#angst twd

[livigirl58]

incase anyone writes daryl smut and needs any ideas. idek these are just random thing i just thought of [smut with minimal plot possessivemeandomferal daryl x subyounger bratty reader| reader and daryl get into a fight | reader is sad/mad after and reader makes daryl jealous on purpose | darly trying to fight the man reader uses to make him a jealous |angst into angry “your mine” sex with spanking and choking with his arm or bicep around readers neck | daryl has crying kink breeding kink marking kink | making up in the end| daryl making reader go back out in public and basically show off all the marks he left on her making her walk around with his cum dripping from her maybe ]. the gif’s just help with the imagination of it i suppose

[twdfanfics]

Sweetheart (daryl x reader)

Request: Yes, anon

Daryl x reader who struggles w/ self harm?

Warnings: Mentions of self harm - cutting. I don’t want you to think I’m romanticizing it or think of it that way - if you need to talk to somebody my messages are always open. I’ve struggled too, so I understand many of the thoughts that accompany it. <3 

Words: 514

The cold steel of the gun in your hands comforts you as you run your fingers over the barrel and back towards the trigger. You busy yourself counting the number of bullets out you need to fill the cartridge before pushing them in one by one. The repetitive process calms your mind for a the few minutes it takes. Without thinking, you roll up the sleeves of your over sized flannel to keep them from getting in the way.

“Damn, y/n,” Daryl exclaims, concern making his deep, curt voice seem almost soft. “What happened to your arm?” Panic floods your system before your able to get a hold of yourself. He motions to the cluster of thin, shallow wounds going up your forearm. You can’t help but curse yourself mentally for being so dumb as to forgetting about what might be the best kept secret you’ve had for the past few months all to blow it while lost in thought.

“Oh,” you stutter, searching your brain for an excuse that won’t make him even more suspicious, “I got them on a run a bit ago. I’d been running from a walker and scraped it against a tree. It’s nothing to be worried about.” God, I wouldn’t believe myself if I heard that lameass excuse, you scold yourself. It seems like Daryl thinks the same as you because he reaches over and grabs your arm carefully to get a better look.

“No, no,” he mutters, lost in thought. “These ain’t no tree scrapes. Y/n, did you do these?” You yank your arm back with more force than necessary, which tells him all he needs to know. The angry expression you expect to mask his face instead morphs into one of concern and sadness. That somehow makes you feel worse. Him angry is something you can deal with--you’ve seen it time and time again, though, almost always directed towards someone else. This? This you’ve never been good with.

“Sweetheart,” the redneck struggles out. You could almost laugh at his attempt to sound kind instead of being blunt as he can sometimes be if only the situation wasn’t so serious.

“Things have been tough for me recently,” you answer the unasked question you could see forming in his mind. “I didn’t want to talk about it because...I know I need to be tougher. There isn’t time to be weak with the dead out there and the problems we’re already facing--” Daryl cuts you off by leaning in and pushing you to his chest.

A tear runs down your cheek slowly as you realize he’s holding back some of his own. This is what you wanted to avoid--making those around you feel as bad as you were.

“Let’s start by gettin’ these properly bandaged. Then, please, don’ tell me everythin’ if you ain’t ready. Jus let me be there for you. Come to me instead o’ this.” Those are conditions you can agree to. You stay locked in his embrace for a little while longer before pulling back and letting him take care of you.

[twdfanfics]

Cure

Request: Yes, anon

The reader is a incredibly smart and tough teenager hold up alone in part of a hospital/laboratory trying to find a cure for the zombie plague. Because she's alone she needs to go out scavenging for food, fuel for power and supplies to find the cure. While out she encounters the group we know and love but she assumes they're hostile and runs away. The group follows her back to the hospital, after she explains her situation they doubt she'll succeed, until she turns a fresh infected human again.

WARNING: NONE

Words: 1153

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You throw a bag over your shoulder and open the door to the underground bunker you’ve been hold up in since the beginning. However long ago that was, you honestly don’t even know. The streets are abandoned as always. There wasn’t many people out here to begin with--your dad made sure of that when he moved in here about twenty years ago--so there are never any loose bitters out. Now and then you’ll get the occasional one, but usually you round them up and use them for research. You’ve cracked it. What your dad tried so hard to do, but hadn’t lived long enough to succeed. You did it.

A sound coming from the house you’re about to go in startles you and sends you stumbling back to grab your gun before doing anything else. You’ve been doing this for a while now. Kills have become a thing of survival that you try not to think about or worry over. Survival isn’t what it used to be.

You step forward a little bit so you can hear them. Right now they’re arguing and not really being quiet. There are many different voices. You hear about five different ones, but you’re not sure if there aren’t more who are just staying quiet. Quietly, you walk towards the door, wanting to hear what they’re talking about and if they’re good or bad people. Although, you’ve seen enough to have your doubts that anybody is truly good.

“We can’t stay here, there is not protection!”

“Well where else can we stay? We need to rest and it’s best to do it here!”

“How do you--”

You step forward without even realizing, wanting to be able to hear them clearer when you step on a loose board. You gasp, making even more noise. They all stop. Maybe they’ll ignore it? Someone gets up and begins to walk to the door. Before they can come out and shoot you, you run as fast as you can. The door opens, but no bullets go flying. However, you know that someone is following you. Using tactics that your dad showed you doesn’t hope. You zig-zag and throw stuff that you can behind you, even dropping the bag at one point. It’s no use.

The bunker is just within sight when someone tackles you to the ground.

“Get off of me!” you scream. “Get off!” They cover your mouth with their dirt stained hand and you stop screaming. Luckily, there aren’t any bitters around that could come. At least, none that you know of. More and more of the group arrives and the man still has you pinned down. His hair is long and down to his shoulders and looks like it hasn’t been cut even before the apocalypse. His vest hangs off of him and it looks like he hasn’t eaten in quite a bit.

When all of the group is here he gets off of you and forcibly yanks you up. You don’t try to run--there isn’t anywhere to since they’re right outside your hideout.

“Who are you?” the guy demands. His voice is deep and rough.

“Y/n,” you say. “I have the cure.” That’s the first thing you can think to say that will get them to listen to you. They all give you looks of doubt and disbelief. Although, in some of their eyes, you can see hope in their eyes. You want to fuel that hope even more. “I can show you if you let me go back to my bunker. I’ll let you guys see. I’ll show you I’m not lying.” They’re all skeptical, but two men exchange a look that almost says “What harm can she do?” so they let you lead them into the bunker.

Your dad always knew something like this would happen. He was a paranoid scientist. He created this bunker when you were just a kid. You’d always thought he was just being overly cautious creating this, but now you’re grateful that he did. You’d be dead without it.

He had most of the cure finished before he...before he passed away. You were able to perfect it though. You try it out on walkers that you find and, the last time you tried, you’d been able to change them back. They’d been alive, but a few hours later they died from wounds. They were all decayed, so there was no way they could survive. At least, that’s what you hope and they didn’t die because of the antidote you created.

“Well,” the one who seems to be the leader says, “show us.” You rack your brain for how to show them that you’re telling the truth. You’ve got a walker held up, but if the same thing happens as before then they won’t believe you. Suddenly, an idea comes to mind.

“Okay, just wait here for a moment, okay?” Nobody says anything, but he quickly nods. You walks confidently back to the back where they walker is being kept. There is only one way--someone who is freshly bitten. The walker doesn’t hesitate to bite you right on the shoulder like you’d anticipated. It hurts just as much as you’d thought it would, maybe even more, but you are getting skin ripped off of you, so....

“What’s going on?” the leader says, barging down the hall to where you’re standing with blood dripping down your shoulder. He takes the colt python out of his holster and aims it at you.

“Don’t shoot!” you yell. “I won’t be turned for much longer. Watch.” You take a syringe out of my pocket and shove it into your thigh right into a vein. You’ve never been a fan of needles even though your dad dealt with them a lot around you, so it makes you queasy at first. “Now we wait.”

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

You let them stay the night and let them choose where to stay. It’s a small place, built for two people, but they manage to find spots. You agree to stay in the contained area just incase it doesn’t work and you turn in the middle of the night. It was a reasonable request.

It’s hard to fall asleep. Even though you're confident in your work there is always that little voice in the back of your head that says you’re wrong and that this isn’t going to end well. The fact that in the middle of the night, after you’d finally fallen asleep, you get a horrible fever. It scares you horribly, but a few hours later the fever breaks and you feel much better.

In the morning you get up before the rest, not having slept much, and show them. The leader helped you bandage the wound yesterday. It’s enough to convince some of them, but others are still doubtful.A few days later and you’re still not turned, they’re convinced.

“So, you wanna help me save the world?

[twdfanfics]

Taken

Request: Yes, anon

Negan takes Carl as insurance policy till Rick brings him more stuff. There one of the saviors tries to rape Carl but Negan stops him, later Carl feeling so depressed and getting flashbacks from previous attack cuts his wrist but Negan finds him in time and takes him to Carlson

WARNING: CUTTING, SELF HARM, DEPRESSION, SUICIDE, SUICIDE ATTEMPT, RAPE

Words: 1147

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“No!” Rick yells, tears swelling in his eyes. “You can’t take my boy! Please, I’ll get you whatever you want just please don’t take him!”

“I gave your a chance,” Negan says, a huge smile on his lips as he sees how much this is hurting Rick. “I don’t want to take him, but I can’t show you that I’m suddenly going soft. I’m taking him for insurance that you do give me what I want. He’ll be taken good care of.”

Carl sits on the edge of a freshly made bed and stares down at the ground. The last time he was here it was because he had wanted to be here and he had a mission; to kill Negan. Now he’s here because Rick couldn’t deliver what Negan wanted. He was insurance.

There’s nothing to keep him busy or anything for him to do, so he just sits on the bed day after day until someone comes to collect him or Negan swings buy to come and talk to him. He promised that he would because he likes to talk to him or something like that. Carl hadn’t been paying much attention. There was too much anger, sadness, and one hundred other emotions coursing through his veins to pay attention to anything he had to say.

There’s the sound of footsteps outside. Carl looks up, thinking it’s Negan here or one of the wives coming to check on him--they do that often. However, the person who opens the door is not familiar except maybe he’s seen him when walking around the base. Carl gives them a questioning look as he closes and locks, the door.

“What are you doing?” he asks, but doesn’t get an answer. The man advances on him and he tries his best to get away. When that doesn’t work, he starts to scream and hope that someone, anyone, can hear. He’s thrown around and flashbacks of last time on the road with Michonne and Rick begin to resurface quickly.

“Hey!” Negan yells what seems like an eternity later. “Get the fuck away from him right now!” Carl is thrown down and stays there. Wrapping his arms around his body and rubbing spots where he was grabbed to the point of her knows he’s going to have deep bruises there. “Kid.” Negan reaches down, but Carl scoots away from him. He stares down at the cowering boy below him. It’s something that Negan never thought he would see from how confident he always seems.

More people show up, but Negan shoos them away except for a few who he tells to go get certain wives to help. He imagines that they could help Carl better than him. Or at least just keep him company while he deals with the man who is currently knocked out in the corner.

They come quickly and crowd around Carl, letting him cry on their shoulder. It’s easier to be emotionally in front of people who, the past few days, have been like mothers to him. They all offer to stay with him through the night, just to keep an eye on him and make sure that he’s okay. Carl refuses and yells at them until they get out of his room.

Carl’s mind takes him many places. To times before the attack and before Negan or when they were in the prison during the small bit of happiness. His mind even traveled back before everything. He missed school and coming back home to see him mom and helping her out with things around the house. Even getting in trouble back then isn’t nearly is bad as now. He’d take that over this any day.

Everything becomes too much for him and in a fit of anger he stands up  and punches a wall. He hisses and holds his hand, watching as a small bit of blood begin to appear in little droplets along the knuckles. He sits back down on the bed and lays back.

I can’t take this anymore, Carl thinks. I can’t stand this world or this place or anything like that. I can’t take it! I hate this feeling of his hands all over me, I want it to stop! Carls shoots up off the bed and anxiously paces around the room, looking for anything. He pulls open cabinets and drawers. Suddenly he finds what he’s looking for.

The blade is sharp and, when he applies pressure, it cuts deep into his arm. The blood is thick and warm. The pain is horrible at first, but then it dies as the whole earth begins to spin and grow.

“Carl!” a far away voice sounds. Someone grabs him and picks him up, carrying somewhere he doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s out before he ever gets there.

------

Carl groans as he begins to stir. He’s sitting on a bed in the infirmary. His arm hurts more than he could ever describe. After a few moments he gets the courage to look over at his arm. It’s wrapped up with white bandages with small bits of red popping up here and there.

“Ah, I was starting to think you might not wake up,” says a voice. He looks over and see Carlson. He walks over to him and checks out his arm, replacing the bandages and putting on fresh ones. “Negan’s been coming to check on you since you....--”

“Since I cut up my arm?” Carl finishes for him. Carlson nods.

“Yes. I’ll tell him you’re awake.” Carl wants to tell him not to, but there’s no stopping him. “And it’s been two days or so. Maybe three. In case you wanted to know.” Carl nods and lays back down on the bed, not wanting to look at his arm anymore than he has to . What had he been thinking? Soon he’ll  be back with Judith, Rick, and Michonne. Back with everyone. And he almost ruined it. What would Rick say? There’s no way of not noticing.

His thoughts are disrupted when he hears the sound of heavy boots slamming down in the hallway outside. Carl already knows who it is; Negan. He comes bursting in the room, his face laced with anger, hiding any other emotions.

“You’re not allowed to die or hurt yourself like that ever again, you hear me?” Negan says while staring at Carl, his eyes wide and showing that he means what he says. “I said, did you hear me?” Carl nods.

“I hear you.”

“Good.” Carl doesn’t understand why Negan would care so much. He’d threatened to kill him the first time that they saw each other. What’s with this caring thing now? If you could even call it caring. Carl doesn’t think much about it. He stares up at the ceiling and begins to think again, letting it go wherever it wants.

He doesn’t care anymore.

[twdfanfics]

Affair

Request: Yes, anon

can i request a shane imagine where they are at the camp and the reader is married and has a kid, but her husband is abusive so she starts an affair with shane and a couple weeks later she finds out she is pregnant with his child??

WARNINGS: IMPLIED ABUSIVE MARRIAGE

Words: 800

The fact that this is 800 words exact makes me very happy lol

——————————–

“Shane,” you whisper as you two sneak out into the woods. He doesn’t acknowledge you, so you say his name again only more urgent. “Shane, I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up. What if–” Shane turns around cutting you off with a kiss.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his hands guiding themselves down your waist. “He hasn’t figured out yet, has he?” You take in a deep breath, focusing on the feeling of warmth from Shane’s hands. It makes you smile and you kiss him back, more passionately than before.

————

“No,” you say, on the verge of crying. “No, this can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.”

“Y/n!” screams your husband Paul from outside the tent. “Get out, I need to go in there.” You are about to say something about him waiting, but you look down at the birth test in your hand, burning the image of the two lines into your head before stepping out. You make sure Paul doesn’t see the test. You need to go see Shane.

Shane is over talking with Dale. Dale has always had your back. He makes sure Paul never goes too far and calls him out when he does. Paul doesn’t take that well, but whenever he call him out everyone pays attention to the two of them and he knows that he’s outnumbered with everyone here. You’re so grateful for him…but what would he think of you when he finds out.

“Shane,” you say, your voice trembling. Immediately, he whirls around, checking you over for any open cuts or new bruises. “Hey, what’s wrong.” He looks back, making sure he doesn’t see Paul before giving me a hug.

You take the test out of your pocket and put it into his hand, not able to get the words out. Dale has moved away at this point, giving you two your privacy.

“…pregnant?” he says, more to himself than anything else. You’ve gone and sat down out of sight of everyone so you were guaranteed privacy. “Mine?” You nod.

“I haven’t done anything else with anyone. And, before you ask, this can’t be wrong. I already knew, but this was more of a ‘to make certain’ thing. Shane, what are we going to do?”

“I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,” says a voice that freezes you in your spot. “You’re going to leave this camp and never come back.” You turn around and face Paul. Shane stands up, getting protective and standing in front of you. “The two of you…should’ve known. I should’ve figured it out long ago. You lying–” Shane cuts him off with a hard punch to the side of his face.

“Shane!” you yell, trying to hold him back from beating Paul to death. Paul takes a swing at you and nails you right in the temple, making you stumble back. The blow is enough to make you light headed and unable to do anything about the fight raging on in front of you.

The noise increases and soon everybody at the camp who can help is trying to step in and stop the fight. So much blood is everywhere, you can’t tell whose is whose which makes you sick to your stomach.

Soon, they’re settled down and being separated from each other like fighting children. In a way, you think, they are. Or acting like it. Over you and some stupid baby you didn’t even what. Even as you think that you take it back. Paul had never wanted kids, but you’d always wanted to have a kid. When this whole thing started a few weeks ago you’d thought that chance had passed you and that you’d never be able to, but now? Now you think that maybe, if you find a safe place, you could be a mom. Just not with Paul. Paul could never be a part of the kid’s life.

“You leave! Go get your stuff and go!” Shane yells at Paul. Nobody is trying to stand up for him, they let him take a beating for once, just not to an extent there’d be no coming back from. Paul grabs his stuff, making sure to give you a hateful glare before taking the food Amy has in a bag for him.

“Hope you and your little boy-toy are happy with yourselves,” he says. “I should’ve left you a long time ago.” Even though you hate him, there’s a place in you that yearns for him to stay. Maybe he’d be different after this? Maybe he’d change his mind about kids and be a good father? Even though you want so bad for that to be the truth, it isn’t.

You watch as Paul leaves, a hand resting on your stomach, ready for what comes next.