need to write another fic where wade is so embarrassingly down bad it’s actually controversial. reader hates him and verbally abuses him and he’s still crawling on his hands and knees begging her to crush his balls when she says that. if she spat on him he’d tell her keep going he’s close. she tells him to kill himself and he says only if he gets to hit first as his last good memory—go out with a bang, so to speak.
the complete utter and total lack of self respect is commented on by his peers but he doesn’t care. he knows his baby’s just playing hard to get, that you’re toughening him up, that you know he loves this. but everyone is pretty adamant that he’s gotta pick himself up and get smart. wade doesn’t want to, he knows you’ll come around. he does anything you ask him to without question even if it puts himself in danger, and sometimes you’re sweet on him but only when you want something big. people tell him he’s stupid, but he doesn’t care. you kind of smiled at him that one time and it made his cock hurt
thinking about daryl down on one knee by the front pipe of his bike, a cigarette hanging from his lip and his hair falling in his eyes. a few feet away, rick is leaning against the hood of the truck, a wrench in his hand, talking low about the afternoon perimeter runs.
the tool makes a sharp, heavy clink against the bike frame, then stops the second you’re near.
daryl doesn’t look up right away. he stays still, head tilted, listening. but rick’s voice cuts off mid-sentence. you feel rick’s eyes shift to you first, his brows lifting in sudden, quiet surprise, before he awkwardly clears his throat and looks down at his boots, suddenly taking a very deep interest in the dirt.
when daryl finally raises his chin, his eyes slide slow up your legs, hitch hard at the short hem of the denim, and lock onto the deep, low scoop of that white tank top.
the smoke shifts to the corner of his mouth. his brow furrows deep, a dark, heavy scowl cutting across his face as he realizes exactly why rick just stopped talking.
you tilt your head, completely oblivious to the sudden, suffocating tension drop in the garage. you hoist a woven basket full of bright red tomatoes and fresh green zucchini onto your hip, wiping a stray smudge of dirt off your cheek with the back of your wrist.
“just came back from the garden,” you say brightly, stepping closer and giving them a wide, innocent smile. “look how big the tomatoes got overnight! i thought we could–”
daryl spits the cigarette straight into the dirt and stands up, looming over you. he doesn't bother with a rag; he just wipes his greasy palms straight down his thighs, leaving black streaks on his jeans. he deliberately shifts his weight, his broad shoulders completely blocking you from rick’s line of sight. his eyes haven't left your chest.
“you walked across the whole damn camp like that?” he grunts. voice like gravel being crushed.
you blink up at him, entirely confused by the thundercloud on his face. “duh. it's ninety-five degrees out, daryl. the tomatoes were burning up.”
“ain't enough cloth on ya to clean a spark plug,” he snaps, stepping right into your space. he cuts a sharp, warning glare over his shoulder toward the truck, telling rick without words to keep his eyes to himself. rick just shakes his head with a faint, knowing smirk, raises his hands in mock surrender, and turns completely back to the truck engine.
daryl looks back down at you, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling heavy. “i know for a fact every loose-jawed idiot by the guard rails was gapin' at ya while you were bent over pullin' weeds.”
“they were just saying hi,” you say, your voice perfectly sweet and entirely naive as you adjust the heavy basket, forcing him to step back half an inch. “everyone was being really nice today.”
a muscle in daryl's jaw twitches so hard it looks painful. he reaches back without looking, yanks his own heavy, faded flannel off the bike seat, and shoves the bunched-up fabric hard against your stomach, right over the basket of vegetables.
“put it on,” he mutters, his hand lingering for a second, his thumb catching the bare skin at the edge of your hip, his grip tightening just enough to make his point.
his eyes suddenly flicker up to your mouth, narrowing dangerously as they lock onto the bold color painted on your lips. his hand leaves your hip, his heavy, grease-stained thumb pressing firmly against the corner of your mouth. with a rough, deliberate swipe, he drags his thumb straight across your bottom lip, smudging the red lipstick out past the line of your mouth and leaving a dark, engine-grease streak across your skin.
he stares down at the mess he just made, his chest rising and falling heavy.
“you ain't taking one step outside this yard looking like that again.”
i saw that you were taking reqs for the boys and i have this like very vague concept of a deep x reader fic where the reader is a marine biologist and idk i think itd be cute😭😭 idk tho!
~♡ꜝꜞ ❝ 𝒲onderful ❞
────── · · The Deep x fem ! marine biologist ! reader
a / n : more content for this pathetic little thing
character/s featured. kevin moskowitz/the deep .ᐟ
rating: fluff.ᐟ
requesting rules. masterlist.
The fluorescent lights of Vought Tower's marine research wing hummed with their characteristic sterile buzz, a sound that had become as familiar to you as your own heartbeat over the past eight months. You were bent over a stainless steel examination table, your brow furrowed in concentration as you carefully documented the tissue samples from a rescued harbor seal that had been found entangled in fishing nets off the coast of Maine.
Your lab coat was slightly too big, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows to reveal the delicate silver bracelet your grandmother had given you. Your hair was pulled back in a messy but functional ponytail, a few stubborn strands escaping to frame your face. You were so absorbed in your work that you didn't hear the distinctive wet footsteps approaching from behind.
"Whatcha doin'?"
The voice was impossibly close, right next to your ear, and you startled so violently that your pen went skittering across the table. You spun around, hand pressed to your chest, to find Kevin Moskowitz—The Deep—standing approximately three inches from your personal space, his head tilted at that particular angle that made him look like a confused golden retriever.
"Kevin!" You laughed, the sound genuine and warm despite your racing heart. "You scared me half to death. I thought I locked that door."
"I have a key, remember?" he said, dangling the key in his hand before putting it on the desk. His voice had that particular quality it always got around you: slightly higher pitched, slightly breathless, like he was perpetually on the verge of saying something important and forgetting what it was.
"Of course you do," you said, shaking your head with an affectionate smile. "Because knocking on the door like a normal person is apparently beneath you."
Kevin's face split into that goofy, wide grin that made him look approximately twelve years old, despite being a grown man in his thirties. His eyes, those big, earnest, eyes, were fixed on you with an intensity that would have been unsettling coming from anyone else.
"I wanted to see you," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "I was talking to the fish on my room's tank and they said you were down here working late again and I thought- I thought maybe you'd want company? I can be good company. I'm excellent company, actually. I've been told I'm like, top-tier company. Right up there with, you know, penguins. Penguins are great company. Very social creatures. Not that I'm comparing myself to penguins, because I'm obviously a human, but also-" He was rambling now, his words tumbling out faster and faster as he seemed to realize he was making no sense. "I brought you something."
He held out his hand, and you noticed for the first time that he was clutching something in his palm. It was a small, perfect scallop shell, its surface gleaming with an iridescent sheen that caught the fluorescent light and scattered it into rainbows.
"Oh, Kevin!" you breathed, reaching out to take it from him. Your fingers brushed against his, and you watched with fascination as a visible shiver ran through his entire body. "It's beautiful. Where did you get this?"
"Found it," he said, puffing up slightly with pride. "Down in the deep part. The really deep part. Like, deep deep. Where it's all dark and creepy and stuff. I was talking to some anglerfish, they're honestly such gossips, you wouldn't believe, and I saw it just sitting there on the ocean floor and I thought of you."
"You thought of me?" you repeated, turning the shell over in your hands. It really was exquisite, the ridges perfectly formed, the colors shifting from pearl to lavender to deep rose.
"Yeah," he said, and there was something almost vulnerable in his voice now. "I kinda always think of you when I see these type of things, like- pretty things, i mean."
Your heart did a little flutter. It was such a sincere, uncalculated compliment, the kind Kevin gave without even seeming to realize he was giving it. In the months since you'd been assigned to Vought's marine research division, you'd grown increasingly fond of the strange, awkward, deeply insecure man who seemed to have latched onto you with the desperate intensity of a barnacle.
"I'll treasure it," you said, and meant it. "Thank you, Kevin. That's really sweet."
He beamed at you, practically vibrating with pleasure at your approval. Then, as if unable to help himself, he stepped even closer, his body angling toward yours in a way that was almost, but not quite, invasive.
"You know," he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "I could show you where I found it sometime. Take you down there. It's really beautiful once your eyes adjust to the dark. And I'd keep you safe, obviously. Nothing would hurt you while I'm around. I'd make sure of it. I'd—I'd protect you from everything. Every shark, every giant squid, every-"
"Kevin." you interrupted gently, touching his arm. "That's very sweet, but I'm perfectly happy staying on dry land, thank you. I prefer my marine life safely on the other side of glass."
"Oh," he said, deflating slightly. "Right. Of course. That makes sense. You're a scientist. You like, you know, studying things. Not being in them. In the water, I mean. Not—not being in things. That came out wrong. I meant-"
"I know what you meant, Kevin." you said, laughing again. God, he was ridiculous. Absolutely, completely, utterly ridiculous. And somehow, impossibly endearing.
"You're laughing at me." he said, but there was no accusation in it. If anything, he seemed pleased, as if your laughter was some precious gift he'd managed to earn.
"A little bit," you admitted. "But in a good way. You're just—you're very.. you, Kevin. I like that."
His entire face transformed. It was like watching someone step into sunlight after years in the dark. His eyes went wide, his mouth dropped open slightly, and a deep flush crept up his neck and into his cheeks.
"You like that?" he repeated, his voice cracking on the last word. "You like—you like me?"
"of course I like you, Kevin." you confirmed. "You're one of my favorite people here. You always make me smile."
He made a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and for a terrifying moment, you thought he might actually cry. His eyes were definitely glistening, and his hands were twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but didn't quite dare.
"I-" He swallowed hard. "That's—that's really nice. That's really, really nice. You're really nice. You're the nicest person I've ever met. Like, ever. In my whole life. And I've met a lot of people. Some of them were even nice. But not like you. You're like—you're like a sea otter. But prettier. And with better hair. Not that sea otters don't have good hair, they're actually very well-groomed creatures, very meticulous, very-"
"Kevin," you said, gently cutting off his ramble. "Do you want to help me finish cataloging these samples? I could use an extra pair of hands."
"yes!" he said, so quickly and loudly that you actually startled back a step. "I mean- yes. I would love to. Help you. With the things. The—the marine things. That you're doing. With your hands. And your—your brain. Your very smart, very beautiful brain."
He was practically vibrating with barely contained excitement as he scrambled to your side, positioning himself so close that his shoulder brushed against yours every time he moved. He didn't seem to notice (or if he did, he didn't care) and you found yourself smiling down at the top of his head as he peered intently at the samples you'd been working on.
"So these are from the seal?" he asked, his voice taking on a more focused quality. "The one with the net stuff?"
"The one with the net stuff," you confirmed, handing him a pair of gloves. "I'm trying to determine if there's any long-term tissue damage from the entanglement. If the necrosis has spread too far, we might need to-"
"Amputate the flipper," he finished, nodding sagely. "Yeah, I saw that once. Really sad. The seal was really sad. But then it got a cool prosthetic and it was really happy again. It was on a TV show. A nature show. With Morgan Freeman narrating. His voice is so calm. Do you think my voice is calm? I've been trying to make it calmer. More soothing. Like ocean waves. You know, 'whoosh, whoosh.'"
"Your voice is perfect," you chuckled absently, reaching for a pipette. "Don't change a thing."
Kevin went very, very still. When you glanced up, he was staring at you with an expression of such naked adoration that you nearly dropped the pipette.
"I-" he started, then stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "My voice is- you think my voice is-?"
"Perfect," you repeated, smiling at him. "Now hand me that scalpel, would you?"
He handed you the scalpel with shaking hands, and if you'd been paying closer attention, you might have noticed the way he watched your fingers curl around the handle, the way his breath caught in his throat, the way his entire body leaned unconsciously toward yours like a flower turning toward the sun.
But you were focused on your work, and Kevin was content, more than content, ecstatic, to simply bask in your presence, absorbing every detail of you like a sponge in water.
Two weeks later, you found yourself in a different section of the marine research wing, this time working with a consultant from the Oceanographic Institute named Dr. Marcus Webb. He was tall, conventionally handsome, with the kind of easy confidence that came from years of being the smartest person in every room he entered.
He was also, as Kevin had noticed with growing horror, very, very interested in you.
You'd been working together on a project about deep-sea thermal vent ecosystems, a subject you were genuinely passionate about, and Marcus had been impressively knowledgeable and engaging. He'd made you laugh several times and had suggested getting coffee together to "continue the discussion."
None of this escaped Kevin's notice.
He'd been watching from the hallway, he looked like a child looking into a candy store, except instead of candy, the thing he desperately wanted was you. He'd come to find you to show you a particularly interesting piece of coral he'd discovered, only to find you laughing at something Marcus Webb had said.
Something ugly and primal clawed its way up Kevin's throat. It was jealousy. Hot, acidic, all-consuming, and it made him want to do things that would probably get him in a lot of trouble with Homelander and Vought's PR department.
But he couldn't just leave. Leaving meant letting Marcus Webb have unfettered access to you, and that was simply unacceptable. So Kevin did what any reasonable, well-adjusted adult would do in his situation:
He went to find you and insert himself into the conversation.
"Hey!" he called out, his voice carrying that particular whiny quality it always got when he was feeling insecure. "Hey, you! My favorite marine biologist! The prettiest one!"
You looked up, and your face lit up in that warm, genuine smile that made Kevin's knees feel weak. "Kevin! I didn't know you were here."
"I'm always here." he said, and immediately cringed at how desperate that sounded. "I mean- I'm here a lot. Because I like it here. Because of the—the water. And the marine life. And the-" He gestured vaguely in your direction. "And stuff."
Marcus looked at Kevin with the kind of tolerant amusement that made Kevin's blood boil. "The Deep, right? I've seen you on TV. You're the one who talks to fish."
"I don't just talk to them." Kevin said, bristling. "I commune with them. It's a profound connection. Much more significant than—than whatever you're doing, which is probably just, you know, reading about them in books or whatever. Like a normal person. Who doesn't have superpowers. Which is fine. It's totally fine. Nothing wrong with being normal."
"Kevin," you said gently, and just the sound of your voice was enough to soothe some of his frayed edges. "Dr. Webb is actually one of the leading experts on deep-sea thermal vent ecosystems. He's been incredibly helpful with my research."
"l bet he has." Kevin muttered under his breath, then immediately regretted it when you shot him a questioning look.
"Did you need something, Kevin?" you asked, and there was no frustration in your voice,just patience, that infinite patience you seemed to have for him and his particular brand of ridiculousness.
"I-" He'd forgotten. What had he wanted? Something important. Something he needed to show you. Something- "Oh! The coral! I found this amazing coral. It's bioluminescent, and it's really, really beautiful, and I thought you'd want to see it because you like beautiful things, and you like marine things, and you're beautiful, and-" He was rambling again, he could hear himself rambling, but he couldn't seem to stop. "I mean, obviously you're not a marine thing, you're a human thing, a very pretty human thing, but you also like marine things, and this is a marine thing, so I thought you'd like-"
"Show me," you said, cutting through his ramble with a warm smile. "I'd love to see it."
You turned to Marcus Webb with a pleasant expression. "I'm sorry, Dr. Webb, but I'm going to have to take a rain check on that coffee. Maybe another time?"
Something bright and triumphant flared in Kevin's chest. You'd turned down Marcus Webb. For him. For him.
"Of course," Marcus said smoothly, but Kevin could see the flash of irritation in his eyes. "Perhaps we could schedule something for next week? I'd love to continue our discussion about the chemosynthetic bacteria."
"We'll see." you said diplomatically, and Kevin had to physically stop himself from doing a victory dance right there right then.
The moment Marcus Webb was out of earshot, Kevin practically collapsed toward you, his voice dropping into a desperate whine. "I don't like him."
"Who, Dr. Webb?" You looked genuinely confused. "He seems perfectly nice."
"He's not nice." Kevin insisted in a hiss, following you like a lost puppy as you gathered your things. "He's- he's got a smug face. And he was looking at you weird. And he touched your arm. I saw him. He touched your arm like three times. That's- that's excessive. That's inappropriate workplace touching. I should report him to HR."
You laughed, and Kevin's heart did that weird flip-flop thing it always did when you laughed. "Kevin, he was just being friendly. He touched my arm twice, and I think one of those times was an accident."
"It wasn't an accident." Kevin grumbled. "It was deliberate. Premeditated. He's got a plan. I know his type. He's one of those—those smooth guys who thinks he can just waltz in and—and—" He couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't bring himself to articulate the fear that had been gnawing at him since he'd seen you laughing with another man.
"Kevin." Your voice was soft, and when he looked up, you were watching him with that gentle, understanding expression that made him feel both completely seen and completely exposed. "Are you jealous?"
"No." he said immediately. "No, I'm not- why would I- I'm not jealous. That's ridiculous. I'm not jealous. I'm just- I'm observant. I notice things. That's all. It's a- a marine thing. Marine creatures notice patterns. It's how we survive. Not that I'm a marine creature. Obviously I'm a human. Mostly. Technically. According to my birth certificate."
"So you are jealous." you repeated, humming.
Kevin deflated like a punctured balloon. "Tch- well, maybe." he admitted in a small voice. "A little. But only because- because he was touching you, and you were laughing, and you looked so pretty when you were laughing, and I wanted to be the one making you laugh, but he was making you laugh, and that's supposed to be my job-"
"Kevin." You stepped closer to him, close enough that he could smell your perfume, something floral and sweet that made his brain go fuzzy. "You make me laugh all the time. You make me smile every single day. You're my favorite person in this entire building, and probably in the whole city."
"Really?" His voice cracked on the word.
"Really." you confirmed. "Now stop being jealous of Dr. Webb and show me this coral you found. I'm genuinely curious."
Kevin nodded, his expression shifting from desperate jealousy to eager puppy in approximately point-three seconds. "It's this way. Come on. It's really amazing. It's got these little tentacles that light up, and when I touched it, it changed colors, which I thought was really cool and you'd probably have a scientific explanation for it because you're so smart-"
He was babbling again, but you didn't seem to mind. You just smiled and followed him, letting him take your hand- oh god, you'd let him take your hand, and lead you through the winding corridors of Vought Tower toward the bioluminescent coral he'd discovered.
Kevin's heart was pounding so hard he was certain you could feel it through his palm, but he didn't let go. He would never let go, he decided. He was going to hold your hand forever, and if anyone tried to take you away from him, he would- he would-
He didn't know what he would do. But it would be impressive, he decided. He would do something very impressive and heroic, and you would look at him with that warm, admiring expression, and he would finally feel like he'd earned the right to bask in your presence.
"You're staring." you said, and Kevin realized with a jolt that he'd been staring at you for the past thirty seconds.
"Sorry," he said quickly. "I was just- you're really pretty when the light hits your hair like that. Actually, you're pretty all the time."
"Do you ever run out of things to say?" you asked, but you were smiling, so Kevin counted it as a win.
"Not really," he admitted. "My brain just kind of… goes. Especially when I'm around you. It's like all these thoughts just start happening, and they all want to come out at once, and it's really hard to filter them, which is why I probably sound really stupid a lot of the time, and I'm sorry about that, I just-"
"I don't think you sound stupid," you interrupted gently. "I think you sound like someone who cares deeply about things. That's not a bad thing, Kevin. It's actually quite endearing."
Kevin made a sound that was somewhere between a squeak and a whimper. "Endearing?"
"Very." you confirmed.
And just like that, every ounce of jealousy he'd felt toward Marcus Webb evaporated, replaced by a warm, glowing certainty that you were his, and he was yours, and nothing and no one in the world was ever going to change that.
kinks: daddy dink, DDLG elements, lap sitting, elements of cucking if you squint, reader has these men wrapped around her finger, mentions of spanking, oral sex, hickeys and bite marks, rough sex, slight breeding kink, domestic life, true love (at its best and worst), reader is a brat
warning and triggers: reader is romantically and sexually involved with three men, age difference, daddy issues, jealousy, polyamory, relationship drama, some codependency
word count: 13.4k
plot with porn, slight alternate universe.
female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.
dbf! rick & daryl masterlist
"You think that Negan wants to fuck me," you say, and Rick's heard you say plenty of filthy things before, but the words ‘fuck' and ‘Negan' without any word about him dying in the same sentence is really tripping Rick out. He swallows hard, but waits for you to finish, enjoys the feeling of your socked foot pressing up against his shoe with the way you're standing.
It’s hard for Rick to hold anything against you. He just sees you as the girl who needed him after your father passed, and he identifies so strongly with being the one you need, that sometimes he forgets that he's allowed to be something else around you.
Forgets, that you’re allowed to be different too.
⟶ Or: You’re already with Rick and Daryl. What’s one more?
“Where is she?”
Rick’s voice. Daryl hears him from the kitchen. Voice loud, angry, the sound of his footsteps and the way he slams the door.
Daryl knows why he’s angry. ‘Course he does. But even if he didn’t know, it’d be easy for him to guess, because Rick is never loud. Never careless or rough with anything in his home, in his community. He doesn’t slam the door, he doesn’t drag mud into the house, he doesn’t speak badly about anything or anyone behind these walls.
He cares about this place, with a passion beyond that of a normal leader. Daryl knows it’s because he sees Alexandria as a symbol of something more. Hope, maybe. A better future. A place to build, in a world where everything’s already been destroyed. As far as anyone knows, this could be the last decent place in the entire fucking world, and shit if Rick doesn’t want to protect that.
It’s why, Daryl thinks, while he’s rinsing out his dirty mug in the kitchen sink because he’s domesticated now -
It’s why Rick is so fucking mad at you.
Daryl hates to say it, because thinking anything negative about you feels like it physically hurts him, but there’s no other way to say it.
You fucked up. Royally. You fucked up so bad, something like dread twists in Daryl’s gut, because he doesn’t know how you’ll ever be able to come back from this. He doesn’t know if Rick will ever forgive you, which is fucked up, because Daryl can.
You made a mistake. A dumb, fucked up, completely horrific mistake, but he loves you and that’s all there is to it. He already spanked your ass until it nearly bruised, had you crying and angry, remembers the fight you and Rick got in, when he had to physically put himself between the two of you because of how loud it was getting.
Daryl can forgive you. Shit, he already did, even if he is mad at you. He can do that, because as much as he cares about this community, he cares about himself, about you, more. No matter what happens, even if these walls go down some day and he’s got to go back to permanently camping, as long as he has you, he’ll survive.
You’re the most important thing in Rick’s life, Daryl knows. That man loves the fuck out of you. But what you did that day at the gate, letting those men in - Negan and his men - well, it’s hard for Rick to get over that. Because what’s happened to the community since, because of what you did, was a little bit like smashing Rick’s plans for the future, all his hope, and flushing it down the toilet.
How can a man get over that?
Daryl doesn’t like this. If he shows too much sympathy or love your way, Rick’s weird with him. Not outwardly mad, just makes it awkward since they’re both still living in the house with you. Things are tough right now. Bad, and Daryl wonders how he didn’t realize that life, even with the new resources in Alexandria, still has the ability to turn into a pile of shit, running water be damned.
Rick enters the kitchen, and Daryl doesn’t say anything. Truth is, he doesn’t like the way Rick’s been treating you. He’s not been mean, per say, because he’s not that kind of man and he still obviously adores you, but his tone is too harsh. He ruins your mood, whenever he comes around, and it puts Daryl in an upsetting situation because he just wants to shake the both of you and get you to kiss and make up.
You - you need to fucking apologize. And Rick, well - he needs to get over it. If it wasn’t you at the gate, letting in Negan and his men, it could’ve been Eugene, or Sasha, or whoever else that might’ve had a lapse in judgement.
Instead of arguing, everyone needs to be sticking together. More than ever, with the new additions to Alexandria.
With Rick in the kitchen, Daryl decides that he has to answer him. It’s fucked up if he doesn’t.
“She’s out, man. Negan needed to see you, and she wanted to help take the load off of you, alright?” He wants to say chill out, because yeah, Negan fucking sucks. But it’s not like he’s going to fuck up the community. He wants to live here, he wants to be apart of it, and, yeah -
Forcing his way in and shaking things up with the threat of violence is fucked up. Daryl’s pissed too, being made to act like a bitch just to keep things smooth, but ultimately, this is just the way things are now. It could be worse. Life is unfair now. Has been, for a long time.
Rick sighs and closes his eyes, brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He’s going through it. His leader title is slipping through his fingers everyday, he’s fighting with you, he’s on the outs with Daryl, has a chip on his shoulder with just about everyone else. Daryl understands, he really does, but there’s nothing either one of them can fucking do about this Negan situation.
“Perfect,” he says sarcastically, and Daryl almost rolls his eyes. “Just great. That’s,” but Daryl stops him right there. He listens to your nagging enough and has no desire to hear Rick act like a scorned wife.
“I’ll go get her. Check on her. Try to relax, or some shit,” Daryl doesn’t know. But he leaves the house without another look at Rick.
As annoying as Rick is, Daryl can’t be too hard on him. He gets it. Like right now, for instance.
He knows that Rick isn’t worried that Negan is going to hurt you, no. He’ll pretend like that’s what he’s worried about, but Negan has been nothing but nice to you. Much nicer to you, than to anyone else in Alexandria, even his own men. Maybe it’s because he’s attracted to you, which Daryl knows from the way he looks at you, leers at you, touches your shoulder when he’s talking to you, or the small of your waist when he passes by you.
Or maybe it’s because you let him into Alexandria without so much as a question. Whatever it is, you guys…hit it off. Daryl knows it’s stupid, that these fucking girlish emotions he’s feeling are the least of his problems, but he can’t help but feel a little…jealous that you get along with Negan so well. It’s upsetting too, for obvious reasons - but Daryl feels like your friendship, or whatever the hell you have going on with Negan, is personal.
You’re not scared of him, you don’t feel bad about what you did, letting him in here. If anything, you’re spinning it into a good thing.
Told Rick the other day, in a screaming match that Daryl could hear even in his room with the door closed, that he should be thanking you, and Negan for that matter, because Negan does the dirty work to keep people in line and to keep the community safe, since Rick’s too nice, and then Rick said he knows he’s too nice, because look at what he lets you get away with, and then -
Well, Daryl left after that. Stayed on the porch though, just to make sure you were okay. Not that he thinks Rick would ever do anything, just. He’s cautious, okay?
Daryl finds you in the garage of one of the other houses, pool stick in hand while Negan takes a turn at the pool table. The garage door is wide open, lights on in an otherwise dark neighborhood. Daryl doesn’t know if he’s happy that you’re obviously not hiding anything, or if he’s pissed that you’re so outwardly confident about being friends with the worst man Daryl knows. It’s fucked up.
He doesn’t make his presence known, just watches off to the side, in a place you and Negan can’t see him. He hears you giggle, watches you take a fucking terrible shot on the table when it’s your turn, but Negan still praises you. “Good job, little lady. Gettin’ better,” he says, and you beam, and Daryl tries really fucking hard not to storm in there and beat Negan’s ass.
He’s mad at you, too. He really is, not that he’d ever say it. Because he knows what’s going to happen after this. You’ll come home, avoid Rick, and even after spending hours with the enemy, you’ll still slip into Daryl’s bed. And he’ll let you.
He’ll always let you.
“Should be getting home now, don’t you think? Probably got your old man all worried,” Negan says, and Daryl can just hear the smirk in his voice. You shake your head, but put the stick down anyway, leaning it against the edge of the pool table.
“He’s my boyfriend,” you say, “And so is Daryl. You need to be nice to them, Negan. Or else I can’t,” you trail off, but Negan knows. He can control a community, can control hundreds of people with the threat of violence, but he can’t control the feelings of a woman like you.
Part of your appeal is this fire you have. Negan’s not going to risk losing what little camaraderie you have, because he likes you (Daryl really could kill him right now), and forcing you into whatever role he wants you in, making you lose that fire - well, that’d make you lose one of the most important parts about you that make you who you are.
At least, that’s what Daryl’s assuming.
Negan nods, but he doesn’t look happy about it.
Truth be told, Daryl wonders where you got your balls from, having the confidence to talk to a man like Negan like this. It’d be kind of hot, your confidence, if it didn’t scare the shit out of Daryl.
“Need me to walk you back home?” Negan asks, and Daryl almost scoffs. Walk you home down the street? Really? You’ve got a gun on you and you’re a fucking great shot. Is Negan really the pinnacle of safety, when Daryl saw him kill someone with a clean bullet between the eyes the other day for trying to trespass through the gate at night?
But you shake your head. Politely say no thanks, and you start for home.
Daryl follows a few minutes later. He’s good at staying hidden. He heads up to bed while you’re in the downstairs bathroom.
He leaves his bedroom door open for you.
────
Negan wants in.
He’s never been the type to be jealous of another man. Really. He’s always been pretty hot, good with the ladies. And, sure - maybe there were times that he wished for more money, more power, more respect and free time before the world became this, but he’s got to admit that the fucking zombie apocalypse really changed his life for the better.
Life is pretty good now. For him at least. He’s adapted well, and he’s built something pretty damn sturdy and beautiful, if he does say so himself. He’s hurt a lot of people, yeah - but he’s also saved a lot of people too. Given them a purpose. A place. Somewhere to call home. Because people need order, and sometimes they need violence to keep that order.
So what? Negan uses a little force to help get society back on track, and suddenly he’s a bad guy because of it? Treated like the devil incarnate and shit, when he’s just trying to make the best of everything? Other people should take some fucking notes. Show some more appreciation.
In fact, he’s got one man in mind that should really be sending a thank you card his way, and that man is Rick Grimes. Negan Smith has never been jealous of another person, but when he saw Rick Grimes, and saw everything that fucker had, well.
He decided that he was going to have what Rick had, whatever it took to get it.
Rick Grimes. Maybe it’s not envy that Negan feels for the man, but something else entirely.
Admiration, maybe? Although even that is hard to admit. Negan’s impressed by him, that’s for sure. All the ways Rick and his group have fucked up Negan’s people, all while living in a cheery, beautiful suburb. Rick has killed Negan’s people, while still wearing the title of good guy, and even worse - gracious leader. There should be no fucking such thing, but Rick doesn’t seem to understand that.
Rick’s clever, resourceful. The guy took out Negan’s men and still gets to play the hero. King of a picket-fence suburb, worshipped like a saint while blood dries under his boots.
Because Rick got lucky. Got close with his fucking day ones, or whatever they seem to be. Family, they call each other? Negan doesn’t need to be a good person to know that the people in this community are mostly good people. Loyal, save for a few bad seeds. And Rick just happened to be lucky enough to land himself in a pretty picture-perfect situation - by apocalypse standards, anyway.
Rick doesn’t know what it’s like to rule over bad men, and that’s pretty much all that Negan’s got. Because bad men get the job done, and that’s what Negan needs. That’s what Rick needs, although he’ll never believe that. He’s clever, and, okay - Negan would call him smart. But there’s something about Rick that just screams naive to Negan.
Rick’s too trusting to see when the community that he cares so much about is about to fucking go under. Doesn’t see, that Alexandria's fall won’t come from Negan.
Truth is, a few of Rick’s own people came knocking. They found Negan.
Spencer was one. How else would Negan and his men know where the gate was? Because, sure - they assumed a place like this existed, just like they knew about the other communities in the area, but it’s not like they had any actual idea where this place was. What they’d find inside of it, if they ever did find it. Or who.
It doesn’t matter though, because -
Well, see - Negan wants what Rick’s got, but he also wants Rick. Man’s a genius, although Negan would never tell him that. People like him. Most do anyway, save for that idiot Spencer and some other dumbasses that follow him around. Negan acts like Spencer is cool with him, but the truth is, Negan hates dumb people.
Rick’s a good leader, and Spencer is a backstabber. That wouldn’t change, even if he found someone else to follow, and Negan only wants loyalty around him. People with a spine and a backbone. Which is probably why he appreciates Rick’s group so much, even if they stand in his way more often than not.
Rick’s got fucking Alexandria, which Negan wants, but more than that -
Negan wants you.
Because what Rick’s got - Alexandria, the safety, the people - it’s all tied to you.
Spencer said you were about as ditzy as a doll, too soft to say no, too loved to ever face consequences. He’d laughed as he said it, how easily you’d probably let strangers in, how everyone forgives you no matter what you do. Then he got all flustered, in his drunken rant while Negan watched on with a fake smile, nosy and disgusted, and something slipped: Spencer said something about you and Rick...and Daryl.
Wow. Negan’s been dealing with prudish women that don’t really want to put out until he’s almost forcing, and at that point, it loses its fun. He’s got the women, but it doesn’t matter if you have a toy if the toy doesn't work, right? He’s fed up with them all, anyway. Wives, his ass. It’s too much work these days anyway, wondering who’s sneaking off with their first husband, who’s faking an illness so he doesn’t visit their room.
Negan’s had enough.
Once he found out about you, what you had…going on with two men old enough to be your father, and then he saw you and heard your little giggle? That was it for him. That was all Negan needed to see to feel…refreshed. Excited again, about life and what was to come.
There’s a saying, Negan thinks, although he can’t remember who said it, or what the exact words really were, but - it was something about needing inspiration to get on with it. To get on with life.
Yeah, that was it. Inspiration. You’re all the inspiration Negan needs.
You, and the fucking granite countertops in all the homes in Alexandria. Toasters. Coffee makers. Epsom bath salts on the edge of every single claw shaped tub in all of the homes. Don’t get him wrong, because Negan really does like the blood and guts and gore and filth of the little empire he’s built, but there’s something about a pink, princess girl like you and an air fryer that’s really energizing to his entire being.
Negan likes his world of grit and gore - but there’s just something about you, barefoot in a pink tank top, pointing out the shape of a bunny in the clouds while the smell of death surrounds you, that makes Negan want more.
Man, Rick really lucked out. Negan will never understand why he spends most of his days complaining, when he’s got it so damn good.
When Negan first heard about your thing with Rick and Daryl, he assumed it was a sex thing. Who wouldn’t? But as he got to know you, and man, did you warm up fast - but as Negan saw more of you and Rick and Daryl (which, Rick he gets, but Daryl?), he knew it was more than just sex.
Rick looks at you like you’re his last sip of water in a fucking desert. There’s a softness when he sees you, so quick to come over him that Negan thinks it must scare the man himself. ‘S why Rick puts on this dramatic, in charge demeanor whenever you’re concerned, because he’s trying to hide how soft you really make him.
That softness in his eyes? That’s fear. Fear of how much he feels for you, and Negan can respect that. Nothing scarier for a man as tough as nails than to fall in love with a woman, because love makes people weak. Negan understands.
If he so much as breathes next to you, Rick looks like he’s going to self combust. Kill Negan, or, shit - sometimes it looks like he might off himself. Especially since you’ve gotten so friendly since Negan’s been here. So helpful, so thankful that Negan’s taking some of the load of leadership off of Rick.
It’s not exactly as black and white as that, and Negan knows he’s not exactly helping Rick with anything, but there is some truth in what you’re saying, so he lets you believe that. Spread that around Alexandria, because Spencer was right -
Everyone does like you. Negan’s not heard one bad word rise up against you. Seems like you might be just as lucky as Rick.
Now Daryl -
Negan doesn’t know what to say about Daryl. He’s cool, in a way. Frightens the hell out of Negan, with how quiet he is, but he’s tough and moral and, shit. Everyone seems to like him too, if not be a little scared of him as well.
It’s weird, because Daryl and Rick don’t really seem like friends. And a girl like you, all pink and cutesy and outgoing - it makes no sense that you’d be with someone like Daryl. Even before all of this, he just doesn’t seem like the kind of guy someone would expect to shack up with someone like you, who’s all sunshine and sugar cookies, but maybe that’s why it works.
You’re sweet. He’s loyal. Whatever the fuck it is, it works, and that pisses Negan off. Just a little. Makes him bark mean at Daryl a little extra than the others, make things harder for him whenever he can, just because he can.
Negan knows enough about you now, to know that you’re sweet as pie. You bake treats and shove them in Daryl’s face until he tries them, you ask for stories at night that both Rick and Daryl will always give in to (which Negan finds hilarious and weirdly sweet), and you’re helpful as can be. Although, he does suppose maybe that’s why you and Daryl make sense - he’s helpful too. Even when he grits his teeth and puts his head down, he’ll still do what he’s told to do.
Negan knows a lot about you and the things you get up to with your old men, because you tell him. You’re so friendly, so eager to chat and talk and gossip, to take some of the load of the community jobs so Rick can be more chill, your words, that you’ve done anything Negan has asked of you and more.
You’re sort of like his little sidekick, in a weird way. His little friend. So you talk his ear off and Negan is reminded of the man he used to be before all of this. It’s nice, in doses.
You talk to Negan like he’s still human. That’s rare. You gossip, laugh, help him with supply counts - always eager to please. Like a sidekick. A weird, cheerful, sticky little sidekick.
Today, most of the community is inside. It’s hot out, warmer than usual, but Negan knows it’s more than that. People are scared. Stressed out, probably from a weapon count that Negan had Simon lead the day prior.
Everyone’s tucked up tight, ready for another day of suburban living, and it’s kind of pathetic if Negan thinks about it too long, but he won’t - because he likes it here, and he wants it to work out. Best not to get too in his head and ruin his time in Alexandria before it’s hardly even begun.
He’s been looking for Rick all day, and on his way while he’s looking for him, he runs into you on the porch of the home you share with Rick and Daryl, sucking on a popsicle in a way that’s so distracting, Negan feels his knees get a little wobbly. What kind of woman are you? He wonders, watching your pink tongue lick up the side of the sugary ice treat. Where the fuck did you come from?
And now that he thinks about it - where the hell did you find a popsicle?
More than that though, Negan wonders how you stayed alive this long. Or, did wonder, because when you were helping his men count the canned goods one day while he stood watch, you told him all about your background. Your father. Rick and Daryl, and everything they’ve taught you.
It sort of sounds like they were both friends with your father, which is actually pretty fucked up. Wickedly hot too, and Negan has to say that he didn’t know Rick had it in him to be so filthy. Didn’t know Daryl liked women either, but. Maybe there’s a lot he doesn’t know about Rick and Daryl.
You wave at him from the porch, legs on display in a pair of tiny shorts. You look like you’re glowing.
“Hi, Negan,” you said cheerfully, standing up from your spot. Most people in Alexandria want to run from him, but you’re just smiling, lips all sticky and purple from the popsicle, and Negan wonders what it’d be like to suck the taste of it right off your tongue and teeth.
“Lookin’ for your old man. You seen Rick?” He asks, but you just shake your head. You don’t look too worried about Rick’s whereabouts, and Negan wonders if that means there’s been trouble in paradise. In any case, you’re not scared of not giving him what he wants. You don’t seem nervous at all, and for that, Negan knows you’re a smart girl.
Because he sees the dirty looks. The tight grips people have on their guns (before he took most of them, that is) as he passes by. Nobody wants him here, even the ones that can admit the new ‘security system’ he set in place is helpful, and that the food and supplies he’s bringing into the community is triple what Rick and his group were capable of before.
Sure, there’s more violence, but there needed to be, with the way it is out there in the world. And if anything, people should be thanking Negan for bringing the community together.
To hate on one mutual enemy: him.
But you’re the only one who doesn’t seem to hate him. You’re not afraid of him, and Negan likes your curiosity. You talk to him, treat him like any new member of Alexandria would be treated. You treat him like there’s still a human behind this devil persona he wears, and he likes that. Even if it is a waste of your time.
You’re smart, because you play the game well. Going with the flow, keeping him happy. Hell, for all Negan knows, you might not even like him that much. You might just be -
Oh, who is he kidding? He sees you tugging down the front of your tank top to reveal more cleavage as you walk down the porch steps to see him. The twinkle in your eyes, the way you place a hand on his arm when there’s no reason for you to be touching him at all. Your hand is a little sticky from your treat, but Negan doesn’t mind.
He should be breaking your mailbox down with Lucille, should be bringing an entourage of men behind him to shake some fear into you so he can find out exactly where Rick is.
Instead, he brushes a piece of hair away from your face, watching your now purple tongue lick over your plump bottom lip. Negan feels like he can’t breathe.
“Maybe Daddy’s on a run or something,” you say, and then you freeze.
Your entire face heats up, and Negan can see it clear as day. You step away from him, and even though he knows that you call Rick by that name, even though everyone knows, you still act like you showed up to work naked or something, quickly looking down, tossing the popsicle stick with the melting ice onto the lawn in front of your home.
Negan would kill someone else for that, destroying property so carelessly - but he finds your reaction pretty sweet. He doesn’t comment on it though, because Daryl comes out to the porch and looks murderous when he sees who you’re with -
And then he quite literally snaps his fingers and calls your name and you go to him quickly, and then Negan yells at Daryl that Rick needs to ask and let him know when he’s going to be leaving Alexandria, and Daryl just nods, slams the door.
So you’re obedient too. Negan files that thought away for later.
He’s got some ideas about how he’d put your obedience to good use.
…
Later that night, Negan finds Rick.
Finds all of you, actually.
Drinking together, playing cards. Negan shows up to the home you share with both of your men again, and catches a glimpse of you on Daryl’s lap playing go fish while he has poker chips out.
Rick’s there, and Abraham and Morgan, and a few other no names that Negan really can’t be bothered to learn. Everyone else, beyond the fear on their face that they’re trying to hide since he showed up, looks frustrated - but Daryl just looks fond. He protects you, that man. Protects Rick too. Negan can admire that.
Daryl hovers around you like you’re a tripwire and he’s just waiting for someone else to step on it. But maybe he’s not wrong about that.
You could trip up someone else, with that laugh of yours. With your smile. With your body and your face and your smell, and how the fuck did you find perfume in this kind of world?
Negan like where your head is. Looking for normalcy. Smart girl.
Negan’s always been looking for the same thing. Genius of you actually, to get the two men with the most pull in Alexandria wrapped around your finger. Or maybe you’re just lucky, like Rick. Maybe everything good just falls into your lap.
Negan can believe that. If luck like that exists, he thinks it’d make sense if it all happened for someone like you.
Everyone is sitting around the dining room table, and there are still plenty of empty chairs - but you’re still sitting on Daryl’s lap, tiny skirt riding up over your thighs, his arms caging you in, one elbow on the table, holding his hand of playing cards. Rick sits beside him with his chair pushed so close, his knee touches Daryl’s, which in turn, means he’s touching you.
Getting cozy.
While it might be hot, sharing the women they love - and don’t get Negan wrong, this whole thing does make him insanely turned on, but. It’s just weird, how both of these fuckin’ nutjobs don’t seems to mind. There’s no jealousy, no tension. Like they’ve made peace with sharing you. Like they know exactly where they stand in this fucked up little triangle.
They don’t care that you openly flirt with the enemy. They don’t care that you fight with them all day but still want to be a little princess, still want them to baby you, to take care of you, even when you stand your ground about making your own decisions.
They treat you with something beyond that of a romantic partner, and it makes something in Negan go - oh.
It’s almost parental, and Negan sees it first hand when he storms up to the table demanding to know where Rick was earlier. He doesn’t really care, not at all.
But this is a good way to get close to you. To see you, without aggressively having to summon you, the way he does with his wives.
The rest of the table is all on guard, and Rick gets up and walks to the other room to save you from the confrontation. Hand squeezing your shoulder on his way out, and a shared look with Daryl that Negan, and everyone else with a brain, can clearly read as take care of her.
You do say hi to Negan though, as always. He winks at you, and you tell him about something you cooked that’s still in the kitchen. You should try one!, you say, but Daryl scolds you with a, Fuck’s wrong with you?, and then Negan hears your little humph after, the faint sound of cards being thrown down on the table. “Don’t talk to me like that, Daryl,” and Negan just smiles while he listens to you defend yourself in the other room, all while he scolds Rick like a punished fucking schoolboy.
It’s chaotic, and quite honestly - a little stressful…in a fun way. And Negan, well -
He wants to crawl into this mess. Wedge himself in besides you, feel your weight tip over onto him for once. Wants to know if your laugh sounds the same way with his hand on your thigh, if your stories would still be interesting if he knew what your lips felt like against his, if your smile would still be as sweet with his cock buried deep inside of you.
If you’d still be friendly to him, if you knew the fucked up things he thinks about doing to you when he’s in his bed late at night.
You’re fucking magnetic. Not just beautiful, but also dangerous, in that ultra feminine way of yours. Clever. You know the effect you have on men, or maybe you don’t, which is even more appealing - either way, Negan is hooked.
You’ve got Rick and Daryl wrapped around your finger and you still manage to walk around like you don't even notice the chokehold you’ve got on half the men in this place.
On his way out, Negan hears you asking Abraham about the rules of poker, and when Rick gets back to the dining room he pours something strong into a cup and down his throat at the little bar off to the side, and Daryl looks down. You turn to Negan as he goes, cutting Abraham off, before getting off of Daryl’s lap completely.
Rick looks like he’s about to pass out as you walk towards Negan, and Daryl just asks for whatever Rick is having. When you fist bump one of Negan’s men that you’re sort of friendly with, familiar face and all, Negan swears he hears Rick choke.
“Negan,” you say, voice a little shy. Goddamn, he could just eat you up. “Don't forget what you promised me tomorrow,” your voice is a little low, as to not let Rick and Daryl hear.
Negan pretends like he doesn’t know what you’re about to say, but he does. He’s been dangling it, like a carrot on a string for a bunny or something, contingent on your good behavior.
He makes you say it out loud. Wants Rick and Daryl to hear. Maybe he’s being a little mean, but, hey - you don’t seem to notice. “The clothes you have, at the Sanctuary? You know I want to visit, see the stuff,” you start to say it nervously, until you’re interrupted by Rick.
“Like hell you’re going there. Get up to bed,” he says, your name booming from his mouth. “Now.”
Negan is halfway about to defend your honor. Tell Ricky that you can do what you want, speak for yourself, and all that feminist bullshit that went away the minute women had to choose between staying in the kitchen or killing off walkers like men. Where does Rick get off telling a woman what to do?
Negan’s got a whole speech planned to piss Rick off, but he’s so transfixed on the way you obey, even with a pout as you stomp up the stairs.
All Negan can do is leave, and he lays in his own bed in Alexandria that night, fucks his fist with the thought of you in mind. Yeah, he thinks, seeing stars when he cums, pictures what you’d look like taking orders from him. Sexual orders. What you’d look like, getting fucked in front of your Daddies.
What you’d look like being his.
With his cum sticky on his hand, he imagines that your sticky hand from earlier was because of his cum instead of that popsicle. Imagines that the popsicle was his cock.
Or maybe Daryl’s. Or Rick’s. He thinks he’d even be down to watch.
Yeah, he thinks, cleaning off his hand. He wants in. Whatever that looks like.
────
Rick hates Negan.
He thought he knew hatred - felt it enough times in his life to be familiar with the emotion. The acid in his stomach, the bad taste in his mouth whenever he was around someone he loathed. Truth be told, Rick hasn’t hated too many people in his life. Just isn’t that kind of guy.
But this Negan - fuck. Rick wants to see him suffer. Wants to see him hurt, wants to see him in a crazy amount of pain, but most of all -
Rick wants him dead.
Every single day, all Rick can think about is killing Negan. It's like an obsession, the first thing in his head when he wakes up in the morning and the last thing he thinks about when he goes to bed. You used to be the one occupying his thoughts during these times, and don’t get him wrong - you still mostly do. It’s just -
Well, Rick’s still pretty fucking pissed at you.
It’s strange, because even though he knows that he has a right to be mad, it’s just not a comfortable feeling to have in regards to you. You’ve always been everything that’s good to Rick - his sweet, pretty, soft, sensitive little girlfriend. Pretty well behaved most of the time too, but Rick never expected that you’d brat this hard and let this kind of monster into the front yards of everyone you care about.
It’s getting bad, though. Rick knows a change has to happen. Because even though he’s mad at you, even though you’re mad at him (which doesn’t really make sense, but you’re young, and young people think and do all kinds of dumb shit if his memory serves him correctly) - you’re still letting him fuck you.
Sneak out of Daryl’s bed early in the morning, crawl into Rick’s, your body still warm from being in Daryl’s arms all night. You always smell like him too, and that should be weird, should even be hot, if looked at through a different lens. But Rick actually finds it comforting, knowing that Daryl’s still giving you what you need. That no matter what happens, you’d be taken care of.
But nothing will ever happen to the relationship you have with Rick. He might be mad, he might be scared - but he loves you so much, and he would do anything to be with you. Would lay his life on the line, again and again for you, would take whatever you dish out and more just to keep you happy.
It is a challenge though. Man, is it a challenge.
So Rick fucks you on those mornings, leaves bite marks and hickeys all over your shoulders and chest, gives it to you hard and deep, and it’s beautiful, really. Beautiful, that you still suck his dick even when you’re mad at him, even though you try to tease him as some sort of punishment (for what?) until he grabs hold of your hair and holds you in place. He’s a lucky man, he knows, it’s just -
Well, it’s just that he’s been thinking of killing Negan, even when he’s balls deep inside of one of your tight little holes.
He orgasms these days, not to your pretty face or bouncy tits - he does notice them, of course he does, but it’s the thought of shoving a gun into Negan’s mouth and blowing his brains out that pops into his head when he cums.
Fuck, Rick’s really got to find a way out of this mess.
A fantasy is a fantasy, sexual or violent, Rick knows. Still makes him feel weird though, and makes him hate Negan more - now he can’t even fuck his girl without the other man somehow tainting it? Rick wants him dead so fucking bad, and one of these days, he’s going to do it.
That fantasy keeps him hanging on.
But it’s just a fantasy, because Negan is very much alive. Rick can actually hear him outside right now, laughing loudly at something, and the fact that he’s even able to find an ounce of joy makes Rick want to skin him alive.
Christ, Negan brings out the worst in him.
Coming to the gate, acting all friendly, probably had been watching the schedule rotation for weeks, from the shadows. Knew you seemed like the most likely, out of grown men and women with stoic expressions, to let him and his fucking army in. Rick wonders what you were doing that made him sure you’d be the perfect target. Twirling your hair? Picking your cuticles? Lacing a ribbon through your shoes?
Rick loves you, god he does, but putting you in charge of a gate watching shift is the worst mistake he’s ever made. He’s always just tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. Your father was so fucking hard on you, never let you really do anything, and Rick thought that was fucked up…just because you seemed so upset by it.
But maybe he was right. About some things. Maybe your father knew you better than Rick ever could, although in a different way, and maybe he should’ve approached you -
No, he can’t think of that right now. Because all he can hear is the sound of laughing in his own home, and he knows it’s not fucking Daryl, because Daryl doesn’t laugh like that and he’s not even in Alexandria right now. It’s obviously Negan, because you like Negan, and you believe that shit he spews about community, and coming together, and whatever else he uses as an excuse to try to hold a power play over Rick’s head.
As if Rick doesn’t remember the massacre of different camps that Negan and his crew left to warn Alexandria that they were coming.
But you don’t know that. Because Rick is scared to tell you that there were threats that he didn’t warn you about, problems that he didn’t include you on, things about this community that you weren’t allowed to know. Should he grow a pair, and admit to that? Of course he should, but he knows how you are. You’d be pissed for a year if you found out that he kept anything from you.
Yeah, you like Negan, and simply put, Rick is extremely pissed off about it.
All Negan’s done is try to take over the community, to turn a good thing bad and make it his, and the empathy and sweetness you have that made Rick fall in love with you is being wasted on the fucking prick, and it makes Rick so goddamn mad he could scream and -
“Rick,” you call, the sound of your footsteps in the entryway of the house. These days, Rick is trained to listen to steps, so he waits for the next set behind you. Sure enough, they come, louder than yours, followed by the sound of the front door closing.
Negan.
Fucking -
“Yeah?” Rick replies, showing himself at the top of the stairs. It’s been a long day, a long few years, and if Negan wasn’t here then Rick would have you all to himself. Daryl’s gone for the night, which isn’t as scary a thing as it was back before Negan arrived - the biggest danger is now in the same fucking community as you all, and Daryl can handle himself around walkers just fine, especially if he’s with Aaron.
Daryl made Rick promise though, to stay calm and that he’d take care of you. Even pat Rick on the back before he left, told him, “Could be a good thing, man. Don’t waste the time,” and it was vague but Rick knows what Daryl’s referring to. Could be a good thing, to get some time alone to try to improve the relationship he has with you.
All the bickering, all the fighting. The sex is still nice, but Rick wants more than that. Something gentle maybe, just the feeling of your smaller hand in his, your warm body in his arms at night, clothes still on. Rick loves you, and he’s trying not to be too butthurt that you’re calling him by his first name instead of that special word you always use for him, and now Daryl.
He just misses you, is all. Is sick of having to be the bad guy all the time.
“Just wondering if you’re here. I’ve been,” you start telling him what you did today, what your role was in the community, the people you saw, all the shit that Rick normally loves to hear about, but right now he doesn’t give a fuck. Can’t let himself care. He hates to brush you off, hates to be mad at you, but all he can reply with when he reaches the bottom of the stairs and stands in front of you is:
“With Negan. Yeah. Figured.”
Negan grins. The kind of smile that makes Rick want to gut him on the spot. He’s got perfect teeth, too white for the fucking apocalypse, and it’s fucking creepy. Rick hates the guy. Hates him so fucking much that he’s sure he’s turning red just being in the same room as him, and he wants to turn away and run somewhere away from you and this fucking toolbag, but Negan places a hand on your shoulder and you bite your lip, and now all Rick wants to do is cut the other man’s hand off.
“Got yourself a great girl here,” Negan says, but it’s not nice or complimentary or charming - and it’s not intended to be.
No, Rick can hear it in his voice. He’s letting Rick know that he knows that you’re a great girl. Like he finally caught on. As if he hasn’t been eye fucking you since the moment he arrived at the gates of Alexandria. As if -
God, Rick really is about to go crazy. He can’t help himself - he reaches for Negan’s hand and smacks it off your shoulder before he realizes that there might be consequences, because your new little friend?
Right, he thinks he owns Rick. Thinks he owns everything in Alexandria too, including the others. Including you. Rick doesn’t know how you don’t see that, how you don’t see that Negan is using you just like everyone else to turn this place into a kingdom he can rule.
It’s beyond frustrating.
It’s like you all hold your breath after Rick slaps Negan’s hand away. You freeze, and Rick directs his anger towards the other man. Meets his eye, is so upset that the man is in his home, that he spent the day with you while he had Rick running bitch boy tasks for him, and he’s also worried that Negan still plans to make good on what he promised you. That he’d take you to the Sanctuary so you could see all the stuff he has. Rick doesn’t care how mean you think he is -
He’s not going to fucking let you go. Daryl agrees. You just don’t get it, and Rick wishes that you’d stop trying to be positive and optimistic and good for the sake of being cute, or whatever you’re worried about - because he needs you to use your head. He needs you to listen to him and Daryl, but more than that he -
“I’ll let that slide, Rick,” Negan says, like he’s a saint. Like he just gave his last piece of bread to someone starving, like he just saved a lamb from slaughter, like he just did something kind, sparing Rick some violence just because he doesn’t want anyone else touching his girl.
You swallow hard, and Rick knows that he looks like a wild animal about to pounce. He stays silent, so silent, and as Negan backs away to leave, he touches your shoulder again and asks if you’re going to be okay. That just makes Rick want to scream - but he can’t, because he can’t be a fucking man around Negan without worrying that someone will die because of him, and -
Finally, you do something right. You tell Negan goodnight, walk with him to the door, but you lower your voice and tell him something before he leaves. Rick’s seeing red by the time Negan’s out the door.
Rick should be happy that he’s leaving. He should be happy, that he’s finally got you alone, the house to yourselves, so that tonight can be a night about getting close again, working through whatever it is that’s holding him back from being the man you need him to be. Rick’s willing to put what he knows is right, aside. Just so things can be good with you again.
But he can’t help himself. He’s being worked like a dog, like a fucking errand boy, by Negan and his men. The people of Alexandria are breathing down his neck, and when he gets home, things still aren’t good with you. They’re just -
“What’d you tell him? Just now,” he says your name, calm but accusatory. “I swear to fuck, if I find out you’re planning to go to the Sanctuary, I’m,” and now it’s your turn to cut him off.
You sigh, all dramatic, and this time Rick doesn’t find it cute. “I’m not going anywhere, Rick, I’m just helping.” You say that, as if it’s a good enough excuse. You say that, as if one of Negan’s men can’t be around to help him count cans, or whatever the fuck he has you do.
Rick doesn’t like this. He knows this Daddy game you play is just for fun, but he really does feel like a concerned father right now. Worried, about where your head is. Worried, about what your plans are. Whenever you’re around Negan, Rick worries that he doesn’t even really know you at all, and that scares the shit out of him.
Before he can reply, you start walking up the stairs, and Rick follows you. He doesn’t want to be this controlling, annoying, anger problem boyfriend that he’s always been so scared of people thinking he is, just because of the age difference. And everyone knows, about you and him and Daryl, and he’s pretty sure that everyone knows what the three of you really get up to. And, yeah, it’s not all about what other people think, but part of this is that Rick is worried about who he’s turning into himself.
When you get to his room, he watches you take off your clothes and put on your pajamas like he’s not even here, and he looks over your body at all the bruises he’s left from how rough he’s been with you lately, the hickeys that you had to cover today, when it was so hot, and you still wore a long sleeved shirt and a funky looking scarf that Eugene lent you. Rick’s chest restricts at that, thinking about the history you share. Thinking about the closeness you’ve reached, thinking about the bond you have.
How important you are to each other.
He feels a little bad, marking you up like that - but it’s the only way he has to get some of his anger out towards you. Because you don’t want to talk, but you do want to fuck, and Rick tries not to take that personally, since you’re always talking to Daryl.
He takes a step closer to you. Takes a deep breath to let out some of his stress, before he sits down on the edge of his unmade bed and watches you slip on a pair of sleep shorts. Even mad, or whatever the fuck is wrong with him, it’s still hard to act normal when he’s this close to you. Especially when the little triangle of your panties, the part right between your thighs, is right in front of his face.
There’s a little rose under the lace trim of the panties, for fuck’s sake. Where the hell did you find these?
He puts his hands on your hips, and you let out a sigh and place your warm palms on his shoulders. You look down at him, before moving a hand and fucking up his hair. Rick’s not in the mood to smile, but he offers you a halfass little quirk of the corner of his mouth, and that’s all it takes for you to break the ice.
You’ve always been good at that. Always been good at reading his mind too, apparently.
”You think that Negan wants to fuck me," you say, and Rick's heard you say plenty of filthy things before, but the words ‘fuck' and ‘Negan' without any word about him dying in the same sentence is really tripping Rick out. He swallows hard, but waits for you to finish, enjoys the feeling of your socked foot pressing up against his shoe with the way you're standing.
“I know I messed up, Daddy,” you say timidly, and when you say that name, it’s hard for Rick to hold anything against you. He just sees you as the girl who needed him after your father passed, and he identifies so strongly with being the one you need, that sometimes he forgets that he’s allowed to be somebody else around you.
Forgets, that you’re allowed to be different too.
“I shouldn’t have let Negan inside Alexandria. I admit it, okay? But I just felt so bad, and you and Daryl were so mad, and everyone’s upset and I just have to look at the bright side, okay? Negan’s really not so bad,” you’re so wrong about that but Rick doesn’t interrupt you, “and he wants to be here, and I follow him around and offer to help because I know he likes me, and I know he wants this place to stay around and,” Rick can hardly understand a word you’re saying, because it all comes out so fast, and then it looks like you’re about to cry, and Rick can’t have that.
He’s still reeling, at the fact that you admitted that what you did was wrong. Rick can’t wait to tell Daryl this, and what’s more -
He’s proud of you.
Sure, you’re doing things a little backward, but in your own way, he supposes - you really are trying to help.
Rick pulls you down onto his lap. You sit on his thigh, legs bare, the sleep shirt you’re wearing so thin that Rick can see your breasts, nipples hard against the fabric because of the window being open and how cold it gets at night these days. The only upside to having Negan and his men in Alexandria, is that someone is always watching the gate. It gives Rick a minute to breathe, to enjoy and appreciate his pretty little girlfriend on his lap, asking for forgiveness in her own way.
Covered in his hickeys, a shirt that he’s sure is his best friend’s. You look so small all of a sudden, and Rick feels immense regret that he’s been so mean, when you were only doing what you could to help. God, he loves you.
“Sweetheart,” he starts, maneuvering you both so you’re laying down on the bed. He gets on his side, halfway hovering over you, bends his elbow and rests his head on his palm. He looks down at you, so lovely, waiting for what he’s going to say like it’s about to be a sermon. That’s just you though. You’re a really, really good girl.
When you want to be.
Rick wanted soft, so he puts a hand up your shirt, feels the softness of your skin and cups your breast, rubs his thumb over your nipple. Your tits fit perfectly in his hand, and in his more romantic moments, Rick thinks that means you were meant for him. His dick chubs up at the thought, and he presses his bulge into your hip.
“There’s nothing we can do now, you’re right. ’m proud of you, for admitting that you didn’t make the best decision,” he praises you, because he knows you like that, and then you arch your back up and interrupt him in a little voice to say, Thank you, Daddy. His dick twitches. Rick continues, “But now, I need you to listen to me. Daryl too. You understand? Negan - he’s a bad man,” but you literally hold a hand up and push a finger against his lips to silence him.
Fucking brat.
Rick’s in shock at the bold move. You pout, then grab hold of his wrist from the hand that’s under your shirt, and you bring his hand down to your pussy. He gets the hint, and you’re not very subtle, sweet girl.
“No more about Negan. Just me and you. ‘ve missed you so much.” You know just what to say, and when Rick fingers you to orgasm, when you come apart on his fingers and then cum on his tongue - he’s so aware of how much you belong to him. His girl. His to protect and his to rule over, because that’s what you want, and more than that, that’s what you need.
Rick can make those rules. He thinks about that, when he slips his dick inside of you, raw because he can. Raw, because he wants to fill you up and knock you up, thinks that maybe if you were pregnant, that Negan would leave you the fuck alone. It’s just a wish, in the back of his mind. But even so -
Before he slipped his cock inside of you, one of your pretty legs hiked over his shoulder to spread you open for him, cunt slick and spread and just for him, he can’t help but say it. Because you’re most likely to listen when he’s got his cock out and a hand pressing on your throat, so he tries it.
“Promise me,” he says, like a please. “You’re not going to the Sanctuary with Negan. Tell me you're not going to go. That you're going to be good. That you're gunna listen.”
You whine, try to push your hips up. But Rick’s not relenting. Runs his cock over your clit and slippery slit, until you finally say it. It sounds like you let out a sob.
“Ugh, fine. No Sanctuary. ‘M not gonna go, Daddy. I’m gonna listen to you.”
And that’s that. Rick’s got you back on your leash with him holding the end of it, just the way he likes it.
He smiles, sinking his dick inside of you.
You never break a promise.
────
You’re starting to think that you’re a terrible person.
Which sucks, because for most of your life, you’ve tried your best to be good.
Sure, you’ve always had a little…spunk, as your parents used to say. You never tried to be difficult, but you've been told by many of the people in your life that you're stubborn. You know that, but honestly, you’ve always thought that a little hard headedness was good in a woman, you know?
You’ve been known, back in old days, to cut a guy that you were dating off if he texted you with the wrong emoji. You would purposely not fold your laundry when your mother took it all out of the dryer when you told her not to, to prove a point. If your dad asked you to do something, well - now you wouldn’t do it, even if you really wanted to. Which you know is annoying, but you literally can’t help it.
You don’t know how to stay silent. If you have something to say, you have to say it, like an impulse or something, especially if it’s about the way you’re being treated. For your entire life, everyone has always gotten the wrong impression of you, simply because of your looks.
You’re pretty. You’re feminine. You like makeup and you like to smell good, you like to dress up, you like to whine and bat your eyelashes and have other people do things for you. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t do things yourself. It doesn’t mean you don’t want to. And pink eyeshadow and lipstick that matches does not mean that you want to stay silent and submissive in every single aspect of your life.
Women can have layers. It’s like people always forget that.
You’ve never really thought about your behavior beyond that of an eye roll. You have a strong personality. So what? You’ve always been vocal about your wants and needs, probably why you ended up dating two men instead of just one. You’re comfortable speaking up.
If anything, it’s served you well in this violent new world. And you’re still kind, still sweet, because you really do want to be a good person.
Besides, Rick and Daryl don’t mind it.
Or, they didn’t mind it, but lately it sort of seems like…they do.
Rick doesn’t pull you in and kiss you silly when you back talk anymore, and Daryl doesn’t look too fond when you roll your eyes at him.
You know you fucked up by letting Negan and his men in Alexandria, but you can’t go back in time. It wasn’t a rebellious act either, you weren’t trying to be a brat, and you weren’t doing anything on purpose to make Rick mad. You thought you were doing the right thing, or maybe you weren’t thinking at all, but -
You just wish Rick and Daryl would go back to being charmed by you, but maybe that starts with you and your attitude. Which is so…ugh.
Because beyond your tough (but cute!) exterior, you really do worry about one of them leaving you. You worry about it almost constantly, that maybe they finally had enough of your outbursts and your attitude. That maybe they finally had enough of sharing you, that every time they speak in hushed voices to one another, that something is your fault, and now everything is going to go to shit.
These thoughts literally keep you up at night. You’re sensitive, even if you try to hide it. Even if you’re more stubborn and vocal than any other woman you know.
When Rick turns his back to you in his sleep, when Daryl doesn’t kiss your nose after you brush your teeth together - you’re in fear the rest of the day, that maybe it might really be the day they finally end things with you. It’s anxiety, probably because you’ve lost so many people since walkers started fucking everything up.
You’ve been going over what your father said, back when he was still alive - once he found out you liked Rick and Daryl. Saw you watching them. Leave them alone, he said, with a shake of his head that told you he thought you were too immature for them. That they’d never look at you like that, like you were fucked up for even thinking that about men that much older than you.
Like Rick and Daryl were perfect angels for looking right back. Yeah, right.
You’ve been missing your dad a lot, even if he was an asshole most days. You miss him, you think about him all the time, and you’re pretty sure Rick and Daryl are starting to hate you.
Your internal monologue is awful, even when you force a smile, because -
Well, on top of everything else, you’re really starting to think you’re a terrible person because you think you’re catching feelings for Negan.
God. Even saying that silently to yourself makes you want to cry about how stupid you are. Maybe your mom was right, with what she used to say back when you were in college. Any man looks at you and gives you some attention, and you’re already falling in love.
She’s not totally wrong. But Negan is not just any guy. He’s powerful. He’s fucking sexy. He’s strong, he’s smart. Every single thing that attracted you to Rick and Daryl is what’s attracting you to Negan, but this one just feels out of your reach.
Which sort of makes you want it more. Because you see the way Negan looks at you. Touches you. Talks to you, gives you special treatment. When you’re feeling risky, you test it out, miscount cans or pull out a gun you hid from him during weapon count. Grab Lucille and pretend to play with her, do anything you can think of so he can scare you, so you can lose the feelings you have for him -
But every time, he only reminds you of the special treatment you get from him.
It’s horrible. Well, it’s sort of nice sometimes, but. Ugh. You don’t fucking know what to do.
Right now, you just came out of the shower. Used Rick’s bar soap, instead of your usual body wash to ration it since it’s not like there’s any Bath and Body Works open these days - but also because you’re hoping that the more you think about and drench yourself in Rick Rick Rick (and Daryl), that Negan will be farther from your mind.
It’s not working.
You come out of the bathroom naked, and Rick’s on his bed. You like his shower the best because you like to invade his space so he doesn't forget about you, stupid as that is. In a lot of ways, you’re sort of glad, deep down, that you let Negan in. Rick can never forget about you now, can he? You’ve traumatized him.
Negan is still on your mind, even when you dig in a drawer for a pair of panties. He went back to the Sanctuary, and you wonder if he’s spending the night with one of his wives. You should’ve went with him, but you can’t say you blame Rick and Daryl for not wanting you to go. You’re a bad person for even wanting to go. You have problems, because you’re about to crawl into bed with your boyfriends, and you’re jealous of Negan fucking around with one of his wives.
More in common with him than you thought, though. Both of you have multiple lovers. You blush at the thought.
Rick’s staring at you, propped up against the pillows just watching, as he does. That’s how he unwinds, still in his clothes, always halfway to sleep whenever he actually sits down and lets his body rest. He’s so weird, and you love him so much.
You’re looking for a shirt in his drawer to wear to sleep, but you can't find anything good. You’re about to go to Daryl’s room to ask for one, but he comes to Rick’s room before you have the chance. You smile a little, pretend like you’re not distracting the both of them with your naked body.
Freshly shaved too. You know what you’re doing.
“There are you are,” you say, as if this wasn’t the plan you requested earlier, that the both of them sleep with you tonight. Sometimes you feel silly, thinking that either of them might leave you. You fucked up pretty bad, and you make it worse almost every day - but they still do whatever they can to make you happy. That’s love.
“I was just looking for you. Can I have one of your shirts, Daryl?" You ask, crossing your arms over your tits because you can tell he’s distracted. “Please?”
Daryl nods, and starts to go to retrieve one, but before he makes it out of the door you hear Rick scoff. “Daryl’s got extra shirts? You can wear one of mine. What am I, chopped liver?” He teases, in that tone of his that’s so serious, you’d think he wasn’t playing around if you didn’t know him as well as you do. It makes you feel good though, that Rick is being playful.
Daryl leaves the room, but as he walks out he calls, “Hey, chopped liver ain’t so bad,” and you wrinkle your nose while Rick smiles at you. Yeah, Daryl would eat that.
When Daryl comes back you grab the shirt from him and sit expectantly on the edge of the bed, looking at Daryl until he gets the hint. You want him to put your shirt on, and he does so without you having to say a word. You put your hands up, and he pulls it over your head, takes your hair out from under the collar so you don’t get itchy, then leans down to kiss your forehead.
You feel warm, and you grab his hand before he tries to walk off. Rick pokes you in the back.
“Spoiled rotten,” he remarks, but it’s not really teasing, and it’s not really complaining. It actually sort of sounds like he’s proud, and that makes you preen. You’re pretty sure you see Daryl blush too, and then you turn around to face Rick.
His eyes are drawn to how fucking huge Daryl’s shirt is on your body. Just a minute in your presence, and Rick worries he’s about to pop a stiffy.
Dayrl has to feel the same way. It is his own shirt.
“Just feel weird today,” you admit, refusing to explain why. Daryl moves to leave the room again but you quickly tighten your grip on his hand, look up at him and pout.
“‘M just gonna shower, since ‘m sharin’ a bed with you and your dirty old man here,” he says, and you hear Rick chuckle but you still refuse to let Daryl leave. You’re being annoying, you know that, but Daryl is your safe place. You don’t care if you’re bothering him, and honestly, you doubt he cares much either.
“No,” you say simply, scooting closer to Rick on the bed. You only let go of Daryl’s hand to pat the empty space on the other side of you for him. You’re getting shivers at how excited you are for this, both of them with you. No matter how many times you have it, both of them giving you attention at the same time, you can never get enough.
The minute Daryl settles against the pillows you lean against him and press your face to his shoulder, breathing him in. He smells good.
A little like sweat and something that makes him Daryl, but you like that smell. You almost need to squeeze your legs together at the scent; manly, musky, sort of like eucalyptus and leather.
“You smell good,” you tell him, laying your head on his shoulder. “I really missed you.”
You saw Daryl this morning. Rick too, but still. You really did miss him.
Daryl doesn’t say anything, just pulls you under his arm and presses a kiss to your head. It’s silent, it’s calm, and everything feels right in the world for just a minute.
Except -
You’re still thinking about Negan.
Normally, laying in bed in between Rick and Daryl can cure everything. But there’s just too much on your mind right now.
Someone on your mind.
“You okay?” Rick asks, moving even closer to you. He places a warm hand on your back, and you turn from your spot against Daryl to look at him. It’s an uncomfortable position, and because Daryl’s shirt is so big on you, it gets stuck when you’re trying to move, and that’s annoying, especially when you’re thinking about Negan fucking someone else, and -
“I know you wanted to go to the Sanctuary, but you know I can’t let you do that. I don’t wanna argue with you, but sometimes you don’t need to understand why I say certain things. You just need to listen,” Rick goes on and on, all the while you feel like it’s harder to breathe.
It’s a strange feeling and emotion, what goes through your body whenever Rick talks to you like you’re an idiot. Whenever he talks to you like your father. It makes you so mad, makes you feel so frustrated that you want to just break out of the cage he’s putting you in and scream -
But it also turns you on. Your body betrays you, and you feel yourself getting turned on from Rick wielding his power over you, trying to tell you what to do and having such ownership over you, and it’s just too much. It’s too hot. Sometimes it feels too wrong, and -
You try to answer him, scooting away from Daryl, but then the other man pipes in.
“She ain’t mad about that,” he grumbles, almost sounding mad himself, until you can feel the way he’s rubbing circles on your back. “She don’t care about the stuff there, man. She likes him.”
You sit up and let out a huge breath, because damn. Daryl really is observant. You swear you’re going to die from humiliation and shame (and not the hot kind) because of what’s now out in the open. But you’re so thrown off balance, that you do what you do best.
Without thinking about the consequences of what you’re about to say (and maybe because deep down, you know there won’t be any), you blurt out:
“I’m upset because I want Negan to fuck me.”
It’s not just that, and you don’t just want him to fuck you, but it summarizes what you’re feeling pretty well. Except -
Well, except you don’t feel any relief after saying it. In fact, you feel more anxiety.
You look down at your lap before looking back up at Rick, and then Daryl. You can’t read their expressions, but you’re nervous so you quickly crawl out of bed. You feel so exposed now, and you’re really kicking yourself for blurting that out.
You should've known it wouldn’t solve anything. Would just make things worse. Because, yeah, you do think it’s important to speak up for yourself, but being greedy and horny and gross isn’t exactly something that needs to be empowered. You’re worried about Rick and Daryl leaving you, but look at what you just said? And it’s not just any guy either, it’s Negan, and -
God, this is elder abuse. You’re abusing your boyfriends.
You need to sleep in your own bed tonight.
But before you go, with your back turned to them in the doorway, you manage to spit it out.
You rush out of the room after that, but not before calling out, “I love you!,” and “Daryl, dinner’s on the stove!”
You get to your room and lock the door behind you. You hardly ever use this room now, since you’re always either sleeping in either Rick or Daryl’s bed, so it feels cold and sterile. You can’t believe you said something so stupid.
You’re the worst person you know. Except for maybe Negan, but -
Oh god, you’re thinking about him again!
You know that locking yourself in your room is not the end of it. Because two minutes later, Rick and Daryl come to the door. Rick knocks, and you tell him to go away. You know that you play the daddy game with him all the time, but times like this, he really does feel like a father figure or something close to it.
Like you told him you wanted to date someone who’s horrible for you, and now he’s trying to deter you. Like you’re about to be in trouble, so you just stay locked up in your room, hoping he’ll go away.
“Open this door,” Rick says, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to slip in a young lady at the end to really play up the father role, but he doesn’t.
Still, you feel a shiver of arousal. Rick acting like a dad and all. You’re definitely a bad person, because instead of putting him at ease, unlocking the door and being normal, since you did just tell him you wanted his worst enemy to fuck you, you just conintune ignoring the door, panties getting more wet every time he gets louder.
“No,” you say calmly again, almost giddy over the power you have right now. Rick knocks one more time and you’re about to throw your pillow at the door, when suddenly there’s a loud bang when the door is kicked open.
Daryl. Great. He looks at you, famous poker face on, and comes into the room.
“Can’t say sumthin’ like that and run off. Fuck’s wrong with you?” He scoffs, and your face heats up. You look down, wondering if therapists still exist in this world, because the humiliation you feel right now is only making your panties more wet. You try to play it cool.
“Negan is bad, don’t you get that? What do I have to do to get you to see that?” Rick asks, and he’s pissed, so pissed, about to do that snarl thing he does with his mouth whenever he’s had it with you.
You can feel the pout on your face, and you know you shouldn’t talk just in case you end up making the situation even worse, but you can’t fucking help it.
“Daddy,” you start softly, not really sure who you’re addressing at the moment, “I know he’s a bad person. That’s why I feel so guilty, and,” Rick cuts you off, but then with a scoff, Daryl cuts him off.
“You ain’t gettin’ out of this one, you understand?” Rick opens his mouth like he’s about to add something, hand on his hip, and he looks so hot, your mouth feels like it starts to water. You bite your lip. Rick nods, like he agrees with everything Daryl is saying.
“You wanna give that sack of shit a test run? Go right on ahead, but I ain’t picking up the pieces of your little broken heart. Hard enough sharin’ you with Rick,” after a pause, Daryl literally leaves the room after that, and Rick looks like he’s about to lose his marbles.
“Wait a minute,” he says, and you sit on the bed like you were just punished, hands folded on your lap. You already know what Rick’s going to say, because you’re just as shocked as he is that Daryl’s giving you…permission?
“You let Negan touch you and I’m killing him on the spot. I don’t care what happens to Alexandria. You understand me?” You nod, and then you take his hand, trying to put some damage control on the situation by leading him back to his bedroom.
You were worried for a minute, that Daryl wouldn’t be there. But he is, back in his spot, looking cozy and strong and gosh - he’s your teddy bear. Your safe place, and you let go of Daryl’s hand to squeeze into bed beside him. Rick gets on the other side.
When the lights are off, the sound of a gunshot from way too close only momentarily killing the vibe (just a look between all of you, wondering if it requires urgency, but once you remember that Negan’s men are at the gate, you know they can handle it, because, see, Negan has improved the quality of life in Alexandria…sort of), Daryl speaks first.
Rick seems angry about your confession, but Daryl seems hurt, yet somehow understanding? And that’s so much worse.
“What’dya wanna do with him anyway?” A pause. “You imagine him and you, all alone? Or with us?”
You don’t know how to answer that, because the truth is: all of the above. You’ve thought about the things Negan could do to you, just the two of you. He’s so much taller than you - and yeah, so are Rick and Daryl, but Negan is just so big. You love standing next to him, feeling useless and small, having someone else call all the shots, someone that loves to be in charge, because you know that Rick sometimes resents it and -
You close your eyes. This is too much. You’re a bad person. Honestly. You don’t deserve Rick or Daryl, and you sure as hell don’t deserve them both.
Even so they press up against you. Rick’s hand rests on your hip, nice and warm, and you lean against Daryl’s chest. You’re halfway to putting your restless thoughts to sleep - life on the road has made you pretty good at sleeping regardless of the circumstances. You’ve been caught snoring with walkers groaning a mile in the distance, sleeping with your shoes wet, with your clothes all bloody, with a stomach that hadn’t had food in a week.
Compared to that, life’s not too bad now. The things you’re worried about seem a little…foolish, but the fact that you can have these foolish thoughts makes something like happiness bloom in your chest. You never thought you’d get here.
Maybe that’s why Daryl is so lenient with you. Because he knows, realizes, that the fact that any of you found love is a remarkable thing. Life is different now, and being together, taking what you want because who knows how fucking long anybody even has left -
It’s really all you can do. All anyone can do. It’s a lesson you only learned because life became so bleak.
Just as you’re drifting off, the sound of Daryl snoring (he always snores) lulling you to sleep, you hear Rick’s voice in your ear. A little raspy, and you’re not sure if you shiver from how hot it sounds, or because of what he’s saying.
“Don’t think I’d actually kill him,” he says, and it takes you a minute to realize that he’s referring to Negan. He wouldn’t kill Negan. You bite your lip.
You’re not sure what prompted him to say that. Maybe Daryl’s influence (and deep down, you wonder if it means he loves you too much or maybe not at all), but you take it. Or maybe he’s just saying it because you’re pushing your ass against the front of his body, and you know that men, Rick, are much more eager to please when maybe sex is on the horizon.
Whatever the case, you fall asleep, dreaming of a bed that can fit four people.
inspired by this ask that fucking changed my life, hope ya'll enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing it! as always comments and reblogs are appreciated xoxo <3
perv roommate! adrian chase x reader
& coworker/stalker! benjamin poindexter x reader
cw: stalker behavior, voyeurism, adrian and dex are possessive, obsessive and perverted freaks, reader clearly doesn't know how to set up healthy boundaries, mentions of masterbation. content is obviously 18+, MINORS DNI.
"hey, you should come up with me!"
dex feels in real time how the blood rushes to his face at your sudden request, sure, he's imagined you saying it countless times inside his head but that doesn't mean it startles him any less to actually hear it coming from your mouth-
an open invitation to step inside your home
"what?" he almost chokes on his own spit when he asks
"its fucking pouring out here dex, theres no way i'm letting you drive under these conditions!"
it really wasn't this abysmal when he had first parked in front of your apartment complex, but of course he stalled for as long as he could, prompting and asking trivial questions to keep you on the passenger seat if only for a few minutes longer before you left him to sulk without your presence
"its not that bad" he answers, masking his nerves with a quirk of his mouth and a dismissive shake of his head, attempting to sound convincing while the downpour is hitting hilariously loud against the windshield of his car
"i can brew you some tea, y'know as a thank you for driving me home!" you crack a shy little smile, softening your features, something you have no idea makes dex's insides go molten
mostly everything you do has that effect on him now, the infatuation nearly consumes him whole on most days, at night he stares at the white of his ceiling counting the torturous minutes until he gets to see you again, sometimes he allows himself to play around with fantasies just to make the time passing more bearable
and its ironic how many of those fantasies began with something just like this, a cheeky invitation, a killer smile, being offered to tag along with you, a chance for him to finally step through the front door of your apartment, to have you beneath him in the same bed he's watched you sleep in (from a distance) countless times by now
but reality is quite different from his fantasies, in reality theres one huge and fucking pestering detail that would constantly foil his imagined scenarios from coming true the way he wants them to anyways...
"you can meet my rommate adrian! remember i told you about him?" you say, eyes lighting up the way they always do whenever you bring him up in conversation
dex fucking loathes to witness it, he seethes at the knowledge that the guy can make you smile like that even when he's not around
"that doesn't sound like a good idea" he near spits, the jealousy seeping from his words
"god, you say that about everything lately sourpuss" you answer, giggling when you see how dex gawks at your tone
you've always loved calling him names and pushing his buttons knowing all he ever does is give into you in the end
theres a beat of silence, a moment of you and dex staring at each other with quirking mouths, waiting in charged silence to see who pounces next
but then your phone buzzes-
"its him!" you say, a little bit concerned "he's asking me if i'm gonna be home anytime soon-"
dex cant fight the satisfied tug upwards of his mouth knowing he's managed to keep you from going back to adrian for this long
"oh no!" you exclaim, something high pitched that makes dex immediately snap his head towards you "i totally forgot today was keanu reeves movie night!" you whine with a little pout, texting adrian back frantically "damn it, i'm late!"
"sounds like a big deal" dex retorts with a mocking quirk of his brow, an unimpressed look on his face as he stares you down while you tap at your phone
"oh shut up dex!" you answer with a laugh that bursts naturally from you, heat evidently rising to your cheeks at his teasing
hes relishing in the way you playfully rolled your eyes at him before he can process you're already shoving your phone away and stepping out of the vehicle and into the downpour outside "just get outta the car already! you can wait out the rain upstairs-"
dex freezes in place for a few seconds, mouth hanging agape, eyes blinking a couple times in astonishment
he cant fucking stand that you left him alone without saying a proper goodbye or goodnight, he cant find it in himself to disobey your direct command either
dex steps out of the car in fear of disappointing you
⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎
adrian is practically fuming as he stares at his phone screen, he keeps re-reading your texts over and over again
you: sorry! just got here, car broke down so dex drove me here
you: he's coming up by the way, play nice!
"are you fucking kidding me?" he whines out loud, a petulant sound no one is around to hear him make
dex, basically his nemesis, the person you spend almost every waking hour with ever since he got paired with you at work, the person who is supposedly just a coworker but you somehow can't shut up about when you talk about your shift at the end of every day
the person he's tried to convince you countless times is actually a fucking creep because you keep telling him he constantly remembers details about your life the way no one ever has before, that he pops out outta nowhere in places where he most definitely should't be in the first place
it all sounds far too familiar to adrian, who used to pull the same stunts with you back before your friendship ever solidified into the suffocatingly codependent arrangement that it is now
its funny how things worked out so beautifully for him all things considered
so of course it makes him furious, that it only took dex just a couple of months to infiltrate your lives so profusely
now he wants to steal movie nights too, he thinks
adrian's jaw twitches in anger, he breathes in and out slowly, trying to calm himself down before the elevator brings you both to the floor of your shared apartment
he jumps to his feet immediately when he hears your keys jingling and turning at the lock, not unlike a dog does when it hears it's owner come back after a long day
theres not even a few seconds between opening the door and you flinging yourself inside to wrap your arms around adrian's neck, hugging him with a chirpy and syrupy "hey ade!" that immediately makes his insides flutter with satisfaction
adrian hugs you back, wrapping both arms around your waist tightly, lifting you up until you squeal in protest and giggle the way you only do with him
he wants to make a statement, that much is clear, his face lifts from its place at the side of your neck to make eye contact with the tall and broad man standing at threshold of your home
adrian grins smugly at him while dex only cocks a challenging brow in response
"what happened to your car?" adrian asks, still hugging you, still holding suspicious eye contact with dex "why didn't you just call me?" he asks, more like complains, his voice going high at the end
"ugh! dont know! i couldn't get it to start but-" you answer, separating from adrian just enough to look back at dex who instantly meets your eyes with an encouraging raise of his brows and an easy smile "i was so lucky dex was still hanging around late after work, y'know with the rain and all, we can call the mechanic tomorrow-"
oh sure! real lucky, adrian thinks
adrian sees himself in dex immediately, and it really pisses him off
it only takes your dear roommate a few seconds of eye contact to figure out that dex was the one to ruin your car today, that the only reason he stayed behind at work was because he wanted to be the only one you could ask for help
y'know- exactly the kind of thing he would have done not so long ago
dex knows that adrian is growing suspicious, but all he does is stand upright and unmoving, a relaxed look on his face even though inside he's plotting violent acts
you cant sense it but theres a competitive antagonistic edge that emanates from their beings, their jealous and deranged fixation on you so fucking palpable to each other it makes the air feel dense and flammable
⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎
dex knows something about your dear roomie that you most certainly dont
he's known it from the very first week of him setting up a place in one of the top floors of the building just across the street from yours, the optimal high spot to spy on you through your window as often as he pleases
the third or fourth time he'd peered from his monocular and into your room to try to catch a glimpse of you getting ready for a friday night, thats when dex saw him
your roommate, tugging at himself with utter abandon on your very bed, face pressed down against your pillow
dex knows that adrian barges into your room sometimes when you're not there to stop him, that he makes himself at home amongst your things, that he grabs at any piece of clothing that you left on the floor and stuffs it right against his face to inhale your smell while his other hand slips inside his boxers, that he jerks himself off and smears his spent all over the piece of fabric, tosses it in your laundry basket and waits for you to come home only for you not to notice a single fucking thing
he also knows adrian's bugged one of your teddy bears with a small camera, that the thing has recorded and streamed up close the same scenes dex has only been able to watch from a distance
scenes of you, writhing in bed, a hand roughly placed over your mouth, stifling down your moans as you use your fingers to please yourself until you're arching up the bed, shaking and panting at the ceiling, blissfuly (and naively) unaware of the spectacle you're giving away to two very invested spectators
two spectators with right hands shoved down their underwear, mouth hanging completely open in awe at the sight of you, one watching from his computer, the other from across the street
and lucky for dex, almost as if it were a prize for him remaining at a distance at night-
he gets to have you all for himself for roughly 8 to 10 hours per day, the recent memories of his stalking still vividly playing inside his head as you and him carry on with your lived in routine of coworkers
and the thing is, recently, the lines between professional and friendly are starting to blur alarmingly fast
he could sense the shift in you when he started showing up on nights out with your friends (unexpected and uninvited) and you never even questioned it once
smiling so big at the sight of him, like it was only natural for him to be joined at your hip after spending so much time together on weekdays
always quick to drunkenly introduce him as "my partner, dex!" proceeding to needlessly correct yourself with "well- my work partner, my- cowork- ugh, y'know what i mean!"
he teased about it every single time "i think i like the sound of partner way better, makes it sound like i'm your boyf-" a giddy grin and an evil glint in his eyes when you could only push at his chest with a nervous laugh and a high pitched "stop it, this is so fucking inappropriate dex!"
he thrives in knowing the so called boundaries you had once set up for him at the beginning of your work relationship are slowly starting to crumble before his very eyes
dex relishes in knowing you've grown weak willed when it comes to denying him your attention and time outside of work too
now he gets to stand in your living room, a placed he never imagined he would be in so quickly, now he gets to square up and compete with the last person that stands in the way of you and him being together 24/7
and thats your damn pervert of a roommate
⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎
"i know what you're doing by the way" adrian comments, his voice far too casual and conversational for the threatening edge it carries with it
he does it as soon as you're out of earshot, soon after you excused yourself to go take a quick shower and change before starting with the movie night
"what i'm doing?" dex retorts, a sly quirk of his mouth at the irony, eyes closed while shaking the towel you gave him over his dampened hair, smelling you all over it too, feeling his heart race knowing its gonna linger on him for a bit
"uh huh, i'm on to you-" adrian shoots back, his voice going tight and considerably deeper than how it sounded when he was talking to you just moments ago "they might not be able to tell that you're a fucking creep dude, but i can!"
dex scoffs, the nerve of this fucking guy, he thinks as his eyes instinctively scan around the room for possible murder weapons, but he already knows that if he were to throw or stab anything at adrian, that still wouldn't be nearly enough to be rid of him
dex has watched you both long enough to know that adrian is a metahuman, a hard to kill metahuman at that
so no, even if he would very much like to, murdering adrian is not an option (yet)
so they just stand there, fuming at each other, while adrian is a fiery wave of feelings, dex remains a tense but ticking time bomb
dex cracks his neck once before he asks with a deceivingly calm tone of voice and a self assured cock of his head "what about what you're doing buddy?", he smirks at the way adrian's eyes go huge for a single fleeting moment
"huh?! i- im not doing anything! the fuck are you talking about?" adrian retaliates, the nervous quickness of his words painfully giving him away already
"you're kidding right?" dex retorts simply, with a quirk of his mouth and a challenging knowing glint in his eyes "the teddy bear?"
in an instant, adrian realizes that dex is far more stealthy and far more deranged than he ever gave him credit for
now, the consequences are here to bite him in the ass
if dex is going down, he is damn sure gonna take adrian with him
adrian huffs, his jaw goes taut, his fingers flex over where he would regularly have his sheathed knife, but then-
"m'kay! im ready" you say, extra cheery, wringing a towel around your hair, freshly changed into your comfy shorts and a shirt that most definitely belongs to adrian
despite their growing tension, they both turn to you like a pack of wolves waiting to ambush their prey, pupils going wide at the sight of you
⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎
adrian is clearly feeling insufferably smug when you're sitting on the couch between them both but your head is resting against his shoulder the way it's always done on movie nights with him
he leans his head over yours, a tight lip smile on his face when he hears the way dex sniffs out a frustrated sound
"i think i should head back now" dex's voice is wound tight as he lifts up abruptly from his side of the couch
truth is, he cant really stand another second of having to share you
"wait, no!" you say, grabbing at his hand instantly, something that makes dex's eyes open wide, his face to go red and adrian to seethe "the movies almost over, dont you wanna see how it ends?"
"i've seen it before" he lies, and he can tell you can tell, but that doesn't deter him at all, his nostrils continue to flair in anger, his hand remains clenched tightly around yours, like he's one bad move away from forcefully tugging you upwards with him
when he doesn't relent or doesn't move an inch backwards thats when you groan out "okay, fine! let me walk you out at least"
"i can come with-" adrian blurts out, eagerly and pathetically so-
"oh dont be silly ade, i'll be right back!"
dex practically has to rein himself in from not chuckling at the distraught look on adrian's face in response to your dismissive comment
he's also subtly smug about it, already planning on how he's gonna steal away precious minutes with you downstairs, maybe he'll have you in his car again when you least expect it
but then, your phone buzzes again
"oop one sec!" you get up from your place on the couch, walking towards the kitchen to answer a call that immediately leaves both adrian and dex befuddled and frozen in their spots
they both listen in on your conversation of course, like the fucking creeps they are
"yeah okay, perfect, ill see you then!" you say, right before hanging up
"uh- who was that?" adrian asks, a knot forming in his throat at the flirty tone of voice you were using on the phone
"oh just this guy i met at the bar the other day, gonna meet up with him tomorrow" you smile and shrug innocently, going to grab at your keys without even sparing them a glance
you're far too busy putting on some shoes with the purpose of walking dex out to notice your coworker and roomie staring at each other, a shared panic in their eyes, they were both so worried with themselves they failed to take into consideration something like this could happen
its a shame you can't see how their antagonistic flare silently reaches an understanding, the acknowledgment of a shared interest now being at risk
you, going out with some guy that isn't either of them (the two possessive weirdos who basically own your days an nights)?
stupid of you to think that could ever happen
as truly fucking selfish adrian and dex are, it's clear that they would rather coexist being freaks about you than not have access to you at all, and after your little phone call? they evidently would rather cooperate than have to see you get involved with anyone that isn't them
so, one things for certain now, that guy you met at the bar? you're never seeing him again
✧. ┊ lamb! reader.
lost little lamb - s1! merle dixon x lamb! reader / dark platonic.
pretty accessory - when andrea reunited with merle.. only to find you with him / dark platonic.
run first, think later - or daryl finally reuniting with his brother and.. his controversionally young companion / dark platonic.
pairing : bird-coded!supe!reader x The Deep (Homelander briefly shows up)
summary : You and Deep loathed each other and constantly fought, and Homelander decided it was enough. You two were now sent on a vacation, in hopes you two bond.. or finally shut the fuck up.
warning/tags : enemies to fwb (friends part is debatable), choking, blood, canon typical violence, reader is part of the seven, gn!reader, reader is really mean, MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI, eventual smut, all characters depicted are over the age of 20, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it!), hair pulling, penetrative sex, subby deep, beach sex, deep fucks reader in mating press, reader THEN fucks him cowgirl style, blood play?, orgasm denial, masochistic!deep, lots of scratching, gags used
word count : 5.8k+
AN : sorry for taking so long, I’m a really slow writer!!! this was supposed to be a one shot smut fic but it quickly devolved into madness. If anything’s unrealistic, I’m sorry, I never choked anyone or had sex on a beach with my arch nemesis. My first time writing a fic (and a smut fic at that) so expect if things are amateurish 😭 anyway I think smut in my country is probably illegal so read it while you can!!
also I remember someone asking me to tag him when this fic would be finished so here you go, enjoy!! @faggotboyfreak
You and Kevin had… quite the rocky coworker-ship at first, let’s say. He didn’t hate you, in fact— he thought you were pretty interesting… and weird. The bird-like behavior creeped him out.
But that indifference started growing into disdain—when you started mimicking the sound of a Grindr notification every time you hung out around him and his wife, well—ex wife, Cassandra, so much so that she started thinking he was gay. His ex wife thinks he’s gay. She even fucking said it on the television!
You thought it was funny. He didn’t. He wanted to do something back to you, maybe even violent— but he was pathetic compared to you, in terms of strength. So he usually stuck to calling name-calling you, and that didn’t really fix your already crumbling bond that had a bunch of torn up bandaids stuck on to it.
Oh, another time, after you found out what he did to Starlight, you ate his precious octo-buddy. Right in front of him. Raw. Actually, you didn’t stop there. You kept eating his ocean friends— just to piss him off. You treat him like he’s your human punching bag, and now everyone at Vought knows you two loathe each other.
The hatred radiating around you two so much, to the point it was starting to bleed into your and his public appearances in media.
His side eyes. Your quick frowns that melted away like a candle near the sun. The brows furrowing when one of you opened your mouths to answer a question from that one pissy interviewer. It got so bad to the point that the paparazzi somehow managed to snap a picture of you and Kevin fighting!
Well, verbally. It hasn’t gotten physical… yet.
It was quite the passive aggressive game in the public eye, and fans slowly knew you were trying very hard to not peck his eyes out—
Which is why Homelander sent the both of you away on a vacation.
“You two need a break,” Homelander points to your chest, voice echoing throughout The Seven’s meeting room. “I need a fucking break! From… from all your head butting!” He rests his hands on his hips, staring at Kevin in irritation.. it’s like he was considering lasering the guy’s head off.
“I keep getting complaints from the PR department, that you two are a torture to handle— which you are, but you—Deep—need to man the fuck up and pretend to like your feathery friend here! Your.. pettiness is ruining our image.”
You crossed your arms, pinching the bridge of your nose. Kevin huffs, narrowed blue eyes staring at the floor.. and then back up at Homelander. “…Okay.”
He was just glad that he got to relax in a coastal place… even if it’s with the worst person ever.
You sigh out of exhaustion, wanting to get this over with. “How long is it? The vacation.”
“Three weeks.” Homelander says firmly, leaving no room for argument as he turned his back to you and Kevin, his cape following him. “Ugh, stupid fish bitch and barbarian birdie—“ He mutters under his breath as he swiftly walked away.
Great. Now it’s just you two.
“I… suppose I’ll start packing,” You turn to walk to your office, thinking of bring your sunflower seeds with you while on a trip to the ocean hell.
Kevin smugly chuckles as he walks besides you, “We have people for that, dumbass.”
“Yeah—well, sometimes I want to pack things I like rather than having some— some barely alive employee assume it for me!” You shout at him, pausing the walk in the middle of the empty hallway.
“Hey—you’re not going to get a Vemmy award if you loudly announce the fact that you like packing your stupid bullshit!”
“That’s not even what Vemmies are for—Just— fuck you!”
“Fuck me yourself!“ He ‘accidentally’ blurts out, his gloved hand immediately covering his mouth.
You blink your eyes, staring at the man. Kevin was suddenly glancing out the window, gazing at the view of the skyscrapers afar and whistling as though he was calm. He was not.
In all of your petty cat fights, he’s never… said something like that. Sure, he’s a pervert—and that’s nearly an understatement of how he acts around people, especially women. And he sure loves making himself seem more macho than he actually is, which means he constantly assures people and himself that he is totally the dominant guy in bed. But him? Wanting to be…. No. It totally was a slip up.
Why by you of all people? It doesn’t make sense, he hated you as much as you hated him! Which was a lot. But what he said felt… right. You simply didn’t want to show how much you actually like this one uncharacteristically raw moment of your chaotic relationship. So, to distract yourself—
Your hand goes straight to his neck, grip unrelenting as you pressed him towards the glass window—he chokes out a gasp, widened eyes flickering at you. Like a frightened deer. It was almost pitiful yet.. endearing, how nice he looked when scared shitless.
“The fuck you said to me?” Your talons dig into his neck, the sharp tips of your nails drawing blood. He yelps, “Nothing— it was… uh, the wind!” He smiles nervously, avoiding looking into your eyes. He had gills, yes, but for a moment he felt like he couldn’t breathe..
You narrow your eyes at him, brows furrowed, faces impossibly close, the tip of your noses touching, then you finally let go—red dripping from your nails onto the marble white floor. He let a sigh of relief, shoulders drooping as he gingerly touched his neck. Jesus, he’s never felt so hard in his entire life.
“Trying to flirt with me?”
“…No?”
You ignore his answer, “Don’t do it again. Ever.” You grunt, turning away and proceeded to walk back to your office through the hallway. Shit, that method didn’t distract you as well as you thought it would.
Meanwhile, Kevin just… stood there. Leaning against the window, trying to collect his thoughts. And all he could think of was how he wanted your hands on his neck again. How he wanted to feel your nails dig into his skin again.
Fuck, this is the first time in his life that he looked at someone without thinking about what they could give him sexually—the first time he accepted the scraps of physical touch of what someone had to give him, even if it was intended to be violent. The first time pain felt so good.
Whatever. With the way you reacted, he supposes he’ll tone down his ‘accidental’ flirts. He never thought about considering other people’s feelings until now.
“God, I have it bad…” He runs his fingers through his brunette hair, currently ignoring the red dots punctured into his neck. And his raging hard on.
- - -
Golden sand stretching across the shore, waves rolling and crashing. The sky shined in light orange. It was a private beach, so of course people weren’t around. Not many, anyway.
Kevin shifts his gaze from the view outside the window, looking over at you who was sat in a couch watching some shitty Vought-made sitcom. You two had just arrived to the beach house, after a flight of six hours— and tired out of your minds.
He decided the best way to relax was to take a short swim in the sea, but… it’d feel so empty without someone by his side. Oh, and he knows he can’t interact with any sea animals in the sea too— without the risk of you trying to eat it.
Guess he’s stuck with you, whether for the best or the worst. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. “Hey,” He calls out to you, walking into the awfully sea themed living room and sat next to you on the squeaky couch. With distance, of course. He still.. kinda hated you. He doesn’t know, since the last interaction.
You pause the sitcom, TV remote in your hand. “…What?” You tiredly blink at him.
“Uh,” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck as he sat back into the couch. “Ever swam before? Or the idea of it pisses you off?”
“…Once. In a swimming pool.”
“A swimming pool? Come on, dude. They’re a fucking mockery of what it’s like swimming in the sea!” He chuckles, though deep down he would’ve loved to drown the person who invented them.
“You’re seriously comparing.. water? To water?” You raise a brow, crossing your arms. Only this man would be offended at the most useless things ever if it was directed to his ‘precious’ ocean. Ahem, the dolphin truck incident said enough.
“No, one is artificial and pathetic. One is natural and beautiful—a life changing experience! But of course your birdy ass wouldn’t get it.” He scoffs, looking away from you.
You suddenly come to a realization, face palming. “Are you trying to get me to swim with you?”
“…Uhm..”
“Deep, fucking tell me or else I’ll—”
“Fine—fine, I am! It’s not like you’re enjoying watching that bullshit anyway.” He points to the paused sitcom on the TV screen. You huff, damn it… he was right.
“Just… join me.” He hesitates, “Please.”
Looks like plans of toning down his ‘flirts’ were thrown in the bin already.
You simply throw your head back, groaning— “Get off your ass and swim, then. I’ll come.” You nod, pinching the bridge of your nose. You couldn’t be that mad about it, though. You two were sent here just to stop quarrelling all the time.
He smiles, those soft eyes lighting up at your acceptance— even if out of annoyance. “Kay,” He stands up from the couch, jogging up to the window and slid it open, hopping outside through it as his feet touched the ground—Feeling the salty breeze immediately hit him, the heat of the sun felt on his skin.
“Oh my fucking god,” You whisper scream to yourself, burying your face into your hands. He ignored the door right next to the window.
- - -
Seagulls flying across the candlelit sky, black silhouette of moving boats and jet skis on the horizon. The bright orange sunlight hitting your skin— the sound of foot steps crunching on the sand as you two reached the shallow waters of the sea. Submerged in water till your knees.
He gasps at the sight of a tiny little orange blob stuck in the sand, “What the..” he carefully scoops it out of the sand, the orange blob laying on his flat palm.
You tilt your head, “..And that’s?” You trailed off, curious.
“A baby octopus!” He giggles, shifting closer to you. Then he realised it was you he was talking to, and immediately backed away—narrowing his eyes at you.
“That’s right,” You hum, wiping the sweat off your forehead from the sun’s heat torturing everyone on sight. “Keep that thing away from me. Disgusting.”
“It’s just a baby!” He exclaimed, sighing out of exhaustion before setting the orange blob off, away onto the waters—shaking his head. “This is why we can’t get along. I mean, you’re a screeching flying maniac— and I’m a relaxed guy who cares about his ocean friends!”
“Acting like Homelander isn’t a screeching flying maniac too? Pffft, you really love choking on his dick.”
You cackled, slapping his shoulder as he nearly jumped out of the water from the force. Man, fuck you and your super-shit strength, he thought.
“Yeah, but he favours me and.. well,” He trails off, shrugging. “I can’t pretend that he does the same for you.” He crouched down to settle down in the low clear waters.
“You’re delusional,” You rub your temples, looking at the pouting man below you. “I.. uh, suppose he’s bitter about the fact that he isn’t the only man in the sky anymore,” You observed— deciding to sit down next to him, crossing your legs as you grab a shell from underwater and fiddle with it.
He pauses, scratching his chin for a second—before immediately nodding. Though, he did not say anything, incase Homelander heard him shit talk. But we all know that he does not care enough about Kevin to be this extreme.
Silence grows between you two, gazing at the sun standing high above all. It wasn’t sunset yet, and you two could spend all the time here you wanted. Whether you and him calm down and have a civil conversation, or it be a screaming match.
But the rivalry was fun, friendly or not.
The salty breeze hits your face like a slap— the seashell nearly falling from your hands, before you closed your fingers around it tightly. “Hey, were we talking about fish, weren’t we?”
He turns his gaze from the sky to you, “Octopuses are actually mollusks, but.. yeah?”
“Yeah yeah, whatever—May I kindly ask,” You pause, “What on god’s green Earth was going on with the animals in the Cambrian period?”
“Stop being mean, they were trying shit out!” He covered his mouth, trying to stop a laugh from the mean comment. You smile wryly, resting your chin in your palm.
“How do you even know that? I mean, no one around here… in The Seven really care about fish. Especially you of all people.” He pondered, fingers playing with the water boredly.
“Birds eat fish,” You simply state, “And I need to know what kind of bullshit I’m eating.” You fidgeted with the cone shaped seashell before dipping it into the water to wash off the stuck sand.
“Uh, fishes from the Cambrian period don’t exist today—but sure. Nothing makes sense when I’m talking to you.” He shakes his head, “You don’t even know what baby octopuses look like.”
“I’m not a fuckin’ marine biologist, sorry.” You tiredly retorted, staring at the cone seashell in your hands. “This,” you held the greyish-blue shell between the pad of your thumb and your index finger, “Kinda looks like your eyes.”
“Mhm,” He hums, pretty eyes glancing at the shell before gazing away—down somewhere stupid like.. sand. Fuck, he was so cute. Why did he have to be such a pathetic loser?
“I’ll keep it—“
“Don’t!”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, narrowing your eyes at him. “And why the shit not?”
“Because—because hermit crabs really need those types of shells!” He tried to reason, though it’d be hopeless trying to make you care about some menial fish. “They’ll die if they don’t.”
“Oh, fuck off. I’m just this close to respecting you, and now you have to be petty about wanting to keep a shell for my memory sakes?” You barked, shaking your head. Standing up from the water, slipping the blue shell into the pockets of your shorts.
He stammers, “You’re leaving already?” Sad eyes look up at you, brows furrowed.
“Yeah, I need a break from you. And a shower too.” You turn from him, walking away from the shore as footprints were left in the sand back to the beach house.
He looked over his shoulder, before exhaling deeply and buried his sweaty face into his gloved hands. He really wanted to say ‘Without me?’ in response to the shower comment, but you would’ve done something worse than choking him. Maybe he wanted worse.
But the worst thing he’s heard from you, is you being ‘this close to respecting him.’ Yeah, no one in or out of Vought respected him— he was just the diversity hire fish guy. After killing a few humans who laughed at him here and there, sure, people sort of stopped being so vocal about it… but he could still feel their annoyance and utter lack of care for him. He couldn’t handle that, being treated like a joke.
That all changed when you joined The Seven. He respected you, shockingly. Yes, you treat him like a punching bag, but for once in his ‘awful’ life, he had someone else to focus on other than himself. He could finally stop pitying himself for mistakes and crimes he’s done to other people—all he thinks about is you. He can’t stop thinking about you, even prior the choking incident—he can’t stop thinking about hurting you, about crushing your face to the back of your skull, about licking your blood off his hands, about your hands around his neck, about having your nails scratching against his back as your legs were wrapped around his waist—
He shakes his head, his fingers curling into his hair. “No, no no no—“ he utters to himself, glancing at the reflection of himself in the water. “What the fuck am I...” He groaned.
He should not think about that. You just said that you were almost going to respect him! That should piss him off, not make him want to prove you right!
He looks up at the sky, dark hues of orange and purple mixing together like water colours. Looks like It’s finally sunset.
He crosses his arms against his chest, still sitting in the same exact spot— and tries to listen to the rhythmic crashes of the waves, the seagulls screeching like usual, instead of.. whatever the hell his brain is doing. He didn’t want to be in the house the same time as you.
- - -
You step out of the shower and into the awfully sea themed bedroom—shutting the door behind you. Pulling your white robe on—tying the ribbons together loosely. You slid on the sandals as you walked up to the bed, which had your towel lazily thrown over it.
As you wiped the excess water off your face, you look out the window—seeing Kevin still out there. Sitting on the sand, probably looking into the reflection of himself into the water like the self obsessed bastard he is. Maybe he’s thinking about something, and you really wondered what fish-brains was in deep thought about to sit outside in the hot summer evening heat for thirty minutes.
Or an hour. Who knows, you weren’t keeping in check with the time.
You slide open the window, hopping through it as your feet touched the sandy grounds. You feel the salty breeze immediately hit you, the heat of the sun felt on your skin. God, the weather really sucked—already feeling yourself melting.
Golden sand stretching along the coastline, waves crashing against the shore. The crimson shimmer reflected across the dark waters, the red sun shining with a blueish-pink backdrop. It was late.
Kevin, who was uncharacteristically idle, was starting at the sun. It had to remind him of the dots poked into his neck—fuck, why did everything have to remind him of you?
He shook his head, resting his chin on his knees as he simply closed his eyes to just… ignore everything for a moment. Ignore you, and this horrible but addicting bond.
“Deep?” You call out, him immediately turning his head to look at you.
“Uh— umm, yeah?”
“You’ve been sitting here for an hour. What’s wrong with you?” You roll your eyes, sand crunching as you walk up to the man. “Not even swimming or anything—just on your ass like usual.”
“Wow. You’re shocked that the Lord Of The Seven Seas is relaxing at the beach?” He glares at you, crossing his arms as eyes glance back at the red sun slowly being enveloped by the indigo sea. “And I’m not in the mood to be around you. I don’t wanna spend fucking years here with the person I don’t like.” He lied to himself, but also said the truth. His feelings were complicated, you and him together were complicated!
“Weeks, idiot. And don’t call yourself that, it sounds embarrassing.” You correct him, huffing as you also sit down next to him on the sand—with a bit of distance between you two. He scoffs, “Feels like years with you.”
He side eyes you, though his eyes travel down to where your robe reveals just enough of your shoulder. At this point, he was slowly starting to not care about how strangely attracted he was to someone that he abuses and is abused by daily.
You roll your eyes again, sitting back and exhaled deeply. “I should’ve killed you a long time ago,” you coldly stated.
His eyes widen, head snapping towards you. “The fuck’s wrong with you?”
“But now it’s too late.”
“Huh?”
You hum, brows furrowing. “The.. way you’ve been acting around me recently. Almost never looking me in the eye. Not calling me names like you used to. Being slightly kinder than usual. Like you’re walking on eggshells.”
He shrugs, sarcastically saying. “Maybe it’s because you tried to choke me to death?” And he also liked it.
“We tried to kill each-other multiple times before that.”
The entire time you were trying to confront him, it was just skirting around the fact that he loudly yelled that he wanted you to rail him. You never mentioned it—he never mentioned it. Maybe you two wanted to do more than punching each other’s guts out, but god is it not taking years to just admit that?
“Deep, just…” You mumbled to yourself, “Tell me the truth, why you’re acting like—“ You gestured to him entirely, “—this towards me!”
He leans closer, narrowing his eyes. “Back off.”
“You’re the one leaning closer!” You point a finger at him.
He suddenly places both of his gloved hands on your bare shoulders, shaking you. “I don’t even want you, not as much as you think I fucking do!” He lies.
“Then tell me, what you feel! I am sick and tired of assuming all your bloody thoughts—“
“I can’t stop, can’t stop thinking of you. I need you on me. Just… your hands on me, holding my neck like you hate me.”
You roughly exhale, eyes slightly widening as you shift your gaze from his shy face to the rolling waves of the ocean.
“I’m.. I’m sorry, okay? You deserve better than me. Someone that loves you. We’re not supposed to do more than just… cause headaches for everyone in Vought, but I can’t fuckin’ help it.” He stammered, fingers digging into your skin. He never apologizes, and he feels so helpless—but maybe he liked feeling helpless around you. “I can’t stop thinking of you— of it. I need too much from you, and I want you under me goddamnit!”
You gasp, eyes going back to his face—him breathing deeply as though he was drowning in his need for you. Resting your hand atop of his, shifting closer to him. “As much you’re like the dirt under my nails,” He raises a brow. You smile wryly, “At least you’re.. useful for something.”
Just like that, his restraint shattered into pieces. You won’t walk for a week. Hell, maybe he won’t walk for a week too.
He groans, suddenly pushing you down to the sand and untying the ribbons holding your robe together. “You’re wearing nothing under this?” He whispers dumbly, shivering under the touch of your naked legs wrapped around his waist. He was so pathetic for you.
“How else am I supposed to wear them, dickhead—“
He silences you with his lips to yours, and you curl your fingers into his brunette hair—his lips so familiar it made you want to scream. You moan into his mouth—tongue sliding over his, while he grinds his hips into the warm space between your thighs because of his fucked up need for you.
“Yeah,” He sighs, slightly pulling away. “Look at you, acting like a whor-“
And the next thing he feels is teeth biting his bottom lip so hard it bleeds. “Shit— oh jeez,“ He shouts painfully, gloved fingers brushing the blood off his busted lips. “What’s next, you’re gonna stab me while we fuck too!?”
You grunt, fingers leaving his hair and trailing onto his arms—pushing his hand out of his face, and steering them down to his belt that was surprisingly, not unbuckled. “Maybe, if you don’t shut up,” You murmur, undoing the gold belt impatiently. You had to remind him who’s in charge here, and it definitely wasn’t him. But god, feeling your arousal spike up seeing him on top of you felt so wrong but so right.
Your eyes widen seeing his hardened cock spring out—already leaking, and you start to realize why he has an ego the size of his dick. Who wouldn’t?
He smirks, his tone smug as his voice brushes against your ear. “Gonna stare at it all day or what?”
Your eyes shift back to the sky, your face warming up. “Just—just shove it in already!” You wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck. Fuck, he wasn’t supposed to make you feel like this—feel flustered!
He shrugs, grabbing your thighs—spreading them wider, whimpering pathetically as his tip slips into you. You grit your teeth, raising an eyebrow at the utter noises coming from him. “Are you always this loud?”
“No— not… not always,” He stutters, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. Fingers digging into the sand, as he roughly sinks into your warm wet walls—letting out another whiny moan right into your ear. Like he was the one getting fucked instead of you. His voice almost made you explode.
You arch your back, shivering, feeling him throbbing in you, hands splayed against his neck as you rest your forehead against his—eyes closed like you two were lovers and not enemies.
“God, you feel so good,” he praises, your hands travelling to the back of his neck. “Yeah? Then shut the fuck up and start movin—“
He interrupts you with a sharp slam of his hips, rutting against you desperately while you cried out in pleasure with your eyes flicking open. Hands clinging to his neck and shoulders for dear life.
You couldn’t even think—process that the man you hated the most was inside you, just stupidly staring at it slide in and out with a squelchy sound each time.
Your fingers go up to yank his hair and bring his face closer to yours, “You… fuckin’ devil,” and he was about to whine again—but your lips swallowed his noises of desire, licking and kissing the crimson off as blood dripped down his chin. His fingers trace your jaw, nooses smooshed against each other, hips still drilling into you like a machine.
As you two pull away from the rather bloody kiss, a red string of saliva connecting you and him—he pauses his mindless thrusting. Exhausted sighs left his red, messy, kissed and flushed lips. His felt his lower lip burn and sting, but every single wound he took from you felt worth it, and so did this one.
He glances at you under him, panting deeply but licking his crimson off your lips—ankles lazily crossed over his back.
“Tired? Already?” He quickly started pounding into you again, wanting to see desire and want cloud your eyes and make you go blind for him.
Every time his cock hammered into you, skin slapping against skin, extracted a carnal cry from you—practically fucking your ego out of you. And Kevin liked that, how good he made you feel. How loudly he made you moan. How your legs locked around his lower back even harder.
“Fuck, you’re so deep…“
You moan his name over and over again, brows knitting together—eyes widening when he slams into that one sweet spot and clench around him. Your fingers curling against his back with sharp nails digging through the green shirt and scratching his skin once again—leaving him gasping.
He leans to your un-touched neck, kissing down from your pulse point up until your jawline.
“Your neck—” He lightly nips at the red smeared skin, “It’s.. five kisses long,” You let out a whine, trying to hold yourself together so you don’t just… combust all over him. Why is he saying the cutest bullshit ever, while balls deep in you?
Since you thought he overtook you long enough, your fingers latch onto his shoulders—completely flipping him over, underneath you, back to the sand while you now straddled his cock. He pouts, bucking his hips into you. “No, please,” he pleads, gloved hands climbing underneath your robe and groping at your waist desperately. Yeah, you just blue-balled him, and that pissed him off—but he was too horny to even think about being mildly annoyed at you.
“Oh god, please, I’m so close—“
“Not yet.”
Shushing him, you shrug your robe off your shoulders and slowly move down him—but not fast enough to get him off. He kept letting out cries and moans, whining about how you should go faster, fingers digging into your hips so hard it leaves marks and dents, and kept looking at you with those poor little eyes.
“Please please please please please please—“ He begged as he threw his head back, eyes becoming teary from both pleasure and frustration.
Rolling your eyes, you slide his glove off his hand and yank his hair—pulling forward and stuffing the glove into his mouth as a makeshift gag. He still let out a shameless, loud cry, though muffled.
“Can’t be quiet, huh? Fucking brat,” You pant as you slam down against his cock, and he bucks into you even harder, your knees shaking.
“You—you really wanted me to fuck you this badly?” You tease, fingers grasping his chin, and that question leaves him nodding his head. Yes, he wanted you to sleep with him. But he was becoming greedy, and he’s not sure if you’re wanting to like him.. love him, even.
Of course you’d never like him, but at least he had a pretty face and pretty eyes that’d roll back and pretty moans and a pretty neck that you could wrap your hands around. The pad of your thumbs brush against tiny dried circles of red on the skin, him shuddering at your touch.
“You’re so easy to please,” you breathlessly say, his fingers capturing yours and intertwining them together while his other hand was busy digging bruises and marks into the fat of your waist.
Needless to say, he was getting close—by the way his pupils were blown, every whine even escaping through the glove, hips bucking every time you bounced up and down on his dick—ass slapping against his thighs. Your hips stutter, you were close too.
Hands leaving his neck, you pluck the glove out of his mouth, eager to hear how loud he gets when nearing his climax. Mouth gaping—groaning loudly, “Oh, fuck—you’re so amazing,” he mewls, fluttering eyes watching you ride him with a quickened pace. “Mmm… I—I think I’m—“
“I said, not yet.”
Interrupting him by sliding your thumb into his mouth, him sucking on it like it was a lollipop. He was sucking it way too well, actually… maybe Cassandra was right… whatever, you didn’t care at the moment.
“Huh… guess I should’ve fucked your mouth first,” you tirelessly huff out, chasing your high with your other hand grasping his shoulders—wet walls clenching around his twitching cock, his eyes rolling back and closing them shut.
Tutting, you slam your hips down harder, his eyes fluttering open as he let out a mewl—wet thumb leaving his mouth with a pop as you grab his chin and pull him forward. “Don’t close those pretty eyes,” you lean in and rest your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent, muttering into his skin as you pump yourself onto him.
“Wanna look at ‘em before I—“ Your release tears through your body, interrupting your words with a heaving, deep gasp—biting into the already marked skin of him, just to have ahold of something, someone—leaving him whimpering. His eyes glaze over your panting, shaky figure atop his, arms hugging your waist snuggly.
God, to see you like this—the hands that tried to choke him now gently laying on his shoulders, that mouth that always spouted insults at him now softly biting and kissing his neck, those legs that’ve kicked him in the back of his knees now intertwined with his, just to see you relax on top of him. It was a nice break from all the biting, scratching and man-handling.
His voice, shakily asks, “Can… can I—“
“Mmhm,” You hum softly into his neck, approving.
He pants as his hips thrusted into you—head tilting back into the sand, exposing his marked and scarred neck further.
“Marks,” he demands, “leave marks.”
Not like anyone else would see them anyway.
You smile against his neck, kissing his pulse point before your teeth clenched his flushed skin once again.
That’s it, that’s all it took for when he finally carves his hips into yours—nails now scratching your back, moans of praise now being carried along in the salty winds forever, feeling him hit that sweet spot and spill into you, fill you whole like no one has—dick twitching and sopping with cum, heat prickling at your stomach.
He closes his eyes, breathlessly muttering, “My god,” he felt your teeth graze his pulse, lifting his head back up to look back at you. Lips and teeth leaving his ravaged neck, you get the energy to sit up straight—still inside him, connected to him. Right as you were about to lift your hips up, his hands slid down to your hips—slamming you down onto his dick.
“What the—“
“Please,” He pleads, “Just—just stay with me. I.. wanna savor this.” He whispers. “Even if you hate me in the morning, I want this to last.”
You huff, placing your hands onto his sweaty shoulders. “And why would a horndog like you want this to last, huh?”
You lied, raising an eyebrow at the overly clingy behavior. You knew why he was like this with you. He was exactly like this with Sage, and whoever else gave him enough attention for him to get off to. Even if most of the attention you gave him was nothing but pain, blood, and tears, he would eat it up like a starving dog.
He didn’t answer, and he didn’t want to. At this point, he didn’t care if you and him were enemies, or if this news spreads around Vought, or how it went from night to day, or how sunny it is, or how the glare is hurting his eyes, all he wanted was for you to—
“Kiss me.”
He says, as though it was his first time kissing you.
You roll your eyes, leaning in closer anyways, “Gonna boss me around now?”
“No, I just want you to—”
your fingers grab the back of his neck and pulling him into the deep kiss, arms now wrapped around his neck—hands hugging your waist nicely. He giggles in between the kisses, “God, you’re kinda fun to kiss,” You slightly pull away from his lips, a string of saliva connecting your lips together.
“I f ucking bit you, and you’re calling that ‘kinda fun’?”
He chuckles against your lips, resting his forehead against yours.
“Well.. I guess you were keeping me on edge?”
“…Fuck you.”
“You already did.”
thank you so much for reading!!! reblogs and comments are very appreciated <33
