#Walking Dead Fandom

[aspenmissing]

【Ｓｅａｓｏｎ　１】

ᴅᴀʏꜱ ɢᴏɴᴇ ʙʏ - ᴅᴇᴘᴜᴛʏ ꜱʜᴇʀɪꜰꜰ ʀɪᴄᴋ ɢʀɪᴍᴇꜱ ᴀᴡᴀᴋᴇɴꜱ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴀ, ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜᴇꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪꜱ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ʀᴀᴠᴀɢᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇᴀᴅ. ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʏ, ʜᴇ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱ ᴘᴀᴛʜꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏ/ɴ ᴅɪxᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ʙᴏʏ ᴡʜᴏᴍ ꜱʜᴇ ꜱᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ. ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇʏ ɢᴏ ɪɴ ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟɪᴇꜱ. ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1

ɢᴜᴛꜱ - ʀɪᴄᴋ, ʏ/ɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀɴɴʏ ᴊᴏɪɴꜱ ᴀ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴏʀꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴ ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴇꜱᴄᴀᴘᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀᴛʟᴀɴᴛᴀ. ʏ/ɴ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ᴜɴᴄʟᴇ, ᴡʜᴏᴍ ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴜᴛʙʀᴇᴀᴋ. ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ᴛᴇʟʟ ɪᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀᴏɢꜱ - ʜᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴏʀꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴘ, ʀɪᴄᴋ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪꜱ ᴡɪꜰᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏɴ, ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʏ/ɴ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴜᴛ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇꜱ - ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴏʀꜱ - ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏꜰᴛᴏᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇꜱᴄᴜᴇ ᴍᴇʀʟᴇ, ʏ/ɴ'ꜱ ᴜɴᴄʟᴇ. ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ᴠᴀᴛᴏꜱ - ɪɴ ᴀᴛʟᴀɴᴛᴀ, ʀɪᴄᴋ'ꜱ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ᴄᴏᴍᴇꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴄᴏɴꜰʟɪᴄᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴀᴛᴏꜱ, ᴀ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ᴏꜰ ʟᴀᴛɪɴᴏꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴋɪᴅɴᴀᴘ ɢʟᴇɴɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʏ/ɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴍᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴇxᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ʀɪᴄᴋ'ꜱ ʙᴀɢ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪꜱ ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ. ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ-ᴏꜰꜰ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴀᴛᴏꜱ' ʙᴀꜱᴇ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅɪꜱᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ɪᴛ ɪꜱ ᴀ ʜɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ɴᴜʀꜱɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴍᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴀᴛᴏꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴏᴡɴ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ. ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ᴡɪʟᴅꜰɪʀᴇ - ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀᴍᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʟᴋᴇʀ ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴇʀꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴠᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ꜰᴀᴄɪʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ, ʜᴏᴘɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴀ ᴄᴜʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴ ɪɴꜰᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴊɪᴍ ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ᴛꜱ-19 - ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ꜰɪɴᴅꜱ ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴇɴᴛᴇʀꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴅɪꜱᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴠᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ʜᴇᴀᴅQᴜᴀʀᴛᴇʀꜱ, ᴀʟᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱᴄɪᴇɴᴛɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴅʀ. ᴇᴅᴡɪɴ ᴊᴇɴɴᴇʀ ʜɪᴅᴇꜱ ᴍᴀɴʏ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʟᴇᴀᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇᴍᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴢᴏᴍʙɪᴇ ᴀᴘᴏᴄᴀʟʏᴘꜱᴇ. ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1 ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

[okamirayne]

Hi Rayne-chan! ❤ Thank u for answerinf the Richonne and Daryl Qs I sent you. I admit I'm a fan of Darol (╥︣﹏᷅╥) so was like NOOO but I get what you mean with 'will they won't they' and dragging it out. I'm still holding on! ( ✿˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ ) But I wd be cool if he got with Connie too! Not fan of Isabelle (probably because she keeps Daryl away from home! haha.) Thank you for taking Qs on characters in fandoms. I get scared to ask or share thoughts on ships sometimes. Thanks for answering (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

Wey! Hey again, TWD-fan! 🥰

Hope my response finds you well, dear.💜

Thank u for answerinf the Richonne and Daryl Qs I sent you.

Aw. No problem. Cheers for the interesting ASKS, luv!

I admit I'm a fan of Darol (╥︣﹏᷅╥) so was like NOOO but I get what you mean with 'will they won't they' and dragging it out. I'm still holding on! ( ✿˃̣̣̥᷄⌓˂̣̣̥᷅ )

Hell yeah. Go down with your ship, right? I totally respect and celebrate your right to fangirl over Darol even if it's not a ship I'm onboard with (anymore) for reasons I stated in my last response. But who the hell cares, right? It's literally just an opinion. I can totally appreciate why the Darol ship is still sailing strong regardless of my thoughts on the pairing. So you ship, ship, ship away, my dear!💕 The showrunners are giving you major wind for your sails.

Please never be like "noooo". You do you! I'm mature enough (and rational enough) to be of the mindset that we don't all have to agree on ships to happily sail the Fandom Sea together. I think it's great you still love the Darol pairing. Just because I don't vibe with it anymore doesn't mean I don't recognise or accept/appreciate that other people absolutely love it. I said the same thing for the Richonne pairing, which got the standard deranged identitarian reaction from the usual bad faith actors (which is sad) as I celebrate that people enjoy different pairings: a notion that a lot of people within fandoms sadly seem incapable of grasping nowadays, and for the most absurd and nefarious reasons. I mean hell...

But I wd be cool if he got with Connie too!

Ha. You and me both, luv.

Not fan of Isabelle (probably because she keeps Daryl away from home! haha.)

HA! Totally legit point. I can see why that would grind your gears. It got mine spinning in interesting directions. But hey, Darol fans are in for a treat right? The latest season of DARYL DIXON is hugely Carol/Daryl centred, no? (Yes, Captain Obvious here, given it's called The Book Of Carol.) There's usually a lag before it hits the UK (assuming you're on the other side of the pond!) but I'll still be giving it a watch. Either way, you lucky buggers get your fangirl treats. The rest of us poor bastards will subsist off fanfiction and/or our wild imaginations, just as the Showrunners and the good gods of storytelling intended! 🤣

Thank you for taking Qs on characters in fandoms. I get scared to ask or share thoughts on ships sometimes. Thanks for answering.

Aw, thank you for feeling chilled enough to ask me those Qs. That's important to me, because I love talking about characters and shared fandoms. Even my perceived annoyances are nothing more than a fangirl feather-ruffle or character-centred ramble of a writer who adores characters/storytelling and is just expressing a humble and different opinion, which we're all entitled to...

Which brings me onto a more serious point...

I'm so sorry (and empathetically livid) that you've felt scared to ask or share your thoughts on ships -- and yet, I can completely understand why you might feel that way (as mentioned above re: bad faith actors). Christ, I remember when people used to be able to have civil, interesting, and fun conversations regarding diverse opinions or preferences without getting pilloried or attacked. Maybe I was just lucky to engage with happy and chilled people in the past? I don't know, but it seems nowadays the fandom climate can be insanely hostile and rife with demented levels of reactivity, absurdity, immaturity, tribalism, and outright hate.

It's truly sad to see. Please know you'll never get that nasty character-assassination BS from me if you're sharing your love, or your critical analysis, of a pairing we both engage with, even if we disagree. In fact, you've got an open invitation to go ahead and share with me the reasons why you personally love Darol 🥰 even though I don't ship them anymore. I'm invested in his character arc, so it interests me.

I enjoy when people engage in GOOD FAITH conversations and are positively and respectfully passionate about characters/ships they love, whilst respecting another fan's right to feel/think/experience the characters/story differently. Your fangirl love is safe in my forum, TWD-Fan-chan, if you can accept me sharing any contrasting perspective(s) whilst respecting your right to love your ship and sail that baby joyfully. 🫡💖

Not sure if that helps you feel a little less scared. I champion your right to share your thoughts when we talk about characters we love, and if it's really not my cuppa chai (usually if it's something I personally consider outta my wheelhouse, morally incompatible with my values, or a story/preference/character/pairing/theme that I have zero interest, enjoyment, or engagement with), I'll respectfully tell you that I'm the wrong person to serve you good interaction.

I hope you feel comfortable to engage here, sweetie, and I thank you again for taking a chance to poke your head back in. I know that so many of us are dodging the most inane bullets these days. Do no harm, take no shit. Hope you can let your guard down here and chill. Such a pleasure to hear from and respond to you again. Big love! 💖🫶🏼💖

[psychotic-star-girl]

[obsmiechujek]

anyway hows your day been

[whalefill]

i'm gonna be so brave and post about my stupid hyperfixation and everyone's gonna be really nice about it ok. thanks. here are some walkingdead sketches

[twdxtrevor]

Y/N: would you love me if I was a worm

Daryl: why would i love a worm

. . .

Y/N: (hours later) *sighs loudly*

Rick: what's wrong y/n

Y/N: daryl said he doesn't love me

Daryl: AS A FUCKING WORM

[deadpoetsandlivinglegends]

Todd doesn’t talk much in the beginning but I think one random night Todd would go on a sudden 35 minute rant while doing Latin homework about how poetic it is that the Latin word for love is amor cause it sounds like armor, and love makes you feel safe, and Neil would sit there and listen, occasionally adding in comments if it seems like Todd is winding down to get him started up again, and after that Neil tries to get Todd to go on rants whenever he can so he can just sit and listen to Todd go on, sometimes it works and sometimes, especially when they are out and Todd feels anxious, it doesn’t, but every time he does talk on for long bouts of time, Neil just thinks ‘love makes you feel safe’

[chaos-company]

Angstpril 2025

Hi everyone!

It’s that time of year again! We are excited to announce that we are hosting the event again this year!

All prompts, FAQs and rules can be found in the graphics and below the cut! 

Prompts:

forgotten

2. chronic pain

3. too little, too late

4. "i trusted you"

5. memory loss

6. holding back tears

7. "it's all my fault"

8. ignored

9. "i don't want your apology"

10. old ghosts

11. if things were different

12. insomnia

13. hiding their pain

14. "i failed you"

15. came back wrong

16. trapped

17. "i did it all for you"

18. truth serum

19. empty

20. fear

21. hopeless

22. sacrifice

23. terrible things

24. "it would have been fine"

25. mistake

26. accident

27. giving everything they've got

28. stolen

29. inevitable

30. "why me?"

Alt Prompts:

"did you even care?"

2. unable to help

3. collapse

4. paralyzed

5. heartache

6. "what have you done?"

7. shaken

8. major injury

9. depression

10. never again

Rules

All posted content must be your original content. The use of AI for creation of any kind is prohibited.

All tags must be utilized in order to be reblogged. NOTE: the mods are human beings, so not all works will automatically be reblogged, even if all tagging is correct.

Any art form is acceptable, including original writing, gif sets and fan art.

FAQs

“Do I have to create for all thirty days?”

- Not at all! Feel free to jump in whenever you’d like. This is a creation event, so create as much or as little as you want! However, if you want to be entered in the shout out post, you must participate in all 30 days.

“Can I post a creation after the day has already passed?”

- Yes! You’re welcome to post for a prompt day even after the date, just be sure to tag with which day and prompt you’ve created for! You will only be eligible for the shoutout post if you complete all 30 days within the month of April.

“What if I don’t understand/like a prompt?”

- We have a list of 10 alt prompts for you to choose from if you don’t like the main 30. Feel free to use our alternate prompts for any day, and if there’s any confusion send us an ask!

[xiphions]

tbh the way I think of wolfstar fighting is that sirius gets mean and remus shuts down. and sirius just keeps getting meaner to get any kind of reaction.

[chalantromantic]

goosebumps giving gifs 🫦

[aspenmissing]

𝙳𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝙶𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝙱𝚢 (𝙿𝚝 𝟷)

Rick Grimes walks down the road to find some gasoline that he can use to continue his ride to Atlanta. He comes upon a house.

"Hello? Police officer out here. Can I borrow some gas? Hello?" Rick makes it to the door and knocks "Hello? Anybody home?" Rick looks inside and sees two dead bodies with flies buzzing around them, white sheets covering them. There is a message on the wall written in blood saying, "God Forgive Us". Rick moves back in disgust before walking away and sitting down on the porch. He turns his head to see a truck and stands before a cock of a shotgun breaks the silence.

"Who the hell are you?" They speak. Rick goes to turn around, his hands up, only for the shotgun to be pressed harder "I won't repeat myself”.

"I'm just heading to Atlanta to find my wife and son, and my car ran out of gasoline. I saw this place and the truck and was going to take some of the gasoline and continue to make my way to Atlanta" The shotgun cocks again and it’s pulled away from Rick's back, he places his hands down "Thank you" Rick turns around to see a girl, no older than 20. Her brown hair reaches her shoulders, complimenting her hazel eyes.

"We're heading that way too. Tryin' to find my dad and uncle" The girl walks over to the truck.

"We?” He questions with a confused look. She opens the truck and kneels on the seat, looking over the passenger seat to the back.

"It's okay, he's friendly" Rick looks through the window to see a little boy, no older than 11, pop his head from around the passenger seat, and gives Rick a little wave, Rick returns it and smiles.

"Hey there, hope I didn't scare you" The boy shakes his head and jumps into the passenger seat. The girl steps out the truck and leans against it, arms crossed.

"This truck has been bled dry; you aren’t getting any gasoline" Rick looks over the young girl.

"You two here alone?" He asks. The girl hesitantly nods "How old are you?"

"18, he's 11"

"And you've survived on your own?"

"Yes" She pauses "Why do you sound surprised? My dad taught me everything I need to know; I can look after myself and the kid”.

"What's your names, kid?" The girl glares at him. The boy looks between them, confusion across his face.

"I'm far from a kid."

"My name's Rick Grimes. Can I know yours?" The girl stays silent "Come on, your alone, I'm alone. We're both going the same way. If we want to help each other out, we need to trust each other" There's a long pause as the girl looks Rick up and down before she sighs.

"Y/N. Y/N Dixon" Rick nods and looks to the boy. The boy hesitates before looking at Y/N, who nods.

"Danny Scotts', Mr Sherriff" Rick nods and smiles

"Thank you. Now, introductions are out the way. We need to figure out a way to get to Atlanta, any ideas?" Y/N turns her head to stare out into the stable. Rick and Danny follow her gaze to see two horses. Rick and Y/N share a look and she shrug. Later, the two enter the stable, Y/N sitting Danny on the fence, and Rick walks over to the brown horse, as Y/N makes her way to the Cream coloured horse. The brown horse gets startled by Rick's movement, as the Cream horse stays put.

"Easy now, easy. I'm not gonna hurt you. Nothing like that. More like a proposal. Atlanta's just down the roadways. It's safe there. Food, shelter, people, other horses too, I bet" Rick gets closer to the horse "How's that sound?" Rick wraps the harness around the horse "There we go. Good boy. Good boy. Good boy. Now come with me" Rick looks over at Y/N, and sees her stroking her horses head, a harness around its neck "You done this before?" She shakes her head.

"Nope. Guess I'm just a fast learner”.

"Come on. Come on. Come on. Good boy" Rick says, leading the horse out of the stable. Danny jumps off the fence and goes over to Y/N, holding her hand. The two then follow Rick, the cream horse trailing besides them.

==

After being saddled up the three get onto the horses, Danny getting boosted on by Rick. "Remember, don't slouch when riding the horse and be gentle with the reins" Rick says, showing her. Y/N sits up straight and grabs the reins gently.

"Like this?" She asks. Rick nods.

"Perfect" he says.

"Won't I fall off if I haven't got anything to hang onto?" Danny asks, peeking his head from around Y/N.

"Just hang onto Y/N tightly okay, you won't fall of" Rick says, looking at the young boy. Danny grips onto the sides of Y/N's jacket tightly, pulling himself closer "Ready?" The two nods at the man.

"As I'll ever be" she says and the three then ride their horses down the fields and towards the city.

==

They eventually get to the outskirts of Atlanta. One side of the highway is empty while the other side of the hight way is packed with several cars that have been wrecked or abandoned. Rick and Y/N share a look, while Danny peeks his head around the girl, looking at the city. They then proceed to ride down the empty side of the highway to enter Atlanta.

==

They ride into the city and along the streets. They see that the streets are abandoned and there is trash everywhere. Rick and Y/N leads the horses down the street where there are helicopters, cars, and even a tank wrecked along the road. They ride past a bus and some walkers see them. The walkers get up and starts to walk towards the three. Rick and Y/N aren't fazed but Danny and the horses get startled.

"Whoa. Steady. There's just a few" Rick says "Nothing we can't outrun."

"Just keep ya head down Danny" Y/N says and Danny does so, closing his eyes and gripping her jacket tighter. The three rides past the walkers and goes to ride down the street. Y/N looks up on the tank and sees a dead body that is being pecked at by crows "Gross" They ride past the tank before stopping, hearing a helicopter. Rick looks at the glass building and sees the reflection of the helicopter.

"Hyah!" Rick says and goes off riding down the road.

"Hold on tight, Danny. Hyah!" Y/N and Danny follow. They start to ride in the direction of the helicopter, but when they turn at the corner, there's a big group of walkers. The horses get startled, gaining the attention of the walkers.

"Fuck!" They ride back down the street they came from. only for another huge group of walkers to appear. The three struggle to get away, but the walkers surround them and begin clawing at the horses. Danny screams and flails his legs around, kicking some of the walkers. Rick falls off the horse onto the ground. Y/N jumps off her horse, onto the tank next to her. She then quickly grabs onto Danny's backpack and pulls him with her. He instantly holds onto her sides, stuffing his face into her side. The walkers begin clawing and biting into the horses.

"Rick!" She shouts. Rick notices he dropped his gun bag. He crawls underneath the tank while walkers still try to catch him. He hears shotgun shots and screams from above him.

"Y/N! Danny!" The bangs and screams stop "Danny! Y/N!" Rick crawls further under the tank "Oh god. Oh god" The walkers crawl under the tank and Rick shoots some with his Colt Python. "Lori, Carl, I'm sorry" Rick prepares to use the last bullet on himself, before hearing gun shots again. He opens his eyes to see Y/N, sticking her head out from the hatch above him, shooting walkers with a small handgun.

"Hurry up and get in here!" Rick quickly crawls up. Y/N continues to shoot before her handgun runs out of bullets "Shit!" She quickly puts her head back into the tank and closes it. She looks over at Rick, who's leaning against the wall, breathing heavily.

"You. You saved my life" he says. Y/N sits back against the side of the tank, Danny quickly shuffles into her shoulder and sniffles.

"Well, you have a wife and son to get back to" she says, moving Danny's head into her shoulder. Rick then sees the dead soldier in the tank.

"Oh...god" He takes the soldier's gun, but he's a walker. Rick uses the last bullet in his Python to shoot him through the head. The sound of the bullet in the enclosed space hurts Rick's ears.

He hears the muffled voice of Y/N, who's sat Infront of him. He lays on the ground, still out of it. He looks over at Danny, who is holding his hands over his ears. Then he sees Y/N look up at the top hatch. She takes off her bag, setting it down besides Danny. She steps on the seat and looks outside. She sees that Rick's bag of guns is lying in the street way out of her reach. The rest of the walkers start to converge on the tank to get at her. Y/N shuts the hatch before they can get her. She gets down to see Rick and Danny, who's still looking away from the dead soldier, looking at her. She shakes her head in defeat.

"Surrounded" Rick looks around the tank, seeming very disheartened. He notices that the Soldier's gun is loads and thinks about taking his own life, as well as Y/N's and Danny's. Y/N goes back to Danny and pulls him into a side hug, gently stroking his hair back. They sit in silence for what seems like hours before the radio in the tank starts to make static sounds. A voice on the other end starts talking. They look over at the radio.

"Hey, you three. Dumbasses. Yeah, you three in the tank. Are you cozy in there?" The voice says. Rick and Y/N share a look, whole Danny looks hopeful, realizing that they’re not alone.

[uhhlifeig]

Chaser - March 17 - word count: 278 - @wolfstarmicrofic

“Sirius,” James frowned, putting his hands on his hips and staring at the closed curtains in front of him. “Wake up.”

No sound.

“I’m coming in. Please be decent,” he sighed, regretting his choices. James covered his eyes and pulled the red-and-gold embroidered fabric to the side.

Daring a peek from behind his hand, James saw… Remus and Sirius cuddling? 

Well, not cuddling in the traditional sense. They looked like spaghetti noodles that were partially fused and overcooked.

“Go away, Prongs,” Sirius groaned, burying his face in Remus’s chest. “Too early.”

“We have Quidditch, Pads,” James said, raising an eyebrow. “You’re Beater, remember?”

“Yeah, and you’re the fuckin’ Chaser that also happens to be Captain,” Sirius whined, a bit muffled through Remus’s shirt. “You’re the one who scheduled the practices, why are they this early?”

“To get an edge,” James pouted. “Now, up.”

“No,” Sirius grumbled, nestling deeper into his blankets and his boyfriend.

“Moony,” James said helplessly. “Get him to come.”

“But he’s warm,” Remus complained. “I don’t wanna be cold.”

“Ha,” Sirius muttered sleepily. “Even Moony agrees.”

“When McGonagall wonders why her best Beater is absent, what’ll you tell her?” James asked. “Since I’m not going to reason with her if we lose.”

“Relax, we won’t lose.”

“You don’t know that,” James hissed, feeling like he was going to rip his hair out from frustration. 

“I do, actually,” Sirius said, raising his head and blinking groggily at James. “I’m not going.”

“He’s not going,” Remus echoed, pulling Sirius back down.

“Oh, why do I even bother?” James cried, throwing his hands up and storming out.

“Shuddup, Prongs,” he heard Peter mumble as the door closed. “Sleepy.”

[psychotic-star-girl]

How it feels finding something to read when the fandom is either dead or unknown or the character is just underated:

[4ever-feral]

I’m a sucker for a angry man with a tragic backstory. There just so hot

[bluemerakis]

┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °�� ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ nothing left to lose ❞

⤷ Word count: 5.2k

It’s that time of the month (yippeee) and my hormones are all over the place. And then I found this gif and I just need this man to hold me this way because I feel like it could solve a world crisis. Thank you.

═════════════════

PAIRINGS:

S7!Negan x fem!reader

WARNINGS:

Cussing, fluff, mentions of reader on her period, tame cutesie stuff

SYNOPSIS:

It had been another fairly quiet day as you lounged about the Sanctuary, your mood only dampened by the first day of your period. You were perfectly content to dwell in your bed and rot away for the remainder of the week, not so eager to do much else when the twisting and contracting of your stomach was so prominent, but those plans are set awry when Negan makes a stop at your room with his usual request for a good time.

When you enlighten him on your situation, he decides he’d like to stay regardless and indulge in your company, revealing a side to him you weren’t aware he had.

═════════════════

It had been roughly a month since a group of saviours had scavenged you from your pathetic life of living off the woods. You’d been practically half-starved when the saviours had found you, a pitiful amalgamation of skin and bones that served no purpose other than to earn their ridicule. They’d have put you down and served you up as walker deterrent for their borders had it not been for one of the men recognising your face.

You’d been tracking the Sanctuary’s dealings for quite some time then, successfully managing to map out their routines and planning sparse trips to steal a few supplies from the pick up points. You’d had a few close calls, but even then you were like a goddamn shadow, in and out quicker than a blink. The men had never managed to catch you—up until that day, at least. The man had insisted you be dragged back to the Sanctuary, where Negan would hear of your actions and decide the best manner to make you atone for them.

Much to everybody’s surprise, though, he’d been oddly impressed with your skill—despite it being a massive leech on their supplies. His anger was more directed at the inability for his men to contain your posed threat, especially since you were no more than ‘a ghost of a woman’. You’d decided to ignore the implied misogyny in his words, instead focusing on the relief in his decision to spare your life—tied to the condition that you become his wife, of course. You’d reluctantly obliged, acutely aware of how the title would come to violate your own morals at some point, but he’d promised good treatment and up until now, he’d been nothing but true to his word.

The murmur of a light rain trailed through the crack of your partially opened window, infusing the atmosphere of your dim room with a further sense of serenity. You were curled up between the sheets of your bed, lounging on your aching stomach as you paged through your book of the week—a one thousand-paged hardcover on the tragedy of wars. It didn’t play into your usual tastes—it was far from it, actually, but there were so few options available that you couldn’t afford to be picky. It was amazing, really, what things you could convince yourself to indulge in when you were burdened with nothing but free time.

When you’d decidedly punished your stomach—and your mind—enough, you sluggishly rolled onto your side with a groan, flipping the book closed in the process. You didn’t think you could endure another mention of forced cannibalism, and you were only two hundred-odd pages into the historical hell. You doubted you’d find the strength to power through this pick, never having been much of a history fan to begin with.

Your back was turned on the book now, and there it stayed out of sight and out of mind as your eyes fluttered closed around a pressing series of cramps. You instinctively tucked into the foetal position, as though it would somehow lovingly cradle your stomach cramps and encourage it to ease off its painful hold. When the sensation didn’t budge, you opted for resting your eyes, allowing darkness to consume you as you fried to focus on the pattering of the rain against your window. In a way, nature had always been a mother, the rain her very own gentle lullaby that encouraged warmth and a long, peaceful sleep. You’d never get tired of that particular song.

A string of impatient knocks booted your door. You’d barely managed to open your eyes and give permission to enter before you heard the wood creek open, heavy footsteps striking the floor for only a few moments before silence re-emerged. Your head remained pressed against your pillow, your eyes squinting against the dim air as you managed to make out the tall figure of Simon. His arms were crossed against his chest as he glared at you motionlessly through the haze. You didn’t offer the courtesy of sitting up to greet him, which is as much as he’d offered by not waiting for your answer at the door.

“What?” You demanded, the echo of your voice damped by the downfall of rain.

“You know what,” Simon answered bluntly with that coarse annoyance edging his tone. “I don’t make a habit of visiting you for fun. If I’m here, it’s cause Negan’s in the mood for your goods.”

“God,” you groaned, finally lifting your head to properly glare at Simon. “Don’t ever say that again.” You settled for turning onto your back, your head upturned to face the white ceiling. There was a brief moment of silence before you sighed and said, “tell Negan that I’ll be unavailable for the next week.”

“Unavailable?” Simon echoed with a scoff. “You got some other plans we don’t know about?”

“Just my period, dipshit,” you responded thinly before lifting your hand in a shooing gesture. “Now scoot.”

Much to your dismay, Simon’s footsteps seemed to grow closer instead of further, and moments later his silhouette appeared at the foot of your bed. You felt a spark of annoyance at his insistence—the blood that quite literally poured from your insides left you little patience for social interactions.

“You think a little blood’s gonna deter Negan?” The man asked you, his tone mocking at the idea that you could be so stupid. “You’ve seen the guy, he can’t go a single day without that shit smeared all over him. Matters little to him how the blood is obtained—you know?”

You did. Murder and women, the two things Negan couldn’t absolutely ever have his fill of. But you also knew that you’d never been the one to frolic around while on your period, a fact that Negan would have to make peace with. Not only did you find it unappealing, but needlessly messy, too, and you’d rather not spend the aftermath of it all wringing your sheets out. No, your answer was final.

“You’re ruining my peace,” you told Simon pointedly, your eyes still studying the beams that reached between the walls of your room and upheld your pointed ceiling. When he didn’t seem to falter from his position, you sat yourself up with a huff, your fingers clutching your propped up knees. “Tell Negan that I politely decline his request—that is, if you have the balls to. Clearly you’ve got some reservations since you’re still loitering in my room after my many invitations for you to take your leave.”

Simon ignored your jest, running his hand across his hair to tame rogue strands. “He ain’t gon’ take nicely to your answer, sweetheart,” he said.

The pet name made your stomach curl beyond the cramps. “He’ll get over it when he gets on-top of the next wife.”

“Nah,” the man disagreed, rubbing a hand across his moustache. “You know he’s got some special obsession with you. You’ve been here for what—less than a month? Yet you’ve already left quite a mark on the boss-man.” He paused as his gaze lowered across you. “Can’t say I get the charm beyond your beckoning tits and ass.”

You glowered at his crudeness. “Gross, Simon. This is why you’re going to die alone, and the only hint of action you’ll ever experience is the caress of that explosion of bad taste stuck beneath your nose.”

Simon looked briefly offended by your dig at his stash, his jaw evidently clenched around his reckless temper, but he didn’t dare to unleash his fist or tongue. One of the few perks of being Negan’s wife was that you were awarded the opportunities to condescend his men time and time again, yet they were completely helpless in returning the sentiment—that is if they wanted to remain in goodwill at Negan’s side as opposed to being plastered along Lucille’s length.

“I’ll let Negan know,” was all that Simon offered before he departed your room, clearly eager to preserve what little dignity he had left. He made a point to slam the door behind him, which only made you chuckle.

Oh men and their fragile egos.

You could hardly believe they’d been made to rule the earth when their entire masculinity could so easily collapse at their rejected cock. You eased yourself back against the mattress, unable to help the faint smirk spread across your lips as your eyes fluttered closed once more. You were prepared for your second attempt at a nap, the rain growing progressively louder beyond a light drizzle. You remembered seeing the swath of grey clouds stretched across the horizon like an impending doom when you’d opened your windows this morning. It seemed that they’d finally arrived to deliver their promise of a heavy downpour.

It wasn’t long before the hum of the rain became distorted by your amassing fatigue, sleep arriving hastily to claim what remnants of your consciousness remained. You had surrendered all control, so eager to melt into the peaceful expanse of black where you could leave behind your mortal pain. You’d barely been gifted half an hour of that haven before Negan’s voice tethered you and withdrew you from the dark breaches of your mind, your eyes flickering open. You hadn’t even even heard him enter the bedroom.

“Holdin’ up there, sweetheart?”

The second greeting of his presence came at the menacing outline of Lucille, remarkably propped along his broad shoulder as he idled a few steps from the foot of your bed. You drew a clumsy palm across your tired eyes, attempting to chase away the drowsiness that clung heavily to your lids.

“Did something get lost in translation?” You managed to say, your voice slightly abraded by grogginess.

“Not the warm greeting a man expects to hear from his wife after a long and shit-filled day,” Negan said with a sultry gruffness, moving to take up a seat beside your torso.

The mattress dipped beside you, prompting you to turn your head and glance at him. “I’m sure one of the other girls can pick up my slack,” you suggested bluntly.

Your disinterest only seemed to earn that all-knowing smirk from Negan. “Goddammit, woman, you’ve got balls,” he remarked though that wide grin, his head slightly cocked to properly glimpse your face. He lowered Lucille from his shoulder, his hands propping onto the hilt as he planted the bat against the ground and leaned his weight onto it. “And that’s exactly why you’re my favourite wife. Hell, you even got me to walk the extra mile just to come and see you.”

“Not on purpose,” you sighed dejectedly, your eyes wandering along the glinting folds of his leather jacket. He did look good in that jacket—not that you’d ever milk his ego by admitting it. “If Simon truly had the nerve to refer my answer, you’d know that coming here was a waste of time. You’re going to have to fill your blood quota elsewhere.”

“Ah, come on,” he drawled, his gaze unrelenting through those darn hypnotising eyes of his. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but ain’t a good poking of the colons a great way to relieve some of the pain?” He asked pointedly. “In other words, you ought to let me fuck those asshole cramps right outta you. What’s a little blood, anyways?”

At that statement, you couldn’t help the flit of your eyes toward Lucille, the object always so menacing even when benched on the sidelines. You dragged your attention back to Negan’s expectant expression with a beleaguered sigh. “I don’t care what you get off on, Negan,” you told him. “Have your bloody fill of it anywhere else, but not here. I said no, and I meant it.”

You half expected him to further knead at the angle he was currently working, eventually wearing you down to a state that could almost be called consent—what more could you expect from a sadistic, murderous fanatic? A sudden cramp displaced that particular trail of thought, causing you to discreetly tense your lower half, inside of your lip taken into bite as an instinctual coping mechanism.

Negan’s head tilted back slightly with a trace of a chuckle, his tongue then poking through to glide along his lower lip as he gazed at you through narrowly thoughtful eyes. “All right,” he relented—much to your surprise. Had somebody knocked Negan out cold on the way here and taken his place? “If you’re going to deny my very eager balls a pleasurable time, the least you can do is entertain me with a conversation.”

You challenged the weight of his stare—ever so flirtatious regardless of the circumstances. “You’ve literally enslaved an entire selection of women,” you pointed out crassly. “Go bother one of them instead.”

“Enslaved?” He repeated, his eyebrows perched on a look of incredulity. “I didn’t enslave any one of those women. I’m a fair man—I believe in free will and I always honour my word. I weigh the options, I offer a choice—” he lifted one hand to gesture to himself, “—and they made their choice.”

“After you coerced them,” you said around a thick yawn, blinking away the moisture along your eyes as you focused your growing alertness on him. You sat yourself up with a muffled grunt, ignoring the sharp pains that struck your stomach with the movements. “You’re not a democrat. You’re just a bully with an unhealthy attachment to a bat. It’s like Negan’s version of Bonnie and Clyde.”

Negan fixated you with a long look, his expression ever so unrelenting on what thoughts were passing through that tainted mind of his. “You’ve got an awful lotta spunk for somebody actin’ like she’s on her deathbed,” he deflected, a short moment of silence following shortly after. “What about you—girl who knows what she wants and doesn’t take shit from the next gapin’ asshole?”

“What about me?”

“Did I coerce you, too?” He inquired huskily, his eyes narrowing in an almost dare for you to answer honestly.

You hadn’t ever needed much convincing to speak your mind. “Absolutely,” you answered simply, then paused before adding, “have you honestly managed to convince yourself that either one of your wives want to be here?” Your head was slightly tilted out of sheer curiosity, amazed at how painfully naive he appeared to be—for once.

Negan’s lips were spread thin with a smirk, parting as he said, “I appreciate your honesty. Although I’d be lying if I said I ain’t a tad bit hurt.”

A severe cramp seized your stomach, causing you to throw your face into your pillow. “Oh, you don’t know hurt, Negan,” you groaned. “If you truly had the capacity to feel, please be so kind as to spare me your company so that I can rot away in peace.”

He straightened up from the Lucille’s prop, his expression becoming inquisitive. “All right, I’ll leave,” he eased off, attention dropping to his lap, where he carefully rested the bat and stroked suggestively at her barbwire-infused wooden length. “And I guess I’ll be takin’ these with me,” he added, one hand dipping into his leather jacket to pull out a small, plastic cylinder labelled ibuprofen.

Your eyes practically bulged at the offering. Pain medication was strictly reserved for post-surgical cases and the physically wounded—those marred by gunshot wounds, blades, or even brute fists—you name it. That was Negan’s self-imposed rule. In this dying world, pain medication certainly wasn’t a medical luxury extended to lesser problems like a woman’s period pains—despite the entire gender technically being a victim of the repeated assault of severe period cramps. For at least a week of every month. For at least five decades of their lives.

“The fuck?” You murmured, hand reaching for the medication as though needing to feel it’s physical form to believe it’s existence.

Negan plucked it out of reach with a shit-eating grin. “You want it?” He taunted, propping his elbow onto his knee as he rattled the container between his fingers.

Your hand hesitated mid-air, expression becoming bleary as you hesitantly asked, “what’s it gonna cost me?”

“Question of the century,” he answered vaguely, intense stare beating down on you. He looked almost scheming, and that wasn’t a strange mask to wear—not for Negan Smith. But for once, his actions surprised you in a way that wasn’t coupled by repulsion. “Y’know, you’re a pain in my ass, ‘cause I can’t help but have a soft spot for girls like you—all feisty and opinionated and sure as hell ready to give my big balls a real good talking to.” The hand which clutched the medication gravitated toward you, offering it up without the tether of debt. “On the house, since I’m the boss man around here callin’ all the big, bloody shots.”

Your eyes narrowed cautiously, your hand slowly reaching to acquire your personal saving grace. You half expected Negan to yank it away as a feat of ridicule, but his hand remained steadfast, his expression eerily intense as he overlooked your internal war with a light undertone of amusement quirking the corner of his lips.

“Ya want it, or not?”

You took it from his grasp, bringing it closer to examine the legitimacy of the label. “I’m the only thorn in your foot because everybody else is scared of you,” you said distractedly, eyes then flickering from the medication to meet his idling stare.

Negan adjusted his torso to appear taller, Lucille slipping between his thighs to prod the floor under his guiding grip. “But not you,” he reaffirmed.

“I used to be.”

“Yeah?” He husked, eyes narrowed interestedly, tongue momentarily poking through his grin—as it so often did. “The hell’s changed? Real world toughen you up? Ya got a pair o’ steel down there now?”

You brushed aside his snark. “Nothing’s changed, really,” you admitted, attention drifting as you popped open the lid of the container. “But I’ve got nothing left to lose, and the worst you could do is make jam out of my brains.” You dispensed a tablet into your palm, then clicked the lid closed. “But you won’t,” you stated, meeting his gaze boldly.

Negan’s head tilted with a far too entertained air. “Why’s that?”

“Same reason you’re here. I’m your favourite wife, apparently—and what’s a man like you to do without his wife? You might just implode without a place to stick it,” you jabbed. “I’m always the one you come running to with all your shit—god knows why.”

“I gotta say, that’s mighty cocky of you,” he drawled through a grin, hand moving to whisk across his bearded jaw. “And that’s comin’ from me.”

You offered him the ibuprofen, a ghost of a cheeky-lipped grin setting in. “Force of habit when I’m obliged to be at your side every other hour of the day. Honestly, you only have yourself to blame.”

His grin widened, eyes leering you over before dipping to the container you re-offered him. “Nah,” he murmured. “Keep it. And not a word ‘bout it—I ain’t got time for ants up my ass when the other gals get wind of the shit I ain’t doin’ for them.”

“That supposed to make me feel special?” You jested. “Or just a threat?”

Negan’s lip hitched with a smirk—silent ambiguity, and reached a hand into his pocket to procure a fresh orange, bottled water and a packet of chips—your favourite chips. “That shit’ll put ya in a grave on an empty stomach,” he averted, chin jutting to the pill in your palm. He leaned over to place the snacks on the bedside table, offering you a sidelong glance. “I know your panties get all hot for this stale sack of shit,” he said, beckoning to your chips, then added, “and the orange will keep up that energy of yours—y’know, boost the spirit and fuel that friskiness o’ yours.”

You scowled indignantly as he took a swipe at your taste in chips. “Those aren’t my favourite chips,” you lied defensively, moving to place the pill beside your newly acquired snacks. “It’s practically the only brand that’s left in the midst of this dying world—so none of us can afford to be picky, can we?”

Honestly, you’d have to admit it to yourself that the chips being spared even in the midst of the apocalypse didn’t bode well for your case, but why go down without a meaningless fight?

Negan chuckled all-knowingly, settling Lucille onto the ground before he leaned his elbow onto the mattress beside you and brought his lips into the proximity of your face. “Tasteless or not, I’m willin’ to bet my dick that you’ll be back asking for more,” he murmured, hazel eyes glazed with that bedroom sex-haze as he delicately searched between your eyes.

Your attention flickered between him and the flashy, grit teeth poking through the lips you’d tasted countless times, his words so open-ended for interpretation—because Negan Smith loved playing games. “Are we still talking about the chips?” You asked softly, eyebrow hitched expectantly.

“We can talk about whatever you goddamn want,” he grumbled huskily, lips making an advance for yours, but you brought your hand up to press an index finger into the divot of his chin.

“I told you,” you began, “not happening—not today. So, off you scamper to the next wife for a good tickle.”

“Cut that crap,” Negan chided levelly, then reached for your hand and pried it from his chin. “The others can wait, let’s just get you up and runnin’ because it’s been a goddamn buzzkill on my dick.”

“Oh, how terrible for you,” you sniped, brows furrowing at his nerve.

He seized your hand in a tight grip to place a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes narrowed around an intense gaze as he maintained eye contact throughout the gesture. You fought the urge to yank your hand free out of spite. Once his lips retracted from your skin, he tucked your hand between your bodies as he leant down to place a kiss on your forehead instead. It was a rather gentle touch—the most intimate one he’s ever bestowed on you, but it didn’t linger long before he pulled back and released your hand.

“Jesus, burnin’ up all for me?” He remarked, pressing the backside of his fingers to your forehead before they caressed the expanse and moved to push back the loose strands of hair that cascaded around your view. “You’re hot as shit.”

“I am, thank you,” you said suggestively, adding more earnestly, “it happens sometimes—I think my body is literally trying to kill me.”

He pulled back his hand from your hair, finger trailing down the angle of your jaw before he withdrew his touch entirely. “Yeah, well, you’re tough as nails, so tell the biological bitch to dial it down a notch.”

“Duly noted,” you murmured, reaching for the orange atop the bedside stand, your attention deliberately downturned to the fruit in clutch as you began to peel it while simultaneously reflecting on the situation presented before you.

You were thankful for the medication, but it felt odd to hold a sense of gratitude for a man like Negan, and you had not the slightest idea on how to handle the foreign phenomenon. Even a month ago, when he’d quite literally plucked you from death’s claws, there was no gratitude to behold—his motives in sparing you had always been selfish. But this instance? This was an action you thought beyond his emotional capacity.

You’d thought his better conscious had been so far lost to a history of bad and reckless decisions that there was not a slither of DNA left still capable of holding regard for others—but this act of his prompted you to reconsider that notion. After all, he owed you nothing, and you owed him everything, yet it was him that had come to settle.

A manipulative tactic? Possibly. You weren’t all that naive to allow this instance alone to so easily sway your opinion on him. He was still of questionable character—and that moral debate could ricochet for an endless amount of hours.

You spared yourself the turmoil and brought yourself to it, lifting your head to meet his stare once more. He’d been watching you enigmatically, without his usual running commentary to fill the void—it felt uncomfortable to have a silence so long settle between the two of you.

You decided to settle for a simple, “thanks, by the way,” as you set aside the discarded orange peels and began to thumb at the centre to separate the slices. “For the medication,” you clarified, popping a slice into your mouth. The first bite was an explosion of sultry sweetness, a true pleasure to behold.

Negan gave somewhat of an accomplished smirk. “I got ya,” he answered, his gaze lingering incoherently on you before he blinked away the haze and straightened himself from the bed with a grunt. “Take a hot bath—” he suggested, hoisting up Lucille from her position on the ground, “—hopefully that Lady Uterus o’ yours will let loose for a bit.”

He strung the bat across his shoulder—the rightful queen atop her throne, and turned to begin his amble toward the door.

“Are you going to draw it for me?” You asked him hopefully, which made him halt and partially turn his torso to face you.

He gave a half-hearted chuckle. “What’re you, ten?” He jested.

“If only,” you retorted wistfully. “The only stomach ache ten year old me ever got was because of one too many bags of chips.” You caught yourself at the mention of chips, then felt the need to clarify, “the good kind, not these ones.”

Negan lips spread with amusement. “What a goddamn time to be alive,” he stated.

“I’ll say,” you murmured, then turned your attention back to your diminishing orange. “Anyway, if you’re done bothering me now, I’ll draw that bath.”

“Damn, I stick my neck out for you and I don’t even get to stay for the show?”

“You’re always getting a show,” you retorted. “Let a girl have some alone time, for once. Besides, there’s no such thing as you sticking your neck out, seeing as you’re the one usually holding the guillotine.”

Negan chuckled, his eyes holding a mischievous glint. “Touché,” was all he offered. “I’ll draw you that bath.”

You perked with surprise, the last orange slice popped between your lips. “Only enough water for one,” you mumbled around the sweet, stringy flesh, brows lifted with implication. “Just in case you were getting any ideas.”

“Oh, I got ideas,” he hummed, scheming grin on his lips. “The meds I got ya? On the house. This? This’ll cost ya a little something. And once you’re feeling right as rain, I’ll come and collect.”

You gave a slight flicker of your eyes. “Okay, tax man,” you said, reaching for the bottled water and pill. “Whatever Negan wants.”

“Atta girl,” he praised, hand raised to point an index finger in your direction. “Now you’re startin’ to sound like a commendable wife—almost enough to make good ol’ Lucille here jealous.”

“Leave your weird bat out of this,” you said before splitting open the seam of the sealed bottle and taking an eager swig at the liquid. You popped the pill into your mouth shortly after and gave a hard swallow, your expression furrowing in disgust when it momentarily lodged itself against your tongue with the kiss of a bitter tang. After another gulp of water, it slid down uninterrupted.

“Somebody’s parched,” Negan remarked. “Never seen you take my seed that eagerly.”

You gave him a hearty middle finger, to which he scoffed amusedly and disappeared a short distance into your offside en-suite. “How hot?” He called back to you. “Three quarters to the hottest?”

“Sounds right,” you called back to him. “And add the bath oils, too!”

“Useless shit.”

“Let a girl indulge, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, settling against the mattress while you listened to the sound of the drawing bath. You noted the calm of the weather beyond the window, where a barely perceptible drizzle thrummed down gently.

It wasn’t long before Negan reappeared at your side, Lucille carefully discarded onto the foot of the bed before he inched his way onto the mattress and you felt his frame curl around your backside. Heat radiated from his body and flushed your back with a sense of comfort, his lips then finding the nape of your neck. He pressed a kiss there, his hand gently curling around your abdomen, as though he knew to take precaution around your sensitive area.

You shifted your neck away from his teasing lips, casting him a glance over your shoulder. “Why are you doing this?” You felt compelled to ask—this tender facade of his was disconcerting.

Negan’s held your stare levelly. “You’re my wife,” he stated simply. “A real man takes care of his wife.”

“Yeah, but that’s not real,” you said. “None of this is real—it’s all a made up, a twisted way for you to pass time. Us wives? We’re nothing but entertainment to you—so why all this effort?”

There was a brief pause from his side before he answered you with a sense of solemnity that you’d never truly seen him possess. “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” He asked. “Hell, I know what desperation feels like. She’s a stone cold bitch, and you were nothin’ more than a husk of a person when we picked you up in those woods. You’re a fighter—death ain’t got a fuckin’ lead on you. I mean, shit, that deserves some respect—and I give that only where it’s due. So, call it respect, call it whatever you’d like, but just take the goddamn win, won’t ya?”

You listened intently, an emotion of something other than annoyance settling within your chest at his somewhat glorified image of you. For the first time ever, you didn’t know how to respond. It was easy to strike back when most of the conversation shared between the two of you was shallow, bitter banter, but as of this moment, this situation-ship was starting to feel as though the foundation was being built on something other than debt, and that thought was daunting.

“Bath should be drawn by now,” you said eventually, settling your head back into the pillow, glad to displace the view of Negan’s face.

The hand at your abdomen slid away as he lifted himself up with a grunt of effort. “Then you best go and dip your toes,” he said.

You took a moment to heave a breath before rolling over and sitting yourself up from the bed, to which Negan stepped a pace back to allow you the room to stand up. You straightened from the mattress that had held you captive for the entirety of the morning, offering Negan a long stare, who returned it with a grin that felt as though your thoughts were transparent to him.

You shouldn’t, but you wanted to. Fuck it, you would—you’d said it yourself, nothing left to lose, right? You brushed past him and hoisted a beckoning hand over your shoulder, followed by a sparse, cheeky glance.

“Come with me,” you told him.

“I like the sound of that,” Negan chuckled, trailing after you with a confident charisma. “Looks like I’m gettin’ that show after all.”

“Shut up about it.”

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Tags: @bohemianblasphemy @violent-darkness @gibson-g1rl

[imyourbratzdoll]

step-daddy rick sneaking into your room to make you feel good down there and take care of you bc ur his little girl 🥺😭 the dream

it is the dream😪

summary - your step daddy knows how to take care of his little girl, even if your mum is in the other room.

warning - smut, oral, cheating, slight somno, stepcest, daddy kink.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn’t mine, divider by @newlips.

Your eyes flutter, moaning as you wake from your slumber, feeling tingles and slickness between your thighs, through your fuzziness you hear something. “Hmm…” You blink, looking down hazily. “Daddy?”

Rick groans, lifting his head from between your thighs, licking his lips clean of your arousal. “Shh, baby girl. Daddy’s just takin’ care of ya.” His grip tightens on your thighs, spreading your legs further. “You were moaning for daddy in your sleep, baby. Thought something happened to ya, only to find out my little baby needed some takin’ care of.” You whimper, shifting your hips as his rough voice makes you throb.

“Daddy…” You chew on your bottom lip, feeling your puffy clit throb.

“It’s okay, baby. Daddy will take care of ya, just gotta be quiet for me. Can you do that?” You nod rapidly, hands curling into the sheets beside you. “Good girl. Always my good little girl.” Rick groans, diving back into your cunt, lapping up your glistening juices before latching onto your swollen clit. “Such a pretty little pussy, all mine, huh?”

Your hips move against his face, grabbing the bear he got you for Christmas and shoving it against your face as you moan into it. His words vibrating against you, you feel your toes curl from the pleasure.

Rick watches you, rutting his erection against your pastel pink bedsheets, your pretty little sounds going straight to his dick. He grunts, pulling away, causing you to whine and try to grab his head but he pulls away with a smirk. “Poor little baby, you wanna cum? Wanna cum for daddy?” You whine, eyes crossing as he brings his thumb up and begins to play with your little clit, rubbing it as he leans back down, fucking you with his tongue.

“Daddy, daddy please! Please, wan’ cum so bad!” You grip your bear and sheets harder, walls pulsing as he continues to eat you out. Rick groans, humping the bed harder, bringing himself closer to the edge.

“Cum for daddy.” Your back arches and your vision goes white as you cum, juices squirting out and coating Rick’s face. “Good girl.” He groans, lapping up everything you give him as he cums in his pants, the friction causing his cock to twitch. Rick hums against you, giving your little clit a small kiss before pulling away and crawling on top of you. “My good baby. Always so good for daddy.”

You giggle, wriggling away happily as he leans down and presses a sweet kiss against your lips before smothering your face with kisses. He pulls back, smiling down at you. “Love you daddy.” You sleepily say.

Rick grins, laying beside you and pulling you against him, wanting to hold you for a bit before having to go back to his and your mums room. “I love you too, baby.”

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