#deanna monroe

[linusbenjamin]

The Walking Dead 5.16 — Conquer

[mymanreedus]

"It's a total reset. The one thing about coming to Europe in the first season is, we didn't want to make an American version of a show that we've already been making for this long in a different place. We wanted it to have a different feel, like the indie movies we used to make, that we used to love.

Sometimes, when you're on a franchise that gets bigger and bigger and bigger, the machine gets bigger and bigger and bigger. There's room in this series where things breathe. A character can look up at the tree and see the wind blowing and think about it. There's time to do that. I told this story a while back, but I remember when Tovah Feldshuh was on The Walking Dead -- she did this thing at the window where she's looking out and people enter the room, and slowly turns to address them. Then the episode came out, and they'd cut it where she's just looking directly at them.

She was like, 'What happened to my dramatic turn to the right?' She was so upset, and I was like, 'It's bang, bang, bang.' So in The Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon, the in-between moments also tell the story. It is a reset in the storytelling and the photography. The lighting's different and the writing's different.

It gives more time for Carol and Daryl to tell their stories, and you get inside their heads more. It's a reset from start to finish. I've just been waiting for Melissa to show up . Now that she's here, and we got to shoot this season together, it's all the things I wanted it to be. There's a magic there. I think with the reunion of those two characters, we got to show what it all means to them."

Norman Reedus, cbr.com

[emisanemu]

*°Almost Me Again°*

Aaron (Raleigh) x Plus-sized! Fem! Reader

Word count: ~7000

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Minor character death, smut, cursing, accurate in depth descriptions of body parts, Negan, mentions or murder and death, unprotected sex, PiV, fingering, nipple sucking, female anatomy, male anatomy.

Genre: Slight Angst, smut, fluff, friends to lovers.

{Author’s note: yes, I am acutely aware of the fact Aaron is gay, this is an OOC fanfic where he chooses to sleep with a woman. If you do not like it, don’t read it, I am not erasing the character’s identity or what have you, it’s my own interpretation.}

It was a quiet night along the vast stretches of Alexandria, for the first time in a long time the air was filled with the subtle chirping of crickets and the crackling of leaves fluttering to the ground. The usual rot that fills the air is instead replaced by the scent of fresh tomatoes growing in the makeshift garden, and the nostril nipping aroma of embers from the small fire pit Deaana had built just beyond her home. This, the quiet, the peace, the assurance was all new to you, having spent the last two or so years betweens camps and the unforgiving roads. You had arrived around a day after Rick’s group, covered in mud, blood, and looking utterly filthy, the ‘guards’ on post at the front gates had at first mistaken you for a walker, that was until you vehemently protested being shot. The look of shock on their faces that you were not some rotter would have been comical if it wasn't so utterly pitiful. That had been roughly two and a half months ago, not that you made a habit of keeping track of the hours or days any longer, not that it would matter, each day just seems to blend together, or at least it did for a very long time.

Now, for the first time in years, you truly yearned to savour life, to savour the setting sun and the quiet nights. Simply just surviving had faded into living, to actually living for the first time in what seemed like forever. Although, despite the euphoria that came with safety, you could not help but to feel restless at times, unable to sleep, still on edge as if you were hiding out in some dingey cave again rather than sleeping in a bed. You stood up from the bed, your cold, sockless feet settling against the shaggy carpeted floor below you, cringing slightly as the aged wood beneath creaks slightly. A lot had happened since your arrival, the joining of the various communities surrounding Alexandria, the loss of many beloved members of the community, including the leader herself, Deeanna, Negan endlessly terrorizing Alexandria as well as the other communities, and the impending ‘war’. You wanted to hunt the man down and kill him yourself, anything to return to the previous sense of peace and serenity you had once known, yet your fear of succumbing to the fate so many others had fallen to, held you back. So instead you remained placid and idle, offering your services when needed, but not putting yourself too far out on the line.

You slowly meander across the carpeted floor to the white door of the room, hoping to whatever higher power, if you even believed in one anymore, that you wouldn’t wake your housemate, Aaron. The pairing was unconventional to say the very least, but Rick’s group, at first, were not the epitome of trusting, and the other residents of Alexandria had looked upon you as if you were some wild animal who had wandered into the community. Aaron, as well as Eric when he was still alive, had not. Just as they had welcomed in the rabid, almost feral Daryl Dixon, they had welcomed you in as well, scars, dirt, and all. You were always thankful for them, for the kind solace they had offered you, Eric’s death had hurt you, but it hadn’t affected anyone more than Aaron. When you saw him, you swore you saw a shell of a man walking amongst the rest of the community, wandering and fighting almost aimlessly. You slowly make your way out of the room and creep past Aaron’s room and to the stairs, cringing each time the floor sighs and creaks.

Although, when you reach the bottom of the staircase and turn towards the living room, you silently jolt in surprise at Arron’s figure sitting with his back turned towards you on the couch. His head is down and you can hear the distinct sound of sniffles coming from between his lips, which sends a spark of sadness and empathy through your heart.

“Aaron?”

You speak softly, like a gentle coo, almost as if you are beckoning a frightened animal, which you know feels a tad condescending, but you cannot help but want to offer comfort, rather than questioning and judgement. He all but whips around, his eyes are red and puffy with still flowing tears, and his face is wet, he looks like a man broken by the world, left shattered and in pieces. He knows he looks pathetic, almost pitiful, sitting in the dark, quiet living room, crying as if he is some young child. He does not want to appear weak like that, like some kind of broken mirror of his former self, shattered and splintered apart by the events of his life, by the loss of his love. He swiftly wipes the tears from his face, hoping desperately you had not seen them fall in the first place, even though he knows from that worried look on your face that you had.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He speaks softly, his voice gravelly from crying, all you do is gingerly shake your head and step forward, your voice a quiet croon as you speak. “No, I couldn’t sleep…you’re fine.”

Your reassuring smile that you flash him does little to quell the ache deep in his chest that melts and seeps far into his bones like a sickness that can never be cured. You walk slowly towards him, as if you are scared of spooking him, which only serves to deepen the pit within his stomach, making him feel smaller, as if he is physically shrinking in on himself. He can still feel the sting in the corners of his eyes, remaining from his previous fit of choked tears. He almost wants to protest your presence, to vainly insist that he is fine, when without a single doubt, he is far from being fine, so far he doesn’t think he even remembers what feeling ‘fine’ means. You stop just in front of him, tentative to move or speak, the air feels thick, as if it could be cut with the edge of a knife. Yet, unexpectedly, your presence doesn’t crowd him, rather it blankets him in a rare form of peace, the warmth and earnest radiating off of you in waves, like a soothing balm to his perpetual aching soul. Just you being there causes his heart to ache in a way that he doesn’t quite know how to explain, although, he doesn’t know if he even wants to explain in, or just allow it to fester, to bubble beneath the surface.

He wishes in this moment he could pull back, to retreat somewhere secret and deep within himself, where comfort can not find him. He feels so undeserving of solace, undeserving of peace, not after what happened to Eric, not when he feels it is so deeply his fault. Eric had been hesitant, not wanting to fight, insistent on being the even benevolent, peaceful presence, yet he had chosen to protect Aaron, something Aaron had failed to do so in return. He almost wishes he had left and taken Eric with him, started something new away from it all, protected his peace, protected his love. He had chosen what feels to be an unwinnable fight over what he knew in his heart would have been the right thing, and for what? For people he barely knew? For a community he didn’t even know if he believed in anymore? All of it seems to pale in comparison to the ever loving, ever steadying presence that Eric was. When he looks up into your eyes, and sees that glimmer, the shine of empathy and understanding, it lights a fire of self loathing within him that threatens to burn him from the inside out, to tear down the weak walls he has built up, to tear him down.

“You don’t have to pretend, Aaron.”

Your voice is a soft soothing murmur when you speak, so earnest and sweet it almost physically pains him. He turns away, his eyes squeezing shut and his hands white knuckling the arm of the recliner he is sitting on. The way you speak, despite himself, makes his heart stutter in his chest and his breath hitch slightly, and all he wants in that moment is to dive into that pool of delicious warm relief that you offer. The way your eyes glow with unspoken affection and care, it makes him feel things he has buried so far down he never thought he’d feel them again. Everything about you is a tempting, fragile thread pulling him closer, urging him to let go of the walls he’s built, the armor he’s worn for so long. But fear grips him, cold and sharp, like a phantom clawing at his insides. If he gives in, if he leans into you—into this softness—will it break him? Will he lose himself in the comfort you offer, only to be torn apart when the world turns against him again? He swallows hard, trying to steady his breathing, but it only makes everything worse. The beat of his heart quickens, and for a moment, he’s paralyzed, caught between the need for your warmth and the panic that comes with letting someone in again.

“You don’t have to face it alone…” You place a gentle hand onto his shoulder, a soothing, caring, yet simple gesture. “...and you don’t have to keep blaming yourself.”

Your voice sounds like syrupy gospel to his ears, and your hand on his shoulder sends sparks through him, all the way to his core, shaking him slightly. His jaw tightens at the simplicity of it, the truth in your words that cuts right through him. He wants to believe you, wants to hold onto the idea that there’s more than just survival left in this world. That there’s something here worth saving. But how could he? How could he after everything he’s seen, everything he’s lost? It’s easier to stay numb, to keep his heart locked away behind walls too high to climb. But, you make it so immensely difficult by simply being who you are, by being so open and understanding, even in the face of everything you hold a flame of hope he can only hope to have.

“I…” He starts, his voice hoarse, not entirely sure of what he’s trying to say. Words are too hard to come by right now. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, the crack in his voice betraying him. “I don’t know how to let anyone in again.”

The words fall from his lips like a weight, heavy and raw, and the ache that swells in his chest feels almost unbearable. He hates how broken they sound. He hates how much he wants to crawl into the comfort of your presence and just stay there, hidden from everything, but he’s too afraid to. Afraid of being hurt again, afraid of the pain that might come if he gives his heart to someone only for it to be torn away. But something about you... it makes him want to believe again. It makes him wonder if there’s a sliver of hope left in a world so empty. His hands tighten around the armrest of the recliner, his knuckles white, as if bracing for impact. He can't let you see the way his heart falters, the way it aches with longing and fear all at once. He’s afraid if he does, it will ruin everything—everything he’s built up over the years. But when he looks at you, when he sees the care in your eyes, the quiet strength you’ve always carried, he wonders if maybe it’s time to let go

“I….” He trails off, not sure how to force the words from his throat, how to admit the one thing he’s tried so hard to push down, to hide even from himself, knowing it’s too painful at times to admit. “I don’t know how to forgive myself, he’d still be here if it weren’t for me.”

He admits weakly, so quiet he almost hopes you didn’t hear him, but the way your hand falls away from his arm, tells him all that he needs to know. Despite himself, another hot, wet tear slides down the length of his cheek, pooling at his furry, bearded chin. He half expects you to just walk away, to leave him in his never ending self-loathing, yet you don't, instead you shock him as the warm pad of your thumb rubs underneath his eye, wiping away his stray tear. The motion is gentle, intimate in a way that sends an electric current straight to his chest. His heart stutters at the softness of your touch, and he feels something in him crack wide open. He had braced himself for the silence, for the distance he’d come to expect when he let people in too far. But your hand is warm, steady, and unwavering. It offers something he hasn’t felt in so long—hope.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, your voice soft but firm, and he wonders if you can feel how much those words sink into him. “And you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to carry the weight of it all.”

His breath hitches, chest tightening, as he looks at you. The fear that has always gripped him, the guilt that has suffocated him ever since he lost so much, now collides with the raw tenderness in your eyes. He’s not sure if he’s ready to confront the truth, if he’s ready to let go of the guilt that has haunted him for so long. But the sincerity in your gaze makes it hard to hold back any longer.

“I couldn’t save him,” Aaron chokes out, his voice trembling. “If I’d done things differently—if I’d just been there...” You shake your head gently, cutting off his spiraling thoughts. “You can’t carry the weight of things you couldn’t control,” you say softly. “It’s not your fault, Aaron. You did everything you could. But sometimes... sometimes, we lose people no matter how hard we try to hold on. It’s the world we’re in.”

The way you speak, so matter-of-fact but with such compassion, makes his heart ache. You’re not excusing his pain, not pretending that it doesn’t matter. But you’re giving him space to feel it without letting it consume him entirely. The words are raw, and they cut deep, but somehow, with you there, they feel less suffocating. He feels something shift in him—a slight easing of the burden that’s been crushing him for so long. It’s almost as if the weight of his past—the guilt, the fear, the grief—can finally breathe for the first time. It’s still there, lingering in the shadows, but it no longer holds the same power over him. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to let it all go just yet, but with you beside him, he feels like maybe it’s possible. Just maybe. He swallows thickly, his throat tight with emotion, but he doesn’t pull away from you. In fact, he leans closer, seeking the comfort in the steady presence you’ve offered him without hesitation. You’ve become his anchor, even when he feels like he’s about to be swallowed by the storm inside his own chest.

“I don’t deserve your kindness,” he mutters, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. It’s not the first time he’s said something like that, but it feels truer than ever now. He’s lived a life of mistakes, of things lost, of people gone. How could someone like him deserve someone so full of warmth, someone who sees him without judgment? You shock even yourself when you speak up, your tone almost angry, angry that he could talk about himself like that. “How can you say that?”

You speak more forcefully than you initially intend to, but your voice isn’t harsh, instead it holds an air of hurt, both for yourself and for him. Your hand falls away once more and you take a step back, your chest feeling tight, almost painfully tight. He looks at you with shocked, wide eyes, thrown off by your outburst, never quite seeing you act in such a way, he has seen you act fiercely, but never towards him. Your voice isn’t harsh, but there’s a rawness to it, as if the words are more than just for him—they’re for you too. You take a step back, your chest tight, the pressure rising within you. You can feel the weight of the emotion swirling in your throat, fighting to break free. You weren’t expecting to react this way, but something about seeing him so broken, so full of self-loathing, cuts deep. Aaron looks at you in stunned silence, eyes wide with confusion. He’s never seen you act like this, not toward him. You’ve always been gentle with him, understanding, patient, but now there’s something different in the way you stand. There’s a fire in your eyes, a desperate need for him to see himself as you see him.

“I don’t understand,” you continue, your voice more quiet now, but still fierce. “Why do you think you don’t deserve kindness? Why are you punishing yourself like this?” Your hand falls away from him, fingers curling into a fist at your side, unable to keep your frustration from showing. “You’ve been through so much, Aaron. I see you. I see the good in you. I know what you’ve done, what you’ve lost, but you’ve also given everything to keep others alive. You deserve kindness.”

The words settle into the space between you like a quiet storm, and Aaron’s gaze falters. His eyes drop to the floor, his shoulders tense, the familiar weight of guilt pulling him further inward. There’s a heaviness in the air, the kind that only comes when someone is too full of emotion to express it, and it settles heavily on his chest.

“But I’ve made so many mistakes,” he whispers, almost to himself. “I’ve lost too much. And people... people died because of me. I couldn’t protect them.” He swallows, his voice shaking with the admission. “I don’t deserve to feel good, I don’t deserve forgiveness, not after everything.” You step forward, your heart aching for him. You know the kind of pain he’s carrying. You can see it in the way his body tightens at the mention of loss, the way his words tremble like they’re coming from a place too dark to reach. But you refuse to let him pull away. “You didn’t kill him, Aaron, you loved him, more than I have ever seen a person love someone. You didn’t kill Eric, the world did, and you can not keep blaming yourself for that.”

You speak earnestly, so much so your words nearly make him ache. You lift a hesitant hand to his cheek, caressing his stubbly, pale skin gently, tracing along his scars and the lines along his face with the tips of your fingers. He shivers gently at the contact, he hasn’t so much as had a hug since Eric died, your simple, caring touch sends shocks through his system, and causes his heart to pound dangerously against his ribcage. It is foreign to him, never had he thought he would have butterflies in his stomach for anyone but Eric, especially someone of the fairer sex, yet, they flutter treacherously in his gut making him feel almost nervous. His eyes flutter closed for a moment as your touch lingers, the unexpected warmth grounding him, pulling him away from the spiraling thoughts he has been carrying for so long. The weight of his past, the mistakes, the loss—it all becomes a little less suffocating, softened by the gentleness in your touch. He never realized how starved he’d been for this kind of tenderness, how much he'd longed to be seen and cared for again. It’s almost disorienting. To feel this much, to feel this good, after everything. He can’t remember the last time he felt safe enough to let go, to trust someone. To feel like he matters. But right now, with your fingers lightly tracing the contours of his face, everything feels a little more bearable. The heaviness in his chest isn’t gone, but for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel so alone in it.

“Aaron…” Your voice is soft, quiet, and it makes him want to close the distance between you, to allow himself to sink into the warmth and safety you’re offering. His heart flutters unsteadily at the way you say his name, the care in your tone pulling at something deep inside of him. He’s so afraid of feeling this way, but he can’t stop it. And, despite the fear, he doesn’t want to. Not anymore.

His breath catches as you step even closer, your presence overwhelming in the best way possible. He finds himself reaching for you without thinking, his hand trembling slightly as it moves to rest on the curve of your waist. The simple touch feels monumental—his pulse racing beneath his skin, reminding him of the emotions he’s spent so long suppressing. Before he can stop himself, his hand moves, lifting gently to cup your cheek. His thumb brushes against the soft skin there, tracing the curve of your jawline. The touch is almost too tender, like he’s afraid he’ll break something precious. But he doesn’t pull back. The space between you grows even thinner, and you can see the war in his eyes—the battle between wanting to pull away and desperately wanting to lean in. The tension in the air is palpable, but it doesn’t feel like pressure; it feels like something waiting, something he’s not sure he’s ready for but can’t fight anymore. Without thinking, his face inches closer, just enough for his lips to hover over yours. He can feel the heat from your breath, feel your pulse thrum beneath his fingertips. He hesitates for a moment, just a moment, his eyes flicking to yours, searching for reassurance. You don’t pull away. In fact, you close the last inch of distance between you with a slow, deliberate movement, your lips brushing his with the gentlest of touches.

It’s like the world shifts beneath them, everything but the two of you fading into nothingness. The kiss is tentative at first, a soft, hesitant thing as if you’re both testing the waters—neither one of you is sure what the next step will be, but both of you are willing to take it. His heart is pounding in his chest, and for a moment, he wonders if you can feel the thrum of it through the space between you, through the kiss. But then, something shifts. The kiss deepens, and Aaron finds himself unable to resist any longer. He pulls you closer, his hand slipping to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss. He’s not sure if it’s the fear of losing you or the raw emotion that has built up inside him over the months, but it’s everything at once—comfort, fear, need, desire. His lips taste of mint, coffee, and something so distinctly him that it all but turns your brain to mush and leaves you completely and utterly breathless.

Your lips taste of some kind of lip balm he assumes you must have found on a recent supply run, mixed with mint toothpaste and something fruity that he can't quite identify, but it is oh so addicting. He almost can’t help as his tongue darts out from behind his lips to caress yours, asking silently for entrance into your mouth, which to even your surprise, you grant without a moment of hesitation. His tongue, commanding yet tender, slips beyond the barrier of your lips, nudging at your own, spongy pink organ, caressing and feeling the waiting cavern of your mouth.

~18+ beyond this point~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He moans, a small gruff noise that bubbles up from the back of his throat, into your mouth. It vibrates past your lips and down the column of your throat, your hand comes up, gripping almost desperately at the front of his shirt, your mind warring between pushing him back and pulling him impossibly closer. His appreciative, desire fueled moan sends shocks straight to your core, and your panties. Despite the want and yearning that is pooling in your lower abdomen like a coiling snake, you pull away, although your resolve almost crumbles as his mouth chases after yours. The hand you have on his chest stops him, and instead his forehead presses against yours, his breathing heavy and mingling with yours. He can feel his own desire swirling deep within himself, the hardness in his pants that is pressing into your lower stomach a testament of that. Aaron’s eyes bore into yours, his breath still hot against your mouth. He’s waiting, waiting for you to make the next move, to decide if you’ll give in to the unspoken heat between you. His hand grips your waist possessively, his other comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your swollen lower lip. You feel the pressure of his fingers as he grabs your waist, his touch burning you through your clothes. You swallow hard, trying to find the right words.

“Are you sure?” You whisper softly, your breathing still laboured, your hand is pressed gently against his chest, your fingers splayed against the black fabric of his shirt. He wants to laugh, you’re so caring, still so soft despite the cruel world that surrounds you both, he just caresses your chin and utters a simple, “Yes,” before he swoops his head down and reconnects your lips with his.

Your eyes widen slightly at his boldness, but then flutter closed at the feel of his slightly chapped lips against yours and his stubbly mustache pressing against the skin underneath your nose and you allow yourself to melt into the passionate embrace of his kiss. His right hand slides up from your chin to the back of your hair, tangling into the locks of your hair and pulling you closer, the one at your waist squeezes your hip through the fabric of your bed pants, the soft plush expanses squishing beneath his grip. His hands are firm but still tentative as he explores you, squeezing at your hips, sides, and back, yet never straying down past your waist, ever being the respectful man that he is. Your left hand glides up from his chest to his face, gasping his cheek, the pad of your thumb caressing his beard clad jaw, while the other hand goes almost tentatively to his shoulder.

Your eyes threaten to fly open with shock as he sits back onto the recliner, pulling you along with him so you end up on his lap, straddling either side of his thighs. The contact even surprises him, it is all so new to him, you’re so delicate and feminine against him, the soft, chubby curves of your body pressing against his lean muscular form in a way he has so solemnly experienced. He allows his lips to move away from your lips and down your jaw, another moan bubbling up from his throat at the soft feel of your jaw against his mouth. His hand slides down to grip the meaty flesh of your thigh through your bed pants, again, heat spreads through him at the soft tantalizing curves of your plush body beneath his calloused fingertips. He kisses along the side of your neck, allowing his tongue to dart out, giving himself a taste of your sweet, silken skin, you taste of salty sweat, some faint soap, and something so uniquely you that it all but makes his head spin. Your breath catches in your throat as his lips trail down your neck, sending tingles throughout your body. You lean into his touch, tilting your head to give him better access. Your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping gently as waves of pleasure wash over you. His hands continue to roam your curves, kneading and caressing with a reverent tenderness. You rock your hips instinctively, drawing a low groan from him that vibrates against your skin. The sound ignites a fire deep within you.

His strong, warm hand traveled higher, reaching beneath your sleepwear to caress your stomach, sending shivers down your spine. You gasped, and he immediately froze, his breath hot on your earlobe. "Are... are you alright?" he rasped out, his voice thick with arousal yet clouded with concern. His fingers were lightly tracing hypnotic patterns on your belly, the calluses on his fingertips sending goosebumps across your skin.

You manage a weak nod as his hands dance up and underneath your bed shirt, caressing and feeling the smooth expanses of your skin, squeezing your plushness gently between his fingers. The pads of his fingertips explore every dimple, freckle, and stretch mark along your skin as if he is adventuring the Earth itself, worshipping your skin, because in that moment you are his own personal heaven. His goddess to pray to at bended knee, his solace in a world so broken, and the glue that can fix a broken, shattered man. Sure there were better ways for this to happen, when he is more clear headed and put together, where he can delicately drape you across his bed and feel every part of you so deeply. Yet, he can not bring himself to move, partially because he doesn’t dare snap you out of this haze, nor does he want to move away from you for even a fraction of a second, revelling too much in your warmth and your desire for him. When your hips rock forward, almost on their own accord, he lets out what can be described as a low growl of approval against the side of your neck, right where your clavicle meets your shoulder.

His hands slide up higher, finding the heavy, fleshy mounds of your breasts, nearly weighing them in his grip, squeezing and squishing the soft plush of your chest. You let out a small, breathy gasp and arch into him, pushing your breasts further into his gentle grip, which causes him to smile into the skin of your shoulder. His thumbs react in an exploring manner, brushing over the hardened peaks of your nipples, playing and swirling around the buds gently. A shiver goes through you at the touch, and a small moan falls from your lips, your hands tighten in his hair, pulling at the deep chocolate coloured locks. His lips move back upwards, trailing hot, open mouthed kisses up the side of your neck to your ear. The heat of his breath against your ear sends shivers down your spine, and heat rushing towards your core.

“You’re so beautiful,” He rasps huskily against your ear, his hands squeezing your breasts as if to emphasize his point. “So perfect and beautiful.”

His mouth pulls away from the side of your neck for a mere moment to pull your loose bed shirt up and over your head, allowing it to fall haphazardly onto the carpeted living room floor. He pauses, and for the first time since his lips touched yours, he feels unsure, he is just completely and utterly mesmerized by the sight of your bare front. The heavy, plush curves of your breasts, the hard peaks of your nipples, the plush mound of your stomach, the hills and valleys of your stretch marks and the dimpling along your skin. You look like magic in human form, so aggressively beautiful and feminine, it causes his breath to hitch in his throat. He swallows deeply and allows instinct to guide his mouth towards your chest where his lips envelop your hardened nipple, pulling the aching bud into his mouth and swirling around the peak with his hot, wet tongue. Again, you arch into his touch, your breasts pressing into his face causing his beard to rub at your soft, sensitive skin, sending another needy mewl to fall from your lips, almost yearning and begging for him.

His ministrations become more desperate and feverish as he allows the sensitive bud of your nipple to slide between his teeth where he nibbles gently. He smirks against your bare breast at the way you moan almost needily for him, your hands pushing his face deeper into your skin. His free hand, the one that isn’t lavishing your other nipple with attention to match the movements of his mouth, slides down past your stomach to the waistband of your sleep pants. Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers tease the edge of your pants and his blue eyes glance upwards, searching for the permission he so desperately craves. Words don’t seem to find you in this moment as you just almost too eagerly nod your head, something you would be embarrassed about if you weren’t so blindingly desperate for him. His hand slips down past your waistband, immediately seeking out that warm, slick heat between your legs. He feels a little out of his depth as his fingertips glide along the edge of your panties, feeling your slick that has dampened the fabric. It is different and new, yet rather than feeling trepidation he feels anticipation as he slides his fingers further down to push your panties aside.

He almost gasps as his finger makes contact with your hot, soft, wet skin, his pointer and middle digits slide down through your slit, gathering the wet arousal onto them. A soft moan escapes your lips at his touch. You arch your back slightly, pressing yourself against his exploring fingers. The sensation sends shivers of pleasure through your body. His fingers move slowly, teasingly, as if memorizing every curve and fold. You can feel his breath quicken, matching your own rising excitement. He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers huskily, "You're so wet for me." The low rumble of his voice makes you tremble with desire. His fingers continue their sensual dance, circling and stroking in a maddening rhythm that has you aching for more.

A shudder runs through your body at his touch, and you arch into his hand, craving more. His fingers explore you slowly, teasingly, circling your most sensitive spots without quite giving you the pressure you need. You whimper softly, your hips rocking against his hand. He watches your face intently, drinking in every flutter of your eyelashes, every parting of your lips. When his thumb finally brushes over your swollen bud, you cry out, clutching at his shoulders. He smiles, continuing his ministrations as tension coils tighter and tighter within you. Just as it begins to build, he pulls his hand from your panties and out of your sleep pants, causing a whine of protest to fall from your lips.

“Shh…” He croons out gently and allows his lips to travel up your jaw, over your chin and to the corner of your lips. “...I just want to go slow, beautiful.”

His words cause heat to rise to your cheeks and you nod almost shyly, causing a small amused smile to etch its way onto his lips. He caresses your bare side gently before pulling his hands away ro reach to the hem of his black long sleeved shirt. He pulls his shirt up, slowly, almost teasingly, and over his head allowing the article to join your own shirt on the shaggy carpeted floor. Your eyes roam over his exposed torso, drinking in the sight of his toned muscles and smooth skin. The dim light of the room casts shadows that accentuate every curve and plane of his body. You reach out tentatively, fingers ghosting along his collarbone before trailing down to his chest. His breath hitches slightly at your touch, and you feel a thrill of excitement course through you. He captures your wandering hand in his own, bringing it to his lips to place a soft kiss on your palm. The tender gesture makes your heart flutter. He leans in, his forehead resting against yours as his free hand cups your cheek. For a moment, you both stay like that, breathing each other in, savoring the intimacy of the moment. He leans in, reconnecting his lips to yours in a deep, sweet intimate kiss.

He brings his free hand back down to the waistband of your pants, grabbing gently at the fabric as he begins to pull them down. “Lift your hips, pretty girl.” He coos softly, coaxing your hips up, which you do without hesitation, pushing yourself up onto your knees on the recliner so he can pull your pants down. With some clumsy maneuvering he manages to pull your pants and underwear down your legs before discarding them into the growing pile of clothing on the floor. You settle back into your seated position on his lap, letting out a soft gasp at the feel of his hard bulge pressed right against the bare fat of your pussy. He grinds up against you, a small, gruff breathy moan falling from his lips at the feeling of your slick staining the front of his jeans. His hands move to his belt, which he makes quick work of removing and casting aside onto the floor before he fumbles with the button of his jeans. He pushes the now damp, blue denim fabric down his legs, along with his boxers, exposing his achingly hard manhood.

He is long and thick, pale with an angry red leaking tip, long blue veins up his girthy shaft, uncut and perfect. He has a thicket of dark curls at the base, adorning his pretty cock perfectly. His balls are full and heavy, every part of him aching for your slick silken heat, he reaches down, unable to resist as he gives himself a few languid, teasing strokes, both to quell the ache and to give you a show of what is to come.

“Are you ready?”

He asks quietly, although he wants nothing more than to take you immediately, but he won’t push you or force you, he wants to make sure you want him just as badly as he needs you in this moment. You manage a weak nod and lift your hips, pressing forward to allow his swollen tip to slide between the slick folds of your pussy lips, nudging at your waiting heat. He moans softly the minute he makes contact with your womanhood and gives you a nod back before his hands come up to grip your hips, guiding you downwards towards his aching cock. His tip notches against the entrance of your wet tunnel before in a slow grinding thrust he presses up into you. You both let out breathy wanton moans at the sensation, and your hips move down almost on their own, pushing him deeper within your silky heat. He fills you, inch by delicious inch, every ridge of your tight, wet pussy squeezing his aching cock, making it difficult for him to keep his composure and not just bucking up into you with reckless abandon. In a moment you’re fully seated on his bare, muscular thighs, his cock filling you at depths you didn’t even think were possible to reach. You grind down experimentally, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix as you do.

“You feel so good.” He groans into your bare shoulder, his hands sliding down to the thick plushness of your ass, squeezing roughly, as if trying to ground himself and not move too hard too fast. “I almost can’t control myself.”

You want to respond but your words seem to get caught on your tongue as he bucks up into you gently, causing a whiny moan to fall from between your lips, like a beautiful siren song to his ears, beckoning him deeper into your silky slick pussy. You grind your hips down, your pelvis nudging against his, your pussy mound meeting his pelvic bone. His hands grip your hips tighter, guiding your movements as you rock against him. The delicious friction sends sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. You arch your back, pressing your breasts forward as waves of sensation wash over you. His eyes roam hungrily over your form, drinking in every curve and contour. You lean down to capture his lips in a passionate kiss, tongues dancing as you continue to move together. The coil of tension builds low in your belly with each thrust. You break the kiss, panting, and rest your forehead against his. His breath is hot on your skin as he increases his pace, driving deeper. His hand travels down to rub circles with his thumb against your neglected swollen clit, and almost like a trigger on a gun, it sets you off.

Your hips still, your entire body clenching as you cum, your pussy squeezes him in an impossibly tight vice grip, sending him into his own finish. His cock presses deeply into you as he expels his hot wet seed into your waiting channel, filling you to the brim with hot wetness. You rock your hips a few more times, riding out both of your highs before you fall forward collapsing against his chest. Your breathing is hard, the same as his, and your heart is pounding rapidly in your chest. You can feel a thin sheen of sweat coating your bodies as you settle against him, not even making a move to pull him from your spent, and still spasming pussy. You both fall into a semi silence, only broken by the sounds of your heavy pants, and the small kissing noises as he places gentle pecks along your shoulders, trying to bring you down from your intense pleasure fuelled high. At this moment, neither of you speak, but you both know this is just the beginning of something new, a peace between the two of you that cannot be turned on its head, not even by the harsh world you now live in. In this moment, and hopefully for many more moments to come, it's just you and Aaron.

[onefail-at-atime]

I absolutely love and hate that Deanna Monroe is from Central Ohio. If the Commonwealth is based in Central Ohio, as I think it is due to logistics of the area (like the military supply base and networks of rivers that would slow walkers). She fought to get back to Ohio to help her people and wound up building a substainable community for the future. Meanwhile, Patricia Milton and her father literally created the opposite of what Deanna was building there in the suburbs of Virginia.

If Deanna had lived to make it to the Commonwealth, she would have shut down Pamela Milton so fast. It would have been brilliant.

Could you imagine Pamela's face when she realizes that not only did Deanna survive, but Deanna was planning to relocate back to Ohio to support the community that elected her to support them? Deanna would see right through the Miltons and their nonsense and I didn't know how much I wanted a scene like that until my mind put it together.

[minervas-wife]

TWD S6 E1 LIVE THOUGHTS

heath enjoyers unite

the way deannas just sitting in his pool of blood 😭😭

they have to tell tara about noah 😭😭

ron in the bg of that carl and enid shot has me weak 😭😭

sasha and abrahams hand signals im in love

daryl looking at him like 'thats literally my job bro :('

'sometimes ur safer when theres no way out' FORESHADOWING FORESHADOWING

ok nicholas redemption arc

'im supposed to be delivering pizzas man'

'no. who else' so funny

i have a lil bit of a soft spot for tobin in terms of the og asz residents. idk why but i just do

get back in ur lane nicholas !!!!!

im glad tara has such a special relationship with maggie and glenn😭😭 she deserves those good family feels

morgan is such a good judge of character its scary man 😭😭 they way he had carol from the very start

the others with carter are like 'yeah he was on his own man' asdfghjkl

good riddance carter

[olpie]

Chapters 21: Audition

Read it here. 

[atruthwebothknow]

Main Characters introduced in Season Five of The Walking Dead

[onefail-at-atime]

I'm rewatching Season 5 and absolutely agree with all of this. Looking back, I really wish she would have survived longer in the series.

I love Deanna Monroe. I have such respect for a smaller scale politician who just grinds away, day in and day out and tries to travel back to her district at the start of a zombie apocalypse to help her constituents. Then when shit goes down even worse she just buckles down and keeps grinding away for her new constituents and planning for the future until the bitter end

[murkyhazed-is-archiving]

@merlexxdixon liked for deanna monroe to merle dixon.

               ❝   i   value   perspective.   ❞      deanna   spoke   with   a   smile   as   she   sat   on   the   couch.      the   elder   dixon   was   much   like   his   brother   she   noted,   though   a   little   more   CRASS.      however,   there   was   an   honesty   in   there   that   was   REFRESHING.      he   didn’t   hold   opinions   back,   and   though   people   might   not   LIKE   the   harsh   truth,   it   was   necessary.      ❝   i   can   sense   your   reservations   about   this   place.      let’s   talk   about   it.      TELL   ME   the   reasons   you   find   alexandria   not   up   to   your   standard.   ❞

[murkyhazed]

tv tags p5

[lilgoblinbitch]

Electricity𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 (part 2 of Gossip)

rick grimes x fem!reader

part one here

a/n: well holy shit, this took way longer than i had originally expected it to take. life has been crazy for me. thank you all for being patient with me!

summary: days pass, and rick is still mysterious. until finally, you discover his true feelings toward you in the best way possible.

content: smut PinV, unprotected sex, lots of kissing, oral (fem receiving), fingering, rough!rick, friends to lovers, heavy teasing, multiple orgasms, angst, some fluff at the end

18+ ONLY, mdni.

wc: 4.4k

Your heart was almost palpitating. You were left stranded with your thoughts spinning around in your head while Rick just nonchalantly strode off back to his bedroom. 

The whole night you could barely get any sleep; your mind apparently had other plans –  mainly entailing you ruminating over what had happened that night. It boggled you how Rick effortlessly admitted to being aware of your little crush on him, completely catching you off guard and leaving you overwhelmed and flustered. You were forced to forget about the whole situation, or at the very best push it to the back of your mind for…later – whenever “later” was.

The next few days were nothing out of the ordinary. Rick was barely at the house, busy adjusting to his new constable responsibilities and becoming familiar with the rest of the Alexandrians. You knew he had a duty to uphold, so it was reasonable for him to avoid your presence for the time being, but your mind was still fogged up from what he had said to you that night. It was eating you up for the next few slumbers; you tossed and turned until eventually the thoughts wore your brain out and let you get a few hours of shut eye. Regardless, you tried to forget it altogether throughout the daytime and focus on becoming more comfortable living in a brand new community, and a brand new house that was bigger than any house you’d ever lived in. 

Carl didn’t stay inside for long throughout the day. You’d always find his room empty and his comic books gone. That meant he was most likely reading them outside and sharing them with his new friends. But you were happy for him; the kid deserved to make friends after everything he’d been through. So you were left with baby Judy most days, but that didn’t bother you. Before the world turned you had two younger siblings, and as a teen you were always stuck babysitting them when your parents went out. It was second nature to you now.

Today you decided to get out of the house and find something to do. You hated staying indoors — you were always an outdoorsy person and got antsy pretty quickly without a daily dose of sunshine. You stepped outside with Judith on your hip, taking in the warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze that swayed the various trees in perfect rhythm. Without a doubt, the weather was inviting. So, naturally, you choose to embrace it and take a stroll down the street with little Judy in your arms.

As you made your way down the block with Judith cooing and spinning her curious head around to view her surroundings, you reached the end of it and turned the corner. You recalled how Vivian and Shannon lived in one of the houses on the block you were walking down. A quick drop-in to see what they were up to couldn’t hurt. Besides, Shannon was a kindergarten teacher before the fall and therefore loved watching over Judith with you. 

“Hey, Y/N!”

You spun around and noticed a tall brunette man walking toward you. It was Spencer Monroe, son of Deanna Monroe — the community’s leader. And, according to Vivian and Shannon, he had a thing for you. Not that you had anything against it, but it did make you feel a bit uneasy knowing he was interested in you and would probably try to make a move on you, now that he was standing in front of you. Regardless, you played it cool; he was Deanna’s son after all, so it could be beneficial to you if you gave your absolute best impression. 

“Oh, hey, Spencer!” You smiled sweetly at the tall man, who reeked of a musty cologne. It wasn’t awfully foul, just a bit too loud for your taste. A slight turn off.

He grinned down at you and Judith, scratching the back of his neck anxiously while shuffling closer to you. He was about two feet away from you — if he were any closer you’d definitely be backing up. 

“I was actually just about to come over to you and ask if you wanted to have dinner tonight?” He squinted his eyes at you, trying to read your face. Your cheeks were tickled pink and your heart was doing laps in your chest. It was as if Judith could sense your unease, and on cue she started fussing. 

“I–” You paused, gathering your thoughts together while calming the distressed child. Shit. What should you say? 

“Yeah! I would love to, Spencer.” Way to go.

On the walk home Judith started to calm down, while you did the exact opposite. Your thoughts were racing again, and you cursed yourself for obliging to Spencer’s request. What the hell were you getting yourself into? You didn’t even like Spencer; yeah, he was attractive, but he just wasn’t…well, he wasn’t Rick Grimes. Still, there remained a sense of determination – getting to know Spencer could be a good thing. Besides, you didn’t really have any plans for that evening anyway.

Once you finally reached the comfort of your house, you put Judy in her room for a nap and started rummaging through your closet for something to wear. You doubted you would find anything spectacular, considering you didn’t exactly have a boutique in this community. A simple floral dress would do. 

“Geez… when was the last time I wore any type of heeled shoe?” You humored yourself, attempting to walk around in the sleek open-toed heels you found in your closet. You recalled how Shannon lended you a few pairs from her own closet, stating that she was overwhelmed by how many abandoned pairs of high heels were left in the world, and apparently her closet housed dozens of them. Lucky for you. 

Once you were confident enough you wouldn’t lose your balance in the shoes, you took a long look in the full-length mirror and admired how, for a lack of a better word – decent you looked. Excluding Deanna’s welcoming party, you hadn’t worn a dress since before. It would definitely take some getting used to. 

Before you were able to get one last gander at yourself in the mirror, something – or rather someone – interrupted you.

“Got plans for tonight?”

You jumped in your skin and spun around. You were met with a wide set of eyes scaling your body, taking in the elegant view before him. You were stunning, and he couldn’t deny it even if he wished to. 

“Jesus, Rick! You really have a way of scaring the shit out of me.” You smiled nervously while flattening out your dress. He watched you like a hawk, and of course he was aware of how antsy you were. That was like his superpower. You cleared your throat, ensuring your voice didn’t crack. “Yeah, I’m uh… going on a date…”

His sharp blue eyes made harsh contact with yours, locking you into place. You couldn’t tell if he was angry, sad, disappointed, or all three. Or maybe he didn’t care. Then again, Rick’s face was almost impossible for you to decipher. 

He remained leaning against the doorframe, eyes never leaving you. You were not enjoying the deathly silence. Until he finally spoke again.

“A date?”

“With Spencer… Deanna’s son.” Your eyes regrettably met his once more. “But it’s nothing serious, really—”

“Thought you didn’t like him… had someone else on your mind, right?” His tone was biting, almost taunting. You frowned, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

“Maybe I lied, Rick. Maybe I think he’s cute now. Besides, I already said it wasn’t anything serious.” You grabbed a jacket out of the closet, slung it over your back and slipped it on. “And I don’t know why you care so much, or why you had to eavesdrop on me, but I’ve got to go now.”

And with that you whisked past the brooding man and out the room, exiting the house. Rick knew you were suppressing your genuine feelings; it was almost too conspicuous. He just knew you too well. Knowing someone for a few years in a post-apocalyptic world was like knowing someone in the previous world for ten or even twenty years; your group grew close very quickly. Inevitably, in fact – death and grieving, fighting and surviving; it all brought you closer together. You were part of a strong network of survivors, ones who shared immense trust in one another. 

But when it came to Rick, it was hard to truly understand his emotions. He felt the obligation to suppress his feelings, as well – as if he wasn’t sure when it’d be the right time to make a move with you. Now and again, you’ve encountered a handful of times where he was staring at you – and perhaps your behind – for longer than any other person would deem normal. But he never displayed an interest in getting with you. That was ultimately a grey area to you for a while, and even still now.

⋆｡° ✮

One thing about Spencer was that he could cook. And you were a sucker for men cooking; you found it to be attractive. So he cooked for you, he was tall, and he was cute… what, then, was missing from the list? What was hindering you from making yourself available and willing to this man?

“I have someone else on my mind.”

You reflected back to the night you said that. From then on, those words were ingrained in the back of your brain. They reminded you each day that your feelings for Rick were perpetual and infecting your thoughts like a plague.

For now, you were preoccupied with how satisfying your meal was. As was the wine. It was going to your head a bit — an all too familiar feeling. You just hoped Rick wasn’t awake by the time you returned home. 

“Thank you, Spencer. The dinner was really nice,” You simpered while graciously stepping out the door. 

Spencer held the door open, giving you a warm smile as he watched you turn to face him whilst under the gleaming porch light. “You sure you don’t need me to walk you home? It’s really no issue for me at all.”

The look on his face told you he sure as hell wasn’t ready for you to leave yet — in fact, with the way he had planned the night, he most likely expected to not only wine and dine, but get lucky tonight. However you had your boundaries and your relationship standards, regardless of the fact that there were very slim pickings when it came to finding the ‘right person’; practically ninety percent of the human population was wiped out. 

“I promise. I just live around the corner.”

At last you arrived home, immediately kicking your heels off as you shut the door behind you. You made a mental note to never wear heels again – blisters were already appearing on your feet. You winced as you massaged the reddened tender skin, sighing in relief as your aching feet finally got to breathe and stretch. 

“It’s late.”

You nearly had a heart attack as you stood up and spotted Rick a few feet away from you by the couch. “Would you quit startling me all the time? And yeah, no dip, I was on a date with Spencer. I already told you that, Rick.”

You steadied your heart rate and made your way over to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. All while you did so, you could feel Rick’s eyes burning into you. Every inch of your body. You shivered when the chill of the fridge air engulfed you – however, you were sure the shiver was truly from the effect that Rick had on you. 

“I know that. But you’re back late; it’s dark outside,” He paced toward you, his demeanor now more watchful and severe. “There’s a curfew, Y/N.” He was much closer to you now, to the point where you smelled his classic rainy forest scent encompassing your nostrils. 

“Well, I didn’t know. I was asked to have dinner with someone, and it happened to be really good, actually – thank you for asking,” You gibed while filling your cup up with crisp, filtered water. “But, I am sorry. Won’t happen again, Officer!” You quipped, taking a sip from the cup. The water was a refreshing blanket against your tongue and throat, which you thoroughly savored.

Rick didn’t look very pleased with your response, to say the least. His posture was stiff, and his eyes narrowed as he tilted his head. “You think this is a joke, I get it. It sounds like another pipe dream. But if we’re going to be living and staying here, you’re gonna need to follow the rules.”

You set the glass down and ran a hand through your slightly knotted hair, giving your scalp a terse massage with your fingers. Your eyes fixated on Rick, who was towering over you like a bodyguard would. If it were any other man you would feel uncomfortable in this position – backed into the kitchen counter and being scolded by a harrowing, authoritative man. In this case, you were too fond of the man in front of you to feel uncomfortable or threatened in any way. 

“I get it – I know. I want this place to work, just as much as you do,” you added, displaying a poker face to confirm your sincerity. You ran a hand up and down Rick’s forearm, over his veins that protruded as he leaned against the counter in front of you. “I want this to work for the kids. They deserve it.”

Rick didn’t flinch. His eyes bored deep into your own – pupils dilated, taking in your presence. Instinctively, almost like his body was on autopilot – Rick’s hand caressed the side of your face, thumb tracing circles along your cheek. Goosebumps ran down your arms and made the hairs on the back of your neck perk up like a porcupine. Just one touch from this man had you melting like butter.

Time slowed down drastically. Your eyes locked into his, and vice versa. Only inches of space separated you two; you felt the familiar pounding in your chest as Rick drew himself closer and closer. Those romance movies you used to watch were accurate, in the sense that what you were feeling in this moment was butterflies, fireworks – so electrifying. You could feel the sparks race through your body.

Rick felt it, too. He’d been denying it for too long – what he was feeling deep down, within his subconscious, was something authentic. Something that he could no longer evade from his mind.

“You’re on my mind, too.”

It was like an echo coursing through your soul. Those five words left you stunned, mouth slightly agape, but Rick took that chance to collapse his lips onto yours. The longing you had for this man was no longer unrequited – you finally got your answer. He wanted you, and you wanted him. 

His lips were velvety and you took your time giving extra love to them. Soon enough the kiss got heated; you were lifted up onto the counter where Rick wasn’t shy to roam his hands along your thighs, earning a few feeble whimpers from you. 

His lips then attacked your shoulder and collarbone with a series of hickeys, earning more vocal whines from you now. “Rick…”

He quickly hushed you, shoving two fingers into your mouth. “Gotta be quiet, baby,” he cooed, admiring how your tongue caressed his fingers so magnetically. Your eyes pleaded with him – begged for more. “They won’t see those—” he eyed the now reddened area of skin, “Jus’ don’t dress like a slut and you’ll be alright.”

In your mind you wanted to blurt out a well-deserved retort, however, in all honesty, Rick meant it in the best way. 

“Too special to be showing off this figure to all them boys, sweetheart.” He bent down to worship your thighs, spreading them open for him to kiss and prod at.

He was right, though – Spencer wouldn’t be able to make you feel this way. You knew it deep down.

You bit your lip harshly, suppressing any vocal responses for the time being – didn’t need the kids to hear any of this. But Rick was just too good at whatever it was he was doing to you.

“Need you, Rick,” You whined – which ultimately translated to a strained moan.

“Shh, Shh. I know you do,” he cooed, standing back up. He let his fingers trace over your closed cunt, the dampness leaking through the thin fabric and leaving a sticky coat on his digits. Your hands explored his curls, tugging at them the more he teased you. “Gotta be patient, though. Gonna take my sweet time with you.”

You were becoming antsy, bucking your hips into his palm, searching for friction. He slid his other hand up your dress, the contact of his hand greeting your hardened nipple caused you to shiver. His ocean eyes observed you – adoring the glow of your skin under the faded moonlight seeping into the room.

“Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?”

“Stop talking and just take me upstairs, officer,” You huffed out, earning a small smirk from Rick. You wrapped your arms and legs tight around him, moaning quietly when your heat unexpectedly made contact with his own clothed member, which was already rock hard. You left a trail of kisses along his neck as he carried you up the stairs, groping your ass in one hand. 

Rick wasted absolutely no time in slipping your dress up and over your shoulders, practically ripping the fabric as he did so. You attempted to cover up your breasts, but he pried away your hands. 

“Nuh uh, let me see,” he protested, taking the round flesh in his hands and kneading them. You blushed, clearly shy; but Rick reminded you of your beauty nonetheless through his actions.

One thing Rick always loved about you was your patience and loyalty; you were coined as the group’s dependable and candid guardian, because anytime anyone needed a word of advice or a listening ear you’d never fail to do so. 

Currently, Rick admired how patient you were while he went to work on your sweet pussy – lapping up all your sweet juices after tearing off your drenched panties.

“Mmph, Rick!” You wailed, eyes flickering shut as a wave of euphoria washed over your body.

He was eating you out like you were the Last Supper, and he was a starved peasant. Your cunt was his god and he was there to serve it. 

You wrapped your legs around his shoulders, toes curling in delight as his digits switched positions with his tongue, pumping in and out of your soaking heat. He pressed his tongue flat on your pulsing clit, heightening your pleasure to the max. 

“F-fuck me!” You cried out, hips jutting forward to meet the pace of his fingers and tongue. Pressure was building deep in your core.

Without notice Rick paused his movements, leaning forward to connect his panting mouth with your own, stifling your moans. His kisses were sloppy, as were yours. He continued his pace, eventually focusing on your clit which throbbed under the determined motion of his thumb. Then he slipped three digits back into your drenched cunt, accelerating the pace he was going at before. He curled the fingers upward, pushing against that sacred spot in your hole that made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Gonna cum on my fingers, hm? Gonna be a good whore f’me?” He taunted. Rick’s eyes were dark and blown out with lust. You were shuddering under him, on the brink of orgasm. 

“Ohh! Fuuuck!” You let the band in your gut snap, feeling the pressure inside release and your dripping arousal coating Rick’s fingers. 

He aided you in riding out the rest of your earth-shattering climax, pumping his digits a few more times before sliding them out. The sight before him had Rick holding himself back with every ounce of his inner strength – your cunt was a sopping, wet mess. 

Rick sat you up properly, hovering over you and holding his fingers above your lips. “Taste, baby.” 

You gingerly sucked on his fingers, the juices spilling onto your tongue; an almost nectary taste. He eyed the way you drank up every last drop, licking his lips in anticipation. After pulling his fingers from your lips he kissed you again, this time much softer. You both moaned into the kiss, and eventually when Rick broke away you took a moment to catch your breath. He licked his lips, admiring how fucked out you looked just from foreplay.

“Can’t wait to feel you,” He rasped. Your legs were still weak and wobbly from your latest orgasm, yet, your body ached for more. For him.

Soft whimpers left your pouted lips when you felt his rough hands grasp your thighs, pushing them upward until they were folded up against your tummy. Rick hastily threw off his white t-shirt and let out a low growl as he freed his aching cock from his boxers. You bit your lip – it was girthy, and you knew it was going to do some damage tonight. That only made you wetter.

He stroked himself before lining himself up with your entrance. He slid his dick against your slick folds, huffing and groaning from the contact. You whined, unable to handle the teasing he was putting you through. 

“Rick, please—”

“Said I was gonna take my time,” He retorted in a rigid tone, and you gulped in response. “So, be patient.”

The only thing you could do at that moment was bite your lip and prepare for your cunt to be stuffed by this man’s cock. It was an odd thing to consider – being best friends with someone and flipping that platonic relationship into something more explicit, just through the simple act of gossipping. At the end of the day, you were getting fucked by a man who was not only your closest friend, but the leader of your community. It almost felt taboo, and yet you just couldn’t care less at that moment.

Seconds felt like minutes, the teasing was just too much. Rick kept playing with your sensitive bundle of nerves, only slightly pushing in the tip. Your core was on fire, pleading desperately for him to tame it. 

The sight before him was almost pitiful. You were caught in a fit of heavy breathing and whimpering, legs wrapping tight around his waist as you rocked your hips closer to him, cunt still glistening with arousal that seeped onto his pink tip. 

So, Rick pitied you. And you got your wish; his cock sunk into you, all the way until he bottomed out. You scrunched up your face in slight discomfort – he was bigger than you had anticipated. Nevertheless, you sighed in satisfaction, clawing at his back and shoulders as he adjusted inside you.

“Fuck, Y/n,” He growled, nibbling on your ear. His warm breath caused your body to shiver. “You just– can’t be patient no more, can ya?”

Your mind was clouded – all thoughts halted as your body was being governed by Rick. He rocked into you with ease, back and forth, in and out. His cock fit into your hole like a glove. Your legs caged him in; it was as if you were afraid he’d slip away and tease you again. It just felt so good you didn’t want it to stop.

Your lewd cries were soon muffled by Rick’s hand. “Shhh, gotta be quieter, sweetheart.” But it was nearly impossible to stay quiet when he was doing you so well.

With his hand then shifting down to lightly grasp your neck, Rick slammed into you, pulling all the way out only to repeat the motion again. You bit your lip hard, drawing blood. The pain didn’t exist in any way, since your body was so engrossed in the electric sensation that was being fed to you by Rick’s cock.

The room was polluted with salacious grunts and muffled moans. 

Rick tossed you over onto your hands and knees, then without warning plunged back into you. His hands gripped both your asscheeks with a force that you were sure would leave lovely red marks. Each smack of his hips against your ass manifested obscene vocals from your throat. Involuntarily your body made contact with the mattress, head lulling to the side and drool dripping from the corner of your lips as Rick picked up his pace. 

“You wanted this, knew it all along.” He cooed while fucking you into the plush mattress. “I knew it – before you even mentioned it.”

“How?” You thought. But little did you know, the clues you had sent Rick’s way ever since you had first laid eyes on him – he caught onto them. He was a police officer, after all – he was seasoned when it came to situational awareness. You weren’t slick; he noticed every little glance, every smile, every physical gesture you made with him. You fell for him.

And if he wasn’t already falling for you, then he certainly was now.

“Thaaaas right, just like that. Fuck, so tight f’me,” He sang while your ass slapped against his hips, harmonizing with the sound of his cock pounding into your slick hole.

Your fingers dug into the sheets for stability, preparing yourself for the building knot in your core again. “I’m—gonna cum!” You lifted your head weakly to warn Rick, who was too busy drowning in the warmth of your tight cunt.

Rick padded your clit with his fingers, while his other hand pushed down onto the back of your neck, subsequently pushing your body back into the mattress. His mischievous eyes caught sight of your twitching, shaking body, and he sighed heavily from the feeling of your cunt pulsing around him. 

“Go ‘head, cum f’me.” 

With his permission you yelped out as yet another orgasm rushed through you. You barely acknowledged the twitching of his cock inside your dripping hole before he swiftly pulled out and unloaded onto your back.

A few ticks went by, heavy panting escaping the two of you, and immobility in full effect over you. Your thoughts came back to you as Rick cleaned you up; the fact that you went on a date with a man then went home to be dicked down by another was quite humorous to you. 

“Geez, maybe I should go on more dates just for you to fuck me like that again,” You teased Rick, sitting up.

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of your face and kissing you gently. You blushed and smiled coyly. 

“Nah. You’re mine now, sweetheart. No one else���s.”

[onefail-at-atime]

I feel like Deanna was probably one of those who grew up Republican, realized how twisted the political party was, and ran as an independent. Her district in Ohio is such a mix of rural and urban areas that running independent is definitely a possibility. And her joke about Communists winning after all? Like one big HAHA to everyone who thought money could fix everything.

Does anyone else feel like Deanna Monroe is like a female Bernie?

I mean, some of her last words are “I cocked it all up”

[dixons-sunshine]

Was It The Boogeyman? | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Soon upon your group’s arrival to Alexandria, a masked killer begun running loose. Having no idea who they could be, Rick started an investigation, one that lead you to realize that you could not always trust everyone, especially not people who seemed to be unsuspecting at first.

Genre: Halloween, Slasher themes.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, death, near-death, others I can’t think of right now.

Word count: 5.9k

A/N: For @ghostboneswrites2’s Halloween challenge! To be honest, I feel like this is not the best, and I feel like the plot is all over the place, but I hope you like it nonetheless!

A bloodcurdling scream rang through the air. Rushing towards the source of the chilling sound, you, Daryl and Rick came face to face with a woman named Sarah, who had rushed out of the pantry. The woman looked as pale as a ghost, her hands shaking as she clutched onto the notebook in her hands.

“They got her! The killer got Olivia!”

You pushed past the woman, and walked into the garage that doubled as both the pantry and the armoury. There, laying in a big puddle of her own crimson blood, was Olivia, the former caretaker of the weaponry in the armoury. Her glasses were shattered on the ground a few feet away from her body, and a chunk of her brunette hair laid next to the spectacles, drenched in the woman’s blood.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, taking a tentative step towards the body. However, before you could take another step, you were gently pulled back, the familiar cerulean eyes of your partner coming into view when you turned your head. “What’s wrong?” you inquired, your eyebrows furrowed together.

“We dun’ know how long she’s been dead,” he began, his eyes darting over to the lifeless corpse of the woman. “She can reanimate at any minute.”

That fact you knew. A lifeless corpse reanimating had been what had alerted you all to the murders that had been happening around the alleged ‘safe zone’ in the first place. Deanna’s husband, Reg, had been murdered in cold blood a few weeks prior, and his reanimated corpse had caused quite the uproar amongst the other inhabitants. Thankfully, there had been no casualties; that is, if you didn’t include the community’s leader’s broken heart.

Deanna Monroe had been absolutely crushed by the death of her husband. She had been the one to put him down after encountering his undead self, and your heart went out for the woman. She had been nothing but kind to your group since you all had set foot through the gates, and she didn’t deserve to suffer from such pain.

You were drawn from your thoughts by the sight of Daryl crouched over Olivia’s body, his knife disappearing into her skull, before being retracted once more. The metal of the deadly weapon sported a red colour as the crimson liquid dripped from the object down onto the floor below. However, the knife was soon cleaned off with Daryl’s trusty red rag, returning the weapon to its former state of cleanliness.

The sound of heavy footsteps walking into the garage got your attention. You turned around and saw Rick approach the part of the room that held the bloody, gruesome scene. Your leader’s blue eyes flickered between the corpse and the blood that surrounded it, before he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger.

“This is death number three,” he said, frustration lacing his tone of voice. “Three deaths in two weeks.”

The Grimes man’s words rung true. Olivia’s unfortunate demise chalked up the death toll since the murderer made their debut to ‘three’. Reg had been killed first. Then a few days later, Pete Anderson’s life had been taken as well, his body being found near the infirmary. And now Olivia had joined them in the afterlife, too.

The killer’s pattern made no sense to you whatsoever. What did Reg, Pete and Olivia have in common for them to be murdered? How were they connected? What had they done to deserve a fate so cruel? Well, you knew what Pete Anderson had done to deserve it, but Reg and Olivia? It did not make a lick of sense to you.

With a deep sigh, you trudged forward and crouched down next to Olivia’s lifeless body, taking Daryl’s place as he stood up. Scanning over her body, you could quickly determine the method that had been used to kill her; strangulation, and then an odd looking stab wound through her chest. She had not been stabbed with a regular knife. Of that much you were completely certain. However, you could not decipher the weapon that had been used to pierce through the woman’s chest.

You glanced up at the two men. “She was strangled. And stabbed. There’s not really any telling which one got the job done, but the killer made sure to be thorough. They didn’t want her to survive this.”

“Christ,” Daryl muttered, shaking his head. “This killer’s sure got quite the way’a makin’ a lastin’ impression.”

“I just wish they’d choose something else to do it,” you mused aloud, your lips tugging into a grimace when your fingers traced over the clear-as-day blueish purple bruises that clearly depicted a handprint around the woman’s neck. Then, you stood up, crossing your arms over your chest. “This shit’s just inhumane.”

With a weary sigh, Rick shook his head and turned around, making his way out of the garage. You and Daryl shared a look, before the both of you simultaneously followed behind your leader, needing to know his thoughts on the matter. He had been your leader since the early days at the quarry, and even though Deanna Monroe still claimed official leadership over the Alexandrian safe zone, Rick had essentially taken over, and you would not have it any other way.

“Rick?” the archer’s voice rung out once the two of you had caught up with the Grimes man, effectively stopping him in his tracks. “What now?”

Another sigh left Rick’s mouth. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows furrowed together as he gathered his thoughts. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his blue eyes flitting between you and Daryl.

“No luck on the investigation?” you questioned him.

Shortly after the death of Reg, and then Pete, Rick had implemented an investigation, one which only he and Michonne were a part of, to avoid drawing any suspicions towards what they were doing. More people being let in on the investigation could potentially spill the secret as to who exactly was actively looking for the murderer, therefore the investigators would be the murderer’s next targets, and nobody wanted that. The murderer certainly knew that people were looking for them, but they did not know who.

Rick shook his head in acknowledgement to your words. “Nothin’. This killer’s smart. I haven’t found anythin’,” he admitted without hesitation. “Michonne and I have been turnin’ this place upside down lookin’ for clues, but it’s like this killer doesn’t even exist afterwards. It’s like they just vanish into thin air.”

Taking Rick’s admission into consideration, Daryl slowly nodded. “Ya think it could be someone from the outside? Someone who could be sneakin’ in to do this?”

“It’s a possibility,” Rick agreed, “but probably unlikely. We have people keepin’ watch all hours of the day. It doesn’t seem likely that someone would manage to sneak in.”

“So basically, we’re still nowhere near finding out who the murderer is,” you concluded, a heavy sigh leaving your body. “Three casualties and still nothing. Not even a meaningless clue that could lead us in the right direction.”

Daryl placed a hand on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against your clothed skin soothingly. He knew how stressed you were, and for good reason. Who’s to say that the murderer’s next victim wasn’t someone you cared for? Who’s to say the murderer’s next victim was not you? The archer did not even want to consider that last possibility.

Rick sent you a look of sympathy, understanding your frustrations towards the entire ordeal. However, he did not know how to ease your worries when he was unable to quench his own worries. You had every right to worry about this murderer. He certainly did not blame you in the slightest.

Suddenly, realization dawned on Rick, and he cleared his throat. “Actually, we did find somethin’,” he began, effectively recapturing both yours and Daryl’s attention. “There was a witness in Pete’s murder. They said that they saw someone walk away, and that the person was wearin’ a mask.”

“Well, that’s just great,” you voiced with a heavy sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

“So what, this killer s’like some sort’a Boogeyman or somethin’?” Daryl inquired with a scoff. The whole situation had been weighing heavily on the archer’s shoulders since the first body had dropped a few weeks prior. It was only a matter of time until the unknown killer attacked once more, maybe even taking the life of somebody he truly cared for. He needed to find this vicious murderer, and fast.

“I mean, technically speaking, the killer’s kinda more like Ghostface,” you corrected him, your arms crossed over your chest.

“Ghostface?” Daryl echoed in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing. “What’s that?”

Your eyes flitted over to your partner. “Those killers from the Scream franchise?” When recognition did not dawn on the archer, you furthered your explanation. “You know, the movies with that terrifying white ghost-like mask? The Ghostface mask? The mask that the two killers wear in all the movies?” A few beats of silence passed. Sensing that nobody in the small group knew what you were talking about, you shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. Boogeyman is as good of a code name as any.”

Rick cleared his throat, diverting the attention back to the more important matter at hand. “So, this Boogeyman, they clearly only strike once they’re absolutely sure nobody else is around. Until we can come up with a concrete way to catch them once and for all, I think it’s best if nobody is alone. Perhaps groupin’ people together in houses could help.”

“Ain’t too sure folks ‘round here are gon’ take too kindly to that idea,” Daryl voiced, his eyes flickering between you and Rick.

Rick shrugged and looked at his found brother. “If they wanna stay safe, they’re gonna have to go with it, whether they like it or not.”

“You want me to ask Deanna to call a meeting so we can spread the word?” you asked, your eyes locking with those of your leader.

Rick shook his head. “No. Deanna’s not in the best mindset at the moment. She can’t make important calls like this right now. I’ll call it. In the meantime, you and Daryl clean up the body. No need to have people causin’ an uproar.”

“What do we tell people when they come lookin’ for her?” Daryl questioned gruffly.

Rick hesitated for a moment. “We don’t have anythin’ to hide. Tell them the truth.”

With that, Rick turned around and left, leaving you and Daryl alone in front of the garage. You exchanged a look with your partner, your eyes conveying more about how you felt than words could in that moment. However, you pushed your emotions aside for the time being. You had a job to do.

With a sigh, you turned around and stalked into the pantry, your sense of smell instantly being overpowered by the overwhelming stench of death that lingered in the air. You had to stop and close your eyes momentarily, both in an attempt to gather your thoughts and to not accidentally vomit at the gruesome sight in front of you. I’ve seen worse, you attempted to remind yourself. However, that did not seem to help at all.

The feeling of someone’s hand on your shoulder snapped you from your trance. Opening your eyes, you looked over your shoulder and locked eyes with your partner. He sent you a small, albeit strained smile, and you had to commend him for his efforts to calm you down.

“Ya dun’ gotta do this,” Daryl began, his tone of voice surprisingly soft and gentle. “I can handle it. Ya can go home.”

Almost instantly, you shook your head, before turning your head back to peer at Olivia’s lifeless corpse. “No, it’s okay. I wanna help.” You sighed and placed one of your hands over his larger one that still remained firmly on your shoulder. “I just wish we didn’t have to do this at all.”

Daryl leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head. “I know,” he murmured into your hair. “It sucks, that’s for damn sure, but it won’t last forever. We’ll find the bastard that did this and take care’a ‘em. I promise ya that.”

You could not help the small smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. “Wow. That was a surprisingly positive outlook for a ‘glass half empty’ kinda person. Being the optimist is usually my approach. Who are you and what did you do to the Daryl Dixon I know and love?”

Daryl scoffed and rolled his eyes, but made no effort to move away just yet. “Yeah, yeah. Can’t always be the pessimist, can I? M’one negative outlook on somethin’ away from turnin’ into a professional grump.” When your giggle reached his ears, he smiled to himself. “Ya feel better?”

You turned around and looked at him. “About all of this?” For added emphasis, you motioned towards the body on the ground. “No. But I don’t feel like I’m gonna break down anymore, so I guess there’s that.”

“Ya can go if ya really need to. I seriously dun’ mind doin’ this myself.”

“No. I’m fine, I promise,” you reassured him. You took a few steps towards the lifeless Olivia, your expression turning grim once more. “I have to do this.”

Cleverly sensing that there was no point in arguing, Daryl nodded. “Alright. Let’s do this, then.”

“I’m telling you, I’m not gonna share my house with him! No way in hell!”

“Linda, I understand your frustrations, but—”

“You don’t understand a thing, lady!” Linda—an older lady you estimated to be in her sixties—cut you off abruptly, her dark brown eyes glaring daggers at you. “He’s the community slob! A miscreant! I’m not gonna allow a man like that in my home. Over my dead body.”

You let out a wary sigh at her declaration. Opting to not take the argument any further, for the sake of your slowly increasing anger, you simply sent a nod in her direction and walked off. Your fists were clenched at your sides, your lips pursed as you attempted to keep your raising frustrations at bay. Linda was not the first person to be frustrated at the new living arrangements being implemented around the Alexandrian safe zone, and you highly doubted that she would be the last. You just hoped you would be able to keep your cool.

It had been a week since the unfortunate death of Olivia. A town meeting had been called in Gabriel’s church a few hours after the discovery of her body, and the fear amongst the people had spiked once Rick had made it known that the community was unsafe at that moment in time, and to not wander around without someone at their sides. However, like Daryl had predicted, people did not like the idea of grouping together in houses, and it had not been instituted until somebody had been attacked by the mysterious masked killer—the Boogeyman—when they were alone in their own home.

Thankfully, the person had survived the ordeal. They did suffer from a stab wound and a broken leg, but they were relatively okay, and they had managed to provide your group with more information, meaning you all were one step closer to solving the case.

You walked down the street and met up with Daryl, who had just finished helping Tobin settle in with Aaron and Eric. He only had to take one look at you to realize that you were not having a good day.

“Bad day?” he asked rhetorically. He knew damn well how bad of a day you were having. The look you sent his way had him chuckling and raising his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Dumb question.” When you simply sent him a strained smile, his eyebrows furrowed. He gently grabbed your hand and held it in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “What’s wrong, Sweetheart?”

“Everything.” Whether you were being dramatic or not, you did not know, nor did you care. “From having to convince people to group up with people they’re not particularly fond of, to having to make sure that people actually listen and don’t try to sneak off back into their own homes, and having to look over my shoulder every few seconds because I’m terrified of the Boogeyman taking me next? Yeah, I am not having a good time.”

Daryl gave your hand another squeeze, a sympathetic look on his features. “M’so sorry, Sweetheart. I wish ya didn’t have to do none of it.” He took a deep breath, before continuing. “And the Boogeyman ain’t gon’ get their hands on ya. M’not gon’ let ‘em. I promise.”

You knew Daryl could not promise you that. Despite all the precautions that were being taken, despite every safety measure that was being implemented to up the difficulty for the killer to strike again, you knew deep down that it would not be enough. Murderers always found a way to work around any obstacle in their paths. If they wanted something, they would stop at nothing to get it. And this killer in particular was extremely careful and smart, so you knew it was only a matter of time until they struck once more.

“I know, but—”

Your words got cut off by a deafening scream. Both you and Daryl whipped around and scanned the area to locate the source of the chilling sound. It did not take long to do so. Another scream sounded through the air, and you could instantly locate where it was coming from—Gabriel’s church.

You took off in a dead sprint, Daryl following closely behind you, his crossbow loaded and ready to be fired at a moment’s notice. Whilst running, you met up with Michonne, Rick and Glenn. Without exchanging so much as a single word, you all burst into the church, weapons raised and pointed in front of you.

That moment was the first moment you saw the Boogeyman face-to-face. The mask the killer was wearing appeared to be a mix between the Ghostface mask and the Jason mask from Friday the 13th. They had blood splattered all over their mask and clothes, and Spencer’s lifeless body laid behind the killer. The murderer was stalking towards Jessie Anderson who was on the ground in front of them, the woman in question backing up fearfully, tears streaming from her eyes.

“No, please!” Jessie pleaded, sobs tearing through her body. “Please!”

A gunshot echoed through the air, just narrowly missing the Boogeyman’s body. That made the killer turn around, their body tensing up as they regarded your group that stood in front of them. Cleverly sensing that they were severly outnumbered, with nothing to defend themselves other than an odd looking knife, they made a run for the back door.

“Go! I’ll take care of Jessie. I’ll get her home. You all take care of the Boogeyman.”

With parting nods, Daryl, Rick, Glenn and Michonne instantly sprung into action, following behind the murderer. However, the killer pushed a bunch of furniture and objects as they ran, effectively slowing them down, but that did not stop the people in your group from bounding out the back door, in search of the long sought-after Boogeyman.

With the immediate threat out of the way for the time being, you rushed forward towards Jessie. You helped her up from the ground and onto one of the seats in the church. Taking a seat next to the clearly traumatized woman, you placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Jessie?” you began softly. However, the woman did not acknowledge you. It was as if your voice had not even reached her ears. The poor woman had seriously gone through it. “Jessie, you’re okay. They’re gone. They’re not gonna hurt you anymore.”

The Anderson woman closed her eyes and shook her head. “Spencer…” she started, her voice trembling as she spoke. “He—he’s dead. The Boogeyman killed him and… and…”

The woman could not even finish her sentence. She broke down into sobs and threw her arms around you unexpectedly. You tensed up momentarily, not expecting her to seek comfort in you. You and Jessie were not exactly close. In fact, Jessie Anderson was probably one of the few Alexandrians you had not been able to develop a big liking for. It was nothing personal towards the woman. You just were not particularly fond of her.

Snapping yourself from your thoughts, you slowly wrapped your arms around Jessie, rubbing her back soothingly. Despite your indifference towards the woman, you could not turn her away in a time of need. What had happened to her was beyond terrible, and it clearly had taken its toll on her.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Jessie,” you whispered to her. “You didn’t deserve to experience that.”

Jessie sniffled and pulled away from your embrace. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry, too. You don’t deserve this either.”

Her words confused you. Your eyebrows furrowed together, but before you could say anything, Jessie lunged forward. The two of you tumbled to the ground, and the Anderson woman placed one of her hands over your mouth to muffle out any noises you made. She hastily reached forward and pulled a cloth from under one of the aisle seats, and brought it up to cover your nose and mouth.

A strange, foul-smelling stench filled your senses. You fought back against her hold, but Jessie had the clear upper hand. Your resistance against her hold grew weaker as the seconds ticked by on the metaphorical clock, until you felt too weak to fight back at all. Your arms fell limp at your sides and your eyes began to fall closed.

The last thing you saw before the darkness took over was the face of the blonde woman, her expression cold and filled with no remorse. And then…

Nothing.

You awoke to the smell of something completely foul under your nose. You shot awake with a loud gasp, your eyes being blinded by the harsh light of what appeared to be that of a… spotlight? Once your eyes had adjusted, and your mind had managed to catch up with you somewhat, you attempted to push yourself up, only to find that you could not do so. The same thing occurred with your legs. You were left completely immobile, except for your head.

“Well, well. Look who’s awake. Welcome back to the land of the living… Well, and the dead.”

The sound of a woman’s voice reached your ears. You snapped your head back up, and locked eyes with those of your captor; Jessie Anderson. If looks could kill, the woman would be long dead, for the glare you sent her way would be enough to incinerate her in seconds. However, looks did not possess the power to end one’s mortality, so you were completely powerless to do anything at that particular moment.

Jessie laughed at the glare on your face, the sound positively wicked. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Y/N. You should be glad it was me that got to you. If it was her, she would have killed you instantly. She doesn’t really like you all that much.”

Jessie motioned to something on her left, and you followed her gaze. At first, you could not make out a thing, but once the person stepped into the light, you could not help the gasp that escaped your chest. There, standing right in front of you with the very weapon that had been used to kill all those people, was none other than the supposed leader of the community, Deanna Monroe.

“Deanna,” you muttered in surprise, your eyes widened as the older woman stepped forward, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face.

Deanna shrugged and stepped up next to Jessie. “Hello, Y/N.” When you did not dare say anything to her greeting, she chuckled. “This is the part where you say, ‘hi, Deanna’.”

“You…” You trailed off, your eyes flickering between Deanna and Jessie. “You both… You’re—”

“The Boogeyman?” Jessie cut you off, sharing a smile with Deanna, one that had shivers sprinting over your spine. “Yeah, we are. Well, technically speaking, we’re the Boogeymen. Or Boogeywomen. Whatever floats your boat, really.”

“You two killed all those people,” you voiced in a tone that spoke of disbelief.

Jessie chuckled wickedly. “Ding, ding, ding! You really are smart, huh?” she asked rhetorically, her tone mocking.

“But Pete, and Reg—Spencer…Why?”

The Anderson woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Pete? Believe me, that’s not really any love lost. But hey, it was fun to play the helpless woman for a while, I’ll tell you that. As for Reg, that was my mistake. I thought he was Eugene. Believe me, Deanna still hasn’t forgiven me for that.”

“And I won’t,” Deanna said firmly. “But we have a common goal. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as they say.”

“And your son?” you inquired. Although you were interested to get some insight as to why these two seemingly harmless, friendly women would resort to cold-hearted killing, you were more so attempting to distract them by getting them monologuing, and it appeared to be working. If they were distracted, you would be able to free your hands from the duct tape securing it with the sharp edge of the bracelet, a gift from Carol, specifically gifted should you ever end up in a situation where you needed an inconspicuous sharp object. You truly treasured that woman, now more than ever.

A flash of remorse, of heartbreak, appeared in Deanna’s eyes, before she expertly schooled it with a blank, indifferent expression. “I didn’t want to do it. A mother never wants to do harm to her child in any way. But he saw Jessie place one of our weapons in Gabriel’s church to frame him for the killings, and he was already calling for Rick. I could not have him blow my partner’s cover, so I did what needed to be done.”

“But he was your son! How—how could you? How could you be so heartless?”

“Heartless?!” Deanna bellowed, her tone a stark difference from the usual kindness you had falsely grown to associate her with. “Do you wanna know what’s heartless? Having to hear that your youngest son’s life got cut short because of the people you brought in, people you thought could help change things for the better! Or having to live with the fact that even your own husband was beginning to trust your judgement! That he blamed you for everything that was going wrong! I was heartless by letting you people in! I was heartless because I wasn’t thinking about the people who had been under my care for years!”

Come on, you thought to yourself as you continued cutting away at the duct tape. Only a few more inches. “Oh, so we’re to blame? For everything? Even for your deranged, psychopath of a partner? Why did you have to offer up so much but all she did was kill her asshole husband?”

Jessie, suddenly being brought back into the spotlight, practically snarled at you. “You bitch—”

Snap! Your hands got freed from the harsh tightness of the duct tape. Without a moment of hesitation, you lunged towards Jessie, the sudden momentum miraculously snapping the duct tape securing your legs together. With your limbs freed and your mind on only one thing—to escape and find Daryl��you began to execute your plan. Take out Jessie, the one that was the main killer in all of this, and then Deanna, the brains behind the entire operation. Or at least, that’s what you suspected, anyway.

Due to having the element of surprise on your side this time, Jessie was relatively easy to take care of. You did not want to do it, only resorting to killing when absolutely necessary, not to mention the fact that Jessie had two boys as well, but you had to do it. You pushed the knife you had managed to swipe from her holster deep into her chest, watching the woman choke as she fell limp. She did not die, not instantly, but her wound rendered her unable to do anything. She was out of your way.

Pushing yourself off of the Anderson woman, you spun around to take care of Deanna. However, she was nowhere to be found. The only thing you could see was a door that was opened to the left. She must have fled, which proved your theory to be correct. She may have been the brains behind everything, but she could not do the killing herself. She needed somebody to do the dirty part for her, which meant that she would be easier to take care of.

Making sure to grasp the knife firmly, you rushed up the stairs and out of the building you were in, which you soon realized was the vacant building which doubled as a cell when needed. Clever, you thought as you looked around, hoping to spot the Monroe woman. You soon did, seeing her running down the street, back towards Gabriel’s church.

You took off in a dead sprint, your youth compared to Deanna’s granting you an advantage. You managed to catch up to her, tackling her to the ground right before she could reach the building. However, she let out a deafening scream, alerting everyone in the church to what was going on outside.

In an instant, everyone that had been partaking in, what you assumed to be, the meeting inside rushed out to see what the commotion was about. You winced as everyone’s eyes fell on you, and you knew that you were not in a particularly good spot at that moment. From their perspective, they could see their well loved and respected leader on the ground, screaming bloody murder, with one of the new and slightly feared members of the community on top of her, blood splattered all over her body whilst she had a knife against Deanna’s back.

Yeah, things were definitely not looking good for you.

“Help me!” Deanna yelled desperately, tears streaming from her eyes. “She’s gonna kill me! She’s the Boogeyman!”

You got off of the woman, raising your hands in surrender, although you still clutched the knife in your hand. You had seen your fair share of horror movies before. You would not be the person that dropped the knife to plead their innocence, only to get stabbed in the back by the actual bad guy. You definitely were not stupid enough for that.

Your breath got knocked out of your chest when your found family pushed towards the front of the crowd, their weapons raised and trained in front of them—at you. They did not truly believe Deanna’s claims, did they? Did they seriously have such little faith in your loyalty, in your beliefs to only kill when it was an absolute necessity? Did they truly not trust you?

“I’m not the killer,” you spoke carefully and slowly, your eyes locking with the familiar cerulean-coloured ones of your partner. He had his crossbow aimed at you, and it made your heart sink. “I’m not. Deanna is. And Jessie. They kidnapped me and revealed the whole thing.”

“That’s a lie!” Deanna cried out desperately. “She’s a liar! A murderer! She attacked Jessie and then chased after me when I walked in on her doing it! She’s a psychopath!”

“I’m not,” you insisted, attempting to keep your voice calm and even. It would not do you any good to fall to your knees and plead with them to believe you. “Jessie attacked me in the church after you all ran after the Boogeyman, after Deanna, and she dragged me down to that empty basement where you were kept, Rick.”

“She’s lying!” It was Deanna’s turn to insist. “She killed them all! Pete and Reg, and then she killed Olivia that day in the garage! She’s a cold-hearted murderer!”

Rick hummed and stepped forward. He slowly trailed his gun away from you, instead aiming it at the ground. “And Spencer? Who killed him, if she killed them all?”

Deanna hesitated for a moment, before she mustered up a reply. “She—she must be working with someone! With Daryl, maybe! You’ve all seen how close they are.”

“Daryl was there with us when we found the Boogeyman in the church. And so was she,” Rick voiced, motioning towards you. “And we never said where we found Olivia’s body, just that we found her dead.” That was the final nail in the coffin. Rick raised his gun and aimed it at Deanna, and you could see the blood drain from her face. Rick cocked his gun and stepped forward, his eyes cold as he regarded the supposed kind-hearted leader of the safe zone. “Don’t try to fight or run. If you do, we will kill you.”

Everything was a blur after that. Rick and Michonne somehow managed to secure handcuffs and ‘arrested’ Deanna, taking her back to the basement she had run from in the first place. They had told you to go see Denise, and that they would take care of Jessie’s body, should she be dead. Heeding their advice, you let Daryl escort you to the infirmary, and waited for Denise to finish up with another patient before she could attend to you.

“Ya alright?” Daryl asked you, finally speaking up after everything that had hone down.

You shrugged. “I’m as okay as can be expected, I guess.” Then, needing to get the question out of the way, you spoke up again. “Did you really believe that what Deanna said was true? That I killed all those people.”

Daryl instantly shook his head. “Nah. I knew from the get go that ya were innocent.”

You frowned slightly at his words. “How?”

“‘Cause Ron came clean to me ‘bout it right before Deanna made that whole spectacle. Said he heard his mom and Deanna talk ‘bout killin’ Olivia right before we found the body. Was gon’ tell everyone, but I got cut short.”

“Then why did you point your crossbow at me?”

“To get yer attention. To get ya to see the code I was sendin’ ya, but ya wouldn’t look down at my hand,” he told you with a small smile. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though. Ya had other things on yer mind.”

You sighed in relief. “Thank god you believed me. I thought Deanna was gonna get away with it.”

“Nah,” Daryl began. “Pretty sure none’a us believed her. We know ya wouldn’t do that. Hell, ya hesitate killin’ a rabbit. Yer too good for somethin’ as terrible as blatant murder.”

You smiled at him and leaned your head on his shoulder, sighing in contentment, being able to relax for the first time in weeks. The killers were caught, and you and your family were safe. You could sleep a little easier that night.

“We did it,” you mumbled, the exhaustion clear in your voice.

“Yeah,” Daryl voiced, pressing a soft kiss on top of your head. “Told ya we would.”

“Yeah, you did. Guess I should learn to listen to you more, huh?”

“It would pro’lly be for the best, yeah,” Daryl joked, chuckling when you punched his shoulder. “M’real glad yer safe, Sweetheart.”

“Me too,” you voiced. “Believe me, me too.” You nuzzled your face into Daryl’s shoulder. “I love you.”

A few beats of silence passed. “Love ya too, sweet girl. More than you’ll ever know.”

[virtualfoxkoala]

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[minervas-wife]

TWD S5 E16 LIVE THOUGHTS

'well u can lower that 😒🙄' u can hear him wanting to roll his eyes

'that's a lot :0'

the interrupting himself to say 'put that down' makes me laugh everytime

his stick martial arts always make me think of that capoiera episode of bobs burgers

eyyy back to aaron and daryl

nvm now back to rick

the laughing when he sees his in a 'cell' hes literally deranged 😭😭

'its like the train car' and he was LAUGHING about it 😭😭

'bc these people are children and children like stories' goes hard. go carol

dude what the hell. mans already planning a gd hostage situation

christ alive rick

i feel like ive typed that so many times for these few episodes

'he pointed out at people' dude i wish u could see what was happeningoutside the walls

sasha in the walker grave 😭😭 baby get out there

she is so condescending in this scene 😭😭 'oh sunshine...'

steven and lauren built such an unrivaled chemistry for maggie and glenn. they are the blueprint twd relationship

THE CHAIN OMG

im forever obessessed with this scene of carol threatening pete

can't wait for pete to die

nicholas u stupid coward

'cus all life is precious daryl' 🥺🥺

i love u rosita u are too funny

crisis of faith gabriel 🙄🙄

oh my god i forgot the walkers were the wolves

gabe the snake 😡😡

jessie is sitting there with a black eye and deanna is like yeah but we need to punish him for beating up ur abusive husband

bc he is useful to the asz,,, he's the only one with medical training but why did she never make him train up anyone else?? i mean what was gonna happen if he ever got hurt or anything

carl and judith looking at the music box he picked up for maggie 😭😭😭

ohhhh the wolves have pictures

girl got me cheering at 'do it'

[onefail-at-atime]

The author of this article, hey Craig Elvy!, gets it. Pamela Milton was Deanna Monroe's polar opposite, both before and after the Fall.