Gif By @daryl-dixon-daydreams

CUTE

Midday naps and business meetings.

boyfriend! Daryl x fem!reader

Warnings: suggestive

Word count: 522

Copyright © 2023 r66dus on Tumblr. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format or translation.

REQUEST INFO || Masterlist

He came home from doing whatever he had to do that day and got in through the basement door to find you napping on the couch he had slept in alone at night before you two admitted your feelings to each other.

You were always cold and he found so heartwarming the fact that you’d curl up in a ball to sleep when he wasn’t there. He took the book you were reading from your hands to set it on the table before kissing your forehead tenderly.

Taking his shirt and shoes off, he grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair to cover you with before laying next to you. The closeness from his bare chest woke you up with a startle.

“Shit!” You whisper-shouted.

“Shhh ‘s just me sunshine. Go back t’ sleep” he reassured with honey in his voice. Daryl did this often, he’d come home to find you asleep and lay next to your sleeping body. The archer would rarely fall asleep in the middle of the day but he craved the proximity so he stayed for as long as your sleep lasted. Sometimes this was more intimate than sex.

“Hmm did I fall asleep?” you mumbled definitely still asleep.

“Mhm, ya still are” he affirmed with a soft throaty chuckle while playing with the ends of your hair and admiring your features.

You moved your hand to feel him, mostly to confirm he wasn’t the product of a vivid dream “Mmm and you’re half naked” you paused, cracking one eye open to check what your fingertips felt, his naked chest “bold move Dixon. Getting in bed with a taken woman, didn’t take you for that kind of guy”

He chuckled lowly, the kind of chuckle that came from within, laced with adoration and love. You never really had a filter to what you said but sleep was definitely a stronger form of alcohol for you, you also adored flirting with him and watching his reaction. Your flirting was also a welcomed form of reassurance for him.

“Go back to sleep woman” he trailed off covering your now open eyes with a loving hand when you began looking him up and down with a teasing smirk. His eyes softened when he smiled at your behavior, god how he adored you, even when you made his cheeks hurt from smiling too much. You were enjoying this far too much despite having been dead asleep minutes prior.

“I will!” You said laughing at his actions. Then, you removed his hand and kissed it before he hugged you closer with it by the waist “and when I wake up, you can take off the other half, do we have a deal?”

“I guess we do” he agreed, nudging his nose against yours, prompting you to tilt your head up to kiss your lips amorously and caress your cheek with his thumb. Once the kiss started turning into a make out session you both pulled away with somewhat of a saddened sigh from the loss of contact but stayed close enough so he could hear your whispers.

“Love doing business with you”

Squealing and kicking my feet as I read this!

So precious!

I saw your post about Mikey so I hope this is okay & what you were looking for. Mikey meets a girl that is like sunshine whenever she walks in the room & makes him finally feel worthy/valued so he’ll do anything to make her feel special in return

Sunshine (Mikey Berzatto x Reader)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of weed and alcohol.

Word Count: 4.2k

I found a good boy and he's on my side You're just my eternal sunshine, sunshine

“John, John- you listenin’ to me?!” Mikey was pacing his office, trampling over receipts and month-old sticky notes while aggressively combing his hands through his tussled black hair. “I’ll have your money. When have I not paid you, goombah? I didn’t see the invoice, you should see this fuckin’ office, not enough time to organize this damn shit show” he responded, kicking a stack of papers in the process. 

Bending down, he began rummaging through the various papers littering the office floor, attempting to compile them into categories. “John! You there?! Fuck.” Mikey frantically pat himself down, a sudden yearn for nicotine overcoming him. Finding his carton of Marlboros, he slipped the end of a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

Letting out a sigh, John grunted, “Yeah, I’m here, Mikey. I’ll give you a couple more d-” before being interrupted by the vibrations of Mikey’s phone. 

“Fuck me, that jagoff is calling” Mikey thought out loud. “Listen, John, I hear you, you’ll have your money, mmkay? On my ma, I swear to ya, I gotta go though there’s another ball-buster on the other line. K? Ciao.” Before John could respond, Mikey stood up to accept the other call.

“Mark, brother, hey, before you start… I know, I know.” He picked up his phone, taking it off speaker to slip it under his ear. “I— Listen, I know. I hear you. I- Hey, you gon’ let me speak, or wha’?!” Speaking with his hands he continued to pace around the room, his booming voice stifled by the cigarette. 

The lunch rush at The Beef was dying down, exposing you to increasingly longer bits of the chaotic conversation occurring in the office. This was Mikey’s typical presentation; disheveled, malnourished, and overexaggerately buzzed off of caffeine, nicotine, and italian-ness. Although he was impossible to reason with in this state, you took it upon yourself to fix him up his favourite; a mortadella sandwich with sundried tomatoes, pesto, and mozzarella.

“You think I don’t know that? Pft, c’mon! Mark, man, you’re killin’ me!” You stood in the doorway, observing Mikey as he stood with one hand on his hip, the other flailing around to exemplify his frustrations. In one of your hands was the plate holding the lunch you made; in the other was a Chicago Bears BIC lighter.

Subtly knocking on the already open office door, Mikey whipped around to face you, his inconvenienced facial expression seamlessly evaporating into his wide-tooth grin. Mouthing ‘meet me outside’ was all it took for him to fake an excuse off of the phone and trail in your footsteps.

Albeit cheesy, you had that captivating effect on him, your hidden-well insecurities and past failed relationships blinding you to the fact that Mikey was infatuated with you. That, in combination with the 15-year age gap between you two. For Mikey, none of those factors changed the fact that you were his daylight, sunshine in human form.

Outside in the back you sat on a milk crate, the pre-Spring Chicagoan air fluttering over your skin. Moments after, Mikey joined you by sitting on an adjacent crate close to you after propping open the door. “Thanks, Bella” he said as he leaned over, his palm squeezing your thigh in an attempt to physically communicate the appreciation he held for your act of service. 

You offered out the plate to him, prompting him to begin devouring. He gruffly moaned after taking his first bite. “Mhhhh, shit, this is like Marry Me chicken but in sandwich form.” You giggled in response with your hands resting in your lap, watching as he attacked it hungrily. Mid-bite, he motioned with his head towards the other sandwich on the plate, “Ain’t gonna eat itself, Italiana.”

“I’m not hungry right now, Mike,” you responded, suddenly losing your appetite as you thought of the most effective way to check in on him without him brushing it off. Mikey had a fortified ‘I’ll deal with it maself’ attitude; his hard-headed, traditional Italian, ‘Godfather’ persona caused him to keep you far away from the messes he had gotten himself into. In his eyes, you are more than capable of dealing with life’s bullshit, but his innate urge to protect you from harm’s way and unnecessary stress made it difficult to involve you.

“What was going on in there?” you motioned towards inside with your head. “Ah, nothin’ doll.” He shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to brush off the topic, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Just some bills that need payin’, I got it covered. Business good today? Any jagoffs give you trouble?” He frantically read your face, urgently hoping you’d buy his not-so-discreet attempt at changing the topic.

“C’mon, Mike. Cut the shit. You’re suffocating in that office.” The only person whose bluntness Mikey could listen to happened to also be the only person he’d accept ‘Mike’ from. He took the cigarette that had been hanging from his lips in his office out of his shirt pocket and proceeded to light it. Taking the first drag of it, he flicked it, holding it out to you.

Pursing his lips to blow out his puff, he responded confidently. “I got it all figured out, sunshine. Plus, I got cousin helpin’ me with the books and shit. Just gotta pay back those muthafuckas who keep callin’ me. They’re all, ‘where’s my money!?’” he playfully rolled his eyes, making hand gestures and displaying a funny face as he imitated the callers. You both knew damn well they had every right to be calling him. 

“You telling me that Richie is on the books is supposed to bring me a sense of comfort?” Asking him that question with pure seriousness and handing him back the cigarette, Mikey stifled a laugh. “Hey, him and the IRS are like this” he crossed his middle finger over his index while winking and making a clicking noise with his tongue.

“Cousin, where the fuck are the receipt rolls, the office looks like an abandoned and pissed-in office depot” Richie’s exclaiming became increasingly louder the closer he got. “Feels like we change the damn paper in that thing ever- oh shit, pardon my interruption to your rendezvous. Were you guys about to fuck? I can leave” Richie pointed with his thumb towards the kitchen as he sported a fake-worried and devious expression, slowly inching backwards.

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “No one’s fucking anyone, Rich.” Mikey looked to the ground as he faked a chuckle, ignoring the slight pang of hurt in his chest.

“You want a mortadella sandwhich?” You held out the plate to Richie, knowing he couldn’t resist. “Uh, DUH,” Richie grabbed an additional crate to join the two of you, immediately beginning to eat.

“Oh fuck, are you fucking serious right now?! Mikey, if you don’t marry this girl I’ll do it for you. ‘S like a mouf orgathm” Richie had just begun eating yet he already had food on the corners of his mouth. You chuckled, choosing to ignore the marriage comment. “Here, you child. You’re such a slob” you threw him a napkin you had stored in your apron. 

“Hey, the real slob is right over there” he pointed directly at Mikey, not even bothering to wipe his mouth but proceeding to take a another massive bite. “Something’s gotta be done about that cesspool of an office,” Richie shook his head disapprovingly, despite also functioning well in chaotic enrivonments. Mikey took yet another drag, the stress of you and Richie’s indirect demand to get his shit together getting to him. “It’s organized chaos, I know where everything is, s’all that matters.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This was the third night in a row that you had difficulty falling asleep. You had tried everything in your arsenal of melatonin-producing activities, and yet, your brain was spiraling, most of your thoughts pertaining to Mikey.

You weren’t going to kid yourself. You needed something and you knew exactly who to get it from. Picking up your phone, you made the call.

“Rich?? You awake?” You rolled over to your side, holding yourself up by your elbow and propping your head up with the palm of your hand. “Yeah I’m awake, but why the fuck are you awake, missus?” “I need a favour…” 

Richie’s dirty mind figured any call from a woman at this hour was for sex, but he also knew about Mikey’s schoolboy yearn for you and wouldn’t dare make any advancements. The silence on his end was telling. “Not that type of favour, God, Rich! Stop being a man for a second. I need weed.” You huffed out, a whiny tone of desperation heavy in your voice. 

“Now that I can help you with” he chuckled.

“YES thank you, Rich, oh my god” You sprung up out of bad as if there were hot rocks in it. “I will meet you at The Beef, okay?!” And that was where he met you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You and Richie sat at the back of The Beef, exactly where you had had lunch earlier that day. “You want to do the honours, stoner?” Richie held out the joint and lighter for you. You faked an annoying look and exaggerately took them from him. “I’m not a stoner, Rich. I just have an undiagnosed sleeping problem.” You put the joint between your lips and lit it, taking an ungodly large pull from it. 

“Woahhhhh cheech and chong, relax” Richie practically yanked the joint from you. You immediately began coughing as you hadn’t smoked in a while. “What or who the fuck are you trying to forget, Italiana?” Richie’s joking tone didn’t conceal his concern as he took a puff himself. You looked at him, tilting your head to the side to signify confusion.

Richie took another pull before returning the joint to you. “If you’re calling me at 12am to smoke because you couldn’t sleep, it tells me your big brain was overthinking.” You took a moderate inhale this time, the buzz beginning to radiate out to your extremities. “What were you thinking about, Richie? Something tells me you were awake for similar reasons.”

“I’m not sayin’ anything ‘til you do” he responded whilst shrugging. 

Making a sour face, you attempted to restore the saliva in your mouth. “I have cotton mouth like a bitch, I’m going to get something to drink. You want anything?” you asked, heading inside before he could interrogate you further. “Get me a brio!” You chuckled to yourself, shouting back “You know you’re not Italian, right?!”

You walked over to the walk-in fridge, grabbing Richie’s Brio and a Fresca for yourself. On the way back out, Mikey’s office door caught your attention, and you suddenly had an idea. “Rich. Oh my god. I know exactly what we can do.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I… I think we just made things worse.” Looking up at Richie in horror, he mirrored your reaction. “Yeah, we fucked up cousin. We’re in some deep shit.” 

You and Richie were both sat on the office floor, waist deep in the paper equivalent of a small forest. You took a swig from your Fresca, attempting to decipher where to start. “We can do this. For Mikey. He deserves this, and fuck, let’s face it, he was never gonna do it himself!” You attempted to motivate Richie, knowing his child-like attention span and patience were on their last legs. 

Picking up various pieces of paper, you attempted to make sense of them. “Okay… I’ll make one pile for receipts, and I’ll sort them by date, and then-” You felt Richie’s eyes burning a hole into you, causing you to look at him and flail your hands around. “What?!” Impatiently waiting for his response, you began gnawing on the inside of your cheek, nervous that he was onto you. 

“You like him.” Richie slowly grinned from ear to ear as he stated it matter o’factly. “You like like him.” You flung your head back and groaned. “‘Like like?’ C’mon, Rich, what are you, 12? Shut the fuck up and help me.” The blood rushed into your cheeks almost immediately at his accusation, the THC physiologically betraying you and making it impossible to put on a front. “You like him. Oh my god. I fuckin’ knew it,” he giggled. 

“I don’t know whether it’s the weed or the fact that it’s 3am and I’m reaching the point of delirium, but since I’m not a pre-teen, I’ll admit that you’re not wrong. But it’s never going to happen. He’s mentally ill with a fucked up family and so am I- that doesn’t tend to be the ideal romantic combination. Now, lets finish this so we can still go home and get some rest before shift starts.” You looked at Richie with a stern look; he was shocked at your mini rampage, and internally, you were petrified about the fact that you had just spilt your guts to Mikey’s bestfriend.

“And don’t get any ideas, because this conversation does NOT repeat itself, you hear me, Jerimovich!” When you addressed someone in the kitchen by their last name, they knew you meant business. “Uh-huh, yup, yes ma’am.” Richie gulped, considering you just displayed more emotions in the last 5-minutes than you had for the entire length of time he has known you. It didn’t help that he was beyond stoned and couldn’t quite comprehend the nature of what you had told him. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Cousin! What the fuck is this? Why can I see the floor?” Mikey was standing at the doorway of his office in utter disbelief that morning. Richie jogged over peaking his head into the office. “It was Italiana’s doing, she just told me what to do. We were preeeetty fried” he chuckled to himself, recalling last night’s events. “Surprisingly, we didn’t throw anything out. She’s got a real knack for organizing, should’ve let her do this months ago. The IRS and I aren’t going to have anymore beef, see what I did.” 

Richie couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. His nervous rambling was an attempt to not tell Mikey about your confession. Knowing how much Mikey admired you, it was killing him to not be able to tell his own bestfriend that the girl of his dreams reciprocated his feelings. Mikey slowly turned to look at Richie, hands still on his hips. “What the fuck did you smoke, crack? Why are you acting all fucked?”

You had walked into the kitchen at perfect timing before Richie blabbed your secret. Going to hang your purse up, Mikey called you over; he didn’t even need to see you to feel your presence. “Italiana, come ‘ere!” You sped walk over and stood in the entrance, your hands folded in front of you with a nervousness. A part of you was worried that messing with Mikey’s ‘organized chaos’ was going to disorient him, but you wanted to lessen the stress he was experiencing. That was what you did for the people you loved; especially the man you loved. 

“You did this?” He looked directly at you; despite being an expert in Mikey’s nuances, you couldn’t tell whether he was pissed or overjoyed. “Uh, yeah! It’s all pretty self-explanatory but I can go through it with you if you want? I just thought it’d make your life a lil easier. And Richie’s! Of course.” You rubbed your arm with your hand as a means of self-soothing.

“This is great, Bella. Truly. I can’t believe you went through all this trouble, I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen it look like this ever” he motioned towards the filing cabinet and the paper baskets you had labelled appropriately, using his other hand to comb through his hair in shock. “I couldnt of done it without Richie. And Richie’s weed! It was nothing, Mike” you smiled at him and showed yourself out as nonchalantly as possible. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were waiting the last tables of the day - mainly consisting of left behind beer bottles and plastic sandwich baskets - when Mikey came up behind you putting one hand on your waist. “Meet me in the office when you’re done here, yeah?” As he whispered into your ear, you had to keep your knees from buckling. “Yeah, Mike! Okay!” Fucking Richie.

You attempted to stall for the inevitably painful conversation that awaited you, slowly walking towards the kitchen. While washing your hands, your brain began to spiral. Wiping your hands on your apron, you attempted to bravely walk towards the office, standing in the doorway. 

“What’s up?” You halted in your tracks almost immediately as you noticed the charcuterie board Mikey was standing in front of and the bottle of red wine in his hands. “Fuck me. Okay, listen.” You walked closer to him. “Before you say anything, I don’t know what Richie said to you, but as someone who doesn’t know the difference between your and you’re, he has no idea what he’s talking about. You didn’t have to do any of this.” 

Mikey looked at you like a deer in headlights. “What the fuck are you talking about,” he chuckled. There was that dimpled smile. And now you were confused (and distracted) before you realized Richie didn’t say anything.

“I wanted to thank you for organizing the office…” Mikey explained, twisting the bottle of wine open and pouring you a glass. “I know how much you like your charcuterie. If Starbucks ever stops selling those little boards I’ll wonder what you’re gonna eat.” He earned a laugh from you for joking about your mild salami addiction.

You sported the fakest wide tooth grin you could muster. “Hey, I’m Italian. I can’t help it. I think I’m keeping them in business though” you joked in response. He held out the glass for you and winked. “Thanks, Mike” you smiled, hoping he couldn’t pick up on your nervousness. 

“Okay, let me show you what we’ve got here.” He clapped his hands together, excited to introduce you to his concoction of Italian meets and cheeses. Hunched over his desk with both of his hands planted on the surface to support him, he pointed at each meat and cheese as he went through the board’s contents. 

“We’ve got cacciatore, prosciutto, mortadella, then I added parmesan - I know how much you like it - along with romano and gorgonzola. I was thinking we can add it to the menu. We’re no hipster yuppies but throw some olives and overpriced crackers on here and I mean, we’re talkin’ business, baby.” Looking up at you, he attempted to read your face for your thoughts.

Mikey was passionate. That was his entire nature. And when he presented you with ideas, he seemed to put your approval and opinion on a pedestal. You had helped significantly with business at The Beef, assisting in bringing Mikey’s visions to fruition while also providing your input where necessary; he valued your insight more than you realized. 

Taking a baguette slice, you added cacciatore and parmesan onto it and bit in. “Fuck, Mike.” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you let out a near moan. “We gotta add this. It could even be part of a date night special. The charcuterie as an antipasto, a soup or salad, a main, and then dessert” you presented.

Mike glanced up at you with a smirk, content with your proposal. “Have I ever told you that I love your brain, Italiana?” You giggled as you continued to devour the board, attempting to ignore his blatantly obvious attempt at flirting as you couldn’t believe he could possibly be interested in you. 

The rest of the evening was spent brainstorming business ideas, reminiscing on memories shared between you, Mikey, and Richie, and consuming copious amounts of wine. 

“Oh my god, Mike. You remember when Richie tried picking up that blonde girl at the bar with a magic trick, and you- y- oh my god.” You flung your head back as you cackled; you were wine drunk and snortling to the point of incoherence. You were sat across from Mikey who was planted behind his desk, his ankle resting on top of his other knee. His forearms rested on the arms of his chair, and he loosely held a glass of whiskey as he watched you with amusement and a sly grin of admiration. 

“You had to go over there and save him from the embarrassment. Poor thing.” You chuckled. “I’m pretty sure the chick he was tryna bag had started flirting with me,” Mikey said, taking a sip of his whiskey and raising his eyebrows as he attempted to recall the events of that evening. 

You looked intently at him, not breaking eye contact. “Can you blame her?” The wine encouraged a new-found confidence to emerge from within you. There was no way you would’ve been this direct with Mikey while sober. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mikey leaned forward to put his glass on his desk then returned to his laid back position. With a dumbfounded look on your faced, you laughed then displayed a look of annoyance. “Don’t play stupid. Look at yourself, Mike.” You stood up, put the wine glass down, and rested both of your hands on his desk, leaning forward until you were mere inches away from his face.

Looking into his right eye, glancing down at his lips, and looking back up to his left eye, he began to shift in his seat. It was evident that you were both under a hazy and horny alcohol-induced influence, the sexual tension very obviously suffocating the room. “Now take me home before I say or do something I’ll regret.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Mikey walked you back to your apartment, you held onto the side of his frame with all your might. He guided you through the streets of Chicago with ease; he was nowhere near the level of drunk that you had achieved. “You okay, darlin’?” He looked down, a slight smile on his face as he recognized your drunken effort to walk in a straight line. “Yeah, Mike. Thanks for tonight. No one’s ever gone through such an effort to appreciate me.”

You peered up at him with a smile; you wanted to put into perspective how much his actions meant to you, however, Mikey felt an even stronger urge to spoil you moving forward. Quite frankly, he was bewildered that his small gesture that evening exceeded all that you’ve known. 

Arriving to the door of your apartment, you began rummaging through your purse for your keys. Finding them, you held your arm out straight and dangled them in front of Mikey. “You’re gonna need to unlock the door, mister. I do not currently possess the fine motor skills” you joked, earning a laugh from him.

You caught the glimmer in his eyes. Mikey felt like your fierce protector. You both knew you didn’t need protecting- while this was a part of you he admired, his masculinity often fought for dominance; for the chance to show you how well he could look after you and how much you deserved it. 

He opened the door, propping it open for you as you stumbled through, immediately attempting to take off your shoes. You hadn’t thought this out thoroughly as you ended up toppling over, Mikey catching you in the process. “Easy, doll. Here, sit down,” he motioned toward the ottoman in the foyer of your apartment, guiding you as you lowered yourself. 

He crouched down at your feet and placed the heel of your foot on his thigh, proceeding to untie your shoes. Grasping your ankle one at a time, he wiggled your feet out. You looked down at him, admiring his gentle touch, the concentration present in his furrowed brow; you loved to watch him, whatever he was doing, and you’ve known for a long time that you’ve loved him.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” Holding out both of his hands for you, you stood up, letting him walk you through to your bedroom. You had a case of the over-tired drunken giggles, prompting you to laugh as you slurred your intentions to take off your make-up.

Mikey picked out some pjs for you, then proceeded to pour you a cold glass of water while you got changed. Opening the door to your bedroom, you motioned for him to come inside. “Sleep next to me?” You proposed with a curious tone despite knowing he’d decline as he (annoyingly) insisted on being a respectful gentleman at all times. “S’all good doll, I’ll be good on the couch” he motioned to the living room with his head. “Lemme tuck you in.” 

As you got under the covers, Mikey offered you the glass of water to which you happily obliged. Handing it back to him, he placed it on your bedside table as you snuggled yourself into the sheets. He turned off the lamp, the room engulfing with darkness save for the midnight blue hue that the window cast in. 

Mikey began to walk out of your room when you called out to him. “Hey Mike, c’mere” you turned over, watching him as he slowly approached. Motioning for him to come closer, you whispered into his ear. “I like like you.” 

Knocking out after the words escaped your lips, as if they were made of melatonin, Mikey smiled to himself as he looked down at you. “And I love you, sunshine.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

EEEEEEEEK my very first Mikey imagine! Which means I am still learning to integrate his personality into my writing- it’s hard when he has extremely minimal screentime. ALSO I am writing this in whatever year Mikey was operating The Beef, so Carmy, Syd, and the others aren’t there, and Richie and Tiff are still together. I am completely open to feedback and would also love to get more requests for Mikey. Let me know what y’all think!!! :)

Actually lol’d

This was a fun read! The palm kiss had me melting 🫠

Warnings: Violence, guns, hostage situations, and ambiguous angsty ending.

Pairings: Hans Gruber x Female Reader, Reader uses She/Her pronouns

Word Count: 2,300+

Summary: Hans is carrying out his infamous heist when his attention is captured by Nakatomi Corporation's secretary.

AN: I was watching South Park and Hans Gruber was there... the new chapter of Jasmine and Rose will be out sometime next week... hopefully. Please excuse the gap in updates, I was in Ireland. Excuse spelling errors and incorrect translations, I don't speak German.

̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿ ☆ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Read on Ao3

Christmas Day couldn’t have been going any better for Hans Gruber. Currently packed into a van like sardines with his crew, Hans and his men awaited their arrival at Nakatomi Plaza. There was nothing quite like being crammed into a van with several men that made you appreciate the smell of fresh air like never before.

Once the van came to a stop, he exited, happy to at least be out of the van’s sweaty confines. Standing there with his hands in his warm pockets, Hans waited for the all-clear from Karl and Theo. Once they had radioed in, confirming the security systems were down, he led his men expertly throughout the maze of the building. It was as if he had walked this very path hundreds of times despite never stepping foot in Nakatomi Plaza before, it was the mark of a true criminal mastermind, unwavering confidence that could get him anywhere he desired with so much as a smile and an arch of his eyebrow. 

Theo had ensured that every possible exit from the tower was now inaccessible, escalators, phone lines, and cameras were all powered off after he’d shut every gate. Power would still be supplied to ensure that, outwardly, everything looked fine. To be truthful, Theo was a smart boy, he had a mouth on him, sure, but Hans was sure he could make something meaningful with his life, god knows why he resorted to a life of crime, not that it was his business but he felt that out of everyone in his crew, Theo stuck out the most, he didn’t belong there, he belonged in some fancy college as a computer science major or something other. 

Shaking his head to clear his wandering thoughts he stepped into the elevator with his posse, humming softly to himself, he let his thoughts wander once more. So far, their plans were going off without a hitch, soon enough he’d be known as the man who robbed six hundred forty million dollars worth of bearer bonds right from underneath Nakatomi Corp’s noses, serves them right for their greed. Smirking to himself, he couldn’t help but imagine what he was going to do with his money, perhaps a nice vacation in Tahiti.

A soft ping rang out signaling they reached their desired floor, bringing Hans out of his thoughts, the noise was quickly drowned out by the loud party which had yet to notice them. Stepping out of the elevator first, Hans looked around before catching sight of the secretary who was seated at her desk engrossed in a Vogue Magazine, walking up to her flanked by his heavily armed men, catching her attention, he winked at her.  

Immediately, her eyes widened in fear as she glanced at the guns, gasping softly, Hans shushed her with a finger against his lips and a sultry smile. Stepping in front of the crowd, he let his men surround him from behind before Karl fired a warning shot into the air, screams from the party-goers filled the once joyful room causing everyone to fall into a fit of hysteria. He allowed his men a couple of minutes to gather everyone in the middle of the room, gesturing for the pretty secretary to do the same. Rolling his shoulders, he reached into the breast pocket of his suit and opened his notebook before raising his hand up in a “stop” motion. Effectively quieting the crowd, he cleared his throat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen,” Hans spoke, looking almost annoyed by the noise, the crowd quickly fell silent not wanting to anger their new captor. “Due to the Nakatomi Corporation's legacy of greed around the globe, They’re about to be taught a lesson on the use of real power. You will be witnesses. If our demands are not met, however-” he paused frowning sadly, as if to mock them. He spoke quickly with ease and yet, Hans couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering back to the secretary.

“You may become participants instead.” He said in a noticeably more grim tone. Checking his notebook, he broke eye contact with her and inhaled deeply, searching the crowd. “Now, where is...'Takagi'? Joseph Yoshinobu Takagi, born Kyoto, 1937…” 

Stepping closer to the crowd, everyone took a step back in fear as Hans eyed them like a panther selecting its next meal, every so often glancing back at the woman. Toying with them almost lazily, he spoke cooly, inspecting the crowd, “Family emigrated to San Pedro, California, 1939. Interned at Manzanar, 1942 to 1943. Scholarship student, University of California, 1955. Law degree, Stanford, 1962. MBA, Harvard, 1970. President, Nakatomi Trading. Vice chairman, Nakatomi Investment Group.” Taking a breath, he inspected an older man curiously, pretending as if he didn’t know Mr Takagi was right behind him. 

“Enough,” Mr Takagi said, pushing his way closer to Hans. 

“And father of five,” Hans said turning around slowly to meet Mr. Takagi’s gaze, his face remained impassive, not giving away any clues as to what kind of captor the employees of Nakatomi Corp would be dealing with.

Looking at him, Mr. Takagi, no doubt scared, tried to keep a blank face under Hans’s scrutiny, “I am Takagi,” he said, managing to keep his voice from wavering.

Hans extended his hand and spoke civilly as if he wasn't indirectly holding them all at gunpoint, “How do you do?  It’s a pleasure to meet you,” after shaking his hand, Hans gestured to the elevator. Before giving Mr Takagi a choice to follow his directions, Karl pushed him towards the elevator forcefully.

Walking back up to the front of the room, Hans stopped in front of the secretary he was eying earlier, “Hm, a beautiful woman like you working as a mere secretary is preposterous. Mein Schatz, you deserve to be on a beach somewhere enjoying the sun,” Hans said circling her with sadistic joy painted on his face.

Looking at Hans with clear fear in her eyes, she didn’t respond, flinching slightly when he leaned closer to her, holding her breath in fear of angering him, she looked around at her fellow coworkers silently begging for help.

“Put your hands up, mein Schatz,” he said teasingly, enjoying the fear-stricken expression on her face as she followed his orders. Trailing a finger along the curvature of her hip, he smirked devilishly.

Suddenly, almost out of nowhere, the woman smiled arching an eyebrow at Hans as she slowly and teasingly put her hands up, “You wouldn’t hurt me would you?”

Even Hans’s very own men were shocked by this woman’s unusual behavior, one second she looked like she was about to burst into tears and now she was… smiling? Glancing at each other warily, they watched their boss flirt with the secretary.

“Absolutely not, that would be an unforgivable crime, a waste of the world’s most beautiful gem even,” Hans smiled admiring the woman’s beauty. Glancing at her hands, reached out for her hand so he could inspect her rather large wedding ring glinting in the light, anybody with working eyes could see it, the sheer magnificence of the diamond ensured that. “Married, hmph, must be one lucky bastard, huh? Does he treat you well mein Schatz?” he grinned from ear to ear, stepping closer to her.

“He’s truly awful. So much so he left me alone for a week,” she snipped, suddenly turning sour before turning away from him with an indignant huff. 

She was certainly feisty.

Did she not realize who he was? Or see the guns? Either blind or stupid they confluded, about to place bets on which of the two it was, Hans’s men saw him frown and make a sudden move, drawing their attention back to him.

Standing up to his full height, Hans moved closer to her taking her hand in his once more to turn her back around before placing his finger under her chin and tilting it upwards.

“I’m sorry Mein Schatz, I beg of you, please forgive me for this grave sin I have committed,” breaking his playfully flirtatious character, Hans frowned, reaching out to stroke her cheek with his thumb.

“Begging are we? I thought you were above that…” snickering softly, she leaned into his caress. 

Cheeky little minx…

“Meine kleine Schauspielerin, I see our time apart has not dulled your quick tongue, you’re still as mouthy as ever, meine Gattin” Hans growled playfully.

Did he just say… meine Gattin… as in… my wife?

Now his men truly were confused, this, this woman- you- you were his wife?!

“Was I believable?” you smiled smugly, purring into his ear seductively.

“I’m afraid your rather expensive tastes gave you away mein Schatz, the Vogue Magazine, your clothing choices, and not to mention your… ring…” holding your hand up to his lips, he pressed a kiss to your palm before pulling you closer.

Cupping his cheeks, you leaned forward and kissed him passionately, slowly trailing one of your hands down his chest. Pulling away, you spoke breathlessly.

“I missed you, you know the last thing I’d ever do is take off my ring,” you said sincerely. Despite your playful snark and attitude, everyone witnessing your little show of intimacy was able to tell just how deeply in love you two were with each other, the love in both your eyes was proof enough. 

“You’re a needy little thing, one week without my presence and you become all lovey-dovey. I won’t lie, I do like this side of you though Schatzi,” basking in your affection, Hans wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing you tightly up against his chest. 

He may be a criminal but he was still a gentleman, pressing a kiss to your forehead he paid no mind to his gawking crew or even Mr. Takagi. Your happiness was his number one concern and he could care less whether or not his men agreed, they were all replaceable anyway.

Gently running your fingers over the lapel of his suit you gazed up at him curiously with a teasing smirk, “Is this new? John… Phillips London is it?”

“You truly are my wife, yes, yes it is. Do you like it? I had it made in your favorite color,” he said with a smirk, placing a hand over hers.

“I think it looks rather dashing on you, though, I’d much rather see you without anything on,” tugging on his suit playfully, you leaned forward to whisper in his ear with a vexing grin.

Used to your seductive antics by now, Hans rolled his eyes before taking your hand in his to stop your hand from wandering, “Geduld, mein Schatz. I don’t perform well in front of audiences.”

“There doesn’t have to be an audience, I know of a couple conference rooms that are no doubt empty right now..” you said under your breath in a sultry tone, one which you knew would get him to bend to your will.

Clearly, under your spell, Hans’s will to resist was starting to waver, he considered himself impenetrable and unwaverable when it came to most things, but when you were involved? Forget it, all sense of rationale was thrown out of the window. As he was considering your offer, Karl cleared his throat trying desperately to get the attention of his boss as he and Theo were now ready to head up to the safe. Theo, knowing the safe would take a long time to crack, was eager to get started as soon as possible.

“Herr Gruber…” Karl paused, unsure of how to address you, “Frau… Gruber, sorry to interrupt your… reunion… but we must get going if we want to stay on schedule,” he said softly, trying not to come off as rude in front of his short-tempered boss. 

Narrowing his eyes at Karl, Hans glared at him before turning back around to face you. “Unfortunately, I must get back to work mein Schatz. Why don’t you go sit pretty at your desk and when I’m done I’ll give you your Christmas present? I need someone with a brain to watch over these fine people anyway,” looking back at the men he stationed to guard the hostages he rolled his eyes. Sliding his hand over your waist, Hans pinched your hip.

Playfully whacking him, you sighed, rolling your eyes as you detached yourself from him and plopped back down on your seat, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll just sit over here, forgotten, uncared about, and unloved,” picking up the Vogue magazine you were reading earlier, you pretended to be uninterested and unaffected by Hans’s departure.

Pressing one last kiss to your forehead as he bent down, Hans stood up straight assuming his usual put-together demeanor, before whispering to you softly so just you could hear him, “Ich liebe dich, mein Schatz.”

Reaching out for his hand, you lowered your voice significantly, losing your playful edge, “I love you too, please be careful.”

About to make a cocky joke, Hans caught himself once he saw the genuine worry in your eyes. He knew every time he went on a mission like this one, you became the epitome of a worried wife. Given the circumstances of this heist, he knew the stakes were much higher this time, it was half the reason he let you work undercover at Nakatomi in the first place. He found it endearing but the last thing he wanted was for his precious wife to worry.

“Don’t worry Mein Schatz, I will come back to you and we will celebrate Christmas together like a proper family,” he said, smiling at her as he squeezed her hand comfortingly.

“I promise,” he whispered, barely audible before letting her hand slip out of his.

“Now, Mr. Takagi, I believe we have business to conduct,” smiling charismatically, he gestured to the elevator once more before following him in.

Translations: Mein Schatz - My darling/my sweetheart, Meine Gattin - My wife, Meine kleine Schauspielerin - My little actress

Me: yeah, I’ve weirdly always had a thing for guys with long hair. I don’t know why ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

My childhood:

Daryl: If ya bite it n’ ya die, it's poisonous. If it bites ya and ya die, it's venomous.

Carl: What if it bites me and it dies!?

Enid: Then you're poisonous. Jesus Christ, Carl, learn to listen.

Glenn: What if it bites itself and I die?

Michonne: That's Voodoo.

Abraham: What if it bites me and someone else dies?

Eugene: That's correlation, not causation.

Tara: What if we bite each other, and neither of us die?

Y/N: That's kinky.

Daryl, throwing his hands up and walking away: Oh m’ god.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 –

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 –

affectionate, approving, beaming, bright, brilliant, broad, charming, cheerful, compassionate, dazzling, encouraging, enthusiastic, friendly, gentle, genuine, infectious, innocent, irresistible, placid, playful, pleased, radiant, reassuring, sweet, soft, sunny, tender, warm, welcoming, windsome.

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 –

cold, condescending, cruel, dazed, devilish, dry, enigmatic, evil, feeble, fixed, forced, furtive, grave, grim, haughty, helpless, ingratiating, insolent, ironic, malicious, meek, melancholy, mocking, mournful, mysterious, oily, reluctant, rueful, sarcastic, sardonic, scornful, shy, slight, smug, sober, strained, strange, stony, thin, timid, tremulous, triumphant, ugly, vague, weak, weird, wicked, wistful, wry.

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 –

amused, crooked, knowing, mischievous, quiet, quick, rusty, sudden, vacant.

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲 –

chapped, cracked, moist, plump, thin, tight.

The End Will Justify It All

a/n - Season 7 of TWD, Negan is just... he's so bad but so good. I have a small series in mind to follow this one, but it's a loosely formed plan…more like the whisper of a plan. Trying out third person POV for a y/n story. It might be a stinker. Feedback is welcome!

warnings - gore and death, a little innuendo, some language, Season 7 spoilers

Relationship is Daryl x female reader, y/n

“Wait!” she shouted, as she lunged herself forward and fell at Negan’s feet, halting him in his steps. “Please… take me with you.” She could feel the atmosphere change. Shock tensing the air. She could feel her friends’ confusion behind her. She could barely register any of it, though, the way her mind was racing.

The plan was barely formed, a shadow searching for shape in the back of her mind, but she pushed it away. She would have to work that out later. There was only one objective right now - stay with Daryl. It was now or never, as Negan left them with instructions for the first offering in a week. She’d barely managed to stop him before he walked to his vehicle.

“He’s mine now.” Negan’s claim on Daryl was ringing in her ears, fueling her. Her Daryl, not his. She would not let this maniac have him. Would not let him cut Daryl up. She would not lose him, not without giving her last breath fighting for him. For all of them.

Everything that had happened was on a constant slideshow loop, flashing through her mind, in sharp, horrible detail. The thump of the first blow of the barbed wire wrapped bat and Abraham’s ginger hair turning a morbid shade of red. Glenn’s eye, then his guttural promise to Maggie. Rick’s strong defiance exuding from him as he swore to Negan he would kill him. His posture now, bent and broken, no trace of that promise left in him. Daryl being dragged off and thrown in that van like a captured animal.

Her knees were stiff and aching. They had been pushed into the gravel for the last several hours, supporting her full bodyweight on the sharp rocks. As the images played again in her head, and the weight of Negan’s words sank deeper into her, she couldn’t think of an alternative – or not one she could live with, anyway. She pushed through the pain, willing her body to move, and sat back on her heels to look up at Negan with pleading eyes.

“What is this?” Negan chuckled as he peered down at her, his bloody bat hanging near her ear, filling her nose with a nauseating metallic tang.  “Have you been here the whole time? Has she been here the whole time?” He directed the second ask to his men. He got amused smiles and shrugs in return.

He looked back to her, eyes beaming with something she couldn’t quite name, but recognized its malicious nature. “Why exactly would you want to leave your band of merry men and come with me?” He asked, as he swept that damn bat in the direction of the half circle of her people.

“I – I can’t go back with them,” she stuttered out, bracing herself as she prepared her explanation. It was going hurt. He raised his brows in question at her words. “I didn’t see it before but now I see how weak Rick is. I thought he was someone who could protect his people, but… after this,” she gestured to the two messes on the ground where her friends' heads should be.

“I can’t follow him back.” She let her mind picture every man that had ever let her down before, every person who had been too weak to protect her, or to even try.  Her father in the old world. Her fiancé as the chaos descended. The “friends” she’d made in the months following, before she’d found Rick’s group. All their memories making her stomach turn and filling her eyes with rage and disgust.

“Anyone who can bring him to his knees like this, break him like he is broken now… and inspire this kind of loyalty…” she tilted her head in the direction of the large group of Saviors around them, “that is a person I can follow.”  Awe, and a bit of intrigue, was the look she forced on her face as she met his stare again, trying to shut out the knowledge that the people she loved had heard every brutal word.

Negan’s eyes raked her from head to toe, taking in every inch of her with an animalistic gleam. She was wearing what she referred to as her tactical leggings, a skin-tight pair of pants with enough pockets to carry any knives she’d need outside the walls (and space for condoms if she was with Daryl), a belt that made the pants perfect for tucking in handguns, and they were thick enough to keep her warm in the early fall weather. She couldn’t deny her favorite feature was that they made her ass look fantastic.  “Ya can’t wear them pants,” Daryl had once told her while they were preparing for a run together, “when ya wear ‘em the only place I can look is at your ass. ‘at’ll get me killed.” She wore them anyway. He never complained. She’d put them on when she left this morning with Michonne, Glenn, and Rosita to track Daryl, hoping they’d be an asset in persuading him to give up the hunt for Dwight. The fitted long sleeve shirt she wore - made of a sweat-licking material for athletes in the old world - clung to her form in a way that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her curves had filled out a bit in the last month, now that she was eating three square meals a day, softening the harsh angles that months of traveling and near starvation on the road had given her. She wasn’t a vain person, but as Negan worked her over with his eyes, she knew he’d like what he saw.

“I’m willing to… pay for my admittance,” she said with enough emphasis on the word pay to convey her meaning, but she threw a suggestive glance at his belt as she bit her bottom lip to make her offer clear. She fought back the bile creeping up her throat as her brain worked out what this implication might bring later. She knew it wouldn’t matter, that she would do anything to keep Daryl alive. This world needed him. Their family needed him, especially with what was lost today. It would be a small sacrifice in comparison, and one she wouldn’t think twice about if that’s what it came to.

Negan searched her face as he contemplated. “You hear that, Rick?” he asked, throwing a cocky smirk at the exhausted man in the gravel, “This – what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Y/n”

“Y/n wants to know what a strong leader looks like. I think I’m gonna show her.”

A couple of Saviors took her by the arms and half walked, half dragged her to the double doors of the van that now caged the man she loved.

“Now you can’t leave ‘em all without saying goodbye, can you, sweetheart?” Negan heckled from behind her. She half-turned to look back, sweeping across the faces of the group before reaching Rick’s. Fury. That’s what she read on each of them. Fury, hatred, rage, a twinge of heartbreak as she met Carl’s glower. She found Rick’s eyes, and had to stifle her surprise. In them she did not see so much as a hint of the anger she expected. Instead, in his bright blue gaze, she saw understanding. He nodded at her, and she gave the most subtle dip of her chin in return. Then she narrowed her eyes, and turned, climbing into the van without another word.  

¨ ¨

The Saviors had been gone for maybe three minutes, but it felt like thirty. Everyone sat in silence, still on their knees on the hard ground, processing the horrendous events of the night. Sasha broke the silence. “What the fuck?” she breathed out. “Y/n?” 

Rick turned to look at her. “It’s okay.”

“What do you mean, it’s okay?” Michonne asked, indignant.

"She's with us," he replied calmly. "She's gonna bring Daryl back."

He’s my current hyper fixation and I’m good with it.

I'm coming to you sweetheart... 🖤

Found on Pinterest

AI