#BORROWER SHANE?

[narianders-gt-hell]

Yuor favorite 90s anime. Starring the world’s scruffiest dad and mr. how I look with he/him pronouns in my bio.

[ramble-roo]

Stardew Valley borrower ideas!

(Ah, I always incoherently and half hazardly type these out. I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense!)

A borrower who was accidentally transported in a Jojamart shipment to the one in the Valley, they have to figure out what to do when it inevitably gets shut down. Hitching a ride with either Sam or Shane via joja coat pocket, they get found accidentally when the one they choose stuck his hand in his pocket.

Shane's response would most likely be him looking at the small borrower in one hand, before eyeing his beer and dumping it out.

'Damn, I must be day drinking too much.'

Sam would definitely at first feel the borrower in his pocket and almost scream in surprise like a little girl before he took a hesitant peek into his pocket. Upon realizing it was a tiny person, albeit with mousy like features (or however you portray borrowers to look), he would scoop them up into his hands to get a better look. Himself still embarrassed that he just screamed like a little girl, though he realized he had scared the little stow away just as much, if not more.

'Ah, sorry, little buddy. Guess I lost the bet with Abigail. Small folk are real.'

Wacky friendship begins, and he decided to not pay out his bet to keep his new borrower friend safe.

---

A borrower who lives in the walls between Harvey's clinic and Pierre's store. They can not stand how Pierre acts and often leaves Joja mart things around the store and home to aggravate him. He noticed things seemed to be going missing the place of these Joja items, but assumed it was a pest problem since it was only food missing. He chose to put out mouse traps, hoping to catch the rat thief.

The borrower ends up getting caught in a mouse trap, though they managed to escape it before Pierre could find them. Limping back to their hide out, now unsure what to do. Having to choose to either starve or reveal themselves to Harvey for help. Eventually choosing to get help, they fainted immediately when Harvey noticed them limping out into the open.

[salt-n-salt]

Waaaahhhh your art is so cool I humbly offer my little blue man kisser if you wanted to do a little doodle but omg if not that's okay excuse me while I oogle all of your art for the rest of forever ok thanks bye 🥺

PRETTYYYYY !!! i love her little cardigan 🥺🥺

EDIT IVE JUST BEEN INFORMED LITTLE BLUE MAN IS IN FACT MR QI PLOT TWIST OF THE CENTURY HERE IS U SMOOCHING MR QI

[nyikondlovu]

I am begging on my hands and knees for somebody to get me within the walls of Watcher HQ. I will give each of them $6 individually to let me study their brains and their thought process.

This is one of the few things in recent memory that has gripped my attention and I am following actively.

It is so fascinating to me how a fumble of historic proportion was made in 14 minutes that they destroyed eight years of goodwill and trust. Subscribers are falling faster than they can bot them. The Internet is circling, they smell blood.

I just feel bad for anybody who doesn’t make decisions and now their job could be in jeopardy but other than that, this fumble is earthshaking… For them! I go to bed at night and I sleep like a rock because I didn’t inadvertently call the people who have been supporting me for eight years broke 

[waywardmillennial]

Shane: Was it just smoke and fear the gunners were shooting at that fateful night? Or perhaps the smoke and mirrors of a mission of Japanese espionage? Was it a bird, a plane- Ryan: Or David Blaine? (Shane laughs) Shane: I like that. (Ryan laughs) I don't think it was him. Ryan: No, all right. Shane: Unless he's sort of a vampire in his eternal- Ryan: It's possible.

Mystery Files 2x06: The Phantom Air Raid That Plunged Los Angeles into Darkness

[temmiesky]

It was 5 AM and this song is stuck in my head for days so an idea of the older bachelors doing it came into my mind, so y’all going to suffer with me

I used my Elliott plush for this and also BIG THANKS FOR @van-arts for letting me borrow her shane plush for this too LOL

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Do you have any Jake & Rachel “behind the scenes” /“family events during the year” headcanons throughout the war effort?

Rachel sits Jordan and Sara down one afternoon, and tells them that if she or their mom ever starts acting weird, they’re to call Jake and tell him what happened.  Just Jake.  No one else.  Jake, she promises, will know what to do.

Half the school gossips about them being kissing cousins, because at some point they’re too tired to care, and just start getting lunch together rather than trying to fight it.  Plus, everyone knows that if you bad-mouth Rachel, Jake’s going to give you a talking-to until you’re the one apologizing in tears.  And if you bad-mouth Jake, you’re going to get your teeth punched in.  Neither Berenson has the bandwidth to give a shit about the rumors; don’t they know there’s a war on?

Borrowed from Shane C: When they do have spare time, they do all the extreme sports all the time.  Cliff diving, windsurfing, BMX, shipwreck tours, free solo climbing — they do it all.  They get injured occasionally, sometimes even fatally, but that’s part of the thrill.  As soon as they figure out how, they’re going to start jumping out of airplanes for fun.  Sans parachute.

They develop a code on the phone: “Algebra” means “you need to check on.”  Rachel calls Jake the day after their conversation about Visser One, and goes “Marco still failing Algebra?”  Jake gets off the phone with Cassie and immediately calls Rachel: “You remember that guy Tobias from your Algebra class?”  The day after Estrid and Gonrod leave, Rachel starts a conversation with “Pretty sure I’m going to axe Algebra from my schedule.”  Neither of them ever questions the fact that it’s their job to check on the others, that of course they would be the ones to fly out to Tobias or to make an excuse to drop by Cassie’s for the afternoon.  Tobias needs them, Ax needs them, the others need them.  So of course they go, because it has to be done.  And of course it’s one-sided.  Jake’s fine.  Rachel’s fine.  They’re the strong ones, remember?  They don’t need checking on in turn.

The photograph of human Tobias in Rachel’s dresser — Jake gave that to her.  He found it in a roll of print-outs from his mom’s digital camera that was 85% him and Marco messing around trying to take crappy self-shots.  He mumbled something about how he figured, you know, if she wanted, that’s all.

Rachel returns the favor indirectly, when she gifts Jake’s parents a blown-up, lightly edited photo of his family she made in Computer class.  It’s a few years out of date, technically, Jake and his mom and dad grouped around a sweaty, grinning Tom who holds a basketball trophy aloft.  But it replaces the picture on the mantle of the four of them outside the Sharing awards banquet, which is was her goal all along.

[peachy-skies-writings]

sdv bachelor's reaction to angry/upset farmer because (bachelor) forgot their relationship anniversary?

Thanks for sending in!! Hope you like :)

i'd like to think none of them would forget though ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stardew Bachelors - Forgetting Their Anniversary Headcanons

💚🏈 Alex 🏈💚

It would take him a little while to realise that you were upset and the reason you are. You might have to explicitly tell him that you’re mad if you don’t show it by stomping around and grumbling.

He would feel so bad. So sosososososo bad. Probably the worst he’s felt about anything. Especially if it was important to you.

Alex would make it up to you by buying you flowers or a gift that you really like. He’d go kinda overboard with it though. Like if you liked violets, there would be 100 violets in a beautiful vase by the end of the day - even if he had to pick them himself.

🧡📖 Elliot 📖🧡

He’d like to think he knows you pretty well and he can tell straight away that you’re upset and annoyed. He asks you straight away why you’re upset with him.

Once you tell him, the colour drains from his face and guilt sweeps in.

Elliot would make it up to you by writing you a poem, apologising profusely and offering to do any chores for you until you forgave him.

🤍🩺 Harvey 🩺🤍

Instantly, he knows you’re mad and he can tell straight away that he’s the reason. He’ll try to think why and it’ll dawn on him when he looks at his calendar. Like a ton of bricks.

Harvey would feel super guilty. He’d probably let it eat him up for a bit. He can’t believe he forgot.

Harvey would bring you breakfast in bed for the next week and he’d put extra care and attention into the meal. Definitely would do heart shaped pancakes. He’d never forget again though as he’d highlight it on his calendar properly and sets and alarm on his phone.

💙🎸Sam 🎸💙

Oblivious about why you’re mad at him. He knows you’re mad but he’s just hoping it’s not him.

When you ask him what day it is and he realises he feels so bad. He’d had it written on his hand to get you a gift for weeks… well, he wrote it a few weeks ago but clearly it washed off. The intention was there.

He’d write you a song to apologise and serenade you with it, maybe even record it for you. Sam would definitely buy a diary or something to write down important things so he never forgets again.

💜🎮Sebastian 🎮💜

Would stay in his room and stay out of your way when you’re angry. He doesn’t really deal with it well. Once you somewhat calm down, you’ll have to let him know what is wrong.

Sebastian would feel absolutely terrible about it, especially if he knew how important it was to you.

He’d quickly pull together a cosy movie night date for the two of you, using a bedsheet as a screen and borrowing a projector from someone in town. He’d pull together your favourite snacks and drinks, as well as giving you a selection of movies to choose from.

🖤🐓Shane 🐓🖤

Would kinda get out of your way if you’re angry and would head over to Marnie’s. Marnie would make an off-handed comment about what he had planned for the night since it was your anniversary and Shane would just stop what he was doing and whisper “oh shit.” 

He was worried that you’d leave him to be honest and he’d feel awful.

Shane would come home with flowers and your favourite snack. He’d make it up to you by promising to plan the best anniversary date later in the week.

[fangirl-writes]

Smosh, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging

Shayne Topp x Fem!Reader

Warning(s): swearing, thongs, gets kinda spicy towards the end but nothing too smutty (making out, hickeys, butt-grabbing lmao)

Notes: This was a rabbit hole I didn’t expect to go down, but here we are.

Summary: you and Shayne have been keeping your relationship on the down low for a while, but as much as you keep sharing clothes, you're just begging to be caught.

“Sooooo," Courtney said, leaning up against your desk. "Who’s shirt are you wearing?”

You choked on your coffee, quickly turning away from your laptop so you could cough it out. “What?”

She grinned. “The shirt. It’s definitely not yours, so who’s is it?”

You wiped your mouth, blushing furiously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The shirt’s mine.”

“Oh yeah?” She said, a challenging look in her eyes that made you want to run to the nearest exit. “Why’d you buy a men’s shirt that’s too big in the shoulders and too long in the arms?”

“Uh…style?”

“Bullshit!” She exclaimed, laughing. “Come on, just tell me! Do I know him?”

“What’s going on over here?” Tommy asked, walking over to your desk with Amanda and Angela not far behind.

“Y/N’s wearing a guy’s shirt and she won’t tell me who’s it is,” Courtney explained.

You put your face in your hands. “Tell the whole team why don’t you…”

“Ooh, Y/N’s got a boyfriend,” Amanda teased with a waggle of her eyebrows.

You didn’t deny the accusation (which was true), so they egged on further.

“Where’d you guys meet?”

“When did you start having sex?”

“Do you borrow his clothes often?”

“Is he big?”

“Oh my god, you guys!” You shouted, burying your burning face into your knees. “Can we drop it?”

“Only because we have a shoot to do,” Courtney said. “When we get back I expect all the details.”

You frowned at her as the three of them retreated from your desk.

“They bothering you?”

You looked over and felt yourself relax. Shayne was standing there with a grin, hands tucked awkwardly into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Well, they seem to think I’m wearing a guy’s shirt,” you said with a small smile. “Can’t possibly know what they’re talking about.”

Shane chuckled, glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention, and kissed you on the forehead.

It had been a bit of a running joke between you for a while, but you usually managed to sneakily wear something of the other’s around the office without anyone noticing.

While Shayne’s generally had to be smaller (he’d look pretty obvious wearing one of your shirts), you had more of a selection.

You wore his denim jacket, he wore your fuzzy socks. You wore one of his snapbacks, he wore one of your bracelets. You wore his crewneck, he wore one of your necklaces. You wore his beanie, he wore your belt. You wore his flannel, he wore your sweatpants.

It had been going on for a while, but Shayne’s button-up was the one getting the attention.

“Wait ‘til they find out I’m wearing your underwear,” Shayne whispered.

You blushed. “You are not.”

Shayne grinned, walking away from you towards set.

“Shayne, you are not!” You called after him.

He just laughed.

You dropped yourself back into your chair with a huff.

You and Shayne had been seeing each other on the down low for a while, not feeling comfortable to come forward about it just yet.

It was one thing if the relationship was going strong for a while and it was someone who didn’t work on the crew, but this was still new territory and keeping it to yourselves would make it less awkward if things happened to not work out.

Plus you were pretty sure Shayne liked the rush of sneaking around; stealing kisses when a space was empty (rare), going with you to pick up coffee or props (occasionally), staggering the way you entered the building when you rode to work together (nearly always).

And you could admit that it was pretty fun sharing secret glances or dirty looks that read “I’ll get you back for that later.” But trying to lie to your friends about stuff when they asked was hard.

Still, you could deal with it for now if it meant you could keep your little secret for a bit longer.

“No way!”

You snapped out of your daze, turning from the script you’d been editing as the shouts from set grew louder.

It was a TNTL shoot so nothing unusual about the loudness but something this time drew you towards it.

Saving what you were working on, you got up and went to see what the fuss was about.

You nearly died on the spot when you recognized the hot pink thong that you usually kept tucked safely away in your drawer at your apartment sticking to Shayne’s ass.

Granted, it was mostly covered by his pants but there was still plenty showing, as it was pulled up by the sides probably as far as he could get it.

Keith was in the hot seat but everyone had come out from behind the divider to see this.

“Oh my god,” was thrown around a lot.

Shayne looked pretty proud of himself for this one, a smug look on his face.

“Where did you even get these,” Courtney asked, incredulous.

“Bought them just for this.”

Lie.

He made quick eye contact with you, and you could tell he was trying not to burst into laughter again and give you away.

They fell into the usual outro spiel so you walked back to your desk to start working again before the girls could come finish interrogating you.

Suddenly, however, you found it hard to focus on editing.

It was a Beopardy video so it should be easy for you (you’d edited a hundred of them) but you couldn’t help but notice Shayne’s outfit.

It was a normal one: white shirt, khakis, jacket. But what caught your eye was your necklace that was dangling around his neck.

It was a (first initial) necklace that you’d had for years and, as far as you knew, no one had commented on it the day he wore it.

You felt an odd mix of emotions about this subtle “claim” of him, an obvious but quiet declaration of your relationship that nobody had questioned.

At least, not yet. The video wasn’t posted yet and fans had a way of deducing things about the Smosh team’s private life that they weren’t super comfortable with (whether true or not).

“Y/N!”

You screeched as Damien slammed his hand down on your desk.

“Don’t do that!” You chided, taking off your headphones.

He and Shayne had both gathered at your desk and were smiling, which was suspicious enough.

“What’s this I hear about you wearing a guy’s shirt?” Damien asked.

Damn it, Courtney.

“It’s my shirt,” you defended, going with your original excuse.

Shayne’s grin widened slightly over Damien’s shoulder.

“Well, let’s just see then,” he said, walking over and grabbing the collar of the shirt. “Calvin Klein, nice. Your guy’s got good taste in shirts.”

You frowned and pushed him away.

“Shayne, don’t you have a shirt exactly like that?” Damien asked.

You sucked in a breath.

“Yeah, I do,” Shayne replied. “We must shop at the same stores, Y/N. Maybe I’ll run into him. Maybe I know him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you guys have nothing better to do than bug me?”

“As a matter of fact, we don’t.”

You groaned. “Go bug someone else, please. I’m trying to get this video done.”

“You sure?” Damien asked. “Because when I came over here it sure looked like you were enthralled with Shayne’s muscles.”

“Oh, grow up,” you said, watching as Damien scurried away before you could swat at him.

Shayne, on the other hand, not afraid of a swatting, shoved something into your palm below the desk before following Damien.

Confused, you looked down at your hand to find your pink thong in all its glory and a note from Shayne that said, ‘sorry for stealing them. Maybe you can punish me later ;)’

You blushed again and shoved them into your bag before trying to get back to work, which had become nearly impossible now.

You finally got the video done by the time everyone was wrapping up for the day, and good thing, too, because you were ready to get the hell out of there.

“Hey, you need a ride home?” Shayne asked, casually.

You usually “ubered” to work, so it wasn’t unusual for someone to offer you a ride.

It also wasn’t unusual that it was mostly Shayne.

“That’d be great,” you replied brightly.

“Ooh! See if you can pull any more information about this guy out of her,” Courtney said, hanging over Shayne’s shoulder. “We’ve already got that he’s blond, works out, and is a white man.”

“Well, damn, Courtney, that could be half the guys in California,” Shayne joked.

“I know, that’s why your mission” -she poked him in the cheek- “is to get something else out of her.”

“I’ll do my best,” Shayne said, waving Courtney off before turning back to you. “Ready?”

If anyone was paying attention, they just might’ve seen the way you looked at each other and figured you out.

But since no one was, you walked out of Smosh Headquarters after another day of fooling your friends.

“Who do you think will find out first?” You asked when Shayne started driving towards your apartment (which was a little closer than his).

He hummed thoughtfully. “Probably Courtney. She’s got this whole sleuthing thing going on about your guy.”

You hummed. “Damian’s like your best friend, though, surely he’s noticed something different.”

“He hasn’t asked but he does think I’ve been seeing somebody and I’m not ready to introduce her to my friends yet,” Shayne replied.

You nodded. “We’ll have to come clean soon, you know.”

He reached over and grabbed your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it.

It was a simple gesture that he did often but it made your stomach flutter each time.

“I know.”

You rode in silence for a while, Shayne holding your hand. You guys hadn’t really discussed how you would tell everyone about your relationship but you knew the conversation was looming now that questions had been raised by your friends/coworkers.

Neither of you were ready for it just yet.

Shayne pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex and found a spot easily, which seemed to be a superpower of his.

��Shay,” you said hesitantly, squeezing his hand and stopping him before he could leave the driver’s seat. “How are we going to tell them?”

Shayne bit his lip before speaking. “How about we just… let them find out? Stop all the sneaking around and see who sees first? Then we can explain.”

“Okay,” you replied. “I think that’s a good idea.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to your temple before you both got out of the car.

A memory surfaced and you brightened as you guys got into the elevator.

“You know,” you said. “There’s still a punishment in order for what you did to my poor pink thong.”

Shayne blushed but you also saw the way his eyes darkened in anticipation. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reached over and grabbed his ass before whispering in his ear. “You’ve been a naughty boy.”

Shayne suppressed a moan and watched anxiously for the elevator to hit your floor.

You sneakily leaned over and began kissing his neck, sucking small marks into his skin. An obvious claim this time.

One of his hands landed on your waist and a sound bubbled from his throat that spurred you on.

Sure, this was an elevator with a camera, but people had done much worse things in it.

Still, you weren’t keen on punishing your boyfriend in the elevator and eagerly pulled him along when the doors opened on your floor.

Shayne’s hands wandered as you fumbled with the keys to get your apartment door open.

You would hope nobody walked by, but that was a concern far from your mind at that moment as you pushed open the door and pulled Shayne inside, only to press him up against it as it closed.

Shayne relished in your control as you held his hands above his head and slid your tongue in his mouth.

He hummed into your kiss and chased your lips when you pulled away.

"Ah, ah, ah," you said with a silly waggle of your finger. "This is a punishment, remember?"

He groaned. "I'm gonna hate this, aren't I?"

You chuckled, pulling him towards your bedroom. "Next time, ask to wear my thong, and you might get a reward."

"How soon can I take you up on that offer?"

***

“Holy shit, dude!” Damien said. “How many hickeys did this girl give you?”

Shayne was cursing under his breath.

You knew this was going to happen, and he’d fallen for it like an idiot. A horned-up, desperate-for-his-girlfriend idiot.

You knew he was supposed to shoot today, but now they were going to push those videos back because it wasn’t going to work when his neck and collarbone were covered in bruises.

“Long story,” Shayne said.

Not a lie; it definitely would be.

“Oh, come on, you can’t say this is yours!”

The boys looked over to where Courtney was hovering around your desk again this morning.

You were wearing Shayne’s shirt from yesterday, and he nearly made you both late for work when he saw you in it.

You shrugged.

“Oh, come on!” Courtney almost whined. “It doesn’t even fit you! If you didn’t want me asking about it, then why’d you wear it!”

You shrugged again.

It was driving Courtney insane.

"Hey, Y/N, did you get that footage I sent over?" Anthony asked, appearing seemingly out of nowhere at your desk.

You nodded. "Yeah, I saw it in my email this morning. I can probably get that cranked out and sent back to you by the end of the day if you need it."

"That'd be great, but no rush. Just do your thing."

He paused, face contorting as he looked you up and down.

Courtney noticed that he noticed and hurried to get Anthony in on the gossip: “I know! She’s-“

“Why are you wearing Shayne’s shirt?”

Her sentence died on her tongue and Damien’s mouth dropped open.

“Shayne’s shirt?” she squeaked.

“Yeah, he wore it in the sketch yesterday. Ian sent me a picture of the thong thing- Y/N, why are you wearing his shirt?”

Your face was on fire, and Shayne, it seemed, had stopped functioning.

You could see the pieces clicking together in Damien’s mind as he connected the hickeys to the shirt.

“No,” he said, mouth still wide open. “You guys are-“

“Shayne’s shirt??” Courtney repeated, flabbergasted.

“Um…surprise?” You said, grinning sheepishly.

“How could I have missed that?!” Courtney shouted. “It’s so obvious now! You two are always staring at each other and shit! Gah!”

You laughed awkwardly, avoiding everyone's gaze.

"And you!" Courtney said, pointing a finger at Shayne. "How could you not tell me about this! I need details right now!"

"Courtney, quiet down, you're going to let the whole office know-"

"Oh, I'm gonna tell the whole office! She's been parading around in your shirts for everyone to see!"

You put your head in your hands, regretting every decision that's brought you to now.

Well, except for dating Shayne. Because while Courtney was raving and Damien was laughing, he was looking at you to see if you were okay.

You smiled softly, giving him a small nod.

He smiled back before jumping into normal Shayne mode and ripping right back on Courtney. "You had me try and find out, too! You asked her boyfriend to find out who her boyfriend was!"

You watched them amusedly as the commotion began bringing others around to see what was unfolding.

It wasn't until he cleared his throat that you remembered Anthony was still standing there.

“So,” he said. “Was the thong yours?”

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @kellynickelsgirl00 @dixonsbridexx @yikes-myguy @blackwidownat2814 @euqsia @lliteratii @imadisneyprincessiswear @satata @smashleywow

-------------------------------------------

TW: cussing, angry early seasons Daryl, angst, explosions, mass extinction, nationwide destruction, descriptions of walkers (Zombies)

Part 2

Dead Weight - Part 3

The next morning, the CDC is eerily still.

The laughter and warmth of the night before has been replaced by low groans and sluggish movement.

Fluorescent lights flicker on in the CDC’s mess hall, cold and clinical. Most of the group shuffles in like ghosts, nursing hangovers and sore limbs. The room smells faintly of antiseptic and stale wine.

Shane groans into a metal tray of eggs.

Carol rubs her temples. Dale has his hat pulled low and a cup of coffee cradled like it’s the last warm thing on Earth.

Which to be fair it might as well be.

You enter quietly, freshly washed, but hollow-eyed. There's no makeup to hide the worry. You fidget with the hem of your borrowed shirt—CDC-issued gray.

You glance around for a seat, then slip into a chair near Carl and Sophia, away from the louder voices.

You're not hungover. You didn’t drink. But the air is heavy.

Daryl is already in the room—back against the far wall, hunched in a chair with one boot propped on a table. His eyes are half-lidded, but they’re watching everyone.

He doesn't say a word. Doesn't offer a greeting. Just sits like a coiled spring, his hair damp and stringy from another shower, his arms crossed over his chest.

The quiet stretches too long. Rick clears his throat.

Jenner’s absence is noted.

Everyone’s edgy now. It’s in the way Shane paces, how Lori can’t sit still, and how Dale's fingers twitch nervously against his knees.

T-Dog murmurs something to Glen, who shoots a glance down the hallway toward the labs.

“Where is he?” Rick finally asks.

“Yea where the hell is he?” Shane echoes, more forcefully.

“He’s probably in that big room. I saw wires through one of the glass panels... lots of screens.” Your voice is hesitant—but enough to draw attention.

Rick gives you a nod, acknowledging your input.

Daryl doesn’t look at you, but you feel the shift in his posture.

The lean forward.

The way his eyes flick toward the hallway a half second after you speak.

Like he didn’t believe you until Rick did.

The group moves. Not quite a stampede, but everyone’s following Rick now—down the corridor, past the labs, through the reinforced doors that hiss open like something out of a sci-fi movie.

You trail behind, walking quietly next to Glen, who offers you a tiny, encouraging smile.

The lights are dim here. Low, eerie blue. The curved wall of screens glows like a false moon, displaying footage of a test subject, digital readouts, timelines, virus activity.

Jenner stands before you all, arms crossed behind his back like he’s posing for a eulogy.

Rick starts asking questions. Calmly at first. Then with rising urgency.

What is it?

What happens next?

Can it be reversed?

Shane cuts in with his usual heat. “Why haven’t you told us anything?”

Jenner speaks in riddles. Scientific terms, moral dilemmas. Deflections disguised as explanations.

You step closer to the monitors, fascinated and frightened. One screen plays a time-lapse of brain death. Another shows thermal scans—red blooming into blue as life fades.

Your hands curl into loose fists at your sides.

"Dr. Jenner," you said suddenly, your accent thickening with each word. "What information do you have about international containment efforts? My country... any word?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Glen and Carol, who had been talking in hushed tones near Dale, looked up at the sudden question.

Jenner's eyes shifted away from yours, and you felt your heart plummet.

"Please," you whispered. "I've been trying to find out ... well ... anything." Your voice trailed off

Jenner sighed, turning to his computer terminal. With a few keystrokes, another window appeared on the large display screen.

"The CDC maintained communication with international health organizations as long as possible," he said quietly. "Your country was... proactive in their response."

"What does that mean?" You stepped closer, abandoning your coffee mug on a nearby console.

From across the room, Daryl watched you intently.

"Your homeland was actually the first nation to report widespread infection," Jenner said clinically. "Your government implemented what they called 'aggressive deterrent protocols' within the first week."

Your brow furrowed, not catching the implication behind Jenner's words. "And?"

"They deployed airstrikes on major population centers. The theory was to contain the spread through... controlled elimination."

"Did it work?" Your voice was barely audible now.

Jenner finally met your eyes. "No... Communications went dark sixteen days after the first case was reported. Our satellite imagery showed widespread fires across your entire nation for three weeks following. Then... nothing, No outgoing transmissions. No survivors logged. No evac routes. Just ... Nothing"

The silence that follows is a thick, choking thing. Dale shifts in his seat.

Carol had put her hands over Sophia’s ears.

Jenner’s face hardens—just slightly. His eyes drop, as if remembering something he wishes he hadn’t seen.

"I'm sorry" he murmurs more to the floor then any one person.

The room spun around you. You stumbled, catching yourself against the edge of a desk.

"That's... that's millions of people," you calculated aloud, your mind betraying you with its precision. "My parents, my ... family..."

You looked up to find Daryl staring at you, his piercing blue eyes unreadable beneath the fringe of his dirty blonde hair.

"Everyone’s gone" you whispered, your eyes locked with his.

No survivors.

No evac routes.

No home.

Your knees gave way.

You didn't feel the impact when you hit the ground, didn't hear the commotion around you as Dale and Glen rushed to help.

The screen clicks on again with a mechanical whir.

Red numbers counting down. A gentle, clinical voice—Vi, the CDC’s interface—fills the silence.

“Time until decontamination: 30 minutes.”

The group stares.

Then Shane steps forward.

"Decontamination? What the hell does that mean?”

“The facility is programmed to decontaminate in the event of a terrorist attack.”

The words are too clean. Too polite.

You blink slowly, the sound fading beneath a roaring in your ears. Decontaminate ?

“Vi ...define decontaminate ?” Your voice is paper-thin.

Vi replies, unfeeling.

"Hydrogen-based fuel air ignition. Death will be instantaneous.”

The lights overhead seem too bright. The air too thin. You don’t feel real—not the steel floor beneath you, not the flickering red of the countdown clock.

You’re floating, eyes fixed on the numbers ticking away your life, ticking away the time until you join your family.

"Twenty-eight minutes left," Jenner announced, his voice detached, almost peaceful.

"You can't just keep us here!" Rick shouted, pacing like a caged animal while Lori clutched Carl to her side, tears streaming down her face.

"Let us the hell out of here!" Shane bellowed, his face red with fury as he moved protectively in front of Andrea.

Daryl was even less diplomatic. "Y'all can't just lock us in here!" he snarled, his drawl thick with rage as he stormed toward the sealed exit.

Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed a fire axe from the wall.

"DARYL, NO!" T-Dog shouted, but Daryl was already swinging.

The axe hit the reinforced door with a deafening clang that reverberated through the room. Daryl staggered back, cursing colorfully.

"The doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher," Jenner said calmly, unperturbed by the outburst.

"Well, yer head ain't!" Daryl lunged forward, axe raised, and it took both Rick and Shane to hold him back.

You watched as his muscles strained against their grip, his face contorted with fury.

"Back off!" Rick ordered, pushing Daryl away from Jenner. "Yellin' and throwin' things won't solve this!"

Daryl wrenched himself free, glaring at them all. "Y'all do whatcha want. I ain't plannin' on dyin' today."

The minutes on the clock ticks down relentlessly.

Carol was sobbing quietly, clutching Sophia.

Andrea was arguing with Dale about staying.

Rick was desperately trying to reason with Jenner.

Carl and Sophia cry.

The clock continues its remorseless countdown.

In the chaos, you find yourself frozen, staring up at the red numbers ticking away.

Twenty-eight minutes until decontamination.

Twenty-one.

Fifteen.

A hand grips your arm, yanking you back to reality. Daryl's face swims into focus, next to Glen, his eyes wild with urgency.

"Move," he growls. "Now."

"But—"

"No buts. You ain't dyin' here."

You dig in your heels, swallowing hard. “I just… I thought I’d see them again. My mum, my dad. I thought… if I made it through this, maybe they did, too.”

Your accent catches on the word mum, and Daryl's jaw clenches. He looks away for a beat, then back, eyes narrowing—not in anger, but in focus.

“Would they want you sittin’ here waitin’ to burn?”

You just stare through him.

His fingers tighten on your arm. "Move yer arse"

Through the fog of shock, you felt something flicker within you—not hope exactly, but a stubborn refusal to disappear quietly.

When Jenner finally relents and opens the doors, you run with the others, stumbling down corridors as the air thins around you.

Behind you, Jacqui chooses to stay.

You see the peace in her eyes—the certainty of her decision—and something in you understands, even as you continue running.

Upstairs, panic erupted when Rick's attempts to break the windows with a chair fail miserably. The reinforced glass wouldn't even crack.

"The glass won't break?" Glenn asked, panic rising in his voice.

"Rick, look out!" T-Dog yelled, swinging an axe at the window with no effect.

Daryl tried too, cursing colorfully when the axe merely bounced off. "Son of a bitch!"

Carol stepped forward, timidly pulling something from her bag. "I think I might have something that could help," as she produced a small grenade.

Rick's eyes lit up with understanding.

Daryl's gaze darted between the grenade and the windows, a new fire igniting in his eyes. "Well goddamn! What're we waitin' for then?"

Rick nodded. "Everybody get down!" he shouted. "Get back! Get back!"

As the group scrambled for cover, Daryl grabbed you roughly by the shoulders and pushed you behind a concrete pillar, positioning himself between you and the impending blast.

His body pressed against yours, trapping you against the cold concrete.

"Cover yer ears," he growled.

The explosion was deafening despite your covered ears. Glass shattered outward as fresh air rushed in, carrying with it the acrid smell of smoke and decay from the world outside.

"GO!" Rick screamed. "Everybody go NOW!"

The mad dash for the vehicles began. Walkers that had been drawn by the explosion now staggered toward your fleeing group.

You could hear gunshots as Shane and Rick cleared a path.

Without thinking, you made a split-second decision and wrenched open the passenger door of the pickup truck, diving inside just as the first rumbles of the self-destruct sequence began beneath the CDC.

"GET DOWN!" someone screamed.

The explosion rocked the vehicle, glass shattering as debris rained down around you.

Daryl threw himself over you instinctively, his body shielding yours from the blast.

For a moment, you stayed like that—his weight pressing you into the seat, his heartbeat thundering against your chest, his breath hot against your neck.

Time suspended as the world burned around you.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes met yours—blue and fierce and alive.

Then, as if suddenly realizing what he'd done, Daryl jerked away from you, practically throwing himself back into the driver's seat.

He stared at you, his expression morphing from concern to confusion to irritation in rapid succession.

"What the hell are ya doin' in my truck?" he demanded, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles whitened.

You blinked, the adrenaline still coursing through your system making it hard to think. "I... I just..."

"Ya just what? Decided ta invite yerself for a ride?" His voice had that familiar edge to it again.

"I panicked," you squeaked.

"Ya coulda squeezed in with the others." he spat, starting the engine with unnecessary force.

An awkward silence filled the cab. You stared out the window, trying to process everything that had happened. Your entire country, gone. Your family, gone. And now you were sitting in a truck with the one person in the group who'd made it clear he couldn't stand you.

"Why'd you do that?" you finally asked, eyes still fixed on the passing landscape.

"Do what?" he grunted, though you could tell from his tone he knew exactly what you meant.

"Shield me. In the explosion. You could have been hurt."

Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Wasn't thinkin'. Just did it."

"I don't need protection," you said, more sharply than you'd intended.

He scoffed. "Coulda fooled me. Way you fell apart back there..."

The words stung, but you couldn't deny them. "You have no idea what it's like to learn your entire country is just... gone."

"Nah, I don't," he admitted, surprising you with his candor. "But I know what it's like ta lose everythin'. Difference is, I don't go all stupid about it."

You turned to face him properly. "So what do you do instead, Daryl? Swing axes? Wave crossbows around? That's healthier?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Least I'm fightin'."

Before you could respond, he reached under the seat and pulled out a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

He offered it to you without looking your way.

"What's this for?" you asked.

"Figured ya might need it," he muttered. "Losin' a whole damn country's gotta hurt like hell."

The gesture, gruff as it was, contained more genuine sympathy than all the pitying looks the others had given you. You accepted the bottle, taking a small sip before passing it back.

"Thanks," you said quietly.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, taking a swig himself before returning the bottle to its hiding place.

"Just don't go thinkin' this makes us friends or nothin'," he added, the words lacked their usual bite.

"Wouldn't dream of it,"

[twdgrxmes]

Trouble - TrailerPark!Daryl Dixon x GoodGirl!Reader (Part 13)

<-prev next->

WC: 2721

Tags: None?

Author's Note: Sorry about the delay, school has lit been kicking my bum :( I'm tying to write but I'm genuinely so exhausted. I hope y'all like this.

Hospital Room – The Next Morning

The morning crept in gently, casting soft light through the blinds, painting thin gold stripes across the sterile white walls. The world was stirring outside—birdsong, muffled voices in the hallway, the occasional squeak of sneakers on tile—but in here, everything was still. Still and quiet and warm in a way that felt borrowed, like a moment not meant to last.

You were asleep.

Your head rested lightly on Daryl’s chest, tangled in wires and the thin, scratchy hospital blanket. His arms were around you, one slung over your back like a safety net, the other tucked behind his head. Both of you had drifted off sometime after sunrise—exhausted from the storm, but finally at peace in the wreckage.

Daryl hadn’t meant to crawl into the bed. Not at first.

But your hand had trembled in his. You’d reached for him in your sleep, a quiet whimper slipping past your lips like it was instinct. And Daryl couldn’t stand to leave you alone. Not after everything.

So he’d climbed in carefully, gently, cradling you to his chest like you were something breakable. Precious. His.

Now, the two of you lay like that—twined together in a silence that didn’t feel empty.

And that’s exactly how Sheriff Bennet found you.

The door creaked open with the soft, hesitant sound of someone expecting to find broken pieces. He stepped inside without knocking, boots heavy on the floor. His face was unreadable at first—drawn tight and stern, jaw clenched.

Then he saw you.

His daughter.

His little girl.

Asleep, curled into the arms of the boy he’d spent years trying to warn her about him.

And for a second—just a second—he didn’t say a damn word.

He just stood there, shoulders taut, hand hovering over the brim of his hat like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

The rise and fall of your breath against Daryl’s chest was slow, steady.

Daryl shifted in his sleep, tightening his grip around you.

The sheriff’s eyes flicked down to his bruised knuckles. His busted lip. His cut cheekbone. The same wounds Shane had. 

And then his eyes softened, just barely.

He took a quiet step closer. The chair beside the bed was empty. Daryl must’ve moved it sometime in the night. The sheriff stared at it like it held all the answers he didn’t want to hear.

He reached for your chart, pretended to glance at it, even though his eyes kept returning to you—safe, breathing, held.

And Daryl?

Daryl woke up.

He felt the shift in the air before he even opened his eyes. Something cold. Familiar. Authority pressing down like a boot on his neck.

His eyes opened fast, sharp, and the moment he saw the sheriff standing at the foot of the bed, his entire body stiffened.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away from you.

Didn’t pretend he hadn’t been there all night, holding you.

Sheriff Bennet stared him down.

“You got five seconds to explain why you’re in my daughter’s bed,” he said, voice low and full of gravel.

Daryl’s jaw clenched, but his voice didn’t shake.

“She was scared,” he said quietly. “Didn’t wanna be alone.”

The sheriff’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

The silence that followed was thick. A wire pulled tight between them, humming with the weight of unspoken history.

Sheriff Bennet didn’t answer right away. His eyes went from Daryl’s face to yours, the way you clung unconsciously to him in sleep—one hand curled into the front of Daryl’s shirt, your brow relaxed like you hadn’t been that peaceful in weeks. Maybe longer. There were still faint bruises on your cheek, the side of your head, the kind a father never forgets. 

“You should’ve come to me,” the sheriff said finally, quieter now. “You should’ve let me handle it.”

Daryl’s gaze didn’t waver.

“I tried,” he said, voice low. “Tried real hard to stay outta this. But she came to me. And I ain’t leavin’ her now.”

His hand slid over your back instinctively, like it wasn’t even something he thought about—just something he did. The sheriff saw it. Noticed the way Daryl moved around you with care, not possession. Like he was protecting something fragile. Sacred, even.

Sheriff Bennet looked away then, jaw working. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, glanced at the heart monitor beeping steadily beside the bed. The sound was so damn steady. So alive. It hadn’t been guaranteed last night. He knew that now—had played out every worst-case scenario on the drive over.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered, finally sinking into the empty chair beside the bed. “I don’t like you.”

Daryl didn’t flinch. “Yeah. I know.”

“But,” the sheriff went on, voice like cracked leather, “I saw the way she looks at you. Saw the way you’ve stayed with her this whole time.”

He let that hang in the air for a second.

“That’s gotta mean somethin’.”

Daryl looked down at you, at the soft rise and fall of your chest beneath the hospital gown. “It does.”

Another pause. The sheriff leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the scuffed toes of his boots like they might explain what the hell he was supposed to do now.

“I’m not sayin’ I forgive it,” he muttered. “The sneakin’ around. The fight. The lies. You put her in the line of fire, Dixon, and you broke her heart. Whether you meant to or not.”

“I know,” Daryl said again, barely a whisper.

“But,” the sheriff added, meeting his eyes, “you also care about her, look after her. And you never once left her side.”

Daryl swallowed. His hand was still resting against your spine, thumb moving in slow circles over the thin cotton of your gown.

“I ain’t gonna leave again.”

The sheriff studied him. Really looked at him.

Daryl didn’t look like a boy anymore.

He looked older. Raw. Something wounded and proud and impossible to scare off. There was no smugness in him. No bravado. Just fierce, worn-down loyalty.

Sheriff Bennet nodded once, like that answer settled something he wasn’t ready to admit.

“Then you stay,” he said gruffly, standing. “But you do it right. No more sneakin’. No more lies. If you want this—her—you face me like a man.”

Daryl blinked, surprise flickering in his eyes. But he nodded, once. Firm.

“I will.”

Your father hesitated at the door, looking back one last time.

“She wakes up, you tell her I’ll be back later. Bringin’ her home when she’s cleared. That’s still my daughter in that bed.”

Daryl didn’t argue. “Yes, sir.”

The sheriff lingered for a heartbeat longer—then left.

When the door clicked shut, Daryl let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He shifted slightly, looking down at your sleeping face. His hand found yours beneath the blanket again, fingers curling gently between yours.

And for the first time in a long time, he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t lost you.

Not yet.

The room settled again into silence, but this time it wasn’t loaded. It wasn’t tense.

It was soft.

Daryl watched the dust motes dancing in the golden morning light, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek, his thumb brushing slow arcs across the back of your hand. He didn’t know how long he lay there like that—just breathing, just watching you. You stirred a little against him, lashes fluttering, brows twitching like a dream was pulling at the edge of your sleep.

And then your fingers moved.

Small, sleepy, curling tighter into his shirt like you knew he was there before your mind had even caught up.

You woke slowly, the kind of waking where you’re not quite sure where you are at first, not quite sure what’s real. But the warmth under your cheek was familiar. Solid. And when your eyes blinked open, still heavy with sleep, the first thing you saw was him.

Daryl.

His face above yours, hair tousled, eyes a little bloodshot from lack of sleep but watching you like he couldn’t believe you were still breathing.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice husky from sleep and emotion. “Hey, Bennett.”

You blinked up at him, eyes glassy, confused for a second. And then it hit you—where you were. What had happened. The ache in your ribs, the sterile beeping beside the bed, the bandage on your temple. But also—Daryl. His arms around you. The way he hadn’t let go.

“Hi,” you whispered, voice scratchy.

He smiled—small, barely there, but real. “You okay?”

You nodded, slow. Then stopped halfway and winced.

His hand moved up to cradle your head gently, like it was instinct. “Easy.”

You leaned into his palm. “I’m alright,” you said, as if you still needed to convince him.

“You’re tough, Soph.”

A silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t empty—it was full. Full of everything you didn’t have words for yet. Fear and relief and tenderness tangled up in the sheets between you.

You glanced toward the door. “Did… my dad come by?”

Daryl hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. He saw us.”

Your eyes widened, panic fluttering up your throat.

“What did he—?”

“He’s mad,” Daryl admitted, more serious now. “Still don’t like me none. But… he saw you. Saw how we are together. I think that mattered.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch, his warmth. 

“He said no more sneakin’,” Daryl added. “If we’re doin’ this, we do it honest. Face to face.”

You swallowed thickly. “Do you want to?”

He didn’t even blink. “Ain’t never wanted anything more.”

Your breath caught. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You scared the hell outta me, girl,” he whispered. “Thought you got hurt real bad.”

“I didn’t,” you breathed. “You helped me, Daryl.”

Your hand found his shirt again, curled in the fabric like it tethered you to something real. And maybe it did.

Daryl kissed your forehead gently, before letting you curl back into his side. 

~

Going Home – That Evening

The sun was low when the doctors came to discharge you.

The golden haze of late afternoon filled the room, stretching soft across the floor and catching on the edge of Daryl’s boots where he sat by your side, one hand loosely wrapped around yours. He’d stayed right there since the morning—only getting up to help with your water or let the nurse check your vitals. Every time someone entered the room, Daryl stood a little straighter, like he had to prove something. But when it was just the two of you, he was softer again. Guard down. Quiet, but present.

He hadn't let go of your hand once.

The nurse came in with a clipboard tucked to her chest and a kind smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She looked at the two of you—how close you sat, how calm you looked together—and said nothing about it. Just gave a short nod, then looked at you.

“You’re good to go, sweetheart,” she said, voice gentle. “Doctor signed the papers. You’re banged up, but you’re stable. Just take it easy, alright? No cheer practice.” She turned to Daryl, “No fights.”

You gave her a weak smile. “I’ll try.”

Daryl didn’t smile. 

The nurse caught his look, then softened further. “She’s lucky to have you,” she said. Then to you, “And you—don’t be stubborn about rest. You’ll heal better if you listen.”

“I’ll make sure she does,” Daryl said quietly, like a vow.

She patted your chart and turned to leave.

It was quiet for a few moments after that. The room felt different now. Not like a pause, but like an end. Like something was closing, and something else had to begin.

You looked down at your hands—how small yours looked in Daryl’s. The bruises were still there, faint around your wrists, but your fingers looked steady again. You flexed them slowly.

“You ready?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

Daryl helped you stand, his hands warm and careful. You swayed a little at first, the stiffness from the hospital bed making your knees shaky, but he caught you before you could stumble.

“Got you,” he murmured, arm steady around your waist.

You leaned into him, heart full and aching. “I know.”

A soft knock came at the door, and then it opened. Your father stepped in.

He was still wearing the same uniform—though the shirt looked freshly pressed. A clean hat tucked under one arm. His face looked tired, but a little less sharp than it had that morning. Like he’d done a lot of thinking today.

He looked at you first. Always you.

“You alright to walk?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His eyes flicked to Daryl then. Something unreadable passed across his face.

“You bring her down to the car,” he said to Daryl, like it was an order and an offering all at once. “She ain’t walking outta here alone.”

Daryl gave a small nod. “Yes, sir.”

You expected your dad to lead the way, but he lingered just long enough to open the door and hold it for you. He didn’t touch you—just let you lean on Daryl—but when you passed by, he gave a quiet, “Careful,” that made your throat tighten.

The walk to the car was slow, quiet.

You could feel the weight of the world pressing back in. The wind was gentle, but cool. The parking lot nearly empty. Daryl helped you into the passenger seat, his hand ghosting over your back as he made sure you were settled before shutting the door gently.

He hesitated outside, hand braced on the roof of the car, his eyes on you through the open window. You could tell he didn’t want to leave. He didn’t know if he was supposed to follow or let you go. And he was waiting—for a signal from your father, maybe. Or you.

Sheriff Bennet stood on the driver’s side, arms crossed, silent.

Then, after a long beat, he nodded toward the back seat.

“You ridin’ with us, Dixon?” he asked, like it was no big deal.

But it was.

Daryl blinked, startled, then nodded once. “If that’s alright.”

Your father didn’t answer, just opened the door.

You watched Daryl climb in beside you, settling in close but not too close. His knee brushed yours. His hand found yours on your thigh. Your dad didn’t say a word about it. Just started the engine, jaw tight, eyes straight ahead.

It was a quiet ride.

The kind of quiet that held breath in its chest, waiting for someone to break it.

You watched the town blur by—familiar streets, fading daylight, the flicker of porch lights turning on one by one like a heartbeat restarting after too long on pause. This was your home. Still was. But somehow, it all felt new again. Fragile.

Daryl didn’t let go of your hand.

When your house came into view, your dad cleared his throat. “She’s not going back to school for a few days. Doctor’s orders.”

“Alright,” Daryl said.

“And she ain’t goin’ anywhere without me knowin’. Not anymore.”

“Understood.”

Your father pulled into the driveway. Turned the engine off.

Then he looked at the two of you in the mirror.

“I mean what I said. If this is what you want—then you face it. You do right by her, Dixon. No more half-ways. No more hiding.”

You glanced at Daryl, expecting nerves, maybe hesitation.

But his face was calm. Solid.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he said again.

Your dad watched him for a moment longer. Then finally turned to you.

“You need help up the stairs?”

“I’ve got her,” Daryl said, already opening his door.

Your father let out a breath. “Alright. I’ll unlock the door.”

As he stepped out, you caught Daryl’s eye.

“You sure?” you asked, voice small. “About all this?”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, his hand steady on your thigh.

“Ain’t nothin’ I’m more sure about.”

And somehow, you believed him.

Even if it was gonna be hard. Even if the road ahead was messy and narrow and paved with a thousand little reckonings.

You weren’t walking it alone anymore.

And for the first time in a long time, going home didn’t feel like the end of something.

It felt like the beginning.

[sinsandsweetness]

“craving” - part 3 of PICK YOUR POISON - (a dads best friends love story)

part 1 and 2

pairing- (Daryl x fem!reader)

warnings- 18+ content, oral (r!giving), reader being a sneaky lil slut… (drunk off sangria while posting so might not be proofread hehe) 2.6k wc

“Cute skirt,” you feel Shane’s hand graze your lower back as he squeezes between you and the countertop. Making his way to the fridge for another beer. “You uh, wear that just for us?”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile while peeling what feels like the hundredth carrot of the afternoon.

He glances up, checking to make sure that your father is still deep in conversation with Rick, way over in the living room. And with a brand new, cold beer in his hand, he presses himself behind you, trapping you against the counter. His free hand coming up and brushing your hair out of the way, to leave a sweet kiss on your neck. You can’t help but smile, loving the way his lips feel on your skin. But you gasp when his hand comes down and squeezes your ass, under your skirt. Silently scolding him with your eyes, and stepping away from him. You’d already had a close call with Shane already. You didn’t need to be testing the waters any further.

He only chuckles and makes his way back to the living room, joining in on the conversation between Rick and your father. Something about the job that Deanna has put your dad in charge of. The construction team was doing another expansion, building more and more houses to fit all the newcomers.

Adding all the carrots to a bowl, you look up and notice Daryl making his way to the porch, slipping on his faded, leather jacket. A lighter and a pack of cigarettes in hand. Sweet. Just what you need.

He’s leaned up against the side of the house when you finally get to him. Your bare feet in the cool grass, having only pulled on a cardigan to stay warm in the chilly fall air. He smiles when he sees you, a cheeky, no good, expression splayed on his handsome face.

“Think I could borrow one?” You ask, standing right in front of him, already reaching for the pack in his jacket pocket, before he mumbles a knowing, “Mhm.”

“Light?” You ask, cigarette held to your lips, waiting for him to light it. And he does. Bringing his hand up to block the wind, other one sparking the flame. You take a drag in and lean in as close as you can, letting the smoke tumble out of your soft lips, practically grazing his own. Mindlessly, his hand makes its way to your waist as you lean further into him. One hand on his chest, and the other holding the smoke.

“You can just never behave, can you?” He asks, already knowing what the answer will be.

“Nope.” You smile, tipping your head up and closing the gap between you, pressing your lips against his, hand coming up to the back of his neck to pull him in deeper. The smokes are quickly thrown to the concrete and forgotten. Pulling you against him and tangling his own hands in your hair. Tongues dancing over eachother, him tasting of beer and tobacco. You, of mint and lipgloss. The smell of him, that familiar concoction of smoke and leather, it’s intoxicating. Breathing heavy as you pull at his belt, getting ready to kneel for him, right there in your parents backyard.

“Wait-” his rough hand grabs your own, halting you from taking things any further. He’s breathing heavy too.

“We can’t.”

Immediately you groan. Annoyed and defeated.

Fucking hell. All of them. “we can’t”, “we shouldn’t”, “this is wrong”. It’s all you’d heard from the men for weeks. And while Rick and Shane were a little easier to seduce, breaking down enough to take care of you at least, Daryl had stayed relatively strong. The furthest you’d gotten was a rather heavy make out session in the truck. And he’d halted your hips the second you tried grinding down on him. Searching for any friction between the denim of his jeans and the lace of your panties that you craved so desperately, but he wouldn’t budge.

And now, when all you wanna do is wrap your pretty, glittery lips around his cock, he remains just a strong.

“Daryl, come on,” you whine, stealing another open mouthed kiss. Seemingly the only thing he didn’t feel the need to object. “Don’t you want me?”

“‘Course- fuck- of course I do.” He tugs you by the hair, facing his deep blue eyes. “I do.”

“Then why won’t you fuck me already?”

“We agreed-”

“Screw the agreement. Take me upstairs. Please. After supper, when my dad falls asleep on the couch. Take me upstairs and fuck me so hard I forget my own name.”

He blinks slowly. Keeping his eyes shut for a second to compose himself. Thinking about all the things he’d love to do to you if he did decide to follow you up to your bedroom. White walls and pink sheets. Soft and sweet, just like you.

His tone is firm when he finally speaks.

“We’ve been over this, sweetheart. Not happening.”

Bummer.

You take the rejection with an understanding nod. Being sure to slowly rake your hands down his abdomen, under his jacket, and give him one last peck. Quickly running your thumb over his lips, wiping the evidence of your watermelon lipgloss off his mouth. You give him a coy smile over your shoulder when heading back inside.

Unaware of the way that Daryl wanted to physically kick himself for saying no. Fists clenched by his sides with his eyes closed. Regretting not just taking the opportunity. Regretting not just letting you undo that damn belt and have your way with him, right outside in the backyard of your parents house. Knowing you’d show up for dinner with bruised knees and damp panties. Waiting in anticipation for whatever he might do to you after supper when he’d have you all alone in your bedroom.

Such a damn shame.

Your mother decided to eat on the deck with your aunt and her husband. With their annoying ass kids too. She’d invited you to sit with them, but the open seat next to Rick was way too tempting.

Shane is the weakest, by far. If you were measuring their strength by how likely they were to fuck you, that is. He hadn’t yet, but you’d like to believe that you’re making progress. Rick wants to. You know that. He wants you so bad it actually hurts. And fuck, if he hadn’t felt tempted the other week, upstairs in your bedroom, with his face between your thighs, giving you your second (and most intense) orgasm of the day. The way you begged him to fuck you right then and there had his mind spinning and his dick swelling. But unfortunately, his moral dilemma was saved by the sound of your father calling you downstairs, to introduce you to some new neighbours. And Rick couldn’t help but sigh in relief at the realization that he didn’t have to actually say “no”.

And as always, he’s attempted to claim you as his own. His hand won’t leave your thigh from under the table, as you pick at the turkey and potato’s on your plate. Glancing at him with an innocent smile every now and then. Tingles erupting as he moves his thumb in circles against your skin, all while listening intently to your father go on about all the work around Alexandria that needs to be done before snowfall. Daryl’s sat next to Rick. Replaying the conversation with you from outside, over and over in his head as he shovels the mashed potato’s into his mouth. Thinking about how badly he wanted to give in. To tangle his hands in your hair and guide those rosy lips right on to his dick, fucking your throat and then cumming all over your pretty face. And then Shane, next to your dad, who can’t stop playing footsies with you from under the table. Giving you that fucking smirk that you just wanna kiss right off his face. As if his smile belonged against your lips, and nowhere else.

“Sweetheart, I think me and the boys could use another round. You mind going to the garage and grabbing us some more beers?” Your father gets up, his voice snapping you out of your sinful daydreams.

“Uh- sure.” You smile politely, standing up from the table, and pulling your skirt down in a failed attempt at being modest. You hesitate, heart beating fast while watching your father go up for a second plate of food and then head outside to the deck. Probably just checking in on your mother. Making sure that her and the others were all doing ok and didn’t need another drink themselves.

You don’t even really register what you’re doing until you’re under the table. Moving fast in order to effectively use the moment that your father is finally occupied. Confusion quickly setting on each man’s face until you’re settled between Daryl’s knees. On the floor, completely hidden by the tablecloth. Hands going straight to Daryl’s belt, unclasping it and grabbing the impressively large stiffy he’d been hiding under the table all night.

“Fuck.” You heard him gasp from above. Shane letting out a surprised huff of amusement and Rick whispering something inaudible.

You slip your hand into his boxers and pull him out, licking your lips and then placing a sweet kiss on his tip.

“Oh shit, she’s- fuck.” Daryl’s thighs are tensed as he starts to wrap his mind around what’s actually happening. Around the fact that you’re on your knees in front of him. Glossy lips wrapped around his cock, while your dads right outside, and his best friends are right there.

You take him into your mouth, slowly bobbing up and down, paying close attention to his reactions. To what makes him drop his fork on the table and grunt. Gasping and straining to keep in the sounds you so desperately want to hear come from his throat.

You keep going even when you hear the sliding door to the deck open. Your father returning to the table and continuing his conversation from before. Not that you had been listening. Far too busy thinking about what each man would taste like if they had the decency to put you on your knees, like you’ve asked them to over and over.

“You hear about that run that Deana was planning? She said she’d talk to you about it but I didn’t know if she ever got around to…”

Your father kept talking. Blissfully unaware of the absolutely filthy performance taking place beneath the tablecloth. How on earth Daryl was keeping it together, you had no idea. Holding yourself up with your hands gripping at his thighs, muscles flexed in what you assume is pleasure. But it’s likely that his nerves are playing a roll as well.

Rick makes sure to keep your fathers attention. Asking questions and chatting along. The perfect distraction as you continue the borderline torture on Daryl’s cock. And though you can’t see it, he’s trying his very best to keep it together. Slow blinks, glancing down at his plate of food. Fingers gripping his utensils so hard they could snap. Doing everything in his control to keep breathing like a normal person. To not tip his head back and moan out your name. And Rick and Shane are doing a surprisingly wonderful job at being your accomplices, distracting your father with simple, mundane conversation. Enough to take any focus off the fact that Daryl was a minute away from cumming down your throat. Torn between wanting to last longer and wanting to hurry up so that he didn’t have to hide his reactions any longer.

You assume he’s getting close. His knees becoming all shifty, involuntarily twitching from how good your mouth feels. So warm and wet and taking him all the way down. You feel a hand lace into your hair, though a little confused because you’re pretty sure it isn’t Daryl’s. Coming from beside him, having reached over so nonchalantly, Rick pushes your head down. Clearing his throat at the same time that you inevitably gag on Daryl’s dick. Hiding the noise. And at that, Daryl just about lost it. Every nerve in his body is on fire and you want to taste him so fucking bad. Want to drink down every last drop of whatever he gives you. You reach your own hand down inbetween your legs and press the pads of your fingers to the cotton panties covering your clit. Rubbing little circles to ease your own needs. Dipping lower and realizing that there’s a wet spot from your arousal. Because sucking Daryl off was turning you on. And if he knew that, he wouldn’t have lasted another second.

“Thought your girl was grabbing us another beer?” Shane asks finally bringing attention to the fact that you aren’t sitting at the table. At least not to your dads knowledge.

“Yeah, I thought so. I’ll run to the garage. See if she got distracted with the bar. Gal sure loves her cocktails, I’ll tell you that much.”

Does she ever.

You hear your father walk down the hall, towards the garage. At the same time, Daryl let’s out the breath he’s holding and his hips buck up involuntarily. So fucking close you can tell.

“You got thirty seconds, baby.” Rick warns you. Well, both you and Daryl. That you need to make him come now. Otherwise, daddy’s gonna find out your dirty little secret. And wouldn’t that be such a shame. The fun part’s only just started.

Daryl moans. Louder than you expected but immediately after, you feel him tense up and your mouth fills with his salty fluid. You swallow around him. No hesitation whatsoever. It’s not like you could leave any evidence. And without even helping him get his pants done back up, you crawl past Ricks legs, making sure to use his thigh as a support beam to get back up and slink into your seat. Taking a napkin from the table and wiping your mouth. Giving your best doe eyes to the three men. All of them sporting equally impressed expressions. Not even a hint of jealousy present from Rick, which you found a little odd. Maybe your little show turned them all on. Not just Daryl. And when you look over at the bowman, his face is red. Crimson blush covering his cheeks as he buckles up and straightens himself out. Rick and Shane lightly shaking their heads in disbelief with the sexiest smiles forming on their faces.

“You are somethin’ else, princess. My god.” Shane laughs, kicking your foot under the table. And you can only smile back before you hear the door open and your father come waltzing back into the dining area.

“Where the hell were you? Y’forgot about our beer.” You father says, handing one to each man at the table.

“Sorry - uh- I had to use the washroom. Got distracted.” You smile politely, taking a sip of your own drink as you feel the heat rise to your own cheeks.

“Course you did. Can you grab the pie, pumpkin? Think everyone’s about done eating.”

You nod and get up, sauntering towards the fridge, grabbing the pie along with a can of whipped cream. You make sure to look directly at Rick and Daryl while you shake the can and line your index finger with the sugary fluff. Maintaining eye contact as you lick it up and suck the cream off your finger. Rick rolls his eyes, unable to hide the smirk forming on his face. And Daryl shoots you a warning glare from across the table.

You did warn him you weren’t going to behave. Just decided to prove it too.

part 4

-

(Ricks part is up next bbs<3 )

taglist - @rickswh0r3 @elnyrae @catt-leya @murder-jacket @miinbun @ankhmutes @eternalrose81 @cl0wnb0yyy @grimesthinker @whatthefuuuck @imyourbratzdoll

[honey-crypt]

elliott that sings his heart out while drunk asf x gn/m farmer? You know the drill :3

also saying that again, ur writing makes me giggle n kick my feet have a great day dude

a/n: i went all out if you couldn’t tell, only the best for the queen of elliott art herself!!! also attaching the drunk singing elliott art she posted for visualization reasons lol. this was a literal blast to write, i had to rewind somethin’ stupid like a hundred times to get the flow right. also follow @fuerrziah cuz her art is the best and she is da best <3 

word count: 2.1k

warnings: alcohol, drunk antics, suggestive ending

summary: you knew elliott got a bit silly and unfiltered when drunk, but you didn’t realize that the man could belt it like the best of them until you witness him sing frank sinatra's somethin’ stupid.

★ sinatra - elliott x farmer ★

The Stardrop Saloon was the heart of Pelican Town, a bar and restaurant full of laughter and chatter every night, as Gus brewed pretty cocktails and Emily bounced from room to room taking and delivering orders. To some, it was a place to unwind after a hard day or to spend time with friends while to others, it was a second home. 

Often, you frequented the saloon to treat yourself to a meal and a drink, and tonight was no different. You were too exhausted from harvesting melons, chasing after chickens, and so on to bother microwaving something, much less cooking an actual meal. With a heavy sigh, you plopped down at your usual spot and waved Emily over with a tired smile, “Hey Em.”

“(Y/N)!” the waitress greeted you with her usual sunshine demeanor, “Good to see you tonight!” she clicked her glitter pen and hovered it over her notebook, “The usual tonight?”

“You know me well,” you chuckled softly. Emily scribbled down a few lines and stated, “Should be ready in fifteen. Can I get you a drink beforehand?”

“Water with lemon,” you answered, your mouth drier than the Calico Desert from the summer heat. Emily nodded and went behind the bar, pouring you a tall glass of ice water with a lemon garnish. She returned to your table and set the drink down on the wooden coaster, “Drink up and have a good night.”

“You as well, Em,” you hummed, watching the blue haired woman disappear into the crowd of bar patrons. The walls of the saloon vibrated from the amount of noise produced in such a small space. You weren’t surprised at the amount of people present at the Stardrop Saloon; after all, it was Friday, the busiest night. At least, Emily and Gus will get some good tips. You down your water without care, as some of the liquid spilled from your lips and down your chin onto your overalls.

“Parched?” a deep but honey-like voice hummed. You looked up and locked eyes with your closest friend, Elliott, hovering next to you. Ink stained his strong calloused hands, presumably a remnant of a hours-long writing session. 

“Absolutely,” you exhaled, “It’s hotter than Hades’ taint.”

Elliott snorted, emerald eyes crinkling up while he smiled down upon you, “I can agree with you on that, my friend. I fear that if it gets any degree warmer, I must forgo my long sleeves.”

You side-eyed Eliott’s sleeved arms, as he borrowed the seat across from you, seeing the outline of toned muscle. You could take your suspenders off, too. you thought to yourself, waving a passing Emily over and requesting another water with lemon, For a beachfront Hemingway, you sure have the physique of a Greek God.

“How did your day on the farm go?” the writer asked, resting his elbows on the table. You plucked your glass off the table and pressed it against your forehead, “I shoulda taken today off, but the mayor just had to request two dozen melons for his outing with the governor,” you grumbled, annoyed at Mayor Lewis but more so at the sweltering heat that suddenly enveloped the room. 

“Rest days are always good,” the redhead let out a low hum of agreement, “Perhaps, you can do so tomorrow?”

“I doubt it. Shane ordered three dozen hot peppers,” you sent daggers to the man in question from across the room, as Shane drank his beer by Gus’s prized wooden bear statue. Elliott’s lips formed a frown, “The life of a farmer, one of never ending labor,” he laughed. 

Emily approached your table and set down another glass of water with lemon for you, “Here’s your usual,” she added before placing a plate of spaghetti by your water, “Want some parmesan?”

“What is this, the Gotoro Empire? Of course, I want some,” you jested. Emily giggled and handed you the shaker of parmesan, “Just let me know if you need more,” she then directed her attention to Elliott, “Hi Elliott! You looking for your usual tonight, too?”

“Yes, please, my dear,” he answered, adjusting his suspenders, “And a pale ale for my friend, as well.”

“Coming right!” the waitress skipped off to the back of the bar. You raised an eyebrow at Elliott while you drowned your spaghetti in heaps and heaps of parmesan, “What’s the occasion?”

“Can I not treat one of my closest friends to a nice drink after a hard day’s work?” the writer clutched his heart, “You wound me, (Y/N).”

“You’re so fucking cheesy,” you rolled your eyes with a playful twinkle in your eyes, “You know I don’t object to anything free, especially a free drink.”

Emily returned with Elliott’s usual, a pint of beer and a crab cake, as well as a pale ale for you, “Enjoy your meals!” she gave the two of you a thumbs up, “Wave me down if you need anything.”

You touched your lips to the cool glass and drank, the hot and ice sensation of alcohol coating your throat, “Shit,” you exhaled, “I needed that, thanks.”

“Of course,” your friend offered you a smile, that stupid smile you often saw on the cover of a romance novel, “How about a toast?” he held his beer up, “To friendship and a hard day’s work?”

“I’ll cheers to that,” you chuckled and clinked glasses together. As the night went on, one glass turned into two, then three, and so on. You tapped out after two glasses, as for Elliott, the Scot in him already finished four glasses of beer. His cheeks were flushed like the color of his hair, his eyes fluttering while he held back a hiccup, “Oh Yoba…” your friend tucked some loose hair behind his pierced ear, “I think… I think I went overboard.”

“You think?” you questioned. Emily returned with Elliott’s fifth glass of the night and you mouthed to her, “Cut him off for tonight,” to which she nodded in agreement. 

“You usually max out at three, is something on your mind?” your ears rang and your head throbbed from the noise of overlapping conversations around the saloon. Elliott finished his fourth glass of beer, a bit of foam smeared on the right corner of his lips, “Oh, (Y/N), I won’t bore you-” he hiccuped, “-with my woes. I’m simply a tortured artist destined to be consumed by my work.”

You grabbed a napkin and leaned down towards Elliott, “Hold still,” you whispered, as you dabbed away the foam from his lips. His face turned to a darker shade of red, “You’re so close,” he whispered back, eyes hazy. You pulled away and set the used napkin aside, “Sorry, you had foam on your face,” you mumbled, averting your gaze.

Behind you, Pam dragged herself towards the jukebox and slammed a quarter in its slot, grumbling to herself about hating the cheerful swing of the current song, “Shit,” you heard her curse, “Wrong button,” the atmosphere of the saloon abruptly switched from chaotic to sombre, as a light guitar riff filled the air. 

“Oh!” Elliott leapt to his feet, “I know,” he covered his mouth to hiccup, “I know this song!” he then approached the jukebox and leaned on it for support, swaying his index finger from side to side to the rhythm of the music. You smiled to yourself and sipped your water, only to choke on it like a Yoba damn fool the moment Elliott began to sing.

“I know I stand in line… Until you think you have the time… To spend an evening with me,” his voice was a neat match to the original singer, a light baritone, “And if we go someplace to dance… I know that there’s a chance you won’t be leaving with me…” 

Elliott unbuttoned a few notches on his sea blue dress shirt, exposing his defined collarbone and a bit of wispy chest hair, “Then afterwards we drop into a quiet place and have a drink or two…” he glazed over your face and body with a drunken smile, “And then I go and spoil it by saying somethin' stupid like I love you…” Elliott untied his ponytail, luscious locks free from their confinement and resting against his shoulders.

Your pupils dilated; no longer was the saloon filled with static chatter and the slamming of glasses, but instead everyone ogled silently at Elliott, his vocals amplified. He pushed himself off the jukebox and stumbled a bit, taking your hands in his, “I see it in your eyes, that you still despise the same old lies you heard the night before…” he touched one of his hands to your cheek and cupped it, “And though it’s just a line to you; for me, it’s true and never so right before…”

“Elliott?” your voice croaked, your blood rushing to your extremities and your heartbeat overwhelmingly rapid. He gave you a lopsided smile and continued to sing, “I practice every day to find some clever lines, to make the meaning come true…” 

No, no. He’s just singing the song. This doesn’t mean anything, you tried to reason with yourself, but it fell short, as Elliott serenaded the next few lyrics, “But then I think I’ll wait until evening gets late and I’m alone with you… The time is right, your perfume fills my head-” he leaned closer to you and inhaled your musk, “-The stars get red and, oh, the night’s so blue… And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like-” you could feel Elliott’s breath against the side of your neck, as he sang in your ear, “I love you…” 

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t breathe. The alcohol in your system, the summer heat, Elliott’s closeness, made your mind go foggy; you were hanging onto every single word that spilled from the redhead’s pretty little lips. Elliott passionately belted out the instrumental pause, trying his best not to laugh, earning a laugh from you, nonetheless. 

He stood back up and pulled you off your feet with him, repeating the chorus, “The time is right, your perfume fills my head,” he twirled you around, “The stars get red, and, oh, the night's so blue… And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like I love you…” even when intoxicated, Elliott was a true Casanova, holding onto you and swaying you side to side to the music.

“I love you…” 

You met his eyes, oh how they shined like gemstones.

“I love you…”

Your knees turned to jelly, you clung to your friend for dear life.

“I love you…”

Your surroundings vanished; no more saloon, no more patrons, just you and Elliott.

“I love you…”

You leaned closer, your chest against his.

“I love you…”

You pressed your lips against Elliott’s, savoring the aftertaste of beer and crab cakes, as the jukebox switched to the next song and the world around you returned to its original state. Elliott kissed you back, you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol in control but Yoba, did he taste divine. Oh, to have the confidence of a drunken fool at all hours of the day, you grabbed at his hair and tugged on the strands, Elliott moaning against your wet lips. 

“Hey, you two!” Pam’s voice snapped you back into reality and broke the kiss, “Get a room!” Her words garnered a few similar statements from other bar patrons.

Through glossy eyes and clouded minds, you leaned your body against Elliott’s and asked, “Well… should we?” to which he pecked you on the lips, “That’s a splendid idea,” you tossed your own wallet on the table to pay for the two of you’s meals and interlocked arms with one another, supporting one another’s uncoordinated bodies. To the door and out you went, as you and Elliott roamed the streets of Pelican Town towards his cabin, exchanging laughs and kisses. 

…

…

…

bonus:

Back in the Stardrop Saloon, Pam plopped her ass back in her seat, relieved that the farmer and Elliott were finally gone. She gestured to Gus for another beer and commented aloud, “About time those two lovebirds figured it out.”

“Indeed,” answered Gus, as he dropped Pam a foamy beer, “They make a cute couple.”

“Oh, dear!” Emily walked up to Gus with the farmer’s wallet in hand, “They left their wallet here, should I run after them?”

Gus chuckled to himself and shook his head, “Put it in lost and found, I don’t think we should disturb those two tonight. 

[intoxicated-chan]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗 ║ ❝𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧❜𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞❞

(A/n) ➳ This was supposed to be out on Monday!! I seriously need to get this straight because I know you guys have waited a while and I thank you for your patience.  

Word Count ➳ 2k  

Content Warnings ➳ Heavy profanity, drug trafficking, small mention of murder, mentions of infidelity, talks of proposing/marriage, blackmail, threats of violence, reader is referred to as little lady…

JUDAS Masterlist 

YOU THREW DARYL’S BAG OVER YOUR SHOULDER WITH A HUFF. 

You never took Daryl to be materialistic, so it surprised you when the bag had a heavy weight on it. Now that you were thinking about it, you weren’t even sure it was Daryl’s bag you were carrying.  

It was passed to you when his brother loaded a drunk Daryl into the back of your car. He handed you, shoved, the bag and a pat on the back. His gaze felt weird and cold, but his sinister smile told a different story.  

“Some shit for his damn work.” Merle scoffed, laughing at the sight of his little brother slumped in your car. “Don’ be pokin’ yer nose ‘round where it don’ belong.” 

And you took his words seriously. Anyone would’ve believed his words were harmless or that he was trying to look out for you, but you saw them as a threat.  

You recognized a man like Merle, the countless stories from Shane and Rick explaining how they caught the perp and what made them suspicious. How they acted around certain strangers, how they walked, talked, subtle movements...  

You breathed a sigh of relief when you made it back to your apartment. You sat the bag down next to the pile of shoes by your door, and relieving the weight from your shoulder made you groan.  

“Daryl?” You called out to him, tossing your keys into a small bowl. Your apartment was eerily quiet. “I got your bag!”  

You walked into the living room, but he wasn’t sitting on your couch. The mug of coffee that he had was washed and dried and put back into its cupboard with the rest of the cups.  

You searched the rest of your apartment rather desperately as your mind started to spiral. There was no sign of Daryl, he even took the shirt that you borrowed from him. It was like your place was scrubbed clean of him, your only evidence of his presence or self was his bag. 

You cursed numerous times as you dialed his number, but when it went to voicemail... It couldn’t be. You paced around your apartment as you ranted into your phone, begging for questions and when you stopped, you started all over again.  

You must’ve left a dozen voicemails before you froze at the sound of a crunch and a stinging sensation coming from the bottom of your foot. You hung up the voicemail and looked under your foot and found a piece of plastic, a piece of Daryl’s phone.  

“What the fuck?”  

Daryl chewed on his nails as Merle and Leah loaded the truck with crates upon crates. He knew it was going to be a massive payday, bigger than previous jobs combined, but if things went wrong, he wouldn’t see the light of day ever again. 

His hand reached for his pocket where he’d phone was but groaned when he remembered the phone call with Negan. Did it matter though? He already removed himself from your apartment, no way of connecting him to you in case anything happens.  

But he wondered about your reaction to coming back to your empty apartment. The guilt gnawed at him as he didn’t leave anything, not even a cryptic note for you to find. 

He jumped when he heard pounding on the back of the truck. “We’re ready to go.” Leah hopped in the passenger seat. “Start drivin’.” 

Daryl turned the key in the ignition and drove out of the abandoned farmhouse and onto the road. It was nearly midnight, and he was trying to race to get the crates to Negan on time.  

Leah looked over the message. “Simon gonna meet us there?” He asked, trying to focus on the task and keeping himself calm.  

She shook her head, clicking her tongue. “Simon AND Negan.”  

Daryl felt his heart drop to his stomach, and he slammed on the brakes, the truck coming to a sudden stop which startled Leah. “The hell ya mean Negan gon’ be there?!”  

Leah turned to him, her face scrunched up in anger. “You deaf or somethin’? Thought Merle had told you.” She rolled her eyes at his confused face. “Negan’s wife has cancer, he needs these damn crates.”  

“Ya believe him?”  

“You think he’d lie ‘bout some shit like cancer? The same wife that he’d do antyhin’ for her?”  

“The same wife he cheated on.” Daryl retorted. “And refused to get a damn job for!” He clenched the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “Negan ain’t gonna forgive me, imma dead man if he sees me.” He uttered, looking back at the road. 

She placed her hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. “I won’t let him get close to you, I promise.” 

“Ya can’t promise shit, Leah.” He shoved her hand off his arm.  

“But I can promise you that I’ll do anythin’ to get you home safe, back to your fiancée.”  

Daryl grumbled some words under his breath, turning away from Leah but she managed to catch a blush growing. “Pop the question to her yet? Or too much of a coward?” 

“...Haven’t found the right time to.”  

“Or you’re scared.” Leah then laughed. “You are!”  

“Piss off!” Daryl quickly took his foot off the break and continued to drive.  

She kept snickering. “Keep trying for an hour or two and I’ll take over.” She said as she opened another phone. “Then you can think of ways to propose.”  

Leah stayed true to her word, after an hour of driving, she made Daryl hand over the wheel, and they traded places. He slumped in the seat, staring out the window as the music Leah chose played in the background.  

He thought back to you. When was the perfect time to propose? After he apologized for disappearing? No, he had to remain off the grid for a couple of weeks, maybe months before he went back to you.  

Would you forgive him for disappearing for so long? Maybe, he always had a way with words, and he knew how much of a sucker you were for his voice.  

But it didn’t matter how much he worried or panicked, the thought of you brough a smile to his face, that he covered with his hand before Leah could see.  

Eventually, his decision to remain awake most of the night was a bad one. Exhaustion overtook him and he let himself drift off to sleep. But his peaceful slumber was cut short by the sound of Leah’s attempt at keeping quiet.  

“Yes." Leah was saying, her voice was low but trying to sound convincing. “Everythin’s fine.”  

Daryl rubbed his eyes, letting out a groan. “Who?” He mumbled.  

Leah glanced at him. “Jus’ go back to sleep. It's nothin’.”  

But Daryl knew better than to listen to her. “Who the hell is it, Leah?” 

Leah choked on her words for a second before answering. “It’s Negan.” She responded then turned her attention back on Negan. “I don’t think- okay, I will.”  

She handed the phone to Daryl who took it. “Negan.” He greeted. 

“Daryl! I thought I wouldn’t hear back from my favorite delivery boy!” Negan’s voice boomed though the phone, obnoxiously loud, and a mix of cockiness and twisted amusement.  

“Jus’ makin’ sure those crates are safe. We can’t afford any slip-ups, now can we?” He chuckled.  

“They’re safe. We’re on our way.”  

Negan continued to chuckle, the sound sending shivers down Daryl’s back. “Good, good. From what road Leah happily told me, it’s an easy street! You might go home on time to that little lady of yours. What was her name again?” 

Daryl's grip on the phone tightened. “What ‘bout ‘er?” 

“Oh, not much.” Negan drawled. “Jus’ that she lives on a nice, quiet street. easy to find. Easy to visit.”  

Daryl clenched his jaw. “You stay the hell away from ‘er.” He warned.  

“Relax, Daryl! I'm only messin’ with you.” Negan laughed but Daryl could tell his laughter was cold and unnerving.  

“I swear, Negan. Ya do anythin’ to ‘er-” 

“Hand the phone back to Leah.” Negan interrupted, his tone turning serious again.  

Daryl passed the phone back to Leah, seething. “Yes, Negan.” She confirmed again. “Everything is fine.” 

Then the line went dead. She tossed her phone onto the dashboard and huffed. “We’re fine.” 

“We’re fucked.”  

The spot Negan chose was secluded, far enough away from prying eyes but still unsettling in its location. Daryl felt like everything was closing all around him, how he felt like at any moment, something was going to pop out of the trees.  

Daryl parked the truck and stepped out, his eyes scanning the open area for any sign of Negan or Simon.  

Negan’s van pulled up shortly after, and his men went right to work. Leah stepped out of the truck as well when she saw Negan coming by.  

“Took you all long enough.” Negan commented as Leah stood next to him. His men moved quickly when getting the crates out of the truck and into his van. “Was there trouble on the road?”  

“No.” Leah replied, arms crossed, watching the men rather than looking at Negan. “Jus’ took us longer than before, I didn’t think you’d demand so much... Crates.”  

“That’s a funny way to say drugs.” Negan commented, hands in his leather jacket pockets.  

“I’m jus’ actin’ cautious-” 

“Bullshit.”  

Daryl remained by the truck, watching Negan’s men and Simon come and go from the truck. His eyes turned to Negan and Leah approaching him, his heart raced as he sat up.  

“Well, well, well. If it ain’t Daryl Dixon, how have you been?” Negan questioned and Daryl knew it was a false act, trying to get under his skin or mess with his head. He handed an envelope to Leah who then passed it to Daryl. “The agreed amount. Plus, a little bonus for being such a good delivery boy.”  

He took the envelope, his fingers brushing against the fresh and crisp bills inside. He didn’t need to count it to know that it was more than what they had agreed to. He looked up at Negan rather suspiciously.  

“Thanks, Daryl.” Negan said, his tone was almost honest and friendly. “Consider it a little token of appreciation or an investment. I’m thinkin’ of keepin’ you on for a couple more months. I’m sure your brother wouldn’t mind.”  

“Ya can’t-” 

Negan cut him off with a raised hand. “Ah, ah. No need to thank me. Jus’ make sure the next delivery is jus’ as smooth. Buy your little lady a gift, I’m sure she’s dyin’ to hear from you, Dixon.” 

With a final smirk and a pat on Daryl’s and Leah’s shoulders, Negan strode off. “Let’s go boys! Cops are sure to hell come!”  

His men quickly loaded the remaining crates and within moments, Negan’s van disappeared, leaving the two of them standing by the truck.  

 “We need to go to.” They climbed back into the truck and Daryl started the engine, driving away from the spot.  

As Daryl drove, Leah peeked in the envelope. “I bet it’s more than what those crates are worth.” She awed. 

Daryl glanced at the amount, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Think it’s enough for a ring?” He asked her.  

Leah nodded. “I’m sure she’s gonna be fine with whatever you give her.”  

“It can’t be fine, it’s gotta be fuckin’ amazing.”  

Daryl kept his eyes on the road, but the thought of you in Negan’s hands angered him. He couldn’t allow you to get involved with what he was in, he had to get business taken care of and fast.  

His mind raced as with many thoughts, but his mission was clear, he was going to see this through and protect what mattered most to him.  

You.  

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.  

Taglist ➳ @deansapplepie , @ladylincoln , @gamingfeline , @lady06reaper , @alanamarie , @daryldixmedown , @celtic-crossbow , @mrdixon , @itwasntaphasema , @duffmckagansbandana , @raspberryslxt , @itsrainingbisexualfrogs , @ingstadstarlight , @gamingfeline , @lor-geeked , @thegeorgiahuntsman , @snailss , @the-lonely-abyss , @number1bashbabe , @xmaeyonaiise , @suniloli , @of-storms-and-sadness , @annhells , @sexyxdylanxobrien , @mylifeinthetardisforever , @let-love-bleeds-red , @virginsexgod69 , @scudslut , @devilxbug , @theesexystallion ,  @yondus-girl , @raoudixs , @tremendousstarlighttragedy , @skulliecadaver-blog , @remusmuse ,  @natswhoore , @4-chan-inpadella , @blairespandora , @bigbaldheadname , @bae-live-0 , @d0p3ys-delusions , @lovelylovebites , @lettersfromyourlover-blog ,  

⊰ Chapter 8 ⊰ » » YOU’RE HERE « « ⊰ Chapter 10 ⊰ 

[dreaminofdixon]

Seven.

A/N: You know how you write something and you just get so excited that you wanna share it, but at the same time...that means you have to get your ass in gear because the things you wanna share are near the end of where you're currently facing a little writer's block? No? Just me? Oh well. haha We still have a long way to go 'til then, so enjoy!!

The group rolled back that night, minus Merle, and Daryl lost it—full-on, veins-popping, nearly-swinging-at-Rick lost it. His brother, his last frayed tether to the world before it all went to shit, was gone. When the story trickled out, his fury hit a new peak. Merle, apparently, had stumbled onto some booze in town, got sloppy, and started popping off rounds from a rooftop like a damn idiot—drawing every walker in earshot. Rick, ever the cop, shut it down. Hard.

Problem is, “shutting it down” meant cuffing Merle to a pipe up there—leaving him staked out like a buffet. Legal? Hell no, not by any pre-apocalypse standard I know, but laws are meaningless now. Daryl demanded they turn around right then to get him, eyes wild, voice cracking with rage. Dale and T-Dog stepped in, voices low and steady, talking him off the ledge—barely. They settled on heading back at dawn, which left us here: campfire flickering, Rick trying to justify it to the group, and Daryl nowhere in sight, vanished the second they’d hit camp, again, without his brother.

Rick’s recap was grim—Merle, drunk and mouthy, had forced his hand. But the kicker? Merle’d sawed off his own damn hand to escape. Left it there, bloody and cuffed, a grisly breadcrumb. I couldn’t wrap my head around it—the panic, the pain, the sheer balls it’d take. Merle’s a bastard, sure, but that? Even he must’ve been terrified, bravado or not.

The fire dwindled, Shane climbed atop the RV for watch, and everyone else scattered to their tents, murmurs fading into the night. Me? Solo in my little canvas box, no TV, no phone—just me, a borrowed book from Dale’s stash, and my trusty battery lantern. I flipped the last page of my eighth read, some dog-eared thriller, and let it thump shut. Head hit the pillow, eyes tracing the tent’s sagging roof, and the spiral started. Is this it? Endless nights of dark and quiet, scraping by ‘til we don’t? Worth fighting for, or just… delaying the inevitable? Existential crisis at full tilt—great.

I scrubbed my face, groaning, and sat up, yanking on my boots. Knife in hand, I unzipped the flap and stepped into the moonlight, the air thick with cricket hums and the odd hoot of an owl. Darkness pressed in, heavy and close, but I picked my way to the creek, ears pricked for anything off. Moonlight sliced through the trees, glinting off the water’s quick ripples, a breeze cutting through the day’s leftover heat. I sank down on the bank, knees tucked to my chest, and let the steady rush ground me—my go-to when anxiety clawed too deep. Memories crept in—old life, old me, all gone. Nothing’s ever gonna—

A rustle snapped me out of it. I shot up, squinting into the shadows, heart kicking. “Shouldn’t be out here,” came that low growl, and I exhaled, tension easing but not gone.

“Damn it, Daryl, stop sneaking up on me like that!” I hissed, glaring into the dark—he probably couldn’t see it, but it felt good.

“Sorry,” he muttered, barely audible, stepping closer. He dropped down a few feet away, mirroring me—knees up, arms draped—and the silence settled, warm and easy, not awkward. I rested my head on my knees, stealing a glance. Moonlight caught the sharp lines of his face, the tense set of his jaw.

“How you holding up?” I asked, soft, testing.

“Fine,” he grunted, flipping his knife over in his hands, blade flashing as he studied it like it held answers. Bullshit—he was a mess, and it showed in the tight grip, the way his shoulders stayed rigid. Nice to know he’s human under all that grit.

“You sure?” I pressed, gentle but firm.

He met my eyes—dark, guarded, hurting—and shrugged, a sharp breath lifting his chest. No words, but I felt it roll off him in waves. I reached out, hesitant, resting my hand on his forearm—warm, tense under my fingers. He flinched, just a flicker, but didn’t pull away. I squeezed lightly, a quiet I’m here, then let go, curling back into myself.

We sat like that forever, silence stretching, the creek’s murmur filling the gaps. I yawned, jaw cracking, and he shifted. “Should get back,” he said, voice a whisper. “Yer tired.”

I pursed my lips—yeah, he’s right, but the tent’s dark, empty pull gnawed at me. He stood, offering a hand—rough, calloused, steady. I took it, letting him haul me up, steadying myself as I landed close—too close. The dark emboldened me, and I studied him: shadowed eyes, tight mouth, that raw edge he carried like armor.

“You ever wonder if things’ll go back to what it used to be?” I asked, voice low, searching.

“Nah.” His gaze held mine, unflinching. “Pointless.”

I nodded, stepping back, boots scuffing dirt as we headed for camp. “Trying to get my head around it,” I admitted. “It’s tough.”

“Maybe fer you,” he said, dry, a hint of bite.

“You don’t miss it? Not even a little?”

“Ain’t much changed.” He paused, eyes distant. “No job, no house, no family—‘cept Merle. Now he’s gone. Nothin’ worth missin’.”

That hit like a punch—bare, brutal, more than I’d expected. No home, no one but Merle, and now even that’s ripped away. “I’m sorry about him,” I said, meaning it.

“He’s a tough sonuvabitch. Out there somewhere. Just gotta find ‘im.” His voice hardened, clinging to that thread.

“If there’s anything I can do…” I trailed off, earnest.

“Threesome ain’t gonna track ‘im down,” he deadpanned, and I caught the faintest grin—moonlight glinting off teeth.

I laughed, quiet and real, nudging him. “Look at you, cracking jokes in a crisis.” The lightness faded as we walked, shoulder to shoulder. “Seriously, though. I’d like to help. You’re always bailing everyone else out—I wanna be there for you.”

“Don’t need—”

“Shut up,” I cut in, soft but firm. “You don’t have to go it alone. I’ll even square it with Carol so she doesn’t think I’m moving in on her turf.” Smirked, teasing.

He scoffed, a rough huff. “Better tell Shane first.”

“Shane’s not into me, Daryl,” I said, unzipping my tent as we stopped. “No worries there.”

“Supposed t’ believe that?” His tone edged sharp, skeptical.

“Doesn’t matter what you believe—it’s true. And even if he was, I don’t touch sloppy seconds.” Shrugged, casual, but firm. “Anyway, thanks for… this. Was nice.”

“Yeah,” he said, slow, nodding like he felt it too.

“Goodnight, Daryl.”

“Night.”

He lingered ‘til I ducked inside, gave a little wave, and zipped up—like some old-school gent seeing me to my door. I flopped onto my mattress, staring at the dark, that ache for touch still buzzing under my skin. Years since I’d felt anything real—hugs, hands, anything—and it hit hard tonight. But Daryl… he’s a wall, convinced love’s a ghost not worth chasing. Me? I can’t buy that. Merle’s gone, yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s got nothing left to fight for. Maybe I can’t fix it, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try showing him he’s wrong—quietly, steadily, ‘til he sees it too.

*****

@imadisneyprincessiswear

[rebootgrimm]

How would each Bachelor help you when you’re on your period? This has been brought to you by mod, who is suffering from their period

Harvey

As a doctor, he knows what it is and how to help.

He asks you if you need anything and gets whatever it is.

Ibuprofen? There’s some in the cabinet and he’s getting you some water with it. It’s out? He can get some more from his shop. Heating pad? He probably has one somewhere. Need more pads? He’s buying you some with wings. Need tampons? He’s buying you those too.

He’s 100% making sure you hydrate the whole day. Water helps a lot.

He’ll get you chocolate (or whatever else you might want), but not too much where it’s unhealthy.

Sam

This man does NOT know what to do, so he asks Jodi for help.

After he figures it out, though, he buys you as much chocolate and soda as he can carry.

He can’t cook, so if you want a home cooked meal he’s either asking Jodi to do it, or ordering from Gus.

If you want cuddles then the two of you are cuddling and watching cartoons all day.

Sam does do his best to take care of the farm if you can’t. It isn’t perfect, but he’s doing his best.

Shane

He knows what’s happening since he prepared to explain it to Jas

If your cramps aren’t too bad, he’ll still go to work, but he’ll check up on you every 30 mins-1 hour.

He’ll also buy you whatever you want before he heads home

If your cramps are really bad? He’s staying home (if he still has sick days left over) and taking care of you.

If he doesn’t have sick days left, he’ll ask Marnie to come over and help (she will).

He also might ask Harvey for advice if your cramps are really bad since Harvey’s a doctor.

Alex

He somewhat knows what’s happening because of Haley, but he isn’t sure how to help since Haley didn’t usually need help with anything.

He’s checking up on you CONSTANTLY to make sure you’re okay.

Need chocolate? He’s either buying you some or seeing if Evelyn has spare cookies.

Speaking of cookies, he will try to make some for you. They end up a bit burnt, but they’re still delicious.

Need water? You now have a gallon jug sitting within arms reach.

You just want some junk food? He’s heading to Gus (or JojaMart if Gus doesn’t have what you want).

He also brings over Dusty to comfort you if you want.

After your period, he’s trying out a period cramp simulator so he knows what you’re going through. He can’t get past level two and almost throws up.

Elliott

This man is making you comfort food himself. You cannot tell me he doesn’t know how to cook.

He’s also keeping you hydrated.

He would read you whatever you want to make you feel better.

He takes you to lay on the beach if you feel up to it.

If you don’t, he gets you a heated blanket and has that lay on you instead.

Cuddles galore.

Like Alex, he tries a period cramp simulator after yours finishes. Unlike Alex, though, he can’t even make it through level one. He cries for a solid 5-10 minutes afterwards.

Sebastian

Good thing he works from home, because that man is doting on you ALL DAY.

He also lets you borrow his hoodie so even if he has to do something, part of him is with you constantly.

This man 100% owns a heated blanket he lets you use. He lives in the literal basement, there’s no way it isn’t cold as hell in the winter time.

He makes you a playlist of angry metal songs to listen to when you get emotional. It surprisingly helps.

He constantly makes sure that you have enough pads / tampons stocked.

The both of you are living solely off of Gus’ food for the whole week. Gus makes really good comfort food.