#twd fic

All for Believing

Primarily Rick/Daryl with side Merle/Beth, Michonne/Andrea, and others. This series is mainly an excuse for me to write tons of breeding smut, but if you'd like a more detailed description:

An omegaverse AU set during season three of TWD. How does a population that relies heavily on suppressants and birth control adapt as those supplies begin to run out? Expect plenty of classic tropes, including half-feral and possessive alphas, many pregnant omegas, telepathic mating bonds, and strong instincts that are beginning to pull society back to a more primal existence.

Pretty Girl

Merle/Beth. This is a spinoff series from the above story. Expect it to be much darker and feature much harder kinks, and I am absolutely not guaranteeing a happy ending.

One Big Happy Family

Negan/Carl omegaverse. Carl gets pregnant after secretly spending his heat with Negan. Drama ensues. Also pretty much an excuse to write smut. Warning for underage.

Nobody's Fucking Romeo

Mouth slightly ajar, you stare at Daryl. Your fingers twitch on your sides before coming behind you to grip at the back of your thighs, trying to discreetly wipe your sweaty palms off using the fabric of your jeans.

His eyes scan your face for a few seconds before scoffing. “Gonna get yer ass killed if you stay here,” he grunts, adjusting the strap of his crossbow on his good shoulder. Daryl turns around, already heading back toward the camp.

When he doesn't hear your footsteps following him, he glances over his shoulder, glaring at you confusedly. “You comin' or wha'?”

You blink quickly, shaking yourself out of your shocked state before nodding. “Y—Yeah...” you say hesitantly. Your gaze drops to the walker’s corpse lying on the dirty ground. “Do we just leave them—it here?”

“The hell d’you wanna do with it?” His tone is a mix of confusion and impatience as he glances down at the walker.

You're taken aback from his tone. Not because it was a surprising attitude coming from Daryl, especially in the early seasons, but because you weren't used to people speaking to you that way.

You don't bother answering before letting out a sigh, bypassing him to head back toward the quarry.

Daryl is stunned for a second before shrugging it off, following after you with a grumble. He takes the time to look over at the walker on the ground one last time.

Now, sitting around a bonfire with a few people, you stare at the flames as hums and chewing sounds echo around you. You're deep in thought, just like this morning — and the whole day, for that matter — glaring mindlessly at the center of the circle.

The walker from earlier, the first and only one you had encountered, ignored you. How was that logical? Is it because normally you shouldn't be here? Could they even sense that?

The sun was setting down, making the atmosphere as quiet as it could be. Crickets sing around the quarry as the few remaining mosquitoes fly around the many bodies.

Your thoughts are cut short as someone taps your shoulder, the touch gentle but somewhat firm. You turn your head over your shoulder to look at the person, lightly raising an eyebrow you were met with a woman.

The said woman couldn't be older than forty, harboring short light brown hair with same color eyes. You didn't recognize her.

She nudges her head to the side, signaling you to get up and follow her, a hand behind her back. You get up from your camping chair, following her closer to the back of the RV.

Your back facing the others, you stare at the woman, confused. “...yes?”

She looks at you intensely before taking one of your hands with her free one, shoving her previously hidden palm into yours.

You look down to what she was handing you, your eyes widening in realization. “A gun? I—why would I—”

“(Y/N), sweetie, just take it,” she says, pushing it more firmly into your palm. “I saw you getting outta that forest with that... redneck. You oughta be careful.”

You were about to hand it back to her before a voice appeared behind the woman.

“Donna, don't be so judgemental.”

She turns her head, frowning. “Allen, sweetheart... I know what I'm doing.”

“No... No you don't.” Allen places his hands on her shoulders before offering you an apologetic smile. “Sorry 'bout her, nurse. She tends to be a little... old-fashioned.”

Your eyes widen at her implication. “I'm... I'm not sure Daryl is that harmful, Donna,” you utter her name hesitantly, trying to appear familiar.

She gives you a look. “I doubt that man is any different from his brother—”

“Donna.”

“What?”

Allen lets out a sigh. “Daryl—” he whispers the name. “—is the man who feeds you, us, every single night. Ain't you the one always complainin' 'bout those disrespectful youngsters nowadays? You're aren't much different right now...”

You watch them bicker for a moment before you officially get tired of it. You push the gun back into Donna's hand, smiling apologetically.

“Just... Take it back,” you say softly but firmly. “Daryl can be an asshole sometimes but he's not... whatever you think he is.”

Donna gives you a dejected look before reluctantly taking the pistol back. Her husband is quick to take it from her, hooking it to his belt.

They were both were about to bid you goodnight before Donna's eyes widen. She takes your forearm, a worried look on her face.

“You're not mad at me are you?” she asks nervously. “I wouldn't want my boys to be left out because I insulted your... boyfriend.”

“Acquaintances,” you correct her quickly. You make a mental note that those two had sons, apparently.

“Right... Billy and Ben would be very sad if—”

“I'm not mad at you. At all.”

Donna lets out a relieved sigh. She was about to dive in in another conversation before Allen, her husband, by the hold on her shoulders, guides her back to their tent.

You wave them goodbye before deciding it was also time for you to get some shut-eye.

Fortunately for you, no one tried to stop you from going as you walk toward the yellow tent. You open the flap eagerly before basically throwing yourself in, careful to zip back shut behind you.

You decided you would get more information tomorrow, as most people were already asleep or too busy eating.

You close your eyes, no longer fighting the exhaustion of the day.

You're woken up by the sound of laughter.

You shuffle your upper body up, groaning in exhaustion as you realize you didn't wake up in your bed. You had hoped the events of yesterday were just a dream of some sort, but no luck, you guessed.

Not wanting Amy to barge in like yesterday while you were still in your underwear, you get up from your sleeping bag, almost clumsily falling by how quick the movement was.

Your eyes scan the floor of the tent, trying to figure out what to wear. You note how you should probably go out to get some more clothes, if you were going to stay there, of course.

Eyeing your underwear, none of the colors matched unfortunately, you shudder in disgust as you felt as if you had worn them for over three days. You mentally tried to reassure yourself that it was normal before yanking the undergarments off of your body.

You fortunately find clean underwear before putting them on. You kneel on the floor of the tent to try and find somewhat clean clothes to wear.

After a few moments of searching, your hands find a blue and white striped knit top and a pair of capri jeans. You let out a satisfied hum as you did recall having something similar in your closet back at home. You slip on socks and the same pair of sneakers as yesterday, as they were the only thing you apparently had.

Your eyes stops had a little box on the floor, picking it up curiously. When you open it, you're met with pearl earrings.

Would it be bad to put them on?

After a few seconds of contemplation, you put the pearls on. You were used to wearing earrings all the time, so it felt like a relief to feel your lobes clothed.

Hair falls into your vision, making you grumble a few quiet curses. Right. Something was missing.

You didn't like having to deal with your hair, not that you didn't take care of them. More so that it was a waste of time for you. Why bother style your hair if you'd spend your whole day at the hospital anyway? You didn't see the point.

Your eyes catch a shiny fabric, all shuffled with other fabrics. You smile knowingly, snatching the shimmery cyan satin out of the messy pile of materials.

You were happy to see that the (Y/N) of this world had the same instincts as you.

You take the time to tie your hair in a useful manner, wrapping the satin scarf around your head, adjusting the make-shift bun you had tied. You let the excess of fabric fall onto your left shoulder, smiling at the feeling of baldness on your head.

You let out a relieved sigh before your nose catches a sudden odor. You raise your arm before regretting your decision.

“Oh—!” you blurt, your nose scrunching up at the smell of sweat before exhaling. “Okay... I'm definitely bathing tonight.” Your voice is filled with embarrassment, even if you were the only victim of the smell as of right now.

You get out of your tent after a few moments of silence, almost falling face first into the ground as you forgot to be careful.

Your feet take you back to the center of the quarry, where the main group usually gathered.

“Since when do you wear scarves on your head?”

You turn your head to the side at the sudden question, seeing Amy and Andrea sitting in camping chairs, seemingly waiting for the radio to make a sound.

Amy, the one who had asked the question, looks at you with a smile and a raised eyebrow. “I mean... Don't get me wrong, you look good.”

You shrug, walking closer to their level, plopping down next to Andrea. “It's a habit I took from working at the hospital, it saves me the worry of my hair looking a certain way,” you explain, looking down at the radio.

“Oh, yeah, I guess that's smart!”

Andrea hums, nodding her head, agreeing with her little sister.

“So... What are we waiting for?” you ask, nudging your chin toward the radio.

“We're waiting for a signal, I guess,” Andrea says, an unconvinced look on her face. “It's been twenty days. No signals.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Twenty days? Twenty days of what?”

“Of the outbreak? (Y/N), you told me you were keeping count!” Amy jumps in, confused by your question.

“Oh! Yeah, right...” you say after a moment, letting out an awkward chuckle. “I lost count, sorry.”

You feel a sense of dread form itself in the pit of your stomach. Had it really been only twenty days since everything started?

Didn't Rick wake up on the sixtieth day?

You're screwed.

Thank you for reading!

Interactions and reblogs are welcomed and greatly appreciated, thank you in advance.

꩜ Tag list: @magi-the-writer