hi could you maybe get some more links for daryl… or negan.. or rick… or glenn… idk im hungry
dirty mind! ; twd p links
summary ; twt porn links for twd men. daryl dixon, negan smith, rick grimes, and glenn rhee. a twt account is required to view most, if not all, links.
warnings ; u know what ur getting yourself into
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ♱ DARYL
getting a lil carried away and taking charge over switch!daryl
letting u use his cock for your oral fixation
slow and teasing
daryl always puts ur needs first, he always wants to make u squirt
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ♱ NEGAN
negan loves a little chase
it's too nice out to be inside all day, besides negan owns the sanctuary he can do whatever he wants
the only way he's letting you get off is with his boot :(
negan loves taking u for drives, esp when they end with you cumming on his dick
Yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay..... Yay
well then:) have some the walking dead visuals:)
🌽 link masterlist
cw: fingering, spanking, rough sex in general, kissing, bondage, cnc,
{ again, looks of the people in the vids have nothing to do with how I see the characters or readers, most vids are straight porn unless said otherwise, ignore captions on the vids; all links are twt}
♡ - Sometimes he can't help himself. quiet mornings when everyone is still asleep are his favourite to spend with you, even if it is just a few minutes.
♡ - Coming back to you after a supply run that lasted just a little too long, he needs to show you how much he missed you.
♡ - even if he doesn't always feel up for sex, he makes sure you dont leave unhappy
♡ - daryl really isnt the person you'd wanna mouth off to, ever
♡ - the others are really starting to wonder why daryl always asks you to come on runs with him
♡ - stress balls :)
♡ - Anywhere and anytime he can get you, you best believe he'll take you.
♡ - he knows you cant always keep quiet when you two fuck, but hes more than happy to help you a little.
♡ - calm afternoons
♡ - Negan's got a way of showing you just how much you'll love staying with him.
♡ - sure hed take you out on a date, you'd just have to ask! even if the outbreak makes it hard to plan something nice, a picnic's always nice.
♡ - breaking in new arrivals isn't always as easy as is it is with you
♡ - showing you who's boss
♡ - you like to think youre in control when you're on top of him, but he tends to show you that you're not pretty quick.
♡ - sneaking into your tent at night so he can make sure you don't forget who takes the best care of you
can you make a carl x rhee!reader (like the younger sister of glenn) where they've dated for a while but only recently decided to tell people, so maggie and glenn force them to sit down to have the talk (not ab sex, just about relationships and stuff!!)
there are no rhee!reader fics ☹️☹️ im korean so
thank you!!!!
a/n: aww hi! this is such a cute idea, i loveddd writing this! hope you like it! i also saw your other ask about having you down as this emoji- 🍧
word count: 459
☺︎ The Talk- Carl x Rhee!Reader
It started with Maggie catching you and Carl holding hands behind the crops. Then, of course, she told Glenn. And Glenn being Glenn… well, now you and Carl were trapped at the Greene kitchen table like you were on trial.
Maggie stood leaning against the counter, arms folded, lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh. Glenn, on the other hand, sat across from you two, looking way too intense for a man who once tripped over a chicken coop.
“So,” Glenn said, dragging the word out. “How long?”
Carl blinked. “Uh…” He glanced at you for help.
“Like… a while,” you offered, shrinking under Glenn’s squinty glare.
“A while,” Glenn repeated. “My baby sister has been secretly dating Rick Grimes’ son for a while and nobody thought to mention it to me?”
“Baby sister?” you scoffed. “Glenn, I’m not ten.”
“You’ll always be ten to me,” Glenn shot back dramatically, clutching his chest. “Do you have any idea how much stress this causes me?”
Carl shifted uncomfortably, cheeks pink. “Sir, with all due respect—”
“Oh my god,” Maggie cut in, laughing now. “Carl just called you sir.”
Glenn ignored her, leaning closer to Carl. “Listen, hat boy. You hurt her, I don’t care if your dad is Rick Grimes, I will—”
“Glenn.” Maggie rolled her eyes. “Stop acting like you’re her dad.”
“I practically am her dad!” Glenn protested.
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can this be over, please?”
Carl muttered, “Honestly, walkers are less terrifying than this.”
Maggie snorted and finally sat down beside Glenn. “Look, we’re not here to scare you. We just… wanted to talk. Make sure you two know what you’re doing.”
Glenn nodded firmly. “Yeah. Ground rules. No sneaking off in the middle of chores. No ignoring watch shifts. And absolutely—” his eyes narrowed— “no kissing in front of me.”
Your head snapped up. “What—Glenn!”
Carl’s ears went red. “We weren’t—”
Maggie grinned wickedly. “Aw, so you have been kissing.”
You kicked her under the table. “Maggie!”
Glenn groaned like he’d just aged ten years. “Nope. Nope. Don’t wanna hear it. I’ve said my piece. You two are together, fine, whatever. Just remember—I’m watching you.” He jabbed two fingers toward his own eyes, then at Carl.
Carl gave the smallest nod, mumbling, “Yes, sir.”
The second you both got dismissed, you and Carl bolted for the door, Maggie’s laughter following you.
“Well,” Carl muttered once you were outside, rubbing the back of his neck. “That wasn’t so bad.”
You gave him a look. “Carl. That was a nightmare.”
He cracked a small grin. “At least your brother didn’t pull a gun on me.”
You groaned, smacking his arm lightly—but you were smiling too.
Synopsis: Waking up in one of your favorite shows is a dream come true— even if there are zombies everywhere. Hey, at least they don’t seem to notice you AND you found an old Walkman with a ton of tapes!
WC: 4.0k
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By the time the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, you had developed a reluctant rhythm.
The herd moved.
You followed.
Part of it was practical. The walkers moved with surprising consistency, and keeping track of them was easier when you weren’t constantly lagging behind. The other part was something that you were considerably less eager to acknowledge.
Curiosity.
You were terrified of the walkers— that much hadn’t changed.
Every instinct still recoiled at the sight of them. Years of consuming zombie-based media and basic common sense had thoroughly convinced you that standing anywhere near the undead was a bad idea.
However, the longer they ignored you, the more difficult it became to sustain that fear at its original intensity.
Only a few hours ago, you had been convinced that getting within twenty feet of a walker meant death. Now you found yourself walking close enough to distinguish individual faces.
It was a little concerning just how quickly you’d adapted to this… condition of yours.
You kept expecting your courage to fail. Every time you drifted a little nearer to the herd, your body tensed in anticipation of disaster. Yet the disaster never came.
The walkers just kept moving forward.
Eventually, you found yourself matching pace with one of them.
The corpse was an older man, or at least it had been at one point. Wisps of white hair still clung stubbornly to his scalp. A faded plaid shirt hung loosely from his frame, stained with dirt and other things you didn’t want to think too hard on. One sleeve had been torn away completely, revealing a skeletal arm mottled with decay.
You couldn’t stop staring.
On television, walkers always seemed interchangeable. Up close, individual details emerged.
This man had once chosen that shirt.
Someone had probably bought it for him— a wife or a child, maybe.
Someone had known his name.
The thought settled like a stone in your chest.
Your gaze drifted to another walker nearby. This one appeared much younger. A woman in what looked like a nurse’s uniform shuffled through the grass some yards away. The fabric was soiled beyond recognition, but fragments of a hospital logo remained visible near the collar.
You wondered if she had worked during the outbreak, whether she’d stayed behind trying to help people.
Whether she had family somewhere.
The questions came too easily and none of them had answers.
For the first time since arriving in this world, you found yourself studying the walkers for reasons unrelated to survival.
One limped badly on a ruined leg.
Another dragged a foot behind him.
A little girl wandered near the center of the herd clutching a filthy stuffed rabbit against her chest.
You looked away immediately.
All the knowledge in the world couldn’t have prepared you for this. These weren’t props covered in makeup, or people excited to be in the background of their favorite show.
They were the remains of human beings whose lives had ended in one of the worst ways imaginable.
As the herd reached the outskirts of a neighborhood, the sun had reached its final destination.
The light had softened considerably since the brutal heat of midday, painting the landscape in warm shades of gold and amber. Long shadows stretched across the ground, weaving between the walkers as they continued their steady march forward.
You found yourself paralleling them without consciously meaning to.
At some point, the herd had stopped feeling like an immediate threat and started feeling like a strange sort of constant. They were still unsettling to look at, and the smell lingered in the air whenever the wind shifted. Every now and then, you would catch sight of an especially gruesome injury and have to force yourself not to stare.
And yet…
There was something oddly reassuring in their proximity.
There was no arguing, or demands made, or questions asked.
They simply moved.
Hour after hour, they shuffled onward with the same mindless determination, and after spending most of the day among them, you had begun adjusting to their presence.
It was something that probably should have alarmed you more than it did.
You walked alongside a woman who had likely been in her forties before her death. Most of her dark hair had fallen out, leaving uneven patches across her scalp, and the floral pattern on her dress had long since faded beneath layers of dirt and weathering.
She didn’t acknowledge you.
You wondered if that would ever stop feeling strange.
Your gaze drifted ahead as the neighborhood came into view.
Rows of houses emerged beyond the trees, their rooftops visible above overgrown hedges and neglected lawns. Even from a distance, the place carried the familiar appearance of suburban America. Mailboxes stood beside cracked sidewalks, driveways stretched toward garages, tall trees lined the streets.
The sight stirred something unexpectedly painful in your chest.
They reminded you of home.
Not because they looked exactly like your own neighborhood, but because they belonged to the same world. The same civilization. The same life that had existed before everything fell apart.
The herd drifted into the neighborhood without hesitation.
Walkers spilled across the streets and sidewalks like a slow-moving river, weaving around abandoned vehicles and overgrown yards. A rusted bicycle lay forgotten near a driveway. One house still displayed the remnants of holiday decorations that had somehow survived months of exposure to the elements.
Your stomach growled.
The sound startled you enough that you glanced downward.
Right, food.
You hadn’t eaten since arriving in this world, and your body was beginning to remind you of that fact with increasing urgency. Your throat remained dry and your muscles still ached from earlier. The initial surge of panic and adrenaline had faded hours ago, leaving behind a very tired, very hungry human being.
The houses surrounding you suddenly seemed far more interesting.
Some had broken windows while others appeared untouched. A few still had vehicles parked neatly in their driveways, as though the owners might return at any moment.
The sight sparked a thought.
If the herd had been moving through this area regularly— or even if large groups of walkers simply wandered nearby— then many survivors would likely avoid the neighborhood entirely.
The risk just wouldn’t be worth it.
Clearing a house was one thing— clearing a house while multiple walkers roamed the surrounding streets was something else entirely.
For the first time all day, genuine hope lightened your frame.
If you were right, there might still be supplies here. Food, medicine, water. The possibilities seemed almost too good to believe.
Your steps slowed as the herd continued onward.
Immediately, a surprising feeling tugged at your heart.
Reluctance.
The emotion caught you completely off guard. Objectively speaking, you should have been thrilled to leave.
You had spent damn near the entire day surrounded by flesh-eating monsters! Normal people did not become attached to zombie herds!
Yet as you watched them continue down the street, you felt a faint sense of unease.
The herd had become familiar— safe.
At least, as safe as anything in this world could be.
Leaving meant stepping back into uncertainty. Leaving meant being alone again.
You paused before laughing softly.
Nope, you weren’t going to think about it. If you didn’t acknowledge the sinking feeling in your gut, it didn’t exist.
Food first, mental breakdown later.
Drawing in a steadying breath, you stepped away from the herd and crossed the street.
The neighborhood lacked the obvious signs of repeated scavenging. There were no doors hanging from hinges, no smashed-in walls— no evidence that desperate survivors had stripped the houses bare.
Hope fluttered in your chest again.
Carefully, you made your way up the driveway of the nearest home.
The house itself was modest but charming. It was painted a soft shade of blue that reminded you of the sky on a sunny day. Flower beds bordered the front walkway, now overgrown with weeds and wild grass. A wooden rocking chair sat abandoned on the porch.
You lightly trailed your hand against the armrest of the chair, swallowing thickly as you did so.
Someone had once considered this place home.
You forced yourself to keep moving. You reached the front door and grabbed the bronze doorknob with a shaky grip.
The front door stood unlocked.
That fact alone told a story.
You couldn’t imagine leaving your house unlocked under normal circumstances. Whatever had happened here had happened quickly. The owners had likely rushed out with only the things they could carry, fully expecting to return once the emergency ended.
Nobody had returned.
The interior was quiet as you crossed the threshold of the house. Not eerie, exactly. Just empty.
Dust coated the interior in a thin gray layer. Sunlight filtered through the windows, illuminating tiny particles that drifted lazily through the air. Family photographs decorated the walls of the hallway, smiling faces frozen in moments of happiness that felt impossibly distant now.
The pictures made this harder.
It was easier to think of abandoned houses as resources.
It was much harder when confronted with evidence that real people had once lived inside them.
The kitchen became your first target.
Mostly because food was your immediate priority, but also because focusing on a practical task prevented you from dwelling on everything else.
You gently pried the door to the pantry open and froze, your mouth falling open in shock.
The shelves were still stocked.
Rows of canned vegetables sat neatly arranged beside boxed pasta and bags of rice. Soup cans occupied an entire shelf. Crackers, peanut butter, oatmeal, and various other non-perishables remained untouched.
A smile stretched across your face before you could stop it.
“Oh my god.”
Relief washed over you so suddenly that your knees nearly gave out.
You had prepared yourself to find scraps, a few overlooked items. Maybe enough food to survive a day or two if you were lucky.
Instead, you were looking at enough supplies to last for weeks.
‘No sane survivor would willingly search houses surrounded by walker herds.’
For the first time all day, you found yourself genuinely appreciating your absurd decision.
Following the herd had actually worked.
You quickly began removing items from the pantry, placing them in neat piles across the kitchen counter. Cans went together. Boxes went together. Anything remotely useful was carefully sorted into groups.
It wasn’t until you’d accumulated an impressive mountain of supplies that a new problem occurred to you.
You had absolutely no way of carrying any of it.
You stared at the collection.
The collection stared back.
A loud groan reverberated from the back of your throat. You dragged a hand down your face, your eyebrows pinching together in frustration.
Of course it couldn’t be that easy.
Leaving the food behind felt physically painful, but there was little point gathering supplies if you couldn’t transport them.
You stepped away from the kitchen and began searching the house.
The living room yielded little beyond dusty furniture and more reminders that people had once lived here. A blanket remained draped over the arm of a recliner. A few books rested on a side table beside a pair of reading glasses.
You hurried past both.
The hallways led to four rooms. You chose the first one and stepped in.
The bed remained neatly made. Family photographs occupied the dresser. Sunlight spilled across the carpet through partially opened curtains.
For a moment, you just stood there.
There was something uniquely unsettling about bedrooms. More than every other room in a house, they felt personal. You pushed the discomfort aside and began checking the room.
It didn’t take long for you to find what you were looking for.
Tucked near the back of the closet sat a large duffel bag.
The bag looked sturdy enough to carry a significant amount of weight. It was larger than anything you could have hoped to find.
You unzipped it and discovered a collection of colorful envelopes, folded paper decorations, and greeting cards stacked neatly inside.
For a moment, confusion replaced your excitement.
Then understanding followed.
Birthday cards.
Years worth of them, judging by the quantity.
You could have read them but you quickly squashed down the thought. Taking the bag already felt uncomfortable enough. Reading the cards would be crossing a line.
Carefully, you removed the contents and placed them in a tidy stack on a nearby shelf. You avoided looking too closely at the writing. A few colorful envelopes slipped loose during the process, revealing fragments of cheerful handwriting and cute stickers.
You ignored them.
Some things weren’t yours.
The cards remained where you left them as a monument to people you would never know.
Once the bag was finally empty, you slung it over your shoulder and headed back toward the kitchen.
As you began carefully packing the cans and boxes into the duffel, a reluctant thought surfaced.
Maybe following the herd hadn’t been the worst decision you’d ever made.
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Your shoulder was beginning to ache from the weight of the duffel bag.
The discomfort was worth it, though.
The bag was stuffed with canned food, bottled water, batteries, flashlights, spare clothes, and enough miscellaneous supplies to make you feel almost optimistic. Considering you’d arrived in this world with absolutely nothing, the transformation felt borderline miraculous.
You’d already searched most of the houses.
The first had been terrifying.
The second had been awkward.
By the third, you’d accidentally started developing a system.
Kitchen first, medicine second, anything useful afterward.
Somewhere around house number five, you had also realized you’d begun talking to yourself.
Quite a lot, actually.
The discovery had been prompted by a walker wearing a wedding ring.
You’d spotted it while crossing a driveway and spent nearly ten minutes wondering about the person’s life before abruptly catching yourself speaking your theories out loud.
The walker hadn’t cared.
At one point, you’d even found yourself walking alongside a woman in a tattered yellow cardigan while discussing the merits of canned ravioli.
She didn’t respond, obviously, but you’d like to think she agreed with you.
The house at the end of the street finally drew your attention away from your silent walking companion. You bid a quick farewell, to which she only groaned. Rude.
The house sat slightly apart from the others, partially hidden behind a collection of mature oak trees whose branches stretched over the roof like protective arms. The yard was overgrown, but less so than some of the neighboring properties. Ivy climbed one side of the house, softening the structures edges and making it feel oddly secluded.
Something about the place tugged at your memory. For a few seconds, you stood in the driveway trying to place it.
Then you shrugged.
You’d spent years watching The Walking Dead. You were beginning to suspect that half the state of Georgia felt familiar now.
The front door was locked.
The discovery should not have been surprising, yet it frustrated you all the same.
You rattled the knob one last time before stepping back with a sigh. The windows proved no more cooperative. Whoever had lived here had made damn sure the place was locked tight before they left.
Alright then.
Improv has always been one of your strong suits.
Your gaze drifted toward one of the decorative rocks lining the porch, already weighing whether it was worth sacrificing a window, when something else caught your eye.
A squat little stone frog sat beside the front steps, grinning at you with the vacant optimism only lawn ornaments seem capable of.
Well… it couldn’t hurt to try.
You crouched and lifted the statue.
Sure enough, tucked neatly beneath its stony ass sat a small brass key.
Thank god for cliches!
Sliding the frog aside, you snatched up the key and returned to the front door. It slipped into the lock with an almost disappointingly soft ‘click’.
And just like that, you’re in.
The door creaked open as you peeked your head inside.
Two walkers occupy the foyer. Neither seemed particularly interested in you. They barely spared you a glance before returning to… whatever it was walkers did when they weren’t trying to eat somebody.
Fine by you.
You let them to whatever depressing hobby occupied the undead and headed straight for the kitchen.
Throwing open the pantry door, you fully expected to find shelves lined with canned food like the rest of the neighborhood.
Instead, a pair of spiders and several enthusiastic dust bunnies greet you.
The spiders scattered as you stared into the empty pantry, thoroughly betrayed.
“Guess I got too cocky…”
With a sigh, you shut the pantry and started opening cupboards instead. No matter, surely there had to be—
A single can of dog food on the shelf.
It somehow managed to look smug.
Huh.
Alright, so the kitchen is a bust. Go figure.
You trudged back through the foyer, brushing past the walkers with an exaggerated groan when one of them happened to turn its head in your direction.
“Oh, don’t start!”
Couldn’t they see you were in the middle of a crisis?! Who knew when you’d stumble across another neighborhood this untouched?
Your footsteps echoed through the house as your search continued, each room somehow more disappointing than the last. By the time you climbed the stairs, your patience had all but vanished.
The second floor wasn’t any better than the first!
Bedroom, bathroom, closet— all useless!
Finally, you stopped in the doorway of what looked like a teenagers bedroom, your foot tapping impatiently against the hardwood floor.
Band posters plastered nearly every inch of the walls. Some you vaguely recognized, but most you didn’t.
None of them held your attention for long.
No…
What caught your eye was the bulky old computer sitting on the desk beneath the window.
Your eyes lit up.
The thing was practically a museum exhibit! It still had the giant monitor box and everything!
You wandered over, looking it over with open curiosity. A tape-recorder sat precariously on the edge of the desk, while the keyboard was surrounded by multiple cassette tapes. A few had handwritten labels, but most were left blank.
You picked one up.
Across the faded strip of masking tape, someone had scribbled:
‘Pops Mix :P’
A smile tugged at your lips.
Your dad used to ramble for ages about how much of a pain making mixtapes had been back in the day. Sitting by the radio for hours, finger hovering over the record button, praying the DJ wouldn’t start talking halfway through the song…
So for some moody teenager to make one for their dad…
They must’ve been close.
Carefully, you set the cassette back on the desk before sifting through the others. The labeled tapes followed much the same pattern— Mom’s Road Trip Mix, Summer Songs, a few dedicated entirely to individual bands.
A whistle pushed past your pursed lips as you took it all in. This kid had been obsessed with music.
Then something else caught your eye.
Nestled innocently among the chaos sat a Walkman
A delighted squeal escaped before you could stop it.
You knew what a Walkman was, of course, but only because your dad had brought his old one out for you to gawk at. They’d gone out of style before you were even born!
You snatched it up like you’d just discovered buried treasure.
A pair of worn headphones was already plugged into it. You settled them over your ears, then spent the next minute squinting at the buttons with growing determination.
“C’mon…”
The thing couldn’t be that complicated!
Eventually, stubbornness won out and you pressed Play.
For one long, agonizing moment… nothing.
Then the cassette whirred to life and the blessed sound of music flooded your ears.
Your eyes widened when the song was something you knew.
“… The Wanderer?”
You’d know that song anywhere!
Sure, it was decades older than you were, but after sinking an embarrassing number of hours into Fallout 4, hearing it felt strangely… comforting.
The familiar tune washes over you, filling a silence you hadn’t noticed until now. Ever since you found yourself stranded in this nightmare of a universe, there had been no music.
Just groaning walkers.
You hadn’t realized how much you missed it.
By the time the chorus rolled around, there was an undeniable spring in your step.
You gathered up the remaining cassettes, carefully slipping every labeled one into your duffel bag.
Your hand hovered over ‘Pops Mix :P’.
Would taking that one be crossing a line? You didn’t take the letters from the other house, why should this be any different?
You stared at it for a few quiet seconds before sighing and picking it up anyway. These tapes had been made with love. Leaving them here to gather dust— or worse, rot away with the house— felt like the greater tragedy.
Once the cassettes were safely tucked away, you turned your attention to the rest of the room.
The closet was stocked with graphic tees and faded band shirts, but one in particular caught your eye.
A nearly pristine Transformers T-shirt.
You couldn’t help but grin.
The Walking Dead never nailed down an exact year for the outbreak, but most fans agreed it kicked off sometime around 2010. If that theory held true…
The first couple of Michael Bay’s Transformers movies would have already been out.
Across the black cotton, Bumblebee posed triumphantly in bright yellow. Childlike glee fills your form as you grab the shirt. Little you would have killed for a shirt like this!
“I’m just gonna… take this.”
Your voice filled the empty room, but it’s not like you were expecting an answer. Still, your next words come out all the same.
“Thank you.”
It felt silly talking to an empty house, even sillier thanking people who were almost certainly dead.
Still…
You hopes they would’ve understood.
Setting your duffel bag onto the floor, you peeled off your sweat-soaked shirt with a grimace. It clung stubbornly to your skin before finally coming free.
You send a silent ‘thank you’ to every god that you can think of that you decided to wear a sports bra instead of going commando.
The clean shirt slipped over your head a moment later, and you practically sighed in relief as fresh cotton settled against your skin. It wasn’t just cleaner, it felt… normal.
For a few precious seconds, you could almost pretend you weren’t scavenging through the apocalypse.
You clipped the Walkman onto the waistband of your jeans, settled the headphones over your ears once more, and slung your duffel bag back across your shoulder.
One room left.
You nudged open the door— and immediately stumbled back with a startled yelp.
A massive owl stared back at you, its golden eyes never blinking.
“Oh.”
Your heartbeat slowly drifted back down from your throat.
The owl remained perfectly still, save for a slight puff of its feathers that managed to convey mild irritation.
“…sorry.”
You couldn’t help yourself.
Owls had been one of your favorite animals ever since third grade. You still remembered sitting cross-legged on the classroom carpet while your teacher explained how silently they could fly. Eight-year-old you had been completely obsessed.
Standing only a few feet away from one now felt…
Weirdly familiar.
Like there was something important sitting just beyond the edge of your memory. A frown tugged at your lips.
Slowly, you raised your hands in a placating gesture and crouched a little lower, trying to make yourself appear as unthreatening as possible.
“Hey, buddy…”
The owl regarded you with all the enthusiasm of an exhausted customer service worker, but it didn’t fly away.
Small victories.
Music continued humming softly through your headphones as you closed the remaining distance one careful step at a time.
When you were finally close enough, you hesitated before slowly reaching out.
Your fingertips brushed impossibly soft feathers and you smiled.
The moment lasted exactly two heartbeats.
Something hard pressed into the center of your back.
Every muscle in your body locked and your breath caught in your throat.
Not a walker.
The ones downstairs would’ve been moaning long before they reached you, and if they’d somehow wandered up here, the bird would’ve caught their attention first.
This…
This was a person.
Before you could react, the headphones were ripped from your head. The music died, and a rough, gravel-worn voice spoke directly behind you.
“Stay still.”
Cold metal dug harder between your shoulder blades.
“Move…”
A beat of silence.
“And I kill you.”
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Finally bringing the main cast into play! I was going to start with Reader finding Hershel’s farm, but I got lazy and decided to just jump headfirst into season 3 😭
summary. glenn gets a little too excited to some home seeing you dressed nicely and cooking something.
warnings. explicit sex: p in v, creampie, oral f!receiving, cum eating, a bit of exhibitionism, mention of blood, reader is kind of like housewife ish, glenn refers to reader as wife, glenn is sooo needy sos sosooo needy
a/n. why'd someone lowkey already guess this plot... anyway based off this request
This all started out as a one time thing. You and glenn. Sex. Once..... or twice..... or threefourfivesix— and so on and so fourth. Long story short, it was not a one time thing.
You two were a bit attached to each other. From the first time you met, to the prison, to the church, to Alexandria. You liked Alexandria. It was clean. There was warm beds, private showers, you liked helping around. when you weren't on runs you had a job. It was weird having a job, it's been maybe 2...? years since the outbreak. Maybe a year and a half since you met Glenn. He was cute, but you didn't plan on ending up with him. You would've tried to stay single but after meeting him, giving him heart ache, worried about him dying. You realized you really.. love him.
When you got to Alexandria, you were given two houses to split between just over a dozen people. It didn't matter there was enough space for all of you. Glenn pulled you closer at night, he knew you liked your space but after only a few hours you would gradually move closer. It was the first time in a long time you could sleep without worry. You felt safe, especially with him. And Alexandria gave you that extra layer of safety. It gave normalcy. For a moment you'd forget about the outside — waking up clean, in a warm bed, and quiet room will do that to you.
Your favorite part was that you and Glenn fucked like rabbits. And you could do it safely and privately. Sneaking around was for fun now. You liked that he'd bring you back nice clothes, new underwear, whatever body care he thought you'd like after runs. It was like you were a regular married couple. Every time hed come home showing you the thing he got you, you told him he never needed to do that. Then he'd get all sweet, hands sliding around your waist to pull you in, kissed on your shoulder and neck mumbling "I want you to have nice things, all your clothes are stained and ripped baby..." You didn't like him going on runs but his adamant plead to get you things you agreed. "Fine..." you grumbled "but don't risk your life for anything, okay? I want you home, safe" he nodded eagerly and kissed you "I will don't worry"
He got back from a run, you were home, cooking dinner. You wore some dress he'd gotten for you, pristine white cotton. Your hair looked nice, you had some makeup on. You cringed at the fact that you felt like a house wife, but it beat the alternative. You go on runs every so often, Glenn was too scared of you going all the time, you mostly stayed on lookout. Anyway. Home. Cooking. Glenn came home, rushing to shower so he could hold you. It was his own routine. He washed off the blood and guts, dirt and grime, even going as far to scrape the underside of his nails. He dried off and got dresses in jeans and a tee-shirt and socks. "Honey, I'm Hooome" he said in a sing-song tone as he rounded the corner.
When he finally saw you his arms wrapped around your waist, breathing you in. "fuck I missed you...y'feel so good, smells good" he mumbled, kissing your ear. You laughed softly, turning around to hug him kissing him gently. His hands grabbed at the wire fabric of your dress, pulling you in. "so pretty, my pretty wife in this nice house...." he took big inhales of your smell kissing all over your neck. "everything go alright?" you asked him, feeling his hands grope your ass and hips. He nodded kissing down the valley of your breasts. "fuck I love you, Ive never wanted to fuck you more than I do right now" his hands all over your body lips moving alone your skin.
He was always needy after a run but something told you this one wasn't as good as he let on. You didn't pry, instead, you turned the burners down. You held Glenns face making him look at you, he was going to say something else but you cut him off "Just shut up and fuck me" he gave a relieved laugh. You thought he'd pick you up and take you upstairs but instead he sat you up on the counter hiking your dress up. "you're not wearing anything underneath??" he asked flushing a bright red. You bit your lip and shook your head "what you couldn't tell when you were groping me earlier??" you asked him... he blushed a bit more "shut up, cant a man miss his wife?" he asked getting down on his knees,
"Gl—mmm!" you held back a moan as you felt his tongue flatten on your clit. "fuck... fuck" you gasped at his eager laps of your pussy, his groans sending vibrations against your nerves "glenn please..." you're gasping and pulling his hair. he doesn't let up till you've came, panting and drooling a bit. "god your so fucking beautiful" he rubbed your thighs. He gave your bud a little kiss before getting up. your dress falling off your shoulders, tits spilling out. "my pretty girl..." he suckled gently on your nipple as he teased the other between his pointer and thumb causing you to writhe. he chuckled to himself, undoing his jeans and pulling his cock out. he wasted no time sliding into your warm heat. both of you moaning out at the feeling of the tightness, the warmth.
Your hand grabbed at Glenns shoulder, nails digging into his skin, making him wince a bit "you feel so good, honey." He started to slowly move, his tongue tangling with yours. He slowly started to speak up keeping your hands away from your mouth so he could hear you. "if... mmm, if we get caught.." you moaned "im blaming you." you told him. he laughed at you "yeah? your the one being ... so damn loud..." he grunted through his thrusts. leaving wet kisses where he could. he thumbed tight circles over your sensitive bud, you'd ask him where he learned that, like it wasn't you. He slowed his pace when your reached your high making sure not to leave till your body relaxed. you panted "fuck..." you groaned as he pulled out, his cum trickling out. "wow... look at that..." he murmured, his middle and ring finger scooping up what he could and pushing it back in, letting out a coo and you gasped "wanna keep my pretty girl full.."
he got back down on his knees kissing your thighs and licking out the cum "mm we should go again..." he suggested nipping your inner thigh. "dinner'll get cold..." you told him. "who cares... need to show my pretty wife how much I love her." he begged kissing your clit. you bit your lip agreeing. the stove was completely off now, and you were bent over the island as he drove his hips against yours relentlessly. hed lean over pressing his chest to your back mumbling about how pretty you looked, how much he loved you, how he loved knowing you were safe here. he came inside once again, your legs were slightly weak. he kissed your cheek fixing your dress. "Glenn, I need to get cleaned up" you said, "no no.." he practically pleaded, 'want this for dessert later."
