#twd oneshot
Text
PERVERTED II c.grimes
☆ WORD COUNT - 3.5K
CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER
☆ SUMMARY - carl decides to go through with this weeks saturday sleepover. so far, he's been able to control himself. until, that is, he hears you whimper his name in your sleep.
☆ WARNINGS - smut, slight angst, somnophilia, thigh riding (kinda), fingering, pussy eating, cum eating, wet dreams, sex dreams, innocence kink, corruption kink, dom!carl, sub!reader, noncon, heavy manipulation, use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷
series masterlist
"you sure you don't wanna come?" rick questioned as he took a box from his son, landing it inside the back of the truck. "we could use the help."
carl watched his dad place a hand on his hip before shaking his head, hand on his hat. "no, i promised y/n i'd stay over. can't miss saturday sleepover can i?" he'd laughed yet he knew he wouldn't wish to miss it for the world, either. rick gave him a look, lips slightly perking up as if he knew something. "what?"
rick wasn't born yesterday either. he was well aware what it was like to have a silly crush, especially at that age. but this... this was much different. "nothin'" before packing in the last box. "you be good, alright? don't ruin the house while glenn and maggie are gone."
the two were going on the supply run with him, along with many more of the fighters. "bye, dad." watching him get into the rusted car.
and so, the day went on.
by the time lunch rolled around, carl still hadn't seen you. however, he wasn't entirely alone. he soon found ron who decided to help him look for you. in return, you'd also be looking for his also missing girlfriend, enid.
"they're always running off." ron muttered under his breath. he knew enid was close with you, possibly your best friend had carl not been thrown into the mix. enid was always running off with you, slinging you around by the arm. "hey, what's the deal with you two anyway?" carl's head peeked up, brows knitting together. "is she like your girlfriend or something?"
his mind moved like puzzle pieces. girlfriend. carl had never had a girlfriend before but he was pretty sure you had to kiss and all that to actually be in a relationship. then again, you don't touch yourself with your 'friend's panties sitting on your dick. he cleared his throat. "no... no we're not together."
saying you were his friend didn't seem all too right but saying you weren't his girlfriend didn't seem right either. you were something.
but ron didn't look convinced, rolling his eyes with his brows raising slightly. "whatever, dude." was it really all that obvious to everyone aside from you? carl thought that if there was a competition on the most oblivious person alive, you'd win.
but perhaps that was the easier option. would he have preferred you to know? everything seemed so easy with the fact that you were so oblivious. it was like a reminder that he could do anything he wanted right under your nose.
"finally." hearing the mutter from ron, carl looked up. this was when he was met with the sight of you, as pretty as ever, sat next to enid on a bench near the town's pond.
carl could barely look at you. the way you sat with your legs folded, smiling away innocently, completely unaware of what he'd done last night. you wore a pretty skirt, enough to slightly hike up your legs, giving carl a view of the pretty plush of your thighs.
he could only imagine digging his hands around the plush, holding it and kneeding the skin. he could only imagine grasping your thighs, holding them close while he rammed his di―
"there you guys are!" ron exclaimed causing carl to shake his head, ridding himself of the thoughts he'd been having. "carl and i were looking all over for you." he had this voice he used when he spoke to girls, one that carl could guarantee was not the voice he used with him.
enid only rolled her eyes. the sight of her boyfriend and carl was enough to have her smile drop. "well, we weren't looking for you." she mumbled. some may say she didn't like anyone aside from you, not even her own boyfriend. carl didn't think there was much of a point of being with someone that you didn't even like. "hence the getaway pond."
ron must have thought she was joking because he came up to pinch her side and kiss her cheek. the sight alone had carl's stomach turning.
however, the sweet sound of your lulling voice was enough to bring him back. "hi, carl." you beamed at him, smile as wide as ever. he hadn't even registered you moving from the bench to his side. all he remembered was the feeling of you snaking in next to him, your body so close. suddenly, he felt so dirty. "we were feeding the ducks." smiling like a child on christmas. you always smiled like that, like you had a thousand things to be smiling about. it always made carl wonder if you were truly made for this world at all.
when he was around you, he was fighting off his own smile. yours was so contagious. the way his lips curved upwards told you he was happy for you, he always was. "that's great ba― y/n." correcting himself as his expression faltered, smile wavering.
he watched as your entire face fell.
he was unable to bring himself to call you those cute names. baby, sweetheart, like an old couple who'd spent their entire lives together. he couldn't bring himself to say such things after he imagined himself fucking you just the night before. it didn't seem right, not when you were so oblivious to the dirtiness behind his words.
the smile wiped clean from your face, carl was sure you could have cried.
you reminded him somewhat of a kicked puppy.
he'd been the one to kick you.
he never called you y/n, unless speaking to someone else like his father or even ron. this was because they'd hardly understand who you were if he was referring to you as sweetheart.
the point was, he only used your name if it was wholeheartedly necessary.
you wondered what'd changed.
your mind ran back to the night before. when he'd entered your house, looking awfully suspicious and at the sight of you, he practically rushed out the door. had you done something wrong? your heart ached at the idea that you may have upset him. a heart of gold, some people said you had. carl had to beg to differ. the look on your face explained all he needed to know, a heart of mere paper.
he regretted it the moment he said it.
he knew how you got, how all up in your head you could be. he could only imagine how you'd be for the rest of the day, going over every interaction you've ever had with the boy and wondering where everything went wrong, where you messed up.
the moment your name slipped from his lips, he thought it may have been better to call you anything else in the entire world. even if it was laced with the dirty undertone.
he felt your body move slightly away from his, eyes cast down on the ground to avoid any glances. "'m gonna go see aaron." you announced, rather loudly too.
"okay." enid responded, her eyes glancing you over before turning to carl, a slight glare, if you will. she didn't particularly like carl, though carl hadn't the foggiest idea why. perhaps it was because she was so protective of you. carl had to roll his eyes, if anyone knew what was good for you, it was him. "don't stay out too late."
you didn't respond, grasping your bag that sat at the bench before turning onto the footpath.
carl had to purse his lips. "wrong way." he said, just loud enough for you to hear.
with slightly wide eyes, you realised he was right. spinning around on your heel, you began walking left instead of right. "thanks." you mumbled under your breath before continuing your walk to one of your favourite people in the entirety of alexandria.
back at the pond, carl was cursing himself under his breath before turning around to find two accusing pair of eyes sat on the bench. one pair belonged to enid, the other to ron. "what did you do?" was enid's accusing tone, her face hard as stone. carl was on the receiving end of this look very often, he didn't fear it... well, he feared it a little but not as much as before... okay he feared it.
"what do you mean what did i do?" he instantly fell to defending himself. despite the fact that he knew he was the reason for your declining mood. "i didn't do anything."
whether it was to intimidate carl or that she smelled the sort of fish smell of ron that carl had smelt earlier, she perked up on the bench, loosening her boyfriend's arm across her shoulder. "she looks like a deflated balloon." she argued.
"yeah." ron nodded his head. carl couldn't stop the glare he sent his way, what did he know. "everyone knows aaron's like her very own guidance councillor, his boyfriend too." he shrugged his shoulders. "whatever you did, i'd say fix it quick."
the brunette boy only glared at the couple. "thanks guys, for that enlightening advice. but i don't need it, okay? i didn't do anything."
on the contrary, he was well aware that it was his fault. he needed to fix it and he needed to fix it fast but he didn't need enid and ron whispering in his ears. nobody knew you like carl, they didn't know what they were talking about. they hadn't seen you crying over some stupid movie you watched. they didn't see you smiling the way he did, they didn't take notice like him.
they'd never understand what it was like to know you. only carl would. and he'd make sure of that.
the sun was setting by the time carl had made it to your house. you'd opened the door, taking him in with your eyes before allowing him inside. maggie and glenn were on the run so the two of you headed straight towards the bedroom where'd you'd begin the movie night. however, carl was more focused on the fact that you'd spoken barely four words to him tonight rather than which disney movie you'd force him to watch this time.
he knew you were in your head but you wouldn't utter the words because what were you meant to say? hey carl, why didn't you call me baby? something so simple had ruined your entire day.
however, carl couldn't keep it in anymore. "are you okay?" he blurted out after many moments of silence as he sat atop your pink bed sheets.
you, at the foot of the bed pursed your lips. you pressed play on the movie and allowed the credits to begin. you weren't the type of person to insist that you were fine if you weren't. carl liked that about you, he never had to guess. "are you mad at me?" voice meek, like a childs.
the realisation hit carl that despite what he was feeling for you, he'd have to push it down in order to continue your friendship. at least, he couldn't take it out on you. "'course not, baby, c'mere."
the name fell from his lips like sweet relief.
it suddenly occurred to the boy that you needed him. desperately so. something as simple as calling you by your first name had thrown off your entire day. carl should have been worried, concerned even. instead, his heart fluttered a little.
you truly did rely on him.
with a sigh of relief, you found yourself crawling up to the boy. today had been so long with you being in your own head so when you felt the feeling of his hands sneak around your waist, it was like coming home after a long day at work.
you couldn't see his face but if you could, you'd see the sheer nervousness on his face. he needed to control himself but he wasn't sure how that was possible while you cuddled up against him beneath your bed sheets, clad in your pretty pale blue shorts and your white spaghetti strap top.
your knee was bent, extending over the top of his legs. there was a sharp intake of breath as your knee gently bumped against the prominent bulge in his shorts. you hadn't noticed, he knew you hadn't noticed and to make sure you wouldn't notice, he reached over to switch off the light, clearing his throat. "so, uh, what are we watching?"
"the princess frog." you answered, turning your head up to look at his face as he groaned.
a look of displeasment was evident on his face. "it's so boring!" he practically gushed.
offence hit you like a truck. "excuse me!" you battled. "i'd like to see you opening up your own restaurant all by yourself." even carl had to admit, you got him there.
carl never understood why you picked movies that you fell asleep so early during.
he heard your soft snores and your gentle breath hit the crook of his neck within the first half hour of the movie. though he couldn't blame you. truthfully, he could only blame himself in how he had your head messed up, practically knocked off your shoulders for the entire day.
it took until almost a full hour into the movie for you to stur.
at first, carl thought he'd misheard it. a little noise falling from your lips. then, he heard it again.
he held his breath as he heard the whimper leave your lips.
then, he felt it.
the gentle roll of your hips against his thigh had him practically seeing stars. the boy glanced to the tv hoping for some kind of a distraction from his obvious hard on. he couldn't wake you up, not because he actually couldn't. but because he wasn't too sure if he wanted to.
admitting it sounded like nails on a chalkboard but he'd be lying if he said he did want to. the little whimper you let out, sleepily and lowly albeit, into his ear was enough for him to almost completely loose his control.
it was like he was dreaming, it was everything he'd dreamed of, especially the night before.
you sounded even better than he'd thought.
he shouldn't have laid so still. you weren't aware of the way your hips bucked onto his leg, a little whine stretching from your lips. he reminded himself that you were too busy sleeping to understand what was going on. he couldn't engage with you, that'd be wrong.
so... wrong.
then he'd swore he heard it. "carl." a mumble in your sleep, enough for him to not know whether or not you were actually sleeping. he took a glance at your face, eyes screwed shut.
he was imagining things, he had to have been.
you soon rolled over, leaving him laying very stiffly as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening.
you were having a wet dream, obviously. that'd never happened before, at least not while cuddled up against carl. but he could have swore he heard you say his name. he shook his head, knowing he was wrong, he was so caught up in what had happened the night before that he was imagining you breathe his name.
then, he heard it again.
this time it was more stretched out into a whine. due to the movie on in the background, he could vaguely make out the way your cunt rutted onto nothingness, the mattress maybe but it wasn't enough to cause any real friction.
his mind stirred. if you really were having a dream about him, surely it was only his duty to... help?
but it was dirty, downright perverted.
but your noises were growing needier, obviously the bed wasn't enough for you to create real friction from. he had to help you. "poor girl, can't even get herself off." he mumbled under his breath, not enough to wake you up.
if he were to touch you, it wouldn't be for him. no, he was doing this for you.
he knew you well enough to know you wouldn't wake. on the contrary, you'd sleep through an asteroid should it hit your home.
he reached his hand down beneath the covers, holding his breath. he was helping you, he reminded himself, helping you. this was for you, making sure you felt good as your dream continued. your dream of him.
suddenly, he wasn't the all too dirty one. perhaps you were.
his fingers gently felt the core of your shorts, taking an intake of breath upon feeling just how wet you were. it practically seeped onto his fingers, it was a wonder if his sweatpants didn't have a wet stain on them from how you'd been rolling your hips against them.
he breathed in, gently massaging the area you needed him the most, you all but moaned into the pillow, eyes screwed shut.
carl had dreamed of this moment for as long as he lived, he wasn't ready to give it up just yet.
the way your hips jutted into his hand, creating all the friction you needed and you whimpered again, still stuck in slumber, had carl's confidence through the roof.
it was as if saying his name, he realised you wanted it just as much as he did.
how he ended beneath the covers, he wasn't too sure. perhaps it was the newfound confidence he'd gained.
he'd spent too long dreaming of this moment to stop now. he breathed as shallow as a man could before his fingers travelled back to your shorts, gently pulling them away from your aching cunt. that was when he realised you hadn't been wearing panties. did you do that often around him? had you been... expecting something?
nonetheless, carl was more than willing to give it to you.
his breath fanned your pussy, prettier than his sick mind could have ever mustered. the image would be burned into his head, it'd never leave. one thing was for sure, this boy wasn't leaving the next morning without putting his mouth to your cunt.
and that was exactly what he did.
his tongue reached your pussy, licking a long stripe and feeling your thighs jump and your body jolt. obviously, never been touched.
he knew it'd be him who touched you first. now, it was just him making sure of it.
he licked again, your wetness gathering on his tongue. he tried to hold back the groan that spread throughout your entire body. yet, you still lay sleeping. it somehow only egged him on further. he knew you wouldn't wake. to him, your body was his for the taking. and he was going to take it.
his tongue found your cute hole, hands against your thighs, holding them, trapping them down.
tongue dancing across your clit, he heard you moan even louder, still trapped by slumber. his lips curved upwards, tongue circling your clit. he moved one of his hands, using his middle finger to gently slide into your sopping hole. so wet for him, already.
he cursed enid and ron for thinking they knew you. he cursed all of the people who thought they knew you. the truth was, the only person you could ever rely on would be him, he'd make sure that you got what you needed, make sure all your needs were fulfilled at all times. perhaps this was just him making sure of that fact.
his tongue moved away from your clit, moving his other hand to meet it. he saw the way your body writhed against his hands. he couldn't wait to do this when you were awake.
it wasn't until your thighs actually began to shake that he knew what was happening. "s'pretty." he mumbled, dazed as drool practically dripped from his mouth. you truly were, the most beautiful thing he'd ever encountered his entire life.
mouth moving back to your cunt, he moved his tongue back against your clit at an alarming pace. with his now free hand, he held your thighs down, trapping them under him as your body shook against him, jutting your hips back and practically rolling your hips against his face. he relished in it. you were practically getting off to his pretty face which told him all the more just how much you loved this.
he felt your hips force themselves back to the bed, shaking and vibrating until your juices poured out onto his tongue.
you'd came.
he lapped you up without second thought, tongue dancing over your hole and licking the juices off the single finger he'd pushed inside of you.
licking his lips, he finally rose. he watched your face lull in your sleep, obviously content and finally getting your sweet relief. he gently moved your shorts to cover your pussy again, as if nothing had happened at all.
it took mere seconds for you to roll back over and onto him, cuddling against his side. he couldn't help but feel even dirtier.
you'd never even know.
main masterlist/carl's masterlist
#carl#grimes#carl grimes#carl x reader#carl grimes x reader#carl x you#carl grimes x you#carl x y/n#carl grimes x y/n#carl imagine#carl grimes imagine#carl grimes drabble#carl grimes oneshot#carl grimes smut#carl grimes fluff#carl grimes angst#carl drabble#carl oneshot#carl smut#carl fluff#carl angst#the walking dead#twd#twd x reader#twd x y/n#twd x you#twd imagine#twd fluff#twd angst#twd oneshot
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daryl pre-apocalypse dating headcanons
divider credits. @cafekitsune
he would be nervous to date you, especially with the looming opinions of his father and merle lingering in the back of his mind, but it didn’t matter, he loved you and wouldn’t let anyone, especially them stand in the way of him finding his own happiness
each day he saw you it would put a smile on his face that he would try and hide but fail to keep from your sight
daryl wouldn’t be very much into pda, except if it was in a crowded area (he hated those), so he would hold your hand and when he’d get more stressed he’d squeeze your hand
motorcycle dates where he’d take you to the middle of nowhere
he would teach you how to hunt (unless you were against it), and how to shoot his crossbow
^^ he would put up targets for you to practice on against trees and would love to wrap his arms around you to help with the angle of which you held the weapon
he would love cuddling with you since he’s a touch starved bby whilst something random is playing on the television
he’d dance with you slowly and softly in the kitchen of your apartment with the radio on, to some old song that neither of you had ever heard
he would apologise profusely if you cleaned up after him (e.g. clothes and boots on the floor, toothpaste cap open, toilet seat up etc)
on the weekends you would just order pizza for dinner
if you were having any trouble with your car, he’d tell you to screw the idea of taking it to the garage and deal with it himself
he’d adore to see you smile at the most random things, like if you saw a child with a balloon or if he was the reason he would swoon even more
he would sleep with either his head on your chest using your boobs as a pillow, or you’d be spooning
if you have any scars he’d kiss them all each morning and night
smoking together before bedtime or with your morning coffees
neither of you had much money, so your little home wouldn’t be much, it would give small cozy cabin in the woods vibes, but it would be perfect
he’d let you trim his hair (on his head and facial)
feeling as though he has to protect you from merle and his friends, knowing that they made comments about you and your body from time to time
he would get insecure if anyone checked you out, and so you would reassure him without any irritancy he was the only one you wanted
showering together
him being scared to show you all of the scars across his body, especially the ones on his back. but during the first time when you scatter his flesh with kisses, he is no longer afraid, instead it becomes like a therapeutic massage
he would get you a promise ring, not something expensive but thoughtful and state that one day it would be replaced with a diamond
#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon headcanon#daryl dixon oneshot#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon fluff#daryl dixon fic#twd drabbles#twd x reader#twd imagine#twd oneshot#twd headcanons
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GOT IT CYCLOPS? carl grimes x fem!reader
warnings — both are 18+, stupid grimes part 2, e2l?, adopted!rhee!reader, teasing, making out, fingering, jerking off, lovesick once they stop having bitch fights
it went unspoken that you and carl were going to ignore that day in the janitor’s closet. you both were snapped into reality and rescued before things could escalate much further, leaving tension and awkwardness at a high.
and carl couldn’t tell if he liked that or not, on one hand, he’s glad he let everything out and the two of you shared a moment. on the other, you’re really hot when you’re mad.
currently you were ready to chew his ass out, ready to pound his face in for being so stupid. he walked through the streets of alexandria with you hot on his trail, a smirk playing on his lips despite the circumstances.
this was another instance where the adults were trying to put you both together again. they noticed how at peace you seemed after coming home that one day, despite being bombarded by a herd. but after that it was right back to how it was before. and they were determined.
it was mostly rick and daryl, your mom too if she weren’t at the hilltop. you can still remember carl begging you to stay and then acting like he hated your guts again when you caved.
this time the run was nearly successful, though on the way back to your car to load up and leave, carl decided to pick a fight.
carl lifts the trunk with a grunt, tossing in diapers and other things judith needed. you were carrying miscellaneous things negan would want, making your way to the car. you sling your haul into the trunk, turning with a grimace when you hear carl’s snarky laughter.
he points behind you at a trio of walkers headed your way. from the looks of it, it’s only them. but you settle for just your knife anyway. but carl’s hand is on your shoulder before you can make your way to them, they’re about thirty feet away.
“rock paper scissors for ‘em.” he smirks and holds out his fist. you narrow your eyes at him and swat at his hand.
“are you crazy? let’s just deal with them.” you remember him lecturing those kids for playing with the walkers before, now look at him.
carl lifts his hands in the air, “i forgot how afraid you are of losing.” you go to turn to him, ready to spew out the meanest things that came to your head. but he darts ahead of you, killing two of the walkers. the last one is able to get it’s hands on him while he was busying himself with it’s friends. you watch amused as he tackles it to the ground, showing a little struggle as he does so.
you make slow steps to him, watching for a while until the walker’s mouth gets dangerously close to carl’s neck. carl who was still telling you to hold off on killing it. but you ignore him, running over and piercing through it’s eye with your blade in one swift motion.
“i said i fucking had it,” carl huffs as he stands, brushing off his clothes. he looks to you, your sour expression stunning him. “what’s that look for?”
you let out a short laugh and poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue. “you had it? come on, if i wasted thirty more seconds listening to you, i’d have a dead grimes on my hands.”
carl smirks and walks closer to you, placing a hand on your waist, “didn’t know you cared that much, rhee.” you push him away with a dirty look,
“this little cool guy act doesn’t amuse me.” carl sighs and slides his knife back in his belt. “you know what will happen to me if i come back with you bit? i’ll never be trusted again.”
“admit you’d be at least a little sad.” carl’s voice isn’t teasing anymore, it sounds like he genuinely wants you to say it. like he believed you would be so heartless. you just sigh and nod, mumbling a ‘whatever’ and walk to the car. that’s enough for him.
you were still pissed at him for that little stunt, and made it very known. you followed him around all day, making sure to let any strange lookers know that his reckless behavior led him to being babysat all the time.
instead of bickering back he just took it, and even laughed. “what are you laughing at grimes?”
he shrugs, lifting his hat to run a hand through his hair. “i just like riling you up like this.” he smiles at your annoyed expression. “it’s fun!” you roll your eyes and walk past him, parting from him for the first time that day. he looks at where you were just standing, then behind him, running a bit to catch up to you. the approaching footsteps behind you cause you to sigh and cross your arms.
“what happened to babysitting me?”
his voice is still laced with humor, it’s starting to make you mad. “carl.” you whip around, your stern voice startles him, leading him to freeze. you get close to him, so close he can feel your breath on his lips. again, and it drives him crazy.
your composure falls and you adjust yourself on your feet. “carl, i’m not riled up, i’m not just babysitting you. what happened today scared me. you got too cocky with things and almost got yourself killed.”
carl bites his lip nervously, looking into your eyes. he dips his head down, not worrying about the gazes trained on you. “let me make it up to you.”
his lips brush yours and you place your hands on his chest, blocking him from going further. he pouts slightly, tilting his head. “that won’t work this time.”
that night you laid in your dark room, not bothering to turn on the lantern. you were lost in your thoughts, what if you had just let carl be? what if he did get bit? why is he playing it off like it didn’t happen? why is he playing that night off like it didn’t happen?
the last thing has made you snarkier with him. you were pissed he was acting like he hadn’t confessed to you, like he hadn’t kissed you and almost took it to the next base if it weren’t for your little rescue team.
a noise rips you out of your thoughts. it sounded like something small hitting glass. you lift the headphones of your walkman off your head and creep over to your window. on the way you slide your gun off your nightstand, would you realistically need it? nine out of ten times no one could get in the walls, but you’ve learned to never play it too safe.
another noise comes before you can reach the window and you sigh when you see the pebble hit the glass and fall. carl.
you huff and toss your gun onto your bed, rushing to the window and throwing it open. your hands slam on the window seal, a loud smack sound echoing through the night.
“that was a little dramatic.”
“what do you want, grimes?” carl answers you by climbing the tree next to your window. you roll your eyes but stand to the side to allow him entry anyway.
he breathes heavily when he makes it to the top, looking into your room and then at you through the glass. “i can come in?”
you give him a stupid look and lean on your hip, “no, i’ll push you and watch you fall and snap your neck.” you reach out and grab him by the collar to tug him in. “you can be so stupid, grimes.”
“stupid for you.” he attempts to wink but mentally face palms when he realizes that’s definitely not possible at this point. he makes a funny face at himself and you can’t help but smile, his poor attempt at being mr. smooth reminded you of that night.
then your mind drifts to how he’s ignoring it. and you’re back to mad again.
“what do you want?”
carl frowns at your tone, so you’re still mad, got it. “i want to make it up to you. besides the fact, you know, i’m still here and breathing.”
“that’s not the point carl.” you grunt as you sit on your bed, putting your revolver in your nightstand. carl sits next to you, looking at you expectantly for you to continue. a sigh leaves your lips and your head falls to look at your hands instead of him.
“you could have died.” carl opens his mouth to protest, but you’re quicker, placing a hand over his mouth. his shoulders fall dejectedly but he awaits your explanation nonetheless. “you’re being idiotic and careless and just an asshat like you were before.”
your hand slowly falls from his face and he looks at you with a glint of regret in his eye. “i just thought things would change after what you explained and confessed. i didn’t think you’d just act like nothing happened.”
he doesn’t know what to say, so his hand reaches out to grab yours when you smack it. he looks up to see your sad expression wiped away with an angered one. “and if you’d died without acting on whatever the hell that was, believe me grimes, i wouldn’t let you rest easy.” carl smiles at your returned sassy spark, the you that was so fun to toy with.
“okay then, rhee.” he grabs your hand, harsh enough to keep you from pulling away but not enough to hurt you. “catch me doing it again and you can take me out yourself.” you seem satisfied at that, causing carl to laugh at your antics.
“can i finally make it up to you now?” you quirk a brow at him, breath hitching at how close he was getting. “i’ve been wanting to kiss you, but i didn’t want to push anything.” so you do it for him, you close the gap between the two of you with a kiss slower than last time.
you pull away for a second and he chases your lips, leading you both to fall back on the mattress. “if you’re gonna make it up to me, you’re gonna do it right. we’re doing this how i want it. got it, cyclops?” he narrows his eye at you and tilts his head at the nickname, but doesn’t protest against your demands.
you slide your hand through his hair, gripping the tufts near his neck to pull his lips back to yours. he groans against your lips with every tug you make, his hips involuntarily grinding down onto yours.
you guide his right hand up to your waist and his left to your chest. he pulls away, a line of spit connecting your swollen lips. he looks down, finally realizing that all you have on is a sheer tank top and shorts. fitting for summer heat, but the lack of a bra surprises him more than it should.
he swallows thickly and feels his pants get uncomfortably tighter. the hand at your waist tugs your body closer to his while the other makes work on your nipples through your shirt. you can tell he’s inexperienced but so are you, the only thing giving it away is the confused look on his face and how needy he’s acting.
he shuts his eye tightly when you stop his movements and trail your hands down to his pants. you nod your head to the side and carl sits himself against your headboard, watching you intently. he’s breathing heavily again and his right hand comes up to cup your face.
if you were to look up you would see the adoration in his gaze, but your focus is trained on pleasing him instead. your minds are on polar opposite sides. you get his pants down and wrap your hand around him, causing him to suck in a breath through his teeth.
his hand goes to yours before you could even think about going further, “wait.” he pulls you closer to him, placing you on his lap. “i want to make it up to you.” you get the hint when he messily glides you over his cock. he shivers slightly at the contact but holds back as best as he can.
“what happened to this going my way?”
carl lets out a noise between a whine and a groan, “please.” and who are you to deny that?
“i’d like to see the protection you have then.” carl’s head falls back, knocking his hat off. he hadn’t planned things to go this far.
he throws an arm over his face, “where the hell was i supposed to get that?” you pat his cheek as a warning sign,
“don’t get snarky again. i don’t see mini rick and michonne’s running around. i’m sure you could’ve found something.” carl gives you a pointed glare, hinting at you to do the same. “i’m not going in my parent’s room, that’s a one way ticket to busted-town, grimes.”
carl huffs and pushes his sweaty hair away from his face. the comment you had made before about him being pretty, even now, has his face turning slightly pink. “i have an idea.” his hands find their way on your hips, and he looks to you for confirmation before he continues.
he guides you to get on your knees, your cunt hovering right over his dick. he takes two fingers and experimentally runs them through your folds, coating his fingers in your slick. he groans at how wet you are, trying to rack his brain for what to do next.
you giggle at him, watching the gears turn in his head. he smiles softly at you in return, sliding one of his fingers into you. he does his best at trying to keep his composure as he leads your hand to his cock, letting you take the reigns.
he curls his finger, eye searching your face for any hint of pain. your eyes meet his as you run your thumb over his slit, challenging him to keep eye contact. his mouth falls open and his movements are already getting messy. he leans in to kiss you, matching the ferocity from that night in the closet. teeth clashing and moans and heavy breaths mixing.
you feel his thumb on your clit, attempting to rub slow circles but he just can’t hold himself back. his movements echo yours, or what he wants you to give him. instead you’re being too slow for his liking, getting back at him for all his innocent teasing.
but it still gets him close, because he’s starving and it’s you. and he can tell by the way your thighs are shaking that you are too. he parts from your lips just enough to speak, “with me.” he’s so out of it, so breathless and entranced he can barely speak. “please.” you nod, speeding up your movements until his cock is twitching in your hand and making a mess of it and your sheets. though his lap isn’t much better, causing you to bury your head in his neck.
carl couldn’t help but laugh, you’ll never escape his antics if he gets this out of it.
#carl grimes x reader#carl grimes fanfiction#carl grimes x y/n#carl grimes x you#carl grimes#carl grimes smut#twd x reader#twd oneshot#twd imagine#twd smut#twd fanfiction#carl grimes oneshot#carl grimes imagine#carl x reader#carl x you#carl grimes x fem!reader#the walking dead smut#the walking dead x reader#the walking dead x you#the walking dead x y/n#the walking dead fanfiction
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when someone yells at you... || Rick Grimes (TWD)
rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker
"That was all your goddamn fault!"
And maybe it was just because you were tired, but something in you agreed with him -you knew you could do better than this.
"Look, okay, I'm sorry-" you tried -something weak and shaky in your tone (you were exhausted and all they were saying was making all of the noise in your head louder), "-I never meant to-"
"Fuck that," he hissed, "-you almost got us all killed with that fucking mistake. Don't you get that?!"
"It was just-" you started, slowly -words trying to come out properly.
"Just shut the fu-"
"What the hell is goin' on 'ere?" a voice boomed -southern drawl emphasized and tone unshaken: Rick Grimes.
He stepped in between the two of you.
You were exhausted, hands coming up to rub at your temples. Eyes were getting a little foggy and your lip was trembling, you couldn't falter. It could only make you lose respect in the grand scheme of things. You took a deep breath in.
"'Ey fucked up the whole run," the person explained, and you shrunk into yourself more, "-gave one wrong order, and fucking Nancy almost bit the goddamn bullet, Rick."
Rick just stared at him -something heavy in his gaze.
"You must not know shit 'bout this world," Rick scoffed, and you could see the slow steps of him approaching the man -you couldn't even remember his name, "-but every win 'ere's a hundred damn loses. Judgin' one person for a mistake, ya see, just ain't fuckin' wise."
"Somebody almost died, Rick," the man countered, "-don't you care about your people? Or have you lost that side of yourself too?"
Rick rushed forward then, grabbing the guy by his collar and raising him into the air. Your heart jolted into your throat.
"I'll feed you to the fuckin' walkers if ya keep talkin' like that."
The man seemed to falter, but you saw a gleam in Rick's eye. A dangerous gleam.
The group was already rocky as is, Rick didn't need to lose any respect. He didn't need to string out the dynamic further. One move and it'd tip.
"Rick," you insisted -hands wringing out in front of your chest, and his eyes almost immediately flashed to you, "-it's not worth it."
He seemed to lighten then, scanning over you. Maybe taking in your hands, or your hunched shoulders, or your blurry eyes. It was like his priorities switched, completely focused on you.
He let out a long sigh, dropping the man to the ground -he fumbled a little with his footing, "'Ey saved your life, remember 'at."
The man seemed shaken, swallowing thickly and blinking like he was trying to center himself. Rick merely focused entirely on you, heavy footfall bringing him right in front of you.
"Ya okay?" He spoke, soft and sweet -such a drastic difference from before that it made your head spin a little.
"I'm..." you echoed out, a little pathetically, "-I'm just exhausted, and being berated at like that doesn't really help."
Rick frowned, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and guiding you elsewhere -voice low just for you, "C'mon, let's talk somewhere else."
"I'm just tired," you offered but it was weak, and he didn't seem at all moved by it, or even convinced.
He pulled you into his house, off the Alexandria streets -it was strangely empty. No Judith or Carl, and you briefly wondered where they were.
"Sit," he motioned to the couch.
You paused for a moment, "Rick, you don't have to do this-"
"Sit," he repeated.
You silently found yourself a spot, leaning into the arm of it -Rick joined you, barely a breath away. You weren't sure how to react. You were never really sure with Rick.
"If anybody pulls 'at shit again," he suddenly said -blue eyes solid as steel, "-you tell me, okay?"
"Rick-"
"No," he spoke, so solidly it made your voice stutter to a stop, "-nobody talks to ya 'at way and fuckin' gets away wit' it. Ya hear me?"
"Yeah, okay," you responded -softer, "-I get it."
"I don't mean to be-" he paused, turning to you with a much softer glance -blue eyes warm, "-look, Y/N. I really care about ya, and if somebody says shit 'bout you. They might as well be sayin' shit 'bout me."
"They weren't talking shit, Rick," you exhaled, and something in your voice shook, "-I fucked up. Bad."
"'At's not-" he sighed, scooting closer to you and with a solid breath taking your hand in his, "-Everybody fucks up, ain't no reason to dwell on it. Ain't no reason to yell 'bout it like he was."
"He just got scared."
"Everyone's fuckin' scared, sweetheart," he countered, gruff voice in a low whisper, "-Gives 'im no goddamn excuse to yell at ya like 'at."
You frowned, shakingly wiping at your eyes.
"And, 's important to let go of things," he hummed, squeezing his hand around yours, "-ya just gotta remember nobody got hurt. If ya don't, you're only gonna run yourself into the ground."
You were quiet for a moment, eyes swimming over your connected hands thoughtfully. They darted to his, who were already looking at you -something you didn't quite recognize shining in his eyes. There was something there you couldn't quite read -something different. You just did what felt right.
"Thanks," you said quietly -it was all you could say, moving your head to his shoulder.
"Don't-" he hummed, you could feel the grumble in his chest -arm coming to wrap around your side, "-Ya don't 'ave to thank me."
You stayed in the silence of the moment, absorbing the air. All of this... new, it sunk into your skin. Your nose filled with the woodsy scent that you knew to be just Rick, and you had a spare thought.
Maybe this could happen again, but you knew Rick would be there. Maybe that makes it okay. It does... With Rick, it's okay.
"Yeah," you responded -maybe a little fondly, "-I do."
#stuff n' thangs#rick grimes x reader#rick grimes x y/n#rick grimes x you#rick grimes x y/n fanfiction#rick grimes blurb#twd blurb#twd oneshot#its griming time
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NERVOUS “you’ve got me nervous to speak.” carl grimes x fem!reader
tags: angst to fluff, use of y/n, cussing
a/n: back from the dead!! sorta based on nervous by the nbhd, and there’s also a little tsitp steven and taylor action that i used for inspiration. lyrics r in bold + italics or in between paras. enjoy lovelies!!
the bond between you and carl was truly inseparable. you two had been through it all together, and never once had either of you thought about ending it all.
that was until now.
god, you don’t know how you found yourself in this situation. he’s just a friend. he’s always been just a friend. that’s what you believed, and that’s what you always told people.
so how come, all of a sudden, he started becoming more than that? how come, out of the blue, you started getting butterflies at his gaze? it was an unfamiliar feeling, and you didn’t like it. you didn’t like it at all.
you didn’t wanna do anything to jeopardize your beloved friendship, especially over something so dumb. you weren’t gonna lose everything all because of a stupid crush. so, after ages of decision making, you finally set your mind on a reasonable solution.
should i be quiet?
you were just gonna take some time to yourself. you were gonna stop talking to him for a bit. that’s all you needed, just some space. it couldn’t be that hard to lose feelings. besides, he would understand, right?
he in fact did not understand. “wanna come over? i just finished reading that comic you wanted.” he said, a grin plastered onto his face. “not today.” you quickly shut him down, and you could see the happiness on his face slowly fade away.
“oh, that’s fine. tomorrow?” you felt so bad. you really did wanna hang out with him, but you had to push away these feelings first. “i just need some time to myself for a while.”
your felt your heart pang when you looked at his expression. he gave you a slight smile, attempting to mask his disappointment. but you knew him. you knew him well enough to know he was upset. “yeah, i get it. i’ll see you later y/n.” he said, walking away. all of the energy he had when he approached you was long gone now.
it had been days, weeks even. you hadn’t uttered a word to him. so why wasn’t it working? why did you still long for him? it was so frustrating.
not to mention, you were a mess. you would often find yourself with your head buried deep within your pillow, sniffling as tears flowed down your cheeks. on top of that, you weren’t getting enough sleep. you just missed carl.
you figured the best thing you could do for yourself was to just get some fresh air. after all, it was no use trying to fix stuff with carl, you already fucked it all up.
you took in the breeze, as you fiddled with your fingers. if it was a normal day, you would’ve been happy. you loved the cold, but today it was different. today, it made you feel numb. it made everything worse.
you tried getting it off your mind. you tried to think about other things, but you couldn’t stop thinking about the look he had on his face the last time you talked to him. his smile was wiped clean off his face, and it was all your fault.
you started to feel your eyes prick with tears. a single drop slowly traveled down your face, and you quickly wiped it off with your sleeve.
you just wanted to cry, but you weren’t gonna let yourself do it out in the public. after all, once you started crying, you weren’t gonna stop. so, you turned around and picked up the pace. you were headed back home, where you could be vulnerable.
your head was faced down, trying to hide your glassy eyes from anyone who could potentially see. “y/n?” you hear someone call out to you. the voice sounded familiar, and you instantly knew who it was without even lifting your head in the slightest.
it was carl. you had to get away. just pretend you didn’t hear him, you thought to yourself. your footsteps quickened, until you heard his pleading voice once again.
“just talk to me. please. is it something i said? i’m sorry for whatever i did.”
“you didn’t do anything. it’s me. it’s all my fucking fault because my stupid self caught feelings for her best friend.” you wanted to say, but you restrained yourself.
you finally came to a stop, turning around to face him. as soon as you met his gaze, you wanted to cry the hardest you’d ever cried before.
he slowly stepped closer to you until his taller figure was in close in front of you. “can you please talk to me? you know i won’t get mad. you know i’m listening. so please, just please tell me what’s been bothering you.” he begged, his eyes softening.
you let out a sigh, still sniffling. “it’s not your fault carl.” you said, your voice barely audible. “then what is it?” he said, keeping his voice at the same, calm volume.
“i-i like you, and it’s really embarrassing.” you confess. you instantly regret your choice of words when you see a frown start to appear on his face. “i don’t know what i was expecting, but that was really fucking mean.” he says, about to walk away.
“no, carl. it’s embarrassing because of how much i like you.” there it is. that’s what you’ve been holding in. it felt weird hearing the words coming out of your mouth. “how is that embarrassing?” he questioned, the tender look started to come back on his face.
ask me and ill tell you how i’ve been
“i- it’s like i forgot how to act around you. i’m always scared i’m gonna mess up. you’ve got me nervous to speak.”
that was the last thing you managed to get out before he pulled you into his chest for a tight hug. the dam holding your tears back broke.
the wetness stained his shirt, but he didn’t care. he rubbed your back with his arm, soothing you. you missed his embrace, the feeling you would get when you were in his arms felt heavenly.
after a few more seconds of the hug, carl shifted his hands to your shoulders. he softly pushed you back a little bit to get a look at your face.
he reached for your face to wipe any tears. “m’ sorry for ignoring you.” you said, voice soft and quiet. he shook his head, giving you a gentle smile.
“you’re okay sweet girl, don’t worry about it.” he said. “i-it’s not okay. i ignored you for so long, i just cut you off like that. without a single warning. it was so inconsiderate and i’m really sor-”
hush, baby, don’t you say another word
“you never shut up do you?” he said, cutting you off mid sentence before he crashed his lips onto yours. your eyes widened, and your movements froze before you slowly adjusted to the kiss. your eyes fluttered closed before you hesitantly tilted your head to get closer.
this was a new experience for the both of you, but it felt like he had years of practice. the way his hands made their way around your body, it sent shivers down your spine.
after what seemed like an eternity, you both pulled away. the sounds of your mixed heavy breaths filled the air. carl’s hand reached for your face before he wiped your slightly smudged chapstick.
he then tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. the gesture made the butterflies in your stomach act up more than they ever had in your life.
i got goosebumps all over me
“next time, just let me know what’s on your mind, yeah?” he asks. “okay.” you say, looking at him with pure admiration. “that’s my girl.”
#carl grimes#carl grimes x reader#carl grimes x y/n#the walking dead#carl grimes x fem!reader#twd#twd x reader#carl grimes angst#carl grimes fluff#carl grimes oneshot#twd oneshot#the walking dead oneshot#carl grimes imagine#carl grimes smut#twd imagine#the walking dead imagine#the walking dead x reader#chandler riggs
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JUST FRIENDS, RIGHT? ⋆｡°✩ carl grimes x reader
.ᐟ WORD COUNT .ᐟ ⭑ 998
꩜ .ᐟ WARNINGS ⭑ fluff, friends to lovers, use of y/n, reader is maggies sister, just cute wholesome moments<3
.ᐟ A/N .ᐟ ⭑ thank you all SO MUCH for the love on lonely OH MY GODDD i was not expecting that much traction for my first story! it was literally my first ever tumblr post ever too thats insane o_O i literally have like 0 idea how tumblr works it took me forever to write lonely because i had NO CLUE WHAT I WAS DOINGG if you have any tips let me know im so desperate
anyways thank you all so much for the support it means sososo much!! <333
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you and carl had been best friends since the farm. after carl and his group arrived, the two of you had been just.. drawn to each other.
you were there for him after he was shot in the side, despite not knowing him. ever since then, the two of you were inseparable.
years had passed and you guys were now living in alexandria. after being in that safe space and finally feeling secure, you had more time to tend to your thoughts. one of those thoughts being the new feeling you were getting in your abdomen whenever you were around carl. he could be doing anything, smiling, laughing, whatever. it just made you feel something you had never felt before. something you couldn't describe.
but that was challenged shortly after you guys settled into alexandria and carl had told you he had a crush on enid.
"hey, can i tell you something?" carl asked, setting down his comic book and looking over at you.
you looked up from your own comic and into his baby blue eyes. "yeah, 'course. what's up?"
"i... i think i like enid." your heart dropped at his words.
"oh." you softly responded, trying to hide how upset you were with a smile. "that's... nice."
god, you wanted to explode right there. but you had to be supportive for your best friend, even if you had... some sort of feelings for him.
ever since then, you tried your best to pretend you didn't like him. he never got with enid due to ron and her being together, but you didn't want to ruin his moment. you wanted to be there for him.
you ignored the tightening feeling in your chest whenever he smiled at you and eventually, you were so caught up in this lie that part of you believed you were over him. sure, you still got those butterflies in your stomach whenever he hugged you, but it couldn't be love anymore, right?
well, you were wrong. all of those feelings of love were confirmed after ron had shot him in the eye, which made you realize you couldn't lose him. he came so close to death, and you knew you couldn't live without him.
you stayed with him throughout his recovery, and despite him being insecure, he let you stay. i mean, the two of you had been in this situation before back at the farm. you had to be there for him.
after a while, carl had recovered, now rocking an eyepatch across his right eye and being able to function properly again through his physical therapy. and you were there with him throughout the entire thing.
after carls recovery, the two of you had found an area in the woods for the two of you to have quiet alone time. as friends. just friends, right?
today, you couldn't focus. you were so overwhelmed by the knot in your stomach as you watched him read his comics. your eyes went from his hat to his icy blue eye, then his hands, then back into his eye, which was now looking back at you.
"are you okay?" he asked, causing you to come back to your senses.
"i.. yeah. i'm good." you awkwardly looked away.
"are you sure? you were staring at me." carl chuckles, setting down his comic book next to him and sitting up to look back at you properly.
"i'm good. perfect, even." you reassured him, but the blush on your face said otherwise.
carl moves closer to you, sitting right in front of you. now, your guys' faces are inches apart from each other.
"you know you can tell me anything, right?" carl softly speaks, smiling down at you as you move your hands up to covered your tomato-like face.
he moves his hands up to yours and moves your hands off of your face.
"why're you so nervous?" he rubbed his thumb over your hands as he waited for your answer.
you cleared your throat and averted your eyes, which caused him to bring a hand up to your chin and move your face back towards him.
your faces had the slightest gap between each other.
he smirked down at you before closing the gap between you two, kissing you softly.
you were caught off guard, more surprised than ever. your stomach was doing flips as you leaned into the kiss, but after a bit, you moved away.
"wait, but..." your facial expression changed to confused as you processed everything. "you said you liked enid."
"wh.. oh." he averted his eyes. "...would you be mad if i told you i just kinda.. said that to say it?"
"are you serious?!" you yelled. you weren't really angry, and it was apparent in your voice. "theres no way. no. you told me you liked her so confidently. you only didn't get together because of ron, but ron's.. y'know."
"y/n." carl put one of his hands on your shoulder. "i said it because i knew you liked me. and.. i didn't want you to."
"what?"
"i don't like enid. i like you. i was just... i was just nervous that i'd hurt you somehow." he explained.
"i think it hurt more hearing you liked another girl than anything else." you scoffed with a smile.
"i meant, i didn't want to be a jerk or something. i've never dated anyone before, i didn't know what i was doing. i mean, i still don't know what i'm doing, but..."
you cut him off with another quick kiss, moving your hand up to his jawline.
you pull away shortly after, smirking at his dumbfounded facial expression and reddened face.
"...did you kiss me just to make me shut up?" he rose his eyebrow with a laugh.
"ha, no..." you rolled your eyes, pulling him in for a tight hug, which he returned shortly after.
he rested his head in the crook of your neck.
"i'm glad we don't have to pretend anymore."
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#🌙 — maxines fics#the walking dead#carl grimes#carl grimes x reader#carl x reader#twd#twd imagine#twd oneshot#the walking dead imagine#the walking dead oneshot#carl grimes x y/n#fluff#carl grimes one shot#carl x y/n#the walking dead x reader#twd x reader
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If you are seeking soon to be dad Daryl, what about a fic where Y/n gets pregnant but she's scared to tell Daryl because what happened to Lori? Maybe she is finally able to tell him when they get reunited after the prison falls and by then she's already showing? Idk I know it says requests are closed but I saw your post!
Blessing in Disguise
Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader
Summary: After discovering that you are pregnant, you don't know what to do; being utterly afraid after what happened to Lori. You don't even have the chance to tell it your boyfriend, Daryl, because after the prison fell, you and Daryl get separated. Can you find him again and finally be brave enough to tell him?
Warnings: the usual TWD stuff, walkers, weapons, angst, mentions of birth and pregnancy, fluff!
Set in Season 4/5!
Word Count: 4,6k (Whopsies...)
a/n: I promised y'all a new Daryl fic and here it is! ☺️ Thank you for this wonderful request @starfirette ! ☺️ I loved, loved, loved to write this! 🥰 I hope you like it. ☺️ I changed the timeline a little bit - and I uh, may have ignored the existence of Mika and Lizzie, because I somehow struggled a lot to write them. I hope that's okay. 🙈
Tagging: @in-this-minute @thefemininemystiquee @hotgirlsshareaccounts @azanoni @lokisgoodgirl @goobysgoobers @fuseburner @fictive-sl0th @alexreadz07 @sweetpeapod
Masterlist
Biting your lip nervously, you watched your friend from afar, loading stuff in a car. He was alone, so your only opportunity to ask was probably now - or never. Taking a deep breath, you bit the bullet and walked over to him. "Hey, uh, Glenn?" The black-haired man turned to face you. "Oh, hey Y/N. What's up?" He asked you, smiling. "Can... Can you please get me something from the drugstore you're going to?" "Sure thing, no problem. What is it?" You bit your lip again; shaky fingers handed over a small piece of paper. Glenn took it and slowly unfolded it. His gaze scanned the written words, eyes widening. "Y-Y/N this... This is-" "I know, Glenn, I know. Please, keep this to yourself, okay?" "Of course, but... You know that everyone says I'm bad at keeping secrets?" You sighed, rubbing the heels of your hands in your eyes. "Yes, but you're my best friend. I trust you." The Korean nodded, "You got a point there..." and stuffed the note inside his jeans pocket. "Don't forget it, please." "I won't, promise."
You spent the time walking from one place to the next. Your mind was restless, and so was your body. A billion 'What if...' questions were running through your head on lighting speed. It felt like your skull was going to burst any second. The wait for Glenn to return was almost unbearable. "Y/N? You alright?" Maggie's voice cut through the loud noises in your head. Blinking, you stopped in your motions; looking up to face her. "Y-Yeah, of course." The woman looked at you quite a bit sceptically. "Are you sure? You seem really... uneasy and nervous. Something wrong between you and Daryl?" You quickly shook your head at your friend's words. "No, no! Everything's perfectly fine! We're good. I'm good!" Maggie eyed you a second time doubtfully, "Alright." before she turned around to leave again. You breathed out relieved, closing your eyes. Gods... That was hell.
About two hours later, Glenn and a few Woodbury people came back from the run. Subtly, your best friend handed you the small bag. "You got it?" He nodded. "Yeah. Brought three different brands." You stared at the bag, taking it into your hands. "Thank you." "Of course." You gave Glenn a small smile, which he returned. "You can talk to me about... You know. I-I'm always here for you." "I know - and I appreciate it so much." Before the Korean could even answer, you had pulled him into a big hug.
Now you sat in the cell you shared with Daryl - who was on a hunt at the moment, on the bed, staring at the bag in your hands. You had to do it. You just had to. You needed to know. So, you grabbed all three packages and sneaked into the prison 'bathroom'. Taking the tests were easy. Waiting five minutes for them to show a result was excruciating. Once again you found yourself walking up and down the room, hoping for once time would pass faster. At some point you couldn't take it anymore. You had to look; waited clearly long enough. Closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, you stepped over to one of the sinks - where you had placed all three tests, and taking a look at them. The first one. Positive. The second test. Positive. And the third result. Positive. "Fuck..." You were pregnant – without a doubt.
Shock wasn't the right word to describe your emotions right now. It wasn't really a shock, since you had the assumption; showing the typical signs for over a week now. Fear and panic were better words. In another world, you would've been happy. Having a baby with the man you loved was everything you ever wanted. Daryl was that man. The rotten, destroyed and dangerous world was a big problem, sure. Not just the walkers were a big threat. The disease, which roamed the prison had been a problem, but also other people out there. People like the Governor, for example. But now that you had the prison back and successfully defended your home against that psychopath, you weren't that concerned about the circumstances and surroundings. The prison was safe. What was a bigger problem and the cause for your main fear and panic, was what had happened only a few months ago... Judith's birth, and Lori's death. She died, birthing a child - and that was what gave you the chills. What if the same fate befell you? What if you were going to die as well, bringing yours and Daryl's baby into this world? Like Lori already once said… This wasn't a hospital. Sure, you had medical supplies - but not enough for a c-section or worse. If there would be complications, you were sure going to die - and you didn't want that. Despite that, it was already kinda hard enough to provide for one baby, but two? You didn't know. You really didn't know. What were you going to do now?
Driven by the panic coursing through your system, you went on search for Glenn. You needed to talk - and your best friend was your safe haven right now. Telling Daryl wasn't an option. Not just because he wasn't here at the moment anyway - which had left you worried sick enough, but also because you just were too afraid. You didn't want to do this to him. If you were really going to die during childbirth, you would put even more weight on his shoulders. He already had to carry enough.
"Glenn?!" You shouted up the guard tower, knowing that he was on watch at the moment. Seconds later, the door sprung open and his head appeared. "Y/N?" He shouted back. "Can... Can I come up?" You choked out; the tears on the brink of falling. "Uh, sure!" Quickly, you made your way up the stairs and through the doors. "T-Thanks." "Sure thing. Did you take the- You did." Glenn said, turning to face you and noticing the tears in your eyes immediately. "Is it... positive?" You nodded. Glenn's eyes widened. "You are... pregnant?" Once again you nodded; having lost the ability to form words. Without another sentence, Glenn bridged the distance between you and him and hugged you close. A big hug - exactly what you needed right now.
The two of you just stood there for a while, embracing each other. The only thing which could be heard, were your quiet sobs of desperation.
"W-What am I doing now, Glenn?" He pulled back from the hug, looking at you a bit confused. "What, uh, do you mean?" You blinked, staring at your best friend. Was he serious right now? He didn't get it? "Glenn, I... I can't have that baby!" And again the black-haired man's eyes widened. "Wait, what? You want to...?" Shrugging your shoulders, more tears started to fall. "N-No, but... I'm afraid of being pregnant; of birthing that baby. You know what happened to Lori! What if this happens to me, too!" Glenn immediately shook his head. "It won't, Y/N. Judith's birth went wrong, because Hershel wasn't with her. Lori was at the wrong place on the wrong time, unfortunately. It won't happen to you." You scoffed, not seeing this as easy as him. "That may be true, but what if Hershel can't be with me as well, huh? For any reason? And nevertheless, this ain't a hospital... It's a goddamn prison." The Korean sighed, tried to reassure you further, but it was no use. "I'm going to take you to Hershel now." He said, grabbing gently your arm and pulling you with him. "W-Why?" "Because maybe he can reassure you; and especially prevent you from having a panic attack." You said nothing; knew that he was actually right, so you didn't protest.
Passing by a lot of familiar faces on the way - due to the people from Woodbury your group had taken in in the prison, Glenn brought you to the small infirmary, where he was surely working.
"Hershel?" Glenn called out, trespassing the big doors with you. "I'm here." You heard the elder man call out, before he stepped out of one of the cells turned hospital rooms. "Glenn, what can I- Oh, hello Y/N." Neither of you said a thing, causing Hershel to look confused at the both of you and get closer. "Is everything alright?" Glenn turned to face you, squeezing your shoulder gently. "I'll leave you to it." With those words and a smile, he disappeared through the doors again, leaving you alone with Hershel. "Are you not feeling well, dear?" "Y-Yes." What were you saying? "N-No, I-" Even more overwhelmed now, you took a deep breath, trying to get yourself together. Hershel could see how you struggled; that you were rattled and of course, that something was bothering you. "Come, Y/N, let's sit down." The older man gave you a soft smile and gestured for you to follow him. He guided you into an empty room, in which he told you to sit on the small bed. "I'll be right back." You nodded, still too shaken up to form words.
A few minutes later, Hershel came back with a water bottle, handing it over to you. "Drink." You nodded once again, twisted the cap open and took a few big sips. "Good. Now take a few deep breaths and tell me what's wrong - if you feel up to it." You did what Hershel instructed you to do; took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. You needed that. You didn't know it, but you needed that. "Thank you." The man nodded at you, giving you another small smile. "O-Okay, so... Um, I... I wasn't feeling that well for the last few days. Always tired, no matter how much I slept. Sometimes, I had a bit nausea and mood swings... A-And I had to pee more often." You paused for a moment, fiddling nervously with your hands. A look into Hershel's face told you that he already knew what you were trying to say. After all, he was a doctor, but he didn't interrupt you; let you speak on. "W-Well, I counted one and one together and... Glenn brought me three tests. I just took them and..." "They're positive?" You nodded, clenching your jaw in order to suppress the upcoming tears. "W-What do I do now, Hershel?" The older man reached his hand over to gently place it on yours. "Be happy about it. This is a gift. A wonder." You scoffed, controlled by your fear once again. "It wasn't a gift for Lori, was it?" Hershel sighed, knowing exactly what you meant. "What happened to Lori was an accident. It was the wrong place and the wrong situation." "That may be true, but what if I'm going to die, too? What if this baby decides to come in the wrong place and the wrong situation as well?" "That won't happen." "Why are you so sure of that? This just isn't a world to have children anymore." It was a back and forth and throwing arguments - until Hershel shook his head and gave your hand a squeeze. "Now listen to me, Y/N. I know very well that this must be not easy for you. I can understand; given what happened to Lori. But Lori had Carl through a c-section, so the chances were pretty high she needed to have Judith with a c-section as well. You on the other hand have very good chances for a natural birth." He said calmly, pausing for a moment to let his words sink in. "Despite, you are such a strong woman. You've got Daryl by your side. You've got all of us by your side. A safe place with the prison..." He gave you a smile. "We're going to make this."
Hershel's words managed to calm you down a bit and take away some of your anxiety - quite to your surprise. "Y-You think?" "Yes." You nodded and stayed quiet for a moment, before the next thought hit you. "B-But what if Daryl doesn't want this?" A low, hearty chuckle rumbled through the elder man's chest, causing you to look at him confused. "Y/N... That man would do anything for you and that baby. You know just like me how adamant he was to keep Judith alive and healthy. He was the first one who reacted, went immediately out on a run to get her formula. Daryl would never reject that baby, trust me. He is going to be a great father." He squeezed your hand again, giving you another smile, which you couldn't help but return. "Now let's get you checked up and make sure to start on the prenatal vitamins."
And for a short moment, everything was perfectly fine. Sure, you still had your doubts and fears, but the voices in your heads became quieter, due to Hershel. Unfortunately, your happy phase didn't last even three days. Suddenly everything turned sour, when Hershel and Michonne vanished, the Governor returned to take the prison by brutal force with the two missing people in tow as hostages, murdering Hershel in front of yours and everyone's eyes – and the fall of the prison in the end. It happened so fast. Within minutes, everything was heading south with walkers flooding the place and a war breaking loose. Suddenly everybody around you was crying and yelling, while you just tried to hold on to Daryl - but it was no use... In the end, you lost him, got separated from him and ended up with Tyreese, who had saved baby Judith - and who absolutely wasn't bad at all, but Tyreese wasn't Daryl. The prison was destroyed, your family split up, not knowing who survived and who didn't. Your boyfriend and still unbeknownst to him, father of your child was probably dead and you had absolutely nothing left. Within a blink of an eye, you had a mess on your hands.
"We have to go back!" You shouted after Tyreese, as he walked on through the woods, further away from the prison. "We have to go back and look for him!" Your friend gave you no answer, just continued to walk on. With a cocktail of anger, hurt, frustration and sadness coursing through your veins, you quickly caught up to him. "Tyreese!" He stopped suddenly abruptly in his tracks. "We can't, Y/N! We can't! Don't you see? Our home is destroyed, overrun with walkers! Going back there would be suicide!" "I don't care! I have to find him!" Tyreese sighed, bouncing Judith in his arms to keep her asleep and quiet. "I know this is hard for you and I am truly so, so sorry, but we have to look after Judith now. Make sure she survives." A part of you knew that the man was more than right, but your heart just couldn't accept this. You had to made sure that the man you loved was alright. So the emotions inside you exploded, causing you to reveal your 'secret' to your friend. "And I have to make sure that the father of my baby is alive!" Your eyes widened immediately after the words had left your lips, realisation dawning on you. Tyreese's eyes widened as well; his jaw dropping. "You... You are pregnant?" You nodded; tears threatening to fall. "Please, Tyreese, please..." Your voice was quieter and softer now, on the verge of begging. The man sighed once again, before placing a free hand on your upper arm, squeezing reassuringly. "No. It's too late." You wanted to speak up again, but Tyreese was quick to cut you off. "It won't change a thing if we are going back there." "Fine. Then I'm going alone." You wanted to turn on your heels and go, but Tyreese stopped you; grabbed your arm gently. "I can't and won't let you, Y/N. You are pregnant! I'd never forgive myself if something would happen to you. We stay together. Maybe we find Daryl somewhere around here. He is a survivor, you know that." Those words seemed to finally do the trick and convince you to not go back. Instead, you fell into Tyreese's arm, hugging his side and crying against his shoulder.
"Y/N!" Daryl looked around frantically, scanning his surroundings, while taking out several walkers on his way. "Y/N!" He couldn't see you. He just couldn't see you. "Y/N!" The tank, standing in the yard distracted his search for a moment, as he made sure to push a grenade down the gun, causing the man inside to jump out, before the tank exploded. Daryl was quick in driving an arrow through the enemy's chest; looking once again around. "Y/N!" The archer was on the edge of despair, so afraid to lose you. He had held your hand so tight and nevertheless, you were just suddenly gone, vanished into thin air, just because he had to use the hand which was clasping yours to kill an approaching walker. It was a mistake. He should've never let you go and rather just waste an arrow. Feeling the tears coming up in his eyes and witnessing more walkers storming the destroyed home they had built up, he screamed out your name from the top of his lungs for one last time. No response. No you. "Fuck!" He cursed, throwing his weapons to the ground and rubbing the heels of his hands in his eyes - until a familiar voice spoke up behind him.
"Daryl!" The archer spun around. His gaze landed on a young woman with blonde hair. Beth. "I was trying to find the kinds to get them on the bus." Daryl shook his head. "I lost Y/N. I can't find 'er. I can't find 'er." Beth looked at him compassionately, taking his hand. "I'm so sorry, Daryl." The man was quiet for a moment, until he ripped his hand loose from the teenager's soft grip. "You gotta Beth, you gotta go. Get yourself to safety." The young woman's eyes widened. "No! I-I... What about you?" "I can't leave. I need ta find Y/N. I can't lose her." Beth frantically shook her head. "You can't, Daryl. If you stay, you're going to get yourself killed! There are too many walkers!" "Don care. Gotta find 'er." He wanted to walk past Beth, but she held him back with a hand pressed against his chest. "No! Y/N wasn't inside the prison. I didn't see her. You couldn't find her outside. What if she was inside the bus, or left already with someone else?" Daryl's eyes flickered, the gears in his head turning. "Please... If you go in there now and get yourself killed, Y/N is the one who is going to suffer. You don't want that, do you?" Daryl swallowed, shaking his head. "No." "See? Now come on. We have to go. We'll look for her, I promise!" He nodded and followed Beth, still not sure if this was the right decision.
Time passed. Day after day went by. While you, Tyreese and Judith found Carol on your way, Daryl lost Beth to god knows who and found Rick, Carl and Michonne somewhere on the way. They weren't you, but he was relieved to see that other members of his family had survived. Unfortunately, they didn't know what happened to you as well, leaving the archer still in the dark. It was torturous. But so it was for you.
At some point, you lost track of time, couldn't tell if the weeks had already turned to months or not. What you knew was, that the baby living inside you, must be there already for at least three months, since you lately started to show, having a small baby bump now. Carol quickly counted one and one together as well, making sure together with Tyreese that you were safe and protected.
Well... And then Terminus happened. While Daryl tried to stay alive with the others, Carol went on a rescue mission. You wanted to accompany her at all costs, but of course she didn't let you. She didn't want to risk your life and with that the baby's life as well. So, you stayed behind in that little hut with Tyreese and Judith, making sure that this strange man you took hostage didn't escape. Let's put it this way... Not every part of it went according to plan, but in the end everything turned out to be fine. More than fine, actually...
"I'm not digging around with this crap. We just made it out." "The fences are down. They'll run or die." Daryl listened in silence to the group and Rick's arguing, biting his lower lip - until he heard the leaves of the forest ground crunch, alerting him that someone - or most likely rather something must be there. He was right. But it wasn't something. It was someone. Carol. Daryl couldn't believe his eyes, seeing his best friend standing there, only a few feet away. He didn't think he would ever see her again. Not after she had been banished by Rick. But there she was. Daryl didn't hesitate, ran over to her and pulled her into a big hug. That attracted the others attention as well. Everyone was exhausted to the core, but undeniably happy to see Carol. Rick as well. He approached the two friends. "Did you do that?" Carol nodded meekly, on the verge of tears. Rick went immediately to hug her, wrapping both his arms tightly around his friend. "Thank you." The grey-haired woman retreated from the hug, smiling softly. "You have to come with me."
That was exactly what they all did. They followed Carol to the little hut… "They're back! Y/N they're back!" Tyreese exclaimed, watching their family approach the hut through one of the windows. "Really?!" You literally jumped up from where you sat on the ground beside Judith's makeshift crib. "Yes!" "Daryl! Can you see Daryl?!" Tyreese turned to face you, smiling. "Look for yourself." You sprinted to the window, seeing familiar and also a few unfamiliar faces. Among them, was Daryl. Seeing him kickstarted your heart, sending waves of pure happiness through your veins. "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh," you splattered out, before moving over to run out of the hut. "Daryl! Daryl!" The archer's eyes shot up, landing directly on you. For the second time within minutes, he couldn't believe his eyes. He had already lost hope, thinking he was never ever going to see you again. "Y/N..." He breathed out, letting his crossbow fall to the ground and running towards you, meeting you halfway in a hug. You literally jumped into his arms, wrapping both your arms and legs around him. "Daryl..." You sobbed, burying your face in his neck. "Y/N..." You could tell that Daryl was crying as well. His voice quivering and unsteady. The world around you faded. Just you and Daryl existed in that very moment. "I-I thought I lost you. I thought I was never going to see you again." You stammered, still clinging to him. "Me too. I couldn't find ya. I searched for ya, but I just couldn't find ya." "I'm here now." You whispered with a smile, peppering the skin on his neck with small kisses. "I am never going let ya out of my sight again, I promise. 'M gonna protect you better, I swear." You shook your head. "You always protect me as best as you can. This wasn't your fault. Stop blaming yourself, please. It was the Governor's fault. Nobody else's." Daryl just nodded against your shoulder, relieved that he had you back in his arms. That was everything what mattered in that moment. You held him for another while, before you untangled yourself from around your boyfriend and backed up a bit, just enough to look into his blue, greyish eyes. Though, one eye was slightly swollen and red. All in all, he looked quite battered and bruised, causing your heart to ache. Gently, you cupped his scruffy cheeks, looking at him with furrowed brows, worried. He noticed that of course, "M fine. Don worry." and started immediately to rub reassuring circles in the clothed skin of your hips with his thumbs. "You don't look fine, Daryl." The archer shook his head. "M fine, really. Jus' a black eye and a few cuts and bruises... How are you? You alright?" His question reminded you suddenly of the baby, growing in your womb. His baby. You swallowed. Now was the time to tell him, wasn't it?
"Y-Yes, I am, b-but there's something I need to tell you, I-" "We need to go." Rick's voice suddenly cut through the air, loud enough to catch both, yours and Daryl's attention. The archer looked at his brother, an arm still protectively wrapped around you. He hadn't noticed your small baby bump yet. "Yeah, but where?" He asked. "Somewhere far away from there," answered Rick, everybody shuffling around to get ready for moving along. Daryl nodded, thinking the same as Rick. "You two coming?" "Yes, just give us a minute. We'll catch up." You jumped to answer your friend, before Daryl could. You had to tell him. Now. "Alright. Just don't stay behind. We'll make sure to look out for you." You nodded, giving him a smile. "Thanks." The others went to follow Rick, leaving you and Daryl on your own - for now. The archer's gaze met yours again, fear and worry clouding his blue-grey orbs. "What is it?" Daryl asked, eyes suddenly widening. "You didn't get bit, did ya?!" You quickly shook your head. "No, no! It's not that! I didn't get bit!" He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing out relieved. "Thank fuck. What is it then?" You took a deep breath. Now or never. "I-I'm pregnant." Daryl blinked, looking at you incredulously. "W-What?" You bit your lip, gently reaching for his hand and placing it on your small baby bump for him to feel. "I-I'm pregnant." An audible gasp left his lips; emotions getting stuck in his throat and tears blurring his vision. "P-Pregnant? Y-Yer pregnant?" You nodded, having to fight the tears once again as well. "Oh Y/N..." Daryl sobbed, engulfing you in another hug.
"Since when do you know?" You swallowed hard, knowing that this question would come. "A few days before the prison fell..." "W-What?" He was shocked. "Why didn't you tell me?" "I'm sorry. I-I wanted to, but I was so afraid because of what happened to Lori a-a-and I dunno... Before I could tell you, everything went south. I'm so sorry." "Damnit, Y/N... Jus' imagine what could've happen if you ended up alone out there? Ya could've died!" "But I didn't! I found Tyreese and Carol. They took care of me. They always made sure I was okay." Daryl scoffed, but took your hands into his. "Don scare the shit outta me again, woman, I swear…" You had to smile softly at his words, shaking your head, "Promise." and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him lovingly. "Let's catch up to the others. You stay close ta me. I don't want ya out of my sight, understood?" You nodded. "Yes, Sir." "Good." The archer intertwined your fingers with his, grabbed his crossbow and gently pulled you with him, in order to catch up to the others - what you did in the end. "So, you're not mad at me, that I'm, well... Pregnant?" Once again, he shook his head. "Why should I? This is wonderful, actually. Maybe not the best time, but we're gonna make this. Judith made it, too." You smiled up at him, your heart full and content with love. "I love you." "I love ya too, sunshine - and I promise I'm goin' to look after you and that kid."
#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon#daryl x you#daryl imagines#daryl dixon imagine#twd fanfic#twd imagine#twd oneshot#the walking dead daryl#the walking dead fanfic#daryl dixon x pregnant!reader
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*Y/n staring at Daryl for a long moment*
Y/n: this shirt shows your nipple.
Daryl: what?
Y/n: what?
Rick: nipple??
#twd headcanon#twd headcanons#daryl headcanons#daryl dixon headcanons#rick headcanons#twd x reader#daryl x reader#daryl dixon x reader#daryl x gn!reader#twd imagine#twd drabble#twd oneshot#twd quotes#incorrect twd quotes#twd fanfic
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☾₊˚ ༘⋆
“you keep wrappin’ around me like that, i’ll put a baby in you.”
your bawdy moans and the way you tightened your thighs around his waist, and even the way your fingernails dug into his back with desperation — he couldn’t take it.
“fuck, sweetheart—” he slowed his pace and grasped your thighs with his rough hands, pushing them up against your stomach. “what i tell you?”
“please, rick, feels so good,” you pleaded, eyes hazy and showcasing your fucked out state.
his thrusts ensued, but his stare intensified, a licentious expression on his face. his pink lips parted as he let out a wanton grunt while fucking you into the uncomfortable mattress.
see, the two of you could’ve waited until you made it back to alexandria, however you had decided to wear the tightest shorts that day. and rick knew you had picked them out just for him, on the day you two went on a supply run together. how courteous of you…
so here you were, being fucked like the whore you were in an abandoned shack on a dusty mattress.
“fuckin’ slut. always gotta wear—” thrust. “the sluttiest outfits—” thrust. “aroun’ me, hm?” his hips rocked into your core with such vigor you almost expected he’d literally split you open.
your lewd cries echoed throughout the ramshackled house. his hand switched from the plushness of your thigh to your pouted mouth. “stay fucking quiet, or your pussy isn’t the only thing that’s getting fucked today. your mouth could use some attention, right?” he teased, releasing his hand from your mouth.
a tight knot started to form deep in your core. “oh god, rick, i’m gonna—”
his thrusts quickened, a hand reaching down to thumb your clit, pinching and prodding it. “not till i say so,” he demanded. your back arched off the mattress, hands grabbing at rick’s tousled brown hair. he leaned down to lock his lips with yours.
rick pulled away from the kiss. his hips driving deep into your cunt, and his cock thumping into your cervix. he angled his hips to aim his cock into the sweet spot that activated your climax. “cum f’me.”
without question you released your juices onto him, closed-mouth whimpers begging to escape your lips. your walls continued to tighten around him which sent rick chasing his own climax. “fuck, ohh—” his seed spilled into your drenched cunt as he rode through his orgasm.
he pulled out and collapsed beside you, dust flying around the two of you as his body made contact with the mattress. rick wheezed slightly and chuckled, waving the dust out of his face. if you weren’t completely out of breath you would have laughed along with him, but still you turned your head to meet his and smirked.
“so, you really like my shorts, huh?”
he sighed exasperatedly, side-eyeing you. “if i catch you wearin’ them damn things around me again, i’m not gonna go easy on you.”
you gulped. if the way he just fucked you was ‘going easy on you’ then, you wondered how much harder he could go….
☾₊˚ ༘⋆
#rick grimes#this is me imagining rick as an ass guy#rick grimes smut#ass guy rick#rick grimes x reader#twd#the walking dead#twd smut#rick smut#rick grimes x you#twd x reader#twd x you#rick grimes oneshot#twd fanfic#twd oneshot#goblin writes#rick grimes fanfic#rick grimes fanfiction#andrew lincoln#sexy dilf rick 😋#rick splitting you in half#rick grimes imagine#twd imagine#slight breeding kink
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A Literal Snack
Summary: “Close your eyes,” he requested. Adding with a raise of his eyebrows, “and open your mouth.” One-shot where Rick finds chocolate after you’ve offhandedly requested it.
Word count: 782
CW: fluff/suggestive
Rick Grimes x Original Character (Female, Male or Non-Binary)
Cross-posted on AO3.
---
“Hey, Y/N, there ya are. I’ve been looking for you. Found something this morning that I think you’ll like.”
You whirled around, startled by the deep voice of Rick, the resident sheriff’s deputy turned farmer turned all round bad ass. You had been contributing to your daily tasks in a quieter section of the community, content to work at your own pace and under your own direction.
“Close your eyes,” he requested. Adding with a raise of his eyebrows, “and open your mouth.”
Your eyebrows raised in response at his command, the corner of your mouth turning up slightly at the innuendo. Your eyes flickered between his, gauging whether to trust him. After the moment’s hesitation, you nodded slightly, allowing your eyes to close. Your lower lip parted from the top, tongue covering your lower teeth.
At that point, you can feel and hear rather than see Rick stepping closer to you. One hand clasps your chin, his thumb and index fingers angling your chin upward. The other hand parts your lips slightly as something is placed ever so gently on your tongue. His hands linger before withdrawing.
Eyes shut, the sensation of what had hit your tongue began to hit you. A wave of sweetness began to dance along your taste buds, enveloping them in a velvety embrace. Your eyes flutter open with the excitement that takes its hold, twisting your face in delight as you lock eyes with Rick.
Careful to not waste any, you cover your mouth as you exclaim. “Where the heck did you get chocolate?” You ask, Rick’s grin showing how pleased he was with himself and your reaction. He shrugs nonchalantly. “Found it on the run this morning. Whaddya think?” Smooth bastard, he must have heard your whining to Maggie earlier that week about ‘missing chocolate the most in this apocalypse thing’. Mind you, if you remembered correctly, you also said you missed ‘mind-blowing sex and a decent but smutty novel.’
Your eyes flutter close briefly again to enjoy the sensation on your tongue. “Jesus Christ, Rick. This is practically orgasmic!” As they reopen, you catch the faint blush tinging his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “It’s been sooo long since I’ve had chocolate. Have you tried it?” He shook his head, proffering the remaining pieces of chocolate bar to you. “Nah. I was gonna save it for Carl to have.”
“Fuck that, some things should be saved for the adults,” you giggle, grabbing the bar. “Your turn,” you murmur, stepping closer to him once again, “to close your eyes and open your mouth.” Once again, you don’t miss the slight tinge to his cheeks, but you definitely don’t miss the darkness that flashes across his features before he obeys.
You take the remaining piece, placing it into his open mouth upon his tongue, thumb brushing his lips as you withdraw. You watch as his features too change as the flavours hit him of a decadence that had been too long since last tasted. You’re hyper aware of your breathing whilst this close to him, but you are mesmerised as his eyebrows knit together, tongue swirling the chocolate around his mouth with a slight.. was that a grunt or a moan?
Catching himself by surprise with that, he began to grin sheepishly, eyes opening to find you in his space watching him with thinly veiled delight. Absentmindedly, his hand raised to brush a lock that had fallen in front of your face. The touch wasn’t out of place for Rick- he always found a way to touch you in this absentminded way, whether a hand on the small of your back to guide you, or a touch on the arm to get your attention.
This felt different. And as his eyes once again locked with yours, you could tell he felt it too. Here you both were, within a foot of the other, having shared some sweet treats. Rick inclined his head downwards, one hand falling to rest on your waist, eyes trailing the small gap between your bodies.
He leaned down further, his warmth radiating through your body. You almost started when he spoke- you forgot that you were both capable of speech at this point.
“Well, Y/N… with a reaction like that, I’m going to make it my own personal mission to find you a ‘smutty book’… whatever that means.”
He winked a blue eye at you, and you smiled coyly in response.
“And then, together, we can maybe look at working on the whole ‘mind-blowing sex’ thing.”
Your reply was simple, but with confidence. “Get me that novel, and we’ll see just how we go with the mind-blowing sex.”
#redriots0#rick grimes#my masterlist#rick grimes x reader#rick grimes x you#twd oneshot#rick grimes fanfiction#rick grimes x y/n fanfiction#rick grimes x y/n#rick grimes oneshot#grimeystuff#smut#Alexandria#Alexandria master era#suggestive#mmm...chocolate
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daryl dixon eating you out like a starved caveman?
SWEET AS HONEY d.dixon
☆ WORD COUNT - 1.4K
DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER
☆ SUMMARY - daryl finally gets his mouth right where he wants it and he'll tolerate nothing but obedience.
☆ WARNINGS - smut, porn without plot, pussy eating, cum eating, fingering, overstimulation, dom!daryl, sub!reader, praise kink, dacryphilia, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷
some would define heaven as a makeshift world on top of the clouds, perhaps religion was involved, the very god of their world standing in front of them.
daryl dixon would describe heaven as his head between your thighs, your sickly sweet wetness dripping down your cunt and coating his lips.
you'd lost count, by now, how many rounds it'd been.
once daryl had you laid against your back, head between your thighs, it was over for you. you could squirm all you wanted but you wouldn't be done until daryl said you were done. even if you were quivering against him, tears glossing over your eyes.
"stop fuckin' squirming." gruff voice against your swelling cunt as his lips moved, working wonders against you.
he'd undressed you down so you were merely clad in a baby pink bra, your panties long removed and your pretty white socks against your feet. "daryl!" your voice was bleak though it was but a scream. "c-can't!" back arching against the mattress beneath you.
his face slowly rose from your aching pussy, fingers plunging in and out of you mercilessly. "can't take what, huh?" you tried to focus on his words though your eyes were rolling, the feeling of his fingers becoming too much. "can't take my mouth, that it, sweetheart?"
you nodded dumbly, truthfully with no idea of what he was speaking about. all you knew was that all the pleasure was going straight to your cunt.
the man let out the smallest of chuckles, his head finding it's way between your legs once more. your cheeks were flushed pink, the feeling of his tongue grazing across your clit. everything was so messy, filthy even. your juiced slid right onto his fingers, creating a type of white circle as his tongue lapped you up.
this was his favourite place to be.
when his face was between your legs, tasting your tangy juices that slipped onto his tongue, fucking you dumb with his fingers. well, he couldn't quite move his mind to anything else.
the pretty moans that left your strained lungs, face all pink and flushed, embarrassed of the pornographic sounds that you couldn't keep contained.
though, daryl liked you loud.
it was like music to his ears. he was a downright animal unable to be contained. he quickly pulled his fingers out of you earning a long whine from your lips. it was quickly replaced with another moan as his hands moved to push your thighs backwards, shoving his face into your pussy.
you practically squealed.
the high pitched noise caused his lips to perk, gentle chuckle falling from his lips sending vibrations throughout your entire body.
his two palms were set on your thighs, pushing them back as far as he could while his tongue lapped up your juices, coating your pussy in his wet saliva.
you whined and moaned, your hips moving against his face as he lapped and licked at your cunt. "so good." he mumbled, returning his face against you. "s' sweet."
sweet as honey.
a familiar tension built up in your stomach, whining as tears coated your eyes in pleasure. "'mmnnh― daryl!"
"good girl." he mumbled, doing his best to keep his mouth against you. it deemed near impossible, he just loved running his mouth when he got you like this. "let go f'me."
you barely registered his words, thighs shaking and pulling away from him. his large palms kept you grounded, holding you in the position you were in, lips suckling against your clit and lapping you up.
finally, the tension in your stomach broke.
you let out a string of moans, trying your hardest to keep them quiet. that was impossible as his tongue kept moving against you, letting you ride out your high in his mouth, juices falling onto his tongue.
his mouth moved, practically making out with your cunt as he took in every single bit you had to offer, wetness coating his chin and his lips. he didn't care for any mess that you'd make, knowing he'd clean it up with his tongue, had you asked.
your chest rose and fell as his mouth moved away from your cunt, eyes looking down at you.
you'd gone so many rounds, eyes low and heavy, red even. you were tired, that was for sure. your swollen pussy feeling almost cold without his mouth against you.
you watched as he lifted a hand to wipe his mouth, softly gazing down at you.
no words were spoken, all you could feel were his fingers gently tracing up your body, finding your clit. "can you do another?" the whisper more of a command.
you shook your head, tears instantly filling your desperate eyes. "c-can't, daryl― 's too―" cutting yourself off with a moan as his fingers slipped into your sopping hole.
"gonna be a good girl 'n take another?" rephrasing the question, knowing you'd rephrase your answer. "c'mon, sweetheart, know you can take another one. 's a good girl."
you could take another one. perhaps you'd only whined and mouthed about it because you longed to hear that sweet gentle voice, coaxing you into it as his fingers slipped into you.
even so, you found yourself clenching around his fingers as soon as they entered your little hole. your pussy was red raw, swollen. it was sopping, shaking even. "d-daryl." voice quivering as tears coated your eyes.
daryl brought his free hand up, quickly wiping away the little tears staining your pretty pink cheeks. "'s a good girl, you can take it." his lips found your neck, gentle kisses pressing against your skin as his fingers slowly pumped into you. "you gon' take it."
it was as if a band inside of him had broke.
daryl mercilessly pumped his fingers in an out of you, scissoring them against your gummy walls and allowing you to squirm in on yourself, moans louder than ever.
your eyes kept rolling, fluttering shut and opening again. your hands pawed at his arms and shoulders, trying to keep yourself grounded on anything you could.
his scent.
his touch.
his everything.
he filled you so completely, having you reeling at the feeling of his fingers inside of you.
he did it often, never did it feel the same.
you screamed in pleasure, chanting his name like a prayer and struggling to breathe.
his fingers didn't stop the momentum, rapidly fucking you silly as you tried your hardest to keep yourself in the moment, mind reeling. the wetness of his tongue from before along with the juices from your many orgasms had squelching noises bouncing off the walls. "hear that, baby?" his voice high pitched, cooing at you. "hear how good 'm makin' you feel?"
you nodded dumbly once more, not a notion of the words leaving his mouth. your cheeks flushed at the realisation of the sounds, the wet squelching from your aching pussy. you were embarrassed, shy as you tried your best to keep the heat from your cheeks.
"'s.. 's so good." the mumbles that left your lips were that of nervousness, eyes looking to find the same electric blues you'd longed to see so much.
his face was covered by little hair, gazing down at you as though you were a doll, one for his pleasure.
"yeah?" questioning you as if you could speak. "daryl makin' you feel good, huh?"
a nod from you as your eyes fluttered shut, whining and whimpering at the feeling of his fingers, the palm of his hand slapping against your clit with every pump, having all the stimulation you could ever need.
his tattooed hand grasped your chin between two fingers, shoving it his way and causing your eyes to open, still heavy. "eyes on me, baby." a whisper of his voice. "wanna watch you cum."
his words did it for you.
the band snapped again, yet another orgasm falling over you again. your eyes rolled back, hands pawing at the man who steadied you, watching your whole body shake. he liked taking notice, noting exactly how your body twitched and moved.
"good girl, that's it, s' good." mumbling the sweet praises as you fell apart in his hands for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "yeah, baby, that's it." your whimpers filling his ears.
every time different, every time ending the same.
main masterlist/daryl's masterlist
#daryl#daryl dixon#daryl x reader#daryl dixon x reader#daryl x you#daryl dixon x you#daryl x y/n#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl imagine#daryl dixon imagine#daryl drabble#daryl oneshot#daryl smut#daryl fluff#daryl angst#daryl dixon drabble#daryl dixon oneshot#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon fluff#daryl dixon angst#the walking dead#twd#twd x reader#twd x y/n#twd x you#twd imagine#twd fluff#twd angst#twd oneshot#daryl the walking dead
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Eyes on me
Anon request: “can you do something like what happened to Maggie with the governor when her and Glenn were kidnapped? maybe the reader was in that situation, and Daryl finds out and is like comforting them?”
This fic contains sexual assault, and everything that comes afterwards. This could be potentially triggering, so please keep that in mind before continuing. My intention is not to trigger, upset or make anybody uncomfortable. I will post an edited version, that will have any graphic content (including the SA itself, and any mentions thereafter) removed, so this story can be enjoyed by those who do not want to read the full/graphic version, but still enjoy the hurt/comfort element of a soft Daryl <3 If anyone is in a situation where they have experienced anything along the lines of harassment/SA, my ask box is always open to be a listening ear and a friend. I wrote this story from a place of my own understanding and experience, and I found it comforting to write a different 'afterwards'.
17,349 words.
“I’m sorry about Merle.”
You’d kept your gaze trained on the bloodied denim on your thighs when the heavy door creaked open, managed to keep your eyes averted even when you heard footsteps against the harsh concrete. You’d told yourself you weren’t even going to so much as look at the man who’d dared to hold a knife to your throat and drag you from your friends.
But this was a different voice.
Snapping your head up, you quickly blink away the fog in your vision to reveal a man, his hands held up high, palms towards you. There’s a smile on his face that you immediately hate and you instinctively pull against the tape on your wrists as he edges himself closer to you.
“Sometimes he just doesn’t know when to stop. I’ll be having a word with him.”
There’s a rawness to your skin when you continue to move your hands, your mind begging for your small movements to be capable of breaking the layers of thick tape, desperate - pleading as he reaches the other end of the table. He doesn’t seem overly satisfied when he asks ‘May I?’, gesturing towards the chair and receives no answer, his only response a continued glare, but he sits regardless and places a towel on the metal in front of him.
“I hope he didn’t hurt you too much, that’s not the way we do things around here. Especially not to young women, survivors like yourself.”
The sickly sweet voice phrases itself like a question that makes your skin crawl as he sits so casually, one leg over the other, hands across his lap. He carries himself well, you think to yourself. Powerful, or he thinks he must be - power that he’s brutally taken, not earned - as he watches your face for any sort of reaction to his presence or words. He continues when he sees none. We don’t want to hurt anybody, we’re a community of good people. People, food, walls. Woodbury.
He gestures around the damp room, apologising for the ‘inhospitable accommodation’ one of his men brought you to. It seems like a storage room, bits of old furniture leaning against the bare walls and corrugated metal sheets, and there’s a faint bitterness to the air - cold from damp gathering on the roof and an unwelcome breeze from the outside world making its way inside, and you can’t ignore the goosebumps prickling against your exposed arms.
“I’m not staying.”
Your nose and cheek throb from your movements to speak, but your words come out firm and final exactly how you intended, no trace of the fear that’s slowly building up inside you. You have your own people, food, and walls. You have gates you’re carefully reinforcing against men like this, people who have done more for you since you joined them than others had your entire life prior to the fall, and there isn’t much food but it’s better than anything this man could ever offer you. You ignore the blood that trails down past your lip and the metallic taste on your tongue. His confident smiles only widens with your words, shrugging carelessly as if you hadn’t turned him down - like he was happy with your answer.
“You don’t have to. We can just take you back to your people, I’d escort you personally, make sure you get there safely, maybe strike a deal with your group for extra protection, share supplies, ammo.. What do you think, would your group be interested?”
You wonder how many people have fallen for his act. In the span of what you’re assuming to be a few hours, you’ve been forcefully taken, knocked out, your nose most likely broken in your struggle and you’ve been tied up, and this man has the audacity to offer a deal? You manage to swallow down the laugh that you’re desperate to vocalize, but a small smirk escapes onto your lips instead.
“I think my group will kill you on the spot when they find out about you. No fucking deal, asshole.”
Your brows furrow because he laughs at your words, deep lines forming between your eyebrows because he doesn’t seem phased. He’s acting like he didn’t expect this conversation to go any other way, like he’s about to shake your hand and send you on your way and you’re confused. Waking up in the situation you did, you’d expected a few threats and a gun to your head at the very least, but it doesn’t come, so you wait. Leaning forward, he watches you, studies you and he can tell you’re not acting - you’re tough. You’re sitting up straight, but he knows you’re uncomfortable by how you flex your shoulders occasionally against the pull of the awkward angle of your restraints. Like a racing horse with blinders, you haven’t taken your gaze away from his - not even once - like you’re not in the precarious situation you’re currently in. Your chest isn’t heaving with nerves like others who sat in the same chair just last week, and he admires you for it.
Bringing himself to his feet, he grabs the towel as he edges himself closer to you and your mind runs, pure anxiety tainting all of your thoughts and you’re ashamed of the wave of cold that suddenly courses through your veins and you shiver.
Stepping behind the chair, the hairs on your arms stand upright because you can’t see him anymore. White noise fills your head because he isn’t even walking, there’s no footsteps to be heard until you’re being suddenly dragged, a deafening scrape of metal as your chair is slowly turned 90 degrees and he gradually brings himself into your view again.
There’s fear now, he realizes, from removing himself from your line of vision. It gave you courage to have your eyes on the man in charge and taking that away for even just a moment gave that courage a shake - and he likes that, given him just a tiny bit more control. Your eyes are wider now, not narrowed like just moments ago. He could get off on that fact alone, so he crouches down in front of you to drink in the sight.
He’s looking at you like a child looks at the highest ticket prize at an arcade, full of want, a craving to be satisfied and unthinkingly your nose scrunches in disdain but oh my god that’s a mistake because you can feel your pulse in your nose and a dull twinge that shoots through you at the motion that has you sucking air through your teeth.
He whispers a ‘shhh’ that absolutely repulses you, and his eyes don’t leave yours as he slowly brings the towel in his grip up to your face and he lightly dabs at the skin above your lip, the white terry cloth coming back a deep crimson. It takes a second to realize he’s trying to clean you, and he’s doing it like it’s second nature but his other hand is resting on your thigh when he goes to repeat the motion for a second time, but this time you’re ready because he’s touching you and there’s rage bubbling inside of you because who the fuck is he to be responsible for your broken nose, then have the audacity to mop up the evidence?
Before the material reaches your lip, you muster the energy and ignore the strain on your muscles and you spit on him. It’s discoloured from the blood that made its way between your lips, and it’s revolting and it’s the least he deserves. How dare he touch you?
The man scoffs before taking the towel in his hand and erases any trace of you from his cheek, as he raises his eyebrow and suddenly the air seems heavier and the room just got darker because so did his eyes, and within a second he’s behind you again, but he’s not silent or at a distance - the material of his trousers are pressed against your restrained hands behind the cold bars of the chair and he’s got an arm wrapped around your neck. The pretend silkiness gone from his voice, replaced with a gravelly ‘I was right, you’re feisty’ and he’s applying just enough pressure with his forearm for you to not move, and you don’t.
You’re completely still as you look right ahead, you’ve stopped your fight against the tape because he’s everywhere behind you and if you’re completely still maybe you can ignore him, but you can smell his cologne and it’s so light and delicate but it’s overwhelming. Waiting for the inevitable blow that doesn’t come, he adjusts his grip as he lifts his forearm slightly, tilting your head upwards against the pressure and when your eyes angle towards the ceiling, he’s staring down at you, shaking his head, tutting his disapproval.
The towel's still in his grip, but he’s rougher this time as he brings it to your nose - tugging the scratchy material firmly against broken skin, replacing the gentle patting of the earlier attempt and it drags out a throaty whimper from your throat and he feels the vibrations against his arm as he repeats his actions two, three, four times. Eyes screwed shut, you feel his grip harden against your throat when you try to pull your head away but the pressure against your windpipe increases and you’re not going to black out so you do your best to hold still instead, groaning at the feel of rogue droplets of blood escaping down your throat from the angle, and the way your face absolutely throbs by the time he lets go.
Stepping back in front of you, he assesses his handiwork and tells you ‘see, that’s so much better’ before striding out of the room, a thunderous clang of the door ringing in your ears after he leaves.
Hours are spent rotating between a few tasks - wondering how you’re going to murder this man, planning your escape, counting the individual bits of furniture in the room and thinking about the group. It has cost so much to clear the prison, people have paid with their lives for the remainder to have somewhere safe to call home, you will not be the reason it falls by giving anybody the location. This entire situation solidifies what you already knew - you’d die for the rag-tag assortment of individuals and you’d call them family any day of the week. You think about how lucky you were to be taken in by them after crossing paths on a random dirt track months ago, and how they spread their scarce rations even thinner to take you in.
Family.
Struggling to find the strength to hold yourself up, you sit with your head limply resting against your chest, the occasional thin streak of crimson collecting on the neckline of your vest. Stiffness dominates every part of your body by the time the door swings open again, and you roll your eyes at the familiar man who isn’t smiling this time.
He approaches slowly, and by the time he’s next to you he’s offering you a plastic water bottle that you reluctantly ignore by sealing your lips and turning away. The bottle gets placed on the table, and he tells you to ‘suit yourself’ before grabbing your chin, tugging you to face him and he’s relieved to see the flow of blood has slowed despite the majority of your upper lip, chin and down to your chest decorated in cracked, dried crimson. He tells you you’re looking in bad shape, and he’d love to take you back to your people so I’ll ask again - where’s your camp?
The back and forth gets him nowhere, and the frustration becomes visible. His velvety voice becomes forceful and loud in his demands, fists hitting the table when he’s answered with another ‘fuck you’ and his jaw clenches hard.
“Okay. We’ll try something different.”
He slips the mask back into place, allowing the mellow tone returns to his words, but there’s still an edge to his voice. He’s worked up, but he sounds like he’s got a plan and you don’t like how he perches himself in front of you again, but you like it even less when his fingers toy with the bottom of your shirt.
“You wanna tell me before or after I cut this shirt off of you?”
Your blood runs cold at the question. You stare at him while your brain goes into overdrive, how can I get myself out of this? But without any hesitation, he brings the knife to the base of your shirt, holds the material taut with his other hand and drags the knife all the way up, catching the skin of your abdomen and your chest a few times on the journey. It cuts so easily, like scissors through wrapping paper and the bloodied material hangs limply by the straps until he easily nicks through the remaining fabric, and you feel completely helpless when he holds the destroyed shirt in his hands before tossing it in the direction of the door.
You’d known violence since the fall, but this was a different shade of cruelty - one that had your chest heaving and embarrassment showing itself with redness on your skin, and you had no control over the trembling that took over you within seconds and it only worsens when he returns to his favourite spot behind you, and you wait for the first cut against your skin but instead, he carefully slices some of the tape away, splitting the section binding you to the metal frame of the seat while maintaining the integrity of the layers around your wrists as he pulls you to your feet, shoulders lifting away from the frame painfully.
He’s staring at you like you're rare mixture of gold and silver and diamonds, like you’re there exclusively for him and he's not planning on sharing his riches with anybody, without a care in the world for the redness around your eyes or the tears that are threatening to spill over, or the fresh blood pooling around tender wrists where you’re furiously fighting with the tape that somehow feels even stronger now.
He ignores your whimpers, telling you ‘it doesn’t have to be like this, you’re in full control here, got it? How this plays out is up to you, don’t cry, shhh.’ as you try your best to stand tall, you’re not going down without a fight.
“This is how it’s going to happen, alright? I’m going to ask you questions - about where y’all are hiding out, about your group, and for every question you don’t answer, I’m going to take something else off of you until either I know everything I need to know, or there’s a nice pile of clothes over there. Ball’s in your court, sweetheart, cause I’ll do much worse than this to them when I find ‘em, and trust me, I will find ‘em.”
Fear and hatred consume your features, and he whispers a ‘don’t move’ when he steps closer to you and you step backwards, his hand delicately moving overgrown hair away from your eyes and tucking it behind your ear. Despite the light movement of his fingers, the touch feels like sandpaper and you silently promise to cut off each and every one of his fingers with the dullest knife you can find. Standing in front of you, he starts with his questions. “How many of you are there?” which seems harmless enough, but you already know you can’t win in this game so you remain silent and sob when he cuts through the wire of your bra, letting it fall to the floor.
You wonder how this man came to be as he eyes you up and down. You try to pretend you aren’t completely exposed by wondering if this place - Woodbury, he said - existed from the beginning, or if he had a role in setting it up. Nowhere’s safe anymore, and you swear the only decent people who are still alive are your people who you pray are currently out looking for you. Would Rick try to interrogate him first, like he did Randall at the farm? Would Daryl - the man with the thickest shell, who’d warmed up to you slowly - hesitate to kill him for you? Would Carol hold your hand when you tell her what happened? Would Beth think of you when she sang over the campfire?
Frustration hits you like a wave when the man's eyes linger over your chest, and you swear you’ve never hated anyone more in your entire life so you do the only thing you think to do in that moment, you bring your head backwards for momentum and you aim for his nose to return the favour, longing for the sound of a crunch that doesn’t fucking happen. He’s too quick, too practiced. Fast reflexes and learned instinct told him what you were about to do, so he swerves and you loose your footing, a stagger towards that leaves you barely on your feet.
Disappointment hits you like a tonne of bricks, the chance presented itself to you on a silver platter and you were too slow. You’ve barely found your balance before there’s a bruising grip around your biceps, warm fingers digging painfully into haggard muscles and chilled skin, and the hot breath against your neck telling you to ‘turn around, slowly.’ brings bile to your throat that you swallow down as you follow the instruction. He re-adjusts his grasp when your eyes meet, bringing his fingers to your chin instead, tracing the discolouration along your jaw.
“Nice try. What’s it gonna take until you spill, huh?”
He notices the tremor in your muscles, the involuntary vibrations beneath the palms of his fingers that have you shaking. He’s telling you again about how he doesn’t want to hurt you, and you’re so desperate to call him out on his lies but he’s got the upper hand and you know it, so the words die before they’ve even began to form.
He takes his time. It’s almost worse when he isn’t actually doing anything to you, it’s like the anticipation builds and builds until you’re breathing is short and fast because he’s playing mind games - and winning. You’d almost prefer if he’d just get it over with, whatever it is.
There’s so much fire behind your eyes despite your sore state, so he decides to up the stakes.
“Okay, time for round two. For every question you don’t answer, not only do you lose something you’re wearing, keep in mind you’ve not got a whole lot left, but somebody from your group dies. Simple as that. You’re at two so far, and I’ll give you the honour of deciding who.”
His hand trails from your jaw, fingers tracing the curve of your neck to your collarbone, across the flaky, dried blood on your chest before drawing an agonizingly slow line up and down your sternum but his eyes never leave yours - threatening.
“Might even give you a pretty dress for the show, since it looks like you won’t have anything left on you by then.”
There’s tears forming that you aggressively try to blink away, burning against your dry eyes. He’s asking you then, where’s your camp? Must be near by, right? How long d’you reckon it’ll take my soldiers to find, hmm? But his fingers are just below your navel, now, and you’re shuddering because you want to be anywhere but here.
He waits. Patient in his resolve. Whatever your people have, he wants it. He counts your accelerated breaths in his mind, still smiling and it widens sickeningly when your features warp into terror and panic as his index finger reaches the skin just below your breast, vaguely following the curve of the flesh but his eyes are still trained on yours and he just watches the way your nostrils flare and eyes widen because he did that. He’s proud to get a reaction out of you, but you still haven’t answered his question, so he brings his fingers just a tiny bit higher, that tiny bit closer to where he shouldn’t be anywhere near and he’s humming, a firm reminder to answer. A question in itself.
But the question remains unanswered, and his patience has run out.
“Get on your knees.”
There’s no time to react before his hand moves from your torso to your shoulder, pushing down while his other drags down firmly against your now bruised bicep. You buckle against the momentum, your arms still restrained leaving you off-balance and you’ve never felt like an easier target in your life. Your knees collide painfully with the concrete, and you wince against the jolts that burst up your thigh from the harsh collision.
Your thoughts run rampant. Is this your execution, or something else? Is he going to bring a knife out again and murder you, a sharp puncture to your skull to prevent the turn, or will he drag it out by holding it to your throat first? Would the group ever find you, hidden away in a storage room of a community they don’t even know existed?
Would Daryl be the one to find you, to bring you back to the prison and bury you, even if you’d turned? You imagine him sweating in the prison’s yard, a shovel gripped between bleeding, sore fingers while you lay there, covered by a sheet and the tears flow down your face like a running tap at the thought. When he’d promised to look after you, you’d vowed to do the same and you meant it, and he’d wrapped his arm over your shoulder at the way you’d said it - so full of sincerity and commitment. If you didn’t make it out of this room you wouldn’t be able to carry out your promise and that made your chest ache.
Your face is angled upwards forcefully, thumbs brushing away the salty tears streaming down your cheeks. He’s telling you it’s okay, shushing you quietly as he continues to drag the pads of his thumbs across your cheeks, the warmth from your tears and his movements smearing blood across your cheeks haphazardly. He smiles softly, telling you once more that it’s okay, that he’ll be gentle before his hands move to the back of your head - one gripping the nape of your neck, the other against your crown and he tugs you towards him.
You collide with the rough material of his trousers nose-first in a way that makes you howl with pain, it shoots into the back of your eyes and you’d swear you’d felt something shift that shouldn’t. He presses you against the crotch of his pants, forehead digging into the cold metal of his belt buckle and pulling against him gets you nowhere, only a firmer grip against the nape of your neck that you’d swear just yanked out strands of hair. He holds you still, ignoring your wailing and he moves his hips against you, smears of blood staining the fabric with evidence of his violence. The warmth of his body heat and the fact you can smell the metallic edge of your own blood and you’re going to vomit any second. The room is too cold and the denim too rough and you can feel the gathered-together tape digging into the oozing blood gathering around your wrists. You try to focus on anything else you can - the design etched into the material of his pants, the feeling of how you wiggle your toes, the pattern of your breathing, anything to give you an escape.
He moves you then, making you look to the side until your cheek is pressed into the fabric instead, and he simply holds you there, and that’s when you decide this will be easier if you close your eyes - if you can’t see what he’s doing, maybe it won’t exist. But it does, and suddenly he’s grabbing fistfuls of your hair, a rough grip that burns with so much intensity that it prickles down your neck and spine and he tugs you away from him. He speaks then - something about your eyes, but you’re completely unfocused until he repeats himself, emphasising his words with a harsh tug and when your eyes shoot open - he looks so proud of himself.
The sound of his zipper is the next thing you hear, a dull noise that seems to echo way too loud against the metallic walls, vibrating against your ears until you start counting backwards in your mind in a desperate attempt of distraction that doesn’t work.
/
When the door squeaks open suddenly, and you feel like you’re saved when the man talks about a breach, men with weapons and he needs to come immediately, panic written all over his features as he stumbles over his words with white knuckles over the barrel of his gun, but always keeping his eyes averted from your direction. The man holds you where you are while he listens, completely shameless when he grinds against you one last time before telling you I’ll be back, before tugging you backwards and pulling up the zipper of his pants.
You’re left with your knees against concrete, tears that won't go away and the heaviness in your chest feels like you can’t breathe because you can still feel the lingering grip against the base of your skull and the roughness of his trousers pressing against you, and when you can’t shake the sound of his breathing out of your mind you lean over and empty your stomach, retching from your hunched over position until there’s nothing left but stomach acid and it burns.
Time doesn’t exist anymore, there isn’t a single window in the entire room and you’ve truly lost your sense of timekeeping - has it been a few hours or an entire day, maybe more? The way the air is colder now makes you think it’s the milder evening air seeping in through the walls, fresh and bitter in contrast to the usual daytime Georgian dry heat that you suddenly crave against your skin. You curl in on yourself, back against the furthest wall from the door, the metal behind you only adding to the uncomfortable position but you swear if you don’t lean against something you’re going to keel over and die so you’ll take it, ignoring the discomfort of your wrists digging into your lower back.
If it’s night time, you wonder if Judith is asleep and if Glenn and Maggie got back safe, are they together now? Are you missed? Is Daryl using his tracking skills to bring you back home, like he promised you he would after you lost Sophia, when he vowed he’d never lose you?
You feel like you’re waiting for the inevitable, a reminder of sitting in the hospital waiting room for hours as a teenager after falling on your arm - you knew it was only broken, the result of an unsupervised houseparty, but what if they found something else on the x-ray and told you in 6 months you’d be dead? Your mother was adamant that wouldn’t happen, but what if? Turns out it was a hairline fracture, and you wouldn’t be dead in 6 months because of it, but your mother held your hand regardless, promising to take you out for dinner in exactly 6 months to celebrate - and so she did. But you’ve never forgotten the experience of sitting in the waiting area and how sterile everything was and how everything was so blue and bright made you vow to never need a hospital visit again. This felt the same, like waiting for the terrifying result of that xray that you were so sure was going to give you an expiration date - but it’s worse, there’s no exit or your mothers soft skin against your own, no nurses to make you laugh when they see your anxious eyes, there’s only the heavy metal door that wouldn’t budge when you tried to kick it, the scraps of fabric that you can’t wear anymore, the empty space and the occasional trickle of warmth down your chin.
You bring your knees up to your chest and cry, because it’s all you can do and you shake from the intensity of it all. You’ve never felt so useless, you’ve been so productive and exhausted and helped keep everybody safe for so long and now you’re here, playing a waiting game with a villain. Like a mouse caught in a trap with your own vomit a few feet away.
There’s a commotion outside that you try to ignore, scrunching your eyes closed and you wish you could cover your ears and pretend it doesn’t exist - so that’s what you try to do. Resting your forehead against your knees you just pretend. You’re not trapped and you’re not crying and you’ve definitely not just had him touch you like that, but then you hear gunshots and there’s only so much pretending you can do.
/////////////
It wasn’t supposed to turn into a bloodbath, but it was their fault.
A new woman - Michonne, was the only reason they had any lead about where you might be, and of course it was risky to go along with it, but this was you they were talking about, and it was a risk that was absolutely worth taking. Daryl would have gone alone if he needed to, because seeing Glenn and Maggie run through those doors without you had his heart in his throat, and when Maggie started speaking ‘I didn’t see who took ‘er, she was right behind us when we went inside, then there was a.. A yell, and by the time we came out there was a car drivin’ away.’ he already had his crossbow over his shoulder and a goal of getting you back.
On Rick’s command, Daryl slowly pulls the bolt securing the door, easing it carefully enough to avoid drawing the attention of whoever - or whatever - was potentially inside. The rusted metal rang when it rested on the other side and he placed his hand on the frame, ready to push with the signal. A last look around confirms they’re alone except the unfortunate outline of an man who’d raised his gun towards the wrong people, and when Rick gives a nod of his head, Daryl’s swift in his movements, opening the heavy door with one instantaneous push and he’s inside with a single stride, gusts of lingering smoke following the movement.
There’s a vague smell of damp to the room, mingled with something else - something bitter that hangs densely in the air until there’s a faint taste in the back of his throat. Rick follows the archer’s lead, a crossbow and gun darting around each corner of the room, and within a second they’ve both detected the few items of clothing - one by the door and as Daryl inches closer around the table, there’s a bra that comes into his view. Behind him, Rick makes his way towards the shirt, he’s about to get Daryl’s attention because he recognises it, it’s yours, you’re here somewhere but Daryl’s already next to you.
When your eyes meet Daryl’s, your chest fucking heaves and you cry from relief because he’s right here and he promised he always would be, that he’d find you and he did. His crossbow points at your chest for only half a second before it’s quickly dropped to hang loosely from the strap over his shoulder and he’s running towards you, calling over to Rick that he’s found you.
He’s kneeling next to you, face only inches from yours and you want to touch him but your shoulders ache in resistance and your wrists sting but you need to touch him to see if he’s real but you can’t and you’re hyperventilating, pulling harder, cutting deeper into already broken skin. Panic sets in and it’s so ridiculous because why are you crumbling now? Daryl’s softly calling your name and trying to meet your gaze but your ears are flooded by the resounding noise of your own pulse and your eyes are darting between the concrete floor, the open door and Rick who’s keeping his distance - he doesn’t want to add to your fear by towering over you so he turns towards the door, protective, guarding.
“Hey, hey, you’re alright. It’s alright, I got ya.”
The voice is grounding, it brings you back just enough to look at him and see him properly.
“There ya go, keep those eyes on me, okay?”
So that’s what you do, you keep your eyes on him and it helps. It doesn’t stop your heart racing or the cold sweat that’s forming against your temples, but you direct all of your focus to him because he told you to and it’s all you can do because it’s Daryl.
He’s trying to keep his features soft in feigned confidence and calm, praying some of it transfers to you because you’re shaking so much he can see it and your eyes are blown so wide that he wonders what happened to you? He’s never seen you like this before, he’s not sure how present you actually are, or the extent of the damage, but he can see that your nose isn’t in the best condition - there’s a deep gash across the bridge and there’s a bump where there wasn’t before. He’s determined to keep his eyes on yours so he relies on his peripheral vision to tell him the blood trails down, ending in a thickly caked mess down your chest. His gaze doesn’t follow the stream of crimson, instead, his eyes stay on yours as he tells you ‘I’m gonna give ya my vest, gonna put it right here until we get ya on your feet’ as he gently tucks the material in the space between your raised knees and your chest, and the chilled leather warms you in a way that’s entirely new.
“Good girl, there ya go. Lemme see what’s goin’ on with your hands.”
He inches to the side, so when you shuffle forwards slightly he can see the bloodied skin and the grey tape around you in thick layers. He’s only got his crossbow on him, so he tells you ‘I’m gonna get Rick over, alright? He’s got a knife, shh, yer fine, then we can cut ya free and get ya back.’ before calling the man over. Rick’s next to you both then, kneeling down and asking if you’re okay - Daryl nods on your behalf when you don’t seem to have the strength to.
“Look at me an’ only me, that’s it.”
He reminds you, soothes you while Rick slices through the mess on your wrists despite the fury that’s bubbling up inside the archers chest. You look terrified at the sensation - the back and forth of the blade and the pull against your irritated skin has you pale, oxygen trapped tightly in the confines of your lungs because you’re preparing yourself for pain until Daryl’s prompting you to ‘breathe’.
He’s on alert, ears perked against any footsteps, voices or gunshots he might hear. Usually he’d never have his back to the door, but Rick has his eyes towards the entrance and his crossbow is loaded and ready on his shoulder and right now you’re his priority.
“There ya go, feel better?”
You want to speak, but the simple ‘yes’ catches in your throat like a dry pill so you simply nod instead, slowly rolling your shoulders against the tightness of your muscles to bring your hands in front of you to confirm they’re actually still attached to you. The cold air nips at the broken skin but Daryl watches the cautious wiggle of your fingers and hears the quiet hum of relief that escapes you from the newly found freedom, and your downcast eyes miss the tiniest smile that lifts the corner of his lips and how Daryl’s expression softens just a little.
It’s taking a stupid amount of effort and self control to not throw you over his shoulder and just run miles and miles and miles away until you’re safe, until you’re somewhere he can run you a bath, hold you, - or not, whatever you wanted - make you a warm meal with some tea and maybe even hold your hand because he always wanted to, and he was so fucking scared that he’d lost the opportunity to ever intertwine his fingers with yours, to have you safely tucked against him. You’d only been gone a day but he ached with longing, and he still would until you were safe.
“C’mere, lets get ya up.”
He notices how your hand wraps around his vest that’s still gathered at your chest, tightly clutching a fistful of the black leather like a lifeline while your other hand positions itself against the floor in an attempt to pull yourself up, and Daryl stays low, mostly to avoid towering over you but also so he can give you a hand if you need.
If this were any other day, any other situation, he’d have unabashedly grabbed your hand to pull you to your feet but he’s afraid of crossing a new, unknown boundary and making everything worse. He knows your broken nose will heal quickly, a few weeks at most with Hershels knowledge, but this is a different sort of healing that he isn’t familiar with and he’s going to have to wait to hear you to know how to help.
He ignores the twinge that shoots through his chest when you ignore his outstretched hand.
Your body aches against every movement, like when you’d catch the flu as a child and stay in bed for days until you felt better, only to be left with fatigued, aching muscles from disuse. Wincing against the burn of everything, you see Daryl coyly offer his hand but you can’t take it - you already feel so humiliated. It feels like you’ve lost some of your dignity to have needed a rescue, to be sat in a corner so exposed, so you need to prove to yourself you’re capable of something, trying your best to subdue the want of Daryl’s hand in yours that dominates your mind.
Finding your balance on wobbly feet, you manoeuvre the leather over your shoulders as Daryl averts his gaze to the other side of the room. He listens until he’s heard the pop of the fasteners on his jacket before he turns his head back towards you, just as Rick announces ‘we’ve got company’, the urgency in his voice followed by a much louder pop, a deafening gunshot in retaliation to the ones suddenly don’t seem so far away.
Daryl’s crossbow is in his hands with remarkable speed and he’s telling you to ‘stay behind me, alright?’, and you glue yourself right behind him as he makes his way over towards Rick but all you can focus on is the jumble of deep voices that are approaching much too quickly. Rick reaches behind Daryl, handing you a loaded gun with a reassuring nod - it’s heavier than you remember, but it’s familiar in your grip. You silently pray you won’t need to aim or fire with the shakiness in control of your body.
Rick leads the way with Daryl closely behind, and you obey without question when the southern drawl directs you, telling you to stand in front of him when the gunfire seems to come from behind or when he urges you to watch out. There are multiple casualties but none of them are you or your two saviours, and you’re back at the car before you know it.
The drive back towards the prison is strange, the atmosphere thick with jumbled emotions and unspoken words. It’s entirely dark, now, only the black outline of the trees visible against the deep navy of the sky that’s void of any stars tonight - they’re hidden away, ashamed and remorseful of what they allowed to happen.
Rick’s desperate to apologise, to tell you how he wishes he’d never asked you to go on the run, or how he simply should have gone instead because this is a trauma he can’t take back - that you shouldn’t have had to go through, and that’s on him. He feels the responsibility and blame somewhere deep inside him, a failure as the leader of a group he’d sworn to protect. He grips the steering wheel harder.
You’re desperate to apologise for endangering the group, to scream because you’re so overwhelmed but you remain silent because you’re empty at the same time, there’s a medley of relief, anxiety and fear consuming your mind that it’s turned into a forcefully loud static, an unbearable cacophony painfully gnawing at the back of your eyes. You dig your nails into the palm of your hand for a shred of relief - it doesn’t work.
Daryl’s desperate to apologise, to whisper a quiet promise of revenge but he knows this isn’t the time, so he doesn’t. He feels entirely chagrined, furious that he didn’t get to you sooner, that he couldn’t prevent some prick from hurting you - no, thinking about you - anything without your permission. He tries his best to swallow his anger, to focus on the comfort of the fact you’re alive, that you’re right next to him because you asked him to be. It makes his jaw twitch but he does it.
There’s an empty space between you and Daryl and it hurts so much more than the throbbing in your nose or the ache in your hands, because that space has never existed until today - you’ve always sat shoulder to shoulder, crammed into the back of the car or lounging together in the RV laughing over some ridiculous story, but you’re not squeezed right against him or begging him to play UNO with you over the table in the RV - you’re both sat by the windows and the middle seat feels like the size of a football field and it’s devastating.
“Keep me company?” The shyness in your voice surprised him, like you’d expected him to say no, but Daryl would never deny you of anything let alone his company, so he grabbed a blanket from the trunk before joining you in the back, gently throwing the thick material over you.
It isn’t a long journey, but it’s an exhausting one and by the time you park up by the prison gates your adrenaline has completely worn off and you’re shuddering under the blanket, grasping the scratchy material for a shred of warmth and there’s a familiar uneasiness in your stomach that you do your best to temporarily swallow down. Daryl’s watching you from the corner of his eye, protective.
He jumps out first, opening your door for you while Rick marches ahead to ask Hershel to check up on you. You peel the blanket from your bloodied skin as you shuffle yourself out of the car onto wobbly legs as a result of pure exhaustion, you’re so drained from today’s events and you’re so pale - so Daryl acts on instincts, reaching behind you for the abandoned blanket on the back seat. You’re shaking as he brings himself in front of you, and you do your best to overlook the unreasonable fear that forms from his towering figure.
It’s Daryl - just Daryl. Your Daryl, the same man who specifically went into a Walmart on his last run to get you fluffy socks because you’d told him the Prison was chilly, followed by a story about how you didn’t spend a single night without fluffy socks before the fall because it was your thing. He’d stuffed his bag on the next run, he already knew the Walmart was wiped of medicine, camping gear and food, but the clothing section was almost entirely untouched and it was worth the detour because you were ‘chilly’.
The same Daryl that jokingly told you he’d build you a treehouse because ‘don’t you think it’s the best way to survive an apocalypse? Daryl, shut up, why are you laughing? They can’t climb but we can, it’s logical.’ and technically you weren’t wrong, and maybe one day he will.
He’s so ridiculously tender as he opens up the bundled blanket, gently placing the fabric over your shoulders to protect you from the breeze. It feels risky, but he’s rewarded with a small smile and a quiet ‘Thank you’ that sounds so meek but genuine and it almost floors him, and he pulls the blanket just a little more snug around your shoulders, motioning you inside to get you fixed up.
Maggie’s the first to see you, and she’s so relieved she basically runs to you, pulling you in for the tightest hug that squeezes the air from your lungs but you’re so happy to see her that you don’t mind. When she steps back she takes a moment, scanning you up and down and it dawns on her that nothing looks right - and within a moment she’s calling for Hershel, a kind hand on your lower back guiding you to the veterinarian’s cell.
Daryl doesn’t move until you glimpse at him over your shoulder, and he hates himself but he hesitates, do you want him to go with you? Would he be intruding if he joined, or do you need time to talk without him? His feet feel heavy because why is every decision suddenly so big, so critical?
Your hand reaches from under the cloak of the blanket, reaching for him with outstretched fingers. You’d only taken your eyes off Daryl for a moment in your approach to Hershel, and that moment was all it took for an unsettled feeling to rip its way through your chest and your vision to blur because you can’t be without him right now. You’re somewhere between a rock and a hard place - you want to be alone but suddenly he’s a lifeline, a lantern in the darkness of the abandoned prison that you’re being pulled towards like a moth to an open flame. Maggie’s hand on you feels comforting but you want more - and that’s exactly what Daryl is, he’s more.
Maggie watches the interaction with hopeful eyes as Daryl slowly paces over, knuckles white over the strap of his crossbow over his shoulder and his bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth, nervously wearing away the dry skin out of - habit or nerves?
There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to reach out and touch you, and he wonders if he should just follow to prove he understands your gesture because he’s been burning for your touch for so long and he doesn’t want this to be a gesture born from fear - anxiety of whatever trauma you’ve just endured, but if it’s what you want, he’ll give it to you tenfold. If it brings you even a modicum of comfort, he’d keep his fingers intertwined with yours until the second apocalypse rolled around. He’d like that, and he doesn’t realise that you’d like that, too.
Wiggling your fingers just slightly, you prompt him and when he slips his hand into yours, Maggie feels your exhale through the muscles of the small of your back as you head towards Hershel again. There’s a clamminess on both of your palms from a combination of stress and adrenaline, and it’s an awkward grip because your wrists and fingers ache and Daryl doesn’t want to hurt you, but it’s him and it’s you so that makes it perfect.
You’re both too tired, too weary to blush and tease each other like you normally would have, but it’s a different sort of intimacy that relaxes the muscles between your eyebrows and warms a tiny corner of your stomach against the continuous queasiness.
Your hands rests lazily against your thigh as Hershel assesses the damage, and you’re all too aware of the small audience that’s accumulated by the door of your cell. You can feel the tension, the way everyone’s barely holding back the questions on the tip of their tongue, what happened? Who? How? but nobody speaks, and neither do you. Daryl's thumb traces your knuckles with indistinguishable shapes, and it’s a welcomed distraction.
His hand doesn’t move from yours when Hershel points out how there’s some bruising forming under your eyes now, a clear sign of a break, he says. He tells you he could try to re-shape it, put the bone back into place - an offer you fervently decline. You’d seen far too many accident and emergency shows way back, and you simply couldn’t bring yourself to willingly let somebody crunch your nose, so you’re content with keeping the small bump.
Daryl watches you the entire time, monitoring your reactions and gauging your body language, squeezing your hand just a little tighter when you flinch against Hershel’s touches. He tries to ignore the waves of protectiveness that wash over him with every wince, but he hisses out a ‘careful with her’ when you visibly recoil against the prodding on the side of your nose - a comment that doesn’t bother Hershel because your eyes flick over from your lap to Daryl’s and he’d have to be senile to miss the way your lips twitch into the smallest smile at the comment. Maybe you find it funny, maybe you’re grateful to have somebody watching over you - either way, he’ll let this one slide.
“Whoever did this, they didn’t hold back, did they? But you’re tough. Looks like the jaw is just some superficial bruising, but it might be sore for a while.”
No, he didn’t hold back. Not at all - you can still feel the pull of your hair and the impact of his palm against your jaw when you didn’t follow his directions quickly enough.
He asks if there’s anywhere else, any other injuries. Despite the fact you’re fully aware of the pattern of cuts between your chest and abdomen, you say nothing because the sting isn’t bothering you enough - it’s the least of your worries. When the only response he receives is a blank stare, Hershel speaks to both Daryl and Maggie, asking ‘If one of you could help her clean up, I’m sure she’d appreciate it.’ and gesturing to some clean towels.
Focus seems to be a thing of the past as you simply sit and exist. Maggie comes into your line of vision but it doesn’t matter because you can’t feel anything. Daryl’s hand on yours, the mattress, the cold.. It’s all there but you’re unaffected, in an unfeeling bubble. Maybe you’re safe there, maybe you’re not. There’s no way of knowing anymore.
Going through the motions, you follow Maggie to the showers instead, because there’s vomit caked in your hair and you’d rather die than have someone else ‘clean’ you with a towel again, so you opt for the constant stream of water instead.
‘Stay?’ was all you’d managed to rasp out from your bruised throat, and Daryl followed immediately with a nod, sitting outside the shower door with Maggie as they waited.
Maggie sits with clean clothes - baggy, dark colours. No bra. Daryl dug out a clean pair of the socks you loved as if they would be a magic touch, like they would heal you immediately. Maybe he hoped they would.
“The water might open up those cuts on her chest, dependin’ on how deep they are. Might need you to help me convince her to get stitches.”
The fact that you even have cuts, even a single cut makes his blood boil. He doesn’t fully understand what Maggie’s asking though - there’s nothing he could do differently to her, or Hershel. Maggie would disagree, though. Everybody in the prison would disagree.
“She’s struggling, Daryl. I think she’s gonna be leanin’ on you after this. She’s strong, and we all know it - stronger than most of us. But this is a different kind of pain.”
She’s leaning in just a little closer to Daryl to emphasize her point. Maggie’s always hoped you two would find a deeper connection with each other, been waiting for it to happen. It was inevitable. She’s heartbroken with the circumstances and she doesn’t pray as much as she used to, but there’ll be quiet prayers uttered from her bunk tonight - prayers for healing and connection and love, despite the anger in her heart at God.
“What’re ya telling me for?”
You are strong and he knows it, he’s witnessed it daily ever since you met.
“She looks at you different, Daryl. She’s already wanting you around a whole lot more than she wants anyone else around, she must feel safe with you.”
Chewing at his lip, he wants that to be true. He wants to be safe for you, he always has, because you’re safe for him, and it’s not a feeling he was familiar with before meeting you - there was a pull that couldn’t be ignored, a pull that was even stronger now.
“How is she?”
Rick joins then, sitting opposite your two guards.
“She’s been better. Broken nose, but she doesn’t want Daddy to fix it. Bruised jaw.. Saw some bruises on her back. Her wrists are pretty raw, too. Might need stitches on a few of the cuts on her chest, but we’ll only be able to tell when she’s cleaned up.”
Rick only nods, grateful you’re able to stand up long enough to take a shower.
“More worried about her head. Mentally, I mean. I don’t know exactly what she went through, but I think we’ve all got a good idea based on what y’all saw. She’s gonna need time.”
She tells the men about ‘traumatic shock, and how it’s similar to PTSD but different. She was so zoned out Rick, she was just starin’ at the wall. Helped her out of her clothes ‘cause she just couldn’t, and I wouldn’t expect her to be alright after today either. There was a literal handprint on the back of her neck..”
Rick can only bring himself to nod, but the information makes his heart hurt. He makes eye contact with Daryl, where there seems to immediately be an understanding between the two men - The Governor, and anybody involved will pay a heavy price, tenfold what you’ve been forced to feel.
When the shower shuts off, Maggie heads back inside with the clean clothes, guiding you to your cell to inspect your now clean injuries.
////
The night drags and counting sheep does nothing to help. It’s been hours and the pattern of the springs of the bunk above are ingrained in your mind in an attempt to keep your thoughts on anything but him. You bounce between thoughts, memories, people and events but nothing’s powerful enough to keep the feeling of his hands or the whispering against his ear away. It’s exhausting but overstimulating.
The metal frame of the squeaky bed is too hostile and the rusty shade grey is far too similar to the cold Woodbury walls and it’s making you want to crawl out of your own skin, and the silence within the cell block is so awful you’d swear it’s giving you double vision. It’s all so cold and the stupid
mattress is suddenly the most uncomfortable thing in the entire world - frustration rips through you, quickly turning into anger as you twist yourself into a sitting position and the thin blanket tangles around your calf, it feels like a hand grabbing at you and oh my god, anger turns into panic and it consumes you like you’re on fire, a lit match to sensitive skin and everything inside you is gasoline.
You burn and writhe, sweating as you wrestle against yourself until you hit the concrete floor with a dull thud, your spine taking most of the impact, and the pressure around your calf only increases in your struggle but it doesn’t matter because you’re being grabbed, but it isn’t just your leg - there’s more now, large hands around your arms and you’re gasping for air but there isn’t any.
“Hey, hey! Eyes on me again, c’mon, look at me.”
Everything’s so foggy, there’s a voice somewhere in the darkness but it feels so distant, maybe the words aren’t even directed towards you. It’s familiar but barely, you want to give the voice your complete attention but you just can’t because your heart feels like it’s in your throat and you need the grip on your leg to go away, it feels like the man who forced you to your knees - a tight, malicious hold that wants to hurt you again, but even your kicking and thrashing doesn’t shake it off.
The hands around your arm are so mild in comparison, they aren’t dominating or restraining, they’re just there - a light hold around the tops of your arms, warm. The voice is there again, shushing you and you didn’t even realize you were screaming until you have to quieten your cries to hear it for yourself.
“Shh, you’re okay. It’s just me, just me an’ nobody else.”
The voice is a tether keeping you where you need to be. You’ve never heard a southern accent so soft yet so authoritative - it’s telling you again, eyes on me, and it takes all your strength to try.
Your dreary cell slowly comes into focus, blurry outlines of your bunk and the door forming hazy lines in your vision. It’s Daryl - you know that now. He’s the only person in the world to ever be so patient with you, always the first by your side. It’s like he can read your mind, he’s so tuned into you it’s ridiculous, like you’re both on the same wavelength, harmonious even on a bad day.
He watches your eyes slowly come into focus and he makes a point to breathe slowly, albeit somewhat dramatically, in the hopes you follow his lead - and you do. His hands slide down from your biceps to your forearms where they rest just above your wounded wrists, hovering slightly. He held your hand earlier because you wanted him to so he prays this is okay, that his calloused fingers don’t feel uncomfortable against your skin or that he isn’t crossing a line. He wants- no, needs you to feel him, to understand that his touch is, and always will be harmless. When he sees no fear in your eyes and feels you steady beneath him, he lets his hands fully rest around the curve of your forearm.
“It’s just you an’ me in here, ya understand?”
You respond with a nod between shaky breaths, but his raised eyebrows tell you it’s inadequate. He waits because he needs to hear you say it, needs to know that you can distinguish between the cloud of anxiety fogging your mind and reality.
Patient. He’s so patient as he sits cross-legged on the floor of your barely lit cell, giving you all the time in the world to come back to him. He feels your pulse calm beneath his grip, a slowing beat under cold but clammy skin, hears your breathing even out until it matches his. You’re looking at him in such a daze and you look so exhausted - dark circles and the bruising at your jaw a daunting contrast against your skin, he wants to brush it all away with his thumb until there’s nothing left except unblemished skin - to be the reason you don’t hurt anymore.
“Tell me ya understand. Need to hear it.”
His words are demands but he says them so softly, and the way he’s looking at you makes you feel so good, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. The blue of his eyes is so him, so clear as he watches you behind unkempt waves and he acts as an achor, and all you can do is be still.
“I understand.”
The words sound so tired as they pry their way up the dryness of your throat, clawing their way up despite the tightness of your muscles. Daryl can see how much effort it takes to speak, and he nods in silent praise.
“Who’s here?”
He watches as you take a cautious look, a sweeping stare around the cell behind him. He gives your arms the tiniest squeeze in motivation. After inspecting every outline and every wall, you answer.
“Me and you. Nobody else, just us.”
You echo his words because he’s right. There’s nobody else here, despite Daryl’s presence being so overwhelming in the best way possible it is just the two of you, hidden away in the darkest corner.
“That’s right, ya wanna tell me what happened?”
“It was- fuck, it was around my leg and it just, it felt like-like him and I just, fuck.”
You slide your hands out of Daryl’s grip, bringing your hands to your hairline out of pure annoyance, clutching a fistful of hair as he shifts his gaze towards your outstretched legs where he understands immediately, nimble fingers unraveling the sheet around the bottom of your calf, letting it fall to the floor. Like it was so simple.
This is so fucking annoying, is this the life you’re sentenced to now? Crying over a sheet?
Weakness, is that what this is?
Conflicting emotions muddle together in a hazy barrier, separating fact from fiction.
Daryl’s looking at you so softly, eyebrows raised ever so slightly from his usual scowl and it changes his face entirely, and you wonder what you’ve done to deserve having his eyes on you so attentively, so caringly. He should be asleep, it’s the middle of the night, and he’s always the first one up every morning but you can’t bring yourself to send him away - not yet, anyway.
Guilt joins your already mixed emotions, because Daryl’s such a powerhouse, yet you’re here keeping the man who does so much awake for no good reason. Clutching tighter, you tug at the strands of hair still in your grasp until your scalp burns in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the cesspit of the direction of your thoughts.
“I’m okay.”
Too quick. Too unbelievable. Try again.
Loosening your grip, your hands fall into your lap in a fidgety attempt to look sane. People who are genuinely okay don’t pull at their hair, and it’s difficult but you manage.
Inhale. Exhale.
“I’m fine, really. It just- it was too similiar to, y’know.”
“Nah, I don’t know. Ya wanna talk to me about it?”
He truly doesn’t know. He assumes, but a million different things could have happened while you were captive, and he doesn’t want to assume wrong. There’s no guessing game when it comes to trauma.
“Not tonight.”
He wants you to talk about what happened - he’s always been somebody to bottle everything up inside and suffer because of it. He’s hauled memories and scars for as long as he can remember and he’ll be damned if he lets you do the same. It’s too damaging, too corrosive to carry alone and he knows that better than anyone. ‘Not tonight’ is good enough for him because it’s not a ‘never’, it’s simply ‘later’, and if that’s what you want then he’ll take it - he’d take anything you gave him.
Forcing the corners of your lips into a smile, you want to show Daryl you’re okay enough to survive the night. Daryl sees right through it - it’s the most insincere smile he’s ever seen in his life, especially when your eyes tell a completely different story.
“Okay. Not tonight.”
Sitting back, he gives you some space to acclimatize, to breathe.
He asks if you want him to stay the night on top bunk, which you decline. You convince yourself you’d be awful company because at times you don’t even feel like you exist. Other times you just want to cry and pace around your cell, and you don’t want to disturb him more than you already have.
‘I’ll be just in that guard room out here, ya know the one. Just yell if ya need me, okay?’ He tells you, emphasizing with a ‘M’ serious, ya come get me if somethin’ don’t feel right.’ as he stands in the doorway, hesitant to leave you alone.
After convincing (lying to him) that you’ll be okay, you spend most of the night cleaning your weapons and pacing the confined space of the cell that’s completely miserable. Too dark, too lonely.
Daryl finds you before dawn. He’d watched you during the night as you dragged your thin mattress from the creaky bed, out into the walkway outside your door. He was moments away from coming over, to ask what you were doing before he saw you simply lay down with your back against the wall. You had to have a different view, a different environment before you lost you mind. Hauling the mattress was easy even if you did have a headache afterwards, but the open space just felt so much better - windows, even with the discoloured bars, they were a blessing with the dark treetops in the distance. It was just a little bit easier out here, so there you sat until dawn.
//
In the morning, Daryl heads out, but not before checking in on you. He checks your nose and your jaw with delicate prompting, telling you to get some sleep ‘for me, please?’ even though you both know you won’t.
While Daryl’s gone, you find yourself trying so hard to exist and it’s difficult. Everybody’s trying so hard to distract you, to interact with you and give you something else to think about - and you’re grateful, but it’s so obvious. Beth talks to you the most and it’s nice, there’s no pity or questions, she just talks like she always does and although your answers are lacklustre she doesn’t complain.
“Ya alright?”
His voice takes you by surprise. There’s packs of candy in his arms, and a small, pink, fleece blanket that he places on the table, which Beth grabs. She excuses herself, telling you she’s going to give the newborn that’s currently asleep in Carol’s arms the new blanket.
“Yeah, just a bit tired but I’m okay.”
You look tired. Truly tired, it physically hurts him to see the dark shadows creeping into your face, but he knows the bruising isn’t helping your overtired features. He tries to convince himself it’s the lighting or a bad angle - the shades of purple almost look black beneath and around your inner eye, and your jaw isn’t much better.
“Hm, did ya eat?”
“There’s stew over there, did you eat??”
So, no, you didn’t eat.
It’s not quite a feeling of nausea or needing to vomit, yet it’s something more than just a ‘lack of appetite’. You don’t have a logical explanation, and you don’t try to come up with one, either.
“I’ll get some later.”
Any other day, you’d both be first in line for any meals going, relishing in the game you’d managed to catch earlier in the day. There was always a satisfaction verging on pride when you’d bring anything back, which was almost every time you and Daryl went out together. The teamwork you both shared was striking, celebrated amongst the group.
“Promise?”
Pointing his nose into the air is all the confirmation you seem to be getting, but you take it.
“What is it, are you okay?”
He’s alternating between chewing on his bottom lip, and his thumb.
“Got somethin’ to show ya.”
There’s no eye contact with his words, in fact there’s the opposite - is he.. Nervous?
Twiddling with his crossbow and biting his lip, the ground must suddenly be very interesting because it’s all he’s looking at now.
“Really? What is it?”
“Wanna see ya eat somethin’ first.”
“I already.. Fine.”
You change your course when you see the raised eyebrow. Knowing fully well he knows you’re lying, you make your way over to grab a bowl of the still hot stew, sulking as you swallow it down.
He’s quiet as he leads you outside, pebbles crunching beneath you as you make your way through the humidity towards a lone guard tower. His nerves make you nervous as you walk up the stairs behind him, but you’re so curious.
“It aint a tree house, but I know ya ain’t been sleepin’, so, uh..”
The door is held open for you at the top of the stairs, expecting to see yet another drab, cold guard tower.
“Daryl.. Oh my God.”
Oh my God.
It’s a guard tower - but it’s not drab, and it certainly isn’t cold. It’s colourful and homely and a chill runs up your spine from the thought that went into this - into the transformation he’s created because it’s wonderful. You were in this one just a few weeks ago. Rick wanted somebody to join him to finish clearing the area and the guard tower itself, and he’d asked you ‘Saw one of them in full protective gear, and I want your good aim for the job’ so you did without hesitation. There were some guns, some ammo, you’d told the group. Forgetting to tell them you’d peeled the gun from a grey corpse, the barrel aiming towards his own jaw was simply an accident.
There was no trace of that incident, now. Anything worth taking was with the group in the main prison, and the walls were.. Fluffy. Cracked windows were now draped with thick blankets acting as curtains, the floor almost entirely covered with similar fabrics and pillows in every colour. It was an absolute eyesore and you loved it.
“You did this?”
Disbelief has your mouth agape. Appreciation has you walking around, fingers tracing everything you can touch. Even the scruffier blankets feel nice, but those are over the windows, cloaking you from the afternoon sun. Tip-toeing around, you lean down to admire the absolute pile of softness at your feet. There’s so many. Light blue and knitted. Multicolour patchwork that’s just a little bit itchy to touch. Pale yellow, crocheted with thick, silky yarn.
Daryl nods with a grunt, using the excuse of chewing the nail on his thumb.
“This is.. Amazing. So amazing. The cell just, doesn’t work for me right now. I miss sleeping so badly, my eyeballs hurt. This is really for me?”
This feels magical - nobody’s ever gone to so much effort for you. There are tall candles standing atop the control panel with a box of matches right beside them, ready for nightfall.
“Course, can’t have ya in that cell right now. I ain’t like it, either. Found a Hobby Lobby while I had the car today. Didn’t know what half the shit was in there.”
You make a mental promise to pay him back tenfold. He broke into a Hobby Lobby for the sake of a few hours sleep, all for you. You knew he was soft for you, but this? Images of him lugging armfulls of fabric into the back of the beaten up little car flood your mind and you can’t help but smile at him.
When you’re done admiring, you head back into the prison to keep busy. Carol and Beth are experimenting with some of the prison supplies for dinner, so you try to be productive until Hershel pulls you to the side, to check in. He asks how you’re feeling, how you’re holding down food, sleeping, pain on a scale of one to 10.. Hershel knows you’re lying with most of your answers - you’re stubborn, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself and your situation, so he lets you go after reminding you he’s always available to talk to.
Daryl subtly observes how you play with your food, but still thankful you’ve managed some. Pushing re-hydrated mashed potato around your plate with heavy eyes and an orange glow from the fire, he’s trying to not stare but his efforts are in vain because he can’t help but shift his gaze to you, wanting to make sure T-Dog isn’t sitting too close, or that your wrists aren’t hurting too much even though he watches how you occasionally rub the tender skin.
While dinner gets cleared up, you make your way over to the archer who’s adjusting the string of his crossbow with a furrowed eyebrow.
“Busy?”
He finishes twiddling with a gruff ‘Nah’, standing to join you, crossbow in hand.
Good. You’ve wanted to slip away since the group gathered together. There’s so much love for every single individual sat around the log cabin fire Daryl built, but there were moments you were filled with exhaustion, craving peace and chunky knitted blankets instead. You adored when Beth sang, when Rick’s beautiful daughter cooed and the excitement that came with having an actual meal with friendships that were essentially family ties.
But not tonight.
Linking your fingers with his, Daryl doesn’t even consider protesting as you gently pull him behind you towards your little safe haven. As you walk, you miss the sympathetic smile from Maggie, and the one full of hope from Beth.
Once inside, Daryl tells you he can sit outside and guard, but you’re quick to remind him he can do that from the inside, too. There’s anxiety in your thoughts, nerves from wondering if those men will find you again. Find your camp, your people, Daryl. It occupies a dark, weary corner of your mind that you’re desperate to not think about for one night, you’re simply craving peace and rest. Daryl sits facing the door, quietly continuing his mission with his crossbow.
“You should lie down, too. Only one of us needs dark circles this bad, and I’m already claiming it.”
He scoffs, but oh how he loves hearing you tease. The playful edge in your voice sounds spent and dreary, but it’s still there and it sparks an entire new wave of thankfulness and admiration through his soul - feels it so deeply as he watches you gather a handful of fabric, clutching it by your chest like a child would a comforter.
He tells you he will, that he just needs to finish fixing this one part first. It’s a blatant lie - what he means is, he’s waiting to make sure you actually get some sleep. Actual rest. Not only do you deserve it, but you need it at this point. Your voice is barely above a whisper when you tell him ‘don’t take too long, okay?’ The room is so dark but you’re still so bright for him. He’s still not over the fact that somebody could willingly hurt you, someone so honest, so selfless - he can control his anger right now, mostly grateful you’re here in his company.
It takes a little while until you seem settled, when you toss and turn just a little bit less, only then does he close his eyes for just a moment, back still against the wall ready to defend against anyone who dares try to disturb you tonight.
/
Everything’s so bright tonight - the stars and the moon look like they’re trying to lure you in, desperate for attention against the pitch black of the night sky, and the air is muggy but it’s a welcomed distraction. Another failed attempt at sleeping finds you bundled out on the balcony with heavy eyelids and a million thoughts, but absolutely nothing you can focus on, nothing’s distinct enough or sharp enough to latch on to, so it’s easier to not try - looking at the sky is easy, and you don’t have to try, so it works.
You tried for hours. Sleep simply did not want to be your friend again tonight, and it was so frustrating. Every way you tried to lie was uncomfortable for no apparent reason, and when you felt a headache forming in your temple, you almost screamed into your pillow before remembering you had company. Daryl was slumped, a thick yellow blanket draped over his shoulders against the metallic chill against his back, despite the blistering heat that had the entire group in a chokehold every moment of the day.
“Can’t sleep?”
You’ve been so engrossed in the sight before you - the stars, the moon and just how captivating they are, that you don’t notice the footsteps of heavy boots against metal flooring behind you and you almost give yourself whiplash with the speed you turn to face the source. Daryl’s stood just a few metres away, back leaning against the frame of the open doorway with tousled hair, concern hidden behind a sympathetic expression and a question he couldn’t stifle.
“No chance, apparently. I could ask you the same question, though.”
Rubbing your eyes as you speak, you turn yourself back to the direction of the thick canopy of trees. You can feel the puffiness beneath your eyes, and the fragility of the delicate skin - a prominent display of just how exhausted you are, and you sharply inhale at the throbbing sensation that pulses beneath your fingers from the bruising.
Was it his fault that you couldn’t sleep? Was he too close to your personal space, too invading? He hesitates by the door, already fumbling over words that haven’t even formed yet, chewing down on his bottom lip as his gaze lingers on your dark silhouette.
“D’ya want me to go? If it helps ya sleep better, I can-”
As much as he wants to stay, if you need to be alone he’ll go - he’d find an excuse to be somewhat close, maybe he’d patrol the fences or collect some firewood, but not behind thick walls because he wouldn’t be able to see or hear you from inside and you might not know it yet but you’re his responsibility now. You’re fully capable and he knows it - so powerful and stubborn, passionate and perfect and Daryl's never had a single doubt in his mind about your ability to fight or overcome, and he isn’t about to start now because it’s you, and although you don’t need anybody to protect you, he still wants to. Right now you just need some time to heal and he’s consumed by the desire to help - to absolve you of the pain you’re going through because you deserve better. He would take your experiences and endure it tenfold if it gave you peace, he would kiss away the bruising around your eyes with the gentlest, most angelic brush of his lips if you let him because he only exists to make you feel better.
The words die in his throat the moment you turn back towards him, because there’s a trace of a smile on your lips as you tell him ‘No, I don’t want you anywhere but here.. only if that’s okay with you, though.’ and Daryl can hear the way you second guess yourself, the way the second half of your sentence drips with insecurity - don’t you know he longs to be by your side, aches to be yours, to get you through the turmoil you’re currently trying to dissect?
You watch as he makes his way closer until he’s next to you, crouching down until his eyes are level to yours and he shuffles himself until he’s sitting next to you, legs swinging over the edge of the balcony. There’s a warm breeze and you feel yourself relaxing into the warm gust of air, letting your head lull backwards and your eyes close for just a moment - the night sky and warmth used to be enough to pull you into a nights sleep, so why isn’t it anymore?
Your mind flashes with memories - you can feel them, hear the way your friends would laugh into plastic cups and the crackling embers of a fire, a blanket around your shoulders and the way your body would relax so deeply into the shape of your hammock that you could have slept for days. The breeze feels the same and despite your closed eyelids, you know you’re still sitting beneath the same flickering stars. You’re so deep in the memory and the calmness that corresponds to it that you might as well be back there - then it hits you that you’re not. There’s no overflowing party cups and no gossiping around the campfire, you lost your hammock long before the world fell and there’s an absence of burning ashes lingering in the air, and although you could swear you heard the repetition of jokes and laughter so distinctly that it must have been real - it isn’t.
But there’s a slight smell of smoke, and you know it’s real and you’re not losing your mind and it smells so much like your favourite evenings that you take a deep inhale, then another before slowly opening your eyes, letting the memory fade out as you focus on the stars for just a moment.
Your friends aren’t here anymore, but Daryl is.
Daryl watches you, wondering exactly where you went. He’s so content just observing you, admiring the rise and fall of your shoulders and the strands of hair that move ever so slightly in the Georgian breeze that he just can’t take his eyes away from your profile, doting on how you look beneath the silver of the night sky. He’s never seen anything so beautiful in his life, and when you open your eyes and turn towards him, it only solidifies what he already knew because the moonlight is reflecting in your eyes just right, and out of everything you could be looking at, you’re choosing to look at him, and when a light gust of air sweeps a cluster of hair into your face, he moves on instinct.
He’s slow as he raises his hand, and he expects your eyes to switch to his moving fingers, but your gaze remains on his as he inches closer.
You catch yourself, resisting the natural urge to simply push the rogue strands away, instead you find yourself yearning for the simple gesture - and when his rough fingertips brush over your cheek, you find yourself leaning into the friction, the way his calloused skin feels so effortless as he glides the hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. There’s a pang of something that shoots into your chest so suddenly, but as daryl’s fingers delicately trail the shape of your ear, you realize what that feeling in your chest is - it’s not fear or dread, it’s affection, and it’s blooming so intensely it’s threatening to spill over through your eyes because you’re not scared, you’re something that you can’t quite give a name to, but it feels good.
Slowly, Daryl reminds himself. Every movement is steady and gentle, two fingertips trailing one after the other in tiny little shapes and squiggly lines just below your lobe, and he swells with pride as you quietly sigh, comfortable enough to close your eyes against his touch, so he continues - mapping the contours of your face from your hairline to the slight dip beneath your cheekbone, gently tracing the discoloration along your jawline. The touch is so soft, so barely there that it almost tickles and it’s incredible. You spend minutes just letting yourself be touched, focusing solely on being in control of your emotions and how this is special, how Daryl is special and how this is completely okay and he’s not hurting you and he never would.
The archer changes his movements then, using his hand to cup your jawline, hovering lightly over the bruising, and when you open your eyes and focus on him again, he repeats the motion on the other side until he’s holding your face gently between both of his large hands, angling himself in front of you.
“Let’s get ya back inside, alright?”
You’re so pliant and warm and soft for him, completely oblivious as you relax into his hands. He’s supporting your weight with his palms as he traces his thumbs across your cheeks, every fraction of a movement is brand new territory, and he’s concentrating hard to not scare you - he’s not going to move until you do, because he might be the one touching you, but you’re in control, he’s not going to make any decisions on your behalf, no matter how small. As far as Daryl’s concerned, this is your world - he just lives in it.
You want to stay just like this, because he’s tracing over your darkened bruises with so much tenderness, and the damaged skin is so sensitive - the combination feels magical. Your gaze drops, suddenly you can feel the lethargy rest heavily on your eyelids because since when were they so heavy?
“Think you’re ready for a good night’s sleep, c’mon, let’s get you tucked in.”
When you finally nod, he’s careful as he takes one hand away first, giving you a moment to adjust to the lack of support, with just one last brush of his thumb from below your eye to your cheek before he pulls away, bringing himself to his feet beside you. Your hands slip into his outstretched ones, supporting you as you steady yourself against the dull thud of the metal beneath you, and he leads you back into the mess of tangled sheets.
There’s a moment of ‘when do we let go?’ when you’re inside, neither of you entirely sure because you simply don’t want to. Thick pillows call your name, and you’re the first to lower yourself against a velvety throw blanket, and in succession, as if he’d been doing it his whole life, Daryl follows the gentle pull of your locked hands, but he’s oh so careful to subtly leave space between your thigh and his - he hasn’t been invited to touch anything but your hand, so he doesn’t.
The softness beneath you is so potent you can feel it through your clothing, and although it feels like the most inviting thing ever, your attention quickly shifts from the gentle back and forth of his thumb over the back of your hand to the gap he’s purposely left between you, and you’re heartbroken.
Insecurity surges through every neuron in your body with so much ferocity that you feel absolutely annihilated, paralysed - your entire chest constricts, tightening at the sudden awareness of how feeble you feel, how damaged. Pulling your hand from his, your thoughts race with such force - why is there so much space between you? What did you do wrong?
You swallow hard at the lump in your throat, and Daryl watches the smile fade from your lips, and your knees pull up to your chest. He waits only a moment before perching himself by your feet, eyes on your downcast ones.
“Hey, what’s goin’ on?”
How can he sound so concerned, so doting when you’re so.. Broken?
He’s calling your name so softly, voice just above a whisper but you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to block him out. Even just his voice feels like an assault on your senses, and the small percentage of you that wants to listen is overpowered by the crushing weight in your chest, the doubt in your mind.
He waits a moment - caution at the front of his mind. He doesn’t understand exactly what just happened, but he’s going to fix it because he can see the way your hands tremble ever so slightly as they cover your eyes, hear the way your breath catches in your throat and he hates it. For every fear-induced vibration of your fingers, he vows to cause an hour of pain - no, a day, for the man who did this. He’ll slice off a finger for every cry he causes. He starts a tally in his mind.
“You’re gonna get through this, ya know that, right?”
He receives a shaky exhale in response, so he carries on.
“You’re gonna get through this ‘cause it’s what ya do best. You survive.”
Patient is all he can be right now, and he does it well. Lets you calm down, to process whatever it is you’re feeling right now without intruding, and when you finally speak, he can’t disguise the flash of anger that forms in the pit of his stomach.
“He- The Governor, when I wouldn’t tell him where my camp was, he..”
Inhale. Exhale. Again.
You can’t bring yourself to look at the man in front of you when you raise your head, quickly dragging your sleeve across your damp cheeks. Shame builds in your throat - if you don’t tell him what happened right now, this very second, you swear you never will but you need Daryl to know. If anybody’s going to know, it’s him.
“That’s when he cut my shirt off, that’s how I got the cuts on my chest. He left.. When he came back he kept asking. I would never, ever tell anyone about the prison, please trust me. I never told him.”
Daryl knows, and he tells you this as you pat the skin under your eyes a little too harshly.
“He.. He forced me to my knees, Daryl. I had to-”
You don’t bother wiping the tears away anymore as they ferociously spill over. Chills and shivers make their way down your spine as you recall the event and you can only imagine the pity - or worse, disgust that must be all over Daryl’s face right now. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t shy away from your confession, instead he dips his head lower to get your attention. When your red eyes reluctantly meet his, you’re surprised by his features - the lack of repulsion or horror, you’re astonished because he seems to have shuffled just a little bit closer, not further away, and he nods - there’s more, and he knows.
“I didn’t think I- I thought he was going to.. Until you came. I knew you’d come, but I was so scared. I was terrified. I fought back, that’s how I got the bruise on my jaw. After that he just held a knife to my throat.. Told me to be extra careful.”
Almost on instinct, your hand delicately touches the front of your neck, where you’d felt the sharp blade dig into your skin just enough to keep you docile.
“And you’ve been.. Here, right next to me ever since, and I know it’s stupid but when you sat down, you felt so far away and I thought I’d done something wrong, or that I’m.. ”
Daryl watched and listened as you spoke, heard the panic creep into your speeding up voice, saw you wince from the torment that was so clearly playing in your mind. Every word you’d just spoken had bile rising in his throat, an acidic taste to be quickly swallowed down because this is your ‘not tonight’, this is when he sits and listens. This is your experience to talk about, your trauma to unpack. He already had a vague idea of what happened - an assumption of your ordeal - and actually hearing it were two very different things. He can’t even fathom that you’d think he was even capable of thinking about you badly, that you’re..
“Broken, disgusting.. Patheti-”
“Hey, that’s enough. C’mere.”
He reaches out to you with open arms, and you sob an absolutely gut wrenching sob because Daryl’s always felt like home, and despite the voice in your head telling you how unworthy you are of his support, he’d never deny you. Shuffling into him, he cocoons you with his arms without a moment of hesitation, pulling you against him just a little more because it’s what he’s always done - he’s nervous, ready to release his hold at the first sign of unease. Instead he feels you press yourself further against him, tucking your head beneath his chin.
“Ya aint none of those things. An’ I’ll tell ya that every day if I need to, alright? Ya ain’t never, and never gonna be broken or pathetic. Sure yer gonna feel that way sometimes, don’t mean it’s true, and ya ain’t disgusting for what someone else did to ya, that aint how it works.”
Soft spoken words tickle the crown of your head as you take in the little patches of heat where his body overlaps your own, and there’s a warmth blooming in your chest like a bouquet. These words are so special, even more so because they’re coming from him, in a little hideaway he built to keep you safe.
Hearing your thoughts out loud forced him to voice his own that had accumulated over the last few days. Daryl’s no stranger to trauma, he’s masked his own distress and memories with a need to be protective - support the group, hunt, track, find shelter. There’s almost a responsibility that’s bubbled to the surface to prevent the people around him feeling even just a snippet of what he’s felt over the years, and he does it willingly, out of a love that he himself doesn’t even understand - and it’s a feeling that’s always been more prominent with you. He couldn’t let another moment go by with you thinking that way about yourself - ‘you didn’t do this, the Governor did, an’ your worth don’t change ‘cause of a prick of a man’s actions.’ Daryl’s careful as he tells you this, hoping and praying he’s choosing his words correctly. He mumbles into your hair that he’s ‘sorry about not sittin’ right next to ya, I just thought maybe to just.. I dunno, we were already’ holdin’ hands and I didn’t wanna cross no line. ‘M sorry.’ and although the tears don’t stop, the excruciating weight on your chest lifts just slightly, faintly circling his palm against your back to calm you.
“Aint nothing you could’ve ever done to deserve any of this. Nobody here thinks any different of ya, and I’m gonna be right here until you’re okay again, we all will.”
You’ve been by his side since you stumbled across their camp by the quarry. You had your sister back then, like he had Merle. Suddenly neither of you had your siblings, your best friends to survive the world with, but somewhere down the line you found solace in each other. You clung to cigarette smoke as he did your unfamiliar softness and the group could only admire from a distance - an admiration that only grew stronger, as did your affinity towards each other.
There’s a pause to his words, and before you can wonder why, he places the most delicate kiss against your hair. His stubble itches your scalp, and your heart flutters at the tender press of his lips - another source of warmth that has you raising your head and bringing your eyes to meet his.
“Fuck, ‘m sorry. I didn-”
You idiot. You didn’t ask, she’s going to hate you and rightfully so. His mind floods with regret immediately, waves upon waves of quick scenarios running through his mind - will you never talk to him again? Walk away from him, never to return? His arms relax around you just slightly, ready for the inevitable moment where you pry yourself out of his grasp.. But it doesn’t happen? The inevitable doesn’t happen, and when your gaze meets his, he’s surprised.
“It’s okay.”
Delicate. Fragile. Powerful. Understanding. Pretty. Soft. Gentle. Strong. Warm. Kind. Forgiving. Patient. Loving. Accepting.
Daryl sees every single good thing there is about the world in your face. You’re telling him that it’s okay, with your tear-streaked rosy cheeks and sad smile. Loss after loss after tragedy and you’re still here smiling at him, tucked between his arms like it’s where you belong, and he’s astonished when you re-adjust yourself until you’re sat across his thighs, but astonished would be an understatement when you willingly lean your forehead against his lips - innocently pining for the feeling of him against your skin.
Giving you exactly what you want, you’re so momentarily content with the control that you have with his lips against you, exactly where you wanted him - exactly where he wanted to be. It’s pure and beautiful and he doesn’t hurt you when he places a hand on your lower back to support you, nor does he when his other hand cradles the nape of your neck. Not forcing, not grabbing you or keeping you still - but there to hold you, like his only purpose is to be a pillar supporting a temple of worship. The man who hurt you - his hands were softer, free of calluses but malicious, whereas daryl’s are rough and dry from hard work, but every single movement towards you has always been filled with grace.
The same hands that pressed over yours the first time you used his crossbow, and guided you until you got your first successful shot on a walker. He’d been proud of that moment, teasing about how ‘you’re a natural’.
The same hands you’d babied from fights - scratches and burns, wear and tear from being in a fallen world. ‘M fine, stop wastin’ shit on me’ he’d tell you, and you’d always ignore him as you dotted lotions on broken skin and wrapped him in gauze.
Those same scarred hands weren’t to be afraid of, you’d refuse to be timid of Daryl. He was capable of so much and you’d seen it. Watched him take on dozens of the dead, unafraid to take on the living with dangerous weapons to protect his people - to protect you. He was there for others to be fearful of, not you.
But even if you were afraid, were cautious he would understand. He would hide his hurt feelings because they weren’t the priority here, he would back up and apologize and leave you alone with a single word and you know this. He knows trauma, acknowledges the healing that comes afterwards even if he never got it - he’ll sure as hell make sure that you do.
There’s a long pause before either of you move, you both simply sit and breathe and soak in the closeness and admiration that’s growing tenfold every moment. Your hands ended up resting on his hips for the most part, with the occasional play of the buttons on his vest as he continued to lightly knead into the knots of stress in your neck, his lips never wandering far from your forehead.
“Tired?”
He mumbles into your hair when you yawn, tears prickling your eyes.
“I don’t think I’ve slept in days. Yes, I’m tired”
Prominent dark circles are an obvious answer to his question, but he just wanted to hear the lighthearted teasing in your voice he’s been hoping for - not that you’d ever disappoint him. Daryl’s willing to stay up until dawn if sleep wasn’t going to take you, but he’s thankful at the opportunity that you might actually get some sleep tonight. You both agree to lay down, and you ruefully peel yourself away from him.
There’s an echo that rings when heavy, ill-fitting boots are pried from threadbare socks before Daryl’s shuffling, rustling blankets along the way until he’s crouched by your muddy shoes. Gesturing to your laces, he waits until there’s an unashamed smile and a giggle before un-doing the tangles, pulling them off your feet despite quiet protests of ‘Oh my God, they must smell so bad, I’m so sorry’ before joining you back against the pillows.
There must be a specific blanket and pillows store he stripped bare for your comfort, and you’re nothing but thankful when you come back into contact with chilled fleece and fluff. Pressure’s been lifted from your mind, alleviated just enough that breathing actually feels possible for the first time in days, and Daryl’s laying on his side, watching and cherishing the peace he can see between your bruises.
You join him, then. Rolling onto your side until you’re face to face, suddenly shy beneath his gaze. He asks how your nose feels - and when you tell him ‘it’s not awful, but I’m sure it looks awful, Daryl don't look at it, jeez!’ he can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. Awful is the least it feels - he remembers the day he broke his as a teenager. The man who did that to him didn’t apologise either, but he’s certain he was less bruised than you and it was tender for months.
Jokingly, you hit his shoulder and his grin kills you. There are strands of hair across his forehead and his eyes are creasing ever so slightly and you’re so flooded with the sincerity of him that you feel tears forming in your eyes again. There’s no desire to cry and you’re not upset, and you try to blink them away before he notices but he does.
You’re cocooned in a homely comfort as he grabs an extra blanket, bringing it over and tucking it below your chin, whispering a ‘thank you’.
“Look at me for a sec. I aint him. Gonna keep ya safe, want ya to know that.”
Nothing above a mumble in volume, but thunderously loud in promise. Safety and refuge abundantly thick in his words and immediately you’re curling in against his him, dragging the blanket with you until once again, you’re wedged beneath his chin, chest to chest because you want to feel his words, physically feel the shields that are his arms and hands. You don’t have to wait more than a second for reciprocation - he’s immediately understood, adjusting himself until he’s got an arm over yours and a hand cradling the back of your head. You tell him that you know.
It’s just perfect.
Innocent intimacy that just feels so right, so natural. He holds you so close, like it's a necessity, and honestly it might actually be.
Careful, gentle touches from rugged fingertips lulled you to sleep that night, and many, many nights after.
/
Hours turn into days, days into weeks, weeks into months.
Healing was difficult, especially when the war broke out. People - good people lost their lives. Friends were lost, blood spilled and the prison fell and things were hard.
Almost nothing was consistent - not the company, meals or housing. The sun would rise and things would change, the sun would set and things were dangerous. Daryl was consistent, though. The tips of his fingers against your skin were consistent, as were his lips against your forehead, your cheek, and one day, the very corner of your own lips.
He watched as you gained your confidence again, how you’d zone out just a little bit less every week. It wasn’t consistent. There were good days, and there were days you’d wake from paralyzing nightmares but he was there, ready to pull you against him - what’s goin’ through that head of yours, huh? He’d whisper with a gentle nudge of his fingers below your chin.
His presence was healing you, you would tell him - and he would always correct you. ‘Nah, this is all you. It’s you doin’ the hard work, not me.’ and you would always disagree, even if he was right.
#daryl dixon#daryl dixon fic#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon drabble#daryl dixon fanfic#daryl dixon oneshot#twd#the walking dead#twd fanfic#twd oneshot#twd fic#twd drabble#twd imagine#the walking dead oneshot#the walking dead fanfic#the walking dead drabble#the walking dead fic#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon x oc#daryl dixon x reader
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daryl + mouth spitting
warnings. smut, mouth spitting, saliva exchanging, unprotected sex, dom!daryl, sub!reader, swearing, fluff, kinda dom!daryl
MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻
divider credits. @cafekitsune
Rough and calloused hands gripped the edge of your jaw, as the body that they belonged to was atop of you, looming down at your submissive nature with domineering ecstasy. Daryl had driven himself inside of you, stretching the walls of your cunt with his bare cock as he leant down, his hair creating a distorted halo around his head, supporting himself on his knees.
Each speckle of cerulean colour in his eyes had darkened with a shadow of lust, much like when the ravenous sea tide rose into harmful waves beneath a grey and stormy sky. He was the storm, and he was prepared to bring a reckoning to your meek and mortal body. With maleficent intent, his hips clashed like the plates on the planet’s format against your own, as though he was creating an earthquake; your body shattered from the cruel pleasure, that felt like too much yet not enough at the same time.
It was as though a distorting cloud of fog had intercepted your brain, belittling you into nothing more than a pile of bone and flesh, completely at the mercy of the man that was leant over you. He was urged on by the erotic moans that were almost pornographic which slipped without control past your lips, and he became fixated on the way your mouth moved and curved with each sound of pleasure. To subdue the racket that you were creating with the small part of your brain that was still working, your teeth clamped down on your bottom lip, muffling each attempt at repeating his name.
Daryl frowned harshly, his eyes burning into the sight of your front teeth, admiring the small trail of drool that had cascaded past them. His heaving breaths created a warm spot on your flesh, his tone ragged and accent prominent as he spoke through his own ecstasy. “Le’ go of tha’ lip sunshine.” He tapped your chin with his forefinger, grip harshening around your jaw as his mind reeled with nervousness, although he didn’t allow it to show.
He wasn’t certain that you would like what he was about to do, and if you didn’t he vowed to himself silently that he would never do it again. But it was a primal desire that was igniting like a wildfire in his chest, and as his lips trailed over your throat, eyes boring across every inch of your skin and continually rocking into your tight cunt, and feeling how your walls gripped his cock like a succubus’ prowess, he drowned in the sounds that were making your throat soar.
“Fuck.” You moaned simultaneously, making each of you laugh gravelly and breathily from the unexpected communication that matched with each syllable. He leant in closer, running his nose across your cheek, as your eyelids fluttered from the sweet notion. Your hands gripped his shoulders, face still upturned in his grasp as you dared to make eye contact with your lover. “Open yer mouth darlin’.” It was a gentle order, and whilst confused in your blissful pleasure, legs seizing his hips in a strong hold, you did nothing but comply.
And so you opened your lips, tongue peeking out as you closed your mind and waited for whatever action ascended into Daryl. He clenched his jaw, mulling over his decision once more before he decided to proceed with it, before he leant down, tenderly stroking your chin with his thumb as he pursed his lips, allowing a string of saliva to fall and pool in your mouth. His brows rose as his hips slowed from hearing your unexpected moan; he wasn't certain on what reaction he had expected from you, but he felt the anxiety bouldering his shoulders slip away.
"Was tha' okay?" Daryl asked, his hips completely still now with his cock still sheathed inside of you. In response you wiggled your hips, needing to gain some friction from the overbearing fullness that was settled within your clenching walls, batting your lashes up at him as you rubbed your aching clit against the base of his manhood. "Need words baby." He endearingly ogled at you, wanting to do nothing more than to stutter his cock in and out of your pussy however your pleasure was his main concern. It always was, your welfare came long before his arousal, you were his priority, and as hot as it was to watch you swallow his spit and moan, he required verbal reassurance.
"Was more than okay Dar." Your voice was wispy and breathless, a sweet smile sprawled across your lips as your hands ran up and down his biceps. "If you want to be sure, you could always do it again." That was enough for him to proceed, rutting his length within your velvety and slick folds, as he continued to grasp your face in his large hands and trickle his saliva into your open and wide mouth. It was something that he had never given much thought, however from then on with each dazed gaping that you expressed, his mind reeled straight to the image of you drinking up his saliva like his own personal, thirsty whore.
#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon imagine#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon x you#daryl dixon x y/n#daryl dixon x female reader#daryl dixon oneshot#daryl dixon fluff#daryl dixon fic#daryl x reader#daryl smut#Daryl Dixon reader insert#twd smut#twd x reader#twd x you#twd x y/n#twd imagine#twd oneshot
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STUPID GRIMES carl grimes x fem!reader
warnings — both are 18+, e2l, reader has claustrophobia, reader is maggie and glenn’s adopted daughter, i literally can’t write e2l this sucks so bad i’m so sorry
part two
your arms are crossed over your chest as you look out the window. you and carl had to go on a run, alone, without ripping each others throats out. seriously, daryl left you a note that read ‘don’t rip each others throats out’.
carl had his music blasting through the radio, fingers drumming against the steering wheel completely ignoring your presence. you hated it. he always acted so unbothered as if you didn’t get under his skin. he always acted like such an asshole, criticizing your aim and telling you his is better. “even though i lost an eye!”
always wearing that fucking hat and those fucking flannels and fucking jeans that made him look too good for a total dickhead. it’s like the petty preteen feud started getting fueled by sexual frustration and made you both mad at each other for being hot.
carl hands you the list, “follow it, nothing else. we need to get in and get out.” was he ever going to let the time you saw a cute top on, in your defense what looked like a dead walker, and almost got bit?
“i’m just a girl, grimes.” he rolls his eyes, turning his music up. “plus i can defend myself, you can’t silence me!” with a smirk he turns it all the way up.
you see what looks like a run down store in the distance, pointing at it. in return you get carl yelling, “i know what im doing!” you hop out of the car when he parks, looking over the list quickly.
“you take the walkers on that side, i’ll take this side.” you point from left to right, causing carl to scoff.
“and if i want the right side?”
you huff, “okay smartass, take right. where you don’t have someone in your blind spot to cover you.” carl simply rolls his eyes, and without another word goes to the left side of the store. just as you thought, a few walkers to carl’s right were headed right for him.
you run over and stab every one of them in the head before they could get close, abandoning your side of the store. with the walkers all around you growling in your ear, you didn’t notice the noise growing.
“do i seriously always have to save your ass?” carl looks back at you with a glare before his face widens with shock. he grabs your arm and makes a beeline for the back. he saw the back room when you both walked in, and he hoped there were no dead waiting for you both.
he opens the door and practically throws you in, barricading it behind you two with the metal cart against the wall. you hear a growl behind you and whip around, there’s a walker in a mop bucket reaching out to you. you jam your knife through it’s eye, turning around to look at carl breathless.
carl chuckles and leans against the wall, “who saved who’s life now?”
you grab the mop in the bucket and place it on the walker’s head, masking it’s gross face. “what the hell? i was handling it.”
carl gives you an incredulous look, “handling it? the herd of walkers coming up behind you?” as of right on cue you hear their desperate hands clawing at the door. you sigh and walk around the tiny custodian closet, looking around for something, anything to help you out of this mess.
carl’s never seen you so antsy, he pushes himself off the wall and walks to you. his hand comes up to your shoulder awkwardly, rubbing it a little. “we’ll be fine, we still have our bag, our radios.” you nod, hating this side of you coming out. especially around carl of all people.
you swat his hand away, “i don’t need your pity.”
carl scoffs and goes back to his spot against the wall. “this is why i don’t help you.” you glare at him, leaning down to put your hands on your knees and breathe slowly. focusing on everything but the small room with walls that seemed to close in on you.
“you’re just an asshole, that’s why i don’t want your help.” carl looks at you with a monotone expression. you’ve known him since you met at the farm. daryl found you looking for sophia, and ever since maggie and glenn adored you like you’re their own. but with carl, it’s like he grew out of his menace phase with everyone else but it stuck with you.
“and when i give you the treatment you deserve, you go back to being one.” he doesn’t say a word, he just watches you pace.
“did you never grow up?” you can’t help but word vomit, it’s the only thing keeping you from spiraling. getting all of your thoughts out. “i mean, you clearly did. you’re so nice to everyone. why are you so different with me?”
that’s when carl remembers it, your claustrophobia. he remembered that one time in the prison, getting caught with him, maggie, and lori. even that room made you feel weak and petrified. it’s one of the only instances you remember him treating you kindly.
he gets close to you again, face inches from yours. he went to speak but nothing came out. your glassy eyes look at him in a way they haven’t before. you feel so close, the attraction he’d formed towards you was becoming overwhelming and he began to step back.
you grab him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close again. “don’t…” you look into his eye before hugging him tightly. “don’t. the fear goes away when it feels like it’s just us.” carl let’s out a ragged breath, bringing his arms up around your back. “we can pretend this didn’t happen later.”
“we don’t have to,” he whispers and you pull away, looking at him wide eyed.
“but we will. i’m not weak.”
carl shakes his head and grabs your hand, “this doesn’t make you weak. it makes you human, and that’s not common feature for people to still have nowadays.”
you scoff out a laugh, “when did you get all wise?” carl laughs back, his gaze is soft, foreign to you. you let a few moments go by, standing there hand in hand. it should be awkward, but for some reason it wasn’t.
you bite your lip before speaking up again, “answer my question.”
carl laughs confusedly, “i think i get it from my dad?” you give him a playful glare and slap his arm,
“not that, stupid.” you go silent again, scared to ruin the fact he’s finally acting normal around you. “why do you act so different with me?” it’s like the air got thicker, in the way it did before when you would bicker, but not with the negative undertones. just tension, a lot. tension you don’t want to name out of embarrassment.
carl licks his lips and glances at yours. “as ridiculous as it sounds…” his face gets closer, “i feel like i can be free with you. let the parts of me that had to be buried out.” his voice turns into a whisper against your lips. “i guess i don’t remember how to do that without acting like such a little shit.”
you both laugh but it doesn’t last long, his hand comes up to your waist causing your breath to hitch. “it got worse when you just,” carl sighs and closes his eye. “became too hard to resist. i was so mad that we were stuck in this frenemy limbo, i made it worse.”
“damn,” you sigh, causing carl to furrow his brow. “you’re very stupid grimes.”
“shut up,” he snaps, pressing his lips against yours. you hum in surprise, but bring your hands up to cup his face. your thumb runs soothingly over his scarred cheek causing him to pull away. “it’s gross, i’m sorry.”
“it’s pretty,” you mumble, pulling him in to kiss him again. he disconnects your lips and shakes his head.
“pretty?”
you roll your eyes, “carl, you’re pretty. your scar is pretty. you’re supposed to be shutting me up right now.” carl blinks and your lips are back on his. you’re more eager this time, impatient. you part your mouth urging him to deepen the kiss. you sigh into his mouth and wrap your arms around his neck.
his other hand comes to the other side of your waist, pressing you against the wall. your back thuds against it, eliciting a whimper out of you. “sorry…” he mumbled against your lips. he pulls back a little, eye hooded and gaze trained on your swollen lips. “i like the sounds you make, though.”
#carl grimes x reader#carl grimes fanfiction#carl grimes x y/n#carl grimes x you#carl grimes#carl grimes smut#twd x reader#twd fanfiction#twd oneshot#twd fluff#twd imagine#twd smut#carl grimes fluff#carl grimes oneshot#carl grimes imagine#carl grimes x fem!reader
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when you get hurt... || Rick Grimes (TWD)
rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker @zomb-1-egutzz
"Rick," you stressed, "-it's just a cut. I'll be fine."
You'd been messing around with your knife and had sliced your finger. That was it. It was bleeding, yeah, but nothing worse than what you'd already experienced. So, you were here, hand pressed into your finger searching for some medical supplies and you had made the mistake of going to one Rick Grimes.
He'd been really concerned for you lately, to his defense, so it wasn't really out of the ordinary.
Whether be making sure you took care of yourself, "Ya eaten yet?"
Or dragging you away from something when you were bone-dead tired, "C'mon, 's time to at least take a break."
Or making sure you were careful on runs, he'd taken to telling you to "Please, be careful." with quite possibly the most genuine tone you'd ever heard. You weren't sure how to respond to that.
And then, he was always seeking you out. Roaming around Deanna's dinners with you, he focused on chatting with you. If he got pulled off to someone else, he'd be back by your side at the end of the night. Or he'd ask if you wanted some lunch, and you'd stay in the Grimes house for a few hours, just talking. Not that you minded it at all, you were close with Rick and, if you were honest, you did kind of have a thing for him. Well, bigger than a thing.
"Indulge me 'is one time, darlin'," he nearly begged -concern heavy in his blue eyes, "-Let me help ya."
Right, the "darlin'" thing. That had started recently, and you still weren't sure how to take it.
You sighed, the chill of the night dusting along your skin, "Yeah, alright, Grimes. But it is really not a big deal-"
He gently took your bicep in one hand, fingertips carefully pushed into your skin. Your lips snapped shut.
Physical contact? Add it to the list.
Recognizing the path to be the one to his own house, you weren't surprised. Everyone had a med kit in their house, you had just run out when you helped somebody with a bigger injury than yours currently was.
He didn't stop until he was in the bathroom, a tiny bathroom really, crouching down and fishing out the med kit. You stared at him for a few seconds, blankly, distinctly standing outside of the bathroom because... well, because standing so close to Rick just might make your heart burst out of your chest.
And it wasn't even that the bathroom was that tiny. It was just Rick was all broad-shoulder, leader-stance man that there would not be much space left at all. You shoved the thought of his shoulders far, far away. Or you tried to.
Finally, he stood up, little white container in his hand. His hands-
"C'mon," he motioned for you to come into the bathroom, tiny bathroom, broad shoulders, big hands-
"Rick," you spoke instead of following him in, "-is this really worth the medical supplies?"
"Yeah," he answered back, instinctively (getting a little of his leader voice), "-now, c'mon."
Gnawing at your lip a second, you sighed and moved into the bathroom. Just as you thought, it was small. And you could smell the woodsy smell of one Rick Grimes, as his body heat seeped into your skin. You almost forgot you were bleeding for a second.
"Rick, we can barely fit in here together. How are you supposed t-"
Rick put his hands under your arms and lifted you onto the sink counter with practiced ease. You swallowed, heavily.
"'Ere," he chimed, a little frustrated (worried, really), "-ya happy?"
You didn't say a word.
Luckily, he didn't expect you to. Instead, he brushed his calloused fingers against yours, pulling back your hand to see the cut. Rick pursed his lips, hands gentle and careful with you like you were precious. The thought made something thrum in your chest.
"'S hurt?" he asked, blue eyes focused on your wound.
You ignored the urge to really look at him and followed his eyes. You gave up fighting, answering honestly, "A little. Stings, mostly."
He frowned a little at that, gently pressing his fingers along your skin, "Gonna 'ave to clean it, and, by the look of it, 's gonna need stitches, darlin'."
"Rick," you countered, "-it does not need stitches."
"Does," he replied simply, adding, "-'Seen my fair share of wounds, sweetheart, an' it needs stitches."
Sweetheart, that's new.
"What," you responded, indignant, "-and I haven't?"
Rick looked up at you then, and your breath halted in your chest (blue, blue, blue), "Ya kno' you are terrible at takin' care of yourself."
"Just because I don't eat once-"
"'S not it," he hummed, busying himself back with the wound -he was gathering up some cotton balls, "-I see ya hide wounds all the time. Bad ones."
Okay, so maybe you lied. You cleaned out your medical kit out of your own volition. It wasn't that you were bad with weapons, you were just clumsy. You couldn't control that, and it was embarrassing, so you hid it.
"Nobody else has caught onto that," you questioned, "-how did you?"
He took a moment, not looking at you (eyes solely on the wound), "I pay attention to ya."
You pressed your lips together, silencing yourself. You were learning a lot today. Good things, maybe?
You eyes dipped to Rick a moment.
Yeah, okay, good things.
"If it needs stitches, shouldn't I go to Denise?" you asked, carefully.
He looked up at you, all blue eyes and worry, "Ya want to?"
"No," you cleared your throat, awkwardly (he was very close), "-no, this is fine."
Rick looked at you a little confused for a second, maybe at your sudden awkwardness, but he seemed to write it off. You breathed out a sigh of relief.
It was silent as he cleaned your wound, other than the hiss of your breath as it stung. Rick's eyes dipped to you then, lips flattening, and the next time he tried to do it gently. You don't know if you were supposed to notice it, but you did.
As he was finishing up the stitches, your mouth started moving before you could stop it.
"Why do you care so much?"
He didn't react at first, focused on stitching your wound up -calloused fingers careful and practiced. You briefly wondered how often he'd done this to be so casual about it. You supposed you couldn't judge, you did it a lot too.
Finally, he finished, turning his eyes up to you -something serious in them, "We doin' 'is now?"
You swallowed at the eye contact, but spoke, confused, "I just asked you a question. I don't-"
"Y/N," he leveled, voice stern and focused -just looking at you.
"What? I'm confused-"
His fingers tilted your eyes to him, callouses against your skin, and your lips snapped shut. Blue eyes intently focused, and something in your stomach swirled.
"We doin' 'is now?" he repeated, and his eyes dipped to your lips for just a second. Oh.
You blinked a few times, "I guess-" you swallowed, "-I guess not."
Rick nodded, gathering up the leftover supplies and putting them back in the container -fluidly. You just watched him wordlessly, words anywhere but on your tongue.
"Next time, ya hurt yourself," he stated, not really a question at all, "-come to me."
"Rick, I really can't ask you to-"
He turned to you again, eyes heavily focused, "Ya ain't a burden to me, and I'd prefer to kno' if ya were hurt."
You pressed your lips together a second, taking in all this new information -scanning him over, "Okay, yeah, I'll come to you."
Rick let his eyes rest on your face, skimming over you, before pulling you off the counter. His hands left your skin tingling, and you blearily blinked.
"We'll talk tomorrow mornin', yeah?"
You nearly asked him about what, but the way he was looking at you nearly knocked the breath out of your lungs. Oh.
"Yeah," you shook your head, slowly, "-yeah, we can talk tomorrow."
He smiled at you then, a small one (it felt different now), "Goodnight, darlin'."
You bit at your lip, just looking at him (he almost looked at you like he thought you were adorable), "Yeah, um, goodnight, Rick."
And with a blink, you turned and walked out of his house.
Tomorrow, you thought (maybe smiling a little), tomorrow. Maybe you could get up early. For no particular reason.
Well, at least you had something to look forward to.
#stuff n' thangs#rick grimes x reader#rick grimes x y/n#rick grimes x you#rick grimes x y/n fanfiction#rick grimes blurb#twd blurb#twd oneshot#its griming time
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STUPID “love makes you stupid.” carl grimes x walsh!reader
tags: angst, some fluff, violence, blood, 6x9
a/n: omg this req was SO good i am sosososo sorry i couldn’t execute it properly 😭 im not so proud of this one, but i hope its ok!!
you and carl grimes had been best friends ever since you could walk. you both met when your dad brought you to "bring your kid to work day" down at the station. the scent of coffee and the echo of footsteps filled the air.
it started to seem extremely boring, until a stranger approached you and your dad. you saw a little boy standing next to him, and felt a little less lonely. the man recognized you, though you had no idea who he was. "hi there y/n, this is carl." he introduced.
ever since then, you guys were inseparable. you and carl had a bond which was special, it was like no other. you could be yourself around him, and you could tell carl felt the same. the ease, the comfort, like you didn't have to pretend to be anyone else when you were together.
as expected, seeing him for the first time after the apocalypse started unleashed a unique wave of relief within you. you vividly recall the both of you making eye contact and running toward each other. you hugged each other tightly, as if you'd been separated for years.
"i was so scared!" you said, clutching your doll in your hand. "you don't need to be scared anymore," he reassured. "i'm here to protect you." carl loved to be your knight in shining armor, even when you were young.
through all the dark days, and as you both grew older, you two had always been there for each other. no matter whatever crap life threw at you, you guys stuck together. walker got too close to you? dead.
"i would never let anything happen to you. don't worry." he would always say. he was your closest friend, your ride or die. growing up was hard enough during the apocalypse, but having each other made it bearable.
however, as time passed, you started to feel a different way towards him. you started to feel as if things wouldn't be so bad if you guys were more than friends. actually, it was starting to seem like it was all you could dream of.
you thought it was just a one time thing, but you were dumb to think so. you often found yourself blushing at the thought of him, and when he had caught you daydreaming, let's just say he was curious.
"come on, why can't you just tell me who you like?" he asked, growing more agitated by the second. "shut up, i don't like anyone." you said, rolling your eyes playfully. "bullshit, tell me who it is." he said, looking you in the eye, a grin plastered onto his pretty face.
"nope!" you replied, popping the "p."
carl grimes had stolen your heart, and there was no doubt about it. you knew he had you wrapped around his finger, it was quite obvious when you would stress whenever he got the tiniest injury.
"calm down, it's just a cut." "do you ever shut up?" you would say, reaching for the bandaids on the top shelves of your room. "it's really not as bad as it looks." you knew he was telling the truth, it was never that serious. however, you being you, you couldn't help but worry.
but now? now it was actually serious. too serious. you felt the panic start to sink in the second you saw ron, a vengeful look on his face, pointing a gun in rick's direction. you froze when you realized who was in standing front of him. it was carl. your carl.
"you." ron said. your heart pounded against your ribs. your breaths were shallow and rapid, as a wave of terror gripped you. surely he wouldn't actually shoot. right? so many possibilities were going through your head at once, it was the worst thing you ever experienced.
fortunately, michonne came in a flash. you jumped slightly when her katana pierced through ron's skin. atleast it was all over now though. rick was alright. carl was alright.
or so you thought.
BANG!
his stupid fucking finger slipped.
all of your negative thoughts came flooding back into your mind the moment the sound of the gunshot hit your eardrums. however, among all of your worries, there was one most prominent. where did the bullet go?
your eyes darted around before your gaze landed on carl. he had his head down, and when he looked up, it felt as if all the air in your lungs had been sucked out of your body. "dad?" he whimpered out.
he had been shot. in the head. directly into his eyesocket. the amount of blood flowing down his face made you sick to your stomach. it was only a matter of seconds before his body went limp and fell to the ground.
you never knew it was possible to feel this angry. there was no way in hell that just happened, and you couldn't do anything to stop it. it should've been you.
your facial expression contorted into one showing pure horror and anxiety. your eyes widened, tears at the rim, threatening to fall out. you breathed heavily, as you felt anguish and rage twist within you. rick lifted carl into his arms and carried him. that was your cue to pull out your knife.
you and michonne ran in front of rick and carl, killing walkers one by one. you were going ballistic, slashing every walker you possibly could, grunts escaping your mouth with every stab. you were going on a rampage, you weren't even thinking, you were just so enraged. how could you have let that happen to him?
blood splattered across your face, but you barely even noticed. hot tears streamed down your cheeks. each drop carried the weight of frustration and sorrow, their salty taste bitter on your lips. your body started to grow tired, but you kept pushing. dozens of walkers were laying on the ground.
now, the focus was getting carl help. and that's what you wanted. but you just couldn't stop. you were about to plunge your bloody knife into yet another walker, but michonne caught your arm in mid-air.
"that's enough." she said. she noticed how your chest rose and fell at a rapid pace, and the way you looked like you wanted to watch the world burn.
she took the knife from your grasp before putting her hand around your shoulder for a few seconds to calm you down. "we have to hurry." she continued to kill every walker in her sight, one by one. you didn't care that your body hurt like hell, you didn't care about all the blood splattered onto you, you didn't care that you were exhausted.
the only thing you cared about was carl. would he be okay? was this the end? were you gonna lose your other half? your heart ached. you weren't even gonna get to tell him how you felt about him.
after what seemed like hours of running and fighting, you found yourself laying down in the infirmary bed next to carl's. he'd been patched up before you. he was sleeping, and you were glad he was getting the rest he needed.
but every time you looked at him, your chest tightened. he should've never even have to be here. he should've never had to go through that, ever.
daryl had a chair pulled up next to your bed. he was like a father figure to you after shane died. he sighed, wiping your now crimson splattered arms with a wet rag to clean off the blood. "y' used the knife i gave you?" he said, not looking up from your arm. "yeah, it's the best i have."
the silence in the room was so loud. it's not that he was disappointed in you, he was proud you were able to defend yourself. it was the fact that you could've died and you still kept pushing that made him so quiet. he cared about you a lot, and he knew you didn't have to fight so hard, especially at your age.
"why'd you do that?" he asks, finally making eye contact with you. you let out a breath before opening your mouth to speak, "love makes you stupid."
it felt nice, to finally be able to talk to someone about your feelings for the blue eyed boy. after all, you were never gonna tell him, so atleast you could tell someone. "damn right it does." he replied, before lighty ruffling your hair.
"get some sleep, okay kiddo?" daryl said, wiping the last of the blood off your arms. "yeah, jus- please don't te-" "i won't tell a soul." he cut you off, already knowing what you were gonna ask of him. "thanks." you said, smiling.
little did you know, daryl wasn't the only person who heard your late night confession. a "sleeping" carl stirred in his bed, now facing the wall in the opposite direction of you. perhaps it was the exhaustion getting to you, but you could've sworn you heard a light chuckle.
#carl grimes#carl grimes x reader#carl grimes x y/n#the walking dead#carl grimes x fem!reader#twd x reader#twd#carl grimes angst#carl grimes fluff#carl grimes imagines#carl grimes oneshot#twd imagines#twd oneshot#twd fanfiction#chandler riggs
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