Francesca🦢🌾🌙

who up travelling blindly with Suzanne…

[sansastark-lvr]

Nightingale

Pairing: dbf!ShaneWalsh x reader

This is part 3, find the first two parts on my page!

Summary: Tensions run high between you and your dad’s best friend at your homecoming barbecue.

Tags: Age- gap relationship, forbidden trope, dads best friend, no- outbreak TWD, TWD modern au, 18+ themes MDNI

Warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, suggestive language, kissing, heavy petting, masturbation

a/n: Here’s part three! Enjoy x

Chapter Three: Homecoming Queen You woke on the morning of the barbecue at an ungodly hour, your dad banging down the door and tossing a pillow at your pounding head. “Let’s get moving, Bug, I want the backyard spiffy in two hours.” 

 You groaned and turned your phone over, cursing at the string of texts. Most were from Carla; unintelligible drunken spews of “did you get home safe” and “did you get lucky” but something else caught your eye. It was a text from an unknown number, one that simply read “let’s do that again sometime, babe.” Oh fuck. Tommy.

To his credit, last night hadn’t been so bad. He had fumbled a few times trying to get it in and at one point he had even started to rub your left lip vigorously, panting “that the spot, baby?” in your ear. Hey, at least you got to finish- most of the guys at college would just give you friction burn on your vagina and dip. In the cold light of day, however, it was starting to feel like a mistake; especially if Tommy was about to go all white picket fence on you again. God, what were you thinking? You couldn’t even really remember why you had-ohhh fuck. Shane. His blonde bimbo. You getting down like Jennifer Grey in dirty dancing while he watched…

“Alrighty!” You yell aloud to the room, kicking your legs out over the bed frame. “Time to get to work.”

————————-

You were trying on your fifth dress when the first few guests arrived, bearing cold salads and cold beers. You could really do with the latter right now. God, why were you so nervous? The backyard looks perfect; you had put up cute bunting and pulled out the garden furniture- as for what you were wearing, you doubted your pensioner neighbours would take much notice even if you walked out in a trash bag. So what was the churning feeling in your stomach? Was it Tommy? Hangxiety? Or was it the knowledge that Shane would be here soon, with his big stupid gorgeous…Nope. Not going there. You tugged back on the first dress you had tried on, a green sundress with lace trimmings and raked a hand through your curls. Game face on, bitch.

When you stepped out into the sun, the backyard was already milling with neighbours. You smiled at the ones you recognised; Mr Miller and his daughter Sarah from down the road, Old Mrs. Graham who made the best sugar cookies in the county plus a few others you remembered from school. You made a point of avoiding eye contact with Tommy, who arrived with the friends he used to hang with in school. The rest were your dads' buddies from the police force and random folks from town. You drifted around for a few hours, dipping in and out of conversations and offering around plates of food. It felt good to hear home accents again, to gossip with old friends from school and banter with your dads' coworkers. It also felt good to ignore Shane, whose eyes had been boring into your skull the past two hours. You knew without turning around that he had a smug smirk on his face and a wink that said he knows exactly what he does to you. You’d die before you gave him the satisfaction.

Later in the evening you were sat around the small bonfire, doubled over with laughter hearing Sarah Miller recall a story from junior year involving her and your old Phys Ed teacher who used to frequent the girl's locker room whenever he wanted. As the laughter died down, she turned to you.

“Hey, whatever happened to your music career?” she says, elbowing you playfully. “You used to promise all of us front row tickets to your sold out world tour, I’m not forgetting about that.”

You groan and cover your eyes. “Oh God, let's not even go there. I gave up on that about two days into Senior Year when I realised singing doesn’t get you a house and a steady job. That ship has looong sailed baby.”

Sarah frowns. “Are you kidding me? You don’t have a voice like yours and wish for a steady job. You should be headlining Madison Square and snorting coke with your groupies backstage!”

You choke on the beer halfway down your throat, pounding your chest and wheezing. “You have such a way with words, Sarah Miller.”

“No seriously!” She rebuts, “I still remember when you sang for graduation, you made my dad cry!”

You shake your head, amused. “Joel Miller? Crying? Now I really know you're messing with me, Sar.”

She goes to interject again when a crash sounds out behind you, and shouts go up. Whipping around quickly, you can vaguely make out two men laid out on the grass, trading blows. Jesus, if that’s not a sign to wrap this party up…

You follow the crowd over to the commotion, rolling up your non-existent sleeves and preparing to separate the brawlers. But when the crowd parts you gasp, your hand flying to your mouth. Laid out on the grass is Tommy Benson, his lip bloodied, sneering at the man who had him pinned down by the collar. And the man doing the pinning was Shane fucking Walsh.

“What the fuck?” you shout, pushing the onlookers aside and sprinting to their side. In a panic, you latch onto Shane’s elbow and yank with all your strength, your heels dug into the grass to pull his hulking weight from Tommy. Your dad has emerged from the crowd and has Tommy by the back of his shirt, hauling him backwards in the grass and pulling him upright. Shane falls back against you, his back meeting your chest, panting hard. He spins around to confront whoever pulled him off, his eyes wild and his jaw tight. Seeing you, he stills like a deer in headlights, his mouth opening and closing with no sound. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as the crowd parts, allowing your dad through with Tommy, leading him out the back gate. With the crowds' backs turned you seize the moment, grabbing Shane’s hand and hauling him into the house. Shane doesn’t say a word as you pull him up the stairs, staying silent as you drag him into your room and shut the door behind you. Neither of you speak as you walk into your en suite, running a cloth under the tap for his bloodied face while he paces back and forth by your window. The anger rolls of him in waves, his hands curled into fists, his jaw working and his broad shoulders tight.

“Sit down, Shane” you order, pointing to your bed.

He shakes his head silently, not meeting your eyes and you snap. “Shane, sit the fuck down.”

He finally stops pacing, his wide eyes meeting yours as he crouches and sits on the edge of your bed. He holds your gaze as you come to stand in front of him, spreading his knees to let you in closer.

“What the fuck was that, huh?” you demand, bringing the cold cloth to his split brow, ignoring his hiss of pain.

Shane doesn’t speak, he just looks up at you, his eyes flitting between your own, like he’s trying to discern what you’re thinking.

Annoyed, you press the cloth into the cut harder and he curses, his hand shooting out and gripping onto your hip. You try to ignore the heat of his palm, the press of his fingers so close you may aswell have nothing on.

“You” he mutters, his gaze on the hand at your waist. “It was about you.”

Now it’s your turn to be silent, struck dumb at the admission. “Me? What do I have to do with you pinning Tommy Benson to the ground?” you splutter.

“I heard him. I heard that little shit bragging about you to his bonehead friends” his voice is rough as he speaks, “he was telling them how he took you home last night, told ‘em he had your panties down in his backseat. Told ‘em how your body looked, how you sounded, he said you- “He trails off at the last with a curse, his fingers spasming tighter on your hip.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your cheeks burning. Fucking Tommy. You should’ve known he’d mouth off. He did tell you that the people in this town had nothing better to do. You don’t care so much about whatever Tommy had said, boys like him will always brag. You’re just embarrassed at the thought of Shane hearing those things about you- did he think you were some cheap whore now? Was he disgusted by you? Wait, why should you care? He didn’t seem too bothered last night when he had his tongue down some randoms throat.

Annoyance flares up in you, “And what, you were protecting my honour? I don’t need you fighting off suitors for me, Shane, I’m a grown woman. And I don’t care what he says about me.”

“I care!” Shane grounds out, his jaw flexing, “I care when he’s disrespecting you, I care when he’s talking about his hands on your body, I care when he’s mouthing off about how you sound and how you fucking taste, kid!”

You swallow, stepping closer until your knees hit the inside of his thighs. His mouth parts slightly, looking up at you with a loaded stare.

“And why do you care, Shane?” you challenge.

His throat bobs and his gaze drops, the hand on your waist dropping down to finger the lace hem of your dress, his knuckles brushing the hot skin of your thigh.

His touch makes you bold, and you slowly drop to your knees in-front of him, your hands coming up to rest on his knees. He raises his brows at you, his pupils blown out, not making any move to stop you.

“I said, why would you care about that, Shane?” you blink up at him, eyelashes fluttering.

He holds your stare and his hand comes back up to bracket your hip, his thumb rubbing hot circles into the soft flesh. “I tell you yet how fucking gorgeous you look in this dress, kid?”

You suck a breath in, your mind short circuiting at the feel of his thumb at your hip. Your hands inch higher on his legs, trailing up onto the hard muscle of his thigh. Breathing hard, his forehead comes to fall on yours, his nose knocking against your own. Your mouth parts on instinct, and his eyes follow the movement, his free hand shooting up to cradle your jaw and his thumb pulling the soft flesh of your lip down, watching as it flips back into place. You whine quietly, your skin hot and thrumming with need. His jaw flexes once, twice, as if he’s holding himself back, and then- “Ah, fuck.”

He surges toward, his lips crashing against your own. His mouth is hot and insistent against yours, devouring it like he can’t control himself. His tongue darts out to run across the seam of your lips, pushing into your mouth roughly and you suck on it hungrily. His hand flies up and gropes your breast through your dress, his fingers pinching your nipple, making you moan out.

His head jerks back suddenly, mouth pulling off yours, groaning when he sees the string of saliva between your lips. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and takes your own, hauling you up roughly to your feet.

“Jesus, what am I doing,” he swears “what the fuck am I doing. We can’t do this you’re…you’re…fuck, kid, we can’t do this.”

He stands abruptly, and looks at you one last time, his expression tortured at the stunned look on your face. And then he turns and stalks out the door, slamming it behind him, leaving you alone in the room. What the hell was that.

—————————-

That night, Shane grapples with sleep. He turns over, and back again, groaning and cursing as he does so. The clock on his bedside reads 3:40am. Fucking great. He knows why he can’t sleep. Every-time, he shuts his eyes, he sees it. You, on your knees at his feet, your big doe eyes gazing up at him. When he turns his ear to the pillow, he can still hear it. The wet smack of your lips against his, the fucking sound you made when his hand was full of your- stop. Jesus Christ, Shane, she’s a kid. She’s Ricks kid. But he couldn’t stop, your face was printed on the backs of his eyelids. Your eyes, your hair, your smile, your laugh. The soft feel of your skin, the constant dare in your eyes, the sweet sounds he knew you would make if your lips were wrapped around his cock. Ah, fuck it.

Shane pulls the waistband of his boxers down hurriedly, groaning aloud when his hand meets his semi hard dick. The rough of his palm is nothing compared to your gentle hands stroking his thighs, but he’s too far gone to care, his fist rocking up and down his shaft rapidly, squeezing it tight. Would you squeeze it this tight? Would your hand be big enough to wrap around his whole cock or would you use two? God, he was a sick, sick bastard. He could see it in his mind, his hand running down your bare back, your face buried in the pillow while he rocked into your mercilessly. If he thought hard enough, he could almost feel the tight grip of your- “FUCK” he shouts, his hand stilling as he finishes, his spend splashing onto his stomach. Breathing hard, he grabs tissue from his bedside and cleans himself off. He would never let this happen again.

[sansastark-lvr]

Nightingale

Pairing: dbf!ShaneWalsh x reader

This is part two to https://www.tumblr.com/sansastark-lvr/821535000219582465/nightingale

Chapter Summary: You run into an old flame at the bar, but your father’s best friend, Shane, is keeping a close eye.

Tags: Age gap relationship, forbidden romance trope, dads best friend, no- outbreak TWD, TWD modern au, 18+ themes MDNI

Warnings: alcohol consumption, foul language, suggestive language, no smut just tension

a/n: Here is part two!! a little longer than the last, i’m slowly getting back into writing lmao, enjoy :)

Chapter Two: Game, Set, Match. It only took 24 hours of you being home for the whole town to catch on, all thanks to your dad who had planned a barbecue party in your honour and invited everyone in a ten-mile radius. The thought of plastering on a fake smile for a whole evening and catching up with your old classmates who still think drinking down at the Old Mill is cool was wearing on your nerves already. Thankfully, you had tonight to unwind; your old High School girl group had texted into a long dead group-chat and suggested hitting the town (quote unquote hard) in celebration of your homecoming. You had jumped at the chance, eager to let your hair down after the tension of last nights dinner. The conversation had flowed easily enough, but every now and then you would catch Shane’s eye, and you could’ve sworn you had seen his eyes darken, as if he knew you were clenching your thighs together underneath the table. This heat was clearly doing things to your brain. High time for a drink. —————————-

Rafferty’s Bar was swamped with warm bodies, dancing and laughing and picking fights with one another. It was your second stop of the night and starting to look like your last. Without really knowing how, when, or why you found yourself on the dance floor, your boots peeling off the sticky -liquored floor as you swung your hips to the beat of the shitty cover band’s music. Your friend Carla appears suddenly and winds her arms around your waist from behind, her raucous laughing in your ear barely distinguishable over the pound of music and conversation. Her boyfriend approaches from the bar with two drinks in hand, passing one of to her and dragging her away to a quiet corner. You tip your head back and laugh as she’s hauled away, but your laughter dies in your throat when another pair of arms catch you in a light headlock. You twist around drunkenly to fight off who you think will be some slimy barfly, only to bump chests with someone more familiar.

“Tommy?!” you shout incredulously over the crowd “Tommy Benson is that you?”

“In the flesh” your ex-boyfriend laughs, pushing his hat back to look down at you properly. “You still angry at me from five summers back or is that just how they greet folks in the city?”

You cringe and lower your half-raised fist, swatting his chest playfully. “As much as you deserve it, I think i’m gonna need a few more drinks before I start scrapping.”

Tommy flashes a white grin, and winds his arm around your waist, his thumb brushing your rib cage. “Well, I think I can help you with that, baby. Promise i’ll let you land one big one on me before the nights out.”

You bite your lip and let him lead you to the bar, cursing yourself mentally. Tommy was your boyfriend for the summer before you left for university, and he was definitely a good distraction for those three months- but you had called it off quickly once you realised he was looking to settle down young and never wanted to leave town. The night you broke up with him ended up being quite the spectacle in the town, the two of you hurling insults at one another by the bonfire down at the Old Mill, your drunk classmates egging you both on. You remembered the slight sting of guilt you had felt that night once it was over, knowing that he would never leave this cramped town. Tommy had been a sweet boy, but the man pushing a drink towards you now looked anything but sweet. He stood a few inches over you, his shirt well filled out with muscles he didn’t have when you saw him last and a thick porn stache that he definitely didn’t have when you left him. Was it Rafferty’s dingy lighting or was Tommy Benson hot now?

“So,” he starts as he leans against the bar beside you “return of the Queen. You’re the talk of the town, you know that?”

“I find that hard to believe” you snort “people have better things to be doing with their time.”

“No, no, I’m serious. I heard it in the store this morning; Rick Grimes little girl is back in town, only shes not so little anymore. Looks like I heard right. You don’t look like the teenage girl that broke my heart all those years ago.” He looks at you long and hard, the corners of his mouth curling up abashedly.

You palm your forehead and grimace, embarrassed all of a sudden despite the confidence the alcohol was giving you. “God, you make me sound so evil. I guess I kind of was at that age” you recall.

“You guess?” Tommy scoffs “You told me you needed someone with bigger ambitions than me in front of the whole school- i’d call that pretty evil.”

You cringe again and lay a palm on his bicep, “I never really said sorry for that did I? I’m real sorry, Tom, I was blackout that night and talking rubbish. I never really believed that about you, I was just trying to hurt you, I think.” The memory of his puppy dog eyes swim in your brain, and the sound of your own drunken voice cursing at him.

He looks down at your hand on his arm and smiles, the whites of his teeth catching in the bar light. “Hey,” he smirks “I never said I didn’t deserve it. I was a stupid kid, and I was in way over my head going around with a girl like you. But I’m not a kid anymore, and I ain’t so stupid either. I reckon I could prove it to you too -if you’d let me.”

He downs the dregs of his beer and offers his hand to you. Shacking up with Tommy again is a bad idea, but a dance wouldn’t hurt. You throw your own drink back and take his hand, letting him lead you back through the throng and onto the dance floor. Time blurs as you dance with him, his hands clumsy on your waist and his belt buckle pushing into your ass as you dance together. You’re well beyond tipsy now, but you’re alert enough to swat his hands when they get too bold. You feel too tired and sluggish tonight to even think about going home with anyone, no matter how good Tommy looks. You tilt your head back to land on his shoulder and your eyes flicker sleepily, gazing out at the heaves of the crowd. And that’s when you see him.

Shane is leaning back against the bar, his arms bulging as he crosses his arms across his chest. With a twist in your gut, you realise he’s talking to someone; a blonde woman around his age, her acrylics curled around one of his biceps. Tommy is whispering something in your ear, the metal of his belt buckle cold on your lower back, but you don’t register a word he’s saying. Fully awake now, you smother a gasp when Shane’s eyes move across the room and land directly on yours. It's difficult to see him clearly through the cigarette smoke and the gyrating dancers, but you swear his mouth drops open slightly at the sight of you. His companion is leaning over and whispering in his ear, but his eyes stay trained on you, heavy and dark. Your brain on autopilot, you bring an arm up and stroke it along Tommys cheek behind you, moving your hips back into his crotch, not caring about the hushed groan he blows into your ear. Shane is still watching, his throat bobbing slightly as he trails his eyes slowly, oh so slowly down your body. His heated gaze catches on your chest; on the sweat gathering on your collarbones, the swell of your breasts underneath your dress. Your drunk on more than alcohol now, your body alight under his stare. You watch as his fist tightens around the edge of the bar when Tommys hand comes up and strokes the soft flesh of your tit over your dress, and your breath starts to come in pants. The blonde beside him has leaned in now and she’s kissing a spot on his neck, just beneath his ear, but she may aswell be a fly in his drink for all he seems to care. His jaw is working as Tommys hand moves from your chest to your jaw, tilting your head around and bringing his mouth to yours. The spell broken, you pull back quickly. Tommy looks down at you expectantly, his eyes questioning if you want this. You glance back in Shane’s direction quickly, expecting to see him still staring, but find him instead with a hand buried in his blonde friend's curls, his tongue down her throat. You whip your head back around, cheeks burning. What the hell? Had you imagined it, the moment between you both? But the steady pulse between your legs tells you you hadn’t.

Tommy is pulling you by the hand again, this time towards the exit and you risk one more glance in Shane’s direction. He’s still in the same spot, only this time he’s nuzzling the woman’s neck with his nose, his tongue darting out and licking up the column of her neck, her head tipped back at the sensation. He catches your eye again and he holds it, smirking as he kisses the sweet spot under her ear. Dick. He grins like he knows exactly what he did, what he’s doing to you right now. There’s a tug at your hand and you spin to face Tommy.

“My trucks out back, baby. You gonna come out with me?” he leans in and whispers in your ear, tucking a curl back.

Your mouth moves, ready to politely refuse, to ask him to call an uber for you- but you pause. Shane’s little game had left you confused and flustered, your head in a spin and your body running hot. But you hadn’t missed the hunger in his eyes, the way his eyes devoured your every move- you hadn’t imagined that. This was just like the tricks he played on you as a girl, the teasing jokes that made you want to grab him and shake him. But that was then and this is now. It’s like Tommy said; you weren’t a little girl anymore, and two can play that game.

Not sparing another look at your father's friend, you hook two fingers into Tommys belt loops and pull him towards you. “Prove it like you said you would, Tom.”

[sansastark-lvr]

Nightingale

Pairing: dbf!ShaneWalsh x reader

Summary: Coming back home after being away at college for four years is a relief, but things get complicated when lines become blurred between you and your fathers much older best friend.

Tags: Age- gap relationship, forbidden trope, dads best friend, no- outbreak TWD, TWD modern au, 18+ themes MDNI

a/n: I should probably clarify that I’ve never seen TWD but I won’t be using any plots from it, just shane and rick as characters, everything else is entirely fictional. Here’s part one, it’s short but enjoy! More to come x

Chapter One: Home, Sweet Home

The driveway that leads up to your home place seems to get longer every time you come home. The evening is as hazy and sluggish as you, the sky shooting its last red rays into the sky as it dips behind your family ranch. Family seems like such a big word for a father and a daughter, alone on a hill, but the horses and the meadows and the creaky floorboards filled the empty spaces for you. Your Dad’s old truck heaves its way up the last stretch of drive and squeaks as you drop out of the driver's seat, your brown boots kicking up a cloud of dust. Before you can breathe in home air again, a heavy arm catches you around the neck, pulling you back into a warm chest.

“Kiddo!” your dad grins, planting his signature greeting kiss into your hair and smiling down at you.

“Hey dad” you smile “you need a shower old man; I could smell you from the bottom of the drive.”

Your dad pushes you away in mock hurt and you take him in properly for the first time since you left for college- he’s slightly greyer and more sunburnt than you left him, but his wide grin and scraggly beard are unchanged.

“Let’s get these bits into the house, Bug, I already got dinner cookin.” He shrugs one of your bags onto his shoulder and you grab the other, following him up onto the porch and into the house that smells of burning greens.

Being home again after so long in the city is freeing- you pull your hair down from the tight braid and let it flow down your back as you climb the rickety stairs to your bedroom. You throw the windows open wide, a cool summer breeze pushing the lacy curtains in and out as you strip down, changing into denim cutoffs and a clean white camisole. Before you can throw yourself back onto the bed, you hear an engine roaring up the drive and screeching to a halt outside the porch. You shiver as you lean out the window, peering down at the yard. You don’t need to look, really, to know who it is. You knew the sound of that truck like the back of your hand, the sound of those heavy boots scuffing against your porch and the flick of the metal lighter sparking a cigarette. Your heart used to skip a beat at those sounds in High School, and it seems nothing has changed even now that you’re 23. You watched from the window as Shane Walsh, your dad’s best friend, leaned back against his truck and puffed out a stream of smoke, his broad shoulders flexing as he brought the cigarette back to his lips. At the creak of your windowsill under your hands, he throws his head back and peers up, catching your eye instantly. A slow grin slides across his face, like he’s smug that he caught you staring as he stamps his cigarette out under his boot. Cheeks burning, you pull back from the window quickly. Fuck. Shane was a man of few words ever since you were a girl, but when he did open his mouth, he always had a teasing word for you or a sharp tug at your french braids, driving you wild while he laughed. It was all innocent fun when you were young, but as you grew up, he began to change in your eyes. You began to notice his sharp jaw, his strong arms, his aquiline nose broken too many times and his broad thighs pushing at his jeans. What began as a childhood crush grew quickly over the years, right up to the summer before you left for college, when you would whisper his name aloud to your empty room at night, your hand buried between your thighs. With the rush of college, you had almost forgotten the small obsession, but now listening to the deep tones of his voice downstairs, it came rushing back with a vengeance. The three months of summer ahead of you suddenly stretched out endlessly at the thought of having to face Shane every day. Double Fuck.

————————————-

Shane was laughing quietly from his place on the couch, nodding along to a stupid story his best friend was telling, when the kitchen door creaked open.

“Here’s the guest of honour!” Rick beams “thanks for keeping us waiting, bug, I think Shane’s really enjoying my snake story.”

You laugh at your father and elbow him playfully. “Dad, none of the five million people you’ve told that story to have ever enjoyed it, don’t lie.”

Rick turns to Shane and his mouth moves to ask him something, but he might aswell be speaking Chinese for all Shane cares. Shane’s eyes drag up and down your figure slowly, taking in the stranger before him. This couldn’t be the quiet girl who left them for college those few years back, the girl who he taught to drive stick and snuck sips of beer to when her dad wasn’t looking. This person before him now was no girl; she was a woman. Jesus. Had you always looked like this? Long, tan legs, soft curves, and big brown eyes. Shane gripped the neck of his beer tighter in his fist and ripped his eyes away from you before you or your father could catch him. He shook his head quickly, snapping himself out of whatever haze he was in and trying his best to pretend he hadn’t just been leering at his best friend's kid. Get a grip, Shane.

“Shane, did you hear me, I said you love my stories, right bud?” Rick laughs, snapping his fingers at his friend's face.

Shane rolls his eyes in response and grunts, standing up to join them at the table. He catches your eye once as he takes a seat, flashing you a quick smile and poking his tongue into his cheek when he sees you blush lightly. Clearing his throat, he raises his beer. “Let’s get a toast for the college girl, huh? Welcome back, Kiddo.”