#twd abraham

You and Abraham were on a supply run together, rumbling through the abandoned streets in the old fire truck. The sun beat down mercilessly, but neither of you minded—survival had long since hardened you to discomfort.

You wore a pair of fitted capri jeans and a snug tank top, practical but still clinging to your frame in a way that made Abraham’s gaze linger when he thought you weren’t looking. As for him, his cargo pants and white tank top did little to hide his broad chest and thick, muscular arms, the fabric straining with every movement.

The two of you had just cleared out a small horde of walkers near an overrun gas station, leaving your clothes splattered with dark, sticky blood. The smell clung to you, metallic and rotten, making your skin crawl. You wiped your hands on your jeans, but it did little to help—just smeared the mess further.

Abraham wiped his knife clean on his pants before sheathing it, then turned to you with that usual confident smirk. "I’ll go look over there for more supplies," he said, jerking his thumb toward the back of the building. "Can you handle bein’ alone for a sec?"

You nodded, rolling your shoulders to shake off the tension. "Yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t get yourself killed." His grin widened, and he winked. "Don’t you worry ‘bout me, sweetheart. I can take care of myself."

With that, he strode off, his heavy boots crunching over broken glass. You watched him go for a moment before turning back to the fire truck, swinging open the door and climbing inside. The truck gave you a moment of rest from the oppressive heat, and you exhaled, letting yourself relax for the first time in hours.

You unzipped your bag, going through the contents until your fingers brushed against something soft. Frowning, you pulled it out—a white lace miniskirt, delicate and entirely impractical for the apocalypse. You had no idea why you’d even packed it. Blame it on hormones, you thought with a quiet laugh.

Maybe it was the ovulation talking, or maybe it was just the sheer absurdity of life now—where death lurked around every corner, but human desire never really faded.

Birth control was hard to come by these days, and whenever you and Abe got carried away, he was careful to pull out. Not that you’d mind if he didn’t—not anymore. Alexandria was safe, stable. The idea of a little one running around, with his fiery hair and your stubbornness, wasn’t the worst thought in the world.

You peeled off your blood-soaked jeans, the fabric stiff and clinging unpleasantly to your skin. The lace miniskirt was an impractical choice, but the soft material felt freeing against your thighs.

After a moment of hesitation, you stepped out of the truck, the breeze ghosting over your bare legs as you climbed onto the roof, rifle in hand.

The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the empty streets. You scanned the area, finger resting lightly on the trigger, ready to pick off any walkers that stumbled too close.

Then Abraham’s voice cut through the quiet, rough with amusement.

“Hey! What happened to your pants? You givin’ the walkers a free show now?”

You turned your head, glancing down at him where he stood near the truck, arms crossed over his chest, that familiar smirk playing on his lips.

“No one’s stopping you from watching,” you teased, biting your lip.

He chuckled, deep and warm, shaking his head. “Oh hell, girl, I’m definitely watchin’. But are you tryin’ to get me killed or what? ‘Cuz Goddamn, that’s a nice view. Don’t know how I’m s’posed to focus on walkers like this.”

You grinned, shifting slightly to give him a better angle. “Then come up here. You’ll be safer with me.”

“Ain’t gotta tell me twice, darlin’,” he growled, hauling himself onto the roof in one smooth motion.

The moment he settled beside you, his gaze raked over your body—slow, deliberate—from the hem of your skirt riding up your thighs to the dip of your tank top, where the fabric clung just a little too tight. You noticed, of course, and didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened.

“Come closer, Daddy,” you murmured, voice low.

Abraham didn’t hesitate.

In one swift movement, he closed the distance between you, his calloused hand cradling your face as he crushed his lips to yours. The kiss was hot, all hunger and barely restrained need, but there was something softer beneath it—something that made your chest ache. His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, the world faded.

The approaching groans of walkers was long forgotten. All that mattered was the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his mustache against your skin, the way his fingers tightened possessively on your hip.

Until a particularly loud snarl shattered the moment.

Abraham broke the kiss with a rough exhale, resting his forehead against yours. “Damn it not now” he muttered.

You smirked to yourself and turned back to your rifle, settling onto your stomach on the sun-warmed metal of the fire truck’s roof. Abraham’s gaze burned into you—you could feel it, heavy and possessive, tracing every shift of your body.

Deliberately, you arched your back, lifting your ass just a little higher under the pretense of adjusting your aim. “Gotta get a better shot,” you murmured, peering through the scope.

Abraham let out a low, knowing chuckle. “Uh-huh. Real tactical, sweetheart.”

You exhaled, steadying your breath, and pulled the trigger. The walker’s skull snapped back, collapsing into the dirt.

When you glanced over your shoulder, Abraham had already unbuttoned his cargo pants, freeing his cock—thick, heavy, veins standing in stark relief under the fading sunlight. Your mouth watered at the sight.

“Stay on lookout,” he ordered, voice rough.

You turned back to the rifle, pulse hammering, but before you could even pretend to focus, his hands were on you—big, calloused palms squeezing your ass, kneading the soft flesh before dragging your damp underwear aside. A thick finger slid into you without warning, and you gasped, fingers tightening around the rifle.

“Fuck, babe,” he growled, curling his finger just right, making your hips jerk. “Shootin’ walkers get you this wet?”

You bit your lip to stifle a moan as another figure shambled into view. “Abe, I—fuck—I need to—”

“What, you gonna cum already?” he teased, adding a second finger, stretching you deliciously.

You laughed breathlessly, struggling to keep your voice steady. “N-no, I need to kill walkers.”

His breath hit your ear, hot and wicked. “Then let’s see how many you can take down with my dick stuffed inside you.”

Your heart pounded—part thrill, part fear. The risk was intoxicating: the groans of the dead too close, the need to stay silent, conflicting with the way he filled you, ruined you.

And then he was pushing in, slow, letting you feel every inch. Your head dropped forward, a whimper escaping as you fought to keep your aim steady.

“Eyes forward, soldier,” Abraham rumbled, hips flush against you. “Don’t miss.”

His cock was buried so deep inside you, the thick head brushing against your cervix with every slow, deliberate thrust. The sensation was maddening—bliss edged with sweet torture.

A broken moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it, and Abraham’s hand clamped over your mouth, his grip rough but his eyes burning with dark amusement.

"Baby, don’t lure ‘em all here with those dirty sounds," he growled, breath hot against your ear. You nodded, biting your lip as he removed his hand.

He’d never fucked you like this before—agonizingly slow, each drag of his length leaving you trembling. The heat between your thighs was unbearable, your nails digging into your rifle as you whined.

"Need you to go faster, Daddy, or I’ll never cum," you pleaded, voice shaking.

Abraham smirked, the bastard, his hips rolling just hard enough to make you gasp. "Look at you," he murmured, "begging me to fuck you harder while the dead come for us."

You hated how much that thrilled you.

But he gave in, snapping his hips forward with a force that punched the air from your lungs. The sudden pace had you arching, your back pressing against the cold metal of the truck’s roof as he drove into you, relentless. Pleasure coiled tight in your belly, threatening to snap—and then the words spilled out before you could stop them.

"Cum in me, please–I need to feel you, need your warmth inside me. Wanted it so bad for so long–fuck, please–"

Abraham’s grip on your waist turned bruising. You’d never begged like that before, and the effect was instant. His rhythm stuttered, his control became ragged. Your hands, which had been clutching the rifle beside you, now scrambled for the edge of the truck as he pounded into you, the force of his thrusts making the entire vehicle rock.

Somewhere in the haze, you registered the groans of walkers closing in.

Abraham didn’t stop.

One hand left your hip, snatching up his gun in a fluid motion. A single shot rang out and a walker dropped just feet away. But his hips never stilled, his cock filling you so perfectly you could’ve cried.

Then your climax hit, sudden and overwhelming. Your walls clenched around him, a silent scream trapped behind your teeth as you bit down on your lip hard enough to taste blood. Abraham groaned, his free hand tangling in your hair as he watched your juices coat his length when he pulled out—only to slam back in, fucking you through it.

You collapsed forward, limp and weak, letting him use you like his own personal fleshlight as he chased his own release. Another walker lurched into view—bang. Another shot. Another corpse hitting the dirt.

Then, with a ragged curse, he buried himself to the hilt and came, his cum flooding your cunt in thick, pulsing waves. The heat of it was intoxicating, claiming, and for one reckless second, you never wanted him to pull out.

Reality crashed back when a decaying hand slapped against the truck’s side.

I could still hear that damned whistle, the one that followed us through the dark of the night.

We ran, carrying Maggie as best as we could but a bright light blinded us. I was barely registering my surroundings, my sight hasn't always been the best and now, the stress made it worse. I could make out a huge group of men and several cars parked in a circle, as if they were cornering us.

Every single person in the group was breathing heavely.

Eugene was on his knees on the floor and I could see him with tears in his eyes . We were all paralised, most of us were frozen on our spots until a tall thin man with a mustache talked to Rick.

He threatened us with a gun and told us to drop the weapons. Rick was still insistent on talking things out, a last desperate attempt .

Our weapons were taken away from us and I felt a man take away my gun from my waist.

The tall man ordered us to kneel on the floor. Almost automatically i stepped closer to Michonne, she had always been a source of security and safety to me so approaching her was natural. Michonne signaled me to help with Maggie

All of us together helped Maggie get down from the improvised bed we made for her with utmost care. I went to help her stand up but Abraham and Rick took her together.

I could still see Maggie trembeling even after we were all put down on the floor.

I think somehow thats how we all felt, some trembling due to rage, others due tl fear and some of us due to incertainty.

Once we were all on our knees, we heard the mustache man again"We have a full boat. Lets meet the man" He said this while getting close to the vehicle, only turn away to position himself right after us.

The silence surrounding us was terrifying. A tall, slim figure of a man came out of the van. There wasn't a lot of light so we couldn't really see his face. It wast until he talked that a shiver run down my spine. The kind of shiver that makes you feel as if you need to run as far as possible.

"Pissing our pants yet?" He said while walking towards us. The moment he started stepping closer , the light of the cars began to iluminate his face, a face that was way to familiar to me. "Boy, do I have a feeling we're getting close".

I inhaled a sharp breath, finally recognizing the man in front of us. The lightning wasn't helping with my sight but if I was good at something was at recognising voices, and that voice was one I could never forget. For good or for bad.

My mouth hanged agape, I felt as if I couldn't breath. He kept talking, I doubt he recognized me at the moment, probably way to focused on humiliating us, enjoying our pain.

A white noise was all I could perceive right now, not really acknowledging all the other sounds around me. It was Negan. He was standing right in front of us with a baseball bat and that shit eating grin I've come to resent so much.

Last time I saw him was before all of this bullshit, before the walkers and before society went to hell. After finalizing our divorce I made a point to avoid him and tried to focus on myself but he always had to reappear somehow.

I thought I had forgotten him until the outbreak began. I was lucky enough to be part of a group of people that were willing to take me in. Thanks to that is how I met some of my closest friends, my new family: Daryl, Rick, Maggie, Glenn, Carol... We all lost people on the way but we have stuck together through thick and thin.

I only thought of Negan some nights when I was alone in my tent, when the thought of my ex husband crossed my mind. It came from a place of curiosity. Was he alive? Was he a walker?

Seeing him again after years of not knowing what happened... I don't know how I felt, pure shock would be the best description for my situation right now.

He kept strolling form left to right until his gaze fell on me.

I noticed how his smirk banished, even if only for a second. His face iluminated with recognition. He blinked twice, his smile returning but now with a hint of amusement.

"Well you must be fucking kidding me" He mumbled to himself before he let a chuckle escape him "(Y/N)? It's that you" I couldn't answer, probably from exhaustion or just the shock I was exposed to but I couldn't articulate words to reply

"Of course it is. Well, God. Fucking. Dammit." He accentuated every word" Its been a while hasn't it? Since the fucking start of this shitshow". With a slight tilt of his head ge kept talking to me. "Babe, you and your little friends just got yourselfs into some horrible fucking situation"

I could feel the confused glances of my group, Abraham was trying to be driscret about it; Michonne looked at me with interrogation in her face; Rick was sweating bullets but still moved his face to look at me; Maggie couldnt stop trembling.

"So tell me, darling, who of these pricks is your leader" Negan bent slightly his head down. I didn't utter a single word, I could feel him signaling that he didn't hear anything as inviting me to talk but I just couldnt. "Cat got your tongue? Well that's a big fucking shame" He whispered to me.

The other man from before, who I guess was his right hand man, told Negan that Rick was the one in charge. He approached Rick and he started talking to him.

Michonne still had her eyes on me, I turned to look at her, my eyes told her that I also didn't know how to react but I was pretty sure what to expect, and I wasn't anything good.

Negan positioned himself in front of Rick and noticed how he had reacted to our conversation "You see that woman over there, Rick?" He referred to me by poiting with his bat "That woman there was my wife. Did you know that?" Rick just kept looking at the taller man, processing the information. "But don't worry, I won't play favorites, every single one of you will have a same chance of being punished"

The rest of the conversation between Rick and Negan consisted on Negan talking to a shocked Rick about how angry he was for us killing his man. Insults were placed in every two words by Negan.

But the part of the speech that everyone of us listened to was this "Give me your shit... or I will kill you" I knew Negan well enough to know he was probably smiling. "We invested a lot so you could know who I am and know what I can do" He pointed the baseball bat at Rick " You work for me now"

The rest of the speech was a discouraging as the first statement. Now we worked for him, quoting his words, we were owned by him now. We had to give him half our stuff or we were fucked.

"I don't want to kill you people, I want you to work for me...but... you killed a lot of my men, a fucking lot shit load of them, more than I am confortable with... and for that, well for that you've gotta fucking pay... so, now I'm gonna beat the fuck, fuckidity fuck out of one of you" After he said this, Negan presented to Rick his bat, Lucille, a baseball bat covered in spiky wires.

Negan again walked right in front of our kneeled selfs. When he passed in front of me, he perceived the absolute contempt and hate that was starting to overtake my facial expression.

Next thing I felt was the kiss of Lucilles wooden edge on my chin " Damn, you look so hot on your knees right now baby" I finally found the strength to say something, albeit strained by the strong feeling of repulsiveness flowing throughout my whole body "Fuck you" It wasn't loud, I wasn't nonchalant. It was quiet and constricted so full of emotion it felt like it could explode.

His only response was to laugh right in front of me, taking away Lucille from my face in the process "Oh, I missed this!" He said more to himself than to the others "Don't worry darling, I'll make it quick for your group of losers...for the old times" He whispered bending to put his face at the same level as mine.

Everything that happened after was just pure hell for us. Not only was one of my closest friends, Daryl, taken away by the saviors, but Glenn and Abraham had been killed right in front of us by the men that was once my husband.

I remembered that Negan looked right at me before smashing Abrahams head, as if he was hinting it was going to be me but regreted the decision and changed it last minute. The next thing I felt were hot wet stains of blood splash onto my skin. Abraham had been right next to me in the line when his head was smashed.

My chest was moving at the fast rhythm of my breathing and a faint sob came out of me. I genuinely thought I was going to get hit but after seeing Abraham and how he wasn't fully dead, I almost wished it was me instead of him

Then came Glenn... if Maggie was already, for lack of a better word, absolutely fucked, now she was destroyed beyond measure.

I can't recall the moment the saviors went on their way and left us alone. Michonne hadn't left my side since the saviors left, I don't know if it was for support or for lack of trust after the new information that Negan just revealed.

After watching that i wasnt really reacting and my gaze was straight on the floor, she decided to approach me, finally asking outloud "Did you knew it? That he was the one after us? " Her voice had a hint of heartache in it, as if she was afraid of me knowing this.

I looked at her, partly offended and partly startled before my face froze into a frown "How can you ask me that?" With my trembling hand I put my hair back. It was still stained by abrahams blood. " I didnt even knew he was alive, Michonne how could I have known?!"

Finally every single feeling that the event had caused me was crashing at me like a wave.

All I felt was a horrible feeling of impotence and hatred. Something so putrid that my own body was trembling as if wanting to get rid of it.

Rick looked at me from a few meters, from where he was standing. He came close to us and put a hand on Michonnes shoulder. It was evident how affected and traumatised he had been by Negan.

"We need to talk about this, but not now, now he have to stick togeter, make a plan" I could see that he wanted answers but was also trying to help me ride out the shock I felt.

If I knew something about Negan is that this would only get worse as time goes on. His unpredictability and god-like actitude was going to cost more lives than we wanted to acknowledge.

Hey!!! Im back, ive been rewatching TWD and i just got the best idea for a fanfic.

Negan and his ex wife being bitter exes. I know in this prologue we cant really apreciatte the whole of Y/Ns personality but i wanted to focus more on her shock while mantaining the terrifying atmosphere that this scene has.

I don't really like when Y/N or readers are infantilised (no hate on those who like that, im no one to judge) so this reader will be described as a female adult, around the same age as negan, maybe 3 years younger at most (other physical traits will be as ambiguous as possible so that everyone can imagine themselfs of their oc in <3)

Well, this is my creativity burst from 3:00pm so have a nice day/night/afternoon 😘😘