#twd reader insert

[grudgecollector]

protective daryl is such a Must like

imagine someone’s just threatened you and he stands in front of you with one of his arms back so he can hold your hand. “you don’t talk to her” he’d growl.

after somehow sending them away he’d turn back to you and hold your face and just “you okay?” and a “i’m never gonna let anything happen to ya”

Ol' Coyote | Daryl Dixon x Reader

Tags: Swearing, smoking, protective Daryl, season 2 Daryl, light angst, mentions of past domestic violence

Words: 2.5k

A/N: I'm FERAL over protective Daryl YES GAHD

Something you'll never get from me is a non-southern reader in TWD fics.

I may have made things a little ooc with Shane, possibly just a tad more aggressive than he actually is with people confronting him. But it's for the plot of the fic.

Also I'm not sure if I really like how this turned out, but I think I've just been staring at the words too long. I hope you enjoy it either way <3

Tension was running high on the farm. A nervousness had settled over you in the last few days as you watched Shane. His erratic behavior was becoming unnerving to observe from the outside. His freshly shaved head glistened with sweat as he shook it, watching Lori practically stomp away from him after a heated conversation. 

This was what you were best at. Watching. Every move that was made within your eyesight didn’t go unnoticed, every twitch, every heavy sigh that came from the man. You always had a knack for catching things just before shit hit the fan. That was the only thing you were thankful for when it came to your ex boyfriend. 

The things Brian said and did to you during those four years were permanently ingrained in your mind. Always reminding you to keep your guard up around men who would view you as weak, feeble minded, helpless and in need of saving. Men with the kind of charm that draws you in, making you think they can protect you from the dangers of the world, when in reality they are the biggest threat to you. 

The almost sadistic glint in Shane’s eye. The way he’d suck on his teeth and laugh humorlessly. The way he watched her… It was starting to scare you a little. It wasn’t a fear you held for yourself, but for Lori, a woman tangled in a web that was impossible to escape from. 

It wasn’t hard to admit that you did not feel safe around the man anymore. That feeling started to dissipate after he proposed the idea to give up on the search for Carol’s missing daughter. He was losing his grip. Even more-so after his botched run with Otis. 

“You good?” Daryl asked, nudging his elbow into your side. 

He had something hanging from his fingers, the necklace he had gifted you a week ago. He followed your gaze as he clasped the necklace for you, fingertips guiding along your hairline softly before settling on your shoulder. 

“Yeah…” You replied quietly, turning your head to look at the man beside you, “Is it just me or is he losin’ his damn mind?” 

“Oh it ain’t just you, sweetheart.” He nodded towards Dale who was sitting atop the RV, occasionally glancing over towards Shane. 

The angered man was pacing back and forth, roughly rubbing at his chin. Whatever conversation he and Lori had seemed to have stirred him up pretty bad, you could practically see the smoke rolling off his shoulders. 

“He needs to get his shit together.” You shook your head, crossing your arms, “The way he acts just... Ugh.” 

“You can keep on hoping, but I think he’s lost his marbles a long time ago.” Daryl huffed, hand dropping down to your waist as he brought you a little closer. 

Daryl and you walked back over to his area away from the rest of the camp, your shared tent occasionally rustling under the wind. The fire Daryl built an hour ago was starting to go down, tiny flames licking pathetically towards the sky, failing to build itself back up. 

The sun was starting to set, pink and orange hues blending together with the darkening blue sky. Daryl settled next to you on the grass, his knee brushing against your thigh. 

These were the moments you cherished the most. Calm and peaceful in a world filled with unimaginable horrors. A chance to take a deep breath and forget about your worries for just a short period of time. And you couldn’t ask for anyone better to spend it with. 

Over the last few months you had spent most of your time next to Daryl. At first he didn’t seem too fond of it, occasionally glancing your way with narrowed eyes and a suspicious attitude. Like he was waiting for you to strike, trying to stay a step ahead of your nonexistent plan to rob him blind. 

In reality you just appreciated the quiet. Away from the hustle and bustle that came with such a large group of people. You wanted to keep your distance, especially when it came to the children at the camp, trying your hardest to avoid the gut wrenching feeling that came whenever you looked at Carl. Oh how innocent and naive they were in such a heartless world. 

Eventually Daryl started to warm up to your presence. Allowing you to accompany him on hunts, teaching you the basics of tracking, and how to skin animals properly. It was easy to see through him, see past his rough edges and appreciate the moments where his kindness would shine through momentarily. 

The closeness between the two of you was something you cherished deeply. Knowing that wherever you went, he wouldn’t be far behind. 

It was moments like this that you could momentarily forget the ticking time bomb that slept just a few feet away from you. The very man in question is sitting next to Rick at the group’s shared camping area, laughing almost emotionlessly at something his best friend said. 

“You’re gonna burn a hole into his head if y’keep starin’ like that.” Daryl muttered, smiling a little bit when you halfheartedly glared at him. 

“Shut up.” You grumbled, “I’m gonna head up to the house real quick, gotta use the bathroom.” 

You were quick to stand. Your fingers brushed gently through Daryl’s hair, prompting him to place a hand on the back of your calf. 

The field in front of the house was still muddy from the rain, your boots sinking in just a little with every step you made. The sound of the ground squishing beneath your feet was drowned out by laughter from the camp, Carl, Lori, and Rick huddled together in front of their own fire as they shared a can of corn. 

It made you happy to know that at least one family was able to stay together through all of this. While they may not be perfect, they were still trying to stay intact in such a hectic world, making things as normal as they could be for their child. 

“Sup lovebirds.” You greeted Glenn and Maggie as you walked up the steps to the house. Glenn rolled his eyes and gave you a tight lipped smile. He hadn’t exactly sealed the deal with Maggie just yet, the both of them tiptoeing around each other cautiously. 

“Evenin’.” Maggie smiled, nodding towards you, “Where you headed?” 

“Is it alright if I use y’alls bathroom? I promise I won’t be long.” 

Maggie tilted her head a little, “You always ask and the answers always gonna be the same.” 

You couldn't help but smile a little, “Yeah well, believe it or not my parents did teach me manners. I usually don’t like invadin’ other people’s spaces without askin’ first.” You shrugged, going to grab for the handle of the screen door. “Thanks Maggie.” 

The hinges groaned loudly as you opened it. The Greene’s home was so beautiful, a warm yellow light casting over the neatly kept rooms, picture frames of the occupying family decorated the walls. It was that sense of normalcy you had needed ever since everything started. Something reminding you that not everything had to be so terrible all the time. It made it easy to forget the reality of things. 

You walked into the bathroom and gently shut the door behind you, not bothering to glance at your reflection in the mirror. Scared of what would be staring back at you. 

By the time you opened the door again, you could hear Beth and Patricia talking in the living room. Maggie was sitting next to her sister on the couch now, Glenn must have gone back over to your group for dinner. You figured you should probably do the same thing, cook up those squirrels Daryl and you caught earlier in the morning. 

You walked back outside and unzipped the pocket to your cargo pants, a lucky find at an army supply store. The top of the crumpled red and white box flips open easily, and you pluck a half smoked cigarette out along with your lighter and begin making your trek back towards your camp. 

“Hey.” A voice stops you, Shane standing from one of the rocking chairs on the porch. 

Great…

You brought the orange filter to your lips and flicked open the zippo lighter you stole from Daryl. You didn’t bother to look at the man walking towards you for more than a second, exhaling the smoke from the corner of your mouth as he got closer. 

“Can I help you with somethin’ Shane?” You asked, annoyance present in your tone.

“I don’t know, can you? Cause you seem to be starin’ an awful lot recently.” His broad shoulders rolled back a little as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“You feelin’ a little paranoid there? Intimidated by someone doing a little people watching?” 

“Don’t patronize me.” He shook his head, stepping closer towards you. 

An anxious feeling started to eat away at your stomach. You never liked when men started to close in on your personal space, even less when it was someone like Shane. The unpredictable and dangerous types. 

“I’d barely call it patronizing.” You shot back with a small shrug.. 

“You got a problem with me or somethin’? With how I’ve been handlin’ things?” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “I mean I got my fair share of issues with a lot of things, man.” He was starting to prick against your nerves, “Like you wanting to call off the search for Sophia? That was pretty fucked up.” 

“Not this shit again.” He shook his head, hands going to rest on his hips, “It’s bad enough I got to hear it from everyone else in the camp. Now I gotta hear it from the girl who’s too good to even grace us with her presence.” 

“Oh boo fucking hoo. Why is that such a big deal to you? Can’t someone just enjoy some alone time?” You scoffed, flicking off the flimsy ashes from your cigarette.

“Ain’t no such thing as alone time anymore. You gotta start contributing more to the group.” 

“Or what? You gonna boot my ass to the curb and call it a day? Seems like the kinda route you’ve been lovin’ lately.” You almost spat, an accusatory tone to your voice, “I’ve contributed plenty of my time to the group, helping Daryl with hunts and runs, making sure your bellies are full. I help wash clothes in the morning, I do daily perimeter checks with Glenn. Ain’t that enough for you?” You stepped a little closer this time, lowering your voice to harshly say, “Cause if you’re implying anything more, I ain’t doing personal tent calls like some street whore.” 

“You better watch your mouth.” His eyes were starting to get that wild look again, twitching a little when you smiled bitterly at him. 

“Did you hit your head or somethin’ when you went on that run with Otis? Is that what’s got you so fucked up? Some traumatic brain injury or some shit?” 

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, little girl? Cause I know it ain’t me.” He sized you up, chest puffed out as he got closer, but you stayed firmly planted, not allowing him to intimidate you. 

Not this time.  

“You’re fuckin’ losing it Shane, sure there ain’t many in the group that pick up on it but I sure do.” You shook your head, “All I’m sayin’ is you need to take a step back before you get someone else killed.” 

Clearly your wording made something snap within Shane. That littlest bit of self control he had disappeared, and suddenly his hands were clutching onto your biceps, blunt fingernails digging through the fabric of your shirt. 

“I ain’t getting anyone killed,” He growled out, “I keep this place safe, me. Not you, not Rick, or Daryl, Dale, none of you. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, girl, you’re barely smarter than a bag of fucking rocks. All talk and no bite.” His words punched into your harshly, he was practically snarling in your face as he got closer and closer. Your eyes were wide, fear striking through your heart as you stared at him. “Got any other smartass remarks, huh?” 

“Get your fuckin’ hands off of me, man!” You thrashed in his hold, quick to bring your still lit cigarette up and pressing it against his forearm. 

He flinched away, letting you go, and for a split second you almost thought he was about to rear back and slap you. He had that same exact look in his eyes your ex would get. 

Dangerous and unpredictable.

“Hey!” You heard an angered voice growl from behind you. 

Suddenly you felt hands on you again, making you flinch. But the hold was gentle, guiding you as Daryl stepped in front of you, his shoulders heaved with each heavy breath, clearly having run over to you as quickly as he possibly could. 

“The hell you think you’re doin’, huh?! Puttin’ your hands on her like that!” He was seething, but his hand was gentle as it held onto yours, squeezing softly as a way to reassure you. “You don’t fuckin’ talk to her, y’hear me?” He growled out threateningly, his hand resting on the knife secured to his belt, ready to strike at any second. “Don’t let me catch you near her again, asshole, or it’ll be hell to pay. I promise you that.” He glared at Shane, quickly turning around and guiding you past the group’s camp. 

“What the hell is going on? What’s with all the shouting?” Rick asked, catching up to the two of you. 

“Y’better get your fuckin’ boy, Rick. Ask him to explain the situation t’you.” Daryl spat, not giving him time to reply. 

You sat back down in front of the fire, staring at the yellow flames blankly. Never did you think Shane would put his hands on you like that, but the way he had talked to you, looked at you. It was too familiar, as if you were standing in front of the direct reincarnation of a man you fought so hard to forget. 

Daryl’s hands gently held your trembling ones. His index finger and thumb came up to your chin and pushed your head up so he could look into your dewy eyes. His fingers caressed your cheek, he knew that look on your face all too well, having seen it in the mirror plenty of times. 

“He ever tries anything like that again, he’s a dead man.” He stated firmly.

“I thought he was gonna hit me.” You said weakly, you hated how pathetic your voice sounded.

“I ain’t ever gonna let anything happen t’you. Not while I’m still breathing.” 

The promise would be a difficult one to fulfill, you both knew that. But the words still held weight, settling deep within your heart. You would be safe with him, you knew that.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

reader pronouns: she/her

Lydia watched Negan's expression, the sparkle in his eyes as they flickered over your face as you said goodbye. They followed your figure until you disappeared into a building down the street. "Wow. You like her," she said with a laugh. "A lot," she emphasized.

Negan pulled his ball cap off and rubbed a hand over his hair, sighing. There was an almost abashed expression on his face. "Yeah... I look at her and I just—I can't fuckin' help it—it's like when the Grinch's heart grows three sizes," he said.

Lydia gave him a strange look. "What's the Grinch?" she asked.

"Ah. Right... Uhh... Well," Negan tipped his head thoughtfully. "It's this character from a kid's book back in the day. He's an angry, mean-tempered asshole."

Lydia snorted. "Oh, that is like you."

Negan shot her a half-serious glare. "Don't you have some zombie to go hit with a stick or something?" Lydia grinned at him. "Anyway, he's a real dickbag at first but through kindness and a little whimsical Christmas magic and really irritating singing he learns to love again. Heart grows three sizes. And he becomes less of asshole and does what he can to make amends," he finished. Fuck, that was an even more appropriate comparison than he'd first realized. His eyes drifted back to where your fingers had brushed his as you'd handed him that shiny red apple. They still seemed to tingle slightly.

"Negan," Lydia said, her brow furrowing.

"Hmm?" he hummed, taking a bite and savoring the crisp sweetness.

"Are—are you in love with her?" Lydia asked, surprised, but smiling vaguely.

He looked suddenly uncomfortable, and a bit shocked, as if the idea hadn't occurred to him before. Shit. "Fuck," he murmured. "I might be, kiddo. I might be..."

Prompt: "I look at her and I just—I can't help it—it's like when the Grinch's heart grows three sizes."

[thefreakydeaky]

After the Thrill is Gone

Part Fifteen

Negan Smith x Reader

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Modern AU

Summary: From the first moment you laid eyes on Negan you were inexplicabley drawn to him. The passion between you is hot and only grows more intense the longer you see each other. There is only one problem, you're both married to other people.

Warnings: Dark Fic , Rape/Noncon, Violence, Stalking, Stalker behavior, Smuttyness, Adult Language...

You chewed on another antiacid tablet as you pulled up into the parking lot at Hunter's school. To your surprise, you received a call that morning from the Principal, Father Moser about some behavorial issues that Hunter had been having. You could not believe this was happening. Hunter was your good kid. He was a rule follower, who thrived in a structured environment. Hunter was the kid that called people sir and mam without having to be reminded to. He was the kid that helped you around the house because he simply enjoyed being helpful. You couldn't imagine what he could be doing that was bad enough to have the principal ask you to come in for a meeting. Daryl arrived nearly at the same time you did, parking his old suburban next to your midsize suv. You got out of the car. Daryl got Millie out of her car seat and the three of you headed up to the front office.

"Any idea what this is about?" He asked you as you sat waiting on a bench outside the primary office.

You shook your head.

"I don't have the slightest idea. He's been acting normal."

Daryl nodded.

"Yeah, I think so too."

"Mister and Misses Dixon." The old man's voice, held warmth in it as he greeted you. "Just the people I needed to see."

You smiled.

"Hello, Father."

Daryl shook his hand.

"Father, I just don't understand. What kind of trouble is Hunter in?"

"Why don't we talk inside my office?" Father Moser suggested. He gestured toward the big shining maple wood door.

Your husband let you be the one to go further into the office and sit in the seat closest to the window. Daryl, still holding Millie sat in the seat on your right side. Father Moser closed the door to his office. You frowned. That was a bad sign.

He went and sat on the otherside of the big expensive looking desk. He looked at you for a moment and then at Daryl. You felt he was measuring your emotional and mental state.

"There is no easy way to say this." He said folding his hands in front of him. "Hunter has gained a new vocabulary as of late. One that has piqued the interest of our other students and started a chain reaction of sorts."

Daryl's brow furrowed.

"One word in particular, the F word seems to be his favorite."

Your face heated with embarrassment.

"Father, are you sayin' that Hunter is cursin'?"

The priest nodded.

"Yes. Yes, he is and we have received complaints that other students are learning those words from him and adding them to their own vocabularies."

"Complaints? From other parents?" You asked ashamed.

"Yes, angry parents. Understandabley so."

"We are so sorry, Father. We make a point not to use that type of language. I don't know where he's learning it from, but I will find out and I will have a talk with him." Daryl replied.

"We are going to have to use a punishment to correct this behavior. Please explain to him that his suspension is a consequence of the new words he is using to express himself. We'll be happy to have him back, when he has learned not to use them on school grounds."

You nodded.

"We will talk with him." Daryl assured him.

"I am glad to hear it." He took in your expression. "Please, don't be too hard on yourselves. Hunter is a bright boy. He works hard and does well. In any case, this isn't the first time such a thing has ocurred at our school and I'm sure it won't be the last." He said good naturedly.

You smiled politely.

"Thank you, Father." Daryl said and got up and shook his hand.

You shook the priests hand and left the office right behind Daryl. You found Hunter sitting on the bench beside the front office.

"We have got a lot to talk about young man." Daryl told him.

Hunter frowned.

"You're taking me home?"

"You've been suspended." You told him.

His eyes widened.

"For what?" He asked as you walked back to the car.

"For cursing." Daryl replied.

Hunter frowned.

When you got Millie and Hunter situated in the car, Daryl shut the door to the backseat.

"I know it's you." Daryl accused, once you were alone in the parking lot.

You raised an eyebrow.

"Me?" You asked confused.

"Where he's learned that language from. It's you.

"Why would you think that?" You scoffed.

"Because, Millie learned a new word too and if it ain't me teaching them then it's you."

You couldn't help, but wince when he mentioned Millie cursing.

"I may have accidentally said one word in front of Millie. It was one time and she latched onto it. I'm sorry, but I swear it was just the one time."

Daryl shook his head.

"We'll talk about it later." He gave you a disappointed look.

You watched him get into his suburban before you got into your own car. You couldn't believe he was so upset with you. It wasn't as though you cursed in front of your children all the time. You didn't even know where Hunter could have heard that kind of language except for Millie. You sighed as you got into your car.

•••••••

"You been suspended, because you're using words you're not supposed to use." Daryl explained to his son.

Hunter ducked his head.

"What words?" He asked.

"You know which words." You said sternly.

"But Mom says them."

"Mom's not supposed to say 'em either." Daryl shot you a disapproving look. "Hunter, you can't speak that way. Not in this house and not at school."

Hunter frowned.

"But why?"

"Because it is disrespectful and not polite." You explained.

"Then why do you say them?"

"I'm not supposed to say them. It is just as bad when I do it as when you do it."

"Mom is not gonna say those words no more. Alright? And neither are you."

Hunter seemed to think about it for a second.

"What about Millie?"

"We need your help to teach Millie not to say those words either."

Hunter nodded.

"Okay. I can help."

"Alright, Thank you , Son." Daryl took away his hand held gaming device for the two days that Hunter was suspended. Hunter found this to be an awful punishment, but his respect for his father and desire to be well behaved left him no choice, but to comply.

When you laid down under your covers that night, Daryl turned to face you.

"Hunter said he heard you cursing. I'd get it if it was one slip up, but it didn't sound that way."

You turned onto your side.

"I'm sorry. I'll work on it."

You lay there in the quiet for a moment.

"What were you cursing about?"

You swallowed nervously.

"Telemarketers. They won't stop calling."

Daryl stared at you in the dark.

"Is it telemarketers or is it Him?"

You fought to keep your expression neutral.

"Uh, who?"

"Don't do that." He said your name. His tone held a note of pleading.

"Let's be honest for once.I know you're cheatin' on me."

You couldn't even react. You were in shock.

"I...I was, but I ended it. I tried to end it."

"For how long?" His voice was pained.

You took a breath.

"Four years."

"Years?"

"Yes.

"What do you mean? You tried to end it?"

"I don't know how to get rid of him. He won't leave me alone."

"Yeah, well, after four years I'm sure he had a hard time believin' you actually wanted to end it. If you really did."

"I did! I do!"

"You know, when Rick suggested I look through your phone, I was against it, but when I found out you were leavin' the kids with your Mom or with Ma a lot, more often than you ever told me about, I started to wonder where you were goin' that you couldn't take the kids with you."

"You, looked through my phone?"

Daryl sighed.

"I let Rick track your location. He told me you kept goin' to the motel off the highway. That's when I knew. I started thinkin' about what was missin' in our relationship that you went out lookin' for it somewhere else."

"That's when you told me you wanted to work on our relationship?"

He nodded.

"But even though you agreed, you kept goin' back to the motel.So, I followed you."

Your eyes widened.

"You followed me?"

"Yeah. A few months back I was out of my mind angry. I wanted to...to kill the bastard."

"Daryl!"

"I love you and it just fuckin' hurt so much."

You wanted to reach out and touch him, but you knew it wouldn't bring him comfort. You clenched your hands into fists.

"I had my gun sittin' on the seat next to me. I was just waitin' for you to leave. So, I could get him alone."

"Oh, God."

Your eyes filled with tears.

"But you came out of there before I was expectin' ya to and you had this look on your face. I got a feelin' that it was over. That someone had ended it. I just didn't know if the decision was yours or his. That snapped me out of it. I went to talk to Rick. Let him talk me down some. Then I drove around for a while to clear my head."

Tears started spilling down your cheeks.

"I watched you for signs that it was really over and I believed it was. Until Rick told me that you went to the motel again."

You shook your head.

"To talk. To convince him to leave me alone." You lied. If Daryl had been about to shoot Negan for the affair you shuddered to think of what he would do if you told him about that day, about what Negan had done to you.

"To talk? Why in a motel room?"

"I thought I was being descrete. More than anything, I wanted to keep you and the kids out of it and if I met him somewhere public, I didn't feel that would be protecting you."

"You said, you been seein' him for four years. What about Millie?" He asked nervously.

"I don't know." You wiped at the tears on your face, annoyed with yourself. "We would have to, get a paternity test."

Daryl swallowed.

"I need to know."

You nodded in understanding.

[ohstardustgirl]

No Choice At All pt 2 - Daryl Dixon x Reader

Part one is here 

TW: touching/kissing without consent

 After a few more threats to Daryl's wellbeing, you gave in and told Negan that yes, you would be his wife. There was no ceremony and no white dress or ring, and that was the only silver lining. That night you were moved into the wive's quarters with the rest of the harem. They were all friendly enough, though some were more sympathetic than others. Sherry especially didn’t have anything good to say about the situation, meanwhile the rest of the girls could only encourage you to look on the bright side - ‘at least you get to shower and eat now, and all it takes is sleeping with a hot guy every now and then’.

The thought made you sick to your stomach. You knew that consummating the marriage would be inevitable, and Negan didn’t seem to be in any rush to end your miserable wait. Your agreement to the marriage had bought Daryl a few days of safety – ‘bed and board instead of a stinking cupboard’ as Negan had put it. That was the thought that kept you sane when you tossed and turned at night.

But now a few days later, you had been summoned. The other wives had helped you scrub up and pick out a little black dress. It felt like some strange culture where the womenfolk prepared a young maiden for sacrifice to the gods for another year of good crops. 

They told you everything Negan liked and what to expect, in excruciating detail. When you saw yourself in the mirror after the other wives had finished dressing and primping you, you ran straight to the bathroom to throw up. Every cell in your body screamed at you to run, but while you were still on your knees in front of the toilet, Dwight showed up at the door and Amber knocked softly and opened the bathroom door to tell you to come out. You brushed your teeth and looked at the ghost in the mirror.

You closed your eyes and thought of Daryl and the first night you spent together, not long after the group had landed in Alexandria. Hot showers and a warm soft bed, and a big step forward in your relationship. You could just pretend it was him touching you, right? 

You had to, for his sake.

Dwight led you to Negan’s rooms. They were dark, opulent, a poor man’s idea of how he thought the rich would live. You had never been one to be impressed by possessions, even before the world ended. Nowadays it took good survival skills and a great aim to even turn your head. 

Negan did his best to be charming to a sickening degree. He plied you with food you couldn’t quite swallow and wine that made your throat burn, and even the alcohol wasn’t enough to numb your fears. He tried to make conversation, and you answered in a quiet voice. It wasn’t like you. You were no mouse, never had been. You really did try to smile at his jokes and nod your head but your heart wasn’t in it, and your mind was focused on the bed you could see in the other room. 

You pushed your food around your plate for as long as you could after Negan had finished eating, but it only worked for a while. He grabbed your hand and led you into the bedroom, and sat beside you on the edge of the bed. You curled your fingers into the silk sheets hard enough to almost tear them.

When Negan’s hands landed on your bare thigh, your blood ran cold and you stiffened. You almost gagged when he kissed you. Nothing you did could stop your muscles from seizing with every touch and kiss. You tried to think of Daryl and imagine it was him but it was all too wrong - Negan’s strong aftershave and the taste of wine on his tongue were overpowering, and his hands just weren’t the same.

After one final flinch when Negan kissed your neck, he snapped and jumped to his feet. He crossed the room and ran his hand through his slicked back hair and punched a hole in the wall.

 “You think this is what I get off on?” He snarled. “Resistance?”

“I’m trying,” you growled. “You think this is easy for me?”

“Try harder,” he spat. “You owe me, y/n. Daryl’s safe tonight but if you don’t play nice he’s not gonna stay that way.”

“You think that helps? More pressure? I don’t want to be your wife and I don’t want you to touch me. I’m only here because it’s the only way I can keep him safe.” You stood up and pulled at your hair and screamed at him.  “What fucking choice do I have, really?”

“The same choice as everyone else,” he stomped forward into your personal space and snarled.

“Like those other wives of yours?” You spat at him, not intimidated. “The ones who make fun of you, or the ones that cry themselves to sleep at night?”

Negan’s face grew red and he grabbed your wrist and pulled you from his room, out to where Simon stood guard.

“Simon, call downstairs. We’re takin’ a trip,” he said as he pulled you along and then turned to you with a wicked grin. “To see your lover-boy.”

You stumbled along as you tried to keep up with Negan’s long, angry strides and your wrist burned in his tight grip. Saviours of all levels bowed as he passed and dragged you down the stairs until you reached the ground floor where the ‘help’ lived. Dwight was already there with Daryl, and two goons held his arms behind his back. He was still dressed in that awful filthy grey tracksuit and one of his eyes was black. 

Negan shoved you in front of himself and grabbed both of your upper arms so that you were held in the same position as Daryl. His blue eyes met yours and you couldn’t help but burst into tears but you tried to hold it back for him.

“Darlin’,” Negan purred in your ear, “Why don’t you tell Daryl why he’s about to get the shit knocked out of him?”

Your tears stuck in your throat and you couldn’t speak. Negan nodded to Simon, and a vicious punch was delivered to Daryl’s stomach and he collapsed to his knees. You screamed and struggled against Negan’s grip.

“Stop, please,” you begged. “Please don’t-“

“Don’t what, darlin’?” Negan asked you as Daryl was hauled back to his feet. “I told you, tell him why he’s gettin’ the shit knocked out of him today and goin’ back in the hole.”

“I - I wouldn’t let you touch me,” you said, almost too quiet to hear, but Daryl’s eyes shot to yours and you saw nothing but admiration, so you spoke louder and more confidently. “I wouldn’t let him touch me.”

“Even though?” Negan nudged you.

“Even though I’m your wife,” you growled. “I’m sorry, Daryl, I tried but I just couldn’t let him-”

“S’alright, sweetheart,” he spoke in that gruff voice you loved so much, “I’m damned proud of you. Don’t you ever give in to that son of a -“

Simon delivered another breathtaking punch to Daryl’s gut that made him buckle again and you cried out for him, with Negan’s hands squeezing bruises into your upper arms as you struggled against him. This time Daryl didn’t get up again, and Simon and the others changed to kicking his ribs and legs. 

You begged for them to stop, but Negan just held you tighter and laughed in your ear.

“This is all on you, y/n,” he said. “You did this. I told you what your choices were, and you made the wrong one. Now, I’ve told you before, everyone is a resource. You’ve gotta be useful to me, darlin’, otherwise you’re just dead weight. Your boy here, he’s learned that. Daryl’s been nothin’ but a good little soldier since we brought you on board. Do you really wanna keep hurting him like this? Because I gotta tell ya, if it’s not him, it’ll be one of your other friends back in Alexandria. How many people you wanna hurt, y/n?”

You sobbed again. You couldn’t say the words out loud because even with Daryl suffering in front of you, you didn’t want it to be true. You didn’t want to be trapped here as Negan’s wife, or forced to let him touch you. Your stomach rolled and you thought you might throw up again.

Simon and the others stopped their assault of Daryl and stepped away, and Negan shoved you down to the ground in front of him. You reached out and touched his bloody and bruised face and his hand found yours.

“I’m so sorry,” you said to him and brushed his damp hair away from his face. “I’m sorry, I should have just let him-“

“Don’t you ever ‘pologise for that,” he said breathlessly through a groan. “You don’t let that son of a bitch do anything to ya, y’hear? I’ll take a beatin’ every day, y/n, I swear.”

“I can’t, I can’t let them do this to you,” you cried, and you took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “It’s not fair, I don’t want this.”

“What’s it gonna be, y/n?” Negan asked, his voice almost tender. “This is your choice, I can’t make it for you.”

You shot him a look that dripped with every ounce of hatred you had for him.

“It ain’t a choice to anyone with a soul, you asshole,” you spat at him, but Negan just laughed. 

“Did you hear that one, boys?” Negan chuckled along with his men. “She thinks I don’t have a soul!”

Negan crouched down behind you and you could feel his hot breath on your neck. Daryl’s grip on your hand tightened and even in his terrible battered state you thought he might pounce on Negan.

“Say goodbye for now, y/n,” your captor said to you. “I’m gonna give you a few days to cool off, maybe see if the other girls can talk a little more sense into you. ‘Cos if this happens again, your boyfriend here gets more than just a beatin’ and you’ll have to watch before the same thing happens to you, got it?”

Daryl shook his head, his blue eyes pleaded with you to not give in. But you couldn’t stand to see this happen to him again, and even though every fibre of your being protested, you nodded. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Daryl’s forehead, surprised that Negan let you, and then you were pulled to your feet. 

“Take her back to her room, and send Amber my way,” Negan commanded and pushed you towards Simon. He looked down at Daryl like he was something he had scraped off his shoe. “Throw him back in the hole tonight, boy’s not as broken in as we thought.”

You stole one last glance at Daryl as Simon grabbed your sore arms and dragged you back up the stairs to your gilded cage. 

[xoxo-sarah]

My Wife

Series masterlist

A Season 1! Daryl Dixon x wife!reader series

↝warning: angst, typical TWD stuff and lore, season 1, death, crying, blood, zombies, marriage

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 (tba)

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

•2021-2025 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I do NOT give permission!]

[scftangl]

My face when I look up fanfics of a character I love, that I forget how underrated they are that they only have 5 fanfics that I've already read:

[pretty-circa006]

Pie

Negan x F! Reader

summary Negan fucks you when you try to bake a pie tags slight breeding kink, unprotected p in v, vaginal fingering, pet names, pussy eating, not proofread

wc 1.4k

note just finished a little wip i had sitting around. got the idea when i was listening to stargirl interlude, so maybe you wanna listen to that while reading

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ 

Negan was a great cook. It wasn't a well known fact considering he was a rather busy man with leading the Saviors and all. Occasionally, he'd make dinner for his wives and those were always her favorite days. And since last night was one of those nights, she wanted to do something to return the favor. 

So here she was in the kitchen, flour dusted her classy black dress and her fingers were sticky with pie filling as she worked on rolling out the dough for the pie's crust. This pie was going to be her way of thanking Negan for being such a good husband—at least to her. 

"What's all this?" she heard him ask from the entryway. 

"I'm baking you a 'thank you' pie," she replied as she lined the pie pan with the crust. 

"Thank you pie? The hell’s a 'thank you' pie?" 

"I dunno, just my way of showing you that I lo- appreciate you." She poured some of the apple filling into the crust, hoping he didn't catch her almost mistake.

"Well aren't you a sweetheart," he said wrapping his arms around her. His salt and pepper beard tickled her neck as he pressed kisses to it, ignoring her lighthearted pleas for him to stop distracting her. As she cut the leftover dough into strips, Negan reached over and scooped some pie filling from the bowl before sucking it off his finger. 

"Mmm! This is fuckin' delicious, baby," he rasped into her ear. Her cheeks warmed at the compliment. "Glad you like it." The kisses he was leaving on her neck grew more sensual –open mouthed with nips here and there– as she did her best to lay the lattice pattern with the dough atop the pie. His hands drifted from her hips down to her upper thighs where his hands slid beneath her dress, slowly lifting it until it was bunched up at her hips. She did her best to pretend like she wasn't distracted and continue to lay the pattern on top of the pie, but really, his touches were arousing her. 

"What're you doin'?" she asked him once his fingers looped around the waistband of her panties. He was too busy kissing down her shoulder to answer, but she had the feeling he wouldn't have answered anyway. In one fell swoop he yanked her panties down before his hand wedged its way between her legs. She let out a whimper, but otherwise continued with the pie. He began rubbing tight circles over her clit as he licked and sucked at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Her breathing grew shallow as her resolve began to fade. Restrained whimpers escaped her lips, but that wasn't good enough for him. 

"I wanna hear you, doll," he ordered. Her answer came out in the form of a breathy moan once he slipped a thick finger into her soaking pussy. Her hands gripped the counter as his finger glided in and out the spongy walls of her cunt. He inserted another and the gentle stretch felt so good. His thumb rubbed quick circles on her clit as he fingered her. Her thighs squeezed his hand as her hips ground onto his hand. With his foot, he nudged her legs further apart before increasing his pace. 

“Negan, please, I’m close,” she wantonly whined between pants. He pulled away from her neck with an audible pop, leaving what she was sure would be a sizable mark. He removes his fingers from her cunt which earned a displeased pout from her. She was about to object, but was cut off when he turned her to face him. Beneath his gaze, her entire body felt like it was on fire, especially between her legs. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her lips for a kiss. His hands slid up her body, beneath her dress, feeling her body wherever his hands could reach. His tongue slid between her smooth lips and she tangled her fingers in his hair as sigs and moans crossed between their lips, merging into one sound in their kiss. He lifted her before setting her onto a free space on the countertop. In need of breath, he pulled away from the kiss. Instead of going back to her lips, he kissed down her jaw, to her neck, then her collarbones before unzipping the back of her dress and sliding the straps down her shoulders. He lowered himself to his knees, looking at her with a smirk on his face as he did so, and spread her thighs open. Her cunt was practically leaking, desperate to be filled by the man beneath her, and my god he thought it looked delicious. He kissed his way up her leg, starting from her ankle, until he got to her inner thighs, right in front of where she wanted him most. He nipped and sucked at the soft flesh until he had her whimpering. 

“Please, Negan, I need you!” She begged, desperate for some attention on her neglected cunt. Finally, his soft lips surround her clit, sucking it gently for a moment before he pulls away. His warm, wet tongue licked a stripe between her folds, tasting her arousal directly from the source. Her fingers weave through his greying hair, pulling him deeper into her pussy. She finally got what she wanted when his tongue entered her hole. She leaned back, supporting her weight on her arms from behind. She threw her head back in a pleasured haze as his tongue worked magic on her pussy. The warm muscle worked its way around her velvety walls and pressed against her g-spot as his lips were practically making out with her lower ones. Her cunt squeezed his tongue and nails scratched at the countertop as she reached her peak with a scream of his name. His beard was glistening with her juices when he pulled away, a wide dimpled smile plastered on his face.

“Doll, you’re so delicious I almost forgot about that goddamn pie.” She giggled, smiling at him as she slid off the countertop. She was about to wash her hands and resume fixing the pie, but Negan stopped her in her tracks. 

“Oh I’m not done with you,” he growled. 

“But what about the pie?” She asked feigning innocence, batting her eyelashes.  She didn’t really care about the pie and it was obvious by the way she was undoing his belt buckle. 

“Forget that goddamn pie and bend over, babydoll.” He eyed her bare, plump ass as he freed his hardened cock from his pants. He slid it up and down her slick folds before lining it up with her needy cunt. He slid in almost effortlessly, his large dick stretching her hole, but filling her up perfectly. 

“This pussy was made for me,” he moans. His large hands hold her hips as he thrusts roughly into her, desperately wanting to reach his own orgasm. The sound and smell of sex filled the kitchen as he plowed into her from behind. Her head hung low as she cried his name over and over, nothing else on her mind but the man filling her. Tears from overstimulation flowed down her face as pleasure overtook her. Negan’s cock twitched inside of her, his own orgasm rapidly approaching.

“God you feel so good, baby. Can’t wait to fill this pussy.” The next thing that fell from her mouth was just garbled gibberish and lewd moans, but he knew that meant she’s close. He leans down over her body and intertwines his hands with the backs of hers. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear and pressed gentle kisses to the side of her head as he shot his load into her abused cunt at the same time she reaches her second orgasm. 

“You did so good for me, angel. Such a good girl,” he cooed as he slowly softened inside of her. 

After he pulled out of her,  he helped her get redressed, but by then she was too spent to even care about the pie. 

thank you for reading! <3

[dreamtofus]

I just want to thank anyone and everyone who writes fanfic

like wdym this masterpiece is FREE

ps reblog ur fav fics.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi, I just read wandering Babies and I was wondering if I could maybe get a part two maybe a few months to year later, if not it's all good.

.⋆｡Stationary Family｡⋆.

Negan x plus size reader

Though he no longer had power or the fear of people around him, Negan felt like he was the top of the fucking world.

Warnings: mom!reader, I fucked with the timeline a bit (as always), pregnant!reader, fluff, mentions of the war and walkers, dad!Negan, no use of Y/N, vague mention of pegging and trying for a baby, suggestive WC: 1.6k Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Wandering Babies (part 1)

The ache in his back was getting worse by the second, but Negan was in no position to complain, at least not out loud. His hands seemed permanently caked in mud, the back of his neck perpetually sunburnt as he toiled away in the gardens of Alexandria. This was his penance, a redemption via servitude to the people he had tormented who had given him mercy at his weakest moment. 

He knew he deserved worse, so he kept his mouth firmly shut as he winched with earth painful twinge up his back.

“Daddy!” But that made it all better. Negan let out a groan of pain as he stood up, his joints screaming after being in the same position for hours. The sun hovered just above the horizon, painting the walled town in a golden light and silhouetted against the main square was the reason he kept working as hard as he did.

“Hi girls!” He called back. Immediately, the older two kids took off running, weaving their way through the rows of crops expertly all while their mother lazily trailed behind them, hand in hand with their youngest who was not yet confident enough to walk around Alexandria without one of his parent’s holding his hand.

Isabella, the faster of the twins, slammed into his open arms, her bubbly laugh instantly relieving the pain of the day. Negan’s grip was firm around his girl, breathing in the clean smell of her soap. “I wanted to hug daddy first!” Lucia wiggled her little body into the small space between his bent legs, sighing happily as she too got to wrap herself up in his warmth for the first time that day.

Though their weight pulled on his already strained back, he held them tighter still, gratefully sending out another than you to the universe for letting him keep the small family he had somehow swindled his way into. 

“Girls! Let daddy take a second to breathe before you smother him and I have to clean him up… again.” The sensually curvaceous shadow that fell over him suddenly gave the man a second wind. Arms tightening around the girls, he shot up, dragging their giggling bodies into the air and then he was stood above her— the absolute fucking love of his life.

“Now now mama, I happen to remember that you like cleaning me up. May I remind you of that wonderful jacuzzi tub with the 12 separate jets. Huh, baby?” Her lips curled into an almost vicious frown but Negan saw just how her eyes sparkled and he would bet his left fucking arm that there was a a nice little heat crawling up her neck.

“You are a dirty pervert.” She scolded as she pulled barely four year old onto her wide hip, his chunky hand clinging to the buttons of her shirt.

“What’s a pervert mama?” Lucia blurted out. Negan responded by skillfully flipping her little body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, sending her into another fit of screaming giggles. He knew he was gonna pay for that later, in more ways than one.

“And how is my favourite little man?” Tomas grinned at his father, proudly showing off his pearly whites. 

“I made buns!” Negan’s greying brow lifted as his lips turned up. She knew exactly what he wanted to say next and she was not going to indulge him. 

“And some spaghetti for dinner. The girls made the sauce.” The smile that graced her face made her glow in the last dredges of sunlight, her heart laid out plainly before him like it was the day the girls had first called him dad, the first time she let him take care of her. 

“Then c’mon, daddy’s fudging hungry!” 

——————

“Roll over.” Dinner was done, baths had and then the bathroom floor mopped, and all the children were now peacefully sleeping in their beds. Negan had all but collapsed onto the mattress, his aching muscles screaming in relief.

“Baby, you know I love you and find you sexy as shit but I don’t do the whole ‘taking it’ route.” He obeyed anyway, his face burying into the pillows on her side of the bed. “‘Sides, don’t think I could get the big guy up right now if I tried.” 

The bed dipped around his hips as a weight settled just below his ass. “Eh, more like just above average guy.” Warm hands pressed against his shoulder blades, keeping him from flipping back over in protest.

“Now that’s just fucking mean baby.” She hummed under her breath.

“Jesus, your back is like a bag of rocks.” Her thumbs dug against the sinewy muscle along his spine, drawing a strained groan from the man between her legs. Negan curled his fingers into the duvet as she hit a particularly sore spot.

“Yeah well, it’s not like I get a fucking day off.” The comforting weight of her body leveraged forwards, forcing his bare chest deeper into their mattress and the air from his lungs. The pressure was so blissfully perfect that all he could do was release a moan she had only ever heard before when it was him above her.

Her chuckle vibrated through his skin. “You’ve been working so hard, handsome. I’m sure I could get Michonne to swing a couple days to rest. I can grab a couple extra shifts on watch and in inventory to make up for it.” 

“No.” His hand landed on the soft fat of her thigh and gave it a warning squeeze. “This is my punishment. And I’m supposed to be taking care of you and the kids, especially since…” His voice trailed off. Negan turned his head, his brown eyes gazing up at the woman who had given him purpose and light.

Her smile was gentle. “Since what babe? Since we’re fucking raw every chance we get so you can get another little prince or princess to spoil?” A blush bloomed across his stubbled cheeks.

“Good lord woman, when did you get so fucking vulgar?” With one last deep press against the base of his spine, releasing the pops that had been sitting in between his vertebrae for the last five hours, she lifted herself off of him and dropped onto the bed next to him, their heads brushing each other.

“Oh that’s nothing compared to the shit you’ve said while you were inside me.” She threw a plump leg over his hips, pulling herself even closer to him in a way that he used to dream about. His arm wrapped around her waist, thanking her with a soft kiss to the tip of her nose.

A solemn expression pulled at her lips and eyebrows. “Just, don’t forget that you do have people who love you. Your redemption had already been earned and then some in our eyes, you just have to believe us.” Her fingers ran through his salt and pepper hair as a familiar comfort coiled around them in the small bubble of their bed.

Negan knew that he could break his back every day for the next century and never make up for the things he had done, the death and fear that came from his hand. In this moment, however, all he could think of was the family that had so captured him, shifted his soul so wholly that he could not even recognise his younger self. Lucia— his shy girl who grew more confident and bright with each compliment she was paid, Isabella— his competitive spirit who wanted nothing more than to make her family proud, and his sweet, curious little Tomas who was still a mama’s boy at heart, but never gave up the chance to help his father.

And their wonderful, intoxicating, stubborn, gorgeous, confusing mother who made sure to remind him every second that she could, that she had picked him, even after all the shit he had done, and that she loved him enough to risk her very life to give him another baby to love and raise with her.

“You are a fucking goddess.” Her lips fit effortlessly against his own. She sighed happily as he leaned against her, his tongue brushing against her bottom lip. The kiss deepened though it would not go any further than that, at least for that night. Negan mused briefly that maybe if he got both of them up early enough in the morning that they could take advantage of the nice big shower in the master bathroom.

“And you are a fucking sap.” She gasped for air. “Who would’ve thought that the big bad leader of the Saviours would end up living with the single mom of three who had somehow ended up in a place she shouldn’t be?” Her nails scratched his scalp, sending a pleasured tingle throughout his body.

“I did. Every night after the moment I met you, I wished and hoped for it— for this: us and the kids somewhere peaceful and safe.” She said nothing after that and he didn’t need her to. This was more than enough, to know that his kids were just a couple doors away and the woman who was something more than just a wife to him was cradled in his arms with a promise of a future he had always craved nestled somewhere in the universe.

Their goodnight was a gentle kiss and another soft smile. 

She would tell him tomorrow about the little surprise the kids had planned for him after they were told her secret after she would beg the Alexandrian council for a break for both of them. After all, they loved her babies, so they would obviously have to warm up to Negan if she had another one on the way.

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[starshipsofstarlord]

daryl + mouth spitting

warnings. smut, mouth spitting, saliva exchanging, unprotected sex, dom!daryl, sub!reader, swearing, fluff, kinda dom!daryl

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

Rough and calloused hands gripped the edge of your jaw, as the body that they belonged to was atop of you, looming down at your submissive nature with domineering ecstasy. Daryl had driven himself inside of you, stretching the walls of your cunt with his bare cock as he leant down, his hair creating a distorted halo around his head, supporting himself on his knees.

Each speckle of cerulean colour in his eyes had darkened with a shadow of lust, much like when the ravenous sea tide rose into harmful waves beneath a grey and stormy sky. He was the storm, and he was prepared to bring a reckoning to your meek and mortal body. With maleficent intent, his hips clashed like the plates on the planet’s format against your own, as though he was creating an earthquake; your body shattered from the cruel pleasure, that felt like too much yet not enough at the same time.

It was as though a distorting cloud of fog had intercepted your brain, belittling you into nothing more than a pile of bone and flesh, completely at the mercy of the man that was leant over you. He was urged on by the erotic moans that were almost pornographic which slipped without control past your lips, and he became fixated on the way your mouth moved and curved with each sound of pleasure. To subdue the racket that you were creating with the small part of your brain that was still working, your teeth clamped down on your bottom lip, muffling each attempt at repeating his name.

Daryl frowned harshly, his eyes burning into the sight of your front teeth, admiring the small trail of drool that had cascaded past them. His heaving breaths created a warm spot on your flesh, his tone ragged and accent prominent as he spoke through his own ecstasy. “Le’ go of tha’ lip sunshine.” He tapped your chin with his forefinger, grip harshening around your jaw as his mind reeled with nervousness, although he didn’t allow it to show.

He wasn’t certain that you would like what he was about to do, and if you didn’t he vowed to himself silently that he would never do it again. But it was a primal desire that was igniting like a wildfire in his chest, and as his lips trailed over your throat, eyes boring across every inch of your skin and continually rocking into your tight cunt, and feeling how your walls gripped his cock like a succubus’ prowess, he drowned in the sounds that were making your throat soar.

“Fuck.” You moaned simultaneously, making each of you laugh gravelly and breathily from the unexpected communication that matched with each syllable. He leant in closer, running his nose across your cheek, as your eyelids fluttered from the sweet notion. Your hands gripped his shoulders, face still upturned in his grasp as you dared to make eye contact with your lover. “Open yer mouth darlin’.” It was a gentle order, and whilst confused in your blissful pleasure, legs seizing his hips in a strong hold, you did nothing but comply.

And so you opened your lips, tongue peeking out as you closed your mind and waited for whatever action ascended into Daryl. He clenched his jaw, mulling over his decision once more before he decided to proceed with it, before he leant down, tenderly stroking your chin with his thumb as he pursed his lips, allowing a string of saliva to fall and pool in your mouth. His brows rose as his hips slowed from hearing your unexpected moan; he wasn't certain on what reaction he had expected from you, but he felt the anxiety bouldering his shoulders slip away.

"Was tha' okay?" Daryl asked, his hips completely still now with his cock still sheathed inside of you. In response you wiggled your hips, needing to gain some friction from the overbearing fullness that was settled within your clenching walls, batting your lashes up at him as you rubbed your aching clit against the base of his manhood. "Need words baby." He endearingly ogled at you, wanting to do nothing more than to stutter his cock in and out of your pussy however your pleasure was his main concern. It always was, your welfare came long before his arousal, you were his priority, and as hot as it was to watch you swallow his spit and moan, he required verbal reassurance.

"Was more than okay Dar." Your voice was wispy and breathless, a sweet smile sprawled across your lips as your hands ran up and down his biceps. "If you want to be sure, you could always do it again." That was enough for him to proceed, rutting his length within your velvety and slick folds, as he continued to grasp your face in his large hands and trickle his saliva into your open and wide mouth. It was something that he had never given much thought, however from then on with each dazed gaping that you expressed, his mind reeled straight to the image of you drinking up his saliva like his own personal, thirsty whore.

[grudgecollector]

hii queen! i saw that your requests are open, could you write something with daryl and a reader in the earlier seasons who are dating in secret? (they dont want no one to know because daryl is new to relationships and i believe he would be more reserved a little in the beggining), however the group ended up noticing how soft he is to her and how he always keep an eye on her😩 and also i just wanted to say that i read some of yours writtings and they are amazing💕💕

Gimme Shelter | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Tags: Swearing, twd typical violence, kind of slow burn, fluff, lightish angst, half proof-read

Words: 4.4k

A/N: Fank you so much nonny 💖😭 I've been really enjoying writing for Daryl, he was one of my biggest obsessions as a teenager, and that obsession will continue to prevail.

And this is such a cute request, I love secret relationship tropes so much. I decided to do Prison era!Daryl if that's okay, I assume you probably meant for like season 1 or 2, but I felt like it would be cute in the prison.

I know that a slow burn wasn't requested BUT the thoughts just kept coming the more I wrote. Also sorry this took so long to post.

Growing up people would always say you will find the one when you least expect it. Whether it’s in a grocery store, at the park, in a museum. That one person you’re bound to spend the rest of your life with will be there. As if they were waiting for you, and you for them. It was a fairytale dream, one that you lost faith in long ago. 

There were moments you had thought that maybe you finally found that person. Until disappointment would strike time and time again. Your experience with relationships had been less than ideal, never lasting longer than a year. Cheaters, liars, and worst of all abusers. Those types of men had always been the most drawn to you. Making you feel as if you were cursed somehow, unlucky. 

After a while and a slew of pity attempts, you gave up on dating for your own benefit. Deciding it would be best to focus more on yourself. Not allowing yourself to succumb to the societal pressure of getting married by twenty and popping kids out by twenty one. 

That was the dream of a delusional small town teenager, too young to think for themselves let alone plan a future family, and that had been your dream once upon a time. Maybe you read too many stories about young girls finding their prince charming and living happily ever after.

You started to value your alone time. Enjoying the feeling of not having to walk on eggshells in order to keep the other party happy. Things were smooth sailing for about two years. You changed your life around, got a new job, a new car, and a new apartment all within a few months. 

A newfound happiness was settling inside of you, you were beginning to find yourself again. You became more confident in who you were as a person, allowing yourself to actually live your life instead of just simply being alive. 

But life had a twisted sense of humor. 

Things started with frantic breaking news segments on the news. Reporters talking about the horrifying developments coming out of France. In the beginning you had hoped that things wouldn’t escalate past that, hoped that this would be an isolated incident. But things just got worse the more you watched. An unknown virus wreaking havoc across the entirety of Europe, spreading like wildfire across each country. 

After the first case of the virus was reported in Ohio, you started to worry. Things were getting too close for your liking, and with the details they were releasing it wasn’t going to get any better. With each new segment that aired your mother would call, urgently telling you to come back to live with them until this sickness blows over. You knew that it would be your best bet. 

Once the local grocery stores started getting raided, you found yourself being thankful that your family was full of survivalist nuts. Growing up hearing them praise people like Jim Baker, and other televangelist hackjobs like him that weaponized fear mongering for profit. 

Your parents home was stocked full of all the essentials thanks to your aunt Jess. First aid kits, canned food, water to last just a little over a month. It was everything you needed and more. 

“Y’always gotta be prepared, honey.” Your wine-drunk aunt had told you after a week, the both of you lounging on the sofa as you watched the news. “You don’t know how long this crap’s gonna last.” 

It all went by so quickly. The news stations eventually stopped airing not long after the first report hit Georgia, they were urging everyone to evacuate to Atlanta, leaving the streets a mess of honking and dead-stop traffic right outside of your parent’s home. 

And for a short while you had settled into this false hope that you were safe there with them. 

That was until you came back from a short trip to a ransacked Dollar General just down the street. 

The house was oddly quiet when you walked inside. The TV was muted on a flickering static screen, your dad’s recliner was empty, a blanket on the floor. The backdoor that led to the porch was ajar, the sun shining through the crack onto the wood flooring. You remembered that feeling in your stomach as you walked closer, fingers slowly curling around the doorknob. 

When you walked outside it felt as if a bucket of ice water was dumped over your head. The horrifying sight of your mother’s body being gutted by your own father and uncle, fresh blood dripped down the side of the RV next to your aunt’s already mangled corpse. Your hands were trembling fiercely, a nauseating coppery smell filling your nose. 

All you could remember was running. Packing whatever you could get your hands on before taking your mother’s minivan.  

Not long after the death of your family, you were taken in by a small group of five. They were unstable, barely hanging on by a thread, with almost nightly arguments tilting them further over the edge. 

It made things harder for you. The tension starting to make you too nervous to sleep without a knife tucked securely under your pillow. 

The self appointed leader demanded too much, wanting more than half of the rations to himself. He was a cruel hearted individual, mind diluted by the atrocities you were all forced to witness. A dangerous man who was quick tempered, and ruthless to anything or anybody you came across. 

After a month of running with them you made a mistake. You hid a portion of your findings from him. Food that he would have taken the majority of. But you were starving, at the point of hardly caring about your survival if it meant you could eat just a little bit more.

Other members had found out though, outing you quickly. As a punishment he tied you up, stole everything from you. Photo albums, your weapons, your food, bandages, it didn’t matter what it was. After beating you he left you in the supply closet of a convenient store you were temporarily camping out in. 

Part of you half expected them to come back, but you knew better than to think positively now, that could get you killed nowadays. 

The minutes blended into hours into what felt like days. The zip ties around your wrists and ankles dug harshly into your skin, biting into the raw bleeding flesh as you struggled to free yourself. Eventually it got to the point where you started slipping in and out of consciousness, your body exhausted and dehydrated. You were sure you would die there. 

But, much to your surprise, your luck hadn’t run dry just yet. 

In your haze you could hear the sound of once shuffling corpses hit against the door with a heavy thud. Hushed voices barely graced your ears through the door, two men talking to each other. 

Your voice was hoarse as you pathetically attempted to call out. Your throat was dry from the lack of water, forcing your words to come out as a croaking squeak.  

The door had been opened cautiously, the beam of a flashlight assaulting your eyes. You attempted to focus on the man crouching down above you, his blurred features obscured by the baseball hat he wore. 

“Rick!” The man called over his shoulder, another figure coming into view. He was wearing what seemed to be a police officer’s uniform. Whether it was stolen or actually his, you didn’t care, you just wanted out of this damn closet. 

Both men were quick to cut your binds and hauled you to your feet. The quick motion was all it took for you to finally pass out. A thick blanket of exhaustion pressed into you, forcing your eyes to flutter closed and your body to go completely limp. Unable to cling onto consciousness any longer

In those last moments you almost thought that they would just leave you there. Not wanting to bother helping a now passed out stranger, and you wouldn’t have blamed them if they did abandon you. 

Instead when you woke up you were laying on a couch, an older man with short white hair standing over you. 

At first you had almost believed you dreamed it all, the outbreak, the group. That you were in some sort of comatose state and the world was not overrun by flesh eating monsters. But the stinging pain deep within your wrists proved otherwise, the gashes covered by white gauze and medical tape. 

The white haired man, Hershel, ran you through your current state. Malnourishment, dehydration, feverish temperatures. It was evidently clear that you had been through the wringer, and if Glenn and Rick had not found you when they did, you would have died within the day. In fact he had said it was a miracle that Hershel himself could have saved you. 

You figured you had always been stubborn, though, you never gave up easily. 

Hershel had been kind enough to allow you to stay in his house until you got better. Providing you with enough water and food to get you back on your feet. 

The family allowed you to use their shower. When you looked at yourself in the mirror you understood why they were so insistent. A thick layer of grime and blood coated your skin, your hair was matted, your clothes ripped beyond repair. 

You couldn’t help but cry, realizing just how quickly you lost yourself out there. Your humanity has faded so much in such a short amount of time, leaving you a hollow shell of your former self. You looked like a stranger to yourself.

Over the next week Rick’s group urged you to stay. They knew you had nowhere else to go, no family to run back to. 

You were hesitant, though. You didn’t want to continue to be a burden, you were a stranger infiltrating an already close knit group. The closeness they had made you feel even more lonely than you did in your previous group, because at least when it came to them, you didn’t crave that companionship. 

Gone were the days of blind trust, knowing that everything always came with a price these days. So your knife stayed tucked beneath your pillow, fingers clutching onto the handle as you kept an eye on the zipped up entrance of the tent. 

On many sleepless nights, which were frequent, you would sit yourself in front of the dwindling fire outside of your tent. Mind wandering to everything that’s happened to you in the past three months, the things you’ve done to stay alive, the permanent scars you would carry with you for life. 

You stewed in your bitterness. Chewing ruthlessly on the skin around your fingernails. 

Your tent was further away from the rest of the group’s, tucked away in your own area. You found yourself watching the rest of them at first. Thoughts of running away while everyone slept crossed your mind more times than you could count. 

Until one night you heard a twig snap behind you, your knife quickly unsheathed and pointing towards what you thought to be a threat, 

“Geez. You’re almost as bad as Daryl.” One of the older men from Rick’s group, Dale, chuckled as he walked closer to your secluded camp, his hands up in surrender. “But I can go if you want.” He smiled softly. 

“Sorry… Bad habit.” You said quietly, setting your knife back down next to your thigh. 

He shook his head, taking a seat in front of the fire, “No need to be sorry. I can’t blame you for still being a little paranoid.” 

Dale quickly became a source of comfort for you, sporting an almost fatherly personality when talking to you. He was kind, and realistic which was exactly what you needed after everything you’ve been through. Over the course of a few nightly visits he was able to get you to open up a little, telling him about your former group, he was sympathetic and understanding. 

“The world has truly gone to hell.” He grimaced, taking his bucket hat off of his head. “But, we have good people here. Believe it or not.” His smile was reassuring. 

After a few days you started to come around more. Helping the women with laundry, listening to the stories they told about their lives before, anecdotes to keep themselves sane. 

It wasn’t hard to understand why they were so close. The tragedy of their former camp just outside of Atlanta, the C.D.C, Lori’s son getting shot, the people they’ve lost along the way. 

Slowly you felt more like yourself again.

Every so often they would mention that same name Dale did, Daryl. The only member of the group you had yet to meet personally. 

You had seen him walking around the camp, or tucked away in his own tent, further away from the group much like yours was. He was gruff looking, intimidating to the eye, and his occasional temper didn’t help much. But with how insistent he was on finding Carol’s missing daughter, you could tell there was warmth beneath his rigid exterior. 

The first time you talked to him was less than ideal. You were attempting to set up a snare trap in the woods, wanting to try and contribute a little bit more. The frustration quickly turned to embarrassment when he snuck up on you. Your feet got caught in your own trap and caused you to trip and fall. 

“Looks like y’caught somethin’.” Daryl attempted to joke, walking past you and deeper into the woods with his crossbow pointed towards the trees. 

You cut yourself free of the poorly made snare and ran to catch up with him. Choosing your words carefully. 

“Daryl, right?” All you got was a grumble in response, “Listen I know you don’t know me or anythin’... But could you teach me how to hunt?” 

“Teach yourself. I ain’t got time for babysittin’.” His response stung a little, harsher than you had hoped it would be. 

You figured you should have expected that, though, the conversation him and Shane had this morning was heated. An argument almost leading to a full on fight. The tension was growing higher and higher as the days dragged on with no signs of Sophia. 

Then the group found out about what was inside the barn.

One day when Rick was out helping Hershel, Shane took it upon himself to break the chains on the barn door. Walker after walker spilled out, being shot down ruthlessly by some members of Rick’s group, while the Greene family cried out for them to stop. Their worst nightmare coming true, as well as Carol’s. 

A little girl limped out, skin grey and beginning to rot. Her hair was matted with leaves, eyes a milky grey color, and a rasping snarl emitting from her. There was a large gash on her shoulder, a bite. It was devastating to see a child fall victim to such a death. But even more so for Carol, coming to realize that each day they restlessly searched, she had already been dead.. 

The safety that the farm provided didn’t last long after that. 

Shane was quickly losing his grip, Dale was killed by a lone walker, and eventually the fields were overrun by walkers. A massive hoard stumbling onto the property, drawn in by the frequent gunfire. 

You had lost quite a few on that night, good people that had helped you come out of your shell, people that didn’t deserve what they got. In all honesty you didn’t think you would have made it out either if it wasn’t for Andrea and Daryl. 

After the fall of the farm, you were all lost. Hershel and his family had lost their home, and the entire group was left to search. 

But you had to bury your sadness for the time being, winter was quickly approaching. The leaves were changing into a crisp orange color, and the wind had a bite to it in the mornings, leaving you shivering as you huddled closer to the fire. Daryl had been kind enough to let you borrow his poncho some nights, insisting you probably needed it more than him. 

Daryl seemed to warm up to you after a while too. He would subtly make sure you ate by leaving a half eaten can of vegetables next to you, or would occasionally sharpen your knife for you after doing his own. It was a kind gesture, letting you know that he was starting to trust you. 

Eventually it got to the point where your group finally ran out of canned food. There were no stores around, and everyone was too cold or tired to go anywhere. So Daryl decided to take you out to the woods, finally going out of his way to teach you how to hunt. 

“Y’know what you’re trackin’?” He asked one day, slowly walking beside you, following a small winding trail in the woods. 

You were quiet for a second, thinking as you analyzed the tracks next to your feet, “Could be a deer, whatever it is, it’s got hooves.” 

“Obviously.” He huffed, resisting the urge to smile when you glared at him. 

“Shut the hell up, man.” A small sigh came from you, “Could be a hog.” You crouched down and moved the leaves out of the way to get a better look, “The prints are close together, if it were a deer they’d be further apart, right?” 

Daryl just shrugged, “You tell me.” 

That’s how your hunts would usually go, Daryl providing frustrating nonanswers as you attempted to close in on your prey. He wasn’t going to babysit you, as he had originally said when you first asked, you had to figure it out yourself. You knew that was the only way you’d be able to learn, even if it was mildly annoying. 

The winter finally started to melt into spring, temperatures rising and falling occasionally until settling into an in between. And soon enough your restless searching came to an end, the high chain link fences surrounding a prison with walkers meandering the expansive field calling your names. A soon to be shelter for your group and many others. 

The fight against Woodbury had been a painful ordeal, with Maggie and Glenn getting taken hostage, and Daryl leaving with his brother. The group was briefly left in shambles, hanging on by a thread as Rick slowly faded away, losing his way after Lori’s untimely death and the birth of her daughter. 

When Daryl left it broke your heart a little. The two of you had bonded over the course of the harsh winter, often seeking each other out as a heat source. Whispering stories of your families filling the silence as the biting wind wrapped itself around you. But you could never blame him for leaving, knowing you would do the same thing if you could. 

The first attack from the Governor was when Daryl finally returned, his mouthy brother in tow. They had rescued Rick on the outskirts of the fence, luckily finding him just in time before he was overpowered. 

It made you happy to see your friend again, a hand squeezing his shoulder before pulling him into a hug. It had been a lot less awkward than you expected, his arms wrapping around your middle and squeezing softly, reassuring you that he was okay. 

“Well, ain’t that just cute.” Merle had teased, pinching his little brother on the cheek. 

But the tragedies were never ending, your group seemed to constantly be one step away from death’s doorstep. 

The Governor decided to make his way back to the prison, armed gunmen following behind him. 

They wanted to execute every last one of you no matter what it took. Your group had laid out traps, pretending to have left as requested, lulling them in with a false hope that you were gone. Until the shrill sound of the prison sirens started, smoke grenades being thrown down at their feet in the darkened hallways. 

The armed militia of men, mothers, and teenagers the Governor recruited had run away in fear, knowing that their fates would be sealed if they stayed any longer. 

As the weeks continued after the attack, things started to look up. That once forgotten positivity slowly makes its way back into your heart, along with a smile as you allow yourself to get to know the former residence of Woodbury. Your community was slowly forming, a home being made out of the prison. 

It was easy to become comfortable. 

And as your fondness grew for Daryl, you remembered what your mother used to tell you. 

“You will find the one when you least expect it.” 

Who knew that the world had to end in order for you to find him. With every soft touch, lingering whisper, and a quick stolen kiss in the shadows of your cell, it grew increasingly more obvious that your mother may have been right. 

Daryl was the only person you felt safe enough to be vulnerable around. His gentleness towards you breaking down the walls around your heart, settling himself deep within it. And you gladly let him. You both decided to keep your relationship a secret. Enjoying the thrill of sneaking around, while also avoiding any teasing remarks that would come from your group. 

You knew that this was Daryl’s first serious relationship, so you wanted to allow him the grace of warming up to the idea. You wanted him to become more comfortable with himself, taking his time with you, soothing any anxious wandering thought he may have. 

But you knew that the group would notice eventually. Hell, they already were. The small teasing remarks being thrown your way would make Daryl stiffen. He would pick at the strings on his denim jacket as he huffed and grumbled something in response. 

“You want me to slip her a note or somethin’?” Carol teased him, nudging her elbow into his side, “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” She laughed quietly when he rolled his eyes, “Come on Daryl-” 

She was cut off by someone running up to him, Glenn’s frantic eyes meeting Daryl and Carol’s before quickly sputtering out your name, “I don’t know what happened but-” 

The poor boy could barely get the words out before Daryl ran off towards the cell block. 

You were laying in your cell, blood covering your shirt as your side bled profusely. Hershel was quick to try and stop the bleeding, urging everyone to give him room to work. 

“If you want her to live, get out, now!” 

The blood drained from Daryl’s face as he looked at you. Bruises were beginning to bloom on your face and arms, your nose was bleeding and there was a slash on your cheek. Your boyfriend directed his anger towards one of the new members you had taken on a run, pinning him roughly against the concrete wall with his forearm. 

“The hell happened out there?! Huh?!” Daryl shouted in the scared man’s face, shrinking in on himself as Rick and Maggie tried to pull Daryl off. “Talk!” 

“We-” The man gulped, “We got attacked by a small group…” There were tears in his eyes as he tried to explain, his swollen lip trembling. He didn’t look much better than you did honestly, his eye was almost swollen shut, and there was blood coating his hairline, “She said- said she knew them, some group she was with. I thought they were gonna k-kill us.” He swallowed harshly, “They shot her…”

Daryl swore he could see red. His shoulders heaving as he started to pace, fingers running through his hair as he tried to process what the man had said. His face was hot, body pulsing with anger as he glanced back into your cell to see you lying there motionless. 

He stalked back up towards the man, his gaze hard and threatening as he spoke in a gruff voice, “If she dies, her blood is on your hands.” He pressed his finger hard into the man’s chest, pushing him harshly back into the concrete wall before stalking towards the exit of the prison. 

It took the entire council to talk Daryl out of hunting this group down himself. Carol telling him it was a suicide mission, and he would die if he left like this. Going into a situation blinded by rage was never good for anyone, especially now, with you lying unconscious in your cell. 

Luckily for you the bullet went straight through, and all they had to do was wait for you to wake up. 

Daryl didn’t dare leave your side, a rag gently dabbing across your forehead as he whispered softly to you. Unspoken words that he had wished he had told you sooner, words that only you were allowed to hear him say, something he had never dared utter to another person. Not even his own family. 

“I love you.” 

The time seemed to drag on slowly as he waited, his watchful not leaving you for more than a few seconds. His gentle fingers traced patterns on your skin, ignoring the occasional staring that would come from someone passing by your cell. He couldn’t bring himself to care about the secrecy, not now. 

“That fuckin’ tickles.” He suddenly heard you rasp, your eyes fluttering open and glancing down at his fingers on your forearm. 

Relief washed over Daryl like cool rain on a hot summer's day. His shoulders sagged and he couldn’t help but lean his head down to rest on your arm, a long sigh being released from his lungs. 

“Daryl…” You whispered, making him look at you, “It was my old group.” 

The look on your face was similar to the one you sported when they first found you, terrified, lost, confused. You didn’t know what to do with yourself knowing that not only were they still alive, but a lot closer than you would have liked. 

“I know.” He replied, his hand holding onto yours, “You don’t have t’worry about that right now.” 

Even though you were able to find happiness in the apocalypse, tragedy never ceased to sneak up from behind every corner. And you guessed that it had become easy to forget that life had a cruel sense of humor. 

It always would.

[thefreakydeaky]

After the Thrill is Gone

Part Twelve

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Negan Smith x Reader

Modern AU

Summary: From the first moment you laid eyes on Negan you were inexplicabley drawn to him. The passion between you is hot and only grows more intense the longer you see each other. There is only one problem, you're both married to other people.

Warnings: Dark Fic , Rape/Noncon, Violence, Stalking, Stalker behavior, Smuttyness, Adult Language...

You threw on a pair of checkered black and white leggings and a black muscle tee before you left the house. Leaving Millie in the care of your mother wasn't something you wanted to do, but Negan had left you no choice when he texted you saying you were to meet him at the Sanctuary Motel, alone to talk. You couldn't imagine what he could want to talk about. He had made it clear that he was blackmailing you. What more was there to say?

 You looked at your phone for the room number and parked. Then you walked under the awning toward the room at the end of the building. You knocked twice and the door was opened for you. You walked into the room annoyed and wanting to get back to your regular schedule.

"What? What could you possibly have to say now?" You huffed.

Negan didn't say anything to you. He simply locked the door, chain and all.

You watched him, waiting.

When his eyes met yours your blood seemed to freeze in your veins. His dark expression caused your heart to pick up speed in your chest.

"Negan?" You watched him stalk toward you. You were unnerved by his tense body language, his cold stare. "Negan?" You said again as he came to stand in front of you.

 He had always been taller than you, but this time he seemed to tower over you. He appeared larger.

As you tried to fight the panic taking over your mind his palm struck your cheek.You didn’t react quickly enough to move away. You found yourself looking at the ugly brown rug for a moment as the sharp pain went through you. You gasped in air. You couldn’t believe he had hit you.

 You peered up into his cold gaze, searching for any semblance of the rational civilized man you believed him to be and found nothing of the like. His hand shot out and grasped your throat. He squeezed and you struggled to take in breath. He forced you to walk backwards and when the backs of your knees hit the bed he didn't stop. Negan loomed over you. His hand tightening even more. Your hands pulled at his arm and hand, clawed at his skin desperate for relief. It was useless. He was so much stronger than you.

"Negan!" You tried to cry out hoping to appeal to his saner side. “Please!” You rasped.

He pulled back his arm and slapped you. The pain stung worse than your pride ever could. You felt faint. You scratched at him, at his arm, his shoulder. Your vision was clouded by black spots. Horror and disbelief filled you replacing any thoughts you might have had in what might be your final moments. Then, he let go of you.

You coughed and wheezed. Your hands went to your own throat as if to protect it. You tried to roll onto your side, but he remained above you, his knee between your legs. You felt him pulling roughly at your leggings and took in a burning breath. He whipped the stretchy material down your legs.

You shook your head, still coughing.

"No!" You wheezed.

He freed one of your ankles from your pant leg and underpants. You tried to kick at him, but he further situated himself between your legs with ease. You

pushed at his shoulders as he unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out.

"Stop it! Stop!" You demanded hoarsely.

He jammed his penis inside of you.

You cried out.

He forced his way in as far as he could fit. Seconds passed as breathing heavily he lay over you, his weight pinning you down. He moved his hips back and pushed roughly into you again. Tears began to fall from your eyes rolling down your temples and up into your hair. You hit his chest with your fists. Leaning forward on his knee, he took your wrists in his hands and held them to the bedspread. He hissed between his teeth as he drew back a few inches. Then rammed back into you.

"No! Please! Please!" You begged.

He ignored you. He made you endure the dry friction of his intrusion into your body again and again until the manipulation of your sexual organs produced the liquid previously only created by your arousal.

"You're into this, aren't ya?" He huffed out breathlessly. "I can feel how much you're loving this."

You sobbed, turning your face away from him and shutting your eyes.

He rutted into you. His heavy breathing and the slick sounds made by his actions made you nauseous.

How could this have happened? This man that you thought you knew so well, how could he hurt you this way? Despite what you had learned about him since you ended your relationship, he was a man you had trusted and at times admired. He had hit you. How could he be so cruel? He was hurting you, hurting you. Your nails dug into your palms as you clenched your hands tightly into fists.

Negan pumped into you, his thrusts picking up speed now that you were no longer dry. You groaned in your own personal agony. Your insides burned, but he didn’t care. You could see so clearly that your pain and discomfort meant less than nothing to him. He was taking what he wanted from you and putting you in your place all at once. He thrust into you once more before he came. He didn't bother to pull out, staying deep in your vagina when his cum burst out into you.

You whimpered as he pulled his cock out of you. He let go of your arms. You could hear him adjusting himself, zipping up his jeans.

"If you tell anyone about this, you know what will happen. It will cost you

everything." He warned you. "Look at me."

You didn't open your eyes.

He slapped you.

"I said, Look at me, God Damn it!"

You turned your face back toward him and opened your eyes.

"Now you know the price, for disrespecting me." 

A sob bubbled up from your chest and you covered your mouth with your hands.

"Apologize." He demanded.

You sobbed harder.

He pulled his arm back and now that you had been familiarized with the pain to come, you gasped out, "I'm sorry."

He watched you for a moment.

"I'm sorry." You said again.

"That's all you had to say." He said with a grin. "Was that so hard?" It was like night and day. Suddenly he was back to his usual chipper facade.

You shook your head.

"Now, get yourself cleaned up. You oughta get back to Camilla."

You stood on trembling legs and slowly hobbled to the bathroom to begin the work of putting yourself back together.

•••••••••••••••

You finally had the cook out you had been planning with Lori Grimes. You showed up with potato salad, macaroni and cheese, fries and a fruit salad. Wyatt carted the cooler along, Daryl and Hunter the food and you had Millie to carry. You were greeted by Carl at the door. He told you that his mom was in the kitchen and his Dad was firing up the grill. The boys headed to the back yard and you went to see if Lori needed any help in the kitchen.

"Hey," You hugged for a brief moment. "Need a hand?" You asked, setting Millie down.

Hearing your voice, Lori's daughter, Judith came to the kitchen. She hugged you and immediately took up watching Millie.

Lori asked you to slice up some onion and tomato for the burgers and you focused on the task.

For two weeks You had lived under the constant threat of Negan's fury. The bruises had been the hardest to hide. Make up could only do so much and it wasn't quite cold enough for scarves and turtle necks.You had been picking Wyatt up from practice and acting like everything was fine. It was exhausting to pretend, but what other choice did you have? You were about finished slicing the tomatoes when your phone rang. You were quick to wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hello Sweetheart. How are ya?"

You cringed, but kept your voice light.

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"Missing you."

Your stomach churned. You said what you knew would please him.

"Me too."

"Well then, we should plan our next get away. Don't you think?"

You nodded. Then realized you had done it and murmurred your agreement.

"How about Tuesday morning you and Millie meet me at the park on roland and church?"

Your jaw tightened. The last thing you wanted to do was bring Millie to that monster, but there was nothing you could say that wouldn't sound suspicious to the person in the room with you.

So instead you said, "Yes, that sounds like a plan."

"Great. I'll see you then. Good bye, Doll."

"Goodbye." You said with a heavy heart and placed the phone back into your pocket.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,692 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: War with the Saviors, specifically TWD S8 E13 after the battle at Hilltop Warnings: fear and anxiety, language, angst alert! Summary: You took an arrow to the shoulder during the battle at Hilltop and when the injured are sickened and turn, Daryl realizes his worst fear is going to come to pass.

“What the hell happened!?” Daryl spat, looking around at the now still corpses in the main entryway.

“I dunno,” Rick growled, spinning. “Maybe walkers got in?”

“Maybe during the fight,” Morgan echoed.

Daryl scrutinized the bodies. “These—these are all our own people though…”

Suddenly, there was a scream from upstairs and they raced up to find Carol standing over Tobin’s now silent body, blood dripping from the end of her knife.

“Are ya alrigh’?” Daryl asked, surveying the scene. Rick and Maggie stepped in beside him.

“Yeah,” gasped Carol. Her eyes were fixed on Tobin’s body. “He—he wasn’t bit. But he turned.”

They all exchanged tense and confused glances until Rick spoke. “Negan’s bat… when I was out there with him, it was covered in walker blood. I just thought he’d crossed some but… maybe…”

“They have us workin’ for them again,” Maggie said. “Killin’ our own.”

“Poisoned weapons with walker blood?” Carol said. “It’s some sick biological warfare.” Her eyes drifted back down to Tobin’s pale body on the floor and her heart ached.

Daryl didn’t say another word and abruptly left the room, his boot steps receding rapidly down the hall.

“Daryl?” Carol called after him, moving to the doorway.

Rick hung his head and passed a hand over his eyes. Maggie put a hand on Carol’s shoulder. “It’s—” Her throat was tight and she had to clear it before she could get more out. “It’s Y/N,” she said quietly. “She took an arrow in the back of her shoulder.”

Carol’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, God…” Her wide eyes met Maggie’s and stung with tears.

Rick rubbed a hand over his face and paced a tight circle. “And Tara too. And who knows,” he kicked out at the nearby dresser, “how many others.” He fell to cursing Negan, though he knew it wouldn’t help.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl lingered at the closed door for a long moment, staring at the wood, his hand moving to grip the door knob a couple times before falling down to his side. Finally, he grasped it and turned, pushing into the room.

You were asleep in the bed and Enid was sitting beside you. At the expression on her face, his stomach dropped through the floor. She looked worried, and had apparently been studying you. She shot up to her feet as Daryl softly closed the door behind him and stood there looking grim.

“What was all that shouting?” Enid asked.

Daryl gulped, his eyes fixed on you in the bed. “How is she?”

Enid hesitated and then returned to your side. She shook her head. “Her wound wasn’t life-threatening. But—”

“But what?” Daryl urged her to go on.

Enid looked down at your face again. “She looks pale and—I don’t know. Her breathing changed.” She glanced back up at Daryl, her brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

Daryl hesitated for one moment and then walked over to your bedside and scrutinized your face. You indeed looked ashen, and there were small beads of sweat starting to form near your hairline. His stomach churned. He met Enid’s questioning gaze and chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, trying to gain control of the wild emotions threatening to crush him at that moment. “We think The Saviors did somethin’ to their weapons. Ev’rybody that got wounded last night turned.”

Enid’s eyes went back to you asleep in the bed. “No,” she breathed with horror. “Oh my God.”

Daryl nodded, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough that the tang of copper filled his mouth. “Yeah…” He cleared his throat and did his best to appear steadfast. “Ya should go check on Tara.” His eyes strayed back to you again. “I’ve got this…”

Enid nodded, and with one final look at you and one anxious glance at Daryl, she quietly left the room.

Daryl stood at the end of the bed for a moment, watching the subtle rising and falling of the blanket over your chest. He thought it did seem a bit shallow. He slowly wandered over to the bedside and drew the chair closer, sinking down on it heavily and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of his face. His brow tensed. The rising panic was returning. Your hand was lying on top of the quilt and his eyes traced the graceful curve of your fingers.

Part of him wanted to wake you, to see your eyes open and hopefully, clear. But another part of him knew he should let you sleep while you could.

It was short-lived.

Your breathing became shallower and more rapid and the clamminess of your skin increased. You stirred beneath the blanket and pushed it off, your eyes opening and a grimace passing over your face as you stared up at the ceiling.

Daryl leaned forward and you turned when you noticed him beside you, managing a tired smile. “Daryl,” you said softly, looking up at him. The corners of your eyes still crinkled even though the smile was a bit weak.

He chewed on his bottom lip. His anxiety was plain. Deep furrows were evident between his brows.

It didn’t take you long to remark on your condition on your own. You lifted a hand to wipe at the sweat on your forehead and then a shiver ran through you. He saw it clearly and tugged the blanket back up over you. “I’m sick,” you said. It was almost a question and then your eyes found his again. He saw mild confusion in them. “Daryl,” you said again. He looked so grim standing beside you. He held your eyes for only a brief moment before he felt the bubble of emotion rising up his throat and threatening to burst and he had to squeeze them shut. “What’s happened?” you asked. You reached for his hand, which was dangling at his side, and his eyes shot open again and looked at your fingertips touching his softly. He took your hand in his gently and warmed your fingers. Then his blue eyes found your ashen face again.

He felt like someone had rammed an icy blade up between his lungs and into his heart. He fought with emotion again and struggled to clear his throat enough to speak. Your eyes flickered between his, worried and puzzled. He opened his mouth to speak but then ducked his head one more time, passing his free hand over his eyes and drawing in a shaky breath. “They—the Saviors,” he started, his voice a mere whisper, “they did somethin’ to their weapons.” He swallowed down the tightness in his chest with great effort. “Ev’rybody who got hurt in the fight is either sick or—or already turned.” He waited for your reaction and forgot to breathe.

Understanding washed over your face and your expression fell, but you simply nodded. You seemed to shrink away into some depths within your eyes and Daryl was afraid he wouldn’t be able to reach you again. He fell into the seat at your bedside again and squeezed your hand. What could he say? There was nothing to say. No words would help at a time like this. You were going to die. It was that simple. And nothing he could say would fix it or make it any better. Your name caught in his throat and you looked over at him again. “I—‘m so sorry,” he said. His voice broke and the sound of it cut both of you like a scalpel. You were both wounded from this happening, and you would die, but Daryl would be left carrying that wound for the rest of his life. Why did you have to be the one to… Why couldn’t it have been him who was hurt? You of all people—it was too hard to bear. He should have been there. He should have protected you. He should have stopped it!

Your eyes grew glassy and a few tears escaped. You laced your fingers with his and gave him a sad smile, guessing his whirling thoughts. “It’s not your fault,” you told him. “They did this. It’s not your fault.”

He felt himself crumbling. “‘M so sorry,” he breathed again. He clasped your hand firmly between his and lifted it towards his mouth, but he didn’t press it to his lips, though he wanted to. His head dropped and you could tell he was struggling not to go to pieces. He was always trying to be strong, even when he didn’t need to.

“It’s okay,” you breathed. “It’s okay…”

“No, it ain’t,” he whispered back. His voice was shaky. “Nothin’ ‘bout this is okay. That bastard’s gonna pay for—”

A grimace tightened your features and your breath hitched. The sound stopped Daryl mid-sentence. He rested your hand back down on the blanket and a panicked look crossed his face. “What? What is it?”

Your eyes closed for a moment. “Nothing,” you said, shaking your head against the pillow. “It’s nothing. Just—hurts a little. Aches is all. It’s okay. I’m okay…”

Daryl gulped down his emotion and regained himself. “‘M gonna be righ’ here. Ya ain’t gonna be alone. Okay?” His thumb moved against the silky skin on the back of your hand and you nodded.

“I know,” you said, managing another weak smile.

Suddenly, the door opened quietly and Enid came back in with Maggie trailing behind her. Both of you looked up.

Enid’s face fell as she readily saw your worsened condition. Maggie’s eyes filled with a glassy light as she came to stand beside Daryl.

“How’s Tara?” Daryl asked.

“She’s not sick,” Enid replied. “No sign of the fever yet.”

“Good,” Daryl said, staring back at the paleness of your hand in his.

“But we’ve got six more so far in here, and likely more outside. I sent Carol and Jesus to check on everyone, including the prisoners,” Maggie said. She bent down and stroked your hair. Her eyes filled with tears again. “‘M so sorry,” she whispered to you. “Do ya need anythin’? Anything we can do to make you more comfortable, just ask and we’ll do everything we can.”

Daryl’s head dropped and his eyes squeezed shut. “I’ll—‘m gonna be righ’ back,” he murmured. He met your eyes again. Your brow was furrowed and you were watching him carefully. “‘M gonna be back in just a minute. I promise,” he said softly.

The chair made a harsh noise as he stood up and your eyes tracked him all the way out the door.

Out in the hall, Daryl put some distance between himself and your room, striding down to the end of the hall and standing at the window, staring out at the beginnings of dawn just starting to tickle the deep blue sky with shots of pink and yellow. His fists clenched and his nails cut in little red crescent moon marks on his palms. How the fuck was the sun still coming up when you were laying in a bed dying? It felt like nothing should go on as normal ever again. He suddenly kicked out at the tall wooden cabinet beside him and it rocked and wobbled. And then he broke down. His head dropped and it was all he could do not to scream in agony at the painful chasm in his chest, sticking between his lungs and growing larger and larger as you paled and ached in that bed. Tears poured down his face and he pressed his forehead to the coolness of the glass in front of him.

He startled as a hand landed lightly on his shoulder and he hurriedly mopped his face, but when he turned he knew Maggie had already seen his overwhelming distress and grief. His shoulders shuddered as he gasped in a ragged breath and he shook his head. He saw his own pain, or some version of it, reflected on her face, and he thought of Glenn.

She only nodded and pulled him into a hug briefly. He sniffled and managed to get his breaking under control again. “Go on and be with her again. Enid and I will look after the others. Listen—when it’s time to say goodbye—”

He nodded. “I’ll send somebody to get ya’ll,” he croaked out. He mopped at his damp face again and pulled in a breath.

“Daryl, if you haven’t already, you need to tell her,” Maggie said. And with that, she headed downstairs.

Daryl took a few more deep breaths, steeled himself, and rushed back to your room. Enid gave you a kind smile and released her hold on your hand and quietly took her leave. Daryl swallowed hard and came to sit beside you again. Your eyes followed him across the room.

Your skin was feverish and he could see it making your hair and clothes damp. Had those dark circles been beneath your eyes when he’d stepped out? How long was he gone? How many minutes? It couldn’t have been more than a few, and yet you looked far worse… He got up and went to a pitcher and basin on the chest of drawers and poured in some water. Pulling out the bandana he always carried, he dunked it into the bowl and carried the whole thing over to the nightstand.

You watched him swirl the cloth in the water and wring it out. He pressed it to your forehead and it was cool. Your eyes were still trained on him. He knew you’d likely be able to tell why he’d stepped out of the room. “Here. Drink a little water if ya can,” he said, helping you with a glass Enid had brought.

You swallowed thickly and he set it aside again. “Are you alright?” you asked him. Your voice sounded thin.

He let out a dry laugh as he refreshed his bandana in the water again and dabbed at your neck. “Yer askin’ me that?” he drawled.

“Daryl,” you said softly, and your hand came up to grip his wrist, surprisingly strong. He met your eyes again and yours flickered between his.

He bit down on his bottom lip hard, trying to fight back the tidal wave and scream in his chest. Tears stung his eyes as he looked at you. Your hand floated back to the bed and the place your fingers had been felt hot. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “No,” he said. “I ain’t alrigh’. And I dunno if I’ll—if I will be.”

A shiver ran through you and Daryl tossed his bandana back down in the bowl and helped you pull the blankets up to your chin. You sighed and your eyes shut for a long moment. Daryl was afraid they wouldn’t open again, but they did. And when you looked straight at him, they seemed clearer somehow, and you smiled at him again despite the devastation written all over his face.

“What’re you smilin’ ‘bout?” he asked. There was a rasp to his voice.

“You,” you breathed. “Just you.”

He ducked his head, listening to each of your breaths, analyzing them for any change. He was far too aware of his knife on his hip.

“I need you to promise me something,” you said.

“Anythin’,” he nodded, leaning in.

“Don’t let this consume you. Please. Negan’s taken enough. Don’t end up one of the casualties too. You have so much good in you. Don’t let him take that away.”

He stared at you for a long moment and then suddenly stood up and leaned over you. His rough fingers brushed gently at your hair and then clasped your face. In that moment, maybe some trick of the changing light, but he thought you looked less ashen. He saw more color in your lips and in your cheeks. Your eyes were bright.

He kissed you then. His lips landed flush against the soft pillow of yours, and it was tender and wanting and desperate and soft all at the same time. He tried to put everything he wanted to say into that kiss. It lasted only a few seconds, but both of you mourned the separation, felt the profoundness of that connection as it had shifted your whole world. He sank back down at your bedside and grabbed your hand in his again, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. He refused to take his eyes off you now.

A smile grew slowly on your face and though your eyelids were heavy, the outer corners of your eyes smiled too, like they always did. “How’d you know that was on my bucket list? ‘Kiss Daryl Dixon.’”

He brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers and shook his head at you.

“I can die happy now,” you said.

“I shoulda told ya every damn day… I thought—I thought we had more time.” His voice broke on the last word.

“So did I,” you agreed. “Life’s a motherfucker like that,” you said dryly.

He almost laughed. “What ‘m tryin’ to say is I—ya know, I—” The words stuck in his chest. He couldn’t seem to get them out no matter how much he wanted to. I’ve been in love with you almost since I met ya.

“I know,” you breathed. “You didn’t have to say it, Daryl. I felt it too.” Your eyes closed again and you sighed, another grimace passed your face as your joints and muscles throbbed. “I’m not sure I can stay awake much longer,” you murmured. “I’m so tired.” You forced your eyes open again. “Would you lay with me? Please?”

Daryl’s chest ached so intensely he thought he would die of it. “Course I will.”

He came around to the other side of the bed and climbed on, scooting over toward your side until your body was almost against his. “C’mere,” he drawled, and he gently looped his arm underneath you and pulled you toward him. You felt featherlight in his arms. You laid tucked in against his body and closed your eyes. This close to you, he could easily hear your every breath, feel every shudder of your body, feel the fever and the chills—but he could also feel the shape of you, your weight, breathe your smell. Your head rested against his shoulder and nuzzled toward the crook of his neck.

“I’m so tired,” you said again, sighing. He could feel your breath on his skin. The silence stretched and his rough fingers drew absent shapes on the bare skin of your arm. Your weight grew heavier against him. “I want you to know… it’s alright if you can’t do it. At the end… It doesn’t have to be you. I need you to know that it’s okay if you can’t. Someone else can…” you trailed off.

He gulped and nodded. “I’mma be righ’ here.”

“I know,” you whispered. Your eyes were closed. “I love you…”

He pressed a kiss to your hair. “I love ya too...” His voice broke, but you didn’t hear it. You were already asleep.

He didn’t know how long he had laid there with you. He was still scrutinizing your every breath and every moment, waiting for the horrific change to take place, or waiting for you to awake in agony as the sickness progressed. But so far, you just slept on. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to, anyway.

Eventually, the door creaked open and Rick stepped in barely over the threshold before he froze, seeing Daryl there with you on the bed. They locked eyes for a moment, Rick’s eyes grew glassy and he gave a nod, but then he immediately retreated. No one should intrude on that scene. And he made sure no one would, unless they were called for.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl was staring at the bright sunlight streaming in through the sheer curtains. He had no concept of time as he lay there with you asleep against him. Every moment felt agonizingly long and cruelly short at the same time. He was watching the dust particles floating in the currents of air when you stirred. Your hand landed flush to the center of his chest and you turned on your side almost curling into him. He gently took your hand in his and ran his thumb over your soft skin.

Your stirred again and let out a sigh, stretching beside him. Your eyes blinked open. “Daryl…” you said suddenly.

He squeezed your hand gently. “Yeah. ‘M righ’ here.”

“I—I know.” You pushed yourself up on the palm of your hand, still angled in toward him. “Daryl, look at me.”

He did. Your eyes were wide and surprised, but beyond that you looked… like yourself. The color was back in your face, in your lips. Your eyes were bright and clear. You looked well. Your name slipped past his lips.

“I’m not sick,” you said with disbelief. “I don’t feel—I mean, my bones felt like glass before. And—I’m not hot or cold. I—”

Daryl was sitting up now too, staring at you bewildered. He clasped your face and pressed his hand to your forehead. You didn’t feel feverish. Your skin wasn’t clammy. “Ya ain’t sick…” he drawled, the same disbelief dripping from every word. “Ya ain’t—” A laugh bubbled out of you as he popped up onto his knees, kneeling in front of you on the bed, staring with bafflement. “How—how?”

You shook your head. “I—I don’t know…” you stammered, your heart racing. “I felt—I was dying. I felt it. And now—I still feel like I got hit by a truck, and my shoulder hurts like a bitch but—I’m not sick.”

Daryl took your face in both of his hands and his lips crashed down onto yours. You arched into him and kissed him back, relishing the feeling of his hands drifting down to your waist and gently pressing on your lower back to pull you in against him. He still looked dumbfounded when the two of you broke apart, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

“I gotta—we gotta—” Daryl vaulted himself off the bed, leaving you kneeling in the middle of it, surrounded by the rumpled blankets. He ripped the door open and shouted out into the hallway. “Maggie! Enid!” He turned back to stare at you, his chest heaving as he seemed to have lost his breath. A stampede of footsteps answered and soon Enid, Maggie, Rosita, Rick, Michonne, Carol—even Tara—were bursting in looking grim and worried. Seeing their expressions, Daryl realized they all thought it was time to say goodbye to you. He hurried to correct their assumption. “She—she ain’t sick. Look! Her fever’s gone and she—she ain’t sick anymore.”

All eyes drifted to you sitting upright on the bed, almost looking as if nothing had happened to you at all.

Enid stepped forward, shock written on her face, and you could only smile as she reached a hand out and pressed the back of it to your forehead. She snapped around to look at everyone else again, a teary smile on her face. “She doesn’t have a fever,” she said, shaking her head.

A whoop went up through the room and soon nearly everyone was hugging you and kissing your cheek, patting you on the back as if you’d done anything at all consciously. But Daryl simply stood by the door, leaned up against the wall watching the scene with a teary smile on his face that wasn’t budging. As the last of your family hugged you, your eyes connected with his again and you felt a shock of electricity run up your back and butterflies erupted in your chest.

“I—I don’t understand how this is possible!” Carol laughed happily.

Rick was shaking his head, smiling.

“Has anyone ever heard of this happening before?” Rosita asked. “I mean, should we still be worried?”

Enid shrugged and shook her head, looking at a loss. “Well, it’s not the same as a bite. It seems like maybe her body was able to fight off the infection.”

Rick rubbed a thoughtful hand over his face. “Maybe it’s like how some people get sick from gutting up the first time, some people the twentieth, and some people never do.”

“Some combination of immune system and dosage maybe,” Maggie said thoughtfully, her eyes still glassy with happy tears.

“Well, whatever it is, thank God. We needed another win,” Michonne said.

Enid nodded and looked back at you on the bed. Daryl was still leaned up against the wall by the door. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. “She may not have a fever anymore but I don’t want to push it. Back in bed,” she said, grabbing hold of the blankets again. “I want you to rest. Your body has been through a lot.”

You moved a little gingerly laying down again, realizing now that your shoulder that had taken the poisoned arrow did still hurt a lot. “I’ll rest… feels like I’m still trying to shake the worse flu of my life.” Exhaustion was settling back over you again. The adrenaline had waned. But your cheeks and lips still had a healthy, rosy glow.

Enid filled the glass on the nightstand with fresh water again for you and instructed everyone to leave so you could sleep. Everyone listened, except Daryl. And somehow, everyone knew he was the exception.

He shut the door softly behind Tara as she went out and the two of you were alone again. He wandered back over to the bedside and you looked up at him through your lashes, your eyes growing tired again.

“Are you still going to keep watch over me?” you asked him.

He nodded. “Mhm… now and every damn day of yer life. If you’ll have me that is…” he said a little abashedly, ducking his head. “Actually, ‘m gonna do that whether ya want me to or not.”

You smiled. “Can you do that from in this bed again? Please?”

“Are ya kiddin’?” He climbed in beside you again and you rolled toward him, tucking yourself into his body. Your breathing was strong and steady; no sign of the ragged, shallow respiration that had plagued you overnight.

“You want to know what I think saved me?” you asked, resting your head on his chest, your arm draped over him.

“Hmm?” he hummed, now feeling his own exhaustion settle over him like a heavy blanket. Now that the terror and devastation and fear and grief had receded, he was drained.

“I think you cured me. With that kiss,” you said, and he could hear a smile in your voice. “Love saved us. The universe decided it couldn’t separate us.”

Daryl let out an amused exhale. “I ain’t magic. Pretty sure this ain’t a fairy tale.”

You sighed and nuzzled against the crook of his neck. “I’m starting to think it might be,” you whispered sleepily.

Daryl’s cheek pressed against the top of your head. He tugged you in more snugly and paused thoughtfully. “Well… I do kinda gotta agree with ya there. Now, sleep,” he hushed you. “I dun wanna risk anythin’. Ya need rest.”

“You too,” you said with a yawn. “And now we’ve got time.”

[zmbiesoph]

CARL GRIMES X FEM!Y/N AESTHETIC

[rinnyyyyyyyyy]

top Daryl Dixon nsfw hcs??

size kink and corruption kink? like reader is a virgin and they lose their virginity to him?

experienced, daryl that guides your hips while you ride him, knowing you have no idea what you're doing, making you a blabbering mess.

experienced, daryl who wipes your tears while pounding into you telling you that you're the one who wanted this, when you bent over to pick something up, knowing damn well he was the one who wanted it.

experienced, daryl that will take advantage of you size and will toss you around, knowing he could hurt you while being rough with you, not caring about you being a virgin.

experienced, daryl who wipes your tears while he's pounding into you, degrading you for being so oblivious as to him wanting to fuck you.

experienced, daryl who calls you sweet names like, "sunshine" "baby" "sweetheart" & "honey" while he pounds into you. making you his dumb, begging whore who doesn't know anything but his name and his cock.

experienced, daryl who stuffs your face into the pillow muffling your moans so anyone won't hear you asking & begging for more like the cock hungry whore he made you.

experienced, daryl who teaches you how to properly suck his dick, praising you for taking him so well in your mouth making you look up at him, while his cum is stuffed inside your hole.

experienced, daryl who lets you hold on to his hair while hes sucking you off and fingering you making you cum in his mouth over and over again all because of him. <3

[pretty-circa006]

OKAY imagine IMAGINE reader sees negan/jeffrey naked for the first time AND sees his chest full of chest hair THENNNN nakedly grinds on his chest

Negan x F! Reader

tags nudity, smut, grinding, chest hair fetish i think??

note i did my best, i hope you like it

wc 1.5k

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Negan sits at the head of the table with Lucille in hand and his leather jacket resting on the back of his metal chair. He’s explaining something, likely what the Saviors’ next move against Alexandria is going to be, but it all flies above her head. Her eyes watch his lips as they move in tune with his words, his hazel eyes as they alternate eye contact with each Savior at the table, and occasionally glance down at what parts of his body were visible above the table. 

“Ya get all that, darlin’?” He asks, looking at her. 

“Oh..yeah! Uh huh. Yes…sir,” she lies. The deadpan look Negan sends her way tells her that he is not convinced, and honestly, neither is she. She bashfully looks away from him and down at the table, this time actually trying to pay attention to the rest of the meeting. 

With a bang of his barb wired bat to the metal table, he dismisses everyone as he gets up and leaves, too. She's the last one out of the room, partly because she didn't want to meet Negan's eye on the way out but mainly because she wanted to watch him as he left. Before she can leave the room something catches her eye—Negan's jacket. She looks around the room, making sure it's empty before walking over to his chair and grabbing the expensive looking leather garment. She picks it up and it almost feels unreal to be holding it. She hesitantly brings it up to her nose and breathes in the scent: leather and manliness. She could get lost in it and almost does, but she quickly remembers the task at hand and rushes out the room to catch up to Negan. 

With the jacket cradled in her arms, she hurries down the halls in search of the man in charge—he's nowhere to be seen. She sees his right hand, Simon, walking idly down the hall. 

"Wait, Simon. Do you know where Negan went?" she asks him. The mustached man's eyes drift down to the jacket in her arms and back up to her eyes with suspicion. 

"What're you doin' with Negan's jacket," he questions, reaching down for it as he does. She clutches it closer and moves it out of reach. 

"He left it in the meeting room, so I'm bringin' it back to him. Do you know where he went?" 

"I can give it to him, it's no trouble." 

Annoyed with Simon's insistence, she sidesteps him and storms down the hall, protectively clutching the jacket. 

"I'll handle it, thanks!" 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆

Nobody said anything when she knocked on his bedroom door, so she waited a second. She knocks again and yields the same results. She tries the doorknob and surprisingly, it gives, opening the door and letting her into his bedroom. Until now, she'd never been in his room. The sheer luxury of it all strikes her with awe. The king sized bed, the leather couches and chairs, the tall windows and dark curtains, even when the world was normal she's never seen anything anything like this. 

The sound of Negan's voice saying her name snapped her attention away from the room and onto him. He's standing in the middle of the room, practically naked other than the towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips. His tattoos are on full display along with the salt and pepper hair on his torso. Unintentionally, her eyes drift down his body to his belly button, to his v line, and even his–

"My eyes are up here, sweetheart," he reminds her, forcing her eyes to meet his hazel ones. 

"Ah, shit! Sorry, I umm..." 

"The hell are ya doin' in my bedroom?" he asks. 

"You left your jacket," she holds the jacket out to him, to which he accepts. 

"Thanks..." He still looks at her suspiciously as she awkwardly rocks on her heels and doesn't leave. 

"Uh, you're dismissed." She's about to turn and leave, but the sound of fabric hitting the floor keeps her there. Her face burns with heat and eyes widen as she makes eye contact with his dick. He always brags about his size, but now she has proof that he was never exaggerating. Negan doesn't make any moves to grab his towel nor cover himself, instead, he's smirking at her, amused by wide eyes and dropped jaw. Subconsciously, her thighs squeeze together at the feeling of heat pooling in her core.  

"Y'alright, darlin'?" he asks out of amusement rather than concern. She blinks rapidly as her mouth opens and closes but no words come out. Her eyes alternate from meeting his to dropping down to his penis again. 

"S-sorry! Sorry!" she apologizes as she covers her eyes with her hands. The attempt to cover her eyes is fruitless since she's looking through the gaps in her fingers anyway.

"Like watcha see?" he teases. He half expects her embarrassment to take over and for her to run away, but instead she stands her ground and nods. 

"Yes, s-sir." Her breathing is shallow as she shifts around trying to subtly sooth the needy ache in her throbbing pussy. Negan can tell that she wants him, needs him even, and honestly seeing her so needy and desperate is a turn on for him. 

"Well, you can either get the fuck outta my room or take your goddamn clothes off. The choice is yours, doll, but make it quick." 

He didn't have to ask her twice, she's already unbuttoning her jeans. In a rush, she clumsily toes off her shoes before stepping out of her pants and panties. She wishes she could've given Negan a show instead of the unsexy rush-job she's currently putting on but luckily for her, Negan finds her sex crazed desperation for him endearing. But she's taking a little too long for his liking. He approaches her and pulls her shirt over her head before unclasping her bra and discarding the items. 

"Holy shit, baby. You look downright fuckin' delicious," he compliments as he eyes her naked body from head to toe. His arms snake around her and pull her body into his. His hard length slides between her thighs, almost slotted between her lower lips. Her hands slide up his chest, her fingers weaving through the wispy hairs on his chest. By the back of her neck, he pulls her in for a heated kiss, teeth clashing as their tongues get to know each other's mouths. His hands slide down her back and around the curve of her ass before squeezing and kneading it in his hands. He holds her firmly and close as he thrusts his dick along her soft inner thighs. Their pleasured moans mix in their mouths which are still attached to each other. As they kiss, her hands never leave his chest. Her fingers continuously play with his chest hair and occasionally give it a gentle tug. 

He pulls away from the kiss, the string of saliva between them breaks. He looks down at her, his hazel eyes dark with lust. She looks back up at him, her eyes begging him to fuck her. 

"You like my chest hair, don't you, babydoll?" She just giggles but doesn't any anything and continues to doodle abstract swirls with her finger on his chest. 

"I asked you a goddamn question," he says sternly. 

"I do, sir." Without warning, he picks her up by the back of her thighs and she reflexively wraps her legs around his waist. While still holding her, he lays down on the bed with her now straddling his waist. 

"Get yourself off on it," he orders in a way that leaves no room for questions. But she has some anyway. 

"Wh...what?!" she asks through a bout of nervous laughter. 

"If you like my chest hair so much, get yourself off on it, baby." 

"What if I crush you o-or something?" 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes before just pulling her onto his chest by her thighs. He smirks, enjoying the view of having such a beautiful woman on top of him. 

"Well, I'm waitin'," he huffs. Her hands cautiously grip his shoulders before she begins grinding her hips against his strong chest. Her movements are slow and apprehensive at first, but eventually pleasure starts building up. The friction of his chest hair against her clit feels better than she expected and brings her closer to her orgasm. Negan watches her from beneath his thick eyelashes, in awe with the way her tits move in unison with her grinding. 

"I shoulda made you my fuckin' wife," he comments as his hands caress her thighs. 

"Better late than never, right?" comes her breathy reply. She's close and Negan can tell by her breathlessness and sweaty, flushed face. Her hand creeps down between her legs and she rubs her clit in quick circles, urging her orgasm closer. Her thighs squeeze his ribcage and her eyes screw shut as the dam breaks and her orgasm comes crashing over her. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” He teases. She climbs off his chest and flops onto the bed beside him. 

“Mmm hmm.” She nuzzles into the crook of his neck. He wraps his arm around snugly her as she  caresses his chest. 

“So what was that you were saying about makin’ me your wife…?”