#rick grimes reader insert

[grudgecollector]

Violet's Walking Dead Masterlist

Smut: ✿ Fluff: ♡ Angst: ✦

Last update: 3/8/25

All stories can be found under the cut

Poly Fics

One Shots

nothing yet…

Headcanons

nothing yet...

Multi-Chapter fics

nothing yet…

—

Daryl Dixon

One Shots

Dark Carnival ♡

Georgia Heat ✦♡

Curled Around You ♡

Ol' Coyote ✦♡

Gimme Shelter ✦♡

Headcanons

nothing yet…

Multi-Chapter fics

nothing yet...

—

Rick Grimes

One Shots

nothing yet... 

Headcanons

nothing yet…

Multi-Chapter fics

nothing yet…

[theshamelesssimp]

Having a bad day, read x reader! Having a good one, read x reader! Bored, read x reader!

All in all, live, laugh, love x reader!

[dreamtofus]

I just want to thank anyone and everyone who writes fanfic

like wdym this masterpiece is FREE

ps reblog ur fav fics.

[zmbiesoph]

CARL GRIMES X FEM!Y/N AESTHETIC

[slasherslittlesimp]

The Hunter (TWD X Reader)

PART ONE

There's a long pause of silence as everyone gets lost in their own thoughts- some thinking of ways to get out of the mess they're stuck in, while others think of how they're doomed and that there's no way out. The room stays silent for a long period of time until Michonne suddenly stands up a bit straighter from her spot leaning against the wall. Everyone's eyes move towards her at the sudden movement, finding her eyes a bit wide as she stares straight at Rick. They wait with bated breath to hear what she has to say, and it's honestly not what they expected.

"I think I know someone that can help us." She states, seeming admittedly a bit nervous. "I have never personally met them, but I have heard rumors. If we can find this person, I believe they can help us with our problems."

"And how do we find this mystery person?" Rick questions, a bit doubtful at her suggestion. A person she hasn't seen? Someone she only knows based on rumors? How much faith can someone have in a plan like that?

"Do you trust me?" Michonne stares Rick in the eyes, her jaw clenched tight with nerves as she awaits his answer. When he gives a nod in answer, she slowly unclenches her jaw before raising her head a bit higher to show her confidence. "Then give me a week. I will track down this person and then we can go talk to them."

Rick sighs, rubbing his hand over his beared face. "One week. That's it. We can't afford to waste any more time than that on something that may not even exist."

Exactly four days later, a few members of the group find themselves trekking through the woods that Michonne claims to be this mystery persons territory. For a while they doubt her claims. That is until they hear something that hasn't been heard in years- birds chirping. Looking around, the group watches in slight awe as birds flutter from tree to tree. Then, they hear a twig snap, and they all watch with bated breath as a fawn appears between the trees followed by a few other deer.

Daryl goes to raise his crossbow only to be stopped by Michonne who quickly shakes her head. "I wouldn't do that. Not unless you want to get on their bad side."

Daryl quirks a brow at the statement but relents, lowering his crossbow. Rick watches the exchange before looking around at the bustling wildlife surrounding them, seemingly untouched by the end of the world. "Who the hell is this person?" He mumbles in both confusion and awe. This person has to be something special if they're able to keep this place and it's wildlife protected from all sorts of threats.

Continuing their trek, they eventually stumble upon what appears to be a greenhouse of some sort. It's dome shaped, and pretty much entirely made of glass. They're a bit too far to really make out anything inside, though. Especially when the sun reflects off of it in a way that leaves them squinting.

"You're trespassing." A new voice suddenly speaks up, causing them all to whirl around with their weapons raised. There, leaning casually against a tree as they bite into a peach, is you. You're wearing a simple grey shirt and jeans, but what draws their attention is the black chord with a few animal teeth attached to it hanging around your neck.

Michonne steps forward, having been the only one to not pull out her weapon. "Are you the hunter?"

Your chilling gaze drifts over to her. "Depends who's asking."

"We need your help." There's a hint of desperation in her voice that has you quirking an intrigued brow.

Interest piqued, you hold out your hand holding the peach, allowing the fawn from earlier to come eat it. Once the peach is devoured, you gently pat the fawns head before moving away from the tree, beginning to walk towards the group. Their bodies tense, grips tightening on the weapons they have yet to lower as you grow closer to them. "Come. Let's discuss the details in my home."

The group all look towards Rick whose gaze is locked onto your back as you walk away from them towards the greenhouse. It takes a second, but he eventually puts his gun away with a terse nod, letting the others know that everything's fine for now. Him and Michonne are the first to follow after you, the others following with their guards still up.

As they all enter the greenhouse, their eyes immediately dart around, looking at all of the miscellaneous items you own. Their attention is drawn back to you the second you hold up what appears to be a pot of freshly brewed coffee. You tilt it slightly towards them in offering, but they all stare with distrust. Shrugging, you pour yourself a cup, making it just the way you like before taking a large gulp of it- seemingly uncaring of its scalding temperature.

“The coffee beans are freshly harvested. I grow them here.” You use your cup to motion towards an area of the greenhouse where various types of vegetation grows. “It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“How can we trust you?” The other woman in the group- Maggie- questions, her gaze harsh. You can tell just from looking at her that she’s been through a lot.

“You must already trust me at least a little if you’re here asking for my help.” You point out. They wandered into unknown territory- territory they would likely struggle to navigate or fight in- just to find you. So, on some subconscious level, they already trust you. “What is it that you wish to speak about?”

“We need help with a group.” Rick shuffles where he stands, obviously uncomfortable with asking a complete stranger for help.

“A bad group, I assume?”

“They’re called the saviors.” Maggie speaks, her voice a bit shaky as her throat tightens. “Ran by someone named Negan. He killed two of our people, one of which was my husband.”

“The saviors.” You repeat the name thoughtfully. They’re not a group you’ve heard of before. Then again, you haven’t really been in the hunting business since the world ended. This is the first time in a long time that someone is coming to you for something like this. “I assume you want me to kill this Negan guy?”

“Him and his men.” Maggie grits out, jaw clenched with disdain. “None of them should live.”

“And the location?”

You all continue to discuss the details for a while longer. They tell you about what Negan looks like, along with the descriptions of some of the people they’ve seen with him. They tell you everything they know. By the end of it, you agree to do as they ask. People like Negan are exactly the kind of people you used to hunt. And he seems like the perfect target for getting back into it.

Part Two

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Rick/reader/Daryl are a throuple and the Alexandria residents don’t know how to react.

.⋆｡Her Poor Cat｡⋆.

Daryl x plus size reader x Rick

Obviously the Alexandrians were pretty vanilla

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and smut, bit of a crack fic, humour, fluff

WC: 900

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The welcome party was an interesting touch to the new-comers. It was so weirdly reminiscent of the old world with the nice clothes and good food and alcohol but at the same time, many in the room carried that haunted look in their eyes from the hell just outside the walls. But the food was fresh and the company was pleasant enough.

Carl had scrambled off a couple minutes ago, presumably to try and sneak some whiskey behind his father’s back, leaving you alone with a sleepy Judith perched on your wide hip. Her chunky hand tightly clutched at your shirt as her big blue eyes fluttered.

“Mama.” She muttered, nuzzling further into your hold. You gently cupped the back of her head and began to sway softly. 

“We’ll leave soon, just need to find your dads and make sure they don’t get into any trouble.” Your eyes skipped over the crowd but you were quickly stopped by someone coming up beside you.

“It’s so good to see healthy children during these times.” Deanna seemed less focused on you and more on the now half-asleep child in your arms, which you were incredibly grateful for considering that your poker face wasn’t as good as it used to be and she legitimately freaked you out.

Judith grumbled as you hitched her higher on your hip. “Judy is an easy baby, pretty much eats anything that gets put in front of her.” You chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You and Rick must be very proud of your kids.” 

Your eyes widened. “Oh, it’s not-“

A strong arm was suddenly wrapped around your thick waist and you were tugged back into their hard stomach. The scent of cigarettes and motor oil filled your senses as Daryl’s lips brushed against your earlobe. You watched as Deanna went pale, obviously coming to her own conclusion about your relationship with the archer.

“I-I didn’t realise, given how affectionate you are with the kids, I thought Rick was your partner.” You could feel Daryl’s broad chest rumble with discontent.

“So what if he is?” The noise from the party faded away to a faint whisper as all eyes turned to you. Internally, you groaned, vowing to get some sort of revenge on your boyfriend.

“I’m sorry?” Deanna seemed genuinely confused but you knew that whatever was about to come out of Daryl’s mouth would not serve to lessen that feeling.

With your free hand, you dug your fingers into his hip, urging him to shut the hell up but like always, Daryl refused to listen. “So what if we’re both fucking her?”

And there it was. Your body sagged with embarrassment as heat raced up your neck, blooming across your cheeks. “You fucking asshole.” Your group all seemed to be holding back their laughter as the Alexandrians were suddenly incredibly uncomfortable. You heard Carl groan loudly from somewhere behind you. “Not again.”

“Both of them?” Spencer materialised beside his mother, jaw practically on the floor. “At the same time?”

Just as Daryl’s mouth opened once more to very rudely answer the mayor’s son, Rick’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. His grip was light enough to appear friendly but the way his fingers curled into his collarbone kept the other man silent. “What Daryl meant to say is that we are all in a relationship together.”

You then made the mistake of making eye contact with Maggie and Carol who both seemed to be on the edge of suffocation as they desperately tried to stop giggling. You glared at the women and got back a rather rude gesture from Carol that restarted their laughter anew.

“I think I need to get Judy to bed.” You tried to pull away from Daryl’s grip but the stubborn man he was, he just held you tighter.

“How does that work?” The question came from a woman towards the back. You could practically feel Rick’s smirk as he cleared his throat but very quickly, another woman decided to answer for him.

“Obviously they take turns.” A murmur of agreement filled the room followed by- “Oh her poor vagina.” This makes Glenn snort into his drink.

With a horrified look on her face, Deanna spoke again. “This is highly inappropriate.” Yet no one seemed to hear her because someone else piped up.

“I can’t believe that she isn’t pregnant all the time.”

“I think that’s enough of that! Thank you all for the wonderful party, but we really should be going now.” Your voice boomed, starling Judith awake but that was the least of your concerns at the moment. Daryl went easily enough as your fingers clamped down on his wrist and you pulled him along, although there was a prideful smile on his lips.

But Rick had other ideas. “It’s not like we don’t try every chance we get.” Faster than you thought you were capable of, you dropped Daryl’s hand and your arm darted out, grabbing Rick’s ear with a force that made him visibly flinch.

“I said that’s enough.” You snarled and tugged him towards the front door, Daryl trailing close behind you. “Goodnight.” The door slammed shut behind you, leaving behind a room full of stunned Alexandrians and your friends who were all laughing loudly.

“Well, I guess that cleared that up.” Deanna murmured and took a long pull of her drink.

TWD Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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Daryl Dixon 

@springdandelixn @goobysgoobers @ruinedbythehobbit @joyfulfxckery

[lianasyappingsession]

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗜𝘀 𝗦𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲.

˚ ༘♡Carl Grimes x reader

"there's only one thing more precious than our time and that's who we spend it on"

cw: teen angst, mention of canon-violence & death, reader is Negan's "kid", swearing, slightly angst inner monologue, etc. tropes:enemies to lovers, slow-burn, found family summary: you have been with the saviors for years, so how did one line-up, no, one boy, change the way you see this ruined world? a/n: the timeline of canon twd events is sorta out of order, it's been awhile since i watched s7 when daryl was held by negan so everything is completely by memory yet the point still stands. hopefully this makes sense. not proof-read.

You shouldn't be doing this. What you were doing went completely against everything you've been taught. Everything. It was early morning. Maybe around six or seven. You don't exactly know. The one thing you do know is that Negan won't be around for a few hours as he's got a ton of shit to handle. Even though it was early morning you had been up for hours thinking.

Thinking about your current life. Thinking about how those around you treat each other. So cruel. Thinking about the way Negan, your mentor, treats you. Thinking about those people at the most recent line-up a few weeks ago.

About how awful all the blood and sounds of muffled cries were. About how you sat there on the uncomfortable gravel road and did nothing but watch the way Negan treated them, the same as the other two groups. It was the same yet arguably worse than Hilltop or the Kingdom. At the time it happened it didn't really matter to you. "Typical fools who messed with the wrong people" You thought. You thought that because that's what you were believed to think. Everyone wants to believe that they're the good guy. We're not. Nobody really is. You remember glancing at the pale, long-haired teen and seeing how his un-intimidated look turned into the look of a scared teen. At that moment you realized that he was no different from you. You guys may have been on opposite sides but you were both on opposite sides of the same coin. You can't describe it, but seeing him in that vulnerable state for those few seconds did something to you. It's like reality just smacked the hell out of you. And then a few days later when Negan and the Saviors went to go claim their stuff you were face-to-face with that teen again. By then you had learned his name, Carl, he was the son of their leader. You could see the resemblance. Hell, you could see a whole lot more than just the family relation Carl had with Rick, you saw this young teenage boy as a person. Carl was a person. A human. He was a kid. Just. Like. Yourself. The feeling was insufferable. Seriously. It made you sick. Up until seeing Carl you hadn't seen another teenager your age. You felt as if you were alone in his cruel and unforgiving world. But you weren't. Not anymore. Sure, you two haven't spoken a single word to one another, (unless you count the time you explained to him what a "south-paw" was right before Negan almost made his own father cut his arm off), but you've watched how he interacted with his people. His family. Those were his people. The people he trusted the most.

And perhaps it was simply because you hadn't really seen how the Hilltop people lived, nor the Kingdom folks, but being exposed to this much genuine love made you feel... off. It made you feel weird. You hadn't seen people actually care for one another in years since your dad died. Your dad died towards the beginning of when the world went to shit. It was just you two, then your scared and small world became a little bigger once your dad met and started to work for Negan. Your dad died a few months in yet Negan kept you around. You were like, thirteen, so obviously he's not THAT cruel. He kept you under this wing, made sure you ate and got treated well. He was, in a weird way, your father. Eventually your world became even bigger once the small communities like Hilltop and the Kingdom got introduced. You thought this would be an opportunity for a bigger safe space, more faces, new people, new stories, etc. But it wasn't. It wasn't and after a few years of no social interaction with kids your own age it took a toll on you. Maybe it wouldn't have been so, so bad if Negan had been around more but he had "important" stuff to handle. He always did. You felt alone. This feeling of loneliness and the regret of hurting people was too much. You realized you didn't want people to fear you. Fear was not the way to get respect, respect had to be earned. Trust had to be earned. Relations were never going to form if you kept on like this. All of this is exactly why you are where you are currently. On the south side of the huge Sanctuary you quietly and quickly wandered the halls and searched for the holding cell. The cell that the man, Daryl, was currently held in. You had to ask one of Negan's "wives", Sherry, for some info. It took some time but Sherry had always been sweet to you so she eventually caved in. You eventually start to hear a faint sound of a somewhat familiar song, Easy Street, playing in this certain hallway. As you got closer so did the music. You eventually found the source of the sound, a small radio, sitting on the outside of a large metal door. You reached down and lowered the music a little in order to hear your own thoughts. Should I really do this? Maybe I shouldn't.. No, No, we're already here. Sherry already knows. I have to do this. I have to.

You slowly unlocked the door and pulled the chain off. You waited a few moments and glanced at the clock, 7:02. "Good. Right on time for the guards to be on the east side of the building." You think. Gosh, you hoped this worked. You slowly start to pull the heavy metal door open. It was pinch blackness in the small room. A little cold as well. Peeking inside you see the color of an orange shirt and pants in the corner. A man. Daryl. "Um... hi." You sound super unsure. Almost as if you stumbled into the wrong room. "Look, uh, you don't have a lot of time. You can go out the south side of the building, today's Thursday I think so the guards shouldn't be on this side. You should be able to leave.." You quickly explain.

He stares at you for a few moments then speaks quietly. "Yer his kid, huh?" You nod slowly. "Yeah, but uh, that's not important right now. You need to leave. And whoops, it's a shame someone forgot to lock this door.." I say nonchalantly. I leave the door cracked slightly and bend down to turn the music back up a little. Right before I do I glance at you, "Good luck, you're gonna need it."

Once you're sure the door won't close you back up and then quickly turn on your heel and book it down the hallway. The sound of the music covers up the sound of your loud leather books hitting the floor tiles. You actually did it. For real.

You didn't feel as terrified as you thought you would. No. You felt slightly proud..? Whatever this feeling was it felt good. You ran down the halls and eventually made it to a staircase. You stopped to catch your breath. You knew someone was going to get in trouble for your random act of kindness but you didn't care. Fuck it. Fuck it all. You were no longer a scared little kid. You knew right from wrong and everything the Saviors have been doing is wrong, so wrong. You were getting out of here. Today. Now. You were going to choose your own life. Be the person you wish to be. More importantly, you were going to see Carl again. See Carl and this time properly talk to him. Prove that you were nothing like your da- Negan. Nothing. You were a little nervous now that the adrenaline was slowing down but for the first time in years you felt a small sense of hope. You felt good. You finally got the courage to be your own person. You were your own person and you hope that maybe the people in Alexandria would understand that. You needed them too. Not just Carl but Rick, Michonne, Maggie, all of them. And you were going to prove it. If it was the last thing you do, that would be it. So, did you really uproot your life of safety and disobey your "people" in order to free some random guy? Yes. At least that's what you tried to convince yourself that was the reason. It was totally that and not because deep-down you secretly found the young teenage boy cute. Totally not. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

p.s: this is my first time writing something like this so hopefully it's good! may or may not make this isn't a multiple part series so yaaa idk

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Daryl: Rules’re made to be broken.

Rick: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken.

Y/N: Uh, piñatas.

Glenn: Glow sticks.

Maggie: Karate boards.

Carol: Spaghetti when you have a small pot.

Daryl: Rules.

Rick: …

Rick: Why do I even bother?

[bambisworlds]

whenever i see this gif all i can imagine is someone threatening y/n then rick shows them what 'fuck around and find out' means

ps i'm posting a rick grimes fic at midnight

gif is by @andy-clutterbuck

[grudgecollector]

REQUESTS OPEN

Hello everyone! I am remaking this request list as I've been writing more frequently again for The Walking Dead. That is all this request list will consist of, for characters I will write or consider writing.

So feel free to read this over and send in your asks!

If there is a character not listed that you want to see me write, just ask and I can see what I can do. I will say, it depends on the character and my feelings towards them, because most if not all of my fics are not only for you but mostly for myself to fuel my personal hyperfixations.

PLEASE READ:

Below the cut is my will write/will not write list. Please respect my wishes and do not request things if I state I will be uncomfortable with it! Thank you for understanding 💗

MY MASTERLIST FOR TWD IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN READING

---

THE WALKING DEAD

Daryl Dixon

Rick Grimes

Rick/Reader/Daryl

Glenn

Glenn/Reader/Maggie

DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMESTANCE ASK ME TO WRITE FOR THE FOLLOWING CHARACTERS:

Carl Grimes (I am a grown ass woman, no explanation needed)

Shane Walsh

The Governor

Beth (she's like a sister to me)

WILL NOT WRITE

Regarding intense topics:

Necrophilia

Incest/Grooming

Infantilization of characters / Age Play

Rape, drugging, sex trafficking

Cheating (whether on the reader's end or requested character)

Actual torture and/or abuse between reader and requested character

Underage reader / romantic relations with canonical underage characters

Regarding non-problematic topics, I just don't want to write them:

Pregnant reader or reader with a new born

Yandere

Reader as a child

More intense things I'm okay with writing:

Voyeurism/Exhibitionism

Doms/subs

Reader being tortured/abused by a non-requested character

Dad's best friend

Violence in order to protect reader

If you have any questions please feel free to ask!

[saintship]

Apocalypse’s spring

Prison era!Rick x fem!bitten!reader, a bit of honoring Lori’s death

warnings: angst, fear of death, grief, implied su1c1de, description of injuries

༻✦༺ It was a few days into the first warmth of spring. Only a few stray piles of snow remained on the bows of trees and atop swathes of briar, which you weaved through quietly on your walk back to the prison. A large rabbit swayed limply from your belt thanks to a knot Daryl had taught you. You really liked how he was taking some of the weight off Rick. It was frustrating that he still held onto Shane’s ideals; the separation of women and men in the group. It made you want to rip your hair out when he refused help, but if Daryl was the one relieving Rick, you were just glad it was happening at all.

The prison came into view, light filtering through the trees to light the widening path. When you heard the hiss and gnashing of a walker, your fear dissipated to annoyance that you’d gotten so close to having an uneventful day of hunting. drawing your knife, you turned, expecting one or two. It felt like your throat closed when you saw how far the herd stretched; if you remembered clearly, it was around the same size as the herd the group had to clear when everyone arrived.

Shame burns in your gut as you run. Even though plenty of people would do the same, this period of your life had almost conditioned you to be ashamed of choosing against the fight.

“Carol!” Her name ripped from your throat.

“The gate!”

She didn’t need any more explanation, pulling you inside while Carl closed the entrance again. Hundreds of walkers slammed up against the barrier, from one end of the fence to the other, snarling and spitting, crawling over each other in their hunger. You took Carl by the shoulders; poor, ill-fated Carl. You can’t imagine another universe where you’d be gripping a child this young, asking him to act like an adult. You understood indulging him with responsibility, but it also made you want to smack Rick. Would Judith be the same story?

“Go tell everyone inside what’s going on, please.”

He nodded, taking off while you and Carol stayed and started working on clearing the walkers that had gotten their arms stuck through the gaps. You were exhausted from the day, the sprint to the gate, the stress of the last months. A walker forces her way to the front; a little girl. Her little pink shoes and pigtail braids look out of place. Distracted by the heart wrenching sight, you were pulled tightly to the fence by the dozens of grasping arms, your abdomen level with the girl’s head. The sharp pain on your stomach followed by the damp sensation of blood was dull in your mind, all you could do was stay upright and keep taking down the gnashing, infected things.

The group worked at the herd for nearly three hours before it was safe to retreat inside, the stragglers not powerful enough to breach the gate. Finding a small bathroom, you lifted your shirt to reveal what you already knew was there. It was a messy one, the bite unclean and jagged. Pieces of skin frayed, blood still seeping down your hip. While you were trying to decide what to do next, Rick’s voice made your blood run cold.

“Here I was, thinking we got off with no serious injuries..”

His accent was always a bit rougher when he spoke quietly. You loved the way he said certain words, the way he’d roll his eyes when you imitated him. It seemed like everything you loved about him was rushing through you as you came to grips with the bite. Your mouth opened a few times, but Rick didn’t need you to say anything. His hands, still battered and partially bloodstained, run down your arms gently as he stands behind you. The touch releases a shaky exhale from your lungs.

“I need you to stay calm..” His eyes meet yours in the mirror. He looked so tired these days.

“I’m not gonna fight.. or run, or anything.” You rasp.

He nods, his eyes flickering to the bite in your reflection.

“I.. I wish I could-"

You shake your head, and he falls quiet.

“No use trying to bargain.” You murmur.

Frustration passes over his expression, but it’s stifled by his shaking voice. He leans down, close enough to speak at nearly a whisper.

“Thank you.. for everything..” He murmurs into your hair, and it feels like the room is spinning. You’re expecting to jolt awake, to see your cell walls around you and lay back down in relief. But all you could feel was Rick’s chest brushing your back, his hands holding your shoulders, his soothing voice reaching every corner of the dingy bathroom. You formed the only words that kept coming to mind.

“I don’t want to go..”

Your voice sounded unlike yourself, almost juvenile. The kind of tone Carl used back when he wasn’t allowed to have a gun.

Carl. Oh god, Carl. You miss the kid already and you’re not even dead yet.

Rick’s breath shakes as he exhales. In the mirror, you watch his brow twitch that way it does when he’s holding back what he really wants to say.

“I’ll stay with you..”

Your head shakes, though you don’t feel in control of your body.

“No.. I have to end it..”

His hand grips the basin, and you can feel it; the hint of anger that always bleeds into grief.

“Are you positive you want to do it yourself?” He murmurs, his eyes trained on the sink.

“Yes.”

It wasn’t a question to you; you knew he was more important; he had to have a peaceful memory of you, and besides, he’d had to kill Sofia, and that was more than enough for one person’s lifetime.

He slowly turns you around, wrapping you in his arms. Closing your eyes, you could just pause all of this for a moment, pressed against his chest with your arms embracing his back. You feel the brush of his lips over your hairline, and that’s when tears threaten your eyes.

“Rick..” You breathe shakily, but he soothes you, holding you tighter.

“Shh.. I know..”

Your heart feels like it’s being constricted when you feel him slide a pistol into your holster. He walks you out to a side entrance, the forest nearby. The sun was setting. He gathers you against him one last time, squeezing you comfortably before pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m always with you..” He whispers.

“I’m with you too..”

You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to pretend you didn’t care about Lori, but you did. So you press your lips to his stubbled cheek, a bit of your tears clinging to his skin.

“Bye, Rick..”

You step down through the destroyed part of the prison, starting toward the woods. Dappled sunlight flits over the path, the Georgia breeze tousling your thin flannel.

You can’t bring yourself to look back, but if you did, you would have seen Carl walk up silently to his father’s side.

[sinsandsweetness]

I love your writing sooo much, was wondering if you could write a hyperfeminine reader × daryl one shot or sum like that!

ok apologies, this is actually Rick & Daryl x reader 🤭 if you have something slightly more specific for just Daryl I’m sure I can write it too💗

“I feel ridiculous.” Daryl grumbles, scrunching his nose as you place the white sheet mask over his face. The cold wet serum taking him by surprise as you use the pads of your manicured fingers to shape it to his skin. Smoothing out the little bumps and ridges.

“Well you look adorable.”

You hear Rick snort a laugh from the dresser, where he’s folding laundry neatly into their respective drawers.

“What?” You ask. Curious as to what could possibly be so funny.

“Oh- nothin, baby. He just needs some cucumbers on his eyes, then it’d be like a real spa.” Rick jokes, turning back around to fold another shirt.

“Hmm…” You turn back to Daryl, placing both palms on his chest. He must see the glimmer of idea in your eye and decides to shut it down real quick.

“No. No cucumber.”

“But-“

“No.”

“Ok. Fine.” Your brows furrow into a playful scowl at the man in front of you. He does look a little funny. White sheet mask clinging to his cheeks, only able to see his pretty lips and those ocean eyes.

You’re sitting on top of him. Thighs straddling his waist. Wearing a low cut tank top that cups your breast so delicately. Perky nipples peaking through the thin fabric. And when he lowers his gaze, he’s met with your tiny cotton panties. White ones with these little red hearts all over them. It is laundry day after all. And you’re panties are so perfectly pressed up against the bulge growing hard in his jeans. His hands are on your hips, rubbing mindless little circles onto your skin with his thumbs. And the feeling of your soft skin under his touch, really isn’t helping his situation.

“It’s too slimy.” He complains, one hand coming up to pick at the corner.

“Mkay… we can take it off if you really don’t like it. But just let me rub all this stuff in. Give you a little massage,” you explain, peeling the mask off his face by the corner and tossing it in the bin near the bed.

His skin is glistening wet as you take your fingertips, gently massaging the serum into his skin.

“You really gotta moisturize more. You’re already getting frown lines, D.” Your index finger traces the crease between his eyes.

Daryl can’t help the look he shoots towards Rick, who has to bite back his own smile at your amusing commentary.

Daryl sighs and shakes his head with a smirk. Gosh you two couldn’t be more opposite. Him, dressed in all black and leather. Rough and quiet and even a little mean at times. But you… well you’re perfect. To him at least. To anyone really. Not only with the way you look. Always prim and proper. Frills and bows adorning your flirty sundresses and mini skirts. But the way you act too, regardless of all the shitty situations you and everyone else has been through. You remain bright and kind and soft and sweet and there’s no one else who’d say any different. And there’s definitely no one else who he’d let baby him the way you do. The way you coddle him and cling to him non stop. The fact that you’re giving him an at home “spa treatment”… that alone is enough to prove how much he likes you. How much he adores you. If it were anyone else, he’d tell them to fuck right off. But not you. Not his perfect, pretty princess. The only one who can make him melt into putty the second you get your hands on him.

You can feel his hips slowly gyrating underneath you. A distracted and mindless attempt to catch the littlest bit more friction against you. His cock twitches as his blown pupils linger on the swell of your breasts.

“D,” you scold, eyes going wide and displaying your bashfulness. Though Daryl doesn’t seem to care. Eyes darting up to meet yours as he pulls his lip between his teeth. Biting back his smile at getting caught.

“Sorry,” his gaze shifts to the man behind you; An unspoken invitation.

Soon enough, you feel Ricks knee dip into the mattress, planting himself behind you both, and pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder. Hands resting right above Daryl’s on your waist.

“You two almost done over here?” His kisses move up to your neck while Daryl’s hands make their way to your ass, pulling gently and forcing you to start rocking back and forth.

You let out a sigh, tipping your head back and basking in the attention from both men.

“Think we could probably take a break…” you breath out, pleasant tingles starting to erupt down your spine at their combined touches.

Daryl pulls at the band of your underwear, the elastic snapping back against your skin, making you jolt foreword with a gasp.

Both him and Rick let out a huff of amusement. Pulling on the thong yet again. Getting their hint across as clear as day.

“Why don’t you take these off and let us give you a real massage, huh?”

[slasherslittlesimp]

Living Dead Girl (TWD X F!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Warnings: This story may contain mentions/details of: Suicide, Depression, Violence, Death, Gore, Assault, Abuse

CHAPTER ONE

Your body sways side to side as you walk, unable to keep your balance as corpses repeatedly bump into you as they walk past, the horde heading the opposite direction as they head who knows where searching for something to consume despite not needing food to survive. You do nothing as they bump into you, simply staring straight ahead as you walk, seemingly unbothered by everything around you.

It doesn't take long until you break free from the horde, left on your own as they continue on their journey. Without much thought, you walk into the building you've claimed as your new home, shutting the door behind you yet leaving unlocked. Even if a corpse made it in it wouldn't matter since they ignore you so you've never seen the point in locking it. Hell, the door could completely disappear and you still wouldn't care.

Okay... maybe a little, but only because you took a long time cleaning up the place and don't want it getting stenched up and dirty by a bunch of corpses.

Like a routine engraved into your soul, you make your way to the bathroom, flicking on the oil lamp left next to the sink. The small flame lights the room with an orange glow, barely allowing you to see yourself in the mirror. You step closer to it, your eyes trained on the mask covering the lower half of your face- a black mask similar to one's doctors would wear, just made of cloth instead. Slowly, your eyes trail up until you make eye contact with your reflection.

The sight that greets you is the same one that greets you every other time.

Your left eye is cloudy, looking much like the eyes of the corpses outside. You can still see perfectly fine for some reason, yet the sight of it bothers you as it reminds you that you're no longer human. Just a living dead girl. Your right eye, however, is still the same (E/C) it's always been, just a bit dull and lifeless due to obvious reasons. You stare into your reflections eyes for a moment longer before pulling down your mask, curling your lips back to reveal your teeth. They appear normal, showing no signs of discoloration like the teeth of the corpses outside. Satisfied, you put the mask back over your face before sighing.

Now comes the part you hate the most.

Shrugging off your jacket, you reach up to the collar of your shirt, hesitating only a moment before tugging it aside to reveal your shoulder. Small discolored scars greet your sight in the shape of a bite mark. It's small, probably about the size of a clementine. Your fingers trace over them, feeling the indentations left by every tooth, minus a little gap where a tooth was missing. The second you feel yourself growing emotional you release your hold on your shirts collar, tearing your gaze from the mirror with a clenched jaw.

No matter how often you do this routine it never gets any easier. Every damn day you walk into this bathroom and check over yourself for any signs of change- any signs that you're becoming more of a corpse. And every day you're met with the same damn sight of everything being exactly the same. No signs at all that your infection progressed. No signs that you're any closer to becoming just a dead girl, rather than a living dead one. And every day you find yourself upset that nothing has changed. That you're no closer to being put out of your misery. No closer to joining your loved ones on the other side.

Yet despite your desire to die, you've never once considered suicide.

Suicide wasn't a strange or unknown concept to your family. When you were just a little girl, your Pa killed himself, losing his battle against his depression. You never blamed him for it either. The guy had a rough life growing up until he met your mother. And they had a good few years together before she passed giving birth to your baby brother- a brother you never got to meet since he was stillborn. You can still remember how broken your Pa was when he got the news. And you quite frankly don't think you ever saw the man smile again. On top of losing his wife and son, he was let go from his job, and quickly found himself drowning in debt, struggling to keep a roof over your heads.

It got to the point where he only really saw one way out. And he took it.

Being so young you were instantly put in the system. Thankfully, you were only an orphan for roughly two months before you were adopted by a lovely woman named Luanne and her husband. You had never met the woman before, but she claimed to have known your parents. It's because of this that you never blamed your father for committing suicide. Mama Luanne made sure to always tell you about your parents- the good and the bad. She didn't want you to forget about them as you grew older.

She also didn't want you to have any hatred towards your father if you did happen to remember his suicide. She didn't have to worry though, as you have always been mature for your age, seemingly understanding everything happening around you. When she sat you down one day to explain why your father did what he did, you simply told her you already knew. That was the first time she realized just how mature you were. That your little six year old brain understood the concept of life and death, and everything in between. Almost as if you had already lived many lifetimes.

She started believing in reincarnation after that, funnily enough.

Any time anyone passed away after that, she'd sit down with you, snuggled up under a blanket together while sipping your favorite warm drinks discussing what you thought the deceased might reincarnate as. Nothing was off limits. And despite her being many decades older than you, she always had sillier guesses than you. She'd always choose the most random things, like sea urchins or slugs. You? You always chose things that seemed more logical. Such as reincarnating as a human again. And if not human, then an animal with human like intelligence.

When your family died... you couldn't find it in yourself to keep that tradition of guessing. You didn't want to think of them reincarnating back into this fucked up world where they'd just experience a traumatizing and gruesome death again. Instead, you chose to believe that they passed on somewhere more peaceful where they'd never have to experience death again.

And you hope it's true.

Because you'd fight every God known to man if you knew they were forced back into this world despite deserving peace.

[witchthewriter]

𝐍𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

a/n: okay so I'm making this post because I found ... this audio on youtube (it's sfw dw) and it really made me want to write about the reader as this badass bitch who Negan absolutely adores. Otherwise, I find it really difficult to write for Negan in this timeframe. But the audio made me ... goddamn fall in love.

Warnings: at the end there's blood, and a knife - not used in violence though.

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ    

ENTP

Slytherin

Evil Neutral > Chaotic Neutral

4 of Wands Reversed

Gemini Sun, Sagittarius Moon, Scorpio Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・He had found you in one of the only secluded places there were at the Sanctuary

・Then this voice came out of nowhere, a voice you know well, one you had ... fantasised about for a while

・But outwardly, you pretended that you were doing this just to get by

・However, you had learned a lot from the people around you, from Negan, but mostly from Michonne when you were with her group

・It was long history. But eventually, your ideas didn't align with Rick's. And to the dismay of Michonne and yourself, you decided to leave.

・It hurt. You had friends in Rick's group, you truly did. But they followed him blindly. Just how Negan's group followed him blindly.

・But all your family had died, there was no one left you had to look out for. To love. Rick didn't even leave his kids in your presence alone. Just because of your ideologies - that maybe there is no right or wrong anymore.

・And then Negan killed Glenn, and Abraham and so many others and you felt so lost.

・But somehow, anyway, you ended up at the gates of the Sanctuary.

・It had been a month in and you were finding difficulties left and right.

・No one accepted you, no one wanted to trust one of Rick's group. They thought you were sent here to spy on Negan. But you did everything to prove yourself.

・And as time went on, you saw Negan's bravado.

・And ... you liked it. Even when it came down when two were together, you still liked his charm. The way he thought. But you could also see the hurt from his past. And how that influenced how he acted today.

・The words he spoke made you tingle, they made you blush (although you concealed it so well that Negan couldn't see it.)

・And when he was pouring his heart out to you, you tried to keep a straight face. Not let him see how you truly felt. Because if you did, then you would have nearly body slammed him to the floor and kissed him until you both couldn't breathe.

・Knowing that the leader of the Sanctuary, THE Negan, wanted you and only you - made you feel ontop of the world.

・And then he did something that you didn't expect.

・He made everyone assemble inside.

・And announced that you were his and only his and then he was only yours.

・That even though the war between Rick and them was still happening, Negan wanted someone solely to himself.

・In other words, Negan's personal life was just as important as the war ...

・When he made all his subjects kneel, and kissed you on the lips, you felt a rush of ... power. Of ... royalty, authority, control.

・It made you buzz.

・When it was just the two of you again, and Negan brought up the wedding, you nearly died.

・Had this been a joke? You thought so, but when you brought up your hesitancies, Negan looked at you with pure shock.

"Hell baby, I know you don't want to hear it, but these past few weeks, I've been giving you test after test."

"What? No you haven't, I would have notice-"

"That was the point, they weren't supposed to be noticeable baby."

"Negan, I - I honestly don't understand."

"Baby, you passed every single one of them. And I know you are the one for me. The only, one for me."

・Even before the apocolypse you never thought you would get married. You never thought someone would want you in that way.

・But apparently your strengths, the things that others saw as weaknesses - was what Negan loved.

"Okay, to make it even though, Mr Smith," you looked up at him with mischief in your eyes. The type of mischief that could breed chaos.

"Hmmm?" Negan said with a raised eyebrow, mirroring your smile.

"I want you to undergo a test." Your voice was light, airy, innocent.

"Anything for you, sugar," he nearly growled.

𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾🔞𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝒅𝒏𝒊!

"Knife." You demanded and he pulled the one from his boot. The one he had his closest confidant clean and sharpen every morning.

・He passed it over to you without hesitation.

"Hand," you flipped yours out and he put it over your own.

"Repeat after me," all your words contradicted your eager face. Firm and strong, it excited Negan. But he kept that in.

・You looked at the shiny blade for a moment and admired it. Not too big, not too short, the perfect size for this.

"With my blood, I devote to you my love," you said, and waited a moment for Negan to do the same.

・He readied his throat and looked you straight in the eyes. His were glistening, and yours, gleaming.

His voice was deep, low, "with my blood, I devote to you my love."

・Without taking his eyes from you, you sliced the blade over his palm and did the same to yours.

・It stung, and blood wept from the wound. Faster than you had inticipated.

"And as we merge our blood together, we are now forever bound."

・You saw a hint of his eyes bulging, but only for a second.

・This was it. The final test to see if his words wrung true.

But his gaze flicked back to yours and nodded, "and as we merge our blood together, we are now forever bound."

・You clasped your hands together and let the blood mix.

"Blood of my blood," you whispered. Kissing the back of his hand.

・Where once held a smile, now had a stoic face. Knowing that now you truly were his one and only wife.

・Negan's eyes met yours.

"Bloof of my blood," he growled and leaned over the table to kiss you.

・Your hands stayed linked like that for nearly thirty minutes. Neither wanting to break free.

・An hour after you both decided you could let go. Negan went and sat in his chair, slapping the chair beside you.

With a beer in hand, he said, "I can't believe my wife's got me doing witchy shit," and he gave a chuckle.

"Husband," you said while grabbing the knife and walking over to the seat beside him, this isn't just "witchy shit, it's witchcraft." And then you licked the blood from the knife.

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

Penance + (knock-off) Ambrosia

still alive, slowpokes :P

When -- during the meal at the Greene's Farm as seen in S02 Chupacabra. After Shame on a plate.

What -- Carol wanted to cook a communal dinner for the Greenes in thanks for all they've done to help your group. Under the weight of Otis' death as well as possibly having to vacate to God-knows-where, the shared meal is tense. Meanwhile, Daryl's busy beating himself up alone in his room and won't eat.

Relationships -- slow burn Daryl x You

Perspective -- You 2nd, Daryl 3rd

Pronouns -- neutral

TWs -- some language, and a non-descriptive allusion to Shane's actions in Stuck in a damn bed.

Masterlist -- Official one here and Chronological one here

feedback is nice to get :D

Jimmy’s note to you reads: “What’s a pirate’s faverite letter?”

Easy, you know this one!

After double-taking at the typo, you scribble back “aRRRR!” and pass it to where he sits beside you, a smug grin tucked in your face. Only rule is: don’t laugh.

Yo, this table is fun, you’re not even embarrassed about being in your mid-twenties and sitting at the kiddie table. It’s too bad Carl tired himself out earlier, he’d be in stitches!

Oh, come to think of it, that wouldn’t be good, his actual stitches are still healing. So are yours, for that matter…

Anyway, it started off as a silly thing: Not 5 minutes into the meal, Beth had tiptoed to get her drawing pad from the den and wrote “please pass white gravy + pepper?” instead of whispering it, because supper had/has been that darn quiet.

This immediately (and somehow wordlessly) turned into the no-laugh competition you’ve all got going.

Granted, laughing out loud might would make the dinner a little less stiff, but you aren’t certain.

The big table seems rough. They’re barely making eye contact, not really talking, eesh.

Before dinner began, Patricia, Lori, and Carol were chatting as they finished up the cooking, and at the same time there was light discussion as you were helping wash the dishes and set the table with your friends. Even Lori exiting Carl’s room after plainly having been crying didn’t alter the good jibing any, things were chill.

But when everyone came in, sat down together? It got uneasy. When Mr. Greene said the blessing it almost felt too loud.

Now the room is limited to clinking, scraping noises, murmured niceties, and hushed requests to pass things.

You did almost lose the no-laugh game first when Glenn quietly mimicked the way Gollum said “what’s taters, precious?” because you whispered at him to “pass the mashed taters, please?” instead of ‘potatoes.’ Don’t fret, you’d obviously murmured back the only correct response of “po-tay-toes?” as well as the cooking instructions Sam says in the movie.

You almost lost it again when Glenn next decided to break the silence by asking the entire room if anybody knew how to play the guitar. The crickets that followed, hilarious!

Except, then Patricia spoke up that her husband had known, Mr. Greene agreed about how skilled Otis had been.

Oh, did the tension spike.

First thing you'd done was peek around to see if Shane was okay. He wasn’t.

His expression had taken on that 1000 yard stare sort of deal he’s been slipping into. Scared, lost. Then hard and almost mean.

Something got broke in him real bad that night Otis got killed. It’s scary, especially considering how he snapped at you yesterday and even…never mind, you don’t want to get into it.

At any rate, he made a very serious apology to you earlier today, very serious.

So, yeah, the room turned way more tense after that innocent guitar question, certainly sobered you up right quick.

And the strange sensation you’d had after Amy got killed, the one where it felt as if her blood was back on it, it started to come back pretty strong. Granted, it had come back after what happened with Shane the other day, too, but the sensation revved up more after the guitar question. Rest in peace Otis.

And at least to you, it made the unspoken understanding of Sophia twist harder, too.

When poor Jimmy got teary when his dad was brought up, you traced a blessing on his forehead and set to scribbling the next dumb joke you could think of on another scrap of paper for him and reminded yourself your hand was clean and that Otis and Sophia’s fates weren’t on you.

As for poor Glenn, once the exchange was over, he looked like he wanted to transform into a chair.

Silver lining was that Maggie helped him feel better; she slipped him a note that must’ve been a really good joke because Glenn seemed giddy as a schoolboy as he wrote down the punchline or whatever.

‘Schoolboy’ is definitely the best term — Mr. Greene and Dale happened to see Glenn sneaking back his response and were staring at the folded paper in his hand.

It’s kinda silly, right? Not only were you, Margaret, and Glenn sat at the kid table, but you were also acting like kids, what with the note-passing. Caught by the principal lol.

In the moment, you’d figured might as well, and so scribbled in big letters on the back of the notepad itself: “Too quiet, so we pass notes!”

When you held it up to the two of them, Dale read the words, swallowed a smile, then mouthed "troublemaker" to you.

As for Mr. Greene, his expression was, per usual, unreadable.

That was, what, all of 10 minutes ago? And it’s still a quiet, tense meal.

Maggie hasn’t taken the note from Glenn out her pocket to share it. A part of you hopes it’s something sweet, therefore private.

And, well, right now, you’re staring at your plate and thinking on how you’ve already got helping #2 on it. It makes you wonder if the quiet in the room, tense as it feels, might could be related to the food?

’Cause dude, it’s been so long since a hot meal this good!

Even the heartbreak about Sophia isn’t enough to stop the cravings from going into overdrive (not true, actually, but the meal is great, is what you mean)—and Carol orchestrated the dinner, anyway. She’s in a place where even she can eat, so…

Wiping your hand on your napkin again (and again), you take another sip of water, and fidget with your fork and knife.

God save you, you want to go hog wild on the food and shove it all into your mouth in one fell swoop. So, you know, maybe everyone else is also extra quiet to focus on eating politely and not stuffing it all in their face like half-starved hamsters, too.

That’s a nice thing to imagine, rather than it being gonna-get-kicked-off-the-property-and-we’re-very-sorry-Otis-is-dead-and-are-we-allowed-to-enjoy-things-when-Sophia-is-probably-dead? tenseness.

Because the food really is so yummy! And there are potatoes! Carol was so thrilled to find out they have potatoes! And there’s dairy! Therefore butter and cream and milk — hallelujah!— oh, you did a happy dance the second a forkful of the mashed taters touched your lips!

Back to the present, as you set to crafting an unnaturally large bite featuring a taste of everything from your plate, Jimmy is reading your response to his pirate joke while — grinning wide and shaking his head?

Then, you see as he scratches with the pen again on the note in his lap and hands it back to you.

Is not a pirate’s favorite letter R? What other letter could it…

You keep chewing while you open the folded note.

It reads:

“aRRRR? Nay, ‘tis the C!”

…

…

OH MY GOSH—

___________________________

Him

___________________________

A familiar laugh belted out from down the hallway where they was all doing dinner. This was followed by couple seconds of silence even more dead than the dinner already sounded.

But after that? It was as if a dam had burst and carried in pack of hyenas who quickly overtook the dining room.

He next thought he heard the word “pirate,” but that made no sense. A few minutes later, the hyenas seem to have left, judging by how shit got all quiet again.

That is until another noise, this time suspiciously moan-like, called out from the dining room. Within a second or two, he heard the food’s praises sung, T-Dog leading the charge, and, well, the din stayed put after that.

One, big, happy family.

Minus one missing little girl.

Daryl hadn’t touched his plate yet, hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed. Didn’t feel like eating.

How those dickbags was having a dinner was beyond him at that point.

The search today was a bust, yet again. The neighborhood T-Dog’s group went to check was mostly burned down, and the highway spot set up for Sophia was still untouched.

Carol’s words to him wouldn’t shut up, neither — and why in the hell she gave him a kiss on his head?!

“You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole life,” she’d told him.

Can you believe that shit? “You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole life.” If failing and getting benched for a week was the best that little girl ever got, she had a piss poor life, and that fact whipped Daryl on the back harder than his own old man ever had.

Speaking of, when Carol brought him his tray, she hadn’t knocked. Meaning, Daryl hadn’t had time to pull the sheet over his shoulder before she walked in. His shirt had been off.

Daryl’s hope was that it’d been dark enough in the room that she wouldn’t see the scarring, just the tattoos. It's his own damn fault— he hadn’t felt like putting his shirt back on after Patricia checked his stitches, and house got warm from the cooking, besides. And because he didn’t care to slump out of bed and wrench open the window more, he stayed shirtless and decided to simply kick off his blankets.

Joke’s on him. And now, someone else had seen them.

He could just about hear Merle tell him, “quit wallowin’ like you’re on your period, Darylina.”

Well, Merle wasn’t really there, so Daryl would wallow all he wanted, and think on Carol telling him that he was also “every bit as good as them.”

As Rick, as Shane, as T-Dog, as Glenn, as — fuck, who cares, it didn’t matter. Because Daryl was not.

Carol wasn’t the best judge of character, just look at the turd she’d married.

“You did more for my little girl that day than her own daddy ever did in his whole li—”

—A steady knocking sounded at the door, breaking up the echoes of Carol’s words and setting Daryl on edge.

Yup, it was Y/N’s knocking, no mistaking it.

“Just open it!” was the loudest he’d spoken all day. He didn’t want to be around people, was that such a big ask?

There was a pause before he heard the door open a crack.

“Would you prefer to be left alone awhile longer?” his friend asked softly.

The annoyance Daryl had felt eased and drained off. His whisper was hopefully loud enough for Y/N to hear. “What is it?”

After another pause, whatever they said in response was too quiet and blocked by the door. All Daryl heard was “Red furseh?”

“Y/N, y’can just come in,” he relented. He even bothered to turn toward the door for them, except, his friend hadn’t opened it up yet.

“A-Are you decent?”

Am I…what, did they think he had his hand down his pants or something? “Yes.”

He watched as the door opened and Y/N (nervously?) looked at him, eyes flitting down along the bedsheet.

Goddamn, Y/N really did just worry if I had my hand down my pants.

“Are you ready for seconds?” Y/N repeated, relaxing.

Got it, that’s what they’d been asking from the doorway.

Daryl responded by way of a gruff, soft, “Nah.”

Another pause.

“Do you feel sick? Or are you,” they tilted their head and frowned again, “‘wallowing’ ain’t the right word — are you beatin’ yourself up, Daryl?”

Yes, somebody has to. “What do you want?” If Y/N could not hit the nail on the head right now, that would be great. He had a bandage on it, after all…

“I’m-I’m asking ’cause the symptoms are usually the same, I mean,” his friend started walking toward the bed as if they was hesitant to do it, “you ain’t even touched your plate, your voice is — for real, sugar, d’you feel sick, depressed, or both?” Saying this, they laid their wrist against his forehead.

“Careful, I got a bandage!” was stupid of Daryl to grunt, because it was coming off tomorrow morning and because Y/N was careful, but he grunted it anyway. Just — why’d they need to use that pet name?

“There were a whole lot of ways you could have contracted yourself an infection, and, well, y-your shirt is off. Ain’t never seen you do that, um…” Y/N inhaled, then exhaled slowly, and pulled their wrist away. “You are kinda warm, but it is warm in here. Really warm, actually, um, d’you want the window open more?”

Yes, please. “M’fine.”

He shifted back onto his side and resumed staring into space.

“Let me do somethin’ for you before I go,” Y/N gently insisted. “Please.” They put a soothing-type tone on. Normally, a tone like that would cause him to feel belittled or pitied, but, he didn’t know, maybe after this week he was used to it. And, he didn’t know, maybe pity wasn’t such a bad thing.

“First, would you like a shirt, or are you good?” his friend asked.

‘Would he like a shirt,’ hell yes, he would like a shirt.

The tugging sensation in his chest came back for a sec. Y/N had a knack for hitting the nail on the head with him. And while the offer was both innocent and loaded, he started to feel as if his soul had been stripped bare-naked in front of them again.

The fact that he’d even let them see his back had been a lapse, a huge lapse. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking.

But, if right now he didn’t act like it was the worst thing, he hated hated hated people seeing, nobody was supposed to see, weren’t nobody’s damn business! a big deal, it wouldn’t be, right?

Which is why Daryl decided to make no effort to cover up more at that moment, so that nothing would seem off. It made his skin crawl to not, it made him feel cornered, but he left the sheet where it was and decided to kick Y/N out.

Yet, strangely, instead of hoarsely grunting at them to 'leave him be' like he thought he was about to, he softly admitted, “Yeah.”

Y/N grabbed the clean, folded shirt and pants that Lori had brought and placed it beside him.“Here’s your pants, too, make it easier in the morning when you get discharged. Miss Patricia will come in and you’ll be all ready!” A nod at his untouched meal. “Want the plate to stay, or go?”

“Take it.”

“Positive? Carol, Lori, and Patricia went ham cookin’ the food. Literally, they cooked some salt ham, but there’s also a little of the fish left that Andy caught for me, if you’d prefer?” They tried to entice him more. “The green beans are fresh, the veggie casserole is creamy, and the mashed taters got fresh butter in ’em? There’s white and brown gravy…”

The thought of eating was tempting as hell, he’d give it that. He was hungry and the food smelled amazing. Still, he shook his head. The thought of putting a bite in his mouth made him feel sick.

Y/N looked a little disappointed, but accepted his decision with a tiny, forced smile. After a beat, their smile turned real. “You’ll get awarded MVP for not touchin’ your plate tonight,” they teased. “It’ll get shared well. I don’t reckon there’ll be crumbs left at the rate we’re hoovering it down, I-I accidentally already had thirds. But, um,” they added, biting their lip. “Dare, in a little while, please might can I bring you a bowl of dessert, in the least? You must be terrible hungry by now and you need to eat if you’re gonna heal, hon.”

He just sorta stared back, didn’t know what to answer yet. Them using a pet-name again wasn’t helping none.

This was no problem for Y/N, who seemed to have begun nervous-jabbering. “When I told Jimmy there was dessert, his eyes got all big. I’m not gonna lie, it was so darn cute. But I didn’t ruin the surprise and tell him what it is, I just winked and let him imagine. Do you wanna know what it is?”

His cheeks warmed. “What is it,” Daryl dutifully responded.

“It’s a surprise!” was the completely expected answer. Y/N looked very pleased. “But it involves hand-whipped cream,” they sing-songed.

___________________________

You

___________________________

You haven’t seen anyone’s mood here drop as low as Daryl’s has in the past few days, not since Andrea’s did after Amy died. Not even Shane after what happened to Otis, he’s handling the pain differently.

But just now when you enticed Daryl with the notion of whipped cream, he almost smiled, you saw it!

Victory!

And, before you went to Daryl’s room to see if he wanted more, you’d walked over to the big table and whispered in Shane’s ear that when dessert was served, he should wake Carl to give him a bowl and get “cool uncle points,” and he smiled, too!

Victory!

Why do you feel like you are personally responsible for holding everyone’s shit together?

Like, even at the dinner, after you’d burst out laughing, it felt so good to have eased the tension in the room, even if by accident. Then, when you heard the laughter dying down and the room going quiet again, you felt as if you’d just failed. So, you had to fix it.

Cue you to shove a big bite into your mouth and loudly moan about how good it was in the hopes that saying so would keep the momentum going. And prompt Hershel to accept your people, change his mind, keep your family safe, and keep everyone together because what if you personally aren’t trying hard enough or doing it the right way and things fall apart? Who’s fault will it be? Why does your stupid hand feel like Amy’s blood is on it again? Dale already explained how it’s ‘self-reproach because of survivor’s guilt,’ so why can’t you shake it off?

Okay, chill out, it’s not all on you. You’re not responsible, you cannot control and fix it all, it’s not all on you.

Surrender it up, and trust.

Offer it up and trust…

Thankfully, Theodore had joined in with your noise of appreciation, declaring, “I second that, mmm-mm!”

Good Moses, you could’ve legit knelt down and pledged him your fealty (or whatever it is squires did for knights in shining armor).

Heck, you were tempted to ignore the age difference and propose marriage to him instead, you were that relieved that he’d gone with it, because it prompted those at the big table to join.

Shane was right there for you, too. “This meal is hittin’ all the marks,” he quietly praised, “ain’t had grub this good in a while.”

Then there was a toast (thank you, Ricky and T-Dog), and things stayed fairly light after that. Light and comfortable.

And only during your last bite, when you noticed everyone else had seconds (…or thirds…), was it that you scrambled off, mid-chew, to Daryl’s room to see what he wanted for seconds and maybe convince him to join everyone.

Instead, you were met with an untouched plate and a man who’s voice could barely raise above a gruff whisper. So, you had to try and fix it, obviously, even if the only thing that would actually fix it is finding the little girl who everyone’s hearts have already mourned.

“Wha’ was so funny earlier?” Daryl suddenly surprises you by asking.

You snort. “We were trying to see who’d break first and laugh — this is at the kiddie table, by the way.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Psht,” you play-grumble. “But yeah, I lost the game big time. I’d just taken a very impolite sized-bite of food, too. Ain’t never swallowed a bite that big in my entire life, but I didn’t want to snarf in front of everyone!” Way to overshare, weirdo. “Oh, right, you’ll probably want to know the joke,” you remember. You can get scatterbrained when you’re carrying on. “What’s a pirate’s favorite letter?”

“A pirate’s what?”

“Favorite letter.”

“A pirate’s favorite…” Daryl makes a low, soft hum as he exhales. “Didn’t, uh, wasn’t most pirates illiterate?”

“Bro.”

“I dunno, um, the…P,” is the gem he comes up with.

Bless his heart, has Daryl never heard the ‘arrr’ joke before?

“Why a P?” you’ve simply gotta know.

“P…P for pirate, and peg-leg and um, eye-patch, and, the uh, they got parrots. That’s a lotta Ps.”

The immediate gut reaction you have is the strong desire to gasp with delight and smooch him square on the lips WHAT THE, why did his answer turn you on?? Oopsy lol, yeah, gross, no way. You meant to say, um, ah,…?!?

Anyway, you unfortunately end up squealing, “Oh Lord, that was hot.”

It’s fine, you slip in a ‘dude’ right after. “C’mon, dude, what do pirates say? Like the, the sound they make in movies and books?”

“I don’t, uh…'Yo-ho…ho?'”

That’s now you, belly-laughing, even as it makes your stitches pinch more. “No, the noise they make, like, when they’re mad or tryin’ act all scary.”

Hold the darn phone, is he — good Moses in heaven with the angels and saints, Daryl Dixon is blushing.

He’s gone from plain to red splotches on his cheeks, it’s visible even in the low lighting. The inconvenient butterflies start fluttering around in your stomach again, but this is such an unexpected treat, who cares? Ha!

“No way you’re turnin’ red, nerd,” you whisper.

“Stop,” he grunts in his way, and his eyes are crinkled and his mouth is threatening to grin.

A pleasing shiver travels down when you scrunch your pointer finger into a hook. “Arrr,” you enunciate with spot-on cartoonish flair, if you say so yourself.

His eyes shut when the punchline hits him. “Sonofa—it’s R, then?”

Hot damn, is this joke satisfying. “R? Nay nay, boy, ’tis the C!”

___________________________

Him

___________________________

That he’d gone from wishing he were left for dead in a ditch to laughing out loud in the few minutes his friend was in the room with him…Y/N was something else.

A weirdo, too.

The dessert was ambrosia, by the way, Y/N eventually came back into the room with two bowls of it. “Ambrosia” was a loose term; it didn’t have none of the usual stuff but for the pecans and cream dressing.

“It’s peach, raspberry, wild blueberry and pecan ambrosia with hand-whipped cream — Glenn won’t even know to miss the marshmallows!” Y/N had chirped.

Him telling them it was “knockoff ambrosia” (as a joke) only lead to them pursing their lips, giggling, then immediately going back to happily twittering on how: “Lori hand-whipped it to make it extra special, and Carol added a mite bit of buttermilk to get the tang it needs. Can’t wait to taste how it came out…”

Their little food dance as they took the first bite was cute.

And shiiit, the little moan they made as they shut their eyes and tilted their head back shouldn’t have been enough to turn his thoughts sexual, but yeahhh did it. The cabin fever was apparently messing with his dick, too, great.

But, like, why did Y/N say something he did was “hot?” Was it slang for something else, other than what he knew it usually meant?

“Dare, what do you think?” Another quiet, hummed moan, and then Y/N opened their eyes and saw that he hadn’t tasted any. “Oh, Daryl, c’mon and try some? It’s heavenly. I think I’m dying, it’s so yummy.”

Nah. As good as Y/N was making it seem, he couldn’t, and so, shook his head.

But then his friend said something that, weird as it was, for some reason hit the nail on the head for him once more. It was as if there Y/N was, seeing his soul bare-naked again.

“If I were your confessor,” they began so casual-like, “other than explaining how accidental injury ain’t sinful, I’d tell you your penance was to eat what’s in front of you.”

Y/N almost took another bite as if in example, but hesitated before the spoon reached their lips. The light expression they wore dimmed and turned serious. “All you’ve gone through this week isn’t divine justice, that ain’t how God operates. It was an accident. Just like Sophia. It, it wasn’t no test or punishment what happened to her. It was just a… a bad thing,” they hushed, eyes fixed on their bowl, spoon. With an empty half-laugh, they mumbled, “Suddenly can’t stand the thought of food, now, neither.”

With that, Y/N put the bowl to the side and didn’t seem to know what to do next other than maybe cry, by the look of them.

Daryl would’ve missed it if he’d gone back to spacing out and wallowing, but from the corner of his eye he noticed them wipe their palm on their knee a few times as if to dry it off.

He recognized what was going on, or was pretty sure, anyway.

After Amy got killed, Y/N had this messed up thing go on with the hand, the one they’d used to try and stop her from bleeding out. For a few days, it felt to them as if Amy’s blood was still on it and wouldn’t clean off.

Back when Sophia first went missing, he noticed their hand thing came back a little that first afternoon.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s clean.”

“What is?”

“Your hand.”

They took an extra beat to respond. “I-I know. It’s nothin'.”

“It’s clean,” he repeated, which resulted in Y/N bowing their head. “Ain’t nothing there, Y/N. Lemme see?”

His friend lifted their head back up, raised their hand for him, and shrugged. “Dale says it’s a guilt thing.”

Yeah, he could see that.

“It's not on you to fix everyone’s everything,” he needed to say. Y/N seemed like they didn’t remember that sometimes.

“Ayy, way to come at me with a hammer,” his friend answered with a dry smile. “I know I can’t fix everyone’s stuff,” they spoke carefully, their throat sounded tight. “But we’re called to help, right? After how far things have fallen, we’re called even more now to, to bring, you know, that, that light, to do what we can. And, and,” they stuttered, then took a deep breath. “I dunno. Before all this—did you ever feel like your life was stagnant? Like you was just...existing?”

Did Y/N know how well they could hit the nail on the head?

Yes, Daryl felt like his life was stagnant, it fucking was, he was a nobody! Didn’t do shit with his life, he’d just…rotted, and fixed up bikes in whatever direction his brother drifted. “Yeah.”

“That’s how I was was for years, too. Kinda floated one day after another, just tryin’ to make it to the next.”

Daryl stayed quiet. Yet again, they’d hit the nail on the goddamned head and he wanted Y/N to keep on talking.

And Y/N did, they kept chatting very matter-of-fact. “It got better, ev-eventually, I um, I got help, and then started forcin’ myself to do stuff, get out in the community, all that. Healed a bit.” They swirled their spoon around the bowl. “It didn’t fix everything boom, like: I still felt stagnant a lot, or like a failure, or that things were all my fault, still sometimes wanted to die really bad,” they shared with a shrug, very chill. “But that’s why we can’t rely on feelings, right?”

The invisible string was tugging Daryl’s whole damn torso toward them at this point and he just wanted to hold them to him and — shit, sorry, uh, he meant he wanted to pat ’em on the back, at least.

“Really, it was when the, um,” his friend bit their lip. “This is gonna sound weird.”

“Prolly, if it’s you we’re talkin’ about,” he ribbed, completely dead-pan.

His friend liked it, and even taunted back all goofy, “sure is, betch,” before their smile fell away. After a beat, Y/N quietly, quietly told him the rest. “It was when the…outbreaks happened, that I-I didn’t have to force it anymore. There was suddenly such a, a, a clear duty, clear sense of purpose, I dunno. Just—so much to do, so much to live for, and,” a big exhale, “so much work to be done.”

That explained a lot. Y/N tended to go hard, burn the candle at both ends, if that’s the right phrase.

In fact, he flat-out said so. “Is that why you push too damn hard to be ‘useful?’”

“Again with the hammer on the nail, dude. And, no, it’s—” Y/N found their words. “When you think how w-we, we might could get killed, at any second, any one of us. And how we’ll look back on it all, all our choices, and then answer what we did ‘for the least here on earth’…”

Ah, that checked out, too.

It was something, to see someone still believe in all that stuff after the world fucking ended, he’d give it that.

He used to, too. Not that he’d been any good at it.

Didn’t matter, he didn’t anymore. Not after the dead started walking.

“Now, before Teddy materializes in here to scold me, I get that ‘It’s not through our own efforts.’ And the problem I have with feelin’ worthless is a separate issue my faith helps tackle. Now, I know it ain’t about racking up works of mercy, but, dude—there’s so much work to do! And I want to do as much as —” Y/N shook their head a few times as if shaking out of it. “Sorry, I-I’ma just quit while I’m ahead, here. Oversharing Olympics.”

“Mm.” Hey, it was. “But that’s part of the deal with friends, right?” he murmured while trying to think of a good way to razz on them. “Means you trust ’em.” Y/N tended to make light about everything, so a tease would do ’em good, right? “It, like, Sunday or somethin’, preacher?”

The tease might’ve missed the mark that time, if he was seeing it correctly.

“Friday,” was all his friend mumbled back, and looked embarrassed as shit. The forced smile they offered in return — it made Daryl’s side ache more, somehow. And the way Y/N then sat there, curling their feet in and looking as if they felt…just about as small as Daryl did?

It was as if the invisible knee to the nards was connected to the invisible tugging string on his chest, because while that knee to the nards got him good, he felt that strange string tug toward Y/N big-time.

It was next, when Y/N stood up and moved to take the dishes out, that something very forceful moved in Daryl that had him sitting himself upright (sort of upright) and reaching for his bowl and spoon (oww) before his friend could get to it.

“It’s still good without the cherries and the marshmallows?”

His friend blinked. “Th-there are some, uh, it’s technically got those mini freeze-dried ones, as an extra-surprise.” They tilted their head, squinting at him in a way not unlike how Rick squinted at shit. “The Greene’s had some hot chocolate packets in the back of the pantry, we separated the marshmallows out.”

“That’s a lot of work,” Daryl commented, scooping a spoonful. Looked real pink because of the raspberries.

Y/N next twisted their mouth and almost seemed shy, when they realized what he was about to do.

It made Daryl feel good, seeing them spark up like that. And their shy smile was damn cute, as always.

“Oh, here, try mine if you’re only havin’ a bite,” Y/N asked, holding out their own bowl to him.

“Nah, m’gonna do the whole thing. It being penance and all,” he grunted, then waved his spoon at them. “You, too, go on. Do your penance.”

“My penance?”

“Yeah.” Oh goddamn, the stuff was delicious. “Have a seat, eat up.”

His friend settled on the side of the bed, still looking as if he’d caught them off-guard. They watched him eat for a few moments, and, Daryl had a random, unusual worry that he was eating too sloppy. But holy shit, fresh fruit and whipped cream!

He glanced over mid-scarfing to see Y/N nibbling on (no lie) half a pecan.

“Quit playing with yer food.”

This earned him a small huff and a “I’m savoring it.”

“White lies cost a quarter, remember.”

The amount of attitude Y/N next put into their next bite was funny. “I’b also sduffed a’ready, banjy hick,” they added with their mouth full.

Don’t smile too big, Daryl. “Penance is penance.”

“But pedaces ca be cobooted.”

Don’t smile too big! “They can be what?”

Y/N apologized, swallowed their food and their giggle, and repeated: “Penances can be commuted.”

“They can travel to work?” was his idea of a dumb joke, and this time it did the trick and he made them burst out laughing a second time.

Y/N broke into a laugh so hard they hinged forward and caused some of the cream dressing to get onto their shirt right before their spoon clattered to the floor.

“Laughing like that still hurts, you butt,” his friend wheezed, pressing their arm to their stitched-up side. They coughed a few times, still giggling, and when they thudded their chest a few times they winced. “Ow, bruise. And Lore just washed this top, too.” Another snort. “My fault for bein’ a sucker for dumb jokes, I guess. ”

“Ain’t nobody’s fault, just an accident,” he got the immediate urge to tell them, and so, did.

In response, Y/N looked at him with an expression he wasn’t sure how to read. It wasn’t a bad expression. Then, because that expression made his stomach do more flippy-floppies, Daryl gestured to their bowl again, and Y/N obligingly took another spoonful.

“Dis is so gub,” they hummed softly after taking the bite.

“Damned tasty for knockoff ambrosia,” he had to admit, joining along with another scoop of that damned tasty knockoff ambrosia.

“Do’d even deed deh bigger barshballows.”

Y/N was so fucking cute sometimes. “Or cherries.” He loved the cherries the best, after the marshmallows.

Y/N swallowed their bite.“Or the mandarins.”

“Or the pineapple.” His third favorite part.

“Oh, or the coconut,” Y/N realized, then thought out loud, “Shucks, this is a knockoff.”

“Tasty knockoff, I’d eat it again in a heartbeat,” Daryl murmured. He couldn’t believe his bowl was already empty. “Y/N, you just say ‘shucks?’”

“Shut up.” His friend shook their head and smiled. “Y’know, Daryl, this is prolly one of the top five penances I’ve ever gotten.”

“Top five?”

“One time I got ‘buy yourself something nice that you’ll get good use from. It’s okay if it’s a little expensive, it’s okay if it’s a little frivolous.’ Almost a direct quote, that. I’d been bein’ too, um,” they cleared their throat, “the priest thought I was a bit too hard on myself.”

Daryl knew whatever came next had to be something good, based on his friend’s playful little grin.

“That’s how I bought me my PS3. Pre-owned, so it was a solid deal, and it got very good use.” And with a wistful sounding exhale, they finished, “I miss that thing.” Y/N wiggled their bowl at him. “Please help me with this?”

Daryl’s mouth watered. The stuff tasted so good. Fresh, creamy, sweet, tangy.

Y/N raised their eyebrows at him and smiled.

“If I gotta,” he grunted back.

“Thanks for the assist. Plus, it’s penance.”

“Mm, guess I have to." Oh yeah, big scoop. "If it’s penance.”

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

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[aidothewriter]

SPOOKY SEASON 🎃

Ik its not October yet, but IDC!! Now that it's that time of the year, I kinda wanna start doing stories for specific times of the year. Like Halloween and Christmas, blah blah blah. So here are some fandoms im in that look good for this month!!! Also, I'm watching a berleezy video that is definitely giving me an idea for an au plot!

[ Quick note: I know someone just asked for a request! I plan on taking a look at that soon ]

🍭 Creepypasta

🍫 sally face

🍬 boyfriend to death

🎃 The walking dead

🍭 tell tale waking dead series

🍫 five nights at Freddy's

I will add more if I can think of any other fandoms I'm in! But so far, I am mainly stuck on creepypasta!! Don't be shy to request. Also, I am still working on the carl x reader series!! Can't wait to post part 1!! ♡♡