#BORROWER SHANE?

[nyikondlovu]

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

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

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

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

#watcher #it’s soooo crazy #I need to be in that office #I need to see the chats #I need to borrow into their brains #I must understand this in order to move forward in my life #shane madej #ryan bergara #steven lim #watcher entertainment #they really united all the social media sites #If anything they should be proud of themselves for that #floptcher #watchflop #idk pick one

[waywardmillennial]

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

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

#Mystery Files #Ryan Bergara #Shane Madej #Watcher #this was my favorite part of the episode #Shane seemed so surprised to be laughing #ostensiblynone I kinda borrowed your format for this bc I love when you make posts like this #hope that's cool #vi posts

[very-lost-hobbit]

I just bought Stardew Valley this year (extremely late to the party, I know) and Shane's happiness arc is KILLING me 😭 My man needed someone to say "btw people care about you, bro" and cuddle his chickens for him while he went on a hero's journey to recovery and that is BEAUTIFUL 🤎🤎🤎

#My farmer proudly holding Charlie while Shane borrows their sword to fight the physical manifestation of his mental health problems: 🥰 #(They're his personal cheerleading squad) #I LOVE that he's so happy on my farm 😭 #I also love that he's not 100% turned around because that IS how recovery works it's not linear. But he's working on himself he's relaxed #he's happy he got to quit his shitty job and now he gets to spend all day with our chickens 😭🤎!!!!!!!! #no really cannot express how much I love that he still sometimes has lines that make you go ''awww- Shane buddy :( <3'' #stardew valley #kat gets personal #me

[stxrry-dxys]

only thing i want to personally add to the whole watcher debacle is i’ve seen a lot of people say that the announcement video reeks of “we’re better than youtube” and while i agree, this is absolutely not a new sentiment from watcher.

i distinctly remember when watcher first started, and especially with ghost files, ryan’s biggest pitch was that he wanted to make high quality content like what you’d find on tv. that he’d always wanted to be a director, and as someone with a similar dream at the time all i could think was “and you’re gonna do that through,,,, ghost files?”

and then when puppet history started airing and shane was talking about his excitement for it he said something very similar. about always wanting to make content where he can really “go nuts with it”

it felt weird, like something about those sentiments wasn’t quite right, but i pushed it away. i had a similar dream to ryan and figured that watcher on youtube and ghost files would be a good way for him to establish a presence that tv stations might pick up. and the same for shane and puppet history and potentially getting a kids tv show out of it or something similar. i don’t know much about steven’s goals, but i had always assumed watcher would be temporary and that eventually they would get their own shows on already established networks. like they just viewed youtube as a stepping stone that they would quickly pull away from.

and then it kept going. and going. and suddenly productions values were going up and new shows were being pitched and tons of new employees were hired and the idea that watcher was temporary very much faded. but the attitude never did. they kept adding more but it never felt like they were establishing this brand as anything long term like gmm or smosh.

and even as the shows felt more overproduced it was almost like the quality was declining. puppet history was getting corrected on its facts more and more. ghost files was constantly getting called out for viewer submissions being obviously faked. they’d stayed on their stepping stone too long and it began to crumble.

this is not to defend them in any way, and this is not to shame any fans who feel blind sided. but i am not shocked by this in the slightest. dumbfounded at how awful a decision this is? absolutely. disappointed that they actually committed to it? for sure. but i am not shocked. this company was always on borrowed time, and i can finally let out the breath i’ve been holding since they first announced their own solo channel.

#the writing has been on the wall since day one #even when ghost files first aired people were saying they liked it less than unsolved #anyways all this to say can we stop acting like the ghoul boys are innocent in this situation #if anything they’ve been more vocal than steven has about wanting to commit to something like this #watcher posting #watcher #shane madej #ryan bergara #steven lim #watcher entertainment

[starshipsofstarlord]

Cuddle Bunny

summary - all you can do is reflect on the past as you sit by a tired and bedridden daryl, hellbent on not leaving his side. It seems he doesn’t want you to leave either, as you are the only person that sees him for who he is, in every light (1.3k)

warnings - daryl getting shot, mentions of violence, parental abuse (mental and physical) and death, slight angst, fluff, cuddly daryl, sophia being missing

daryl dixon + norman reedus works main masterlist

You had never experienced the fear that was currently combusting your entire being - Andrea had shot Daryl in the head. Sure, it was ‘just a scrape’, however you were furious, and ovulating a circus of panic within your veins.

Hershel was allowing the archer to rest, insisting that it was necessary in order to regain his strength, despite the veterinarian being displeased with him borrowing one of his horses without permission.

And you sat beside him, watching over him on a chair that you had pulled from the corner of the room. He seemed exhausted, and with a shaky hand, you reached across his forehead and brushed his hair out of his face.

He was beautiful, and you wished that he would acknowledge it more, rather than feeling insecure within the ranks of your group, always being made to feel by the others that he wasn’t good enough - that he was just like his brother.

To them, as his frugal search for the lost little girl had made such as Shane think further, he was a tragic liability, that was reckless, risking their uphold of temporary residency on the farmland. But he was the only one willing to venture out into the wild where the dead walked to find Sophia, having to believe deep down that despite being out there by her lonesome that she had to be alive.

Daryl had made it his mission, using himself as a pawn in the process, taking an arrow in the side and a bullet across the outside layering of skin at his temple all to strive on, and undermine the cruel evil that the world had evolved into.

You envied his loyal pursuit, neither of you owed these people anything, but nevertheless he found a role in which he could be responsible for, other than being the hand that kept them fed. The two of you were more like outsiders to the tight knit group, they all had varying opinions of you both, assuming the events in your pasts considering your closeness with Merle prior to him disappearing from the rooftop, abandoning his right hand on his untimely escape.

They knew nothing of importance when it concerned you and Daryl, you weren’t the proudest when it came to your past, but you weren’t ashamed either. There was nothing that they could perceive that was undoubtedly true, you remembered everything, both the good and bad that you had gone through before the world had gone to shit.

But none of it was as terrifying as seeing Daryl bedridden with stitches in his head, whilst you were trapped in a reality where everything wanted to kill you. If you could go back and just live in the memories that you had with him, you would, without a second thought. You and he were far away from any threats that would separate you in life, concocted in a mundane and happily bland routine.

You had a little house, on the outskirts of a rocky and small town in Georgia, and it wasn’t perfect but it was the roof that you and Daryl called your home. And all you needed to get by was each other, and whilst thing seemed perfect you still hadn’t got by without judgement. Merle and Daryl’s father was an obsolete rival to your relationship, he resented that his son had found happiness, brewing with cryptic resentment at the fact he had no physical control over his life.

But the mental aspect still remained, he was scorned within his brain from the impact that William Dixon had plagued into every scar that he invisibly wore, and you could see it on his face within the very moment he winced as he readjusted his head against the pillow beneath. Pain, it ran through his nerves, decaying him as though it was just another walker that Andrea had unloaded her misaimed shell towards.

She deserved your rationalised anger imploded upon her, and she’d be a sitting duck for the meanwhile, Daryl’s health was far more important than your yet to be unleashed rage. If you allowed all hell to be let loose, then you would never stop seeing the vivid colour of red, and there was no time to waste on yet to be salvaged conflict just yet, she could wait for the vengeance that she had earned to suffer from. Tending to the emotional instability that Daryl was floundering in was upmost priority, and that was one thing that hadn’t changed from before the constantly spreading apocalypse.

“Why ya starin’ at me, it’s gettin’ creepy?” His gravelly, smoke worn voice enquired, his eyes fluttered drowsily in your direction, the tight corners of his mouth uplifting at the sight of you. You felt exhausted as well, overwhelmed with emotions of despair and from the lack of much needed sleep due to your addictive worry.

“You say somethin’ similar every time you wake up.” You glowed as you spoke to the man that you loved, the raging sun illuminating your silhouette through the drawn curtains, brightening the focus in which Daryl had of you. Reaching across, you braced your adoring palm against the cusp of his cheek, brushing your thumb across his supple skin, relishing in the very touch of his flesh. Something so simple felt so intimate with him, everything did. After existing in a life felt as though it had no meaning, Daryl was the only constant, and the purpose for which you remained. And nothing had changed, and you knew that it wouldn’t for as long as you lived.

“Usually yer in the sleeping’ bag next ter me, a bed ain’t gonna make a difference.” He quirked his brow, wincing and allowing himself to be vulnerable as it stretched the tautness of his wound. His face creased in momentary pain, and you felt unbelievably lucky that the bullet wasn’t a millimetre to the right, as there was a chance that he wouldn’t be here, attempting to seduce you in an innocent and lustre fashion.

“Is that you inviting me to lay beside you Mr Dixon?” You corresponded with his portrayal of your early routine, unable to remember a morning to which he wasn’t a part of. He was a staple, a permanency that rendered you into a bathing of peace, and you both felt desired when sharing any type of company. Daryl meaninglessly rolled his oceanic eyes, tugging at your hand that was upon him to pull you closer, and beside him.

And his efforts became successful as you needed no convincing, and you rested atop of the mattress that was indeed much more comfortable than the makeshift bed, however your head in fact ended up laying on his chest, listening to his calm and steady heartbeat. “This is better than the meds the farmer gave me.” His words enforced you to laugh into his chest, addicted to the cheesy platter of jokes that he would share with you, and you alone.

Nobody saw this side of him, he was himself. And the world had turned into a massacring mess, the brutality shattering every ounce of soul that a person had. But you and Daryl never changed, you were adjoined to surviving the trauma that had tainted you both from birth, and nothing would change with the infected having the thirst to rip you apart.

“Well,” you dragged your word out, looking up at his face which was filled with adoration and surprisingly comfortability, “at least there’s no limit on the dosage you can take.” You leaned up, pressing your lips that had become chapped from the staring hue in the sky that was beating down on you in the passing daytimes upon his own. His arms tugged around the circumference of your waist, pulling you closer, him having the intention of using his time to rest to lay with you within his very grip.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fluff #norman reedus x reader #norman reedus imagine

[fangirl-writes]

Smosh, Thongs, and Perfect Snogging

Shayne Topp x Fem!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh…style?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’d you guys meet?”

“When did you start having sex?”

“Do you borrow his clothes often?”

“Is he big?”

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

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

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

“They bothering you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blushed. “You are not.”

Shayne grinned, walking away from you towards set.

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

He just laughed.

You dropped yourself back into your chair with a huff.

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

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

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

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

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

“No way!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god,” was thrown around a lot.

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

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

“Bought them just for this.”

Lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N!”

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

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

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

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

Damn it, Courtney.

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

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

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

You frowned and pushed him away.

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

You sucked in a breath.

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

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

“As a matter of fact, we don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

Neither of you were ready for it just yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

Shayne was cursing under his breath.

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

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

“Long story,” Shayne said.

Not a lie; it definitely would be.

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

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

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

You shrugged.

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

You shrugged again.

It was driving Courtney insane.

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you wearing Shayne’s shirt?”

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

“Shayne’s shirt?” she squeaked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed awkwardly, avoiding everyone's gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled softly, giving him a small nod.

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

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

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

“So,” he said. “Was the thong yours?”

#shayne topp x reader #shayne topp imagine #smosh x reader #smosh imagine

[sinsandsweetness]

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

part 1 and 2

pairing- (Daryl x fem!reader)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We can’t.”

Immediately you groan. Annoyed and defeated.

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

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

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

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

“Then why won’t you fuck me already?”

“We agreed-”

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

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

His tone is firm when he finally speaks.

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

Bummer.

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

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

Such a damn shame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does she ever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

part 4

-

(Ricks part is up next bbs<3 )

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

#daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #dbf!daryl #dads best friend trope #daryl x y/n #pick your poison

[bunninova]

nothing new to add to the watcher fiasco so here's this. not to make it personal but I'm gonna make it personal.

what they get payed per brand deal could pay for a year of uni for me. what they make with patreon per year would change my entire family's life. my 50-60 year old parents could finally drop one of the multiple jobs they have, my sister could spend time with her kids and finally afford a proper wedding, I could go back to much needed therapy. we could travel more and go to concerts and nice restaurants, we could get tattoos and professional haircuts, we could spend money on spoiling our pets, we could buy books and clothes and go to the cinema without having to carefully budget, things the watcher folk do regularly without giving it a second thought. I could buy my best friend with unstable housing an apartment for their family for fucks sake. I'm out here skipping meals on school days because I can't afford to spend £5-10 a day to eat at uni, 'borrowing' necessities from big stores, and missing out on social events or birthdays that involve going out. I've only donated £20 in total in the last couple months to help people in Gaza and it devastates me that I can't donate more. I'm still privileged in many ways, the world is in shambles and regular people are being hit with an economic crisis, where housing and food is hard to secure.

I've been a huge fan of Shane and Ryan since I was thirteen, they were my comfort creators. I even checked their shows and merch to see if I could afford it (no) because I wanted to support them. their content has gone down hill for the past year and I still sat through the forced cringey parts because I used to love their videos. I respected them, they brought me joy and inspired me to create. "we priced it low enough that anyone can afford it". fuck off. day 3 and not even an acknowledgement. this has felt like the biggest "fuck you, poor" ever to me and I'm crushed.

#vent #watcher entertainment #watcher #wearewatcher #we are watcher #ryan and shane #shane madej #ryan bergara #mystery files #ghost files #steven lim #capitalist hell #capitalism #personal rant #rant post

[anincompletelist]

2024 wips! :D

hi all! taking a page out of @inexplicablymine 's playbook and compiling a list of my current and (hopefully) future wips for this year since I haven't revisited this list in a few months!

also, please feel free to consider this an open tag if it's something you'd like to do as well! I think it's a wonderful way to get organized and to share some excitement!

[and before we start, here are all of the fics posted in 2023!]

Something Borrowed, Something Blue (aka bridesmaids!) is posting now and currently has three out of thirteen parts posted. it will be fully published by the end of the month! you can read here:

Something Borrowed, Something Blue

When June gets engaged, Alex, her brother, and Henry, her best friend, are asked to be the official Guys Of Honor. There’s a month to plan the whole thing, which would be near impossible anyway, only made worse by the fact that being around each other the last several years has only ever led to petty fights and useless competition. Unfortunately, as the two most important men in her life - aside from her fiancé - they don’t really have much of a choice. Alex has a lot of feelings about this. As it turns out, Henry does too.

[the following works have at least half or more of their goal word count completed and will likely be posted sometime in february if all goes to plan]

dom!alex part two to this fic [5k]

soft dom!henry [10k]

five times henry doms alex on accident and one time he does it on purpose [4k]

angsty alex 5 + 1 / 'sticks & stones' [2k]

[redacted] 'verse prequel

[wips that have significant word counts or have been fully outlined but still have a ways to go before they're finished]

poetry au / 'speak easy' [23k]

canon divergent anonymous server fic [5k]

vamp!henry + vamp hunter!alex [2k]

hitman!alex au [15k]

diabetic!alex au [6k]

a/b/o au set in canon verse [20k]

truman show au [1k]

boxer!alex au [1k]

escort alex / private club au [2k]

cha cha real smooth inspired au

canon divergent thriller inspired by 1984 / knives out / nine perfect strangers / the menu / the hunt

Jeff (Bottoms) x Shane (Minx)

professional gift giver non-famous alex au

mary and george inspired one shot

[ideas and snippets I have written down but don't have a significant word count yet]

quantum of solace inspired one shot (bond)

google au

drunk dial canon divergence

happiest season au

rival wineries au

alex is medusa, henry is midas

museum guide henry + substitute teacher alex

one shot about henry's antidepressants side effects

severance au

a/b/o au #2

+

please feel free to come and yell at me (kindly) about any of these or to send requests! this list changes constantly but I tried to round up everything I could think of for right now :)

xx

#wips #my fic #rwrb #red white and royal blue fic #firstprince

[havin-fun-imagining-twd]

He hasn't been himself

What -- we're still in S02E05 Chupacabra, and Daryl gets some stitches (courtesy of you), T-Dog teases you about calling that mangy hick so many pet-names, and you come face to face with your big brother Shane's descent into something that you're afraid of you don't recognize.

Relationships/ is there fluff? -- yes! found-family fluff and slowww-burn Daryl x Reader fluff

Perspective - 2nd you, 3rd Daryl at the end

When - right after Spell your last name, please. when Daryl is getting some medical attention after his very rough, hell of a day

Pronouns - neutral, y'all

TWs - some language, and light discussion of giving sutures (stitches), and Daryl's significant scarring (the result of child abuse) is mentioned

I always do my assigned reading, what chapters will help with context? XD -- all of them muahahahaha Start with souls stripped bare, then the Invisible, tugging strings Part 1 and Part 2, then of course Spell your last name, please.

is there a crappy screenshot of the mangy hick? -- yes, you'll be embarrassed on my behalf.

Masterlist -- Official One here, purely chronological one here :)

Have fun and happy reading!

You

Because Maggie and everyone else but Hershel and Rick are leaving the room, you use your uninjured side to take over maintaining pressure on Daryl's head wound.

That he wanted specifically you to stay made that strange, invisible string on your chest tug more. And that you had to curl your arm gently around him so you could press the rag down properly didn’t escape your notice. Neither was the way his hand just brushed against yours to take over for you.

While you’re waiting for the tugging string to give it a rest, Patricia mumbles to you that she’ll come back in to help clean Daryl’s head once Hershel gives the okay.

“Daryl, is this about what you found?” Rick asks.

“Hell yeah it is.”

More quietly, he wants to know “Would it be alright if Shane and Carol came in, too, or is it better if it’s just Shane?”

You think he means if what Daryl had to tell him was good or bad news regarding Sophia.

“You and Shane seem to be a package deal,” Daryl grunts in response.

“Like a BOGO sale,” is your unhelpful, dumb comment to yourself followed by a more helpful, “Oh snap, doc, his second bag is empty already,” when you see his IV fluids are drained again.

A blunt, “Remove it and bandage him,” answers that. “The wax for the needle point is in my kit.” Mr. Greene’s patience gauge is pointing to the E, that much is plain.

While you’re busy taking out the IV catheter (guess what!—this time you did the venipuncture and IV setup! You can do that now!) and pressing a gauze pad to the site, Rick lets your brother in.

Shane seems kinda terse when he hands over the search map and squats on the little ottoman.

Rick places the map on the bed in front of Daryl, then kneels down to face him.

Before anything is said, Mr. Greene points to the bloodied rag that Daryl is not pressing down like you’d directed. “Are you able to maintain firm, constant pressure, or will Rick have to assist you?”

“I can hold a rag,” he responds back in that…unpleasant way he’s got.

You make a face at him. Rudeness is bad enough, but 1.) rudeness to the host, 2.) to the host who’s offering medical care, and 3.) whose horse he’d stolen borrowed without asking and now lost, and 4.) who is about to teach you stitching, and 5.) was using/had used a ton of his own stock of medical supplies? Who 6.) also just lost a man he considered family because of helping your group, like dude?

Daryl. Use a tablespoon of that gentleness you got in there.

Hershel looks at you, and you hope he sees the apology in your eyes.

“Y/N, if you’re going to observe,” he begins, pulling the towel off Daryl’s back and putting it aside. “Wash your hands again with me in the chlorhexidine solution and position yourself on this edge of the bed, there.”

It sucks that you’re all out of gloves. You’ll have to add that to the supply list, along with IV fluid if possible. Fortunately, there was enough chlorhexidine as well as iodine to sanitize, plus the leftover doxycycline but don’t get you started on how that’s unsafe antibiotic use, there’s only so much you can do.

Under his breath, Hershel explains, “We used the clamp and forceps during the boy’s emergency, but they aren’t sterilized. Stitches are best done with a clamp, but as you can see, it will be just our fingers today.”

Thankfully, you have clamps in the med-bag, you’ll donate one.

“Shane, in the med bag, there's a small bag with blue stripes, in it are two clamps,” you call over. “Grab one for me?”

“Swirl it in the solution first,” Mr. Greene requests. “Y/N, did you observe the two times you were stitched, and when Theodore had his?”

“Not the first time.” You shake your head. “But I did watch when Teddy got his, when you did Carl’s, and when Miss Patricia redid mine earlier.”

“She what?” your brother cuts in.

You idiot, Y/N.

“Y/N, what happened that you got stitched up again?”

You’d not told him on purpose. It’s not like you did anything wrong in not telling him, but you immediately feel overheated and guilty as if you had.

You reach out to accept the clamp from him. “Yeah, she checked them earlier,” you do your best to reply in a way that would imply it as being a routine course of action. That didn't count as a lie, right?

Mr. Greene to the rescue: “Y/N, watch what I do, then copy it on your own when I say. I’ll guide you along.” He holds up a small packet. “This is called a swaged needle. There's no eye, the thread is part of the needle. An ordinary straight needle can be used, likewise regular thread, in an emergency, but ideally a curved and swaged is best for obvious reasons. Cleanliness would be a concern, for one.” He opens the packet, points to Daryl’s side.

You sit where he asks and look at Daryl’s wound.

Hershel continues: “We’ll do a simple continuous stitch, the pattern is straightforward. If Daryl pops them, then I suppose you’ll learn how to do interrupted suturing. It’s time-consuming, but more secure.”

That your eyes travel down Daryl’s back again isn’t intentional, but there they get stuck, the same way your eyes had gotten stuck staring at it earlier when you’d helped remove his shirt.

The poor man.

What you thought you saw earlier, back at the house, was correct. Scars. Very big ones.

It looks like the tattoos he’s got on his upper back are partially to cover/distract from some of them on the more visible places up near his shoulders and neck.

A lot more money for a lot more ink would’ve been needed to try concealing the rest of what that person did, those scars were very thick and wide. And no, an accident would not have made such specific scarring, unfortunately, how those got there had to have been deliberate. Scattered all around were cigarette burns, too, some in patterns.

Statistically, it was probably a parent or parental figure.

Mr. Greene’s hand passes over your line of vision as he calls your name. You blink out of it, see his finger wag as if to say ‘don’t look at them anymore.’

After wiping your eyes with your forearm so as to not contaminate your hands, he points to the spot and nods once. “Daryl, I’m going to begin. It will pinch, then burn. Stay still.”

You cringe as the needle goes in. The invisible string tugs when you see Daryl’s breathing pattern hitch and his muscles clench in discomfort. Your stomach tells your eyes to look away when the skin tugs as the needle exits and the thread is lightly pulled.

“Then use the tool to gently bring it across like so,” Mr. Greene murmurs, “going slowly with the thread.” He does two more, then pauses. “Alright, now take over.”

Already?

“Rest in peace, bud,” you joke, whether to ease Daryl or yourself. It’s an insane blessing you have the doxycycline, is all you’re saying.

Slowly you thread the needle, as smoothly as you can. You use a low angle to pull it all through and gently hold the skin down to reduce how much it pulls…oh my gosh, you’re giving sutures right now. “You have my leave to cuss me out if it’s hurtin’ too bad.”

“Ain’t nothing.”

“There’s that phrase, dude,” you quietly tease, focused on closing the wound and Mr. Greene’s silent guidance.

Daryl must be doing okay (or is toughing it out like a champ), because he starts to talk to Rick. “Right around here is where I saw the doll, see where the creek bends there?”

“Was it on top of the ridge, or down by the creekbed?”

“Creekbed, right near a waterfall. Spotted it from up top.”

“Was there a little camp or any tracks?”

“None that I saw. My guess is she was thirsty, but got her feet stuck in the mud and needed both hands to get out. Or somethin’ made her run again.” He stops pressing the rags to his head to look at the bleeding for a quick second.

Shane speaks up. “You run into any walkers by that spot there?”

“Yeah.”

“How many.” Not really a question.

You lose your focus for a moment, hearing his tone and being disappointed and a little frightened by it, so you pause the suturing. Breathe slowly and bite your tongue.

“Why? They friends of yours?” Daryl tosses at him, completely unphased even if dickish. You’re on his side with this one. “They wouldn’t have been a problem if I wasn’t stuck on my back with a bolt stickin’ out of me.”

Shane raises his eyebrows as if to say “See? Told you,” then licks his teeth but doesn’t say anything other than: “Yeah, so I just wanna be realistic about this. Think we all do.”

“Daryl, I’m all ears,” jumps in Rick, ever the decent human being diplomat. “Can you tell us more?”

Mr. Greene taps you and directs you to get back to it.

Daryl tells Rick, “I’m thinkin’ the doll flowed downstream a ways after the rains yesterday, see the area closer to the road, there? I’d check around there.”

“I’ll take some people there tomorrow.”

“Not now?”

“Sun’s going down.”

Without looking up as you resume your work, you know Daryl will understand. His own words were 'Out in the dark’s no good.'

Rick then points to the map. “This spot here?”

Daryl hums in agreement and nods at wherever he’d showed him. “She must have dropped it crossin’ there somewhere.”

Rick looks back at your older brother and tells him “Cuts the grid almost in half,” as if it were a plea.

And just as you and Mr. Greene finish stitching him back up, Daryl grates in the most unattractive way possible, “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Rick whips out his skill at de-escalation again. As poor Hershel has to quickly remind you to snip the suture from remaining thread in the packet (you legit forgot, so he does it for you), Rick turns the focus on the patient. “How’s he looking?”

“I had no idea we’d be going through the antibiotics so quickly.”

Fair enough.

Hershel then washes his hands again, so you do the same. “Any idea what happened to my horse?” he then states more than questions, in the way you might confront a teenager who left their dirty clothes on the kitchen floor after sports practice.

And God save him, that mangy hick has no shame. Caught red-handed, he still yips like a grumpy little coonhound, “Yeah, the one who almost killed me? If it’s smart, it left the country.”

You either just huffed, tutted, scoffed, groaned, or made all four at once. RIP invisible, tugging string.

Mr. Greene’s response implies his generosity, which makes you feel shame on Daryl’s behalf all the more. “We call that one Nelly. As in Nervous Nelly. I could have told you she’d throw you if you’d bothered to ask.”

Your friend says nothing back. He stays quiet, and simply twists onto his back and starts spacing out at the ceiling, pressing the rag to his head and looking as if he feels very small and very tired.

His eyes close—and you remember that he’s just been through hell and back. He almost died how many times today?

As annoyed and on-guard as he is, Mr. Greene was offering him due kindness and patience when he didn’t get overly short with him.

Still, the way the older gentleman next chides in the most graciously Southern way possible, “It’s a wonder you people have survived this long,” strikes you as having such dry comedic timing that now you’re the only one cracking up in a room full of uncomfortable people.

It doesn’t stay full of uncomfortable people for long; Shane and Rick see themselves out.

When the door opens, you spot Lori in her worried-position (on the floor with her knees curled toward her chest). As she leaps up from the floor to see Rick, you give her a little wave before the door is once more shut.

Quiet and stillness passes over the room. You breathe out. Breathe in.

Okay, it's probably just about time to clean up and bandage Daryl’s head.

You turn to see him still laying there on his back, eyes still closed. By the looks of it, he wanted to cover up; he’s pulled the side of the quilt over his stomach. You take the towel you’d used to give him some modesty earlier and gently drape it over his exposed abdomen.

But your big brother’s voice sounds through the door before you can do anything else.

The beginning of whatever he said, you don’t catch, but it doesn’t matter. You hear enough. “…Hershel on this one. Can’t keep goin’ out there, not after this.”

Rick is saying something back, but his voice is softer and you can’t make out as much of it. “Daryl” “risked,” and “first, hard evidence” gives you the gist, as does Shane’s response to him:

“That’s one way to look at it. Way I see it, Daryl almost died today for a doll.”

“Yeah, I know the way you see it.” Rick’s footsteps then fade down the hall.

On the other side of the door, your pulse thumps in your ears. Your breathing is faster than it should be.

Shaney still has that little girl written off?

“Y/N,” Mr Greene calls from the bedside.

Before you calm yourself down enough to turn to help Hershel, your brother starts talking again.

He’s whispering, but it’s still recognizable enough that you hear every word. “I’m not out to be a hard case, just bein’ realistic. He’s just gotta start making the tough calls.”

Shane's speaking to Lori, then?

His footsteps are moving down the hall, and you quietly open the door in time to hear him mutter, “You know I’m right.”

Door now open, your fist grips the knob and doesn’t let go.

“I may not agree with all his choices, but I respect him,” Lori states.

With all she's got going on, she shouldn’t have to deal with how much Shane has changed for the worse. In fact, in your gut you don't want your brother even near her, now that you know they’d been intimate. And that she’s pregnant…

You miss her first few words, but do hear “Your way isn’t harder, it’s…it’s the easiest thing in the world to cut our losses and to not help. You keep telling yourself you’re making the tough calls, you’re really just trying to justif—”

He cuts her off by mumbling, “—The only thing I care about now in this world is Y/N, you and Carl. So I, apologize if I appear to be insensitive to the needs of others, but see, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep the three of you safe.”

His words aren't a put-on, that's what alarms you. You know what smooth or schmoozy Shane sounds like; but that there was genuine.

Lori calmly shakes her head and walks toward him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Even abandoning a lost child?” she prompts. “Really?”

She sounds like she expects Shane to snap out of it and think better on it. To remember his goodness.

But.

To the woman that his best friend since childhood married, and in the context of not caring about a missing, abused child, your brother instead tilts his head and offers Lori a small grin.

He’s…he just flirted with her.

Lori takes a step back.

Her back tightens, her head bows slightly. “My son and I are not your problem anymore. Or your excuse." She turns away. "As for Y/N, they’d be horrified to hear y—” she cuts off as you loose your grip on the doorknob, making noise, causing her to finally notice you standing there.

“You’re right, Lore, they would be,” you drawl, voice soft. “Sh-Shane, get out.”

Whatever he starts responding with, you don’t give a fuck, your softness vanishes as you growl back, “Get. Out.”

You link your good arm into Lori’s and take her down the hall to Carl’s room. She stops you from plowing through the door by holding you by the waist. You take a moment, turn toward her.

She looks you in the eyes and shakes her head, silently mouthing “Please.”

“I won’t,” you mouth back. Still, under your breath, you do stress “B-but he, he needs a leash. Rick can leash him.”

She looks into your eyes but says nothing back.

As soon as the door is open, your words charge out, “Ricky, Shane needs—

“—Mom! Y/N! Mr. Dixon found Sophia’s doll! The one Eliza gave her!” interrupts Carl, (crying and) grinning so wide that your cheeks are getting sore just looking at it.

You take in the room.

Carol and T-Dog are there along with Rick. Lori goes to her son, takes his hands and kisses them, Beth scoots in behind you holding three glasses of water.

Seeing your nephew helps you remember yourself, and you begin to smile back. Your lip wobbles. “He found her doll, little dude.”

Some tears decide to fall when you take a moment and lean against the wall.

Shane is scaring you.

You are frightened of your own brother.

And no, it's not just how he's been after Otis got killed, he hasn’t been himself. He’s scaring Lori, you saw it just now—and this is before he even knows about the new baby, oh my God how are you going to fix this? God, Shane doesn’t even care—doesn’t understand—that a clear sign of Sophia was found today.

And, and he doesn’t care about anyone else here, either, not even about Rick? “The only thing I care about in this world is Y/N, you and Carl.”

If that was really just him trying to flirt or whatever, you aren’t sure whether you’re more disgusted that he claimed to not care about jack-shit else to do it, or that he was saying something that awful not only to flirt but to flirt with a married woman. His best friend’s wife.

That you’re at Rick’s side and murmuring low, “Shane’s a problem,” doesn’t register in your head until he’s replying with what’s pretty much a platitude: “He’ll see reason.”

Even coming from Rick, it doesn’t comfort you.

“But how to we fix it?” you whisper. “Ricky, it’s like I can’t see him anymore. I’m gettin' scared of h—” you stop what you’re saying, a little alarmed that you just started to confess it out loud.

Rick is quiet.

“He hasn’t been himself,” he admits.

Lori’s whispering cuts in, “Honey, w-what are you two talking about?”

You figure she’s scared that you’re telling Rick more than is your business, so you subtly shake your head, then ask “Lore, have you noticed Shane ain’t been himself?”

The expression on her face is controlled. “He hasn’t been.” And she turns to sit back down beside her son and takes one of his hands into hers.

Rick rubs your arm a few times, and nothing else is spoken.

Whatever, you need to get back.

You’re supposed to be helping patch Daryl up, not hiding moping in here like some idiot bitch.

Cursing yourself that not only did you admit to being scared of your brother, but that you’re scared at the possibility he’s still in the hallway, you hold your injured side to lessen the pain when you bend down to peck a kiss on Carl’s forehead. “I’m headin’ off, baby, to help with Mr. Dixon,” you mumble in goodbye.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You turn back around to see Carl giving you his—sneaky grin? Why, what’s he about to rag you about? “Mr. Douglas told me you called Daryl ‘baby’ like a hundred times after he fainted.”

“That ain’t true,” T-Dog cuts in. “Y/N, I’m sorry, he’s mistaken.” He turns to Carl.

Wait up, T-Dog’s doing his pout thing he does before teasing somebo—

“First off, Y/N was at it before he even passed out.”

*sigh*

“And it wasn’t just ‘baby’, it was also ‘honey’, ‘sweetheart’ and ‘sugar.’ Oh yeah, and ‘mangy hick,’ gotta admit that one threw me.” He makes a particularly wide smile in your direction. “Can’t remember if they also called him ‘darlin’ or not, though.”

“However many times Y/N called him a sweet name, Mr. Dixon deserved every one and more,” Carol softly tells the room.

As for you, you must feel lighter, because now you’re smiling, too.

What's better, you’ve thought of a way you’ll feel safe comfortable if Shane’s still in the hallway (that won’t include taking Rick, because you’re pretty sure Lori needs him to feel safe comfortable right now).

“Theodore, will you walk me back to darlin’ baby sugar sweetheart Daryl’s room, please?”

“Walk you a whole six yards down the hall?”

“Please," you ask him more urgently than you'd intended.

He might could've noticed, because he quickly stands and goes to the door with you. "I'ma charge you for this, though."

"Naturally, how many of my jewels will it take?" you joke.

"You gotta call him 'mangy' again for me."

You snort so hard it makes your new stitches hurt. That's the easiest possible exchange he could've made. "Deal."

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

Him

When he heard from outside the door their soft, “Thank you, Teddy,” his muscles relax again.

He’d been worried. Last thing he knew, Shane must’ve been saying some bullshit, ’cause Y/N had dead-ass growled at him to “Get. Out.”

After two knocks, a pause, and a “Daryl, it’s me,” he realizes he’s gotta call back, “You’re good,” so they’d come in the room. Usually people knock and just bust in, it was real nice to have someone wait until he said it was cool.

He’s damn relieved they’re back and doing okay. Other than worried about whatever crap their brother was slinging around them, he’d felt…small, and, and naked without them in there. Now that they’re back, he feels safe, like he’s got clothes on again.

It’s the total opposite of earlier that morning, when he’d felt like Y/N had seen too much of him, and him too much of them. Didn’t feel like that no more.

“Well, you’re still lookin’ nice and mangy, so I guess I haven’t missed much,” his friend jokes, then shuts the door behind them.

Why did they just make a face to whoever was out in the hallway?

“Where’d Mr. Greene go?”

Daryl grunts, unsure.

Y/N sinks into the little footrest by the window. “We’ll get you some dinner in about an hour, okay, sugar?”

Another pet name, another weird feeling in his stomach and chest.

His friend stares out the window and massages their shoulder and neck. “Oh, are you thirsty?”

That he can answer. “The opposite.”

“Ah, let me help you get up—wait, maybe let’s wait for Patricia or the doc to get back, just in case. Can you hold it?”

He just grumbles back. Ain’t like he’s two years old, of course he can hold it. "What's the deal with your brother? Heard him mouthing off."

"Yeah. He, um, he ain't been himself." Y/N grimaces as if there was a bad taste in their mouth, then covers their face, sighs, and changes the subject. “Should we might call today ‘rough,’ or pick a different adjective?”

No idea. Today was…“Today was somethin’ else.”

“Whoa, we’re going hardcore.”

He starts to crack up, which is how he learns that now, laughing makes his head and side ache.

“Crackin' up hurt, didn’t it?” they guess correctly.

A grunt passes as his “yes.”

His friend breathes in slowly, out just as slow. “When you’re up and at ’em again, I’m taking you with me to go light all the candles at that little church to help thank the heavens you got home alive.”

…he feels all warm and can hear his pulse again, what gives? Like, it’s just that he’d imagined Y/N talking about his coming “home” safe, it’s just weird it’s coming up again in real life. Not a bad weird, but still.

“Well,” they scrunch their nose and stare into space, “‘home’ might be different than the usual definition, but you know what I mean. You got back alive to us after all that, it’s—I dunno, God’s got plans for you yet, dude.”

Hadn’t had a friend say stuff like that to him before, so he just lays there like a beanbag.

Y/N is still still staring into space. “And like, all afternoon I had this tense…dread, that you were hurt. Kept explainin' it away, with a quick prayer just in case.” A chuckle. “We’ll bring Carol and Sophia with us when we go light those candles, deal?” Then they give him a look he can’t translate. “Right-o, bud, let me see that side of yours, I wanna admire my handiwork.”

Standing up with a wince, they walk to him. When he begins to slowly twist back onto his side, they stop him and tell him to stay comfortable. His stomach gets all funny again when he partly pulls aside the towel covering his abdomen and his friend gets close.

Y/N starts to put their hip on the bed, then pauses. “Does it hurt you when the bed jostles, baby?”

His stomach goes all funny again. He’s, um, he’s hungry… “You’re good.”

And not a moment after sitting on the bed and exhaling does Y/N groan and start to jabber, “Oh, Moses, I just did it again, look how red you got. Tell me, did you feel redder when you knew how many of us were crowded around you like seagulls on french fry, or when I kept callin’ you pet names? T-Dog’s been poking fun at me for it.”

He…grunts again. It’s, um, he isn’t really sure what else to do, this isn’t a conversation he knows how to tackle. Hadn’t had a friend who called him a ton of pet-names while taking care of him after he’d pin-balled down a ridge twice and got a bolt lodged in his side and fought off two zombie bastards after dreaming up a conversation with Y/N and Merle.

Now Y/N is looking at him in the way they usually look at Glenn before they goof off together. “Wanna compare yours and mine right quick before they get back?”

Well, he hums this time instead of grunts, so that counts as conversation.

“Carl and I joked that we have temporary, sewn-in friendship bracelets. You’re in the club now, too, welcome!” They lift their shirt slowly, blocking the rest of their belly with their arm. Their stitches are up by their ribs aaaaaannd why are Daryl's goddamn cheeks feeling hot again?

“We both have white nylon thread. Carl got blue, though, real fancy,” Y/N says, cute smile on their face.

“He showed me his when I talked to him last night, actually.”

With a giggle, they nod. “Of course he did.”

The front door to the house opens, and the muffled voices of Dr. Farmer and Patricia sound outside the closed bedroom door.

Y/N looks back and forth from their stitches to his, then mumble to themself, “Miss Patricia definitely gave me a different stitch, check out the variations.”

Daryl couldn’t tell from the angle he was in, to be honest, but…“Yeah, mine are way better.”

Y/N deserves a compliment. And, dunno, he’s not an expert, but his side is probably sewed together nice. It’s not like it's still bleeding, right?

Y/N almost misses it. “Hey, the stitches Patricia gave me are grea—ohh.” Their face lights up, and they bop him on the arm. “Aww!”

Daryl feels the corners of his mouth raise. His shoulders relax.

Dr. Farmer Mr. Greene calls from the hall, “I’m opening the door,” and finally walks back in with Patricia.

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

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

> Masterlist link here

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

@spenciepoo338 @its-freaking-bats​​​​ @whistlesalot​​​​ @buffy-the-assbutt-slayer​​​​  @dreamingaboutthewonderland @kwazii-kat​ @darylsmavis​​​​​  @outlanderhornet22​​​​​ @battinsonrobs @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @multiifandomhoe @writingmybeloved @boomergirl123 @iheartathena0 @moonliight-luv

(inbox is open if you would like on or off the taglist, slowpokes. Please don’t feel bad or nervous if you don’t want to be tagged anymore,  just let me know, we’re all friends here and your comfort level is important!)  

#twd #the walking dead #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #canon compliant #canon-compliant #slow burn #slow-burn #Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl twd #twd daryl #daryl dixon x reader #reader x daryl dixon #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #reader insert #reader-insert #shane walsh #rick grimes #lori grimes #hershel greene #theodore “t-dog” douglas #t-dog #theodore douglas #carol peletier #carl grimes #the slowpoke series

[sillystardew]

Bachelors and lending clothes

As the title says, different head canons about bachelors lending you their clothes!

Requests are open!

Gender neutral reader 🦇

Shane

-100% willing to lend you his shirts to wear as pajamas, even if he thinks you’re a little weird for wanting that (he secretly loves it)

-loves it when you borrow his jackets and hoodies, especially if you’re smaller than him by any margin. seeing you drowning in the fabric just warms his little heart

-don't even get me started on HIM borrowing clothes. 

-he loves being able to smell like you, whether it be his clothes you gave back or clothes that he borrowed from you

-would definitely be a little embarrassed for you if you wore his blue jacket in public - why in the world would you want people to see you wearing it?? It’s covered in holes and stains?? But he also likes knowing you aren’t afraid to show people how much you love him

Harvey

-ohhhh this man.

-he really isn't used to anyone being this cheesy or romantic with him

-he blushes like crazy if you ask, and is even worse if he finds that you did it without asking. His wee heart can't take it

-honestly a little surprised that you would even WANT to borrow his clothes

-he’s tall and pretty thin, so unless you’re 6ft-ish, his clothes are going to be wayyy too long on you

-he thinks it’s adorable when you try to do tasks while pulling the sleeves up

-he’d love to sleep in one of your t-shirts, going to sleep knowing you trust and love him like this

-He definitely bundles you up in the winter. If you didn't own any scarves or gloves before, YOU DO NOW

Sebastian

-loves seeing you wear his various band tees

-He’s a bit on the smaller side, so it's possible his clothes are too small. Though lots of his clothes are baggy

-he will 100% be stealing ALL of your hoodies and sweaters. You’re not getting any of them back

-his clothes are very heavily scented with cologne. He doesn't want you to get grossed out by the smell of cigarettes, so he always washes or sprays down his clothes before giving them to you

-might get a little annoyed if you work in his clothes, he doesn't like them getting dirty

Elliott

-is probably the one to offer

-would love to see you in one of his button-ups

-again, like Harvey, he is TALL. Lots of his clothes won't fit you properly

-will wear it after you’ve borrowed it to be able to smell you on his clothes

-not really the type to borrow clothes imo. He would love to get matching pjs with you though

-do a little fashion show for him. I promise he will be blushing like craaazy 

Alex

-TOTALLY into letting you borrow clothes, especially his jerseys (AFTER WASHING.)

-also not really the type to borrow clothes, but he’ll definitely say yes if you offer

-just make sure you tell him not to work out in your clothes because he will forget

-he's cool with you working in his clothes, and even finds it cute. You can both wear his clothes and work out together! As long as you return them with minimal dirt, he doesn't care

Sam

-would love if you wore a t-shirt from his band

-definitely the type to go “lol what if we swapped shirts” and just tear it off on the spot to switch with you

-he actually doesn't have too many non-winter jackets or zip-ups. He has one leather jacket (Seb has a matching one, they got them when they were teens) but it's a little small on him. If it fits you he would love to see you in it

-he will definitely forget or not notice if you take a shirt for a long time, and gets all blushy if he realizes you're wearing it

#stardew valley #stardew headcanon #stardew fanfic #stardew shane #stardew harvey #stardew elliott #stardew sam #stardew sebastian #stardew alex #my writing

[ddarker-dreams]

Pinpoint.

Daryl Dixon x F Reader.

Notes: i'm back on my bullshit . this is set in the same universe as hierarchy of needs, giving more context to reader and daryl's relationship because they're cuties <3 Tags: Farm/prison/Alexandria era, some not SFW implications, typical TWD horror elements sprinkled throughout. Word count: 7.3k.

i.

It’s a hot, Georgian summer day, the kind that makes your clothes stick to your skin from how profusely you’re sweating. Daryl stands to his full height after putting the finishing touches on his tent. It’s a somewhat messy job, considering the frantic state he was in while working on it, but he can’t bring himself to care. He haphazardly tosses his stake hammer onto a nearby patch of grass and rummages through the rest of his belongings.

Frustration bleeds into his every movement. From his bag’s zipper getting stuck to some of his tools refusing to budge without a great exertion of force. He huffs, having half a mind to call it a night and deal with this in the morning. He decides against it when he remembers how far removed he is from the main group. Waltzing back over so he can ask to borrow supplies defeats the entire purpose of him taking up residence on a secluded section of the farm.

A twig crunching alerts him to someone — or something’s — oncoming approach. He whips his head in the sound’s direction, ready to sling his crossbow into place should it be necessary.

He doesn’t relax when he realizes it’s your figure growing closer. If anything, it adds to his tension, the knowledge you’re going to see him like this. That you’re going to witness him at his worst. Ever since Shane forced the doors of the barn open, Daryl swears the part of his brain capable of thought turned off. It had to. Otherwise, his mind would haunt him, jeering at his many failures.

You’re approaching an uncaged beast. He knows it, he figures you’re smart enough to know it too.

So that begs the question: why are you here?

“Hey,” you greet, your voice tentative. “I brought you some dinner.”

He doesn’t respond or so much as acknowledge your existence. He forces his hands to work, to find something to do, anything that’d give you the impression he’s busy and can’t be bothered with whatever this is. Mustering up the words to communicate the sentiment sounds exhausting. If you insist on hanging around, it’ll only be a matter of time until he snaps and says something he’ll regret upon later reflection. The Dixon blood that runs through his veins is akin to molten lava, boiling and ready to incinerate anything that dares come into contact with it.

He hears the clinking of silverware, you’ve set the plate down on a pushed-over log. He’d pray that’s the end of it, if he thought God hadn’t made a point of tuning him out.

“Daryl?”

Any other day, he’d bask in the soft warmth that is your voice. It’s such a pleasant sound, a dulcet tone that makes every song he’d ever listened to seem shrill in comparison. Right now, however, it’s akin to little needles pricking his skin. It hurts and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. He’s a hot mess, a ball of volatile emotions tumbling every which way. His mind’s eye conjures up images specifically tailored for his torment.

The Cherokee rose. Carol’s howl of agony upon seeing what became of her precious little girl. That awful, guttural snarling, milky white eyes set into a concaving skull, putrid, rotting flesh, and limp walk as the child Daryl swore to find hobbled forward.

How long was she out there? Did she starve? Did she curl up at night, whimpering her momma’s name, waiting for someone to rescue her who never came?

He’ll never know. The quiet pain she endured died when she did.

“The hell are you looking at?” Daryl demands, his nostrils flaring and chest heaving. “Got somethin’ to say, huh? Well, go on then. Spit it out already. I ain’t got all day.”

The vitriol pouring from his mouth has no business being directed at you, he knows that. Still, it comes out regardless, his tongue faster than his common sense. He can’t see your expression — he’s purposefully looking everywhere else — but he reckons that should scare you off. Have you running for the hills with your tail between your legs.

Whether that’s truly what he wants, he can’t say for certain. He does know it’ll be for the best in the long run. Whatever juvenile feelings he’s been harboring toward you should be crushed before they develop into something more. It won’t be as simple as ripping off a bandaid if he lets things go on this way. If he doesn’t, he’ll be too far gone; having to do without you would be worse than getting torn limb for limb. The level of dependency frightens him to the core.

There’s nothing practical for you to accomplish by taming the wild beast. It isn’t like back at the quarry, where your next meal depended on Daryl’s hunting more often than not. There’s livestock here, fresh produce, canned goods. Whatever value he had to you then is nil. It’s painful, to the degree his chest physically aches, but that’s just how it is. Merle told him so. Said the only reason you gave a redneck asshole like himself the time of day was due to some survival instinct. A pretty girl like you wouldn’t have paid him any mind otherwise.

If only Daryl had listened then, it’d make this whole song and dance infinitely easier. He could run his mouth, tell you off, whip up curses that’d make even a sailor blush.

For some reason, he just can’t bring himself to.

“I, uh, brought something else. Other than food, I mean.”

There’s a shift in your tone. It’s less guarded, more conversational, as if he were an old pal you happened upon and were just warming up to again.

Finally, he gathers the courage to get a good look at you. You’ve pulled your hair back into a ponytail, some stray strands framing your pretty face and kissing your cheeks. Your eyes are glazed over with worry, and something else too, an emotion no one has ever directed at him before. He fears putting a name to it. Beneath the dying sun, he catches the near imperceptible wetness of your cheeks. His breath hitches in his throat. You must’ve finished crying recently.

Today proved there’s plenty to cry about. If he can have it his way, though, he doesn’t want to be a reason added to the ever-expanding list.

Daryl gives you a grunt, proving you have his attention, as if you ever didn’t. The change in your countenance is immediate, if not perplexing. Why does his approval make you look like you’d just won the lottery? You shouldn’t care what some backwoods asshole like himself thinks, he knows he sure as hell wouldn’t try so hard if he were in your position. Yet here you are, approaching him with a bashful expression that has no business being as endearing as it is.

You unveil the surprise from behind your back with a little flourish, that had it not been for the events of the day, would’ve been far more enthusiastic. Regardless, it’s cute enough that he damn near smiles.

From the shape, he can determine that it’s meant to be an arrow. The dimensions are exactly the same as the type his crossbow takes, which does away with the mystery of why you asked to borrow one of his arrows earlier this week. You must’ve made it a point to replicate what he uses to the best of your ability. The wooden shaft has been smoothed out, aside from a few bumps. He can tell you used your knife to whittle the tip into a sharp point by the imprints.

When you pass it over to him, he notes the bandaids on your hands that most definitely weren’t there days prior. A consequence of working with wood, undoubtedly.

Daryl doesn’t think he could form proper words if it was demanded of him with a gun to his head. He searches the recesses of his memory for the last time someone gave him a gift — a handmade one, no less — and draws a blank. He stares at the labor of love unblinkingly. The pain that once resided in his chest cavity is made light, almost fluttery.

If you told him you’d placed him under a spell, he would’ve believed you.

“Admittedly, it’s not the best, but it’s better than my other attempts,” you laugh in an attempt to mask your embarrassment. It’s a habit you display in the rare instances you aren’t sure what to say. “I wanted to thank you, somehow. In a way that’s tangible.”

He raises his head. “Why?”

The word comes out rushed, almost abrasive, yet there’s no anger to be found on his face. You must be able to tell, for you don’t cower. You don’t treat him like a ticking time bomb, an errand boy, or some wounded animal. His older brother couldn’t have been more wrong. You weren’t nice to him back then because you stood something to gain from it — you just like being around him, for whatever inconceivable reason.

The dead rising again makes more sense to him than that.

“Well, I could prattle off a long list, but I’ll spare you the embarrassment. Hm… if I had to sum it up, I guess I’d say… you make the world feel less scary.”

He’s once again left speechless at your candor. When things are ‘normal’, whatever that word means nowadays, you’re always joking around with him. Being your little charming self that draws people in like a beacon to lost ships at sea. As much as he enjoys that side of you, he’s always felt there’s more. Some aspect of yourself you’ve made difficult to see by design. While he can’t pinpoint the coordinates exactly, he can roughly guess the location.

You take on too much of others so you can forget yourself.

The voice you used toward the latter half of your sentence, the quiet, solemn tinge that contrasts how you normally present yourself; it’s the hidden glimmer he’s been searching for.

“I’m sure I’ve taken up enough of your time, so I’ll be heading back now.”

While saying this, you turn around, and he finds himself wishing that he could see your face. His thoughts are too muddled to make sense of everything. He remembers the weight in his hands, how yours got scratched up so it could be there.

Daryl calls your name. You stop, looking over your shoulder with all the patience in the world. More patience than he deserves.

“… Thanks.”

It comes out more like a grunt, a rumbling that originates deep in his chest and from the heart.

“No, thank you.”

With that, you leave him be, his head feeling light and face burning up like he’d caught a nasty fever.

ii.

It’s an unusually quiet day.

The persistent rattle of the chain link fences has eased into a lull, granting a reprieve for those taking shelter behind them. The mood around the prison is a pleasant one — as pleasant as it can be, during the apocalypse — contentment cautiously settling in. The past few runs have been bountiful and earned without the shedding of human blood, the number on Beth’s ‘x days without an accident’ growing higher.

Rick details some equipment that’d aid in his farming endeavors to Daryl, who dutifully commits the tools listed to memory. While things are looking up, Daryl’s never been the type to settle or grow complacent. He wants this place to be the best it can be.

Their conversation about expanding the pen’s fence comes to a premature end when a young man named Ryan runs over. Daryl recruited him a few weeks prior, a benevolent act that’s really come back to bite him in the ass. Although Ryan acknowledges Daryl with a nod of his head, he focuses his attention on Rick.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Ryan starts, and Daryl has to bite back a rebuttal about how if he was truly sorry, he wouldn’t have done it. “Maggie told me she saw [First] headed this way. Have either of you seen her?”

If Daryl’s glowering wasn’t obvious before, it certainly should be now. Does this guy have nothing better to do than chase others around and interrogate them over your whereabouts? The man’s supposed to be a mechanic or whatever, Daryl imagines there are a thousand more productive ways he could utilize his time. Instead, he opts to follow you around like some dejected puppy, a fact that grates Daryl to no end.

Daryl turns to stare Rick down, as if in silent warning. Officer Friendly must not notice the leer, or if he does, he makes a point of ignoring it. “Actually—”

“Ain’t seen her,” Daryl interrupts, his voice more of a guttural growl than anything else.

Rick raises an eyebrow but doesn’t confirm or deny the claim.

Ryan glances between the two of them before offering a nervous laugh. “Alright, well, if you do, please tell her I was hoping we could talk.”

Daryl genuinely has to bite back a groan at this. He’d sooner take a bullet than help matchmake this nuisance with his best-friend-who-he-swears-he-isn’t-romantically-interested-in-whatsoever. Rick, always the mediator, swears to do just that. This satisfies Ryan enough for him to run off and be annoying elsewhere. Once the interloper is out of earshot, Rick turns to face Daryl with raised eyebrows and a tilted head.

“We haven’t seen her?” Rick repeats Daryl’s previous words back, though his intonation conveys disbelief.

“Nah, not if he’s the one asking.”

Fortunately, Ryan just missed you by a few minutes. Whereas Daryl looked at Ryan with nothing but disdain for interrupting his conversation with Rick, the same couldn’t be said when you were the one doing it. Hell, you could wake him up in the middle of the night just because you wanted to and he wouldn’t have a single complaint on his tongue. You came over to say that ‘you must absolutely, under no circumstances be nominated for the council’ then not so subtly threw in the fact you flunked AP government for good measure.

This whole business of forming a council to make important decisions at the prison has been the bane of your existence. Not due to any opposition to the idea on your behalf, but because people were suggesting that you should be a part of it. Daryl’s stuck in a similar predicament. In your free time, you’ve been flitting around, running what you’ve dubbed ‘an anti-campaign campaign.’ Your core tenets are as such, according to the long-winded explanation Daryl happily sat through: raising taxes by 100% (you made a face when he pointed out taxes no longer exist), working for the sole interest of your lobbyists rather than the working class, and mandatory attendance to Carol’s reading sessions for all ages.

Needless to say, you’re very passionate about not being put in a position of power.

“Why? She say that he’s bothering her or something?” Rick’s voice goes from teasing to serious in record time. Daryl’s protectiveness over you could only be rivaled by Rick’s, who has taken to viewing you as a younger sister or something. The former sheriff often expresses his gratitude for the way you can make Carl laugh and smile with ease. This quality of yours has earned you the affectionate nickname ‘Miss Social Butterfly’ amongst your inner group.

“Doesn’t need to.”

And back to teasing Rick goes. “You just know?”

Never one to back down, Daryl replies, “I just know.”

“Mhm. I'm sure you do.”

“You got somethin’ you wanna say?” Daryl challenges, although he can’t say he isn’t used to this teasing by now. If it isn’t Carol giving him shit for how he looks at you, then it’s Rick. He’s yet to decide which one is worse to endure.

Rick gives it some thought, his face morphing into one of serious contemplation. “You’d be good for another. Hey, don’t look at me like that, I mean it. You ground her. Bring her down when her head is a little too far up in the clouds. And she… she brings out the best in you. People sometimes go their whole lives without ever finding a connection like that.”

As if Rick needed to point any of this out when it’s what he thinks about all the damn time.

You mesh together surprisingly well. At first, he told himself he only put up with your presence, but that’s a lie that aged poorly. He found himself orbiting in your vicinity more often than not. It might be a bit creepy of him to admit, but just watching you go about your day is a delight. You wear your heart on your sleeve. If something annoys you, you scrunch your nose up in the cutest little display; if you’re excited, there are practically stars in your eyes as you animatedly chat about what’s on your mind. Then there’s how you sing to yourself when you’re certain no one is around, your voice pretty enough to rival an angel—

Alright, maybe it’s more than a bit creepy. Who can blame him, though, when you have the audacity to go around being as cute as you are? It can’t be good for his heart.

Daryl only responds once he’s certain there’s no one in the immediate vicinity.

“She doesn’t look at me like that, man.”

Speaking the insecurity out loud hurts no less than when it skulks about in his mind. He’ll entertain himself with thoughts of a world where he gets to call you his. Some idyllic fantasy land where he gets to lavish you with all his affection, hugging you tight and feeling your soft body against his, kissing you like parting promised instant death. Indeed, he’ll entertain these whimsical thoughts, but he’s not foolish enough to think they’ll ever actually happen.

“She doesn’t?” Rick doesn’t bother to hide his amusement. “And here I thought hunters were s’posed to have good eyesight. C’mon, Daryl. She lights up when you enter a room. She gives you those eyes.”

“Eyes?” Daryl repeats back, equal parts confused and intrigued.

“Yeah, the eyes. That dreamy, far-off look women get.”

Daryl scoffs, finding the mere notion of it inconceivable. “Quit screwin’ with me already.”

Rick puts his hands up in defense. “There’s no screwin’ happening here, Daryl. Just the truth. Don’t know why it’s so hard for you to accept that.”

He’s about to bite back by saying he can’t accept what isn’t true, but he finds himself unable to voice the words. There’s a foolish part of him that wants to believe what Rick’s telling him. Despite a rough start, he’s come to respect the man. Rick isn’t the type to tell him all of this unless it’s in good faith.

Say you do, by some stroke of luck, feel something for him. He doesn’t know the first thing about what to do in a romantic relationship. His parents sure as hell didn’t set a good example. He’s got a short temper, struggles to communicate what’s on his mind, and tends to shut people out if they get too close to comfort. Daryl knows plenty about you — your favorite color, movie, band, what your old hopes and dreams used to be, what they are now — yet he barely utters a word about himself.

Not for a lack of trying on your part. You being the freakishly perceptive woman you are, have gleaned a few things, such as his lifelong affinity for the outdoors and that he had a rough upbringing, but that’s about it. For all your impressive ability to exercise tact, he’s still snapped at you a few times. Sure, he’d immediately feel awful and try to make it up to you; that doesn’t change what he did. You don’t deserve to put up with that. Not when you could get anyone wrapped around your finger if you tried hard enough.

“Alright, alright, I’ll back off already. Doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about anything I said, though,” Rick places a hand on Daryl’s shoulder and squeezes. “Just give it some thought.”

Daryl offers a stiff nod, deciding to leave it at that.

Unbeknownst to Rick (or maybe he does know, sly bastard), Daryl doesn’t need to be told to think about you.

It’s essentially his full-time job at this point.

iii.

Daryl isn’t sure if this is a blessing or a curse.

From an objective point of view, the situation isn’t ideal, albeit falling shy of harrowing. You and Daryl are currently both situated in a closet of a pharmacy, waiting out a large gathering of walkers. Before Daryl had shut you both in here for extra safety, he surmised the miniature herd would dispense come morning, so long as they continue uselessly meandering forward. Until then, there’s nothing much to do aside from staying put and staying quiet.

He has a flashlight, but you suggested he turn it off since there’s no real need for it. He acquiesced, which leads into the present. The two of you are sitting shoulder to shoulder in the dark, your bodies still coming down from the adrenaline-induced high of fleeing from the dead.

You take a sip from your canteen and then hold it out for him. He grumbles a ‘thank you’, takes the cool container that feels heavenly against his clammy skin, and drinks far less than his body desires. It wouldn’t be wise to put a decent dent in your water supply if you’re both going to be camping out for the night. An admittedly juvenile thought occurs to him when you slide the cap back into place — how you’ve shared an indirect kiss. It hurts his pride that the concept makes him blush as if he were a starry-eyed school kid.

This isn’t helped by the fact he could taste the remnants of your favorite cherry chapstick on the bottle’s rim. You made an offhand comment about favoring the item once, and ever since then, he’s kept a sharp eye out while on runs. Putting in the extra effort was always worth it when it came to you. While he’d like to think he’s above doing things just for gratitude, you challenge the notion. When you’re grateful, you get the biggest smile on your face, the kind that highlights the apples of your cheeks. Sometimes you’ll even get so wrapped up in your enthusiasm that you’ll give him a hug (once your friendship was at a point you deemed such a display acceptable).

His traitorous mind wanders. What would it be like to taste you without a proxy? He’s studied the shape of your lips with more determination than all his years in school combined. He’s certain his imagination could never come close to capturing the bliss of the real thing, the utter softness that he’d do anything to experience for himself.

Truly, this isn’t ideal, but he’s decided to take a page from your book and be optimistic about it.

Daryl can feel your body against his. From what he can tell, there’s a touch more room to move aside if you feel so inclined; and still, you remain firmly planted by his side. Shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. He smells the light floral shampoo he got for you a few weeks back and the cocoa shea butter you borrow from Maggie. He gets a kick out of watching how you interact with her, and just about anyone, in fact. You jokingly refer to your close friends as your ‘underground network for trading contraband’.

He’s pretty sure you guys just trade clothes and the like, but he never has the heart to rain on your parade.

A few minutes pass, in which you’re both able to get your breaths back.

“Morning, huh?” You whisper, ever mindful of your surroundings.

Daryl keeps his volume similarly low. “Yeah. They’re all headin’ in one direction. Should be clear by then.”

You hum. While he wishes he could see your pretty face, the darkness does well to disguise his own countenance; your uncharacteristically lukewarm response has him frowning. Daryl knows you like the back of his hand, courtesy of spending the past year or so together. Something’s troubling you. It isn’t common — mainly because you try so damn hard to hide it — but he can see past your façade where others can’t. It’s times like these when he envies your ability to comfort others. You have a knack for knowing what to say, how to say it, and when to say it.

How should he help the one who is always helping others?

Daryl gets your attention by saying your name.

“You alright?”

“I’m all good here. And you?”

His frown deepens. That isn’t what he meant and he doesn’t know how to correct himself without coming off as heavy-handed. If it were anyone else, he’d give up treading this unfamiliar territory, but it’s you. The person who can make his heart race and stomach do somersaults.

“Nah, I mean…” he trails off, wincing at himself, “Are you alright?”

Great, well, that just about makes everything crystal fucking clear, doesn’t it? The ensuing silence makes him wish he’d kept his mouth shut. You’re both going to be here for at least eight hours at a minimum, the least he could do is not make the experience excruciatingly awkward. He’s not some shrink that knows how to skillfully talk about feelings, he barely knows what to do with his own. He should’ve left this to Carol or Maggie, even Rick would’ve done a better job. But no, he had to go and play the hero—

“I didn’t fail AP government.”

“Huh?” Daryl squints at you, wondering where the hell that admission came from.

“I said I did, but I didn’t,” you insist, curling both your legs up and hugging them against your chest. Daryl notices you do this when there’s something heavy weighing on you. “I got, like, a ninety-four, I think.”

He snorts, despite knowing this is a trap meant to redirect his attention. You’re good at keeping people at arm’s length when you want to. He’d be a hypocrite if he called you out on it.

“I’m sure ya did, Miss Goodie Two-Shoes.”

“It’s always ‘Miss Social Butterfly’, ‘Miss Goodie Two-Shoes’… what if I’m a Mrs?”

Daryl thinks his heart may have temporarily stopped. “Don’t see no ring.”

“It’s dark in here, Daryl.”

“Mean before this,” he rolls his eyes. He tells his stupid heart to calm down. There’s no way you’re married, you would’ve mentioned that ages ago. You’re just messing with him. You have to be. That’s your modus operandi.

He can practically hear the petulant pout in your voice when you speak next.

“Is it so hard to imagine? I’m an absolute delight.”

Damn woman, playing mind games with him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were flirting with him. That isn’t possible, though. Absolutely not. You’re just a coy little thing. You offered to propose to Maggie yourself if Glenn kept beating around the bush (Daryl almost choked on his drink when overhearing this). Being playful with your friends is like second nature to you.

“Mhm, no doubtin’ it. When’s it gonna be your turn at the altar, then?”

“This Saturday, if the weather’s nice,” you reply without missing a beat. “You’re welcome to attend. Formal wear is required, of course. And presents. I want an espresso machine, but will settle for a Keurig.”

“Who’s the unlucky man?” Daryl asks, as if he wouldn’t trade anything under the moon and stars to be the one you promise yourself to til death do you part.

“Jesus.”

This gets a laugh from him that he has to cover with his hand. “Jesus?”

“According to Hershel, the church is Jesus’ bride, so yeah. I’m going for a literal interpretation here.”

He shakes his head. “You gotta stop attendin’ them Bible group sessions.”

“Hey, I’d like to see you turn a request from Hershel down.”

Daryl doesn’t get the opportunity to respond to this — you beat him to the punch.

“Actually, that’s just about the heart of the issue,” you mumble, the glow of your typical effulgent disposition fading. “I can’t say no to people. It’s a struggle, anyway. I’ll think of how to soften the blow and end up making concessions I never wanted to make. Hershel asked me to reconsider my ‘no thank you’ to the council thing. For some reason or another, I said I would.”

Daryl mulls over your words. There’s no lighthearted veneer to distract from the main contents, you’re baring a part of yourself to him that you normally go to lengths to conceal. It reminds him of that sweltering evening back at the farm. He was too far in his head to offer you any significant help then, a fact that’s been a perpetual thorn in his side. Almost selfishly, he wants to be the person you rely on. Your anchor when the waters get too rough. Not just for the intimate connection it’d nourish between you, but so you’ll have someone to go to when you can’t navigate matters by yourself.

He’d be that for you in a heartbeat.

Well, he’d try his best at it, at least.

“Why don’t ya wanna be part of it?” Daryl questions. It occurs to him then that you’ve never given an actual concrete reason.

“I’m not a leader,” you reply. He opens his mouth, ready to passionately disagree, but you’re faster. “I care way too much about what others think of me. It’s funny, right? Society’s fallen, there are cannibalistic corpses wandering around, and I’m still hung up over such a petty non-issue. It’s stupid.”

“… It ain’t stupid,” Daryl reassures, his voice low, emanating sincerity. He wishes he could happen upon some perfect combination of words that’d whisk your woes away, but he knows it’s more complicated than that. The way you’re talking about it tells him that this has been a grievance of yours for a long time.

He hears you exhale sharply.

“Thank you, Daryl.”

“Didn’t do nothin’,” he can’t stop the words from tumbling haphazardly from his mouth. There you’re going with that unearned expression of gratitude again. He wasn’t able to play any vital role, finding the abundance of platitudes swimming around in his head nowhere near acceptable to be spoken aloud.

You elbow his side. “Not true. I know what I said… it’s a lot to take in. There’s no cut-and-dry solution. I’m glad you didn’t try to come up with one. And that you don’t think it’s stupid. I know you wouldn’t lie to me, so… hearing you say that makes me feel better. Hence the thank you.”

Daryl has to replay your words a few times for the sheer magnitude of them to sink in. Do you really place that much value in what he says?

This grand revelation is swiftly dethroned when you rest your head on his shoulder.

His muscles go stiff at first, out of instinct, but he relaxes remarkably fast. He can feel your hair tickling his cheek, the soft warmth from your body. You want to be close to him. You actively choose to be close to him. Physically, and emotionally, you reveal segments of yourself that no one else has the luxury of witnessing. Daryl almost thinks of himself as a fool for how long it’s taken him to realize this. Merle’s mockery of his adoration for you and his own insecurities have blinded him to the truth.

His brother didn’t know the first damn thing about you.

Should this pivotal interaction be of any proof, apparently Daryl has much to learn himself.

It’s a good thing you’re his favorite subject.

iv.

Nightmares have long since crossed over into the realm of reality.

Daryl’s no stranger to the horrors that lurk in the dark and prowl in the daylight. He’d witness them before the world went to hell and after. Consequently, he could withstand a lot, witnessing scenes that’d break others without shedding a tear. It isn’t because he doesn’t feel, but because in those moments, he’s so hellbent on survival, he can block everything else out.

This isn’t one of those cases.

He can faintly register that you’re in front of him now, your glassy eyes showcasing your worry.

It’s morning. The sun is soft, the breeze softer. The terrors of the night have concluded. Men lay dead, strewn out on the road, one with a chunk taken out of his neck. It’s brutal, the stench of viscera and rot permeating in the air, even after they left the gruesome scene. It clings to his nose and refuses to leave. You’re kneeling in front of him now, murmuring words that won’t register. He hears a rip and faintly registers that you’ve torn a section of your already tattered shirt.

You raise the fabric to his bruised face, dabbing it where dry blood has gathered. In this particular instance, most of it is his.

Neither of you utters a word.

What is there to say? To do? Daryl knows he can’t remain in this stupefied state much longer, if not for his sake, then for yours.

You dab some water on your makeshift cloth. You gently follow the counters of his face, treating him as if he were made of porcelain, your eyebrows furrowing together in concentration while you work. It stings when brushing over the fresh cuts on his face, yet he doesn’t wince. He almost thinks he deserves the pain, for traveling with the bastards that did this to you. To Michonne, Rick, and Carl. When he dreamed of the slim chance of being reunited with you after the prison fell, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Never like this.

Once you’re satisfied, you pull away. You don’t stand up to leave, however. You stay right where you are, sitting on the ground, your face inches from his. Inspecting, searching. For what, he couldn’t say. He can make out each fleck of color in your eyes. They’re tired, he notices.

But they’re still you.

You raise shaking hands to cup both sides of his face. Tears gather by your lower lash line, glimmering in the morning sunlight like diamonds. Your lower lip trembles as you try to hold it in. A lump builds in his throat, the previous night serving as a reminder that he can’t always be the one to protect you, no matter how hard he tries. He wants to shield you from everything. Every hurt, disappointment, or slightest instance of pain. If he could, he’d take them all for you.

Unable to hold back a choked sob, you bury your nose into his chest. His response is immediate — he wraps his arms around your form, steadying you, bringing you closer — his actions not colored by the slightest hesitation. It’s almost an involuntary movement on his behalf. He doesn’t think, he just does. You cling to him, your hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt, clutching him like your life depended on it. Your fervor is only matched by his.

Daryl rests his chin on top of your head, running a hand up and down your back while you ride out your emotions. The world itself could crumble and fall to pieces by his side; he’d pay it no mind. Not when you’re here, in front of him, alive. Your skin is warm. Your heart beats a steady rhythm. Your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath. It’s a fight to live and you’re still in the ring, determined to trudge on.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you mumble, over and over again, chanting it as if it were a prayer. “So glad… so, so glad…”

He’s practically squeezing you by this point, but if you mind, you don’t mention it. He keeps expecting your image to fade away like a taunting mirage in the desert. To wake up in a cold sweat and with the knowledge that having you was nothing but a dream.

No such development occurs.

You’re here, he’s found you, and you’ve found him.

“Don’t go. Don’t ever leave me again,” your pleas penetrate deep into his soul where he locks them away for safekeeping.

“I won’t,” he promises. Perhaps he shouldn’t, given how uncertain he is of his ability to keep it, but he does anyway. “‘S alright, [First]. I’m here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere. It’s gonna be alright.”

He’ll fight like a man possessed to ensure it.

v.

You’re standing over a marble countertop when he finds you.

Daryl didn’t have to exert a great amount of effort to track you down, he figured you wouldn’t be going far after yesterday’s events. The past twenty-four hours have been surreal to him. The world had denied him much but offered you as recompense. This expiation almost has him wondering if everything he’d endured was worth it to get to this point.

He’s suffered for you, bled for you; now he wants to live for you.

Starting here at your quaint home in Alexandria.

It’s easy to catch you by surprise when you’re so fixated on your task; rereading piles of cards from yesterday. His Mrs. Social Butterfly is as well-loved as ever. He takes care in sneaking up on you from behind, allowing his eyes to wander over the shapely expanse of your bare legs. You’re wearing an old flannel shirt of his, the fabric enveloping you. This fulfillment of one of his many you-related fantasies frays his brain. You’re a damn dream made manifest.

His ploy is successful — you don’t sense his encroaching presence until he’s behind you, large palms settling on the lovely swell of your hips. You gasp and attempt to twist your torso around. He holds you firmly in place, not ready to give up on having you like this just yet. Recognition eases you into a sense of security. You laugh at your own expense, shaking your head and leaning back into his chest.

“I was about ready to clobber you,” you sound so carefree, so content. “Now that wouldn’t do. I can’t have you filing for divorce less than a day after our marriage.”

Daryl pays special attention to your neck, adoring it as a painter would his canvas. Fading love bites litter the skin. He retraces his marks with his lips. It appeases the primal part of him that wants nothing more than to showcase that you’re his woman, that those sorry bastards who eye you up don’t have the slimmest chance. Your heart belongs to him just as much as his belongs to you. The organ has your name embedded so deep within it, its presence is integral to keeping it beating.

“Ain’t getting rid of me that easily,” Daryl’s voice is deep and gravelly with sleep. He watches the goosebumps forming on your skin with amusement, knowing full well what his voice in the morning does to you. The ticklish sensation of his stubble rubbing against you has you unsuccessfully fighting back laughter.

“H-Hey, that should be my line. I take it you’re not fed up with me yet then?”

“Nah. Never.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“Nope.”

“And the day after tomorrow? Any buyer’s remorse then?”

“Difficult fuckin’ woman,” he spins you around with ease, the sight of your pretty smile making his body feel like it’s floating. He genuinely can’t fathom that you’re actually his wife. “Sounds t’ me like you’re tryna back out.”

You secure your arms around his neck, tilting your head in that playful way which nearly drives him mad. “Oh, you caught me!”

He rolls his eyes at your typical theatrics. “Ya liked me enough last night.”

“I’ve been told I’m an excellent actress.”

“Really? That’s what that was?” Daryl raises an eyebrow, challenging you. “All that moanin’ and beggin’ for me to fuck ya?”

Watching how you squirm with embarrassment at his unfiltered comments almost makes him forgive you for the infraction. Almost. His pride as a man is on the line.

“Hm… maybe we need to do it again so I can remember for certain?” You accentuate the suggestion with a wink.

You’re a little vixen alright. He can’t bring himself to complain, not when you’re looking up at him like that from beneath your eyelashes. For some reason or another, this line of thought causes a ripple effect, taking him back a ways.

“Huh. This must be what Rick meant,” he mutters, more to himself than you.

“Pardon?” You question. The sharp change in subject is unlike him, that’s more your style. Heat creeps up his face and to his ears. He can utter the most filthy talk with no inhibitions, but confessing to how long he’s been whipped for you is another beast entirely. Knowing you, you won’t let the topic go until your curiosity has been sated. For this reason, he relinquishes himself to his fate.

“A while back… I was talking about ya with Rick. At the prison. He was tryna convince me you felt the same… said ya gave me ‘the eyes’. Thought he was spoutin’ bullshit.”

You throw your head back and laugh that melodious laugh of yours, the one he swears sounds better than an angelic chorus. “Well, seeing as Rick walked me down the aisle yesterday, I guess he was onto something. Took you long enough to notice.”

He grunts in agreement. “Yeah. Sure did.”

“I thought you said the man who’d marry me would be unlucky?”

“Nah, I’d be the unlucky bastard then.”

You rise on your tiptoes to give him a chaste kiss. “So would I.”

Daryl wonders when exactly it was he fell in love with you.

Was it when he overheard you defending him to Shane back at the quarry? When you gave him that arrow that cut up your pretty hands? Or maybe when you sat in a dark closet together, opening up about your fears to him? Then there was the time he caught you singing lullabies to baby Judith, when you got drunk and passionately debated Eugene over which Star Wars movie is the best, seeing you in that indigo dress (you did indeed correct him when he called it blue) looking so fucking lovely beneath the moonlight?

Truth be told, it’s damn near impossible to narrow it down to one specific instance. You have this stupidly unfair ability to make him fall for you over and over again.

“Hey, handsome,” you coo, drawing him out of his thoughts like the Pied Piper. “You doing anything today?”

“Can’t. It’s my honeymoon. Think Rick’d throw me in that cell if I was stupid enough to leave.”

“What a coincidence, my schedule happens to be clear as well. I guess Virginia’s the new Fiji.”

Figures you’d be the type to want a honeymoon in Fiji. That’s his preppy princess alright.

Without further ado, he scoops you up, his veins thrumming with pride over how easy the task is. You happily latch onto him. You used to yelp when he picked you up, but you’re so used to it by now that you know he’d never drop you. He uses his muscle memory to traverse the house — your house — heading up the stairs and back to the bedroom.

Realizing his route, you throw in a coquettish comment. “We going back to sleep, old man? It’s a bit early in the—”

You yelp when he gives your thighs a firm squeeze, effectively shutting you up.

“Mouthy woman. Nah, we ain’t sleepin’ anytime soon. Not ‘til I get you makin’ them noises again. ‘Actress’ my ass.”

That earns him another bout of laughter from you, which in turn makes him grin. You’re a delight, an addiction he won’t ever quit; his best friend and wife.

And if those eyes you’re giving him are to be believed, he knows you view him the same way.

#daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #reader insert #not sfw #my stuff

[lucy-sky]

Loving You Easy (Shane Walsh x f!Reader)

Scandalous Sunday prompt - being caught

My last story for @bernthirst-events​��s Bernthirst Palooza, woohooo! I did it :DD

Sometimes a little bit of music can bring miracles into your life. Even in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.

Warnings: flirting and sort of mutual pining; ALMOST smut

A/N: this is a request from my dear friend @skvatnavle​ - I’m not sure if that’s exactly what you expected, but that’s what I came up with :) Hope it’s fine and you enjoy it.

Words: 1709; AO3 link if you prefer reading there.

When you noticed this little thing during another supply run, you could hardly believe your eyes, even though there was nothing extraordinary about it. Just a little MP3-player with small earbuds. As you pick it up from the dirty floor, you were wondering how it ended up here. Maybe some of the customers dropped it as they escaped the store, panic stricken, someone kicked it and it stayed there behind the counter until you found it. Or maybe the device used to belong to the cashier, and they listened to it during the dull night shift hours when there wasn’t much work to do. This thing had a history you’d never learn, but you couldn’t have left it there. So you put it into your pocket before answering Shane’s voice calling for you.

Later at night, lying on your bed, you put on the earbuds and press the play button on the little device. The screen lightens up, but only to show you the low battery sign before going dark again. You sigh. What did you expect? This thing was covered in dust, it’s been lying there for… Months? And of course there are no new batteries among your supplies at the moment. You got up and checked the drawers in your room, also with no success. Shit. Oh, wait a second. What if Shane got some during today’s run? Asking won’t hurt, right?

Walking out into the corridor, you glance at the door of his room, relieved to to notice the light pouring from the chink at the doorstep. So you tap gently on the door, before gingerly opening it and looking inside.

“Hey, Walsh,” you ask quietly. “You awake?”

“Hey,” he yawns, putting aside the book he was reading. “What’s up, darlin’?”

There were times you used to hate him calling you “darlin’” or “princess” or “sweetheart”, but at some point you got used to these nicknames, as well as you got used to him. He can be an asshole sometimes, but he has never hurt you in any way possible, plus the smug bastard is pretty attractive, you have to admit. You know the reality you live in is not the best place for flirting. You also know the man had history with Lori, and probably with Andrea as well, but somehow it doesn’t repulse you. You all are only human after all, trying to survive in your own ways.

“I was just wondering, did you grab any batteries today?”

“I think so, yeah,” Shane gives you a curious look. “What’s that?”

“Could I uh… Borrow a couple? My flashlight is dying, so…”

“Right. Okay, sure,” he sits down, reaching for his backpack, fishes a set of batteries out of it. “There ya go.”

“Thanks, Walsh,” you smile. “I owe you for those.”

“‘S okay. You keep trippin’ on stuff in the daylight, I don’t want you to break your neck in the dark,” he chuckles.

“Oh fuck you, Walsh,” you huff.

“Good night to you too, sweetheart!”

You don’t know exactly why you lied to him about that flashlight. Somehow the MP3-player didn’t seem like an… important enough reason. Walsh would definitely make even more fun of you if he knew what you really need those batteries for.

The next day you’re in charge of washing the dishes after the dinner. The farmhouse is empty - everyone went out to do their chores. A perfect opportunity to turn on the music.

Once you switch the player on, you instantly realize how much you’ve missed it. Not some song or band in particular - just music. Any music in general.

♫ “No makeup on and shining so bright

My old sweatshirt never fit so right

Dancing around to the radio

Humming the words that you don't know” ♫

Zac Brown sings this cheesy love song in your ears, and if you close your eyes, it’s somehow so easy to imagine that none of this has happened. No walkers, no deaths, no goddamn end of the world - it was just a really long nightmare, and now you’re in your kitchen again, humming to familiar tunes from the radio. 

Smiling to yourself, you start working, swaying to the music and singing to yourself as you’re done with another bowl. Too lost in the music, you almost drop the plates you’re holding as your back bumps into someone. Swiftly turning around, you meet familiar brown eyes and a cheeky smirk.

“Shane, what the fuck? You scared the shit out of me!” you groan, pushing him in the chest.

“So that’s why you needed those batteries, huh?” he raises his eyebrows, clearly amused. “I knew it’s not the goddamn flashlight!”

“Yeah, so what?” your cheeks start to burn, but you refuse to admit your embarrassment. “I deserve a little something that makes me feel happy and alive, and I’m not gonna apologize for that!”

“Whoa, easy, darlin’,” Shane chuckles, raising his hands in a surrender gesture. “Didn’t say you should apologize for anything, did I? I actually really enjoyed seeing you dancing like that.”

“Oh, so you enjoyed it, yeah?” you smirk back at him. “Well, you know what? It’s not some kind of a show for you, Walsh. C’mon. Join me.”

With this you take one of the earbuds off and hand it to him.

“Hate to disappoint you, sweetheart, but I-I’m not really a good dancer.”

“I don’t give a shit. You already saw me being silly, now it’s your turn.”

“Alright,” he nods, stepping closer and putting the earbud on. You press play and Zac Brown’s voice continues singing his song.

♫ “You make loving you easy

You make loving you all I wanna do

Every little smile and every little touch

Reminds me how just how much it all makes

Loving you easy” ♫

“Come on, man, relax. Feel the rhythm!” you encourage playfully, grabbing his hand. “It’s easy, right?”

You both move a bit awkwardly at first, but then the magic happens. Shane’s free hand finds your waist, pulling you closer as you sway to the music together. There’s something so intimate about sharing a pair of earbuds and dancing around the kitchen like that, something way too romantic for this whole setting, this new reality. Romantic, but also the closer he gets the more your cheeks flush, and your heart beats a little faster when your eyes meet.

“See, you’re not that bad,” you say, trying to play it cool, to not give away how flustered you really are.

“Yeah, you think?” his voice is a little raspy, it somehow gives you shivers. “You know what, sweetheart?”

“What?” you breathe out as his thumb gently reaches your chin, tilting your face up.

“You still owe me for those batteries, remember?”

“I remember you said it’s fine.”

“Changed my mind, I guess,” he chuckles softly and leans in. The touch of his lips is unexpectedly tender at first, but as you open up to him, the kiss becomes deeper, way more heated and passionate. You let out a quiet moan as his tongue slips past your parted lips, shamelessly exploring your mouth. You respond with equal eagerness, your hand reaching the back of his neck as you gently nip on his lower lip. It’s been so long since the last time you had a make-out session like that, it was somewhere in previous life, and now you can’t get enough. Neither of you can. 

The earbuds already fell out of your ears, your sighs and barely heard moans the only music left. Shane keeps gently pushing you until your butt hits the cabinet next to the sink, and he urges you to sit on it. His lips are already trailing down the curve of your neck, warm breath tickling your skin, while his hand squeezes your bare thigh - you mentally thank the summer heat that made you wear a light dress today. But when his fingers find a way under the skirt of the said dress, it suddenly hits you.

“Shane… Shane! W-wait…” you whisper frantically, pushing him away. He pulls back frowning, dark eyes examining your face.

“I uh… Don’t think it’s a good idea. Someone can walk in,” you tell him in a shaky voice, heart still racing.

“Nah, c’mon, sweetheart… No one’s around,” he leans in again, pressing a kiss against the side of your neck, then right under your ear. “I know you want that as much as I do…” 

You shiver as his fingers reach your underwear, pressing against your already shamelessly wet center.

“I can feel it.”

Your eyes flutter shut as he carefully strokes you through the fabric of your underwear, his lips back on your neck - shit, he’s gonna give you a hickey if he keeps going like that… But damn, it feels too good. So you surrender. You let those curious digits get under the crotch of your panties, dip between your folds, find a little throbbing bud there. Your toes curl in pleasure when he touches you where you need it the most, your head spinning. In the heat of a moment you blindly reach between his legs, palming him through his jeans, causing him to groan into the crook of your neck.

“Hey, y/n!”

You’re quick to push Shane away the moment you hear Beth’s voice.

“You need any help with those di-” she stumbles, surprised to see someone else with you in the room.

“No, um… Shane’s already helping me,” you reply, quickly grabbing the nearest pyramid of plates and shoving it in the man’s hands. “Thank you, Beth.”

“Oh… Okay,” she gives you a slightly awkward smile, “See you later than.”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, smiling back. 

As she leaves, you finally glance at Shane, and his baffled expression makes you snort a laugh.

“Oh, you find it funny, do ya?” He tries to sound angry, but his voice cracks with laughter as well.

“I told you it's a bad idea,” you shrug innocently. “Guess you’re helping me finish the dishes now, Walsh.”

“Yes, ma’am. But hey, you still owe me though.”

“Okay,” you grab him by the shirt and pull him into another passionate kiss.

“Come get the rest in my room tonight,” you smirk as you pull back.

“Got it, darlin’,” he grins, licking his lips.

Thank you for reading!

additional tag: @munsonownsmyass​

#bernthirstpalooza #shane walsh x reader #shane on me #twd fanfiction #jon bernthal fanfiction #lucy tries to write #darlingshane

[stardropsandrain]

Stardew Valley bachelor and bachelorette build headcanons

Tw!!: Talks about body and home life as well as mention of alcohol

Please do enjoy

Bachelor's

Harvey

Tall and skinny, eats well and works out regularly (whether it's running or taking walks or even borrowing Alex's weights) Has a friend that's a dietitian who he asks for meal plans and other sorts of advice. He likes to keep fit because he thinks it's better for him in his line of work

Shane

A bit shorter but not a lot. Beer belly for sure, but is like surprisingly active? Is often walking around town for fun at night and will (if married) help take care of the animals a lot. Once he starts to heal himself he starts working out and going to Harvey more often for advice and checkups

Sebastian

Average height and a little chubbier. All Seb does is game in the basement and go out and about sometimes he doesnt have a fast metabolism and doesn't do enough walking and exercise to work off the food. Sam is always trying to get him to work out more but he does sometimes just to try and get him off his back

Sam

Average height and on the skinny side of an average weight. Works out by walking around, skating and playing instruments. He also eats pretty well and doesn't drink much or at all. He likes to keep up the physique for his rockstar image

Alex

Tall (not as tall as Harvey) and pretty well built. He works out A LOT, weight lifting, football, and other sports when he's bored. He eats really well and gets good meal plans from on of Harvey's dietitian friends at a discount (which is definitely a motivator for letting Harvey borrow his weights)

Elliot

Tall and average. He stays inside writing and playing piano a lot. But he walks around town often. He eats rather well for his build and height. Works out very little but enough to keep his figure and visits Harvey often to check up on his health

Bachelorette's

Haley

Average height and hmo, she's on the chubby side of average. She walks around town a lot which keeps her healthier but she loves to absolutely devour snack foods but also loves 'healthy' foods and usually keeps a good balance of the two

Penny

Short and skinny. Given her home life and situation, she tends to not eat too much sadly, she will forgo snacks and meals sometimes and she's pretty active with teaching Jas and Vincent and helping around in the community

Abigail

On the tall side of average and chubbier side of average. She's semi active, exploring and getting out of the house when she feels like it but she is also a homebody and tends to eat more 'unhealthy' foods that take longer to work off but given that she's outside and walking around a lot or hanging out with Sebastian and Sam

Emily

Tall and skinny. She keeps pretty active with her job and is pretty helpful in the community. She loves to visit other places and explore. She eats well for her activity level and height. But she almost always has a fruit for a snack when working

Leah

Average height and on the skinny side of average with some muscle. She keeps very busy with her wood work. Chopping trees expels a lot of calories and energy. She also eats very well, a lot of veggies and red meats. She also works out a bit to keep fit so she can work on trees

Maru

Average and on the chubby side of average. While active, she's mostly in her room working on experiments and codes of sorts. She finds herself reaching for snack more than real meals to fill her up so it just adds up for the weight. She's trying to get better, especially working under Harvey because she thinks it's best for herself and Harvey is always happy to help

#Spotify #stardew valley robin #stardew valley harvey #stardew harvey #stardew valley #stardew sebastian #stardew shane #stardew penny #stardew leah #stardew haley #stardew emily #stardew elliott #stardew maru #stardew abigail #stardew alex #stardew sam #stardew headcanon

[hannahssimblr]

Jen sits on the deck outside the beach house when I come down the wooden steps, and she eyes my shopping bag. 

“Got everything?”

“Yep.”

“Enough snacks for me too?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, are you ready to go? Shane and Joe are waiting-”

“Yeah just a sec,” I nip up the stairs and push through the front door, and my dad is where he’s been all day, looking at his laptop at the kitchen table. He barely glances up. 

“Where have you been?”

“Around.”

His keyboard is the only sound aside from Ivy, murmuring to her dolls in the living room below. I throw the plastic bag onto the counter and start stacking a few things into the fridge. “I noticed Ivy was out of yoghurts,” I say, “I picked up more for her to have tomorrow.”

Dad says nothing. 

“And I borrowed your credit card, I assume that’s okay.”

“Hm?”

“Your credit card. I took it.”

“Mm. Hope you didn’t drop it somewhere and lose it.”

“No,” I slide it out of my wallet and place it on the table, “There it is, safe and sound.”

I go back to the fridge and hide a chocolate bar behind a jar of mayonnaise for Ivy, then grab one of dad’s beers and slip it into my old schoolbag. He doesn’t seem to notice so I swipe another.

He leans back in the chair and stretches his arms with a grunt. “Did you get food for dinner tonight?”

“I'm not making dinner, I've plans.”

“Plans?”

“Yeah I’m going camping in the forest. I told you this morning,” I point lamely at the sleeping bag I left by the door. 

“I’m not sure that you did.”

“I did, definitely.”

“Well I think I’m gonna need you to stick around, things are just too busy around here today.”

“Where’s mom?”

“Uh, the hotel I think. She said she was getting some sorta massage.”

“Maybe after her massage she can cook, because as I’ve said, I’m busy tonight.”

“She might be a while.”

I stiffen. “Well then get a takeaway.”

He peers at me over the rim of his reading glasses and sighs this long, world weary sigh that makes me feel like rolling my eyes. “It’d just be convenient if you stayed.”

“Yeah I know, but I’m not available.”

“I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you help out a little at home, I know that you think you can just do whatever you want because you’re on vacation but it’s just not gonna like that for-”

“Yeah I get it, but I’m not going to be here tonight. One night. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I thought you might have grown out of this teenage stuff by now, Jude, this whole moodswing thing, you know, when I was sixteen I was already-”

“Working in an ice cream parlour and bringing in your own money, I know,” I grit my teeth, “and I’m sorry about not doing the same, but-”

“- and you know, you really were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, if my parents knew that I’d raised-”

I snatch up my bags and leave the door swinging behind me. 

As Jen watches me as I storm down the stairs the corner of her mouth twitches up. “You’re a bit red around the ears,” she points out, “Did you get into it again with Christopher?”

I hop down from the deck and haul my bike from the sand. “Let’s just go.”

After meeting Shane and Joe in the village we swing by the Boat Club to pick up Clóda. 

“Oh you’re cycling,” She says as she shakes her hair free of her high bun, “I didn’t bring a bike.”

I glance at her empty hands. “Or a sleeping bag? Or food?” 

A shrug, “No.”

“You can share with me then,” I say, and I’d usually have done a much better job at being smooth, but instead my words come out sharp and impatient, and then I feel guilty when I catch sight of her wavering smile as she clambers onto the handlebars of my bicycle.  

“Hope you had a nice day so far,” She says, and as I pull away from the curb with a wobble I try to relax my body with some deep breaths. “Yeah it was fine. Tell me about yours.”

And she does, and we five cycle until the village tapers away to become scarce houses dotted along the coast, on and on until the mouth of the woods. I listen to her talk, not really what she is saying so much as the sound of her voice, and I realise that if I concentrate on things like this, like the steady lock of her hands over mine and the silk of her hair blowing back against my face then I don’t have a lot of space left to think about how awful and selfish I am today.

By the time we reach the forest and tether our bikes to a fence I’m feeling almost back to myself again, so much so that I can even join in the conversation Shane, Jen and Joe are having about Dexter, and as always when it comes to TV, Jen and I start arguing about something or other, some part of the story that I picked up wrong, some character that I love but I am supposed to hate, and this is my favourite way to be with her, giving off, winding each other up so much and acting pissed off until someone thinks we’re being serious and tries to mediate. It’s the best way I can think of to whittle the time away on this trek from the onset of the woods to the dark depths of it, where the stony path turns to a dirt trail and briars snag at our ankles, where we duck under and scramble over low hanging branches and pick twigs out of one another's hair. 

Clóda, who has been silent for a long time, slips her hand into mine and pulls me back from the group. “There was a sign that said ‘No Camping’ back there,” she murmurs. 

“Yeah I know, we got caught before, a couple of years ago, but that’s why we’re going so deep in. Don’t worry, the guards never come this far.”

“Right,” she glances overhead where the dense firs have blocked out most of the evening sun and cast enormous shadows down upon us. I can listen now that the others have gone on ahead and their voices are dulled from the sounds of the trees brushing together in the wind, the squelch of the damp earth underfoot and the roar of the waves over the sand dunes somewhere to the east. A hare springs from a nearby cluster of ferns and flees from us, and Clóda screams and clings to my sleeve. 

“You okay? A bit scared?” 

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Of the woods?”

“I don’t know. I suppose we’re just a bit far from the path.”

“It’s okay, nothing is going to happen, there won’t be anybody but us. And the ghosts.”

She bats my arm, “God, stop.”

“You believe in them?”

“No.”

“I do.” 

She shivers and says softly, “Okay well I don’t want to think about that.”

I peck the crown of her head, “Don’t worry, Just joking. I’ll mind you.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

#Lucky boy #say hi to Jude's dad #making his debut appearance #this whole camping bit was inspired by a time that my friends and I did the same when we were teenagers lmao #there was a tent full of other teenagers across the way #they offered us heroin and we got so scared haha

[mymelodyisme]

Aww no wait Shane headcanon:

Shane’s jacket is so worn and torn because he literally always wears it. He never takes the darned thing off no matter how ugly, ruined, and smelly it might be.

The thing is, things had been pretty sucky and he was depressed and he needed something, anything. So when he applied to work at joja, they handed him that jacket and said “welcome to the team” he finally has something positive going for him. Although he grew to hate the job, it felt safe, comfortable even. It was the only thing he had going for him even if it meant he was going nowhere.

So he clung onto that jacket, the only stable thing in his life, even after Joja got run out of town. It became his shell. His way to hide from the world.

But then came along the farmer! And slowly the shell became a home. What never left his body found it’s way around the farmer’s shoulders on a cold night walking home from the saloon. On another night the farmer asked to borrow it, Shane didn’t want to admit parting with the ratty thing gave him anxiety but he trusted them enough. The next day it was patched up, just a little, just enough.

Then it began to smell just like farmer, so Shane gave it willingly, sometimes suggesting they take it himself, not that the farmer minded.

Shane’s jacket was only built for one person, one single person to shield themselves from the world, but eventually he found a way to make room for two

#🥺 gosh I’m cringe #anyways I was just thinking about how his jacket would be a good way to show how his relationship with the farmer changes #it starts to come off more as you know him like he’s finally opening up to you until he trusts you and dares to love you and so he drapes #it over you because he’s not alone anymore #stardew valley shane #sdv shane #shane stardew valley #myshane♥️