I Dream About Jareth, Sometimes. I Always Wake Up Aching For That World And This Man.

I’m hooked on this series. So ready for the next piece!

Look for the Light - 6

Masterlist

Summary: Four years ago, Joel saved you from certain death. In return, you followed him faithfully. Always ready to do and give him whatever he asked, despite the hurt it inflicted on you, body and soul. Agreeing to go with him to deliver Ellie to the Fireflies… this would be the last time you’d follow him… After this, your debt would be paid.

Relationships: Reader x Joel Miller, Joel Miller & Ellie, Reader & Ellie

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose to give none. Read at your own risk. 18+ (I know this took a while and I'm sorry for that. I have somewhat strayed from the main storyline now but you will see why soon ♥️)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

You were frantic as you desperately tried to keep Joel's blood inside him. His blood-curdling scream as you pressed the bloody rag in your hands onto his stomach had you sobbing.

"Stay with me, Joel." You choked as you glanced at the man.

His head pressed back onto the towel under it, the veins in his neck prominent and his skin three shades whiter than usual. Ellie sat in the corner, anxiously chewing her thumbnail as she watched you work on Joel. Her eyes filled with tears as the man cried out with each poke and prod.

Joel looked up at you, his bottom lip quivering as he weakly watched you panic. His heart ached to tell you that it was going to be okay but he knew it wouldn't. He was losing blood quickly and was almost certainly going into shock. If that didn't kill him, the infection from his wound would. His time was up and he knew it.

"Leave." Joel choked, tears welling in his eyes as he watched you continue to try and save him "Leave." He repeated a little more forcefully and you scoffed.

"Shut up, Joel."

"Take the gun."

"Joel shut the fսck up!" Ellie growled and she crawled to his side and took his hand in hers. "You go." He said with a little more force, shoving Ellie back before trying to do the same to you "You go. You go north. You go to Tommy." He forced out, his breath coming in short pants and had him feeling dizzy "You go." He said one more time, eyes watching as Ellie got up and stormed up the stairs in a fit of rage.

"We're not leaving you here to die Joel." You growled, ignoring Ellie's outburst "Don't be stupid."

"Please." He all but whispered to you "Please get her to safety."

"Joel-"

"This is the last thing I will ask of you." He interrupted, tears falling freely now "I'm as good as dead baby." He choked, the term of endearment making your heart skip "Please, just take her back to Tommy. She'll be safe with him."

"Joel." You sobbed, taking his hand and squeezing it.

Suddenly everything that had happened in the last few months. All the guilt you felt for the animosity and anger you directed towards the man for the past three or so months suddenly consumed you. You realised you still loved him. That was painfully clear now as you held his bloody hand in your own.

"Please darlin'." He pleaded again "I've made so many mistakes... with you, Tommy and especially with Ellie but I need to die knowing she's safe."

"You're not going to die Joel." You growled, unable to admit that he was indeed dying.

Your mind wandered to the conversation you'd shared with him when you'd left Jackson. How bitter you had been towards him for his choice to leave her with Tommy in the first place. You'd known that he was just trying to do the right thing but you were so angry that you'd chosen not to acknowledge that.

Now he could die thinking you blamed him.

You woke early and sat with Ellie as she waited for Tommy to turn up. Joel had been gone by the time you'd woken up that morning and you'd found yourself feeling even more angry about that fact. The man was a coward if he had just run out on you both rather than at least say goodbye.

When Tommy stepped into the room Ellie had called hers for the night, you both stood and walked out, not a word being shared between the three of you as you made your way to the stables. When you walked into the dimly lit structure, your feet stopped dead in their tracks as you came across Joel, saddling a horse with days worth of supplies. When his gaze drifted up to look at the three of you, you could see the conflicted look in his eyes and your shoulders dropped. He was a complicated man and you knew that.

"You came here to say goodbye or something?" Ellie growled as she glared at the man, eliciting a snort from you.

"No. I came here to steal one of these horses and go." Joel confessed, glancing at you and Ellie before settling on Tommy.

"I woulda gave you one." Tommy piped up.

"I know." Joel sniffed "Anyway... that was 30 minutes ago, and I guess..." he trailed off, looking at Ellie and taking a few ginger steps towards her "You deserve a choice. I still think you'd be better off with Tommy..."

"Let's go." She interrupted, shoving her bag in his arms unceremoniously before walking up to the horse.

"Okay."

"Let's get your horse saddled up." Tommy directed at you and you gave him a small nod before waiting for him to lead the way.

Stepping off you were stopped by a hand on your arm and you didn't have to look up to know who it was. You let out a steadying breath as you waited for him to speak, anger simmering beneath the surface.

"Can we talk?" He asked and you groaned.

"I need to get my horse ready."

"It will just be a moment." He pushed, his tone pleading and you sighed, giving him a slight nod. He led you outside and around the side of the stable, his hand finally letting go of your arm as he shoved them both into his pockets.

A tense silence settled over you both for a moment which only made you more impatient for him to spit out whatever he had to say to you. So when you'd finally had enough of the awkward silence and nervous glances you forced it out of him.

"Whatever you want to say to me Joel, spit it out."

"I want you to stay here." He stated, his hands leaving his pockets and falling to his sides.

"What?"

"I think you should stay here." He repeated "Ellie and I can head to the Fireflies alone from here. You've done your part."

"Excuse me?"

"Please don't do this..."

"Do what?" You growled "I didn't stay with you both for my own amusement. I didn't go through hell just for you to dump me because you can't handle being around me anymore."

"That's not..."

"It's obvious that you've wanted rid of me since I lost the baby." You growled "I have stuck with you through everything. If I hadn't followed you so blindly I would still be pregnant but because of some false sense of loyalty to you, I did. I followed you into hell and I lost my..."

"You blame me for the miscarriage?" He choked and you scoffed.

"Yes." You replied plainly, your expression stony "Yes I do." You finished before leaving him standing out in the snow.

He watched you leave. His ears started to ring and he knew what was about to happen. These attacks had started to increase in frequency since leaving that old couple's shack a few days ago. His heart felt sluggish and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't catch his breath.

The longer he struggled, the more he panicked.

How was he supposed to protect you and Ellie if one conversation sent him spiralling? The idea of losing you, because he wasn't strong enough to keep you safe, had his knees starting to give out beneath him. His brothers calling him pulled him from his panic attack.

"You alright brother?" Tommy asked, his brows pulled together as he watched his older brother straighten his spine and look up at you, Ellie and Tommy.

"Yeah." He replied, giving you all a nod before walking over to his horse. He spared you a brief, wounded look and you couldn't help the brief pang of guilt that washed over you.

You hadn't really meant what you had said to him. You didn't blame him for the baby.

Your tears flowed freely then as you returned to the present moment. Joel was watching you through hooded eyes, his fight to stay conscious getting the better of him. You looked down at him, eyes locking in an intense gaze and at that moment what you did next was the only thing that made sense. You kissed him.

"I don't blame you." You sobbed as you pulled away from him "I need you to know that."

"I know." He choked, nodding weakly but you shook your head.

"No, I don't think you do." You wept "I know you've been hurting too and I shouldn't have treated you the way I have."

"Baby-"

"I need to say this Joel." You interrupted "I love you. I have for a long time and I need you to know that."

Joel was rendered speechless.

He lay there, whole body shaking as his silent tears leaked from the corner of his eyes. A small, almost invisible, smile tugged at his lips as he looked up at you.

"I love you too."

You leaned down and kissed him again. Your tears mixed with his own as you rested your forehead on his. Ellie's abrupt entrance into the basement had you leaping back like you were a teenager getting caught doing something you shouldn't.

"I found this." Ellie announced as she showed you a needle and thread.

Dropping to Joel's side she handed you what she'd found before looking at him and taking his hand again. This time though he didn't push her away. They shared a silent conversation as he squeezed her hand and gave her a weak smile.

"Hold him down." You instructed as you pinched wiped his wound as clean as you could make it and pinched the torn flesh between your fingers.

Joel didn't scream when the blunt needle pierced his flesh. Instead, he gripped Ellie's hand tighter and arches his back as he tried to internalise the pain.

"Breathe Joel." Ellie urged as she stroked his hair in an attempt to calm him "It'll be over before you know it."

Breathing meant Joel couldn't keep it in anymore. He yelled and cried as you sew him up with as much care and speed as you could muster. Then, just as you were about to finish up he went limp.

"Joel?" Ellie called out as she cupped his face "Joel, open your eyes."

She was frantic which only made you panic more. Finishing up you quickly reached up with a shaky hand and placed two fingers on his neck, breathing a sigh of relief when you found a weak pulse.

Ellie looked at you with tearful eyes and you gave her a weak smile "He's alive." You stated as you wiped your brow with your sleeve "Just passed out."

"He going to be okay?" She asked and you shook your head as you pulled down his undershirt down over the new rag you'd placed to soak up and other blood.

"I don't know." You answered honestly "I've closed the wound up the best I can but we need antibiotics. Without them, he'll likely get an infection. That needle wasn't clean and no doubt, neither was the bat that did this."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that really we need to get him back to Jackson asap or he's going to die." You stated plainly.

...

Joel shivered on the filthy mattress he was laid out on. Since losing consciousness, he had not regained it. You and Ellie took it in turns to watch over him. Dabbing his brow with a snow-soaked rag and whispering words of comfort to him as he twitched and whimpered in his sleep.

Glancing to your left, you noted that Ellie had managed to get to sleep. The teenager had been worrying and fretting over every little sound that left Joel for the last 12 hours. She would shut her eyes, only to wake as soon as the smallest sound slipped from his lips. Joel's delirious mumbling pulled her gaze back to him. His teeth were chattering so much you were worried his teeth would shatter. Placing a hand on his brow, you winced at the heat that radiated from his flesh. You pulled his thick jacket off of him, knowing he needed fewer layers right now. You had noticed a rolled-up picnic blanket when you had gone in search of more towels so got up as quietly as you could and scaled the basement to grab it, placing it over his legs and up to his elbows.

"C-c-cold." Joel muttered, his teeth chattering as the shakes wracked his whole body and your heart broke as you watched him suffer. Even in his unconscious state, he was still suffering.

"I know Joel." You whispered as you lay yourself down beside him and placed your head on his chest. You could hear the weak beating of his heart and your own shattered. He was so very weak and you knew he was slipping away.

He needed medicine or he wasn't going to make it.

...

"Why won't he stop shaking?" Ellie asked as she watched you clean his wound, grimacing at the infected state it was in.

"Because his wound is infected." You stated simply "He's probably suffering from Sepsis." You stated plainly as you pulled his soiled shirt down and sat back on your legs "If it gets into his bloodstream, he'll die."

"What can we do?" She asked and you let out a long sigh.

"Honestly?" She nodded and you dropped your head to stare at your hands in your lap "He's not well enough to ride but without Antibiotics he's going to die." You stated plainly "The way I see it we have two options "We can try and get him back to Jackson and hope that he makes it the week it'll take us to get there."

"Or?"

"Or we try and see if we can find some antibiotics nearby." You finished " Looks like all the houses have been pilfered so I doubt we'll find anything."

"So we move him." Ellie stated plainly "We made it here in five days, we can get back just as quickly."

"We made it in five days because we were all fit and well." You sighed "With Joel in the condition he's in, it'll slow us down."

"What other choice do we have?" She asked and you shook your head.

"None."

Getting Joel's dead weight back onto the makeshift stretcher you and Ellie had created had been difficult. Whereas before, Joel had regained consciousness and had managed to limp into the basement. You and Ellie had had to carry his comatose form up the stairs and onto the mattress stretcher that was now strapped to the back of Ellie's horse. You had managed to pad the stretcher more, meaning that Joel would not feel the journey as badly as he had before.

Now, six days later, you could see the tall walls of Jackson come into view. You breathed a sigh of relief as you glanced down at the still-unconscious Joel. He had not woken the entire trip and his fever had reached new highs. He was stripped down to little more than this undershirt and jeans now in a desperate attempt to keep his temperature down but the longer he went without medicine, the closer he crawled to death.

"We made it Joel." Ellie called out as she nudged her horse to walk again "Just hold on old man."

You followed her lead, wishing you could move a little faster. What felt like an age later you were within shouting distance of the gates. So you and Ellie yelled at the top of your lungs for help. When you made it through the gates you were begging the guards to fetch Tommy as you dismounted and dropped to Joel's side, fussing over the unconscious man as your tears fell freely.

The sound of frantic footsteps wasn't enough to pull your attention away from your lover. Tommy's choked question was though.

"What the hell happened?" He asked as he dropped to his knees, hands waving over his brother's form as he took in how sick he looked.

"We were ambushed at the school." You answered "The fireflies were long gone but some raiders were scouting the area. He got stabbed with a broken bat."

Joel's guttural yell pulled all of you to look at him and in the blink of an eye, his whole body had gone rigid. The convulsions tore through him violently. His eyes were white slits as his back arched and his limbs flailed.

"What's wrong with him?" Ellie asked as she cried openly "Joel?"

"He's seizing." Someone knew said "The infection is getting the better of him." They stated as Joel's body started to still "We need to get him to the hospital. Without medicine, this man is hours away from succumbing to it."

Tommy said nothing, just watched numbly as his brother was loaded onto a stretcher and then lifted off the ground. You all followed wordlessly as he was carried into the building that had been repurposed as a hospital. There were beds lining each wall, curtains parting each one. One or two had occupants but mostly, the hospital was empty. The medic led you all further into the hospital and through a door and into a long, wide, hallway. Opening the second door on your left, the medic held it open so that the other could carry Joel inside.

"Lay him down on the bed." The medic ordered as he washed his hands then grabbed some gloves "I need you all to clear the room."

"But-"

"I will fetch you once he is stable." The medic interrupted and the men that had carried Joel then ushered you out of the room.

You watched through the window as his clothes were cut away, revealing the gruesome wound that was swiftly killing him. You choked on a sob as the doctor started to cut the stitches you had done over a week ago, not because of the work you had put into them but because Joel didn't even flinch.

"Come on." Tommy said softly as he lead you away from the door and towards the main hospital "Watching ain't going to do anyone any good."

"I can't lose him, Tommy... I can't-"

"You won't." He assured you as he pulled you into his arms "Joel's persistent! Gonna take a lot more than a splinter to kill him."

This made you chuckle. You pulled away and smiled up at him, allowing him then to guide you to a set of chairs in another room. Sitting you then noticed it.

The blood.

It was all over you.

Your clothes, under your nails. It was even crusted in the ends of your hair and you felt sick to the stomach. All this blood that should be inside of Joel was all over you.

"Come, let's get you back to the house where you can shower and change." Tommy said upon noticing you staring at your hands.

"But Joel-"

"Docs gonna be working on him a while." Tommy stopped you "You have time to wash and change. Someone will fetch you if anything changes."

You nodded, eyes then drifting to Ellie who was looking to you for guidance. You wish you could give it to her. Wished you could be strong for her but you couldn't. You knew Joel's chances weren't good. The infection had almost certainly reached his blood by now.

Even with medicine, it was down to him to fight this.

And you weren't sure he could.

Next

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You should feel proud of your writing.

You shouldn't cringe when you reread your own writing. Cringe culture, especially in writing, is so overrated. Love your writing. Remind yourself what made you so passionate about your WIPs to start with.

You'll be surprised how much more motivated you feel to write when you allow yourself to space to actually be proud of and love what you're doing.

Michonne: I dare you to kiss the next person who walks into this room.

Y/N: Screw that, I’m not kissing any of you.

*Rick walks in*

Y/N: Fine, I’ll do it. Rules are rules you know

The End Will Justify It All - Chapter 6

A Negan Series

Chapter 5 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 1

Warnings - guns, shooting, wounds, blood, violence, captivity, illness, and some language. 18+ only.

Feedback is welcome!

This was wrong.

There were too many. How had this happened?

She’d sent a note through a Savior to Simon earlier in the day to meet her for a drink at the fire after her dinner with Negan, which meant there should be three guys along the fence: Simon at the fire on the far end, and two guys on guard.

She counted 14 right now, maybe more, they kept moving. She looked at Daryl and Sherry, hunched down beside her, the three of them hiding behind a stack of wood crates. There were enough stacks and barrels between them and the hole she’d strategically placed in the fence that in the dark of night, they could get most of the way unseen.  The last ten yards to the hole was so exposed that no matter how well they timed the run, with this many eyes looking around, they would be seen.

Everything else had gone perfectly today. Fat Joey didn’t question her at all when she told him Dwight asked her to tune up his bike and have it waiting outside the gate for him. She had a whole story ready to explain where Dwight was going and why, but he could not have cared less. He was just happy to be speaking to her. She smiled sweetly at him, and he handed her the keys without another thought.

She’d asked Sherry to deliver Dwight’s lunch to him in front of Daryl’s cell today, so she could get to her target practice early.

“Hey, before I forget,” she said to Sherry as she handed her Dwight’s tray with a BLT, pickle, and glass of iced sweet tea, “can you meet me in the stairwell after my dinner with Negan tonight? I just need to talk for a while.” Sherry agreed, happily, as she walked away with the tray of food.

Her dinner with Negan was normal, if not a little awkward after the events of the night before. They ate, they played Scrabble, and they drank. She needed the drink. She found herself a little too distracted by every move of his mouth, flashes of their encounter last night trying to make their way into her mind. She had to force herself to focus on her Scrabble tiles more than once. It didn’t help that Negan played suggestive words, with that wicked grin, every chance he got. She was starting to sweat. She offered to refill their drinks when they were about halfway through the game and left him staring at his tiles while she worked at the bar cart. She delivered a well-timed joke and they both chuckled as she tipped the small bag of crushed sleeping pills into his whiskey. Swirling the glass around as she walked back, she smiled to herself as the powder dissolved in the amber liquid.

He'd emptied the glass by the time the game finished, him beating her for the first time. She wished she’d purposefully let that happen.  She bid him goodnight. She even kissed him on the cheek before leaving, and grinned again.

Dwight was passed out in his chair outside Daryl’s cell, as she expected. She’d put enough crushed sleeping pills in both his mayo and his sweet tea to knock Fat Joey out, but she couldn’t risk him waking up and ruining it all.

Daryl stared at her wide-eyed when she opened his cell and dragged the sleeping Dwight into it. She wanted to embrace Daryl, kiss him, and explain everything, but she had the escape planned very specifically. There just wasn’t time. She settled for one deep but quick kiss and held his hands as she instructed him to follow her closely, silently, and do exactly what she said.

They tiptoed as fast as they could down the halls, only having to duck into an empty room once to hide from a passerby. When they reached the stairwell, they found Sherry where she’d said she’d be. Sherry seemed to understand what was happening as soon as she saw Daryl, and without a word followed them both down the stairs.

“Wassat?” Daryl asked her as she grabbed a backpack from a dark corner at the bottom of the stairs.

“Supplies,” she answered, flinging it on her back and motioning for them to hide against the wall while she opened the door to outside.

They crouched, scampered, and crawled in the dark, finally making it here, where she was frozen, trying to figure out what went wrong. She hadn’t planned for this many guys; there shouldn’t be this many guys.

“Wha’s wrong?” Daryl asked her, feeling her stress.

“Just let me think for a second,” she whispered back.

She knew it wasn’t possible. She couldn’t get them all out without them being seen. If they were seen, they’d be hunted down. What would follow that made her stomach turn.

She knew what she had to do.

She turned to Daryl, kissed him hard and passionately. She handed him the bag of supplies and told him, “Stay low behind the row of stacks and barrels, when you get to the end, time it so no one sees you, and make a run straight to the fence. There is a hole cut out there, you can’t see it until you’re on it. Whatever you do, just keep going. When you get to the woods, follow the cuts in the tree like you taught me, you’ll find a bike ready to go. Do not wait for me, I will find you. Take Sherry wherever she wants to go, and then you go somewhere else. Daryl,” she held his face in her hands and looked hard in his eyes, “do not go back to Alexandria. Find another community to hide in until it’s safe to contact Rick.”

She looked at Sherry, “whatever happens here, keep going. Make him keep going.”

Sherry hugged her as she said, “I will. Thank you.”

Daryl started to argue, but she gently pushed him. She watched as they turned and slipped away into the dark.

When they’d gotten far enough away, she took a deep breath and stood, stepping into the flood lights. All the guys stopped moving and looked at her. She looked toward Simon, who should have been expecting her, and her heart stopped. Standing right beside him, with his arms crossed and Lucille hanging from one hand, was Negan. Well, his sleeping pills didn’t work, she thought.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” he shook his head, “well, boys, it looks like you were telling me the truth. Unlike Y/N here, who has been lying to me…”

When she said nothing, Negan turned to Simon, “I believe you two were going to be having a drink together? Well, what the hell? Let’s have a drink!”

And there it was, exactly what she needed. What Daryl and Sherry needed. “Negan, I’m so glad you’re joining us!” she exclaimed, seeing a flash of surprise across of Negan’s face at her response. “I love having drinks around the fire with friends! In fact, why don’t we invite everyone?”

She spun in a half circle, looking at each Savior in area. “Negan and I would like to invite you all to have a drink with us right now,” and when only a few moved toward her she added, “on Negan!”

They all moved at that, smiles spreading across their faces, and some swatting her arm in thanks as they passed. She smiled at Negan as they all filed in around the fire, far from the fence Daryl and Sherry should be approaching now.

She thought she heard the ting of metal moving. She smiled to herself.

She spent the next hour and a half making her rounds with the guys at the fire, joking with most of them, asking some of them about their girlfriends or wives. Everyone enjoying the beers she’d provided on Negan’s tab. When she felt she’d given Daryl and Sherry a big enough safety net of time, she said her goodnights and made her way back to the building.

She was almost to the door when Negan called from the group, “Y/n! You can’t go yet! You and Simon barely spoke, and I for one, would like to know what it was you wanted to talk about that brought you out in on this cold night, sneaking around like a rat, to talk in the dark…”

------

She braced herself for whatever he was about to say or do. She could almost see the fury radiating from him in waves. It no longer mattered what happened to her, she could handle it. Or maybe she couldn’t. That was fine, too. Daryl was out, he could be with his family again. He could do good, be good out there. Somehow, he and Rick would take Negan down, she had no doubt about that. Hopefully she would live to see it, she thought, as she saw the rage in Negan’s eyes directed at her.

He opened his mouth to speak, but it wasn’t his voice that escaped his mouth, it was a boom. A gunshot. No, it didn’t come from his mouth, it had come from somewhere behind him. Was someone shooting? Time seemed to slow. She felt a pang in her thigh, she looked down. There was blood, dark and thick, insidiously oozing from a hole in her pants, where the sting came from. Her legs gave out in that moment, and she was on the ground. She could no longer hear anything around her, could only feel the pain. She was on fire. She gripped at her thigh, a wounded animal panicking. She needed to calm down, get help, breathe. When was the last time she took a breath? She willed herself to suck in air, her head clearing some with the effort. She winced as she forced herself into a sitting position and took another breath. Apply pressure, she told herself, stop the bleeding until someone gets the doctor. She pressed, screaming at the added pain, her vision fading at the edges. She breathed again and kept pressing. Why was no one coming to help? Her ears cleared, and she knew without looking that no one would be. She raised her head to see blurs of legs as people ran past her, she heard men yelling, some screaming in pain, more gunshots. There were others here, now. Their faces were covered with what looked like ski masks.

She needed to get somewhere safe or get to some weapons. She tried to stand, stumbled back down, vision almost completely black from the effort. She tried again. Successfully on her feet now, she raised upright to evaluate the best direction to go. She saw it happen from her peripheral, but not in time to stop the metal cylinder from connecting with her skull. She barely had time to register the pain erupt from her temple before she was unconscious.   

She felt the pain before she knew she was awake. She’d never felt anything like it, she could barely breathe she hurt so badly. She couldn’t decide what parts of her hurt worse – her left thigh was still screaming with pain. Her head throbbed, a sharp pain radiating from her right cheek. She could taste blood, and guessed at her stuffy nose that she must have fallen on her face. The pain on her back was new – it stung, as cool air whispered against raw skin. She must have been dragged, she realized. Dragged where?

She opened her eyes. Well, she tried. Only her left eye would open, the swelling from her right cheek forcing that eye closed. Her head still drooping, she was looking at her lap. Her left pant leg was soaked in her own blood. She slowly lifted her hand to survey her head wound, but it wouldn’t move. She noticed then the ropes tying her hands behind her, uncomfortable as her elbows awkwardly tried to bend around the chairback behind her. She saw similar ropes restraining her feet to the legs of the chair she sat in. Do not panic, she told herself, assess.

As slowly as possible, to avoid blacking out, she raised her head. She saw a dark room lit by several camping lanterns placed on the floor. Concrete walls with no windows, some large iron equipment and pipes, possibly a boiler room? She and the lamps were the only occupants. She carefully turned her head, searching for a door. She heard one open behind her, and light flooded the floor in front of her, shadowed by her own hunched figure. “She’s awake,” a man’s voice said.

Two sets of footsteps approached behind her. Another voice said, “We know you’re in some considerable pain…” she didn’t respond. “We’d like to help you, if you want that.”

He waited for her to answer. She didn’t.

“We wouldn’t ask for much in return,” the first voice added, “just some information.”

“You gonna make me talk to the wall or come around and face me like men?” she growled, the effort of speaking sending the pain in her cheek rioting through her head.

One of them chuckled. “I would bet money that spirit is what attracted Negan to you,” he said as he moved in front of her and crouched to meet her eyes. He surveyed her face and whistled, “it might have been your face too, before this.” He touched her cheek on the last word, and she flinched away from him at the fire hot pain it sent through her.

“Shooo, I bet that does hurt.” He cooed at her. She glared as best she could with one open eye.

“We have some medicine, a doctor here, that could at least make that hurt less,” he said, “all we need to know is how many people Negan has working for him, and where they are stationed.”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” she said nonchalantly. She couldn’t think clearly from the pain, but she knew she didn’t want to give these assholes anything they wanted. “I think I’m good.”

The man in her face smiled, the smile not unlike one she’d seen on Negan’s face plenty of times, before making a point. “Well, I guess we need to change that,” he said viciously, before his right hand made forceful contact with her left jaw, sending her head flying right, only to see the back hand of the other guy flying toward her wounded cheek. She went unconscious again.

When she woke the next time, she heard thumping. Unrhythmic, sporadic, and it was coming from several different directions. She heard her two new friends talking in low, panicked voices behind her. “I thought we’d have more time!” one of them said, “how did they find us after only two days?” “I don’t know, but we gotta do something.” “What? They have us surrounded, and they’ve already killed most of our people!” The pause in their conversation gave her mind a chance to catch up, to realize what she was heard was gunshots.

“Did you really think,” her words were slow, the effort of talking through her newly bruised jaw slowing her down, “you could hit him at home, and he wouldn’t retaliate?” The guys moved from the door to stand in front of her while she talked. “You didn’t even know how many people he had, and you thought you could beat him?” she forced a laugh through the excruciating pain.

“You think this is funny, bitch?” one of them responded. “Well I’ll show you what I think is funny,” he said, lifting his metal pipe, the one she assumed gave her the busted face, like a baseball bat.

“I would not do that if I were you,” a familiar villainous voice growled from the door behind her, and her heart fluttered. Negan was here. For her. She was surprised at the relief she felt. “Not that holding back now will save you.”

Two Saviors appeared from behind her, holding guns. Her captors raised their hands, and the Saviors forced them to their knees. She felt her wrist restraints cut and fall, and rubbed her arms as she watched Negan cut her foot restraints. He placed her arm around his shoulder and helped her to stand on her good foot. With most of her weight leaning on him, he helped her to limp toward the door. She stopped him before they exited and turned back toward the room.

“If I can’t be the one to do it, I need to see it,” she told him. He nodded in understanding, and then toward the Saviors. She didn’t flinch at all at the gunshots, or as their lifeless bodies hit the floor.

Negan picked her up, then, carrying her from the room. He rushed down passages, and out through double doors. Blinking her good eye against the blinding sun, she heard continued shooting, and saw bodies, both Saviors and not, on the ground as Negan ran with her toward a truck. He placed her in the passenger seat as easily as he could and made for the driver’s side. She heard him yell orders to whoever was near as he climbed in and started the truck, not hesitating before throwing it in reverse and speeding away from the battle.

------

The truck sputtered and steam flooded from the hood.

“Shit.” Negan grumbled as the truck came to a stop on its own. “It must have been shot before we got away.” He frantically searched the cab of the truck. “Of course there is no damn radio in here! Is everyone an idiot?”

He thought for a moment, and finally asked, “Can you walk at all?”

It was the first time he’d spoken to her since they’d fled, they had been driving for about thirty minutes. “I… um, I can try,” she replied.

She steeled herself. This was going to hurt, but she knew there was no alternative. With all the gunfire, they didn’t know how many walkers were on their way toward them, and who knew how long it would be until their guys started heading back. If there were any guys left to come back… she shook the thought from her head as Negan opened her door and helped her out of the truck.

Immediately she knew she couldn’t do this, but she refused to tell Negan that. Refused to let him see the severity of her pain. So she began trying to find a rhythm of step, lean into him, hop. Each hop sent a white-hot flare of pain through her whole body, but she kept going. She was grateful that he would stop often to let her catch her breath, using the time to also wiggle her jaw, which was getting stiff and even more sore from clenching her teeth.

She guessed they’d been slowly hobbling down the road for about two hours when they saw an old barn ahead, a short distance from the road, in a field. He jerked his chin in the barn’s direction and said, “we need to stop here for the night.” It was nearly dusk already, and she knew if they kept going, they would risk tripping in the dark. The thought of that pain alone made her flinch.

Inside the barn, Negan gathered a mound of hay and gently set her down on it. After securing the doors behind them, he sat down across from her, resting his head against the wall behind him and closing his eyes. She watched as he seemed to be calming himself down, if she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was meditating.

“Who were those guys?” she asked, finally breaking the tense silence.

“One of the communities we own,” he said without opening his eyes, “we caught one of them at the Sanctuary when they took you. Took the bastard a whole day to break and tell us where they’d taken you. It took us half the next day to get there.” He finally lifted his head and surveyed her, lingering on her wounds. “It’s gonna be a long walk back…”

She nodded, fighting back the stinging tears at the thought of the long journey ahead of her tomorrow.

He moved to her, gingerly touching her wounded face and looking more closely at the wounds in the fading rays of light barn walls were allowing in. He met her eyes, still lightly holding her face in his hands. It hurt, but she didn’t mind.  

“I saw you go down,” he said slowly, “from the first shot. But I didn’t see where they’d hit you. By the time I got to where you fell, you were gone. I thought you were dead, until Simon said he saw them load you up and take off.” His eyes shone with pain.

“I didn’t know if anyone would come for me,” she said softly. She hadn’t admitted it to herself in that boiler room, but she had not been hopeful of making it back out of there. “When I heard you…” her voice broke as her tears finally flooded. He gently pulled her into his chest and wrapped her in his arms as she wept. When she stopped, she said into his shirt, “we really gotta stop hanging out like this.” They both chuckled as they separated.

It was dark now, and the temperature was dropping. Negan made a dugout in the hay and helped her to lay down in it. Once she was settled, he settled in behind her, pulling her close for warmth. They laid that way for a long time, listening to each other breathe, when she eventually broke the silence.

“I believe I still have two free questions,” she said in lighthearted tone.

“You definitely used two already,” he quipped back.

“Yes, but you only answered one of them,” she said, lightly pressing him with her elbow. “So, I get the second one back.”

“I’ll allow it,” he said, pulling her a little closer and nestling her head under his chin.

She laid there a few more minutes before asking, “you showing up there today, was that… well, was that to find me? Or for retaliation for attacking you?”

He didn’t answer for long enough that she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. “It wasn’t about retaliation,” he said finally. “As for your other question… Lucille was my wife, before. And during. She died, because of me… because of my inaction. I wasn’t going to let inaction be the cause of your death, too.” Something in her ached at his response, some twinge beginning of understanding how he’d become the Negan she knew.

The cold crept deeper into her. She shivered, despite the warmth Negan wrapped around her.

As she succumbed to a pressing urge to sleep, she thought she heard Negan say, “you are burning up.”

------

When she woke up, she was in Negan’s bed in the Sanctuary. An IV in her arm snaked to two pouches of liquids hung from a metal pole beside the head of the bed. She couldn’t remember getting here. In fact, she couldn’t remember much at all following the night in the barn. There were brief flashes of trees rushing past while Negan carried her, the doctor holding her non-wounded eye open and flashing a light into her eye, and the occasional voice talking to her, or someone beside her. It was an unnerving feeling, remembering nothing between one place and the next, but somehow knowing that time had passed.

She realized suddenly how dry her mouth was, and how thirsty she felt. She looked around the room to find a glass of water on the nightstand beside her. Beside the nightstand, in the leather armchair that used to be in the sitting area, Negan slept. He couldn’t have been comfortable, she thought, with his neck at that angle against the back of the chair. He looked a little haggard. Dark circles under his eyes, his scruff longer than he usually kept it, his hair unwashed and a little unkempt. He stirred as she reached for the water glass, just slightly too far away, and sat up when he realized she was awake. He stood, handed the glass to her, and walked out of the room. A moment later, he returned with the doctor.

As he assessed her, she asked questions to fill in the gaps. Her bullet wound was a good one – all the way through, no major arteries nicked, it didn’t hit bone. It would take some time and some effort, but the muscle it pierced would heal and she’d be able to walk again. It had become infected while she was tied up, and the infection had gone deep. Her fever had gotten dangerously high, which explained her sleeping through the last four days. Her cheekbone was likely fractured, though he expected it to heal well, too. Her nose had been reset, and her jaw and cheek bruises were already turning shades of greens and yellows. The swelling had receded enough that she could open her right eye enough to see out of. She turned down the offer to see herself in a mirror. Negan listened intently, not saying anything and not meeting her eyes.

The doctor left her with orders to drink as much water as she could, eat as much as she could, and sleep as much as she could. Once the infection cleared and the gunshot wound had closed, she could start working on walking again.

She looked at Negan, who was staring at the door the doctor had shut behind him.

“I vaguely remember you carrying me through the woods… you must have nearly killed yourself carrying me that far. I can’t thank you enough,” she said, meaning every word. He did not turn his head.

“I can ask the doctor to help me move to my room, so you can have your bed back.”

“No,” was all he said, before leaving her alone.

She told herself not to stress about whatever that was. If it was about her, he’d eventually have it out with her, and if it wasn’t then it would go away. But sitting there, in his bed, with nothing to do but think, stressing about it is what she did. She went over every possible reason he would be pissed at her, when she was literally unconscious for four days. After an hour or so of spiraling, the door opened, and she was surprised to see Tanya enter with a tray of food. Tanya set the tray up on the bed and made her way to sit in the chair near the bedside.

“Um,” she said to Tanya, with a raised eyebrow, “thank you?”

Tanya seemed to know she wasn’t asking about the food and explained. “Negan sent me to sit with you for a while. If you need anything I can get it for you. Or I guess if you want to talk, that’s what I’m here for, too.” Then she added, quietly, “which will be a nice change of pace.”

“Wait,” she asked Tanya, pulling the tray of food closer, “what does that mean?”

“Oh,” Tanya pushed a breath out of her nose in a sort-of laugh, “you’ve just been asleep every time I’ve been in here before.”

“You... you came to see me?” she was surprised. She and Tanya weren’t exactly friends. With Sherry gone, she wasn’t sure she had any friends here anymore.

“Well… Negan didn’t want you to be alone. He sat with you almost all of the time, but if he had to leave for whatever reason, he sent one of us to be with you. Said we had to stay awake in case you woke up.”

“I guess that explains why he looked so rough,” she commented.

Tanya replied, “yeah, I don’t think he’s had much sleep since he carried you in.”

She contemplated all of this while she ate the food Tanya had brought her. It didn’t take her long, she found with the first bite that she was famished.

When she finished her meal, she asked Tanya to fill her in on what she’d missed. She put on her best surprised face when Tanya told her Daryl had escaped. As Tanya informed her that when Negan was gathering the troops to come after her and her captors, they’d discovered Dwight missing, and the wives had not seen Sherry for a while either. They assumed both had run away together. Then two days ago, Negan suddenly remembered Daryl was locked up and with Dwight gone, no one was making sure he was fed, but they opened the cell to find Dwight in there, half-starved and feral. He said Sherry had drugged his food, and he woke up in Daryl’s cell.

“Sherry and Daryl ran away together?” she asked Tanya, dumbfounded.

Tanya couldn’t believe it either, “Negan was furious. He sent Simon and a group to Alexandria to find Daryl, but they haven’t been able to find him.”

She didn’t let Tanya see the relief she felt. This had worked out surprisingly well for her. She had planned to deal with Dwight later, though she hadn’t quite decided how at the time she’d locked him up. And Daryl had listened to her and didn’t go find Rick, that, too, was a relief.

After a few more minutes of chitchat, and Tanya getting a couple of books for her to read while she was bedbound, she told Tanya she was feeling very tired. According to Tanya, Negan wanted Tanya in there anyway, so she got a book for herself, and moved to Negan’s couch.

Sleep quickly consumed her, and she woke hours later to find Negan gently shaking the foot of her good leg to rouse her.

“Dinner,” he grunted, motioning to the tray on the bed.  He helped her into a sitting position before seating himself in the chair beside the bed.

“You don’t want to eat, too?” she asked him. 

“No,” he bluntly replied. Still in a mood.

She ate in silence for a few minutes. She was trying to decide how to proceed in conversation when he beat her to it.

“Free question,” he declared. “And don’t lie this time.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “When did I lie to you?” she asked him, not looking away from her stew as she took a spoonful.

“When I asked you before why you were really here. You lied. I want the truth this time.”

Her food turned leaden in her stomach, and she suddenly had no appetite.

“You came here to get Daryl out, didn’t you?”

She looked up at him, held his hard stare.

“Yes.”

“And you succeeded, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I knew the moment we couldn’t find Dwight and Sherry was gone, too, there was more to it than them running away. They’d already tried that and failed miserably; Dwight is too spineless to try a second time. And that douchebag in Alexandria, Spencer, he’d let it slip that you and Daryl had a little thing going before you met me… so, I checked Daryl’s cell,” he confessed, “and who did I find, sleeping like a baby, not a scratch on him?”

“Negan,” she started, but he cut her off.

“Here’s the other thing, you didn’t just drug Dwight and get Daryl out… you tried to drug me, too. Didn’t you?”

She didn’t respond.

“I took one sip of that whiskey and could tell something was off about it. But I wanted to see what you were doing.”

She swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. She couldn’t run, she knew screaming would be useless. All she had on this tray was a spoon and some hot stew… she could throw it in his face, but that would only piss him off… she had no option but to take whatever punishment he had in store for her.

“Are you going to burn my face?” she asked him, no fear in her voice.

He stared at her for a long time before responding.

“No,” he said, defeat laced his tone. “No. You covered your tracks well. Dwight believes Sherry drugged him, and everyone else believes it, too.”

She loosed a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She wanted to thank him, but she didn’t think he’d receive it well.

They sat in silence for the rest of the evening, Negan removing her tray when she didn’t touch it for a while. He retreated to the bathroom, and she heard the shower turn on. She settled in, feeling tired again, and closed her eyes. Sleep didn’t come, but she kept her eyes closed, as Negan completed his shower and came back into the room. She heard him click lamps off, his footsteps moving around the room. She felt the bed dip as he climbed in beside her.

He'd found her out, revealed her plans, she had confessed it all, and now he was going to sleep beside her. She turned to her side to find his bare back facing her.

She knew she shouldn’t press her luck, but now curiosity was getting the best of her.

“If you knew when those guys took me… why did you come for me? Why lose all those guys to get me back?”

She watched his back decompress as she sighed, and then as he turned to his side to face her.

“How is the answer to that not obvious by now?”

She searched his eyes and watched as they moved to her mouth and then back to her eyes. He moved in close, their lips nearly touching. Then he kissed her. This kiss was not like the last time he kissed her. This was gentle, passionate, soft but powerful. She kissed him back.

When he pulled away from the kiss several minutes later, her silently cursing her wounds and the IV preventing them from going further, Negan said softly to her, “you will have to decide one of these days. You can try to survive with Daryl, or you can thrive here with me. You can’t be in my bed and his, too.” With that, he turned over and went to sleep.

Is there a word for swooning and panting at the same time? This fic is fire!

Hierarchy of Needs.

Daryl Dixon x F Reader.

Notes: originally, i was gonna keep this one between me and my google docs, but it's kinda cute ngl so everyone gets to see it Tags: Not SFW, set at the start of Alexandria era, takes place from Daryl's POV. Word count: 10.5k.

Daryl is a hands-on type of man.

He was never one to dawdle, sitting in one place for too long made him squirm. He swore it could be an allergy or some shit. Gets him all itchy and shifting his weight from foot to foot. The problem is, given the general uncertainty surrounding their current living arrangements, Daryl’s limited on what he can and can’t do. For the first time since the dead started walking, he’s caught up in the invisible net of “social expectations”.

Normally, he wouldn’t give a damn, but this isn’t just about him. This is about Judith getting the nutrients she needs. Carl not having to figure out how many sips of his rapidly diminishing water canteen to take to avoid dehydration. The group that’s come to be his family, in every sense of the word, having a roof over their heads and some peace of mind at night. There’s too much on the line for him to screw this up.

So he’s just got to grin and bear it (without the grinning).

Another particular individual comes to mind — all bright smiles and what seems to him to be the physical embodiment of all that’s good in this decaying world — but he swats the thought away like a pesky gnat. In his heart of hearts, he knows he’s dealing with the uppity bullshit for everyone’s sake, but… maybe there is one person he’s putting in the extra effort for. The person that kept him from glaring at some old folk who were looking at him earlier this morning like he was some escaped convict, the person who he’d kill for if it ever came down to it. Someone he already has killed for.

“Got room for one more?”

Daryl almost jumps out of his skin at the abrupt awakening from his thoughts, though from anyone else’s perspective, it probably just looks like he’s scowling harder. It’s wholly unlike him to not notice someone’s approach, human or otherwise. He’s about to give a grunt of indifference before it clicks in his brain just who is standing before him.

It’s you, the person he’d swear he wasn’t thinking such mushy thoughts about even if someone tried to waterboard the information out of him. He has to blink a few times for your newly freshened-up appearance to sink in. Your skin is clean, not a spec of dirt or grime in sight, the same going for your hair. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen you wear it down. Since the colder months in the prison, maybe? It’s a good look on you. To be fair, he’d think just about anything would look good on you.

One of his shirts, for instance. He can envision it picture it now, clear as day—

He has to stop himself from chasing after that line of thought, recalling with mild embarrassment how he still has yet to answer you.

“Can’t stop ya.”

You roll your eyes at that, giving him a look that screams ‘oh really?’, but take a seat nonetheless. Daryl’s set himself up on the porch of the house the group’s been granted. Given the position of the sun in the sky, he figures it’s about noon now. The shift in time brought a volume change. This morning, he could hear the chatter coming from within like he was in the room, everyone having finally received a proper night’s sleep for the first time in who knows how long. It quieted down when the group dispersed to their newly assigned jobs, or in the case of others, to sightsee.

Daryl takes a long drag of his cigarette while you situate yourself next to him on the porch’s steps. He eyes your outfit from his peripherals, an odd wave of something inexplicable rushing over him at the sight. It’s a nice white blouse with some jeans maybe a size or two too large for you. He can’t help but give his garments a once over. They still show evidence of the rough past few months spent living on the road. Now that he thinks about it, everything about him probably sends that message. He’d yet to take a shower or do so much as clean his face.

Is that why the Alexandrians had been giving him the side eye? Everyone else had practically been tripping over each other at the opportunity to shower, whereas he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d disregarded Carol’s comments about it and would likely do the same if anyone had the balls to bring it up to his face, but for some reason, having you in his general vicinity is making him feel uncharacteristically self-conscious. You’re not looking at him with disgust, or looking at him with anything really, just your trademark smile that made him feel like melting into a pile of happy goo.

“You didn’t feel up to going out and exploring?” You inquire, hugging a knee to your chest. He shakes his head. At this, you scoot closer, excitement radiating from your being. “Want to come check it out with me, then? It feels… weird going places by myself. We’d always pair up in twos at least. I feel like I’m betraying our unspoken buddy system.”

He snorts at that. “Nah, ‘ve seen all I need to already.”

He knows he needs to change the subject before you decide this is a venture worth pursuing. If you gave him those damn doe eyes and asked sweetly enough, he’d do just about anything you asked. Hell, you didn’t even need to do all that for him to almost always cave. This weakness of his went mostly unnoticed to himself (or maybe he didn’t want to acknowledge it), until Merle put two and two together. It didn’t take him long either. He’d asked none too quietly how his little brother ended up pussy-whipped in his absence. Daryl had almost converted when he realized some higher power stopped you from overhearing the comment.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last smarmy comment about you Merle was destined to make. If anything, that was one of the more forgivable remarks, since the brunt of it was directed at him.

No, the worst had come when Merle had been tasked with taking Michonne to The Governor. It was a regrettable final exchange between brothers all around. Daryl can’t recall exactly how the conversation had shifted to you, or the exact words that led up to that final gut punch, but he can still hear his brother’s mocking voice speak the sentence that’s haunted him ever since.

“You've been so busy drooling over her to realize, so let me spell it out for ya nice and slow. She ain't ever gonna want you the same way you want her. We're freaks to people like that. Nothing but redneck trash. And don’t you ever forget it.”

Daryl inhales deeply, the scent of cheap tobacco mixing with the shampoo you must’ve used. It’s light and sweet. Nothing could fit you better.

“Thought you’d be at the infirmary by now,” Daryl isn’t sure who he’s trying to distract anymore — you, or him. “Got ran off already?”

Your closed-mouth smile falters for a millisecond. Anyone else might not have noticed the nearly imperceptible change, but Daryl’s got a hunter’s eye, not to mention how attuned he is to your every mannerism. He’s ready to shove his personal woes aside if it means making room for yours.

“Well, that’s a way to describe it,” he can tell by your tone that you’re trying to keep the conversation lighthearted. How very like you. “When Deanna interviewed me, I not-so-subtly hinted at everything I had learned from Hershel. Although, to be fair, I talked up everyone from our group. I even defended Eugene’s honor like the man had won a Pulitzer. I would’ve said anything if it meant not getting thrown back out there.”

He nods, listening to your every word as if the secrets to the universe were held within.

“Anyway… I guess my sales pitch went purposefully unnoticed. She did say that she’d let the resident doctor know, but that he was ‘particular’ about how he goes about his practice. I think that’s politician talk for ‘not gonna happen’. She seemed eager to move on from the subject. So, for the time being, we’re both unemployed.”

Daryl has to will himself not to get distracted and laugh at your joke. He knows you don’t like to be ‘a downer’ (your words, not his), which leads you to hide negative sentiments behind that pretty smile. He gets it, because he does the same thing, utilizing a gruff exterior instead of your near-blinding charm.

“‘S stupid. Don’t let it get to ya.”

“Oh, I won’t,” you grin at him genuinely enough. He temporarily reassesses, wondering if he read you wrong, when your shoulders slightly slump. “I just really want this to work. We need this to work. The fact we lasted out there for so long, with a baby, is almost enough to have me asking Gabriel if he can send my regards to the big man in the sky.”

“It’ll work,” he tells you, his tongue working faster than his brain. You give him a hesitant nod. You know just as well as he does that there’s no way to make guarantees like that. Still, when Daryl’s so used to seeing you in bloom, having you wilt beside him hurts. Worse than a knife being twisted in his gut.

“Yeah,” your voice drops to a whisper then. You glance around, as if checking for prying eyes and ears, then continue when satisfied there are none. “I hope everyone else thinks so too. Rick looks to me like he's been thinking 'Viva La Vida' ever since we first set foot inside.”

Daryl searches the recesses of his brain to grasp at what your vague term means, squinting while he does so. He thinks he may have heard it in a history class at some point, in between playing hooky. Sensing his confusion, you elaborate, but not without throwing in a shitty French accent that has no business sounding as cute as it does.

“Révolution.”

You’re more perceptive than you let on, aren’t you? He wonders if Carol has been taking notes, considering the friendly-totally-not-threatening-cookie-and-casserole-making façade she’s recently adopted. He supposes it’s a bit different. You don’t actively hide your strengths, but you don’t go around advertising them either.

It was one of the first things Daryl noticed about you. In truth, he hadn’t given you much thought when he initially met you back on the side of the highway in Atlanta. He mentally categorized you as some city girl who’d probably complain about how the mosquitos are constantly biting or whatever. While you did express your fair share of disdain over the bloodsucking bugs, it was more of an icebreaker than anything. A way to loosen people up. Lighten the spirits when things got too heavy.

You were the opposite of Daryl in that way, a bonafide people magnet. He hadn’t given this quality of yours enough credit until he saw you bring a smile to Carl’s face soon after his mom’s tragic death. Then there was the way you cared for the people he found out on the road back in the prison days. They were often understandably closed off, disbelieving of the security the chain link fences supposedly provided. You made it a point to help bring them into the fold. No one asked you to, you just did it, because that’s the type of person you are.

Daryl brought people in, you made them feel at home. He cherished that little connection he had with you. It made him feel warm and fuzzy, like he’d downed enough liquor to feel buzzed without getting drunk. Everything about you was similarly stupefying and addicting.

When the prison fell, he thought all possibilities of restoring that connection fell with it. A silly thing to mourn, but he mourned it nonetheless, another line on a seemingly infinite list. Maybe… maybe it doesn’t have to be a figment of the past. If this place, Alexandria, is where your group decides to kick up their feet, he could start recruiting again. Look forward to seeing how you run over to greet the fresh faces upon hearing of his return.

It’s a nice thought. He’ll have to see if reality is anywhere near as kind.

“Rick’s just wary, ‘s all. Hard not to be. Y’know how it was out there. What we saw.”

“… Yeah,” you shift in your seat. “Well, at least these folks didn’t break out the salt and pepper when we walked through the gates.”

“Jesus Christ, woman.”

He can’t stop a single chuckle from slipping out, though he still cringes at the Terminus callback.

“Heard they got a shrink somewhere ‘round here. Might wanna look into that.”

“Hey, I said I’m trying to make this work, not end up in a Hannibal Lecter getup.”

You and your damn movie references. At least he’s familiar with this one. Sometimes he swore you and Eugene were speaking in another language when you two got on the topic of entertainment. Not being able to share that interest with you made him feel a certain way — a real shitty way.

“You’re the last one of us they’d throw out,” Daryl muses. You tilt your head at that, furrowing your eyebrows like when he’d first recounted the chupacabra story. He decides not to expand on the subject; it has too many of his feelings intertwined. Not worth the risk. “Unless they catch wind of your shitty sense of humor. Can’t say what’d happen then.”

You place a hand to your chest in faux indignation. “Well, Dixon, you laugh at my ‘shitty sense of humor’ more often than you don’t, so what does that say about you?”

A lot of things he can’t bring himself to admit out loud, mostly.

You give him a playful punch in the shoulder when he doesn’t dignify you with a response. The touch is so innocent, a mere brush of your knuckles against his skin, yet it throws his mind into temporary disarray. The effect you have on him could be subject to study; it’s as if every nerve in his body is set on fire. He feels warm, from his face to the tip of his ears. Then that heat drifts steadily downward. It’s then that he becomes fully aware of how close you are. How he can see your collarbones, and if he tilts his head at just the right angle, the start of some cleavage.

It’s got to be wrong, how much he desires you. The ways he desires you. It makes him feel ickier than the months without a proper shower ever could. You’re so bright, so kind, so good, he shouldn’t be lusting after you like some boy whose voice hasn’t broken yet. You trust him, he knows you do. He’s overheard you go so far as to call him one of your closest friends. Considering the far better options you have out there, he should feel blessed you even give him that much. Wanting anything more than that isn’t just greedy, it’s downright risky.

Daryl would never forgive himself if he made you the slightest bit uncomfortable, he’s given people shit for less. Someone could look in your general direction for too long and he’d start glaring.

Right when he starts willing himself to pull his head out of the gutter, you go to tie your hair up, effectively shutting any possibility of him doing that down. Your chest arches forward at the movement and he’s treated to a lovely view of your neck. You must sense the heavy way he’s staring at you, for you turn your head towards him. He doesn’t make the situation any better by shifting his attention ahead fast enough to almost give him whiplash.

“Are you planning on coming to that welcoming party tonight?”

Daryl has to bite back a groan at this topic of conversation. Why is everyone so damn interested in his attendance to some yuppie soiree? He knows that if the request is coming from you, it’ll steadily break his resolve down.

His facial expressions must have betrayed his thoughts, for you laugh. “I didn’t think so. I can’t blame you. I’m actually planning on bailing at the first opportunity I get.”

He raises an eyebrow at this. “Really? Can’t believe ’m hearing that from Miss Social Butterfly.”

“I think I’m more of a social caterpillar for the time being. It’s just, uh, a lot. I’m pretty sure Rick wants to put me on display as some sort of standup citizen like back on the farm. That I could handle. This, I’m not so sure. I don’t know the first thing about croquet. I feel like I’m lowering the GDP just by being in the general vicinity.”

He has to stop himself from gawking. He can’t fathom why you of all people would feel this way. That elderly couple who was staring him down probably would’ve fawned over you, pinched your cheeks and welcomed you in for quinoa. He’s about to voice this when your comment about the farm catches his attention more.

“The hell’d he have you do on the farm?”

“Oh, that’s right, you may not have noticed. I’d mostly situate myself in the areas Hershel was bound to come across with a Bible in my hands. Y’know, nodding my head and stuff, looking really into it. Worked like a charm. Tensions were high, but I think he felt slightly less inclined to send us packing knowing there was a God-fearing individual among us.”

He snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. You really were something else. He swears he could talk to you for hours if you allowed him.

“Try the Bible-thumping again. Might just do the trick.”

“Somehow or another, I doubt that. You’ve noticed it, haven’t you? The staring. I swear I saw some blinds being drawn when we all came out earlier.”

Of course he’d noticed. He’s likely half the reason behind it. “That’s what you’re ‘ere for. To get ‘em to stop looking at us like a damn circus act.”

“You and Rick are overestimating me. Maggie and Glenn have got it covered, little Judith adds brownie points too,” you tilt your head back to look at the cloudless sky. “Anyway, I figured if you planned on ditching, I’d invite myself along. Buddy system, remember?”

He flicks the cigarette out of his hands and onto the ground, extinguishing it beneath the sole of his boot. “Like I said earlier — can’t stop ya.”

Daryl silently praises himself for keeping up the cool and indifferent front when he’s internally celebrating over the prospect of having more alone time with you. What he wouldn’t give for more of that. He hasn’t the slightest damn clue why you seem to favor his company, but if there’s anything the apocalypse has taught him, it’s to accept a miracle when he’s handed one.

You smile at him as if he’d just offered you the world on a silver platter. It does too much to his poor heart.

“Great! It’s a date then.”

He almost chokes on his spit from how casually you say that, his eyes wide blown and jaw slacking. Fortunately, you’re none the wiser, standing up and patting the dirt off your jeans. The realization you’re about to leave makes him feel pathetically empty. He’d spent just about every moment of the past few weeks by your side, yet it wasn’t enough, he doesn’t think anything can be enough. The more of you he gets, the more of you he wants. You’re worse than the drugs his brother used to sing the praises of.

“Heading out?” Daryl can’t stop himself from questioning, no matter how obvious it might make him look. The porch steps already felt a whole lot emptier without you sitting beside him.

“Yeah, I promised to save Michonne if she wasn’t back in ten. She’s getting swarmed by children curious about her sword.”

“Good luck on your search n’ rescue.”

You give him a silly salute then, finishing the pantomime off with a bout of giggles. Then you’re off. Daryl exhales shakily, cursing himself for the way his heart’s pounding like he’d just run a marathon. He knows he needs to squash this lovesickness before it’s too late — if it isn’t already too late. He didn’t agree with Merle on a lot of things, especially when it came to you, but that last remark rings true. It’d be laughable for him to delude himself into thinking you feel anything but platonic affection toward him.

Especially with the options you have here in Alexandria. It may have been slim pickings before, but now, you might as well have an entire buffet laid out. You’re bound to catch the eye of some of the folk around here. If you could get him to like you, he figures you could win over almost anyone. Why would you give him the time of day when there are those clean-shaven, college-educated men running around like they own the place? If the world hadn’t gone to shit, that’s probably who you would’ve gone for.

It’s only because the world went to shit that you even know his name.

Watching how some Alexandrians wave at you, a gesture you animatedly return, he reaches for another smoke.

His brother’s words echo in his head, falling somewhere between a taunt and a warning.

“She ain't ever gonna want you the same way you want her.”

He would do well to remember that, wouldn’t he?

-

If someone told Daryl he’d died and gone to heaven, he’d believe them.

You’re leaning against one of the porch’s pillars, humming a tune to yourself, not having noticed his presence yet. He decides to keep it that way if it means he gets to admire you a while longer. You’re wearing a dark blue dress (he can imagine you correcting him and calling it ‘indigo’ or some shit), looking like an angel incarnate beneath the moonlight. It’s such a simple garment, stopping right above your knees, but to him, you might as well be wearing a ball gown. You’ve got those white tennis shoes that he saw you furiously scrubbing grass stains off of earlier today, the outline of a knife tucked away in them. His chest swells with pride at the knowledge you’re always ready to take care of yourself, thanks in part to his teaching.

Eventually, he manages to break himself free from his you-induced reverie, calling out your name to catch your attention.

You spin on your heel, placing your hands on your hips at the sight of him. “There you are. I thought my ditching buddy ditched me.”

He has to stop himself from saying he’d cross a river of broken glass barefoot if you were standing on the other side, instead settling on, “Aaron and Eric invited me over, figured you’d still be at the party. Did I keep ya waiting long?”

“No, you didn’t, I’m just being dramatic,” you revert back to your usual posture and grin. “It’s good. That they invited you over and you accepted it, I mean. Aaron’s a cool guy. Eric is too, from what I can tell. You guys have some manly bonding time?”

He rolls his eyes at the teasing lilt in your voice. “Mhm, sat around chuggin’ beer and talking ‘bout sports for hours. You?”

“Nothing of much note went down, just a lot of handshaking. I did get stuck talking to one of Deanna’s son for a while, though. I had to practically jump through hoops of fire to escape.”

Daryl swallows down the unpleasant taste that revelation leaves in his mouth. “You don’t like ‘im?”

“He’s… fine, I guess? Harmless enough. Just a really dry conversationalist, which to me, is a cardinal sin,” you stretch your arm above your head and Daryl has to stop himself from staring at how your skirt lifts up, revealing more of your shapely legs. Shit, he really does drool over you. “Oh, you’ll get a kick out of this. He invited me to a game of croquet. I was joking about that earlier, turns out I was right on the money.”

“You’re shitting me,” he deadpans.

“As much as I wish I was, no. God. I knew they’d be a bit sheltered here, but this… I don’t know. It worries me. I wish I could tell myself they can keep living this way, because that’s what they’re doing. Living. They really don’t know how bad it is. And if the bad ever makes its way here…”

You trail off, not needing to fill in the gaps for Daryl to piece it together. He gets what you mean. The entire group does. Carol thinks they’re children and Rick’s ready to take over at the drop of a hat. No one aside from you has expressed concern about their wellbeing out loud, although it’d been in the back of his mind when he saw there were children and old folk here. It’s this compassion of yours that brings him in like a moth to light. After everything you’d been through, you had every right to become a bitter husk of the woman you once were, but you haven’t.

And he thanks the God he isn’t sure he believes in for it.

After a moment’s deliberation, he sets his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. “It ain’t too late for ‘em. You learned. So can they.”

“Well, it did help that I had an excellent teacher.”

He grumbles a ‘shut up’ despite wanting you to do anything but.

Silence sets in for a few beats then. It takes him longer to notice this than it usually would, his head caught up in the near-euphoric experience of receiving a compliment from you. He realizes that he has yet to take his hand off your shoulder and has undoubtedly let it linger too long. He clears his throat, detaching himself from your person with some reluctance, suddenly taking an acute interest in the floorboards you’re both standing on.

Why is it still silent, save for the buzz of cicadas and the chirps of grasshoppers? Shit, did he cross some invisible line in the sand?

“Daryl?”

He grunts at that, not trusting his voice when his thoughts are at war with one another.

“You really are a good man.”

His head shoots back up and he’s searching your countenance for any signs of deception. You’re always teasing one another, this could be another instance of that. However, when your eyes meet his, he sees nothing but unabashed admiration shining in them. He doesn’t think he deserves to be looked at that way, much less by you of all people. You were looking at him like he was the second coming of Christ or something. It makes his stomach do backflips and his poor heart might go into cardiac arrest.

He tries to dismiss your claim with a lighthearted ‘nah’, not because he can’t accept the compliment, but because he doesn’t think it’s true. If you knew the way he thought about you, you’d take your words right back. Look at him the way people have his entire life. Disgust, maybe some pity. Doing what anyone would’ve done doesn’t make him a saint, no matter how hard you and Carol try to argue otherwise.

“You might not believe it, but I hope me thinking so suffices in the meantime,” you say, doing that creepy mind-reading thing you tend to be good at. “I’m truly grateful I met you. You make this life worth living.”

Should you keep going on like this, you might make him well up with tears. He’s glad there aren’t any reflective surfaces nearby because he can’t fathom the expression must be making. What is this? What are you doing to him? Those soft, kissable lips of yours must’ve casted a spell. You’re reaching forward now, pressing your palm against his cheek, and he considers pinching himself to see if this is all a dream.

If it is, he might not want to wake up.

Out of some primal, base instinct, he leans down, wanting nothing more than anything to get a taste of you. It’s when his lips are a few inches from yours that his brother’s words come hurling his way, knocking him off balance and making him jerk backwards. He sees something flit over your face — hates himself for it, too — the sight further reinforcing the prophecy spoken over him.

You deserve more. You deserve some man who knows how to speak what’s on his mind, who doesn’t shy away the second a conversation gets the slightest bit personal. Daryl doesn’t know how to do that, he might never figure it out either. If he does try, you’d have to bear the brunt of his inexperience, and your patience is bound to run out. He can barely put up with it himself sometimes, he can’t fathom putting you through it too.

“Are you okay?”

You’re staring up at him, your eyebrows knitting together, a frown that he so desperately longs to kiss away on your lips. He should be the one asking you that. From your perspective, you must figure he’s rejecting you. And still, you don’t stomp off in a huff or put him down. The tenderness emanating from those three words melts his heart like snow come spring. He opens his mouth, then closes it, licking his lower lip while trying to decide the best approach. Catching those damn hogs back at the prison was easier than getting a few words dislodged from his throat.

“You… you’re sure?” Daryl winces at how unlike himself he sounds when whispering this. “You feel that way ‘bout me?”

The pad of your thumb runs over his cheekbone. “Mhm. Guilty as charged.”

No matter how nonchalant you’re trying to act, he can feel the way your hand shakes against him. See the lines of worry you try to cover with a smile. Hear your every shallow breath. This must be fucking terrifying for you, baring yourself before him like you did, granting him a glimpse of your heart. His mask is one of indifference and yours is one of charm. You’re trying to keep things light like all those times on the road. When he saw you tossing and turning in your sleep, fighting back tears when you thought no one was looking.

He knew. He’s always known. He just never knew what to do about it, how to provide the same comfort you gave others.

“I wanna look out for you,” Daryl’s larger hand envelops the one you’ve placed on his face, causing your eyebrows to raise ever so slightly. “Wanna… wanna keep you safe and smiling. Want you to feel like you can do more than that ‘round me too. You can cry, get angry. ‘S alright. I know. I know.”

Tears well up on your lower lash line, and maybe he should feel a bit guilty for thinking so, but damn, you look beautiful. “See? This is what I meant when I said you’re a good man.”

“Cut it with your shitty jokes, woman,” he knows his bark is worse than his bite when you laugh at him, tilting your head back and revealing more of that tempting neck of yours. He swears to burn this image into the recesses of his mind for as long as he lives. You’re being you, he’s being him, and there’s nothing better.

All his bravado slips through his fingers like sand when you stand up on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. You breathe a taunting command against the shell of his ear and he shivers.

“Make me.”

That successfully ignites the competitive streak you know he has.

For how coquettish you were acting, you return his kiss in a gentle manner, and he reciprocates the pace you set. His hands find their way to your waist without daring to go lower, no matter how loudly his instincts urge otherwise. He’d sooner breathe his last breath than make you feel uncomfortable. If this sweet kiss is all you want, he’d count himself a blessed man from this day forward. It’s you who parts first, leaning back just enough to give your lungs some much-needed air. You stare up at him through your eyelashes, giving him that look that would make him agree to anything you ask.

“Do you want… to take this inside?”

Your voice dies off toward the end and he swears his brain temporarily shut off at the implication. Barely a second earlier he was thinking how he’d die a happy man just for getting a simple kiss from you, he’d written off the possibility of anything more than that. He nods his head, his hand going to the small of your back to lead you inside, when you turn and start making for the front lawn.

Reading the confusion on his face, you explain, “We were given two houses, remember? It might be a better idea to use the empty one for this.”

Daryl really had forgotten the rest of the world exists when he was in that bubble with you. The streets may be empty, but who knows how long that welcoming party will last. He’s grateful one of you has a head clear enough to consider these things. You’re his smart girl for a reason.

“Ya plan this?” He can’t stop himself from asking when he half-jogs after you. The thoughts that run through his head when you bend over to pick up a key hidden beneath a welcome mat will stay between him and God. You slot it into place, turn, then open the door, beckoning him to follow with a finger. He feels his pants growing tighter by the second.

“I’d be a liar if I said yes, though I wish I could take credit for everything,” you lock the door behind him. “No… it just felt like it was time. I’d been waiting for my moment for ages. Guess I got a little impatient.”

Your back is up against the door the second that last word is out of your mouth. He takes your lips for his own again, something like a gasp leaving him when you lift a leg to curl around his waist. He steadies you with his hands to ensure you don’t fall over, the air in the room feeling thicker than those humid Georgian summers you spent together. When he senses you’re stable enough, he lifts one hand to cup your cheek like you did to him, pulling you as close as he physically can. Your arms are around his neck once more, playing with the ends of his hair that he’s grateful he washed hours prior. He hadn’t anticipated this, yet knowing he had plans to spend time with you gave him the motivation to clean up.

Rick teased him for it earlier. The former sheriff had walked in on him shaping up his beard, a knowing smile on his lips.

“Saw [First], didn’t you?”

“Shut up, man.”

Officer Friendly had called it. Carol gave him a nod that made him figure she knew it too. So much for being covert about his feelings for you. Deep down, he knew it must be obvious, the extensive special treatment he gave you. His brother wasn’t too far off with his pussy-whipped comment, crass or not. Daryl would offer you his last bite of rations, final sip of water, hell, he asked if you wanted him to carry you on the grueling walk to DC when everyone was at their wit’s end. You had given him a weak chuckle and said he wasn’t in any shape to do that.

Regardless of how true that was, had you said yes, he still would’ve found a way to make it happen.

You were that precious to him.

Daryl starts tugging the hem of your dress, revealing the tantalizing sight of your bare thighs beneath. Before he can pull it up any further, your hand is on his, and he stops in fear he’d done something wrong.

Those self-doubts are washed away by the sheer neediness in your next word. “Bedroom?”

You don’t need to ask him twice.

The noise you let out when he lifts you up has got to be one of the cutest damn things he’s ever heard. Your response is immediate, you encircle your limbs around him, clinging on like he’d ever dare to drop you. The house doesn’t have any lights on, but Daryl’s eyes are good in the dark. He carries you up the steps while you bury yourself in the crook of his neck. He finds an empty master bedroom, shuts and locks the door behind him, then brings you over to the queen-sized bed.

You start to take your sneakers off when he touches your wrist and shakes his head. Before you can question his intentions, he kneels in front of you, getting down on his hands and knees. This here is a gift you’re giving him. He’d be damned if he didn’t act accordingly. He takes your shoes off with a surprising amount of patience, pressing a chaste kiss to your shin when he’s done.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” His voice comes out deeper than he’s ever heard it. “That you want it?”

“I’m absolutely positive. I’ll even beg, if you ask nicely enough. I’m nice like that.”

He squeezes your thighs. “There you go, running that mouth o’ yours again.”

“You could always make it so I can’t.”

Daryl raises an eyebrow at the insinuation, his cock twitching inside his briefs at the mental image it conjures up. You, sitting pretty on your hands and knees, mouth open and waiting for him. Knowing you, you’d probably rile him up first. Kiss his tip and apply the bare minimum amount of pressure. Would you take him in slow? Lick him up and down the side while staring up at him with those gorgeous eyes?

Tempting as it is to find out, he’s got other plans in mind. He wants to see your face twist in pleasure and hear his name fall from your lips. It’d do his pride some good to know one as sought over as you chose him.

You start playing with the straps of your dress, pulling him from his fantasies. “Do you want to take this off, or should I?”

He bites his lower lip hard enough that it’s a miracle it doesn’t start bleeding. He had intended to unwrap the present before him, but when you put it like that… it makes him curious about the alternative. He’d love to see what little show you’d put on for him, he’s got front-row seats, after all.

“Alright. Let’s see it.”

Daryl gets up from his kneeling position and takes a seat beside you on the bed. You get the hint, standing with legs that wobble ever so slightly. You don’t look surprised when he chooses to poke fun at your current state.

“Woah there, you good? Legs still work?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Better than ever, thank you very much.”

He leans back, making himself comfortable for whatever comes next. “Mhm. Whatever you say, princess.”

At hearing the sarcastic nickname, you go stiff as a board. He catches the way your pupils dilate. You press your face into your hands to muffle a groan, hiding a very noticeably flustered expression from his prying eyes.

“I haven’t heard you call me that for ages. I think it may have awoken something in me,” you confess, pulling your hands away at his prompting. “I may or may not have developed the biggest crush on you when you called me that back at the prison. It got me riled up every time. Even if I was laying on my ass ‘cause you flipped me over for the umpteenth time that day.”

Daryl snorts at the memory. “Ya always did seem to be out for blood after I said it.”

He keeps the fact that he found your frustration cute. It was a hidden ace up his sleeve that he utilized when it looked like you were about to give up, his training regiment admittedly brutal. He couldn’t risk going easy on you with the world being the way it is. You’d be down on the grass, soaked in sweat, groaning for him to call it a day because ‘you think every bone in your body is broken’. Apparently, all it took was a little taunting for you to hop right back on your feet again.

Your competitive streak might be as bad as his.

“Did you like me then, Daryl?” You question, dropping the left shoulder strap just enough to give him a treat. “You must’ve, if you never shooed me away.”

Damn freakishly perceptive woman. “Why ya asking if you already know the answer?”

“Because your voice is the best sound I’ve ever heard. Can’t blame a girl for wanting to hear more of it.”

He grunts, unable to meet your eyes after an embarrassing proclamation like that, his face flushing. How is it you say half the stuff you do? You and your stupid silver tongue would be the death of him. There are worse ways to go, he figures. He struggles to keep his eyes focused on the wall when you lean forward, granting him an unrivaled sight of your cleavage. His embarrassment still slightly outweighs his burning desire to ogle you. Sensing this, you splay your fingers against his clothed chest. Slowly, ever so slowly, your hand ghosts upward. Over his jugular then settling on his jaw. You move his face until he’s looking you dead in the eye again.

“Hey handsome,” your voice pours over him, sweet and thick like honey, “Eyes over here. I get jealous rather easily.”

God, he hopes you don’t notice the goosebumps dotting his skin. Maybe you were a cross between an angel and a witch, what with your ability to enthrall him. His boxers have never felt more uncomfortable in his life. He balls his hands into fists by his side, utilizing every ounce of his self-control to stop himself from picking you up, throwing you on the bed, and utterly ravishing you.

“That so?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, the next strap falling victim to your ministrations. The front of your dress starts to slip down. His Adam's apple bobs from how thickly he swallows. The swell of your chest comes into view, pushed up by your nude-colored bra. His knuckles go white from how tight he’s grabbing the comforter to keep himself in check. You’re treating him to a show, it’d be rude to interrupt your performance now.

Without the support of the straps, the fabric continues falling, revealing more and more of your beautiful body for him. The wet patch of your panties isn’t lost on him — you’re relishing in every second like he is. While never looking away from him, your hands disappear behind your back, fiddling with your bra strap. He swears he’s never felt less like a man and more like a beast when he’s finally able to see your chest in its entirety.

You walk to him as if you have all the time in the world, your knees hitting the bed’s side not nearly fast enough for his liking. Finally, you take a seat on his lap, your crotch pressing perfectly against his. He lets out a low groan then, grateful for any pressure to relieve the near painful hard-on you’ve given him. His hands settle on your ass, grinding you against his clothed length, and you stifle a moan by biting down on your lower lip.

Daryl tuts, stopping before he’s even begun. “Nah, I don’t think so. Don’t go getting shy on me now, girl. Ain’t like ya.”

After a moment’s consideration, you nod your head, your eagerness apparently outweighing the shame he didn’t know you had. He grins at you, resuming his previous actions and earning those debauched noises he’s longed to hear. Your panties might be staining his jeans, but he can’t find it in himself to complain, he’d wear it like a damn badge of pride. You’re his woman now. He belongs to you as well — heart, mind, body, and soul — if you asked, he’d happily hand it over.

“It feel good? Hm?”

“Like everything I ever wanted and more,” you confess, the breathiness of your voice making his brain feel hazy. “You’re— god— I adore you, Daryl. You’re so good to me.”

His lips are on yours then, this kiss being the messiest yet. His tongue pokes at your lips, and when you part them, ready to receive whatever he’s willing to give, his tongue goes to explore the newfound territory. You taste sweet (is that chocolate?), like the best treat he’s ever been given. He swallows your little gasps and whimpers, giving your ass a firm squeeze to ground himself.

Daryl can’t believe this is really happening. That you want him as much as he wants you and have no qualms showing it. He might be drunk on lust, but there’s something else in there, a flavor he’s never experienced before you stumbled into his life. It’s sweeter than the chocolate, more addicting than the bottle.

He loves you. He has for the longest time.

He slows down his maneuvering of your body, letting you catch your breath and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“You okay?” You ask in between huffs, peppering his hairline with featherlight kisses.

“Better than ever,” he repeats your words from earlier, albeit with a southern drawl. Faster than you can process it, he flips you over, kicking his shoes off to lord knows where. You get over your surprise fast enough and shuffle back to make room for him. He hovers above you, almost uncertain of where to start. You must be feeling particularly gracious, for you let him drink in the sight of you without making any smart comments. Your body is pure eye candy and he’d be damned if he didn’t get himself a nice taste.

His lips are feverish against your neck, alternating between bites and open-mouthed kisses. He’s finally able to lavish your chest in some well-deserved attention, his rough palms pressing against the flesh, feeling you up like his life depended on it. You, being the perfect creature you are, grind up against him, drawing out a growl from his throat.

“It alright if I mark you up?” He breathes against your skin in between kisses. “Show everyone you’re mine?”

“Yes, please do.”

Never one to deny you anything, especially when you ask so nicely, he gets to work leaving proof of this tryst on your neck. Little bruises start to form where he’s concentrated his attention, right above your racing pulse. Content with its appearance, his lips start adventuring down. He takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks, more than pleased at the gasp you let out in response. While his tongue swirls around you, his hand makes its way to the hem of your panties, the last clothing item keeping you from being entirely bare. He detaches himself from your chest with some reluctance, so he can witness this final barrier being torn away.

“If you look at me like that, I might just get embarrassed,” you laugh at the halfhearted glare he gives you for the comment. He supposes it wouldn’t be you if you weren’t actively trying to rile him up. You were coy like that, frequently looking for a way to get him going, not that he minded. It’s starting to add up in retrospect. You’d been flirting with him all this time, a fact that went right over his head.

“‘S fine by me. Would probably do you some good.”

Your eyes crinkle from how wide your smile is, unadulterated affection gleaming in your eyes. He can’t help himself — he bends down to peck your now pouting lips. Tempting as it is to kiss you silly for the remainder of the night, he’s a man on a mission. You lift your legs to help him get that final undergarment off. He sets it aside so you won’t have any difficulty finding it later. Then he’s drinking in the beauty that is your glistening folds, subconsciously licking his lips at such an appetizing display.

A soft call of his name breaks him from his stupor. “Hm?”

“Don’t, uh, feel like you have to do that,” you give him a sheepish glance. “It’s okay if you just want to, y’know.”

If he were a cruel man, he’d tease you until you squirmed for how adorable you’re acting, but he decides to have mercy. Gotta be gracious with the love of your life and all that. Still, he can’t help feeling slightly miffed you’d think he’s going to eat you out over some obligation. Your pleasure is his pleasure, your happiness is his happiness. He thought his desperation for you soaked into his every action since you confessed on that porch. Then he remembers he hasn’t got much room to talk, the voice of insecurity could be brought down to a whisper, yet never entirely silenced.

He gives your pelvis a kiss. “I wanna. Simple as that.”

Daryl’s reassurance comes out gruff, and while it might not be dripping with romance, it visibly puts you at ease. He doesn’t do anything until you nod. Then he’s in between your legs, feeling more at home by the second. He kisses you up your inner thigh, his beard tickling over the smooth expanse of skin. Finally, his tongue slips between his lips, pressing flat against your cunt. The way you shudder encourages him to repeat the action, testing the new waters with care.

His technique isn’t the most refined, but he’s eager, lapping you up with unmatched zeal. The wet sounds of him feasting himself on you fill the room, and he thinks it might be one of the best sounds to grace his ears. He alternates between licking you and pulling on your folds toward him slightly with his teeth. Whatever it is he’s doing, you seem to be enjoying it, if the way your legs go wide for him is any indicator. He pulls you flush against his mouth by your love handles, delighting in how you moan so prettily for him. He’d tried to imagine what you might sound like if he ever had a chance with you, what dulcet tones your voice would take on.

Those thoughts were enough to satisfy him on lonely nights, but they pale in comparison to the real thing. You’re a force of nature. So beguiling, so easy to love, that he’s once again reminded that it’s a miracle he’s the one you’ve chosen. Never has he felt so grateful. People had tried, yet you never went for it. Was he on your mind in those moments? Steering you away from anyone that isn’t him? He could only hope so.

Daryl pulls back, chuckling at the whine you let out at the loss. “Needy thing, ain’t ya?”

“Only for you.”

Once again, you prove to him that you always know what to say. You and your feminine wiles.

“Think you can handle my fingers?”

At this, you nod. He gathers your slick in his pointer and middle finger. He starts with his pointer finger, watching with something like awe as it eases inside you. Once he’s certain that it doesn't hurt, his middle finger is next, stretching out the walls that envelop him. A sinfully delightful sound is produced when he takes his fingers out and slides them back in. He eyes the slick coating his fingers, and after realizing he misses how you taste, dips his head back down to messily kiss your clit. Your hips are thrusting to meet his fingers halfway, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Close,” you breathe out in between moans, “I’m close.”

He hums against you, the low vibration adding to your mounting pleasure. He doesn’t care if his wrist hurts for the foreseeable future, he wants you to feel good, to completely unravel and show him he’s done a good job. The muscles in your thighs go tense and he hears you let out the most depraved whimper of his name. He doesn’t let up, hellbent on seeing you through the entirety of your high.

Your body goes limp as a ragdoll against the bed. Gently, you pull him back, combing your fingers through his tousled hair. He removes his fingers from you and plops them into his mouth, content to savor your taste a while longer. It’s second only to the taste of your lips. Once he’s finished cleaning them off, you guide his hand to your face, and he watches the act with muted confusion. He lets out a sound like a choke when your mouth wraps around his fingers, hollowing your cheeks while you do so.

“Christ, woman. You tryna kill me?”

A quiet pop sound resonates in the room when you detach yourself from him. “Of course not. I’m far too enamored with you.”

Daryl still can’t entirely fathom why exactly that is, but he keeps the thought to himself.

In his fervor, he neglected to shed his own clothes, a fault he works to remedy. There’s nothing he wants more than to feel your skin against his without any barriers. He stands up to make the process easier, starting with his vest, then the halfway decent shirt he picked for the night. Next is his buckle and jeans. He doesn’t have time to feel self-conscious, not when you’re laying there, waiting for him so well. The scars and other various imperfections marring his skin must be difficult to make out in the low light, anyway. He knows you wouldn’t judge him — he feels it in his bones — yet that’s a can of worms he’d prefer to leave for another day.

He lets out a sigh of relief when his cock is freed from its restraints. Copious amounts of pre-cum leak from the tip, a testimony to your influence on him. He gives himself a few strokes, yet stops when he releases how sensitive he is. He wants to make this last. He needs to make this last. He knows that every second he spends inside you is bound to feel like heaven on earth.

Daryl crawls over to you. You part your legs without him needing to ask, your eyes lidded and hair messily framing your face. He lines himself up at your entrance yet makes no movement beyond that. This isn’t an act that’s meant to be rushed through — no, he intends to savor every second as if it were his last. The intensity of his stare can only be matched by yours. It’s an intimate moment, this little reality you carved out together, apart from the struggle and anguish you’d both become so familiar with.

He knows it won’t magically go away. You know it too. But if you have one another, you can both start living again instead of surviving.

“Still sure you want this?”

“I’m sure,” you whisper in a voice meant for his ears and no one else’s. “Please.”

Daryl handles you with care he didn’t even know he was capable of. He begins to push into you, sucking in a breath while he does so, his eyes glued to your face for any signs of discomfort. Your warmth wraps around him and draws him in. When he’s halfway inside, your hand grabs his, fingers intertwining. He stops, rubbing circles into the top of your hand with his thumb, silently admiring every way your face contorts while adjusting to his length. You inhale and exhale shakily before nodding your head, giving his hand a squeeze. He groans when he’s sunk all the way inside you.

You both stay like that for a moment, breathing in each other’s air.

“Have I ever told you,” he almost sounds pained when he speaks, “That you’re fuckin’ gorgeous?”

You give him one of those melodious laughs that makes his heart do things. “This’d be the first time.”

“Won’t be the last.”

You crane your neck to give him a chaste kiss. He’s about to chase after your lips when you pull away, but the words you say next cause all his higher thought to temporarily cease. “You can move now. Fuck me, Daryl.”

He feels himself twitch inside you and curses under his breath. It’s slow at first, so he can gauge what sort of rhythm you might like. The roll of his hips is sensual, his admiration of your facial expressions bordering on worship. Your hands go to his back to find purchase, unintentionally pulling him even closer in the process, and he grunts. He sets a steady pace. You throw your head back into the pillow, letting all your pretty noises out for him unabashedly. Praises fall from your lips, reassuring him of how good he’s making you feel, and how you want everything he’s willing to give. The encouragement makes his chest swell with pride.

You chose him. Out of everyone you could’ve pursued, you gave your affection to him, and that knowledge alone almost feels better than the way your walls flutter around his length.

“I care about you,” he pants into your ear, a declaration that makes you whine. “Have for so long. Want— want to show you. How much you mean t’me.”

Daryl hears you try to muster up a response in between your gasps, but it’s no use, you’re too lost in the throes of pleasure. He notices the way your moans grow higher in pitch, the sound music to his ears. Utilizing what little brain power he has left, he figures you must be getting close. The fact you’re going to come undone around him spurs him on. His fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing rushed circles around it. You tighten around him and it takes all the strength he has not to collapse on you, lost in the dizzying feeling.

There’s no more precision to his movements, everything is messy and frenzied.

You let out a cry of his name, and then a high-pitched whimper of, “I’m—”

And just like that, you unravel for him, nails digging into his skin and hips thrusting forward to meet his. He wills himself to stave off his own release so that you can enjoy yours. The sight and sounds you let out might be the most erotic thing he’s ever seen, he etches every detail of it into his memory.

He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Daryl pulls out once he’s certain you’re done, fucking his fist like a man possessed. It doesn’t take much for him to come undone after witnessing what you just showed him. A gruff rendition of your name leaves his lips as he spills out onto his hand, his release coming out in spurts, coating his palm in white.

You both stay still for a few moments, taking the time to catch your breath. You’re the first to move, sluggishly at that, sitting up on your elbows and giving him a content smile. He’s about to cradle your face and put his forehead against yours when he recalls his release is still on his hand. He shifts to get up, noting the attached bathroom in this room. You stop him before he gets the chance, gingerly wrapping your fingers around his wrist, stilling his hand in the process. He gapes like a fish out of water as you lick the remnants off his skin, closing your eyes and humming as if it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

When you finish helping yourself, you give each of his knuckles a kiss. “I think the bones in my legs are broken. For real this time.”

Daryl snorts at the callback to your prison days, fond nostalgia swirling in his head.

“Need me to carry ya?”

You outstretch your arms for him. “Yes, please.”

He knows you’re being dramatic but can’t bring himself to care. He lifts you up, taking care not to trip on any of the clothes strewn on the floor, then sets you down on the sink’s granite counter. You both help yourselves to some nearby washcloths to get cleaned off. He kisses your shoulder when you’re done. Once back inside the bedroom, he slides his boxers back on, and you, your undergarments. You throw your back onto the bed and stretch, letting out a cute little noise while you do so.

Daryl’s feeling exhausted himself, but he figures you both shouldn’t be missing for too long. It’d make the others worry.

“I’m claiming this as our bedroom,” you fluff out a pillow before laying it down. The way his heart skips a beat at your usage of the word ‘our’ almost embarrasses him. Almost. “I’m not going to let you keep sleeping out on the porch. It hurts my back just thinking about it.”

He makes his way back over to you, footsteps silent against the hardwood. The second he lays down, you’re cozying up against his side, resting your head on his chest. His arms wrap around your frame as if he’d done it a million times before. It’s divine, hearing your steady breathing, feeling the warmth of your body. Despite everything, you’re still here. So is he.

He’ll do anything to keep it that way.

You lift yourself up to get a good look at him, your hair tickling his face. “Hey.”

He grunts to prove he’s listening.

“I love you,” you give him a kiss on his forehead, then his nose, and finally, his lips. “Thank you for letting me.”

The words from his brother on that sweltering day breathe down his neck. For some reason, the specific verbiage can’t form in his mind, it’s more of a muffled voice coming from another room. The sentiment is still there. Piercing, meant to hurt his heart in ways a weapon never could. That deep of a wound won’t heal itself overnight, yet if you’re the one holding the thread and needle, he thinks it can finally start closing.

He only whispers his next words when you press your forehead against his.

“I love you too. More ‘n anything.”

There’s a mischievous glimmer in your eyes which makes him nervous. Uh oh. He knows that look.

“… Enough to be my croquet partner tomorrow at noon?”

“Hell no.”

Unfortunately for him, you know as well as he does that if you keep asking nice enough, he’s bound to give in eventually.

He always does.

I see no lies.

This is the most wholesome thing on the internet.

They think it's a baby cow 🥹

i’m feral rn but has Frank ever been too in a rush to even take his gfs panties off🫣😅

OH. Oh my. Hell yes.

This is so hot because he literally can't wait another second. You're bent over the sink of a bathroom at a dinner party neither of you wanted to be at because Frank was already going feral at the way your tits looked in your dress. He had the privilege of staring down at them all night at the dinner table with one hand gripping the expanse of your thigh, his fingers so close that they feel the heat of your core. He felt the microscopic way you clenched your legs together and his eyes shot to your face. He'd know that look anywhere and he'd had enough of boring table conversation.

You excuse yourself for the bathroom and a moment later, Frank excuses himself too, making a weak excuse about "fresh air" before abruptly standing from the table.

The minute he enters the bathroom he turns you around and bends you over the bathroom counter, hiking your skirt up over your ass and growling when he sees the panties -- an obstacle he did not have the fucking patience for. He tugs them aside, the fabric of your thong settling into the plush pillow of your ass cheek, and lines himself up in one fluid movement, pushing himself rough and deep inside you. He fucks you over the counter, one hand covering your mouth to muffle your moans as he looks you in the eyes in the mirror and he rams fast and hard, the both of you cumming quickly and within moments of each other.

Frank pushes himself back in you for a moment -- seating his cum deep inside you before pulling out slowly and readjusting your panties and tugging your skirt back down. He slaps your ass lightly and kisses your forehead, saying "Come on, don't wanna miss dessert sweetheart."

Birthday Girl

Mikey Berzatto x Female Reader 

Summary: You show up at The Beef on your birthday, a bit earlier than Mikey was expecting you. But that’s alright, you’ll still get your birthday gift, dont you worry.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex, unprotected sex, public sex, creampie, teasing, praises, pet names

Word count: 4.1k

A/N: Hi hellooo! So, this is a late birthday gift for my sweet @chelseasdagger because I know how hard she fell for Mikey, especially with how he looks in season 2? The beard?! I mean we all love it right? Thank you @suitsofwo3 for proofreading this mess and I hope those of you who choose to read it will enjoy it. This is my first time writing for Mikey so I hope I did him justice but if I didn’t…dont tell me, thank you. 

@chelseasdagger Pea I hope you’ll like this, this is all written with you in mind, and I know we talked about a lot of different ideas for birthday fics over the year and this is I guess a bit different but I hope its still okay. I love you, happy birthday!

You straighten up the dress one last time and clear your throat, mentally preparing yourself for the chaos that’s about to ensue the moment you step through the door of the Berzatto restaurant. You loved The Beef, of course you did. You enjoyed most of the time you chose to spend helping around the sandwich shop, but you also knew how overwhelming it could get.

Pushing the designated staff door on the back of the building, you step inside.

“CORNER!”

Keep reading

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."