Apparently ICE now has agents posing as utility workers to get into people's homes. The electric and gas companies have posted information on how to tell if it's one of their workers, and numbers to call to confirm whether they've sent someone to do utility work on your house.
Stay safe, friends.
MAY ICE MELT!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK YOU ICE!!!!
just a friendly reminder that this blog hates ICE
*unfriendly reminder.
If you support ICE or anything of the sort I hope you choke on the damn boot you keep licking
we seriously need to stop conceding to the personhood trap when it comes to abortion rights. is a fetus a person? thats a spiritual question. i dont care about the answer. should another person dictate what someone can do with their body? simple answer: no.
like if a fetus isnt a person it has no right to my body and if a fetus IS a peson it also has no right to my body because there is no other context in which we are required to put ourselves at risk of physical harm to preserve another persons safety or even life.
you dont have to save someone from drowning even if youre a strong swimmer. even in death youre not required to donate organs and that could save several people. you can kill someone if you truly believe your safety is at risk. we dont mandate preservation of life over autonomy in any of these circumstances.
Alternative Part two of the boys getting dosed by Truth Serum but instead of Soap it was Ghost
You met them in the corridor as they hauled Ghost out of the room. He wasn’t fighting. That was the worrying bit. He walked between Gaz and Soap calmly, mask still on, eyes unnervingly clear and focused in a way that made your stomach knot.
“Get him in the side room,” Price ordered. “Door open. I want him where we can see him.”
They plunked Ghost down in a chair in the small debrief room next to observation. Fluorescent light buzzing. Concrete. Chairs that had seen better centuries.
Ghost sat like a very large, very dangerous statue. Hands folded. Boots planted. Every inch of him broadcast: fine, this is fine, I am absolutely fine.
You’d seen him concussed and bleeding and he’d looked more rattled than this.
Price pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Nobody ask him anything not strictly operational.”
“Copy,” you said, and then- because you are a fool- “How you feeling, Lt?”
Ghost looked up, utterly deadpan. “I want to bend you over this table, push your face down, and fuck you until you’re you dripping and needy, taking everything I give you. I’d keep you there- hand on your back, palm round your throat- ‘til you’re sobbing and soaked through. Want to ruin you for anyone else.”
Soap choked. Gaz left his body. Price closed his eyes and saw the war again.
You stared. “I- what?”
Ghost shrugged, that tiny, indifferent lift of his shoulder. “You asked how I’m feelin’. Well, that’s it.” He paused, head tilting to look at your measuring, clinical. “Be a proper fuckin’ picture, you would. Face down on that table, hands flat, tryin’ to hold yourself together. I’d have you arse up, legs wide, spread out for me, beggin’ me to go easy ‘cause you know I won’t. Wouldn’t let up, not till you’re shakin’, voice gone from moanin’ my name, tears on your cheeks from takin’ my cock so deep you feel me in your cunt for days after.”
“Christ on a bike,” Gaz whispered.
“What the hell, Simon?” You asked, gaping at him.
“Can’t lie, love.” His tone was flat, like he was reciting the weather. His gaze slid down your body; slow, clinical, lingering everywhere it shouldn’t. He took his time dragging back up, fixing you with that heavy stare behind the mask. “And seems I can’t shut up either- every time you walk in, I think about how easy it’d be to get you under me. How you’d sound beggin’ with my hand between your legs my fingers buried in your cunt, how good you’d look with your lips wrapped round my cock, droolin’ for it- fuckin’ fantastic. Been wantin’ to say this for ages.”
Soap leaned his hip on the table, grinning like Christmas had come early. “Oh, I like this.”
Gaz pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is a safeguarding violation with legs.”
Price ignored them. “Simon, focus. You know who we are?”
“Course I do, sir,” Ghost said. “You’re my captain. Gaz is tryin’ not to laugh. Soap’s havin’ the time of his life. An’ she- ” he jerked his chin at you, “- is three seconds from either swingin’ at me or climbin’ in my lap and bounce on it.” He paused. “Maybe both if I’m lucky.”
You made a strangled, high pitched sound you’d deny on your deathbed. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t need to excuse you, love,” he said. “Just need you to stretch first.”
Silence. Even the lights stopped humming to watch the show.
“Statistically.” He clarified, tapped the table, perfectly calm. “You look at my hands when I’m cleaning weapons and then rub your throat. Pupils dilate point two millimetres when I call you ‘love’. You stand closer when I’m in a bad mood. You want the monster. Preferably on your couch. Cushions are useless, by the way. Won’t help your back when I fold you in half and bury my dick in your cunt.”
Price massaged his temples. “Simon.”
“Sir?”
“Go easy.”
Ghost considered. “Negative.”
He turned back to you, flat as ever, eyes half lidded. “Tonight, I’d put my knee on the chair, you on your stomach. One hand holdin’ you down, other between your legs, rubbing your clit while I fuck you deep, feel your cunt choking my cock. Want to hear you cry for it. Want to feel you fall apart on me while you’re pinned under my hand like you’re made to be there.”
Gaz slapped a hand over his ears. “Nope. No. Absolutely not. Where’s the volume control- ”
He spun toward the observation console, hand shooting for the dial that controlled the mic feed.
In the split second before he got there, Soap clocked his intention and launched.
“Don’t you DARE!” Soap yelled, rugby tackling Gaz away from the controls. They hit the floor in a tangle of limbs, both swearing.
“MacTavish you bloody bastard!” Gaz wheezed.
“No!,” Soap crowed, trying to pin him. “If you touch that button to drown him out, I’ll bite yer hand off, I’m not missin’ this!”
Price dragged a hand down his face. “Professionalism. I’d like some.”
“Not today, sir,” Soap said from the floor. “Today’s for the lads and he’s about to submit a three point plan.”
Ghost obliged. “Four point plan.” He turned to you again. “One: I eat you until you’re crying. Two: you beg. Three: I pretend I didn’t hear you and keep going. Four: you get stupid enough to say please and I reward good manners. Training matters.”
Your jaw had left its hinges. “You can’t- you don’t talk like this.”
“I do now.” He hummed. “This is nice. We should do this more often.”
Price looked skyward. “I’m instituting a swear jar for any word related to… that.”
“Fucking,” Ghost supplied helpfully.
“Right,” Price snapped. “That’s five quid.”
Ghost nodded. “Worth it.” He turned that blank, laser focus back to you. “Also worth it: you sitting on my face. I would die there. Happy to. Don’t revive me. Leave me. Carve ‘died doing what he loved’ into a cheap pine box and throw me in a canal.”
Soap wheezed, tears leaking. “He’s gone, captain. He’s with the angels.”
You grasped for some kind of footing. “But you’re… You’re always so rude to me.”
“True,” he agreed. “Y’like it.”
“I do not,” you snapped.
“Y’like it,” he repeated calmly. “Your cheeks go pink when I bully you. You clench when I call you a brat. You want me to pin you to the floor and tell you you’re annoying while I make you come on my fingers. Then you want to choke on my cock until you’re drooling down my thighs.”
Your soul tried to escape your body via the ceiling.
Gaz wriggled out from under Soap just far enough to gasp, “I’m loggin’ this as ‘intelligence leak’.”
“Fuckin’ right you are,” Soap laughed. “He’s leaking something.”
You reached for dignity again and came up with a knife. “Say another word and I’ll stab you.”
Ghost nodded, thoughtful as ever, like he was adding notes to your personnel file “Noted. You get off on threatening me. Could’ve guessed, but now I know for sure. Makes things easy, doesn’t it? Because I’ll be honest- not like I have a choice- every time you aim a blade at me, every time you spit and tell me to fuck off, it goes straight to my cock.”
His tone didn’t waver, just that quiet, factual Ghost delivery. “Means we’re well matched. You threaten to stab me, I get hard. I threaten to pin you down and make you beg, you get wet. Could build a relationship off that. Real healthy foundation mutual arousal by violence. Not sayin’ it’s textbook, but it’s honest. You threaten to kill me and I’ll fuck you harder. Win-win.”
“I-!”
He held up a hand, courtroom sober. “For the record, I doubt Price is going to let me rail you right now but since I can’t keep my mouth shut, I’ll just paint you a picture instead: every filthy thing I’m goin’ to do to you once this shit’s out of my system. So you’ve got time to get ready and prepare your affairs.”
“Prepare my-?”
“Wills. Stretching routines. Hydration.” He pointed at your water bottle. “Finish that. You cramp when you’re dehydrated and then you get a headache and make these huffy little annoyed sounds. Cute as fuck. Makes me wanna ruin you.”
Price put his face in his hands. “I’m too old for this.”
Ghost leaned back in his chair, inexorable. “Scenario A: you knock on my door at oh one hundred ‘for a question’. I open it. You pretend to forget the question. I say, ‘Out with it, love.’ You say, ‘I hate you,’ and then try to kiss me to shut me up. I put you against the wall and do not kiss you until you ask properly. Scenario B: stairwell-“
“Stop giving options!” Gaz begged. “Pick one and perish!”
“- Scenario C,” Ghost continued serenely, “gym. You’re doing bench dips. I stand behind you and correct your form. You moan. Pathetic, sweet little sound you pretend is exertion. I call you out. You deny it. Then I- ”
“Simon,” you said through your fingers, “I am literally going to combust.”
“Not literally,” he said. “But later, yes. Screaming and everything.”
Soap slapped the floor. “Actually going to combust.”
You tried one last, limp defense. “You’re mean. All the time. You don’t even like me.”
“Incorrect.” He watched you like you were something he meant to disassemble and polish. “I like you in a way that is both deeply inconvenient and alarmingly structural. If I were a house, you’d be the load bearing wall. I cannot knock you down. I can, however, knock you up- ”
“OUT!” Price barked, pointing at the hallway like an angry dad. “Med bay. Alone. No one talk to him!”
Ghost stood obediently, chair scraping, then paused in the doorway and looked back at you. The tone didn’t change, still that unbothered, sand dry delivery but something hungry flickered behind it.
“Contingency note before I’m banished,” he said. “You keep saying I’m mean. Okay. But you would still let me fuck you.”
You threw the knife. He caught it without looking and set it on the table like a librarian shelving a returned book.
“Also,” he added, the barest tilt to his head, “you’re going to punch me about this later. I endorse it. Normal reasons.”
“What fucking normal-!”
“For the record,” he went on, already turning away, “before any of that? I’m going to make you dinner, wash your hair, kiss your knees, and tell you you did a good job today. Then I’m going to put you on your stomach and- ”
“MED BAY!” Price bellowed, herding him down the hall with both hands like a sheepdog herding a very large, very horny sheep.
The door shut. There was a stunned quiet. Soap rolled over boneless to the floor, giggling into his palms. Gaz sat up and put his head between his knees.
Price exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for ten minutes. “You alright?”
You stared at the empty doorway, brain white noise, thighs pressed together in a way that absolutely wasn’t because of anything he said. “No.”
“Mm.” Price rubbed his face. “He’ll be himself again in a few hours.”
“God,” you said weakly. “You mean worse?”
“Quieter,” Price said. “But he’ll remember. And he’ll mean every word.”
You let that roll through you, catastrophic and warm and terrible.
From down the hall, through the door, came Ghost’s muffled voice with the same implacable calm: “For later documentation: I am going to put my mouth on- ”
“SIMON!” three voices roared in unison.
You mouthed at the ceiling. Then you grabbed your water bottle- hydration, apparently- and took a long drink.
Gaz cheeks pink, eyes wide. “So… gym tomorrow?”
You capped the bottle with shaking hands. “Absolutely not.”
Beat.
“…yes.”
From the hallway: “Mm. Thought so.”
Quite literally perfection
This would have had me crucified on tumblr 10 years ago but maybe we are ready for this conversation now:
If you are a socially anxious person, you have to socialize. Your panic/anxiety attacks will only get worse and trigger more frequently if you constantly avoid contact with The Public. Not saying that you need to be a social butterfly- but there is a genuine problem with not being able to order your own meal at a restaurant. And it cannot be solved by always having someone else do it for you.
This is a PSA to about 3/4s of the Portland Youth populace
everyone who reblogs this and is like "I ordered my own tea this week" or "I only barfed once when I had to give a presentation'- you are doing amazing sweetie. Have patience with yourself, you are relearning a skill so difficult that people get 4 year degrees to do it professionally.
So I read the dad Simon x mom reader where their daughter goes to get her ears pierced. If youre taking requests can we see one with dad simon dealing with his moody teen daughter?
Where she talks amd acts kinda like this: https://www.instagram.com/reel/DKFBr47AtcP/?igsh=MWFzaWtqM3NhMXl0Zw==
I've been loving writing dad!Simon, so here you go! Simon navigating what it means to possibly not be the boss in his own house. Keep the requests coming! And I hope you enjoy!
Simon finds her in the middle of it — her room or what’s left of it. A minefield of clothes, makeup wipes, crumpled homework and God knows what else. His pulse ticks higher the longer he stands there. Every instinct screams to impose order: sort, fold, eliminate. Years of regimented living left him allergic to clutter. To disorder. To mess. His teenage daughter is sitting on the floor, scrolling her phone, headphones on. He clears his throat once.
Nothing.
“Oi.”
She jumps, pulling the headphones down to her neck. “God, you scared me!”
“I’ve been standin’ here two minutes,” he says flatly. “You’d have noticed if you could see past the mountain of laundry.”
She rolls her eyes — actually rolls them — and mutters, “Okayyyy.”
Something tightens in his chest. Not anger, exactly, but that deep, disoriented feeling of being in a place where he’s not exactly in control. He’s led men into firefights and been obeyed on instinct, but this—this beautiful, stubborn little creature he and his wife created together looks at him like he’s background noise.
“You were supposed to clean this,” he says, gesturing around the room. “What d’you call this, then?”
“I was cleaning,” she says, brushing hair from her face. “Just chill, Dad.”
His brow lifts. “Chill?”
“Yeah,” she says, smirking now. “You’re, like… always intense. It’s just clothes. Relax.”
He stiffens, shoulders squaring. “This isn’t about relaxin’. It’s about respect. You live under this roof, you—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Your roof, your rules. Heard it a million times.”
The tone and her scoff hits him harder than he expects. His jaw works, words sitting on his tongue like shrapnel. She doesn’t even look up, just starts thumbing through her phone again, humming along to whatever’s playing.
He’s not used to this. To being ignored mid-sentence. To anyone cutting him off. Command used to be his language—clear, sharp, immediate. But she doesn’t see a lieutenant. Doesn’t see his old mask or even a soldier. She sees Dad. And when she wants something, it’s always Daddy, soft and sure, knowing it’ll undo him completely. And it does. Every time.
Now, though, she’s testing the line. Pushing the boundary just to see if he’ll bend.
“Right,” he says finally, voice low and measured, the kind that used to send grown men snapping to attention. “Phone. Down. Now.”
She looks up, eyes narrowing, defiance flickering just enough to make him forget how small she still is. “Seriously?”
“Do I look like I’m jokin’?”
A beat passes. Then, with an exaggerated sigh and the world’s slowest movement, she sets it down on the floor. “Happy?”
He exhales through his nose. “Ecstatic.”
You appear in the doorway then, leaning against the frame, watching the two of them like you’ve seen this episode before. “Everything all right in here?”
He doesn’t look away from his daughter. “Peachy.”
She crosses her arms, muttering, “You’re so dramatic,” under her breath.
Simon’s lips twitch, almost—but not quite—a smile. He sees you in her right then. The familiar stubbornness he loved when you were first dating. He turns, brushing past you on his way out, muttering, “Your turn, love. I’ve done me part.”
You chuckle. “And here I thought you were fearless.”
He stops at the stairs, glancing back once. “That one,” he says quietly, half-proud, half-exhausted, “she’s gonna run this whole house one day.”
You smile faintly. “Guess she takes after her dad.”
REPOST from @dixonlvr-online (my main account). I’ve been having this problem for months where none of my posts show up anywhere, neither does my account. I don’t know what to do about it, so I’m reposting some of my fics here. Maybe I’ll move here permanently, we’ll see. If you enjoy the fic, please check out more at my main account :)
You had to admit, the kingdom was really beautiful.
It had been a few hours since Rick made his case to King Ezekiel, begging him to join your fight against the Saviors. You saw the frustration on his face when Ezekiel asked you to stay the night, but honestly, you were happy to stay.
You’d just gotten Daryl back, and this place seemed peaceful. It would be nice to reconnect with him over a fresh meal and a warm bed. Besides, you’d passed the gardens on your way in, and you needed to check those out.
Dinner was lively. The members of the Kingdom seemed to enjoy each other’s company, something that reminded you of Alexandria pre-Negan. Every table was full of chatter and high spirits, it seemed.
You were seated beside Daryl, across from Rosita, Sasha, and Morgan. You hadn’t known Morgan all that well to begin with, but it was nice to see him alive and well. You knew Daryl was hurting from the news of Carol’s disappearance, as were you all. You reached out to squeeze his hand, watching a small smile appear on his face.
“What do you think of the Kingdom?” Morgan asked, breaking the silence. You smiled kindly at the man, appreciating his effort to lighten the mood.
“I think it’s nice,” you said. “The people here seem to like it.” Rosita scoffed.
“These people haven’t had to live in the real world. If they knew what was out there, what we were up against, they’d be jumping to fight with us,” she grumbled. Beside her, Sasha nodded.
“How do we know they can even fight?” she said.
“They can,” said Morgan. Sasha fell silent. You hazarded a glance at Daryl, who was staring at his food. The rest of dinner was quiet, save for the conversations around you.
Once you’d cleared your plates, you took Daryl’s hand and led him outside.
“Where we goin’?” he grunted, following you despite his question. You remained silent, letting the destination speak for itself. It was dark out now, and everyone was inside, finishing dinner and preparing for bed, so you had the gardens to yourself.
You led him through the beds, surveying the different fruits and vegetables they had growing, until you found the flowers. They were blooming everywhere, a variety of hues and shapes and sizes. You grinned, glancing at Daryl for his reaction.
Instead of observing the flowers, he was looking at you. He had a faint smile on his face that he brushed off with embarrassment when you caught him staring. You giggled, pulling him over to a nearby bench.
“Let’s sit here awhile, okay?” you suggested. Daryl nodded, taking the seat next to you. You snuggled up close to him, letting him place an arm around your shoulders. You breathed a deep sigh.
“Do you think they’ll help us?” you asked. Daryl grunted.
“Dunno. Don’t seem like this King is eager for a fight. Bet that tiger could do some damage, though,” he said. You laughed, burrowing your head into his shoulder.
“I’ve always wanted a pet. Why haven’t you gotten me a tiger yet?” you teased. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel Daryl rolling his eyes.
“Stop. Ya don’t want a pet tiger, woman. Can’t keep a tiger in yer bed at night,” he reasoned. You smiled.
“That’s true. Guess we’ll have to get a dog instead,” you said.
“Guess so,” said Daryl. The two of you indulged the quiet for a moment, images of the future dancing in your heads.
“It’s nice here. I wish we could stay,” you said, quietly so as not to disturb the peace of the moment. “I wish we could stop fighting.” Daryl remained silent. You knew what he was thinking. In a world like this, there was no surviving without fighting.
“We’ll get it,” he finally said. “One day, we’ll get that.” You nodded. The stars above you were bright, glistening down on the two of you like a beacon of hope. Hope for the future. Hope for better days like this one.
As you felt your eyelids begin to droop, a flash of light caught your eye.
“Did you see that?” you asked, now wide awake. Daryl nodded, pointing up at where the falling light had been.
“I saw it. A shootin’ star,” he said. You grinned, looking up at the man.
“Did you make a wish?” you asked. Daryl bit his lip, nodding slowly. You gently nudged him in the ribs.
“Well, tell me what you wished for,” you pressed. Daryl snorted, grabbing your hand before you could push him again.
“Don’t think I’m s’posed to tell ya,” he said. You huffed, resigning yourself to his answer and settling in again. He held you close, his warmth spreading through your body. After a moment, he spoke.
“I wished that every day could be like this one,” he said. You smiled. You wouldn’t admit it, but you’d wished for the same thing.
Summary: Everyone knew that you and Daryl were together. That doesn’t stop the new group member from shooting his shot, maybe a little too aggressively, and Daryl isn’t happy about it.
Warnings: protective!Daryl, fem reader, swearing, threats, angst, unwanted touching, suggestive talk at the end, etc.
~
No one thinks that they’ll find love at the end of the world. Especially Daryl Dixon, of all people. That is… until you.
Daryl was a hard shell of a man with a heart bigger than anyone you had ever met. The day Michonne and Maggie came back from a supply run with another figure behind them, everyone was surprised. No one had been brought back to Alexandria in so long. This resulted in people concluding that they were the only people left in the area.
Daryl was the one to open the gate to allow the three women back into the gated community. Besides from Michonne and Maggie, Daryl was the first member of the community you laid your eyes on. He scared you, he scared you for a long time. There was a while after settling into your new home that you were scared to leave your home. You had lost everything and everyone- you had been alone for so long. It was almost as if you didn’t know how to be apart of a group anymore.
Looking back on those memories now still makes you laugh to this day. To say you’ve grown as a person is an understatement- you changed. You weren’t a scared woman anymore who couldn’t even make eye contact. You were better, healthier, and bolder.
You were officially introduced to Daryl through Rick. Daryl didn’t say much, simply grunted as an acknowledgement to your greeting. It pained you- you knew everyone saw you as weak. But, despite the bad first impression, something about you sparked Daryl’s interest.
So, he started coming around more. Some days he would even sit on the porch with you and talk about the past. He found himself opening up to you about things he hadn’t even told Carol, and you soon understood his rough exterior.
Now, 2 years later, that same man allows you to put his hair in a ponytail and loves to make you breakfast. No one would have expected Daryl to be this soft for a person, but he was for you. He loved you more than he ever remembered loving anyone.
“He’s starin’ again.”
Daryl’s gruff voice brought you out of your thoughts. You weren’t sure as to what he was talking about.
The small fire you and the group were sitting around illuminated the features of everyone around you. You looked up, trying to see who Daryl was talking about, only to immediately lock eyes with Tyler. You instantly regretted ever looking.
You looked away fast. Daryl’s hands tightened around your waist- he was burning holes in Tyler’s direction. The two didn’t like each other for two simple reasons: Daryl had you, and Tyler wanted you.
It was uncomfortable to be under another male gaze. It made you shiver in your skin and adjust yourself uncomfortably in Daryl’s lap.
“Leave it alone, Daryl.” You whispered softly to him, placing your hand over his. Daryl was tense, that’s for sure. Tyler had stopped looking after noticing Daryl shooting daggers in his direction.
“Nah, he’s gon’ learn.” Daryl speaks, finally tearing his eyes away from the younger male and looking at you. You were only inches from Daryl’s face, locking eyes with him through his bangs. You couldn’t help the smile that crawled into your lips.
“You’ve got me, baby. He’s nothing,” you reassured knowing that was what Daryl needed. Tyler glanced over at the couple and grimaced, not liking how close they were.
“Damn right,”
You giggled and placed a soft, quick kiss on his forehead. Daryl leaned into it, grunting.
The night drew on, everyone sitting and laughing around the fire as if there wasn’t a problem in the world. Daryl loosened up a bit after a while, soaking in your scent. He talked to Rick while you listened in and even added to the conversation here and there. You weren’t one for conversation, so they didn’t mind when you would speak up.
But, again, you felt eyes burning holes into your head. You knew you shouldn’t look, but you did anyway. Tyler’s eyes met yours when he noticed you looking, but he looked away quickly. You huffed in annoyance, not appreciating the extra attention.
“You alright?” Daryl questions, feeling your sigh. You were quick to plaster a smile on your face as if nothing had happened, standing up from his lap.
“Yes, everything’s fine.” You said softly to him, “It’s cold, I’m going to go grab a blanket real fast.”
You weren’t entirely lying. It was a chilly night and the fire wasn’t emitting as much heat as you liked. But, deep down, you really just needed break from Tyler’s gaze.
“Alright,” Daryl nodded, letting go of your hand. You smiled at him and made your way to the house which, thankfully, wasn’t far. Everyone was out by the fire so no one thought much of your absence.
It didn’t take you long for you to walk into the house and grab a blanket from off the couch. While you were in there, though, you went ahead and got a cup of water for your unusually dry throat.
Gulping down the refreshing liquid, you heard the front door open. You weren’t worried, though, figuring someone needed to use the bathroom.
When you didn’t hear the door close, though, you turned around. You were undeniably uneasy when you saw Tyler standing there, the front door slightly cracked behind him, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet like he had something to say but didn’t know how to say it. You were confused, giving him a weird look as you placed your glass on the counter in-front of you.
“Um.. hey,” you spoke, obviously weirded out, “Do you need something?”
“I’m just trying to understand something..” Tyler starts to speak boldly, taking you by surprise how blunt he was being, “What do you see in him?”
You blinked and furrowed your eyebrows. Was he serious?
“Excuse me?” You scoffed, resting your hands on the counter.
“You know what I’m talking about, Y/N,” he said confidently, stepping closer, “The guy doesn’t even shower. What is so special about him?”
You didn’t appreciate your love for Daryl being questioned or your intentions.
“I’m not talking with you about this,” you speak quickly, grabbing the blanket you came for, “I don’t owe you shit.”
You went to walk past him, hoping he would catch the drift and drop it. Hopefully never even talk to you again. But, those dreams were shattered when he grabbed your wrist aggressively.
“Don’t walk away from me, Y/N.” He spoke lowly, it almost frightened you, “I think you’re trying to leave cause you know I’m right. He’s not good enough for you.”
“Tyler, if you don’t let me go, I’m going to break your arm.” You spat, not letting your nervousness get the best of you. He only tightened his grip, looking between you and his hand on your wrist, almost debating what he wanted to do.
“She said let go, you hard of hearin’?”
Daryl. He had seen it all, standing outside the door listening before making his way into the house. He grew concerned when he saw Tyler get up and leave the fire and wanted to make sure you were okay. Clearly, his fears were justified.
Tyler’s eyes widened at the sight of Daryl. He immediately dropped your wrist, letting you go as if you were fire and had burned him. He started backing away, hands up in defense.
“W-We were just talking, man.” Tyler stuttered out nervously. Daryl looked at you and you gave him a look telling him how uncomfortable you were. He snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side before looking back to Tyler.
“Tell ya what,” Daryl speaks, “If I ever find ya even talkin’ to her again, I’ll blow yer fuckin’ brains out.”
Tyler looked like he was ready to piss himself. He nodded in agreement aggressively, ready to leave the tense situation. But, as he went to leave the room, Daryl grabbed him by the arm.
“And if I ever see ya touch my woman again, I’ll make ya cry for yer mama before I let the walkers have ya.”
That was enough for Tyler. He bolted out the door, making you laugh. Daryl had an amused smirk on his face, knowing you got a kick out of that.
“My hero.” You joked, leaning up to catch Daryl’s lips in yours. He grunted against your kiss and held onto your hips, pulling you into his front. You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Your hands tugged at his hair as he deepened the kiss, putting his hand on the small of your back to keep you upright and pressed against him.
Daryl felt his jeans tightening by the second, so he knew you could feel him hardening against you.
Pulling away, you smiled at him, biting your bottom lip.
“Wanna take this upstairs?” You suggested, bringing your hands to play with the hem of his shirt.
“Hell yea.”
