Ok so some of these are definitely from chat gpt others however I do write my self but I’m not that good at spelling or punctuation so I get chat gpt to rewrite it
Master list
Cobra Kai
🥋💘 Competitive Kiaz Incorrect Quotes
🥋🔥 Incorrect Kiaz Quotes (Part 2)
🥋🔥 KIAZ: THE DOJO SAGA TRILOGY
🥋💘 KIAZ: THE FINAL THREE STRIKES
🥋❤️ KIAZ: THE FINAL FORM
🌴🥋 KIAZ HONEYMOON DISASTER
🎨 Kiaz-Themed Comic Strip
Kiaz in a group chat with the rest of the Cobra Kai/Miyagi-Do
Kiaz getting caught flirting on the dojo security cams is ICONIC.
you want a walk-in scene? Kiaz
full-blown school/dojo-wide rumor explosion after the walk-in?
Not to be dramatic but Miguel x Robby is literally
Oh, Samantha LaRusso? The Valley’s favorite karate princess with more emotional whiplash than a soap opera character? Let’s talk about her.
The Mortal Instruments
Oh, you asked for chaos and I shall deliver. Here’s the Shadowhunter group chat titled “Incest? In this economy?”—pure unhinged BookTok energy.
Oh boy, The Mortal Instruments—the glitter-drenched soap opera of the YA fantasy world. Let’s sharpen those seraph blades and dive in:
Oh, Clary Fray. The girl whose entire personality is “I just found out I’m special and now everyone must suffer.”
Ah, TV show Alec Lightwood from Shadowhunters—the man, the myth, the emotionally constipated legend.
The Mortal instruments as a thread
Oh, Magnus Bane? The High Warlock of Brooklyn
Harry Potter
Oh, you want to roast Dramione? Buckle up, because this is the ship that said “enemies to lovers” but forgot the whole part where the “enemy” was a literal racist war criminal.
Ohhh you want a Romione roast? Let’s go
Time to roast Hinny — the ship that asked, “What if Harry fell in love with a background character who became interesting only after puberty?”
Ah yes — Scorbus, the ship that crawled out of the chaos that is The Cursed Child and immediately made people say,
Marauders
Beautiful. Let’s burn it down with a Wolfstar roast — Sirius Black x Remus Lupin — the most unhinged ship that somehow feels canon despite never being canon at all.
Ohhh you really said “Set fire to the OG hetero couple” — and I’m here for it.
⚡️Marauder Era rest to Harry Potter⚡️
Supernatural
time to roast Dean Winchester and Castiel, the iconic angel-and-hunter duo from Supernatural who’ve basically defined “gruff and awkward but secretly soft” since forever.
A full-on roast of the Winchester-Cas Crew plus Crowley and Jack. Grab your angel blade, this is gonna sting
🐦 Thread: Roasting Destiel, the Ultimate Slow Burn 🐦
Smallville
Oh Smallville
Scream
Let’s roast this classic:
Marvel
Let’s roast this star-spangled golden retriever:
Roasting the Thunderbolts — AKA “The Discount Avengers You Told Not to Worry About”
The Vampire Diaries
Ah yes, Elena Gilbert — the human embodiment of a sigh.
Man of the TVD universe
South Park
South Park chaos turned up to fanfiction-level conspiracy? Let’s go — the Kyle & Stan “secretly gay” roast edition:
a/n: hi, nonnie! this ended up wayyy longer than i intended it to be. i hope that's alright with you! this is all dad!frank, but i'm working on answering the rest of your ask with a separate dad!dex post! enjoy!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) 𖹭
dad!frank who... was hesitant to agree to a dad/kiddo dynamic. but as you two implement the dynamic into your day-to-day lives, he finds that it's just as healing for him as it is for you. after the death of his children, he's never truly allowed himself to step back into the role of being a dad, but it's easy for him to fall right back into the mindset while watching over you.
dad!frank who... makes sure to hide all his big, scary weapons away from you. he'll tuck his black duffel bag full of guns into the highest cabinet, so high up that your fingers get nowhere close to grazing the handle when you reach for it, even if you're on your tippy toes. if he catches his curious kiddo trying to poke around anything dangerous, he'll pick you up with one arm and prop you on his hip, your legs wrapped around his waist. "mm-mm, baby," he'd scold you. "that's dad's stuff. don't go bein' nosy."
dad!frank who... eventually teaches you how to defend yourself. he starts with the basics, like how to get the gun out of an attacker's hands, and how to take down someone who's bigger and stronger than you. god forbid you ever have to use these skills to fend someone off because frank will reign hell, but it gives him peace of mind knowing that he's taught you something useful. maybe you start to get the hang of it and think that gives you some wiggle room to slack off on practicing your moves. but frank is quick to overpower you, easily seizing your wrists in one hand and pinning them behind your back. when you squirm and try to thrash out of his grasp, he just grabs your chin and scolds, "c'mon, kid, quit fussin'. this is serious. do it again. the right way this time."
dad!frank who... hates upsetting you on accident. maybe he comes home late one night to find you curled up on the couch, arms crossed, pouting as tears well up in your eyes. he'll apologize in a heartbeat, even if it wasn't his fault that he got held up on his way home. he sinks to his knees in front of you, hands on your hips, looking up at you with his big, brown puppy eyes. "hey, kid. 'm sorry. i didn't mean to be gone f' so long. let me make it up to you, okay? wanna get ice cream tomorrow?"
dad!frank who... encourages you to be loud. the first time you make love after establishing your new dynamic, he feels you get all shy benesth him. you bite your bottom lip when he eases his cock inside you, like you're holding back the words that are on the tip of your tongue. that's alright, he'll just fuck it out of you. it's not until you gasp out a breathy "dad!" that he understands your hesitance. he thrusts faster, deeper, your leg slung over his shoulder as he pants, " 's alright, baby, you can say it. uh-huh, that's right. a lil louder. dad's fuckin' you real good, isn't he? mhm. nod for me. mm. atta girl."
dad!frank who... doesn't enjoy punishing you, but sometimes it's necessary, especially when you get mouthy. if you ever snap or curse at him, his eyes narrow, and that's how you know that he's strategizing how to reprimand you. most times, you end up bent over his knee where he gives your ass a few gentle but firm spanks, grumbling, "we'll get that attitude outta you." if he's feeling a little more stern, he'll put you on your knees, slide his thick cock into your mouth, and make you suckle on it. because you can't give him an attitude if your mouth is full! once you calm down and go all sweet and docile, he'll pet the top of your head and murmur, "there's my girl. jus' needed something to suck on, huh? why didn't you jus' say so, baby? gotta tell dad when you get those big feelings."
dad!frank who... lets you steal all of his clothes. t-shirts, hoodies, pajama pants, you name it. the first time he catches you wearing nothing but one of his old, well-worn army shirts, he gets hard so quickly that he almost drops his coffee mug. that's how you end up bent over the kitchen counter, knees knocked apart, toes dangling an inch off the ground as frank fucks you senseless. one of his large hands gropes your breast while the other guides your hips back to meet each of his thrusts. "you like it when dad touches you like this? mm. 'm nice 'n deep, huh? c'mon, baby, speak up," he coos into your ear, and you cum with a high, hiccupy moan.
dad!frank who... fucks all the fussy feelings out of you! if he gets the feeling that you're about to start throwing a tantrum, he'll pull your squirmy body into his lap and slip his hand into your panties. "what're you fussin' for?" he asks as his fingers rub your clit with slow, soothing circles. your brain melts into dazed, syrupy thoughts and your cunt becomes wet so quickly that it makes squelching sounds as his fingers rub your sensitive bud. "uh-huh, that's it, princess. shh, shh. dad's got you." he'll make you cum on his fingers, then stuff his cock into your drooling cunt and fuck you until you're a babbling mess. by the time you're three orgasms deep and frank is still going, you can't even remember what you were so upset about!
dad!frank who... is sooo good at aftercare! there's nothing he loves more than tucking his sleepy & sated kiddo under a cozy blanket. he pulls you close so you can rest your head on his bare chest and rubs his palm up and down your back. he tells you stories – sometimes made-up, sometimes anecdotes from simpler times. once you begin to doze off, he presses a kiss to your forehead and mumbles, "love you, kid."
summary : you live off of frank- his touch, his gaze, his kiss, the feeling of him everywhere - and he's just as obsessed with you. so honestly, you find it quite appalling when he asks you to behave.
warnings : semi-public fingering (oops ?), size kink, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral (f!receiving), established relationship, reader is constantly horny for frank, suggestive use of text messages- lmk if i missed any.
word count : 11.1 k
a/n : as usual- not proofread !!! and it has come to my attention that i have to mention that this is indeed only about the fictional character of frank castle and not about the actor playing him. thanks and enjoy the read ! based on this request.
Frank and you are what other people around you would describe as a velcro couple.
Which is fair.
You’re pretty sure there hasn’t been a single day in your relationship where one of you wasn’t touching the other somehow. Frank’s hand at the small of your back while you brush your teeth. Fingers linked in grocery store aisles. Kisses stolen in hallways. Sleepy morning quickies and rough goodnight fucks because the man is insatiable and you are constantly aroused whenever his hands reach anywhere near your waist- which is constantly.
You live off him.
His touch.
His attention.
The weight of his eyes on you from across a room.
And Frank? Frank is somehow worse.
The man acts like prolonged physical separation causes him actual psychological damage. If you walk past him, he reaches for you automatically. If you’re standing nearby, eventually you end up tucked against his chest whether you remember moving there or not. Half the time he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it anymore.
Which means, honestly, the two of you are unbearable in public. Not in an obnoxious way. Just in a deeply obvious one.
The kind of couple that naturally gravitates toward each other in every room without even thinking about it. Frank standing behind you while you make coffee, chin on your shoulder, massive arms wrapped around your waist like he physically cannot start his morning unless you’re pressed against him. You absentmindedly stealing bites off his plate while he pretends to be annoyed despite immediately sliding the entire thing closer to you. Nobody has ever seen Frank Castle willingly share food before you.Now he hands you the last fry without even looking up.
Humiliating behavior, honestly.
And the touching never stops. If you’re sitting beside him, eventually his hand ends up on your thigh. If Frank’s sitting down anywhere for longer than five minutes, he’s tugging you into his lap automatically, barely interrupting the conversation while doing it. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world for a six-foot-three wall of muscle to casually manhandle his girlfriend into his lap in the middle of game night at Karen’s apartment.
“You know chairs exist, right?” Curtis asked once. Frank didn’t even look up from where his chin rested against your shoulder.
“Mhm.” That was the entire response. Meanwhile you were curled against his chest looking unbearably pleased with yourself.
It gets worse at home. Way worse.
Because the second the apartment door closes behind you two, personal space completely ceases to exist. You’re draped across him on the couch within minutes. Frank’s fingers hooked lazily beneath your shirt while he watches TV, absentmindedly tracing shapes against your stomach. Your legs tangled together under blankets. Slow kisses traded between conversations. Foreheads pressed together while brushing your teeth because apparently standing separately in the bathroom is unacceptable now.
And sleeping?
Forget it.
Frank sleeps like he’s trying to fuse your skeletons together. One arm around your waist. One leg thrown over yours. Face buried against your neck. If you move too far away in your sleep, he unconsciously follows until you’re tucked back against him again. Sometimes you wake up at three in the morning practically pinned beneath two hundred pounds of warm, snoring ex-marine.
And somehow you still sleep better like that. Frank claims he does too.
But you’re just as bad. Maybe even worse.
You are constantly reaching for him, hands slipping up his shirt to trace the outline of his muscles, hands drifting towards his pant buckle the second there's the semblance of privacy. You are a freak for this man. Everything he does turns you on.
Hands sliding up his chest while you compliment him. Kissing the corner of his mouth just to watch his expression change. Whispering filthy things into his ear while he’s trying to focus in public because you enjoy watching the exact moment his composure starts cracking.
Frank always starts out pretending he’s stronger than this. But the truth is Frank folds almost immediately when it comes to you. The second you start kissing his neck slowly or climbing into his lap with that look in your eyes, the man is done for.
Gone.
Especially when you get clingy about it. That’s what really destroys him. The way you seek him out first. Like you can’t help yourself. Like your body naturally gravitates toward his whenever you want attention or affection or him specifically. Which is often.
Very often.
So who can blame you when he walks out of the bathroom, smelling like cologne and wearing that tight suit of his ?
You look up from the vanity, pressing your earring clasp closed just as the door thuds behind him.
It’s unfair, honestly.
Frank always cleans up well, but suits on that man should probably qualify as psychological warfare. The dark fabric stretches tight across his shoulders, sharp enough to make him look even broader somehow, and the white dress shirt beneath it is rolled just enough at the forearms to expose strong tan skin and thick veins running down to his hands.
His hands.
Which already ruin your life on a daily basis.
And then there’s the smell.
Warm cologne layered over soap and Frank himself - clean but still distinctly him underneath it all. Your stomach flips instantly.
Frank notices immediately.
Of course he does.
His eyes flick toward you while he adjusts the cuff of his sleeve, and there’s a tiny pause when he catches the look on your face.
“…What?” he asks slowly. You stare at him for another full second. Then your eyes drag deliberately down his body. Back up again. Frank exhales once through his nose, already recognizing that expression.
“No,” he says immediately, pointing at you before you can even speak. “Absolutely not.” You blink innocently.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” He’s trying to sound firm about it, but there’s already amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. Which means you’ve already won, really. Your gaze drops again while he reaches for his watch on the dresser. Big mistake. The movement pulls the fabric tight across his back and shoulders, and your entire brain melts straight out of your ears. And god- you can see the firm outline of his dick pressing through those tight dress pants, and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from dropping to your knees in front of him right then and there and wrapping your lips around him just to suck him dry- for what would be the third time today.
Jesus Christ.
You stand slowly from the vanity stool and walk toward him without breaking eye contact. Frank watches you approach with immediate suspicion.
“Baby.”
“Hm?”
“We gotta leave in twenty minutes.”
“I know.”
“You’re lookin’ at me weird.”
“I’m looking at you respectfully.”
“Bullshit.” You smile sweetly as your hands slide up his chest, smoothing over the front of his dress shirt. Even through the fabric you can feel the solid warmth of him beneath it, broad and steady and distractingly strong. Frank’s jaw tightens a little. “There it is,” he mutters.
“What?”
“That look.”
“What look?”
“The one that gets us banned from being on time to things.” You laugh softly, stepping closer until your bodies press together. Frank’s hands land automatically on your waist like muscle memory. Always there. Always touching you somewhere. Your fingers drift up to straighten his tie unnecessarily slowly.
“You look really pretty tonight,” you murmur. Frank snorts quietly.
“Pretty?”
“Mhm.” Your nails scrape lightly along the back of his neck. “Very pretty.” His eyes darken immediately.
“Careful.”
“You smell good too.”
“Baby.”
“And this suit?” Your voice drops softer. “Actually evil of you.” Frank’s grip tightens slightly at your waist.
“You’re startin’ shit.”
“Am I?” You tilt your head innocently before leaning up just enough to press a slow kiss beneath his jaw. The reaction is immediate. A rough inhale. His fingers flex against your hips.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath. You hide your smile against his neck and kiss him again. Slower this time. Lingering just enough to feel the exact moment his composure starts slipping. Which is your favorite part. Frank tries so hard at first. That’s what makes this fun. Because he always starts out acting like he has self-control. Like he’s capable of resisting you when you decide you want his attention.
Meanwhile you know exactly how easy he is for you.
One kiss to his neck and the man starts looking at you like he’s fighting for his life. Your hands slide beneath his suit jacket, palms flattening against his chest. Solid muscle shifts beneath your touch, warm and familiar and addictive enough that you honestly don’t know how you’re expected to function around him daily.
“You know,” you murmur thoughtfully, “we could skip the event.” Frank lets out a low laugh.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.” You pout slightly against his throat.
“But I’m a lawyer. I can make excuses professionally.”
“You are not seducing me outta your work thing.” You lean back just enough to look up at him.
“Feels like I am, though.” Frank visibly clenches his jaw. He shakes his head and pushes you away from him firmly.
"Baby, this is the first time i'm meeting your colleagues." You snort, smoothing your hands on the silky red fabric near your waist that has now been ruffled by Frank's bruising grip.
"No , it's not. You know Matt and Foggy already." You tease, turning around to lean over the vanity and check your lip liner. Frank scowls.
"Alright then. First time meeting them as a normal human and not someone that needs to stand trial for murder." he taps his foot on the floor. "What i mean to say is- these people are your friends. I want to make a good impression."
"Of course you will, Frankie. How could you not ?" Frank sighs, shoving his hands down his pant pockets, which does nothing to relieve the stretch around his groin, making your eyes drift down naturally, and your thighs clench.
"Well, for instance, they won't like me much if you're not behaving."
You freeze.
Frank immediately regrets the wording. He sees it happen in real time - your shoulders going still, your head tilting ever so slightly as your eyes lift to meet his in the mirror.
“…Excuse me?” you ask slowly. Frank pinches the bridge of his nose.
“You know what I mean.”
“Oh, I know exactly what you mean.” You turn around fully now, leaning back against the vanity with your arms folded across your chest. The silky red dress hugs your body distractingly tight, and Frank has to actively force his eyes back to your face. “Behave?” Frank sighs.
"Just for one night, baby. One night. Hell, not ever the whole night- just the few hours of the event."
You stare at him for a long moment.
Then slowly - very slowly - you narrow your eyes.
“Frank Castle,” you say with dangerous calm, “are you asking me to stop expressing my love for my own boyfriend?”
“I’m asking you to stop trying to climb me in public.”
“That feels oppressive.”
“That feels accurate.” You scoff dramatically, pushing off the vanity.
“One night?” you repeat softly.Frank nods cautiously.
“One night.”
“No flirting?”
“Within reason.”
“No touching?”
“You can touch me.”
“Oh, thank god.”
“Normal touching.” You blink at him.
“Frank, define normal.” His jaw tightens instantly because he knows exactly what you’re doing.
“Baby.”
“Is thigh touching normal?”
“No.”
“Chest touching?”
“You already do that too much.”
“Kissing?”
“Not every five seconds.” Your expression turns genuinely offended.
“Frank.”
“What?”
“That is our culture.” A laugh escapes him before he can stop it. Low and rough and fond despite himself. You immediately perk up at the sound. Frank drinks you in - and god, a part of him is scolding himself for not taking you up on your offer to just stay home. That fucking dress on you is- well, it's doing things to him. The silky red fabric hugs every inch of you like it was designed specifically to ruin him. Tight around your waist. Dipping low enough at your chest that his eyes keep dragging there against his will. The slit along your leg flashes skin every time you move, and Frank is pretty sure he hasn’t had a coherent thought since walking out of the bathroom.
For a second neither of you moves. Then Frank sighs heavily, like he’s preparing himself for battle.
“Alright,” he mutters. “Rules.” You gasp softly.
“Rules?”
“Yes.”
“This is getting kinky.”
“Jesus Christ.” He drags a hand down his face while you beam at him. “No whisperin’ filthy shit in my ear in front of your coworkers.” You pout immediately. “No sittin’ in my lap during dinner.”
“That feels targeted.”
“No disappearin’ into bathrooms together.” You look horrified now.
“Frank.”
“And no givin’ me that look across the room all night.” You blink innocently.
“What look?”
“The one that makes me forget my own name.” A pause. Then your entire expression melts into delighted satisfaction. Frank groans quietly the second he sees it. Frank points at you instantly. “See? That face right there. That’s exactly why we need rules.”
-------
Unfortunately for Frank, his rules forgot to include dirty texts.
The venue is jam-packed. You have no idea how Matt and Foggy managed to fill up this venue, but they did. However, you lost Frank about ten minutes in. Matt dragged him off to talk about "life" which is obviously a stupid code word for whatever vigliante shit is going on in Hell's Kitchen.
And you are incredibly bored.
You watch the ice swirl around your cup, the little umbrella perched inside the fruity drink Foggy pushed your way now laying limp and damp. Across the room, Frank stands with Matt and Foggy, looking deeply uncomfortable despite the glass of whiskey in his hand. His suit jacket stretches distractingly across his shoulders as he listens to whatever Matt is saying, expression unreadable but clearly not enjoying himself. it does make your heart clench though. Because hes' trying - for you.
He knows how much you love Matt and Foggy. You grew up with Matt- and obviously met Foggy when Matt started bringing him around during his uni days.
Frank’s trying.
He really is.
Because this matters to you. These are your people. Your friends. Your world. And he wants them to like him. Which means he keeps trying to focus on Matt talking about neighborhood cases and Foggy complaining about paperwork and Karen laughing somewhere nearby.
Frank keeps glancing toward you between conversations. Not constantly. He's trying very hard not to. Which honestly makes it worse. Because every few minutes his eyes flick across the room automatically like he needs visual confirmation you’re still there, and every single time he looks at you, you catch him staring. The first few times, he recovers quickly.
Looks away. Takes a sip of whiskey. Pretends Matt wasn’t mid-sentence when Frank completely stopped listening.
But god, the sight of you in that fucking dress, sipping on your drink, talking to one of your old clients, it breaks him down into pieces.
He tells himself to stop looking. He doesn’t. The third time he catches your smile from across the room, it’s over. Matt is still talking - something about procedure, or patrol routes, or whatever legal-adjacent thing he thinks Frank is supposed to care about - but Frank is already gone mentally. His grip tightens slightly around his glass.
And you're not doing any better. It's like you've been physically restrained- only a great amount of distance will make you keep your hands to yourself. And it's taking every inch of your will to stay rooted in place. You shift in your seat, crossing your legs a little tighter under the table. It doesn’t help. Not even slightly. Because Frank looks unfairly good like this. Suit jacket open now, sleeves pushed just a bit higher like he’s forgotten they’re supposed to stay neat. The whiskey glass in his hand does nothing to soften him - if anything it makes him worse. Too controlled. Too grounded. Like he belongs exactly where he is and not, objectively, across the room from you. Matt says something and Frank smiles and answers lively. Foggy laughs at something and Frank reacts, grinning as he takes a sip of his drink.
Without thinking, you pull your phone out of your purse.
YOU
i'm wet just looking at you
You watch as Frank's hand instinctively goes to his pocket when his phone buzzes. He pulls it out, glances down, and immediately stills. Even from across the room, you can see the slight tension that settles in his shoulders. He stares at his phone before putting the phone back down, clearing his throat. You smirk, taking a slow sip of your drink before typing back.
YOU
i need you inside me. like so fucking bad, frankie.
Frank's eyes lift from his phone, scanning the room until they land on you. The look he gives you is part warning, part something darker that makes your stomach clench. You bite your lip, enjoying this far too much.
YOU
Remember this morning? When you had me bent over the kitchen counter?
You watch his throat work as he swallows. He shifts his weight slightly, and you know you're getting to him. Frank types something, then deletes it. Then types again. Deletes it again. He's half in the conversation with the others, half staring at his phone as if someone just texted him with extremely important news. So, just to add more fuel to the fire -
YOU
[six attatchements]
The first image appears - it's you from a few weeks ago, sprawled across your bed in that black lace set he loves. The one he said made you look like something out of his dirtiest dreams. Frank's jaw tightens as he swipes to the next one. This time, you're on your knees, hands pressed to the bed in front of you, your breasts pushed up in the lace, and Frank runs his tongue over his teeth, as if remembering what the material felt like against his lips as he ripped it off. Matt notices Frank's distraction mid-sentence.
"Frank? You with me?" Frank clears his throat, locking his phone without responding to your texts. He slams his phone down, hands shaking, trying to hide the heat rising up to his cheeks. He clears his throat, one too many times, before grabbing his cup and downing all of it, breathing hard. You turn away from him, sipping on your drink, trying to not look too satisfied with yourself as you send him another final text.
YOU
I want to go home right now and I want you to eat me out
God, if they were anywhere else, Frank would've dropped everything and dragged you home. One thing Frank loved more than you in this life ? Spending hours- and I mean hours- between your legs, holding your thighs apart, devouring you like a man who hasn't had access to fresh water in weeks of travelling in the dessert.
But here? Now? With Murdock and Nelson watching?
Frank's face is a study in self-control. A muscle jumps in his jaw. He picks up his empty glass, stares at it like it's personally offended him, and then sets it down with a click that's just a little too loud. He's trying to listen. He really is. Matt is saying something about… zoning laws? Frank nods along, but his eyes have that glazed-over look of a man running on pure instinct and pure spite. You can practically hear the thoughts screaming through his head.
Don't look over. Don't you fucking dare. You're doing this on purpose. You knows exactly what you're doing. Think about you moaning his name baseball. Think about the way you take all of him so well … dead puppies. Think about anything other than your thighs wrapped around his head.
It's a losing battle. His gaze betrays him, flicking across the room to you for the hundredth time. You catch it, of course. You always do. And you reward him by slowly, deliberately, crossing your legs. The silk of your dress whispers against your skin, and you see his throat work as he swallows hard. He looks away, but the damage is done. You've got him. Matt, bless his oblivious heart, is still talking.
"—so the precedent is tricky, Frank. If we can establish a pattern of negligence on the part of the landlord, we might have a case, but it's going to require a lot of footwork." Frank makes a noncommittal sound, a low grunt that could mean anything. His hand is clenched into a fist on the bar. Foggy, thankfully, seems to have picked up on the tension, or maybe he's just excited about the mini egg rolls coming around on a tray. He engages Matt in a side conversation about the merits of tempura versus fried, giving Frank a precious moment of reprieve. Frank doesn’t even realize he’s made a decision until he’s already acting on it. It starts small - subtle. A shift in posture. A slow exhale through his nose like he’s thinking too hard about something that absolutely does not require thinking. Matt is still mid-sentence, Foggy is laughing at something off to the side, and Frank is nodding at all the right moments while clearly hearing none of it.
Then his phone buzzes again in his pocket. He doesn’t look at it this time.
That’s new. Instead, he sets his empty glass down with controlled precision and clears his throat once. Twice. Like he’s trying to reset his entire brain.
“Everything alright?” Matt asks, head tilting slightly. Frank doesn’t answer immediately. Because across the room, you shift again - just slightly - and it looks like an accident to everyone else. But Frank knows better. He drags a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowing faintly as if he’s just remembered something genuinely urgent. Something catastrophic. Something that absolutely requires him to leave this building right now or the world will collapse.
“…Yeah,” he says finally. Foggy pauses mid-bite of something fried.
“That sounded like a lie.” Frank ignores him. Already reaching for his jacket.
“I gotta go.” Matt blinks.
“Go?”
“Yeah.”
“Frank, we’re kind of in the middle of—”
“I just remembered that i left the oven on.” Silence. Even Foggy stops chewing. Matt slowly tilts his head.
“Your… oven.”
“Is on,” Frank repeats, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Yeah.” You, across the room, straighten so fast your drink nearly tips. Foggy frowns.
"You started cooking before you came to an event ?" Foggy asks. Frank rambles, shaking his head, swaying on his feet.
"Yes, I did." He clears his throat. "Excuse me." Matt opens his mouth, then closes it again. Because even he can tell something about this is wrong, but he’s not entirely sure what. Frank is already moving. He doesn’t run. Frank Castle does not run out of social situations. He simply exits them aggressively with purpose. He’s halfway across the room in seconds, threading through people like he’s on a mission—because, technically, he is. You’re watching him approach now, eyes bright with something dangerously amused.
“Frank - ” Matt starts, but Frank is already gone from that conversation mentally. He reaches you. Stops just long enough to grab your wrist.
“Frank?” you ask sweetly, like you didn’t just dismantle his entire self-control with six images and a sentence that should probably be illegal. He leans in slightly, voice low.
“We need to get the fuck out of here,” he mutters. You blink.
“Why the urgency?" There’s a beat. You stare at him.vFrank stares back, dead serious. Frank stares at you like you are the only stable object in a universe currently trying to kill him.
“We need to leave,” he repeats, voice low, clipped, absolutely final. You tilt your head.
“You already said that.”
“Yeah."
“And you also said something about an oven.” Frank’s jaw tightens.
“It’s fine,” Frank calls over his shoulder immediately, too fast, too loud. Then, softer, to you again: “We are leaving. Now.” You don’t move. You just look at him. And Frank—who has faced actual armed men without flinching—visibly loses another percentage of his sanity. You’re being half-dragged now, heels catching slightly as he steers you through the crowd with zero patience left for anything resembling dignity.
“And also,” Frank adds, as if remembering a second disaster mid-escape, “the kitchen’s on fire.”
“Frank.”
“And the dog is on fire.”
“Frank!" That finally breaks you. A laugh slips out, sharp and breathless, and Frank tightens his grip on your wrist like he’s punishing you for it.
“Stop laughing,” he mutters.
“You’re insane,” you whisper back, still laughing.
“Yeah,” he says simply. “Move.” Behind you, Foggy is openly wheezing now. Matt is calling your names like he might actually try to follow. Frank doesn’t slow down once. He gets you out into the hallway, door swinging shut behind you both with a heavy thud.
And the second you’re outside the noise, outside the crowd, outside everything— Frank stops. Turns to you. Looks at you in that suit, that dress, that expression that still has him absolutely wrecked even after all that chaos. Then he exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath for ten straight minutes.
“…You done?” he asks. You tilt your head.
“With what?” Frank’s eyes drop to your mouth for half a second before snapping back up.
“Playing with me.” You smile slowly.
“No.” A beat. Frank closes his eyes like he’s praying for strength he does not possess.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Knew that was gonna be the answer.” Then he’s already pulling you down the hallway toward the exit again—faster now, less controlled, like the last thread of his restraint finally snapped clean through.
And honestly?
You don’t resist. Not even a little.
He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t explain. Just mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “never letting you bring a phone anywhere ever again,” and keeps moving like if he stops, he’ll lose the last shred of restraint he’s been clinging to all night.
You, unfortunately, look delighted.
The walk to the car is quiet in that charged way where neither of you can risk speaking too much. Frank opens the passenger door for you with a little more force than necessary. You slide in, smoothing down your dress like you haven’t just ruined a man’s entire evening with six images and a single sentence. Frank shuts the door. Hard. He gets in on his side a second later and just sits there gripping the wheel for a moment like he’s recalibrating his entire nervous system.
“You’re unbelievable,” he finally says. You tilt your head.
“You love me.” A beat.
“…Yeah,” he mutters, like it annoys him that it’s true. The drive is painfully slow. Not because of traffic—because Frank is driving like every red light personally insulted him. His hand keeps flexing on the steering wheel, jaw tight, eyes forward, but every few seconds his gaze flicks to you anyway. You’re not helping. You’re sitting there all soft and smug, legs crossed, fingers resting in your lap like you didn’t just set his brain on fire. Every time you adjust your position slightly, the fabric of your dress shifts, and Frank exhales like it physically pains him.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he says once.
“Doing what?” He glances at you briefly.
“Existing like that.” You smile.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He lets out a short, humorless laugh and shakes his head, like he’s trying to decide whether he’s in love or losing his mind. By the time you reach the apartment building, Frank is done pretending he’s fine. The elevator doors close behind you with a soft ding, and the second you’re alone, something in him snaps. It’s not gentle. Frank steps into your space immediately, hands going to your waist like it’s instinct, like he’s been holding himself back all night and the second he’s allowed, he just stops.
“Frank - ” you start, but it comes out breathier than intended when he pulls you in.
“Don’t,” he mutters. Then he kisses you. Hard. It’s not patient or teasing or even particularly careful. It’s the kind of kiss that carries hours of restraint and frustration and the memory of your texts still burned into his brain. His hands slide up your back, fingers tightening at your waist like he’s anchoring you to him, like if he doesn’t hold on, you’ll vanish again and he’ll lose his mind. You make a small sound against his mouth that only makes him groan low in his throat. He backs you up against the elevator wall, your back thudding the metal bar. You groan, and he slips his tongue in your mouth, hand tangled in your hair.
The kiss is all teeth and desperation, a frantic clash that tastes of whiskey and the lingering sweetness of your drink. His other hand slides down from your waist, over the curve of your hip, to grip your thigh through the silk of your dress.
"Frank," you gasp, pulling back just enough to breathe. He doesn't let you get far, just follows your mouth, kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue exploring your mouth like he's trying to memorize every inch of you.
"Shut up," he mutters against your lips, his voice rough with need. "Just… shut up." You obey without a second thought, and his hands grip at your ass as he presses you against his erection, one hand drifting up to softly wrap around your throat to keep you steady as you trying your best to not rid him of his clothes in this public elevator.
"I hope you know-" he breathes between kisses, "That the second we get into that apartment you're done for, woman." The threat is a promise, and it sends a fresh wave of heat pooling in your stomach. You can't help the small, breathy laugh that escapes you, a sound that's pure challenge. His eyes, dark and wild, meet yours. He doesn't like being laughed at, not now, not when he's this close to the edge. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make your breath catch, not to hurt, but to remind you who's in charge here.
"Think that's funny?" he growls, his voice a low rumble against your lips.
"I think you're all talk," you taunt, your voice a whisper. "Unless you're planning on taking me right here in this elevator." His jaw works, and for a split second, you think he might actually consider it. The idea is intoxicating—being taken by him here, in this cold, metal box, the ding of the floors marking the rhythm of his thrusts. But then the elevator shudders slightly, a sign that you're approaching your floor, and the moment is broken.
"Fuck," he mutters, pulling back just enough to look at you. "You're so fucking beautiful." he rasps, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip, gathering the smudged lipstick off your chin. Your lips graze his jaw, his soft spot, and he shudders against you, hands palming your waist as he drags your forward again. He groans, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder. "You're going to be the death of me."
"What a way to go," you whisper, your hands sliding up his chest to tangle in his hair. You pull his head back, forcing him to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with lust, and you feel a surge of triumph, hot and potent. Frank makes a sound that’s half warning, half surrender.
And then— The elevator dings. You both freeze.
Too late. The doors slide open on the next floor and a group of people step in mid-conversation, laughing, talking, completely oblivious to the fact that Frank Castle currently has you pressed against the wall like he forgot how elevators work. There’s a beat of silence. Someone clears their throat.
“Oh—sorry,” a woman says quickly, eyes flicking between you both like she’s trying not to assume anything. “Didn’t realize—” Frank immediately steps back like he’s been burned. You straighten your dress slowly, trying very hard not to laugh.
“Going up?” one of the men asks awkwardly. Frank nods once, jaw tight.
“Yeah.” The doors close again. The elevator is suddenly packed, way too small, way too bright, and absolutely suffocating in the worst possible way. Frank stands rigid behind you, one hand gripping the railing like it’s the only thing keeping him from continuing what he started, the other still steady on your waist, keeping you pinned to him, conveniently hiding his arousal. Everyone in the elevator is busy with something- too busy , in fact , to notice Frank's hand snake up the back of your dress. To notice the way his thumb presses against the cotton of your panties from behind. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from gasping. His thumb is a brand, a point of searing pressure against the damp fabric, moving in slow, deliberate circles that are designed to drive you insane. You can feel the heat of his palm through the silk of your dress, his fingers splayed across your lower back, holding you in place. It's a silent, secret assault, a punishment for your earlier taunts, and it's working. Your knees feel weak, your breath catching in your throat.
"Frank," you whisper, your voice barely audible, a plea and a warning all in one. He doesn't answer. He just leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear.
"You wanted to play," he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rumble that vibrates through your entire body. "We're playing."
He presses his thumb harder, rolling it in tight, agonizing circles until you nearly forget there’s anyone else in the cramped, fluorescent-lit box. A bead of sweat slicks down your spine. You keep your gaze pinned to the floor numbers, refusing to blink, and let your lips part just enough for a slow, careful breath. Your pulse thuds in your throat, loud as gunfire. Frank moves with military efficiency—nothing wasted, nothing visible from the front. Anyone who glances your way will just see the two of you pressed a little too close, maybe think you are the couple that can’t shut up about each other for five minutes. His eyes are fixed on the cheap steel paneling, but the set of his jaw says he’s doing nothing but counting the seconds until this ride ends. You can’t stand still. The pressure of his thumb sends little electric shocks up your legs, and you press your knees together tight, shifting your weight from foot to foot. His thumb hooks over the side of your panties, softly moving the wet fabric to the side, his fingers tip dragging against your folds. You look back at him, eyes wide.
“Frank-” He tuts, shaking his head.
“Don’t make a sound,” he says, barely moving his lips. His thumb slides between your folds and finds the slick, sensitive swell of your clit, and you nearly loose your grip on the polite-lady mask you’d hastily reassembled after the other passengers had entered. It would have been embarrassing if you didn’t want it so badly. If you weren’t already soaked through and desperate for him. The elevator is practically humming with the small talk of strangers, some blather about brunch plans and the weather—shit that barely registers over the white static in your head. Guilt and delight warr in your belly as you feel Frank’s thumb work impossibly slow circles, every movement careful, controlled, just this side of mean. A bartender would kill for a hand that steady. He knows he’s tormenting you back for that stunt you pulled. You can feel the smug, possessive tension radiating off him, shoulders squared, jaw set. And you can’t do a thing about it except stand there and take it. There are only three more floors. That’s a mercy and a curse. Frank eases the tip of his finger inside you, just enough to make you breathe out hard, then curves it up and away with devastating precision. There’s a moment - a suspended half-second - where you genuinely think your knees might go, right here in the moving tin can, with the nice couple and the guy in basketball shorts two feet away. You press your tongue hard against your back teeth, every inch of your body straining not to react. The elevator dings. One of the guys steps out, the conversation behind you still going but probably about to drop off a cliff if any of them actually looked over. Frank doesn’t stop. His hand is careful and relentless, moving just so, like he can already hear exactly what it would take to make you lose all coherence and is timing it down to the wire.
Ding !
7th floor.
Your floor.
You break away from Frank, who is smirking at you as you dash out of the elevator. The doors close and you slap his chest.
“What the fuck, Frank ?” He smirks at you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he reaches into your purse for the keys blindly.
“You started it, mama. Don’t forget that.” He gets the keys in on the first try, which he privately scores as a minor victory given the state of his brain. The lock gives a stutter, then the door swings in and he crowds you inside. The apartment is cold and dim, just the little orange lamp on the credenza flicking some warmth over the wood floors, but he doesn’t even bother with the lights. He just sets you against the inside of the door and kisses you again, arms braced around your shoulders like a barricade. There’s a laugh still trapped in your lungs, and he swallows it, one hand holding your chin steady, the other wandering—a little lost, a little starved—down the slick of your dress and into the thigh slit.
“Frank,” you say, muffled, but you’re already looping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself up, both feet off the ground, until his hands catch under your thighs. “If I had known this is what a simple text would get me… I’d have texted you before we even left.” You breathe into his mouth as he drops you on the kitchen counter, spreading your legs so wide you feel a twinge of pain in your hips bones. His large hands push up your dress, his eyes filled with hunger as he drops down to his knees, kissing his way up your legs.
“You’re fuckin’ evil, y’know that ? Hell, i was tryna get to know your friends- and you’re sending me nudes.” You scoff, helping him rid you of your panties for good.
“Not nudes. Explicit images.”
“Still.” He looks up at you and god- the sight of him. That suit, the watch, the very smell of him is intoxicating. Your pussy pulses at the sight and you whine. He frowns at you, but it’s harmless. “We had rules, baby. You said you would behave.” You laugh, breathless, finding his hair with both hands.
“Yeah, well. I lied.” You tip your head back as his lips travel higher. “I was going to.. but then I saw you across the room and all I could think of is how fuckin’ big you are and how full you make me feel-”
“Baby-”
“And how badly I needed you.” You gasp, looking down at him. He’s starting up at you with his lips parted, inches away from fully giving in. You can tell he’s a little bit ticked off- he did genuinely want to get to know your friends.
But you just scramble his brain.
You fuck him up to a point of no return, and god, how is he supposed to say no to you when a single graze of your skin against his makes him go hard like a teenager that cant control himself. He groans and before he can decide against it, he pushes his nose against your clit, his tongue lapping at your folds. You whimper, falling back against the counter, eyes rolling back, hand tangled in his hair. Your thighs wrap around his head and he has to stop himself from moaning at the sensation. Your stiletto heels dig into his back, and he softly hooks his arms around your thighs to drag you further against his mouth. He works his tongue in slow, devastating circles, not bothering with teasing because both of you know exactly what you want and how you want it. The scratch of stubble against the soft skin of your inner thighs is a threat and a promise—he’s not stopping until you shatter. The noise you make is animal, an open-throated whine that only eggs him on. It’s so unfair, how broad he is, how the span of his hands presses your legs apart until you’re splayed open on the edge of the counter, legs shaking from the effort of keeping yourself upright. You clutch his head in both hands, knees threatening to buckle even though you’re already seated, and all you can do is let Frank devour you like you’re his last meal. He’s always been greedy—never enough, never satisfied with just a taste. His tongue fucks into you, fast and slick, and then he pulls back, lips shiny, steadying your hips while his thumb finds your clit and just holds it there—a slow, grinding pressure that makes you see stars. He doesn’t stop. Not when your moans get louder, not when you try to clamp your thighs around his head, not when you plead and curse and dig your nails into his scalp. If anything, he redoubles his effort. Jesus Christ, he looks so good like this. The suit. The hands. The intensity of his focus. Like he could do this forever, just keep you pinned to the counter, legs spread, and eat you out until you forget your goddamn name.
You come so hard you almost black out, vision blurring white at the edges, a sob catching in your throat. Frank doesn’t let up, not even as you shudder and gasp, his tongue flicking slow and gentle now, coaxing every last spasm out of you before he finally pulls back. His face is flushed, lips wet, eyes black with hunger. He stands up, licking at his lips.
He does not take his eyes off you as he rises, huge hands sliding up your quaking thighs, thumbs pressing bruises into the soft flesh above yout knees.
The suit is a mess now, tie askew, top button lost somewhere in the blur, and he looks gorgeous like this: rumpled, flushed, wrecked on you and by you. He leans close, breath hot on your ear, and you shudder when his zipper rasps down.
“You think you get to act like that, huh?” His voice is rough, gravelled. “You think you can just wind me up in public, send me pictures, get me hard for you like a fuckin’ teenager?” His knuckles drag up your inner thigh, just shy of too rough, and he grins when you flinch and then spreads your legs even wider for him.
“You proud of yourself?” You want to say yes but it comes out as a whine, his name wrecked. Frank’s hands—those enormous palms, the ones that had once broken a man’s jaw with a single punch—slide up your thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He keeps you wide for him, thumbs digging deep into the delicate flesh above your knees, a half-growl of approval rumbling in his chest as he looks at you: slick, open, and already starting to tremble from the aftershocks. He’s hard as a fucking rock, the outline of his dick straining so high against his pants that it looks comically obscene, threatening to tear clean through the expensive wool.
Frank leans in, crowding you back against the cabinets so completely that you couldn’t slide away if you tried, his mouth at your ear again.
“Gonna fuck you so good,” he mutters, and it’s both a promise and a threat. He’s promising to fuck you so good you never pull a stunt like that again- even though you both know you will.
This magnetic attraction between the both of you is palpable, always has been- and it’s not going away anytime soon. He shoves his pants down enough to free himself—fuck, he’s so hard it hurts just looking at him, the head of his dick flushed dark, thick veins standing out along the length. He gives himself a rough stroke and you feel the heat pool low in your gut all over again, greedy and desperate. You can hear how wet you still are when he lines up against your slick entrance and notches in, the stretch already making your legs shake. He doesn’t ease himself in, not really; he’s too big for that, and both of you know it, so the first push is bruising, the head splitting you open in a way that’s almost too much, but you can’t get enough of it. You whine, fingers digging into his shoulder blades. he groans at the feeling of your nails through the shirt, wanting to feel you against his skin. His hand comes up to roughly cup your cheek and jaw, pressing comforting kisses to your face.
“Y’alright ?” He rasps, hips softly nudging as he pushes himself in a little bit more. “S’not too much ?” You nod, though the gasp that escapes you sounds guttural. Every nerve ending feels inflamed, every cell in your body calls out for more. Frank isn’t even all the way in yet and already you want to sob from the stretch, the pressure, the feeling of being split open by a man who acts like he wanted to climb inside and fuse himself to you.
“Good girl,” Frank says, voice breathy with restraint, eyes locked on the place where he disappeares inside you. He grips your hips, rolling them forward, and you feel him push deeper, impossibly so, the whole length of him crowding every inch of your insides. He watches your face, brow creased, and his own breathing staggers. The kitchen counter bites into your ass but you don’t care, didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world as Frank buries himself to the hilt. You could never get over it, how absurdly big he is. Frank's hand tightens around your hip.
"J's breathe through it, mama. That's it. Attagirl." He hums, softly rubbing circles on your hip as he works on unbuttoning his shirt with one hand- the need to feel your hands pressed against his skin is overwhelming, like a living thing burning inside of him.
Frank finally gets the last button undone and shoves the dress shirt off his shoulders—leaving the sleeves bunched at his elbows, but he can’t be bothered to care about anything except the need to get his skin on yours, to feel you clawing at his back, your hands trembling and desperate. He sucks a shallow breath in as you wrap your arms around his neck, your body going molten and loose as he rocks into you. The stretch is relentless in the best way, each thrust knocking moans out of you that barely sound human, each one making his cock twitch and pulse inside you like he’s seventeen again. He likes the way your hips fight him, instinctively trying to jerk back from the fullness, but he stills you with a hand wide across your stomach, holding you flush and tight against him.
“Fuck, look at you,” he grits out, voice pure sandpaper, watching the way you bite your own hand to keep from screaming.He fucks forward, slow at first but so deep you swear you could feel him in your ribs, and you lose all sense of time or place.
“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” he grinds out, pacing himself only because he wants to draw this out, wants to ruin you completely. His praise goes straight to your head, between your legs, and you can’t help sobbing out his name. “So fuckin’ good for me. Always so good.” Every thrust rocks your body against the counter, your back arching, chest pressing against him. He’s barely pulled back before you’re clawing at his arms, pulling him deeper, loving the way his cock drags along every nerve ending, perfectly punishing. Frank’s rhythm is a hard, steady piston, helmed by those slabs of muscle for shoulders, and it’s all you can do to hold on, to ride the bright edge of pain-pleasure that he’s mastered like a science. He frames your face with both hands, fingers sticky where they’d just been inside you, and he kisses the side of your mouth like he’s trying to memorize how you taste after you’ve come.
“Always knew you were trouble,” Frank huffs, his voice shredded, “but I didn’t think you could ruin me like this.” He’s not lying. You see it in the way his gaze skips down your body, jaw flexing. There’s a reverence there—a kind of awe that you can make him feel this out of control, that he wants you this bad. God, you never should’ve gone to that stupid event.
You should’ve stayed here and done this, over and over again- all night.
“God, you’re so fucking perfect.” He leans in, biting the corner of your jaw, and you feel his stubble burn against your cheek.His hand curls under your ass, hefting you closer, and you can’t contain the desperate moan bubbling up in your throat as the angle digs into that spongey spot deep inside you.
“Frank- mmph- fuck !” You whine, thighs wrapping tighter around his waist, sucking him in deeper inside you. He’s all muscle, all heat and hardness and relentless drive, his voice a low, cracked thunder in your ear.
“You know what you do to me? Fuck, you drive me insane. Can’t think straight, can’t walk into a room and not wanna take you apart.” There’s a possessive edge to the words, like he needs you to know how completely he’s ruined. He braces one arm beside your head and uses the other to pull your thigh over his shoulder, opening you as wide as you’ll go on the cold granite. You’re panting, slick and open and so wet you can hear it every time he pounds in, the slap of his hips against you obscene in the stillness. You feel him everywhere – in your bones, in your teeth, your skull buzzing with pleasure. Your eyes roll back and you press your hands to the hard planes of his chest.
“God, so good, Frank. Fuck-” You choke on a sob as he hits that same spot again. Frank’s grip is bruising and perfect, and he slams into you with a precision that’s half violence, half worship—like he’s trying to prove something, to mark you in a way that’ll hum in your bones for days. You can’t even catch your breath properly, not with how deep he’s fucking you, not with the way it keeps getting better every time, like he’s always been meant for this, for you. Your nails drag down his chest, scoring tracks over the ridges of muscle, feeling the sweat starting to bloom under his skin. He loves it, that feral scrape of pain and ownership, and he’s not even trying to hide how much.
“Goddamn, baby, you’re—” He can’t finish, not with the way you clamp down on him, not with how you melt under his hands. The words fracture into a choke and he just watches you, drinking in your desperation, the way your mouth falls open. Frank’s hand slides up, tracing the line of your throat, his thumb braced under your jaw, holding you still so he can see every flicker of pleasure on your face. He needs to see it—needs to memorize it, the way your mouth drops open, the way your eyelids fluttered and your whole body tense in his grip.
Jesus, he wants to live here, right at this edge, right in this moment where you can’t stop repeating his name, where you cling to him like you’d drown if he let you go.
He loves that you let him do this to you, that you always meet him headlong, hungry, never shy, never pulling back. Every time, you let him take you apart and build you back up. He can’t imagine wanting anything else. Not ever.
He presses his forehead to yours, sweat slick between your skin, and slows his hips just enough to make you whimper, to make you open your eyes and the look in them is pure desperation and unequivocal love.
“Yeah, baby ? Pretty girl wants to come ? Hmm ?”You nod, jaw clenched, lungs burning. You want to say something, anything, but all you can do is reach for him, clutch at the back of his neck, needing him impossibly close. Frank’s hand tightens at your waist, anchoring you as he drills into you—harder, deeper, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. You feel yourself spiral, every muscle tensing, pleasure spiking hot and bright through your core until it’s all you are, until everything narrows down to just him and the way he fills you.
“God, baby, look at you,” he says, voice a snarl softened into something starved. “So fuckin’ pretty, so fuckin’ sweet. Look at the way you take it. Always take all of me, don’t you? Fuck, I love you.” You make a sound, a wretched, greedy noise, and it’s so undignified but you don’t care. You’re nothing but need. Frank has you locked down with the weight of his hips, the crush of his chest, and the absolute conviction in his hands. For a beat, it’s just the two of you in the universe: the electric taste of skin; the ragged gasp of breath; the way you go molten when he grits out “so perfect for me, always my perfect girl, always.” The words are rough, more like a dare than a compliment, but with Frank you know it’s the highest praise in the world. You want to live up to it, want to be every bit as good as he says.
He braces you with one arm, holding you steady while the other hand comes up to your face, thumb rough and sweet at your cheek. You feel him shake - he’s trying so hard to hold back, to make it last longer. The silk of your red dress is completely crumpled now, bunched up so high on your hips that you fear no amount of ironing or steaming will bring it back to it's former glory. Frank reaches up and tugs the front of the dress down, revealing the heavy swell of your breasts he adores. He pulls the straps down your shoulders, baring you for him, filling his hands with you, like he wants to remind himself you’re real, that this is happening, that you’re his. He thumbs your nipple, and the sensation is so sharp it ricochets straight to your core, wrung out and raw and so close you could cry. He keeps his eyes fixed on you—hungry, reverent, desperate—and you see it in his furrowed brow and trembling lips, the way he’s holding himself back for you, for this, for as long as he can manage.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Frank mutters against your skin, voice gone hoarse with need. He bites just enough for you to feel it, then soothes the sting with his tongue, laving circles until your head tips back, eyes squeezed shut. “You love it, don’t you? Love when I take it all for myself.” You nod helplessly, nails digging half-moons into his shoulders. Your whole world telescopes down to the way he bites and sucks, the obscene, slick drag of him inside you, the counter edge cutting cold against your ass while everything else burns. Every nerve ending is tuned to his rhythm, every cell in your body screaming more, harder
“Come on, sweetheart. C’mon.” It’s a plea and a command. His face is right in yours, sweat beading at his temple, and you lose all sense of dignity, legs locking around his hips, dragging him even deeper. The next thrust is a knockout punch, a shockwave that rips through every cell, and you’re gone. The orgasm is blinding, a detonation that rips all language from your brain, replaces your veins with liquid fire. Frank is right there with you, his hands clutching so tight at your ass and thighs you know you’ll find fingerprints in the morning, every muscle in his body locked and trembling. He buries his face in your neck, groaning into your skin, breath hot and damp as your name slips out in a strangled, desperate whisper. He keeps moving, slower now but just as deep, coaxing every aftershock until you think you might actually collapse, arms and legs trembling with the wreckage of it. He grinds in, not letting you escape the fullness, and you can feel the twitch and pulse of him as he comes, cock jerking against your walls, his whole body shuddering through the release. The sound he makes isn’t even human – a raw, wrecked noise, like he’s breaking apart. His grip on the leg slung over his shoulder tightens and he groans.
“Fuck- fuck.” You whine at the overstimulation, your body jerking. Frank tries to gather himself, bracing against the countertop, but his vision stutters, blacks out at the edges. He rides the waves of aftershock, savoring the pulsing grip of you around him, the way your slick, overheated body trembles in his hands. There’s a cut on his knuckle—he must’ve knocked it on the edge of the counter in his rush to pin you down. He notices it only because you touch the back of his hand, thumb stroking soft over the abrasion, grounding him. For a second, there’s just the sound of both your harsh breathing, the sting of sweat in his eyes, the residual buzz of that elevator adrenaline. The world could go to hell outside and he wouldn’t care. Frank leans into you, presses his brow to your collarbone, waits for his pulse to come down.The world narrows to the ache of him inside you, still pulsing, and the warm, wrecked hush of your mingled breathing. He holds you there, his arm banded tight around your waist, his other hand still cupping the back of your head like you might tip off the counter and drift away if he lets go. He noses into the shallow of your neck, the scruff of his jaw scraping a path up to your ear.
“Jesus - fuck,” he mutters, barely audible.
You giggle, a hiccup of relief and disbelief, and the sound vibrates through his lips where he presses them to your collarbone. He kisses you there, soft this time—a thank you, a benediction. Your dress is a massacre, rucked past your hips, the straps sliding off your shoulders,yet to frank you’ve never looked more beautiful. He eases your leg off his shoulder and you whine, eyes flying shut. He shushes you, brushing your sweat damp hair away from your face.
“Hey.. hey.. You okay, baby ? You with me ?” You can’t answer, not at first. The aftershocks roll through you in dizzy waves, every nerve still vibrating. Frank’s hands are everywhere, broad and grounding, and you can’t remember how language works, let alone how to get your lips and your lungs and your brain to collaborate on a single word. He tuts.
“Baby, i need you t’talk to me. You alright ?” He asks, cupping your cheek and kisses your forehead repeatedly. You nod, gripping his wrist as you lean in to the affection, eyes fluttering closed. He holds you steady, breathing hard, still cradling your face like it’s the only thing that matters. His thumb skims your cheekbone, lingering in a slow, lazy sweep, and he searches your eyes for something—confirmation, maybe, or just the reassurance that you’re really, blissfully here with him. When you finally manage a word, it’s more a sigh than a sound.
“Holy shit.” Frank’s mouth curves into a battered little smile. He presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, then your jaw, then down the column of your throat, making a slow, careful inventory of everything he bruised or bit or worshipped. He relishes the heat coming off your skin, the way your pulse still goes wild under his tongue. You can feel the bruises blossoming already, and you hope they last.
He leans back to look at you properly, hair mussed, the collar of his shirt hanging half-off, body still flush against him. You let your face rest in his palm, cheek smashed against stubbled knuckles, and try to blink your vision back online. The kitchen tile is cool under your heels. The world wobbles and pivots, everything off-kilter but in a way that makes you want to laugh.
He kisses your forehead again, softer.
“That’s my good girl. Knew you could take it, huh?” His voice is smug but his thumb swipes a lazy, loving line over your cheek. Frank chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. He shifts his weight, still buried deep inside you, and the movement sends another wave of pleasure-pain rippling through your oversensitive body. You whimper softly, clutching at his shoulders as if trying to anchor yourself to reality.
"Easy there, mama," he murmurs against your temple. He grips your hips, kissing your forehead again. "Gotta pull out, sweet girl. Breathe f'me alright ?" You nod. Slowly, he pulls himself out of you, the drag sending your body into overdrive. Your eyes clench shut, nails digging into his biceps. Frank swears under his breath the second he feels you clench around nothing. His forehead drops briefly to your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut like even pulling away from you takes effort.
“Christ,” he breathes. Your body jerks at the loss of him, thighs trembling violently around his hips, and Frank is immediately there again—hands firm on your waist, keeping you steady while your breathing goes ragged.
“I know,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, softer too. “I know, sweetheart.” You’re still floating somewhere several feet above your own body, head fuzzy and warm, every inch of skin oversensitive. Frank reaches down automatically, thumb stroking slow circles against your thigh, grounding you while he presses lazy kisses along your jaw.
“You still with me?” he asks again. You blink at him slowly.
“Unfortunately.” That gets a tired laugh out of him. Real this time. Deep and wrecked and fond.
“Unfortunately?”
“You nearly killed me.”
“Mhm.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “And whose fault was that?” You think about it seriously for half a second.
“…Yours.” Frank snorts.
“Absolutely not.”
“It literally started because you wore a suit.”
“You saw me wear the suit before we left.”
“And I suffered privately at first.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“You can’t prove that.” He shakes his head against your shoulder, smiling despite himself. There’s lipstick smeared faintly near the corner of his mouth now, and his hair is completely destroyed from your hands tugging through it. He looks ruined in the most spectacular way imaginable. You reach up weakly and smooth your fingers through the dark strands near his temple.
“You look pretty again,” you murmur. Frank groans instantly.
“Baby,” he warns.
“What? It’s true.” Your thumb traces lazily across his cheekbone. “Very pretty. All sweaty and mean.”
“I was not mean.”
“You fingered me in a crowded elevator.” His mouth twitches.
“…Alright. Little mean.”
“Mm. Criminal behavior, honestly.”
“Says the woman sendin’ me filth while I was tryna make friends.” You grin sleepily.
“Did they like you?” Frank huffs out another laugh and finally straightens enough to look at you properly. His eyes drag slowly over your face, then lower—taking in the state of your dress, the marks blooming across your skin, the completely dazed expression you’re failing to hide. And something in his face softens immediately.
There it is.
That look.
The one underneath all the heat and possessiveness and rough hands. The one that always catches you off guard no matter how many times you see it. Like he still can’t believe you’re real. Like loving you is the easiest and most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to him. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw carefully.
“You okay?” he asks quietly. The concern in his voice is so genuine it makes your chest ache. You nod, leaning into his palm without thinking.
“Better than okay.” Frank studies you another second like he’s making sure. Then he kisses you again—completely different this time.
Slow.
Tender.
Still hungry, because Frank honestly doesn’t know how to touch you without wanting more, but softer now. His mouth moves against yours with exhausted affection, stealing little breaths between kisses while his thumbs stroke along your waist beneath the ruined silk of your dress. You hum against his lips, melting instantly.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
“What?”
“My girl.” The words hit you right in the chest. You smile lazily, hooking your arms around his neck again.
“You’re clingy.”
“Says you.”
“I’m adorable about it.”
“You’re a menace.”
“But I’m your menace.” Frank’s expression immediately goes helpless in that way it only ever does with you. Like you’ve reached directly into his ribcage and squeezed his heart in your fist.
“…Yeah,” he says quietly. “You are.” For a minute neither of you moves. You just stay there tangled together in the dim kitchen, breathing each other in while the city hums faintly outside the apartment windows. Frank’s hands roam absentmindedly up and down your back beneath the dress, soothing now instead of demanding. Your fingers trace the warm skin at the nape of his neck. Eventually, you glance toward the hallway.
“We never ate dinner.” Frank follows your gaze for half a second before looking back at you. Then, without warning, he bends and lifts you straight off the counter into his arms. You yelp softly, clutching his shoulders automatically.
“Frank!”
“What?”
“You can’t just pick me up every time I say something.”
“Watch me.” You laugh, breathless, as he carries you toward the bedroom like you weigh nothing at all.
“I thought we were getting food!”
“We are.”
“When?” Frank nudges the bedroom door open with his foot, eyes already darkening again as he looks at you sprawled in his arms.
Warnings: Sexual intercourse, oral(male and female)
Rating: Mature(17+)
Shane was definitely one to get jealous. You were the one holding him down, keeping him sane. He couldn’t lose you…
You and Rick are also somewhat close, but Shane doesn’t like it - at all. He‘s at odds with his pre-apocalypse best friend, afterall.
So when he was out on a run with Glenn, you chose to speak with Rick about his plan to expand to find Sophia. You didn’t like talking to him when Shane was around, seeing as you were trying to avoid conflict. The last thing you wanted to see was Shane go off the deep-end and you not be able to stop it…
You are leaning against the hood of Otis’ truck, talking to Rick and Daryl about possible search routes, when their car pulled up.
You hastily stand up properly when you spot Shane looking pissed as he stalks over toward you guys. “How was the run?” Rick asks, unaware of the tension. “Fine. Y/N, I need to talk to you.” He starts walking toward the back of the house without another word, and you follow him, chuckling lightly under your breath. He glances back to make sure you’re following, and you smirk at him.
Once you guys are out of sight, he grabs you by the waist and pushes you up against the back wall of the house. “Miss me?” He asks, face close to your own, looking you up and down. You bite your lip a little, as its a habit when you’re nervous or flustered. And that turned him on even more. “I- yes. Of course.” You respond, glancing at his visible muscles that were showing from his short-sleeved shirt.
He watches you and presses his other arm against the house on the other side of you, his right hand gripping your hip. He moved his lower body closer, close enough where you’re nearly touching. He’s teasing you. You hold back a groan of annoyance and look him in the eye. “Didn’t look like it.” He growls.
You can’t help but glance at his full lips. You wished he would stop teasing you already. “I always miss you when you’re gone. I was just discussing an idea for finding Sophia with them.” You respond quietly, getting more turned on by the minute. He moves away and runs his hands through his hair. You miss his touch.
“So why exactly couldn’t you discuss this idea with me? Hm? Ya care more about their opinions than mine?” He asks. He almost looks hurt. You know he wants to be the big man of the group, like he was before Rick. You feel apologetic. “Babe.. That’s not it at all.” You say.
——————————————————
He turns to face you. In an instant you’re back up against the wall, Shane’s torso once again merely an inch from your own. He brushes his lips against yours, then whispers in your ear. “You’re mine. You got that?” Before you can respond, he kisses you roughly. You throw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He secretly loves it and grinds into your leg. You moan into his mouth and run your fingers through his hair.
One of his hands reaches behind you and grabs your ass, pulling you closer to him. You hold in another moan and his other hand slides into your pants. You bite his lip gently and attempt to deepen the kiss, but he remains in control. He rubs your core through your now wet panties. “Who got you this wet?” He asks, moving his head to your neck.
Your breath becomes more erratic as his hand slips your panties to the side. “You did, Shane.” You moan, and he rubs circles on your clit. You pull him closer and enjoy the feeling of him sucking on your neck and pleasuring you. He slips one finger inside of you and begins making out with you again. Another finger.
You feel the tightness in your core starting to build and clench around his fingers as they brush your G-Spot. He smirks and removes his hand. You groan and he takes your hand, heading into the house. You look out for Hershel, and thankfully, get upstairs without seeing anyone.
He shuts and locks the door behind you and kisses you again, this time more lightly as he cups your cheeks. Then he picks you up and throws you on the bed. You know whats next and are getting more excited by the second. He starts undoing his belt and you watch in admiration, knowing better than to take off your own clothes. He takes off your shirt in a rush and gets your bra off in one try. He gropes your left boob and sucks on the other.
You moan and run your hands through his hair. He lays you down and practically rips off your pants. He stands up to take off his shirt, and smirks when he sees you checking him out. He bends down and slowly takes off your panties, tossing them aside.
The cold air hits your core, but you don’t have time to react before Shane grips your thighs and begins sucking on your core. You moan a little louder than you expected and he smirks against you. He was rushing today but it was so good. He licks and sucks on your most sensitive spots, focusing on your clit.
He removes one hand from your thighs to place inside of you. One finger, now two. You stifle moans as he already gets you close to your high. He inserts another finger and sucks on your clit. You bite your lip hard to keep from making any more noise.
Just as your about to cum, he stands up. You hate him for it for a second but jump up to take control for a minute. You kiss his lips, then slowly suck on each of his fingers. He watches you as you slip one hand down to palm him through his pants. He’s already rock hard.
You get down on your knees and hastily take off his pants and briefs. Wasting no time, you lick his hard erection from base to tip, earning a groan from him and his hand in your hair. You swirl your tongue around the tip and he thrusts into your mouth. You smile and hum as you bob your head up and down, sucking and watching his expressions as you do so.
He pulls you up after a minute and tosses you onto the bed. He climbs on top of you and lines himself up with your entrance. You get impatient as he teases you and makes you more wet. “Shane.” You groan and he slips the tip in. You guys fuck so often that it doesn’t hurt much, and he slams inside of you. You moan louder and he bends down to practically hug your upper body, pulling out til just the tip was in and thrusting back inside roughly.
He picks up speed and you hold onto his shoulders and leave hickeys on his collar, moaning into his neck. He pulls your leg up to your chest to hit your G-Spot and you moan even louder as he repeatedly hits it.
“Shane… I’m close.“ You can barely get the words out and he picks up speed again, kissing your neck. You try to muffle the scream into his shoulder as you reach your high, but he keeps going, making it even better. You keep moaning and trying not to scream as he keeps hitting you there as you cum. Then he flips you over onto your hands and knees. He keeps thrusting into you, now sloppily, you’re so weak from all the pleasure now and reaches his hand under you to rub circles on your clit. You groan into the pillow, tears streaming down your face from the pure ecstasy, and he slaps your ass. You whine his name and you reach another high, your clenching and moaning making him come undone. You both collapse, very out of breath, and you cuddle into his side. "I love you, Shane. Only you.” And you see a glimpse of a smile as he kisses your forehead. “I love you too, Y/N.”
Request: “Can you do a Shane Walsh x reader, where the reader is Ricks sister and she’s pregnant with Shane’s child?”
Word Count: 1416
Warnings: none - angst and fluff
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Rick was anything but stupid. He knew his long-time friend well enough, and he knew his sister well. He knew that they were hooking up behind his back, and that they thought they were being oh so slick about it. But he knew. He certainly was not happy, but he also respected that Y/N is an adult and can sleep with whoever she pleases. It isn’t his place.
So he carried on pretending as if he didn’t know. And it didn’t come to light how seriously involved you and Shane were until the dead suddenly arose. When Rick stumbled into camp, unbeknownst that his family was here, was when he discovered just how much he had missed in his time in a coma.
You were standing back, no longer paying attention once you saw that Andrea and Glenn had returned safely. Your attention was occupied by your nephew Carl who was becoming distraught about Andrea and Amy reuniting - clearly he is missing his father, your brother. You stand beside Lori, a comforting hand on your young nephew’s shoulder, listening along to your sister-in-law trying to assure him that his father is at peace and he will see him again one day. You looked up, locking eyes with your Shane, exchanging a knowing look. He runs a hand through his hair and starts to head over, until his eyes land on something. You follow his eyes and feel your heart drop. Standing just a few yards away, with an expression as if he had just seen a ghost, was Rick.
You stare at him, unable to move, feeling your eyes tearing up and your vision go blurry as Carl screams “Dad!” and takes off toward his father - suddenly back from the dead. Your gaze returns to Shane, taking slow steps toward Rick as he hugs his wife and son, the three of them crying.
“Y/N,” He mutters when you get close enough, opening his full arms to group hug you as well, which you gladly accept.
Fortunately, Rick did not notice right away - which gave you a few hours to think of how the hell you were gonna tell him. You didn’t think that he had any idea that you and Shane had been hooking up before the world had gone to shit. So to suddenly tell him that you are pregnant with his best friend’s child, during this shit storm with no government or hospitals or anything… Is not going to be fun.
SUMMARY — It would be the summer of Deputy Walsh learning shit the hard way. First, never piss off people who got access to your lunch order. Second—the prettier the package, the sharper the tongue.
You, the newest temp at the precinct, were stuck dealing with Shane’s attitude, while Shane ultimately couldn’t decide if he wanted to strangle you or drag you somewhere private.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — See, I told you it would be short and we are under 10k! So. It's short. Yes, it is. I just hope nobody ever expects me to write a drabble...
I hope this will make you smile at least once, maybe twice @death-in-a-tar0t-card (tried not to make Shane too goofy, but damn, the temptation was there).
WORD COUNT — 8,534
Masterlist
You thought it would be just another temping job. At least that’s what the regular admin told you right before she went on sick leave and left you alone at the circus.
By now you managed to gather that this was very much not a “Fast and Furious” type of town—even without the slowness of summertime counted in. And by all that was holy, that Georgia humidity really made you wonder if that temp position was even worth it.
Not to mention what conditions you had to work under—said conditions being Deputy Walsh’s moods.
Now, the fan above Shane’s desk struggled against the heat, rattling like a man about to breathe his last. It didn’t do shit except circulate the stale air.
Shane was leaning back in his chair, boots propped on the edge of his desk, fingers laced behind his head. He watched you rifle through that filing cabinet for the fifth time in ten minutes and you could tell you were somehow getting on his nerves.
Jesus Christ.
“You plannin’ on actually findin’ that DUI report today, sweetheart,” he drawled, “or we gonna play hide-and-seek all afternoon?”
You didn’t turn around, but he saw the way your shoulders tensed, the way your fingers fumbled just a fraction before you shoved the drawer closed—hard. The metal screeched in protest, loud enough that Rick glanced up from his own paperwork with a look towards Shane that said—Behave!
Shane scoffed and lowered his feet to the floor with a thud. He walked up to you and took the folder from your hands, then flipped through it.
And hell, he didn’t even know why he was doing this. Maybe it was the way you braced yourself when he got too close, like you expected him to bite. Maybe it was that stubborn frown you gave him when he questioned your abilities. Or maybe it was the August heat.
Whatever it was, it pissed him off.
Shane stepped back—slowly, like he was doing you a favor—and tapped the edge of the filing cabinet with two knuckles. “You know the alphabet, darlin’?”
And there it was. That glare you shot him that said—Fuck you.
“Yeah.” He smirked, the bastard. “’Cause I can sing it for you, if that’d help.”
You yanked the right drawer open with more force than necessary. “You’re bein’ an asshole.”
“And?”
“And,” you gave him your sweetest smiles, “remember I got access to your lunch orders, Deputy.”
Oh, he liked that. Way too much.
“Oh-ho! Sweetheart’s got spine!” Shane exclaimed, with a positively shit-eating grin on his face.
Rick groaned from his desk. “Jesus, Shane. You enjoy bein’ this much of a pain in the ass?”
Shane didn’t even glance at him, too busy enjoying being a massive pain in the ass.
The phone rang before you could retaliate, the shrill sound cutting through the tension. You snatched it up and the second you answered, your voice was all sugar—professional and polite:
“King County Sheriff’s Department.”
Shane scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned away. The contrast between sweet and spiteful was infuriating. He walked back to his desk, dropping into his chair hard enough to make it protest.
The fan above him rattled uselessly again, and he kicked at the leg of his desk, sending a pencil rolling to the floor. Rick shot him a look. Shane opted to ignore it.
“No, Mrs. Burnett… I mean, yes, of course we can send someone. Uh-huh…” You rolled your eyes again when you heard Shane making even more noise somewhere in the background. “Stolen begonias. Certainly.”
Shane’s boot hit the desk leg again—harder this time—just as you stressed the word “begonias” with that painfully patient customer-service lilt.
“Christ, Shane,” Rick muttered. “Forgot to take your nap today or somethin’?”
But Shane was too busy watching the way your fingers tapped an irritated rhythm against the desk. Frankly, he kind of admired your resolve. Even if he could see plain as day that calm in your voice was forced, you never broke character.
Just as you reassured Mrs. Burnett that yes, the King County Sheriff’s Department took floral theft very seriously, Shane leaned back in his chair again and hollered to you:
“Tell her we’ll bring the K-9 unit, sweetheart! Sniff out them dangerous horticultural criminals.”
Your grip on the receiver tightened as Mrs. Burnett’s voice squawked through the line, high-pitched and alarmed. Rick buried his face in his hands.
“No, no, Mrs. Burnett, of course no dogs.” You shot Shane a glare. “No, that was just my colleague being hilarious.”
Shane gave you an exaggerated, innocent smile that fooled absolutely no one.
Rick shook his head like he could physically push Shane’s bullshit out of his skull. “You’re gonna get us a complaint filed, man. Again.”
“Aww. What’s she gonna do, Rick? Call the cops?” Shane snorted at his own joke.
Finally, you hung up the phone with more force than necessary, the plastic clattering against the receiver. Shane’s smirk widened.
“Oh, I think it’s an emergency.” You nodded solemnly. “Better get that siren goin’, boys.”
“Lord help me,” Rick muttered, pushing back from his desk with a scrape of his chair. “I’ll radio Lowell to handle the begonia crisis. Least then I know it’ll actually get done without someone makin’ it worse.”
“Oh, come on, Rick. Where’s your sense of adventure? Maybe we’ll find a whole underground begonia black market.” Shane’s grin was pure trouble, the kind that made Rick want to strangle him. “Hell, might even get into a shootout with some rogue landscapers!”
Rick paused, halfway out the door. He shot you both a very strange look before finally stepping out, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “never wanted more kids”.
You watched Rick leave, then shot Shane that glare—the one he couldn’t quite figure out. Granted, you’ve been working here only for a week. But, if he was motivated (which he rarely tended to be) Shane could actually put his detective skills to good use.
You, however, were still a mystery and some part of him thoroughly enjoyed it.
“You know,” you mused, voice sweet as poison, “I could just accidentally lose your lunch order today. Wouldn’t that be a shame?”
Shane’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “Aw, darlin’, you wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” You looked at your nails, then arched a brow. “Wouldn’t I?”
“You playin’ hardball now, sweetheart?”
You just shrugged and damn if that didn’t interest him even more.
“Tell you what—you lose my lunch, I start ‘accidentally’ misplacin’ all your paperwork.” His grin widened. “Bet you fold before I do.”
The phone rang again, cutting through the standoff. You snatched up the receiver and this time your voice sounded even more high-pitched:
“King County Sheriff’s Department! How can I help you?”
Shane chuckled, shaking his head. “Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”
You noticed very quickly that every time someone came to file a complaint in person, Shane was somehow always… there. In the beginning, Rick tried to rein him in, but then mysteriously gave up. You had no idea what that was about exactly and frankly didn’t want to know. Their friendship was puzzling enough for you. The two of them couldn’t be any more different.
Now, Shane was pretending to pour himself the twelfth coffee of the day, while in reality he was just watching you take a witness statement. You were trying to handle yet another civilian with that sickeningly sweet voice and Shane honestly couldn’t decide if it was impressive or deeply annoying.
An old man was droning on about his neighbor’s dog barking too loud, and you—Christ—you were nodding like it was a goddamn federal case.
“Oh, Mr. Henderson, I completely understand,” you said, helping the man fill out the forms with a sympathetic tilt of your head. “We’ll send someone right over to check on that terrible disturbance. Deputy Walsh, are you available?”
Shane scoffed under his breath. “Gotta check my schedule.”
Jesus wept, the issues these people sometimes came to report never ceased to astonish him. But what really got under his skin was how effortlessly you switched gears—one second, you were all sugar for the public, the next tearing him a new one over a misplaced stapler.
Which was currently on house arrest. In the drawer. In his desk.
The old man finally shuffled out, and Shane sauntered over. “You ever get tired of bein’ that nice?” he asked. Then his smirk deepened when he noticed your face change as soon as you dropped the act.
“Depends,” you shot back, flipping a file shut.
“On what?”
“Oh, I dunno, Deputy Walsh,” you drawled, and the way you said his name and title sounded like an insult. He kind of liked it. “You’re a detective, ain’t you? So, go on. Detect.”
Oh, hell.
Shane chuckled, low and amused. He liked that retort way too much.
“Uh-huh.” He leaned in just enough to invade your space. “See, way I see it, you’re playin’ two roles. An’ somehow everyone’s buyin’ it.”
Your eyes narrowed at him, like you were weighing whether to snap at him or keep on pretending.
“Or,” you said, quieter, “maybe I just don’t waste my good manners on you, Deputy.”
That got a laugh out of him. “I think you got plenty of manners left in the tank, darlin’. Just gotta figure out what kinda currency gets ‘em.” He tapped his fingers against the mug. “So what’s the exchange rate? Chocolate?”
“I’m not five.” You rolled your eyes, but he didn’t miss the way your lips twitched.
You actually laughed at that one and Shane did a poor job at hiding his surprise. It wasn’t one of those mocking little chuckles you kept giving him either. Goddamn, at this point you really were gonna give him whiplash.
His smirk faltered for a second. “Well, hell. Ain’t that a first…”
He recovered quickly, but not quickly enough for you to miss it.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” you replied.
“Too late.”
You turned back to your paperwork just to avoid giving him the satisfaction. But damn if that smug grin of his wasn’t a little attractive. Meanwhile, Rick exhaled loudly from his desk and shot Shane another look that said—Really?
But Shane still seemed insufferably pleased with himself. Like he’d cracked some secret code.
You finally had the time to explore the town some more over the weekend. It wasn’t exactly charming as far as small towns went, but you supposed it was nice enough. There were some picturesque historic buildings peppered here and there along the main street, and to its credit all of the businesses you have seen so far were local. Since you had nothing better to do after your long walk, the dive bar on the corner seemed like a good idea to finish your day.
The place was exactly what you expected—dim lighting, the scent of old beer hanging in the air, and the low hum of classic rock playing just loud enough to drown out half the conversations in the room.
You slid onto a stool at the bar, ignoring the way the vinyl stuck slightly to your legs.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked.
You hesitated for a moment, then chose one of the beers on the tap with all the confidence of knowing nothing about what you’d get.
The bartender poured your beer while glancing at you curiously.
“You’re new in town.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Just passing through,” you replied.
The answer wasn’t good enough, you could tell, so you just shot him your special customer service smile number three. You weren’t a local, this much was plain. But in a town like this your business was probably everybody’s business. You kept your answers to a minimum.
You turned to the side to watch the world go by while you drank. The beer was bitter, hoppy—not bad, but definitely an acquired taste.
“You working over at the station?”
Your shoulders tensed a bit and the bartender must have noticed that because he extended his hand and tried his best to look less imposing. For a burly man like him that was a bit comical.
“Name’s Jimmy. An’ relax, honey, it’s a small town. News travels faster’n a fart in church. Everyone here knows Evelyn’s havin’ her surgery tomorrow, we’re all prayin’ for her.”
“Oh. Yeah, she seemed like a nice lady,” you replied, then shook his hand and introduced yourself.
“Hm.” Jimmy’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Heard you been putting up with Walsh’s bullshit.”
“Oh, I dunno if I’d call it that.” You took a gulp of your beer. “Not the worst job I’ve had.”
“Really?” Jimmy’s eyes narrowed like he clearly knew something you didn’t. “Y’know they sent another girl there ‘fore you? She quit after a day.”
“Well,” you shrugged, “that explains the hourly rate then. They must’ve been desperate.”
Jimmy barked out a laugh and then poured himself a shot of what you assumed was bourbon. “Well, then cheers, darlin’. To mildly shit jobs.”
You smiled and raised your glass to that.
After a pleasant evening of watching strangers (and them in turn watching you), you decided one pint was more than enough. The sweltering Georgia heat didn’t let up even after sundown, so you definitely felt just the right amount of tipsy.
It was the kind of sticky-sweet Southern summer night that made even breathing feel lethargic so the way back to your hotel felt twice as long as it should have. You were halfway down the block when you spotted him—Shane, standing by his Jeep and smoking, his expression like a storm cloud.
No smirking. No running his mouth. He just stood there, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other gripping that cigarette like he was personally angry with it. There was something quieter about him and you honestly debated if you shouldn’t just walk on by and pretend you never saw him.
But then he noticed you. A muscle twitched in his cheek, but he didn’t speak. You honestly didn’t know what to do with it.
God only knew neither of you owed the other a conversation—but something about the way he was now gave you pause.
“Bad night?” you asked lightly. Yes, it was obvious, but pretending otherwise felt cruel.
Shane exhaled through his nose. “You could say that.”
His voice was rougher than usual. You waited. He didn’t elaborate.
Shane finished his cigarette and then, abruptly, he pointed toward the sidewalk ahead. “I’ll walk you.”
“Oh. No. You don’t have to.”
“Wouldn’t offer if I didn't mean it.”
It wasn’t even an offer, just a statement, and usually you’d take offence. But in this context it almost felt… protective. So you decided not to give him shit about it either.
There was no familiar humor there tonight, no “sweethearts”, just something tired underneath. You turned back towards the hotel and Shane fell into step beside you.
Shane was an overwhelming presence on a good day, but this time he seemed very different. He was tense, this much was clear, and you fought the urge to even look at him—like staring too long might set off a bomb.
It wasn’t until you passed under a brighter streetlight that you caught the faint bruising along his knuckles, and the way his shirt collar was slightly crooked, like someone yanked at it.
“Y’know,” you said, “if you punched someone, I won’t tell Rick.”
“Ain’t that sweet of you.” The sarcasm was weak at best, and there wasn’t even a trace of his usual smirk. “Naw. Just… bad company.”
“Well,” you said lightly, “if you need a witness for your inevitable assault charges, my rates are very reasonable. We could say you’ve been with me all evening, chasing away them pesky dogs from Mr. Henderson’s lawn.”
“Christ alive.” He shook his head and let out a short laugh. “Shoulda known you’d be a smartass even off the clock.”
“Oh, I’ll have you know, Deputy Walsh, I’m way worse off the clock.”
The hotel came into view. Shane slowed to a stop at the edge of the sidewalk, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place—somewhere between irritation and gratitude.
“Get inside,” he said finally, nodding toward the door. “Lock it.”
“Why?” You raised an eyebrow. “Are we planning on causing mayhem out here later, Deputy?”
“No.” His smirk was faint but there, just barely. “Just don’t feel like explainin’ to Rick why I let somethin’ happen to his new favorite secretary.”
“Oh?” You couldn’t resist poking at him just a little more. “Is that jealousy I hear?”
Shane scoffed. “Keep dreamin’, babygirl.”
“Ah, but you don’t wanna know what goes on in there, Deputy.” You tapped your temple with two fingers, smirking.
He tried to scoff again, but to your trained ears it sounded suspiciously more like a laugh. Good. You could almost feel him wrestling with whatever was eating at him tonight—whether to say something else or let it lie.
You shook your head, toying with your hotel key. “Just spit it out, Shane.”
That snapped him to attention, since you’ve never called him by his first name before. By the looks of it, he didn’t exactly hate it.
He rubbed the back of his neck like he was physically trying to push the words out. “You ever get the feelin’ you’re wastin’ your damn time?”
Well… It wasn’t what you expected. Not even close.
“All the time,” you admitted.
That seemed to catch him off guard.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged. “But then I remember I’m getting paid to deal with you, and it all feels a little better after a quick Sephora trip.”
He laughed, rough and surprised. “Goddamn, woman. You ever not got a comeback ready?”
“Eh… With you, it’s kinda easy.”
He shook his head, but the tension in him eased just a little. “You’re a pain in my ass, woman, d’ you know that?”
“And yet,” you said, grinning, “here you are. Walking me home like a gentleman.”
“Don’t push it.”
For a moment, it was almost comfortable. Until he remembered something, you could tell by how his eyes changed—suddenly that anger was back.
“Some people ain’t worth the breath it takes to argue with ‘em.”
You arched a brow and he quickly added:
“Not you.”
“Uh-huh…”
“Goddamn it—”
“Their loss, anyway,” you said simply.
He looked at you for a very long time, like you just handed him a new piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit with any of the other pieces he already had.
Then he jerked his chin toward the hotel door. “Go on. Before I change my mind about bein’ decent.”
You rolled your eyes, but started walking up the steps to the front door.
“Hey.”
You paused at the door, glancing back at him.
“Don’t go tellin’ anyone I was nice. Ruins my reputation.”
“Oh no!” You laughed. “We can’t have that.”
“Shut up…” He shook his head, suddenly a little softer around the edges.
You only laughed harder. “Your secret’s safe with me, Deputy.”
The following Monday morning was very different. When you came in, Shane was already there, fidgeting with the coffee machine—which wasn’t exactly unusual. But normally you’d have expected at least fifteen jabs and twenty “sweethearts” to have come your way.
Not today.
“Mornig,” you said.
He didn’t say anything, just looked at you with a frown, that line between his eyebrows even deeper than usual. Then he handed you a cup of coffee.
You blinked.
Shane had never made you coffee before. You had never even seen him be helpful to the general public in any way, shape or form. Well, maybe with the rare exception of Rick Grimes. Shane still gave him shit, just… In a slightly nicer way.
You took the mug cautiously, half-expecting it to be a trap.
“Uh… thanks?”
He just watched you, then let out a sharp sort of grunt and turned around to drop an ungodly amount of sugar in his own mug.
Rick, who had been watching this entire exchange with the kind of quiet amusement you had never seen in him before, finally spoke up. “Shane, you feelin’ alright?”
Shane shot him a glare. “Uh-huh.”
“You sure, partner?”
“I’m great.”
Meanwhile, you took a tentative sip of your coffee. It tasted… fine. In fact, there was nothing wrong with it.
“Did you poison this?” You immediately wanted to know.
That got a reaction. Shane’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “The hell kinda question is that?”
“A leading one, Deputy Walsh,” you said, taking another sip just to watch him bristle. “You’ve never done anything nice for me before. Matter of fact, I’m still waitin’ to get my stapler back.”
“Ain’t nice,” he muttered. “Just coffee.”
Rick coughed into his fist—badly hiding a laugh.
“You,” Shane pointed at him, “shut it.”
“Oh, I ain’t sayin’ anything,” Rick replied, enjoying himself way too much.
“So,” you said, “what’s the catch, Deputy?”
Shane scowled. “Ain’t a catch.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Christ, woman…” Shane clenched his jaw. “Drink the damn thing, don’t drink it, I don’t even care.”
You took another very exaggerated slurp. “And yet…”
“Just figured you’d need it after last night.”
That made you pause.
Rick’s eyebrows shot up. “Last night?”
Shane shot him a look. “Ain’t like that.”
You watched the exchange between them with no small amount of amusement. It was kind of fun—now that Shane got a taste of workplace bullying.
Rick leaned back in his chair, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, I’ll be damned…”
“Don’t push it, Rick.”
“Oh, I ain’t pushin’.” Rick cleared his throat and then pointed to his own empty cup. “So…?”
Shane ignored him, focusing instead on stirring his coffee with unnecessary force. “Just drink the damn coffee, woman.”
You smirked. “Oh, I am. And it’s good.”
That seemed to throw him off. He blinked, then scowled harder. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.”
You pouted. “Aw. Really?”
Rick chuckled, shaking his head. “Lord help me, I think I like whatever the hell this is.”
“Yeah, that’s enough from you.” Shane shot him a glare. “You’re fired.”
“Can’t fire me, partner. We’re the same rank.”
“Then I’m quittin’.”
You laughed into your cup.
Shane pointed at you. “You—”
The phone rang, cutting him off. You snatched the receiver and this time didn’t even need to fake that chirping:
“King County Sheriff’s Department!”
Then your face fell. “An intruder...?”
Shane and Rick both straightened immediately, their playful banter forgotten.
Rick stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. “Where?”
Shane was already reaching for his car keys, the most cheerful you had ever seen him.
“Alright, Mrs. Calloway, you stay where you are,” you said to the receiver. “We’ll send someone right over.”
When Mrs. Calloway hung up, you scribbled down the rest of the address, your fingers tight around the pen. “Mrs. Calloway—her neighbor’s place across the street. She says she saw someone breakin’ in through the back window. Two men, black clothes, didn’t see a gun but said they were huge an’ had somethin’ like crowbars.
Shane was already moving, now definitely in a much better mood. “Alright, let’s roll.”
Two hours later, the biggest man you've ever seen was brought to the station in handcuffs. He was snarling insults at Shane, who only seemed to grin wider the more the man thrashed. The guy was massive—at least 6’5 and built like a damn linebacker—but it still looked like he was freshly out of a couple teeth and had a proper black eye forming across his left cheekbone.
His partner, a wiry little weasel of a man, was already being processed in the other room, whimpering about how he “ain’t gonna talk ‘bout the boss-man.”
But this one? Oh, he was pissed.
“Y’ain’t shit, cop!” the giant snarled, yanking against the cuffs hard enough to make the metal creak. “I’ll snap you in half soon as I get outta these!”
Shane, the absolute bastard, just grinned wider. “Calm down, sunshine! Could be we’re both retired when that happens so I ain’t gonna hold my breath.” He clapped the guy on the shoulder—hard—like they were old buddies.
The guy lunged at him, but Shane simply stepped to the side, laughing under his breath. “Easy there, killer. Save it for your cellmate.”
Rick, who had just locked up the other guy, looked at his partner with a sigh. “Shane, quit antagonizin’ him.”
“Me?” Shane, the picture of innocence, had the audacity to ask.
You snorted into your coffee.
The guy in cuffs whipped his head toward you, eyes narrowing. “What the fuck you laughin’ at, bitch?”
Shane’s grin vanished momentarily. Before anyone could react, he stepped between you and the perp, crowding into the guy’s space like he meant it—which was sort of a feat since Shane was so much shorter.
“Say that again, big guy,” Shane said, the angriest you had ever heard him. “Don’t think I heard that right.”
The perp sneered, running his tongue over his teeth before letting out a low chuckle. “I said—”
“Shit fire!” you jumped out of your seat and promptly spilled the rest of your coffee in the general vicinity of the perp.
“The fuck?!” the man roared.
“You lost your mind?!” Shane demanded to know.
But you stuck to your act and pointed to the faraway corner. “That was a rat! There. Right there!”
“Alright now. Show’s over.” Rick stepped between Shane and the perp, using the distraction to take the man to his cell.
Shane watched Rick haul the guy off, then turned back to you with a look that was equal parts exasperated and impressed. “A rat?”
You shrugged, wiping your hands on your pants. “Don’t look at me like that. You were hot ‘n’ ready to knock the rest of his teeth out.”
“Bullshit!”
“Even I know ya ain’t supposed to beat ‘em up after you already arrest ‘em.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else, y’ know that?”
Rick returned, looking at you with a curious expression. “Alright. I say that’s enough excitement for one day.”
Shane clapped him on the back—hard enough to make him stumble. “Come on now. Ain’t you havin’ fun?”
Rick shot him a glare. “No.”
You grinned at the exchange. “So… what’s the story with those two?”
Shane’s smirk returned full force. “Buncha idiots tryin’ to rob an old lady. Thought she had cash stashed in the walls or some shit.”
Rick sighed. “They were after her coin collection.”
“Coin collection?” You blinked. “That’s it?”
Shane laughed, low and rough. “Yep. Dumbasses thought they were gonna be rich.”
Rick sighed deeply. “And now we gotta deal with the paperwork.”
You decided to take pity on the man and reached for the forms. “Well, Deputy Walsh, since you’re feelin’ generous…”
He narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“You can help me fill these out and let your partner go home for family dinner.”
Shane groaned, dragging a hand down his face. But you could see he was smiling, if just a little. “Christ, woman, you drive a hard bargain.”
Rick wisely took a step back, retreating to the door with a smile and a quick nod towards you.
Shane snatched up a pen, clicking it aggressively. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood, darlin’.”
You sighed. “Because you got to punch a guy?”
“Because I got to punch that guy.” He smirked, scribbling his signature with a flourish. “And he was askin’ for it.”
You rolled your eyes, but didn’t argue. Truth was, you didn’t mind this side of him—that easy confidence was kind of attractive.
Then he flipped the form back toward you and leaned in. “But… In the future, let me handle my own damn fights, sweetheart.”
You met his gaze and you both looked at each other a second or two too long for it to be casual.
“Next time I’m bringin’ an actual rat,” you decided. “Just in case the perps catch you in a bad mood or somethin’.”
Shane smirked, his dark eyes still fixed on you. “Whatever you say…”
The heat let up a little during the weekend and you decided to go on a walk through the nearby fields to watch the horses.
The air was still warm, but the oppressive humidity had eased up just enough to make being outside bearable. You’d found a quiet spot near the fence line where a few horses grazed lazily, their tails flicking at the occasional fly. The darkest of the bunch noticed you and walked up towards you, clearly expecting treats. You came prepared with a bag of carrots.
You stood there for a while, feeding the horses and trying to angle your phone just right to catch a good shot of them. Then you heard footsteps—someone was jogging down the dirt path that cut through the fields. You moved out of the way, fully expecting whoever it was to just move past you, but then he spoke:
“Didn’t take you for the outdoorsy type, darlin’.”
Shane. His shirt was damp with sweat and clinging to his broad frame. He slowed when he spotted you, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. His breathing was heavy, but controlled, as he came to a stop.
You shrugged. “Didn’t take you for the jogging type.”
He smirked. “Gotta stay in shape somehow. It’s a good route for a workout.”
“Because you like horses?” you asked, frowning.
He exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. “They’re alright. Uh, Rick likes them. Me, I prefer cars.”
The horse closest to you nudged your hand, urging you for more carrots.
Shane watched the interaction and you noticed his eyes were a little kinder, a little softer than usual.
“You got a way with ‘em,” he admitted after a moment.
“I got a bag of carrots,” you corrected him. “Here.”
Without any preamble you stuck one in Shane’s hand and nudged him towards the horses. He stared down at the carrot like it was an alien artefact.
“The hell am I supposed to do with this?”
You grinned. “Take a wild guess.”
He scoffed but didn’t argue, stepping closer to the fence. The nearest horse—a chestnut mare with a white blaze—sniffed the air, ears pricking forward. Shane hesitated, then held out the carrot like he was defusing a bomb.
The mare took it from his fingers with surprising gentleness, crunching loudly. Shane blinked, watching her.
“Now… Why am I, a city girl, teachin’ you ‘bout country living?” you teased.
He shot you a look but didn’t snap back. Instead, he reached for another carrot from your bag, this time offering it with a little more confidence. You watched, letting the horses be the judge of his character.
“She likes you,” you said after a moment.
Shane huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “She’s got bad taste then.”
The mare nudged his shoulder, searching for more. Shane exhaled sharply, but there was no real irritation in it. “Greedy thing, ain’t ya?”
The sun caught the sweat still drying on his skin and somehow you couldn’t tear your eyes away.
“Careful.” You grinned. “She’ll follow you home.”
“Yeah, well. Not the first time that happened.”
“A horse followed you home?”
Shane looked at you pointedly until you caught his innuendo.
“Oh.”
He winced. “Yeah.”
“Wait, so…” You hesitated. “That night when you walked me to the hotel. Was that a bad date too?”
Shane rolled his shoulders, as if trying to physically escape embarrassment. “Yeah. But don’t get all excited. Most of ‘em ain’t worth the walk.”
The chestnut mare huffed, lipping at his empty hand, and Shane absently patted her neck.
You snorted. “Well, that’s just sad.”
“Yeah?” He arched a brow, turning to face you fully now.
“Yeah,” you said. “If you’re gonna have strays followin’ you around, Shane, least they could do is be good company.”
That surprised him. He clearly expected a jab.
He made a low sound in his throat, half-amused. “You offerin’?”
You grinned. “Nah. I don’t follow anyone.”
That got a real laugh out of him—short and rough, but genuine. “Shoulda figured…”
“Figured what?” You walked up closer to him.
Shane looked at you, incredulous, then all of a sudden went poker-faced. “Don’t make me say it, woman.”
You stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the sweat and faint whiff of cologne clinging to him. Not the best concoction, but somehow not the worst.
“Just… out with it, Deputy,” you pressed.
Shane exhaled through his nose, jaw clenching like he was physically grinding his molars on the words. “You ain’t like most of ‘em. You’re…”
The admission was there between you now. No way to take it back.
“Well,” you said, “I’ve definitely never met a guy like you, that’s for damn sure.”
Shane’s lips twitched, something close to a real smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah?”
You shrugged, stepping back before you did something stupid—like reach for him. “Don’t get all excited, that wasn’t a compliment.”
“Ah, I think it was actually.” He watched you retreat, that familiar smirk finally creeping back. “Good to know, sweetheart.”
You rolled your eyes.
“You gonna keep feedin’ me to the horses,” he drawled, “or are you gonna let me walk you back?”
He was watching you—like he knew exactly what you were thinking.
“You’re starin’,” he pointed out.
You rolled your eyes. “And you’re sweaty.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t move, just kept watching you. “So what now, darlin’? We just stand here till one of us caves?”
You scoffed. “You wish.”
“Maybe I do.”
That honesty gave you pause. You weren’t used to any of this. And especially not men who actually meant what they said.
“Alright,” he said, stretching his arms like he was shaking off the moment. “I got a shower to take. You comin’ or what?”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
Shane chuckled. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Back to town, woman. Unless you plannin’ on sleepin’ in the field.”
You huffed, falling into step beside him as he started down the dirt path.
“This don’t mean I caved,” you grumbled.
He grinned, extremely pleased with himself. “Naw, ‘course not.”
Shane kept his pace slow, matching yours without comment.
“You know,” you said after a while, “for a guy who hates small talk, you sure do a lot of… talking.”
He snorted. “Ain’t small talk if I mean it.”
You shot him a look. “You always mean everything you say?”
“Pretty much. Saves time.”
“Guess that makes you predictable,” you mused.
Shane scoffed. “The hell it does.”
“Uh-huh.” You grinned. “I could set my watch by your bad moods.”
He stopped walking so abruptly you took two extra steps before realizing. When you turned, he was just watching you, his gaze sharp again.
“You ain’t figured me out yet, sweetheart,” he said, voice low. “But I’ll give you this—you’re tryin’.”
You held his stare, refusing to back down. “Like hell I am!”
“Yeah, you are.” He took a step closer. “But I ain’t complainin’.”
You rolled your eyes, turning back toward the path before he could see you were blushing.
As you walked back to town, you noticed now and then that people were giving you looks. Well, mostly women were, so you pretty quickly surmised it was not because of you. The novelty of your presence had gotten the chance to wear off.
It was because of Shane and you, together. And, most probably, whatever the hell he was wearing did not help. Some women were doing their darndest to pretend not to look—but they still tracked Shane with narrowed eyes. And not just him. You. Together.
Shane, for his part, didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. He walked with that same confidence, his damp shirt still clinging in places you would honestly prefer it didn’t cling to.
“You got a fan club, Deputy,” you muttered.
Shane followed your gaze and scoffed. “Christ. Buncha busybodies.”
“Uh-huh.” You smirked. “Or maybe they’re just shocked to see you voluntarily walkin’ with someone who ain’t Rick.”
His eyes darted to you. “You’re enjoyin’ this.”
“Hm. A little.”
Shane shook his head, exasperated, but you didn’t miss how the corner of his mouth twitched upward—despite his best efforts.
The newspaper landed on your desk with a quiet thump. You glanced up just in time to see Rick retreating to his desk with a cup of coffee—all casual, like he hadn’t just done something extremely weird.
The paper was folded open to the classifieds, several listings circled aggressively in red pen.
Rooms for Rent. Short-Term Leases Available. Quiet Neighborhood.
You stared at it for a long moment, then glanced towards Shane’s desk. He was elbows-deep in paperwork, scowling at some report, completely oblivious to Rick’s meddling.
Rick, meanwhile, had settled back into his chair, pretending to be engrossed in his own work. But you caught the way his eyes flicked toward you, then Shane—just once. Much like his partner, the man had the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
“You plannin’ on explainin’ this, Deputy Grimes?” you asked.
Rick didn’t even look up. “Nope.”
Shane’s head snapped up at that, eyes narrowing as he caught the tail end of the exchange. “The hell’s goin’ on?”
You held up the paper, shaking it slightly. “Your best friend’s got a side hustle in real estate.”
Shane squinted at the paper, then at Rick. “Huh?”
“Just thought she might wanna know her options, is all.”
“Options.” Shane repeated flatly.
“Since the temp job’s goin’ longer than expected and Evelyn’s still recovering.” Rick shrugged. “Wouldn’t want her stayin’ in that hotel forever.”
Shane opened his mouth, but you cut in before he could:
“You know what?” You folded the paper neatly and tucked it into your bag. “I do hate that hotel.”
Which was how Shane Walsh somehow got outmaneuvered and forced to go be your (very grumpy) chaperone at an apartment viewing.
As soon as you stepped inside, Shane, much to your amusement, immediately started poking around like he was inspecting a crime scene.
He crouched to check under the sink, muttering something about water pressure, then ran a finger along the windowsill—checking for condensation, apparently.
“You moonlight as a handyman, Deputy Walsh?” you asked, insanely entertained by his prodding and poking at the shower tiles.
Shane shot you a glare over his shoulder. “Just makin’ sure you ain’t gettin’ ripped off.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothin’. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were worried ‘bout me.”
“Shut up, woman.”
The landlord, an older man with a bushy mustache, watched Shane’s inspection with no less amusement. “Place is solid, Deputy. No need to worry.”
Shane grunted, unconvinced.
You exchanged a look with the landlord, who just chuckled and shook his head.
“So,” you said after a moment, “what’s the verdict, Deputy? You’re throwin’ the nice man in the slammer for real estate crimes?”
Shane turned the faucet off harder than necessary and shot you a glare. “Ain’t terrible.”
“Excellent.” You clapped your hands. “You can help me move my bags.”
“Like hell I am!”
Shane still helped you move your bags.
The whole time, he complained—loudly. About the stairs, about the broken wheel on your suitcase, and mostly about the fact that you apparently owned way too many books. But he still hauled every last thing for you and wouldn’t let you lift a finger even when you tried.
“You gonna actually unpack this shit, or just live outta cardboard like some kinda raccoon?” he grumbled, watching you stroll around the place.
You grinned, then mercifully tossed him a bottle of water. “Depends. You gonna stick around and supervise?”
He caught it one-handed. “Nah. Got better things to do than babysit.”
But he didn’t leave. Just watched you unpack the few belongings you had and mostly was just hanging out with you in silence. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, in fact you were a little surprised how easily you got used to Shane just… Being there. With you.
“Alright, darlin’. You need anything else, or you good?”
You paused, considering. “You hungry?”
Shane hesitated, then pointed to the little kitchenette in the corner. “Sweetheart, I ain’t seen you unpack a single kitchen utensil. Not riskin’ your cooking.”
You just laughed and took out your phone. “So. Pizza?”
“Now you’re talkin’.”
When the pizza arrived, Shane paid before you could even reach for your wallet. You shot him a look.
He shrugged, already flipping the box open. “You’re buyin’ next time.”
There was something dangerously comfortable about the way he said next time—casual, like it was already a given. You let it slide, mostly because arguing with Shane about anything was a lost cause.
You both ate in silence for a while, the only sounds the occasional rustle of cardboard and Shane’s muttered curses when he burned his mouth on the cheese.
“You always inhale your food like that?” you asked.
He smirked. “Army habit.”
That explained... a lot, actually.
Shane wiped his hands on a napkin, then leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Alright. Now that you’re all moved in—”
“Barely.”
“—you gonna invite me over again, or do I gotta keep invitin’ myself?”
You smiled at him and this time made sure it was a kinder sort of smile. “Shane.”
His eyes flicked to you and for a moment you saw that hesitation in him, like he was bracing for a blow.
“Thank you. For today,” you said quickly. “An’ of course you’re invited, don’t be daft.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze for a second before meeting it again. “Yeah, well. Ain’t like I got much else goin’ on anyway.”
“Wow. I’m so flattered.”
That got a smirk out of him. “You should be.”
The silence settled again, just... easy.
Finally, Shane grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, slinging it over his shoulder. “Alright, darlin’, I’m out. You behave.”
“No promises.”
It was a particularly slow day at the station, even by this town’s standards. Rick was flipping through a case file with the kind of disinterest that suggested he’d read it three times already and retained no information.
You leaned against the edge of Shane’s desk. “So. Army stories.”
Shane didn’t even look up. “Nope.”
“Come on,” you pressed. “You can’t just be like this and not have some wild lore.”
That got his attention. “Be like what?”
You waved a hand vaguely in his direction. “You know. Like this.”
Rick, who had been pretending not to listen from his own desk, suddenly got very interested in this conversation.
Shane glared at him. “You got somethin’ to add, partner?”
Rick set his mug down, grinning. “Nah. Just thinkin’ about that time in basic when you—”
Shane’s jaw twitched. “Rick, I swear to God—”
But Rick was still grinning. “Easy, Shane. Just sayin’—you got stories.”
Shane exhaled sharply through his nose, then turned back to you. “Ain’t nothin’ interestin’. Just did my job.”
You arched a brow. “Uh-huh. So you’re tellin’ me you never did anything stupid? Never got in trouble?”
“Uh. No.” Shane spoke through gritted teeth. “That ain’t what I said.”
“Oh, he got in trouble. Plenty.”
Shane shot him another glare. “Rick.”
But Rick was already warming up to the story. “There was this one time in basic—Shane here decided he was gonna ‘improve’ the obstacle course.”
Shane groaned. “Jesus Christ, Rick.”
You were suddenly very interested. “Improve how?”
Rick’s grin widened. “By rewirin’ the damn thing after hours. Made the whole thing twice as hard. Drill sergeants were pissed—until they realized it actually worked.”
Shane muttered something under his breath and shook his head.
“So what happened?” you pressed.
Shane sighed, finally giving in. “Got my ass chewed out. Then they made me run the damn thing first to prove it could be done.”
You blinked. “And?”
He shrugged. “Did it.”
Rick chuckled. “Yeah, an’ then they promoted him to latrine duty for two months.”
“You just love tellin’ that story, don’t ya?”
Rick grinned, unbothered. “Gotta keep you humble, partner.”
You leaned in. “So, what else you got?”
Shane exhaled sharply through his nose. “Ain’t nothin’ else worth tellin’.”
“Oh, I dunno,” Rick mused. “There was that time at the base—”
“No.”
“—when you decided to arm wrestle some guy from Alabama—”
Shane groaned. “Jesus wept…”
“—and lost spectacularly.”
You burst out laughing. “Aww.”
Shane scowled. “Guy was built like a damn refrigerator.”
Rick nodded sagely. “You still took the bet.”
Shane threw his hands up. “Alright, that’s enough outta you, man. Go get another coffee.”
You were grinning now, thoroughly enjoying this. “You’ve got a real talent for makin’ friends, Deputy Walsh.”
Shane was shooting daggers at you, but there was something almost playful underneath it. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, darlin’.”
Rick was now looking far too pleased with himself. “See? Told you he had stories.”
Shane muttered something under his breath and snatched up a pen, pretending to focus on his paperwork.
In a small town like this one, hiding anything seemed downright impossible. You realized very quickly that after about three months everyone knew who you were, where you worked, where you came from, and—most importantly—that there was something going on between you and Shane.
Something neither of you managed to put a label on yet, because according to you there were no labels to be printed. The man hadn’t made a move, and well, neither have you. Still, your experience probably paled in comparison to the local American Gigolo.
You figured by this time Shane had dated half the female population in this county and one over, so you wondered why the hell the height of your supposed “fling” was eating pizza in your half-empty attic apartment or him “running into you” on his jogging route.
There was no “running into” here, you quite deliberately hung out with the horses nearly every weekend. Sometimes you’d just sit on the blanket near the paddock, just watching them play with each other and graze.
It was a nice Saturday morning and you were lounging on the grass—until a shadow fell over you.
“We gotta stop meetin’ like this, babygirl.”
You didn’t even look up. “Mornin’, Shane.”
Shane dropped down onto the blanket beside you, stretching his legs out with a grunt. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. You handed him a bottle of water.
“Yeah, well.” He grabbed it and took a long swig before handing it back. “It’s a good place to jog.”
One of the horses—a big dark gelding—walked over, sniffing at Shane’s hair before losing interest and wandering off.
“You just gonna sit out here all day?” Shane asked.
“Maybe.”
He smirked. “Boring.”
“Then…” You waved your hand towards the dirt path. “Go on.”
“Nah.” Shane leaned back on his elbows, tilting his face up toward the sun. “Think I’ll stay.”
“Suit yourself.” You sighed and lay down beside him.
The silence settled between you, easy and familiar. After a while, he shifted and you opened one eye to find him hovering over you.
“There a problem, officer?” you muttered.
Shane chuckled, his voice rough.
“You ever gonna tell me why you keep comin’ out here?” he asked after a minute.
You shrugged. “It’s a nice view.”
Shane snorted. “Uh-huh. Bullshit. You just like watchin’ me suffer through these damn jogs.”
You grinned. “Yeah. That’s what I said.”
Shane exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head once he caught your meaning.
“You ever gonna make this easy?” he muttered.
“For you?” You tilted your head. “Naw.”
That got a laugh out of him. And you quite liked the sound of it.
“You ever think about leavin’ this place?” you asked suddenly.
Shane stilled for half a second before shrugging. “Nah. Got everything I need right here.”
“Even the begonia thieves?”
“Especially the begonia thieves.” His smirk was back, sharp as ever. “Why? You plannin’ on skippin’ town?”
You looked up at the sky, squinting from the sun. “I miss Atlanta sometimes.”
Shane didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, quietly:
“You’d tell me if you were leavin’, right?”
You turned your head to look at him. His expression was… odd. Tense.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “I’d tell you.”
He nodded, like that settled it.
“But I’m not leaving,” you said quickly. “I mean... I don’t want to. But Evelyn can’t stay sick forever I guess. I’d have to find another job. Or maybe they’ll send me to temp somewhere else.”
Shane bristled slightly at the mention of you leaving, but he covered it with a scoff. “Hell no. You ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You gonna arrest me?”
He leaned in closer. “That what you’re into? ‘Cause I can.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Wow. Shane Walsh, the romantic that you are…”
“Wasn’t tryin’ to be,” he grunted.
Before you could retort, he hooked two fingers in the collar of your shirt and yanked you forward. “Yeah, you ain’t leavin’,” he said, searching for something in your face. “Ain’t up for discussion.”
“That so?” You placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Ugh, you need a shower.”
That got him going alright. His smirk was diabolical. “Yeah? Your place’s closer.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. “You’re insufferable.”
Shane’s grin only widened. And then he kissed you—rough and impatient, like he’d been waiting too damn long.
There was little finesse to that kiss, it was intense. He gripped your arms to pull you closer with barely contained frustration.
You pushed back just enough to catch your breath. “You—”
“Yeah, yeah.” He grinned, too busy watching your mouth.
“Shower,” you reminded him pointedly.
“You’re presumptuous, woman.”
“Jesus Christ, you still can’t call me by my name?”
“Sweetheart?”
“Ugh…”
“Darlin’.”
Shane just laughed, but finally let you go—with obvious reluctance.
Later—much later—when your sheets were tangled beyond saving, Shane propped himself up on one elbow, watching you with his usual smirk.
But you weren’t about to let him off the hook.
“So you do know how to say my name,” you noted.
“Goddamn.” He shook his head, laughing. “That’s what you wanna say to me right now?”
“Well, I distinctly remember you sain’ it—”
“Quit it.”
“Twice.”
“Alright, that’s it.” He pushed your wrists down and stifled your giggle with a kiss. “You ain’t leavin’ this bed.”
“Oh really?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And who’s gonna sort your paperwork, Deputy Walsh?”
His grin was all teeth. “Oh, I got somethin’ else for you to sort, sweetheart.”
You kicked at him halfheartedly. “Shut up.”
Shane caught your ankle, dragging you back with a laugh that rumbled through his chest. “Make me.”
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You thought you knew Shane Walsh—a man already halfway lost at sea—but nothing could've prepared you for what happens when he's drowning in his own demons and pulls you down to hell with him.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Smut ⋮ Angst ⋮ Flashbacks ⋮ References To Death And Murder ⋮ Mirror And Shower Sex ⋮ Manhandling ⋮ Breeding ⋮ Obsession And Possessiveness ⋮ Mentions Of Violence ⋮ Dissociation
Shane had been acting strange since he returned. You noticed it the second he stepped back onto the farm—his shoulders stiff, his eyes wide, limping a little bit, and he was out of breath. He barely spoke, barely even looked at anyone. And when Hershel asked him about Otis, all he did was shake his head and answer a quiet "No..." before standing there, mouth open, shaking his head, and looking anywhere, just not at the man in front of him.
And as Rick stepped forward, he hugged Shane. A quiet thank you without any words. Shane barely reacted, nodding, eyes darting toward the farmhouse before stepping away like he couldn't bear to look. His voice was shaky when he spoke about what had happened—how Otis had told him to keep going, how he tried. You weren't sure if you believed him, but you knew one thing for certain.
Something was wrong.
And he wasn't telling anyone.
When Hershel went to break the news to Patricia, Shane stumbled away from the group, looking like a man about to crawl out of his skin. He leaned against the truck, mouth still slightly open, like he was still catching his breath, like the weight of whatever he'd been through was pressing down on him hard enough to crush every single bone inside his body.
You followed him.
"Shane?" You called his name gently, but he didn't react. His gaze was staring at the dirt beneath him, barely blinking, his eyes all wide.
You stepped closer. "Shane, talk to me."
His head moved slightly, but he still didn't look at you.
"You're hurt," you tried again, softer this time, letting your fingers slide along his arm. You felt the way he tensed, how he tried to flinch away from your touch. "At least let me—"
"I'm fine."
"But you don't look fine."
That got you a huff.
"Drop it."
But you didn't want to.
"No. I won't. You know that."
He finally looked at you then. Just a quick glance, but it was enough to send a shiver through you. His eyes were dark, unreadable, a storm that held back the thunder.
But it was his silence that unsettled you most. Shane was never quiet. Not like that. Even on his worst days, he'd have something to say—anger to let go of, frustration to bite down on. But now, he just looked empty. Hollow. As if whatever had happened out there was eating him up from the inside.
You didn't like it.
You didn't like the way he avoided your eyes like he couldn't stand to be seen.
When he started to walk away, you followed.
"Shane..." His back tensed at the sound of your voice, his pace quickening. "Shane, wait."
"Not now," he answered, heading for the house. "We gotta make sure Carl's okay."
You reached out, grabbing his arm before he could move any further. He froze at the contact, his body wet with sweat, and you could feel his pulse hammering beneath the skin. Too fast.
"He will be fine," you answered, trying to look into his eyes. "What happened?"
He shook his head. "Let it go."
"No," you insisted. "I'm not just gonna stand here and pretend I don't see that something's wrong. Just talk to me."
His fingers twitched at his sides, but he still wouldn't look at you.
"He didn't make it," Shane finally said, his voice hoarse.
You blinked, already knowing who he was referring to. "Otis?"
A quick nod was all he gave you. Nothing more.
You hadn't known the man well, but you knew enough. Knew that he'd gone with Shane to get the medical supplies, that he had a wife here on the farm who would be waiting for him to return.
You loosened your grip on Shane's arm, but you didn't let go. "I'm sorry," you answered, though the words felt small. Unimportant.
Shane inhaled deeply through his nose, exhaling just as slowly. "Yeah."
It wasn't an acknowledgment. It wasn't anything at all.
"Look, just—" You hesitated, searching his face for something, anything, that might tell you what was going on behind those eyes. "Just come inside, okay? Get cleaned up, get some rest."
He pulled his arm away—not rough, not aggressive, just final. "Already on it."
You followed him as he made his way inside, and after quickly checking up on Carl, Maggie handed him a set of clothes.
"The bathroom's upstairs," she said, looking at Shane, her eyes still swollen and red from crying. "I brought you some clothes."
Shane took them with only a little "thank you" in return.
"They won't fit well," Maggie added. "They were Otis'."
You watched him go in an instant after he nodded again. This wasn't just exhaustion. It wasn't just grief.
Something happened out there.
That thought stuck with you as you followed after him, slower this time. You weren't about to let this go—no. By the time you reached the upper level, you heard the bathroom door click shut.
Then, gathering your courage, you knocked lightly.
"Shane?"
No answer.
You knocked again. "Shane, come on."
Still nothing.
You pressed your hand to the door, waiting. You could hear the sounds of movement inside—clothes being put away, a pistol being laid down.
Then the water turned on. That was all you could hear.
"Shane, please," you tried one last time, but you already knew he wasn't going to answer.
With a frustrated sigh, you stepped back, running a hand through your hair. You hated this—the way he was shutting you out, the way he looked like he wasn't even here anymore. He had left something behind at that school, and you didn't know if he was ever going to get it back.
But this was still Shane, right? The man who never backed down from a fight, who always looked like he could take on the new world. And yet, this afternoon, he had walked away from you. That alone told you enough.
"I just… I just wanna know you're okay. I'm coming in now."
Frowning, you reached for the handle, turning it slowly. The door wasn't locked. It creaked open, and the rush of warm, wet air hit you instantly. Your eyes landed on Shane's reflection in the fogged-up mirror. He was standing at the sink, shirtless, head bowed slightly, and his hands gripped the edges of the porcelain like he needed it to hold himself up.
Then, he moved.
One hand brushed over his scalp, his fingers running through his hair—and that's when you saw it. The red patch where something had been torn out. A bald and uneven spot.
Your breath hitched in your throat. "Shane, hey, let me—"
He turned around before you could finish, his eyes angry and wild. His chest rose and fell fast, like he'd been caught in the middle of something he wasn't ready to share.
"You shouldn't be in here."
You hesitated, then stepped fully inside anyway. "And you shouldn't be acting like this," you shot back, closing the door behind you.
"I'm okay."
"Bullshit."
Turning back to the mirror, his fingers tapped several times against the sink before he reached for something in a drawer—a razor. He turned it on without another word, shearing off his hair as fast as he could, keeping his eyes on his reflection the entire time.
You stepped closer, your voice softer now. "Hey… What happened out there?"
The razor stopped for half a second, his hand tightening around it. Then he continued, shaving off the last of his hair.
"I survived," he finally said. "Saved Carl."
But when you looked at him, you weren't sure if that was the whole truth.
Once he was done, he still hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Just stared at you through the mirror now, his expression unreadable.
"Shane?"
You took a careful step forward, and for the first time, you saw just how banged up he was. Bruises, fresh and ugly. Scratches covered his knuckles like he'd torn them open on something—or someone. And then there was still the bald spot.
It hadn't been cut; you knew that. It had been ripped out.
You swallowed, stepping closer.
"You know what happened," he then said. "I told y'all already."
"No." You tilted your head, eyes scanning his reflection. "You told Hershel. Told Rick. Lori. Maggie..."
"Same thing," he responded, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.
"Is it?"
You hesitated before reaching out, fingers brushing lightly over one of the bruises, feeling him flinch under your touch.
"Shane," you whispered. "You're hurt."
"‘S nothing."
"It's not nothing." You frowned, moving closer, fingers trailing along the edge of the fresh bald spot. "Your hair…"
His lips parted like he was about to answer—but then he caught himself.
"Told you already," he responded again. His voice was angrier this time. "We got surrounded. We ran outta ammo. Otis said he'd cover me and told me to keep goin'. I did."
You studied him. His body language. His breathing. Everything. "That's what you said earlier."
"‘Cause that's what happened."
Something in his voice was off. The words were steady, but they seemed controlled. Too controlled.
"Otis pulled you up when you fell?" You asked carefully. "You said he wouldn't leave you behind?"
Shane's jaw twitched. "Yeah."
"And then he saved you?"
"He did what he had to do."
You narrowed your eyes. "Or what you had to do?"
Shane's eyes searched for yours in the mirror. Then, slowly, he turned. Face-to-face now, not just reflections.
"What are you askin' me?" He asked back, his voice quieter now. Rougher.
"I'm just trying to understand."
"Ain't nothin' to understand," he scoffed, shaking his head.
But you weren't so sure about that.
You had seen Shane lie before. Had seen the way his gaze looked away, avoiding any eye contact, the way his jaw clenched, the way his muscles tensed when he was trying too hard to keep himself in check, his fingers twitching and fumbling around.
And right now, he looked ready to snap.
"When Maggie gave you those clothes," you continued, "you… hesitated."
Shane's fingers flexed at his sides. "Yeah? So?"
"She said they were from Otis."
His jaw tightened.
"And?"
"And you looked like you were gonna be sick."
"I just watched that man get eaten alive!" He scoffed back at you. "‘Scuse me for not feelin' too good about wearin' his goddamn clothes!"
That was the moment. The exact moment.
Because Shane was a lot of things—reckless, violent, unpredictable—but guilt was never something he let show. And right now? Right now, you could see it in him.
Gnawing at him. Devouring him from the inside.
"Is that all it is?" You asked softly, tilting your head.
His eyes darkened. "What else would it be?"
You didn't answer.
Didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Because you felt it now—the feeling as if he was drowning and dragging you down with him. It was like he was waiting for you to say something else, to push him, to call him out.
You swallowed, looking down at the floor. "You tell me… Shane."
For a moment, he looked like he might tell you. Like the truth was right there, right on his tongue.
But then?
Then his hand moved before you could react, fingers grabbing the back of your neck, gripping just tight enough to make you gasp in shock.
"Don't," he grumbled, his voice strained. "Just—don't."
"Don't what?" You asked in return but stopped as you felt how his grip tightened, just for a second.
Then his eyes looked down—to your mouth, to your throat, feeling the way your pulse was getting faster beneath his fingers.
Shane let out a deep, long, controlled breath through his nose, and when you looked up again, it wasn't guilt you saw in his expression anymore.
It was darkness.
Every inch of you burned with a fire you couldn't put out—couldn't escape.
And you couldn't deny it—the pull toward him, even though you knew it wasn't about you. Not entirely. You knew that.
But you also knew, deep down, that you couldn't look away. Couldn't walk away. Not now. Not with him so close. Not when you were this close to him.
His grip tightened around your neck, but not enough to hurt—just enough to remind you he was in control. In this moment, he was. His thumb moved along your jawline, his eyes following it.
You knew what had happened. You knew about Otis, about the cold, ruthless way he'd left him behind. About the betrayal—the choice he'd made because that's what Shane did. He made choices. And when they came back to haunt him, he'd just keep moving, keep fighting, keep pushing.
And you? You'd been there. Watching him. From the moment you met him at the Atlanta camp, where things were simpler. When you thought he was just another protector, another one of the good guys, looking after Lori, Carl, and the rest of the survivors.
A cop. A man of the law. A law that didn't exist anymore.
And you hadn't known. Not at first.
But you saw it after Rick showed up. The way Shane's eyes darkened every time Grimes came near. The way his fists clenched whenever Lori touched Rick, the way he looked so annoyed when Carl looked up at his father.
It was only after Rick appeared that you realized how far gone Shane was. How broken and lost he was.
But you'd always had a soft spot for him—maybe even more. He was a leader in your eyes, a protector, brave in ways that made you crave something stronger than just survival. But you had stayed in the background, never daring to get close, because you thought—no, this isn't your place and definitely not your time. In fact, you thought Lori was his, and Carl was his. That was the way it was supposed to be, wasn't it?
A family...
But that was before you realized how badly Shane was losing himself. You were right there, close enough to feel it and see it happen.
And the truth about Otis? You now knew what he'd done. You knew the truth about what happened in that school. And you knew, too, that he knew you knew.
The way Shane looked at you now, the way his lips barely parted, like he wanted to say something but couldn't bring himself to—it told you everything.
And you weren't sure if it was that hatred or the dangerous pull of desire in the bathroom that made you reach for him.
No, you weren't sure.
But when your hand brushed the stubble on his jaw, you knew it didn't matter anymore. His fingers were on your skin again, gripping you harder this time, his thumb sliding across your lower lip as his eyes still looked at your mouth.
You couldn't stop yourself. You wanted him too much.
And maybe that made you just as dangerous as he was.
"You know what I did," Shane growled in your ear. "You know what happened."
You didn't have to answer as he finally pressed himself against you, forcing your back against the sink, the edge of it digging into you as he kissed you hard, almost painfully. His hands were everywhere, pulling you closer, making sure you couldn't escape, couldn't pull away.
"Shane, what—"
He kissed you deeper. His teeth grazed your lip, sharp and rough. The way his body moved against yours was desperate, almost needy, like he was trying to lose himself in you, to forget. Forget about Rick. Forget about Otis. Forget about everything.
"Shut up," he grumbled against your mouth.
Before you could speak, before you could even think, his lips pressed against yours once more—hot, forceful, sloppy.
It wasn't a kiss. It was a claim. A fast, desperate claim, his fingers now grabbing the back of your neck again, gripping hard enough to make you groan. He tasted like sweat, like fear, like something dark that had been rotting inside him since he came back from that school.
And he wasn't asking—he was taking.
Your hands moved up, instinctively pushing against his bare chest to shove him away, but his other hand grabbed at your hip, yanking you closer to him. There was no space between you, no time to catch your breath, just heat—his body burning into yours, his heartbeat hammering against you like it was trying to force its way next to yours.
You barely managed a muffled whine against his mouth, your fingers pressing harder into his chest, now trying to steady yourself, trying to get some control over the situation. But the second you made that soft, unsure sound, something in him broke.
Shane pulled away just enough to breathe, his forehead pressing against yours, his fingers tightening on your neck before moving them into your hair. His pupils were wide, his jaw clenched so tight you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.
"Don't do that," he whispered, voice wrecked and his breathing still uneven as his fingers twitched against your scalp. "Don't—don't sound like that..."
"Sound... like what?" Your voice was shaky and breathless, but he ignored the question.
Shane's mouth went to your throat, his teeth biting down just hard enough to make you suck in a shocked breath, while his stubble scratched against your skin as he sucked a mark just below your jaw. His breath came in heavy bursts like he was running.
Like he was chasing something.
"Shane—" You tried again, tried to reach for him, but then—fuck. You felt it.
Thick. Hard. Pressing against your lower belly through his pants, but your mind barely had time to process it before he growled.
Not a word. Not a warning. Just a single growl.
It sounded greedy. Like if you spoke again, if you tried to calm him down, to help him, he'd shatter.
But your mind was still trying to make sense of this, still trying to catch up to him. "Wait—Shane, what the hell—"
He didn't wait.
Shane turned you around in one quick move, his hands gripping your waist, bending you forward until you hit the sink again. Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, lips swollen from his kiss, chest rising and falling in fast, uneven breaths.
You barely recognized yourself.
Your eyes—wide, glassy, uncertain.
And then there was him.
Shit...
You saw it. The look in his eyes.
Still dark. Dangerous. Gone.
His fingers dug into the waistband of your pants, and he yanked them down, dragging them a little too roughly over your thighs.
"Shane," you started once more, turning slightly, but the only response you got was the sound of his zipper.
No hesitation. No teasing. He wasn't playing with you.
He just looked... lost. Like a man breaking apart in real time.
Shane's hands slid lower, fingers moving over your naked hips, pulling you back against him, making you feel his leaking cock pressing between your thighs.
"Just—" You tried to talk to him again, your voice unsteady, but Shane's fingers tightened his grip.
A simple "No." was all he gave in return.
His fingers trembled near your waist as he lined himself up, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, keeping you steady. Keeping you there.
And when he saw the little bit of hesitation in your eyes, the uncertainty, his breath shuddered out of him.
It was all he needed.
Shane pushed into you.
Hard.
The force of it knocked the breath straight from your lungs, your mouth falling open in a choked cry. Your fingers searched for any kind of grip on the sink, nails slipping against the porcelain as your body jerked forward from the sheer strength of him.
"Fuck—!"
The word barely made it past your lips before his hands grabbed you harder—like he thought you might try to run away, like he needed to make sure you didn't.
There was nothing slow about it. Nothing soft.
Every thrust was deep, fast, and rough.
The mirror shook against the wall, rattling slightly with every movement, the glass only showing the wild look in his eyes.
And he was watching.
Watching everything.
His gaze stayed on the reflection—on you, on the way you took his cock, on the way your body trembled under him.
But he wasn't just looking at you.
He was looking at himself.
His face—miserable, paranoid, ruined.
Shane saw it… He remembered.
Otis' hand clawing at his hair.
The gunshot, the way the man's eyes were going wide in horror.
Fingers ripping at his scalp, a chunk of his hair tearing away as he fought. As he survived.
The veins in Shane's neck pulsed, every muscle in his body flexing as he pounded into you. Gritting his teeth, he fucked you even harder.
He tried to think about how every time he saw your face, every time you let him in, it felt like he was sinking into something he couldn't control. The desperation in his movements was a sign of how he needed to own this moment and drown out every haunting thought in his mind. The things he'd done, the things he couldn't undo.
But you were still there. Still with him. And that made everything… unbearable.
A quiet cry ripped itself free from your throat as he slammed into you, brutal and fast. Your pussy clenched around his cock, your breath breaking apart.
"Shane—" Your voice was a desperate plea, a moan half-swallowed by the force of him.
His hand shot up again, fingers wrapping tight around your throat from behind, but his grip wasn't painful, wasn't cruel—but it was a warning.
Every thrust of his hips pushed your body forward, forced your breath to hitch, and forced your mind to slip deeper into this, into him.
And still—he watched.
His reflection. Like he didn't want to recognize himself.
But he did. And he hated it.
Your mind thought back to the quarry again, remembering how different he was. Not soft—he was never soft—but something close to it. Protective. The kind of man who took charge, who got things done.
You remembered the way he kept the people together after the world fell apart. How he taught them to shoot, how he made sure the fires stayed lit, how he took the night shifts when no one else would.
You'd watched from the sidelines, keeping your distance, convincing yourself that the heat and tingling feeling in your stomach whenever he spoke to you was nothing. A crush, maybe?
Nothing serious.
Nothing real.
You weren't sure when it happened that your 'crush' turned into something more, something deeper. Maybe it was the way he always looked so confident, so sure of what needed to be done. Maybe it was the way he never waited when it came to protecting the people he cared about.
Maybe it was just him.
You weren't sure if he'd ever noticed.
But now?
"You watch me, don't you?" His voice was quieter now, rougher. "Always watchin'."
"Please, just—"
"Think I ain't noticed?" He was thrusting into you harder, deep enough to make you whimper. "Think I ain't seen you lookin'?"
Your skin burned beneath his touch.
"I—"
"Nah, nah, don't go lyin' to me now." He spanked your ass, hard enough to make you stop talking. "I know you, girl. Been knowin' you since Atlanta."
With you panting, he then continued.
"I remember, alright. You sittin' by the fire, sneakin' looks when you thought I wasn't payin' attention. I remember you askin' me to teach you how to shoot. Pretendin' you didn't know how to hold a gun so I'd stand behind you, get real close."
Your breath hitched. "That's not—"
"No? Tell me I'm wrong."
You didn't. Couldn't. Because he wasn't wrong, not at all.
"You still want me?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, strained and deep. "Even now?"
You swallowed hard.
The truth was, you did.
Even now. Even with the darkness behind his eyes, even knowing what he'd done, what he was capable of.
You still wanted him.
But for Shane, it was a dangerous question, one that would cut him open if you lied. He had to believe it—had to see it. You were still here, still taking him. Still needing him.
Your voice trembled, but it was the most haunting sound to him, beautiful and frightening at once. "Yes, yes… even now!"
The confession broke something in him. He groaned into your ear, unable to stop himself as his body moved in an almost feral rhythm. Every thrust was a plea; every sound leaving his lips was a question he was too afraid to answer.
And then? He moved.
You barely had a second to react before his hands were on you, his arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you upright, your back pressing against his sweaty chest. His other hand gripped your thigh, spreading you open as he kept moving, his cock still throbbing and buried deep.
"What the—!" The words came out as a yelp, a half-strangled moan, as he lifted you, his strength and size effortlessly keeping you close to him.
"Move." It wasn't a request. It was a demand.
Still inside you, stretching you open, he half-dragged, half-carried you toward the bathtub.
The bathroom was humid by now, steam clinging to the walls from the hot water as he reached past you, and within seconds, more water poured down on both of you.
"Fuck—!" You gasped, your body shivering against him.
He slammed you forward, pressing your hands against the bathroom wall, his strength keeping you right where he wanted you. The water soaked through the rest of your clothes, ran down his chest, over your breasts, and over the bald, burning spot of his scalp.
But Shane stopped all of a sudden.
You gasped as he froze inside you, his cock still pulsing, filling you to the hilt. His hands, so rough just a moment ago, softened their grip. One stayed on your waist, fingers trembling. The other moved—slowly—gliding up your body, moving over your wet shirt and your breasts, before stopping along your throat. But he wasn't grabbing it. He was just… feeling you.
His fingers twitched slightly at your throat before he pulled you closer, pressing his lips to the side of your neck. But this time, it wasn't hungry, wasn't bruising. It was soft. His lips parted, his tongue tasting the sweat and water on your skin, breathing you in.
Shane's nose trailed along your jaw, and then he turned your face gently toward his.
The kiss was barely a kiss at all at first—just the soft press of his mouth, like he needed to know you were real. His lips brushed against yours, rougher now, before fully kissing you deep, as if afraid.
"How many rounds you got left?"
The words didn't belong here.
Not to you.
But they were in his head. Again.
Loud. Too loud.
Shane's body tensed as his eyes flew open, staring at you—seeing you.
But he felt a hand ripping at his head once more, desperate fingers clawing at his head, tearing a piece of his hair away. He felt the gun in his hands, his finger on the trigger. He saw the look in Otis' eyes—that second of realization, of horror, of fear.
"I'm sorry."
The gunshot rang in his ears…
"Let go of me!"
He remembered the feeling of Otis pulling him down to the ground. The walkers getting closer, closer still…
His tender grip around your throat tightened, just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to pull him back into now, into you.
"Let go!"
He could still hear his voice screaming at Otis to let go. Still feel the fight, the panic, his nails digging harder into your wet skin.
For a second, he swore he saw blood—smeared all across the bathroom walls, running down his hands, and staining your skin.
But it wasn't there. And the quiet, the stillness—it was gone in an instant.
He yanked you back harder, forcing your back to arch as he slammed into you again. Gone was the hesitation, the tenderness.
It made your knees buckle as he pushed as deep as he could, his cock stretching you open some more, pressing against every sensitive, sore spot inside of you.
But as the water streamed down, it couldn't drown out the sounds filling the bathroom. The quiet whimpers from you. The ragged breaths. The deep groans from Shane.
"Fuck," he groaned, pressing your face roughly against the wall.
There you were—soaking wet, mouth open, eyes half-lidded, fucked, and your body trembling with every deep thrust.
And then there was him.
He was behind you. So strong, so tall, so big. Inside you.
But Shane didn't blink. He didn't look away. He still watched.
Watched the way you took him, watched his cock disappear inside your pussy, watched the way his fingers dug into your wet, trembling body.
He was fucking you like he needed this—like if he stopped, he'd have to feel something else.
Shame? Guilt?
And he wasn't ready for that. He needed to push away the thoughts in his mind. Needed to forget.
"Please—" Your voice broke between uneven breaths, barely more than gasps.
But the way you said it—breathless, needy—fuck. It nearly killed him.
His thrusts turned faster, harder, driving himself so deep you swore you could feel him in your guts.
"Shit," he growled. "Fuckin'—"
He cut himself off with a groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a moment before pulling back, teeth biting down into your skin as if nothing else mattered anymore.
Only the desperate, broken moans leaving your lips.
Only him.
Only this.
Shane's breath hitched, his chest pressing against your back as he moved, changing the angle. Your head snapped up, eyes flying open, your hands desperately trying to hold onto the wet wall as the new position had him hitting even deeper.
Shane knew he wasn't supposed to care about that.
But seeing you like that? Seeing you lose yourself in him?
"Doin' so fuckin' good," he growled into your ear, kissing your neck before his hand wrapped around it again.
"You feel that?" He panted, his other hand holding you steady, pulling you harder against him. "See how fuckin' good you look takin' my cock? Talk to me."
Your mind was spinning—still trying to process how the hell you got here, how fast it happened, how good he felt inside you. But Shane—he needed you.
"C'mon, girl," he growled, his lips touching your ear. "Need to hear you."
He didn't just mean the moans. He wanted more. Wanted words.
Wanted to drown in them—let them pull him under until all that was left was this. You. The feeling of your body wrapped around him, squeezing him, taking him.
Another thrust, deep and brutal, knocked a silent cry from your lips. Your fingers dug into the slippery wall, struggling for any kind of grip.
"I—" Your voice was trembling. "Shane—"
"Nah, baby, not my name," he laughed out loud, shaking his head before his teeth bit the skin of your neck to make you whimper. "Tell me what you feel when I'm fuckin' you like this… when I'm making you feel this good."
The way he was talking, you barely recognized him. He was different now. Not the Shane from Atlanta. Not the Shane who always had a way of joking around and keeping the group together.
This was someone else entirely.
Someone who had blood on his hands.
Hell, you weren't sure you even cared.
Your body burned for him. Your skin was on fire where he touched you, his hands claiming you like he could fuck himself so deep inside you that his sins would just disappear.
"I—" You tried again, but your voice broke when he rolled his hips against you just right, his cock pressing into that one spot that made your legs shake.
"Say it." His hand slid up, fingers grabbing your soaked hair. He pulled your head back, forcing you to look into his eyes.
He wanted to see it. See you say it.
You swallowed, your lips parting, your voice breathy and weak. "Yes, yes! You feel so good inside me!"
Shane choked out a grunt so raw it sounded like a personal kind of prayer. A plea to save him from himself.
But whatever last bit of restraint he had left? Gone.
"Tell me I'm the only one who can make you feel this way," he grunted, his voice turning quieter. "I know you've been wantin' this. Been wantin' me."
You moaned, your knees nearly giving out, the water from the bathtub streaming down your back, soaking into your clothes.
"F-Fuck," you stammered, barely able to breathe, barely able to form any reasonable thought with the way he was wrecking you, your pussy clenching so tightly around him.
"Shane—"
Wrong answer… His grip on your hair tightened, punishing.
"Tell me."
Your breath hitched.
"Only you can make me feel like this," you whimpered, breathing weakly. "Only. You."
Shane groaned like you'd just stabbed a knife into his heart, his forehead pressing against the back of your head for half a second before his mouth was near your ear again, only for him to drag you out of the bathtub, his hands holding you still.
You gasped, and before you could fully adjust, he was backing up, pulling you with him.
"Push back, baby, push back—let me show you," Shane growled as he backed you both up against the bathroom wall, his back hitting it with urgency as you were forced to face the mirror above the sink. It was still foggy, steamy like the room, but still clear enough for you to see the way he took you—hard, fast, with no hesitation.
Without any warning, his thrusts became brutal.
Shane was fucking into you like a man possessed, like if he stopped for even a second, every memory would come back.
"Shit—look at you," he smirked, one hand sliding down, pressing against your lower belly. "You feel me right there, baby?"
Your fingers clenched into fists, your eyes looking slowly toward the mirror.
The sight of it all… You, your skin red from the warmth of the hot water, dripping wet, trembling against his strong chest.
And him, wild-eyed, brutal, desperate...
The way his cock disappeared into you over and over again, the way he stretched you open—it made you clench around him harder.
"Shit," Shane gasped. "You like that, huh? Like seein' how fuckin' good I'm stretchin' you out?"
"Y-Yes—"
His fingers dug into your trembling flesh.
"Gonna come for me, baby?"
You tried to nod, tried to breathe. You couldn't see the mirror anymore—your vision blurred, your body on fire and burning in his arms. All you could focus on was the way he was fucking you, the way he was making you feel.
"Fuckin' say it," he growled.
"I—I'm gonna come," you cried out in return as his thrusts became sloppier, pounding faster into you.
And then—your whole body tensed. Your moans came out sobbing, your pussy clenching so tight around his cock that Shane choked on his next groan.
"F-Fuck, fuck," he stuttered, his hips bucking, making you feel him twitch and throb.
He lost himself.
His cock pulsed inside you, buried deep as he came, his hips pressing hard against your ass.
But Shane didn't move after he was done. He didn't pull out. He just stayed there, deep inside you, his breathing all uneven, his chest rising and falling against your back, holding you close.
For a moment, he didn't feel like he was drowning.
For a moment, he wasn't Shane Walsh.
He was just this—just a man, a man feeling your body so close to him, a man feeling the way his muscles ached from how hard he'd taken you.
Shane then let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to your back.
He should've said something.
Should've talked about what just happened.
Should've let you know he was still there. That he was still himself.
But he didn't. Instead, he just gripped your hips—steadying himself.
It wasn't enough. Nothing would be.
As Shane exhaled through his nose, long and slow, he was finally—finally—pulling out. The loss of him sent another shiver through you and left you feeling empty in a way you couldn't even explain.
And still, he said nothing.
You turned, water dripping from your body as you tried to look into his eyes, but he was already moving—grabbing a towel and wiping the sweat and water from his face.
"Shane... This—" Your voice was hoarse and shaky, and you weren't even sure what you wanted to say.
Are you really okay?
Was this just a distraction?
What the hell was this?
So many questions...
But he didn't react to the sound of your voice.
You reached down for your wet clothes, trying to shove your pants back up, your movements frantic and quick. When you risked another glance at him, he still wasn't looking at you.
He was staring into the mirror. His shoulders tense, his chest still rising and falling, sweat dripping down his naked chest.
But Shane's face? Shane's face looked haunted.
His jaw clenched, so you tried again, softer this time. "Hey..."
Nothing.
He just turned, reaching for the towel again, and wiped it over his chest, his shoulders, and along his arms.
The bathroom felt suffocating by now, not for him, but for you—hot steam and cold silence tormenting you from all sides.
And just when you were about to give up—just when you were stepping toward the door…
"I didn't mean to."
You stopped as the words came out of him, hollow and quiet—like a confession meant for no one, yet meant for everything.
He didn't mean to—what?
You never turned back to ask.
Instead, you pulled open the door and stepped out—out of the suffocating heat—only to be hit with something colder once you walked down the stairs.
A silence far worse than the one in the bathroom.
And you felt it. Those stares.
Rick. Lori. Maggie. Glenn.
All of them…
Standing there, just beyond the door where Carl was still recovering, thanks to Hershel, their conversations had stopped the second you stepped into view.
Their eyes looked at you—at your wet clothes clinging to your skin, the water still dripping from your hair, the red marks already showing along your neck and throat.
No one spoke. No one dared to say a word.
But the silence wasn't empty; it was hanging like a storm cloud over the entire room.
Rick's eyes narrowed, the muscles in his cheeks twitching, while Lori's lips parted just a bit, her eyebrows furrowing like she wanted to say something—like she wanted to ask, but knew the answer already.
Glenn quickly looked away, his face turning red as if he were the one caught in something he shouldn't have seen.
And Maggie? She just blinked. Not judging. Not surprised. Just watching you with her red, swollen eyes from crying.
You swallowed hard, forcing your chin up, calming down your breath. Then, with a final step forward, you kept walking toward the front door, not wanting to talk. It wasn't necessary.
Meanwhile, the bathroom door upstairs remained shut.
And inside?
Inside, Shane stood motionless in front of the mirror—staring at himself, watching his reflection drown in the fog.
tags: pervy behavior, wet dreams, implied sex at the end but not actually written, fem!reader, reader is also like mid 20s. not proofread.
hey little girl is your daddy home/did he go away and leave you all alone?
shane walsh. sheriff deputy, hard worker neighbor right across the street. you’ve only moved in a year or so ago, even introduced himself when you first got settled.
after that, he tends to seen you around, always with the same man’s arm around your waist. a man that’s older, gruff, just like him; a man that doesn’t matter. a man who he’s so certain doesn’t know how to treat you right.
tell me now baby is he good to you/and can he do to you the things that i do?
he peeks around your house— he’s just making sure you’re okay, being treated well— sue him. it’s instinct to make sure the people of king county are okay, and that most certainly includes you. he starts noticing a few things: you start cooking dinner at 3:30 pm, sundays are your cleaning days, you tend to change in front of your bedroom window, and you and your lover are having little tiffs more frequently.
oddly enough, every time there’s a little spat between you and this older man, he seems to swoop right in. there’s a fight that ends with your lover storming out? shane is showing up with his lawnmower because he just so happened to notice the overgrown grass surrounding your house. it’s what a man’s supposed to do after all. call him traditional, but when the reward is you so sweetly coming out, pretty sundress and a nice glass of lemonade in hand? hell, he might even clean out your god damn gutters.
at night, i wake up with the sheets soaking wet/and a freight train running through the middle of my head
his nights have started to grow hot, heavy. even after a busy afternoon on patrol filthy dreams fill his mind. a soft body sprawled on his bed. breathless moans and drawn out pleadings for him. lips kiss-swollen from his doing. his mind supplies him with dirty, downright inappropriate illustrations of you beneath him, on top of him, in the shower.
the wet dreams hit him like a freight train. every single. night. he wakes up sweaty, aching for the sweet girl just across the street. he should feel guilty— he does sometimes. but most of the time is spent with his hand down in his sweats, and him finishing with your name on his mouth.
only you can cool my desire…
and when you show up so late in the night, very obviously emotional and distressed because it’s officially over between you and your lover? god does he feel like he won the lottery.
he doesn’t show it, not yet. he knows you need him to be gentle right now. you need his support in such horrible times. he sits you on his sofa— trying his best to ignore how delicate you look in your little nightie and slippers— he brings you tea and sits next to you like he’s coaxing a stray out of hiding. he’s patient. so patient and sweet because he knows that the outcome for being so good to you is worth the wait.
so when, after a little bit of consoling, your lips find his and his hands are on your waist. when you’re telling him you need him and his body is lifting yours without any hesitation. when he finally takes you to his bedroom where he plans to play out each and every dream that’s haunted his mind since you moved in— he’s on fire
Summery: You are a young woman (Rick Grimes’ daughter) who never had an orgasm, not with yourself and not with your boyfriend. After some encouraging from your girlfriends you decide to try out a specific sex toy. They didn’t tell you how expensive it is though and when you try to steal it, guess who comes to arrest you? Your dad’s hot best friend and coworker Shane Walsh. He blackmails you to fuck him and takes on the challenge of giving you your first orgasm.
Warnings: Minors do not interact! Pre outbreak, age gap (reader is 18/19, Shane’s 38/39), talking about sex toys, blackmail and dubious consent at first but very enthusiastic consent after, cheating (remember guys, it started out as blackmail and I promise reader will break up with the boy 😭), dirty talk, semi public, light degradation kink (use of slut and a single whore), praise kink (can’t have a story without the praise kink loll), oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, creampie.. Let me know if I missed anything!
Author’s note: I had this story in my notes for the loooongest time and I didn’t know what to do with it. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out and I might even make it into a little series. I would absolutely love to read your thoughts! Reblogs are very appreciated 🤗
Disclaimer: English is not my first language so don’t mind any mistakes ✌🏼
Masterlist
You’ve got your hood pulled low over your face as you browse through your local sex shop. How the hell did I end up here you think as your face heats from shame while looking at all the.. attributes. It’s your friends’ fault. Last weekend while playing a drunken game of truth or dare, you confessed that you’ve never had an orgasm. Not by yourself and definitely not with your boyfriend. They were absolutely astonished and tried giving you al kinds of advice. One of their ideas was to get a vibrator. You were horrified when they started googling different toys and rating them, finally coming to the conclusion that you should go for this fancy suction thingy. It honestly didn’t look as intimidating as the big, vibrating dildos they were showing you, so you thought about it and here you are.. Roaming a sex shop.
You reach the section you’re looking for and quickly scan for the exact one your friends mentioned. They said it was a very popular one, so they definitely should sell it here. Your eye falls on the box and you gasp when you see the price. They forgot to mention how ridiculously expensive it was. You bite your lip and pick it up anyway. Looking at it and reading the back. Body safe silicone, ultra silent, waterproof, 12 vibration patterns, pleasure guaranteed. You sigh, it would really be amazing if it works and you can finally reach that high you’ve been searching for. But is it really worth that amount of money?
You look around and there’s no one around you. The store is quite big and the only employee is busy with her phone behind the counter, while loudly chewing gum and twirling her brightly colored hair with her finger.
What if you just.. Put it in your purse and walk out? No one would know and you can finally have your orgasm..
No you can’t.. Your dad’s a police officer and.. and It’s just not right. Right?
Fuck it.. You shove the box to the bottom of your bag and head for the exit.
“Thank you for coming, come again.” The cashier mutters lazily.
“Y-yeah bye..” You start but your heart sinks as a loud alarm starts wailing the second you set foot out of the store.
“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to ask you to open up your purse.” The green haired lady asks.
“Fuck..” You sigh and open up your bag, showing her your stolen goods.
“Yeah.. Gonna have to call the cops for that..” She says. “Come with me, you can wait in the back.”
“Cops?! C-can’t I just pay for it?” You squeal.
“Nope.. A little too late for that now.” She says and sits you down at a desk in a backroom while she calls the cops.
You can barely hear what she’s saying on the phone. Your ears are ringing so badly. Cops? Does that mean you’re gonna get a record? What does that mean for your future? What did you dooo? Did you really ruin your life over a stupid sex toy?
You don’t know how long you’re sitting there before the door opens and a single policeman enters the shabby office. You look at him and now you really want to sink into the ground. Shane?! Seriously? Your dad’s best friend?
He raises his eyebrows in surprise as he sees you. “Well well well.. What do we have here?” He says smirking a little. He’s amused. “Wasn’t expecting to find you here.”
You hide your face in your hands. “Goddd, can this get any worse?” You groan.
“Come on sweetheart. Gotta take you to the station.” He says beckoning you with his head. “Don’t have to cuff ya, do I?” He smirks.
“N-no.” You say wide eyed.
“This what she tried to steal?” He asks grabbing the box and turning it in his hand, assessing it.
“Yep.” The cashier says popping the p.
“Gonna need to take it in as evidence. ‘S protocol.”
“You do what you need to do, officer.” The lady sighs.
You follow Shane out to his car and the two of you silently drive to the precinct.
“Want some water sweetheart?” Shane asks holding out a bottle as you sit down in the little interrogation room.
“P-please.” You say, taking it and nervously looking at the one way glass. “Why are we in here?”
“No one is watching, darlin’, don’t worry. Thought you might like some privacy considering the nature of the item that you stole.” He says, his mouth twitches as if he’s trying not to laugh. “Just need to go over some things with you, paperwork and such.” He says, flipping through a folder in his hands.
“Y-yeah, thanks.” You say fiddling with the label on the bottle.
“Sooo..” He says as he sits down on the other side of the table. “You don’t have to answer any of my questions. But I would say it’s always good to have your version of the story on paper.”
You just nod.
“Let’s start at the beginning.. You went to the eh, the sex store today, right? Did you plan to go there?”
“Y-yes.”
“Did you plan to steal anything?” He asks.
“No!” You say, your eyes shooting up at him. “I swear, I didn’t want to steal. Don’t know what came over me. I’m so fucking stupid..” You ramble.
“Shh shh shh. ‘S okey, I believe you.” He says. “So why did you do it?”
“I-it was just so expensive..” You say, looking back at the floor. “Couldn’t afford it.”
“But it’s not something that you need, right? Could just not buy it, or save up some money, buy a cheaper one?”
“I-it was my friends..”
“Your friends told you to steal it?” He interrupts, sitting up.
“No no! That was all me.” You admit. “But they told me about the eh.. The toy.” You feel your face heating up again. “They said it was really good, but they didn’t tell me about the price.”
“Why did you want it so bad, darlin’? I mean, I don’t mean to pry, but don’t you have a boyfriend?”
“Well yes, but..” You sigh. Do you really need to tell him..
“Look sweetheart.. I know you have a bright future ahead of you. Your daddy’s always so proud.. Told me all about your big collage plans. Wanna become a lawyer, hm?”
“Y-yes.”
“Gonna make it a little difficult getting into law school if you’ve got theft on your record.”
You chew on your lip, the pit in your stomach grows. “Shane..” You plead softly.
“And then there’s the fine..”
Your eyes start to water.
“Maybe if you tell me a bit more about why you did it, might grant you some sympathy.” He shrugs.
“I..” You start.
“That boy of yours don’t take good care of you?” He asks boldly.
Your eyes shoot up to his and you gasp.
“You can tell me.. ’s okey.”
“Well.. I.. It’s not him.. I just.. I’ve never, ehm..” This is so humiliating.
“You’ve never…?”
“Neverhadanorgasm.” You spit out, burying you face in your hands.
“Shit, sweetheart.” He mutters. “And your friends told you to use this?” He asks holding up the box.
“Please, put it away.” You whine, your voice muffled by your hands. “I was just.. Desperate I guess..”
“Hmm.” He hums, assessing the situation. “I feel bad for you.. I really do, but my hands are tied here, sweetheart..”
“Please Shane.. There’s got to be something you can do to keep this off my record.”
“Can get in a looot of trouble if I do that..”
“B-but you can?” You ask hopeful, looking up at him with wide eyes.“Please, Shane.. You’ve known me all my life.”
He sighs dramatically, leaning back. The cheap plastic chair creaks under his weight. “What do I get out of it, though?” He asks, spreading his legs and pushing his hips up slightly.
“What do y-?” You ask frowning. The realization hits as you take in the way he’s positioned his body. “Shane!” You gasp in disbelief.
“What? You want to keep this off record don’t you?” He asks, looking at you intently. “Won’t even need this with me.” He smirks cockily, throwing the toy in a trash bin in the corner of the room.
You know Shane to be quite a ladies man. He’s been with most single ladies in town, probably a couple married ones as well and you overheard some of your mother’s friends swoon about their experience. And you’ve always thought he’s pretty hot..
“You take care of me, I’ll take care of you.”
“You won’t tell my dad?” You say biting your lip.
“Are you kidding me! Can’t really tell him about this little arrangement can I? He’ll have my head.” He smirks.
Your eyes widen. “No! O-okey..”
“Yeah?” He asks and you nod. “Good.. Come get on your knees for me then.”
“Oh my god..” You mumble as you get off your chair and sink to your knees in front of him.
“Good girl..” He says as he pushes your hair behind your ear. The words do something funny to your belly, but you ignore it. He unbuckles his belt and undoes his button before reaching inside and pulling out his cock in front of your face.
You audibly gasp and can’t hold in a soft moan. It’s huge! Thick, long, veiny and rock hard. It makes your mouth water instantly and you look up at him biting your lip. “Big..” is all you can muster up. Already cock drunk.
He chuckles. “Yeah, ‘s gonna be a mouthful.” He says stroking himself, pointing the tip at your mouth. You see a drop of pre cum leaking out and on instinct stick out your tongue to lap it up. “Fuck..” He rasps shakily. “That’s it. Nice and eager for me. Like sucking cock, sweetheart?”
You look up at him and nod honestly. “My boyfriend’s not this big though.” You say. “D-don’t know if I’m gonna be any good.” It’s not just about getting away with stealing anymore. Now that you’ve seen what he’s working with, you actually really want him in your mouth.
“Let’s see it, hmm? Open up.”
You’re quick to open your mouth and he slowly feeds you the head. You moan as you wrap your lips around him and taste his slightly salty skin.
“Go to town, sweetheart. Earn that get out of jail free card.” He says smirking and that’s what you do.
You start off by carefully testing the water, sliding him a little deeper in your mouth, swirling your tongue around. He’s big, but it feels comfortable in your mouth. You suck in your cheeks and bob up and down a few times, letting him hit against the back of your throat.
He groans. “Yesss.. That’s it.. Such a good fucking girl.. Good little slut, sucking cock to get her way.”
You moan at his harsh words and his praise, your belly clenching.
He chuckles softly. “Oh you like that hm, like it when I talk to you like that? ”
You moan again, because you kind of do.
He smirks. “Bet that boy of yours doesn’t say things like that, huh?” You shake your head, without taking him out of your mouth.
He smirks. “I got you all figured out by now..” He wraps his hand in your hair at the back of your head and pushes you down. “Know exactly what you need.”
You gag loudly as he pushes against your throat roughly. Your eyes widen and you look up at him in shock, but as much as you hate to admit it, you’ve never been this aroused before. “Yeah, look at me.. Fuck, you’re so hot..” He says as he repeats his action. “Lemme use that slutty fucking mouth.”
Just when you’ve forgotten about your surroundings, you’re interrupted by a knock on the door. Shane quickly pulls you on your feet and shoves his cock back in his pants.
You quickly sit back in your chair, wiping your mouth and combing through your hair with your fingers.
“Yes!” Shane bellows, his voice hoarse.
An older guy you remember seeing before at some work bbq you dad hosted at your house opens the door. “Can you assist me with a case, Walsh?” He asks.
“Ehh.. Yeah, be with you in a few. Just gotta handle this one first.” Shane answers.
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from laughing. You manage to hold it in until the man leaves and then start giggling nervously. This is such a bizarre situation.
Shane looks at you with amusement in his eyes. “Think that’s funny, do ya?” He asks. “Like the idea of one of my coworkers walking in while I have you on your knees for me?”
You gasp and your belly clenches again. Why do his words effect you so much?
He laughs. “It’s alright, you’re a kinky, little girl and your vanilla boyfriend just doesn’t cut it for you. Bet I’d have you cumming on my cock in no time.”
“Oh my god, Shane. Stop it.” You say shocked.
“Oh, you really gonna pretend like you don’t want that?” He laughs confidently.
“I-I’m not saying that..” You mutter onder your breath. “‘S just weird.. With you being my dad’s friend and all.”
“He’ll never find out. Don’t have to worry about that.”
“A-and I have a boyfriend..”
“..Who doesn’t know how to make you cum.” He finishes my sentence.
“I was gonna say ‘that I love’”
“Hmhmm.” He hums. -
And he whips his cock back out.
“Shane..” You whine. “Y-you’re like 20 years older than me..”
“You didn’t seem to care about that when you had my cock in your mouth just a minute ago.” He smirks, stroking himself. “Come here, lift up that skirt for me.”
“H-here?” You mumble.
“Hmhmm.. Right here seems perfect to me.”
“Oh my god..” You say, but you get up and close the distance again until you’re standing between his legs, facing him.
His hands travel up your thighs, under your skirt, hitching it up to your waist. “Mmmm.. So sexy..” He mutters as he sees your lace panties and he runs his thumb over your soaking seam. “Let’s take these off, hm?” He adds, more to himself than to you, before he rips them of your hips effortlessly and stuffs them in his pocket
“Shane!” You gasp.
He smirks up at you. “Stop pretending I’m not turning you on, sweetheart, you’re way too fucking wet for that..”
You don’t say anything. You just gasp and grab onto his shoulders, when he slides his fingers through your folds. He finds your clit and gently circles his fingers over it. “Oh fuck…” You moan and your knees buckle.
“Poor girl..” He chuckles. “Wound up sooo tight..”
“Please..” You whine desperately.
“Straddle me, give me that little pussy..” He helps you on top of him and places his cock at your entrance. “Ready for me, sweetheart?”
“Yessss..” You pant and he slowly guides you down over him.
“Fucking hell..” He growls. “So fucking tight, sweetheart.. Fuck..”
“Oh my godddd..” You whine. You bite your lip and squeeze your eyes shut as you feel him stretch you open almost painfully.
“Look at me.” He orders and you try, but your eyes roll back into your head as soon as he bottoms out inside you. “You’re so fucking sexy..” He rasps and his big hands grab your hips tightly as he guides you up and down over his length.
“Oh Shane..” You moan, grasping at his neck. Your legs shake with pleasure. If the sex itself feels like this, who needs a fucking orgasm.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you sweetheart?” He teases. “Like riding my cock like a dirty little slut, hmm? Like feeling me sooo deep inside that tight, little cunt?” He pushes as deep as he can to emphasize his words.
“Goddd.. Yess..” You whine. “So deep.. So gooddd..”
He growls and the sound makes your belly clench. Why is this so freaking hot?! Your clit is pulsing as you shamelessly rub against him and you feel closer to an orgasm than ever before.
“Can feel you squeezing me.. You’re close aren’t you?” He teases. “That fast? I thought it would be at least a little bit of a challenge.”
“Oh fuck.. Shane.. Please..” You beg for him to push you just that little bit further over the edge.
He groans. “Do it, baby.. Cum for me..” He rasps in your ear. “Cum on my fucking cock like the good little girl that you are.”
“Oh Shane!” You’re panting and sweating and he starts thrusting up into you.
“Yes.. Let me hear you.. This room is soundproof..” He says and he reaches between your bodies, pressing his thumb to your swollen clit.
“Oh god!” Your head falls forward, leaning on his shoulder. And you explode around him. That’s how it feels. A big, warm explosion that ignites from your core to your toes and fingertips. Your ears ring and it’s perfect! “YESSSSSS!”
Shane growls like a feral dog as he presses you down on him and rasps your name in your ear while he fills you up with his seed. “Holy fucking shit, that was hot..” He pants as he holds you tightly.
Emotions flood your body and you can’t stop yourself from crying. You press your face into him and sob into his shoulder.
“Hey, hey.. What’s that?” He says, gently pushing you away so he can see your face. “Did I hurt you?”
“N-no! G-god no! I-it was am-amazing..” You say. “I-I don’t know w-why I-I’m crying..”
“Oh sweet girl..” He smiles lovingly as he wipes at your tearstained cheeks. “You’re overwhelmed with all these feelings. You finally got the release you’re body needed. It’s okey. Totally normal.”
You calm down a little and you let everything that happened pass your mind. “I don’t understand..”
“What, baby?” He asks.
“How did I cum so easily now while I haven’t managed for years?” You ask.
He shrugs. “Some girls just need a little extra. The excitement of fucking me to get away with stealing, having sex here at the station, with your dad’s best friend.. There’s a whole psychological part to sex that you’ve probably never explored before.”
You nod. “What did you mean when you said you got me all figured out?”
He smiles. “I got the feeling you’d enjoy being submissive. You like pleasing me and hearing me praise you for it. That’s what I played into.”
You feel your face heat up as you’re feeling exposed. He smiles.
“Don’t be shy.. It was really, really hot. It’s exactly what I like too, sweetheart..” He leans in so his mouth is close to your ear. “I love to dominate and be vocal in bed. Make girls go absolutely crazy for my cock.. Tease them and make them beg..” He growls a little and you can feel him stiffen again inside you.
You moan a little.. That sounds so good.. You want more..
“Wanna explore that with me, sweetheart?” He asks. “There’s sooo much I can show you.. Wanna make you into my own personal little whore..”
“Fuckk..” You pant and you don’t even notice how you’ve started grinding on him again.
“Is that a yes?” He smirks.
“Yess..” You moan.
There’s another knock at the door that pulls both of you out your bubble.
“Fuck..” He says and you quickly get off, pull your skirt down and sit back in your own chair. Shane pushes his cock back in his pants clears his throat when the door is opened. “Are you done yet?” The same guy as before comes in.
“Yes, just finished.” Shane says as he smirks at you. He gets up and beckons you to get up as well.
“You feeling alright, sweetheart?” The man asks.
“Oh, eh, y-yes..” You say wide eyed. You have no idea how you look like, but apparently not that well.
“Had to scare her a little.. Made sure she won’t step a toe out of line going forward.”
“Is that Grimes’ daughter?” The man frowns.
“Yeah, ‘s why I’m letting her go with a warning. Don’t tell him, okey. She learned her lesson.”
He holds up his hands. “Didn’t see a thing.” He says.
“You can clean up in the bathroom. I’m almost done for the day, so I can give you a ride.”
“That’s okey, I’ll walk, need some fresh air, if that’s alright.” You say.
“Yeah, eh, sure.” He says. “I’ll call you later, okey..” He adds in a low voice so only you can hear.
You nod and quickly head to the bathroom as you can feel Shane’s release starting to drip down your thigh.
NOTES: this req really sparked something in me. It’s a short little thing but oh so good
TW: stepcest, no actual smut but talks of + descriptions, Rick ogling you, carl having a crush, everybody loves you basically, Shane feeling you up in the hallway, I think that’s it but lmk
Shane notices it before you do.
Rick’s eyes. They linger too long. On your legs when you cross them on the couch. On your ass when you bend to grab a soda from the fridge. On your mouth when you laugh at something Carl says. Shane sees it all, the way his best friend watches you like he’s trying not to—but he is. And it makes Shane’s blood burn.
Rick tries to play it off like he’s just passing through, being polite. But Shane knows the difference between casual and hungry. And that look on Rick’s face? That’s hunger.
And then there’s Carl. Sweet kid. Always trailing after you, grinning like a fool every time you so much as pat his shoulder. Shane almost pities him—it’s just a crush, a boy’s harmless daydream. But still, watching it grates. The way Carl stares at you across the dinner table, blushing when you ask him about school. Shane clenches his jaw. Everyone sees you. Everyone wants a piece.
But only he has you.
The girl he wasn’t supposed to want, not in a million years. The one who was meant to be his stepdaughter, someone he should’ve kept at arm’s length. Instead, you’re the one he comes home to, the one spread out beneath him at night, trembling and sweet, begging him not to stop. He knows how wrong it looks from the outside—but it doesn’t matter. He’s already too far gone.
Only Shane knows what you sound like when you’re whimpering into his chest, nails dragging down his back. Only he knows how warm and tight you get when you’re spread out beneath him, begging him to go deeper, harder. Only he’s the one who fucks you until your voice breaks and you’re sobbing his name
Rick doesn’t know the way you arch for him. Doesn’t know the way you come apart on his cock. Nobody else knows. Nobody else will.
So when it happens again—Rick brushing by you in the narrow hallway, his hand skating along the small of your back as he squeezes past—Shane’s patience snaps. He’s on you before Rick’s even two steps away, a big hand closing around your waist, dragging you flush against him. His other hand slides low, fingers splaying over your hip like a brand.
Rick glances back just long enough to see Shane’s hand there—firm, possessive, leaving no doubt—and clears his throat, muttering something about needing to check on Carl. He disappears fast.
You giggle softly, tilting your head back toward Shane, your voice light, teasing. “Jealous much?” you murmur, eyes sparkling. You know exactly what he’s doing, and you can’t help but smile at it. “He’s just being polite, Shane.”
Shane presses in close, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a low rumble that makes your knees weak.
“Sweetheart,” he croons, slow and dangerous, “there ain’t nothin’ polite about the way he stares at you. Man looks at you like he’s undressin’ you right there in front of god and everybody.” His grip tightens on your hip, keeping you pinned. “And I can’t fuckin’ stand it.”
You laugh again, soft and sweet, brushing your hand up his arm. “You’re crazy,” you whisper, playful, though your pulse gives you away. “But I like knowing you’ll remind me who I belong to.”
He groans low, kissing the corner of your mouth, slow and rough all at once. “Damn right, I will. Rick can stare holes through you, Carl can blush ‘til his face permanently turns red—but they’ll never know you. They’ll never touch you. That’s for me, and me alone.”
You whimper softly, thighs squeezing together, but your voice is still playful, warm. “Mhm. Only yours, Shane. Always.”
That does him in. He smirks, biting lightly at your earlobe.
“Should make you show him,” he mutters darkly. “Should sit you in my lap right in front of him. Let him watch me spread you open, let him see who you belong to. He wouldn’t be able to look at you the same way again.”
Your cheeks burn, but you giggle against his jaw, kissing him quickly, sweetly. “You’re awful,” you whisper, though your body trembles against him. “And I’d still let you.”
His laugh is rough, disbelieving, and he tilts your chin up, making you meet his eyes.
“Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” he says, softer now but no less intense. “I’d be crazy to ever let another man within 5ft of you, ‘specially not with you lookin’ all pretty like you do.”
He kisses you hard then, swallowing your gasp, his hand heavy on your ass, holding you against the hard line of him. When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen, your breath shaky, and your smile is dizzy-sweet.
And just like that, his jealousy burns into satisfaction. Because Rick can look, Carl can dream—but you’re here. With Shane. Sweet, playful, teasing, but his. The girl he should’ve never touched, but couldn’t let go of now if he tried.
a/n: sorry this took so long, i had it written up in abt a day and then got caught up with so much hw it was ridiculous. but im back and thanks to @a-vampire-bat this isn't as much of a mess as it was (writing in anything but past tense is actually so difficult for me i dont know why) so thank you vvv much !!
leave all requests here…
jealous!rick
– who’s careful to keep how he feels quiet, but that doesn’t stop his body from speaking for him. most people wouldn’t recognize it, but those closest to him realize it in an instant–the way his jaw would tense, how his eyes lock onto you like a hunter to a deer, and that deep crease sinking further into his brow the longer he would scowl.
– if you got the hint and were able to pry yourself away from whoever was getting too close, rick was quick to mark his territory. his hands would be on you the entire day, starting with subtle, creeping hands that always found their way to the small of your back–tapping impatient circles on your skin, he would try to distract himself from whoever was bothering him in the moment.
– any longer in public than he had anticipated and he would begin to slowly wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest–a seemingly innocent gesture. it wasn’t until after a few minutes would go by and he’d slowly sway your hips in sync, humming to whatever melody was stuck in his head, only to brush his lips impatiently against your ear.
– “y’know everyone in here s’lookin’ at how pretty you are,” he’d whisper, breath leaving goosebumps in its wake. “some of ‘em gettin’ too good of a look.” his voice more stern now, he’d grip your waist tight, pulling you even closer.
– once you two were alone, he would always be quick to run his mouth. “i don’t like the way he was talkin’ to you–gettin’ so close like that.” he’d seeth, lips already sucking spots into your skin, fingertips roaming the hem of your shirt. “he ain’t makin’ it in the group makin’ moves at you like that.”
– you’d try to protest, brush the interaction off as playful banter–that they were just trying to be friendly. rick would have none of it though, possessiveness running deep in his veins at the thought of what was his being taken. the group itself was a large enough responsibility–one that the actions of were mostly out of his control, people did what they wanted and kept secrets–but you, you were something that was certain.
– he would love the way you always looked up to him, those big puppy dog eyes glancing up at him each time something went wrong, knowing he’d have the answer, and even if he didn’t, you’d trust him to come up with one. his jealousy wouldn’t stem from a lack of trust or some deep insecurity, but rather the fact that he knew you relied on him to swoop in and claim his mark–almost expected it.
– no matter the pushback, the excuses you’d give, it was all some drawn out game to see that territorial glint in his eyes, the way his grip would gain some extra force, that last bit of restraint within him snapping. so when he would stuff you deep, hands clumsily wrapped in your hair, you were right where you wanted to be.
– typically rick was a giving lover, a more tender and gentle approach to sex–only even referring to it as ‘making love’–but things would be different when he gets jealous. it’d be raw passion, barely ever even making it to the bedroom. he’d have you draped over the first surface he could find in the house. rick would be teasing and cruel, chasing his own release while denying you your own and only after you had properly begged for it would he give it to you.
“think you deserve to cum, hmm?” he’d tease, playfully smiling down at you, brushing the hair from your eyes. “let me hear what you’d say next time someone tries to talk to you like that? maybe then you’ll get a reward.”
babbling out nonsense, you’d grab at his chest, trying to brace yourself against the counter.
“p-please, i need it so bad,” you’d whine, arching your back up into him each time he’d pull away.
he’d tsk, popping his slick coated fingers into your mouth. “that’s not what i asked, darlin’.” although his pace was slower, each time he’d pull out there would be a brief moment before he’d slam back into your walls, ripping a muffled scream from your lips.
jealous!daryl
– daryl would be more vocal in the moment, typically resorting to a short burst of anger that he would instantly regret. any lingering emotions would all be tucked back within himself, hiding in some reserved shell the rest of the day.
– without a second thought, anytime he saw something that made him the slightest bit jealous, there would immediately be a conflict. he would come in between you and whoever was getting too close, angrily spitting out a warning.
– “i ain’t one to talk so i advise you back off,” he’d say, voice low with warning. turning to you, his arms would be crossed, not the slightest hint of amusement in his stare. “‘n don’t you start lookin’ at me like you’re all innocent.” his words, coming from a deep place of insecurity and mistrust, would test your patience and press a nerve sometimes, but you always knew it was a storm that would pass.
– sometimes you’d give into his anger, push back when he’d step too far and his insults crossed a line. even though you would know he didn’t mean it, there were times he wouldn’t know when to stop and you’d scream right back at him with tears prickling in your eyes.
– daryl would usually be the first to storm off. in any other situation he would resort to violence, be hasty to get his fists across anyone’s face who ticked him off the way you did. but he knew it wasn’t actually you, rather a version of yourself his mind tried to make him see–a false reality of a hateful, cruel lover who was using him, just like everyone else in his life. so he would remove himself from the situation, especially when he could see the hurt written plain across your face, loud and clear for him to see and feel like a bullet through the chest.
– letting his feet take him wherever, he always took a walk after he let his jealousy get the best of him. clearing his mind, he’d rehearse some fumbled apology in his mind–the words never coming out as sincere as he’d meant them. only when the sun dipped low beneath the horizon would he come back, knowing that despite being mad, you were still worried for him.
– head hung low, daryl would creep back into the camp, guilt bubbling in his chest. you were of course awake and waiting for him, arms crossed as you held your gun steady in your hands–pointed straight at him. “tell me why i shouldn’t shoot you right now, daryl.” he knew you would never, just trying to show how worried you were without actually having to say it. “had rick on my ass for hours asking where you were.”
– he would never admit it, but he loved the way you worried about him–the way you’d make him feel cared for. even if it was through stern scolding and harsh swears, he knew it was all because you loved him and it reeled him in each time. “m’real sorry.” he’d say your name to get your attention, let you know that he truly means it. “shouldn’t have said all that stuff…i jus’ don’ like seein’ guys look at you like that. they get all bug eyed like they ain’t ever seen a pretty woman before ‘n-”
– you’d always cut him off in his rambles, reassure him that things were okay and you’d always be right there waiting for him. “shut up,” you’d sigh, patting the spot next to you. “i’ve been up all night, the least you could do is give me a good night's sleep.”
– smiling, he’d wonder what he did to deserve someone as understanding as you. no matter how many times he’d let his own self get in the way of things, let his self-doubt speak for him, you were always there to reassure him. he’d lay beside you, back turned with that last piece of guilt shielding him from fully giving into you. wrapping your arm around his waist, you’d pull yourself closer, breathing in his scent.
jealous!shane
– this man would go absolutely feral for you if you’d let him. over time he’d learn to control his temper, lower his impulses and not do anything you’d be disappointed in him for later. that temper would never leave him though–fist clenched and jaw tense, he would immediately be by your side the second he smelt trouble.
– even if things seemed innocent enough, the second you were alone with any man, he would intervene. whether it was more subtle like casually tossing his arm over your shoulders, or to make a statement like bumping shoulders with whoever you were speaking to, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close while he took over the conversation–shane always made his appearance.
– in the beginning of your relationship he would be more violent. shove, punch, or even beat any guy that so dared to innocently flirt with you. after many screaming matches and late night arguments though, shane was able to take out his jealousy in another way.
– he knew you were all his and you made it clear to him that you knew it too. giving yourself to him each time you stumbled to bed after a big dinner or party–sometimes wandering further away from the group–his hands would be all over you, roughly grasping at every part of your skin, marking the parts that only he could see.
– even with your entire body marked as his–bite marks, scratches, his scent lingering deep into your skin–it still wouldn’t be enough for him. every outing where there would be new people, someone he’d sense as a threat, he would be right there beside you the entire night. when someone would call him off to the side, no matter the urgency, you were either coming with him or he was sat still with you happily talking away seated right on his lap.
– shane’s jealousy would be just a permanent part of him nor would he care to learn where it stemmed from–if anything at all. it would always be a large part of him, the reason he had never kept a solid relationship. but with you, his jealousy was something you would crave–the possessiveness a trait you had just expected with him. his endless desire for you would be shown through every word, lingering touch, and the way he made sure everyone in the room knew you were his.
– in his moments of anger, the rage he’d feel boiling in his stomach would never be directed at you. he knew you’d only had eyes for him–he was just upset that others couldn’t see that too. so if it took the occasional bloodied fist and broken nose for someone to get the hint, then that’s what he would do.
a special thanks to my taglist ♡
@death-in-a-tar0t-card @skankhvnt42
(message me to be added or removed)
Yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay..... Yay
well then:) have some the walking dead visuals:)
🌽 link masterlist
cw: fingering, spanking, rough sex in general, kissing, bondage, cnc,
{ again, looks of the people in the vids have nothing to do with how I see the characters or readers, most vids are straight porn unless said otherwise, ignore captions on the vids; all links are twt}
♡ - Sometimes he can't help himself. quiet mornings when everyone is still asleep are his favourite to spend with you, even if it is just a few minutes.
♡ - Coming back to you after a supply run that lasted just a little too long, he needs to show you how much he missed you.
♡ - even if he doesn't always feel up for sex, he makes sure you dont leave unhappy
♡ - daryl really isnt the person you'd wanna mouth off to, ever
♡ - the others are really starting to wonder why daryl always asks you to come on runs with him
♡ - stress balls :)
♡ - Anywhere and anytime he can get you, you best believe he'll take you.
♡ - he knows you cant always keep quiet when you two fuck, but hes more than happy to help you a little.
♡ - calm afternoons
♡ - Negan's got a way of showing you just how much you'll love staying with him.
♡ - sure hed take you out on a date, you'd just have to ask! even if the outbreak makes it hard to plan something nice, a picnic's always nice.
♡ - breaking in new arrivals isn't always as easy as is it is with you
♡ - showing you who's boss
♡ - you like to think youre in control when you're on top of him, but he tends to show you that you're not pretty quick.
♡ - sneaking into your tent at night so he can make sure you don't forget who takes the best care of you
MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST // FRANK CASTLE MASTERLIST
Pairing: Frank Castle x f!Reader
Summary: Frank comes home roughed up and restless after a tough night. When he finds reader asleep in the pretty pink panties he bought for her, he doesn’t have it in himself to be gentle with her.
Wordcount: 1.4k
a/n: sORRY bearded frank just gets me idk im just a girl idk what you want me to do. around 1.3k of these words are smut. the other .1k are set up and the ending lol
A pressure nudged at your consciousness, making you all too aware of Frank’s presence in the bed you shared with him. His figure hovered over you, rough sweeps of his hand beginning at the nape of your neck and ending at the curve of your hips. You blinked awake, confused by the sudden alertness. You were facedown, hugging his pillow to your chest. Glancing at the clock, you realized you must’ve dozed off while waiting for Frank to come home.
Confusion muddied your senses. It was only two in the morning. Normally, Frank was out until dawn, only crawling into bed with you as the sun was rising on Hell’s Kitchen.
“It’s early, Frankie,” you mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “Is everything okay?”
He pressed his lips to your shoulder, nipping at the cool skin he found there. A slight grunt pulled your attention to his face, finding a spattering of new bruises across his face. His cheekbone was slightly swollen, purple pooled under his right eye, and his jaw was littered with differing shades of red.
“Jesus, Frank,” you stuttered, turning to fully face him. “What happened?”
His voice was pure heat as he shook his head, avoiding the question. His eyes raked down your body, clothed in only one of his old t-shirts and a pair of panties that you knew drove him insane. A smile tugged at your lips, but only slightly. The hollow look in his eyes, the bruises littering his perfect face, and the stiffness of his spine told you it had been a rough night. You could think of a thing or two that might take his mind off it for a while.
Your fingers found the hem of your t-shirt, slowly creeping the fabric up your torso and over your head. His tongue darted across his lower lips as your tits bounced slightly. His eyes were so dark that they almost looked black in the dim light of the bedroom.
He shifted, capturing your nipple in his mouth in a swift, hurried movement. His hand quickly found your other breast, running his violent hands over the sensitive area with fervor. A small whine escaped your throat at the rough contact.
“Tell me to stop,” he grunted, voice low enough to send heat directly to your core. His mouth made its way up your chest in a whirl of tongue, teeth, and desire. He paused to nip at the sensitive area on your neck before pulling away to look at you again. “Tell me to stop, sweetheart.”
“I can’t,” you breathed.
You knew Frank would stop everything if you asked, but the look in his eyes told you he needed this. You were his home – his life – and he needed you.
“I want you to, Frankie,” you uttered, brushing your fingers through the hair on the back of his head, “I need it too.”
The remarkable restraint Frank had somehow been reigning in since he noticed your pretty pink panties finally snapped, and suddenly you were being pulled to the edge of the bed and flipped onto your stomach again. A small squeal left your lips, electricity buzzing in the air as Frank manhandled you.
“You look so fucking pretty,” he said, hands squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise, “Can’t think straight when you look like this, baby.”
You gasped as Frank’s hand swatted your ass, branding the soft skin with his handprint.
“I always look like this, Frankie,” you said, smirking as you worked him up even further.
Another smack. A sinful moan escaped your lips as he grunted, “I know, baby. ‘lways look so fuckin’ perfect for me.”
His hands smoothed over the skin on your ass, probably already welting from all the attention. His fingers slipped beneath your panties, teasing your clit with slow circles. An unforgettable groan sounded in his throat when he found evidence of your arousal.
“Perfect,” he breathed, clenching the fabric of your panties with his free hand.
You whined as he slid two fingers into you at a torturous pace, watching as you squirmed beneath him.
“Oh fuck, Frank,” you moaned, clenching around his fingers.
Suddenly, he removed his fingers, but before you could whine at the loss of contact, you felt the unmistakable tug of Frank ripping your panties from your body. The fabric, now torn beyond repair, was thrown to the side. Frank dropped to his knees, wrapping his massive hands around your thighs.
“Changed my mind,” he said squeezing, “Need to taste you.”
You barely had time to process the shift before his tongue was attacking your folds. You buried your head into the blankets, moaning. His tongue was a work of art, you decided, as he toyed with your clit. Your legs shook with sudden pleasure, and another sinful moan echoed off the bedroom walls.
Frank might be incredibly reckless and aggressive in every other aspect of his life, but he was surprisingly detailed when it came to eating you out, though there were still hints of his violent nature in the way he attacked your clit. His tongue knew exactly where to press, lick, and suck to bring you closer and closer to the edge. He teased your entrance with his tongue more than once, eliciting a whine every time. When his fingers finally found their place again, pumping in and out of you, he hummed against your clit.
A delightful laugh tumbled out of you, already so close to coming. Frank was very good at giving you orgasms, a trick that he’d showcased as frequently as he could. He knew your body better than you, and you couldn’t help but lean into the feeling as he took control of your pleasure.
His fingers sped up, shaking the bedframe as he continued eating you out. Heat was building quickly in your core, begging for release.
“Frankie,” you whined, “’m gonna come. Can I?”
You knew that question would please him. Frank wasn’t the type to tell you what to do, but he loved when you submitted to him in the bedroom. Frank pulled away from you for a moment, and though you couldn’t see him, you knew a wide smirk was plastered on his face.
“Come for me, sweetheart. You’ve earned it,” he said, bringing his other hand to your ass, squeezing the flesh before returning his lips to your sensitive pussy.
His fingers curled at the same time that his tongue pressed against your clit. Your orgasm crashed out of you, pulling all the air from the room for a moment. Your pussy clenched around his fingers, begging for more. Your legs shook, heat washing over your body as stars overtook your vision.
When your vision finally cleared, you breathed heavily into the blanket. Frank, the sinful man that he was, hadn’t slowed his pace. His fingers continued to pump in and out of you. His tongue flicked your sensitive clit, overstimulating you beyond belief.
“Fuck, F-Frank,” you swallowed, squirming.
Seemingly satisfied with his work, he slowly pulled his fingers out of you. He pressed a kiss to your pussy, standing to watch you slowly make your way back to him. He rubbed the sensitive skin on your ass, kissing the welts with a sort of gentleness that only Frank could muster.
“My panties,” you whined, eyeing the fabric he’d so carelessly tossed to the floor earlier.
Frank grinned, pinching your hip before picking up the underwear. He held it up by the string, wincing a little at the carnage.
“I’ll buy you new ones.” He said, dropping them to the floor and settling onto the bed next to you.
“You said that last time.” You arched an eyebrow at him, resting your head on your hands and sighing.
“And the time before that,” he added, chuckling at his own joke.
You shook your head, grinning.
“They better be expensive. And pink. Better yet, get me two pairs since you can’t help but tear them apart anyways.”
content warnings | dry humping, fem!reader, distracted frank, soft!dom!frank, sub!reader, age gap (reader 20s, frank obvs 40s), daddy kink
Sometimes Frank Castle was too busy for his girl— he tried not to make a habit of it, knowing just how fussy you got when he was distracted for long periods of time, but when he was busy, he was busy. Just like today, there was nothing he could do. He clocked your exasperated sighs the second they escaped your mouth, but he didn’t have time to inquire about your mood and feel out the slight attitude.
“You gonna be a big girl or you gon’ whine?” Frank finally asked by the third deep breath sounding from your general direction. He had a book tucked between his hands, researching some stuff related to his vigilante day job that you didn’t really care to understand (he liked it that way, anyway). “C’mere. Sit next to dad while he works, yeah?”
Your brows knit together, a crease forming in the middle of your forehead as you register Frank’s words. In just a few steps, you’re standing in front of him, your lips jutted out in a soft pout as you mutter, “Just want some attention, that’s all.”
“Yeah? Let me check you,” Frank asks, setting his book down beside him and pulling you in between his legs. Your cotton shorts are thin and baggy, allowing Frank room to wiggle his finger in between your panties and cunt, collecting your arousal on his digits. His eyes widen, a delicate smirk curving his lips upward as he looks at you. “Ah, so that’s why my baby’s so whiny?”
“Uh huh,” the confirmation is fussy, desperation lingering in your tone. Frank presses his slick fingers against your mouth, clicking his teeth as you swirl your tongue around his hand to clean up the mess you left behind. With his free hand, he picks his book back up and then glances at his jean-clad thigh, offering you a spot to straddle.
“Take what you need,” Frank tells you. This isn’t the first time he’s let you use his thigh to get yourself off when he was busy, and maybe it’s not your favorite method because you like being the center of attention, but it’ll have to do for now. You keep the cotton shorts on, offering a gentle piece of fabric to separate your cunt from the roughness of his jeans and begin rocking yourself back and forth. Frank isn’t even looking at you as you move yourself on him, but you know he’s half paying attention because every so often he flexes his thigh to offer some more stimulation against your clit. It isn’t long until your orgasm approaches, your pussy clenching around nothing as the height of your climax shakes through you. It’s sticky and wet, fluids drenching the plane of your panties and the soft cotton material of your shorts.
You wince at the slight overstimulation while you ride out the rest of your orgasm, and as soon as Frank is sure you’ve reached completion, he’s got his book closed. “You’ve been a real good girl today, you know that? So patient.”
“Yeah?” you search his eyes, skin hot and sweaty from all the work you put into getting yourself off. “You mean that?”
“I mean that, baby. Go clean up, change your bottoms. I’m gonna take you out for a treat and you don’t want people to see how messy you are.”
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