#dwight x reader

He needs to piss. The entity decided that it would be a good idea– probably just entertaining, the sick fuck –to thrust him into a trial while he was walking off into the woods to pee. Hell, he’d even gotten his fly down when the mist enveloped him, forcing Dwight to zip himself up and get ready in an instant– and even worse, he was stationed there with you. And Jake, but that doesn’t matter. It’s not that he hates you, that’s definitely not the problem, it’s that he doesn’t. The last few months have been spent courting you, and the last few weeks working up the courage to ask you out, and now…this.

He’d hoped at first that maybe he’d be stuck with one of the slower killers– that would give him enough time to piss in peace while you distracted it, then get right back into the trial like nothing happened, get you both out of here, and be done with it until next time –but it was the fucking Xenomorph, so he couldn’t make a sound unless he wanted one of those weird tails through his midsection and a hook in his back. God, maybe that’d be better than embarrassing himself in front of you when his bladder gives out…

“Dwight!” You whisper yell, gesturing towards the generator you were both working on, snapping him out of his deprecating thoughts. He shot you an apologetic look, shoving his hand in the motor and fumbling with the inner mechanisms. He’s trying not to squirm– doesn’t want you to notice and ask questions –but he can’t help the way his thighs keep squeezing, or how his hands twitch with the want to hold himself.

“Sorry, sorry…” There’s a clang somewhere way too close, and both of you stop, trying to figure out just how close. Scraping, clicking, low growling echoes through the hall– and when you turn, it’s right there. Standing in the hallway, facing you like it knows you’re there even without eyes– creepy fucker. You can’t move, staring down this creature that will be the end of you both for the millionth time. One would think that at some point death would get less intimidating– less terrifying –but if it does, it hasn’t happened to you yet.

It crawls closer, stalking on all fours like the predator it is– waiting for you to run, waiting to chase.

“On my cue…” Dwight looks at you like you’re insane– there’s no way in hell you can outrun a fucking xenomorph. There’s no way he can outrun a xenomorph. Not with his bladder spasming painfully like it is.

But you don’t know that, so Dwight sucks it up– and when you tell him to run, he runs. You yank him to his feet, and the xenomorph goes in for a hit immediately, thrashing its tail in your direction, trying to stab something vital that will get one of you to the ground– but in a damn miracle, it misses. You have Dwight's hand in yours, sprinting down the hall with the killer shrieking somewhere behind you. Your only saving grace is that it’s blind– so if you can find somewhere to hide, maybe you can escape. Dwight doesn’t know if he can make it to the ‘escape’ part.

Whipping around a corner just in time for the tail to slash again, destroying a chunk of the wall and getting itself stuck in the wiring– miracle. It only buys you a couple seconds, but it’s enough to make some distance, and that’s really all you can ask for here.

“Here–” You whisper, running into an open door. It’s a struggle not to slam it shut on instinct, but you manage– barely. Not even a second later, the xeno rushes by, leftover debris raining down on the door, leaving small dents. You hear the monster stop outside the door, cursing the debris for doing the job of echolocating you. Dwight gasps, and you wrap your hand over his mouth on reflex, slowly backing up until you hit the wall. The xenomorph growls again, making the metal door wail when it drags its tail over the outside– Dwight takes it as the opportunity it is.

“I– I need to pee–” He whimpers, pulling your hand off his face for a second– before you promptly slap it back down. Admitting something so embarrassing in front of you of all people is utterly humiliating– he has half a mind to let the xenomorph kill him then and there. Dwight flushes, watching the way your eyes drift down to his crotch before flicking back up again.

“You–” Another echolocating screech startles you both, distracting Dwight just long enough for him to leak and whimper again, muffled behind your palm. His hands shoot down and grip his cock, squeezing in a desperate attempt to hold it just a little longer. It's easy to feel his body trembling from how he's pressed into your front– whether it's because of the effort it's taking not to piss himself or just because he's embarrassed –and you can't help but feel pity. Pity that makes you want to do something to help– pity that has you wanting to make him feel better in one way or another. He's going to piss himself anyway, that's obvious– the xenomorph doesn't sound like it's gonna leave its post any time soon. That thing is smart enough to wait people out– but it's not the most patient. If you can just wait a little longer without making any noise, you'll be in the clear– which, again, is where helping out Dwight comes into play.

You move so he can see your face and mouth ‘It’s ok’ while pulling his hands off his crotch– earning you a scared expression and Dwight's thighs squeezing hard around your hand. He can't believe this is happening to him– he's mortified. Beyond mortified. He's almost positive that if this actually happens then he's just gonna drop dead from the shame– have a heart attack from the stress and just die. God, what a stupid way to go during trial. ‘No guys, the xenomorph didn't get me, I just got so embarrassed that I went into cardiac arrest.’

Fuck

He can't hold it much longer– little droplets starting to build at his tip, cock twitching with desperation, bladder making his stomach bulge painfully –god he can't fucking hold it.

Dwight shakes his head at you hard and fast, his eyes getting wet with tears and a series of muffled whines vibrating against your hand. He can't do it– he's gonna piss himself– in front of the person he has a crush on. During a trial. This has to be hell– he probably died on that camping trip and everything since had just been hell. He must have done something awful, there's no other explanation for why he of all people has to go through…this. Christ, did he kill a person and forget? Was he mean to starving orphans? Did he kick a puppy?

Dwight’s hips buck and another leak escapes him when your hand rubs against his jeans, trying to spread his thighs, encouraging him to let go. You can feel as the spot his tip is pressed against gets damp, hips chasing that tiny bit of relief by unconsciously rutting against your palm, your other hand barely keeping him from being loud enough to be heard. He leans back into you, trying to support himself on knees that are getting progressively more wobbly.

You shouldn’t find this as attractive as you do. This should not be turning you on– especially when there’s a bloodthirsty monster a few feet away, waiting for you to slip up, waiting for confirmation you’re inside so it can break down the door.

But Dwight’s noises sound like moans– doesn’t matter if they’re moans of pain and desperation –and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a sucker for pathetic men.

You didn’t realize you were still rubbing him until Dwight’s hand was grabbing your wrist with bruising force, cock twitching all of three more times before you felt the wet spot get bigger. His head fell back onto your shoulder, swallowing visibly and letting go of a real moan, long and drawn out and muffled on your palm. His hips bucked erratically a few more times– turning into humping as he finally let go. The only sound aside from his pathetic mewls was hissing as Dwight's pants filled with piss, streaking down his leg until he (and your hand) was soaked– a puddle forming under his feet. It took a full minute before the stream stopped, shoes squelching when Dwight stood up straighter– and then the shame set in.

His face was bright red when he looked at you, tears rolling down his cheeks, lower lip wobbling while he tried to hold back any cries or sobs. You wanted to be able to comfort him– to tell him it was ok, that he was alright, you wouldn't tell anyone, that you're still friends. God, can you even still call yourself friends? This seems so much more intimate. –but you settled for taking your hand off his mouth and wiping his tears with it. He didn't stop crying, but the tears slowed down and Dwight was able to look you in the eye for a second. When he turned his head to the side and buried it in your neck, you realized you were still cupping his– now soaked –jean clad cock, still twitching against your hand. The only difference was that now, the twitching accompanied a rock hard erection rather than just a need to pee. It surprised you for a second, but…you realized it wasn't entirely unwelcome.

It was also then that you noticed you couldn't hear the xenomorph outside the door anymore. Not even it's low breathing. Had you really been so distracted with Dwight that you didn't hear it leave?

Apparently.

He wasn't saying anything to you, likely too mortified to form words, but he hadn't tried to move away or pull your hand off yet, so…maybe he wants to keep going? You're willing to take the risk. If he tries to get away or wants you to stop then you will, but he's so hard– it has to be painful. You get a firmer grip this time, grabbing the outline of his cock and giving a couple full strokes instead of the tentative rubs from before– to which Dwight's body responds instantly, hips snapping forth and a strained moan being forced from his lips. His face stays buried in the crook of your neck, warm breath starting to dampen the skin, lips brushing on the side of your throat. Carefully you unzip his fly, making sure to keep it as quiet as possible– just in case the xenomorph is still close enough by to hear –and gently pull Dwight's cock out. It's such an angry red, veins throbbing in time with every twitch, begging you to make him cum. His head looks nearly purple, and the piss soaking his skin makes the colors even shiner– precum mixing with the liquid and leaving his cock even slicker, dripping down your hand and onto the floor.

Dwight almost doubles over when you grab him directly, covering his own mouth and moaning loud– If it wasn't muffled it would have echoed through most of the wing, alerting the creature for the second time. You put your free hand over his in an attempt to muffle those pretty sounds further– a thought crossing the back of your mind that you should do this again when you're safe. And maybe when Dwight can look at you again.

Each stroke makes a lewd schlick noise, dripping onto the puddle of urine and creating an otherwise gross mixture of fluids that only serves to turn you on more in the moment. Dwight's shaking again, knees knocking into each other every time his legs threaten to give out– moaning into your palms like this is the best he's ever felt.

In his opinion, it might be. He doesn't think he's ever been this turned on before, the relief and shame from pissing himself somehow making his body– his cock –even more sensitive. He's not gonna last like this– he's gonna cum after having his dick stroked for 30 seconds, gonna embarrass himself for the second time in front of the person he's in love with. Fuck, but it feels so good– he can't stop making those noises, whimpering like a bitch in heat. Dwight’s eyes keep rolling into the back of his head, eyelids fluttering shut while he tries matching the pace of your fist– squelching getting louder and louder along with his moans –until he can't take it anymore.

Dwight cums with a muffled sob, splattering onto the ground and dissolving where it touches the other liquids. You keep stroking him through it until his hips start to pull away from the overstimulation, finally able to let him breathe freely. He clings to you, refusing to let go while he steadies himself and gets ready for the litany of emotions he's gonna feel later.

Adam Francis

As a bibliophille, Adam has read quite a few iterations of Vampires from folklore and fiction

From the sparkling to the mindless beasts

But you seemed...polite

Well, as far as a killer could be in the realm

"May I feed on you? Just a bit?"

He appreciates the gesture, but it's hard to feel grateful when the choice is an illusion

You'll feed on him and his friends, willingly or not

He knows the Entity is merciless to killers who don't obey, so he cuts you some slack

You return the sentiment by taking the longest path to a hook when you carry him

Eventually, you mutter under your breath about how much you miss your library

Adam immediately perks up as he hangs limpy in your hold

A fellow bibliophille?

It's not long before some sort of friendship develops

You spoke softly as Adam fidgeted with the chest's lock, "And these other vampires…sparkle?"

He nodded, "Yeah. Not my most favorite series."

You gently rubbed at your forearm, imagining yourself under the warmth of the sun.

"I also remember reading about some that suck blood through their fingers," he added as he managed to open the chest.

"Fascinating," you murmured under your breath.

Steve Harrington

For the love of God please try to act mean around him

The moment he finds out you're not as vicious and brutal as the other killers, it's over

"You vex me"

"Oh sorry, am I a pain in the neck?"

It's open season for Steve

Vampire and undead jokes incoming

Don't feel bad about tunneling him

You probably don't even want to feed on him

He takes offense to that

"Who wouldn't want a taste of all this sexy"

Not even a hook to the shoulder stops him from being annoying

"I'm not saying that," you hissed, glaring at Steve as he struggles to keep the Entity's claw from puncturing his chest.

"Come on, please?," he cried out as the pain of the hook in his shoulder began to take it's toll. "Please, please, please?"

Steve felt his grasp weaken as you glared a hole into his head.

"I'll stop with the jokes for three- no five trials if you do it," he pleaded.

You let out a long and exhausted sigh before looking around. Once you made sure no one was around, you gave in to his begging.

"Bleh bleh bleh," you spoke in a deadpan voice as you stuck your arms out.

Steve's shit eating grin never left him, even as the Entity's claw pierced right through his chest and lifted him up towards the sky.

Dwight Fairfield

You freak him the fuck out

You're so silent in your movements

You literally pop out of nowhere and spook the shit out of him

He could be working on a gen and then you appear out of thin air

"Good Evening"

He shrieks as you lift him onto your shoulder

It doesn't help that you don't seem to understand how your words affect him

"Would you be open to having your neck sucked?"

"WHA-WHAT?!"

He thinks you're doing it on purpose

In reality, the time period you're from doesn't really do innuendos

It's only when you promise to let him escape the trial after you feed that he really considers the offer

Dwight trembled as your mouth hovered above his neck. You breathed in his alluring scent deeply, savoring every bit of it.

"Mmmm…" You moaned softly against his skin, making his face erupt into a blush. "You smell so incredibly delicious."

Dwight stuttered anxiously under your tight hold. "D-Do you think it'll hurt?" His voice quavered slightly.

You were certain you would taste nervousness in his blood.

Running up and down the stairs of the Sanctuary was not how you had planned to spend your afternoon.

It had been two weeks since Negan had successfully gotten your boyfriend bitten by the beast he captured and the effects were getting painfully clear now.

Dwight never snapped at you before, now he got agitated by even a loud breath and today it got so bad you walked out of the late night emergency meeting.

Which is why he was chasing you now, up the staircase and stumbling over his feet in rage. You heard him closing in on you, his growling breaths and heavy boots getting closer to the corner you stood behind to catch your breath. You had to get away from him, he scared you now. Whatever he was it wasn't your sweet lover who'd use his high rank to bring you food.

"Now, now. You're not making this much fun, getting caught so easily." This Dwight scared you. He always loved you sweet and delicately and now in those last few days all you saw in his bright glowing eyes was hunger.

"Ahw come on, honey. I'll make it fair and let you run some more. Go!" He wouldn't round the corner, his entire body felt like it was burning, his skin crawling and his mind howling at him to catch you. His girlfriend. His mate.

You sprinted at his "Go!" and took sharp turns up the emergency stairs in the hopes of losing him and ended up on the roof. The door wouldn't lock from the outside so your best shot was to round the small bit of walls surrounding the entry and stay still.

He didn't lose you, he had your scent and easily sniffed you out.

Each step he took after getting onto the roof took a toll on his humanity. You heard his growling breaths and deep, animalistic sniffs to find you, and when he did he wasn't Dwight. Scraps of fabric hung on his frame, remnants of your favorite shirt of his and strips of his jeans dangled as his tail swayed from side to side. He stood taller than before and the only way you could even still recognize the creature as Dwight was the fur color and the burned half of his face.

So even the all healing curse couldn't reverse Negan's torture. He missed an ear in this form, too.

His low growls had you frozen in place, unable to run because he's catch you anyways. He was already skinny as a human, but in this form it was even worse. The long legs and pointed claws, long thin snout it was all so lanky.

You were too scared to take your eyes off him as he approached, leaning down and sniffing at you before grabbing at you and tossing you aside. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to bruise later.

The beast had space now, able to easily move around and pull at your limbs to get you where he wanted. He might have not been your Dwight in your eyes, but the beast still had his emotions. It became clear when you looked him over.

"Man, it sucks dates ate barely a thing anymore in this world.." You two sat next to each other on the staircase, enjoying a sandwich in peace. It was one of the few moments you had together. Lunch. Your shifts barely ever lined up and all the time you shared in your room was spent sleeping. "Yeah. I'm sorry, honey. I should get us a day off to just do nothing."

He always apologized, even when he didn't need to. "Hey, I'll even take a rooftop picknick. Maybe late night snacks and then fuck on the roof?" It was mostly a joke, no way of having any privacy anywhere in or around the building except for in your room. But still he laughed and agreed joking. "Yeah, sounds good to me."

The creature sat hunched over you with its muzzle barely an inch from your cheek. You felt its sniffing breaths on your skin but were too distracted by other things to mind it. The memory of your shared stairway lunch flashed by as you stared down his body and your eyes landed on his erect cock.

"Dee?" He growled and pressed his wet nose to your skin and pawed at your clothes.

"Okay, it is still you, right honey?" Your hands still hadn't moved as you watched him nod. The panic in your system started to fade slowly as you followed his movements and understanding you had no other way out than to give him his treat for capturing his prey. He won his game so he expects a prize.

He was still your Dwight, so you saw no real problem as long as he stayed calm like this.

"Okay, okay. Calm down with the claws, I'll help." He pauzed immediately, following your hands as they did the delicate work of unbuttoning your pants and unlooping the elastic from the button to pull down your zip. But as soon as that was done he was back to pulling at the fabric to get you naked.

He didn't lose his eagerness. His movements even mimiced those of his human self so you knew what was happening and when, so you knew you had to toe off your shoes before he yanked your pants down and went to push up your shirt and lap at your stomach and chest. He loved the softness and went to grab at your hips to pull you against him. It gave you a moment to unclasp your bra and within a second his tongue found your now uncovered tits.

You were so dustracted that the prod of his tip against your entrance caught you off guard and you you yelped a bit. His rumbling laugh relaxed you immediately after as he started working his way inside of you less careful than you were used to.

Little groans of pain left you but Dwight disn't seem to hear you, too lost in how good you felt. His tongue hanging out of his parted maw as he thrust into you lazily now that he was fully in.

The roll of his hips quickly turned pleasurable and your groans turned into whines and moans while your hands found his fur to hold onto and your legs wrappes around his hips.

Dwight started to grt sloppy, thrusts uneven and grumbling incoherently as he worked you both to your highs. His clawed hamd grabbed yours to lead it down bwtween the two of you, not wanting to accidentally scratch you with his claws, so you went to rub at your clit for him, just the way he'd always do for you.

With your walls clamping around him so deliciously he didn't need long before he shovee himself inside down to the base and spilling deep within you, the stretch of his knot pressing at all the right spots and pulling you over the edge with him.

When you both came back down you gave each other a look and couldn't help but laugh.

“Negan,” I whispered, sitting in our bed, shifting slightly as he dismissed me. The door slammed behind him, and I was left alone. This time, it wasn’t a tiny fight over Dwight flirting with me or me getting jealous of his other wives; I overheard one of his dick-riding minions talking about the current raid that they partook in. They recounted the names in glee, the names of the victims that Negan bludgeoned, Abraham and Glenn. I froze, and my face grew warm as I listened closer to the words tumbling out of their mouths—the gargling of his words and the look of desperation on the woman’s face. I moved to the man, but I grabbed my gun and slammed it against his temple before I could process anything that had happened. Over and over again, I drew the butt of my gun to his face. My eyes burned with tears and blood. My feet slid against the ground as I felt arms wrap around me. It was one hit, a solid punch against my jaw, and another to my temple; I heard a loud crack. 

I fell limp to the floor, a cold hand pressing against my face. His thumb rubbed gently against my skin. I could smell the stale cigarettes and beer on him. His voice was barely above a whisper. I could scarcely see his face, but I knew it was Dwight. I flinched away from him, slowly pushing him away. “Negan will kill you if he sees you,” was all I could mutter before, succumbing to darkness.  

Now, roughly two days later, I have a bruised and darkened eye. I could barely see from my left eye; bright lights irritated me, and I suffered frequent migraines – Negan would call it a suitable punishment for a disrespectful woman. I wore a patch that Dwight had found on one of his excursions. Negan didn’t take too kindly to it, and me jumping to his defense wasn’t helping the situation either. Negan commanded one of the wives to nurse me back to health; with disdain and twisted face, she did so. She changed my bandages from my worsening eye and cleaned the wounds. This morning was no different; she came with a slight frown upon seeing me. She sighed, setting down her materials. “When are you going to tell him?” she finally spoke as she damped a discolored clothe to my eye. 

After moments of silence, I finally responded, “What.” She laughed before snatching her hand away from my face. 

“You’re pregnant, getting into stupid fights with David? He punched you in the stomach, YN, and the only reason you blacked out like that was because that was your old crew.” I rolled my eyes, shaking my head softly. 

“There’s no need; he’s not talking to me. I feel fine.” I confided in Rachel often, and on one of my drunken nights, I told her that Michael was the group leader's son to whom I used to belong. It was easier to think he was dead than to believe that Rick was dead. I mourned for Rick, Carl, Glen, Maggie, Abraham, Tara, Sasha, Daryl, and Michonne. I told her about my sisters and Beth’s death, and I told her about first meeting Rick and his family. She listened, soaked in every word as I cried in her lap. 

“Your eye isn’t healing; you might want to get checked out when you go to Alexandria,” she sighs as she leaves me alone. 

It didn’t take me long to get ready: light green cargo shorts, a stained tan t-shirt, and some army boots I stole from a decaying corpse. My head shifted to the door as I heard his babbles break the silence. His head rested on Negan’s chest as he moved closer to the room, avoiding eye contact with me. I ran my hand down his curly hair, taking him in for a moment. “How’s he feeling?”

“Not getting any better from last night, still a high fever, and he sounds hoarse,” He whispers; I could feel his eyes on me. Heavy and daunting. Finally, I look up, praying he doesn’t shift his gaze away. “I worry about you, YN” 

Slowly, I let my hand travel to his face, cuffing it gently. My thumb brushed against his facial hair, prickling my skin uncomfortably, then moving to his lips. “I know… I’m sorry” was all I could manage. 

“He could’ve killed you; I would have to kill him. I would do anything for you — for Michael.” I nodded; I pressed my lips against his, tasting alcohol and some sort of meat. His other hand gently grabbed at my waist, yanking me closer. “Come on,” he whispered against my lips. As we left the room, we were greeted by his dick-riding minions, ready to raid another town. My eyes scanned David, his face distorted from the butt of my gun. He smirked momentarily, before trotting off with the rest of the group. My eyes flickered to Dwight, his movements slow and calculated. He dodged through the crowd and soon walked shoulder-to-shoulder with me. Nothing was, but nothing needed to be said. His fingers brushed against mine, and my eyes shifted to Negan and then to him. 

“How are you feeling?” I heard him grunt, his arms folded against his chest as he moved slightly before me. 

“Better; Rachel says I need to get checked out when I go to the town,” I answered shortly, looking around and disinterested in the conversation. 

“I miss you” 

“Don’t,” I interrupted, speeding past him as I slammed my shoulder against his. I gasped as I felt his arm latch onto mine. I didn’t turn around, but I knew he was upset and needed me to show him I was alright. He let me go, and I continued to move with the group as we boarded our rides. 

It didn’t take us long to reach Alexandria, the scene unfolding in front of me as every memory began to flood back. I began to feel queasy and full of anxiety as I stepped out of the car with Michael in hand. I hissed gently as sharp pain ran through my eye, I brushed it off as I lingered behind most of the group.

“Little pig…Little pig, let me in,” he foolishly commands, Lucille tossed over his shoulder. I squinted at the man; he was pale and had sustained some injuries. He was hunched forward slightly, his shoulders moving at an alarming rate. I caught his eyes, his hair covering most of his case; I took another step in his direction, my chest burning as I watched him intently. Realization struck on his face, and his eyes widened. “Daryl?” I whispered. My head snapped back to the gate as it began to open, and slowly, the figure emerged. He steps in, slowly thrusting Lucille into the man’s hand. 

His face changed, and he gained some weight. His hair wasn’t as curly the last time I saw him more clean cut. His face drained of color and life that used to decorate him – he had hope. I couldn’t move or process the man I was seeing before me. He froze, his eyes moving from Michael to me. My throat tightened as I tried to utter something to him; I dreamt of this day, standing in front of Rick, letting him meet his son, explaining the hell that I went through, seeking comfort in his arms. “Rick?” I hiccuped out, shaking my head. I took a step closer to him, tightening my grip on Michael. 

“YN?” he whispered, his voice kissing against my eyes. His eyes traveled back to Michael, “Is this–” hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers running against his arm before laying his hand against his back. 

“Hold the fuck up,” I heard Negan shout, his laughter filtering into the arm as he stepped closer. His face was full of devious mischievous, but his eyes were full of sorrow and confusion. They watered slightly as he stepped closer to me. “Rick? Ole Rick, here is the father of Michael?” 

“I was traveling with Daryl doing some runs in this town when we got separated. A herd of walkers took us by surprise, and I stumbled in the woods somewhere; I was holding up in some shanty town centers, bars, and a mall to give birth to Michael.” I stared at Negan for a moment as realization crossed his eyes. “Where’s Maggie?” I whispered. Rick looked for a moment, his eyes shifting down as he swallowed. 

“She didn’t make the trip back here after—” I sucked deeply. I needed to hold myself together, and I nodded to his statement. I pressed my lips together. “Let me see her.” 

With that, we moved to her grave sight, next to Glenn. I stared at the dirt graves, my foot mindlessly kicking at the dirt as it tumbled down the pile. My eyes stung with tears as I tugged on my bottom lip. “She was sister,” I spoke to Negan, my eyes fixating on the makeshift wooden cross. “She was always the rock between Beth and I. Beth was a crybaby, and Maggie was always Miss Straight and Narrow while I wanted to drink and stay out late with my hick boyfriend,” I laughed. It was long and rested in the stillness of the air. “When I saw Rick and Shane running down that field with Otis with Carl in his arms, I knew then that we stuck with the crew that came riding in their beat-up van and motorcycle. I nursed Carl back to health and taught him how to be a farmer."

My eyes flashed to Rick; a sunken look rested on his face as he gave me a soft smile. “She was my everything, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you—” I was interrupted by Michael’s whooping cough, his hand gripping against my chest. Negan rushed to my side, his eyes scanning Michael’s face, brushing his hair out of his face. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes pleading to hold him. Absentmindedly, I nodded. He soon began checking his reddening face, the back of his hand pressing against his forehead as he shifted slightly. My eyes flickered to Rick, who tensed; a look of concentration and bewilderment ran across his features. I flinched at the abrupt ring pierced through the air; we froze for a moment; it was a gunshot. I followed behind Rick, my hand removing the gun from my side, upon entering a building far from the gravesite. My gun was aimed at a teenage boy, a bandage covering his eye as he held it at David, who had multiple medical supplies in his arms while tossing them in a crate. My face furrowed in disgust as my eyes shifted to him. 

“Put some back, or the next one goes in you,” he commands; I observed, smirking slightly at this kid's courage. 

“Kid…what do think is gonna happen next?” the boy looked at Negan, his eyes flickering to the child in his hand. 

“He’s taking all of our medicine! You said Half,” he hissed; he squinted in hatred, his lips parted as a low snarl escaped. His finger danced against the trigger. 

“Carl… Carl put the gun down.” I straightened my posture, my eyes taking him in. He was taller; he didn’t have a sweet innocence about him. When I first found out I was pregnant, he stayed by my side — he was overprotective, to say the least. I remember sharing a cell in the prison for a month, his body leaning against the base of the bed, his head resting against the rusted metal pole. His mouth parted, and his chest slowly moved with each huff that pushed past his lips. I watched him for a moment, brushing my hands through his hair. He’d stir in his sleep, uncomfortably adjusting himself, letting his hands run over his neck. He hated sleeping alone since his mother had passed, and I hated being alone since I suffered from the miscarriage. 

Lowering my gun, I watched him. “You should go before you find out how dangerous we are.” I smiled softly at his words.

“David, put the medicine back,” I whispered, holstering my gun. Carl turned to me, his face still tight with anger. I grabbed his arm, and he flinched, his hand locking on the gun. 

“You don’t tell me what to do.” David spits, the crate still locked in his arms. A smirk rode on his face as he cowarded behind Negan. I looked at Carl, pressing a gentle smile on my face. Confusion ran across his eyes; he shifted to face me slightly. 

“You know, cowboy, you grew some damn balls the last time I saw you.” I laughed, tipping his hat back. His face softened, and a smile crept along his face. “Come on, Carl, I promise you, no one will touch the medicine. Half is what he said, and half is what he means,” I whispered, unraveling the gun from his hand. 

I turned to David, taking a long step forward; his eyes widened as he realized that Negan would let me do it, taking the safety of the gun and putting it to his temple. “Put the shit down” his eyes flickered to Negan, who didn’t seem pleased with my sudden demonstration of leadership. “You know I’m good for it.” David curses for a moment, dropping the crate on the ground, his eyes fixed on me as he slowly exited the room. The door slammed behind him as we all listened to his retreating footsteps. 

“YN,” Carl finally lets out, and I turn to him with a wide smile. “YNN,” he finally whispers; I gasped softly as he slammed his body against me. His arms wrapped around me. I chuckled. 

“You’re still a troublemaker, I see” I whispered. 

“I can say the same about you!” he chuckles through his slight frenzy of emotions. 

“I hate to interrupt a touching moment, but this reminds me that, you all have way too many guns,” Negan states. Carl removes himself from me, his eyes shifting to Negan. 

“First, Michael is sick, I know it’s probably too much to ask-”

“No,” Rick interrupted me. “Let’s get him looked at,” he hummed; I nodded, whispering a thank you. A woman with glasses came in, shakingly looking at Negan and me. 

“Hi! I’m YN. That is Michael.” he shyly lifted his head off at the sound of his name, and I motioned her to come closer. She was hesitant for a moment, her eyes scanning the room. She was observing Negan; her hand trembled as she moved to adjust her glasses. “He’s been a little sick, with a bad cough. Negan over here thinks it is serious; he just gets sick easily. He hasn’t had any motivation to do anything but sleep and sometimes eat.” She nods, her hand gently brushing against his back as she tries to take him from Negan. He stiffens, locking his grip on Michael. Resting my hand against his shoulder, I squeeze. Negan’s eyes flickered over to mine, and he sighed content before letting the woman take Michael. 

“What about you, ma’am?” she whispered, setting Michael on a bed. She lay him on his back, her hand moving to his stomach, the left side of his chest, and the right. She turned to me, waiting for an answer. “You should let me check you before you go; the bruising around your eye doesn’t look too good,” she nods for a moment. 

Simply, I responded, “I’m fine.”

“How old is he?” Carl questions

“9 months, he’s so busy and wants to be around everything and see everything.” I laughed, my hands nervously playing with the hem of my shirt; I watched her examine him; the woman made faces at Michael as she poked and prodded him. He whined softly before settling into a soft laugh as she made a goofy face again. 

Carl grabbed my hand, “Hey! It’s going to be okay. If he’s anything like us, Grimes, he’s a survivor,” he hummed; I nodded – tightening my grip on his hand. The memories came flooding in Carl’s kindness towards me, Rick’s loyalty and love, Daryl’s abrasiveness and wit, Abraham’s might and crudeness, and Rosita’s sass and smile. I sucked in a sob as I watched continued to watch Michael. I missed the feeling of Glenn wrapping his arms around in a tight hug after a sleepless night, or Maggie always bringing me a cup of tea in the mornings and before bed. I wanted to kill Negan for taking them away, I wanted to bring him to his knees and make him beg forgiveness as I rammed his stupid ass bat against his head. I wanted him to watch the woman he loved the most murder him. His last memory on this earth, is me wielding Lucille against his skull. But I was weak; I couldn’t imagine my life without him. 

“Well! He’s alright, just a little hay fever; it’s growing increasingly hot outside the pollen and allergens are making him sick. We have some children’s Advil that might help his temperature; some tea and honey would be great. Might wanna keep him in fresh clothes.” I sighed in relief; I nodded rapidly, as she lifted him. “We had some allergy medicine, non-drowsy, of course. I’ll make something to drink for him and get him a change of clothes, and he will be as good as new. But I wanna have a check-up in a week or so. Just to make sure," I moved to grab him, his smile overtaking his face, his hands slamming against my face with excitement as he squeals with glee. 

My eyes shifted to Negan; he stood against the back door. His eyes intensely staring at mine, he nodded briefly before looking away. “Come on, Rick, let’s go get my guns!” he promptly shouts, kicking himself off the door. 

I stared at Carl, we were left alone, and I had so much to say, but nothing came out. I wanted to beg for his forgiveness – I knew it wouldn’t amount to much. He smiled softly, nodding slowly as if he could read my thoughts. Somehow, he always could; he always felt like my first son, the way he clung to me after his mother passed. He would find his way into my room, whispering that he had a nightmare about his mother and Judith. “Don’t,” Carl whispered, tears streaming down his cheek as he nodded. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

It was silence between us. “I was going into labor; I found my way into a mall. Negan and some of the guys, helped me give birth to him. They took me back to the Sanctuary, and I became Negan’s wife. I wanted to come back; I did — I just… I don’t know.” I whispered.

“It’s okay, YNN. Dad always knew you were out there. He said he was too hard to get rid of.” he laughed softly. 

“Show me around, cowboy.” We walked through the streets, talking about different things, his new life, and the small hobbies he had picked up before things went to hell: the relationships and the heartbreaks. 

I stopped him, grabbing his arm. “These people are dicks; they do this shit for dominance to make you feel weak. You aren’t weak. They want to leave with this feeling of hopelessness. He will come back, and when he does, don’t show fear. He feeds off of it. There’s a shanty ranch home, 15 miles north of here, Hutington. Have your father meet me there in 3 days.” He nods quickly; I unholstered my gun, passing it to him. “Please, be safe cowboy.” 

“I will,” he hums, pulling me into a tight hug. I heard a long, high-pitched whistle, my eyes shifting to Dwight as he motioned for me to follow him. Carl looks at me before, whispering goodbye. Slowly, I made my way to Dwight, his eyes seething with jealousy, a look he often carried with him. Daryl was standing in a position directly behind him as he watched me. I passed a sympathetic smile to him. 

“What were you doing with him?” he questioned. I scoffed momentarily, looking around before returning my gaze to him. 

“He’s my son,” I answered without another thought. Carl always felt like my son; when he first arrived on the farm, I helped nurse him back to health—telling him fables that my grandfather used to say to me. I brought him late-night snacks despite my father telling me to not get so attached to them. I remember the look Rick gave me when I pleaded his case for them to stay– I remember the slight touch that sent shivers down my spine and our first kiss after he killed Shane. “Your leader killed my friends and took their guns, beds, and everything else they wanted. He’s a tyrant, and you know this.”

“I’m not one shacking up with him.” he hisses, stepping in my face, his breath fanned against my nose as he towered over me. “You’re fucking him, for fucksakes, you’re pregnant with his child. Don’t think I notice, how you don’t drink or stand around me when I smoke. The oversized shirts you wear? I notice everything about you.” I could find his hand and tried to find a way in mine. “Or Is it mine?” 

I honestly didn’t know; it was one drunken night. Negan and I had gotten into a nasty fight over Michael. I pushed him, and he choked me; I remember him tossing me to the ground and storming out of the room. Dwight had visited me and asked me if I wanted to go on a run. It just happened. I don't regret it.

I sighed, looking away and noticing everyone gathering at the gate. Their chatter and humming, the teasing and provocation. Finally turning to him, he shifts, his head focused on me, “I love them, and I love him. No matter where I go, I will always be a part of this family,” I whispered to him before moving to Negan. I stood at Negan's side, staring at Rick for a moment. He looked at me, and nodded gently, mouthing a slight OK. 

“Oh-ho,” Negan calls out, “What the fuck is that?” he grabs me by the waist, yanking me closer to him. “Are you trying to get at my wife?” He laughs momentarily and harshly grabs my face, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were delicate, full of curiosity and jealousy. He loosened his hold on my face, his thumb gently rubbing against my bruised cheek. Stunned, I stumbled back as he slammed his lips against mine. I didn’t kiss back; I stood their wide eyes and throbbing upper lip. He continued to kiss me, and soon, we fell into a rhythm, something that came so naturally to us. He pulled back and let out a slight howl. “You see that! She’s mine; I don’t know what you think… is going to happen, but she’s my wife.” 

I looked away from him, my head throbbing, my eyes burning for a moment as he continued with his speech. I closed my eyes briefly, sucking a deep breath before letting it fall against the air. I grew increasingly dizzy as the moments passed, and the longer I stood there, the more irritated I became. I drifted off in the background as Rick and Negan discussed formalities. I brushed past the Saviours as I moved to the truck. 

Night fell as quickly as I was back in my room, breastfeeding Michael, shutting my eyes as I rocked against the rocking chair. The soft sound of the chatter outside of the window calmed me slightly. The door slammed shut; I could hear his footsteps thudding against the ground. His boots slid off and tumbled against the floor. “I love you; I will never let Rick, Dwight, or any man have you. You mean everything to me; you’re mine, and I intend on keeping it that way.” I pried open my eyes, watching him through blurred vision. He stood there, leaning against the wall. 

I got up, placing Michael in a wooden crib covered with soft, thin blankets to prevent him from getting splinters as he would chew on the surroundings if he were up early enough. I tasked Dwight with finding me a different crib for him; after each run, whatever team partakes in, I always receive a report back with an update on any cribs. I brushed his hair out of his face; I tensed as I felt Negan’s body press against mine. I could feel the warmth radiating over me and his head nuzzled in my neck. His lips gently pecked at my skin, slowly as he moaned softly. His hands danced against my waist momentarily, pulling me back into the bedroom. I spun around to face him, noticing a look on his face. I could smell it on him. I chuckled for a moment, tossing my hand in his face. I moved our shared bed. 

Before I could make it to bed, his hand gripped my upper arm. I stumbled back into him. “Don’t walk away from me,” his voice was stern. “Stop walking away for me.” his voice now pleading. His grip loosened as his thumb gently caressed my skin. His hand swiftly moved to my neck –gasping, my hand immediately covered his. He forced my head to the left, our noses meeting slowly he brushed his against mine. “Stop walking away from me,” he repeats, his handcuffing my cheek. 

Our lips collided, my hands moving to his neck as I yanked him closer, letting our bodies tumble onto the bed. I crawled back, trying to keep our lips connected. He pulls back; I fall against the bed and watch him yank my pants down. He doesn’t speak; he usually never does. His fingers, moved on my thighs as he dragged me closer to him. I gasped softly, at the feel of his lips against my clit, his warm tongue tracing patterns as I grabbed his head. “Oh my-” I moaned softly, bucking my hips against my face. 

He kissed the inside of my thighs, moving to my stomach before, kissing my clit again, his finger slid inside me. Slowly he pumped, his knuckles pounding against my lips as he continued eating me out. Holding my breath, I let out disgruntled moans. My hands gripped the sides of his head before moving to my face, and my knuckles moved to my mouth as I bit down. I called out his name softly, he pushed my hand away shoving his finger into my mouth. He shoved it deeper into my mouth as he watched me choke on his finger, my eyes watered as my tongue moved to push his fingers out of my mouth, and yanking them out, I cursed at him. Shutting my legs slowly.

He moved back on top of me, his body weight resting on his hand. “Put it in,” he commanded; I sat there for a moment. My hand hesitantly moving to his dick, I grabbed at it, not bothering to jerk him off. I lined him up at my entrance; I tugged on my bottom, expecting him to shove it in as he usually does. His tip slowly slides in; his face contorts for a moment. 

He moves slowly; I gasp softly, taking sparse and sporadic breaths as he fills me. Finally, he puts all his weight on his forearm, his face closer to mine as he grabs my leg, tossing it around his waist. “I love you” he whispers, into my ear. His thrusts were slow and passionate; he moaned gently in my ear as he nibbled at my ears. “Do you love me?”, I opened my mouth but was interrupted by him thrusting into me. I struggled to push out a yes, my hands clawing at his back as I tightened my legs around his waist. 

“Say it” 

“I love you, D,” I paused, my heart thudding against my chest. I began to notice how heavier he was, how his stomach pressed against mine, and how he just stopped breathing. Fuck. He stopped thrusting; I could feel the anger seething from his skin. I didn’t know what to say. Should I just continue moaning? Should I be aloof?

He lifts himself, and I swiftly close my eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze. “I-I wasn’t thinking about him.” was all I mustered out. 

“No?” he chuckles, the cool air brushing against my body. He was leaving. “You’re fucking moaning his name when I’m fucking you,” he shouts; I look away. 

“You’re going to wake Michael,” I whispered, his footsteps thudding against the room. His hand gripped my arm as he pulled me up. I opened my eyes, watching him. 

“Do you love him?” His voice was eerily calm. 

“No,” I lied; of course, I did. I loved how he made me feel, how wanted he made me feel, and how precious I was to him. How he was so gentle with me, no matter what I did. But I would never love him the way I love Negan…No matter what this sadistic maniac does, I would never love anyone as I loved him.