#negan smith series

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 7,252 (oof, this one got long!)

Pairing: Negan Smith x Reader

Reader pronouns: largely unspecified (but Negan does refer to reader as doll and darling which could be considered more feminine terms of endearment)

Warnings: language haha, frightening scenarios, references to past violence

Summary: Months have now passed since Y/N began taking on Negan as a "project" and the reader suggests an even longer run outside the walls.

A/N: This is part of a series! Find all the parts on the Negan Master List.

Previous Part here!

“It’s been months,” you said. “There hasn’t been a single time that I’ve felt unsafe, and both of you know I never let my guard down.”

Daryl was leaning up against the wall beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was serious but largely unreadable. Michonne leaned forward on the table, considering your words.

“We need to think long-term here. Are we just going to keep him locked up forever? Or is there some version of this where he gets out and either integrates as much as possible or—or goes on his way?”

Michonne sighed and shook her head. “I’m not sure any of us have the answer to that yet,” she said.

“I know. I still don’t,” you said. “I’m not sure what the future looks like for him, but I know we have to do more than just letting him out to pick tomatoes every once in a while. So, that’s what I’m doing. And with you two stuck here dealing with the wall and the kids—and the pantry and medical supplies starting to run low, well… let’s kill two birds with one stone.”

Daryl sighed and straightened up. “I ain’t gonna say I like it, but I trust ya and I’ve seen your judgment play out too many times to doubt it. If ya think it’ll be alrigh’, then—well, ‘m good with it. But ya gotta show us exactly where you’ll be and when to expect ya back in case we need to come lookin’.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll mark it all on the map. We should be able to make it out and back in a single long day. Leave early. Get back late.”

“And no weapons for him unless it’s an absolute emergency,” Michonne emphasized.

“Of course,” you agreed.

“Alright,” Michonne nodded. “When will you go?”

“Tomorrow,” you said. “I’ll get everything ready today.”

“I’ll walk ya out,” Daryl drawled, watching as you grabbed your bag and shouldered it. “Listen—” he started.

You looked over at him and smiled, already knowing you were about to get a worried Daryl Dixon lecture. “Mhm?” you prompted him.

“The hell are ya smirkin’ about?” he growled, his brow furrowing.

“Nothing,” you laughed. “Go ahead.”

“Well—if somethin’ happens out there… if it comes down to you or him…” he trailed off.

Your brow furrowed deeply now to match his. “It won’t,” you said seriously.

He shifted anxiously. “But if it does…”

“Daryl. It’s not going to,” you insisted.

He nodded, pulling back. “Wish I could go with ya… I’d feel better about it.”

He relented and nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Okay. C’mere.” He pulled you into a hug and you smiled as he folded you up against him. “I just want ya to be safe, is all.”

“I know. I will,” you agreed.

“I know. But it’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

“You’re shitting me, right?” Negan said, his breakfast still in his hand, not a single bite taken.

You stared at him and then let out a dry laugh. “That’s not exactly the reaction I was expecting,” you said.

“Well, shit. I mean… a real scavenging trip? That’s what you’re saying?” Negan said. He ran a hand back through his hair and stood, pacing a tight circle in his cell. “Who else is going?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why? Someone specific you want me to invite? Want me to ask your old pal Gabriel? Or wait—Eugene?”

He laughed but looked vaguely shocked. “Well, I’m sorry but I’m just—a little fuckin’ surprised, doll.” You’d eased some on scolding Negan for the pet names over the last few weeks and generally just ignored them now unless it was something really egregious. (You’d nearly hit him for calling you ‘princess’ one day, so he had at least not tried that again.) He seemed to enjoy taking full advantage of you turning a deaf ear to them now. “Just you and me? Out there?” he clarified.

“You and I have already been out there alone how many times, hmm? I don’t see why this should be any different,” you said, digging around in your pack.

“Well, it’s farther. I mean, farther for you to get help if—”

You straightened up and fixed a skeptical gaze on him. “If what? If you suddenly decide to attempt to murder me? Attack me? Steal the car and leave me out there? I’ll still be armed and you won’t. Besides, I’ve been through more shit out there than—”

He laughed again. “I was just gonna say in case any number of bad fuckin’ things happens out there. And we both know that they do.”

“Yeah. You used to be one of those bad things, remember?” you shot back quickly. He sighed at your deflection and you couldn’t help but laughing. “I am having to sell this harder to you than I did to Michonne and Daryl. What is going on? What are you worried about?”

“I’m not worried! Although, it would be fuckin’ nice to have something to defend myself with in case of the dead or unexpected assholes…”

“ ‘Unexpected Assholes’?” you repeated. “What is that, your one man play?” you quipped. “Let me guess—you’ll be playing yourself.”

Negan couldn’t resist a hearty laugh at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s good. You’re fuckin’ hilarious as usual, doll.” But he looked serious again the next moment. “Anyway, about me having some way to defend myself…”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” you said lazily. “I’ll let you have, like, a stick if you want,” you smirked. He only stared back at you. “I told you that I’ll protect you! You think I’m just gonna let a walker wander up and bite you?” There was a thick silence for a moment where he just stared back at you.

“I’m not worried about one walker. I’m worried about all the random, rogue shit that can happen out there.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to trust me! Do you not want to go or what?” you pressed him, perplexed at his reaction.

He paused, drew in a deep breath, and let it out. Then that damn smirk showed back up on his face, sending his hazel eyes sparkling. “Are you asking if I want to go spend some quality time alone with you? Just the two of us? No one to interrupt… Completely at your mercy for whatever you may decide to do with me… or to me…”

You rolled your eyes, catching onto his tone immediately. “That could include killing you,” you cautioned him, eliciting a low laugh from him. You hated that the deep gravel of it gave you goosebumps. You did your best to ignore it.

“I don’t know… I’m starting to think this is just a ploy to get away with me where nobody can easily interrupt us,” Negan said. “I mean, shit. No need hide your true intentions from me,” he grinned. “I am absolutely 110% on board with that. Use me all you want, doll,” he grinned, now gripping the bars of his cell door. “God, I’d love to be fuckin’ used by you.”

You crossed your arms and fixed a stern look on him, hoping that your face wasn’t flushing bright red. You cleared your throat. “Sounds more like wishful thinking on your part. It’s a scavenging run, Negan, not a fucking romantic getaway,” you said.

“Are you sure you said that right? I think you meant romantic fucking getaway. Emphasis on the—”

“Negan! Stop! I will cancel this whole thing! Jesus Christ!”

That shit-eating grin was still on his face and he laughed again, thoroughly pleased with himself. “Alright, alright. I’m done. I think…”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “Scavenging. Run.” you repeated.

“Yeah, we’ll see, doll. We’ll see. So, where are we going exactly?”

You forged ahead, ignoring his last comments in favor of moving on. “There are some old houses and other structures we’ve only ever done a cursory search of. Probably not going to make a huge score but there’s always something left behind, something hidden. But who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky,” you said.

“Fuck me, I’d love to get lucky…” he laughed again.

“Negan!” you exclaimed again.

“Alright! I’m sorry,” he chuckled.

“So, are you in?” you asked, slightly exasperated.

The two of you were separated by only the iron bars and a small buffer of space, hardly a foot. He was still smiling at you and you hated that the thought that he was handsome flickered through your mind. It wasn’t the first time you’d thought it—but the thought always surprised you, like it came from somewhere outside of yourself, not by your conjuration alone. “Fuck yes, I’m in,” he answered, interrupting your thoughts.

“You promise to listen to everything I say? If I tell you to run, if I tell you to hide—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I promise,” he said, smiling. “If I don’t, you’ll shoot me in the fuckin’ knee or some shit. Can we skip the pep talk?”

You gave him a stern look but unlocked his cell and tossed him the spare pack you’d brought. You dug into your own bag and handed him some supplies, including some outerwear. He tucked them into his bag and looked up at you expectantly. “Where to, warden?”

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t help the tiniest smirk. “Car is right outside. Let’s get going. The sun is starting to come up and it could be a long day.”

“Great. Can I drive?” he quipped, shouldering his bag. You only shot him a look that made him laugh again, but he saw the slight curve at the corners of your mouth.

The drive to the crumbling ruins of the neighborhood was slow, but uneventful. The sun was up and filtering through the trees overhead as you and Negan climbed out and started toward the buildings. You were quiet, focused, and Negan couldn’t help admiring your efficiency and care as you went about your mission.

The two of you stopped at the edge of the crumbling street, concealed in some taller brush. The street was overgrown with weeds and lined with dilapidated houses. It was almost eerily quiet.

“Alright,” you breathed quietly. “We’ll go building by building, down one side and back up the other. Pay attention to signs of walkers or people,” you said softly, gripping the straps of your pack. “Follow my lead and stay close.”

“You got it,” Negan replied, slipping his hands into his pockets as he followed alongside you toward the first house. “I gotta say, it is really uncomfortable being out here without a damn weapon. More so here than in the woods,” he commented, his eyes shifting around to study the other buildings, scrutinizing for a sign of movement. “I feel like I’m naked,” he said.

“I guarantee—” You paused to tap on the wall of the house the two of you were standing beside, listening for anything inside. “You’re not. If you were naked, I would not be this fuckin’ calm, Negan,” you said, half-distracted.

He chuckled and licked his bottom lip, smirking.

“What?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow at you.

“I don’t think that sounded how you meant it to sound,” he laughed.

Your cheeks flushed. “Oh, shut up. You know what I meant!”

“Your brain is saying one thing but your lips are sayin’ another, darlin’,” he teased you.

You rolled your eyes and pulled the front door open, stepping cautiously inside. The smell was of mildew and stagnant air as you stepped inside. A heavy layer of dust and dirt coated everything; overturned furniture, books standing or tipped over on shelves, a stately chair still positioned in front of the fireplace. Somewhere deeper in the house, water was dripping. You had your gun out and started clearing the lower floors. Negan ghosted behind you.

You made for the staircase to check the upstairs when there was a soft thump overhead. Your eyes and Negan’s went to the ceiling.

“Alright… maybe someone is home after all,” he commented, giving you a concerned look.

“It’s gotta be a walker,” you said. “Maybe an animal.” You proceeded cautiously toward the staircase.

“Hey,” Negan said softly. “Be careful.”

You turned and looked at him for a long moment before you started up the stairs. He seemed genuinely on edge, worried. He stayed right on your heels as you climbed the steps, the muscle in his jaw tensed as his teeth clenched together.

You cleared two bedrooms and finally came to a closed door at the end of the hall. As the floor creaked under your boots, there was the sound of more movement behind the door. You reached for the door knob, gun ready in your other hand. You took a deep breath and quickly turned it shoving the door open and aiming the muzzle of your pistol inside.

An opossum let out an angry hiss and then scrambled up and out of a broken window. It had been rooting around in some debris on the floor. A huge sigh of relief escaped you and Negan watched your shoulders sag. You laughed a little as you turned to look back at Negan. He gave you a relieved look.

“I gotta be honest,” he said. “I fuckin’ hate this shit. I feel completely helpless without something to use if something bad happens. What am I supposed to do if you need help?”

You gave him a somewhat sympathetic look, thinking about how it would feel to be in his place—the unknown behind every locked door with no knife, no gun… completely vulnerable and reliant on someone who was essentially his jailor. “Well,” you said. “I have a feeling if something really did go wrong, you’d figure something out.”

He considered your words for a moment. “Yeah. I hope so.” He thought about what he would do. What if they ran into some bad men? Bad people? What would he really do if you were in danger? He didn’t have to think hard to know the answer. Anything. He’d do anything he needed to. The thought seemed to dig deep into the center of his chest and sit there, heavy. It was almost a surprise. “So, now what? House is clear.”

You holstered your gun again. “Now, we search. See if there’s anything left. A lot of people hid things, right after. There’s always something left behind. You take the upstairs. I’ll go through the downstairs.”

Negan nodded his agreement and turned back to the trashed bathroom, the sound of your steps fading away down the staircase. He searched every room, every cabinet, every closet, under beds, under loose floorboards, but came away with nothing of interest except for half a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. He headed downstairs where he could hear you rummaging around in the living room. “Hey,” he greeted you, stepping over the threshold. You were standing completely frozen now at the shelves, looking down at something. “Y/N?” he said again. You still didn’t seem to have heard him. He wandered closer. “Find something?”

You startled a little and turned to look at him, a picture frame in your hand. “Oh. No, not really. You?”

“Half a bottle of rubbing alcohol. I stuck it in my pack.” He nodded toward the frame. “What’s that?”

You looked down at it again. “It’s nothing. It’s just this—this family portrait. I wonder if they lived here—” you said thoughtfully. Your voice seemed to drift away a little. “Or what happened to them, you know? Did they make it? Were they ever safe again after the outbreak?”

Negan looked on with a thoughtful expression, his dark brows furrowed over his eyes. He nodded and moved closer to get a better view of the photo behind the cracked glass. He smiled at it, chuckling a little. “Hmm. Mom, Dad, and three kids. A perfect nuclear family,” he said.

“Looks like the 90s,” you laughed. “Check out the clothes.”

“Yeah, they probably went down to JCPenney to take advantage of the fancy photography studio,” Negan remarked. “Dad looks like an accountant, doesn’t he?”

“Mmm, I’m getting more of a bank manager vibe. Mom probably stayed at home when the kids were little and then goes back to work as a teacher once the youngest is in kindergarten,” you replied, now smiling a little too.

Negan ran a hand back through his hair thoughtfully and cocked his head. “You know—I was a teacher,” he said suddenly. “I’ve never really told anyone that since things went to shit. Kind of lessens the mystique,” he laughed dryly.

Your eyes snapped over to his face, one of your eyebrows arching gracefully with the question on your face. He laughed again. “Yeah, I know… hard to believe, right? How could such an asshole be a teacher?” he said.

A slight wince flickered across your face for a brief second at his words, as if you didn’t like the way he’d talked about himself. But that couldn’t be right… “What did you teach?”

“I was a high school P.E. teacher,” he said. “Coached some of the school teams too. Basketball. Football.”

“P.E.?” you repeated. “And you’re not even going to make a ‘physical education’ joke?” you teased him. “Wow. Are you feeling okay?”

He laughed lightly. “You beat me to it,” he said. He glanced back at the picture and sighed. “Should we get going? Lots of buildings to search,” he said.

You nodded and stared down at the picture for another moment.

“What’re you doing?” Negan asked, watching you take the back off the picture frame. You fumbled with the backing and then removed the family photo from the damaged frame.

“I just—feel like someone should remember them, you know?”

Negan’s gaze was fixed on you, flickering over your face. There was something so soft in it at that moment that you felt slightly unbalanced. You distracted yourself by bending to slip the photo into your pack. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he said gently.

You deflected, laughing as you shouldered your pack again. “Oh, you’ve got no idea,” you said sarcastically, again ignoring the heat in your face. “Come on.”

The two of you went on, searching each home and several stores, working your way down the block and partway up the next. You’d managed some good finds, including a hidden cellar that clearly had belonged to a survivalist type (who had apparently “opted out” and his corpse still watched over the hidden entrance). You’d have to make a few trips to the car in order to get all the supplies and gear back, or otherwise figure out a way to get the car in through the overgrown side road. The two of you piled the finds in a safe place in one of the rooms on the main floor, stacking Rubbermaid tubs full of helpful items in neat piles.

“Fuck me,” Negan sighed, setting the last one on top. “Well, when you’re right, you’re fuckin’ right, doll. There’s always somethin’ left behind.”

You wiped at the sweat near your hairline. “Yeah,” you sighed. “Not bad.” You had a satisfied smile on your face. It felt good to do something concrete that would help people back home. You glanced out the window, assessing the light outside. It’d taken quite some time to get things moved up from the cellar and you wondered if you should keep searching the rest of the houses or call it a day. “I think it’s starting to get late,” you said, remarking mainly on the way the light already seemed like it was fading.

“Mmm,” Negan hummed, going to the front bay window and looking out. His eyes had been searching the street all day, vigilant, as if waiting for some psychos to suddenly burst out of one of the houses. But the only signs of inhabitation or squatting you’d found were clearly from long before, now covered in dust and debris or otherwise moldering in damp corners or on top of filthy mattresses. Now, as you were busy drinking from your canteen, Negan’s shifting suddenly stopped. “Hey, doll—I’m no meteorologist, but those clouds look like bad fuckin’ news.” It had been overcast all day, but you could tell by the tone of his voice that this was something else.

You capped your canteen and went to the front door, your brow now furrowed heavily to match his. You pulled the door open and peered at the sky. Ominous didn’t even begin to cover it. There was not a sniff of wind at the moment and the air seemed to hum with electricity. Negan appeared next to you in the doorway, squinting at the low and heavy sky.

“I’m pretty sure when the sky turns fuckin’ green, there’s some bad shit coming,” he said. He glanced over at you.

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. “Yeah. Yeah, green sky is… tornado weather. Fuck,” you muttered, glancing back at the pile of supplies.

“What do you want to do?” Negan asked.

You sighed, pushing a hand back through your hair. “Even if we head back to the car now, we probably can’t outrun that… the old highway is FUBAR in some places. It’s not like we can drive 60 mph all the way back to Alexandria. And that would mean leaving all these supplies here.” As if on cue, the complete stillness in the air broke as a rushing wind approached like a tidal wave, creaking and cracking in the trees and swirling dust and dried leaves across the open ground until it reached the two of you standing on the porch. Your hair lifted and blew back from your face.

“I’ll ask you again,” Negan said, speaking louder now over the roar of the wind, “what do you want to do?”

You hesitated, glancing from him back to the quickly approaching menacing clouds. The little light left was fading fast. “Fuck,” you muttered again. “I—I think we’re better off weathering it here than in a car out there,” you said.

“I definitely agree with that,” Negan said.

“Once the storm clears, maybe then we can try to get the car in here and load up the supplies and get home. We’ll be delayed a bit longer than expected but—I think it’s the best move. Hopefully, we’re just stuck a couple more hours.”

Negan nodded. “Alright. Where are we holing up? Because this shit is about to kick the fuck off,” he said, surveying the street again.

“Here is as good a place as any,” you said. “There’s a basement and almost all the windows are intact or boarded up. Come on. Let’s get inside.”

Negan followed you in and shut the door on the wind. Your eyes were already on him when he turned around again. He was trying to decode your expression but it was largely unreadable. He unshouldered his pack and set it on the floor, taking a seat on the stairs across from where you were now leaning up against the wall. The ambient light from outside was quickly waning and before long you could hear raindrops start to pound the roof. They increased in size and then seemed to be blowing across the roof in waves of water.

You could hear the huge cottonwood trees creaking and cracking in the wind. You tried to peer out through the boarded slats over the window to see if they were dropping branches but it was too dark. Behind you, Negan pulled out a flashlight from his pack and clicked it on. It had grown extremely dark with the heavy storm clouds gathering and unleashing the torrents of rain. You were still standing right by the window, looking out, when he spoke again.

“Hey, maybe we should move away from the windows, doll,” Negan said, worried. He didn’t like how close you were standing to all that glass, even if it was mostly boarded over. His voice was deep and resonant in the space between you with just the raging background noise outside.

“Yeah. Maybe,” you said. You bent to grab your pack when you suddenly heard a loud thud against the side of the house. You straightened up, your eyes widening. Negan had heard it too, his eyes were narrowed, ears strained, listening. It was difficult to hear anything over the storm.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice breathy. “Some debris blowing against the house?” you asked.

Negan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, standing from his place on the steps and going to the doorway of the room the sound had seemed to come from. The roaring storm seemed to reach new extremes. The wind sounded like a train bearing down on the little dilapidated structure the two of you were sheltering in. Rain and hail lashed the siding and the roof. There was another thud from outside, this time on the window.

“There. Again,” you said, anxiously pacing toward Negan to stare into the room. His flashlight was still on. Another thud, and then another. You squinted, trying to distinguish anything through the boarded windows but it was too dark. Then, a flash of lightning shot the sky outside with blinding white and you couldn’t help the soft gasp that left you at what it illuminated.

“What?” Negan asked urgently.

You couldn’t speak. You just reached for the flashlight. Negan looked down as your hand landed on top of his. He could feel you trembling slightly and for a moment he was so shocked by your touch that he didn’t understand what you were doing. With your gentle grip, you directed the yellow beam of the light slowly to the window. As it came to rest between two of the boards and shone through the glass, Negan registered that there were walkers clawing to get in, rotting faces pressed to the glass, bloody fingertips, snapping teeth. Dozens. “Ho-ly fuck!” he exclaimed, jerking the flashlight off the window and quickly shutting it off. You and Negan stood in the dark for a moment, neither of you moving, now keenly aware of the pounding noise and dull thuds on the exterior of the house, cutting through the wind and rain. Were you imagining it or was the pounding increasing, getting louder? More frequent? Negan could hear your breath beside him in the dark. “Well, that shit was straight out of a fuckin’ horror movie,” he remarked in a low voice.

“Yeah,” you whispered back. “Where the fuck did they come from? It sounds like we’re surrounded.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Seems like they rolled in with the storm.”

“Maybe they can feel the barometric pressure changes or something. Almost like a migration,” you commented, feeling your heart rate and breathing finally start to slow down after the shock of discovering the herd.

Negan chuckled beside you and you heard him shift. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Eugene?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Okay… so, now we just have the storm of the century and a fucking herd to deal with. Great. Okay… let’s think…”

Negan finally clicked his flashlight on again but kept it pointed at the floor. “This place seems sturdy but maybe we should barricade ourselves better.”

You glanced toward the basement where you’d discovered the hidden cellar. Your eyes next drifted toward the stack of supplies. “Basement is pretty much ready to barricade thanks to that dead survivalist guy, but if they do break in we could be trapped down there for fuck-knows how long.”

“Not sure we have any better options. We don’t want to be upstairs either. We’re sure as shit not going out on the roof in this if they get in and if there is a fucking tornado and we're on the top floor—” Negan broke off.

“Yeah,” you agreed, nodding. You dug into your own pack and pulled out a headlamp, quickly turning it on dimly. “Grab some of these. They have food and medical supplies, and some other gear,” you said, grabbing one of the many Rubbermaid containers and heading toward the stairs down to the basement.

“Man, I’m so glad we carried all this shit up here,” Negan joked, picking up a stack of two big containers.

“Sorry. Next time I’ll consult my crystal ball,” you quipped, but right then there was the sound of shattering glass and the storm and the growling got slightly louder. One of the windows in the next room had broken. Negan could see hands and fingers reaching in around the boards.

“Let’s go. Downstairs,” he urged you, his voice intense and thick with concern.

You started down, but shot back at him over your shoulder. “Aren’t I the one in charge here?”

“I don’t see you disagreeing with that idea,” Negan said, setting his containers down beside yours. “Stay here. I’ll go grab a couple more boxes,” he said.

“Whoa. Me stay here? What is this? You don’t even have a weapon!” you argued.

He gave you an exasperated look. “Fine. Then by all means, come with me, darlin’!” He turned and rushed back up the stairs and you had to hurry after him, one hand on your knife in its sheath.

“Negan,” you snapped at him in a low voice as you rounded the doorway back onto the main floor. But he wasn’t by the supplies. You glanced around and could see the dim glow of his light in the next room, the one where the walkers had broken a window. Rain and the occasional hailstone were puddling under the window among the shards of glass. “What the fuck?” You nearly collided with each other when he turned around and started back toward the door. “What are you doing?! Put that down!” you growled.

He had an iron fireplace poker in his hand. That’s what he’d been doing in this room, grabbing it from the set of fireplace tools. “Don’t you think this qualifies as kind of a capital “E” emergency?” he argued.

You stared at him, intense, your chest heaving, and to your annoyance, he smiled at you.

“Goddamn. You look fuckin’ hot as shit when you’re pissed off! I mean, you’re always hot but ho-ly shit! I'm scared and suddenly all tingly downtown!”

Your hand went purposefully to your knife again and you stared him down. “I said. Put it. The fuck. Down.”

“Doll, just hear me out—”

“Negan.”

Another crack and the sound of shattering glass behind him and you saw more arms reaching through between the boards of another window. “Okay, we don’t have time for this right now. You can stab me or whatever downstairs,” he said. He breezed past you and grabbed a couple more boxes of supplies. You had no choice but to begrudgingly follow after him.

He turned, straightening up as he heard your boots hitting the bottom steps, and he opened his mouth to say something, but you were already on him before he could get even a syllable out.

You kicked him hard on the inside of one of his thighs and he dropped sideways onto his knee. The poker dropped from his hand and rang out on the cement floor. You kicked it away and it slid into the far wall with a harsh scraping sound. Your knife was unsheathed and pointed at the base of his throat before he knew what was happening. To your amazement, once he recovered from his pained grimaces, he fucking smiled again.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?” he asked in a low, gruff voice.

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me. When I brought you out here, you said you would listen to every fucking thing I told you to do. This is your one single second chance. Next time you fuck up, it’ll be my knife going into your thigh instead of my boot. Got it?”

He gulped, still on one knee at the point of your knife and still, to your annoyance, vaguely smiling. “Oh, I got it,” he responded, his eyebrows lifting.

“Good,” you said, backing off and letting him stand up. “Now, go pick up the fucking poker. I’m gonna lock up the door…”

“Wait‚ what?” Negan laughed, still rubbing at his leg where you’d kicked him. “After all that, you’re letting me have it?”

“Yes,” you said. “This does roughly qualify as an emergency. Or at least, the border of one. But those kinds of decisions? They’re not yours to make, Negan. You’re not the one in charge here.”

He looked both stunned and amused. “That is becoming more and more clear every fuckin’ day,” he said softly, looking at you with some expression you couldn’t completely discern.

You gave him a perplexed look and then headed up the stairs to seal up the door. There were heavy brackets on the back of the reinforced door (thank you, dead survivalist man) and you spotted a thick board leaning up against the railing. Once you’d closed and locked it, you heaved up the heavy wooden slat and dropped it into place in the brackets, adding extra security in case the walkers did get inside and try to push through. As you removed your hand hastily to head back downstairs, a jagged corner on one of the metal brackets sliced into your palm. You jerked it back and stared as a long crimson gash began to leak fat drops of blood onto the steps below you. You pulled in a hiss of breath through your teeth. “Great,” you sighed, cradling it in the other hand and trotting back down. Overhead, you could hear the storm still raging, but as a low hum now.

Negan stood up from his seat on one of the containers of supplies as soon as he saw you. A concerning amount of shockingly red blood was dripping off your hand and onto the floor. “What happened?” he asked, moving closer as you attempted to dig into your pack with your other hand, blood now running down your forearm. “Jesus, let me help you!” He grabbed your pack away and dug around inside until he found a small kit with spare bits of cloth for bandaging, some gauze pads, and a few other assorted odds and ends for first aid. “Wait, I’ve got that alcohol in my pack. We should clean it first.”

“It’ll be fine,” you argued, pulling off your headlamp and watching as Negan clicked on a lantern he’d found in one of the boxes.

“Would you let me help you with this at least? Can I? Please? I’m asking permission now,” he joked, shooting you a goading expression.

You cocked your head at him and tried to look annoyed, but you conceded, taking a seat on a plastic container across from him.

Negan dug out the alcohol and poured a generous amount out onto your palm. You gritted your teeth together at the burn and winced. “Sorry,” he said, pressing a gauze pad down over it, holding it gently on his own hand now. “But better than an infection, right?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, feeling strangely on edge with your hand in his.

Negan used some of the long, clean strips of cloth to bandage it up and hold the gauze in place, tying it securely but gently before relinquishing his hold on you. “Should have the doc take a look at that when we get back,” he said. “Pretty deep. Might need some stitches on that one.”

“Yeah. Maybe. It'll probably be too late by the time we get out of here,” you said, finally sighing as you suddenly realized how tired you were. Now that you felt more secure and safe, a strange thing with Negan sitting a mere foot away from you with no dividing bars between, the adrenaline had run out. Exhaustion was starting to set in. You took stock of the space. Your eyes wandered from the door into the hidden cellar where you’d found most of the supplies, back to the corpse of the survivalist in the far corner, over to the boxes next to Negan.

He was putting the first aid stuff back into your pack when his fingers nudged something and he paused; a thick stack of glossy photos. He pulled them out, curious. On top was the first one, the one in the very first house that the two of you had talked about, but there were more along with it now—many more. He flipped through a couple until you noticed and shifted where you were sitting. His hazel eyes lifted up to your face. “These are all from today?” he asked.

You nodded and tried to clear the sudden lump in your throat.

“You kept them? All of them?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He sighed, shaking his head vaguely, and thumbed through more; families on vacations, some guy holding a big fish, a young couple smiling in front of the Statue of Liberty, babies and kids and dogs and cats, an elderly couple posing in front of a studio background.

Your voice suddenly cut into him. “Did you ever stop to think that every person you put under your bat, they probably had photos like this? Were in photos like this?” you said suddenly. A particularly loud rumble of thunder boomed and rolled, as if on cue. Your eyes, clear and steady and striking even in the low glow of the lantern, felt like they were seeing straight into his core.

He frowned. The lines on his face seemed to become more pronounced, and he almost cringed. “No,” he answered honestly, the gravel in his voice heavy and gritty. “I didn’t think about it at all, most of the time. I think that was a lot of what I was doing. Not thinking. I know that's a shit fuckin' excuse. It's not an excuse... but I didn’t—want to think about the hard stuff.”

You were curious, interested, and felt that same vulnerability he seemed to be giving you more and more rolling off him in waves. “Like what?”

He gave you a sad smile. You could hear the wind whistling above you and the pounding of the rain. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

But now you were the one to back away, ducking your head, avoiding his eyes. Negan saw that there was hurt there, deep hurt. “I don’t think we’re quite there yet,” you murmured, fiddling with the bandage on your palm. “I mean, I’m not…”

“Hey, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” Negan replied, “you don’t owe me a damn thing. But can I tell you somethin’, doll?” He hesitated for a moment. “I—I like you. You kicked the shit out of me and held a knife to my throat about ten minutes ago and I still really like you. Genuinely. As a person, as a badass, as a—”

“Negan—” you interrupted him.

“If I had to be trapped in a basement with a corpse, a tornado and a herd outside, I can’t think of another person I’d rather be stuck with,” he said.

“Negan—” you tried again.

“No, listen to me. I’m trying to tell you—”

“You don’t like me, okay? You just feel that way because I’m the only person who really talks to you, who spends time with you, who brings you your meals, and looks after some fraction of your well-being. It’s like—it’s like trauma bonding, okay? That’s all it is.”

“No. It’s not just that. See Gabe was doin’ all that same shit and I still didn’t fuckin’ like him… I mean, not as much as I like you.”

As usual, when what you were feeling was becoming overwhelming, too many thoughts, too many emotions, you deflected with humor. “I’m cuter than Gabriel.”

Negan laughed and this time the sound was warm and almost comforting. “Yeah. No argument there…”

You allowed yourself a half-smile and then sighed, rubbing your hands over your face. “Fuck, I’m tired. What a long fucking day…”

“There are those sleeping bags in one of these boxes I think,” Negan said, starting to pull at the lids.

You laughed. “I can’t sleep,” you said.

“Why not?”

“Besides the insane storm outside and the horde? Uhh… I don’t know, you?” you offered, your tone a little sardonic.

But Negan’s face was perfectly serious. “The storm and the horde—can’t do shit about those companions and I agree that they are crappy house guests, but they’re not fuckin’ goin’ anywhere soon from what I can hear. That’s not changing whether you’re asleep or awake. As for me—” he tilted his head and gave you an appraising look, “I do not want to hurt you. And I won’t. And I’m not running away with the dickhole party outside so, you may as well catch some shut-eye. I’ll keep watch.”

You considered him for a long moment but finally shook your head. “No. No, I can’t sleep now…”

Negan sighed and rested the fireplace poker across his knees. “Well, then I’d say it’s going to be a long night… Got any ideas about how to pass the time?”

The mischievous sparkle came back into his eyes and you shot him a stern look that was apparently not enough of a deterrent. “Don’t—”

“We still do have those sleeping bags. I can think of some activities for a makeshift bed that don’t involve actual sleep.”

“Negan, there’s literally a corpse in the corner and a horde outside and that’s where your mind goes?”

He laughed. “Can you blame me? I’ve been in jail for, how long now? Five, six years? And trust me, Gabey Baby wasn’t giving me any action.” He paused at the look on your face, laughing again. “Come on, doll. I’m just kidding. Though it would help pass the time, you deserve far better than a sleeping bag on a dirty basement floor.”

“With a dead guy watching,” you added.

“With a dead guy watching,” he repeated, scratching absently at the stubble on his face. “That is pretty fuckin’ metal though,” he smirked.

“Negan, saying that I deserve better than that is really saying nothing. Anyone deserves better than that,” you sighed, standing up and pacing. “So yeah. I’d say it’s going to be a long night.”

[lunajay33]

Forbidden💋

Summary: You craved your gym teacher, you’ve always wanted more with him than just your favorite teacher and he knew it

Pairing: Coach Negan x f!reader student(18)

Warning: 18+

•Masterlist•

Song suggestion: As Soon as the Good Times Roll- Scorpions

I loved gym not because of the easy grade or anything, more because the teacher was drop dead gorgeous and everything I craved, he’d go around with these basketball short and baseball hat and tight black shirt and it just made my body tingle, he’s my favorite teacher I go to him whenever I have problems and he’s always there to help but along the way I wanted more than just teacher student I want him to just throw me over his desk and take me but there’s one probably, well other than him being my teacher��..I’m a virgin, reminding me today in gym when it was sex Ed, our annual class that was taught for a day instead of usual gym activities

“Okay class settle down, it’s sex Ed today” everyone groans and some laugh mostly the girls and boys that flaunt their sex lives out in the open like everyone should know

“I know nobody wants to talk about this with there teacher but it’s the rules” the class went on like usual telling us to use protection to be safe, the risks and everything and now it’s question time

“Any questions?”

“Sir does it hurt” I ask then everyone erupts in laughter, I feel the blood rush to my face

“Oh my god, you’re a virgin what a loser” one of the preppy girls says and I can feel my lip tremble trying to keep the tears at bay

“That’s enough, Ashley detention, everyone else class is dismissed” everyone filters to the change rooms and I take more time being the last one in there, I sigh sitting down on the bench after changing, this was going to be the talk of the school, like I didn’t have enough stress with school anyways, I leave the change room when Mr. Smith stops me

“Hey kid come to my office” I follow him anxiously sitting in the chair across from his desk he closes the door and locks it then sitting behind his desk

“You okay?” He asks looking me up and down

“I shouldn’t have asked that I’m sorry”

“Ain’t got nothing to be sorry about it was a normal question”

“I was just curious and now I’m completely embarrassed, everyone thinks I’m a loser for being a virgin”

“Nothing to be ashamed of darlin, but since we’re alone do you have any other questions?” He asks leaning against his desk

“Umm….im not sure I really don’t know anything about this stuff, I’ve never done anything so I don’t know what it feels like”

“Oh I think you know a thing or two, when you look at someone and your eyes wonder lower, your body gets hot and you clench your legs together to ease the ache” his voice gets deeper and my eyes are blown wide with shock

“Mr.Smith what’re you talking about” I feel on fire right now but he wasn’t completely wrong about what he said, it’s hard to keep my eyes off him in gym

“I think we’re well past Mr.Smith, Negan is fine love, I’ve seen you look at me in class, your eyes drift lower until you’re starring right at my dick” he states walking around the desk leaning back on it infront of me

“W..what no of course not you’re my teacher”

“Come on baby, don’t lie we both know you can’t lie to me” he smirks kneeling infront of me placing his hands on my thighs, i sigh knowing he was right he’s always been able to get the truth out of me

“Fine, was it that obvious?” Now I’m embarrassed for a different reason

“Only to me, I’ve had my eye on you, always such a good girl”

“Negan can you…..can you show me how it feels?” Holding my breath until he answered

“You sure that’s what you want Angel?”

“Please I can’t wait any longer I need you” I say as I clench my legs together

“Good girl” he picked me up with ease laying me back down on the desk knocking over pencils and pens, he wrapped my legs around his waist his bulge pushing against my pussy

His fingers playing with the hem of my pants

“You ready?” I nodded frantically

He undid the button pulling my pants and panties off in one pull, my pussy now bare to him, I covered myself with my hand feeling insecure, no one’s ever seen me like this let alone a drop dead gorgeous man

He grabbed my hand pushing it back onto the desk just admiring me, it feels like his eyes are burning fire through me

“Look at this pretty pussy, so wet just for me” I feel his fingers push through my folds circling around my clit making me gasp at a sudden shock running through me

Pulling his shorts down letting his dick free, slapping it against my clit

“Negan please I need it” I whined feeling the pressure of him pushing in finally feeling it pop, that painful but pleasuring feeling coursed through me making me grind down on him just wanting more

“Fuck baby so tight, you alright?” He asked gripping my hips harder

“Yes god please more” I reach up holding his bicep for leverage as he slides in more until he’s flush against me leaning down so our lips are brushing against eachother, sitting in the feeling for a moment of him completely sheathed inside me

“God you do things to me sweetheart, imma show you how a real man fucks” he started off slowly until his thrusts were deep and hard hitting that sweet spot over and over my vision going spotty

“Oh Negan right there!” I dig my nails into his arm not knowing what to do with all this pleasure it was almost too much but god was he good

“You like that baby, you take me so well, so tight around my dick” his words pushed me over the edge about to scream when his hand clamps over my mouth as my body is racked with white hot pleasure feeling liquid drip down my legs

“Fuck fuck” I hear him groan when he pulls out and cums all over my pussy mixing with my release

“Look at you, so pretty and just for me hot damn” his thumb drags through my folds mixing his cum against my sensitive clit making me shake, leaning up on my arms to watch him do it

“How was that for your first time baby?”

“I……I think I wanna do it again” all he does is smirk

“Oh you don’t have to worry about that we’ll be doing this a lot more often now that you’re mine”

[thewritersaddictions]

Bases: Negan Smith- Chapter 1 Her

Pairing: Negan Smith x Fem!Reader

Pov: Negan

Warnings: boundaries push, touching, cocky comments, the walking dead, zombies, trigger warnings, almost dying, special treatment, the wives, jealousy, being saved; Simon mentioned a little bit, maybe Dwight too, and Negans wives. masturbation,

Summary: Negan meets you when you come to the sanctuary doors. Wary of you at first he takes to watching you, and boy does he get interested quickly.

A/n- @ firefly-graphics for dividers

WC- 3.2k

The Walking Dead Master List // The Wanderers Master List // Series Master List

Y/n tries to catch her breath, but she just can’t seem to. Everything around her is swaying with her every step. She feels the sun pour through the sky, and it just ends up beating her up as she walks in the middle of the road. Trees line each side, giving no shade for her overheating body. She walks until she hears the indicators of the walkers; the sound grows louder the more she wanders due North. She worries for a moment until she sees a tall building that probably used to be a factory before the world went to shit. Then the sound of cars, the sounds of people. 

People! She doesn’t care if she doesn’t have enough energy to get to the gates; she’ll push through the hoarse voice from no water for at least the past few nights and days. She’ll push until someone picks her up from the searing hot cement underneath her. She manages to make it to the gate; her face is flush, and she ends up waving down what looks like a post guard. “Do you know where you are, Miss?” It’s a guy no older or younger than she is before Y/n can answer though she’s collapsing to the ground. She’s worn herself out before just making it. 

There’s a knock at the door, which means some shit is happening that Simon or some other fucknut doesn’t know how to handle. The knock on the door is different, rushed, almost a worried knock. “Come in.” I don’t look up until the person starts to talk; like always, it’s Simon. “Boss, um, we’ve got a problem.” My brow arches as I stare at Simon with a deathly glare. “A problem?” It’s not really a question, and Simon knows it. He just nods, and we walk in steadfast with each other. Lucille sits over my left shoulder. People quickly advert their stare as we step outside in the blaring heat of the Georgia sun. 

There’s a small, growing crowd around something rather intriguing. “Move outta the way, dingbats,” Simon shouts rather loudly in my ear as I look into the center of the growing crowd. “What’s this?” I ask one of the guards. His gun is slung around his back, the nose of the sniper pointing towards the ground. “I’m not sure, Duke over there said this girl waved and then collapsed outside the gates.” More intrigue. “Let me see.” The crowd moves, giving me a perfect view of the ‘girl’ lying on the hot ground. “You,” I say, pointing with the bat's end cap. The guy, ‘Duke’ visible, swallows, “She um… she was running towards the gate, and tried to wave at me, but before she could answer any of my questions, she just knocked out, hit the ground pretty hard too, Sir.” The guy says. I move Lucille making room for me to bend to my knees and get a more impersonal look at the ‘girl’ layin’ on the ground. 

Her skin is red and peeling in some places on her face and shoulders. Her hair is out of her face. Her face looks almost hollow like she hadn’t had water in days, maybe weeks. But she’s wearing what looks like an excellent proper pair of boots and jeans, and the first thing I think of next is, “Did ja check for bites?” I ask the whole crowd, and the Duke guy answers again. “Already checked her out, nothing, no bites or anything, Sir.” He says; I motion for Simon to come over, “Why was this so fuckin’ important, huh Simon?” he glides a hand through his messy hair. “Cause I figured you want to say what happened to the girl.” Simon never really gave a shit, didn’t take orders to well, and somehow always managed to not fuck up but still fuck up my shit. 

“Yeah, dumbass take her to the damn doc. What the hell you waiting on me to say that for.” I mutter to myself as I watch the two post guards pick her body up stiffly. Causing the both of them to alost tumble over. I roll my eyes at the action. “Simon.” I shove the bats handle into his hand. “You tow lacklys, get back to work i’ve got her.” The inner monologue tells me that I know it will always be me who has to take care of the dark shit, the bad shit, and the good shit. Nobody else. Simon close behind me, as the women lay limp in my arms. 

She had yet to open her eyes as the cool air inside the sanctuary hit her cheeks, her arms, and any other exposed skin. She didn’t even rustle as I walked her limp body through the doorway. “Dr. Carson, you can stop whatever the fuck you’re doin’ now. Help this women here.” I set her down on the cot, her head falling back along with her hair into the shitty pillow provided in this makeshift ER. “What… What happened?” Dr. Carson wasn’t the village idiot by any means, but it would nice if for once I didn’t have to tell the damn idiot what happened and he could just go do his fucking job. “Carson, just do your fuckin’ job or I swear to the god that probably fucked off already I will make your postion available again.” He shook his head, and got to work. Simon handed Lucille back to me, as I took a seat in those uncomfortable waiting chairs. 

“Looks like she has some burns some serious” Carson said looking over at me. An arch brow, and he was on the way to solving the whole damn thing, “Nothing a little bit of antibotic cream can’t fix. She’s also very dehydrated, so I’ll need to get her pumped with some fuilds before she can… before she’s well enough to talk with you Sir.” Carson mumbled out, I nodded my head and started to turn out of the room. “You said she needs fluids.” Carson nods his head, as he goes to get bandages wraps for her burns. “Bring her to my room, we should show our new guest the best care, right Carson?” He nodded with angst. 

“Are you sure… Sir, do you think that’s the best course of action. We don’t even know where this fuckin’ lady is from” Simon as his ratty, trash talkin’ fucking mouth never shut the hell up sometimes. I turned quickly catching his normal leaned back attitude off guard. “I think you would know me by now Simon. It’s a game, it’s always a fuckin’ game.” Simon stood still for a moment, and then nodded. 

An hour later there was a knock on my bedroom door. “It’s Dr. Carson with the Jane Doe.” He said through the door. I rolled my eyes, the clink of the gin bottle hitting the glass table rang my ears as I got up opening the door. This time two much larger guard held the Jane Doe on a cot. Less prone for her fall and get even more hurt. “You said you wanted her here sir?” Carson asked as if the first time I said wasn’t good enough for him. I look over at the Jane Doe. Her shoulder all the way down to her arms are covered in the white bandages. Her face isn’t though which is nice. “Come on in then.” I open the door wide enough for the large men to walk her in and place her on the couch adjacent of the bed. “I’ll get some fluids going in her and then I can come back in a few…” I cut him off, “No need doc, I’ve got it from that point. Don’t need someone in and out of my fuckin’ room every couple of hours.” He nods his head vigorously. I know what I’m doing, and there’s more I wanna know about this mystery Jane Doe. 

“Well hello there sweetheart.” The women in front of me is opening her eyes. It took nearly two days to get to this point. For nearly two days I have extra patrol out making sure that nobody followed this young women here. No need to be gettin’ ambushed right now. Her eyes go wide and when she opens her mouth to talk nothing comes out. Her nails scrap at her throat. “You need something to drink?” I’m quick to get up and gather a glass of water for her. Her hands are clammy when they graze past mine to collect the cold cup of water. The needle in her arms ache I can tell just from the look on her face. “We’ll take that out later, but for now why don’t you not rush your recovery.” I said as soft as I can. She looks like someone just told her that the world was starting all over again. 

She clears her throat, and for the first time I hear her voice. It’s angelic is a soft, fairy sort of way. “Where am I?” She ask looking around the room. “A settlement, the Sanctuary.” She looks over at me, beautiful eyes shining back at me. For the first time it’s odd to around a women who isn’t appalled by me, or faking it all together. She pure, and innocent in so many moldable ways. “I promise that i’ll be out of your hair before you even know that I was here.” She promises me, I humm. Then look over at her fluid drip, and the bandages on her body. “I was thinkin’ that you could stay here for a while. At least get yourself settled before you go back out in that hot Georgia sun. 

“So Miss Jane Doe, do you got a name?” I ask her as my words sink into her head. She clears her throat again taking another large gulp of water to coat her throat. “My name is um…Y/n.” She says with a little smile. “And you wer travelin’ alone out there?” I ask her, “Yeah.” She says nodding, she looks far of into the distance staring up at one of the ceiling tiles. As if she’s remembering someone she’s lost. I clear my own throat bringing her attention back to me. “I’ve ask that the doc, keep you here in my room. I wouldn’t suggest that you go out right now. Dr. Carson and I agree that you’re a little too fragile for that eveiormnet right now.” I said coaxing her into a choice she had no say in. She nodded, “My pack?” She asks, “I almost forgot.” I reach behind the coch she’s laying on. “Thanks.” She says with a small smile, and once more our hands graze each others. 

Hours later after a rather a surface level introduction with Y/n about where she came from, why she didn’t have anything other then a knife, and what the Sanctuary was about. There’s a soft knock on the door. It causes Y/n to shiver with anxiety. “It’s alright sweetheart, don’t worry about anyone trying to get ya.” “Can I come in, Negan?” I know that damn voice, Frankie. I boil over with anger and before I can get to the damn door Frankie is opening it. A sliky black dress drapped over her frame. I catch Y/n out of the corner of my eye; staring and watching the interaction between the two us. “Negan, I haven’t seen you in a few days…” Frankie stops short in her sentence. Scwoling at Y/n, as if she understands what the hell is going on either of them. “Frankie, go. I have a guest.” I say strongly grabbing her bicep and pushing her out of the room. 

The slam of door makes Y/n shriek, and when i turn to look at her she’s got her head cocked. “Who was that?” She asks timidly. “A… um… it’s just Frankie.” I finally manage to mumble out. “When was the last time you had a good bed to lay down in?” I ask in deperate need to change the subject. I don’t know just yet how to explain the wives to her, but then again when have I ever felt the need to explain myself to anyone. I push the feeling away, bury it in my stomach. Deep down. She shifts swinging her legs to the edge of the couch. She’s got pretty long legs even from the thick jean material that hid them. “I’d say at least since the first or second month of this shit.” I huff a laugh out, “Well how about this sweetheart. I’m gonna take this IV out, and patch you all up so you can get a good nights rest.” “But what about…” I shake my head. “I’ll take the couch, it’s been a while since I’ve booted to the couch anyways.” I jokingly say. 

Carson had left a few supplies here for me whenever Y/n was going to wke up so I could remove the IV, and bandage her up. As I do her skin is soft as least not where she’s been wrapped up with bandages. “So what was wrong with me?” She asks as she stares at my working hands. “You got a hell of a sunburn all up and down your shoulder and arms. Some antibiotic cream should fix ya up real quick.” I tell her, “And plus you were super fuckin’ dehydrated, what the hell were you doing running a fuckin’ marathon?” She giggles at my question as I tape down the gauze to make sure the blood doesn’t leak into anything. 

“Do you have extra clothes in that pack of yours?” I ask Y/n, she looks down and dig around. A minutes passes, and another, “Look mary poppins I don’t think there’s anything else the damn bag.” I might be getting a little frastrated, “So I’d take that as a no.” She nods her head. I whip myself around. Shifting through draws and a small closet of my clothes. “For tonight you can borrow somethin’ of mine. Sweats, and a long t-shirt so your bandages don’t come off during the night, Sweethearts.” I say passing her the clothes. Y/n stares down at them, and she get a little shy, well a lot shy. Bitting and pulling on her bottom lip. “Bathroom is over here sweetheart.” I watch as she walks towards the bathroom, and then the door shuts. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask myself. Dragging my hands down my face. There’s a shuffle from behind the bathroom door. “All good in there?” I ask, willing my voice not to break. I feel like a high school kid all over again with a stupid high school crush. “Um…” her voice sounds so tiny behind the door. “I don’t think this is gonna work.” She says shyly through the door. I stand to open the door, but she does before I can manage it. My long sleeve is loose on her frame, and the sweats don’t even take on her hips, but I guess that’s alright since the long sleeve is so big on her it acts as a dress. “That’s all good doll, how about I help ya get to bed.” I say reaching out my hand for her to grab. 

Yet again her hands are baby soft, like she’s never been outside a day in her life. No broken calluass, or rough patches. With our hand interlocked I walk her to the side of the bed. Moving the sheets back so she can easily get under the covers. She isn’t graceful about the plop down the bed. “A water bed!?” She asks, I actually laugh, “I wish sweetheart!” As Y/n shifts her legs to get under the covers and onto my side of the bed. I get a flash of her pink worn panties. 

I have to swallow down the groan of sexual frautration, maybe I should have taken Frankies offer. Pushed her outside the door, and fucked her stupid mouth shut. I shake my head, and I watch as Y/n starts to get snuggled into the cool fabric. I don’t grab the other pillow fromthe bed, I just make my way towards the couch. Cleaning up the medial mess I made earlier. I lean back into the coch, closing my eyes and all I can see is the pink panites. The coarse hair that prickled to come through the fabtic.

My cock stirs to life in my tights blue jeans. I can’t see Y/n’s face due to the dim lights in the room, but her snores are a good alert that’s she fast asleep. I close my eyes again and the flash of her nipples through the old shirt of mine makes me swallow down a moan. A hard on from a girl I know nothing about, a fuckin high school kid. All I can think of is the pink pussy that lays behind the pink panties, the tits that would bounces as I fucked her raw. I unzip my jeans, and pop my hard cock from my boxers. 

The tip is leaking pre-cum that I end up just using as lube. Pumping myself slowly at first until my eyes fall shut and all I can imagine is the sounds that Y/n would make when I fucked her up agaisnt the headboard. Or how good her pussy probably tasted. My cock is coated with my pre-cum, and so is my hand. The sounds are delicious, the sound of the squelching as the soft pad of my thumb over over the head of my cock and I end up just a pile of fuck, shits, and graons as I come all over my chest. 

“Fuck.” My breath is ragged, I haven’t come that since I was much younger and a whole lot ballsier. I throw my shirt off my shoulder and wipe down my tummy, and chest. Discarding the ruined shirt to a pile of other thrown clothes.

Completed on: 08/10/23

Posted on: 08/12/23

Bases Tags- @clararangel @lanad3lrey-l0v3r @jdmsgorl @scarlett-widows-89 @idk1idk2idk @kaits-diary @whatsssss @daryldixonluvr @oceanablue @chelseypprimrose @freedomfighterlex @sageworld @ayeizzshayla @123avengersandmarvel @charlie19690 @sweetvixensstuff @lanceisrandom @redscreendarkwin @finalgirlmp3 @fullwattpadmusictree @harmonib @rainyzonkmakerlover @ge0rgzs @julimariett @amazingmaeve @kpoplover4life @definitelynotyagmur @rivernell @vanilla88 @alteredgalaxy @thatonefroggirl @kyleepsposts @max-505 @nhayoshii

[dilfismm]

negan is the type of person to say “i’m just a girl” after murdering someone

[sunnybunnyy2]

Father Knows Best

Daryl Dixon x platonic!reader

Negan Smith x daughter!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.2k

TIME: season 7

Warnings: imprisonment, swearing, mentions of Daryl’s abuse, mentions of savours, transpires in season seven, spoilers for season seven of the walking dead, possible typos and bad writing

CHAPTER 3 to the Dark Cell Series

Not much Daryl in this one, sadly, but he will be in it much more next chapter!

Series Masterlist Official Masterlist

This one came out way quicker than the second and I’m sorry for that, but I am beginning to get into a regular posting times! So here it is!!

Your eyes were forced open when you heard the loud pounding of a fist consistently colliding against your door.  

You let out a groan as your senses began to kick in, the once blackness that you were seeing behind your eyelids was replaced with the bright light that shined through the window that was meant to be covered by your curtain but you had been growing even more tired since your visits with Daryl. 

It had made sense. Normally you would be asleep before the second night shift, so around 11 pm, but now you couldn't fall asleep until around 3 am, sometimes even 4.

That paired with the times that you had to wake up each morning had given you a maximum of four hours a night. Then you had to work all day and repeat the cycle again and again. 

You couldn't risk falling asleep before you met Daryl, knowing that he would starve that night, and that thought alone kept your mind racing all day. 

You constantly wondered how he was doing at the hands of your father. You wondered if he was being beaten, even if the old bruises on his face had started to fade you knew it wasn't long until they would reappear again. 

You wondered what else Dwight was forcing him to do. You couldn't really put anything past him. 

You used to admire how kind he was to others and how kindly he would treat his wife, Sherry, and her sister, Tina. But ever since Tina had been killed when they had escaped the sanctuary over a month ago and he had faced the wrath of her father, he hadn't been the same.

You knew it was because of his wife. Sherry had offered to become your father's wife to spare Dwight's life. 

You didn't agree with your father having multiple wives especially so soon after your mother's death. It had been just over two years and he was pretending she didn't exist. He was coercing women into being his wife, in hopes of filling the dark that was left after your mother had taken her own life. 

You could see how their presence in his life wasn't providing in the way he had hoped it would. You could see it in his eyes. 

He was miserable. So he was bringing pain onto other people to make himself feel better. You didn't agree with his ways of coping but it's not like you could change his mind. He was a grown man and could certainly make his own choices.

He knew where you stood and what he chose to do with that was up to him, you supposed. He knew you weren't a fan of his 'marital' status so he kept it as far away from you as possible. Making sure that he never showed affection to them around you, making sure they stayed out of your way. But that wasn't the issue. You did like his wives, they were kind to you. Always making sure you were okay. Never talking about your father around you. 

You had felt like his wives were a majority of your closest friends. When you pushed back the fact that they were sleeping with your father.

You tugged the sheets off of your body roughly as you jumped to your feet after realizing that the knocking wasn't getting any quieter.

You pulled your shirt down from where it had been yanked up in your sleep from your turning as you walked towards the door before jerking it open, causing the knocker to stumble slightly as they fell forward, making it clear that they were leaning against the door as they waited for a response. 

"Jesus," she spoke your name as she caught herself from falling to the hard ground. "Your dad wants you. Said you had something you wanted to talk to him about." Laura informed you as she looked at you with a blank face but you knew her facial features well enough from the two years you had known her to tell that she was confused about what you had to talk to your father about. You had always confided in her about the way you felt about your father. 

The disappointment and frustration but also about how you missed the old times between your family. About how you missed your old father and how you missed the comfort your mother had brought you before she died.

She had also spoken about how she missed her parents as well and even though her situation wasn't remotely the same, she still understood what it felt like to be a younger girl who just wanted her parent's love and affection. 

"Yeah, yeah...um where is he?" You asked as you ran a hand through your hair in an attempt to smooth out some of the tangles. 

"In his room. You better get ready, he ain't got all day." Laura sent a nod your way before sending you a half smile, clearly as tired as you as she was sent to do more work around the sanctuary. She never seemed to have time to rest. She was constantly either at Negan's aid or on watch somewhere around the sanctuary. 

"Sir, yes sir." You saluted.

"You wish I was a sir?" She asked with raised eyebrows.

"Nah, you're just fine to look at now." You smiled slyly.

"Jesus, you're just like your father." She shook her head with a smirk. 

"Damn, Laura. You wound me. Seriously that was so hurtful." You half-joked as you wiped away imaginary tears as you turned your head away from her. 

"I take that back, you're way better." She shrugged as she spoke the truth that everyone at the sanctuary thought. Though you had always assumed some of the saviours had befriended you because of Negan wasn't entirely true. Sure some did in hopes of earning extra points for themselves and their families, but most just genuinely thought that you were one of the good ones. That you could possibly be able to persuade your father to change his ways. 

"Alright. I forgive you, Laur. Even if you started my day off with a fucking headache." You spoke as you rubbed your temple, your words earning a very 'unladylike' snort from Laura as she started to back away from your room and down the hallway. 

"My pleasure, Miss. Smith." She saluted before she turned around and quickened her pace to her shift which she was surely late from, leaving you to stare at the hallway wall as you mentally prepared yourself for the conversation you were about to have with your father, knowing it could go two ways. Well, which was the unlikely scenario or, Awful which you were leaning towards. 

And that's how you ended up here. Sat at the table with your father as he settled in his seat after having poured himself a small glass of bourbon. 

You watched as Potter, a worker in the sanctuary, placed two plates of eggs, home fries and some ham on top of the table for you two. You sent a smile his way as he nodded at you and your father before turning to make his exit, but your father's voice stopped him. 

"Oh, Mr. Potter..." Your father spoke in a sing-song voice as tapped his fork on the table. 

"Yes, Negan?" He asked as he turned back to the pair of you. A trail of sweat hastily coming down his brow, as his anxious eyes flicked between you and your father in hopes of getting a read on your body language.

"I think you forgot something." He pointed to his empty cup of water before snapping his fingers as if the second after he spoke lasted an hour. "Today." He rolled his eyes as the man rushed over to pick up the pitcher of water and pour it into his cup.

"Would you like some as well, ?" He spoke your name as he turned to look at you. Your father's glass now filled with ice water. 

"Of course, she wants some. What do you think, she wants to eat your dry ass food without having something to wash it down with." Your father let out a laugh as if it was the funniest thing in the world all while glaring the poor man down, who was practically shaking in his boots.

"No thank you, Potter." You managed to smile softly at him as if to calm him. Your body lowered down slightly as your body inadvertent shrank into yourself in embarrassment at how your father was treating the kind man.

Your demeanour didn't seem to put the man at ease as he still looked as though he was about to stroke out, which apparently was hilarious to your father as he let out a booming chuckle from deep in his throat, his rough and deep voice spoke from behind his pearly white teeth. 

"Jesus, man. I'm just joking. It's just a jokey, joke. Holy fuck," he spoke your name, "did you see his fucking face? He looked like he was going to piss his pants." He laughed before looking at the floor as though he was looking to see if the older man had done just that. 

"That will be all, Potter. Thank you." You looked away from your father to face the middle-aged man before nodding to the door, not quite able to hide your anger well, causing him to look to Negan for permission.

Your father watched you with amusement glimmering in his big brown eyes, clearly finding your annoyance entertaining, before he nodded, still looking at you as he spoke. "Do you need her to tell you again? Leave. Now." Without wasting a second he scurried out of the room, probably to go cry in the corner somewhere. Your father seemed to always have that effect on people. 

"Did you really have to scare him away? I was gonna get him to cut up my meat." He laughed.

"You're a grown-ass man. I think you can do it yourself just fine." You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as his eyes widened slightly before they were amused again, a small laugh leaving his lips.

"You really are my kid, ain't ya."

You guys sat in silence for a minute. You glaring at him and him trying to hide the merriment in his eyes.

"If you've got something to say, baby, just spit it out." He said as he crossed his arms while leaning back in his seat, eyes studying your face. 

"What is wrong with you?" You asked with anger clear in your voice as you shook your head.

"Well, sweetheart, I have a lot of things wrong with me so you're gonna have to be more specific." 

"You know what I'm talking about, Dad. That. How you treat people." You scoffed at his attempt at humour, normally you would laugh at his stupid attempts at making you laugh but now, when he humiliated people for a good laugh, your blood would quite literally boil in your skin. 

"I was just having a little fun. He doesn't mind." He dismissed as he laughed, shaking his head before he began using the fork he was still gripping to take a substantial bite of his over-easy eggs.

"It's not a 'little fun', Dad. You scared him half to death. Does it not make you feel bad when you treat people like shit?" You shook your head in disbelief.

"No, it doesn't. I'm in charge. Im not treating anyone like shit here. Do you see all that I do for these people? What I provide for them." His face grew annoyed at your words.

"Yeah, Dad. I do. But you can help keep these people safe without treating them like shit. You don't need to make them fear you to keep them sa-" He cut you off before you could finish your sentence but you could tell by his tone that you got your point across.

"They need to fear me to stay in line. That's what I do. I keep them in line. How else do you think we're still standing? If I become buddy, buddy with them they'll think they can get away with shit they just can't get away with."

"You can be a decent person and still have loyal followers. I mean, shit, how do you think half the groups still alive are operating?" You tried to mile your tone down as you began cutting up your ham. 

"You mean the groups we're gonna take over? They won't be operating like that for long." He shook his head in dismissal before wiping away the yellow egg yolk that had dropped into his pink lips.

"But why can't you form alliances with other groups? Instead of controlling them?" You tried to reason.

"Look, hunny. I love you, okay? But I don't tell you how to lead your little posey so don't fucking tell me how to lead mine." He said angrily before taking hold of his glass of bourbon and gulping down all of its contents. 

"You do realize you just called you and your people pretentious, right? I do think it fits, though." You snorted as you took a small bite of your scrambled eggs. 

"What did you want to talk to me about? I have things I need to get done." He rubbed a hand over his face in annoyance.

"Oh sorry, I didn't know having a conversation with your daughter was such a burden." You shook your head as you began to stand up but we're stopped when your father grabbed your arm.

You looked over expecting to see a look of anger on your father's face but sat back down when all you saw was remorse for his words that were obviously taken out of context but they had hurt you nonetheless, as that was what he hated the most. Hurting you.

"You know what I meant. I love talking to you, you know that, don't act like you don't. Tell me what you want to talk about, baby. Please." He pulled his and away and picked up his fork, signalling for you to speak. 

"What is that community called?" You asked as you picked up the pitcher of water, not missing the look your father sent you that practically said, 'You should have just gotten Potter to do that' but you just brushed it off, knowing you were more than capable of pouring your own cup of water.

"Who am I? Fucking Professor X? You're going to have to be more-"

"That new community. The one you took a prisoner from." You specified, know that was his next word.

"How the hell do you know about that?" He asked with slight anger. He had tried to keep you as far away from his duties as much as he possibly could. 

He had constantly restricted you from leaving the sanctuary in hopes of keeping you alive and blissfully unaware of his actions, knowing that he had shaped his men well enough that they knew they needed to die for you. 

"Everyone knows about it. You don't exactly keep it under wraps. I can hear you boost about it from my room. Your voice travels." You studied him, wanting to make sure he wasn't going to try and keep something from you.

"Huh, so I've been told." He shrugged as he then began to study you, checking to see if he could notice any alternative motives. You could only hope he didn't.

"So?"

"Why do you wanna know anyway?" He questioned.

"I'm just curious. Sick of the gossip and rumours, just want to know what's going on. That's all." You attempted to play it off, hoping he didn't notice the slight quiver in your voice.

"I hate gossipers too. They seem to be everywhere, don't they." He replied as he squirted some ketchup onto his cooling grilled potatoes.

"Yeah, they do... so...?" You pressed, hoping he would stop beating around the bush and just reveal what you were wanting to know.

"Alexandria. It's a nice place but the people make it a fucking shit hole, their leader, Rick, is a joke. A fucking pussy if I've ever known one. Hell, I bet Potter could take him in a fight. Truly it's embarrassing." He ranted as he rolled his eyes, his fork scraping against his plate as if the sheer thought of Daryl's leader, Rick, had brought him so much rage that he had to take it out on the plate.

"So is there a lot of people there?" You asked, trying to sound casual.

"Two-hundred and thirty-four." He revealed causing her to tense.

"So we have more." It was a statement rather than a question.

"By a landslide, baby. We have five hundred and four through all of our outposts. In any way, we outrank them. You know what's hilarious? Their leader is so hellbent on killing me even though he knows my people could wipe his people out in a blink of an eye. Everything with that guy is a dick-measuring contest. But he should know by now that he's not gonna win in that department." He laughed once again forgetting that his daughter was sitting across from him. 

Your eyes rolled as he once again found a way to boost about himself.

"Jesus, your daughter is right here!" You exclaimed as you rolled your eyes. Sometimes he was such a child, you thought. If your mother was here she would beat him with her shoe.

"Sorry, sorry. But hey, I want to show you something." He said as he wiped his mouth with a cotton napkin, before placing it on top of his now empty plate, the streaks of ketchup and yellow remained.

Your food on the other hand was still half full, but you knew your father would have somebody wrap it up for you to eat tomorrow as he knew that it took you at least an hour after waking up to be able to eat. 

As you guys walked you caught sight of a man with long dark hair and a broad frame hunched over a mop. You didn't clue in until you saw Dwight roughly grab the man to make him continue his moping a little way ahead. 

It was Daryl.

You didn't have much time to react before your father was speaking again, drawing their attention.

"Dwighty boy, what do we have here?" Your father said as he stopped beside Dwight, smirking down at Daryl as he watched him silently continue his task, his head angled downward.

"Just Daryl, doing what he's told," Dwight spoke with a slight smile while watching Daryl.

Your father let out a booming laugh and you could see Daryl pause his movements for a moment having to mentally restrain himself from physically pouncing on him. 

You knew if he were to break loose you couldn't really blame him. Your father had put him through hell, but that's what he was. Your father. You couldn't let anything thing happen to him, no matter how much you understood how he was feeling.

"You missed a spot." Your father said as he watched the slightly shorter man conceal his anger with delight, clearly enjoying the inner battle that was going on inside of him. Your father kept his eyes on Daryl as he tipped his bourbon bottle on the floor, the dark liquor mashed with the newly clean floor. The half-drunken bottle now sized down a noticeable amount, he laughed again before he shoved the bottle into Dwight's chest. "Here, buddy. You deserve it." Your father tore his eyes away from Daryl before looking up at you, noticing the beyond-dirty look you were sending his way. 

"Thanks, boss." Dwight nodded as he clutched the bottle.

"Get back to work, you mutt." Your father smiled at Daryl but you could tell it was forced as he roughly patted his shoulder in a condescending way before making his way back over to you, sensing your unease about what he was doing.

He nodded at you to follow him before he began to stroll back down the hallway. You followed but your eyes were still trained on Daryl.

Your heart pounded in your chest when he turned his head slightly, watching Negan go before his eyes found you. 

They narrowed once he caught sight of you. You couldn't quite read the look that took over his emotionless face but you knew he didn't feel joy in seeing you with Negan. 

You saw flashes of rage, confusion and a flash of fear? 

Your eyes were locked on each other before Dwight harshly shoved Daryl back to his task which he complied with but at a slower pace, as if his mind was processing the fact that he had seen you outside of his cell with Negan of all people. 

You waited a moment before you turned back around, and in that moment you saw Dwight studying the two of you in confusion.

You hurriedly turned forward to look at your father's back as you turned the corner finally making your way into the kitchen. The one you had found yourself in more often than ever.

"Ta-da," your father said in an overdramatic voice, a wide smile on his face as he waved a hand towards a big a machine that was shaking as it operated, the small, shiny window was wet with condensation. 

"Holy-shit! Is that what I think it is?" You exclaimed in an excited tone as you practically hopped over to the machine in pure astonishment.

"Well, I sure as shit hope I didn't have seven of my men working themselves into the ground carrying this piece of shit back here all for it not to be the fucking ice cream machine that I've been askin' for, for a fuckin' year?" He spoke as you leaned back slightly as if to amplify his words. 

You let out a yell of excitement as you ran into your father's arms, his arms wrapping around your upper back as you tucked your head into his chest. You could feel his smile as he rested his forehead on top of your scalp.

It was moments like these that you missed. The pure moments of a father and daughter showing care for one another. Sure you were still angry with him for what he did to Daryl just minutes ago and for all the bad he was doing, but you couldn't spoil this moment.

The moment that your inner child craved to have.

The moment you were robbed of one too many times. 

You wondered if the sadness could be shown in your eyes. The longing for the love of your parents. 

You knew that Laura could see it. Just as you could see your sadness as well. It was like an understanding for the two of you. You both didn't get to experience much love from your parents, her from way before the outbreak and you, after.

You knew that your mother wasn't at fault for not being there for you. You knew that if she could be here, she would. That's just who she was. She would never miss any of your important achievements and even your minor ones, she always made sure to show up, no matter how much shit she would get at work. She would take all the yelling from her boss just to see your smile when you noticed she was there. 

Your father tried his hardest to be there but most of the time something else was always more important. You were always left having to deal with his half-ass excuses as to why he couldn't show up; only to find out that he was too busy fucking your godmother aka your mother's best friend.

You weren't sure how your mother could forgive him after all the stress he had caused her in the early stages of her cancer, but you knew it was most likely because of how much she loved him.

You had never quite seen someone treat their significant other as well as your father did when he found out about your mother's diagnosis.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You chanted pulling away from your father to look at the grey and blue machine again causing your father to laugh at you, even though he was feeling elated at the fact that you had enjoyed his little present. 

"So, you want to take it for a spin?" Negan asked with a grin, knowing that he was gonna get a taste of the treat that he had also been craving.

"Do Andie and Ben end up together in 'How to lose a guy in 10 days?' " You asked with a raised eyebrow, a smile on your face. 

"Uh, I don't know, do they?" He asked in confusion, not quite realizing the reference.

"Yes!" You exclaimed before rushing to the ice cream machine, your father hot on your tail.

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[jazzypeeps]

I watch the walking dead for the plot

- the plot

[captsharonstark]

Negan's Sass in The Walking Dead (1/??)

[theblackhate]

Home Is Where The Heart Is | Negan Smith

check the other parts here!

Summary:

There is no longer a home, no place of comfort in that world. One survives to live, risking life to move forward and protect one's people.

But there are always two sides of the same coin. So, is the villain truly the villain? Or is He just the villain in your story?

Pairing: Negan Smith x reader

Word Count: 5.8k

No Heaven, Only Trouble

"We can’t do this!" Delilah dropped into a chair by the campfire. "As much as I find it disturbing, it's not our place, nor our decision to make."

The group fell into silence. Some agreed with the young girl, others did not. Hours had passed since they discovered the barn, and the peace they'd briefly found had vanished into thin air. Lori held Carl close, staring at the flames dancing before her eyes.

She looked up to meet her eldest daughter’s gaze, stifling a sigh when she found nothing in them. She was worried about Delilah—worried because the once vibrant teenager, full of life and promise, had lost her spark, her expression now empty and blank.

But what she hated the most was that, due to wrong choices, the mother-daughter bond was lost forever. She could no longer comfort her. Delilah pushed her away.

Carl was the only one who still seemed to love her unconditionally. Lori fought back tears, closing her eyes and resting her head on Carl's, gently stroking his back while the group resumed their heated debate.

"We’re not safe! We have to do something, or those doors will give way, and in the middle of the night, we’ll be torn apart by the dead."

Delilah’s patience was wearing thin. Lately, she felt like she was losing her mind. "Shane, does anything I say go in one ear and out the other? Damn it! We can’t just do whatever the hell we want, especially when Hershel wants us out of here as soon as possible!"

Shane turned to her, furious. "You have no right to make decisions, kid. These are adult matters! You can’t understand what’s best for the group. If we followed your idea, we'd all be dead by tomorrow morning!"

"Stop!" Dale stood up, stepping between them. "There’s no need to get worked up. We have to stay united," he sighed, taking off his hat and running a hand through what little hair remained.

Shane, still furious, sat down on one of the logs. The silence that settled over the group only made Delilah more anxious. She glanced around, trying to calm herself. She knew that snapping back at Shane, especially in his current state, wouldn’t lead to anything productive, so she bit her tongue, forcing herself to think about something else.

She reached out to stroke Orion, who was sleeping next to her chair.

After a long silence, Rick stood up and headed toward the house. No one asked him what he was going to do; instead, they all remained in their places as if any movement might spell disaster.

Delilah fixated on the flames, watching their mesmerizing dance. If she concentrated hard enough, she could make out shapes moving hypnotically within the fire.

And that’s how she fell asleep—watching the figures dance in the flames, while Orion curled up on her lap, shielding her from the early November chill. The days had grown short, colder, and the group's concern was how they'd keep warm if Hershel refused to let them into the house.

"What the hell are you doing?" Delilah jolted awake, jumping out of her chair. The sudden movement sent sharp pain through her stiff muscles. The brief peace and tranquility she'd enjoyed while half-asleep vanished as the surrounding noise rushed back to her all at once.

Orion, still sounding like a puppy, began barking at the distant commotion and his owner’s sudden movement. Delilah looked around, confused, until she spotted her group rushing toward the barn in the distance, beyond the fence.

What she saw next confused her even more. "What the hell..." She shook off her drowsiness and sprinted toward the group, now gathered in front of a chilling scene that sent a shiver down her spine.

Her father was leading a walker on a leash.

She couldn't hear the conversation yet, still too far away, with Orion following closely behind her. Her heart pounded wildly as she saw Shane pull out a gun and shoot the walker her father was leading, right in the head.

Delilah froze in her tracks, watching the scene unfold before her eyes.

The cold, dry November air clung to her skin, her breath quick and shallow as she watched an old family friend open the barn doors, releasing a small herd of walkers into the open.

Shane was the first to open fire. Moments later, Andrea grabbed a rifle, and a few others followed suit, taking the same initiative to finally put down those who the Greene family had once considered part of them.

Delilah wanted to feel something—anything—when Beth’s screams pierced the air, or when she saw the blonde girl lay down beside the body she believed to be her mother, clinging to the last shred of hope that these people could somehow return to who they once were.

But what made Delilah’s breath catch wasn’t Beth’s cries or the moment the body beside her tried to bite her. It was when the entire group’s attention snapped back toward the barn doors.

She wanted to join them, to cross the fence and hear what they were saying, to better understand what was happening. She bent down to scoop up Orion when he began whimpering and trembling, holding him tightly in her arms as another wail of despair cut through the air.

This time, it was Carol who collapsed to the ground, falling to her knees, supported by Lori. The group blocked Delilah’s view, preventing her from seeing what had caused such a reaction in the woman who was already so broken by life.

But maybe it was something Delilah didn’t want to see.

The apocalypse had changed her, just as it had changed everyone. It had hardened her, made her more pessimistic, perhaps even more indifferent than she’d been before the world fell apart. Yet, when she saw the fragile figure emerge from the barn, she felt a sharp pain in her chest.

Sophia, or what remained of her, limped out of the half-open door. The once youthful, terrified face had been reduced to decaying flesh, slowly rotting away.

Delilah didn’t want to imagine what the scene looked like up close because, even from this distance, she could see how badly the young girl had deteriorated. Carol’s sobs grew louder, not stopping until Delilah’s father, after glancing around for a moment, approached Sophia and placed the barrel of his gun to the back of her head.

A single gunshot echoed across the field, startling Orion in her arms.

When Delilah saw Carol break free from Lori’s embrace and rush to her daughter’s lifeless body, she turned away, heading back to her small spot by the fire, unable to watch the heartbreaking scene of a mother grieving over her child.

Lately, Delilah’s coping mechanism seemed to be avoidance. She no longer asked questions or involved herself in conversations, especially after her last argument with Shane. As the days went by, she spoke less and less, often spending entire days in the company of Orion, and occasionally, Carl.

Carl. Delilah had noticed his change too—a preteen forced to survive in a world like this for months. What worried her wasn’t that he was in danger—she knew Carl was tough—but that he might be shutting down emotionally, just like she was.

Since Sophia's official death, Carl had become cold toward everyone. He no longer spoke to Shane and avoided his presence altogether, snapping back at Lori and acting in ways that were entirely unlike him.

Delilah had always been good at observing people, and recently, it seemed like that was all she could do. Tensions were at an all-time high since the barn incident, and she was exhausted—exhausted by the awful situation, tired of the people around her, and weary at the thought of having to find another place to stay once her father and Glenn returned with Hershel.

Yet, perhaps she wasn’t as observant as she thought, because she hadn’t noticed Shane leave, nor had she seen him return with her mother until they parked. Confused, Delilah got up from her chair and approached them.

Andrea immediately rushed to hug Lori. "Oh my God, are you okay? We were so worried!"

Delilah eyed her mother warily before stepping aside when Carl elbowed past her to run into Lori’s arms. She lifted him off the ground, holding him tightly. "Yes, I’m fine. I was in an accident."

"She was attacked," Shane corrected, standing uncomfortably close to Lori, much to Delilah’s displeasure. Lori rolled her eyes, setting Carl back on the ground before glancing around, searching for someone in the small crowd that had gathered.

"I’m fine. Really. Where’s Rick?" she asked, worry filling her voice when she didn’t see him. She looked at Andrea, then at Maggie, who had stepped out of the house to check on the situation.

Her gaze finally landed on Delilah, distant and unfocused, as if she were looking at her from far away. "Haven’t they come back yet?"

"Not yet," Delilah replied, pulling her red leather jacket tighter around herself and stifling a yawn.

Not in the mood to stand around waiting for her father and Glenn to return, Delilah turned on her heel, ready to head back to the makeshift camp. But she was stopped by the sound of her mother’s frustrated, angry voice.

"You bastard."

"Lori—"

"He’s my husband!" she shouted, shoving Shane. The small group watched, confused and on edge, ready to intervene if Shane reacted poorly.

"Lori, I’ll go look for him!" Shane’s raised voice drew out the rest of the Greene family from the house, all of them watching nervously, fearing there was some imminent danger.

What none of them seemed to realize was that the danger was already right in front of them—one of their own. Dale glanced at Delilah, then back at the escalating scene before them.

Delilah’s body flooded with rage when Shane grabbed her mother’s arm, causing Lori to wince from the force of his grip. Before she could think, Delilah launched herself at him, grabbing his arm.

"Don’t you dare touch her, you asshole!" she growled through clenched teeth, but within seconds, she found herself on the ground. The left side of her face stung sharply, like an injection, and her ear rang for a few seconds, disorienting her. It all happened so quickly that Delilah didn’t even realize what had hit her, though hearing her mother’s screams and the shock from those around her made it easy to figure out.

A metallic taste filled her mouth as a pair of hands helped her up to her knees. Her mother knelt in front of her, reaching for her face, but Delilah recoiled, a sharp pain shooting through her left side.

"Get away," Lori snarled at someone behind her daughter. Footsteps retreated from the scene. "Are you okay, honey? I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry," she whispered in Delilah’s ear, wrapping her arms around her and stroking her hair, just as she had when Delilah was little.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

In the fading light of late afternoon, the room was enveloped in a heavy, almost palpable silence. The old Dale crouched slowly toward Lori, holding a damp cloth. Her face, marked with faint scratches from the incident earlier, was fixed on Delilah, who in turn glanced at Carl standing beside her, his face tight with worry.

At twelve years old, Carl’s large, innocent eyes, which had already seen too much, betrayed a barely concealed anxiety. He kept his gaze fixed on his mother, trying to be strong as if his mere presence could ease Lori’s pain. 

“Don’t worry, Carl,” Lori murmured as Dale handed her the cloth so she could gently tend to her wounds herself. “It’s nothing serious.”

Carl nodded, but his expression remained unconvinced. He watched every move Lori made, as though fearing that even a slight touch could cause her more harm. Lori attempted to smile at him, but the tension in the air made any reassurance seem inadequate.

His eyes darted from his mother to his older sister, who sat across from him in an armchair, her expression betraying nothing. Delilah watched the scene with her arms crossed, her face flushed with the lingering anger from the earlier argument. Her irritation was not just for Lori, but for herself as well. Shane had hit her—a family friend she had once considered almost like an uncle. Her mind replayed the moment she had tried to intervene, to stop the explosive argument, and the violent response she received in return.

She had known Shane was a danger for a long time, but the fact that he had escalated to hitting her was a different matter. Shane was a ticking time bomb, and the moment when he would explode seemed closer than ever.

The silence between them was thick, and Carl couldn’t help but notice the palpable tension emanating from his older sister. He moved closer to Lori and took her hand, a simple gesture that seemed to promise his unwavering support.

Lori sighed slightly, drawing everyone’s attention. “I can’t believe Shane would do something like this,” she said finally, her voice heavy with bitterness.

“He’ll do worse,” Delilah snapped, lifting her gaze to meet her mother’s eyes. Her voice was sharp, brimming with barely contained rage. She couldn’t understand whether Lori was truly blind to Shane’s danger or too infatuated with him to see it. “He’s a threat. One of these days, he’ll do something that gets us all killed.”

Lori fell silent for a moment, her expression strained but composed. She tried to maintain a facade of calm, but the tension between them was undeniable, and Delilah could sense it. Carl, meanwhile, had not taken his eyes off his mother, his face reflecting the weight of something he didn’t fully understand.

Dale looked up from his task, his wise and weary eyes meeting Delilah’s. There was no need for words between them. Delilah knew he understood, that he shared her concerns. There was a silent understanding between them, a bond forged over time, perhaps because Dale had never been as naive as Lori seemed to be.

“Shane has his issues,” Dale said slowly, his voice calm but with a gravity that left no room for disagreement. The tone, though measured, was a warning. “But hitting someone… that’s not justifiable.”

Delilah pressed her lips together, her heart pounding. That wasn’t the point, not entirely. “It’s not just that, Dale,” she said, her voice trembling with the intensity of her emotions. “Shane is unstable. He always seems on the verge of… exploding. You can’t tell me you don’t see that too.”

Lori clenched her hands, trying to stay in control. “Delilah, it’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is!” Delilah interrupted, her words flowing like a flood. “Lori, you refuse to see it. You want to protect everyone, but he’s a ticking time bomb, and when he explodes… we won’t be ready.”

Carl lowered his gaze, visibly shaken by his sister’s harsh words, and Lori seemed about to respond, but it was Dale who spoke up before another argument could erupt.

Delilah’s words had clearly hurt Lori, who had realized she had lost her child the moment she called her by name.

“Delilah is right about one thing,” Dale said slowly, locking eyes with Lori. “Shane is going through a rough patch, and if we’re not careful, that rough patch could become dangerous for all of us.”

Lori closed her eyes for a moment, the weight of Dale’s and Delilah’s words pressing down on her like a stone. When she opened them again, she seemed more weary. “I won’t let him hurt anyone,” she finally said, her voice low but firm. “I’ll handle it.”

The girl couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Oh really? And how?” Delilah’s tone was sharp, biting—nothing good could come from it. “I’m not sure your approach is quite suitable right now, don’t you think?”

A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the distant ticking of a clock. Dale looked down at the floor for a moment before slowly rising, as if his bones were burdened with unbearable weight. He exited the room, unwilling to participate in the family argument he had tried to avoid.

“Delilah—”

“No!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air and leaping out of the chair. “No! You can’t say anything! You’re putting yourself and Carl in danger just because you can’t control yourself! None of this would have happened if you hadn’t gotten so close to him in a moment of weakness!”

Lori’s eyes filled with tears, humiliated by her daughter’s words. But the harshness didn’t stop there. “Because that’s what you are. Weak.” Delilah jabbed her finger at Lori’s chest before storming out of the room, her anger surging through her veins as she slammed the front door behind her, ignoring Orion’s cheerful greeting on the porch.

She sat on the porch steps, stroking Orion’s soft fur and shivering as she heard footsteps approaching, too familiar to ignore. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Shane stopped briefly in front of her before passing by without a word and entering the house.

She watched him go, the door closing behind him, and made herself a promise. 

If Shane wasn’t dead by the end of the weekend, she would ensure it herself. And that’s how she fell asleep, plotting the death of someone who had once been a core part of her life.

The next morning, Delilah woke up still sitting on the porch steps as a car approached and stopped a few meters away from her. It took her a moment to adjust her vision to the sunlight, but as soon as she recognized her father emerging from the car, she sprang to her feet, ignoring the slight dizziness she felt, and rushed to meet him.

Rick enveloped her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her head. "You're here," Delilah whispered against her father's chest, her voice cracking with exhaustion and emotion. For a moment, all the pain, anger, and fear seemed to dissipate. In that instant, she was simply a daughter in her father's arms, finding a safe haven in a world that seemed increasingly unstable.

Rick held her tightly, sensing the tension in her body. He was tired too, weighed down by everything that had been happening, but he tried not to show it. "Everything will be okay," he murmured in a deep, reassuring voice. "I'm back."

Delilah clung to those words, as if they could really bring order to the chaos surrounding them. But deep down, she knew Rick's return wouldn't solve everything. Not with Shane, not with the mounting tensions. Still, in that moment, it didn’t matter.

Within seconds, the sound of the engine and Rick's presence woke the rest of the group. The doors of the house flew open, and those who had been outside rushed to meet them. Lori was the first to arrive, with Carl right behind her, his face a mix of anxiousness and hope. From the porch, Dale descended with a calmer pace, but there was a look of relief in his weary eyes.

Delilah slowly detached herself from Rick's embrace and turned just in time to see Glenn stepping out of the car, visibly exhausted but relieved. He pushed back the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead and gave a nod to the others, a half-smile that couldn’t completely hide his fatigue.

From the passenger seat, Hershel emerged more slowly. His gnarled hands braced against the doorframe for leverage as he climbed out with a serious but determined expression. The journey seemed to have taken its toll on him, but his confident gaze at Rick and the others spoke of his commitment to help, just as he always had.

Lori moved closer to Rick and hugged him tightly, while Carl clung to his father's jacket, seeking comfort. "You found Hershel," Lori murmured, her voice a mix of relief and concern.

Rick nodded, looking intently at his wife. "Yes, he's with us. We have a lot to discuss."

Glenn approached Delilah, giving her a light pat on the shoulder, a silent gesture of support. "Everything okay here?" he asked softly, noticing the faint bruise forming on her cheek, though his attentive gaze sought answers in the expressions of those who had stayed behind.

As Rick tried to recover from the intensity of the moment and Hershel approached slowly with Glenn by his side, a growing tension began to permeate the group. Lori, Dale, and Carl exchanged questioning glances, noting that Rick, Glenn, and Hershel seemed more worried than expected.

It was Delilah who first noticed something strange. The car trunk wasn’t completely closed, and a faint vibration was coming from inside. She moved closer, her heart pounding in her chest. As she reached for the trunk to open it fully, Glenn tried to stop her with a quick "Wait!" — but it was too late.

The trunk swung open entirely, revealing a young man inside, bound and with a dirty cloth around his mouth. His eyes were wide with terror, and he struggled weakly to free himself. Delilah took a step back in shock, and in an instant, the rest of the group gathered around the trunk, their faces a mix of disbelief and concern.

“Who the hell is this?” Dale asked, his voice rough and incredulous, his face etched with concern.

Rick stepped forward, his expression tight. “His name is Randall,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed on the young prisoner.

Lori’s voice was filled with disbelief. “Rick, what’s going on?”

Hershel spoke up, calm but with a serious tone. “He was involved in a bad incident; we had to help him… but the problem is, he’s not alone.”

Delilah stared at the young man, her heart pounding even harder. “What do you mean? Where does he come from?”

Glenn cleared his throat, searching for the right words. “He’s from a group… an armed group. We don’t know how many there are or where they are exactly, but we have reason to believe they could be dangerous.”

Carl, who had been silent until then, stepped forward, looking at Randall with wide eyes. “And what are we going to do with him?” he asked, his voice full of curiosity as he watched the young man lose consciousness.

Rick clenched his jaw. “We need to decide. We can’t just let him go without knowing if he’ll bring his group here.”

A heavy silence fell over the group. Each member looked at Randall, but also at each other, searching for answers that no one seemed ready to give.

In the living room of the house, the atmosphere was charged with tension. Everyone had gathered around the central table, except for Delilah, who stood in a corner of the room with her arms crossed and her gaze fixed on the group.

Her father’s face was marked by worry, while Rick took his place at the center, his expression grave.

Randall had been locked in the cabin a short distance from the house, at a safe distance, after Hershel had to tend to a deep wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

“We can’t let him go,” Rick said firmly, breaking the silence. His tone was authoritative but heavy with responsibility. “If we do, he might return to his group and lead them here. We don’t know how many there are or what they’re capable of.”

Glenn, sitting next to him, nodded. “Rick’s right. We can’t take the risk. His group could kill us all. We need to think about our safety.”

“The bar, in town,” the old man began, “we heard them talking. They seem to be a large, disorganized group. We can’t underestimate them.”

Dale clasped his hands, his face pale with anxiety. “But we can’t kill him. We can’t... become like that,” he said, his voice trembling yet resolute. He looked at Rick with intensity, as if searching for a shred of humanity in this desperate situation. “There’s always another solution.”

“What solution, Dale?” Shane interjected, leaning against the wall, his gaze fixed defiantly on Rick. “There’s no time for half measures. This kid knows where the farm is. If we let him go, it’s only a matter of time before he returns with armed men. We need to do what’s necessary.”

Lori, sitting next to her husband, removed her hand from her mouth and looked at Shane in confusion. “How do you know that?”

Rick looked to Hershel, the head of the household, waiting for him to confirm what he had told them in the car. “Randall knows our family, or at least he knows Beth and where she lives. They went to school together and he’s from the area. It didn’t take him long to recognize me despite the severe blood loss.”

Delilah, in the corner of the room, followed the conversation with keen eyes, saying nothing. She was there, a silent and invisible presence, but every word echoed in her mind. She bit her lower lip, her hands pressed tightly against her chest. Shane, as always, was direct, but there was something unsettling in his manner. It wasn’t just concern for safety. It was something darker.

It was a thirst for control and power over everything and everyone.

Dale raised his hand, cutting through the argument. “Hold on a minute.” His voice was calm but laden with a wisdom that could not be ignored. “We can’t make a decision like this so quickly. We’re still human, or at least we should be. Killing this boy... it’s not justifiable. We don’t even know if his group will come looking for him.”

“We can’t afford to make mistakes,” Shane retorted, his tone growing harsher. “Dale, you’re living in the past. We’re not in that world anymore. We need to protect ourselves. We have to be realistic.”

Then T-Dog spoke up, his voice low but resolute. “Maybe we can find a remote place and leave him there. Without means to return or dangerous weapons. We give him a chance, but not enough to pose a threat.”

Rick considered those words for a moment, but Shane shook his head in disapproval. “That’s just another waste of time. He could still survive and come back with others.”

The debate continued, with voices rising, creating a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Delilah, however, remained silent, watching the chaos unfold before her. Inside, she felt a mix of fear and anger. Her heart pounded harder every time Shane spoke. There was something wrong with him, something that made her increasingly uneasy.

Eventually, Rick stood up from his chair, his decision etched on his drawn face. “We’ll decide tomorrow morning,” he said with a firm tone, looking at each of them. “Tonight, we keep him locked up. No one does anything until we’re all in agreement.”

The voices quieted, but the atmosphere in the room remained tense, as if an inexorable time bomb was ticking away.

The next day arrived with an eerie stillness. The morning air was crisp, but there was a palpable tension hanging over the house. 

No one had slept well, and each step seemed heavier than usual, laden with the weight of the decisions they had to face. The sunlight filtered hesitantly through the windows, almost reluctant to illuminate the scene that was about to unfold.

In the living room, Rick, Lori, Shane, Dale, Glenn, and Hershel had gathered again. Delilah was already there, as she had been the night before, seated in the corner and watching in silence.

She had spent the night in a state of wakefulness, her thoughts in turmoil. The idea that everything was on the verge of collapsing wouldn’t leave her mind. And damn, if her intuition wasn’t spot on.

Rick was the first to speak, his voice heavy and resolute. “We’ve all had time to think about this,” he said, looking at each face present. “We can’t ignore the risk. Randall knows our location, knows where we are. But we can’t make a decision without considering the consequences.”

Shane, who had never had much patience for long discussions, stood up abruptly, shaking his head. “We’ve already talked enough, Rick. Randall has to die. End of story. If we let him go, we’re all dead. He’s a threat, and you know it.”

Dale, as he had the day before, raised his hand to stop Shane. “Hold on, Shane. Killing a kid like this, in cold blood... we can’t do it. It would make us monsters. We need to find an alternative.”

The tension between the two men was palpable, as if each word could spark a dangerous flashpoint. Rick looked between them, trying to find a balance between their positions. But it was clear that the decision was wearing him down.

Delilah was exhausted. Exhausted by the arguments, the increasingly difficult moral choices, the people around her who seemed incapable of seeing what was really happening. It was as if no one wanted to admit that, in the end, they had all changed. Their humanity was fragile, hanging by a thread, and she no longer knew what to cling to.

She slowly stood up from her chair in the corner of the room, trying not to draw attention. No one noticed her movement. They were all too engrossed in discussing Randall, the risk he posed, and what they should do.

Delilah quietly slipped out the door, closing it softly behind her. She took a deep breath, savoring the fresh morning air. A day away from it all. She needed to escape, even if just for a few hours.

Outside, Orion was waiting for her. She petted him on the head, feeling his soft fur between her fingers. “Let’s go, buddy,” she whispered, and together they headed towards the woods surrounding the Greene farm.

The sun climbed high in the sky as Delilah walked through the forest, finally feeling some semblance of peace. The leaves crunched under her feet, and the wind rustled the trees above her. Orion ran ahead, exploring, his tongue lolling out in excitement. 

Delilah no longer thought about the tension in the house. She no longer thought about Shane, Rick, or the moral dilemma regarding Randall. She was alone, at least for a while, and that was enough.

She spent the day wandering aimlessly, following the winding trails of the woods. She sat by a stream to drink some water, watching Orion play with the stones in the water. Time seemed to stand still.

But as the sun began to set, an odd sensation crossed her skin. A sudden shiver. She looked around, noticing the forest growing darker, and with it, a sense of danger seeped into her heart.

“It’s time to go back,” Delilah whispered, her voice almost breaking the silence around her. Orion, her loyal pup, followed immediately, but there was something strange in the air. Something... wrong.

Every step she took towards the farm seemed heavier, as if the forest itself were closing in on her. The familiar sounds of the wind through the leaves had changed. There were no birds singing anymore, only the unsettling rustling of branches.

The air had grown thick, suffocating. Then she heard it: a low, guttural groan. Her blood ran cold. It was a sound she knew all too well.

She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. A walker.

Without thinking, she began to walk faster, trying to hold back the panic rising within her like a dark wave. Her steps quickened, but not fast enough.

Another groan. This time, it was closer. Too close. Orion began to growl, his hackles raised. Delilah spun around, and what she saw took her breath away: two walkers were emerging from the trees, their grotesque, twisted forms illuminated by the last rays of the dying sun.

Terror struck her like a punch to the stomach. "Run!" she screamed internally, but the voice in her head sounded too weak, smothered by horror. With Orion by her side, she started to run, but the ghastly groans of the walkers never ceased. Each step felt more arduous, more painful. The sound of the walkers dragging through the dry branches was an unshakable nightmare.

Her heart pounded so violently she feared it might burst. She leaped over tangled roots, dodged branches whipping her face, but the walkers never stopped. They were slow, yes, but relentless. Every time she looked back, they were there, getting closer. Their twisted hands reached out toward her, hungry for flesh.

When she finally glimpsed the farmhouse in the distance, relief swiftly turned to horror. Flames. She saw them even from afar, enormous and voracious. The tongues of fire enveloped the house, consuming everything.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her legs trembled. "Dad!" she cried out in desperation, but her voice was swallowed by the crackling flames. "Lori! Carl!" No response. Only the chilling sound of the fire devouring everything and the hissing wind carrying the acrid smell of ash.

Delilah ran, ignoring the pain burning her muscles and the tight knot in her chest. When she reached the yard, the scene that greeted her was worse than any nightmare.

Walkers wandered amidst the flames, stumbling like infernal shadows, grotesque and made more monstrous by the firelight. The farmhouse was devastated. There was no one. No sign of the group. Only destruction and death.

Orion barked furiously, trying to keep the walkers at bay, but Delilah couldn’t focus. The world around her was a distorted chaos. Where was her father? Where was Lori? What the hell had happened?

She searched desperately through the debris, her hands trembling as she rummaged through the charred remains. Every corner of the farmhouse was a heap of wreckage. The barns had collapsed, and the animals were gone. Smoke burned her throat; each breath felt like a fiery assault on her lungs.

But what was most suffocating of all was the silence. An eerie silence, broken only by the guttural sounds of the walkers and the relentless crackle of the flames. She was alone. Completely alone.

Orion continued to growl, but Delilah could no longer think clearly. The horror, fear, and anguish overwhelmed her. As the flames grew higher and the walkers drew nearer, she realized that this world had collapsed. There was nothing left. Nothing and no one.

She looked around with the dreadful awareness that she would die there, in that moment, if she didn't leave, but she couldn't risk abandoning her family behind. Assuming they were still alive.

She tried calling out their names again, but to no avail. Until she heard the distant rumble of an engine.

For half a second, a huge smile spread across her face, comforted by not being left behind, until she saw the camper heading in the opposite direction. She screamed at the top of her lungs, running towards the camper and waving frantically to be seen, but the white vehicle just accelerated away.

They had abandoned her.

Now, it was just her, the fire, and the encroaching darkness.

[ladymacbeth-writes-sometimes]

Dead City Season 2 Teaser

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,881 Pairing: Negan x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, after the war, Negan is imprisoned Warnings: language (duh), allusions to past violence and flashbacks Summary: Y/N decides Negan has earned just a little bit more freedom. A/N: This is part 2 of a miniseries... lol or maybe not so mini? I'm not sure yet! Slow burn takes time to do well... anyway, first part is linked below! HAPPY WICKED WEDNESDAY! Bad Medicine - Part 1

You came in late that evening. Negan looked up from his book. Something he thought was maybe relief washed over him to see you again, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe he just didn’t want another tense exchange with Daryl… Maybe he was just glad not to be alone.

You slid his tray through the slot and watched curiously as he carefully tucked a torn scrap of paper into the pages of his book to mark his place. “What’re you reading?” you asked.

“Some book Gabriel left me,” he said. “I think I’ve read it five times.”

“What is it?” you asked again.

“Some nautical whaling adventure bullshit,” Negan said, bending to pick up his tray.

“Is it any good?” you asked.

“It was the first time. Maybe a bit the second. But not anymore,” he said with a dry laugh, sinking back down on his cot to settle into his dinner.

“I can bring you some other things to read. What do you like?” you offered.

His hazel eyes shot up to you, his expression unreadable for a moment. “Now, why would do that, doll?”

You ignored his use of the pet name and simply shrugged. “Because I’d hate to have to read the same thing over and over and over with no choice.”

“Isn’t that what me bein’ in here is all about? No choice?”

You paused reflectively. “Maybe at first, as a punishment for everything you did. But now—I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m not gonna fuckin’ turn down some new reading material if you’re offerin’.” A mischievous glint grew in his eyes. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any naughty stuff layin’ around, do you?” he laughed.

You rolled your eyes. “Negan…”

“Honestly, homemade pictures would be even better if you have the means—”

“I’m leaving,” you growled, turning to go.

He laughed heartily and you were surprised that your steps faltered at the sound. “Come on! I’m only kidding! Ish…”

You turned back around and shot him a look.

“Here’s a question: what’s the deal with you and Daryl?” he asked, taking an exploratory bite out of his sandwich.

Your eyebrows lifted. “Seriously? That’s what you want to talk about?”

He shrugged. “Well, this whole Gabe-Siddiq-Rosita love triangle has me on the edge of my seat. Can you blame me for hoping to scrounge up another such juicy morsel? You know I love a bit of drama. It’s a real-life telenovela.”

You rolled your eyes but paced back toward his cell and took a seat in the wooden chair outside it. “Daryl is… I consider him my brother,” you said. “And I’d die for him. He’s family.”

“You sure he knows about this bein’ ‘brotherly’ love?” Negan laughed. “He gave me quite a talking to about you earlier…”

“Considering your past, can you blame him?”

“No,” Negan admitted. “No, I can’t… So, no hanky-panky there, huh?” Negan asked, leaning forward to study your face as if trying to confirm what you’d just told him, still smiling. “Too bad for him… Guy could probably use some, right? Help chill him the fuck out,” he laughed.

You shot him a disapproving stare and he tried to look apologetic with only some success. “Are you through?” you asked, your tone bored.

“Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for the meal,” he said. You climbed to your feet, nodding.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? We’ll do the same thing. There’s more to do over there.”

“You got it, boss,” Negan acknowledged. “Hey—Y/N—I know I can be an asshole, but I really meant what I said earlier. Thank you.”

You only nodded and gave him a tight smile.

And that was how you and Negan continued, for quite some time. It took you over a week to get the area completely cleared and the rescued medicinal plants transplanted. After that, you ended up having Negan build the new raised beds and help you install them. He could be surprisingly handy when he wasn’t busy cracking jokes and he seemed genuinely grateful for something to do to pass the time. It was surprising how easily the two of you got into an almost comfortable routine. You often were reminding yourself that all you were doing was building rapport so you could help Negan make progress, whatever that meant… It still seemed to be some vague, shapeless idea in your mind, but the thought of Carl and Rick and your loyalty and sense of duty to help Michonne kept you going.

Finally, with that project done, you decided it was time to start venturing outside the walls. Considering how well things had been going, Daryl couldn’t disagree with you anymore, though he did continually feel the need to remind you not to let your guard down. He also requested that you stay close to Alexandria when you ventured out, something you agreed to as sensible, at least to start.

Afterall, if Negan really was to someday assimilate back into this weird version of “society,” this step-by-step, gradual building of trust and rapport seemed like the way to do it.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You lightly tossed a canvas pack at him after swinging the cell door open and he caught it against his chest, giving you a curious look.

“Think you can handle going outside the walls today?” you asked him.

Negan looked surprised. “With careful supervision, I’m assuming?”

“Obviously,” you said.

He nodded, still looking a little stunned. “You trust me enough to take me outside the walls?”

“Enough,” you agreed, cocking one eyebrow.

Negan let out a low laugh. “Alright… What���s the plan then for today, warden?”

You rolled your eyes. He’d taken to calling you that since you’d given him a few stern looks in response to his usual pet names. “Foraging,” you said simply. “We running low on a few things.”

Negan stepped out of his cell with the bag slung over his shoulder, his canteen now stored inside alongside the smaller bags you’d tossed in for keeping gathered ingredients separated. “And I’m serving mostly as the pack mule?” he asked, watching you brush past him closely to swing his cell shut behind him. Was he imagining it or had your hand brushed his arm? Probably imagining it…

“Pack mule?” you repeated. You held up your own pack to show him. “No. I’m gonna collect mine into my bag, and you’re gonna store whatever you find in your own. I’ve been teaching you plants for a couple weeks now. I thought we’d see what you’ve learned,” you explained. “Unless, you’d rather stay here and—”

“No,” Negan interrupted you, almost a little too eagerly. He laughed a little nervously and the sound was deep and had a slightly gruff edge to it. “No,” he repeated, less eager. He ran a hand back through his hair and shrugged. “I’d rather not sit in my cell doing fuck-all, thanks.”

You smiled at him a little and he tried to ignore the way his heart jumped in his chest. Uh oh. What was that? Surely that was just because you were the only woman who’d smiled at him in maybe… six years?

“That’s what I thought,” you said. “Come on.”

Negan followed you through town toward the gate and you both tried your hardest to ignore the not-so-subtle stares. You should have been used to it by now, but whenever you stepped out with Negan beside you, you felt as if you were on display. The man may as well have been wearing a sign advertising his past crimes. There would never be any complete escape from his reputation and past. All you could hope for was a tiny seed of redemption… and some days even that seemed hard.

As you approached the gate, Negan cleared his throat and glanced over at you.

“Hmm?” you hummed, absently waving to Rosita who was on the guard platform.

“So, Daryl was okay with this?” Negan asked and you shot him a weird look.

“What does Daryl have to do with anything? What is your obsession with him?” you asked.

“Uhh—he fuckin’ hates me and threatened to kill me if I tried to hurt you or—do anything he perceives as being out of line,” Negan admitted. “You can see why that’s of slight concern to me,” he finished.

“Makes sense,” you said, not at all surprised. “But Daryl trusts my judgement, so when I told him I thought you were ready for slightly more freedom he was fine with it and so was Michonne. And if we aren’t back by dark, they’ll come looking. They know exactly where we’ll be,” you explained, stepping out past the gate with Negan just behind you. The metallic rattle continued until you heard the familiar slam and clunk of the latch, indicating you were firmly outside the walls. You looked over at Negan and he had a queer expression on his face, his eyes flitting over the scenery ahead. “It’s been a minute, hmm, since you’ve seen outside,” you commented.

He nodded, his hazel eyes finally landing back on you. “Yeah,” he said. He pulled in a deep breath, filling his lungs to the brim and then let it out slowly.

You thought he almost seemed emotional and you again marked the vulnerability you were seeing in him. This Negan seemed far different from the one who had brandished the baseball bat… “Come on,” you said, nodding your head toward the tree line.

Negan hesitated. “Hey, uhh… What if—” he stopped, breaking off abruptly and you gave him a curious look. “Just—I can’t exactly defend myself if shit goes sideways out here, can I? You’re certainly not gonna hand me a knife,” he laughed dryly.

You smiled vaguely. “I’ll protect you, Negan,” you said. For some reason, this made him laugh and your eyes shot over to him. “What? You don’t think I can?”

“No, it’s not that. Not at all. It’s just—bit of a role reversal from my Savior days, isn’t it?”

Your face grew sad, the smile fading, and the look in your eyes grew more distant. “You weren’t a savior, Negan. The only person you were really saving was yourself,” you said decisively.

“I kept a lot of people alive in the Sanctuary before your group showed up,” he retorted.

“Alive?” you repeated, rounding on him. “Alive in the same way we’ve been keeping you alive in that cell. Maybe alive, but not living. How often did you even think about what the lowest of the workers were going through? Scraping for points, wondering if they’d have enough to feed their kids, let alone themselves. I bet you didn’t think of them even once a day. You were too busy indulging in whatever the fuck you wanted.”

Negan’s brow dropped low over his hazel eyes and he looked reflective, as if truly considering the weight of your words. When you started walking again, he followed behind you in silence and you could feel a tension between the two of you for several long minutes. But by the time you started pointing out plants to him, it had diminished.

Negan was a fast learner and it wasn’t long before you both had a few of the small foraging bags full of herbs and mushrooms. You’d only had to correct him a couple times on his identification. (“Not those unless you want to go back to being in your cell all the time, Negan,” you’d said. You scraped your nail down the stem and it suddenly bruised bright yellow before your eyes. He’d flinched and dropped the poisonous mushroom, an easy to make mistake for a new learner. “Fuck me! No, I sure as shit do not,” he’d said, casting an apologetic look at you. You’d given him an encouraging smile and told him it was alright.)

He found himself laughing and shaking his head suddenly, tucking another small bag into the canvas pack.

“What?” you prompted him.

“Just—look at me? I’m out here following you around in the woods picking mushrooms and leaves like a fucking Disney princess. Life is wild,” he said. His hazel eyes were crinkled in a smile and you took in the sparking nature of the light in them and the genuine ease of him just existing in that moment. The salt and pepper in his beard was more noticeable now that he’d been keeping it neat and trimmed again and it wasn’t lost on you that the somewhat slumped posture of his shoulders seemed to have lessened lately.

You sighed and nodded your agreement. “It sure it,” you agreed. “If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be out here with you, I’d have taken it as a threat.” You turned back to the plant in front of you and plucked a few more leaves before glancing over at him again. You were surprised to see that his eyes were still on you. “Do you miss it?” you asked him suddenly. You were still down on one knee on the leaf litter and he was standing above you, his tall, lean frame stretching upwards. An involuntary flash of the line-up suddenly burst in your mind, hot and red, and you nearly fell over, all your breath leaving in a rush. You put a hand down to steady yourself and Negan watched your head drop and your eyes squeeze closed. Your other hand drifted to the handle of your gun, as if you were reassuring yourself it was still there.

“Hey—” Negan said, concern thick in his voice. “You okay, doll?”

You gathered yourself, gulping at the sudden tightness in your throat, and then stood up quickly, nodding. “Yeah. I’m fine. And don’t call me that… I think—I think we’re about done for today,” you said hurriedly, tucking the supplies back into your own pack.

He nodded, his brow still heavily furrowed. “Okay,” he said, his voice unsure. But he fell into step beside you again. The tension in the air had returned. Negan let it stretch for a minute before he broke the silence, genuinely feeling his concern like a tightness across his chest. “You aren’t gonna tell me what that was about back there?”

You didn’t turn to look at him, but you could feel his eyes on you. You focused straight ahead instead, and navigated stepping over some fallen wood while you answered. “No,” you said simply.

“Okay.” Negan forced himself to pull his eyes away from you, nodding, and fell silent again. Neither of you spoke on the short walk back to the gate nor all the way back to the cell. You finally looked up and met his eyes again as he handed you the pack he’d had slung over his shoulder, now full of foraged tidbits that would make life just a little bit better or a little bit more enjoyable for many residents.

Negan studied your expression, and he thought you looked sad. There was really no other word for it. His hands slipped into his pockets and he stepped back into his cell just far enough to allow you to close the door, not taking his eyes off you. The bolt locking him in echoed in the space.

“Thanks for your help today,” you said, meeting his eyes one more time.

His brow furrowed even more heavily over his eyes. “Sure,” he said, nodding. “Not sure you should be thankin’ me, though. Probably should go the other way around.”

You didn’t really acknowledge his response, just added his canvas bag to your shoulder and licked your lips nervously. “I’ll make sure you get lunch soon,” you said.

Negan watched you turn and leave, puzzled and frankly a little worried. His fingers curled around the cold iron bars of his cell as the outside door slammed behind you.

Once you were back in the sunshine, you made your way toward the pantry with the bags, with a detour to find Daryl at Aaron’s house. He was just where you expected he’d be, working in the garage.

He turned at the sound of your footsteps and straightened up hurriedly when he realized it was you and perhaps because he sensed something or read it on your face. “Hey,” he drawled, wiping his hands absently on the bandana from his back pocket. “How’d it go out there?” he asked eagerly.

You nodded thoughtfully, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. “Good,” you said. “Pretty good…”

His eyes narrowed. “Ya sure?” he prodded you. “Somethin’ happen?” He was already bristling, ready to go punch Negan across the jaw if he needed to.

“Not exactly,” you said hesitantly, fiddling with the strap of your bag.

Daryl frowned. “What’s that mean?”

“I mean—he didn’t do anything. I just—I had a flashback,” you said, your eyes growing a bit distant. “To back then. At the line-up,” you murmured, ducking your head and blinking fast to clear away the tears in your eyes. “I was kneeling down, picking tea leaves off this plant and I looked up and he was sort of standing over me and it just—it triggered something,” you admitted.

Daryl looked deeply concerned, the line between his eyebrows deepening. “Was it somethin’ in yer gut? Did ya feel… unsafe?”

“No,” you said, almost urgently, looking up at him and catching his blue eyes again. There was a touch of faint disbelief in your own voice. “That’s the thing. I don’t feel unsafe around him now. It was just something about the angle. I looked up and he was standing there and—” You broke off and sighed again. “I don’t know…”

Daryl leaned forward on his hands on the workbench between you. “Well, it ain’t like all that past shit just goes away,” he said. “I couldn’t do what yer doin’,” Daryl admitted. You gave him a curious look and he nodded. “If I walked him out into the woods, he wouldn’t be comin’ back.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Yeah… Anyway, I just—I hate to ask you…” you hesitated again.

“Ask me,” he said. “It’s alrigh’.”

“Would you mind just getting lunch together and taking it to him? I think I just need a break for a little bit. Or I can ask Michonne,” you added.

“S’alrigh’. I’ve got it. Michonne is busy with the kids. Soon as I finish up in here, I’ll pull somethin’ together.”

You look relieved. “Thank you,” you sighed.

“S’nothin’,” he said. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment and you could tell he was on the edge of saying something. “Ya dun have to do this, ya know. If it’s too much—he can rot in that cell for everythin’ he did. Fuck him,” Daryl said pointedly, throwing in a small smirk as he said the last two words.

You had to laugh a little at that. “Yeah, I know. It’s okay. I don’t give up that easily. I’ll be good by the time he needs his evening meal. Thanks, Daryl.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Negan looked up, hesitant, as he heard the outside door open. He was expecting to see Daryl coming in again. He couldn’t stop turning what had happened outside the walls in the morning over and over in his head. He scrutinized his own behavior and yours. He thought through all the conversations… but he’d come up empty as far as any reason as to why you’d abruptly ended the field trip or why Daryl had brought him lunch instead of you. He was annoyed by the tight pit in his stomach. His lunch sat untouched still, right where Daryl had pushed it through the slot into his cell.

But it wasn’t Daryl coming in with his dinner. It was you.

Negan had nearly jumped to his feet before he could stop himself. “Hey,” he said, the same novel dangling at his side. You stopped at the bars of his cell.

“Hi,” you greeted him. You looked down at the still full tray just inside the slot and then back up to meet his hazel eyes. “Not hungry today?” you asked, cocking one eyebrow at him.

He shrugged and took a few steps toward you. “Honestly? I was a little worried I wasn’t gonna see you again,” Negan admitted. His tone wasn’t jesting or sarcastic. “After this morning, you know… outside the walls.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, nodding. “I see.”

He laughed a little and shook his head. “There’s that therapist response again.”

“Well, do you want this? Or should I save it for tomorrow,” you asked him, looking down at his still full tray on the floor.

“You can save it. I’ll eat my lunch. Less work for you tomorrow,” he said.

You nodded and set the tray aside on the chair outside his cell for a moment. “I have something else for you,” you said, digging into the bag hanging from your shoulder. Negan watched curiously as you withdrew several books. “I raided the library. I tried to pick some things I thought you’d like but—I realized I have no idea what you’d actually like… So. I guessed,” you said.

You gave him an expectant look and he came to the cell door. You passed each book through the bars to him one by one. Negan was highly aware of your fingers being only inches from his. He could have brushed your hand with his if he’d wanted to.

“Thanks,” he said, new books in hand. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You nodded. “I know.” Your response drew another gruff laugh from him.

“I’ll go put this aside,” you said, collecting the tray again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Negan.”

He hesitated just a moment, gulping at the lump in his throat. “You don’t need to tell me what happened out there… Of course you don’t. You don’t owe me anything. But right before, you were asking me if I missed it,” Negan said. You’d turned back to look at him again, curious. “Do I miss being the fucking King of the Castle?” He paused and his tongue swept out over his bottom lip. “Yeah. I do,” he admitted. “I miss the freedom. I miss people paying attention to me, listening when I fucking talk, getting me whatever the hell I want… But I don’t miss all the bullshit that came with it and what I had to do to maintain that power.”

There was a strange expression on your face and then you sighed. “I guess that’s something,” you said softly. “See you tomorrow, Negan.”

[lunajay33]

Taste for Older Men

•⚰️🍂🍑•

Summary: Growing up with you never had much interest in boys your age but when your dads best friends stuck around more everything changed

Pairing: Cowboy Negan x f!reader

Warnings: age gap, evil boyfriend

•Masterlist•

Song Recommendation: White Mustang-Lana Del Rey

Growing up I never understood all my friends having crushes on guys in our class, I mean they were so immature and not even cute so I never had a reason to try things out and explore like so many people my age, because I knew what I liked……and that is older men, I never realized until my dads best friend moved to town and started coming over more and more, I never acted on it because obviously it’s inappropriate but god did I want to

I graduated school and went to college online so I could work on my dads farm to help out and save up some money, it just made everything easier, then I graduate college and Negan lost his farm hand so dad got me to help him out and get my sister to work on our family farm instead

I’ve only been working with Negan for a month and it’s been killing me, every glance, everytime he’d wrap his arms around me to show me the “proper” way to do something, had me wanting more than just a farm hand, I want to feel loved, I tried to get over Negan with a guy from town, he was sweet when we first started dating, the flowers before dates and opening doors and the good mornings texts but in all honesty it always felt like he was just a friend a really close guy friend but I guess this I how it’s suppose to feel right?

But now he’s mean, always calls drunk and when we’re out at gatherings he treats me like a toy to parade around but I don’t know how to leave him and god do I want to so badly

That leads to today Negan was coming over to our house for a barbecue so it’s a perfect chance to doll myself up compared to farming clothes, I finished off my makeup and pulled on a a ivory sundress, I made my way downstairs seeing my mom finishing off some salads as dad was out setting up everything

“Well don’t you look like a fresh flower in spring! Are you all dolled up for Mark?” My heart dropped

“What……what do you mean I’m staying here for supper!”

“Well dad said he ran into Mark today at the garage and invited him over, Negans never met him so why not introduce them it’ll be fun!” I tried to keep a chipper expression but I felt like screaming inside, the door bell rang alerting someone was here

“Could you get that dear I’m still finishing up here”

I walked over to the door relieved to see Negan standing there instead of Mark, I let out a breathe he obviously noticed

“You alright darling?”

“What? Oh yeah I’m finally just…..never mind please come in” I said nervously stepping to the side to clear the door way

“Old man said you’re boyfriends coming around tonight” he said with a hint of displease

“Does that man talk to everyone god” I groan

“What don’t want me meeting the guy who’s got my girl all worried” my heart did a flip at the words ‘my girl’ but I couldn’t think on it too long when a knock came from the door and my mood plummeted

With a shaky hand I open the door and there stood my walking nightmare that fake smile plastered on his smug face

“Hey babe thanks for the invite, had to hear from you old man” he says as he pulled me close by my hip a hint of anger in his voice

“I’m sorry it……it just slipped my mind” my voice wavered as he squeezed my hip, Negan cleared his throat

“Oh mark this is Negan, Negan this is Mark”

“So this is the Negan that always takes up all your time on that damn farm”

“Mark you know it’s my job and I love working there…….please you just got here” I whisper the last part, looking at Negan who had a shocked look on his face, definitely not expecting this to be my boyfriend

We all were sitting out on the back porch with the lowering sun basking us in golden light, a slight breeze in the air making a chill running down my spine, as dad laid the food on the table for everyone

“Here take my plaid you gotta be freezing” Negan said draping his brown and green longsleeve plaid over my shoulders, his cologne surrounding my senses

“I’m right here man” Mark barked from my other side

“Mark he was just being nice it’s fine”

“That’s what you always say”

“And what’s that suppose to mean?”

“Always going on and on about him and brushing me off like I’m some psycho boyfriend when I’m sick of hearing about him”

“Mark……” my dad groans as a warning

Everything seemed to come crashing down and I couldn’t keep it all in anymore

“You’re the one that comes home late stinking of booze and cheap perfume thinking I don’t see the lipstick stains on your shirt collar, or when you make me feel like a piece of meat infront of all you friends I’m sick of it Mark” at my words he shot up in his chair clearly enraged as he towered over me

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to” the chair behind me screeched back Negan now towering over me too with the angriest look I’ve never seen before

“Get the hell outta here before you regret it” mark was angry but he was also a hell of a coward, especially faced with a big strong man like Negan

He huffed as he stomped down the porch, hearing his truck start up and rush off down the dirt road, I slumped down in my chair completely embarrassed but also that relief that I’ll never have to deal with that ass again

“Please excuse me” I sigh as I get up from the table and head up to my room for a moment of peace, I sat down on my reading ledge by my window going through all the times he mistreated me and how much he ruined my first…..well my first everything

“Hey darlin mind if I sit with ya?” Negan asks from my doorway, I simply nodded hearing him cross my room and sit next to me, I look up at him and feel my lip tremble

“He ruined everything” I finally break down when he holds me close to his chest

“He took my first kiss, felt like nothing, took my virginity even though I didn’t feel anything like that for him, he took my happiness”

“Baby look at me” he says as he leans me back tilting my head up to wipe my tears away

“If I could I’d take all your pain away, replace all those firsts with happy memories but I know one thing……”

“What?”

“You’ll be happy again, even if I gotta kill him to see you smile again I’ll do it because it kills me to see you like this”

“It’s not like I’m sad he’s gone, I’m relieved really but he’s never what I wanted” I say placing my hand ontop of his that was still against my cheek

“And what is it you want darlin?”

“I’ve always wanted you, I know I shouldn’t you’re my dads best friend but all my secrets are coming out today” I pity laugh

“I want you too, when you started working on my farm, you working around the farm and treating my animals like your own, making me feel like I wasn’t some old man out there alone, I want you by my side more than you know”

My world in one day went from hell back to heaven all because of the man I craved the most in this world

Part 2

[thewritersaddictions]

This is being paused, but don’t worry it will be completed. Just sadly not right now, or in a few weeks.

Negan Smith: Bases Chapter Log

Starts on August 12th, 2023 Negan Smith x Bimbo!Virgin!Reader

The Summary: When the new girl at the sanctuary catches Negan's eye it’s balls to the wall to get her in his bed. Warnings: Smut, P&v, Blowjobs, face sitting, deepThroating, virginity, bimbo reader, jerking off, etc Word Count: 10,315 k

Tag List

The Walking Dead Master List // The Wanderers Master List // Series Master List

Chapter 1: Her (08/12/23)

Chapter 2: Skin (08/15/23)

Chapter 3: Sweet Taste (08/18/23)

Mini Chapter 3.5 (08/20/23)

Chapter 4: Echo (08/21/23)

Chapter 5: All Of You (08/24/23)

Completed on: 08/24/23

Posted On: (06/03/23) - (08/12/23)

Bases Tags- @daryldixonluvr @whatssss @kaits-diary @idk1idk2idk @scarlett-widows-89 @jdmsgorl @lanad3lrey-l0v3r @clararangel @oceanablue @chelseypprimrose @freedomfighterlex @sageworld @ayeitzzshayla @123avengersandmarvel @charlie19690 @sweetvixensstuff @lanceisrandom @redscreendarkwin @ryanneemccann @finalgirlmp3 @fullwattpadmusictree @harmonib @rainyzonkmakerlover @ge0rgzs @julimariett @amazingmaeve @kpoplover4life @definitelynotyagmur @rivernell @vanilla88 @alteredgalaxy @kyleepsposts @max-505 @nhayoshii @neganswoman

[dilfismm]

shoutout to all the twd girlies that are still obsessed with the show and characters but literally can not watch the show after glenn died

[sunnybunnyy2]

Two Wrongs Don’t Make A Right

Daryl Dixon x platonic!reader

Negan Smith x daughter!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.0k

TIME: season 7

Warnings: imprisonment, talk of rapists(briefly), talk of murder, mentions of Abe’s and Glenn’s deaths, arguments, mentions of saviours, mentions of what transpired in season six and seven, spoiler warning and bad writing.

CHAPTER 2 of the Dark Cell series

Series Masterlist Official Masterlist

This is long awaited! I'm sorry that this has taken so long but I have been making fanfics on Wattpad recently and if you are a fellow fanfic writer you understand how much unnecessary time it takes to come up with ideas and lines to make your character come to life. Thank you all for being so patient with me! Also, requests are open, and I will be redoing my master list, so look out for that. I have been influenced so yes, this is going to become a series so stay tuned! Now that I finished this part I have more motivation to actually write for this! I’d you want to be tagged in the series let me know! Thank you so much for reading<3

(if there is third person slip ups I’m sorry, I’m just so used to writing in third person :( )

The exchanges took place every night at around 1 a.m., and it had for the past seven days.

You would arrive carrying a plate or bowl of whatever leftover food you had managed to swipe from the kitchen or some dinner from the meals you would share with Negan. 

You had aimed to make the food before you went down so that it was still hot but it was risky as, there was a large chance that one of Negan's men would notice and alert your father, which would raise suspicion. 

The food consisted of Sandwiches, chicken, pasta, fish, soup and wraps. 

You wished you could do it more often, but you knew that it would largely increase the chances of you getting caught. 

You knew your punishment wouldn't be anywhere near how severe Daryl's would be. You also knew that as much as you pleaded your father would allow his pawns to have their fun in harming the long-haired man. You weren't quite sure why your father's men were so willing to starve and beat a man senseless to appear strong. Men and their egos you supposed. 

Your father could preach all he wanted about how he would do anything for his daughter, how he would move mountains to appease you. How he would kill anyone who dared to disrespect you (he had) but yet he couldn't try and be a better man. He couldn't put his rage and grieve the wicked world had caused him and help people instead of torturing broken people and turning people who wanted to survive into heartless killers. Turn them into him. 

You couldn't say you hated your father. You never could. But that certainly didn't mean you agreed with half the things he did. 

You could tell he cared what you thought of him. You were the last thing he had of your mother, but that didn't mean he listened to you when you expressed your opinion. 

You and your father were close before all of this happened, well before you found out about his affair. After that day you hated everything about him. Even when your mother got sick and he stood by her, did everything for her. You weren't sure if it was because of how guilty he felt for betraying her or because he loved her. 

Normally you would insist on it being the first but now she was at a loss. 

Since your mother's demise, your once childish but thoughtful father had turned into a power-hungry greedy man. At first you gave him the benefit of the doubt. He was grieving and was trying to find a way to cope with the loss of the woman he loved but it was as though he was forgetting that his daughter had lost her mother.

He wanted to make you happy, so he gifted you the biggest room in the sanctuary and allowed you to purchase whatever you desired without working, though you often helped with the growing crops in the back of the sanctuary. Your father never really liked the idea of her around the fence but he backed down after a heated argument between you. He did send some of his men to keep an eye on you, he tried to be discreet but his men were less than. 

You always made sure to bring a large glass of tap water from your room down to his cell, wanting to at least make sure he didn't die of dehydration. 

You knew that his physical health wasn't as bad as it was before but you knew that his mental health was still declining. He had been locked in the tiny cell for weeks on end, the only sound filling his ears was the constant lyrics of the song 'East Street'. 

The bags under his eyes were proof enough of the lack of sleep he had been receiving. The way his eyes could barely focus on one thing when you would bring him his meals was another important factor in your conclusion. 

Since your visits had become more frequent he had uttered his name quietly into the comfortable silence that had filled the cell as he hastily inhaled what was in front of him. It was so quiet that you had barely heard him, but once you realized that it wasn't your imagination you smiled softly to yourself before muttering your name as well. 

In your mind, you were friends. You knew his name, he knew yours, you would bring him food, he would be thankful and you were both the highlight of each other's day. 

Daryl- because he wasn't rapidly dropping weight as he had been before from his lack of food, which in turn kept his brain running so he could coax his thoughts into coming up with a plan to escape his captivity. Plus your company wasn't so bad he reckoned.

You- because you got to meet another survivor from a rivalling group, you had heard your father angrily ranting to his soldiers about how this mysterious group had taken out one of his many posts and killed everyone in it. 

You were shocked at how brutal this group could be but you knew that your father could be even more heartless and it was proven when a week later whispers were passed along through the sanctuary that your father had partaken in another one of his lineups and had bashed in two members of Daryl's groups heads in with Lucille. 

You knew that Daryl's group had killed countless people, saviours but at least their families and friends didn't have to see it, as apparently the people from the outpost were killed while they slept. It was a very cowardly way to kill but it was better in a way, they didn't see it coming. 

You clutched the tray of food which consisted of a slice of ham from a pig the saviours had recently slaughtered as a way to celebrate the new community they had under their control, standing with the other few that they had taken over. With a side of carrots that you had picked herself to give him some energy. 

Then finally a generous helping of mashed potatoes to fill him up, as you knew that a small sandwich was going to get him through the day. Well, you guessed it was two, as Dwight had made sure to feed him a dog food sandwich every other day to keep him going. A dark pork gravy from the brand Bisto (clubhouse is better but whatever) that was covering a large portion of the potatoes. Your father did always say that you made it taste even better when you made it.

Your eyes peeked around the sharp corner to make sure Arat was on her way to her break that she always made sure to hide, always quick on her feet to head to her room to get several strong minutes of shut-eye. 

Your eyes caught sight of Arat quietly creeping her way further and further away from Daryl's new home. You waited a couple of minutes until you were sure she was in her room, possibly already captivated by sleep. You placed one foot in front of the other as you too, crept down the hallway, the fear of getting caught burning fear into her veins.

You balanced the tray on one hand as you reached into your left pocket, to pull out the cell key that you had stolen from Laura, well it wasn't quite stealing, she had dropped it and hadn't even noticed. You could still remember her confused face when she caught you on the ground after catching you mid-grab. You smiled at her and played it off as if you were tying your shoe, which she bought as she shot you a smile and continued on with her ranting. 

You turned the key clockwise into the rusting metal, smiling in satisfaction when the lock clicked quietly as a sign that it was now unlocked.

The creak that was loudly pulled from the door as it was opened left you cringing as you quickly shuffled into the room, closing the door until there was only a fragment of it for a little bit of light but it wasn't large enough to draw suspicion towards your meetings. 

You could already see Daryl gazing up at you as you pulled the door closed, before lowering yourself to the floor, holding your hands out as a sign for him to take the plate which he did. He had loosened up a large amount since you had started being him food a week ago. 

He was still stand-offish and didn't like to talk about his group which you didn't blame him for, you were with the enemy, you were his daughter. You weren't sure if he knew of your status at the sanctuary but if he did, it didn't come from you. It had already taken a great amount of effort to gain his trust and you wouldn't want it broken just because of who your father was. 

If he brought it up, you would talk to him about it, but for now, you didn't want to risk losing one of the only people that didn't just suck up to you because they wanted more points or because they were scared to face your father's wrath if they hurt your feelings. 

"Hey, sorry I was late, Arat took longer than usual to hit the deck." You quickly explained as expected the food in a curious glint in his eyes. "It's ham. Sorry, I didn't know if you liked it but they just killed a pig and me and my-... I had some for dinner earlier, it was good... and there's potatoes obviously, there's some cheese in them too with carrots and gravy." His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you in question just as he had been since you had almost slipped up. "Don't worry, it's not poisoned well... at least I hope it isn't because I ate the same thing but I guess we'll find out."

He let a harsh breath out of his nose that sounded similar to a laugh before he picked up the metal fork before shoving a large bite of potatoes in his mouth, a barely audible groan fell from his lips as he continued to inhale the food, not even bothering to use the knife that you had brought to cut the meat, opting to just pick it up with his hands. 

If it was anyone else you would find the wild eating disgusting, but you understood. He was being starved as a torture method to force him into submission. You had seen this countless times, but nearly all had caved within the first few days. It was shocking to you how strong he was. If it had been you... you weren't sure how long you could last if you were in the same position. 

From how wild he was eating you could only assume today wasn't the day he got fed from Dwight. 

You assumed you did well with the amount of food you had given him. 

You kept your eyes trained on the opened part of the door to make sure the coast was clear still. Normally this side of the sanctuary was almost always deserted, but since Daryl as been held here, you had noticed a lot of working people wanted to catch a glimpse of one of the Alexandrians who had killed numerous soldiers. You weren't sure if was from fear or awe. 

"Why are you doing this." He asked as he looked up from his half-eaten plate of food, to examine you while you spoke as if to see if you would lie to him. 

"I don't like how he's handing this. I mean... what your group did was wrong. Really wrong. But what he's doing to you isn't right. No one should have to deal with this. I mean other than rapists, pedophiles, or child killers. I mean murder is really bad but there are some ways to excuse it, like self-defence but I mean the worlds over. People kill each other every day to survive. Don't make it right but it makes sense. You did what you thought you had to, to 'save' your group." You ranted slightly as you looked down.

"So you're doing this because I deserve better?" Daryl asked with a quiet snort as though he couldn't fathom the thought of someone actually thinking he was a decent guy. 

"Everyone deserves better in some way. But no, some people just need a little help sometimes. You do, so I'm trying to help you." You said as watched him proceed with eating.

He looked up at you after he took yet another bite of his food. "I ain't need no help." He dismissed with a huff as he finished the last of his food.

"Obviously you do. Everybody does. You're no exception." You disagreed as he watched for any signs of Arat possibly returning earlier than usual.

"So why ya helping me? I'm sure the big man has more bitchs." He all but growled as he thought about your father causing your face to drop slightly as he kept your eyes away from him, in hopes of him not being able to see your full life story from just the shine in your eyes. Daryl looked like the type to be able to, you thought.

"He has some other... people in cells-" You were cut off by Daryl as he let out a dangerous scoff that should have had you scared. You were in a closed space with someone who wanted your father dead, I mean sure he didn't know that you and the man he hated most shared the same blood but it didn't matter. You were a Smith and that would never change. No matter how much you hoped and prayed that your father would suddenly turn a new leaf, it never seemed to happen. So at some point, you just saved your previously wasted breath. 

"Ya mean prisoners?" He spoke sharply, his words not a question but a statement, showcasing how enraged he truly was with her father. 

"Yeah...prisoners. There is some down here, yes. But they deserve it." You said while shaking your head as you thought about the awful people that were locked down here.

"Ain't nobody deserve this shit." He said with his whole chest as his eyes scanned your face with a mixture of hate and disgust at your words. You couldn't blame him though, he was locked in a cell and you had just said that the people locked in them deserved it. 

"They're awful people. Rapists, child killers, people who kill without reason-"

"I ain't no rapist and I ain't no child killers. Me and my people had every righ-"

"Nobody has a right to take someone's life. Who made us god? When did we get to choose who got to live and who got to die?" You argued as you furrowed your brows at the man's words.

"How bout' ya tell yer buddy that? He killed my friends." He raised his voice louder than necessary which earned him a dirty look from you as you peeked out of the sliver of the door that shined light into the cell and once you were sure no one was coming with guns raised you turned back to face him. 

"You killed dozens of his men while they were sleeping. You do realize that, right? I'm not saying what he did was right either, but you're lucky he didn't kill more of your people." You ranted slightly as you looked at him in confusion, he was so stuck in his own misery that he wasn't thinking about how other people were affected by his and his group's actions. 

"Lucky? He bashed my friend's heads in." He said angrily but it was quiet. As if trying to scare you into submission but you didn't back down.

"And I'm sorry for your friends. I really am. But you couldn't have thought that your group could get away with slaughtering- and it was a slaughtering,  his men and get away scot-free. You killed his soldiers. He takes that shit as a personal attack. So when I say I'm surprised he didn't kill more of you I mean it." 

"One of my friends' wives was pregnant' ya think she deserved ta see that? Now tha' kid's gonna grow up without a father."

"Of course not. That's awful and I'm so sorry...but some of the men and women you slaughtered had kids. Wives. Parents. They had people who loved them too. One of the men, Mike, had a pregnant wife at one of the other outposts. She was eight months and gave birth to her baby girl two days after he died. Alone. And a woman, Mel, just got married to the man she loved, they were trying for a baby... He killed himself last week. Hung himself in his room all alone." You paused for a moment to see if he was going to speak up but when he didn't, you continued.

"An-and a woman named Willow had a baby at another outpost. Now that baby has to grow up without a mother. Another man named Carlos was an only child and had to work for points to provide for his parents. They're old and can't do it themselves. Now they're barely eating and are so depressed that their health is deteriorating, we're not sure how long they have left. So I'm sorry that your friends lost people they cared about but you didn't just get your group hurt with your guy's actions. You guys ruined so many lives that night." 

You finished your rant as you shook your head, looking up at him only to see him looking down at his hands, his overgrown hair hung low to cover his eyes, masking his true reaction.

"I'm not trying to say that your friends' deaths don't matter but you can't just go around acting like you didn't kill people either. Like everyone else's pain doesn't matter to not feel guilty. But it does." You said quietly before deciding you had spent long enough in the stuffy cell. You reached over, grabbing the plate from in front of him before pulling yourself to your feet. You waited for him to speak again but he didn't bother and once you turned around he noticed that he hadn't moved from his place. 

"Good night." You shook your head before he pulled the creaky door open a little more so the gap was large enough to fit your body through, closing it until you felt the metal clank quietly against metal. 

You pulled out the key and shoved it into the lock, twisting it quickly before you heard quiet footsteps walking down the hallway from where Arat had left from. It seemed like you had left at the perfect time, you supposed.

You quietly but hastily quickened your pace until you were at the same corner you had looked over from around fifteen minutes prior. 

You watched as Arat ran a hand over her short black and bleached blonde hair as she let out a yawn, swaying on her feet slightly from the over-tiredness she was experiencing, which was probably in full swing by the shortness of her sleep. 

You let out a quiet sigh of relief before you quietly made your way in the direction of her room, the plate held tightly in your grasp as you walked past the mostly deserted sanctuary, sending a small smile to some of the saviours on watch duty. Most sent one back your way, while others seemed annoyed at the fact that they had duty at all, leaving them too aggravated to bother.

You were about to turn the handle of your door when you heard a voice stop you.

"Baby? What are you doin' up? It's late." Your father's voice stopped you in your tracks. A part of you wanted to run into your room and pretend that you had been sleepwalking but you knew your father knew you better than that and could almost always tell when you were fake sleeping. It was an odd talent if you were to be frank. So you turned around with a smile and spoke.

"I couldn't sleep. Decided to take a walk." You lied.

"With an empty plate of food?" He asked with raised eyebrows a sarcastic smirk on his face.

"...I got hungry on the way. Just heated up some leftovers from dinner. Didn't know that was a crime, Dad." You huffed in an attempt to sound believable.

"It's late. You could have woken me up. I would have walked with you." He said as he studied you. 

"Seriously, dad? Literal armed guards are crawling the place. I think I'm okay walking to the kitchen. Plus you barely sleep as it is." You rolled your eyes at his mindset.

"I always have time for you, hunny... so who's the boy? Or girl. I don't discriminate. Hell, ya could be in love with a goddamn pumpkin and I would still approve. Maybe a little weirded out but hey, we all have our kinks." He smirked but his nose scrunched up slightly as he realized he was talking to his daughter and not one of his henchmen. 

"Oh, wow, you figured it out. His name is Donteatmyseedsplease. I didn't want to keep it from you but I don't think you would approve. I'm so very glad I have your support, father dearest." You said in an overly happy voice even your eyes rolled with almost every word you spoke. You turned back to your door and turned ten knob, not going in as though to not give your father the opportunity to join you.

"You'll have to bring him over for dinner sometime we'll have squash." 

"That wasn't funny Dad." 

"Damn, you know how to wound a man's ego. Good girl, I taught you well." He said in a proud tone.

"I'm exhausted. Can we talk tomorrow? I wanted to talk to you about something actually..." You spoke as you pushed your door open even wider than it had been and started to make her way into your large room.

"That's never good." He groaned before he leaned over to land a kiss atop your head. "I'll see you tomorrow, baby. I'm busy but I always have time for you." He pulled away and sent a smile your way which you returned before closing the door and leaning against it. A sigh of relief left your lips as you realized you were in the clear.

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[eccentricallygothic]

not to be a slut but my eyes and heart were crying for glenn and abe but my pussy was crying for negan and simon

[ficnation]

Chapter 2

Series: The Cockroach

Word count: 2,2k+

Pairings: Negan Smith x Reader; Lucille Smith x Reader; Negan Smith x Lucille Smith

Warnings: usual twd themes

A/n: Let me know what you think about this series! I really hope you enjoyed the first two chapters ☺️

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“This is your emergency broadcast system announcing a message from the government,” the feminine voice on the radio spoke, making your ears perk up. “As of two hours ago, the President of the United States of America has declared a state of emergency, and we ask that all residents be ready for evacuation at any time.”

You resisted the urge to continue slurping the burning hot tea in order to hear the mysterious announcement. In your mind, you tried to guess what the fuss was all about.

“A curfew will shortly begin. If you have not been evacuated by midnight, all citizens are to report immediately to their homes, no matter what.”

The man beside you looked up at the radio sitting on the wooden surface of the countertop right by the broken stove that he promised to fix exactly four months ago. He wore a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt that you were fairly certain belonged to you. The nail clippers he held tightly between his long fingers fell to the floor with a clank. Your attention snapped to your blue-eyed friend, and his foot propped up on your kitchen island.

“Have I already told you that you’re disgusting?” You spun around to face him, curling up your legs and resting them on the swivel chair you sat on.

“Yeah, like a hundred times. I just like disrespecting you in your own apartment. It’s fun,” he said with smugness in his voice as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the back of the stool.

At his words, you kicked out your legs and jabbed your sock-clad toes into his side in an unsuccessful attempt to push him off the chair. But the fucker has seen it coming and caught your lower limbs in a tight grip, hugging them to his chest like a newborn baby.

You tried to get your legs out of his grasp, but your attempts remained unsuccessful. In fact, the more you thrashed around and struggled, the tighter he gripped them. You huffed and gave up, trying to free yourself from his hold. A small smile spread across his lips when you ceased your efforts.

“I hate you,” you mumbled out, crossing your arms over your chest with a huff.

He simply chuckled and patted one of your legs. “I know you do, honeypie,” he said way too sweetly.

After he noticed your expression darken slightly, he puckered up his lips, sending you an air kiss, and you patted his stubbled cheek in response, perhaps a little too harshly, twisting your torso in the direction of the radio. The room went unusually quiet, except for the static noise of the device.

When you started doubting ever hearing an emergency message, the announcement lady spoke up once more, “Due to an unknown virus, some civilians are attacking animals and people. Please avoid contact with others and evacuate from big cities immediately. If you are unable to do that, stay indoors and barricade yourself.”

Your eyes widened slightly before you glanced over at your friend, whose brows were furrowed in thought. His gaze drifted up to meet yours. “I’m betting fifty bucks that it’s a cannibal cult.”

“Whatever you say.”

The man beside you reached out for the pink utensil in front of you, the one filled with your precious field berry tea. Before his fingers could even graze it, you stuck out your tongue and dipped it in the liquid. The painful burning made you immediately regret that action, but you swallowed down the burn, keeping your face stoic despite the pain. You knew that if you showed even a bit of discomfort, your friend would burst out laughing. His grin left his face, and you knew this was another battle won.

“Alright, alright! I’m not touching it,” he said, throwing his hands in the air in an act of surrender. His little demonstration wasn’t enough for you.

You slurped the tasty beverage loudly, eyeing him from the corner of your eye. You lifted your head away from the mug. “I don’t trust you, Murphy.”

Murphy’s hand shot out again to steal your tea, but you slapped it away, stopping it inches from the cup. “What did I do to deserve this treatment?” he whined as he rubbed his injured hand.

“You’re lucky I’m nice or I’d beat your ass, old man,” you mumbled out, sending him a warning glance.

“You wound me, dollface.”

The radio went silent before crackling loudly. The noise ate up a chunk of the government’s emergency message before it stopped, and the stoic voice of the reporter echoed through the room once again, “A person infected by the virus can be recognized by unhealthy pale skin and loud growling. It’s nearly impossible to physically restrain the infected, so if you happen to come across one, get as far away from them as you can. We repeat: this is an emergency broadcast system. Please proceed with caution.” The voice switched to static before fading out completely, and the apartment was eerily silent for a few moments.

You licked away stray drops of the tea from your lips with the tip of your tongue. “That’s it?” you asked, raising your eyebrow in suspicion.

Murphy shrugged in reply. “Sounds like a joke to me.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing full well he wasn’t even thinking about the government’s message, his mind probably preoccupied with the most random dumb thought a human could muster up. Murphy let your legs fall from his grasp before bending down to pick up the nail clippers off the floor. He propped his left foot back on the counter, getting ready to attack his poor toenails, but you took the torture device from his hand before he could even start.

“I was in the middle of some-” His protest was cut short by the loud banging on the door. Murphy met your wide eyes, confusion written all over his face. “Did you order pizza?”

“No, I don’t think so. Maybe it’s one of the neighbors.”

When you moved to get up from the chair and answer the door, he pushed you back into the seat. You protested loudly with a groan and a swat to his arm. If the radio announcement was a joke like he thought, then you had no reason to be afraid to open that damn door.

“Listen, what if the lady was telling the truth? Maybe we have some apocalyptic situation going on.”

You let out a snort before jumping off the chair and letting your legs lead you toward the door. “It’s too early for anything bad to be happening. I’ll just go see what they want,” you said while heading towards the exit without waiting for a reply from the man behind you.

You opened the door, expecting a frantic neighbor or maybe an angry cop looking for you for trespassing or other bullshit things you did the day before. You didn’t expect to find a stranger on the other side of the door. The sickly-looking man with shaggy hair stood there with a panicked expression painted all over his pale face.

“Can I help you?” you asked calmly as you took a step forward, blocking his vision of the inside of the apartment.

Your eyes tried to maintain contact with his, but he didn’t make it easy, darting his sunken orbs from left to right. You blinked, puzzled, scrunching your nose a little bit annoyed. Maybe it was just a random junkie that got the wrong door. You raised your hand and snapped your fingers right in front of his face.

Only then did the man finally look at you with wide eyes, his mouth opening, and closing as he stuttered in fear. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, which only served to increase your growing annoyance and unsettlement. He looked like he didn’t know at all why he was standing right in front of your door.

“Sir, please tell me what you need and I can take care of it. What’s your name?” you added, placing your hands on your hips. You looked the man up and down, noting that his left arm had bloody bite marks on it. “Do you want me to call 911?”

His breathing quickened as his body began trembling slightly. You weren’t sure if he reacted this way because of your words or something entirely else. You waited patiently, but nothing else came out of his mouth for several minutes. His silence made your hands shake.

You had a bad feeling about this situation but couldn’t force yourself to close the door right in front of his face. What if he really needed help but was mute or in shock? You would feel like a total asshole if it was the case.

Murphy called your name from inside the apartment, and when he didn’t receive any response because you were too busy having a stare-off competition with the stranger, he rushed over, cursing under his nose. When he crossed the corner and saw you, he sighed with relief.

“Who is that?” he asked, standing behind you and throwing the stranger a mean look. He took note of the bite marks and the state the unknown man was in. It was all pretty suspicious.

“I have no idea. I think he might need help,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders, pretending that the whole situation didn’t creep you out at all. Murphy has known you for years, so he quickly saw through your bluff. He gently pushed you backward, stepping in front of you to shield you away.

“Do you need us to call 911, man?” His voice turned defensive while he stared off the other man. Damn, he was not going to play into some nice guy, helpful citizen bullshit just because that creepy dude was injured.

It took you by surprise when the stranger finally opened his mouth to speak.

“I… I got bit. I’m going to die. I’m going to turn into one of those monsters, right?” he mumbled out, barely comprehensible. When he didn’t get a verbal response, just two pairs of eyes staring at him dumbfounded, he yelled, “Right?! No one can help me now!” He yanked Murphy by his shirt, screaming and crying.

“Hey man, get your fucking hands off me!”

You panicked, taking a few steps back. What the fuck was that guy talking about? The bite marks on his arm didn’t look lethal; they weren’t even bleeding much anymore. Why did he think he would die? You decided he must’ve been on some strong shit that made him hallucinate, or maybe he was just off his rocker. No other explanation came to your mind.

Murphy pushed the stranger away with a sneer. That guy definitely went too far, and it resulted in the door slamming shut right in his face. It was deserved; he scared you half to death. You decided to call 911 because somebody had to do something about this man. It wouldn’t be very “neighborly” of you to just let him roam around the building, scaring people.

Your friend locked the door tightly, ushering you out of the corridor before following you back to the kitchen. Concern was written across his bearded face. You sat down on the swivel chair, taking a slow deep breath of relief. Lucille crossed your mind. You wondered if she was safe.

The brunet walked up to the counter, standing on the other side, right across from you. He also breathed in deeply, leaning his elbows on the counter and running his hands down his face in exasperation.

“Shit, why did you even open that door?!” he mumbled out quite aggressively, probably more to himself than to you. His eyes met your wide ones, and he groaned out loud.

“I didn’t look through the peephole,” you admitted quietly, taking your pink mug back into your trembling hands. The cup was empty, but you couldn’t find the strength to acknowledge that fact. You knew you should have been more careful.

Usually, you’d get Murphy in a headlock all pissed off for raising his voice at you and ready to make him apologize, but that stranger really did a number on you. You put the cup down and made your way toward the sink to get yourself a glass of water in hopes that it’d calm you down a little bit.

“That’s just plainly dumb. What if he attacked you?” He stared holes into the back of your head. The blue-eyed man was really concerned for you. The possibility that someone could’ve tried to harm you and he wouldn’t even be standing by your side to protect you didn’t sit well with him.

“But he didn’t,” you noticed before taking a sip of the cold water.

“But he could,” he argued, staring at you, but you wouldn’t face him. Murphy walked up to you and embraced you from behind, circling his arms around your waist and pulling you close to his chest. He sighed loudly before continuing, “I know you’re like a damn cockroach, but be more careful for me, yeah?”

“I will try, I promise,” you assured him, your face softening at his concern. He just wanted you to be safe; you couldn’t be mad at him for that. It wouldn’t be fair.

You put the glass down and turned around so you could crane your head to leave a kiss on the underside of your jaw. Murphy looked down to meet your gentle gaze and peck your forehead, his scratchy stubble making you giggle.

“You know I’m gonna hold you to this promise, you little shit?”

@whiskeypowder @hopefulatrocity @witheringblooddemon @humanmistakes @yttricuz @twdeadlysins @donttelltheelff @spidergirla5 @sexyseabass @sweetpotatospock @witchygagirl @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @missbeeentertainment