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How the walking dead men react to you wiping their kisses 💋

(negan smith, daryl dixon, rick grimes)

The world outside might be a brutal landscape of walkers and warring factions, but within the walls of their sanctuary (or maybe even a quieter, more secluded safe haven they've carved out), Negan and (Y/N) have built a haven of their own. It's a place where the usual rules of survival are softened by the warmth of their connection.

Negan, the charismatic, yet fearsome leader, has a surprisingly tender side he reserves almost exclusively for (Y/N). He’s a man who's seen too much death and destruction. He finds solace and a grounding force in this relationship. The comfort of her presence allows him to truly unwind.

Kisses are a frequent language between them. Quick pecks on the cheek as he passes by, lingering embraces that end with a soft press of his lips to her forehead, or passionate, all-consuming kisses that leave them breathless and wanting more.

These aren't just mindless gestures; they're infused with the weight of their shared history, the dangers they've faced, and the quiet understanding that blooms between two souls who have found each other in the middle of chaos.

It starts subtly, almost unconsciously. The first time Negan kisses (Y/N)'s cheek as he heads out on a supply run, she instinctively wipes the spot with the back of her hand. It’s barely perceptible, a fleeting motion, but Negan's sharp eyes don't miss a thing.

He pauses, that signature smirk playing on his lips. A flicker of confusion, maybe even a hint of hurt, crosses his face, but it's quickly masked by amusement. "Everything alright there, darlin'?" he asks, his voice laced with a playful challenge.

(Y/N) simply smiles sweetly, offering a vague, "Just had something on my face," and goes about her business, leaving Negan to ponder the subtle rejection.

The next time, it's a quick kiss on the lips. As Negan pulls away, expecting that soft smile he's grown so fond of, (Y/N) quickly wipes her mouth with her finger. Again, no words, just a seemingly innocent gesture.

This time, the amusement in Negan's eyes is replaced by a glint of something else – curiosity mixed with a touch of annoyance. He’s used to people fearing him, respecting him, even hating him, but being subtly rejected by the woman he adores? That's a new experience.

What started as subtle gestures on (Y/N)'s part quickly evolves into a full-blown, silent prank. Every kiss, regardless of where it lands, is immediately followed by a discreet wipe. Cheek, forehead, lips – nothing is spared.

Negan's reactions are a study in controlled exasperation. The smirks become wider, the eyes more intense. He starts trying to catch her in the act, leaning in for a kiss with a knowing glint in his eyes, only to watch her casually wipe it away as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He feigns offense. "Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" he'll demand, his voice a low growl, but his eyes betraying the playful nature of his annoyance. "(Y/N). Are you tellin' me my kisses are unclean?"

When she offers no explanation, only a mischievous smile, he gets theatrical. He'll dramatically clutch his chest, pretending to be heartbroken. "After all I've done for you! The sacrifices I've made! And this is how you repay me? With disgust?"

But underneath the theatrics, a genuine curiosity begins to simmer. Is she trying to tell him something? Is this some weird game she's playing? Or is she simply trying to drive him absolutely crazy?

Negan, never one to back down from a challenge, decides to play along. He starts showering (Y/N) with even more kisses, each one more lingering and passionate than the last, just to see her reaction.

He'll ambush her with kisses when she least expects it – while she's cooking, reading, or even cleaning her weapons. Each time, she wipes it away, her smile unwavering.

He starts varying his approach. Sometimes, he'll pull her close for a slow, sensual kiss, his eyes locked on hers, trying to gauge her reaction. Other times, he'll plant a quick, playful peck on her nose, just to elicit a giggle before she wipes it off.

The dynamic between them shifts into a hilarious dance of affection and playful rejection. The other members of their group, if they happen to witness these interactions, can only watch in bewildered amusement. They know better than to interfere with whatever strange game their leader and his girl are playing.

Negan tries to get answers. He will sit her down and say, "Alright (Y/N), you gotta tell me, are you trying to tell me something? Are my kisses that bad that you have to wipe them off your face every time?"

The longer (Y/N) keeps up the charade, the more Negan's frustration mounts. He’s a man who thrives on control, and this silent, playful rebellion is driving him slightly nuts.

Finally, he corners her, his eyes narrowed, his voice a low rumble. "(Y/N). I'm serious. What the hell is going on? Why do you keep wiping my kisses away?"

(Y/N) simply shrugs, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Just a little joke, Negan," she says, her voice soft. "I wanted to see how long it would take you to crack."

Negan stares at her, momentarily speechless. Then, a slow, genuine laugh erupts from his chest. He can't help but admire her audacity, her ability to tease him so effortlessly.

He pulls her close, his grip firm but gentle. "You little minx," he murmurs against her hair. "You had me going there for a while."

He then proceeds to demonstrate the error of her ways with a kiss so passionate, so all-consuming, that she forgets all about wiping anything away.

Or perhaps, the reason is because he starts to wipe off his kisses from her face instead, causing them to both laugh.

The playful game doesn't necessarily end there. It becomes a recurring theme in their relationship, a little inside joke that they both cherish.

Sometimes, (Y/N) will still wipe away a kiss, just to see Negan's reaction. And sometimes, Negan will anticipate it, catching her hand before she can wipe, holding it in his and kissing her knuckles.

It's a reminder that even in the darkest of times, love and laughter can thrive. It's a testament to the strength of their bond, their ability to find joy in the simplest of things.

And it's a reminder that even a man like Negan can be brought to his knees – not by fear, but by the playful affection of the woman he loves. He will always be on guard though because who knows when she will strike again. He makes a mental note to kiss her when she least expects it.

Ultimately, the game highlights the depth of their connection. It's not just about the kisses themselves, but about the underlying trust, the shared humor, and the unwavering love that binds them together. It's a playful reminder that even in the apocalypse, there's always room for a little bit of romance and a whole lot of teasing.

The flickering firelight danced across Daryl's face, highlighting the rugged lines that time and hardship had etched there. You loved those lines. They spoke of strength, resilience, and a quiet intensity that always drew you in. He was sitting beside you on the porch of your shared home in Alexandria, the familiar creak of the wooden planks beneath you a comforting rhythm in the otherwise silent night. He’d been quieter than usual tonight, lost in thought as he cleaned and re-cleaned his crossbow, a nervous habit you’d come to recognize.

You leaned against his shoulder, the rough denim of his jacket a comforting presence. "Penny for your thoughts, Daryl?" you murmured, your breath ghosting against his neck.

He grunted softly, but the corner of his lips quirked upward ever so slightly. A tell. "Just thinkin'," he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

You knew better than to push too hard. Daryl shared when he was ready. So, instead, you pressed a soft kiss to his temple, a silent reassurance that you were there, always. He tensed for a split second before relaxing again, the warmth of your lips seemingly melting some of the tension from his shoulders.

This was your Daryl: a man of few words, but immeasurable depth. And you loved him fiercely.

That's when the idea struck you. A playful spark ignited in your eyes. It was a silly, childish notion, but the urge to tease him, to lighten the mood, was too strong to resist. You decided to start a little game, a silent comedy between the two of you.

Daryl finally set his crossbow aside, the metallic click echoing in the stillness. He turned to you, his blue eyes searching your face. There was a question there, unspoken, but clear as day. You smiled softly, reaching up to cup his cheek.

"What?" you asked innocently.

He hesitated, then ducked his head, a rare blush creeping up his neck. "Nothin'," he muttered.

You knew better. You tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet your gaze. "Tell me," you insisted, your voice laced with gentle prodding.

He sighed, finally relenting. "Just... wanted to kiss you," he mumbled, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Your heart fluttered. Even after all this time, the simple act of him wanting to kiss you could still send shivers down your spine. You leaned in, closing the distance between you, your breath mingling with his.

His lips were rough but gentle against yours. The kiss was slow, tender, a silent exchange of love and longing. You savored the moment, the familiar warmth spreading through you.

And then, just as quickly as it began, it was over. He pulled back slightly, his eyes questioning.

This was your cue. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you reached up and deliberately wiped your lips with the back of your hand, a blatant, exaggerated gesture.

Daryl's brow furrowed. He stared at you, a mixture of confusion and hurt flickering in his eyes. He didn't say anything, just watched you with a bewildered expression.

You maintained your innocent facade, meeting his gaze with wide, unblinking eyes. You said nothing, offering no explanation for your actions.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy with unspoken questions. Finally, he shook his head slightly, as if dismissing the incident as a figment of his imagination. He reached for his crossbow again, his movements a little more jerky than before.

A few minutes passed, filled only with the scraping sound of metal against metal as Daryl resumed cleaning his weapon. You could feel his eyes on you, though, stealing glances whenever he thought you weren't looking.

You suppressed a giggle. He was so easy to fluster, despite his tough exterior.

Deciding to press your luck, you snuggled closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder. You nuzzled your cheek against his, breathing in the familiar scent of leather, woodsmoke, and something uniquely Daryl.

He stiffened again, but this time, he didn't pull away. He remained frozen, his body tense beneath your touch.

You turned your head slightly and pressed a kiss to his cheek, a lingering, affectionate gesture. His skin was rough beneath your lips, but warm and comforting.

You pulled back, and without missing a beat, wiped your cheek with the palm of your hand, mimicking your earlier action.

This time, Daryl’s reaction was more pronounced. His head snapped up, his eyes narrowed, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it, clamping his jaw shut.

The confusion in his eyes was slowly being replaced by something else… annoyance? Maybe even a hint of anger? You couldn't be sure, but you were definitely pushing his buttons. And you were finding it incredibly entertaining.

You continued to stare at him, your face an innocent mask. "What?" you asked again, your voice barely a whisper.

He just glared, his jaw working. He looked like he was trying to solve a complicated equation in his head.

The silence became almost unbearable. You could practically see the wheels turning in Daryl's head as he tried to decipher your bizarre behavior. He was clearly baffled, but he refused to ask directly, his pride getting in the way.

You decided to take things one step further. Leaning forward, you gently brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and placed a soft kiss on his brow.

And then, you wiped your forehead with dramatic flair.

That was it. The dam broke.

Daryl dropped his crossbow with a clatter. He grabbed your wrists, his grip surprisingly gentle, but firm enough to stop you from moving. His eyes were blazing, the blue intensified by a mixture of confusion, frustration, and a dawning realization that you were deliberately messing with him.

"Alright," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "What the hell is goin' on?"

You couldn't hold it in any longer. A giggle escaped your lips, and then another, until you were laughing uncontrollably.

Daryl's grip tightened slightly, but he didn't release you. He just stared at you, his expression a mixture of annoyance and grudging amusement.

"You… you're wiping my kisses," he said slowly, as if trying to understand a foreign language.

You nodded, still laughing. "Yes!" you gasped, wiping tears from your eyes. "I am!"

A slow smile spread across Daryl's face, chasing away the anger and confusion. He shook his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

"You're somethin' else, you know that?" he said, his voice softening.

You grinned at him, your heart overflowing with affection. "I know," you said, winking.

He released your wrists and reached out to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. He looked at you for a long moment, his eyes filled with a love so deep and profound it took your breath away.

"Why?" he asked softly, his voice barely a whisper.

You leaned into his touch, your smile fading. "Just… because," you said, shrugging. "I wanted to see what you'd do."

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement returning to his eyes. "And?" he prompted.

You blushed, suddenly feeling a little sheepish. "And it was really funny," you admitted.

Daryl laughed, a deep, hearty sound that made your heart sing. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace.

"Next time," he murmured against your hair, "I'm gonna give you so many kisses, you won't be able to wipe 'em all off."

You laughed again, snuggling closer to him. "Is that a promise?" you asked, your voice teasing.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's a threat," he growled playfully, before capturing your lips in a long, passionate kiss. This time, you didn't wipe.

The fire crackled, the crickets chirped, and the world faded away as you lost yourself in the warmth of his embrace, the playful game forgotten in the depths of your love.

The world outside might be a dangerous, unpredictable place, but within the walls of your shared haven, a different kind of game unfolds – a playful dance of affection and teasing that only you and Rick Grimes understand. It started innocently enough: a quick peck on the cheek, a stolen kiss on the lips, and your instinctive, playful reaction – wiping it away with a dramatic flourish, all without saying a word. You never anticipated the delightful chaos that would ensue, the silent conversation that would blossom between you, spoken only through gestures and the gleam in Rick’s usually serious eyes.

Here’s how Rick, the hardened leader, the man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, would react to your charmingly infuriating habit:

The first few times, Rick would be genuinely perplexed. His brow would furrow, those familiar lines deepening as he searches your face for any sign of distress. Did he do something wrong? Was the kiss not to your liking? He’d study you with an intensity that could melt steel, trying to decipher the hidden message behind your seemingly dismissive gesture.

He might subtly ask, "Everything alright?" his voice laced with concern. Your only response, a mischievous smile and a shake of your head, would only deepen his confusion, leaving him to ponder the mystery of your actions.

He'd replay the moment in his mind, analyzing every detail. Was his breath bad? Was he too rough? Too gentle? Rick Grimes, the master strategist, reduced to a bundle of uncertainties by a simple, playful act.

After a few repetitions, the confusion would slowly give way to amusement. He’d start to notice the glint in your eye, the suppressed smile playing on your lips. He'd realize this wasn't a rejection, but a game, a peculiar expression of your affection.

A slow, reluctant smile would creep onto his face, a rare and precious sight that only you could coax out. He’d shake his head, a mixture of exasperation and fondness in his eyes. He might even mutter something under his breath, like, "You're somethin' else," his voice thick with affection.

The seriousness that usually clung to him would begin to dissipate, replaced by a lighter, more playful demeanor. Your little game would become a welcome distraction from the harsh realities of their world.

Once he understands it's a game, the kisses would become more frequent, almost as if he's daring you to wipe them away. A quick peck on the forehead as he passes you, a lingering kiss on the cheek while you're cooking, a stolen moment of lip contact while he thinks no is watching.

His kisses would become more deliberate, more lingering, as if he's trying to leave an impression that even your playful wipe can't erase. He might deepen the kiss, just a little, testing your reaction, enjoying the way your eyes widen in mock annoyance.

He would start leaving small trails of kisses. Going from your cheek down to your jaw, leaving a sweet tingle on your skin.

Rick isn't one to back down from a challenge. He would start returning the favor, playfully wiping away your kisses whenever you initiate them. The surprise on your face would be his reward, the tables turning in this silent battle of affection.

He might exaggerate the wiping motion, making a show of it, adding a dramatic sigh or a playful eye roll. He would watch you carefully, gauging your reaction, savoring your mock outrage.

He'd start attacking you with kisses when you least expect it. Sneaking up behind you while you're doing dishes, pulling you into his lap for a surprise smooch, ambushing you with affection when you're least prepared.

Your game would evolve into a secret language, a nonverbal expression of your unique bond. A kiss, a wipe, a shared glance – it would all speak volumes about your love, your trust, and your ability to find joy in the simplest of moments.

The wiping wouldn't be a rejection. It would become apart of your love language. It was a habit you both grew used to, and loved.

Even a small reaction between the two of you would tell a story. A small smirk from you told him you were up to no good. A sigh from him showed you that he was tired.

There would be moments, of course, when the game would cease. Times when the weight of the world pressed too heavily on Rick's shoulders, when the fear and uncertainty threatened to consume him. In those moments, his kisses would be different – desperate, clinging, a plea for reassurance.

During those times, you wouldn't dare wipe away his kisses. You would meet his urgency with your own, holding him close, letting him know that you're his safe harbor, his constant in a world of chaos.

Similarly, if he senses you're feeling down or vulnerable, he'll shower you in kisses without expecting a playful wipe. Those kisses would be gentle, comforting, a silent promise of unwavering support.

In public, Rick would be more reserved, mindful of maintaining his image as a strong and capable leader. However, even in front of others, the unspoken connection between you would be evident.

He might steal a quick glance, a subtle smile, a gentle touch of your hand. These small gestures would be his way of acknowledging your presence, of reminding you that even in the midst of chaos, you are always on his mind.

And who knows, maybe once in a while, he'd risk a quick kiss, just to see if you'd dare to wipe it away in front of everyone. The challenge in his eyes would be unmistakable, a silent invitation to continue your game, no matter who's watching. Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn't, but you'll always be there for him no matter what.

Your playful game of kisses would become a symbol of your love, a testament to your ability to find light and laughter even in the darkest of times. It would be a reminder that even a hardened leader like Rick Grimes is still capable of tenderness, affection, and a little bit of playful foolishness, all thanks to the woman who dared to wipe away his kisses and steal his heart.