Pinned
Derek Danforth
The woods had gone quiet again. Not the kind of quiet that came with peace — the kind that made your skin crawl. The air felt heavy, thick with heat and something else I couldn’t name.
We’d been walking since sunrise, weaving through what used to be a trail but had long since been swallowed by roots and moss. The earth smelled like rain and rot. Daryl moved ahead of me in that careful, deliberate way of his — every step light, every sound accounted for. I tried to match his pace, but his legs were longer, stride steady and sure.
“Stay close,” he said, not even turning around.
“I am close,” I said, a little breathless, a little annoyed.
He glanced over his shoulder just long enough to raise one eyebrow. The kind of look that said, You always say that before you do something stupid. I didn’t answer — just gave him a small grin. It was almost fun, getting that reaction out of him.
The truth was, I liked when he got that look — the mix of exasperation and worry he’d never admit was worry.
A few minutes passed before something shiny caught my eye off to the right. Sunlight flickered through the trees, bouncing off metal — maybe a canteen, maybe a bit of scrap, maybe something useful. I hesitated. Daryl was always telling me not to wander, but we were running low on supplies, and it wasn’t far. Just a few steps.
Just a few steps, I told myself.
The brush crunched under my boots as I moved off the trail. I bent to look, pushing aside a clump of ferns. It wasn’t a canteen — just a piece of old fencing twisted half into the dirt. Useless. I sighed and turned back toward the path.
Except… the path wasn’t there.
At least, not where I thought it was.
“Daryl?” I called, scanning through the trees. The woods looked different from this angle — darker somehow, shadows stretching longer.
No answer.
I listened. The birds had stopped. Even the wind had gone still. My pulse started to thrum louder than the silence.
“Hey, Daryl!” I tried again, louder this time, voice cracking in the still air.
Nothing.
I took a careful step back toward where I thought he’d been, brushing branches aside. My foot caught on something — a wire maybe — and before I could react, a snap cut through the air, followed by a bolt of pain so sharp I couldn’t even scream at first.
The ground came up hard and fast, knocking the breath out of me. I gasped, clutching at my leg — the metal jaws of an old trap gleamed through the dirt, clamped tight around my calf.
“Oh God—” My voice broke.
I tried to pull free, but the movement sent another spike of pain straight up my side. My vision blurred for a second.
“Daryl!” I shouted again, the name tearing out of me this time.
Leaves rustled in the distance — quick, heavy steps, not the slow shuffle of a walker.
Relief hit me so hard I almost laughed. I’d know that sound anywhere.
“Brooke?” His voice cut through the woods, rough and desperate.
“Here!” I called back, trying to sound steady, failing completely.
The sound of him crashing through the underbrush got closer. I leaned my head back against the tree trunk, heart pounding, eyes stinging. The pain was sharp, but not half as sharp as the fear — not of the trap, not of the woods — but of what his face might look like when he saw me like this.
Branches snapped somewhere behind me, sharp and fast — too heavy to be a walker. Before I could even call out again, Daryl came crashing through the trees, crossbow up, eyes scanning the shadows like he was ready to kill the woods themselves.
When he saw me, he stopped so abruptly it was like the world itself froze with him.
“Jesus, Brooke—” His voice hit low and tight, breaking halfway through my name.
“I’m okay,” I lied.
The look he gave me said he didn’t buy that for a second. He crouched beside me, breath quick but steadying as his eyes swept over the trap biting into my leg.
The metal teeth were rusted, but the pain was bright and merciless. Every throb felt like it might split me in half.
Daryl dropped his bow, knife already in hand. “Don’t move.”
“Wasn’t plannin’ to,” I muttered, though my voice came out thin and shaking.
He worked fast — too fast. The blade scraped against the mechanism, his hands slick with dirt and blood. I could see his jaw clench tight, a muscle ticking hard. His breath came through his nose, sharp and uneven.
“Hold on,” he said, quieter now. “I got ya.”
The words hit something in me harder than the pain did. Because it wasn’t just something he said — it was a promise, raw and instinctive, like breathing.
He wedged the knife under the hinge, straining against it. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, trying not to cry out.
When the trap finally gave with a metallic snap, the release sent a white-hot burst of pain through my leg. My vision blurred, and I fell forward before I even realized it — right into him.
His arm came up instantly, catching me. I felt the rough fabric of his shirt, the solid warmth of him, the way his heart was pounding so hard I could feel it through his chest.
“Easy now,” he said, voice low and steady, though his hands trembled just slightly against my back. “You’re alright. I gotcha.”
He kept saying that — I gotcha. Like he needed to remind both of us.
I let out a shaky breath. “I thought you were mad.”
“I am,” he said, and I could hear the truth in it — but it was softer than anger. “Don’t mean I ain’t worried.”
That shut me up fast.
He tore a strip from his sleeve, the fabric ripping loud in the quiet. His fingers brushed my skin as he wrapped it tight around my leg. The pressure burned, but I didn’t tell him to stop.
His hands were careful. Gentle, even. It was strange — seeing someone built for survival, for violence, move with that kind of tenderness.
When he tied off the bandage, he sat back on his heels and looked at me. “Can you stand?”
“Maybe.” I tried to move, but pain shot through me again, sharp enough to make me gasp.
That was all it took.
Without another word, he slid his arm under my knees and lifted me like I weighed nothing.
“Daryl—”
He cut me off with a look. “Don’t even.”
I didn’t.
The world tilted as he stood, the movement steady and sure. My arms went around his shoulders automatically, fingers catching in his vest. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine — quick, uneven.
The forest seemed quieter now, the danger farther away. He started walking, every step cautious but firm. His grip never loosened.
“You told me to stay close,” I said after a while, trying to fill the silence.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “You don’t listen worth a damn.”
There was no heat behind the words. If anything, they sounded like relief.
“I saw something shiny,” I murmured.
He huffed, almost a laugh. “Ain’t worth losin’ a leg over.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder. The pain had dulled to a steady throb, but the exhaustion hit hard now that I wasn’t fighting it. The sound of his heartbeat filled the small space between us, steadying me more than his words ever could.
For a long time, neither of us spoke. The woods whispered around us again — wind stirring through the branches, the faint creak of leather with every step he took.
Finally, he said, quiet and rough, “Don’t scare me like that again.”
I wanted to tell him I wouldn’t. That I’d stay close next time. But we both knew I couldn’t promise that.
So instead, I said, “You always find me, though.”
He didn’t answer — but his hand tightened a little at my side, and that said enough.
Daryl didn’t stop until we found a break in the trees — a small hollow where the ground dipped and sunlight spilled through like warm honey. The sounds of the forest felt distant here, hushed. It was the kind of place you’d almost call peaceful, if your leg wasn’t bleeding.
He knelt, easing me down onto a fallen log covered in moss. His hands were steady but careful, his touch lighter than I expected for someone who could break a man’s arm without blinking.
“Here,” he muttered, pulling off his pack. “Need to clean it first.”
The way he said it wasn’t harsh. Just practical. But underneath it, I could hear it — that thread of worry he tried to hide behind all that grit and silence.
I nodded, watching as he uncapped a small flask. The smell of old metal and rainwater drifted up as he poured it over a torn bit of cloth.
“Gonna sting,” he said, voice low.
“Figured,” I said, trying for a smile.
When the wet cloth touched my skin, it burned sharp and bright. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood. He froze immediately, like he’d been the one hurt.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
I shook my head. “Keep going. I’m fine.”
He did — slower now, gentler. His thumb brushed against my knee while he wiped away the grime, and it sent a shiver up my spine that had nothing to do with pain. He didn’t notice — or maybe he did, and just didn’t say anything.
The silence stretched between us, full but not uncomfortable. I could hear the soft rasp of his breath, the quiet splash of water against fabric.
“You always look like that,” I said after a while.
He glanced up, one brow raised. “Like what?”
“Like you’re mad at the world.”
He gave a small huff, almost a laugh. “Ain’t mad. Just don’t got much to smile about.”
I tilted my head, watching him work. “You do when you think nobody’s lookin’.”
That earned me a look — quick, sideways, something between surprise and amusement. “You watchin’ me now?”
“Maybe.”
His mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close enough that I felt something ease in my chest.
When he finished, he tore a strip from his sleeve, the fabric giving with a rough sound. He wrapped it around my leg, his fingers brushing my skin with every pass. The warmth of his hands against my cold skin made the world feel smaller, quieter.
“Too tight?” he asked.
“No,” I said softly. “It’s good.”
He nodded, still focused. “You oughta stop wanderin’ off. Don’t matter how small you are, you ain’t invisible.”
“Small?” I raised an eyebrow. “That a compliment or an insult?”
He smirked faintly. “Means you’re hard to keep track of.”
“I thought you liked a challenge.”
He didn’t answer, but the look he gave me — that small, half-hidden thing in his eyes — said more than he probably meant it to.
When he finally sat back on his heels, I could see the tension in his shoulders start to loosen. “That should hold till we get you back.”
I exhaled, the ache in my leg dulling to something bearable. “Guess I owe you again.”
He shook his head. “Don’t owe me nothin’, Brooke.”
The way he said my name — soft, careful — made my chest tighten.
I reached out before I could talk myself out of it, resting my hand lightly on his forearm. His skin was warm, rough from work and sun. “You always come through for me, you know that?”
He looked down at where my hand touched him, then back at me. For a second, the guarded look in his eyes slipped away.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Ain’t ever gonna stop, neither.”
It wasn’t a promise he said lightly. With Daryl, words like that meant something.
For a while, we just sat there — him close enough that our shoulders brushed now and then. The air smelled like pine and earth, the light fading into that soft, golden haze that comes before dusk.
“You make it sound like forever,” I said.
He didn’t look at me, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch again. “Maybe it is.”
Something in my chest ached at that — a slow, warm ache that settled deeper than fear ever could.
I leaned back against the log, exhaustion creeping in. He stayed where he was, crossbow within reach but his gaze still flicking toward me every few seconds, like he needed to make sure I was real.
After a while, I whispered, “You don’t have to keep watch. I’m okay.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Just wanna make sure.”
The woods stretched out quiet and endless around us, but sitting there with him — the rough edges of his voice, the warmth of his presence — I didn’t feel small or lost anymore.
Just safe.
And maybe a little bit seen.
The sun was low by the time we started moving again — just enough light left to stain the sky a dull orange between the trees. The air was cooling, thick with that early-evening damp that carried the smell of pine and smoke.
Daryl slipped his arm under mine, steadying me with a kind of care that didn’t match the rest of him. Everything about him looked rough — his clothes, his hands, the hard line of his jaw — but the way he touched me… it was careful, almost reverent.
“Take it easy,” he said, voice low, steady.
I gave a small, breathless laugh. “You act like I got a choice.”
He didn’t smile, but his eyes flicked toward me, soft for half a second before he looked away. “You always got a choice. Just don’t make the dumb ones.”
“Wow,” I said. “Such faith in me.”
“Don’t start.”
That earned a real smile out of me. It felt good — something light breaking through the ache in my leg. He always tried so hard to sound annoyed, but the way he kept glancing down to make sure I was steady gave him away.
We moved through the trees slowly, the shadows stretching long and thin around us. Every few minutes, he’d shift closer, his hand finding my waist when the ground sloped or when I stumbled. He didn’t say much, but the silence between us didn’t feel empty. It felt full — thick with things he didn’t know how to say.
“Daryl?” I murmured after a while.
He made a small sound — not quite a word.
“You were scared.”
He stiffened a little, the arm around me tightening. “Ain’t the word I’d use.”
“Looked like it to me.”
He gave a short grunt. “You don’t know what scared looks like.”
“I do,” I said quietly. “You just hide it better than most.”
He didn’t answer, and that silence said everything. I could hear his breath — slow, controlled, like he was working hard to keep it that way.
Finally, after a few long moments, he said, “Thought I lost you.”
The words came out rough, like he’d been holding them in too long.
I looked up at him. His eyes were fixed on the trail ahead, but his jaw was tight, his expression unreadable. “One second you were there,” he said. “Then it was just… quiet.”
He shook his head slightly. “Hate that kinda quiet.”
I didn’t know what to say at first. There was something raw in his voice — not anger, not even frustration, but something deeper. Fear, maybe. Or loss.
“You didn’t lose me,” I said softly.
He gave a slow nod, but it didn’t seem to reach him.
The path dipped then, and my leg gave out for just a second. He caught me instantly, pulling me closer, one arm firm around my waist. My hand landed against his chest, feeling the solid thump of his heartbeat under my palm.
He didn’t let go. Not right away.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice a little too tight.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “Just dizzy.”
His gaze flicked to mine — sharp blue softened by worry. There was so much in his eyes I didn’t have the words for.
“Don’t do that again,” he said quietly.
“What, get dizzy?”
He huffed a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it wasn’t so tired. “Don’t disappear on me like that.”
The way he said it — low, almost a whisper — made my chest ache. He wasn’t ordering me. He was asking. Pleading, in that Daryl Dixon way where a single sentence carried everything he didn’t know how to say.
“I won’t,” I said, meaning it.
We stood there for a long moment, the forest stretching out around us in stillness. The wind stirred the leaves, and the last of the sunlight caught his face — painting the scars and lines in gold.
“Hey,” I said softly. “For what it’s worth… I was scared too.”
He frowned a little. “Of what?”
“Losing you.”
He blinked, once, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. His breath caught — barely noticeable, but I felt it.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us buzzed, warm and heavy. Then, with a small, almost uncertain motion, he reached out and brushed his fingers against my cheek, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. His hand hovered there, just long enough for me to feel the warmth of his skin.
He pulled back a second later, looking away like the gesture meant more than he meant it to.
“C’mon,” he murmured, voice softer now. “Let’s get you back before dark.”
He adjusted his arm around me, and we started walking again — slower this time, steps falling into rhythm. His hand stayed against my side, and when the path grew uneven, his thumb brushed lightly against my ribs, steadying me.
We didn’t talk after that. We didn’t need to.
The woods around us grew darker, the shadows long and familiar, but I didn’t feel afraid anymore. Not with him there, guiding me one step at a time, as if he’d walk all night just to make sure I didn’t fall again.
And maybe that’s when it hit me — that quiet truth sitting just under my heartbeat: He’d never say it out loud. But Daryl Dixon loved in actions, not words.
And right then, that was enough.
By the time we reached camp, night had settled deep over the woods. The fire Daryl built earlier had burned down to a faint orange glow, flickering against the trees like a heartbeat. He helped me lower myself onto the log beside it, one arm still braced around me until he was sure I wouldn’t fall. Even then, he didn’t step back right away.
“Sit still,” he muttered.
“I am sitting still,” I said, and couldn’t stop the small smile that came with it.
He huffed — that familiar sound halfway between a sigh and a laugh — then knelt to check the bandage on my leg. The light danced across his hands as he worked, the callouses and scars catching the glow.
“Looks better,” he said after a moment.
“Because of you.”
He shrugged like it was nothing. “Ain’t nothin’.”
But it was — it always was. Every time he patched me up, every time he came back for me, every time he looked at me like I was someone worth saving.
The fire popped, and a spark drifted up into the dark. I watched it disappear into the night sky and let the silence stretch between us. With Daryl, silence wasn’t awkward. It was something alive — filled with the sounds of the forest, the whisper of wind, the quiet hum of his presence beside me.
“You ever notice how quiet it gets after dark?” I asked.
He looked at me, eyes reflecting the firelight. “Ain’t quiet to me.”
“No?”
He shook his head slowly. “Can hear everythin’. The fire. Wind in the trees. You breathin’.”
The last words slipped out low, unguarded. He seemed to realize it right after he said it, eyes flicking away, but I caught the faint color rising in his cheeks.
I smiled. “Guess you’re listenin’ too close then.”
He grunted, but didn’t deny it.
For a long time, we just sat there. The flames softened his face, turned his eyes a warmer kind of blue. I could see the exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders, the weight of everything he carried — all the fear he’d never say out loud.
“Hey,” I said quietly. “Thank you. For finding me. For not giving up.”
He shook his head. “Ain’t somethin’ I’d ever do.”
The way he said it made my chest ache.
“You didn’t have to come back for me that day we met,” I said. “You didn’t have to stay, either.”
He looked at me then, steady and unflinching. “Didn’t have to,” he said. “Wanted to.”
The words hung there, simple and certain.
I reached out, fingers brushing against his wrist. His skin was warm from the fire, rough under my touch. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand turned — slow, deliberate — until his fingers tangled with mine.
We stayed like that, neither of us speaking. The fire cracked again, the sound small and human in the middle of so much quiet.
When I finally looked up, he was already watching me. His expression was unreadable at first — that same guarded look he wore like armor. But then something softened in it, and I felt the air shift between us.
“Daryl,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer, just leaned in — slow enough that I could’ve stopped him if I wanted to. I didn’t.
The kiss was gentle. Barely more than a brush of lips, like a question asked and answered all at once. There was no rush, no need to make it more than what it was. Just warmth, and quiet, and the steady beat of his heart beneath the space between us.
When we finally pulled apart, he stayed close, forehead resting against mine. His breath was soft against my cheek.
“Should get some rest,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “You too.”
He nodded but didn’t move away. His thumb traced a small circle at the back of my neck, slow and absent, like he was afraid to let go too soon.
The fire burned lower, throwing long shadows across the ground. The night felt heavier, but not in a bad way — just full. Full of the things we didn’t have to say out loud.
I closed my eyes and leaned into him. For the first time in a long while, I wasn’t thinking about what might come next, or who we’d have to fight tomorrow.
Just the warmth of him beside me. The sound of the fire. The quiet comfort of knowing he was there.
Safe. Enough.
paring x fem reader and daryl dixon
Summary: You, a fierce survivor in a world turned upside down, find yourself on a supply run with the stoic and elusive Daryl Dixon. Facing danger and unexpected revelations, you discover the bond you share is stronger than you ever imagined
The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden rays that fought through the leaves of the surrounding trees. You glanced over at Daryl as you made your way down the narrow path, a crossbow slung over his shoulder, the tension in his posture relaxed but alert. The air was thick with the scent of earth and decay, a constant reminder of the world you now lived in.
"Keep your eyes peeled," Daryl murmured, his voice low, pulling you from your thoughts. You nodded, trying to match his focus. Supply runs were always risky, but you felt a surge of excitement knowing you were out here with him. Daryl was a mystery wrapped in a leather jacket, and every moment spent with him felt like peeling back layers of that mystery.
You reached the old storefront, its windows grimy and cracked, a haunting reminder of a more normal life. Inside, the shelves were mostly bare, but you hoped to find something valuable.
“Stay close,” Daryl instructed, moving ahead cautiously. You followed, heart racing with both anticipation and the thrill of the hunt.
As you entered the store, the eerie silence was almost deafening. Dust danced in the beams of light breaking through the cracks. Daryl moved like a shadow, scanning the area before signaling you to follow him deeper into the store.
“Check over there,” he pointed to an old metal shelf. You nodded and began rummaging through leftover cans and jars. A quick glance at Daryl revealed he was focused on the aisle ahead, looking for any sounds of danger.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the back of the store, making you both jump. Daryl's body tensed, and he darted toward the sound, instinct taking over. You followed closely, heart pounding.
As you turned the corner, you were met with a group of walkers, disheveled and stumbling, having knocked over a shelf while trying to reach you. Panic bubbled up in your throat. “Daryl!”
“Get back!” he shouted, pushing you behind him as he pulled his crossbow into position.
With a practiced precision, he took down one walker after another, and you could only watch in awe and fear. Just when you thought it would be over, one of the walkers lunged from your blind spot. You barely had time to react as it tripped and fell into you, knocking you to the ground.
“Y/N!” Daryl yelled, turning. In a heartbeat, he was there, pulling you to safety and dispatching the last walker with a swift motion. As the cold stillness enveloped the store once more, Daryl crouched beside you, breathless, eyes wide with concern.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than usual. You nodded, even though your heartbeat hadn’t slowed. The adrenaline still coursed through your veins.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you managed to say, catching your breath. But as you looked into his eyes, something shifted between you—a connection intensified by the near-death experience.
He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “That was too close.”
“Thank you for saving me,” you said, sincerity pouring from your words.
Daryl hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor, a mixture of emotions crossing his face. You felt the weight of the moment hang in the air, tension thrumming like a live wire.
“Y/N…” he began slowly, then paused again. “I—look, I ain’t good at this kinda stuff.” He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you mean a lot to me, more than I thought anyone could.”
Your heart skipped a beat as his words sunk in. “Daryl…”
“I just… I don’t want anything to happen to you. And I guess that scares me more than anything else.” His vulnerability was a stark contrast to the tough exterior he wore so well.
In that moment, you realized how deeply you cared for him too. “I feel the same way, Daryl. I want us to be safe together.”
He looked up, surprise etched on his face, and a smile—a rare one—broke through the ruggedness. “Guess we make a good team, huh?”
“Yeah,” you smiled back, warmth spreading through you. “The best team.”
paring x fem reader & Rick Grimes
era season 3
summary: you and rick are in a secret relationship and you and Daryl go out for a run and it turned out more complicated then what you thought it would be
Warning: walker guts strong
The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows among the remnants of a world that had gone mad. As the light dimmed, I tightened the straps on my backpack, checking its contents one last time. Daryl stood nearby, his crossbow cocked and ready, scanning the abandoned street for any signs of movement. We had come for supplies—food, ammunition, anything that could help us and the group back at the prison. With every outing, the stakes felt higher; the world had a way of reminding us we were all just a breath away from being devoured.
“Let’s make this quick,” Daryl muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “Don't want to attract too much attention.”
I nodded, though my mind was elsewhere—always was lately. Rick. This mission felt perilous, but it wasn't just the walkers that had my heart racing. It was the thought of getting back to the prison, to him, where we had carved out our own stolen moments amidst the chaos. Our secret meetings had become the only light in this dark world, a guilty pleasure amidst the tension of survival.
With Daryl leading the way, we picked our way through an old grocery store. The place was a wreck—shelves toppled over, glass littering the floor like dangerous crystals. The smell of rot filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of decay that followed the undead. My stomach twisted in knots, but I pushed that aside. We needed to focus.
“Over here,” Daryl said, pointing toward a door that led to the stockroom. I followed, stealing glances around us, half-expecting the dead to spring out from the shadows.
The stockroom was dark, and I flicked my flashlight on and off, illuminating scattered boxes of canned goods. Daryl moved with purpose, collecting what he could fit in his bag. I was about to reach for a box when I heard it—the unmistakable shuffle of feet, the low moans of the walkers. My heart dropped.
“They found us,” Daryl said, his voice sharp with urgency.
Panic surged through me. “How many?”
“Too many,” he replied, urgency fueling his movements as he grabbed his crossbow and stepped toward the doorway.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I prepared for the worst. We had no choice. We couldn’t get trapped here. Daryl nodded toward the exit, and we both steeled our nerves as the first walker shuffled into view, its decayed mouth slack and hungry.
With a quick motion, Daryl shot an arrow, the bolt thudding into the walker’s skull, dropping it like a ragdoll. But as soon as that one fell, two more appeared, then a dozen. The sound of their groans filled my ears, drowning out my thoughts.
“Go!” Daryl shouted, grabbing my arm. We raced toward the exits, dodging the grasping hands of the undead. The methods of survival kicked in; fear turned to instinct. I swung my weapon, the metal meeting flesh with a sickening squelch.
We fought our way through, moving in sync, as if we’d practiced this dance a thousand times. Every step felt alive and exhilarating, yet each moment away from Rick clawed at me. I thought of his eyes, how they lit up when he saw me, how we stole every moment we could in secret. The world around us disappeared as I pushed the thought of him out of my mind—just for a moment—so I could focus on the present danger.
But another walker lurched into my path, and I stumbled, barely registering its grotesque visage before Daryl was there, his crossbow ready, the bolt finding its mark.
“Move!” he yelled, urgency pressing us forward. I followed him outside into the chaos of the world I had come to understand far too well.
The street was a battleground, and there were obstacles everywhere—cars piled up, debris from a civilization lost. The night was closing in, and I knew we had to reach the perimeter where the prison stood.
With a fierce determination, I fought on, drawing on every ounce of strength as Daryl and I pushed through the relentless tide of zombies. It felt like an eternity, but every step felt tethered to my ultimate goal: getting back to Rick.
Finally, we broke free from the pack, running side by side toward the prison's flickering lights in the distance. As we raced across the open ground, I felt hope surge through me, pulling me onward.
When we finally reached the prison gates, breathless and bruised, I glanced at Daryl. “We made it,” I panted, the relief washing over me.
“Yeah, but don’t think it’ll be easy next time,” he replied, a grim smile forming on his lips.
As we ascended the steps and entered the relative safety of the prison, my heart raced—not from the thrill of survival, but from the anticipation of seeing Rick. I knew I’d have to be careful, that every moment would be scrutinized, but that didn’t matter now.
I pushed through the heavy door, my heart pounding as I searched for him. And when I finally saw Rick, standing in the darkness of the hallway, his body tense yet hoping, I felt a warmth bloom in my chest. The chaos outside faded as his eyes locked onto mine, and I knew I would fight through anything, any horror this world could throw at me, just to be by his side.
Rick looks up at me covered in walker guts and runs over to me looking up and down looking for any injuries
“ what happened? Are you okay?” Rick asked worriedly, looking over my body with a concerned look.
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summary: your work colleague is too attractive. smut, fluff. no y/n, protected sex, office, workplace sex. (possible translations errors)
+16 DNI. the reader is an adult
words: 2.0
notes: this is the first time I've posted something like this, so I hope everything will be okay
at the beginning of your work in the office, you didn't like mike. he was always sullen and angry-looking, grumbling to himself and coming to work terribly sleepy. your offices were adjacent, so you could often see him in the mornings or evenings when all went home.
mike often stayed for extra hours after work, and then you got a little closer to him. you needed the money, and mike needed it too. he had a little sister, whom he supported from an early age, putting aside his hobbies and whims. mike became an adult too early. so often, after the extra evening hours of work, you would finish working at the same time, crowd into the office elevator, and say goodbye with a curt nod. he still wasn't very talkative.
that's probably what attracted you to him. he did not speak words to the wind, always kept to himself and did not flatter his boss, for which he sometimes received punishment. once at a meeting, he said something against the boss's new idea, for which he later worked a few extra hours without pay. then you didn't say anything, even though mike expressed your thoughts.
i just, like, read "mike" and read😭😭😭😭 i didnt realize it was a smut, but its well made damn
"SEX" IS WRITTEN AT THE VERY BEGINNING HEELPP LMAO
THIS IS WHY WE ADD WARNINGS ALEX 💔💔
Looks like a cinnamon roll; is actually a cinnamon roll.
Looks like a cinnamon roll; could actually kill you.
Looks like they could kill you; is actually a cinnamon roll.
Looks like they could kill you; could actually kill you.
summary: peeta mows the grass on a hot summer day. fluff. (possible translations errors)
words: 0.4
you didn't know exactly how many degrees it was outside, but it was very hot. this summer was generally very dry, the sun burned your skin, leaving red marks, and lakes and rivers dried up.
and of course, the fact that peeta was blond was scary. in such a situation, he was very exposed to sunlight and ultraviolet rays, you always made him put on a cap when he was working outside, and gently waved his exposed body parts with sunscreen.
mike's new style (possible translations errors)
words: 0.4
mike's wardrobe didn't have any bright hues. his closet was full of gray, white, black, navy blue, and green flowers. he always wore dark clothes so as not to stand out and be invisible.
after one of your sleepovers, when you watched a movie with abby all evening, they stayed at your house. it was cold in the morning, so you gave mike your pink hoodie. of course, he was indignant and angry, saying that it was a bright color, that he didn't wear it and would return it to you the first time they met. It would be silly to say that he didn't return that hoodie to you.
you were wearing oversized clothes, so it suited mike, too, so when you went to his house to look after abby while he went away on business, you saw something you didn't expect.
mike was wearing your pink hoodie and some bright bracelets that abby had woven for him. and the most interesting thing was that he didn't look angry, as if it was his everyday choice of clothes.
you went up to him and kissed him gently on the cheek, it was your little greeting, and then looked him up and down.
"honey, have you been dressing in this style for a long time?.." - mike rolled his eyes at your question and snorted, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath.
"it's just convenient.. especially since the hoodie smells like you.. as a little reminder of you. and the bracelets? I can't help but wear them. abby tried." - mike took out another bracelet made of multicolored beads from his pocket and put it in your hand - "..and this is for you. abby said these are your colors."
the bracelet was made of sky blue, pink and white beads. the baby tried so hard.
“thanks.. and by the way, you can take this hoodie, it suits you.." - you playfully poked him in the side with your finger and went to abby's room. mike blushed like a teenager in love and shouted a weak "bye" to you as he left the house.
