#twd

[darkficslover]

I love it. Love the dynamic between Rick and reader <333

I was wondering if you could do an enemies to lovers?? I’m so original, but maybe where they are on a run and get lose, and get into a huge fight because reader says they’re lost, but Rick is too stubborn to admit it:) plzzz and thank you!! Also love your posts btw, the bests toe curling pussy twisting smut I’ve read

Hurts So Good || Rick Grimes 18+ ❣Darker❣

Thank you so much for the request 💗 I LOVE enemies to lovers and I tried to make it up to you 💕

Soooo it's new for me to write Rick that way. Please look into my trigger warnings and I hope there are some people liking it 👉🏼👈🏼💗

Trigger: cnc (?), gun play, breeding, degrading, sir kink, darker Rick yeah he's a warning and my usual smutty stuff

You stuff a blanket in the trunk of the car and listen to your best friend talk about her new boyfriend. 

You love her to death, but since you arrived in Alexandria, she barely talks about anything but Spencer. Spencer this. Spencer that.

Somehow the two of them found each other and actually got together. That has changed your topics of conversation. 

So you grit your teeth and listen to the oh-so-awesome Spencer bring her a bouquet of flowers yesterday.

It's not that you're jealous or anything. 

No, you don't even feel like getting involved with a guy, but you just don't like Spencer and you let him feel that every time.

Now, though, you're a good friend and smile at her, "Sweetie, I gotta go."

Several times she blinks at you, as if she's forgotten why you packed some things in the car behind you, before sighing, "Oh yeah. How long is the run scheduled for?"

You shrug and lean your butt against the car, "I don't know. Rick wasn't sure how long we'd be on the road, so I packed a few things for several days and nights."

She nods slowly and you take a deep breath, "I don't even know where we are going."

You notice her glance sideways past you and know she's looking at Rick, who's a few feet away discussing something with Michonne.

Without looking at you, she says, "I'd really like to go with you."

Surprised, your eyebrows go up. Your best friend is not a person who likes to be out in the outside world. She likes the safety of Alexandria, and that's probably why she fell in love with Spencer.

When she looks at you again, she notices your gaze and shrugs, "Not that I necessarily want to fight walkers. I'm happy to leave that up to you. But I'd just like to see you in a little car with Rick, trying not to go for each other's throats."

You roll your eyes, but can't hold back a grin.

The fact is, you already like Rick just fine, it's just that your kind of 'friendship' is driving each other crazy. 

Much to the sake of everyone else. That's why it's better that it's just the two of you and you can pick each other apart in peace.

You're about to say something back when you hear Rick call out, "Are you done, sweetheart?"

Again you roll your eyes and smile at him sugary sweet, "Whenever you are, sugar bum."

The nickname Rick gave you at the very beginning gets on your nerves and he knows it very well, that's why he calls you by your real name extremely rarely and always teases you with his stupid 'sweetheart'.

The way he pronounces the word with his broad southern accent sometimes makes you blush unintentionally and to cover that you started to give him the strangest nicknames in between. 

As always, he doesn't seem to care and nods goodbye to Michonne, which is your sign to say goodbye to your friend as well.

She frowns, "Sugar bum?"

You bite your lower lip, "I couldn't think of anything else."

She doesn't respond for a moment, until she bursts out laughing, "Oh my God..."

Smiling, you pull her into your arms and murmur, "Take care of yourself" in her ear.

"You take care of yourself, too."

Before you let her go, she whispers softly, "You blushed again, honey. Watch out you don't start drooling if he calls you that again."

Gently, you punch her in the arm and hiss, "I won't."

As she looks you in the face, it feels like she knows more than you do and you have to avert your eyes.

Slowly, you walk around the car and climb into the passenger seat.

You'll have another quick glance at your friend as Rick opens the door to the driver's seat and drops into it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him push the sleeves of his blue shirt further up and then pull the door shut.

Without a word to you, he shifts into first gear and drives through the open gate.

You suppress a soft sigh and lean your head against the window beside you. 

For a long time you don't speak a word to each other and you think that Rick doesn't want to start a fight as long as you depend on each other beyond all measure.

After a few hours, you exchange positions and he calmly instructs you to follow the road until you come to the next intersection. When you ask him approximately how long that will take, he just mutters, "Long enough, sweetheart."

You stifle a comment that his answer is vague and start up.

Again and again you look over at him out of the corner of your eye and at some point his soft snoring enters your ear.

Unwillingly, you have to smile and now look at him properly.

His head is leaning against the window pane, like yours before, and his arms are crossed in front of his chest.

Although you can't see his eyes, you know they're exactly the same color as his shirt, and because he has those beautiful dark curls, his eyes always seem much brighter in the daylight.

You catch yourself thinking about him way too hard and jerk your head back around to look at the street. 

Again and again you repeat in your head: I don't care how beautiful his eyes are.

For some time you force yourself to look at the road, but eventually you weaken again and look back at the sleeping leader next to you.

He wrinkles his nose slightly in his sleep and you can't help but notice how soft and almost innocent he looks in his sleep. You could easily forget how many people he has already killed with his hands, looking at his soft features now.

Even with the grayish beard, he looks much younger in his sleep and as you catch yourself staring at his pink slightly parted lips, you mutter, "Holy shit."

It's not supposed to be that loud, but immediately Rick slams his eyes open growling, "What's wrong?"

Sleepily, he looks at you and frowns. All softness is gone from his features and you don't even realize you're still staring at him until he grumbles, "Look at the road and not at me."

The fact that he caught you staring at him by your own stupidity, makes you blush and you immediately look back at the road, "Sorry."

Now it's you who feels his gaze on you, praying that he'll just let it go, but hope is in vain, "What happened?"

"Nothing," your voice is a little too high and you hear Rick sigh softly, "Then why were you staring at me like that?"

His snotty question, makes you snap, "I wasn't staring at you, you dumbass."

"So did you strain your neck or what?" he teases. 

He knows for a fact that you were staring at him and now he's going to use it to drive you up the wall, which unfortunately works out just fine, "You were snoring so loud I wanted to make sure you weren't going to use it to attract walkers."

He snorts and you mentally pat yourself on the back.

You can finally get back to focusing on the track ahead of you.

You drive for what seems like an eternity on the road Rick told you about, then ask him, "Are you sure this is the right place? It doesn't look like there's anything here."

You've long since left the housing complexes and now there's nothing here but woods. Not even a small field where you could find crops is visible and you frown, "Rick?"

By the time you look to him, he's pulled out a map too and seeing his lost look, you groan, "You have no idea where we are."

His jaw tenses before he growls, "I know exactly where we are."

You spot a narrow path at the edge of the woods and pull off to stop, then turn in your seat to Rick, "Where are we, Sheriff?"

Vaguely he points to a spot on the map and you lean over to take a look at it too, "You don't think we're anywhere near Atlanta yourself, do you? We should have seen the skyline by now, Rick."

The forest he points to is close to the big city, and when you left Alexandria, you were going in the opposite direction.

But of course Rick wouldn't admit he has no idea which forest you're parked in, "The trees are just so tall we can't see the skyline."

You lean forward some more and your chest brushes his arm, "Why don't you just admit you have no idea where we are and let us out of this damn forest?"

He stiffens a little and then grumbles, "I know where we are."

You groan in annoyance, "Oh Rick." If your breasts weren't touching his upper arm, you wouldn't have even noticed, but he flinches as the words leave your mouth and immediately you blush.

You know what he must be thinking about and then you quickly say, "Swallow your pride and admit that you got us in deep shit."

Rick snorts and turns his head in your direction. 

Because you're still leaning so close to him, his face is suddenly way too close and you slide back into your seat as he growls, "Maybe it's your fault if I couldn't tell you 100% where we are right now."

You laugh out loud because he phrases it as if it's just a possibility and not a fact that he doesn't know what shitty forest you're hanging out in, "My fault? How so? YOU told me to take the road."

He throws the map in the back seat and looks at you with bright eyes, "I told you to go all the way to the intersection. It's not my fault you stared at me for half the drive and probably passed the intersection when you needed to catch your drool."

Staring at him in disbelief, you almost shriek, "You miserable asshole."

You yank open the car door and get out, because if you didn't, you'd rip Rick's head off. 

But instead of leaving you alone, he gets out too and you throw your arms up in the air, "How could I have ever gotten involved in going on a run with you?"

You go back and forth, "If we croak, it's your fault. Only your fault. You got that?"

Rick thrusts his hands on his hips and growls, "Sure, if it makes you happy."

Jerking, you look him in those ridiculously beautiful eyes, "Happy? You know what would make me happy?"

Your voice becomes shrill, "If I wasn't standing in the middle of nowhere with you."

You can see him struggling for self-control and clenching his hands into fists, "We. Are. Not. Lost." Every word is a growl and you turn your back on him, "I'll check the road for a sign so I know where we are if you're too proud for that."

You take a step and he demands, "You stay here."

Laughing in disbelief, you look at him over your shoulder, "Oh yeah? I'm certainly not taking orders from you now."

He takes a step toward you, "Stay here."

At his full height, he towers over you significantly and if he were to reach out, he could touch you. Challengingly you look at him, "Or what, Rick? What are you going to do if I just leave now and let you sit here, huh?"

Something you can't place flashes in his eyes and your eyes lock onto his Adam's apple as he swallows hard.

Suddenly your throat goes dry and instead of just going and leaving like you cockily announced, you stop in front of him and wait for his reaction.

You blame it on the adrenaline in your veins that you suddenly feel the need to reach out and put your hand on his chest. 

To feel his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Your body leans towards him, that's when you hear a crack in the bushes and before you can even react, Rick has already drawn his gun and is aiming at whatever should come out from between the trees.

Groaning, a lone walker emerges from the trees and when Rick doesn't lower his gun, you put your hand on the cold barrel of the gun and press it down a bit: "We can take him."

He doesn't quite lower the gun and looks down at you, breathing heavily.

You give him a weak smile, "Let me do that."

Gently you push the gun down even further and when he finally lowers it, you disengage from him and pull the knife on your thigh.

This one walker gives you no trouble and as he lies dead at your feet, you turn back to Rick who is watching you.

Still holding the gun, he looks to you and you clear your throat quietly, "What, you need to get something off your chest?"

The silence is cutting until he harshly demands, "Come here."

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief, "Haven't we been through this? I don't take orders from you."

His eyes don't leave you for a second as he lifts his chin slightly and hisses, "You come here now, or I'll come to you, and you don't want that. Trust me."

Your whole body screams to move toward him to find out what he wants, but your stubbornness is not so easily put out of action, "Rick-"

The knuckles around his gun turn white, "Now."

The tone in his voice actually makes you walk toward him, and as soon as you're within his reach, he grabs you by the arm and tugs you toward the hood.

His grip is so tight that you struggle against him, suddenly feeling something like panic as you realize you don't stand a chance against Rick.

He pushes you in front of him like a doll and presses your upper body onto the hood.

Panicked, you try to push yourself up with your hands, but his hand is heavy on your back and you flounder helplessly on the hood, "What are you doing? Let go of me!"

Your breathing becomes frantic and you can hardly believe it, but you're actually afraid of Rick.

When you think about how innocently he was sleeping next to you in the car earlier and now he's forcing you to bend over the hood, you feel sick.

You try to take a deep breath and relax as best you can as you murmur as softly as you can, "Let go of me, please."

Never having thought about how strong Rick actually is, you force yourself not to fidget as he takes a step closer behind you and you feel his leg against your thigh.

You barely recognize his voice as he whispers, "Stop talking, sweetheart."

Your heart stops for a moment at your nickname and you have to suppress a soft whimper as you feel his hand on your neck.

He's so...close to you. 

You can barely think straight through fear and what feels like arousal.

Rick can feel your resistance slowly weakening and he dares to loosen his grip on your neck a little. 

When you don't move an inch, he whispers softly, "Good girl."

Shit, he totally digs it when you push up against him. He loves the games you always play when you're teasing each other. He enjoys every minute of it, but after all that shit today, he's had enough.

In fact, he has no idea where you guys are and you having to rub it in his face all the time is driving him nuts.

He sees himself as a pretty controlled man, but as he watched you take out the walker, he couldn't suppress the feeling of finally breaking you for him.

How much he wants you to submit to him is almost laughable.

Quietly, you lie on the hood in front of him and he can't help but look at your pretty ass, which is maddening in those tight jeans.

Rick takes a deep breath and closes his eyes as his cock presses uncomfortably against his pants.

He doesn't really think about it as he rests his gun-holding hand on your soft ass and the cold barrel of the gun slides between your thighs. Roughly you groan and push yourself against him a bit, which surprises you so much yourself that you wince and hope that he hasn't noticed.

The hope quickly disappears as he pulls the barrel a little higher again and you take a loud breath.

Watching your body react is mesmerizing and he stares at your ass, which keeps trying to push against him, "Sweetheart?"

Mortified, you close your eyes and murmur, "Yes, Rick?"

He releases his hand from your neck and briefly you think about straightening up to get away from him, but as his hand reaches around you to grab your pants, your body resists the thought of getting away from Rick's hand and you remain still on the hood, waiting to see what Rick is trying to do.

He turns a little in your direction and instead of his leg, his cock is now pressing against your thigh and he murmurs softly, "Spread your legs."

Your stomach tightens and you do as he says, which makes him laugh harshly, "Oh, when it comes to me touching your pussy, you suddenly do as I say."

It's so incredibly humiliating and you could cry as he pulls your underpants, including panties, down so far that the fabric stretches around your thighs and the cool air hits the embarrassing wetness between your legs.

Almost as if driven by self-preservation, you do try to straighten up, but he quickly pushes you back onto the hood, "Stay down."

These little moments when you seem to be struggling after all turns him on incredibly and he slides a hand between your thighs.

A jolt goes through your body as Rick's fingers brush over your most intimate spot and you hear him moan harshly.

You bite your lower lip as you feel the cool barrel of his gun contrast with his warm fingers on your skin.

He slowly slides the gun in the direction where his fingers linger and immediately you tense, "What are you doing?" You barely recognize your own voice, but you don't care and croak again, "Rick?"

He can literally feel the panic you're feeling, and it's probably completely wrong that that's exactly what's making him harder.

Rick slides the barrel of his gun between your butt cheeks, enjoying the way you flinch as the metal of the gun digs into your soft skin.

He pulls his fingers from your wetness and instead slides his gun between your already swollen labia, "You take what I give you, sweetheart."

You whimper, "You can't be serious."

Firmly he pushes the barrel of the gun an inch inside you, "Does this feel like I'm not serious?"

The barrel is wide and you so damn tight that you feel like he's tearing you apart inch by inch as he slowly pushes it inside you. As he does so, the legitimate thought that the gun is loaded fades completely into the background and all you can feel is the cold thickness penetrating deeper and deeper into you.

Groaning, you squirm and gasp, "It's too big. It hurts."

Your pussy clenches around the barrel and Rick pushes it in a little deeper again, "Does it?"

Whimpering, you nod and look up at him for the first time since he forced you over the hood.

As you look at him with eyes veiled in arousal, his cock twitches and he tilts his head a little, "Why don't you beg me to stop then?"

He pushes the barrel a little deeper into you again and you moan, "Rick..."

It feels so incredibly dirty to be at his mercy like this, and yet you want more.

Pathetically, you try not to tighten around the barrel of the gun again, taking in as much as you can, which doesn't escape Rick's notice, and he grumbles, "Then stop lying and take it like a good girl. All of it."

Trembling, you yip, "Turn me over. I want to look at you while I do it."

He pulls the gun back a little and immediately you miss how deep it was inside you.

"What was that?" 

You can tell by his voice what he wants. 

What he's always wanted. 

For you to beg him.

"Please, turn me around. I'll take anything you give me, but please...I want to look at you while I do it-" Briefly you take a breath "Sir."

Growling, he grabs your waist and reaches around you so he can spin you around so you're sitting on the hood and he can keep the barrel of the gun inside you.

With your lips slightly parted, you watch Rick pull your pants down to your calves and then climb over them so he can stand between the fabric and your body like he's trapped. 

But only you feel like you can barely breathe because he's so close to you and your pussy is still being stretched.

Finally he looks you in the face again and the pure lust in his eyes makes you lean forward and put your lips firmly on his.

Rick grabs your chin with his free hand, pushing the barrel of the gun deeper into you again.

The feeling is so intense that you break the kiss and bite his lower lip to stifle a loud groan.

With his hand on your chin, he forces you to open your mouth and release himself so he can lean in and murmur into your ear as he thrusts into you again, "Do you like that, sweetheart? Do you like me fucking you like a whore with my gun?"

The thought of what he keeps thrusting into you makes you go crazy and you bury your face in the hollow where his shoulder meets his neck to muffle your moans, "Yes, oh god yes..."

You could never tell anyone what you let him do to you and that makes it all that much more wicked.

Your moans vibrate against Rick's hold and he takes his second hand to touch your clit.

It's only a small touch, but your hands tangle in his hair and he continues to tease, "So pathetic."

He knows exactly what he's doing and what he's denying you as you start to move on his hand to get more, but the circles he draws around your clit are too slow and he knows it.

Whimpering, you cry, "Please, Rick...please, sir."

You're so pathetic in his arms that he can't suppress a laugh, "Stop whining."

He's pushed you to the point where you'll do anything for him. 

Anything just so he wouldn't stop.

Trembling, you spread your legs as wide as you can and push your hips closer to him, but his touch remains frustratingly light and gentle, making you cry, "I'm begging you...please...what do you want me to do...I'll do anything..."

He presses a little harder on your clit and your pussy tightens around the gun inside you, "Anything then?"

You jerk your head back to look him pleadingly in the eyes as you whimper, "Anything."

He loves seeing that addiction in your eyes and he tilts his head as he pulls the gun out of your dripping pussy and you moan in protest, "No..."

Rick raises his eyebrows, "First you don't want to and now you do?"

Normally you're eye-to-eye with Rick, but his cocky demeanor makes you shrink into yourself and you whisper, "Please."

His eyes slide over your soft features and flushed cheeks, and he holds the gun shiny from your wetness in front of your face, "Lick it clean."

You hesitate for a second before looking him in the beautiful blue eyes and leaning forward to put the gun in your mouth. At the taste of your own, you roll your eyes and let out a muffled moan before looking back up at him. 

Slowly, you let the gun slide out of your mouth and lick it with your tongue.

Rick can't take his eyes off you even if he wanted to.

The way you lick the gun that took so many lives, as if it were his cock and the most beautiful gift in the world, makes even the last rational thought fizzle out and he hisses, "Unzip my pants."

He sets the gun down next to you on the hood and leans back a bit as you reach for his pants with shaky hands.

His cock pressing against the fabric is hard to miss, and your mouth waters as you think of him replacing the gun that was inside you earlier with his cock now.

You undo his holster, which immediately falls to the floor, and then his belt, which holds his pants low on his hips.

Your heart hammers in your chest and you feel your wetness dripping onto the hood below you.

He watches you undo his pants and then reach for the waistband to pull them down over his ass.

His cock immediately pops out and a low moan escapes you.

Your eyes are fixed firmly on the twitching cock in front of you and your pussy clenches at the sight.

The way you sit there and can't look away is the best thing he's seen in a long time. 

The fact that a few minutes ago you were still resisting and trembling with fear, while now you are begging to be fucked by him is all he can think about.

You are still staring at his cock, when Rick grabs you by the waist and pulls you to the edge of the hood so that his tip presses against your pussy and you look him breathlessly in the eyes, "Please."

You wiggle your ass to somehow get him inside you, but his hands on your hips are firm and unyielding, "Please what, sweetheart?"

He lifts his hips a little and slides his shaft over your wetness, making you moan hoarsely, "Please, sir. Please, please, please."

You've never begged before and never intended to, but right now all you want is for him to have mercy on you and let you wrap your wet walls around him.

He leans in and his lips graze your ear, "Will you do whatever I want you to do?" His accent is wider than usual with arousal and you gasp, "Yes, sir."

Rick presses an inch into you as a reward and growls, "Always?"

Completely will-less, you press your torso against his and whimper, "Yes, sir."

Another inch, "Good girl."

His tongue licks over your neck, "Do you want my cock?"

Moaning, you close your eyes and breathe, "Yes, sir." 

Your voice breaks on the last word and as a reward Rick thrusts his hips forward replacing what was previously the barrel of the gun inside you.

The metal from his gun was cool inside you, whereas his cock twitches hot and heavy inside you, making you almost pass out.

Your hands tighten in the fabric of his shirt to find purchase as he pulls back slightly and then thrusts slowly and deeply into you again.

Gasping, you bury your face against his neck as your pussy clenches around him again and again.

The feel of your wet walls around his cock, makes his heart stop for a moment and a low growl escapes his throat.

You feel so good around his hard cock and every time your pussy tightens around him, it feels like you're just pulling him deeper inside you.

He releases one hand from your hip and uses it to push your hair to the side so he can spread wet kisses on your neck, and you willingly tilt your head to the side to give him more room.

Slowly his thrusts get firmer and faster, causing a smacking sound between your legs that you don't even have to be ashamed of as Rick gasps against your neck, "Fuck, you're so wet for me."

He fucks you so hard you feel like he's rearranging your guts, and you dig your teeth into his neck to stifle a loud moan as he slides his hand between you to press on your clit.

You're already so incredibly sensitive there that you whimper, "I'm about to cum."

His circles around your clit speed up and your whole body is on fire, but he hisses, "No."

You tug at his shirt, "I can't take it anymore."

To torture you, his circles tighten and your legs start to shake. 

You force yourself to work against the orgasm as he thrusts firmly into you, "You'll cum when I tell you to, sweetheart."

Him calling you 'sweetheart' only makes it worse and you try to slide away from him so you can comply with his request and not cum on his cock yet.

But his grip is tight and you're too weak to pull away, "Rick...you have to stop...I can't...oh god..."

Your whole body tenses and tears come to your eyes as you actively fight against your release. 

It's almost sad that you want to make him proud by suppressing your orgasm and he just hisses, "You take what I give you and I swear I'll spank you if you cum without my permission."

Tears roll down your cheeks and you sob, "I can't take it anymore."

His fingers on your clit and his cock in your pussy feels too good and as he growls harshly, "Now." It tears you apart from the inside.

Never in your life have you come so hard and desperate as when pressed against Rick's body.

Your pussy pulses around his hardness and the feel of your tears leaving wet trails down his neck only turns him on more and he can't help but lay claim on you, "Whose pussy is that, sweetheart?"

Your whole body trembles under his grip and you give a long drawn out moan, "Yours, sir."

He rewards you by pulling his head back a little and kissing you hard on the lips and then gasps, "When I've come in your pussy, it's not just mine. Then you're mine."

Your foggy brain only hears that he's going to come inside you and you panic, "Rick...no...not inside me."

He grabs your chin and looks at you questioningly as he keeps fucking you and you whimper, "Please don't."

You look up at him pleading and trembling and his cock twitches inside your pussy wet with cum, making him grumble harshly, "You're shaking from cumming all over my cock and begging me to stop? You don't really want me to stop doing this...you like when I make your little pussy all wet and sticky, huh?"

Your last resistance breaks and you bring a soft "yes" to your lips before he presses his mouth over yours again and his beard scrapes across your chin.

His fingers dig into your hips and you know you'll be carrying away marks tomorrow as he stiffens and moans harshly into your mouth as he comes jerking inside you.

You've never had a man come inside you before and at the warm feeling spreading through your belly as he thrusts his warm cum into you, you whimper against his swollen lips.

You feel him softening inside you and you pull away from the kiss, blinking.

The adrenaline rush slowly wears off and you stare at Rick in disbelief. 

Not only because he did this to you, no, but also because you can't believe yourself that you let him do this to you.

He pulls his cock out of your pussy and you feel his cum mixed with yours dripping onto the hood.

Speechless, you stare at his pretty face as he looks between your legs and slides his hand between them.

He gathers up what's dripping out of you and pushes his fingers, saying, "You are supposed to say 'thank you'." Into your overused pussy.

As if in a trance, you say, "Thank you, sir." And he nods in satisfaction.

Rick surprisingly gently pulls you off the hood and pulls your pants back up over your ass.

You find your own thoughts, "Why did you do that?"

You look so utterly confused that this amuses him deeply and he raises an eyebrow, "What do you mean? That I fucked you or that I put your pants back on?"

He sees you swallow, "The fucking."

Unimpressed, he shrugs, "I wanted you, so I took you. Get used to it."

Speechless, your mouth drops open and he adjusts his own pants as he reaches for his gun on the hood, "We should spend the night here and see where we are in the morning."

You don't even realize he just admitted he doesn't know where you are and can't suppress a whimper as he pulls away from you and walks around the car to the driver's door.

Shit, you're dependent on him. 

Something you never wanted, but you already miss his hands on your body and run after him like a lonely puppy begging him to sit on his lap.

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[daddydixonscrossbow]

It was early in the morning. You hear the door open a few second after Dog jumped down off the bed.

That meant one thing - Daryl was finally home.

He had been on a run for the last two days, and you missed him like crazy. You pulled yourself out of bed, padding over to the door and walking down the steps.

Daryl looks up at you while scratching Dog’s head, “Didn’t wake ya, did i?”

You shake your head, “No. I haven’t been sleeping well since you left.”

He quietly tells Dog to get down before walking over to you, pressing his lips to his, “M’home now, go get some sleep, baby.”

You nod, yawning as you turn back around, “C’mon, Dog.”

“Go get mom. I’ll be in in a minute, boy.” Daryl motions for Dog to follow you and he does. He stands at the top of the steps, waiting for you to reach them before running in and jumping on the bed.

A little bit later, you heard the bedroom door push open and close quietly. Daryl chuckles as he sees Dog laid up under your arm and slowly climbs into the bed behind you.

“Ya asleep?” Daryl whispers as he moves to press his body against yours, his arm laying over your waist. You let out a sigh, “No, but I will be here soon.”

He plants a kiss on the back of your head, “I love you.”

You smile, turning your head so you can get a real kiss, “I love you. M’glad you’re home safe.” He nods, reaching up to brush his hand over your hair, “Me too.”

Here’s a kiss for likin’ and rebloggin’💋

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg | divider by @fictive-sl0th

Biker!Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader | No Outbreak AU

Warnings for this Chapter: 18+! MDNI! thirst, smut - not entirely graphic, but oh boy, it's there!

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: So, uh... I'm pretty nervous about this chapter, since smut isn't really something I write on a daily basis, so... I hope this turned out okay! 👉🏻👈🏻

《 M a s t e r l i s t 》

《 Chapter One 》《 Chapter Three 》

Chapter Two...

... in which you spent a passionate night with the handsome biker.

A little bit older

A black leather jacket

A bad reputation

Insatiable habits

He was onto me, one look and I couldn't breathe

'My Oh My' by Camila Cabello feat. DaBaby

Feeling a wave of nervousness but also anticipation and excitement wash over you, your feet immediately guided you over to the biker. Daryl gestured behind himself. "Hop on." You didn't let yourself tell that twice, and swung your leg over; sitting behind Daryl.

He revved the engine and looked over his shoulder back at you. "Ya should hold on real tight." You did; placing your hands on his shoulders. He smirked - something you weren't able to see and started to drive down the street; away from the bar. You felt your body crashing into Daryl's due to the speed. It caused you to redirect your hands and wrap your arms around his torso instead; switching positions - and you would've lied when you said you didn't enjoy holding on to him like this for the short ride inside Miles City. He was so broad and bulky, yet strong. Downright attractive.

Ten minutes later, Daryl pulled off the road and onto the parking lot of a motel. He stopped his bike and turned off the engine. You hopped off the vehicle again; Daryl doing the same. Then he took off his helmet again, fished inside his jeans pocket for the keys to his room and took your hand in his free hand. It was the first direct skin-on-skin contact - and it caused our head to spin. A shiver ran down your spine. The biker started to walk backwards and gently dragged you with him; that charming smile once again on his lips. You followed him. There were no words or further signals needed.

You felt your heart beating fast for the man in front of you, who had just put the key in the lock to open up the door to his room - to an invitation to spent the night with him. Again, you couldn't help but accept. Usually, you weren't like that, but something about Daryl was just so special and intriguing. He was different.

The wooden door had merely fallen into its hinges, when Daryl's lips crashed onto yours; your back hitting the wall behind you with a soft thud.

Daryl's kiss was overwhelming but intoxicating. The taste of Whiskey and smoke; paired with the woodsy, musky and floral scent of his cologne drove you wild. Desire and need fogging up your brain and making it hard for you to think straight. He was like a drug; injected in your bloodstream. All you wanted was the man in front of you - and you could tell that the feeling was mutual.

His lips were still attached to yours as the biker's hands started to wander; feeling the dips of your lower back and the curves of your hips. They traced the hem of your blue jeans, before calloused but skilled fingers popped the single button open and zipped down the zipper. You kicked off your cowboy boots to help Daryl along and within seconds you were halfway undressed.

To feel his hands on your burning hot skin sent another shiver down your spine. No doubt you were aching with need for him.

The man buried his face in your neck; kissing, biting and licking the sensitive skin. A gasp left your lips; hands sliding from his broad shoulders into his hair and you tugged; getting rid of his black baseball cap on the way. You felt him groan in your shoulder. His hips suddenly jerked forwards to pin you against the thin motel wall. That was the moment you felt all of him - and you were a hairsbreadth away from losing your mind. You were so drunk of him, you couldn't hold out much longer. "Daryl, p-please..." You panted desperately; hands no longer in his hair, but at the hem of his jeans. Your thumbs slid through the belt loops; tugging. He lifted his head to give you the sexiest, yet dirtiest smile a man had ever given you. It almost caused your knees to buckle and give in. Daryl knew what you wanted - and that only he was able to give it to you. Actually, he had planned to play with you a little longer, but the night wasn't over yet and he was losing the roaring battle against his most primal instincts as well. Therefore, he didn't hesitate; made quick work to unzip the zipper of his own jeans and finally gave the raging arousal trapped inside some room. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist the temptation to grant himself at least a little bit relief with the help of his hand, while he shrugged his angel-winged vest off his shoulders and messily undid a few buttons of his shirt, before he rummaged around in the back pocket of his jeans. Daryl quickly found what he was looking for, and fished it out. Bringing the little foil package to his mouth, he ripped it open with his teeth and took out the condom.

Meanwhile, your gaze had dropped, of course; watching his hands work with parted lips and your delicate palms splayed on his thick thighs. Gods, you wanted him so bad.

The sudden touch of Daryl's pleasantly warm hands on your bare hips ripped you out of your lustful thoughts. You raised your head again, just in time to see him dipping his head to meet your lips in an almost obscene kiss.

"Be a good girl 'n jump," the biker whispered hoarsely against your mouth; hot breath dancing over your skin. You did what he asked you to without hesitation; trusting your hookup blindly. He caught you easily mid-air; big palms cupping your bottom. You wrapped your legs around his middle and arms around his neck. Making sure your legs are secured around him, Daryl bend his knees and let gravity do the rest.

Your lips parted; a frown forming on your forehead. It was a lot - and it's been a while. He was a lot. You gasped; the muscles in your stomach tightening.

Daryl had thrown his head back in sheer endless pleasure, but when he focused again, he noticed the look on your face. "T-Too much?" He spluttered; having a hard time to hold himself back. You nodded wordlessly; breath still knocked out of your lungs. However, you stopped Daryl immediately as he wanted to retreat. "D-Don't... I-I want this."

Another smug smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The sex was primal, rough and messy. It wasn't love making. Far from it. It was just two people giving into their attraction and needs.

What had started close to a wall beside the door, moved on to the cheap, shabby cupboard in the small entrance area and to the single, rickety chair beside the wardrobe, before it was now (finally) where it actually belonged... In the motel room's small, old bed, with you on your back and Daryl on his knees. The wood and springs squeaked underneath the biker's movements; headboard knocking against the wall. By now, you were pretty sure that all the neighbours around you knew what was going on behind these walls - but neither you, nor Daryl couldn't care less. You were so far gone already; completely lost in a haze of pleasure and the handsome man above you, who made you see stars.

Honestly, he was a sight to behold. The view had been never better... Chestnut brown curls all messy; pecks covered in a layer of sweat, causing the tattoos on his chest to glisten and the fine, dark hairs growing there and underneath his belly button to stick to his skin. It was probably the sexiest view you ever had.

While the biker did the heavy work, your hands were twisting the meanwhile fully opened black shirt Daryl wore; moans and gasps slipping past your lips now and then. The cliff you were about to jump down approaching quickly - quicker than you thought. All it took was a soft nip on the delicate skin at the junction of your shoulder and neck, and you were done for it. "F-Fuckin' s-shit," Daryl grunted huskily mere seconds later as he joined you, and jumped off the cliff as well.

The man panted hard as he was collapsing on top of you; biceps bulging as they worked hard to support his weight and not crush your smaller form. You giggled deliriously. One hand still splayed on his stomach as you bathed in the afterglow.

Quite a few minutes later - it was way past midnight, you were still laying in 'Daryl's' bed; him stretched out beside you, now fully naked and with his hands crossed behind his head. Neither of you had moved far.

You turned on your side to face him. "Is your one-night-stand allowed to stay the night, or should I go, call a taxi?" Daryl turned his head to face you as well; chewing on his bottom lip. "'S yer decision. If ya wanna stay, stay. If ya wanna leave, 's fine by me," he answered with a shrug.

You thought about it for a moment. It was late, you were tipsy and alone.

The decision was quickly made.

"Alright." You stood up and quickly got undressed completely as well - unintentionally giving Daryl more to look at, before you dived back into the bed; this time underneath the sheets.

The biker followed and tucked the sheets over his most private part. You slid a little bit closer to him; placing a hand on his soft stomach. "Thank you for this. Best sex I had in a while." Your words caused Daryl to chuckle. He reached out his arm for you to misappropriate as your pillow; hand resting on your bare back. "Same, cowgirl."

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If you want to be added or removed from the LITRM taglist, pls let me know!

[pastanest]

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

A/N: bet you hoes thought you’d seen the last of me x

tw: allusions to sa but no actual acts committed, just the fear of what men can do

Instincts

The moment you regain consciousness, your survival instincts are kicking in. Before even opening your eyes, you are aware that wherever you are right now, Daryl is not with you; there are binds on your wrists that keep them at your back and binds at your ankles to stop you from running - if Daryl was anywhere nearby, there’s no way in Hell you’d still be restrained. The right side of your face feels cold, pressed against a concrete floor. The left side of your face feels hot, stemming from a particular point just above your temple - point of impact, blood, possible concussion. How you got here is unclear; it would be a waste of time to focus on that.

Blinking as hard as you can, you clear your blurry, barely conscious vision. Four walls, two windows on the left and right, one door on the wall in front of you, off-centre to the left. Naturally, you are curled in the furthest corner from the door, where you appear to have been thrown, because you have no memory of army-crawling your bound self over here. There’s a silver lining if you’ve ever seen one: your back is not exposed, you can focus entirely on what’s in front of you. Namely, the three idiots who thought tying you up in wherever this is, was a good idea. Your brain is fighting hard to recognise any of their faces, but you can’t - they must have snuck up on you. And they wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on Daryl, so they must have waited for you to separate from him and snuck up on you. Blood running cold isn’t a new feeling since the world ended, but it feels entirely different now.

Even in the world before, any girl’s survival instincts would go haywire if she woke up in an unfamiliar room, tied up by three unfamiliar men. Particularly when you realise they could have covered your mouth, but they haven’t, because they aren’t as worried about you screaming as they are in need of that particular body part. But there’s one thing the end of the world brought you that will change the predicted outcome of your current situation..

“Jus’ sit tight.” Daryl forced one of his knives into your trembling hands, thinking you and your wide eyes looked like the kind of doe too pretty to kill - Merle called him a pussy the first (and only) time he’d used that excuse as a boy.

“B-But, what if-“ You were stuttering in a way Daryl got, but he’d never felt in your place.

Out in the world was where he belonged. That world ending didn’t change that for him, just meant he had to share it with a whole lot more uglies, and…some people that weren’t ugly in the slightest. Fighting for his life is what he’d always done, he wasn’t afraid of that, but folks like you? He knew from one look in your terrified eyes, you’d never felt fear like this. The kind that paralyses you. And Daryl recognised you had every right to feel that: the world you knew had ended, you were thrown into a makeshift camp with total strangers, grieving the family you’d lost and trying to find some sense of normality when the walkers came from the woods. You saw them get Amy, and you froze, because as much as you frantically looked around the camp, you knew Daryl wasn’t there. The one person you felt you could turn to for protection, the one time he left camp to go and look for his asshole of a brother. And you couldn’t cry out. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish. A walker was stumbling towards you and you barely had it in you to take slow, unsteady steps back from it. The bolt that was shot through its skull was one you recognised, and in a blur you were grabbed, dragged until your back was no longer exposed and was instead against the wall of the RV.

“I won’t let ‘em.” Daryl answered you, leaving no room for you to argue even in your panicked state.

All you could do was nod, trembling hands gripping his knife.

“Jus’ sit tight, lemme handle it. Don’t draw attention.” Daryl instructed in the typical gruff fashion you’d already become accustomed to.

And he did as promised. Bolt after bolt from his crossbow flew through the air, bullets from the gun he carried and the guns in the hands of the others, too, took down the walkers that had invaded the home you had all been foolish enough to believe was safe. And when it was all over, Daryl came right back to you. It was actually difficult for him to get his knife back from your shaking hands, they were gripping it so hard. He could tell by your breathing you were in some sort of shock, so he did the one thing he remembered his mama doing for him when he was real small and cut his knee bad: he pulled you into his arms. And it wasn’t awkward, just like it hadn’t been when he was a boy, because it was needed. That reminder that you were safe. He needed that just as much as you did.

Years have passed since then. Or, at least, your best guess at years. You’re stronger now, more independent, more resourceful, and you can protect yourself. But in this moment, bound and trapped, your instinct to start shit talking is overshadowed by those exact words from Daryl when you’d felt this same uncertainty in his absence: sit tight. So, you keep your mouth shut, and your survival is governed by a version of Daryl in your subconscious. Slowly so as to not draw attention to yourself, you shuffle yourself around until you’re sitting up in the corner of the room, with your bound legs bent to your chest. Your tied wrists at your back are concealed by the rest of you, and as futile as the effort might be, you start picking at the rope from any awkward angle you can in an effort to loosen it. Raising your eyebrows up and down a few times, you can feel the tug of your wound, and the beginnings of dried blood crusting around it - you’ve been here, unconscious, more than a few minutes, but the heat of fresh blood you can still feel means you’ve not been here very long.

“Would you look at that, our girl’s back with us!” One of the men jeers, smacking the back of one of the others to get him looking over at you.

If Daryl was here and heard them call you that, they’d be dead already. That thought gives you a small amount of comfort.

“Awh, cat got your tongue, little lady? C’mon, don’t be shy!” The third man smirks at you, and as he starts walking over to you, your knees instinctively draw closer to your chest.

It takes everything in you not to react when he crouches down in front of you, one of his hands grabbing your jaw. You want to spit right in his face, but that would only escalate things beyond your control. Sit tight, sit tight. You focus on your breathing. Focus on looking past this ugly fucker, through him, to the door on the opposite side of the room. Hoping, willing, praying; dissociating.

“Pretty thing like you needs some strong men lookin’ after her.”

Unfortunately, you’re not dissociated enough to miss those words from the man still crouched in front of you. But you’re grateful for that, because if you had been, you might’ve missed the subtlest creak from just outside the door. A moment’s pause. A second’s silence. And then the door slams against the wall, kicked open by a boot you barely have time to recognise before a bolt head from Daryl’s crossbow appears right between the eyes of the man who had been crouched in front of you, but is now a crumpled corpse on the floor.

“She don’t.” Daryl grunts.

The other two guys are quick to recover from their shock, attempting to tackle Daryl together, but he’s faster. They think this is his first rodeo? Man…you almost feel sorry for them. Except for the fact you don’t. At all.

You probably shouldn’t take any amount of joy in seeing Daryl easily take down two other guys with his bare hands, but it’s hard to shake the warmth that spreads through you, seeing and accepting the fact that he’s come to get you. That he didn’t stop looking until he found you, and the moment he did, he was ready for war. Punching both the guys down, Daryl’s quick to grab his crossbow from where he’d dropped it in favour of beating these guys to death, and fires another bolt into one of the guy’s stomachs. Leaves him to fall to the floor while Daryl drops his crossbow again and tackles the only man left standing, straddling him and throwing punch after punch after punch, until everything’s red. Guy’s face, Daryl’s fists, guy’s shirt, Daryl’s pants. Red. He only stops when he registers the guy under him is unconscious, and then he’s standing up, stalking over to the other guy who’s clutching at the bolt in his stomach, and doing the same damn thing. That guy, Daryl punches until he stops breathing. He didn’t intend to quit it, but your voice was the only thing that wasn’t red.

“STOP IT!”

It wasn’t the words you said or the way you said them, it was the fact that in them, Daryl could hear tears. You were crying. And that would shift his focus in any situation. Standing back up, he retrieves his crossbow from the ground and fires one last bolt to the only guy not left impaled, leaving one dead by bolt to the face, and two left to turn by bolts in the stomach. Let them rot.

Everything’s different when it’s Daryl crouching down in front of you, using his knife to cut the rope from your ankles and wrists. His bloody hands trembling around the blade, but not from fear. The ropes fall to the floor in tatters at the same rate as the tears rolling down your cheeks, but Daryl’s thumbs are there in a blink of an eye. Wiping your tears away, leaving smeared blood stains on your cheeks. He sees that look in your eyes again, like a blast from the past. A wide-eyed doe, too pretty for a world like this, but you’re here still.

Very gently, Daryl’s hands trail down your arms, lifting them and bringing them to his neck. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up with what he’s doing, but as soon as you realise, you’re shakily leaning into him. Daryl’s arms wrap around you, pulling you flush to his chest and holding you there. Where he wishes he could keep you forever. Tucked away safe.

“Thank you.” Is the sniffle that comes from you.

“Don’t need thankin’, girl.” Is Daryl’s gruff response, but the way he huffs and drops his head to your shoulder tells you he’s getting bashful, and that makes you smile.

There’s quiet, then. Just for a few seconds. Holding each other in a room filled with dead bodies shouldn’t feel as warm as it does, but when the world ends, you make do with what you have.

“Home?” You break the silence, your voice soft.

“Home.” Daryl nods against your shoulder.

And neither of you are referring to the place you ought to be heading back to.

—————————————————————————

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[travelingtwentysomething]

Me when someone flirts with me 😂

The Walking Dead 3.01 | Seed

[escapingpurgatory]

THE TRANSITIONNN

[ffsjustletmesleep]

Silent Bonds: Chapter Two.

(divider by @kodaswrld)

> Chapter One

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of gore, mentions of abuse, fighting? (I feel like I skipped a bit of stuff but I didn't feel the need to write all of it since no one else does)

You didn't know when you had fallen asleep, but you were aware you did once you woke up to the sound of people arguing; you sat up and rubbed the grogginess from your eyes before you got up, grunting softly and peeking out through the flaps of your tent, looking around the camp for the commotion. Your eyes landed on Andrea as she stood before Carol, talking back to Ed as he tried to get Carol to go with him.

You got up from your sleeping bag and walked outside your tent, running a hand through your hair as you walked over to them. "What's going on here??" you asked as you stood next to Andrea and Carol, looking over at Amy and Jacqui before looking at Ed. "Is there a problem, Ed?" you asked as you looked at him, eyebrows furrowing with annoyance.

Ed looked at the five of you and scoffed as he shook his head. "You know what? This ain't none of y'all business," he said as he shifted. "Yall don't wanna keep prodding the bull here, okay? Now I'm done talking. Come on." he continued as he grabbed Carol's arm, pulling her along. As the four of you tried to console Carol, Ed turned around and snapped, yelling and slapping her across the face. 

"Ed, what the fuck?!" You shouted as you shoved him, Amy and Jacqui pulling her away as you and Andrea yelled at Ed. Before you knew it, Shane strode over and pulled him away from you guys, shoving him to the ground and punching him in the face. Carol gasped and covered her mouth as you all stood and watched him, yelling at him to stop before he pulled Ed up close.

"You put your hands on your wife, your little girl, or anybody else one more time. I will not stop next time, do you hear me??" he pointed in his face as he glared at him, Ed slurring in agreement as Shane punched him one last time before getting up and walking away. Carol ran over to him as she cried and apologized. You stood there watching Shane walk off, putting your hands on your hips. "Jesus Christ.." you muttered.

—--

Daryl, Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog got to the building' where they had left Merle, fighting their way through walkers before making their way up the stairs. "Merle! Merle!" Daryl shouted as they made it to the roof. Rushing over to see where he was, his stomach dropped as he looked over at the piece of metal Rick had handcuffed Merle to, seeing his hand on the floor. Daryl shifted on his feet and bit his lip as he cried out. "No!"  taking a few steps, he paced around, looking away. His cries of denial continued to ring in the air, breathing heavily before turning around and pointing his crossbow at T-Dog; Rick immediately pointed his gun at Daryl. 

They stayed silent for a few moments before Rick spoke up. "I won't hesitate. I don't care if every walker in the city hears it," he muttered as he stared at Daryl. Daryl bit his lip as he felt his emotions building up, quickly swallowing them down as he stepped away. He looked at T-Dog quietly before speaking up. 

"Got..got a do-rag or somethin'?" he asked. T-Dog fished a rag from his pants pocket and handed it to him. Daryl snatched it from his hands and made his way over to Merle's hand, picking it up, wrapping it in the rag, walking over to Glenn, putting it in his backpack, and following the blood trail as the men followed behind him, making their way back downstairs. "Merle?? You in 'ere???"  Daryl called out as they made their way downstairs. 

They looked around and saw a few walkers on the floor as they walked through the building. "Had enough in 'em to take out these two sumbitches. One-handed," he muttered as he looked down at the bodies, putting his crossbow down to reload it. "Toughest asshole I ever met, ma' brother," he continued as he picked his crossbow up before they continued walking.

—--

After night had settled, you made your way over to the campfire after sorting out your clothes in the tent, ensuring everything you had was put away. You had planned to leave in the morning with Daryl and his brother when they got back; as much as you loved the rest of the group, you knew they weren't gonna let Merle stay with the rest of them. And if Merle wasn't staying, then neither was Daryl, and neither were you. You had tried hard to find him before and weren't about to let him go again.

You sat down near Carol and smiled at her, taking the plate she handed you with a small "thanks" before you started to eat, humming in delight as your tastebuds danced happily. Everyone laughed and ate around the fire as they talked about Dale's watch. You put your plate down and got up so Amy could use the bathroom.

"I think I'm gonna head to bed now. Have a good night, you guys. Don't be too loud," You teased with a smile before you retreated to your tent with a sigh. You tossed your crossbow on the blanket before you sat down and tampered with it, biting your lip as you brushed your fingers against the small engraved 'D' on the side. As you were about to get ready for bed, you heard screaming; your head shot up as you grabbed the crossbow once more and ran out of your tent, looking around as everyone ran or fought back at the walkers who were entering the camp.

You aimed at one of them and pierced its skull with your bolt before tugging it out of the walker's head and catching up with the others as you fought off the dead. As you were about to shoot at one of the walkers, a bolt shoots by and takes it down. Looking around, you spot Daryl running over with Rick and the other two, nodding over to him, you turn around and take care of the ones behind you, Daryl staying close to you as everyone helps bring down the horde. Daryl looked at you once everything was clear, his eyes filled with uncertainty before everyone looked at Andrea, kneeling over her sister Amy and crying.

The next morning, everyone started taking care of the bodies; Andrea didn't move an inch from her sister, staying there all night and staring at her as if she had no thought left. You pulled your knife out and helped dispose of the walkers left over. Looking over at Daryl as he stabbed their heads with a pickaxe before moving on to the next. With a soft sigh, you followed him, watching Lori go over to speak with Andrea. You looked back at Daryl and reached out to touch his arm.

"Hey, did you find Merle?" You asked as you watched him tense at your touch for a moment before crushing another walker's head. "No, no, I didn't," he muttered as he looked at you, a frown on his face."  He's alive, out there somewhere, dumbass cut off his fuckin' hand to get out of them cuffs, cauterized the nub." he scoffed as he bit the inside of his cheek. You looked at him surprised and huffed.

"Gross..but he knew you were coming for him; maybe he thought the walkers would get him, so he did what he thought was best." You rubbed his arm gently and smiled. "It's Merle, Daryl. He's not gonna die out here, he was made for this world." you laughed softly, earning a slight smirk from him. Daryl nodded as he looked back down at the walker. "Yeah, guess yer right.." he pulled your hand from his arm and squeezed it. "Yer alright, right? Didn't get bit or nothin?"  he asked as he looked back at you before letting your hand go.

You shook your head as you smiled. "If I did, I don't think I'd be standing here talking to you now, would I?" you snorted and wiped the sweat from your forehead, seeing Daryl smile before he started walking back. "Yeah, shut up.." he muttered as you followed behind him. Standing off to the side, you watched him carry the bodies and yell at the others. You shook your head and sighed as you frowned, covering your face with your hand at his temper.

You followed Daryl around and helped him drag the bodies of your deceased groupmates, whining softly as some blood splattered on you when Daryl dropped it with the others. "Daryl, you got it all over me!" you growled as you looked up at him. He looked over at you and snorted as he reached over and wiped the blood off your face with his shirt. 

"Not ma' damn fault you was in the way, Sunshine," he smirked and looked at you; you blushed slightly at the feel of his hand and shook your head, nipping his side with your fingers. "Was not!" you stuck your tongue out. He let out a grunt at the pinch. "Alrigh' that's it," he muttered, turning you around before picking you up and lifting you over his shoulder. "Yer done." he carried you over to the pile of bodies and pretended to drop you on top of them. 

You gasped as you grasped his shirt tightly and whined. "No, no, no, Daryl, don't you dare!." Daryl laughed and dropped you over his shoulder, but stopped to catch you by your waist and set you down on the ground. "I ain't gon' do that, why yer always thinkin' the worst of me?" he looked down at you with a smile. You looked up at him as you huffed, smacking his chest and smiling back. "You're an idiot, Dixon," you muttered as you turned away to help Carol with Ed, unaware that Daryl had his eyes on you as you walked away.

—--

Everyone was on the road after a few hours of planning and paying your respects to those who didn't make it. Rick had decided that everyone would go and check the CDC. You planned to ride in the RV with the kids, but Daryl told you he wanted you to ride with him, so here you were, sitting in the passenger seat of his truck and following behind the RV in a comfortable silence between the two of you. You glanced at Daryl and bit your bottom lip before breaking the silence. 

"I feel like I haven't been in this truck since forever.." You murmured as you looked around it, smiling. Daryl looked over at you for a minute before he looked back at the road, scoffing. "Yeah, right, you were in 'ere like two weeks ago.." he muttered as he drove. You frowned as you shook your head. "Not the point, asshole.." you crossed your arms and turned towards the window, frowning. You heard Daryl let out a small snort as he continued to drive.

After you all made it to the CDC, you stepped out of Daryl's truck carefully, looking around as you followed the group down the street to the entrance of the building. You stepped over the rotten bodies of walkers that smelled worse than anything you've ever smelled in your life—well, other than Daryl, of course. It immediately made you cover your nose, gagging. Daryl was behind you, watching for any signs of danger, and the smell did not even affect him.

Once everyone made it to the entrance, Rick and Shane tried opening the door, pushing and pulling on it, and then pounding on it out of luck. T-Dog was panting as he spoke. "There's nobody here," he said as he looked at Rick. Rick turned to look at them as he looked at T-Dog. 

"Then why are these shutters down?" Rick asked as he looked back over towards the door. Daryl turned around as he put you behind him, announcing that there were walkers as he shot one. You turned as you pulled your crossbow out and helped him. "You led us into a graveyard!" Daryl shouted at Rick angrily as he grabbed your arm and pulled you close with them to the door. Shane shoved Daryl back as he yelled at Rick; you pulled Daryl close as you watched the walkers begin to close in on you. 

Between the sound of Rick yelling at the camera on the door and everyone trying not to panic, you wouldn't have heard the door open if there wasn't a bright light shining out at all of you; you raised your hand over your eyes as you looked over at the door, Daryl's hand tightened on your arm as he pulled you closer, putting you in front of him. You looked up at him questioningly before he pushed you forward, pushing you inside of the building as everyone else followed suit, not caring at the moment at the danger that could become of the place; the only thing he cared about was making sure you were inside and safe.

Thank you for reading Silent Bonds: Chapter Two. Sorry it took so long! I hope you guys enjoyed it. I spent a long time on this one watching the show back and forth lol <3

Taglist: @dixons-sunshine, @missriddle03, @imadisneyprincessiswear, @raddydaddydude, @lunajay33, @trainboom, @l0kilaufeys0n7

[rotten-biter]

guys, is this a safe space? i have a confession…

i have a thing for his little scarf ♡

[minervadashwood]

this is so lovely. just melts my heart.

Almost

Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader

Summary: You and Daryl had been best friends for years. You have had years of unspoken feelings and “almosts”. After leaving the prison and finding a cabin on the way to a supply run, you finally find out if Daryl feels the same way.

You had taken notice of Daryl as soon as you joined the group all those years ago. You saw what seemingly no one had. You had always wondered if he'd ever taken notice of you in the same way. There's been countless times when you go to sneak a glance his way and his eyes are already on you. Endless moments of hands and shoulders brushing ever so slightly against each other, stolen glances at each other's lips, dozens of starry night skies while laying in the damp Atlanta grass. Countless times where you thought an “almost” would become a “finally”.

You snap yourself out of your thoughts because, here the two of you are gearing up at the prison, getting ready for a supply run that would probably take a day and a half to even get to the destination. He looks amazing as his strong arms reach up to close the trunk of the car.

“Ya ready?” he looks over to you curiously as he can probably tell your head is somewhere else.

“Yeah lets get on the road” you say nonchalantly as you round the car and go to open your door. Before your hand can reach the handle Daryl's broad frame quickly comes into view and he reaches out to open the door to the beat up Honda without making eye contact. He's done this before, another overly kind gesture that could possibly mean more and makes your head spin wondering if he actually could feel in some part the same way you do. You smile at the thought and him and get in the car speechlessly, not wanting to create something out of nothing and potentially ruin the friendship you've cherished for years.

He walks over to the driver side door, opens it and gets in. He puts the keys in the ignition and the engine comes to life. The gates slide open for you guys to head out to the main road. The trees pass by along with the occasional walker as you get consumed by your thoughts. The stories you've shared with each other, the secrets. There seemed to be only one thing you couldn't tell this man and it's that you are irrevocably in love with him.

People automatically assume you're together, with all the time you spend together, the way he seems to soften and get comfortable around you, and as Carol likes to call it “the lovesick looks”. According to her, your affections are reciprocated, but you could never dream of making a move until you have full confirmation from him. Your friendship was something you were not willing to put on the line, what you two have means everything in a world like this.

This is torturous. You break the silence.

“You know we're going to have to stop, you can’t drive all night…it's not safe” you say masking your concern for his well being with a priority for safety.

He turns his head to look at you and it almost seems like he's taking you in for a second, his eyes roll up and down your frame and he replies simply, and matter of factly as he turns his attention back to the road

“I'll be fine…” he continues hesitantly “...Yknow id never let anything happen to ya” he looks over once again, he's dead serious and your heart is racing. Is this the moment?

Before you can decide what to say he continues “But if it makes you feel better we can i guess…”. You both start looking for places to stay as you are driving by. You spot an A frame cabin in the distance and lightly shove his shoulder and point in that direction to get his attention. He backs up and pulls off the road. You both step out of the car and instinctively start covering it with branches and bushes.

“Should be good enough, cmon” he says while gesturing forward for you to follow his lead. Something that had been carved out through a lot of bickering over the years. While you follow him up through the trees to the cabin you can't help but notice his broad shoulders, how they've muscled over the years, how they swing while holding his crossbow in one hand. How serious he is about keeping the people he cares about safe. You felt lucky to be included in that circle, and selfish that you wanted more.

You walk up the wooden steps and he turns around to stop you from continuing up with him to the door. He bangs on the frame of the door a few times to gather any attention of walkers while you survey the area for any strays. When he can't hear anything moving inside He goes inside and quickly clears the quaint cabin. He comes back out, naturally bounding down the stairs and says,

“I can't hear nothin movin in there, we’ll stay here. Leave at sunrise.” He says while picking your bag up off the ground and carrying it inside for you without saying another word. You're frozen for a second, your previous thoughts coming to haunt you once again. You quickly snap yourself back to reality and rush up the stairs to catch up and see your abode for the night you.

You take in your surroundings. It's cute. It's a loft style place with a tiny living and dining room as soon as you walk in. With a kitchen a bit further back, the stairs against the wall lead up to a full sized bed that you can see from the door when you first walk in, guarded by a railing.

Besides the dust and panicked “the world is ending” clutter it is very much livable. Something that you'd remember where it is just in case you needed a safe house in the future. You follow Daryl's lead and start looking through cabinets to find something useful before you settle in. There's some leftover canned food in the cupboards and while rummaging through what's good and what's not you feel a slight nudge on your back. You turn and Daryls holding out a book, presumably what you just felt on your shoulder.

“Looks like something you'd like…” He was the most observant person you'd ever met. You told him about this author months ago. He remembered. Why did he remember?

“Thank you…” you say, not being able to help but softly smile at him “...That's really sweet of you…”

His eyes dart between you and the floor seemingly not being able to maintain eye contact with you. Does he feel it now? The heart fluttering, the warmth in your stomach, the rise in heat, the tremble in your throat, legs like jello. You think he might when he goes to say something but simply closes his mouth, turns his eyes towards the floor and almost painfully walks towards the door. He pauses with one hand on the frame and the other with his crossbow. He turns to look over his shoulder and says

“I'll be back, gonna find us somethin to eat…” he says, but there's something in his voice that you're trying to place as the door closes behind him.

Longing.

What if he does feel the same? It's almost as terrifying as if he doesn't. You can't take the not knowing anymore. The “almosts”. An hour or two passes, it's dark now and you're lost in your book as Daryl opens the door, some small game strung over his leather clad shoulder.

He closes the door behind him and stops in front of it, taking in the scene before him. You had started a fire in the small furnace and were curled up with your new gift on the couch. You see him looking over everything and you, like he almost doesn't know what to do next.

“hey…“ you say softly breaking him from the thoughts you could see you could tell were racing behind his eyes.

“Hey” he responds after a second, looking so deeply into your eyes you think you might break right then and there.

All that can be heard is the fire cracking until he sets the small game down and walks towards the old couch that you're sitting on. It creaks as he plops down beside you and the couch dips so you're even closer than you think intended. He kicks his boot clad feet up onto the small table in front of the couch and actually lounges back. He breathes deep and is seemingly relaxed, something that you consider rare for him. You take him in, he looks amazing, strong arms folded behind his head which is laid back, his broad body trails down to his crossed feet on the table. He's immaculate.

“Tell me bout it…” you almost miss what he says as you're too busy checking him out when he continues amidst your silence. “Your book… tell me about it”

You immediately beam a smile at him, ecstatic that he would actually care to hear about something you like so much. You begin delving in with as much detail as you could spare. He is looking at you so sincerely and contently, the moment is filled with such warmth you could explode. One hand is now stroking his chin as he listens intently to every word, soaking up every syllable you say. His eyes are all over you.

“...And that's all I've got so far, i can't wait to finish it” you say taking a deep breath from the monologue you just went on and look from your book to him with a smile. He's looking at you with that look again.

Longing.

Your knee brushes against his outstretched leg and you swear you feel actual sparks. Your eyes flicker down and then back up to see he has not relented his gaze in the slightest

“What is it?” you say.

He shrugs you off with a grunt. You put your book on the table and face your entire body towards him. Knees brushing against him once again. Trying to show that he has your full attention and it isn't going anywhere. You match his eyes and say

“c'mon … we always tell eachother everything” his mouth is slightly agape and you can see his chest rising and falling deeply almost as if he's nervous despite his still relaxed position on this small couch.

He shifts slightly but his gaze doesn't falter.

“You look nice today…” he says lowly and then continues “you always look nice… i jus dont say it enough…” your breath is taken away in that very moment. You can't tell if this is real right now.

“You do too..” you say barely above a whisper, absolutely breathless. This is when he turns his attention to the furnace, you swear you saw a slight blush tinge up his neck to his cheeks. He takes an audibly deep breath and stands. He looks over to you once again and says

“We should get some shut eye, got a long day tomorrow…” You're stunned. If that wasn't the moment then maybe there would never be one. “... I'll take the couch, you take the bed”

You're snapped back into reality once again

“Why don't we share it? I mean we're both adults, besides how often do you get to sleep in a bed that isn't behind bars” you say with a chuckle trying to mask the pang in your chest at another “almost”.

He's stunned in his place at the proposition and you're thinking that maybe you crossed the line when he lets out a simple

“...Sure”

He looks at you hesitantly but follows you up the stairs and you each take a seat on either side of the bed. Now it seems both of you don't know what to do and you're starting to think that maybe this was a bad idea. You take the lead and slowly lay on your back so close to the edge the wind could probably blow you off. He follows your lead and does the same and you're both laying there staring at the ceiling on your backs as the light from the fire flickers on the angled ceiling above you.

Even with you both doing your best to give each other space his broad shoulder is brushing against yours and you feel his pinky graze yours. You suck in for air unable to catch your breath from this innocent touch.

When suddenly you feel his warm, rough hand enclose over your own.

Both of your heads slowly turn to face one another. You're both searching each other's eyes for something.

Permission.

His eyes land on your lips. You realize this is the moment. His eyes meet yours again and you scoot closer to him. Your faces are now inches apart. His chest is rising and falling deeply once again, he's nervous but he lifts his head and moves himself closer so now your lips are only inches apart. You lean your forehead against his and bring a hand up to rest on his cheek. You run your thumb along his lips and swear you feel him shudder beneath your touch. His eyes are darting across your face searching for any hesitation.

“Ya sure?” he says quietly and gravelly. Almost desperately.

“Yes..” You say immediately, breathlessly, and full of certainty. “...Are you?” you continue

“Have been for a while now…” He says while leaning in to lock your lips.

The kiss is soft and hesitant. His slightly chapped lips mold with yours perfectly. You're both testing the waters of something long unspoken. His hand moves to the back of your head , pulling you as close as possible, threading his fingers through your hair as he does. For a second your mind flashes with all the “almosts” and when you pull back for the air you desperately needed you see your “finally” in his eyes. You're both absolutely breathless and buzzing from each other's touch.

He leans his forehead against yours and shuts his eyes for a second almost as if to process what's unfolding before him and says

“I thought this was something i couldn't have… that i didn't deserve.” he opens his eyes and the vulnerability that's there is a rare sight, something you know he doesn't share easily. He looks at you so longingly and dare you say lovingly that you can feel your heart stutter.

You shake your head vehemently in absolute disbelief over his words and raw honesty. You slide your hand that was on his cheek to his strong chest and feel his heart beating beneath your palm. It's steady but fast.

“Ya better than all this, better than me … i know that” He says as his lips twitch into a faint, almost sheepish smirk. He momentarily averts his head and eyes to the ceiling. You move your hand back to his cheek and softly turn his face to look at you again.

“You don't get to decide that…” You say while stroking his cheek and pushing his hair out of his eyes. “You've been everything to me for so long. I don't care what kind of world we're in. I want you. Just you.” You whisper the last part against his lips. He breathes deeply in for air desperately trying to fill his lungs back up with air from the girl who stole it from him. He’s utterly taken with what you just said, what he desperately needed to hear from you for years. He's never felt or had love like this. It's almost overwhelming for him. His eyes have a gloss to them and they say everything that you've been needing from him for years.

He softly and slowly grabs your waist to turn you from your back, to your side to face him and he does the same so you're fully pressed into his wide, strong chest. Your legs tangle together and of all the times you both had dreamed of this moment, this is somehow better.

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl [9]

Part Nine | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh is the worst, angst, realizations, reunions and resurrections, chapter follows "Tell it to the Frogs" but dialogue and events are paraphrased.

Word Count: 1.8K

Author’s Note: I am officially laid off for the winter. I make no promises, but I really want to write more often during my layoff. I'm really happy with this chapter (even though it might feel like a dagger to the heart), but things are really ramping up. Also don't worry, Daryl will reappear in the next one. Now that we've gotten to the show starting, this fic will follow the plot of TWD, but events and dialogue will be paraphrased so as not to simply rewrite episode scripts — hope you guys understand. Let me know what you guys think! Your support and excitement for this fic mean the world to me. Additionally, if I don't post beforehand, happy holidays and merry Christmas (to those that celebrate).

You watch as the sun begins to set from your spot on top of Dale’s RV — mesmerized as the clear blue sky slowly shifts into an array of golden hues. The sight almost makes you forget how much the world has changed — how much everything seems to have changed.  You sigh as you realize how envious you are of your past self. Just a few weeks ago, you were complaining about your boss to Lori, grabbing coffee in between shifts with Shane, and helping Rick with his latest home improvement project. Life was simple and stable. You had a lovely home, a decent job, and a loving boyfriend. Now, well, you’re lucky if there’s enough food at the campfire at the end of the day to feed the entire group.

You tear your eyes away from the sunset and look down at the book in your lap. The very book you attempted to busy yourself with this morning before Shane’s interruption. You haven’t gotten much further, finding yourself distracted by Daryl’s crumpled note that you’ve begun using as a bookmark. You can imagine him scoffing beside you as you reread the simple, messily written words. His brow furrowed in confusion as he tries to decipher what’s troubling you — and he’d read you like a book. You’ll never admit it, but you’ve yearned for his silent, stable presence more than usual today after your conversation with Shane this morning.

The sound of someone climbing the ladder and approaching from behind you pulls you from your thoughts. Your hand instinctively grabs the shotgun beside you as you turn your head toward the sound. Your mind starts anticipating the worst, but you loosen your grip as your eyes meet Dale’s. Dale raises his hands in front of him as he approaches; the gesture is playful, but his features are laced with concern. 

“I come in peace.”

You snort at his words before removing your hand from the shotgun entirely. 

“Sorry, Dale. I was just a thousand miles away.”

Dale hums in response as he takes a seat beside you. The two of you sit in comfortable silence while watching the sunset. You don’t mind Dale’s company. Despite his dislike for Shane Walsh, he’s never treated you differently despite your connection to the deputy. You’ve always appreciated that he sees you as you, not just Shane’s girlfriend — if you can even call yourself that anymore. 

“You’ve been up here for a while.”

“Got nothing else to do, I suppose.”

You shrug nonchalantly before glancing over at Dale. His eyes are still focused on the sunset, but you can tell he’s thinking over his next words. You appreciate how intentional he is with what he says. It reminds you of Daryl in a way. Your hands find their way to the crumpled note again — moving on their own accord.

“I’m just surprised to see you here — thought you’d be in Atlanta. I mean, Glenn wouldn’t shut up about you asking him to show you the ropes when it comes to scavenging.”

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips as you close the book in your lap and toss it to the side. Your eyes do a quick sweep of the camp, ensuring that Shane is not within earshot. 

“Shane decided it was best that I stayed here and helped Lori and Carol with chores.”

Dale lets out a dry laugh at your admission. 

“I didn’t know you needed his permission.”

You meet Dale’s expectant gaze and try to formulate a response, but his sarcastic tone has you floundering. Because as much as you want to assert that you don’t need anyone’s permission, you’ve also become somewhat of a prisoner in your own relationship. You shouldn’t need Shane’s permission to do anything — he certainly doesn’t need yours. And yet, here you are, a shell of your former fiercely independent self. Your shoulders slump at the realization, and your eyes drop to your hands, which are desperately gripping your only lifeline. 

In an act of comfort, Dale moves to cover your hands with his, and you involuntarily flinch away from his touch. Guilt washes over you as Dale pulls his hand away. Logically, you know that Dale would never try to hurt you, but your conversation with Shane this morning has you on edge. You look up at Dale and meet his sympathetic gaze. 

“Dale, I…”

Before you can explain yourself, you’re cut off by a blaring car alarm. Without a second thought, your hands find the shotgun at your side and aim toward the direction the sound is coming from. The once-sleepy camp quickly awakens at the first sign of trouble. You hear countless voices yelling, but one cuts through them all: Shane Walsh.

“Dale, what do you see up there?”

Dale looks to you as you peer into the scope. You can hear the car alarm clear as day, but you’ve yet to see any sign of life through the scope. You shake your head at the older man, keeping your eyes locked on the dirt trail leading up to the camp.

“Talk to me, Dale!”

“We can’t tell yet.”

“What the hell do you mean you can’t tell yet? Just look in the fucking scope, it’s not that hard.”

That sets you off. You don’t know if it’s the edge in Shane’s voice or the condescending tone in which he speaks, but something inside of you snaps at the words.

“I know how to look through a fucking scope, Shane!”

You can hear a low growl rumble through Shane’s chest at your retort, but you keep your gaze steady. You tune out the ensuing chaos: Shane insisting you hand the shotgun over to Dale, Jim attempting to defuse the situation, and Amy incessantly asking if it’s her sister. Dale offers you gentle words of affirmation as you take deep breaths — attempting to steady yourself. And then you see it: a bright red Dodge Challenger with none other than Glenn Rhee at the wheel. You finally pull away from the scope and hand the shotgun over to Dale, who looks at you in astonishment.

“It’s just Glenn.”

Dale takes the shotgun and peers through the scope. He searches for a moment before speaking.

“Well, I’ll be.”

And then the two of you erupt into a fit of laughter — after all, this whole situation is nothing but absurd. Dale pulls himself together just long enough to alert the group of your findings. There’s a collective sigh of relief, and everyone seems to relax until Glenn peels into camp. Glenn climbs out of the sports car and smiles brightly up at you.

“You like it?”

Another laugh escapes your lips as Glenn points at the blaring vehicle beside him. You nod at his words before responding. 

“Love it. You rob a bank along the way?”

Dale interrupts the conversation.

“Can you turn it off, son?”

Glenn’s brow furrows at his question, glancing between the car and the two of you.

“I don’t know.”

Quickly, Shane steps in and starts yelling at Glenn to pop the hood. You and Dale decide to finally descend from the top of the RV and join the rest of the group. When you enter the chaos, the car alarm is finally off, and several other vehicles begin pulling into camp. You smile as you watch reunions unfold before your eyes. Amy pulls her sister into a tight hug before she even has a chance to exit the vehicle fully. Morales’ children race to see who can get to him faster. Dale claps Glenn on the back as the young man excitedly shows off the vehicle they managed to jumpstart.

Deciding to give them all some privacy, you turn to walk back to your tent. Your smile quickly fades as you spot Carl’s saddened expression. His misty eyes scan the crowd, looking for someone who will never return. Your heart breaks as you watch Lori kneel beside him and pull the small boy into a comforting hug. Still, Carl’s gaze doesn’t falter. You lower your head as tears well up in your eyes. You understand.

Shane had told you about what happened at the hospital the first night at camp. You remember sitting beside him in your small tent, your heart breaking as you watch one of the strongest men you’ve ever met crumple due to the loss of his best friend. Setting aside the grief sitting heavy inside of your chest, you spent that whole night comforting Shane until he finally fell asleep. It was only then that you buried silent sobs into your pillow and prayed for the impossible — for your found family to be whole again. 

It isn’t until Morales speaks to the group that you finally look up. Your brow furrows as he explains that a new guy helped them out of the city, so they decided to bring him back with them. It’s been a long time since anyone new joined the quarry camp — Daryl and Merle were technically the newest members, but you’ve all been together for weeks now.

“Hey, helicopter boy! Come say hello.”

Shane plants his hands on his hips looking toward the SUV expectantly as Morales explains that he’s also a police officer. Finally, you see the new guy, and you can’t believe your eyes. Standing before you is Rick Grimes dressed in his signature sheriff’s uniform and cowboy hat. Rick’s eyes meet Shane’s first, and the two stand in silent astonishment until they hear Carl’s small voice.

“Dad?”

Rick’s eyes well up as he finally spots his boy at the back of the crowd.

“Oh, my God.”

Rick hesitates for a second, almost as if he can’t believe this isn’t real. But Carl sprints toward him, with Lori close behind. Tears stream down your face as Carl crashes into his father’s embrace. You look beside you, expecting to see Shane, but you meet Dale’s reassuring eyes instead. Your brow furrows in confusion, and you take a moment to find Shane in the commotion. Surely, he’s as choked up as you — hell, his best friend just came back from the dead. 

But when you spot him leaning against the red sports car at the back of the crowd, watching his best friend tearfully reunite with his wife and son, he looks less like a man who just got his brother back and more like someone who just lost everything. 

You want to be elated at the scene unraveling before. After all, you’ve been dreaming of this moment every night since the world fell apart. But something feels wrong as you watch as Shane lock eyes with Lori over Rick’s shoulder. Lori looks at him apologetically, and Shane’s expression shifts into a mix of anger and disappointment. Confusion washes over your features as you watch the exchange until…

Oh. Oh.

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Every time you couldn’t find Shane in camp only for him to miraculously appear with Lori hours later. Every time you attempted to spend time with him only to be dismissed for something more important. Every time you waited up for him to return to your shared tent, only to fall asleep in a cold, empty cot. 

Taglist: 

Suddenly, everything makes sense — and you feel nothing but a stark hollowness settle into your bones. Because although your found family may be whole again, you’ve never felt more alone.

@minervadashwood

@hotgirlsshareaccounts

@dreamtofus

@youcantstandit

@ajlovesdilfs

@prettywhenibleed

@luvsvnlqt-things

@strnqer

@marina-isabella

@lissanovak

@elissanatok

@luv-4-aria

@moejoeflow-blog

@ceoofdisappointment

@jewellthebooknerd

@callsignwidow

@genderless-ghosty-boi

@all-will-be-well-love

@tabzthemightyyyy

@mychemicalimagines

@nosebleeds-247

@catradora333

@punicorn999

@tybsbnbn

@i-wear-wet-socks313

@sunny92sworld

@echothy

@ta3baee

@rottngzombi

@rhey-007

@azanoni

@ritosparty

@vaniniweenie

@nameless-ken

@ibuch7

@theunfortunateshadow

@j0joworld

@marauder-exe-old

@hello-emma

@ziziriaa-blog

@livingdeadblondequeen

@krissophia

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog

@kellie-ana-blog

@my-name-is-heartache

@the-valars-sapphire

[sofavanorton]

wtf this negan looks more like rick than negan... but rick wont act like that

[ava1dixon]

THOSE ARMS 😩 Oh how I missed them.

[thevegandarkelf]

So part two was originally just gonna be another drabble, but the ideas I have are gonna turn this into a one-shot…

Flattery: Daryl Dixon & Fem!Reader

Prompt: Themed Lingerie

Era: Alexandria, pre-Saviors

Word count: 600 words

Warnings: No use of y/n, suggestive themes but no smut

I'm finally dipping my toes into the world of Character x Reader writing. This is my first time writing in second person/x reader format, so please go easy on me or I'll cry. I'm posting this before I stare at it for too long and change my mind.

A massive thank you to @dixons-sunshine for proofreading, helping with translating Daryl's dialogue into Daryl, giving me tips, and encouraging me to do it/post it. I love you sm 🖤

“Daryl? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Cocking an eyebrow, you looked past your shoulder at him, your new boyfriend’s eyes quickly averting once he realized he’d been caught.

With winter setting in and temperatures beginning to drop in Virginia, the two of you had been sent on a run to a nearby department store, your goal to find coats, boots, blankets, and whatever sort of winter necessities you could get your hands on. Amongst all the cold-weather attire, you’d found a little something hot for yourself.

“Dunno what ya talkin’ ‘bout,” he mumbled, his normal sun-kissed complexion becoming one akin to a fresh tomato.

Your gaze dropped to the material in your hands, your fingers dancing over the satin cups, and a small smirk crossed your lips. You were holding a set of Christmas lingerie—a babydoll style two-piece. The red cups and mesh of the flyaway bodice were bordered with a fluffy white trim that trailed down the center with a red thong to accompany it.

“Ah, I see,” you teased, your cheeks beginning to heat up as you held up the garment, “this why?”

You’d only been together for a few weeks, the farthest you’d gone in terms of anything physically being a heated make-out session with little hand exploration. You’d been itching for things to move further but not wanting to push any boundaries. Daryl was clearly skittish and uncomfortable in the realm of sex and romance. However, unbeknownst to you, he’d been itching for the same.

He pictured the mesh flowing around your hips as you twirled before him and the thong sliding over your thighs and falling to your ankles. His signature small smile appeared as he pictured your eyes glossed over with lust and thought about what every inch of your soft skin felt like in his work-worn hands. He was reveling in this sweet little daydream, and you’d caught him in it.

“It’s ok, Daryl. I’m flattered.” As you walked back to him, you purposely swayed your hips a little extra, drawing the archer’s eyes to them for just a moment. Yours fell to your feet, that sweet heat returning to your cheeks again.

“Flattered?” He sounded surprised by your choice of words, like you couldn’t possibly be flattered by his longing gaze and the lewd thoughts you knew he was having. Despite having finally made your relationship official after months of going in circles, he was confused by sparkle in your eye he’d caught a glimpse of when you first looked back at him.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve been…thinking about it too,” you assured, lashes fluttering as you brought your gaze up from the floor to meet his ocean eyes, “hinting at it for a while now. Hasn’t it been kind of obvious?”

The silence from him was loud, deafening as it practically echoing off the white walls. That alone was an answer enough for you.

A sweet giggle emanated from the depths of your chest, the sound like music to your man’s ears. “Okay, maybe not so obvious. I adore you, but you can be incredibly dense sometimes.”

“Grab the coats,” Daryl instructed, clearly flustered as he haphazardly gestured to a box on a nearby table. He was beginning to turn red again, somehow an even darker shade than he had before. He grabbed a box from off the floor and was quickly heading toward the front door. “Talk when we get back.”

“Talk…right…” you mused, a chuckle slipping past your lips as you stowed the lingerie away in your bag, “I’m sure that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie

GIF made by me

© thevegandarkelf 2024. I do not consent for my work to be shared, translated, adapted, posted, or copied to this site or any platform without my explicit consent & evidence of said consent.

[bring-forth-his-sac]

The Christmas Party - Chapter 3

Summary: Now that you have a party to plan, you decide to start with the decorations... but Negan has a more exciting idea in mind.

Word Count: 5.2k

Tags: Modern AU, Teacher AU, Swearing, Pet Names, Slow Burn, Negan being an asshole, reader being an asshole too ?

previous chapter can be found here

After your vow to stay resolute in your (accidental) decision to help with the Christmas party, you vanished on Negan. He half-expected you to ambush him first thing the next morning but nothing came.  

In a perfect world, you would have gone home that day, realized your pettiness and followed Negan’s original advice. You would have humbled yourself and gone straight to Gregory, petitioning for this pain in the ass party to be called off.

“Carl! That funky eye of yours doesn’t mean your legs don’t work!” Negan shouts at one of the students in his afternoon class “Run for the ball, damn it! Quit standing on the sidelines!”.

The whistle around Negan’s neck swings as he struts along the side of the basketball court, muttering to himself. Despite the chill in the air, it’s sunny outside and so they’re not all stuck inside the sports hall, where Negan would’ve been trapped in the thick air of sweaty, hormonal teens. 

But that’s not the only reason he’s glad to be outside on the courts. After Negan’s plan backfired and filled you with spiteful devotion to the Christmas party, he can’t bear to be in the sports hall, knowing it’s only a matter of time before his colleagues wreck havoc on his little slice of heaven.

A polite cough behind him pulls him out of his thoughts. Negan is about to grumble to some kid to cover their mouth but when he glances behind, he sees you instead. 

“Fan- fucking -tastic,” Negan says drily “my day has just got ten times better”.

The sight of a notebook pressed against your chest makes him want to groan. Hoping for some kind of a miracle, he asks “You get the party cancelled yet?”.

You join him by the sidelines, smiling mischievously. “Nope,” you reply cheerfully “I think I’d rather torture you by making you help organize it instead”. 

Negan scoffs, looking back at the game. You take it as your que to continue. Looking down at your notebook you read the small list you’ve made of the different categories you’ll both have to tackle. 

Food. Drink. Music. Decorations.

You read your small list out loud before thinking “Is there anything else a party needs? I guess we could have some kinda entertainment, right?”.

With a long exhale, Negan rubs his forehead “You want a bunch of middle aged teachers to play party games?”. 

You shrug “Well, I don’t know how else to keep them entertained…”

“Booze. That’s all you need, not charades or pin the tail on the donkey”.

You write that down, encircling the drinks category before continuing “Well, I’m free for the rest of the day so whenever you want to—“.

“Christ, Patrick! Follow through on your shot!” Negan interrupts, yelling at another poor kid “better fix that limp wrist for your sake!”.

You blink at the… uh… advice, if you could call it that. 

Negan begins making his way down the side of the court, following the action surrounding the basketball as he shouts more words of wisdom. You watch with a mix of curiosity and disbelief, suddenly feeling more confident in your own, calmer teaching style.  

When Negan finally turns his attention back to you, he raises an eyebrow, his tone turning sarcastic again.

"Class ends in about ten minutes. How about we talk afterwards, so you're not following me around like a damn shadow?" he sighs, checking his watch.

Before you can retort your own thinly veiled insult, he’s off shouting at the kids again, this time clapping his arms to really amp them up.

You shake your head, grip tightening on your notebook as you turn on your heels to leave. Your plan was to just wait in his office but once you get to the door, your eyes are drawn to the adjacent double doors of the sports hall. 

If this is where you’ll be having the party, you may as well get a lay of the land now. 

Creeping inside the barren hall, it’s the quietest you’ve ever seen it. The large room is almost eerie without the clatter of basketballs or the sounds of kids shouting. You pause in the doorway, taking in the empty space. Soon, it’ll be filled with noise— this time, for the Christmas party you’ve roped yourself into.

Walking deeper into the room, you wonder how much convincing it’ll take to get Negan up on a ladder to hang tinsel and string lights across the high ceiling. The hall is desperate for some holiday ambience and your brain aches as you try to figure out just how much tinsel will be needed.

Thankfully, your phone buzzes with a welcome distraction. 

Carol: You want to be a good samaritan and help me bake some cookies after school? Need them for the bake sale 

You: Have my hands full planning party 

You: but I could be tempted if I get to taste test some :D

After you informed everyone that you will be planning the party (and to hold off on the barrage of questions), Carol was the only one who didn’t give you a pitiful look when you mentioned it being you and Negan organizing it.

“Negan’s… complicated,” she told you this morning. Surprisingly, that was the most polite description of him you’ve heard.

“Just keep your distance, keep your head down and do the work” Carol listed “he’ll complain a lot but he will get the job done. Eventually”.

Given how much people seem to dislike him, hearing a neutral take felt like a welcome shift.

Carol: you’re starting to sound like my students

You let out a soft laugh before quickly typing a reply, letting her know you’re not sure if you’ll be finished with Negan by then. As much as you hate to admit it, you know how easily you two can fall into a back-and-forth, letting the time slip away without even realizing it.

Carol replies with a thumbs up, and to kill some time, you check the group chat. It’s been a while since you’ve looked at the new messages.

You don’t blame yourself though, not when it’s where you got yourself into this mess. It’s like returning to the scene of a crime but this time you know better than to hurriedly send in a text.

Gregory: WHO GOT THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS INSTALLATION VAN CLAMPED

Gregory: HOW? WHY?????

Sasha: I told you they shouldn’t park in designated spaces 

Rosita: they had their warning

Gregory: they want to school to pay the fee

Sasha: better than slashed tires

Gregory: go to principal Grime’s office , this needs to be sorted now

Rosita: I’m in the middle of teaching a class ??

Gregory: and you’re busy texting?!?!?!?

Gregory: both of you. Principal Grime’s office. NOW

A chuckle from behind makes you shiver and jerk away, hot breath fanning against the side of your neck. Negan peers over at your phone, having read the messages.

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation” he snorts, offering you a smirk as you tuck your phone away “can’t say I blame Rosita though, Gregory’s definitely the type of asshat that let them park there”.

“Yeah and you wanted me to talk to that asshat about getting this party cancelled” you grumble, irritation creeping into your tone

“In the past, sweetness,” Negan smiles just to annoy you “now we’re a team, ain’t we?”.

“In the past?! Negan, that was yesterday!” you point out exasperatedly, wandering around the hall to burn off some of your already pent up energy.

“And yesterday is in the past”.

You shoot him a glare but all that achieves is a wider grin looking back at you. Damn him. You run a hand down your face, forcing yourself to stop— both physically and mentally.

Negan’s trying to get you to bite, to start bickering with him so you’ll lose focus on the party and storm off. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to gather yourself. Unfortunately, when you open them again he still has that cocky smile on his face that makes you want to throttle him.

“Do you have any decorations from the previous years?” Your tone is sharper than necessary but that’s what he gets when he’s being a jerk.

“Usually, they’d host this shit at a fancy little place called the Kingdom, so we don’t have much” he replies, his demeanor easing now that you haven’t taken the bait.

“Really?” you question, expecting at least a worn down Christmas tree “What about things for a nativity or Christmas carols?”.

“Yeah cause nothing screams party like having the fuckin’ nativity scene laid out in the middle of the room” Negan teases, fishing keys out of the back pocket of his sweatpants.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you match his sarcasm with a dose of your own “Well, no, I’m not suggesting we all get drunk in front of baby Jesus”.

Negan lets out a small chuckle, but it sounds unfamiliar. This isn’t the mischievous laugh you heard when he tried to set you up, nor is it the smirk he gave you when you were badmouthing him.

No, this is something else. It’s a rare, genuine sound– a laugh that seems to catch even him off guard. And strangely enough, it’s aimed at you. You try not to linger on it, not wanting to make things awkward.

“If you wanna have a look yourself, knock yourself out” Negan strides over to the small storage room door and you follow behind as he unlocks it.

You stand there, waiting for him to open it but he doesn’t. Instead, Negan pauses for a moment, then he turns to face you with that familiar, smug grin.

“Enjoying the view?” he teases, letting the question hang in the air.

“I— ugh! Negan!” you scold, stepping forward and pushing the door open yourself. Negan doesn’t stop you, even flicking the light on as you go first. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” Negan says, grabbing one of the boxes to prop the door open. “This shit’s old... probably as old as me, so the door’s heavy and a real bastard to yank open from the inside”.

Inside, you’re met with a chaotic mess; boxes piled on top of boxes, cones and rackets scattered across the floor, and a jumble of balls stacked on a rack against the wall.

Technically, the room is large but with all the clutter, there’s barely enough space to move around. Inching your way across a small clearing, you almost wedge yourself between two tall stacks of boxes. “Any idea which ones might have the festive goods?” you ask. 

“Pretty sure it’s the two at the back,” Negan trails after you, clearly uninterested “y’can usually see a bit of tinsel shimmering through the box”.

“This is a good start… I guess,” you try to take an optimistic approach “at least there’s something here”.

You carefully navigate through the maze of clutter, sidestepping loose javelins and dodging stray tennis balls. The mess makes every step feel like a mini obstacle course.

As you finally reach the last stack, you tug the lid off the nearest box, the dust tickling your nose. Peering inside, you slowly begin to sift through its contents—a jumble of tinsel, some baubles that have no string and a few random holiday knickknacks.

Negan leans against the next stack of boxes, arms crossed, watching you with mild amusement.

“Oh wow, you’re just going straight for it, huh?” he commentates, unbothered to help “it’s like you’re on a treasure hunt… y’know if you want to find the real treasure, you’re in luck”.

You don’t bite, not believing his bullshit. Even with no response, Negan continues “I know exactly where to find the crown jewels”. He gives you a wink but you miss it, keeping your head down as you rummage.

”… hellllllloooooo?” he pokes your side.

You pull out a handful of mismatched ornaments and toss them at him. “Maybe you should stop doing nothing and actually help?” you suggest as he barely manages to catch them.

With an exaggerated sigh, Negan starts to search the second box. “I was doing something,” he protests, carelessly looking through the box “flirting, if you didn’t notice”.

“Yeah, well if that’s your idea of flirting, I pray I’m not your type” you jeer.

This time, Negan doesn’t reply. You wonder if he’s taking a page out of your book and ignoring you but then you feel his eyes land on you. 

Readying your disapproving look, you turn to meet Negan’s gaze. “What?” you ask, already annoyed by whatever shenanigan he’s about to pull. 

With the ghost of a smirk, Negan simply stares at you for a moment. He doesn’t let his eyes wander like how you expected, the action something you thought he’d do just to get a rise out of you. Wetting his lips, Negan teasingly pulls his hand out of the box, bringing with it a tattered piece of mistletoe. 

“Guess there’s only one way to find out if you’re my type” he shakes the mistletoe, accidentally making one of the plastic leaves fall off.

“Oh fuck off” you don’t stop the words coming out of your mouth, turning on your heels to leave.

Flinging the mistletoe back into the box, Negan follows. You’re half tempted to kick the box that’s keeping the door open just to lock him in, but his long strides allow him to catch up with you in no time. 

“Awh, c’mon,” he teases “are you always in ‘teacher mode’ ?”.

“Only when I’m around immature people”.

“Very funny,” Negan comments as you storm back out to the empty hall. He can tell he’s almost got you; you’re so close to walking out, yet you won’t give him the satisfaction.

Negan knows how to push people’s buttons— it's one of his favorite hobbies. He enjoys testing how much people will tolerate, seeing what it takes to crack them. For some, a single remark is enough to make them fold, while others can take a whole barrage, letting it build up bit by bit. 

The most frustrating thing about you is that you can take a lot, all while throwing your own taunts right back at him. You rub your forehead, trying to will yourself into not punching him.

“You got any classes left today?” he breaks the silence, his tone surprisingly conversational considering the amount of teasing he’s been doing. 

Every question feels like a set up for some next lewd joke or suggestion and so you simply nod your head. 

“Perfect,” he says, locking up the storage room and tossing the keys up into the air before catching them “let’s go grab some new decorations”.

You raise an eyebrow, curious, but Negan doesn’t wait around. As he strolls out of the hall, you have to quicken your pace to keep up with him.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

He glances over his shoulder, speaking to you as if you’re a three year old. “we go shop, buy new decorations, you happy, party less shit looking”.

“But don’t you have classes?” you badger him, watching as Negan makes a quick stop by his office. He drops the keys onto his desk, grabs his coat, and snatches up his car keys.

“Yeah, but Mark can cover for me,” he replies casually, clearly unfazed “it’s the bastard’s last day before his vacation, he can do some extra work”.

The last thing you expected was for Negan to suggest going on a quick trip together, especially with how little you two can tolerate each other. Negan lets out a short laugh when he sees your wary expression, clearly unconcerned. 

“He’ll figure it out,” he says nonchalantly, pulling out his phone to shoot a quick text to the other coach “it’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t give Fat Joey my class, don’t trust that fucker to teach gym”.

“Negan!” you slap his arm “Rude”.

He shrugs. 

The two of you walk out of the school and head toward the teacher’s parking lot. As you look around, a wave of hesitation hits you.

Even though you don’t have any more classes to teach today, you can’t shake the feeling that leaving early feels like you’re playing hooky.

Negan notices in an instant. With a small chuckle, he places both hands on your shoulders and gives you a gentle nudge forward.

“C’mon, Ms. Goody Two Shoes,” he teases, steering you toward his pick up truck “we won’t be gone long”.

You hesitate for a moment, still unsure. “Are you sure?” you try to look up at him as he directs you toward the passenger side “I don’t mind driving myself and meeting you there”.

“No need. I’ve got it covered,” he replies, taking his hands off you to open the door. With the automatic roll of your eyes, you get in.

The car ride to the store is a mix of awkward tension and playful banter. As Negan drives, he leans back in his seat with an easy confidence. Every now and then, he throws in a flirtatious comment but for the most part, he keeps it PG.

Surprisingly, Negan actually asked about you and why you’d move to “such a backend fuckin’ town”. You grabbed the opportunity to not argue or get flirted with and instead babbled on about why you needed a break away from your hometown (making sure to skip all the family rifts and drama). 

Pulling into the Target parking lot, the familiar smirk of the Negan you know resurfaces.

"I can always make time to give ya a real tour of the town," he says, and for a brief moment, you almost believe he's being sincere—until he adds, "With or without the extra stop at mine afterwards."

You let out an exaggerated sigh as he parks, shaking your head. "You're like a comedian that only knows one joke and no matter how many times it falls flat, you just keep saying it anyways".

Negan’s eyebrows bounce up as his truck comes to a stop, his tone dripping with cockiness “Oh it works real well, 99.9% success rate”.

“Wow, you’re just like bleach” you shoot back as you unbuckle your seatbelt.

Getting out of the truck and heading into the store, he proudly replies “All I have to say is I have been told I’m killer in the bedroom, so maybe I am like bleach”.

Shaking your head, you opt for a small basket instead of dragging around a massive cart. The last thing you need is Negan laughing as you struggle to control one of those things. 

“Do you have an off switch?” You taunt. 

Taking the basket off you, Negan’s fingers brush yours. He takes full advantage, tilting to the side so his tall frame is closer to your eye level.

Lowering his voice to what you can only assume is what he uses in the bedroom, he seductively growls “Wanna try to find it?”.

The look you give him says everything, and with a sharp ‘hmph ,’ you head toward the holiday section, letting him trail behind.

As you pass the Christmas trees, you glance at them, already knowing you’ll need to check your budget before committing to one for the party. This trip feels more like a reconnaissance mission—just picking up a few affordable things if you find them while scouting what else they have to offer.

Meanwhile, Negan simply drifts by, clearly bored now that the playful banter has faded. He’s like a kid that’s been dragged into grocery shopping with his mom—picking up random items and staring at the ceiling, hoping for some kind of entertainment. 

Negan would’ve spent his time staring at your ass but he knows better than to risk it. You’d throw a nutcracker at him if you caught him perving on you.

“ Neeeeeeegan ?” You drag out his name, watching the man completely zone out.

As much as you want to give him a piece of your mind, you can’t say you’re surprised. You both knew this was going to be a pain.

The only reason you’re party planning is out of spite, while Negan’s just here because he doesn’t want his sports hall to be trashed by either terrible decorations or the teachers on the night.  

Shaking the wreath in your hands, the bells jingle and you call out again “Negan? Hello?”.

Looking back to you, his expression softens just enough to pass as a real smile rather than a smirk. “I heard you the first time, I just like hearing you say my name,” he says, his tone playful.

You scoff, fighting the urge to smile. Unfortunately, you’re human so when a handsome man throws you a compliment, it’s impossible not to react, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he can be.

… handsome ?

You quickly shove that thought aside, irritated that your brain so easily confessed that. He is handsome, but… he’s Negan. An asshole, in other words.  

Alright, time to stop thinking about that.

“I, uh…” you swallow, trying to get your thoughts in order “The wreath! If we drape a tablecloth over the desks and put one of these in front of each, that’ll look nice, right?”

Negan gives a casual nod, eyes shifting between the wreath and the rows of holiday decorations.

“I mean, the desks are just for finger food and drinks anyways but… it’ll be festive!” you find yourself rambling, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. 

He scoffs at how you try to justify spending some money a on wreath, taking a few steps toward the sales section.

“How about…” Negan starts, picking up a small pumpkin statue priced at just a dollar, “…we buy a bunch of these and throw a Christmas hat on ‘em?”

You pause, unsure whether you should dignify that with a response.

“You want to use Halloween decorations?” you drop the wreath into the basket, rubbing a hand over your face in disbelief.

“I’m getting it” he puts the pumpkin next to your wreath.

You look down at the pumpkin and purse your lips. As if this party hasn’t been doomed from the get go, you don’t think having pumpkins there will help. You don’t have to voice your concerns, Negan can read your face. 

“Hey, I’m just offering a little direction,” he says, wandering down the aisle “someone’s gotta take charge when you’re doubting whether you should buy wreaths for a Christmas party”.

A flutter of defensiveness stirs within you, a shift in your chest that spreads like a warm yet  uncomfortable pressure.

Picking up a box of lights, you drop them in the basket “I’m not doubting, I just don’t want to buy junk that we won’t use”.

Negan stops, ignoring what you just said as he picks up some balloons. “We should get these… just gotta make sure this side is at the back” he lifts up the packet, showing you the gigantic ‘Happy 60th Birthday’ printing on the front of each balloon. 

“You’re kidding,” plucking the pack out of his hands, you put it back on the shelf “and I don’t need you to take charge of this, especially when you’re doing such a half assed job”. 

Negan scoffs “Am not”.

The more you try to ignore the building in your chest, the more it festers, growing into a quiet but insistent urge to clarify, to defend and correct the narrative.

“That’s all you do! You want to be in charge but you’re not thorough enough whenever you are” you explain as calmly as you can. 

There was a small bit of you that hoped Negan would listen to what you’re saying but he’s not interested in the feedback, waving his free hand dismissively as he walks back up the aisle.

“It’s easier when I’m in charge because I get shit done, I don’t try to reason with myself why I need to buy something– I just do it,” as if to prove the point, he puts another pumpkin into the basket.

It's like he’s not even trying to understand your point, and that’s a realization that makes your patience unravel.

The calm concern starts to fade and is replaced by a barely contained annoyance. 

“But you don’t try to make things easier for others, you literally just left Mark to deal with the rest of your classes for the day and complained at the idea of Mark letting Joey help! You’re always pushing your own agenda and railroading people into going along with it” taking a firm stance against him, you do the unthinkable. 

You reach your hand into the basket.

And remove a pumpkin.

Negan gives you a pointed look, boring into your skull and not even watching your hand place the pumpkin back on the shelf.

“Sweetheart, calm down, this isn’t a military operation,” he asserts “we’re just planning a damn party so lighten up. Get festive!”.

It’s maddening. Now you’re making a mountain out of a molehill? You should just lighten up because it’s a Christmas party and nothing more?

His dismissive tone is like a constant poke to your patience, stretching it thinner with every passing moment.  To make matters worse, Negan carries on like usual, wandering over to the next aisle.

Begrudgingly, you totter after him.

“You can’t just do that!” you snap, absentmindedly perusing the scented candles “you can’t act like this is something silly when I’m giving you valid criticism! I’m trying to put in effort here and actually make this party bearable”. 

It hits all at once, a rush of raw emotion that floods your mind and spills out before you can stop it.

Your voice shakes, not from fear, but from the overwhelming need to be heard. You don’t even have time to think, to carefully choose your words; it all comes out, unfiltered.

Every bit of irritation, confusion, and disbelief tumbling out in one breathless rant.  

“All you want to do is skip school, wander around here, flirt with me– even though I keep rejecting you! And just buy stupid shit that we don’t need for this party!” you rant, gesturing to the lonely pumpkin still in the basket.

“You have to respect other people’s time and their effort too. Not everyone wants to half-ass this! You get your own way all the time and no one will say no to you or make you do it their way. It’s Negan’s way or no way. And people are so used to letting you get away with shit again and again just because—“.

You stop yourself.

Your mouth clamps shut, stopping your cathartic rant before it can say anymore but it’s too late. Negan stands next to you, waiting.

Shit.

“… I like the cinnamon one,” you say quietly, trying to change the subject as you sniff the candles  “sometimes, I think they make the gingerbread ones too strong and the ones that are supposed to smell like vanilla never do”.

Negan doesn’t budge. A small smirk creeps up on his face. Negan already knows what you were going to say, he doesn’t need anyone to tell him.

He’s attractive, good in the sac, can charm the legs off anyone within a ten mile radius and happens to have one swoon worthy smile.

He gets away with this because he’s sexy. Nothing he can do about that, it’s natural!

“Go on,” he implores, tongue peeking out as he wets his bottom lip “say it with your chest, doll”.

You want to stay quiet. You know for the interest of everyone, you should. 

“People let you be an asshole because your wife died”.

You’ve never seen a change in someone so quick. His face darkens, veins pulsing at his temples as his jaw clenches so tight that his teeth almost grind together.

Negan’s eyes narrow into a hard, unforgiving stare. Every muscle in his body seems to coil, as if ready to snap. 

“Are you fucking shitting me?” he grunts. 

You’ve never seen him like this— not even when you’ve bickered with him. This is something different, something deeper.

His entire demeanor has shifted, like a switch was flipped, and all the previous irritation and taunting have been replaced by a quiet, seething fury that radiates from him in waves.

Your fingers curl around the candle but you barely register the sensation. Your eyes lock on him, wide and unblinking. He told you to say it, to be honest with him. 

Every muscle in your body feels frozen, as if something inside you has short-circuited. You’ve always thought you’d know what you’d do in a moment like this, whether you’d be a flight or fight type of person. But now, facing a full wave of intimidation, you realize the truth: you’re not the fight type. You’re not the flight type. 

You’re the freeze type.

It’s as if the air around you has thickened, the space between you and him narrowing to a suffocating stillness. You want to stutter out an apology but it’s all happened so suddenly that you forget how to. 

It feels like all you can do is stand there, rooted to the spot. In an instant, he snaps out of his silent rage and rushes into action. 

Without warning, Negan lets go of the shopping basket, letting it drop to the ground with a violent clatter. The sound cuts through the air like a gunshot and you jump.

His hands are still clenched into fists as he takes a step back and his eyes flash one last time at you with an unreadable mix of frustration and something deeper.  And then, he spins on his heel and storms off.

“Fuck this,” you hear muttered under his breath as he goes. 

You’re left standing there, the abruptness of it all taking the air from your lungs. Your legs take jittery steps forward before you meekly grab the basket and try to follow. 

With only a pumpkin, some lights and a wreath inside, the basket somehow pulls at your arms, as if you’re carrying a thousand things. Trying to follow, the basket swings awkwardly in your grasp, banging against your shins with each uncoordinated step.

“Negan?” You call out, your voice sounding smaller than you mean it to. Your gaze darts nervously from aisle to aisle and across the registers until you spot a tall and imposing shadow going out the main doors.

“No, no, no, no, no,” your heart thuds painfully against your chest, each beat louder than the last.

You set the basket down gently, almost afraid it might shatter if you move too quickly, before rushing out of the store. The cool air hits your skin, but it’s no relief. This can’t be happening. He can’t just leave you here. Not like this.

You move fast, almost stumbling, your eyes scanning the parking lot frantically. Cars of every make and model line the pavement, but there’s no sign of his truck.

A pang of panic rises in your throat as you take a few more steps, searching the sea of vehicles, your stomach tightening with every second that passes. His truck should be here. It should’ve been parked right where you left it.

The realization hits you like a wave. It’s not here.

A soft whine escapes your lips, barely a sound and yet it carries the weight of everything that’s suffocating you in that moment. Confusion. Anxiety. Guilt. And an overwhelming sense of abandonment. You stand frozen, the noise of the parking lot fading as the panic surges again. 

He’s gone.

-------

gif made from scenepack provided by harleys.scenes on insta <3

[wolvietxt]

Congrats on 1000!!!!! 🥳

How about Daryl with this prompt? ❤️

secret talent: sunshine finds out grumpy has a hidden skill, like playing an instrument or drawing. sunshine keeps encouraging them to show it off, and grumpy tries to act like it’s no big deal but secretly enjoys the praise

THE CABIN smelled faintly of wood smoke and pine, cozy and warm as you settled into the couch with your cup of tea. daryl was at the far end of the room, tinkering with his crossbow, muttering something about the sights being off. it was a quiet evening, the kind you’d come to cherish out here in the middle of nowhere.  

that’s when you noticed it - a sketchbook poking out of the half-open drawer by the desk. it wasn’t like daryl to leave things out of place, and your curiosity got the better of you.  

“what’s this?” you asked, standing up and plucking the book from the drawer.  

his head snapped up immediately, eyes narrowing. “don’t go diggin’ through my stuff.”  

“it was already sticking out,” you said, flipping it open before he could stop you. your breath caught at the first page - a detailed drawing of a deer mid-leap, its muscles and fur rendered with startling precision.  

“daryl,” you breathed, glancing at him. “you drew this?”  

he grunted, shifting awkwardly in his chair. “ain’t nothin’ special.”  

“are you kidding me? this is amazing!” you walked over, flipping through more pages. there were sketches of birds, trees, even a portrait of carol that captured her sharp eyes and soft smile perfectly.  

“stop,” he muttered, reaching for the book, but you held it away, grinning.  

“why didn’t you tell me you could draw? you’re so talented!”  

his ears turned red, and he scowled. “it ain’t no big deal. just somethin’ i do sometimes.”  

“not a big deal? this is incredible.” you sat beside him, laying the sketchbook on your lap and pointing to a drawing of a bear. “look at this! the detail, the shading… you’re an artist, daryl.”  

“i ain’t no artist,” he grumbled, but there was a flicker of something in his expression - pride, maybe, or at least a hint of satisfaction.  

you leaned closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “you should show people these. they’d love them.”  

he stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away. “nah. ain’t for showin’ off. just for me.”  

“well, i love them,” you said, turning the page to a sketch of a rabbit. “and i love you.”  

his hand settled on your knee, rough and warm. “you’re just sayin’ that.”  

“no, i mean it. you’ve got a real gift, daryl.”  

he was quiet for a moment, then let out a soft huff. “well don’t you go makin’ a big deal outta it.”  

you smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “too late.”  

the evening went on, with you occasionally flipping through the sketchbook and gushing over his work while he tried to act annoyed. but you could see the way his lips twitched, like he was trying not to smile.  

later, as you were cleaning up the mugs from your tea, you caught him at the desk, pencil in hand, sketching something new. you walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and resting your chin on his head.  

“what are you working on?”  

“nothin’.”  

you peeked over his shoulder, grinning when you saw the beginnings of a sketch - your face, soft lines shaping your features.  

“that’s me,” you said, your voice filled with wonder.  

“don’t get all mushy,” he muttered, but he didn’t stop drawing.  

“too late,” you teased, pressing a kiss to his temple.  

he finally set the pencil down, turning to face you. his blue eyes were softer than usual, and his hands settled on your hips. “you really like ‘em?”  

“daryl,” you said, cupping his face. “i love them. and i love you.”  

his lips twitched again, and this time, he didn’t bother hiding the smile. “guess i don’t mind hearin’ that.”  

you leaned in, capturing his mouth in a kiss, slow and sweet. his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. when you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice low and rough.  

“you’re somethin’ else, you know that?”  

“so are you,” you whispered, your heart full as you kissed him again.