#The walking dead AU

[celtic-crossbow]

You're Pushing Me Sideways, but You Won't Let Go

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (Vampire!Daryl)

Setting: Saviors Era

Warnings: Blood; Injury; Biting to feed; Suggestive dialogue

Summary: You rescued Daryl, once and then twice.

A/N: Just a quick little thing to satisfy this vampire Daryl obsession that I have.

You knew breaking him out of the sanctuary would be dangerous. It was a suicide mission. You knew you wouldn’t come out unscathed. You were blinded by your rage, your determination to pull Daryl to safety. Once you saw him, you had not a single doubt that you had made the right choice. They had tortured him with the sun, no animals on which to feed. He was burnt, the right side of his face blistered and raw. He couldn’t heal. He was weak, barely able to run fast enough to ensure the escape you had planned so carefully.

It was that hindrance that left you with a through and through bullet wound to your thigh. The femoral artery had been hit. With a makeshift tourniquet, you had been able to get him out, covered in a blanket to shield him from the dangerous rays that would kill him slowly, drain him of vitality until he was nothing. 

Now, in the cover of the forest, he lay starving while you lay dying. There was really only one resolution and you knew he wouldn’t like it.

“Take my blood.” Your voice scraped against your vocal chords, mouth desert dry. Somehow summoning the energy, you looked up at him. He sat beside you with your head on his shoulder. His jaw was set, but the pain in his eyes remained unhidden.

“No.”

“Daryl, I’m dying.” You could feel it. You were cold, tired, the wound no longer hurting. Your blood seeped out, soaking your jeans. The tourniquet wasn’t enough against an entry and exit wound. “I can still save you.” You knew he could smell it, his heightened senses reacting unbidden. He was fighting the hunger. He always had, especially when it came to you. He would tell you how sweet your blood smelled while he moved inside you. How just a taste would never be enough. He turned to carnal pleasures to overshadow the desire to feed from you.

“I ain’t bitin’ ya.” He sounded desperately determined, still gazing straight ahead. His breathing was bordering erratic, chest heaving. “I’d kill ya. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

“Then don’t. Take what you need, I’m dying anyway.” You stated nonchalantly. You didn’t need long to come to terms with it. Everyday was a battle to survive. You’d been lucky to make it as long as you had. Now, it was all about saving Daryl. The community couldn’t lose him, and you couldn’t die knowing he would follow. “Please.”

“Said I ain’t doin’ it!” As much as he tried to sound undaunted, his voice cracked. 

“Please, Daryl.” Your vision was graying at the edges. “Let me do this for you.” You felt him shift, his movements stiff but deliberate until he was in front of you, irises an intense red instead of the mountain lake blue. You loved both of them, both sides of him, but you knew what this meant and you hoped against hope that he would follow through. He was grappling for control, on the edge of giving in to your request.

“Can’t lose ya. Won’t.” He ducked his head, intending on avoiding the plea in your eyes, forgetting the bloody mess of your leg. When he snapped his gaze back to your face, his pupils were dilated, he was panting harshly through his mouth with the tips of his fangs visible behind his lips. “I’ll do it, but Y/N—” You shivered, the cold fingers of death scrabbling for a permanent grip on your consciousness. “I ain’t losin’ ya.”

He dove forward, pulling on your shoulders to meet him halfway. You always wondered what it would feel like to have him bite you. It wasn’t as painful as you thought it’d be, but you were pounding on death’s door, your skin cold and on the edge of numb. There was a pull when he drew out the first mouthful, a groan vibrating against your neck. He jerked you closer for a better hold and it actually hurt, but you could feel his strength returning, eager to see his face without the burns, without the pinched lines of pain and hunger. Realistically, you wouldn’t. You knew that. You’d be dead by the time he stopped.

Your heart that had been pounding a tattoo against your ribs was now a gentle cadence, a rhythm that held its melody even as it slowed. He jerked you again with a growl that rattled you to your core. It was enough to know that because of you, he would survive. 

“I—I love you.” And with that, your reserves were spent. You surrendered to the pull of nothingness, ready to exist in the darkness, but Daryl would live.

Then you were cold, chilled to the bone. 

You had always read in the books that vampires were much like walkers in the sense that they held no body heat, there was no heartbeat, but also no reflections in the mirror, they would burst into flames or glitter in the sun. None of that was true. Daryl was a human space heater and you could tell the moment he pulled away from you. 

He didn’t drain you. Why? DId he not realize that you were still alive? Were his senses so scrambled that he couldn’t hear your heart still beating? It really didn’t matter. You were dead anyway. He had only unintentionally prolonged the process. 

“Told ya that I ain’t losin’ ya.” His face was suddenly hovering over you, the moonlight carving out his silhouette like a painting. He was beautiful. He was healing. He was—biting his wrist? You were pretty sure that meant something but your brain was shutting down, making coherency impossible. As the urge to close your eyes grew too intense for you to fight any longer, you let them slip shut, the last image being the glow of red morphing into a bright blue that you prayed would surround you in death.

“Daryl.” You breathed. 

And then there was nothing.

With a deep inhale, you shot upright, the moonlight bright and the sounds around you amplified. You felt your heart begin to race, your breathing a panicked cycle of inhales and exhales. You could smell everything, hear everything. The hole in your leg was gone. When you bit your lip, the sharp tip of an elongated canine broke the skin. Overwhelmed, you sought out your peace, the one thing—the one person— that could tether you to reality, ground you. Daryl was sitting across from you, a fire burning between you.

He smiled, fangs still stained with your blood—and his own.

“Told ya that I wasn’t losin’ ya.” You blinked at him for a moment before you couldn’t help but smile back. “An’ I meant it.”

[lizzietoons]

-Clementine and Louis as Peeta and Katniss-Older TWDG Art I wanted to put on tumblr!

[honeyxmonkey]

Walking Dead Douxie is not immune to light possession...

I'd say all those zombie bites really did a number on him...

[thewritersaddictions]

(TWD) The Law: Daryl Dixon- Holy Innocence

Pairing: AU!Priest!Daryl Dixon x Virgin!Fem!Reader

Pov: Reader

Summary: You first meet Father Daryl while in confession, by the second time you go you can't help but expose your deepest secrets, and the third time Father daryl helps you with your secrets.

Warnings: Smut, AU, virgin! Reader, innocent reader, a teaching moment, dirty, rough, sex, pinv, unprotected sex, blowjob, (M Receiving) (F receiving), a little dirty talk, Masturbation, nicknames, Father Daryl kinda hot, confession, the church of god, godliness is next to cleanliness.

A/n- @ firefly-graphics for dividers, this came from watching the new AMC series The Walking Dead (Daryl Dixon) when one of the characters says that Daryl is a father Daryl from far away. (I don't really know how confession booths work, so work with me here)

WC- 13.1k

The Walking Dead Master List // The Law Master List

First Meeting 

The pure girl had nothing on you. You were refined to the bone, with white lace on the edges of everything you wore around town. Your small town knew all about you. You were the good girl who worked in the soup kitchen and helped your mother with the PTA at your younger sister’s catholic school—the sweet girl with a good life ahead of her. You were adorable. There was nothing against that, and your parents were just so happy with how your life turned out that when one of the choir boys had asked to take you out for a church together, your parents had let you walk out of the house with the boy’s hand interlocked in yours. 

That had been months ago. But every person has a different side, and that other side has made its first appearance in your relationship. You were sitting together on the loveseat in your living room. Bible study with your boyfriend while your parents were out of town. You’re so highly in tune with your reading of Leviticus that you first don’t notice the slight touch of his hand on your knee—pulling the cap off the highlight and holding it between your teeth. You read back to ensure it’s the line you want to highlight. The brush of his fingers on the tops of your thighs indeed should have pulled you from the page at hand, but it doesn’t, so he advances even further. You cap the highlighter and flip the page to make sure you haven’t caused a bleed of yellow highlight through to the next page when you feel the edge of your skirt pushed up past your thigh and a heavy hand resting on your warm skin. 

You swallow thickly before gathering your voice, “What are you doing?” You ask, still timid, “Don’t worry about it, baby.” Your boyfriend mutters softly as he inches his hand up further; he’s nearly touching where your hip dips into your stomach. “You should stop that.” You say, “We are together, aren’t we?” He asks, almost sounding offended that you don’t like how he’s touching you. “We are together, but.” You close your bible with the bookmark as a reminder of the page you’re on and wiggle your finger in your lap. The shine of the purity ring caught the light of the overhead light and the sunshine coming in through the window.  “Oh, the purity ring, I see.…” You think you’re in the safe at his words, but then he grabs your hand and slips the ring off your left ring finger. Letting it clang onto the side table next to him. “It’s off now, baby, so no harm done.” He murmurs into your heart. It sends a round of shivers down your spine. 

You just get out of his hold, pushing yourself off the loveseat and standing with your hands behind your back. “I think we are done doing bible study. You should leave. My sister and parents will return very soon.” You blubber out. You are swallowing hard when he gets up with a rage you’ve never seen behind his eyes. You lick your lips and watch as he angrily shoves his bible into his backpack and walks out the front door. He was slamming the front door behind him. You stand there with shaky hands. Slipping your purity ring back on your left ring finger. You smooth your skirt and slip on your shoes before grabbing your keys and driving down to the church. 

You need to go to confession and talk to your priest.

The drive to the church is a short one, having that you practically live right next to the church. You’ve been coming here for years. Good Word Catholic Church, your childhood church, and now the church you go to for confession. You’ve never been to the confession booth before, never really had anything to confess to god back. You were the good girl, the one that stuck to her road—towing both sides of good and evil, staying neutral through almost everything in your life. 

You parked the car, turning off the engine. Were you scared to go to confession? Was it a good idea? Had your boyfriend been proper, if you had just let him… Your thoughts are drained out when your eye catches a new priest—bounding out of the side door of the church. Shaggy brown hair that looked like he hadn’t brushed it in years, a beard growing whiter by the second. Shaking myself from the thoughts of this priest, I finally manage to get the courage to get out of the car, slamming the driver’s door as I lock the car and walk inside. 

A few pews have people sitting in them towards the back of the church. People sitting on their knees praying and hoping for the words they speak to god to become the much-needed reality to save their lives. Your small kitten heels click on the marble floor of the church confession booth. That’s what you’re eyeing for. You’ve never had to go looking for it, but you gather it would be in the front of the church, away from prying ears. 

An older woman stands at the front of the church. Lighting a few small candles, “Oh sweetie, what are you doing here?” She asks. Her voice is calm, and she’s always been like a second mother to you at the church. “I’m looking for the confession booth?” You ask her, and the shock is visible on her face. She swallows hard as if pushing back what she wants to say. Pointing toward the booth, “You’ll take the first right and then a left, alright, dearie.” You can just imagine the rumors that will spiral around your church. “Thank you so much; I just needed to talk to someone who could help me with my sister’s issues.” You say the relief is also visible on the woman’s face. 

Your sister was the trouble child; you only ever got one good kid, is what you had heard around town. She was a part of all the wrong things: boys, parties, and everything else that seemed to have a lousy mark stamped on top. “Well, I’ll pray for your sister.” You nod and thank her again as you move through the halls to the confession booth. But now that you’re standing infront of the booth, you’re starting to get worried; the hesitance is just on the nips of your heels. It told you just to get back in your car and drive home. Forget about all of it together. Forget how your boyfriend touched you, how much you liked it. How it had sent shivers down your spine, and you weren’t sure what it meant at all. You swallowed hard and opened the door to the confession booth. 

The booth is small, no bigger than a phone booth you used to see has a young child. You sit on the plush multi-colored cushion, and the door shuts behind you. You put your pocketbook down on the floor. That’s when you hear the click of the other door before you say a word to the priest on the other side. You form the cross against your chest. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, and through the mesh window, you hear a heavy sigh. “Is this your first confession?” The man asks you, and it doesn’t sound like the regular priest you see every Wednesday and Sunday. You don’t ask the question that’s now poking your thoughts, “Yes Father.” You answer the mysterious voice on the other side of the mesh. “That’s okay. Do you need a moment?” The father asks you. You shake your head and then remember the mesh between you. “No, Father.” You answer him. “So tell me why you are here.” You swallow, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned; this is my first confession.” Your voice feels like it’s echoing in the wooden booth. 

You twirl your purity ring on your finger. “I have… well, I need some advice, Father,” I tell the Father on the other side of the booth. He hums, “Tell me what worries you?” His voice is so soothing to the bone that I can’t imagine anything else. “I have been with my boyfriend for less than a year. He was so sweet and godly, but today… oh, Father.” You mutter over your words, “He touched me, and I… he took off my purity ring. I don’t know if it felt wrong and so right at the time. I think, no, I know that I’m scared. I don’t want to do anything wrong in God’s eyes. Please, I just need help with how I’m supposed to feel about these feelings?” You beg the Father. 

He hums once more, and the sound calms you. Your ring still takes swirls and twirls around your left finger with ease. You worry for a moment when the silence is too grave for you. “Don’t worry about your purity; you will stay pure as long as you resist the urges that your boyfriend is pushing onto you. But don’t forget to trust in God’s plan.” The Father says gently.  “Yes, Father.” You mutter, and before you can get up to collect yourself and your purse on the floor, the Father says something else that settles in your stomach in an oddly comfortable way. 

“Before you go, Miss, I’d like to see you in my office after Sunday’s service. Don’t worry about repenting just yet.” His words tickle your skin in a new and exciting way you’ve never felt. You nod and gather yourself. You grabbed your purse quickly before leaving the booth and the church altogether. You barely manage to get to your car before the heavy breath you didn’t realize you were holding let go. That heavy sigh made your shoulder lighten. 

His voice flits in your mind for hours after you visit the church. ‘Don’t worry about repenting just yet.’ It bounces from one side to the other. It makes you dizzy as you sit there in your kitchen with a glass of ice-cold water soothing you out of your thoughts. Your mother and father will be back with your sister in hours, so for now, you’ll push his words out of your mind. 

You shift off the small bar stool and hop into the kitchen, ready to make dinner. At least once a month, you make your family dinner to show appreciation for everything they’ve done for you. You get to work immediately. You were slipping on your apron and tearing through the fridge for fresh vegetables and a good hearty piece of protein. It doesn’t take long to get in the groove of the night. And while you wait for the last of the dinner to finish in the oven, you even manage to set the table with the fine china that your mother and father had received on their wedding. 

You even make a sweet treat for your family before they enter the driveway and park in the garage. Your mother is the brightest person you���ve ever met. Nothing dims her shining, happy light. The one that burns just like you in your chest. “Oh, sweetie, you made dinner for us.” Your mother says if she doesn’t know, it’s always on the same day. “And she even brought out the good china from the cabinet.” Your father adds. Coming around the island to place a sweet kiss on your forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He says warmly before setting his bags down at the bottom of the stairs. “It smells wonderful, baby.” Your mother mutters as she repeats her husband’s steps. 

“So, what have you been doing while we were away?” Your mother asks sweetly before cutting into her food. The four of you sit around the table, mostly enjoying each other company. Your sister is the only grouch at the table. She’s the opposite of you, and sometimes you question if she’s even your sister; her only saving grace is the baby pictures in your family album. Black, filthy, and dirty to the bone. “I went to the church today.” Your mother lights up with excitement as she asks about people there who are her friends. “No, but I did bump into the older woman who lights the candles for afternoon mass.” Your mother hums, “What were you there for, darling?” Your father asks, his eyes boring into you. 

“I went to ask the priest for some help. I just…” “For help with what?” Your parents ask in unison, worried about their first and best daughter. “I’m just getting a little worried about um…” your eyes skit over to your younger sister. She rolls her eyes. “Oh, sweetie. We know you care a lot about us, but let us deal and worry about your sister.” Your father says as his knife digs into the china, earning a slap from his wife.

--

Second Meeting

The full-length mirror on the back of your bedroom door shows your outfit off—the pink mesh flare of the sleeves and the pink bodice. The gold cross sits underneath the bow that is tied around your neck. Your hair is pulled up and away from your face, showing off the little makeup you’ve placed onto your face: light mascara and a tint of pink lipstick. You can hear your mother yelling from downstairs in the early morning. “Coffee is ready, and we are leaving in ten!” She screams from the bottom of the stairs. 

You don’t scream back like your younger sister, her voice echoing through the upstairs hall. You grab your purse and slip on your small white kitten heels. Take one last look at yourself in the mirror before going downstairs. Your mother hands out a coffee as the three of you wait for your lazy sister. You can hear your father scrambling around in the living room, “Honey, where’d my jacket go?” He yells to your mother; she sighs and rolls her eyes with a faux annoyance. “It’s on the coat rack.” There’s a pause and a few loud footsteps before you can hear your father’s voice again. “Thank you, honey.” He says as he walks into the kitchen. 

“Is she still not down from her room?” He asks us, “No, Daddy, she hasn’t come down yet.” He groans with frustration and walks out without another word. The loud, hammering footsteps as he climbs the stairs are my mother and I’s sign to gather ourselves before he can even come down. 

Your mother takes one last sip of her coffee before rinsing her cup, grabbing her purse, and getting her coat. “Come on, honey.” She says to you. You repeat her actions, sipping your last coffee drop, grabbing your purse, and slipping into your black coat. Your father and sister both have the same look on their face. Annoyed, bothered, and irritated. Your sister is rolling her eyes with frustration. 

The slam of both the driver’s and back passenger doors tells your mother that an argument was most definitely had. With that out of the way, the car is reversed, and your whole family goes down the driveway. The further you get from your house, the more the usual chatter between your mother and father begins. You aren’t listening, but the music fills the rest of the silence. 

That is, until your phone dings within your purse. The smile on your face disappears; in large text, your boyfriend’s name is on your screen. You click on the text message and unlock your phone to see the entire message. Which is shorter than you think it probably should be. “Look, I’m sorry, but you’ve got to work with me here.” You roll your eyes. ‘Work with you like that will never happen again.’ You think to yourself; you scramble to finish your message as you see the car lot of the church just ahead of the stoplight. 

–

It had only been two days after your family had come home, two days after your confession to the new and mysterious priest. Your boyfriend was back at it; it happened in your room this time. Somehow, it felt filthy and unholy. Not a bible in sight, not that there wasn’t one stuffed in your side table. It starts innocently, the knock on your door. “Hey, baby.” His voice is laced with sugar, sending a smile onto your face. “Your dad said I could walk up.” He says as he stands there at your doorframe. Waiting to be let in. You eye him up and down. A blue polo shirt, a pair of dark-washed jeans, and some black socks. You watch as he wiggles his toes on the hardwood floor. “Come in.” You say, opening the door and moving out of the way. He takes a seat at the edge of your bed. 

He’s been in there once or twice, always with the door open. But now, with the door closing, he climbs onto your bed to sit next to you. It doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. It seems like hours pass between you as he sits there with his arms draped ever so nicely over your shoulder, legs tabled as you press your hand and head into his chest. The air is calm all around you. You can even feel a hush heartbeat, a slow and steady beat against your ear. The movie plays with the words filling the bottom of the screen. 

Everything is copacetic. Nothing out of line happens as you give the remote to him to select a new movie. For a fleeting moment your mind travels to the week prior. Maybe his actions were one out of yearning. Perhaps it was just one little outlier in your relationship; everything is going on just fine, so there’s no reason to believe it would go awry. You snuggle deeper into his chest, breathing him in with every breath taken. 

Then, the bubble you have so extensively created shatters like a stained glass window pane. All your thoughts pause, your mind frozen in the blimp of time, your heart skipping a steady beat with your breath. The hand resting on his chest so nicely is being picked up and transplanted. You barely even registered it at first; you focused on the movie. It’s not until his giant hand is pressing your smaller, softer hand into the fabric of his jeans. The zipper leaves indents on your skin. It doesn’t hurt by any means, and when you finally look away from the screen, the shock is written on your face. “What are you doing?” The beautiful glass wall you’d built was crumbing rather quickly once you made eye contact with him. An evil grin was present on his features, a different sparkle in his eyes—a wicked grin.  Making you shriek and run away, or worse, not move at all. 

“Nothing, baby. Don’t worry about a thing, sweetheart.” He muttered into your hair, never once looking down at you. His eyes stick to the TV screen, but when you try to move his hand away. The veins within his hands popped, and his grip on your hand worsened. “Don’t. Move. Your. Hand.” His words are sharp, and you know for a fact he means every single word, even if you weren’t not looking right at him.

“You can’t go running, Daddy, and you can’t yell for him to come up here. What would he think about seeing you with your hand halfway down your boyfriend’s pants?” His tone sets it all. Fear boils in the back of your throat as you try desperately one last time to pull your hand from his grip. He looks down at you for the first time. His eyes are dark, and the fear at the back of your throat comes up. Squeezing your throat, making you mute and malleable to all of his actions. “Unzip my jeans.” His voice is controlled and quiet. It sends an uncomfortable shiver down my spine, shooting throughout my body. “Be a good girl and do what I’m tellin’ you.” Your boyfriend’s demands. You swallow hard and wiggle your hand out of his grip, cold metal touching the tips of your fingers as you drag down the zipper. 

The bulge your hand had been sitting over was even more prominent now. Hot even through the jeans and boxers that protect you from the inevitable, dangerous thing you are being pushed to do. “Now pull my cock out, baby, I know you wanna.” He whispers into your forehead. “What… I don’t….” The words get stuck—the air passing through your lips. “You don’t what? You don’t know how to jerk a cock? You need me to teach you, baby?” He sounds so cocky. 

You don’t say anything, so he takes it as a hint. He moves quickly, shifting just enough to pull down his jeans and boxers. Then he manhandles you and places you on his thighs. You’re staring. What else does he expect you to do? “Oh, you like what you see. I knew you would like what you saw once you saw it.” Your thighs burn as you try to balance yourself upon his lap. He grabs you sweetly, cupping your much more petite in his large one. “We’ll take it slow, baby, I promise.” His voice is slick with honey as you lean into the touch of his warm hand against your skin. “Okay.” You whimper out, and he grins like the Cheshire cat. “I’ll take of you, and you’ll take care of me, right?” He asks you; you bite the inside of your cheek. You were trying to understand his meaning for the last time and nod your head. 

It’s only until you’re walking down the stairs with him two hours that night that the horrible feeling begins to pit at the bottom of your stomach. You’ve done an awful thing. Your boyfriend had promised that nothing wrong had happened. Had you thought that because all you did was touch him and content that you were in the clear? But when he kissed your cheek and walked down to his truck, his words left no comfort in his wake. That crumbling sense in the pit of your stomach only grew as you washed your hands in the bathroom. The sticky feeling of his release is still all over your hands. As you slipped your purity ring off, the pit grew larger, threatening to swallow you whole. The banging on the bathroom door was the only thing that managed to drag you out of your quicksand thoughts. “Are you almost done in there? Mom said… oh you don’t give a shit, just can you move quicker.” You can hear your sister through the door and dry your hands off before slipping the ring back on and taking one last look at yourself in the mirror. 

You don’t look any different, but the feeling in your stomach and mind has you feeling differently. You feel like the minute you get downstairs, everyone will know because, well, doesn’t Christ already know you’ve sinned? 

– 

This Sunday church service starts like any other, gathering with the many of you through the doors. Your mother sets her purse down as if anyone will steal her spot and goes to talk with her friends before mass starts. Your father does the same, gathering to speak with his golf buddies in a small circle. Your sister and you sit side by side in utter and complete silence. The squeeze of your mother and father alerts you that the service is about to start. 

“I know I’m not your typical priest, but I hope I’m a suitable replacement. I’m Father Dixon. Most of you will worry about Father McPhobe; he has taken ill but is doing great. If you want to send anything to him, take that up with the director at the end of this service. Now let us get into today’s sermon.” The new priest spoke, his voice echoing off the walls. I opened my bible and went to listen. You heard your mother, for a moment, whisper to your father. “I hope Father McPhobe is okay, but I already like Father Dixion.” Your father hummed and looked down at his bible in his lap. 

You don’t think about it now. It’s just muscle memory for you, the standing, sitting, standing and singing, the sitting. At the same time, you pray with your family, the collection bowl going around to collect for whatever the church is sponsoring, and the eventual blood of Christ. Regardless of sitting and standing, you always get up to take the blood of Christ. You squeeze past your sister and a few others before getting in line. It’s not until you’re standing in that line that the voice bouncing off the walls and stained glass windows hit you like a freight train in your mind. 

It’s the same voice. The same voice from the confession booth. He knows your little secret and wants to see you today—your heart races against your breastbone. And when you’re finally in the front of the long line, the father gives you the cup, his finger grazing over yours, sending shivers down your spine and your sipping. His eyes never leave yours. “And the body of Christ, miss.” You take it and walk away. With every click and southern draw of his voice, it’s sure him. It’s him, for sure. You almost hope and pray and forget that he wanted to see you. He hasn’t heard you talk, so there’s no way he could know that it was you in the confession booth. You wonder if he even knows who you are? 

That thought gets answered quickly as you gather yourself together—your purse in one hand and your bible in the other. Your family walks down the aisle towards the door. The priest, the dark-haired priest, is standing there, greeting every single person, shaking their hands, and introducing himself just a little bit more. “Father Dixon, that was just a wonderful sermon today. I can’t tell you how sad it is to hear that Father McPhobe is ill.” Your father’s voice travels for every ear to hear, and as you try to hide behind your mother and father, it’s hard not to be recognized by others who work at the church. “My wife will be talking to the director to get a fund together for whatever Father McPhobe might need.” Your mother grins and nods her head along with her husband. “And this is our daughter.” Your father says, dragging you from mostly behind him. 

“You must be the one everyone is always talking about around here in all the support groups and even a part of other things. You are a true representation of a good Christian girl. You’ve raised her well.” Father Dixion says to your mother and father. Your mother bursts into a full grin, and your father laughs. “She’s the best.” “I hope you don’t mind if I steal her. I have a few new ideas concerning the Toys for Tots Christmas donation.” Your father shakes his head. “Just call me when you need me to pick you up, okay pumpkin.” He grabs your neck and kisses your forehead before ushering your family out. 

Now, the two of you stand there, alone yet crowded by the people still around. “Father Dixon?” He hums as he grabs someone’s hand and shackles, thanking them for coming to the service. “We’ll go talk after I’m done here, alright? Just take a seat other there, and I’ll come get you when I’m done.” His voice is thick southern and makes you wable as you walk towards a bench lining a wall not far from him. Not only does the thick southern accent have you drowning in an emotion or feeling you’ve never felt, but the authority in his voice is no different than in the confession booth. 

Time passes by slowly, but when the Father is done, you feel the smallest of taps on your shoulder. Bringing you out of your dozing-off state. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.” The father says, his hand resting on your shoulder. You look around to see that most people at the service have abandoned the main hall. “Everyone’s gone home?” You ask; he hums and walks towards the last two open doors. You quickly follow him down the hallway that turns into turns of rights and left until you’re closer to the staff section of the church. The walk back there is met with silence, neither one of you talking, and as much as you’d like to hear his voice more as you wander down the halls, you’re glad there aren’t words yet spoken. 

Because the reality is you don’t know what you would even say. 

When you do finally manage to get to his office, he opens the door like a gentleman, and you enter. “Excuse the boxes. I’m still trying to get settled.” He says with a chuckle. You take in the room, spacious and filled with a few boxes, most of which are already torn down and staked in the corner of the room. A large black desk sits in the back of the room, two chairs in front of it. You take it that he might have already had a few meetings. You’re too far distracted by looking around to notice that the Father had stripped himself of church attire or that he’s shut and locked the office door. Trapping you in the room with him, and no eyes on you. 

“For a Father, you dress surprisingly casually.” The words blurt out before you catch them and shove them deep down in your tummy. He shrugs his shoulders. A pair of dark-washed jeans that hold everything in just the right place, and a white button-up. He looks like he just got back from a work trip. You suppose he did. “Is this your normal church attire, seeing as I haven’t seen you here for the past two weeks.” His eyes rake over your frame. You had hoped the dress would work, but you wish you had gone for something less eye-catching. You look down at the dress and smooth the fabric on your lap. 

Father Dixon moves, resting his behind on the edge of the large desk, his ankles crossed as he stares down at you. His gaze was hot, and searing you. The silence grows, and of course, the father is the one to break it. “You don’t have to look so damn nervous and worried.” You hum, not listening to his words by any means. Relaxation doesn’t come easy to you as you sit there, fiddling with your thumbs, you get more and more nervous. 

You sense the shift in the room as the Father moves, taking a knee in front of you. He clears his throat, “Listen to me, yeah, take a few deep breaths.” His face is so pretty this closeup. Fluttering lashes, a set of beautiful sky blue eyes staring deep into your soul, and a set of very kissable lips, so puffy and pillow-like from this closeup. His hands ghost over your own, and it only makes you want to grab it. To ground yourself, of course, not because you desperately want to feel the way his hands feel in your own, or anything like that. “Breathe with me, in and out.” He coaches you, taking a deep breath in with you and exhaling with you. 

When he’s satisfied that you aren’t about to explode with anxiety, he gets up from his kneeling position, and grabs you cold water from the mini-fridge. “Gotta keep the lunch cold.” He says as if he needs to explain why he’s got a mini fridge in his office. You watch him the entire time as he bends over to grab the water from the bottom tiny shelf how he rounds out the jeans in a most perfect way. How long his large and imposing frame truly is. You have to move your eye quickly when he shuts the door to the fridge and swings around. You take the water from his hands, fingers grazing over the top of his hand. You swallow and unscrew the lid like you’ve been stuck in the desert without water for days. 

He watches out; you can see him out of the corner of your eye. Biting his bottom lip, and for a moment, you wonder what he must be thinking about. You wonder what goes through the mind of a priest. You don’t get the chance to ask him because he’s back to controlling the conversation, not that you mind. Too fear you might stumble over your words without a topic already at hand. “You’re the young woman from the booth a few weeks ago, right?” He asks, you nearly squeeze the water bottle and get ice-cold water all over yourself, but you don’t Instead, you gag a little and cough before screwing the cap back on and staring up at him for the first time and really staring at him, not looking at him but over his shoulder. His eyes tear you apart in a way you’ve never felt before. You nod still not trusting your voice, and now your words. 

“So everything has been going well since your last confession?” He asks, as if it’s a casual conversation you would have a person on the side of the street. You manage only a quiet mumble of a “Yes, Father Dixon.” He chuckles, “When it’s just the two of us, you can call me Daryl, ya know.” He says as he takes a seat beside you in the other chair. But he does light up at your response. “That’s wonderful, so I shouldn’t be hearin’ your voice in my confession booth ever again?” He asks, the authority all coming back. Demanding me never to come back, but something is growing deep down. It’s been growing for the past few weeks.

You smile, but it’s brought with a shrug of your shoulders. Making the see-through fringe crinkle as your shoulder bobbed. His brow raises like the Father is about to be disappointed, instead, he just wants to know what’s been happening. “So something did happen? For a sin for lying and one for whatever you’re about to tell me.” You swallow down hard, making your throat bob up and down. Your head shakes, as if you’re just a puppet on someone else strings. 

“We… and he… it was going so normal and innocent, but then.” You fumble over your words. A large hand comes over to rest on your much smaller one. Rough calluses on the pads of his fingers and palm bring you out of your rambling state and gets your attention back on him. “You can tell me. Just take your time, sweetheart.” His nickname makes you shiver as you try to grow the confidence to tell the Father now everything that happened without the mesh wall in the way, and while his hand is wrapped in yours. Supportive or not, it drives you crazy. “He, um finished. Made it to the end of the line, all over us.” You’re trying your hardest not to cring at your own words. 

Then, something passes over his face—hate, disgust, embarrassment. You can’t read him well enough to understand what it means, but he ends up repeating his previous words. “So one sin for lying, and another sin for whatever the two of you got up to together.” his voice is dripped with authority, and his grip on your hand loosens before eventually drifting away. A large part of you wants to drag his hand back, but you don’t. “I have sinned, Father Dixion.” You say, blush creeping up from nowhere onto the apples of your cheeks. 

Father Dixon shifts in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and letting the almost consume you. “I don’t think asking for forgiveness will wash away your sins this time, sweetheart.” There’s that damn nickname again. It sweeps across your mind like a broom, leaving nothing behind in its wake except thoughts of what other nicknames he might call you. What nicknames you would call Father Dixon or Daryl? Or whatever you’re supposed to call him. The words rush from your mouth, “I’ll do anything!” A seductive smirk grows on his face, inching closer and closer to his ears. “Anything?” He echos. “Yes, anything. I promise anything.” 

“Will you show me how he made you touch him? Because I know you didn’t start all that inappropriate touching. You’re too good to be groping men while behind closed doors, right?” Your eyes shift towards the closed doors, and you swallow hard. Your gaze travels back to Daryl, your priest. Father Dixon. The minute your eyes meet, the fear and worry wash away. Something about him is so dominating and calming at the same time; it confuses you and sets you on edge. “I’ll do anything if it will wash away my sins. I’ll do whatever you want, Daryl.” The minute his name leaves your mouth, his hands are on you. He’s up in a matter of seconds, and manhandling you to place you on the sturdy desk beneath you.

Your dress hikes up with the movement; Daryl slots himself between your open legs. Hiking up the skirt even further. “So what did he do first?” He asks you. The heat radiating off his body fries your brain for a moment before your senses pick up on the cologne that’s now wrapped around the both of you. He smiles like fall nights when the leaves are crunchy, and the sandalwood. It lulls you further into a calm state, “We were laying together on my bed; he was holding me so gently at first.” Your words come better now, and for whatever reason, you continue. “Then he was moving my hand, the one that was resting on his chest down further. Pressing it into his jeans.’ You swallow and watch as Daryl tries to mimic the movements. 

He grabs your hand, dragging it down his chest and towards the buckle of his dark-washed jeans. You can feel the familiar heat, the tent in his pants more significant than your boyfriends. He’s slow with every movement. Taking baby steps. “Then what?” He asks once he’s trapped your smaller hand between his own and his jeans. “He pressed my hand into it; I tried asking him what he was doing, but he said he wasn’t doing anything.” He rolls his eyes but presses your hand softly into the tent of his jeans. 

Voice low and raspy. “This right here is how turned on I am right now. The tent in my jeans right here. That’s the cause of you, sweet girl.” Darly murmurs sweetly into your ear. You shudder as his words send shivers down your spine, and his confession takes you aback. “What happened after, huh?” He groans out as your hand wiggles under the pressure. “When I tried to move my hand, he got angry, tried yelling at me, then switched tactics.” Darly stares deep into your ear, nearly noses brushing together. “Do you want me to tell you what to do now, too?” The question throws you way off bases nearly out into the empty field. “Yes, please, Daryl.” You say under your breath. He gives you a moment before pressing you for more information. “He made me unzip his, um… his jeans, and he called me a good girl.” The last part of your sentence is hushed mostly under your breath, but because the two of you are so close, it’s not that hard for Daryl to hear you. 

“Did you like it when he called you a good girl? Do you wanna try and be a good girl for me?”He asks you, and without hesitation, you’re nodding. Pleading him practically to tell you that you’re doing a good job even if it’s him guiding your hand. “Well then, unzip my jeans, and I’ll treat you like a good girl deserves to be treated..” He whispers into your ear. His nose brushed up against the top of your ear. You do as you are told, unzipping the zipper. The only sound you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears and the erratic breathing of Daryl in front of you. 

The weight of his cock sits heavy on your hand. His red and angry tip leaking pre-cum all over your fingers and hand. Your stare is serious yet it seems that Daryl isn’t bothered by it. The two of you are so close, somehow inching closer together. “God, you’re hands are so soft and tiny…” Daryl groans as you try to wrap your hand around the girth of his cock but fail. You barely manage to get your pointer finger and thumb to touch, and that’s just around the head of his cock. “What else did he ‘teach’ you, huh? Did you tell you how fast to jerk his cock off? Did he have to edge him until her busted all over your hand and pretty little fingers?” His questions are sent into a hot flash. You don’t want to remember what your boyfriend asked you; you care that right now you’re jerking off your priest cock in the church you’ve been going to since you were a child, and you feel no remorse at all. It makes you feel giddy, and with that comes more confidence. Fast and sloppier strokes to Daryl’s cock cause his head to fall forward. Bumping into yours, you breathe him in as if you’ll never get another chance. His grains turn into breathy moans as you swipe your sticky thumb over the tip of his cock. 

“God, you’re so good at this, and I can’t… “ He bites his lip to cover the words at the back of his throat. Trying not to take advantage has turned into taking advantage of you. You seem to be playing along for now, and as long as you are playing, why not have fun with it as well? One of his hands falls to the wooden desk next to one of your hips. He’s desperately searching for a grip on something. “Are you gonna cum, Father Dixon?” You ask him, you’re soaked, dripping in honey. He nearly moans when your other hand rubs his balls, “Say my name!” He demands it of you, and you oblige happily. “Cum all over my hand, Daryl… Please, I want to see what you look like when you cum. Please won’t you cum for the innocent young women, Daryl.” Your words make your stomach do flips, so you can only imagine how to push him over the edge as he grains and tries not to shout your name for the whole church to hear. 

It’s not til after Father Dixon had cleaned himself up and stuffed himself back into his jeans that he looks up at you. Still sitting there on the edge of his desk, you’re so fucking pretty. Innocent is wrapped around you like a halo glowing brightly in the background, but he fears he might have awakened something within you. “You’re a picture, a beaut.” He mutters under his breath as he presses his lips into yours. You frozen for a moment, and he worries he’s crossed over that line but not so many others. Then you’re melting. Melting into his lips, his touch, and his hold. You’re melting into him. Your lips are delicious, tasting of cherry lip smacker and a ting of coffee still left from your morning before church. Daryl tastes just as good. A minty freshness left behind, but there’s something else you can’t place your tongue on yet. 

“What am I supposed to do now, Daryl? Have I been washed of my sins? And my boyfriend, what about him?” You ask the father; he closes his eyes and presses his forehead into yours. Thinking for a moment that seems to span on forever. “How about you wait for a good, right, mature man to come and take care of you?” he offers, “Someone who can take care of me, you say.” his words bounce around in your mind as you text your father that you’re meeting with Father Dixion had been eye-opening, and that you were done. Before Daryl allows you even to leave his office, “You should have my phone number just in case you need some help with the toys for tots,” Daryl says as he stops in his spot. When he turns, your phone is already out, and on your new contacts page, he names himself Father Daryl and proceeds to text himself. Daryl is quick to walk to the front door of the church. Waving at your father. “Come to me whenever you’re ready.” He whispers into your ear as you pass him and get in your father’s truck. 

“That was a long meeting.” Your father comments, and for the first time since church ended, you look at the clock. Service had finished at noon, and now it was nearly three. You wonder where the time had escaped. “He just wanted to get to know me; I’m on all the committees here, so he managed to get a lot of information and help from me.” Your father grins at you. “You’re the best, you know that. The best daughter I could have asked for Pumpkin.” Your father’s words make you look back at your situation with the priest. Best is not what you would call it. Your sister wouldn’t call you that it, and neither would your mother, nor what you had done with the priest of your church. Your shrug the thought off, and think only of Daryl for the rest of the ride home. 

---

Third Meeting 

You aren’t sure where the sudden ache between your thighs is coming from you’re just sure that Father Daryl Dixon is all you’ve been able to think about recently. All you think about is the way his cock felt in your hand. The way it felt, how it pulsed in your hand as your words reached his ear with pleasure. How when you had finally arrived home you noticed just how wet your panties were, and wondered if there would be a next time. 

Daryl had made it out to seem like there would be a next time, but you only wondered when you would be able to get your hands on him again. It seemed that your one ‘meeting’ with the father had changed your whole course of being. You had not changed outwardly into a different person by anymeans, but the things you thoughts weren’t what an innocent girl that went to church, and worked in the soup kitchen thought. Daryl, knowingly or not had changed you forever. 

So, a few nights latter when the itch to feel the same feeling between your legs arised your jumped at it. Except what are you supposed to put into the google search engine. Confused you looked between your phones screen and your bedroom door, then back to your phone. Without a second thought you placed your phone down on your bed, and lifted the covers back to padd across your floor to your sisters bedroom door. You knocked gently before waiting for a response. 

Nothing, so you knocked again. “I need to ask you something?” You barley whispered it through the wooden door. A few moments passed, and then it was opened. A begruded look on your sisters face. As if she was annoyed at your sudden knocking at her door. “What do you want?” She asked rolling her eyes at you. You cleared your throat. “I… how do…why…” You mumbling only caused her to get more aggravated at you. Grabbing your forearm she dragged you into her room. 

In comparison her room wasn’t much different then yours. The shared bathroom between was the only room your both used on a daily basis but it was kept neutral. Posters, and othe things hung on the wall of her room. Darker sheets, and paint. “What do you need?” She asked again as she shut her bedroom door. You wiggled your nose trying to come up with some sort of words to express yourself. She stared at you for a long minute before shaking her head. “Are you in my room because mom and dad sent you in here to make sure I was still alive?” She asks venom laced around each word. “NO!” Shouting catching the both of you off guard. Then the words that you weren’t able to find earlier come all flooding out at once. “I wasjust wondering what that feeling you know  between your thighs is? Also how do I get it back?” You asked her and as the words hit your ears and her the embarrassment came rolling back and the confidence went out the window. She gigglese and then laughs at you. Then notices that you aren’t joking or pulling her leg.

 “Oh my god you’re serious?” She asks, you swallow and nod. “Oh you sweet child.” She mutters as she walks closer to you, your sister talks to you like your the younger sister sometimes. Regardless of that though, she sit down next to you on her bed. “What have you been doing with that boyfriend of yours?” She asls wiggling her brows at you, you shake your head, and start o confess to her but before you can get the words out of your mouth she’s ranting on about what you’ve got to do. “So you’re talking about that feeling between your thighs, that wet feeling that sorta aches right?” She asks just verifying, you nod unable to speak words at this moment. “So if you aren’ with your boyfriend then you can just look up something on internet. But make sure that your engine is on private, so if mom and dad go snooping they can’t that their perfect daughter is perfect anymore.” Your sisters last words aren’t filled with jealously or even envy. It’s almost sounds like she’s relieved that she isn’t the one that the sun shines on everyday. 

“What do I search up?” You ask even if the embarrassment to crushing your lungs of oxygen. “Here I’ll show you.” She grabs her phone off the side table. Swiping through a few screen before landing on a search engine and then she clicks it over to private, “That button might be somewhere else if you aren’t using the same search engine as I am.” She notes, before continuing. In the private engine shetypes quickly, but the words are in big bold letters to your eyes. “Just look up porn, or maybe you’re an audio person they’ve got some of that too.” You sisters adds once again. Your cheeks feel as if they’re on fire, but for the first time you’re having a normal conversation with your sister its feels like years since you’ve talked like normal people to each other. 

“Is this the first time we’ve talked in years?” You comment as you look around her room, she chuckles. “Probably.” Again she doesn’t sounds like she full of envy or that she’s even mad at you. “I’m just glad I’m not you.” Her words hit you in an uncomfortable way, “what do you mean?” You asks not fully understanding, “I just mean that when you fall, you’re going to land hard and fast on the ground that you’ve created.” You still don’t understand, “Mom and Dad seen a perfect girl, and when they learn of whatever is going on with you the world you’ve created for them of you is going to crash and burn.” It sounds like sound advice if you can call it advice. You nod, “Thanks.” Is all you say. The two of you sit in silence for a minute, before she groans out. “Get out of my room now, I was trying to sneak out before you rudely interrupted me.” You laugh and shake your head. “If you don’t tell mom and dad about me sneaking out I won’t tell them about our conversation.” She adds, “Sounds fair.” You say before getting up and walking out of her room.

The sun had already set byt the time you make it back to your bedroom, so you shift around to close your blinds. Before coming back to your door slipping the door locked before climbing back into your bed and grabbing your phone before getting under the covers. Your slick sleepwear isn’t that much of a barrier. As you settle under your sheet you get a message from your sister. “I’d wear headphones too, big sis.” She texts, sending a thumbs up before digging around in your side table for a pair of loose headphones to jack into your phone. 

You follow your sisters directions with ease. Clicking on the search enegie, and maing sure that it’s in private mode before search those big bold words that are stucking to the back of your eyes. Your fingers are slowler then your sisters, but you get there all the same. You’re bombarded with images of naked women, and men. It causes you to panic for a minute, before you remember what your sister said to you. “Audio” That was also an option, so going up to the search engine of the dirty website you put something simple into the bar. “Audio for women.” It takes a moment for the spinning circle of death to stop spining but then a few video popped up. This time there weren’t naked women and men that filled your screen. Instead drawn images with much better working titles, with that one catches your eye. 

You click the video the mans voice filtering through the headphones and right into your ears. It soothes you as his accent lulls you into a comfort. ‘You’re so wet for me love.’ the voice mutters into your ears. Starting off with no warning but it doesn’t matter as your set your phone and shift under the covers of your bed. Grabbing at the hem of your sleepwear shorts. The silk falls off your warm body to the bottom of the bed. ‘I bet you’re wet for me, being such a good girl for me.’ the man talks again, your moan lightly as your fingres graze over the wet spot that’s been getting wetter and wetter by the second. ‘You want me to play with your little clit, yeah I bet ya want me to make you feel good baby.’ as the man keeps talking the more you get into it.Your own fingers playing your clit through the soaked fabric, it’s not until the voice tells you that he wants you take off your panties do you. Kicking them to the edge ofthe bed under the covers. 

‘Now I want you to sink to of your fingers in baby. Get them all wet and soaked.’ The voice says in your ear, you moan at the intrude of your own fingers at your weeping hole. You trying to widden your legs to get more leverage but it only leaves you open to more of a stretch and for a fliting second your minds travels to Daryl and his hands. How large just one of his fingers are in comparison to yours. How the stretch of just one of his fingers would feel like. ‘Now I want you to pump your fingers slowly, and then get up to speed that comfortable for you doll.’ You nod your head at the words of a stranger, the angle is a little odd for your hand but you get used to it as the two of your longer inch to places you’ve never thought you could reach. 

The strange voice keeps talking walking you through the motion, then he tells  you that he wants you to rub your clit. ‘Rub your clit for me baby, but don’t stop pumping your fingers in and out of your cunt. I know you wanna cum all over your fingrs baby and this is how you’re gonna get there.’ the voice murmurs. A vibration ringing through your ears as your cheeks feel as if they’re on fire like the rest of your body. An unfamiliar bubble rolls around at the bottom of the tummy. The ache returns and then you figure it out. If your circle your clit just as fast as your fingers leave and return to the wet walls of your cunt your vision will go blurry and you’ll finally reach that desperate high you’re aching for so badly. Second by second the pleasure grows until your eye rolls back and the urge to scream swallows you whole. Except nothing comes out at all, your breath is gone and your scream is silent. Your legs shake under the confindes of the covers and you’ve created a wet spot that travels through your sheet. 

You remove your fingers from your cunt, and take a few longer moments to catch your breath. One full breath in and out doesn’t do enough to catch up with your heartbeat that’s been racing in one of your ears since one of the earplugs had come out with the trashing of your body. The video keeps playing until it ends and you’re quick to pulls away from the covers, and turns the video off and delete any trace of it off your phone. You reach down under the covers once you’ve gotten yourself stable, grabbing for both your panties and shorts. You opt for a new pair of panties and slip them on before the shorts. You fix your bed up with new sheets and comb a few stray hairs out of your face before returning back to your bed. 

You’re drawn from your dizzying, comfortable haze when a message passes over your lock screen. You catch the time, nearly eight at night. You breath deeply before clicking on the message. 

“You’ve been ignoring me.” The message reads. “I wasn’t meaning to, just have had a lot of things with church.” You type out and send to him, “Of course you have.” He response. “What do you mean?” You ask him, “I’m just sayin’ that you’ve never got time for us.” He’s got to be joking, you’ve always had time for him, he just never wants to do anything other touch you nowadays. “I always make time for you, but you never want to just hang out.” You type no anger just confusion is what bubbles up in your chest. “Of course I want to do more then hang out, we’ve been together for what like at least a few months now.” He sends back. You rolls your eyes at the redundant manner of the conversation. “We’ve already talked about this I’m not ready.” You respond, your response is point blank just like how it is when you’re talking to each other in person. “Yeah I figured as much when you’re acting like a tease but won’t put out for your own boyfriend.” He sends back and ou shake your head at the whole thing. “Well then maybe we should break up since you aren’t getting what you thought we were gonna get from me.” You send, without regret. A message is back in a matter of seconds. “Gladly, just know you won’t find anyone who’s willingly able to deal with your virgin ass.” He sends and then that’s it. Because what are you to say to that. He’s acting like a child, but you assume that’s no longer your problem is it. 

You sit there for a long moment, figuring out what you’re supposed to do now. You were floating on cloud nine, and now you’re at the the bottom of the ocean. Deep in your feelings, your can’t swim and even if you wanted to you can’t image you would want to swim to the top that’s until you’re scrolls through your phone in your contacts, and see Father Daryls contact. No image associated with the contact just his name, and an idea strikes you straight in your heart. You click on his contact, licking your lips you breath in deeply before writing out a message out to him. 

“Where are you right now, Daryl?” You send the message you wait for it to show that it been delivered and then that its been read. A few moments pass, and then you see those dots that dance at the bottom of your screen. “I’m in my office.” He response, when the dots finally stop dancing “Are you finally taking me on my offer?” Daryl asks you, your fingers move on their own accord. Typing out a message, exposing yourself to him. “I’m taking you up on your offer, Daryl. All I’ve been thinking about have been you. Your cock and how I want you to touch and make me feel like i felt when I leave you last week.” You type out, automatically there’s a winking emoji in your thread of messages. “You okay drive in the dark?” He asks you, “Yeah, let me just change out of my clothes.” You type out. 

“Be here in ten.” Is the last message you get from him before your drop your phone on the bed, and shift around your room to grab something more appropriate to go for a late night drive. You go for a pair of yoga pants and a loose t-shirt. One that your father had given to you when it no longer fit him in the stomach area. Grabbing your purse, and phone to quietly walk down the stairs. Your mother and father sitting in the living, your mother is the one that sees you first. “Where are you going?” She asks, looking down at her watch. You had seen the time before you left your room. “It’s nearly 9 at night.” Your father looks up from the basketball running on the tv. “You know my friends who’s got some family issues?” You ask your mother, she nods and waits for more information. “She need somewhere to crash for tonight. Her parents are in a really bad fight with each other tonight.” I say. Lying to my mother, for a meeting with my priest. “Oh poor girl, well you go be a good friend sweetie.” Your mother says looking back down at her book. “Just be safe please.” You father adds before returning his attention to the basketball game. 

You let go of the breath you didn’t realize that you were holding. You unlock the car door the minute you get outside. That’s when you see your sister climbing down the side of the house. You both eye each other and nod before looking away from each other. You get into the car fast, and turning on the engie and rolling down the drive way. The ten minutes are cutting it short when you get stopped at a few stop lights, but you still manage it. Pulling into the same spot that you had used when you had arrived at the church for your first confess. A ding rings through your car. You look through your purse for your phone. “Front door is locked, use the side door.” It reads. You nod to yourself as your cut the engine and grab your purse and lock the door before walking towards the side door. 

It’s not until you’re opening the door that you realize how scary the church is when there’s nobody there and it’s dark. You travel through the halls some dark and some bright with overhead lights flickering on and off. When you make it to his office, the door only cracked a little bit you still knock. “Come in.” He answers. His office is different then just a few days ago. The boxes are gone, and the things that littered his floor are either put up on shelves or are on his desk. He’s wearing from where you can see him another button up. “Hello sweetheart.” His accent running through the words. You standing there with your purse in front of you, but there’s an excited smile on your face. He returns the smile, and the smile grows even larger when you the next sentence comes flowing from your mouth. 

“I broke up with my boyfriend, well I guess he’s now my ex-boyfriend.” You say with a shrug of your shoulders. His eyes are huge. Large blue discs staring at you. “You said what?” He says to you as he caps his pen and places it in the pen holder on his desk. He pats his lap, motioning me over with that ‘Come here’ pointer finger motion. You move quickly over to him, dropping your purse in one of the empty chairs in front of his desk. He grins up at you as you round the daks and take a seat in his lap. “Tell me again.” He says as he wraps a arm your wasit to hold you tight on his lap. “I broke up with my ex.” “And how did he take it?” Darly asks, Your brows raise, and he manages to get what you’re trying to say without saying a single word. “Like a baby I’m guessing.” Daryl finishes, you nod. “His lost anyways.” Daryls adds, which makes your cheeks burn from the smile that hasn’t left your beautiful face since you arrived at the church. 

“You know how beautiful you are don’t you?” Daryl stats as he sweeps a fewstray hairs away from your face. You blush hard as your ears and cheek grow hot from his statement and his stare. You shift in his lap, and try to squeeze your thighs together to relieve the tiny bit of ache between them. “I asked you a question baby.” He says more stern, you nod as you look away from him. “Maybe I should show you just how beautiful you really are. What do you think about that?” You can’t help the way your body runs with shivers of anticipation. 

“Come on princess,” Daryl mutters as he shifts you in his lap and then swipes away from of the things on his desk to make a place for you to sit there. You wait for him to manhandle you and place you there. “Did you wear these just for me?” he asks you as his rubs his hands up and down your outer thighs. You hum with excitement and answering his questions. He looks down and sees that you wearing a pair of black flats. Slipping thoese off first before returning to the yoga pants. You help him as you arche your body, so he can slip them off just like your shoes. “You’re so sweet for me.” He says as he pushes your legs apart, and doesn’t lose time. He thumbs your clothed clit, you mewl at the sudden and strong attention to your starving cunt. 

The longer he plays with your clothes clit the more the ache grows. Building and building until you feel like you’re about to explode but then he’s letting up, and leaving you there wondering what’s about to happen next. You beg him for more, for him to start again. “Please… oh please don’t stop. Keep touching me please Daryl.” You beg him from below him. The hardwood surface is the only thing keeping you cool. Your voice strains as you bed him even more. The little touches that he’s giving you between your thighs with little kisses and licks of your skin aren’t enough anymore not when he’s already teased you with his thumb on your clit. 

“Oh princess I am touching you. I’m touching you right now.” Daryl chuckles, you roll your eyes and groan. “Be more specific love.” He says. There’s a sort of silence that takes the two over, not that he’s not touching you he’s just not where you so desperately want him. “Use your…” Your head falls back with pleasure as it hits the desk as his hand grazes up your soaked panties to lightly pass your clit. “I want your mouth on me!” You pratically scream out.  He grins a devilish grin, “See princess that’s all you had to say to me.” He says beore he dropsto his knees and widdens your legs more but not before he slips your wet panties off. They land somehwere not that you care where they are right now. 

His tongue is prodding at your weeping hole, while his thumbs stays on your now exposed clit. The touch intenisfies by a ten fold. Every rub and circle sends shockwaves through your body. One of your hands land in the messy bun of his hair as you direct him. He hums as you forced him where you desperatly need him. As he hums it sends waves of pleasure through your cunt “There she is, use me baby girl.” He mutters against your cunt. Daryl stay agasunt your wet cunt, and it doesn’t take long for you to be grinding up agasint his mouth. When you’re close you try to warn him, but he lets go of you with a pop. His chin and nose wet with your juices. “You’re so tight around my tongue baby girl.” He says as he make direct eye contact with you. He’s gasping for air, but seems to be enjoying himself between your thighs. “You cum whenever you to baby girl. I just wanna make you feel good.” he murmurs as he presses a few tiny wet kisses against your lower belly where the t-shirt had raised up. 

Giving you promise and returns Daryl is back on your cunt, enjoying his meal like he’s about to get a death penalty. It’s when your legs start to shake, and your toes curl that you know you’re done for “OH…PLease don’t stop I’m so close!” You shout and tug at his hair and pull Daryl even further into your cunt as your eyes roll into the back of your head, letting out a silent scream has your lungs burning for oxygen when you come down from your long high. 

“There she is.” Daryl mutters as you come too. His eyes are hooded with a dark pleasure. You body feels weak, but you want him all the same. “So pretty when you cum.” Daryl says as he presses his lips into yours. Oxygen be damned he consumes you and you like the taste of yourself on your tongue. When he pulls back you can see the evident hard on in his pants. You go to reach forward but are denied. “I want to fuck you don’t worry about that baby girl, but not here.” You notch your head to the side, as you look at around the office. “Then where?” You ask, he smirks down at you. “Good Girl” He mutters as he steps away from you to grab your discarded clothes and your flats. He helps you back into your clothes, and tells you to grab your purse. “Wait here while I lock the door and then we can leave.” 

It doesn’t take Daryl too long to get everything together, before he’s back at your side. And in this moment and only thing moment do you notice the difference in your age. He’s got gray hairs the are filtering through his hair, and beard. The crow feet that lays between his eyes and his forehead. But it all disappears when he grabs your hand and take you towards the same door you walked into just an hour ago. “Your car locked up?” He ask as the two of you pass by it, you nod and for extra measure you lock it waiting for the beeping noise to ringin through the empty parking lot. “Good girl.” he says to you as he opening his passenger side door for you, and then walks around to get in the drivers side. 

The drive to you assume his house is a silent one, the roads not fully empty but drained of life on a tuesday night. The stoplights cause a little panic to grow at he pit of your stomach. “Stop worrin’ baby girl.” He says softly as he reaches over and grabs your hand squeezing it gently. “I’m not worrying I just want you to get there faster, so you can fuck me already.” Your own words shock you and make you laugh. His eyes don’t leave you until a car behind you disturbed the silence of his stare on you. The light green Daryl decides it’s probably best to speed the ride to his house up a little bit.

He pulls into the drive way, and put the car in park. You’re to excited to wait for Daryl to be a gentleman and open your door for you. You bust the door open before manages to get to your side of the car. “Eager I see.” Thats all he magaes to get before you’re on his. Lips on lips. Teeth on teeth. Theres no fight for dominance you just want to taste him again. “Shit baby!” he mutters agaisnt your lips as he nearly stumbles over the steps. “I didn’t know that priest were allowed to curse.” You tease him. He rolls his, “There’s a whole lot of things you’re about to learn about me baby.” He says. Daryl practically shoves you into his house, there’s no tour not really. You might count it since you get a glimpse of most of the room, as the two of you shove each into walls to get your tongue and lips on each other. “No marks.” You remind him. “You’ve gotta keep looking innocent on the outside but nobody said I can’t ruin your insides.” Daryl comments as he opens his bedroom. 

Your clothes are littering the floor, between shoes. Your back is arche down as your head lays into mattress. Your ass high in the air, wiggling it back and forth. “Come on put it in already, Daryl. I’ve been begging for hours now.” You beg him, he groans as he jerks his cock in his hand, You spent what felt like forever preparing. You had taken his tongue again, and then two rounds of his fingers. Sinking further and further into your wet cunt. “I just don’t wanna break you.” You hear him mutters to you from behind you. “You’re not gonna break me, now just fuck me already!” You beg him once more, and when you feel the notch of his head intrude your wet, and warm hole your eyes roll. You’re stuffed and he’s not even halfway in. He’s slow deliberately slow, letting you inch and inch yourself onto his cock. Taking everything you can get until you hit the hilt of his cock. Balls slapping againt your clit. You’re overfilled and overloaded with every sense. You can feel that you’re holding your breath, and so can Daryl. 

“I’m not moving till you breath.” He says gently, that’s the last time you here a gentle demeanor come from him. Once you take your breath and let it go he’s slipping almost all the way out, and then all the way back in. A large hand grabs a fist full of your hair at the base of your neck and pulls your head of the the soft bed and up, arching your back to get even deeper and deeper within you. You moan out in pleasure, your sense are like fried wires. If anything touches you you think you might explode under the pressure. “Oh fuck sweet girlm sotight around my cock. Got me thinkin’ I’m gonna cum like a teenaged boy again. His thrusts are calculated and the way his hips hit you as you bouncing. 

The other uncuppied hand finds your jiggling tits. Sqquzing and teasing your taught nipples. He rolls one between his thumb and pointer fingers. Your head hangs back over your shoulder, and lands on his shoulder. “Daryl, you’re so… fuck so big.… feel so full.” You babble on and on, it only encourages him further. Pounding into with vigour he hasn’t felt in ages. He changes tactics, removing his hand in your haid and placing it around your waist. His large hand finding it’s place against your clit, as he feels his cock pound in and out of your cunt. “You feel me? Pounding into you?” He asks, reaching for one of your hands to place where his was. Your shock is aduioable in your voice, you can feel him pressed up against your lower tummy. It all but pushes you over the edge. “There, cum all over my cock baby it’s alright love.” He whispers into your ear. Shivering you shake your head, and counter him “Together, please together!” You beg him. “You want me?” You don’t allow him to finish his sentence, “In me please Daryl. Cum in me.” It pushes him over a water falls edges and he takes you with him. He explodes with you, as he circles your clit and kisses you till you’re both fighting for air. You collapse together on to the bed. He can feel him leave you and as he does you whine with lose. What Daryl see is a sight he never wants to loose. A thick rope of his seed leaking from your cunt and onto his sheets. He wishes he could take a mental picture of it and keep it forever, but he can’t so he opts for something else. Grabbing your panties off the floor he slips them gently back on to your ass. “What are you doing?” You ask weakly. “Keeping you nice and stuffed that all princess.” He says as he leaves to grab and wash clothes and some water for both of you. 

Breathless and tired, you look over at Daryl. “You’re so handsome.” You say shyly; even though you’ve been royally fucked within an inch of your life and cursed like a sailor, you’re still shy saying the simplest of words. “Oh, princess, you’re out of this world.” He says with a warm smile. Yet that smile is drowned out by his words. “I should be gettin’ you back to your car.” He turns to you, and you shake your head violently. “No, not yet.” You say, climbing into his lap. “Let’s just stay like this.” You mutter as you grind into him and lean down for another sweet kiss. He groans as his hands cup your ass and pull you forward. “Okay, but just a little longer, yeah.” He murmurs against your lips.

Completed on: 11/13/23

Posted on: 11/16/23

The Law-

[lilbitdepressed27]

Tara Carpenter/Fem!Reader Part 2 to The Walking Dead AU

Warnings: mentions of torture but doesn’t go into detail

WC: 3.1k

Authors Note: wasn’t too sure how to end this one. For the anon who requested it. Not proof read but hope y’all enjoy it :) happy holidays!! :D

Shooting up awake, breathing heavily as you frantically looked around the room. Your heart beating fast in your ear drums. The darkness of the room was almost too much, the faint moon light that shined through the curtains was the only source of light. Casting shadows that you could have sworn were in the form of a human or a walker lurking around.

A gentle hand cupping your cheek was what snapped you out of the terror you had been feeling. "Come back to me baby. You're safe here with me." Her voice spoke softly. Like you were a scared deer, ready to bolt at any sudden movement.

"...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." Your voice came out more shaky than you had hoped. You had been back with your family for less than a week now. But what haunted you was what happened to you outside of these walls. You had always ignored or buried it deep down in your mind, seeing as you never really had a moment of rest on the days you were alone. But now that you were safe and back with your loved ones, the horrors you had to face had resurfaced. All the death you saw, all the people you couldn’t save.

"It's okay. Talk to me, Y/nn."

"I will. I'm just-not right now Tara. Soon I promise." You just weren't ready. The person you had become in the last year was someone you had to be but it didn't change the fact that part of you was, ashamed.

"Okay. Come on. Let's get some sleep." Tara had stayed glued to your side since you had arrived. She couldn't get enough. She had stay by your side. Afraid that she'd wake up from her dream and you would still be gone. To have you laying under her, your warm arms wrapped around her body in a loving embrace once again. It was everything she wished for.

Since you had returned, not only has she been taking care of you. But so have your parents. Everyone had been so relieved and happy to see you alive. Chad, Ethan and Wes had cried the first time they saw you. She had seen how you also teared up. But what had caused her to question what you could have possibly gone through was seeing all the scars littering your body. She had offered to change the bandages, it's when she saw them so clearly.

She just hoped that you'd talk to her. When you were ready.

*

"Okay sweetheart. You sure, I know you're still healing."

Your dad spoke. You smiled in his direction. You truly had missed him, he had been your partner in crime back at home. "Yea dad. Trust me this ain't nothing. Can barely feel them." Okay that had been a small lie. Your shoulder still ached from time to time. But it wasn't that bad. Same thing with the wound on your stomach. You still really couldn't lift anything heavy.

"Okay just be careful. Now we have to do some repairs on the wall. You remember your wielding classes right?" John had looked at his daughter, it was like she become a shell of who she once was. Especially when he first saw her. He wanted to know who she went through. But he had asked once and was shut down. He didn't want to push her.

"Of course. I was passing that class with flying colors. Now come on old man. I want to be done so I can go see my girl as soon as I can."

As days went on he had seen how his daughter was slowly becoming the girl he once knew. Maybe not quite the same but slowly. And that was progress enough.

*

Sidney watched as you spoke to Tara. She still couldn't believe that after everything you were back with them. The tears she cried from the relief she felt had almost been enough to fill a pool. Just like her husband, she had also noticed the changes in her daughter. From being on edge to still being jumpy when someone tapped you from behind. She had noticed how Tara always spoke before touching you. Especially when coming up from behind you.

She couldn't imagine what you went through by yourself. She didn't want to imagine. She knew how cruel people were. She didn't want to picture what her little girl had gone through. What you had gone through, when she wasn't there to protect you.

The smile that was one your face in that very moment as you looked down at Tara. It was just like before. Even after a year apart the looks shared between the two were still the same. If anything stronger than before.

She couldn't help a smile of her own. She was going to be there when you were ready to talk.

*

The boys and girls stood in a small open field playing with Peter. You smiled as you watched Peter pulling on a rope that Chad was holding.

"Hey Y/nn, how are you doing?"

You looked away from the scene in front of you, to see Sam standing there. A young man standing a few feet away from her. "Hi Sammy, I'm doing okay. Wounds don't hurt as much anymore."

"That's good to hear. Oh this is Danny. He's my boyfriend. I didn't get to introduce him to you earlier."

You looked behind her the man, Danny offered a smile and his hand for you to shake. You looked back at Sam, she had a small smile directed at him and then back at you. Sam had always been like an older sister to you. she was protective of her family which included you. You were the same with her.

"Nice to meet you Danny." You shook his hand. "I uh also want to thank you, Tara said it was you who left that bag next to the boulder, and that it was also you who saved my life." You faintly remember Sam and Danny being trying to help you. "Both of you. Thank you." Tara had told you how they allowed people in to the town. How they watched them before approaching them.

"Hey, we were thankful to be there when we were."

You gave him a nod in thanks. Although now you were kept wondering. How long had he been watching you? Did he see the days you spent looking at the gun. See when you'd load the gun and raise the gun to your temple. Did he see you struggle?

*

The town was busy doing a small gathering in the middle of the town. There was a small part and area where everyone was at. You were sat in a log next to the camp fire a beer in your hand. Tara been sitting next to you but had gotten up when Gale called her over. She had kissed your cheek with the promise to get back to you as soon as she could.

Now you sat with Peter at your feet. He had been munching on a dog bone Ethan gave to him. You had felt so relaxed in that moment. So calm. Peter stood from when he was sitting at the sound of Ethan calling him. A small smile making it's way as Peter looked back at you. With a nod the dog ran off to Ethan. Who was happy to give Peter a steak.

The moment of peace didn't last.

A hand roughly grabbing your shoulder, you couldn't explain how you felt in that very moment. You were no longer there, safely sitting down next to a bonfire. No you were now back in the woods. Alone. The fear that gripped your heart had your hands shaking. You barely registered how you pulled on the arm, that trapped your shoulder. Throwing the person over your shoulder. Your fists unloading the guy, who did fight back. But was quickly overpowered.

"Y/N STOP!"

You're vision cleared, you quickly blinked trying to focus on who exactly you were punching. Your shaky fist had stopped mid punch. Your eyes locking with Frankie's eye. The other eye being too swollen to open. You were quick to get up looking around at the attention that was now on you. They all looked at you with fear and uncertainty.

Feeling all the eyes on you was becoming so overwhelming making you feel like some type of animal. You didn't even realize someone was holding your waist until you pushed them off as you ran away.

*

You had found yourself outside the walls. Not far from the town as you calmed your racing heart. The guilt starting to over wash the fear you felt a few minutes ago. Now you were stuck with the feeling of dread. You didn't know what was going to happen when you got back to the town. Were the people going to be angry. Demand your dad (who was the leader), to show some kind discipline. What if they forced him to kick you out of the town?

"Y/n!? Babe!?"

"I'm over here." You called out, you had been sitting next to a pond. Her arms were wrapped around you in a matter of seconds.

"Don't ever run off like that again. You hear me. Especially coming out here at night by yourself." Tara wanted nothing more than to punch Frankie's teeth in for what he did. She had moved fast to get back to you when she heard the yelling. And then hearing your dad yelling your name. She tried to get to you but you had pushed your dad off you and ran away. Mindy said how Frankie had tried to get your attention but you hadn't heard or cared to give him attention. Well Frankie hadn't liked that and reacted poorly.

She tried to get to you, but she had lost you in the crowd. The first place she had looked was your room at your house. But you weren't there. Then she checked her room. But again, you weren't there. She had everyone looking for you. The more minutes with out finding you, the more she grew distressed. When Dewey said the front gate guard saw you running out the front gate she had moved fast. Grabbing her gun and a flashlight before she as out the gate as well. Hearing the shouts behind her.

Her heart hammering in her chest as she followed the fresh foot steps. "Y/n?" She had called out. Her gun had been in a tight grip, she didn't want to be caught surprised if a walker showed up. The flashlight shined in the dark night.

"Come on baby. Where are you?" She murmured to herself. The light going down to the foot prints. She continued to follow them, light shinning to check her surroundings.

"Y/n?! Babe?!" The foot prints had disappeared. She flashed the light all around the floor. Hoping to see the prints. But there was none. The dirt was a lot drier leaving no traces of shoes. She felt herself panic. Horrifying thoughts filled her mind. Tears quickly filling eyes.

"I'm over here." The relief washing over in waves once hearing your voice. Moving quickly to embrace you in a hug. Before pulling away to look you over. Making sure you weren't harmed

"Don't ever run off like that again. You hear me. Especially coming out here at night by yourself." She cupped your cheeks to make you look at her. Taking in how guilty you looked. A frown on your lips as you tried to look away. "Hey, it's not your fault. Everyone saw how Frankie was the aggressor. Plus he's a jackass. You literally did everyone a favor by putting him in his place." When you failed to look at her. She cupped your cheeks. Her fingers softly creasing the smooth skin.

"Look at me. No one is angry, they're all worried." Her heart breaking at the sight of your tear filled eyes. The guilt in your eyes shinning through. "Come on. Let's get back." Her hands dropping to take yours in hers. Thanking god when you didn't put up a fight.

"Tara...I think I'm ready to talk about what I went through when I was alone." You finally found your voice a little into the walk back to the town. You had been thinking about it and even though a part of you was ashamed. You knew your parents, Tara and your friends would like to know. But first you’d start with Tara.

"Hey, when ever you're ready. I'm here. And I'll never judge you. Never. Cause all I care about is that you're here, with me."

Her hands taking your hands in hers. The love in her eyes never wavering as she looked up at you. The same look she'd always have just reserved for you. It was a look you adored. Feeling her lightly kiss your lips, her way of showing you that she was being truthful.

*

"God Y/n. Don't ever run off like that." Your mom wrapping you in a tight hug along with your father. Tara had brought straight to the front gate where your parents and friends had been waiting.

"I'm sorry, I-I panicked. I didn't mean to hurt him, well a little bit I guess. If I'm being honest. But I still had no right to-Stop, everyone said that Frankie was saying things that were out of line. And he had no right to lay his hands on you. That boy has been nothing but trouble since he's got here." Your father interrupted, leaving you no room to argue. He then lead you and the rest back to the house. Tara was quick to follow, wanting to stay by your side.

Peter had also moved in a fast pace to be by your side. Looking up at you in way that made you feel like he was scolding you in his mind.

"Sorry buddy."

It wasn't long till you were in the room you sat in on the edge of the bed. Everyone had left once they all had checked up on you. Tara was in the bathroom getting changed. She had been hesitant to leave you alone but with the promise that you'd still be there she went to get showered.

"Hey, you okay?"

You looked up to see Tara freshly showered. Her hair still wet as she walked into the room, holding a towel as she dried her hair.

"I had to kill a little boy. His name was Carl and he was only twelve. He was part of the old group I was with. Back in a farm. The farm had been over run by walkers. There were so many. They tried to escape but it was no use. I saw his mother get surrounded by walkers. He saw his mother die right in front of him. She was pregnant. I had to drag him away. We were able to escape to a nearby highway. We stayed there for awhile hoping anyone from the group escaped. But the longer we waited, Carl got more paler." Your eyes filled with tears. Remembering how scared the little boy had been.

"He got bit. He cried for his mother and his father. He begged me not to let him turn into a monster. He was only twelve. Twelve and I killed him." Tears streamed down your face as you took out the picture of the family of three. Handing it to Tara.

"He didn't want to be forgotten. So he gave me the picture." You looked down at your hands. "And I know what you're going to say. That it wasn't my fault, I was with him through the whole thing. How the fuck didn't I notice when he got bit. He called me his best friend, he trusted me and I let him down. He's dead because of me Tara."

Tara didn't know what to say. The guilt you carried was a lot more bigger than she had thought. Even with this she felt like you were still holding back everything else you went through. She couldn't help her own tears, moving to wrap her arms around you as you cried.

"I don't know the kid but if he trusted you and called you his best friend. I know he wouldn't want you to be blaming yourself." Hugging you closer, wanting you to know that she was there for you. "Doing what did was showing him mercy. By shooting you made sure he didn't turn into a monster. Would you have preferred letting him turn and for him to roam around as a Walker?"

"Of course not-Then stop blaming yourself. Shit happens Y/n. Him getting bit was not your fault."

You pulled away from her embrace to take out another picture. Handing it over to her for her to see.

"That's Peter's old family. There was a little girl there. But she had been dead for while. She died of starvation. There was an older girl in the kitchen but she was dead as well. Far longer than the little girl was. She was the nanny. Uh her parents had been away, they tried to get back to her but they didn't make it."

"Baby-Maybe she could have made it you know. If someone had just gotten to her sooner. She could have lived. After the house I was on the road with Peter for a while. That was until I got captured by some cannibals."

Her eyes widen as she looked at you, "Yea, that wasn't fun. They tried to, they tortured first. Trying to break me, I guess. Peter hadn't been taken by them which was good cause they would have killed him on the spot. I still don't know how I managed to escape." You let out a shaky breath remembering all the harm those assholes did.

"Hey, you're not there anymore. You're here, with me. With your parents. Your friends. What you went through, I'm sorry. No one should go through that. Come on. Lay with me. You need rest.” Tara moved to bring you down with her when she noticed how tired you were. Getting comfortable as you laid on her chest.

Tara would do what ever she could for you. She wanted nothing more than to help you. Wanting you stop blaming yourself for what happened. She’d help, in any way she could.

:)

[bananafire11]

Some designs for the WoF and TWD AU a friend and I are making.

These bases are NOT MINE. I've only colored them. They are drawn by Joy Aang, also the creator of the cover art for the Wings of Fire book series.

Rick - SkyWing

Shane - MudWing

Michonne - IceWing

Carol - SeaWing

Daryl - Sandwing (NightWing heritage)

Merle - Sandwing (NightWing heritage)

And my own doodles

[theapocalypseisonlythebeginning]

Bad People or Good People? - Chapter 9: Bracelets and Unexpected Visitors

chapter summary: A calm before the storm settles over the Prison group now that Rick, Daryl and Glenn swear that there are no people after Clementine anymore. But there are still enemies out there, and although Daryl and Clementine are as close as ever, will it last...?

previous chapter: We’re the Good Guys, Clem (Part 3)

story masterlist

read on Ao3

chapter word Count: 2668

tag list: @nowandthane @fizzyxcustard If you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know

After Daryl and Rick’s ‘discussion’, Daryl had stormed on back inside the prison with the intention to find Clementine and tell her the entire truth. Defying Rick was not something Daryl would easily do, but he was angry and when a Dixon was angry, they did impulsive things.

But Daryl hadn’t been able to find Clementine. No matter where he looked, the little girl seemed to have vanished. No one else had seen her either, not even Glenn. But Michonne hinted that Carl had been mysteriously gone for a while now too…

He ended up in her cell, finding the drawings she and Carl drew pinned up on the walls almost as decoration. He’d meant to simply check under her bed, just in case she was hiding for some reason… but those drawings distracted him.

They weren’t happy decorations. A decoration, Daryl knew, usually involved showing some form of personality trait. For example, Merle’s bedroom had been filled with beer cans and… odd smells. And that one time he’d gone home with a girl he liked back in high school, the walls had been pink and coated in this weird fluffy tapestry - he’d hated it. But it sure had shown a part of her personality.

(And no, the two had literally only gone there to study, despite what Merle had bragged to his friends about. Carol hadn’t been his first ‘female’ friend.)

The decoration in Clementine’s cell, though was… pure grief. It was people the group had lost, and people Daryl didn’t recognise which, considering the theme, Daryl assumed Clementine had lost.

These kids were capable of decorating a whole wall with the people they had lost in the span of a year. And it gave him pause.

Despite Daryl still thinking lying to Clementine was wrong, he suddenly felt he didn’t want to take the risk in hurting Clementine further. If those three bodies had been her friends from that group, Daryl would rather she believed they had made it somewhere else with tracks heading away… That wasn’t a complete lie. There had been tracks leading away…

“You came back!” Clementine had a little smile on her lips as she seemingly appeared in her cell suddenly, startling Daryl. The smile, though, didn’t quite reach her eyes, as usual, but it was obvious she was genuinely happy to see him.

He nodded his head in silence, unsure why he felt the need to quiet his own emotions down around her. Then again, he did that around everyone.

“Thank you for going there,” Clementine said.

“Tracks led away. Doubt they’ll come looking for yah.”

With a nod, she seemed relieved, but her body language spoke a different tune.

“Would’ya have gone with ‘em if they came knocking on our door?” Daryl asked. It was a question that indicated there was something else on his mind, but the nine year old girl didn’t think that far ahead yet and simply shrugged. 

“Some of them were bad people.” Clementine looked up at Daryl with giant, innocent eyes. “I don’t want to be with bad people.”

Biting his lip, Daryl nodded his head to alert her he was listening, but remained quiet. Then, he sniffled and looked away from her, understanding what her pleading look had been.

“We’re the good guys, Clem.” Daryl knew they were lying to Clementine, he knew he was keeping her away from the opportunity to go out there and figure things out - but she was nine… Chances were, she was better off with them than those she deemed her friends from that group.

At least, Daryl was going to make sure she was better off with them then those others. To make up for lying, to make up for keeping her from tracking them down.

As he distracted himself by looking at the drawings again, Daryl caught a glimpse of the two biggest ones. One was clearly Lori, Carl being a slightly better artist because of his age, Daryl figured. The other was someone the entire group knew of. And someone who even had his picture - a ripped out picture from what seemed to be a newspaper - pinned next to the drawing: a heartbreaking drawing of Lee and Clementine holding hands.

Daryl glanced at the picture of the man who had taken care of Clementine before. And he nodded his head at it.

Maybe he’d always struggle with the idea of attempting to be something of a father figure to Clementine and letting someone in like that - but he was always going to keep her safe. So Lee could rest in peace knowing that his little girl was safe now.

“I want to show you what me and Carl made,” Clementine said, reaching a hand up to his.

At first, Daryl flinched away from it - but the girl didn’t seem to pay attention to it, or she just tried to get her way with a sweet smile.

It worked.

Daryl let her grab one of his fingers and tug him along the walls of her cell, listening to her explain who all the people were that he himself didn’t recognise. T-Dog was, perhaps, the drawing that offered Daryl the most raw emotion aside from Lee and Clementine’s one. But Dale… and especially Sophia, hurt too.

“And that’s Kenny. He wears a hat, like mine! Do you think his dad was an engineer too?”

A long wall of lost people…

Lost, but never forgotten.

…

“What are you fiddling with?” Carol asked with a little smile on her lips. Sat at a table in the large communal hall, a mathematics book between them and the walkie talkie right there for Clementine to quickly reach, Carol watched Clementine with a little smile. The child was sat with one hand on the table, answering sums as correctly as she could, whilst the other was in her lap.

A little shyly, Clementine lifted her hand up to show Carol.

It was a wire. Carol blinked in surprise, and slight confusion. Cheeks a little red, Clementine tried to convey its importance: “Daryl showed me how to switch a car battery’s cable… This is the bad one.”

The girl was not quite sure what sort of emotion had passed over Carol’s face right in that instant. But one thing was for sure, Carol smiled widely and started to chuckle. She seemed almost amused.

The two weren’t alone in the hall, and Carol’s joy was noticed by Beth, Hershel and Maggie. The three had taken to Carol and Clementine’s routine of studying in the afternoons. They, however, weren’t doing math, but instead were reading the bible; reading little snippets from Hershel’s book together and talking about it.

Glenn was nowhere in sight. He sometimes joined, but he often found himself distracted either accidentally or on purpose, Clementine couldn’t quite tell. Instead, he often focused on playing with Judith. At the moment, he was off trying to get Judith down for a nap.

“Sorry,” Carol said when she noticed she had disrupted bible study. “It was just…” She reached out to Clementine’s cheek and pretended to pinch it. “That was just so very cute. I would have wanted to see Daryl’s reaction to that.”

“What?” Maggie asked. Things were okay between the Greenes and Clementine, but the four had yet to fully find something to bond over.

Clementine turned to show the wire, still not quite sure what was going on but not finding herself uncomfortable or teased at least.

“It’s the wire Daryl and Clem switched out,” Carol explained, and both Maggie and Beth offered their own ‘aws’ at that.

“Here,” Beth voiced as she stood and walked over. “I can make it into a bracelet for you.”

“That’d be uncomfortable,” Maggie piped in.

“Not if you wrap it with cloth after. We can choose red, for Daryl’s signature napkin.”

“Oh God,” Carol chuckled, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him wash that.”

“Have we ever seen him wash anything of his?” Maggie teased.

The adults chuckled a bit, whilst Clementine looked on. There was something… warm about being surrounded by these people talking about mundane things, gently teasing each other… like… the world hadn’t ended. Like humanity still lived on.

She liked the idea of a bracelet, and offered the wire to Beth with a smile. This time, Carol didn’t care that technically, Clementine wasn’t done with her lesson yet. This time, Carol was the one to close the mathematics book and shove it aside so that Beth and Clementine could get to work.

It was a calm session requiring a lot of tools which Beth could easily work with. “I used to make jewelry with mama,” Beth explained, “All kinds. Earrings. Bracelets. Necklaces. We’d use anything we could get our hands on, even old jewelry we’d find at yard sales. Then we’d sell it, or give it as Christmas presents to family.” Clementine had eagerly listened to the story, enjoying hearing the tales of a life different to what she was used to. She’d lived in a house with neighbors close by, and a city to get to easily. Beth and Maggie, who piped in from time to time too despite not being as experted in making bracelets, had lived on a farm, with a little village nearby. Life was different, and Clementine adored listening to it.

When Hershel joined in telling tall tales of times before Beth and Maggie had even been born, before the internet had even existed, Clementine had forgotten to help Beth with the bracelet, too intrigued to listen. Instead, she had moved over to Hershel once beckoned over, who had lifted her up onto his lap to continue to tell tales of life on a farm with naught but a radio as the biggest modernity.

For a little while, Clementine felt like a child her age: and not one forced to kill to survive and grow up early to understand the severity of everything.

No one mentioned it, but all adults old enough to remember life before mobile phones, were keenly aware of how the children nowadays had to be introduced to a world where safety was something they would marvel at some day…

“Here you go,” Beth interrupted, turning to show Clementine the finished bracelet. The wire had been unwrapped fully, and each individual metal string had been braided into what looked like a beautiful coppery bracelet. However, when Clementine reached out to it, Beth did hesitate a bit. “It’s a bit dangerous this way though. We still need the cloth. I don’t want to hurt your skin, or risk electrocuting you.”

“What are ya’ll doing here? Yall are making more noise than a clattering bundle of churchgoers.” Merle had appeared, his semi rude comment bouncing off the walls as he spoke too loud in order to make his presence known.

Most of the group sighed and ignored him.

But Carol and Clementine turned to look at him. Specifically, Clementine, who took the bracelet from Beth, jumped off Hershel’s lap and made her way to Merle.

Now, Merle and Clementine had not hit it off. … then again, no one hit it off with Merle. He had a way to pester everyone rather than be nice. It was odd how someone’s default mode of interaction could be that of blatantly antisocial behavior. At least it was rude to this group, who had never quite experienced someone like that. Rick had, but he usually had the privilege of locking them away, not living side by side with them. His annoyance at Merle was obvious.

But, Merle was Daryl’s brother. And Clementine was going to make an effort. No one else was making an effort. He might be on the verge of being a bad person, but Clementine wanted to give him a chance to be a good person. “We made a bracelet. Out of the wire Daryl showed me how to change yesterday, remember?”

Standing before Merle, Clementine ignored the scowl on the man’s face and his attempt to sideline and leave before the child could reach him, to raise her hand and show the bracelet to him. Her innocence, and perhaps blatant ignorance of his attempts to get her away from him through just being nasty, made him sigh and offer the bracelet a look: “It’s ugly.”

“We’re not finished yet,” Beth immediately defended, but stayed seated where she was, a little uncomfortable around the man.

Hershel watched like a hawk how this would go down. No good words had been shared about Merle, after all. Glenn had sneaked into the room too, and he was watching the interaction carefully, ready to step in and interfere.

“What can yall do to make that look even slightly decent?” Merle scoffed out, glaring at the offending piece of metal.

“A red cloth to make it nice,” Clementine explained. “Like Daryl’s.”

Somewhere deep… deep… very deep… inside of Merle, the man understood the importance of this piece of jewelry, and the attachment of Daryl’s red napkin to it would simply tie child and man together further. It was a sweet moment. A moment showcasing that Clementine felt safe with Daryl. Merle rolled his eyes at it.

“Alright.” Merle sighed, reaching back with his one hand to take something out of his back pocket. “I ain’t washed it for a while, but here.”

The same red napkin was handed down to the child. The room went deadly quiet, but Clementine honestly did not feel as surprised as the others did. If Daryl was not a bad person, then Merle did not have to be either. He was just wired differently, but Daryl had showed her how to change wires now. She could help Merle too. “It’s the same!”

“Yeah. Our old man gave those to us. One of the few gifts he ever did give.” Merle rolled his eyes and shoved the thing into Clementine’s hand. “I ain’t got no want for it. Quality is as bad as our da’ was. Take it. Make that ugly thing look decent or whatever.”

Ignoring the looks from the others, Merle turned and left the way he had come, most likely going to go back to his cell again to brood. That was what he usually did all day long. Glenn stood in the opening to the cells, and Merle almost pushed him to the ground as he bumped into him to get past. “Move, asshole,” escaped Merle’s lips, as if to try and make up for the nice thing he had just done.

The room was still completely quiet, everyone watching Clementine turn with a smile and rush over to Beth. “Does that work?”

Beth nodded her head quietly. “’Course.”

“Who knew Merle had that in him?” Glenn said as he walked over to them with an awkward chuckle. “Because, I didn’t.”

“I think the Dixon brothers are a little bit more difficult to understand than we think,” Carol voiced, then offered a distracted Clementine an amused smile. “Well, we might not understand them…”

…

The afternoon passed by peacefully after that. With her new bracelet on her arm, Clementine had somehow gained new motivation for mathematics. She did half of it wrong, but Carol didn’t have the heart to tell her so when she was so vigorously working away at the book. Once she was done with her work, Clementine had been free to go, but instead she shifted to join the Greenes’ in their bible study… which honestly ended up with Glenn and Clementine joking around rather than taking it seriously. Hershel wasn’t too fond of that…

The peaceful moment was disrupted, however, by the sudden buzzing of Clementine’s walkie talkie. She hurried over to it as Daryl’s voice came through. “Yeah?”

“Tell the others we got a visitor,” Daryl’s voice said through the static of the signal.

Clementine turned to the Greenes, who all tensed up. Glenn was the one to hurry over to Clementine, a hand on her shoulder as he leaned in to talk to Daryl: “What? Who?”

“Andrea’s back.”

reblog or comments are highly appreciated! Don't know what to say? Here's my comment cheat code:

❤️ - I loved it! 💛- I look forward to the next chapter! / Please write more! 💙- HOW DARE YOU?? /lh 🤍- don't reply to my comment, please (I'm shy/anxious/don't want to talk today/don't like the feeling of being acknowledged when reading on AO3) 🤎- showing support for this / extra kudos 💚- twas okay 🖤- meh... have read better

thanks for reading, my loves! I'll see you in the next one! ❤️

[thedramaandthedead]

"I can't keep hiding like this."

Character Design 6/16 - Emma

(*And announcement under cut)

Toxic relationships, YouTube comment sections: Emma had done them all. But will she survive what could be the scariest moment of her life? Find out in The Drama and The Dead, Chapter 2 to release soon.

*Progress for this AU is slowing down as I have many things going on! Will try to keep you posted!

[jinxneedssleep]

So I haven’t watched twd in awhile, but I have a a twst crossover au that has been rotating in my head, and I finally decided to talk about it

Carl Grimes as yuu from twisted wonderland

(Spoilers for twd under the cut. you have been warned)

Following Carl’s death, he wakes up in the coffin of NRC and begins his life in twisted wonderland.

Due to the fact he was bitten, he does have some walker qualities. While he doesn’t hunger for human flesh, he cannot taste regular food and as a result has a loss of appetite (this worries his friends greatly; most notably Ace and Deuce but the others are getting suspicious.)

He also can withstand life threatening injuries unscathed like a tank as long as those injuries do not go near his head. He is fit due to constantly fighting for his life, but his walker side does make it so he gets tired quicker. If he doesn’t take care of himself, he does have that inhuman look. Vil has since taken it upon himself to make sure Carl is rigorous with his routine to avoid looking like he’s at death’s doorstep.

As a natural survivalist, orientation, to put it bluntly, was a catastrophe . Once the initial shock wore off, Carl instinctively came out swinging. Can you blame him?

I’m not sure about the twisted wonderland lore on guns is, but it wouldn’t surprise me if guns were not a big thing. Or if guns didn’t exist in the first place. If the latter is true, I can see Carl pulling out a gun, and the NRC guys are at a loss for words at what tf is being blasted

If we go the crack post route, his gun has unlimited bullets and overblot fights are significantly shorted

His aptitude to violence and “violence first resort” strategy is what leads Deuce to assume Carl is a former delinquent like him. (Oh honey. You got a big storm coming)

Carl has a hard time adjusting himself back into society. This manifests itself as a resistance towards authority. He doesn’t intend to be disrespectful, but frankly, someone that has had to survive hell and has a kill count including his own mother does not care about the opinions of a bird man or teenagers with magical powers.

Seeing how absolutely PTSD driven this kid is, Lilia has unofficially adopted him as a Diasomnia member. (He is also greatly concerned, but he is familiar with the symptoms of PTSD)

I love au’s where yuu keeps the fact their from a different world a secret to confuse the shit out of everyone, so we are doing that now for giggles.

[andre-worlds]

The Walking Dead AU | Day 30 for Harringrove Week

This is my favorite edit of all the other days. Love the concept and the vibe that it's gives me of the serie. The third edit I put it because I love the color's.

[psych0ruinz]

okay so i have been thinking about mixing intrests. like universe swapping my fandoms.

so this lead to a lot of walking dead fantasy thoughts, which lead to me trying to figure out what typical dnd fantasy species the characters would be. then i spiraled.

of course starting with the Grimes family and they feel very half-elven. Kids being first-gen half-elf with Rick being the human because i think Lori being an elf gives more impact to her death from Rick's perspective. Also to Carl's with him being half-elf. Because Rick always knew he would be the first to die, the rest of his family easily outliving him so of course the impact of him outliving them is so intense for him.

this also gets into Judith being half-elven, with her looking enough like she fits into the family even with a different father. (Shane also being human). So to any outsiders there is nothing suspicious, but to the people who know they know.

also Michonne would be elvish just because badass vibes and i think Rick would have a thing for beautiful elf women so RJ is also half-elf. i also think that fits into an interesting narrative with Rick meeting Michonne after Lori's death, adds to the mental illness on my side.

also have ideas for other characters but these were the big feely ones.

happy to hear what others think as well, live 4 input.

[honeyxmonkey]

He boutta fuck up everyone's day fr fr

[dezzyartz-mh1228]

Y'all, we could use a Walking Dead AU for Rottmnt! I'd like everyone that stumbles upon this post to freely share whatever ideas that pop up in your pretty little heads! And PLEASE, keep everything appropriate. I WILL NOT allow anything nsfw.

If you're gonna share a short script, written draft or any artworks and are gonna use strong language, please MAKE SURE IT IS APPROPRIATE IN EVERY LEVEL OF ASPECT AND WILL NOT OFFEND ANYONE AT ALL.

I will allow:

Angst or gore (if it's really heavy or graphic, make sure to put trigger warnings ⚠️)

Wholesome/fluffy

Slice of Life

Crossovers

References (you can take references, whether it's from the comic books or tv series, maybe even both the Rottmnt and TWD fandom)

Feel free to mix up your references to make it however interesting you want it to be :)

I wouldn't mind seeing a mix of the walkers and kraangified people/things. Imagine the chaos it'll bring.

Out of context/sillies

MEMES (We love a good meme!)

NOW GO WILD AND HAVE FUN!

PS: TC*STERS DNI! YOU STINK!

[l05t1nth3v01d]

TWD/MCU AU!

The Walking Dead/Markiplier Cinematic Universe

I'm currently working on the LOREEEE

I swear it's cool please 🐻 with me

THE CAPTAIN

WILLIAM J. BARNUM

[uirsoi]

AS WE TURN

summary :

Regulus Black was fifteen on Outbreak Day, sworn allegiance to the Death Eaters and lost his brother to the hands of James Potter. That was five years ago, and now, Regulus Black is twenty years old, overwrought with the dilemma of believing he carries the cure to humanity under his sleeve, and stuck traversing across the state with none other than James Potter.

Sirius Black was sixteen on Outbreak Day, tearfully mourning the death of his brother to the Death Eaters into James Potter's shoulder. Now, Sirius Black is twenty-one, isolated among the dead, mourning the loss of his brother, James, and himself, as he battles the struggle to regain his humanity with the help of none other than Remus Lupin.

OR

A Last of Us & The Walking Dead intertwined inspired AU for Jegulus and Wolfstar.

[trashno0dle]

i wrote another silly little self indulgent au :))

summary:

“Took you long enough.” Negan rasped. Glenn didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response, the moonlight caught the bloodied barbed wire of the bat he was holding for a brief second, there was a hint of something in the older man’s eyes as his gaze traveled down to it, a look of realization and acceptance. He knew why he was here. ~~~ or; glenn lives but his own survival costs him everything, including himself.

snippet below cut

He’d lost his entire world in just a single night–

–They’re going to Hilltop, Maggie’s  sick and they need to get her help, night has long since fallen but they don’t stop, they persevere. She’s fine, he thinks as they slip deeper into the trees, everything will be fine. He’s rather tired of keeping up the facade of false optimism, but it's all he has, he needs to be strong, for them. He remembers focusing on her labored breathing, hushed whispers from the head of the group, dead silence.

Then, a haunting whistle that seems to surround them, echoing through the trees, carried by the gentle breeze. A whistle that he’ll never forget, that haunts not just his nightmares but his every waking moment.

The next thing he knows they’re in a semi-circle on the floor, on their knees, surrounding them must be a dozen men all armed to the teeth with an assortment of weapons that could fatally wound or kill any of them if they stepped out of line. There’s talking, but admittedly he blocks it out, his panicked gaze searches the line for Maggie, only allowing himself to relax for a moment when he sees her on the other end of the circle, curled in on herself and shivering. She’s in bad shape, she needs help, they need to–

He remembers perfectly the first moment he showed up. Negan. His lips parted in a cocky, shit-eating grin, eyes filled with glee as he twirls a baseball bat with bloodied barbed wire wrapped around the slightly splintered wood. He can’t remember much of what he says at first, he only recalls the paralyzing fear when he witnesses Abraham be beaten until his brains are smashed to bloody bits on the floor, completely unrecognizable. He feels sick, bile rises in his throat as he forces himself to tear his gaze away from the awful, horrifically gruesome sight.

Abraham is dead, a loss they can avenge later. He feels guilty for feeling relieved in that moment, that it wasn’t himself or Maggie, but just when he thinks for a moment that they’re safe, a raspy voice yells from the very edge of the circle. Negan’s taunting Rosita, holding the bat that’s still covered in pieces of Abraham’s skull and insides. Before anyone can protest, Daryl lunges and swings his fist right at Negan’s jaw and that’s where everything goes wrong. The details of the memory sharpen, it's the same sequence that plays on repeat like a broken record every time he shuts his eyes.

Negan massages his jaw and looks at Daryl as he’s wrestled to the ground, his grin widens if possible, like he was waiting for one of them to do just that, to give him another reason to hurt them more. His words he can’t remember, but actions speak louder than words and what he did was unforgettable, engraved in the front of his mind for eternity, it was all he could focus on. One moment he’s standing there, circling them like a vulture again and the next he’s lifting the bat, which is still dripping with Abraham’s blood, right above…