Jon Bernthal X Reader - Tumblr Posts

scars full of lies.

pairings. frank castle x fem!reader

about. frank is hoping to keep his vigilante life a secret, but it’s hard when reader asks questions that brings that wish to risk

warnings. lying? nothing really

ricky rocks. ma man 🤗

scars on the back of his neck.

that's it. that’s what you thought about a lot. especially when night rounded around the corner and you were having a hard time finding sleep. so, instead of counting sheep, you counted his scars by memory.

you wondered how they surfaced on his body and who made the execution to create such deep cuts on his body in hopes to hurt him. frank was a scary man. you understood that. but who was scared enough to hurt him?

or not scared at all?

you thought about frank a lot more than you’d like to admit. you knew he’d tease you and you already had a hard enough time dealing with that—it would be a field day for him if he knew what went on in your head.

“you alright?”

“yeah, i’m fine,” you smiled softly to the concern that erupted through franks voice as he looked up from the book he read. you adjusted your place next to him, sinking deeper into the couch and deeper into his side, cuing him to go ahead continue reading with the nod of your head.

but he didn’t look back down to his book like you had hoped, “what’s going through your mind right now, sweetheart?”

you smiled at the name and your cheeks began to grow warm when his hand reached and clasped the back of your neck softly, as if to pull you in closer.

fuck.

he always got you, if not with his words, then his affectionate actions.

“i don’t know, i just think, frank,” you mumbled, not wanting to finish your thought.

his brows narrowed, struck slightly confused, “yeah, well i hope so.”

“no, i mean, i think about you, frank, a lot,” you were hesitant with your words, not sure if you should speak them aloud, because the thing was, you felt it shouldn’t be that way.

you met frank on the subway station after he saved you from tripping onto the tracks before never really seeing him again until a month later at a coffeehouse—accidentally spilling coffee on him before recognition kicked in and the two of you sat down together.

it felt like talking to your father—scolding you for being so clumsy with both encounters you two had and telling you, you should really study your surroundings more. and then the cell phone thing—

“can i get you number, you know, just to thank you some other time, more properly.”

he had froze from putting his coat on, a hesitant look immediately overcoming his face causing you to cringe, wondering what had gone wrong despite everything going so smoothly for you two being strangers.

“oh, i mean you don’t have to, i just—“

“no, i just don’t really have a phone, at the moment,” he finally had his brown coat slung over himself, giving you a sympathetic smile. “i recently moved into the area, lost my cell in the process and really haven’t found time to replace it.”

what a lie, was what you thought.

“i’m not really a good with a phone in the first place,” he shrugged before pulling out a pen he had in his pocket, sitting back down. “this is my p.o. box, write me a letter sometime.”

he winked, before getting up and walking away.

but it seemed since day one, frank was never one to track, someone who didn’t want to be held down.

he didn’t get a phone until five months after you sent your first letter, but he still couldn’t keep track of the thing for the life of him.

“you want to tell me what it is you think about?” his finger tips teased the side of your face before tucking some strands of your hair behind your ear.

“i feel like… i barely know you,” you pause, feeling uneasy about your words, “i mean, i worry because i don’t know who you were before we met.”

“same person as i am now,” he smiles.

“yes, but,” you sigh, taking a step back in your head, attempting to recuperate. he studied your face with a sudden hard frown, studying the emotions that were crossing your face. you suddenly set your hand on the back of his neck, your finger tips finding one of the many scars easily and tracing it back and forth. “this. i want to know about this.”

his lips twitched upward, “my scars?”

he seemed confused as to what was so fascinating about them, making you feel dumb by the way you couldn’t help but nod eagerly.

“okay…” his tongue poked the inside of his cheek as he thought while his eyes strayed from yours. “i had a bit of rough childhood, i’d come home almost everyday to my mom screaming at me, for no reason.”

he shook his head, a look of distress coming across his face as he spoke, almost reliving that moment, “one day, i had came home a little bit later than usual for whatever reason—maybe i saw a dog, i don’t know—but it just wasn’t her day,” he tsked, his head slightly shaking, “threw a glass vase my way, shattered and sliced my neck all up. one of many, many marks,” he slid his sleeve up, brining light to the small scars that tore up his arms. “she had a short temper.”

a lie. frank was full of lies, but it was better if you didn’t know the truth. and it was good that you ate it up, because he couldn’t imagine how you’d react to the real reason half his body was full of scars and hidden wounds.

“frank, i’m so sorry,” your arms wrapped around his neck as you had practically thrown yourself to his body, a feeling of remorse overcoming you as you held him as close as you could. “you didn’t deserve that.”

even if it was true, he probably did. he deserved every little mark of pain on his body, even more so for lying to you about it.

navigation

band-aids and bullet wounds

summary: frank comes home with bumps and bruises. you sing him a little tune to brighten his night.

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: general frank castle injuries :(

a/n: back to posting! although it’s still irregular, i have a break from school on the horizon in which i may or may not have some prompts lined up. in the mean time, i love writing for lovable trash men, so please send in requests!

She woke to the sound of jangling keys in the doorway. Shuffling feet, and a clang of them falling to the floor had her up and out of her uncomfortable position on the armrest. Her feet patter against the hardwood floor of Frank's apartment, and behind the bed she hid, her eyes peeking out from above the comforter. She groped the floor for a gun she knew was there. There was a grunt of pain, the keys jangled again, and watched with baited breath. She sighed in relief as Frank walked through the door. Then furrowed her brows in panic as she quickly surveyed his bruised body.

Before she can do, or even say anything, he collapses into a chair near the door and bends down in pain, wincing as he attempts to undo his large combat boots.

"Frankie..." She criticizes, almost pouting as she makes her way over to his seat.

"Oh, don't start," He begins in an attempt to comfort her. He's hunched over, breathing shallow, yet laborious.

"What did you do, Castle?" She asks quietly, getting down on one knee to undo his boots.

He leans up slowly, allowing himself to relax into the shitty upholstery of his chair. He’s pretty sure he got it from a garage sale. It certainly feels like it. Frank gives no response. Instead he grimaces and sighs, closing his eyes and moving his hand to run it over his hair and face.

Without words, she's up off her knee, extending her hand to him. He mindlessly moves his to rest in hers. A gentle tug from her and a grunt of pain from him, and he resists, instead pulling her in towards him. She stumbles over his boot and whimpers as she accidentally bumps into his leg, her face planting straight into his severely bruised shoulder. He whimpers, but drowns it in her neck, letting himself lay idle there as she tried to figure out where to place herself in order to not hurt Frank. She settles for his knee, and for also wrapping her warm arms around his broad, tough shoulders.

"Frank," She murmurs into his jawline, her body rotated so that she could turn into him.

"What happened?" She inquires, running her hands over his freezing ears.

"Just a few bad guys, sweetheart. Don’t worry about it. Nothin' I haven't handled before." He reminds, letting his frigid hands run under her shirt for warmth. He hears her sharp intake of breath, and her chuckle into his ear and he melts. All the cold from outside and the pain from a few hours ago just melts away and he lives in her breathing for a second, before she removes herself from his lap carefully.

"C'mon," she encourages, taking his hand and gripping it tightly. With intent.

He sighs and removes himself from the chair.

She drags him unceremoniously into the bathroom, and sits him down on the side of the tub. Frank closes his eyes and, seemingly, for the hundredth time that night, sighs. He watches her, and wonders how he got to be so lucky. These patch-up sessions happened so often now, that he just let himself be cared for. Maybe he was getting sloppy. Did he deserve the aftercare? Probably not. But he had resisted long enough to realize that whether he likes it or not, if he comes back home and she’s waiting for him, he’s getting stitched, bandaged, and iced.

“What hurts?” She asks. He doesn’t answer.

“Frank—” She begins, but he interrupts her.

“I’m okay.” He lies.

“Bullshit. You’re sitting there, looking like Barney the dinosaur and you’re just gonna, fuckin', lie to my face?” She jokes, halfheartedly.

“Sweetheart,”

“No—don’t even, don’t even pull that shit with me, Castle. God. You know—do you even know what you look like right now, Frank?” She says, opening the mirrored medicine cabinet wide, so that frank could take a good look.

The dried blood on his temple immediately stuck out to him. A large gash where the skin was frayed definitely looked like it would hurt tomorrow. Not to mention the bruises. The cut on his lip would make eating anything spicy a pain. Though he had to admit, he’s seen worse.

“Would you believe me if i told you I won?” He asks, grinning at her.

“Unfortunately, 100%.” She answers. She rolls her eyes and takes the first aid kit from the cabinet.

On the floor next to him, after he takes off his jacket and his shirt, and all other unnecessary clothing items, she spends a ridiculous amount of time deciding what to use on him. Band-aids, gauze, ice packs, and a small suture kit were intermittently attended to as she cared for Frank. Not before long, the gash on his head was closed as best she could, and the majority of the larger cuts were bandaged up. The only things left were the small thin scrapes, littered over his face and arms, and the medium sized laceration on his bicep.

In the middle of applying comically small band-aids to the wounds, she decides that the fastest way to get through the process would be to murmur a very relevant, catchy tune. She sings it proudly yet quietly, applying one of the sticky ends methodically to Frank's face.

"I am stuck on band-aid brand, ‘cuz band-aids stick on me,” she sings under her breath. Frank recognizes the melody. It’s the only commercial that came on kids television, apparently.

“What?” He questions anyway.

“I am stuck on band-aid brand ‘cuz band-aids help heal me,” She croons, looking up at Frank’s incredulous expression.

“I can’t deal with you,” he chuckles, and turns away to watch the wall, before his gaze falls back to her smiling widely on her knees, getting the alcohol to disinfect the scrapes. Without warning, she pours the alcohol into the gash in his arm. He growls. 

“Ah, watch the fuckin'... thing, please.”

“I’m gonna put a band-aid on your mouth,” she mutters, “maybe it’ll fix your language.”

“Ah shut up,” he retorts, and tries to run his sticky, dirty, bloody hand through her hair.

“Nooo!” She whines, dodging it.

“I’m almost done, and then, ah shit—“ she cuts herself off, realizing she should’ve had him take a shower first. Too late now

“Well, we can have it sit for a while, then I’ll hop in the shower with you?” she suggests. He rests his hands on the edge of the tub.

“Sounds good to me,” he responds, listening to her hum and take paper off of band-aids. 

He watches as she meticulously covers each cut with nurturing hands. He doesn’t mind the touch. The cheap whiskey stings a bit when first applied, but the pain become dull after a while. Like a tattoo needle. He only realizes he’s tired when he yawns, and then again when she reaches up to rub the back of his neck after she’s finished. He closes his eyes, just for a moment, and relishes in the undisturbed tranquility of the night. A clock ticking from somewhere inside his apartment. Nearly ancient walls creaking. A car driving by every now and again. He’s glad he’s not alone, is the only thing he can think of when his lips meet hers.

keepin’ busy

request: 5. “I know a few ways we could keep busy…” 19. “Pornhub is giving away free premium right now you perv. Get away from me.” 20. “That’s a dangerous game to play if we’re gonna be stuck with each other for the next four weeks.” with Frank Castle? idk how many prompts per request we're meant to send so I picked my fave 3

summary: frank’s been a lot more… tense, since quarantine started. whether that’s because he’s not taking his rage out on bad guys late at night or because he’s stuck in your house without a little privacy? that’s anyone’s guess… 

pairings: frank castle x reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: suggestive content, frank has nice hands ;) 

a/n: if only we could go back to a time where we all thought we were getting like, eight weeks off… hah…haha…hahaha…whew… on a less depressing note, jon bernthal is really fucking hot. pretty pretty please send in some requests for my boy frankie :( i love him so much. If you’ve had any ideas floating around you’d like to see written out to completion, now’s the perfect time to see it happen! maybe some smut, or fluff, or angst, or anything really… big love <3

He wasn’t supposed to be staying with you. But apartment hunting when your face has been all over the news recently as one of America’s Most Wanted criminals in the state of New York is kind of hard to do, not to mention when there’s a global pandemic going on. You knew first hand, apartment hunting was hard enough as is. At first, you didn’t really notice him. He would always be out going on runs, exercising in the basement in order to not disturb any neighbors, and guarding the streets at night, like a vigilante cop. Soon, he was staying home more than he was patrolling. Frank still got out from time to time, but it was hard to catch bad guys when they were at home, drinking and sleeping and waiting to be able to go back to causing trouble again.

You hadn’t touched anyone in weeks. You were starving for affection of any kind. You missed hugging your friends, awkward cheek kisses from your family, even shaking hands with strangers at this rate. What you wouldn’t give for a nice firm handshake… 

It was driving you crazy. Frank on the other hand, was making the most out of his time stuck in your apartment. He had recently gotten into a netflix show, you had noticed, which was just one of the luxuries exposed to him during the pandemic. He strummed on your old guitar, the one you barely played anymore, if at all. It was a surprise to hear, but you knew from the familiar sounds of tuning and plucking strings that it was not coming from the television. It was a nice thing to see, him hunched over on your couch, guitar case open on the floor, fiddling with the capo for a song he knew by heart. It was nice he could let his guard down a little bit. He was even learning how to cook, and could make a mean fettuccine alfredo for the two of you. 

Frank was a very domestic man outside of his nightly routine of making New York a cleaner place to live. 

Nights were different now. You two sat together on the couch, your head on his shoulder, dozing off against him as he tried to clue you in on what was happening. It was a gangster show, but that was the only thing you gleaned from his run down. 

“I bet you were a mafia man in a past life,” you said, breaking the silence between the two of you. He tore his gaze from the television.

“What?” he said, smiling down at you. You didn’t look away from the TV, but continued.

“Like, a mafia boss or something. Yeah, I can see that.” “Where is this comin’ from?” he asks.

You hum as you imagine it, ignoring his question. 

“You’re weird,” he comments, and he puts his legs up on the coffee table.

“You can see?” he asks, and his feet are in the way of the screen but you’re not really watching it anyway, so you nod your head against his shoulder. He moves his arm behind your head and rubs your shoulder softly before resting it over the arm of the couch. You readjust yourself, head on his thigh, curling up into Frank. It became easier to listen to his breathing when he turned the volume down a bit, fully aware of you on his lap. It didn’t take long before you dozed off, but when you woke up, you were in your bedroom, shrouded in darkness, covered carefully by a comforter. 

OVER the course of the coming week, the two of you get closer. You’d even become invested in the show he’d started watching. 

With your closeness, you hadn’t noticed you started touching Frank a lot more. 

Nothing you wouldn’t do to your other friends. It was mainly just laying your head on his, playing old hand games you remembered from your childhood, and petting the back of his neck. It was absent minded, and it was only because he had shown you how to cut his hair with his old beard clippers. When asked about why you would run your hands over the prickly surface, you explained it felt nice, and that you had the right to admire your handiwork. 

Later into the quarantine you ordered a palmistry book, and since nobody else was around, you asked Frank to read his palms. He of course was hesitant, but did as you asked, handing over his right hand for you to examine. His nails were nicely trimmed, you noticed immediately. The tips of his fingers were calloused, as were his palms, the skin cracked under harsh and constant use. He held the flashlight from your phone as you read from the book and bent and pulled at the taut skin there. You read him his diagnosis, and he said it was all bullshit, like astrology. You just think he didn’t like being labelled as a dreamer. 

It really only heated up when you asked for the massage.

You said it as a joke, but Frank was by your side, rolling his eyes and pushing up the sleeves on his black Henley before you looked up at him.

“Oh shit, you’re actually gonna do it?” You mused, flipping yourself over. Very briefly you were self conscious of your lounge shorts and novelty shirt that was a size too big. But just for a second, because then Frank was straddling your back, considerately resting most of his weight on his knees, kneading your shoulders with his big hands. His palms work the knots out and you breathe a little lighter as he trails downward, pressing hard into your lower back. It makes you moan a little bit, but if he hears you, he doesn't acknowledge it. He takes precious time down there, all fingers and knuckles and palms, pushing hard into your soft skin, almost like he’s done this before. 

You feel him back up off of you, and you note the lack of contact, making you open your eyes for a second. His thumbs push and pull the soft flesh of your calves. It’s only moments before they move softly up your thigh, sending shivers down your back. He goes just a smidgen too high for comfort. It makes your heart jump into your throat, and you wriggle out from his grip.

“Pornhub is giving away free premium right now, you perv. Get away from me,” you say playfully, smile on your face. It’s not contagious.

“I thought that’s what you wanted?” He spoke, confused. Your brows furrowed.

“What?”

“You’ve been doing little things all week like that… ‘thought you wanted me to… God, never mind. I’m just… I’m sorry,” he apologizes, and stands up from the couch. 

You’re dumbfounded. You don’t know what to do. But you know you don’t want him to leave.

“What?” you respond again, this time with even more confusion.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re fine,” he says, making his way down the hall. Did he mean what he said? Did he say what he meant?

You stood up hastily to follow him, tripping over your own feet in pursuit. His hand is on the door handle to your office, which had since been converted into a room for Frank, complete with luxuries such as a pull out futon and fast internet speeds (thanks to the router being in there).

“Frank,” you said, stopping at the beginning of the hallway. You watched his hand grip the knob. His shoulders rise and fall with his breathing.

“I…” you start, but don’t know where to go. What to say. You’re confused, and you don’t want him to be upset. Not even at you, just in general. You can’t stand the lack of contact with the outside world already. It would suck to be alienated by your… roommate? If you could even call him that.

“What is this?” you say, and he spins around to look at you. 

Now it’s his turn to be confused.

“What?” he questions, and his shoulders are squared and tense.

“Where is this coming from? I mean… yeah, but… me?”

His brows are furrowed and he squints at you suspiciously.

“You?” He questions.

“I guess quarantine is taking a toll on everyone, and you can’t really see anyone else… do you… do you really want…”

“Do I really want what?”

You could barely look at him, eyes tracing the wood patterns in the floor and the door behind him. 

“Do you want that, Frank?” You ask. Your eyes meet his.

“Do I want what?” He asks again, irritated. You sigh gently, and your feet move on their own accord, anticipation and worry festering where your heart should be. He watches you come to him.

You stand in front of him, your feet almost touching, your hands by your side.

His eyes are dark in the dimly lit hallway. His gaze is intense.

You reach your hand out to him, taking one of his hands in yours and squeezing it, pulling it closer to you. He moves his head closer to yours, tentatively stopping within centimetres of your lips.

Then he’s on top of you, pushing his lips into yours, unyielding and feverish. His hand comes up to cup the nape of your neck and you breathe heavily into the kiss, softening under his touch. 

He pulls away, and you’re panting with the intensity of it.

“That’s new,” you say, backing up slightly. He smiles mischievously.

“We can take it slow.”

THE television in your room is smaller than the one in the living room, and has remained largely unused since Frank moved in. 

It’s nice to have Frank in bed with you. There are flashes of color bouncing off the walls of your dark bedroom. It’s not Frank’s mafia show tonight. It’s the news.

“It’s crazy out there,” you interrupt. “Never seen anything like it.”

Andrew Cuomo is on screen, making important announcements about the state of New York, when he changes your whole outlook in just a few words.

Statewide shutdown ends May 15th, adding another month on top of your quarantine with Frank. A lot longer than you had originally anticipated.

“That’s... two whole months, huh?” He ponders, your back pressed up against his chest in your bed.

“I know a few ways we could keep busy…” you suggested, tracing patterns up his arm. You tilted your head up to look at him.

“That’s a dangerous game to play if we’re going to be stuck with each other for the next few weeks,” he spoke quietly, tension thick in the air. He was so close you could feel his breath on your lips. 

His hand cups your chin and throat, and you swallow hard, gaze unwavering. You lick your lips inadvertently. 

He comes in even closer, and envelopes you in a soft kiss. Frank being a sweet lover, you never would have guessed. Your skull is cradled in his big hands, and it makes you notice how vulnerable you are to him. Your neck exposed, bodies pressed against each other in a hot passion. His lips are a little rougher down other parts of your body, but his hands are always soft and firm, touching and squeezing and dragging his fingertips down your stomach. He’s painstakingly slow with it, and it makes your breath hitch in your throat. What a tease. He knows what he’s doing to you, and it drives you crazy. It would be a long night. 

Frank knows how to take care of a partner, too. Only in his case, it’s not bandaging and stitching. It’s much, much more pleasant.

okay but why is there like no shane walsh fics on here like jon bernthal is so fucking fine. just look at him😩

don’t attack me but he is my all time favourite twd character… an inch before negan🤭

this is so HOT. i need more shane fics oh my god.

Motorcycle Shane-anigans

Summary: Annoying Shane was your favourite thing to do, except this time he exacts his revenge....

Pairing: Shane Walsh x reader

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, public sex, degradation(?), caught in the act

The day Y/N met Shane Walsh was the day her life changed forever. Whether it changed for better or for worse was still to be determined.

She had been on her own for some time by then, her brother and her best friend having already succumbed to the virus. She had been doing well by herself, relying on the survival skills her late father had taught her and had no plans to ever ally with anyone, content to live out the rest of her days alone.

Originally from Alabama, Y/N had chosen to travel rather than stay in one place, her logic being that she would be less likely to run out of supplies. Eventually, she found herself in Altlanta, Georgia where she came across the ramshackle group of survivors she came to call her family.

Although she hadn't intended on staying long after they had deemed her a non-threat and welcomed her, she was eventually drawn in. Y/N hadn't realised just how much she had missed the warmth and love brought by good company.

Among the group, she had immediately bonded with Glenn and Lori, whereas she had some... issues with other certain people. Namely Shane Walsh. The man infuriated her to her core. The former deputy was a single-minded, fearless man, and although Y/N knew he had the groups best interests at heart, he had a funny fucking way of showing it.

Y/N herself was a headstrong individual and often found herself clashing with Shane and his controlling manner. She had previously been a surgical resident, over halfway in her journey in becoming a registered surgeon. Y/N had saved countless lives, run her own O. R and managed to maintain a relatively healthy work-life balance while doing so, and refused to be ordered around by some random deputy who believed he knew better than her.

The bastard knew what he was doing too. He purposely provoked Y/N, as if he enjoyed making her want to tear her hair out. However, she endured, finding creative ways to get back at him.

On this particular occasion, she had stolen Shane's distinctive knife and popped the tires on Daryl's motorcycle after the two men had had a rather explosive argument, effectively framing Shane.

The following day, after a vigorous fight with Daryl, Shane appeared in front of Y/N, with a dark purple eye, at around mid-day as she organised the small amount of medical equipment they had.

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of his beaten face, quickly regretting it as he grabbed her by the wrist and marched her to a secluded spot at the edge of the forest that surrounded them.

With camp in the near distance, the only other visible object was Daryl's motorcycle, parked beside a large oak tree. The direction Y/N was being dragged to.

"What the fuck Shane! I was busy, what the hell do you want?", she demanded, attempting to resist as he carried on.

"You think you can get away with this shit?", he questioned, gesturing vaguely to his bruised face. Y/N began to grow apprehensive as her anger began to wear off, hearing the pure rage in Shane's tone.

"What are you going to do? Huh?", she shot back, unthinking. "Gonna hit me back?"

He froze and Y/N suddenly began to regret every word she had ever uttered. He turned around and his glare was icy. He had let go of her wrist by now and was slowly advancing toward her, intruding in her space until they were chest to chest.

"What the hell are you doi-", Y/N was cut off by Shane, capturing her mouth with his in a fierce kiss. Their teeth clashed as they fought for dominance, neither conceding to the to the other.

Jesus Christ, she thought, he kisses like he fights. Holding nothing back. With the harsh swipes of his tongue Y/N felt her underwear begin to dampen, this was the most action she had gotten in over a year. All thoughts of pushing him away, swearing him off, screaming at him, faded as the kiss grew more and more passionate.

The kiss broke off and they stood staring silently at each other, their breathless pants echoing throughout the empty space. With a frustrated groan, Y/N dove back into another kiss, this one somehow becoming more vigorous than before.

"Oh, I fuckin' hate you", she breathed out, as Shane moved his mouth down to her neck, eliciting a surprised chuckle from the man. Her words quickly escalated into breathy moans as sucked on her most sensitive spot just below her ear, while grasping at her tits, twisting her sensitive nipples through her thin shirt. She would bet that there was a wet spot forming on her underwear by now, as she grinded against his solid thigh, the denim rubbing at her throbbing clit.

As he moved down her body, he tore each item of clothing off of her like it was on fire, grabbing at every inch of exposed skin he could find, while she struggled to get his shirt off. Finally, tearing the shirt off Y/N raked her nails down his back, relishing in the pained groans Shane let out in response.

Y/N nearly screamed in a strange mixture of pain and pleasure as Shane exacted his revenge, beginning to suck and bite at her hardened nipples, causing shocks to travel down her body, directly to her pulsating clit.

Y/N had failed to notice that while they were locked together, they had managed to stagger back and she now found herself pressed tightly against Daryl's motorcycle as Shane pulled her jeans down, her underwear with it. She jumped as she suddenly felt his thick fingers explore her soaking pussy, collecting some of her wetness before driving into her greedy opening.

The stretch of his large digits was excruciating but so, so fucking good, as they started to scissor in and out of her. Y/N bit into Shane's shoulder, trying to silence her desperate screams as he nailed her g-spot over and over again. Tears started to run down her face as the pure pleasure overwhelmed her.

As she reached out to free his straining dick, wishing to reciprocate the pleasure she was experiencing, Shane's fingers pulled out of her, slapping her hands away and she felt as if the world had turned underneath her feet when she was roughly swivelled around, her stomach now resting, on the seat of the motorcycle. Shane's still clothed cock pressed into her bare ass. Y/N's face warmed as she listened to the slurping sounds of Shane licking his fingers that had previously been inside of her, while his remaining hand pressed her firmly into the seat.

"Fucking delicous. ", he stated. Y/N's blush reached her chest and ears by now as both embarrassment and some sick sort of pride shot through her.

"Christ, Shane", her moans were almost gutteral by now as she became increasingly desperate to feel his fat cock deep inside her.

"How'd you like me now, Y/N?", he questioned, grinding into her.

Y/N could only moan in response, practically dripping by this point. Goddammit, she despised this man. But she was beyond caring about that, only thinking about satiating the need he had sparked in her. For God's sake she was so wet, it had started leaking down her thighs.

Suddenly, he pulled away from her, ready to protest, she attempted to turn around but was halted by Shane forcing her legs to widen further and pressing his now bare cock between them, her juices dropping down onto his dick.

She felt him grab his length. Finally, she thought. Y/N let out a high-pitched yelp as his fat cock-head slapped her clit a few times.

"Get on with it, you fuckin' dick", she groaned, tired of his teasing, longing for something more.

This elicited another enraging chuckle from him.

"Is this what you wanted, darlin'?"

She hardly even registered his words when he positioned himself right at her drenched opening and oh. The only thought capable of running through Y/Ns mind in this crucial, world-bending moment was 'oh'. The feel of Shane's thick length as it split her open was bordering on painful and yet with the pain came indescribable pleasure. She swore she could feel him all the way in her stomach, she was so full. His calloused palms gripped her tits tightly, as he slowly but surely thrusted into her soaking core from behind, letting out barely audible groans of pleasure.

The thought of being bent over Daryl's motorcycle, ass out, as Shane fucked into her, on the edge of the green forest, where anyone back at camp could hear, was one that inspired intense anxiety and apprehension into Y/N, her worst nightmare. But the reality? Oh, the reality felt like the sweetest fucking dream.

"You like that? My cock pounding into your tight little cunt?" he panted out. She could feel herself flush, the heat reaching her ears. Shane's words sparked something deep inside her, making her grow wetter and wetter. The only sounds that could be heard throughout the desolate forest were the wet sounds of his hips slapping loudly against her ass and Y/N's desperate moans as her clit rubbed against the rough leather seat.

"Answer me.", his voice was rough as he took pleasure from her stilted gasps and pants.

"Yes, yes, I like it." Y/N stammered out, overwhelmed by the sensations. "I fucking like it."

His hands began pressing at the bulge in her stomach, feeling his dick fucking into her over and over again. Y/N didn't know if it felt so good because she hadn't gotten any in a while or if the bastard was just this damn good.

Shane chuckled, his voice gruff, amused by her enthusiasm. He rutted harder against her, reaching deeper and deeper inside, hitting her just right.

"Oh fucking, god!", a throaty scream erupted from deep within her.

"Nope, just me darlin'", Y/N didn't know how it was possible to loathe someone so deeply as they provided you with such indescribable pleasure.

Her soaking cunt began to clench on his cock, urging it deeper and deeper within her as the pleasure built up, the combined sensations of the aged leather scraping against her throbbing clit, Shane's rough hands rubbing into her hypersensitive nipples and his gigantic dick pounding into her g-spot, driving Y/N closer and closer to orgasm.

"Jesus, how tight are you? It's like a god damn vice grip", his deep voice was strained as he increased the speed of his powerful thrusts. He too, coming close to his release.

Y/N, swore she could hear a commotion, somewhere in the back of her mind, but was so clouded with pleasure she let the distant thought fly away.

"Are you going to be a good girl and cum for me? Huh?", he questioned her, pushing so deep, Y/N thought he had breached her cervix.

"Yes, fuck, yes.", she felt as if the response burst from her, as they both reached their climax.

Shane finally released her tits, choosing to grip on to her hips, bracing himself as he fucked into her, hitting her g-spot over and over again, leaving her tits to violently sway back and forth with the force of his thrusts.

"Shit, shit, shit. I'm so close, Shane.", Y/N was almost begging at this point, right on the edge she only needed a tiny bit more before she would be flying.

Shane reached one hand down to her pussy, quickly finding her clit and rubbing at a furoius pace.

The air was filled with their combined moans and grunts and the squelching of Y/Ns gushing core. Everything, every minute sensation was coming together.

Yes, yes, yes.

A scream exploded from her chest, a groan from Shane matching her as they arrived together.

"Oh, shi-"

"Y/N, where are you! We need y-", Glenn stopped short at the opening of the spot they were in, jaw hanging open as he stared at the sight that greeted him.

Y/N and Shane mid-orgasm could only stare back at the man in horror. Coming to their senses, the two swiftly parted, sharing an embarrassed glance as they rushed to reclothe themselves.

It seems Glenn was frozen as he stayed unmoving as they dressed, his expression becoming increasingly pained as he saw Y/N cover her tits with her torn and tattered shirt.

Y/N was shocked to see him there at all, for the obvious reason and because he was supposed to be on a supply run in the city with some of the others. Something must have gone wrong. Why else would they be back this early?

Shane seemed to reach a similar conclusion as they shared a concerned glance before realising the situation they were in.

Once they were clothed (mostly), Glenn appeared to come back to himself.

"There's a new-comer, we found in the city. Dude's a sheriff or something, saved my ass from a hoarde of walkers but he's pretty banged up. We need you to look at him Y/N", Glenn rushed out, looking like he'd rather be anywhere other than there.

"Just let me get a shirt and I'll be right on it.", Oh god, she could never look her friend in the eye again.

"Here just take mine. Go.", Shane intercepted, throwing her his shirt, he had soundlessly removed.

There was a silence as she shrugged it on.

"... Thanks. ", it quickly became awkward, as Y/N let out a small smile and rushed off back to camp, leaving Glenn and Shane staring at one another.

Shane levelled Glenn with a harsh look.

"You never speak of this. To anyone. If I hear you've even uttered a single word, I'll have your fuckin' head. Alright?"

Glenn's head nearly flew off his shoulders as he readily agreed.

"Okay then.", They strode off, on the short walk back to camp. Shane started interrogating Glenn, on the recent trip. "Tell me about this guy you picked up."

"Oh, it's insane. Guy woke up in an abandoned hospital, fresh out of a coma, to this shit. He's looking for his wife and kid."

Shane froze. It couldn't be. Wasn't possible.

"What's the guy's name?", Shane's breath began to tremble.

"Rick Grimes, he said. Why?", realising he had stopped, Glenn turned around, finding Shane looking vaguely ill.

"Shit."