Happy Holidays 🎄

New Face - Daryl Dixon x reader

Summary: Daryl and the group take in a new member and Daryl seems to take a liking to them.

Word Count: 1715

Warnings: Swearing, age gap

A/N: This is my first AU so it’s probably not the best, but I will be trying my best as this is for practice anyways! Also for the age gap: the reader is over 18 of course!

------------------

Rick, Daryl, Michonne and Glenn were out on a supply run to get more medical supplies for Hershel and baby food for Judith, not expecting to bring home any new company. That was until they made it to a store that was basically ransacked, little to no supplies, and a few walkers they ended up killing.. 

“Michonne, have you found any yet? Even a little bit?” Rick called out quietly as to not attract the attention of any lingering walkers nearby if there were any, continuing his search in his aisle. “No. This place has been swept clean of all the things we need…” She sighed defeated, “I guess we have to find somewhere else.” Meanwhile Daryl and Glenn were near the back, searching through the pharmacy for anything they needed and anything that seemed useful; stuffing their bags with pills and rubbing alcohol. When Daryl turned the corner, he didn’t expect to see this figure that looked quite beaten up and wearing tattered clothes, cowering in the corner. He immediately could tell they were scared, “Hey I’m not gonna hurt you. It’s okay, you’re safe.” You looked up at this strange man, watching him put his crossbow down and hold his hand out, seeing this other man come walking over to check what was happening out. 

“What happened to you? Why are you alone? Do you have anyone?” You shook your head and took the older man’s hand who helped you get up onto your shaking legs, looking down as you were alone. You lost your camp, your family, your friends. Everything and you had to keep running to survive on your own, running out of food and water. You were tired and weak, wishing you would get some luck in this building only to be surrounded by the walkers which forced you to hide into the pharmacy. “N-No, I don’t h-have anyone anymore. I thought I would finally find some food here, but there’s nothing…” That’s when you got dizzy, letting out a small whimper as they caught you. “Alright, you’re really weak, aren’t you? C’mon.” 

They brought you out to the front of the store to these two others who looked at you strangely, listening to the two men who found you explain to them. “They seem very weak and in need of some food. We can’t just leave them here to starve and die.” Everything was getting fuzzy, trying to look around to keep yourself grounded and awake; only to fail as you felt your eyes failing you and getting heavier each passing second - before everything went black. 

You had no recollection of how you ended up in what looked like a jail cell, hearing people talking right outside which made you look up to see the man with the vest sitting at a table not far from you, fiddling around with his crossbow. “W-Where am I?” Your voice was quite raspy, begging for water which made the man look at you. “You’re safe at the prison with us. Sorry you can’t come into the cells with us, we just don’t really trust you. But we’ll get you some food and water, alright?” He was speaking so softly to you, which surprised you as he didn’t seem the type to be that chill. But then again; you can’t judge a book by it’s cover. You just nodded and leaned your head back, not trying to sit up as you knew you’d just get light headed. 

“What’s yer name?” You heard him set his crossbow onto the table with a slight clunk to the metal, “Y/N. Y-Yours?” You took in a sharp breath, waiting for his voice to fill the silent air. “Daryl. You’ve got... a nice name.” His voice had a bit of a nervous tone in it, making you just lightly chuckle which hurt your empty, aching, stomach. “Sound nervous there. Shouldn’t that be me?” The man you now know as Daryl let out a small quiet snicker, watching him softly nod from the corner of your eye. 

You both looked over as you heard the loud metal bar down unlock and open, seeing a man dressed as a sheriff come walking in with a small ration of food, carefully bringing it over to you. “Thank you.” You forced yourself to sit up, taking a moment to regain your balance before taking the food and eating it slowly, enjoying the taste of food hit against your tongue for the first time in what seemed to be forever. “Oh, I missed the taste of food.” The sheriff - or what you assumed to be the sheriff - sat down next to Daryl, beginning to ask you a bunch of questions to which you answered truthfully. Telling him what happened with your last group, your name, all the little important basic stuff. While you were talking, you couldn’t help but feel Daryl’s eyes on you, watching you closely, examining you. When you looked over, you noticed how quick he was to look away before he got up and left, making you question if you did something wrong. 

Few months later, you happened to join the group, contributing in helping around the prison to make sure everything was in order and safe. Daryl and you happened to become quite close, bonding any moment you could get, with you starting to worry every time he goes out onto a run. You could tell Daryl started acting a bit different around you, looking at you differently than the first few weeks of getting to know him, seeing how he was more open to you than the others which surprised you. You remembered a conversation with Beth on how she thinks Daryl likes you, but you just laughed it off as a joke. I mean - why would he like you? You two had such a big age gap, you were probably not even his type anyways you thought. Those thoughts hurt you as you could feel yourself slowly starting to fall for him. There was just something about him that drew you to him, the way he was just so patient with you as you were to him, sharing stories you would remember of your past. Although he does refuse to say some, but you still knew some he never told anyone before. 

“Hey, Y/N. Wanna go huntin’ with me? We need some more food.” Daryl called out for you who was currently busy helping to clean the guns, making you turn towards the man and give him a look as he knew well you weren’t good with a gun - or any weapon at that except a knife. “Are you sure? You know I’m not good at a gun, or bow, or whatever.” All you got in response was a little hum and a nod towards the door, making you roll your eyes and grab your gun that you never really used and followed him out to one of the trucks. You got into the passenger seat as he was insisting on driving, buckling yourself up just in case before you heard the engine start, and the truck started moving.

When you got out of the truck together, you followed him into the woods where he started to look for any tracks or signs of wildlife he could hunt. “Why do you need me to come with you?” You whispered to him not to attract any walkers, or scare away any nearby animals. “Just cause.” He shrugged before he stopped as he noticed a deer, silently pointing towards it to show you. “You see that deer? You’re going to shoot it.” You looked at him immediately quite confused on why he would make you do it. “Why? Why can’t you? I’m going to miss it and then-” You suddenly felt his arms wrap around you and pull you close before he handed you the crossbow, which you took hesitantly. You could feel your heart racing inside your chest at how close he was, how he was pressing his body up against yours ever so gently. What you couldn’t feel - or hear - was his heart beating against his own, him taking in a deep breath before he spoke once more.

“Hold it like this, and you look down here to aim. Keep your arms steady now- just like that. Whenever you’re ready, pull the trigger.” His tone was soft, yet nervous as he showed you how to hold it. You took in a deep breath as you placed your finger onto the trigger, waiting for the right moment before you pulled it with a small. You watched the arrow fly past the deer, scaring it off which made you huff and a soft “fuck!”. “Hey, it’s okay, it happens. Need some more practice, that’s all.” He grabbed the crossbow and went off to pull the arrow out of the tree, you following up behind him. “I can’t do anything. I can’t shoot a gun, a crossbow- I’m useless to the group-” That’s when you felt his hands gently cup your face, looking up at him to see how he looked at you, looking at you like his heart had just broken.”No, no you’re not useless, Y/N. You help a lot around the camp, you… you help me.” You couldn’t believe what you heard- that you help him? But why would that be? “What?”

He let out a soft sigh as he shook his head, leaning in as his lips connected to yours. You couldn’t believe what he just did. You couldn’t register it until the moment he pulled away - seeing you stare at him in so much confusion. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but you helped me open up to someone like this. Actually make me feel alive, like a human. You make me happy. Now- I understand if you don’t want to be around me anymore, I mean I did just kiss you and I’m just-“ he was interrupted when you just grabbed him by his vest, connecting your lips once more. He was caught by surprise, his hands moving down to your waist as you two enjoyed sharing this amazing moment that you would definitely not forget. “I like you, Y/N.” “I like you too, Daryl.”

HELLO HI, to people who were like "WHAT??!?" to my original post that said that halsin GROANS INTO THE KISS.

here you go :))

RAHHHHHHHHHHH THIS MAN HAS ME SO FERAL HGFJDHGKJFDHGKJFDHGKDFJH

Story/Character Arc Writing Resources

How to Write a Compelling Character Arc

Character Development and Finding Nemo

On Simple Story Arcs

9 Steps to Building a Strong Plot

3 Questions to Help Solve Plot Problems ~~~ ~Grand List of Writing Resources~

How’s everyone day? ☀️ ☁️

More normal things

Bubba Sawyer Belly Appreciation Post

i beg for more peepaw or Thomas spice 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐭 ( 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 ) 𝐱 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓/𝟏𝟖+! 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡, 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐯𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐬𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭.

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝟑,𝟐𝟖𝟕.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 @wanderbreadsworld 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚! 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜 𝐧𝐠𝐥. 💀 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲. 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲’𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲! ❤️

The expanse of empty space next to you was devoid of warmth, marked only by a faint indent of where Thomas slept. Cicadas and crickets sang just outside in the middle of the night, but that wasn’t really why you woke up. With Thomas’s hectic schedule, you hadn’t gotten to see him as much, he wasn’t home as often. You missed him, missed his massive form slumbering next to you, missed his face, missed his presence.

Sometimes you wondered if you thought about him too much, and not all of it was exactly wholesome. Your mind produced debauched fantasies of what you wanted him to do to you, especially after getting intimate several days prior. You shivered, folding one arm beneath your head as you rolled over to face the vast amount of space next to you.

Admittedly, you were practically craving his touch, craving his grasp. Everytime you really dwelled upon his size and his capability of splitting you in half, it got you so hot and bothered, tangled up within some feverish lust that you couldn’t shake. Your stomach was reduced to mush, sloshing with a very pressing anticipation.

You shut your eyes, thighs squeezing together to fight the wave of arousal that washed over you. That empty space next to you was singing to you, coaxing you to go and look for Thomas. You didn’t really want to bother him, but at this point, it was nearly unbearable — you couldn’t help yourself.

Flinging forward from the thin sheets, you tugged your nightgown back into place, skittering off of the bed and to the creaking wooden floorboards. You made sure to pull on your slippers — the house wasn’t exactly in the most stellar of shapes, and you wanted to avoid getting splinters as you crept down the stairs, arms loosely wound across your torso.

It was eerily quiet throughout the Hewitt household, which was something of an abnormality, not that you minded. The closer you got to the hefty basement door, the more you could hear the scuffling of tools and belongings, which promptly ceased when you slipped past the gap, shuffling onto the top of the stairs that descended into a dimly-lit darkness.

Your knees wobbled the whole way down, nearly knocking together as you clutched onto the rickety railing, holding yourself as upright as you could. You hated being so needy like this, afraid that you might suffocate Thomas with your clinginess, but you figured he would make it known if you were hounding him — he hadn’t yet, thankfully.

A hulking shape came into view at the bottom of the stairs, shadow eclipsing any sliver of light that fell across your trembling form. There was a flicker of happiness that danced within his eyes, which were devoid of the usual stoic melancholy. Thomas grunted, his stare falling upon your shivering form, assuming that you were cold.

As soon as you hit the step closest to him, thick arms were tangling themselves around your form, practically squeezing you against his chest, and he was absolutely warm, like his own radiator. Thomas swept you right off of your feet. He held you like a doll, one leg collecting underneath the backs of your thighs as the other settled against your ribcage.

“Oh,” It wasn’t a proper distraction from the heat pooling between your legs, only furthering the sensation as Thomas moved toward the large chair next to his workbench, sitting down with you right in his lap. Those big, calloused hands were smoothing over your goosebumps in an attempt to keep you warm, and that only made you whimper. “Thomas.” You didn’t really want him to stop, but you weren’t shaking because of the cold.

Thomas appeared perceptive, slowing his hand, attention fixated upon you. You made the same noise from when he’d eaten you out, keen enough to start to connect the dots in regards to your current state. With a resonant grunt, he watched you quiver, planting your hand on top of his, which he promptly held, massive fingers enveloping your dainty hand.

“I’m not cold.” You whisper, mouth going dry, tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek. You wondered if he would even pick up on your vulgar implications, and you sat there atop his lap, burning so hot with need that it likely seeped into him.

So that was what you wanted.

In the spirit of transparency, Thomas was feeling the same way lately, wistful about you, yearning so much that it made his heart ache. Your frenzied need for him was mildly amusing, maybe even bewildering to him, but this was what he loved about you — you were very unpredictable, in a good way. Thomas never expected you to want more, but here you were, practically shaking in his lap.

He rocked his leg against you a time or two, silently teasing you about the state of your neediness. Thomas pushed his lips against the side of your face, watching you scramble to try and press your core into the muscles of his thigh, but he locked you into place, watching you let out some hapless mewel. Thomas wasn’t exactly the teasing sort, but he had to this time, just to spur on your incendiary desire.

It would be the first time for both of you, and that was a thought that had Thomas foaming at the mouth. The momentary lightheartedness seemed to die out completely, replaced with a seriousness and something amatory. Thomas wanted to make sure it was good, but even then, he wasn’t sure what was defined as ‘good’ when it came to losing one’s virginity.

“I need you, Thomas.” You nearly moaned, listening to the hitch in his breath, his hooded glower as you guided his hand to the apex of your thighs, heart hammering within your chest. Thomas looked absolutely enthralled, watching where you took his hand, right to your soaked cunt, letting him feel just how much he wound you up, made you unbelievably needy. “Need you so bad.” You whispered.

Thomas’s satisfactory rumble was akin to the growling of a truck engine, sending shivers up your spine as he felt against your cunt, all wet just because of him — just the thought of him made you like this. With furrowed brows, he let you move his hand to exactly where you needed him most, slipping past the thin fabric of your panties, right to your throbbing slit.

His mouth crashed into yours, bruising and devouring you whole with a sloppy, uncouth passion. Thomas was still trying to really figure out the whole kissing thing, but you didn’t mind whatsoever, feeling the bite of leather against your cheeks as you reciprocated his fiery kiss. He kept his hand poised against your cunt through the kiss, ghosting over your clit.

It was dizzying, intoxicating — your head was spinning in circles, drunk on both desire and a festering need for your hulking lover. Thomas was perfect to you, extraordinary even if he didn’t see himself that way. A breathy moan elicited from you as his index finger languidly circled around your clit, sending you spiraling even as you kissed him.

“Please,” Your whine was breathy, high-pitched, and your whimpers were absolutely captivating. Thomas’s jaw tightened, cock twitching and hard within his pants as it began to strain against your thigh, highlighting his own amount of lust. It all seemed to be mutual, really. “Please, Tommy, please.” With a moan, you felt him pick you up right off of his lap, hauling you against the workbench instead.

Some depraved part of you didn’t want something soft and sweet — you wanted him to obliterate you, turn you into a pile of mush, make you scream and sob until your throat ran hoarse.

The plane of his broad, bulky chest was snug against your back, towering over you to the extreme, as if he were filling in the entirety of his height, making himself as large as possible. Those thick, calloused hands grabbed at your hips, fingers molding you as if you were made for him, ragged breath being drawn out from his leathery muzzle.

Hot, possessive kisses would be placed all along your neck and bare shoulders, consuming and tinged with something desperate. It paled in comparison to your pathetic, pitiful state of need, but it was enough to make you rock back into him, listening to his thunderous grunt. His hand slithered between your legs again, shoving past your panties, like a heat-seeking missile as thick fingers rubbed at your cunt.

An inhuman sound burst from the back of your throat, as if you choked upon a moan, but it produced something different. Thomas was so massive, colossal compared to you, and that only furthered arousal from both parties. One hand clapped into the supple flesh of your haunch, tugging your leg apart, letting out another rumble as he stroked at your clit, wet enough to cover his fingers in some thin sheen.

“T—Thom—“ The words coagulated in the back of your throat, hips attempting to grind themselves into his hand. Your cunt clenched around absolutely nothing, vision swimming with a blurry haze as he touched and pleasured your poor clit. You didn’t think it could get any better until you felt his erection straining against the curve of your rump.

His straining, pulsating cock was practically begging to be inside of you, threatening to burst if he didn’t find some semblance of relief soon. Thomas wanted to treat you gently, be the best lover to you for your first time, but his concept might’ve been skewed. Many of the animals he saw were brutal, and it was callous, without feeling.

Thomas loved you dearly — and he needed to show you just how much.

You almost expected him to spin you around, but something explosive erupted within your gut as Thomas bent you over the bench at the hip, leathery hand tracing up the smooth plane of your back, tangled within your nightgown. He was decisively swift about bunching the fabric up, letting it pool around your hips as he yanked at your panties.

Prying the thin bundle of fabric away from your cunt, he burrowed himself against you, aching cock throbbing and grinding into your backside, enough to where you could feel the heat bleed through. Thomas was getting a little too excited, especially with your newfound position. It didn’t exactly seem correct — he almost thought about letting you be on top of him.

However, you weren’t vocalizing any sort of disapproval. You careened back into his groin, pushing your hips against him, moaning and sighing his name, absolutely desperate for him to pound you into oblivion, no matter the amount of force. You knew how big he was, and that any roughness would threaten to split you into two, but you didn’t care.

Thomas’s pupils became blown out, like black saucers as you rocked yourself into his clothed cock. The possessive growl that ripped from his throat made you tremble, and he was beginning to throw all inhibitions to the wind, hastily wrestling with his belt and fly of his trousers. He eased his cock out, slathered with precum and enough to really break you in.

Your knuckles were white as you gripped the edge of the bench, feeling his cock split past your folds, thick and fully erect. You weren’t sure if you’d be walking tomorrow, but at least it would be from this, from the overwhelming amount of pleasure you were about to experience.

Thomas began to push forward, somewhat nervous because it was his first time and yours. Maybe he should’ve been doing something different, but he pressed on anyway, his massive cock beginning to bury its way into your tight slit, feeling your cunt clench around him. He grunted, nearly letting out some husky groan at how good you felt.

“Please,” Another wanton moan left you as you hung your head down, feeling his big hands splay out on either side of your hips, squeezing into pliant flesh. “Please, Tommy.” You panted, wanting him to move and move quickly. His sluggishness was likely experimental, and the more you begged, the more his desire grew.

He was torn between going slow and taking it easy, and going absolutely ballistic — as soon as you pushed your hips backward, cunt taking more of his cock, he snapped. With that ironclad grasp he maintained upon your hips, Thomas began to go full steam ahead, hips rutting forward with an impressive speed. He was like a bull out of the pen, already beginning to fuck you.

It was ecstasy.

It was rough, unyielding, messy and sporadic as Thomas fucked you within an inch of your life, groin clashing against your rump, flesh to flesh as he drove his cock in and out of you. He set a brutal pace almost immediately, listening to your myriad of breathy whimpers and blissful cries, back arching and hands digging into the splintering wood of his workbench.

Thomas sounded like the crackling of thunder, his grunts purely animalistic and feral as he pounded into you, cock battering your cunt with nearly all of the force that he could muster. Being bent over like this might’ve sounded a little callous at first, but you were enamored, nearly sobbing from pleasure and the snugness — you felt so full, stretched around his hefty cock. You didn’t really care about the discomfort as he took your virginity, you were too far gone to notice.

“Thomas!” You couldn’t smother your volume, and if you woke the entire Hewitt household up, so be it. Thomas was rutting into you as if you were some bitch in heat, pounding into you so hard that you were rocking forward, the workbench creaking and groaning in protest. You were absolutely soaked, insides battered by the heft of his cock.

Thomas was getting a little too voracious, and he was afraid that he was going to hurt you. His hips stuttered and he began to slow down, hunching over you as he saw the faint glitter of tears stinging your eyes. He knew that he needed to slow down or stop completely, brows drawn together in a look of concern. You were moaning even still, desperately pushing your hips back into him.

“No, no, don’t …” You huffed, shaking your head back and forth. “Please don’t stop Thomas, please.” You begged and pleaded, your body a trembling mess as he let out a softer grunt. “Keep going, Tommy, please!” Tendrils of precum and intermingled arousal oozed from your cunt, and you kept squirming around, desperate for more.

He let out a ragged, husky rumble, watching you cry and whine, your pleas dissipating into needy whimpers that drove him crazy with lust. Thomas hadn’t had anyone beg for him like this, beg for him to demolish them in the way that he was with you. You were the very first, and you would be the very last. He couldn’t get enough of you.

You couldn’t take him not moving, his cock still swollen and full inside of you, lacking any semblance of friction or ounce of movement. You needed him so bad that it was almost paralyzing. “Please.” You whined, the breath nearly ripped from your lungs when he roughly jutted his hips forward, cock beginning to reassume his previous pace.

Listening to you begging for him to pound your cunt again was horribly enrapturing, and Thomas felt obligated to do so now, flying into that brutal pace, quick and needy, almost as needy as you. He wasn’t dragging anything out, he wasn’t fucking you with slow, deliberate thrusts — everything was fast-paced and hasty, cock obliterating your cunt with all the force of a battering ram.

He couldn’t stop.

Thomas was fucking you senseless, almost to the point where he was using you, a notion that irked him. His grunts and your moans filled the space, consuming the feverish atmosphere as he clashed into your rump with his groin, cock pushing into you as far as it could go. He was quick, only pulling back a mere inch or two before clapping back into you, tugging your hips back against him with a powerful command.

You were actually drooling, feeling a hot salivation pool around the corners of your mouth until it dribbled onto the workbench. Your face was nearly pressed into the wood as you were unable to keep holding yourself up at this rate. Your noises were drowned out by the feral, darker sounds of his growls and grunts, cock pulsating with shockwaves of heat that made you shudder around him.

He could see your legs shaking like the leaves on a tree, but Thomas was keen on chasing after his orgasm, wanting to cum inside you, make you feel every palpitation. You moaned his name as if it were the only word you knew, occasionally rocking back against him, only to be rewarded with another sharp thrust of his hips.

The speed of his desperate rutting didn’t slow down even when you came around his cock, flying into your orgasm as if you’d been thrown into it. You were nearly crying, tears of pleasure stinging your eyes as Thomas continued to rail you, hunching in over you, head hung, eyes all glazed-over with a salacious, lustrous shimmer.

“Thomas.” You panted, chest rising and falling, mouth slack and coated in your own drool. It might’ve been embarrassing in any other situation, but you felt so good that you were literally blinded by pleasure. You were dizzy, feeling his cock bury itself into your needy cunt a few times over before the dam broke.

Shamelessly spilling his seed inside of you, Thomas grunted, bringing you back up against his chest as he pumped you full of cum, that breeding urge always prevalent whenever he came. Any excess happened to slather the insides of your thighs, warm and sticky, and you collapsed back against the workbench, legs feeling like jelly, like they lacked any structure whatsoever.

You had to catch your breath, but you would’ve been lying if you said you didn’t want him to do it all over again, right here and right now. Your eyes were blurry, and you hastily blinked the tears of ecstasy out, using the collar of your nightgown to wipe your mouth clean of drool, skin covered in a thin layer of perspiration.

Thomas let out a softer rumble, but he was terrified that he’d gone too far, that he hurt you. You weren’t hurt in the slightest, but your quivering legs and disheveled state said otherwise to Thomas, who pulled out of you with some lewd pop, collecting you into his burly arms.

The concern was obvious within his eyes, but it steadily ebbed away when you hit him with some nonchalant, dazed smile. He stroked your cheek, letting you lean against as he held you close, pressing a kiss against your forehead. You were certainly wanting more — you were hungry for it.

“I want you to do that again,” You mumbled, fiddling with his tie, giving him the biggest pair of bedroom eyes that you could muster. “You won’t hurt me, Tommy. Promise.” Your voice was much too saccharine to properly ignore, and you could hear the grunt forming in Thomas’s chest.

Thomas wasn’t about to deny you anything, but one thing was for certain — you weren’t going to be able to walk tomorrow. After a moment of contemplation, he set you onto solid ground again, watching you grapple onto the workbench for support.

Before you had time to say anything else, he was bending you over again.

Maybe it's just my proximity to middle age, but for my money, Halsin is the most attractive romanceable character in BG3 by a mile. He's kind. He's courteous. He takes responsibility for his mistakes and undertakes to fix them without roping you into a bunch of drama about it and then goes on to help you save the world just because he likes you. He's a leader with a healthy ambivalence about leadership. He's effectively an eco-socialist with deep and abiding convictions about the treatment of the underprivileged, especially children. He is passionately romantic about you while also decrying the constraints and jealousies of compulsory monogamy. AND he's built like a brick shithouse and will fuck your brains out. I'm just not seeing what's not to love about this man.

Blood of A Rose - Part 2 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - Following the events of their night together, (y/n) and Art explore their dynamics together to form a perfect duet of blood and beauty.

Notes - Was requested to expand on the relationship between Art and the reader and will happily oblige! It’s honestly so fun to write Art’s character, I hate how little there is out there for him. My man needs attention.

P.S - Might branch this into a series of one shots showing their relationship more and whatnot either from my own ideas or requests from you guys for what you’d like to see with them. Hell, might even make a whole blog based on them. Thoughts?

Word Count - 4,091

Warning(s) - Blood, gore, violence, morally ambiguous reader

Song Inspiration -

Cody Frost - Process

Screams were heard all around them, piercing and agonizing. Everything was set ablaze, yet she felt no heat. She felt no pain. Even as the smoke clouded, she could breathe without struggle. (Y/n) craned her neck to look up at the clown before her, eyes wide with wonder, with trust. Her life was in the hands of a murderer and yet she felt safe. She felt protected.

His usual grin did not show, yet he didn’t frown. His face remained neutral while his eyes said it all, filled with an untamed obsession, possessiveness and dare she say adoration. His gloved hands rose to her jaw, cupping it delicately as he guided her to train her eyes on him, to ignore all that happened around them. As she stared up at him, her hands came to rest over his own, and with a look of his eyes she was told -

He would be her past, present and future. 

(Y/n)’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the soft light of the moon that peaked through the boards of the window. The colder air bit at her skin through her sweater and she shivered. 

She sat up and looked around curiously, seeing that she was now in the makeshift bedroom from before. She then looked down and saw that she was on the mattress, however a tattered blanket now lay on top of it beneath her, shielding her from whatever mold and rot had been on it. 

Her legs closed when she felt a light breeze brush against the tear in her pantyhose, heightening the chill. (Y/n) stretched her arms out and stood, then heard what sounded like someone hammering from a different room. Her mind raced with the events of what she assumed was still the same night. Her face burned, stomach fluttering as the ghost of Art’s caress tickled her skin. 

She took a deep breath and left the room, quietly making her way to where the sound came from. Mindful of the debris on the floor as she grew near, she entered the room with the workbench, Art hunched over it on the stool as he hammered away at something. 

When (y/n) stepped closer he paused. Her breath stilled as his head slowly turned to the side, yet not over his shoulder to look at her, letting her know that he knew she was there. 

Once he returned to work she released the breath she held and made her way over to him, seeing as he hammered a screw-eye hook of sorts into the end of a chair leg. 

His face was focused, not smiling or putting on his usual dramatics as he worked. It felt strange to her, seeing him this way. It reminded her that even if he was a murderer he wasn’t excused from putting in the work to make it happen, whether it was a hobby of his or not. It reminded her that he still had interests and needs just as everyone else. It was oddly humanizing and she couldn’t help but feel privileged to see him in such a state. 

He motioned to a nearby corner and (y/n) turned to see another stool placed there, then moved to bring it over and sat on top of it to continue to watch him. He then motioned to her - conversing as he worked - then symbolized sleep as if to ask how she slept, then proceeded to pick up an average sized chain. 

“It was actually quite nice. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.” 

With chain in hand, he clapped excitedly, happy with her response. He hooked it to the screw, bending and twisting the metal to make sure it was secure as (y/n) watched casually, as if it was just another day. 

“Is it… Is it still the same night?” 

He shook his head and her eyes widened. Art turned to see it and began to laugh to himself. 

“How long has it been?” 

He held up a finger after his laughing fit died down, going back to his work. 

“One day…? But how?” 

He nodded and glanced over at her, watching as she looked down, growing more and more confused. He patted her shoulder and she looked up at him, seeing him point to himself, then her. 

“Because of you?” Her brow furrowed, then her expression changed as she chuckled. “Are you saying I slept for so long because of what we did?” 

Art shrugged and made a cheeky expression, but she became confused again when he then shook his head. He motioned to himself again, then pointed to her head. 

“You… forced me to stay asleep?” He eagerly nodded, smiling and pointing at her to say she got it. “But how? Did you knock me out?” His head shook. “Did you drug me?” 

His head shook again and he rolled his eyes, arms falling to his sides in exasperation. He then motioned to his entire body, pointed to his head with both fingers, then to her head again. 

“You were in my head…?” He nodded and clapped. “How is that even possible?” 

Art shrugged dramatically with a mischievous smile. (Y/n) paused and slowly met his eyes. 

“The dream…?” She asked, and in the back of her head she already knew the answer. 

The clown only solidified it with a raise of his eyebrows, mouth forming an ‘o’ and shrugging as an ‘oops’. (Y/n) could only laugh, not knowing how exactly to react to someone with such supposed supernatural abilities. 

She wasn’t sure if she had finally grown to become insane or if it was all a hallucination, all in her head. But as she thought to the night before she found that it all felt too real, too vivid to be fake. 

(Y/n) suddenly felt exposed and crossed one leg over the other, tugging down the skirt of her dress as her face grew warm. Art looked over at her, face twisting into mischief as his eyes squinted with his smile. He wiggled his eyebrows when she looked at him and she turned her face away bashfully. 

He reached over to grasp her chin, coaxing her to look back at him. He nudged his head in her direction, grinning to encourage her to do the same. Once her smile returned and she giggled, he playfully booped her nose and turned back to his workbench, his smile now remaining on his dramatized face as he worked. 

The minutes seemed to drag on as he worked, but not once was she bored. She watched eagerly, fixated as his hands toyed and shaped the weapon he was creating. His actions were all well thought out and deliberate, masculine yet graceful as his fingers caressed the wood and metal. 

Deeming the weapon satisfactory, he raised it by the handle - the chair leg - and examined it carefully. Three chains hung from the screw-eye, knife tips, nails and spikes decorating the length of them. 

“Is that a flail?” (Y/n) gasped. 

Art’s head whipped over to look at her and patted her thigh, the hand holding the weapon shaking excitedly as he nodded. He watched as she eyed his new creation, then an idea formed in his head. His gaze shifted to look over at her, now smiling sadistically. She caught the change in his expression and she began to smile, catching on to what he was thinking. 

“I’ll get the camera!” She hopped off of the stool.

-

After some convincing from her end, they stopped by her house for her to quickly change into something more comfortable. It wasn’t until she began to beg sweetly that he finally agreed, unable to say no to her more innocent nature, regardless of her interests.

Not a person was in sight as they were shielded by the dark of the night, hardly any street lamps in the area they currently wandered. 

“Does the bag ever get heavy for you?” (Y/n) asked as they walked through the ghosted roads. 

Art shook his head, using his other arm to exaggerate flexing his muscles and she laughed. 

“I bet that bag is the reason you’re so strong, lugging it around everywhere and all.” He waved her off at the compliment and tickled her ear with his finger. “I’m serious! You make it look like it weighs nothing.” 

As they walked, they began to see the edge of the town ahead of them. Or rather, Art saw it. (Y/n) was too focused on the clown beside her, taking in all of his features under the starry night, the moon perfectly accentuating every curvature and jagged edge, every - 

She was suddenly yanked to the side of the sidewalk he walked on and she gasped, looking over to see a pole that she nearly walked straight into. She looked back over at Art who had a hand on his hip with a frown. He pointed at her, his eyes, then the direction they were walking in. 

“Sorry…” She giggled as she blushed, nervously fiddling with the camera hanging around her neck. 

He pulled back his arm and reached for her, pulling her to stand on the opposite side where he was previously walking to prevent it from happening again. He motioned for her to continue walking, rolling his eyes from behind her before he set his pace next to her again. 

As they reached the town, Art began to look around carefully, more alert in the brighter area while (y/n) had a mind of her own. While he kept an eye out for his next victim, she focused on finding her next inspiration. She supposed they went hand in hand, but she was never one to strive for the bare minimum. 

He then paused, holding his arm out for her to do the same, knowing she very well would’ve kept on walking. Hearing the voices of what seemed to be a couple arguing, he listened carefully to find where they came from. 

Then he spotted them. 

A man and woman arguing next to a car. The man was halfway in the driver’s seat while the woman stood next to it, flailing her arms. 

Art then heard a shutter sound from beside him, slowly looking over to see (y/n) holding her camera up, taking photos of the argument before them. She looked over at him and shrugged innocently.

She put down the camera and the two of them watched the pursuing argument, equally invested in the exchange. The man then slammed the car door shut. 

“They just broke up for sure.” (Y/n) whispered to Art and he looked down at her with a widespread grin, wiggling his eyebrows then nodding towards the woman who was now making her way into what seemed to be her villa. 

Art crossed the street, making his way over with (y/n) in tow and walking up the small set of stairs leading to the front door. He looked down at her, then turned to the door in front of them and tested the door knob, unsurprisingly finding it locked. 

He gave (y/n) a ‘wait’ signal and set down his bag, cracking his neck and stretching his arms out in front of him with linked fingers. Art then gave her a side smile, then suddenly kicked the door open. She froze with wide eyes, yet her stomach betrayed her as it flipped at his show of masked strength. 

He picked up his bag again and grabbed her wrist to pull her inside with him, closing the door behind them. Footsteps quickly descended the staircase in front of them and they looked up to see the same woman from before, chest heaving in fear at the sight before her. 

While (y/n) quickly snapped a photo of her expression, Art dropped his bag again and wiggled his fingers at her in a wave with a menacing smile. He then held up a finger to her and began to look through his bag as the woman remained frozen like a deer in the headlights, watching as he pulled out a scalpel and the new flail. He turned to (y/n) and raised his eyebrows, then bolted upstairs after the woman who fled. 

As they thumped around upstairs, she began to explore the villa, looking for things to use in her next piece. The woman’s screams and shrieks were muffled behind the door of the room they were in and were drowned out, inevitably useless. 

(Y/n) eyed a smaller box TV that sat on an entertainment stand in the living room, an idea popping into her head. She walked over to it and unplugged it in preparation, resuming her wandering when the noise above her suddenly stopped. 

She heard a door open upstairs followed by footsteps descending the staircase. (Y/n) looked towards it, seeing a now bloodied Art giving her the ‘ok’ to go upstairs when she was ready. 

“Could you do me a huge favor?” She asked as he made his way over to her, shaking off the blood on his hands and nodding. “Could you help take the TV upstairs for me? I want to use it as the head.” 

Art made a surprised expression, clapping his hands giddily at the idea. He then paused with a finger up, making a sawing motion and asked for her to wait a moment, disappearing upstairs. Not long after, he returned with his saw and put it back in his bag, happily walking over to the TV and tipping his hat at (y/n) when he walked by. He then picked it up as if it was nothing but a feather and made his way back upstairs, (y/n) following closely behind as she giggled. 

They entered the woman’s bedroom, her body splayed out on the bed with small to large chunks of her skin and fat missing, head nowhere to be found. 

As he placed the TV where the woman’s head used to be, (y/n) admired the slashes left from the flail. Some were rather deep, others shallow. Their marks tore at the dress that the woman wore, some simulating claw marks while other areas were simply shredded. 

“Could you move the arms to look like this?” (Y/n) posed her own arms to grab the sides of her head. Art carefully took note of the angle and position, then moved the victim’s arms to reflect it. “Perfect.” (Y/n) smiled, looking up at the ceiling to see LED lights lined along the edge. 

Art watched as she wandered to find the remote, smiling to herself once she found it and changed the color to red and turned off the main light. She looked around the floor, watching for anything she could trip on before lifting a foot onto the bed. 

Art’s face twisted into panic and his hands shook, stepping next to her and helping her up onto the bed. 

“Thank you.” She responded softly, one of his hands still holding her waist to help steady her as she readied her camera. He followed her as she captured different angles, some standing while others she crouched. 

(Y/n) took his hand to help herself down, smiling up at him as he grinned at her excitedly. Just as the night before, she flipped through the pictures she took, and just the same, she felt his closeness. 

The only difference was rather than nerves, she felt relaxed. She felt calm and comfortable despite the mess around them that he caused. His hand that rested on her far shoulder radiated heat through her layers of clothing and she subconsciously leaned into him, head pressed against his chest while he pointed at the photos he favored. 

His silent presence, twisted grin plastered on his painted face, drew her in like a moth to flame. (Y/n) found herself unable to refuse, an invisible pull guiding her to him. 

At first, their following encounters were just a few hours in the night together. Art would appear when (y/n) least expected, showing up at odd hours, his silent insistence drawing her out into the dark. However, she began to notice her sleeping pattern slowly change. She grew more tired sooner, falling asleep earlier and earlier, waking up in a strange nocturnal rhythm. 

At night, she would wake to find him waiting, patient but always silent, eager to lead her deeper into his world. (Y/n), feeling a strange sense of peace in his presence, began to follow him without question. And after only a few weeks of their odd relationship, she began to grow used to it. Comfortable with it. Comfortable with him.

“Hey, Art.” (Y/n) greeted him as she yawned, fresh out of bed to find him rummaging through her kitchen. 

He looked up at her and waved, a widespread grin bringing out her own smile in her vulnerable, post-dream state. He gushed at the sight, elbows resting on the countertop with his chin in his hands, blinking dreamily at her as she walked over to him with her arms out. 

Art popped up, engulfing her in his arms as she sighed happily at the feeling. He rocked the two of them slowly, the rhythm almost putting her back to sleep. 

Slowly, (Y/n)’s life became consumed by Art. The gruesome art pieces she crafted from his handiwork grew bolder, more disturbing, as if the dark side of her creativity was being unleashed by his influence. 

In her dreams, she would see him. His painted face looming over her, silent but omnipresent. At first, the dreams were disorienting. But over time, they became comforting. She would wake, feeling a strange longing for him, for the connection they shared in the darkest corners of her mind, weaving its way to the forefront. 

As the days bled into nights, (y/n) found herself thinking of Art constantly. He was always there, even when he wasn’t physically present; a haunting figure in her thoughts. His silence, once goofy, became a form of comfort. She began to crave his presence, yearning for their time together. 

And so (y/n) found herself growing dependent on him. Whether it was for her art or simply her attachment to him, how safe she felt with him. He understood her in a way no other person could, and she reciprocated. 

The way he was so brutal and aggressive with others, yet gentle and thoughtful with herself only drew her closer to him. He treated others as nuisances, problems to deal with and get rid of while he treated her as delicately as the rose that brought them together. The contrast was endearing to her, and she couldn’t help but be entranced. 

Though such treatment came with an undisclosed amount of protection and possessiveness, to which she learned rather quickly. 

“It just came out wrong, I’m sorry!” (Y/n) giggled. Art mocked her, rolling his eyes as his mouth and hand mocked her talking. The culprit of such a fit? 

She called his nose cute.

“Your nose is attractive, is what I meant. Believe me, you’re still as frightening as ever.” 

He threw her a side eye, then dramatically sighed and waved it all off. 

“Hey!” She stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, a lit street lamp looming over them as they faced each other. “I’m sorry.” She gave him her best doe eyes, then stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. 

His grin slowly returned, hand coming over the top of where she kissed him and she giggled. He then took her hand in his own, continuing their nightly walk.

Later on, they heard slurred conversation ahead of them, seemingly male in nature. (Y/n) tried to slow their walk, but Art looked back at her and encouraged her to keep up with him. As they grew closer, they passed an alleyway that held a small group of drunks, hearing a whistle of a cat call. 

The clown immediately stilled, and (y/n) quickly grew worried. 

“Hey, where ya goin’ babes?” One of the men called, stepping out of the alleyway with a bottle in hand. “Not with the mime, I hope.” 

Art and (y/n) slowly turned to face the man, their hands still interlocked as she gripped his tighter and stepped closer to him, practically hiding behind him like a scared child. 

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you actually wanna be with the guy!”

“Ey, c’mon man, stop messin’ with them, she’s not worth it.” Another man stepped out, followed by a third to watch the scene play out. Art’s eyebrows furrowed in anger, twisted grin remaining as he set down his bag and quickly reached into it. 

“Obviously not if -“ Two shots suddenly pierced through the night air, the second and third men collapsing to the ground while Art aimed a handgun at the first who initiated. 

(Y/n)’s hold on his hand moved to his arm, clutching onto it as the bodies began to puddle with blood beneath them. She looked up at Art, his grin replaced with a frown and it sent a chill down her spine. She had only seen him genuinely angry maybe once or twice, and whatever followed was far from pleasant, to say the least. 

“H-hey, I was just jokin’ man, I was just jokin’!” The drunk held up his hands in surrender, but the clown wasn’t buying it. 

As he continued to ramble and apologize, begging for his life, Art kept the gun pointed at his head. He watched as the man slowly broke in front of him, growing increasingly desperate. Art’s grin then slowly reappeared, giving the man a glimmer of hope.

Then Art suddenly aimed at the man’s thigh and fired, doing the same to his other until he fell to his knees. Art tossed the gun into his bag and rummaged through it further, his face twisting into a sadistic expression when he pulled out a box cutter flashing it to the man as a tease before stalking over to him.

(Y/n) turned around, facing away from the chaos and gore as she plugged her ears to drown out the noise. Even still, the sound seeped through as the man struggled and cried out helplessly. His fight was futile compared to Art’s strength, and the latter simply ragdolled him as if the man was just a child. 

When the noise stopped, she unplugged her ears and felt a hand pat her waist, turning to see Art wipe off his now bloodied hands. She turned to see his mess, and his face suddenly grew concerned when she pouted. 

“I don’t have my camera.” (Y/n) nearly whined, and Art mimicked her frown. 

At first, (y/n) resisted the growing dependency, confused by her attachment. But he began to seep into her thoughts with concerning frequency. The dreams became more vivid, more intimate, filled with his silent adoration as he twisted her perception of reality until he became the center of her world, the only constant in her life, planting seeds of affection until it became impossible to imagine her life without him.

His obsession with her only grew. He would stand over her while she slept during the day, watching her with an almost childlike fascination. When she woke, his silent attention made her feel adored, special. The way he looked at her, possessive yet affectionate. His presence was her comfort, his protection her shield.

Eventually, (y/n) could no longer distinguish where her own desires ended and his began. The thought of being apart from him was unbearable. She began to seek him out during the day when she should have been resting, desperate to be near him. 

When they were together, it was a twisted dance of blood and beauty. A duet that no one else could understand. She would create art from his chaos, and he would watch her with silent adoration, the two of them locked in a world where only they existed.

They grew to share a dark, intimate bond. (Y/n), once a quiet and reserved artist, had become consumed by Art - both his work and his presence. He had molded her. And she, willingly or not, had come to love him for it. 

As their connection deepened, (y/n) knew that she could never return to the life she had before. The darkness was too intoxicating, the bond too strong. 

She belonged to him now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.