Wriothesley was the only one to protect you from a fate much worse than what awaited him if he failed. But now that the danger had been averted, the least he could do was hold you.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, rubbing your back through the fabric, hoping to give you the comfort he needed almost as much himself. But other than you, he could only dream of being comforted by the person he loved. And even those dreams seemed unrealistic. Worse days awaited you two, your and his fate sealed together with that of the rest of Fontaine. But not now. Now wasn't the time for tears and worries, and if he hadn't been so damn exhausted—with you in his arms doubly, warm and soft—he would have celebrated your survival more. Soon, you'd come to your senses, fighting him again, and this time, he wouldn't stop you. He couldn't.

So he'd use what little time he had to enjoy this moment. Walking over to his chair, you graciously let him carry you, allowing him this little, intimate gesture of holding you in his arms all throughout the short journey. Even though he sat down abruptly, knees giving out from under him, your body landed softly, enveloped in his while he let out a strained grunt. The feeling of gravity pressing you into him was one he would have liked to treasure for the next few days, and if it had been up to him, you two would have been cooped up for just as long. But beneath his calloused hands, he could feel your body warming up, your breath no longer icy when it brushed his neck and cheeks.

The fight hadn't taken too long, evident by you still being alive, and yet it felt like he'd been gone for weeks, maybe months. Years of absence that made him miss the feeling of your body and the sound of your voice. His mind should have been on the enemy he was fighting, and yet, his only concern had been you. Getting back to you and not dying without seeing you one more time was everything he thought of as he pushed another punch of eyes to that gate that kept the Primordial Sea contained. You gave him the strength to keep going, if only to give you a chance of survival and to not die in pain like anyone else who'd get into contact with the Primordial Sea. To not give up until Neuvillette showed up, releasing him from this duty to society so he could return to the duty of loving you.

It had been a lot, but when he raised a tired hand to push some of the fur out of your face, witnessing the tears having stopped and the warmth returned to your cheek, it had all been worth it. Wriothesley had to make progress on the project he kept hidden from everyone to ensure that you'd be protected from all the dangers surrounding him. If anyone, then at least you. So even if he couldn't push this tired body of his to do it that day, he knew that from the moment he'd open his eyes after a nap, he'd be back to working on it tirelessly.

"This face," he sighed, cupping your cheek and snorting softly at the pout crossing your features. Tracing the bridge of your nose, he hummed, satisfied that everything was still right where it belonged and had not fallen off from the cold.

"These lips," he mused, brushing his thumb over the soft cushions he dreamed about kissing every night.

"And these eyes."

His words made your gaze rise to his, beautiful jewels in the moody, damp lighting of his office, glistening from the tears yet raging like the sea in a storm defying his adoring stare. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way. If you had to hate him, then hate him. Despise him, he'd deal with it. Wanted to hurt him, he'd let you. Love him… A man could dream. But seeing a storm of emotions was better than the faded light of death you had when he pulled you out of the closet. That was something he wished to never see again. That he'd fight and strife for to never appear on your face again.

"Don't," he chuckled, grin splitting his lips as he pinched your cheek in a loving reprimand after noticing how you wanted to start arguing. Wriothesley couldn't help but laugh out loud when you let out the most adorable grunt in annoyance, squirming on his lap until you could hide your cheeks into the fur again, away from his touch. He settled for the nape of your neck, holding you there gently and noticing in the back of his head how long your hair had grown since you came to the fortress as he brushed his hand through it.

You glared at him defiantly from the safety of his coat, and Wriothesley couldn't imagine a better place or better look for you. "That's what I'm fighting for," he mumbled, pushing his strained muscles to move so he could kiss your forehead. "It's all worth it as long as I can hold you like this. Just a little longer, alright? I'll get you something nice in return."

Wriothesley wasn't someone who begged, not even for your attention. He'd take it and have it as he pleased, but in that moment, he worried he'd lose you if he let you go—for real this time. The uncertainty and inability to tell you what was happening, left a cold, dark hole inside him, wrenching his gut and bursting his heart with regret. All he had to soothe the pain it caused him was to hold you and feel your soft heartbeat through the layers of clothes around you two.

It relieved him to know you were safe. He was safe. You both were okay, but mostly you. He never told you that if there was a way to save your life in exchange for his, he'd do it, no question asked. But it was a weird topic to bring up, especially when you considered him to be a heartless, manipulative asshole who used his authority to take advantage of someone less fortunate. So he didn't. Like many things, he kept his thoughts to himself, hoping that, in some miraculous way, you'd come to understand one day. Maybe even like him.

"I hate you," you reiterated, and Wriothesley managed another chuckle to hide how much that statement hurt him. He fully expected you to jump off his lap now, walk away from him and out of his office, choosing to spend your time wisely instead of indulging him. You were no longer shivering, your teeth calm, and your heartbeat even, and yet, you didn't budge.

Turning your head to the side, you placed it on his chest, stilling on top of his heart, this small gesture enough to make it threaten to burst out of his ribcage. Maybe he underestimated you. Perhaps you did understand, at least vaguely, that whatever happened had been pretty bad for him. He'd take the pity if it came from you. Wriothesley could only hope you magically understood that whatever he did in his absence, he did it not to harm but to protect you. You never showed him any mercy with your opinions or actions, so this side of you could only be explained by assuming kindness and understanding from you. But whatever it was, he was grateful. So, so grateful.

This was all he ever wanted: holding you, burying his face in your hair in a moment of vulnerability for him. Where he wasn't stronger, wasn't exuding authority over you. Forcing you to bend to his will. A moment where he could forget the world as all his senses tuned themselves on you. Everything was you, from the softness of your body to the smell surrounding him. Your heartbeat in his ears and his eyes closing as Wriothesley was comforted by your warmth. Even if you'd never appreciate what he was doing, this was enough reward for all the hardships he went through for you daily, but especially on this day. It reminded him of why he was working so hard, even though he never meant to fall in love with you this deeply. Your tiny bit of compliance would satisfy this overpowering need for you for a couple of days until he'd be back on his feet.

Wriothesley wanted to say more. In fact, he wanted to tell you everything. But it wasn't the right time, nor did he have the strength. Your feelings changed nothing about his, every beat of his heart screaming, "I love you! I love you! I love you!"

He was a little glad you didn't hear it. That would have been embarrassing.

Grinning to himself, he could feel his conscience being pulled out from under him. His breaths even, despite the extra weight on his chest that he clung to desperately, his chair never feeling more comfortable than in that moment. He wished to stay awake for a little longer, muse about the fact that you were the best blanket he could wish for, feeling just so right. Sleeping while holding you like this would definitely improve his nights, as he wouldn't have to worry about where you were and who you were with. If you were safe or in the process of trying to do something stupid. But he'd take what he could get, even if it was just this one time of you not trying to tear out of his arms and run from him.

After all, this day could have ended very differently. But it didn't.

He got to hold you again, the crisis averted so he could return to you. He had to be thankful for that, as his life would be worth nothing without you. And even waking up with you gone would be more pleasant than any thought about you dying far away from him. So he'd take this time to rest like he always had wanted, his beloved in his arms, his thoughts and dreams filled with you.

Trying not to be too greedy, now that he knew what it felt like not to lose you.

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n0tamused · 16 days

Text

Mutual Comfort

Content: comfort fluff headcanons, he comforts you and then he gets comforted too, gn reader, you/your, old writing of Wriothesley :p

-Should he say something? Obviously he should, he thinks as he watches your shoulders slump as you enter the shared sleeping quarters. Wriothesley, as big and burly as he is and uncaring on the outset, he cares too much for you to even take a step back to think things through. Rather, he thinks in stride, approaching you from behind, wrapping his arms around your stomach and burying his cold nose into the crook of your neck. His lips leave a feather light touch against the skin too, but instead of kissing it, he asks you what is wrong, in a tone so soft that it is nearly out of character for him.

-He rubs your hips as he goads you on to speak to him, please tell him what’s wrong, his touch says, how can he make it better, his kiss to your skin says, he has to do or say something that could possibly improve your mood or else he will crumble along with you

“Mon doux amour, tell me what is bothering you.. Don’t feel like this around me, like you have to hold it all to yourself. I’m not here just to look good or to act like a wall.. I’m your lover, your safe space, mon soleil..” he speaks into your ear, holding you against his chest as if you’d fall if he didn’t have his hands to hold you upright

-Slowly but surely, he pries away at your walls until you spill all the truth of your feelings to him. After he feels the need to stay with you for a while longer, to be your rock. His presence is not overwhelming or pressuring, and he gives you ample space and silence to make you comfortable and safe again. If you wish to be left alone completely, then he obliges, but not before telling you that you can always turn to him, either for advice, a simple chat or a tea service. It doesn’t matter. He will be there for you to lean on, and he will kiss every insecurity away from your thoughts

-The same sentiment goes for him, even if oftentimes he greatly prioritizes your wellbeing over his own. He knows his limits and that they are nearly skill high, but oftentimes, too, he neglects himself for the sake of longer work hours, especially when there’s an issue in the underworld that needs his attention. He doesn’t want to see this place fail, he is not some snob that likes to see people suffer. If he was, there’d be no infirmary, and no free meals, no entertainment, no coupons, nothing but prison cells and depression and a fortress that would eventually end up flooded

-So when he sees you enter his office with a tray of tea and some snacks, he knows he has gone too far. He buries his face in his hands as he sits at his table, embarrassed to look at you but not too embarrassed not to crack some joke on his expense. And by teasing you, he hopes to lessen the importance of the situation to remove the stress he sees in your eyes and your posture, clear worry written all over you

- ”Surely this isn’t what I think it is ? You’ve missed me? How come?” he grins a toothy grin, but his eyes give away how tired he is and the moment you propose the idea of a break he sighs and his head hangs lower. He knows he can’t persuade you to leave him to his work again and he knows he can’t sweet talk his way out. So he agrees to the tea, and the break, as he always does when you ask. He sits close to you rather than opposite of you. He is craving that contact he didn’t have for the few days he holed himself up in his work business.

-He is sure to touch you in some gentle manners. He runs his fingers up your forearm and then down, idly stroking the skin with the tips of his calloused fingers as he sips his tea, and then the next time he slides his fingers down towards your hand he sneaks his fingers between yours, interlocking your hands.

-He can’t help but feel at ease like this, and sometimes in situations like these, when it is just the two of you, you can easily catch him looking at you. Admiring you in such a way that is so pure and gentle. Like a puppy. He doesn’t even hide it, and when you catch him, the corners of his mouth twist upwards in a soft smile and his eyes sparkle as you give him attention. How sweet

-In the privacy of his office, he leans on to you now, his head on your shoulder and his soft breaths warming your skin

-Even when he is stressed, he doesn’t lack words to compliment you inside and outside, and at times he finds himself feeling overwhelmed with the love he feels. He never put his focus on love, and never really thought he’d find someone suitable for him, but now that he has that.. he is almost lost at navigating the territory. He just knows he’d do anything for you.

Translations:

Mon doux amour - my sweet love

mon soleil - my sun

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley fluff #-dragon.treasure #wriothesley x gn reader #gn reader #wriothesley genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fluff #wriothesley imagine #wriothesley headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #genshin x you #genshin imagines

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 2 months

Note

Thinking about roleplaying with mean mommy Wanda where she’d be an evil Queen and R her favorite maid and/or prisoner 🤭

Evil Queen Wanda and maid reader omg!!!! What a good idea ◡̈ I took this wayyyyy more literal... in this little blurb its not a roleplay🤭

This got kinda long... oops.

You're Wanda's personal servant, she'd taken one look at you on your first day and declared you hers.

Of course, you're happy to serve your queen, and you don't mind the extra protection that comes along with it. Her protective manner and watchful eyes draw you in, even as a small part of your mind reminds you that she is an evil queen.

One day, she comes in covered in blood, having dealt with some traiters in the dungeons. Not that you're aware of that little fact. You freak out, as expected, nervously fluttering around her as you draw her a bath. The frantic words coming out of your mouth are nothing short of endearing, and Wanda simply watches you with warm, green eyes as you collect yourself.

When you finally calm down, your mind returning back to your body, you realize that you're in the middle of undressing Wan- your queen. You go rigid, mouth agape as you blink rapidly, your fingers freezing from where you've been unbuttoning the front of her corset.

"Don't stop talking now, darling," Wanda's low voice wraps around your head, drawing you in. "I was quite enjoying the spew of nonsense from those pretty lips."

You barely register the slight insult, focused entirely on the fact that she had called your lips... pretty. Your queen, Wanda Maximoff, had called you pretty.

The worried energy surrounding you quickly becomes meek and nervous, and Wanda smirks at you while you finish unbuttoning her corset. You pull her hair free of its many pins, the silky auburn waves resting delicately over her bare shoulders as she...

Bare shoulders?

You blink again, taking in the sight of a completely nude Wanda. Your queen, standing in front of you with her perfect hair and knowing green eyes and that tantalizing curve of her hips...

She brushes past you, the barest touch of her skin against your hand sending shivers down your whole spine as you stare at her. Wanda sinks into her bath, raising an expectant eyebrow at you as the water turns slightly pink.

You snap to attention, grabbing a washcloth as you begin to wash the blood off of her. You pay special attention to her hands, wiping away the blood underneath her fingernails, your ears burning under the weight of her stare.

Resuming your duty, you ignore the growing arousal pooling at your gut. You resolutely ignore the swell of her breasts, or the way her nipples harden when you quickly wash her torso. Wanda doesn't say a word, simply observing you under the light of the candles littering the bathroom.

Eventually, you finish. Kneeling next to the tub, you wring the washcloth out. As you begin to stand, Wanda's hand snaps out and grips your wrist.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Wanda asks, and you finally let yourself meet her green eyes. She spreads her thighs, knees touching the sides of the tub as she tilts her head at you.

"Part of your duties as my personal maid include cleaning your queen." Wanda states, her eyes burning. "Every part of your queen."

You hold back a whimper, feeling your arousal begin to leak down your thighs. Nodding, you maintain eye contact as your hand slowly moves towards the apex of her thighs, the washcloth gently brushing her skin. You can't seem to look away, something in her gaze holding you there, holding you captive as she gently pries the washcloth away from your loose grip and guides your hand down further, and further, and...

The fear you normally feel around your queen evaporates, twisting into a burning arousal as you begin to move your fingers. Her gaze is almost predatory, and you know she'll never let you leave after this.

Not that you'd want to leave.

After that night, your queen treats you differently, even if it is only behind closed doors. When in the presence of others, her cold, hard mask is firmly in place, the glances she sends your way nothing short of distaste.

But, the moment she gets you alone in her private chambers, her hands are all over your body, ripping your clothes off and lifting her skirts while shoving you down onto your knees.

Her favorite activity is punishing you, especially whenever she catches one of her knights looking in your direction. Wanda will fuck you roughly, your backside aching from the blows she rains down using a riding crop, her strap buried deep inside you while she whispers "All mine," into your ear.

It's almost as if she turns into something else. Something different, something fierce and hungry and all yours.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

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mj-iza-writer · 3 months

Text

Whumpee leaned against Whumper's leg as Caretaker was brought in by henchmen.

"Aww, why are you shaking so much?", Whumper reached down and patted Whumpee's cheeks, "do you know them honey, hmm."

Whumpee blankly looked at Caretaker, "n-no master... I'm sorry."

"It's okay, honey, it's no one important. Not anymore", Whumper grinned at Caretaker.

"Whumpee it's me", Caretaker pleaded.

Whumpee hid their face into Whumper's leg.

"There, there, my little pet. They won't get you", Whumper grinned at Caretaker, "I'll make sure of it."

A loud bang interrupted Whumper as he was about to figure out what to do with Caretaker.

The door opened abruptly, and Caretaker's team rushed in and quickly took over the room.

The leader cut Caretaker free.

"Take Whumpee and get out of here", the Leader helped Caretaker up, "we'll be out in a few."

Caretaker went to grab Whumpee.

Whumpee buried their face into Whumper and held on tightly to their leg.

Caretaker pried Whumpee away and started to carry them out.

Whumpee fought against Caretaker.

"Master, you said you wouldn't let them take me", Whumpee cried out as they tried to reach for Whumper and fight out of Caretaker's grip.

"I know honey, I'm sorry", Whumper frowned, "I can't do anything."

When Caretaker finally managed to get Whumpee out of the room. Leader turned to Whumper.

"What did you do to Whumpee?", Leader glared at Whumper.

"Aren't they great, it's going to take you forever to break them out of my conditioning", Whumper laughed.

Leader shook his head in frustration, as they could still hear Whumpee yelling down the hall.

"So what's next, taking me prisoner", Whumper chuckled, "you and your little team."

"Nope", Leader raised his gun and fired a round into Whumper's head.

Around him the team killed off the henchmen then moved throughout the home.

Whumpee suddenly ran in with Caretaker following.

"No", Whumpee yelled as they ran to Whumper's body, they pulled at Whumper's hand and rubbed their cheek on it, "Master", they sobbed.

Leader grabbed Whumpee and carried them away.

Whumpee fought against Leader's grip.

"I know you are not the Whumpee I know right now. You need to stop fighting me", Leader frowned, "just stop."

Whumpee started to slap at Leader, they landed a solid slap across Leader's cheek.

"Oof", Caretaker frowned as they watched.

"Okay, I really don't want to do this to my own teammate, but you do not seem to be in the right state of mind", Leader forced Whumpee to the ground and placed them in handcuffs, "you are being a danger to yourself and the team."

Whumpee fought against the shackles.

"Please, Master", they pleaded.

Caretaker sighed, "I don't want to know what Whumper did to them."

The Leader nodded, as they stood up from Whumpee, "they said good luck on breaking through the conditioning. I think we have a long road to recovery for Whumpee."

"I think so to", Caretaker sighed.

"The home is secure, everyone is accounted for. No more prisoners", another team member came up.

Leader nodded, "can you help me carry them to the vehicle, they're a fighter, so watch it."

At the base, Whumpee was carried in by some teammates.

They sobbed as they were lowered to a couch. They hugged their knees to their chest and buried their face.

"I've never seen Whumpee like this", a teammate frowned, "this isn't Whumpee."

"I know, but unfortunately, that is Whumpee. I don't know what they've been through, but we are going to need to be very patient with them", Leader came around, "we need to count on a slow recovery process. For right now, Whumpee will not have any team duties. We need to help them."

Whumpee shook as everyone looked at them.

"Master", Whumpee whispered.

"I'll work with them", Caretaker stepped forward.

"I was hoping", Leader sighed, "I think you will have the best chance at getting through to them."

Caretaker nodded.

"Let's put a tracking device on them, I am removing their access permissions within our base as well", Leader stood up, "we can't risk them getting out, or lost in here."

Whumpee was handed a cup of hot chocolate to hopefully settle them.

"Be careful it's hot", the person warned.

Whumpee shook as they lifted it to their mouth, not paying attention to the heat as it graised their lips.

Leader quickly reached over and lowered the cup from Whumpee's lips.

"Be careful Whumpee", Leader smiled sweetly.

Whumpee gave a shy look and nodded.

Weeks later.

Whumpee timidly walked into where Leader was holding a meeting with other leaders.

"They shouldn't be in here, we know your teammate isn't in their right mind. They could be mind controlled or something", one of the partners pointed at Whumpee.

Whumpee shrunk back away from the group.

"My teammate has been through a lot in the last several weeks while in captivity, they are in need of a lot of assistance", Leader walked to Whumpee quietly so not to scare them, "if you have a problem with that then you can leave, and I'll email the plans to you."

Leader glared at the group, then knelt down to Whumpee.

"What's going on Whumpee?", Leader whispered.

Whumpee looked at the group of leaders.

"Don't worry about them. Do you need me?", Leader whispered again.

"I can't find Caretaker", Whumpee whispered, "I thought I heard you, so I followed your voice. I was scared, Master never allowed me to be alone."

"Okay", Leader smiled, "come here."

Leader led Whumpee to the table with the other leaders around it.

Whumpee shook as all of them stared.

"Go ahead and sit in my chair", Leader pulled the chair out, "I think Caretaker went out to get some things for you."

Whumpee hugged their knees to their chest while sitting in the chair.

"We have reason to believe their captor did some mind melt, then reprogrammed Whumpee's brain. We truly do not believe we will be able to get our former teammate fully back unfortunately", Leader covered Whumpee's ears as they explained, "they have many notes about experiments on the human brain. It seems Whumpee was considered a success for the most part, though they have the mind of a small child now. They are still our teammate, and we are taking care of them now."

"I'm sorry for your teammate, really I am, but I disagree with them being in here with us", someone argued.

"Then leave, I can't let them wander around my base by themself, Caretaker is out, and I don't trust my other teammates to babysit", Leader frowned, "their M-A-S-T-E-R", Leader spelt out, "was destroyed along with their henchmen, Whumpee was the only live person taken out that day."

"Can we be sure?", another leader replied.

"Yes, I K-I-L-L-E-D them myself", Leader sighed.

Later Caretaker came in with a bag of groceries.

"Have you see.... Whumpee?", Caretaker heard a hush from Leader.

Caretaker glanced at the couch where the sound came from.

Leader was reclined back with Whumpee resting on top of them.

Tiny snores were heard as Whumpee's body rose and fell with tiny breaths.

"Finally got them to go to sleep", Leader whispered with a smile, "all it took was a meeting and a few snacks after."

"How long have you been like this", Caretaker whispered, "do you need anything?"

"About an hour, I'm glad I went to the bathroom before, and I'm trained for holding uncomfortable positions for long periods", Leader glanced down at Whumpee, "could you cover them up, they're a little cold. I could use a drink."

Caretaker came around with a drink and blanket minutes later.

Once Whumpee was covered, Caretaker sat on the couch across from them.

Caretaker smiled at Leader.

"I'm glad they're asleep", Caretaker whispered.

"Me too", Leader whispered, "I texted the team not to bother me for a little just so Whumpee could rest."

Caretaker nodded.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots

#whump community #whumplr #whumblr #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whump #whumpee #whump scenario #whumper #caretaking #oc #caretaker #team whump

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silence-burns · 4 months

Text

The Death of Me //part 2

Fandom: Aquaman

Summary: (very small spoilers for the movie) Finding Orm on your doorstep was not something you expected. Having him move in was even worse. But the effect he still had on every part of your life would be the death of you.

Even though you learned early on the world was an unjust and cruel place, it still managed to surprise you occasionally. The last bits of hope clung to your cloudy mind, snatched away from you once you pried your eyes open to see your nightmare incarnate sitting by the kitchen table.

The fever knocked you out for a few blissful hours; earlier events fading into a half-remembered dream. But there was no denying the truth once you noticed the suspiciously clean counters and sudden lack of accumulated trash laying around. And, worst of all, your new roommate.

Or caregiver. Or pain in the ass. Or man that made your heart twitch in a way signaling either a crush or a heart attack. Who cared about semantics?

Orm Marius, former Ocean Master and currently just some guy, sat in the middle of the kitchen, making his way through a book. The seaside house was home to many books, although you doubted the original owner ever had the time to browse through them.

A small mercy had been granted to you and Orm didn't notice you had woken up. You couldn't help but observe him. Even though he was no stranger to you, and quite recently you'd helped break him out of prison and even somehow saved the world together, you still felt mesmerized by the way he moved and looked.

Even now, the dying evening light entering through the window painted the room in deep shadows, and softened the planes of Orm's face. He had positioned himself close to the window to read in the dimming light. It allowed you to see the softened curve of his shoulders and the way he tilted his head, studying the book just as carefully as you studied him.

“Glad to see you're doing better,” Orm said, without moving.

You jumped a little, making your injuries flare up in a wave of pain. A startled whine escaped your lips when your body reminded you how sore it actually was.

Orm put the book down and stepped over to the couch. Before you managed to say anything, he pressed his hand to your forehead. Whatever words rose in your throat, scattered.

“You're still burning,” Orm muttered with concern and furrowed brows. “Are you sure your medicine is working?”

“...it just needs some time.”

Your voice came out weaker than you expected. You felt fuzzy, and the room around you was definitely moving a little.

Orm was not convinced, and disappeared from your line of sight for a while.

Your fever was probably on the rise again, which was to be expected. For the past few days you'd been in and out of it, drowning in sweat and fighting off the urge to scratch underneath your bandages.

You kicked off the thin blanket, hoping Orm wouldn't touch you again. You were dreadfully aware of how wet Orm's hand must've come off and of the old sweat stench surrounding you. In your defense, you didn't expect any visitors, so for the past few days you focused on passively surviving rather than dragging your corpse to the shower once a day.

You heard Orm's steps before he entered your vision. “Man, just leave me alone. I'm seriously fine on my own—”

A wet towel slapped onto your face, splashing cold water around. What a simple, yet effective way of both shutting you up and providing relief. You'd be impressed if it didn't piss you off so much.

You dragged it off your eyes and came face to face with Orm, suddenly crouching way too close to your liking. He looked at you intensely and then raised an eyebrow.

“If you want me gone, then you should be perfectly capable of throwing me out. You didn't have any trouble last time we sparred.”

“That would be so rude of me. It would crush your ego.”

“As if you ever bothered being polite.”

“I am the nicest person that has ever graced this Earth.”

“You look like a corpse on its way to the afterlife. Unless your state improves, I'm not leaving. The only choice you have is finally dying or getting better and kicking me out. And since I'd rather see the outcome of option number two, I think we have to start with these bandages.”

“They’re in place.”

“The wounds need to be cleaned and dressed again. I can smell that from back here.”

With a hiss through clenched teeth, you dragged yourself into a sitting position, as far away from Orm as was possible on the couch.

“...look who's impolite now.”

Orm moved closer to you with a darkened expression. It made you shiver and put one bare foot on his chest in the only defense you could muster. He wrapped his fingers around your ankle, but didn't move any closer.

“It's not about politeness or pride,” he explained slowly, not taking his eyes off you. “I want you to feel better, regardless of what it takes.”

The way your cheeks heated had very little to do with the fever. In a kinder world, Orm wouldn't have noticed it.

But in this one, he was too observant to miss something like that. His lips curled in the faintest of smiles just as his hand moved further up your leg, slowly dragging his fingers over your scorching skin. Your heart was in your throat and wanted out.

You slapped the wet towel onto his arm and freed your leg.

“Such profound words for someone so annoying.”

“Whatever gets you moving. These wounds really do need cleaning, and I will not back down from that one.”

“I can do it myself.”

“If you could, you would've done it days ago—when it was actually due. That's enough waiting, take them off.”

You thought back to how far your injuries went under your shirt. It provided you with a surprisingly effective burst of motivation to heave yourself off the couch and onto semi-steady legs.

You wobbled off in the general direction of the bathroom, wishing for your torment to finally end.

“Please do avoid any further injuries,” Orm called after you, watching your unsteady search for clean clothes and a towel. There was painful stiffness to your joints, but you were extremely motivated to overcome it.

“I promise to graciously call for your aid right before I break my neck on these marvelous tiles.”

There was not much dignity left in you, but you did your best to protect it by switching the bathroom lock rather than slamming the door.

You could've sworn you heard Orm chuckle.

#orm marius #orm marius x reader #orm x reader #orm x you #aquaman imagine #aquaman orm #Aquaman orm marius #the death of me #orm marius x you

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yandere-writer-momo · 10 months

Text

Yandere Baki Shorts: Fate

Jun Guevara with a prison penpal fem! Reader

This man has me in a chokehold right now but there’s next to nothing for content for him. AND HE FINE FINE

Jun Guevara

You had decided to sign up to adopt a prison penpal out of boredom. A way to help someone reconnect with the outside? You’d love to contribute to such a noble cause!

You put down loving the beach and the ocean as your interests and sure enough, you matched with a man in his mid twenties named Jun Guevara. Jun was at the Arizona State Prison. You had no idea what he looked like or what his crimes were, but you didn’t care. He was your penpal so you’d start sending him letters!

Imagine your surprise when he replied in as little as a few days? His handwriting was a little bit neat and a bit wonky. It seems he was excited to write to you! He didn’t think they’d match him with a young woman such as yourself

The two of you exchanged letters for months. The letters slowly getting flirtier and flirtier. Jun wanted to know what you looked like. He wanted to see your face and he wanted you to spritz your letter with perfumes. Jun was slowly digging more and more into your private life until he knew more about you than you did yourself. But you didn’t realize the danger you were in. You were just happy to have a friend. A shame he didn’t see you as a friend…

You sent him a picture of your face and sprayed the letter with perfume. You didn’t think anything of it. And that’s when the poems started. Jun would send you poems of how beautiful your eyes were. Of how beautiful you were

Then the pet names came. Meu anjo. Meu amor. Meu linda. Meu bem. Meu querida. You didn’t realize that he was calling you my angel, my love, my beautiful, my darling, and my dear. Jun was calling you his. How could you have been so dense?

It was when your roommate read one of your letters that you began to become a bit uneasy. That the reality of his words in the letters began to sink in. Jun didn’t see you as a friend like you saw him, he saw you as so much more. Jun saw you as a lover. As a possession.

You didn’t respond to his letters for a week. You were a bit confused on how to proceed. How do you kindly let a prisoner down? You didn’t know what this man was even capable of… since you never pried into his crimes. It dawned on you that you didn’t really know him at all, while he knew everything about you. How could you be so naive? You felt sick to your stomach knowing that you had entrusted a complete stranger with details of your personal life. You needed to cut him off.

Another week went by and you had received 5 letters from him. You haven’t even opened them yet. You were too nervous too.

It was when you received a call from an unknown number that you felt your gut sink. You hesitantly answer the call.

“Hello?” You softly ask. You weren’t sure who would be calling you at such an hour but the reply on the other end made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Is this (your full name)?” A man’s voice on the other end of the phone sounded scared. Like he was afraid of something. “You need to leave your house immediately and head to the police station to get to a safe house. You’re in danger.”

“Danger?” You softly ask, your body trembling as you glance around your home in fear. Why would you be in danger? You weren’t a criminal…

“Jun Guevara and a few other prisoners broke out of prison.” The words sunk in and you felt your blood run cold. You couldn’t hear anything else the man said. You hung up the phone and automatically made your way over to your desk that had five unopened letters on it. You ripped open the letters Jun had sent you to see what he wrote. Your eyes widening from each sentence.

‘Are you alright, meu quierida? You haven’t responded in awhile and I’m worried about you. I assure you that you have nothing to fear. I promise I’d never hurt you.’

‘Meu anjo. Please reply. I’m starting to get really worried about you. Did something happen? You didn’t hear anything from those porcos about me did you? I swear I’m not as dangerous as they say! At least… not to you. I’d never harm a hair on your head. I love you.’

‘Meu linda. It’s been almost a week. Please reply. I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Just please respond. Please let me know you’re okay. That you care about me too. Was my confession too bold? I have been told I can be quite intense at times. I just have a burning passion for you, meu bebe. I just love you so much, that I can’t bear to lose you. Just please answer.’

‘Meu bem, I’m going to break out of prison and find you. I can’t bear this silence. It’s been over a week and now I think something has happened to you. Don’t worry, I’ll find you. I’ll save you.’

Your hands shook as you opened the last letter. Your eyes wide in horror once you realized it wasn’t sent from the prison… it was sent from a town over from you. And this was a few days ago…

‘Meu amor. I was able to beat up a porco to get your address! I successfully broke out and I’m coming to get you. We’ll be reunited soon okay? They can’t keep us apart. No one will! We’ll leave the states and go to my sovereign country where we can start a life together. Won’t that be lovely? You’ll be able to be on the beach all the time then!’

You stepped back from the letter as tears gathered in your eyes. You put your hand over your mouth to stop the cry from coming out. That’s when you felt something hard and warm pressed against your back.

You try to jump away but two muscular arms snake around your waist. The scent of coconut, musk, and white rum filling your nose as a muscular chest shakes with laughter.

“Meu amor… we’re finally together.” You’re spun around to face an incredibly handsome man. A warm smile on his face as his brown eyes soften at you. “God you’re even prettier in person… I’m such a lucky man.”

Jun bends down to press a kiss to your cheek. You freeze when you feel the stubble on his face tickle your skin. His calloused hands hold your jaw so he can get a better look at you.

“I’m so happy you’re alright, meu quierida. I was worried sick. How could you make papi worry so much?” Jun then chuckles, his lips peppering your face with affectionate kisses. “We’re together now so that all that matters… fate has united us come again.”

Jun then scooped you up into his arms, a smirk on his handsome face.

“How about we get out of here now? It won’t be long before the porcos show up and I really don’t want them to separate me from my wife.”

Before you could even get in a word, the pirate rushed you out of the door and towards a car full of prisoners waiting outside. He climbs into the back seat and secures you on his lap. What was going on?

“Guys? Meet my future wife, (your name)!” Jun excitedly introduced you to his peers. He links his fingers with yours. “We’re soul mates.”

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itsgrimeytime · 10 months

Text

Scratch That Itch || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Available on AO3

Summary: Honestly, you weren't sure how it started. It wasn't a competition, at least you didn't think it was. There'd been something between you and Rick, something that people couldn't quite label. And maybe you batted your eyes the first time, and maybe he smirked the second. Either way, this was getting out of hand.

TWS: suggestive AF, FLIRTY, TENSION, innuendos, pregnancy mention (Maggie is pregnant in this one), violence, blood, mentions of guns, the undead, all things TWD.

[[A/N: Basically a 5 plus one. just wanted to establish how dumb it was that no one absolutely dived for this man. I think he'd be flattered, personally, if you took every chance you could to hit on him. Also FUCK the horror part of this show, Alexandria is paradise and Negan is not allowed. Thanks for your time !!! So, here's what I'd picture would play out. Enjoy!!]]

The first time you remember it happening was just a slip of the tongue. Or that's what you said anyway.

You'd known Rick for a while at that point; the group had picked you up somewhere after the prison falling -you'd been holed up in a shack for probably a year.

And fuck, you knew Rick Grimes was handsome. Everyone under the sun knew that (all broad shoulders and baby blues, his voice-), and you thought you'd gotten a hold of the reigns -at least enough for decency. Sure, you stared at him for way too long a lot of the time, and had been noticed by several people -including Rick. ("You've got something... uh, on your face," you scrambled, and honestly you'd never been more mortified in your life-)

It wasn't the first time it happened, looking back on it, but you couldn't quite picture earlier. He'd been too suave for it to be the first time and maybe he was just that suave, but you kind of hoped it wasn't you that started it. So, you'd live in your delusion.

You were tired, exhausted really. The past few days you couldn't sleep, mostly because you felt unsafe in Alexandria -it was all so new that it gave you a sense of unease. You, naturally, went on every run available to feel that burst of adrenaline that felt so familiar -killing walkers was what you knew.

After Rick caught up with your plans, he'd made you stay. That didn't mean you were sleeping though.

Hence the current you sat at a table in a meeting of such, he'd liked to have these every once in a while -establish the plans and how he was running Alexandria. Rick was nothing if not connected to his people. It was honorable if there was such a thing in the apocalypse.

You think it was Carol, maybe, who'd said it. Referring to the resources, you'd come to learn. Apparently, Rick had been planning too much -maybe they were talking about bullets, food? You really didn't know.

"We can't keep up with you-" she was so earnest, you should've known that it was more of a pressing issue, but instead, your brain running on day (four...?) of no sleep had... other connotations.

"Oh, I'm sure I could."

You thanked whatever god was left above that Carl was out on a run with Glenn that morning. Everyone else? You weren't so lucky.

It wasn't like you could pass it off as not... what it was. Your tone was perfectly readable, slurred actually from sleep which, in retrospect, only added to the... interpretation.

You hadn't even realized you said it, so far off in whatever fuzzy reality you were currently in to notice you'd spoken. Until, Maggie who was somewhere near the back burst into laughter -cutting it short by holding it back, but the break of noise was still there.

There was something that acknowledged the embarrassment, the silence and laughter only registering after a few heavy seconds. To say you were more awake than you had been in weeks was an understatement -your eyes felt pried open with a bundle of nerves sinking deep into your stomach. You might throw up.

Talk about mortifying.

You felt frozen in your seat, hesitating to make even a single move like he couldn't see that your eyes, once heavily lidded, were now open -detailing the woodwork like your life depended on it, but still awake.

And then, after a few agonizing seconds, the voice you had dreaded spoke up. Normally, you wouldn't have noticed. Trying to find an escape route from at least this room, the grand scheme would be leaving Alexandria but that was-

There was a calloused fingertip underneath your chin, guiding you to meet his eyes -amused in a way you hadn't seen before. His mouth had to be maybe an inch from yours -breaths mingling and his lips turning into a smirk, you willed yourself not to look.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, sweetheart."

The silence was even louder after that, nobody making a move like what was happening at this moment like it was a dream. It could definitely be a dream, you thought to yourself -eyes dipping to his lips in a moment of weakness.

Then, Daryl yelled, "Get a room, nobody wants to see 'at."

And Rick had laughed in a sort of crooked way, his smirk seamlessly budding into a grin. Without so much as a blink, he moved his finger and addressed Carol like nothing had happened.

There was something petty in you because you had taken that as a challenge. Well, you would when you could think straight again.

The next time was more casual, more natural. You'd always been attracted to Rick, but since then you felt so open to it like you'd crossed a boundary and he had... well, he had done what he did.

You still couldn't think about it too hard or your brain would turn to sludge.

You had the running theory that if you were fully present in the... flirting game? Was it a game? You didn't feel like it was, but then again, you had gotten competitive of all things.

Didn't matter, your theory was if you were more present, he'd been more affected. It's one thing to have a half-asleep person flirting with you, and another if it's a fully awake person. You were hoping to plan it out, get exactly the right words to say -it was going to be perfectly crafted to get a reaction out of Rick Grimes.

But, it didn't end up that way.

You were folding clothes, which was a bit of hell within itself but you were helping Maggie -she made it much more bearable. Even though just about every few minutes, she'd remind you of your... incident.

It was all in good fun, she was always giggling and teasing in a sister sort of way. You found yourself close to her pretty much as soon as you'd met her -catching her eye lingering on Glenn for a few seconds too long. They were well-established at that point, but you'd found an interest there in the budding... romance.

After she'd lost so much, your connection was nice, fresh, and easy in the apocalypse. It was light and airy when it needed to be, and strongly protective otherwise.

You'd threatened Glenn pretty much immediately after you met him -something about 'you hurt her and I'll grind your bones into paste'. It was in a joking tone, but he took it as you intended. (He'd grinned at you afterward, saying something about you fitting right in. Needless to say, you didn't get the desired effect.)

So, you sat -carefully detailing the piles as you worked through them, Glenn, Maggie, and a tiny pile of onesies. You smiled at it, as it continued to grow, and the conversation was easy to be in -nothing too substantial, just casual topics.

"Saw Glenn the other day," you remarked, remembering the deadly cold stare he'd passed onto some of the Alexandrians -Daryl falling close behind, "-you got lucky, Mags."

Maggie laughed, bright and loud -her face was somehow glowing, you guessed pregnancy would do that to you, "I know, he's... He's amazing."

"Hey, don't start on the ooey-gooey 'I found my soulmate in the apocalypse' shit," you groaned -you loved her, really you did, but with your mortification... you were truly going to die alone.

Maggie huffed, elbowing into your side, "You started it."

"Well, I wanted to talk about-" the door to Maggie and Glenn's swung open, revealing a Rick who'd just got done working -sweat on his brow and dirt on his jeans, "-something... different."

She, on the other hand, was acting completely natural, "We could get into those things if you want, I just figured-"

"Rick, thank god you're here-" you turned to him dramatically -still folding clothes without much extra thought, "-please rescue me from this torture. She's on her Glenn kick-"

He paused before a smooth smile melted upon his lips -you bit back the urge to watch it from there, salt and pepper beard stretched along his mouth, "When is she not on a Glenn kick?"

"You're not helping," you sighed, retorting with a passive playfulness, "-you're supposed to give me an out, you know. Save the day, isn't that what gentlemen do?"

Maggie spoke up, in agreement, "That's what gentlemen do."

Rick was staring at you, eyes flickering along your face and then settling on your hands. You were in your own space, carefully placing each fabric in as nice of a stack as possible -fingers swift and practiced. You could still feel it though.

His eyes heavy on every motion -following you like you were a shooting star in the sky, a sight to be seen. Jaw twitched, licking a line against his teeth, as a grin peeked up then, and you knew you were in for it.

"Well," he sighed, leaning against the doorframe casually as if the words were as true as the sun rising in the morning, "-I can think of a few better things to do wit' your hands."

You startled, the shirt (clearly Glenn's if the bright graphic had anything to say) held up in front of you -tips of your fingers tight on the fabric, almost too tight. Exhaling a breath, as you wordlessly stared at the shirt in front of you, you vowed to yourself you wouldn't freeze again. And somewhere deep in your head, your competitiveness sparked up in a single flame.

With the casual speed of folding the shirt, you wordlessly placed it into Glenn's pile -it was teetering dangerously, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, and stood.

Your steps were slow, deliberate, and despite the flurry of thoughts in your mind, you were clear-headed.

"What," you spoke, it was low and breathy (but there was no need to be loud, he was right in front of you, "-these?"

Rick hadn't spoken, as you wordlessly traced your nails across his arms, not enough to scratch -watching as the goosebumps lay in their wake. His flannel was rolled up to his elbows, and the skin there was golden from the sun -muscle underneath your fingertips, detailed and extensive.

His breath hitched, and you grinned, biting it back at the success on your side -a familiar buzz tossing your stomach in a pleasant sort of way. It spurred you on further.

"What did you have in mind, Grimes?" you were a breath away now, breath mingling and your fingers still absently tracing his skin -eyes intently locked on his.

Rick's face was still, except for the tiniest twitch of his nose -eyes clouded with something you hadn't quite grasped. It was intense and heavy, left a sort of burning on your skin -you felt a sort of flush there, but ignored it in favor of-

His eyes flicked to your lips, it was a languid gaze like he was watching the puffs of breaths. He was certainly not ashamed, eyes focused and for a second, you truly thought... maybe this wasn't a game. Maybe he would break then, and kiss you with a fever that you'd felt in the air. His own hands-

"Ahem," Maggie cleared her throat, "-as much as I enjoy this, really I do. I've got laundry that needs foldin'."

Before Rick could even blink out of his stupor, you'd smiled -wide and bright, "Rick will help you, won't you?"

He blinked, seeming to filter through the heavy fog, "I was actually lookin' for Glenn-"

"Don't worry," you hummed, still barely a breath away from him -voice low and eyes heavy, "-I'm sure he'll understand. Everyone gets distracted, right?"

Rick was hanging onto your words, eyes shining in a kind of way that made you itch to touch him -breathy and on the edge of something, "Right."

"Good," you grinned, patting his cheek -much like an aunt at Thanksgiving, a bit condescending. Simply, leaving him as he was, and stepping back -you could hear him mutter something not very gentlemanly.

Glancing towards Maggie, you spoke casually -remaining as unaffected to the naked eye, "Let me know if you need anything else, Mags."

Maggie rolled her eyes, patting the bed for Rick to sit, and Rick well, he was grinning at you -eyes light and smiley. But the smooth smirk that gathered at his lips said all it needed to: game on.

Count that as a point for you.

The next time was a bit more of a mixed bag, you'd done something stupid. An extra run, you'd gone out on your own and you were fine. Just a few cuts and bruises, some blood (not yours) encrusted into your skin.

But you were exhausted by the time you approached the Alexandria gate -feet dragging, and hands aching to reach your own home for a hot shower. Anything really to soothe the pain in your back, you'd fallen, not far. You doubted anything was broken, but you knew it'd bruise -big and purple. You just figured you'd ask around and get a heating pad to sleep on until further notice.

One night would be fine.

What you hadn't accounted for was Gabriel watching as you left and watching you sneak back in. Nor had you accounted for just who he would tell.

"What the hell-" Rick's tone was low, not loud enough to wake anyone -as he faced you in the streets, "-were you thinking?"

You didn't ask how he'd known, you figured at that point it was pointless, "I wasn't. I know, it's stupid. Look, it's nothing major. I'll just deal with it in the morn-"

There was a shuffling in the nearby houses, and you both froze in place -air rushing from your mouth in a worried heap. Waiting for a light to switch on, or a door to open, anything-

After a few seconds, nothing echoed in the silence, and you opened your mouth to continue.

But, Rick -gruff and almost a growl (it made the hair stand up on your arms), interrupted, "Not here."

Your mind was in a fuzz, as his hand wrapped around your wrist (long, calloused fingers-) guiding you among the barely lit streets. The sound of walkers was distant in the night, and with your heart beating so loud in your chest -you had a spare thought to wonder if he could hear it.

With a dazed glance, you realized that Rick was leading you to your home -a tiny piece of you was crushed at the notion of not being in his home, but with Judith so young... it made sense. Your fingers dragged briefly along the familiar splintered wood, where you'd carved out initials of some people you once knew.

The thought passed quickly, as he pulled you inside -only stopping to shut the door and guide you further. There was a spark in your mind at the idea that maybe he'd guide you somewhere more private for different reasons than to cuss you out in the early morning hours, you stopped the thought process before it could get much farther.

"What-" you began, eager for an explanation, and he simply shushed you -not even turning back, he was so focused on his destination.

You'd tried to be offended, but the sudden turn into your bedroom cut the thought short. His fingers still closed around your wrist, you wondered again if he could feel it -bumping against his skin. Loud and nervous, because of him-

And then wondering, what would he do if he did?

Before you could put too much into that discussion, he turned into your bathroom. It wasn't exactly small, but Rick (in his broad shoulder and leader stance glory) had to squish up against you. Even slightly, the buzz of his body warmth against yours sent a zip up your spine that made you incredibly aware of the... Rick around you.

Woodsy smell, and calloused fingertips, you almost spoke -on instinct, trying to cool the fog of your brain. Regain anything but the overwhelming sense of salty sweat and heavy worry delicate wrapped around you. And yet-

He spoke then, simple, direct, "Up."

At first, you hadn't known what he meant, standing in the bathroom -merely noticing how close his chest would get to yours when he breathed in, until your fingertips brushed upon the countertops of your sink.

Oh.

Your body had a mind of it's own, extending your arms outward as Rick lifted you. And even just for the sole second you stayed in his arms -flannel fabric rubbing against your side, and fingers curled under your arms, you felt a sort of bliss.

Rick was in no such state, stepping back from you with a hand reached out (making sure you were steady in your place) and all at once giving you a look over. You truly didn't know how you looked, the bruise blossoming on your back was the only thing that was causing an ache right now. You thoroughly doubted he could see that.

And a few other scratches on your face maybe? And your shoulders? It was a bit blurry now. You seemed to remember the scraping of nails, and a sting following suit.

Rick's face stayed unmoving, blue eyes flickering in the low light -brief across your skin but it still felt quite vulnerable. Broken open in front of eyes that kept looking at you -intent and focused; you kind of wanted to shrink into yourself, disguise from them.

He didn't let up, eyes heavy on the task at hand -a sort of determination set in his jaw, "First aid?"

"Yeah, uh-" you cleared your throat, tightening your fingers on the counter -a spare thought almost had you skimming through his hair, "-it should be in the cabinet. It's the same one that was here when we arrived, is that-"

"'s fine," he interrupted, swiftly pulling the tiny case out of the cabinet -eyes set across a few of the spare scratches, "-better than nothin'."

He stayed focused, sliding between your legs -urging your chin up with the tiniest of touches, and using the motion to look at some of your scrapes. Your head was swimming in a sort of fuzz, following the motion like you were boneless -maybe you were.

"They aren't that bad," you tried to urge, sinking into the intimacy of having someone care for you -it was probably the first time it'd happened to you without asking.

Rick hummed, carefully wiping at one on your forehead -the most tender of touches with calloused fingertips (the contradiction making your head spin), "And that means what?"

You faltered, "Well, we shouldn't waste resources on-"

"I've got plenty of bandages," he answered, concisely, "-if someone needs some, tell 'em to come to me."

"Rick, I can't ask you to do that," you relented, unfamiliar with this energy in such a vulnerable position -when you felt like this, you'd been batting eyelashes and he'd do that smirk that made you forget what you were saying. It wasn't... it wasn't this. The tenderness in his hands, and the act of it being so natural to him, not a bother.

"Ya didn't," he answered, simply, hands wiping away at your skin so gently you almost leaned into it. The urge to let him hold you like putty, let him care for you, he clearly knew how-

You chose not to speak then, eyes dashing along his face -following the crinkles, and a few blemishes. You were close enough to memorize them, you might as well. The thoughts of wondrously connecting them on his face, brushing your hands along -it was something that you hadn't thought of.

You wouldn't let yourself.

"Why are you doing this?"

Rick paused in his motions, eyes littering down to yours -trying to read the look on your face. He exhaled, heavily, and took a few steps back -it cleared your head a bit, the smell of Rick just a tad less overwhelming all your senses. (You kind of missed it.)

"Can I ask you somethin'?" he questioned, tossing what he could in the tiny trashcan without much semblance of thought towards it.

You stiffened at the shift of tone, retorting with a tight smile, "I thought I just did, but uh... yeah."

"This," his finger flicked between the two of you -your eyes followed it with an embarrassing fervor, "-it's... What is it to you?"

If he'd asked yesterday, you would've answered much differently. Not that you hadn't felt... this, it was just a much different perspective. You hadn't thought of this part of it, the protectiveness, the concern, because of course, Rick Grimes was a force to be reckoned with. And if you got... involved, you imagined it extended to you.

"'Could ask you the same question," you deflected, fingers trailing down your arm and messing with your sleeve -it was partially rolled up and you flicked the button between your fingers.

"'Kay," he hummed, stepping closer -in your space just as seamlessly as before but this was more intentional, "-we can do it this way."

Without another word, he grabbed your hand by the wrist -stopping the motion with a heavy sort of look, "Pay attention."

You froze, watching as Rick stood a breath away from you -blue intense in a way you'd become familiar with, but still somehow different. You nodded, wordlessly.

"I'm-" he started, before seeming to scrap it, "There are no conditions with me. If I go anywhere with you, and I mean anywhere-"

Your breath hitched.

"-I'm for everythin'. There's no one thing," Rick continued, seeming to not notice the implications affecting you, "-it's everythin'. Mornings, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and if I can swing it... dates."

You exhaled, your gaze softening on the man -he wasn't shying away, eyes intently on yours. There was a new energy in the air, something softer -not as suffocating on his smirk, but warmer, enveloping you.

"You-" you started, tone shaky in a bit of disbelief, "-everything?"

His hand matched up to yours, fingertips detailing your palms without so much as a look down. Biting back a smile (like you weren't hyperaware of his mouth being so close), he mumbled -low gravel brushing across your skin, "Everythin'."

It took you less than a second to process the words, heart heavy against your ribcage, "Okay."

He blinked, stunned, "You... That was quick, I wasn't expectin'-"

"Rick," you exhaled, a bit breathy at the slightest touch of his hands, "-have you seen yourself?"

He laughed, short but it still sent a pleasant buzz up your spine -his hand rested an inch from your leg on the counter edge. And somehow your mouth kept running at the closeness.

"You're the best man I've ever met," you hummed, more sentimental but still in the rush of his scent and the dizziness of his body warmth, "-although, I'd hope you keep your... promises. I will gladly take anything you offer."

"I'll keep 'em," his voice was low, bubbling something up in your stomach -eyes heavy but something new there, affectionate even, "-I never say anythin' I don't mean. And trust me, I mean it."

You still hadn't crossed that boundary, mere looks and touches that lasted a bit too long -you shivered at the thought. It was building, loud and yelling in your head every time you so much as saw Rick in the corner of your eye. Eyes lingering for much longer than usual, you felt a bit like you were stopped.

Rick was leading, it wasn't that hard to tell -every smooth hand on the small of your back, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, and recently, without so much as a break in the conversation, pulling you into his lap.

There were perfectly good seats, many of them.

And yet, he sat you there -one of his big hands splayed along your side holding you steady and the other rubbing a soothing pattern in your thigh. The brush of his hands still ghosted over you even now, and if you focused hard enough, you could feel the drag of his fingertips on your skin.

Maggie hadn't let it go for weeks. Fuck, you hadn't let it go for weeks.

Maybe that's why you'd been grumpy that morning, the itching of having Rick Grimes's hands on you had set you a bit on edge. The building tension only made your throat close up and your brain sort of lack words, but you'd truly be dead before you'd give up.

You knew Rick was up early, he always was -set to do whatever he had to that day, or even to take care of Judith. Conveniently, though, Maggie had taken Judith that night and Carl had slept over at his new friend's house (Rick had been hard to convince on that front, but his weakness had always been his kids after all).

It was a Saturday, he liked to rest on Saturdays. You knew that because he'd sit out on his porch in the heat, sweat dripping from his face and the top few of his buttons undone to accost for the warmth.

Or, he totally could've known that you watched him like clockwork -eyes heavy on the touch of chest that showed and trailing the sweat down his collarbone. You were sure if you'd gone up to him when he sat like... that, you wouldn't have had such a clear mind.

He had that edge of cockiness now, he would unbutton his shirt just a little bit more to get your head spinning. It was in his character.

Taking a deep breath, you made your way into the neighboring house -the distant puff of sleep on your limbs but your mind had never been clearer. The door was unlocked, as you waltzed into the house -the emptiness was a sort of unfamiliar tone in the house, yet your body moved forward.

You made your way to the door -his bedroom, before you stopped. Your feet froze in place, as you followed the trail of the wood -seeming to realize just what you had done. Running into a man's house, and ending up at his bedroom door... in your pjs.

At the thought, your head swam and a blush of crimson flushed down to your collarbone. Biting your lip harder than you ever had in your life, your eyes lingered over the wood -hesitating to even imagine what was behind that door.

He had a white duvet, they all did.

You groaned, not even noticing the volume level, because it was early and you weren't thinking- and spun on your heel, ready to confront him later. At a more reasonable hour, and more reasonable clothing.

The door creaked open, and something in you stayed frozen to your spot, only halfway spun towards the door. It was obvious, big t-shirt and sweatpants that you had just woken up, and in that bliss, you thought that maybe the shadow hid you in the hallway. It was early enough to cast the world in a sort of darkness -halfway between the sun shining and the cloudy early morning.

And then he chuckled -a sort of warm gravelly tone, "You want some breakfast?"

You opened your mouth to respond, turning back to the door -eyes settling on the man in the frame. His figure seemed somehow towering, more than usual, curls a bit wild -your fingers itched to smooth it down. And he was shirtless, the expanse of his skin making your head flutter in a pleasant sort of way -slight marks of freckles etched across him, and plaid pants hanging low on his waist.

You felt your anger dissipate, despite the urge to hold onto it, sighing, "I... yes."

"Good," his voice was low, sleep-slurred, and you suddenly got the thought this was a very bad idea. His arm wrapped around you -body warm tripled with just skin, as he guided you into the kitchen.

You had beaten this before, the sort of buzz that Rick Grimes put you in, but he had never been so close and shirtless before. The bare skin of his side pressed into you like it was nothing, your mind spun -lucky he was guiding you so swiftly.

"You gonna tell me why you're 'ere?"

He was looking at you now, the kitchen was much brighter -open curtains, and light cabinets. He looked domestic in here, and the kitchen itself seemed like his. A few bowls dirty in the sink, dish towels hanging on the oven, some baby snacks sorted into little baggies, it all screamed Grimes household.

You cleared your throat, "You wanna know?"

"I asked," he smiled, toothy and bright -so warm and fuzzy, "-didn't I?"

"You're not," you paused, trying to coil down the nerves tight in your stomach, "-freaked out that I'm here?"

Rick laughed, somehow getting somewhat closer to you, hands rubbing up and down your arms without much extra thought. Before his face settled into something heavier, affection still high on his face, but something more familiar there.

"Y/N," the smooth upturn of his lips, as he gathered closer to you, his breaths quick despite his demeanor, "-if I had my way you'd be here every night and day."

Your heart was fast in your chest, heavy against your ribs and you thought about it for a second. Waking up here, dinners with Carl and Judith, Rick... everywhere. It wasn't... bad.

It was far from bad.

And that wasn't just Rick, it was everything. A domesticity with Rick that you had come to terms that you'd never get, and yet here it was. Laid beautifully in front of you.

Rick was nervous, you could tell. The shift on his feet, his eyes glazing over your face so intently like he was memorizing every shift but to try and find out what you were thinking. He had always looked at you, you realized.

The amount of that blue shine you'd seen with such intense focus wasn't just this. And he'd always touched you. If danger was present, he'd tug you behind him without a single extra thought. With the gentlest of touches when you were injured, he was sure to help you through it -if not there with you, he'd stick someone he trusted. (Insanely, he'd told Daryl once when they were trying to raid another camp and Daryl would've been immensely useful-) And the smirk, it wasn't new... You'd seen it in banter, he'd make you laugh so hard and he'd make that face like he was smug, like he was proud.

"Y/N?" he asked, a bit scared of the silence, "-Everythin' alright?"

"I-" you started, a bit startled at the revelation but confident in pursuing it, "This was never a competition to you, was it?"

Rick furrowed his eyebrows, reiterating, "I told you-"

"No, no," you interrupted, taking a few dangerous steps forward, "-before that. Before that meeting when I didn't sleep enough... You-"

You couldn't finish it, the word hanging heavy in the air, just on the cusp of your tongue. It would be real then, and you still weren't sure. You couldn't say it, you could just act like it never happened-

"I love you."

And there it was, silencing your train of your thought, as you looked at him with a sort of curiosity. He wasn't looking at you, eyes scrunched closed as he rubbed at his face, embarrassed almost. Like he had never intended to tell you, or never have you find out. Was he... Was he afraid?

"I-" he started, trailing off in a deep sigh, "I never meant for it to be... Shit, this looks so bad. I wasn't trying to convince you to feel the same. I just- It just started. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable-"

"Rick," you tried -but your voice was so quiet.

"I never. Fuck. It wasn't supposed to go this far-"

"Rick-" you urged, louder, but it didn't stop his pacing.

"It just happened, over the years... I couldn't stop it, everythin' just kept adding up. I kept lookin' at you, and I couldn't stop. And then, you were half asleep but you said it- I thought maybe... I just wanted it to be real-"

"Rick," you leaned up, placing your hands on the sides of his face and making him look at you, "-breathe."

He stopped, eyes wide and blue -looking right into yours, and following your whispers of instructions. Trying to keep his brain right here with you, you counted out his breaths and he looked with something you wouldn't have noticed before. But now you did.

"You with me?"

He swallowed, nervous, "Yes, but-"

And without a second thought, you pushed forward and put your lips on his. It was a quick motion, a bit frantic, so Rick had to adjust. He originally wasn't responding, still and unmoving against every molecule of your body trying to be close to yours.

Then he did.

Rick was smooth, moving his arms to wrap around your middle (urging you even closer) and dipping into you without much less restraint. Your hands brushed across his stubble and tucked behind his ears, twirled up in his curls like it would keep you grounded. And maybe it was. The simple press had evolved, a sort of emotion lingering in the touching skin. You itched to somehow be closer, to ignite that sort of attention everywhere. The sparks were alluring, and all you could think about was more.

Rick was on a different page, pulling back with a grin so bright you'd almost flinched at it. After a few moments of looking, you watched as he slowly leaned forward -your body naturally leaning forward a sort of bliss piercing over your mind.

And then, he swerved.

He pulled his hand out of its position against your back -brushing your stomach as it came to your throat. And then, as gently as a butterfly landing on your finger, he pressed his thumb into your pulse. It was currently crazy, running on the adrenaline of showing up here so early and his confession, and the kiss-

All he did was grin.

"So fast," leaning into your ear, huffs of breaths hot on your skin -you just knew that he knew what he was doing, "-that for me, sweetheart?"

You growled, frustration at its peak, and pulled back to match his face -at a sudden mix of affection and anger, you let your heart speak, "Fuck you, Grimes."

He merely smiled brighter, head tilting ever so closely, "Well, since you asked so nicely-"

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