#🐿️

[xoxo-sarah]

My Wife

Part 2 | part 3

↝a/n: 2,605 w/c... I like this one, guys.

↝pairing: Season 1!Daryl x wife!reader

↝warning: usual walking dead stuff, angst, animal death (mentions blood. No details), reader being sexualized?, creepy men, harassment, the creepy guy getting punched (he deserved it), cursing, protective Daryl, Merle (ew), crying, moody and soft Daryl, sassy Daryl (it's season one, what do you expect?), slightly proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 10.2.24

Daryl Dixon masterlist

Before the apocalypse, you'd say your life wasn't bad. You had a decent job that paid well. A husband, a dog, and a house you owned all on your own, without any help from your parents.

You had met Daryl fresh out of college. He was staying with Merle at the time. In a rush to get away from your parents, you found a rent-to-own house on the outskirts of Atlanta. It wasn't extravagant, only having 2 beds and one bath. It was still a house-your house.

The first time you went to the grocery store to stock up before you started work since the big move, an old man had hit on you. Daryl listened from afar, not wanting to cause any more trouble for you. He knew you hadn't been in these parts of town before, he hadn't seen you before.

After many attempts at shooting the guy down, Daryl had to intervene. The guy had grabbed your arm, and before you knew it, the guy was backing away from you.

“She said she's not interested.”

“My bad, man. Didn't know she was yours.” He raised his hands, grin still on his face. It was a game to him.

“So you only take no for an answer if I 'belong' to someone?” Venom laced your voice, disgust painted into the wrinkles between your eyebrows and frown lines, glaring through the guy. A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, followed by a smoker's cough that told you he had more tar in his lungs than he had sense in his brain.

“Ma'am, will all due respect-”

“I doubt anything respectful comes out of that raunchy mouth of yours.”

His grin dropped, eyes slanting in your direction. “This one sure has a mouth on her,” his attention moved back to Daryl. “She have that mouth in the sack?”

You scoffed, glancing down at the floor, collecting the words you wanted to shoot back at him.

In the time you looked away, Daryl had put the 12-pack of beer down and swung. You snapped your head up at the sound of a fist colliding with a cheek. Daryl glared, spitting at the man as he held his cheek in shock. “Give the lady some respect, prick.”

“Damnit, Dixon!” An elderly man came running down the aisle, a manager tag clinking against the pins on his shirt. Safe to say both men had been kicked out.

After checking out, you caught sight of Daryl hunched over, looking at his bruising knuckles.

“Here's for helping me.”

Daryl's head shot up, eyes flickering to the 12-pack in your outstretched hand. “Ya didn't have to.”

“You didn't have to.” He shrugged, taking the box from you.

the rest was history.

You eventually got together, then, moved in together. He supported you in your job, making jokes about you “bringing home the bacon”. The only downside was his brother.

“Damnit, Merle.”

An intoxicated Merle flopped on your couch, cackling up at Daryl. You watched from behind the couch, arms folded across Daryl's shirt draping over your form. Daryl's own top half was bare, his muscles flexing when he folded his arms in disappointment, glaring down.

“What? Did I interrupt you 'n your housewife duties?”

You scoffed, turning around to walk back to your room, the dog Daryl had gotten you for your birthday following after you. Merle watched your movement, lowly whistling. “I'd be a housewife for that piece, too.”

Daryl grabbed the collar of Merle's shirt, bringing him to eye level. “Don't talk about my wife like that.” He threw him back against the couch, “You're out by the mornin'.”

The world had gone to shit right in the middle of your workday. Everyone was running around, yelling and panicking. You tried making a beeline for your car, getting pushed and pulled every which way. The traffic was the worst you had ever seen, when you had finally made your way onto the road.

When you finally got home, the door was open.

You rushed in, looking in every room. There was no sign of Daryl besides the place being completely trashed, in a rush to leave. He wasn't there. You had no clue where he was, if he was safe, if he knew what was happening.

You cracked the backdoor open, nearly falling to your knees. A body laid on the back porch, blood dried on its way down the person's forehead. A lump of fur and blood was right beside it. A sob racked your body on your way back to your car. Your knuckles were ghostly white as they gripped the steering wheel, as you made your way out of town, away from the life you worked hard to get and worked harder to keep.

You eventually got stuck in even more traffic. Everything only got worse when your car ran out of gas.

You had to hide in the city, which was run with zombies. Luckily for you, you had found a few bodies that hadn't turned yet, stealing anything that could be used as a weapon. You were able to stay safe, hiding in an empty office building. Living off of the vending machines and what was left in the break rooms.

You regularly walked up to the roof, getting fresh air, wondering where Daryl had gone and if he was thinking of you. Sure, a part of you wanted to be mad at him for leaving without you, but you knew he had to have his reasons. Merle had to of made him run away with him when the news first got out.

While you looked over the edge, watching as dead bodies herded together, feasting on whatever had run into the city on your way up here, you saw quick movement to your left. Swirling around, you held your gun up, pointing it at the kid in front of you.

“Woah, Hey! I'm alive- I'm alive! Not going to hurt you.” The poor boy might as well have been shivering in his boots. His hands shook in the air. He was probably the third person you've seen, alive, since you squatted in the top floor. He didn't seem like the guy to kill you just to take your stuff. “Look, there's a guy in the tank down there. I'm just trying to help him.” You thought back to the sounds of pained neighing you heard when you first stepped onto the roof, but you had shrugged it off, figuring you were going insane already. No sleep and being isolated will do that to you. “C'mon, dude.” He was practically begging you to not shoot him in the head.

What would Daryl do in this situation? He wouldn't just trust anyone when it comes to survival. You reluctantly put your gun down, watching as he sighed in relief. You hid the shake in your hands when they fell to your sides, not wanting him to know you didn't want to kill him even if he were dangerous.

“We have to get down there to help him.” The boy leaned over the edge, at the tank and the 'geeks' that surrounded it.

“We?”

He looked back at you, then to the tank. “The extra help would be appreciated.”

Somehow, you followed after him, climbing down fire escapes and counting the amount of bodies in each alleyway. He was quick, but you kept up with him with ease.

He led you down the alleyway, hiding behind the trashcans and gate separating you and a painful death. “You have good aim? I need you to shoot that big guy closest to the tank.” He whispered, fixing the hat on his head.

You glanced at him, watching as he awaited your next move. You whispered back, “it's empty.” You held the gun up in emphasis. You weren't going to tell him that when it was pointed at him. He huffed, throwing his head back. “I only have a knife.”

He shrugged off his backpack, grabbing the empty gun and throwing it in there. It was useless with no bullets, and it only took up a hand, making it harder for you to climb.

“Alright, change of plans.” He grabbed the walkie, bringing it to his mouth before pressing the button. “Hey, you alive in there?”

A frantic voice broke through the static, “Hello? Hello?!”

The next thing you knew, you were running downstairs with the young boy, Glenn, you had figured out, and the guy you nearly died saving, Rick. Glenn led you two to another alleyway, before the door to the building in front of you busted open, 2 people filing out with gear and helmets on, attacking the walkers wondering in front of you.

“Lets go!” Glenn jumped over the bodies on the ground, running through the door, you and Rick following. As soon as you were through the door, you were pushed to the other side of the wall, before Rick was pushed back, a gun aimed at his face. “You son of a bitch! We ought to kill you.” A blonde woman was seething, ready to put a bullet in Rick's head.

“Just chill out, Andrea. Back off.” One of the guys who bashed the walker's head in pulled off the armor, glaring at the blonde.

“Come on, ease up.”

“Ease up? You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of this stupid asshole.” The gun was pointed at you next, “And her.” Her finger twitched on the trigger, but you were at a loss of words.

“She helped.” Glenn was ignored.

“Andrea, I said, back the hell off. Or pull the trigger.” The same guy from before stepped forward, closer to Andrea. It was silent for a second, before Andrea dropped her hand, lips quivering with oncoming tears. You took a breath, having the room to do so when a gun isn't pointed at you.

“We're dead,” Andrea sobbed, “All of us.” Her gaze moved back to Rick, “Because of you.”

You wondered after everyone as they walked through the old building, listening as they scolded rick for firing his gun.

“No signal. Maybe the roof.” The man, who was introduced as T-Dog, said, holding the walkie. Before anyone else could reply, a gun shot fired, echoing from above.

“Oh no, Is that Dixon?”

“Dixon?”

Andrea stopped her movement, looking back at you. “Yeah. What, you know 'em?”

Sadly, you were met with a distasteful Merle on the roof. He refused to tell you about Daryl-about how Merle had to drag in out of the house. About how Daryl wanted to pick you up and take you with them. About how Daryl had gone back, against Merle's wishes, and found you nowhere in the house. But you weren't told that, so the nerves in your stomach still fluttered, making you feel like you were going to vomit any minute. The only thing he told you was that Daryl was with the rest of the group by the quarry.

The nerves still fluttered even on your way to the said quarry. The thought of Merle being trapped in the roof was at the back of your mind, the thought of seeing Daryl for the first time in God knows how long, being front and center in your mind. Your leg shook with nerves as you sat in the back of the van, hitting a bump every once in a while, and knocking into one of the other people.

The van pulled up to the quarry, people piling out of the back, running to their families.

You were introduced to a woman named Carol. She was surprised when you told her that you knew Daryl. The short time she had known the man, she couldn't think of him having a soft spot for anyone, but here you were. She told you that he had gone hunting and that he should be back before dawn.

You sat around, getting to know everyone. As soon as Carol's husband raised his voice to her, you had kept an eye on him, instantly feeling protective of the woman. As she silently did for you. She kept an eye on you, making sure you felt comfortable among all of the strangers.

Night fell and there was still no sign of Daryl. You distracted yourself by helping Carol with whatever, or Dale with lookout. You hadn't told anyone much about you and Daryl. Mostly because you couldn't form a coherent sentence with Daryl on your mind. Where was he? Was he okay? Why wasn't he back? The band around your ring finger became a fidget habit. You spun it around any time the thoughts got too much.

The crisp morning air did little to wake you. You might as well have been a walker with how you sluggishly moved around camp, helping with anything, wanted to be helpful and pull your weight.

Carol handed you another pair of soaked pants, to ring the water out and hang it up to dry. While doing so, your eyes caught sight of Rick and Lori. They had been reunited. When was it your turn?

“How did you and Daryl meet?” Glancing back up at Carol, you cleared your throat to speak.

Before you could utter a word, a scream echoed throughout the camp, followed by Carl's screams for his mother.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, a few running toward the screaming, ready for the worst.

You walked behind the group, watching as Rick, Glenn, Dale, Shane, and a few others beat the walker that had made it from the city.

Dale swung down with his axe, cutting the head clean off the walker's body.

“It's the first one we've had up here.” He heaved, “They never come this far up the mountain.”

“Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what.” Another guy, Jim, said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Branches snapped, followed by more footsteps. The guys with the weapons moved toward the sound, weapons ready.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He hadn't seen you yet.

Daryl stepped over branches, slightly taken aback with everyone standing in front of him, ready to strike.

Everyone took a step back, “Oh, Jesus.” Dale's shoulders released the tension.

“Son of a bitch.” Daryl cursed, “That's my deer!” He walked to what was left of the poor animal.

He looked how he did when you first met. Frustration clear on his brow. You had helped him get rid of the constant scrunch of his brow and frown on his lips, and here it was, making its appearance in a dramatic manner.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this-” He kicked the headless body that laid on the ground, “filthy,” kick “disease-bearing,” kick “motherless,” kick “poxy bastard!”

“Calm down, son. That's not helping.” Dale peeped, infuriating Daryl more.

“What do you know about it, old man?” Daryl walked closer, getting in Dale's face. "Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to “On Golden Pond”?"

“Daryl.”

Daryl paused, his face dropping. He turned to the voice, his knees nearly collapsing from underneath him.

Before you could say anything else, his crossbow was dropping to the ground, followed by the string of squirrels on his shoulder. He rushed over, his body colliding with yours. His calloused hands pulled your face closer to his.

He didn't care if everyone was watching. Or if the scene made them think differently about his tough-guy thing he had going on. His lips moved against yours.

“I didn't know where you were.” He mumbled against your lips. “I tried looking everywhere-”

“I know, I know. Doesn't matter.”

Part 2

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[famousfishathletecookie]

Белочка…:)

[just-a-pole-sir]

[romromi]

My translator has a habit of translating Ellis' name as squirrel, and well, it makes sense considering that squirrel in Japanese is リス (risu), and Ellis is spelled エリス. But the truth is that Ellis does look like a squirrel.

He even slouches like one of them.

[intrikatie]

[praline1968]

😁

[sellomaybe]

HAPPY HANNIE DAY 🐿️💗🎀💋

140924<3

[deuxamours]

🥀 | Sunday <- Collective Name

🥀 | All Pronouns

🥀 | Bodily 22 (08 / 27)

🥀 | White + Jewish

🥀 | Autistic + DID haver

🥀 | Your favorite System mutual & TWD mutual.

🥀 | This is our main blog !

🥀 | INTO: The Walking Dead, One Piece, X-Men, Hannibal, Supernatural, House M.D., Interview With The Vampire, Red Dead Redemption series, The Elder Scrolls, A Song of Ice and Fire, History, and more.

🥀 | Basic DNI & 18+ only + No Endos please

🥀 | Spam liking = Okay & Asks are open

🥀 | Like if you read !

[fairyniceyeah]

⌛🧸You are my Starlight

Title from Light (ATEEZ)

Summary: Wooyoung's emetophobia flares up when Jongho is sick.

CW: emeto

Sickie: Jongho Whumpee: Wooyoung Caretakers: Seonghwa + Hongjoong + Yeosang + San

“If you don’t play you lose. Kawibawibo!”, Wooyoung shouted in excitement which was swiftly turned into disappointment as he and Seonghwa both ended up losing out on first shower privileges.  San giggled in joy and danced around happily, having won the game and therefore able to shower first. They had just returned to the dorms after a long dance practice and all of them were hoping to wash off the sweat as soon as possible. As San tried to get closer to Seonghwa, who looked less than impressed, the oldest shoved him off gently.

“Sannie”, he groaned, “just go take your shower.”

“Yes, hyung”, San replied, still grinning and sticking his tongue out at him as he was out of reach. He even walked backwards to make sure his oldest hyung saw it.

Teasing Seonghwa was fun. As he made his way to the bathroom San heard him complain to Hongjoong who was less than sympathetic, having wanted to go back to the studio as well.

“I wanted to take a short shower and sleep”, the oldest muttered, but it seemed like he had resigned himself to his fate. “As if you have ever taken a short shower in your entire life”, Hongjoong teased.

Once done with his shower and feeling much refreshed, San stuck his head in the room he shared with Yunho, informing him that it was now his turn. His hyung thanked him and gathered his stuff up from the bed leaving quickly. Not quite knowing what to do with his free time, San wandered into the kitchen, where he found Wooyoung preparing dinner.

“Need any help?”, he asked. Wooyoung turned around and mustered him up and down. “Sure. You’re not Yunho”, he jabbed. San grinned and took the knife he was given.

Sometimes he wondered why anybody in ATEEZ allowed Wooyoung of all people to hold sharp objects but at least Wooyoung wasn’t a hazard in the kitchen unlike San’s roommate.

San had always been a deep sleeper, never really waking up in the night and it was difficult to get him to wake up in the morning. He always told his members that the only reason was the comfort his plushies provided and how would he abandon his warm bed and Shiber for a cold morning? The members always teased him for it but for some reason if anybody ended up sharing San’s bed with him they never wanted to get up too.

Well, back to Yunho’s kitchen adventure. San had woken up from deep slumber a not so long time ago to the sound of the fire alarm blaring, Mingi’s panicked yelling and Hongjoong’s angry yelling. From what he had gathered in his sleepy daze Yunho had tried to make himself and Mingi late night ramen and for some obscure reason the pot had caught on fire. San had pitied his captain who had just returned from a late producing session to find the dorm nearly burning down. But in the end Hongjoong had helped them hide the damage before Seonghwa had returned from visiting his parents in the morning. Even Hongjoong was afraid of what Seonghwa would do to them if he found out what had happened. Now Seonghwa still couldn’t solve the mystery of where his favourite pot had gone. Since everybody faked innocence he till now hadn’t found out but not for lack of trying.

Slowly the meal took form and it was Wooyoung’s turn to shower, leaving San with strict instructions. 

Hongjoong joined San to keep him company. Though he soon regretted it when Wooyoung returned dripping wet and shaking his wet hair over poor Hongjoong who just got dry, all the while cackling loudly. Hongjoong rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Wooyoung, why don’t you wake up Jongho-yah? It’s his turn to shower after you. He fell asleep on the couch and we all know he always needs a little time to wake up.”

“Sir, yes, sir”, Wooyoung replied, offering a two finger military salute, and crossed into the living room to wake up the older man.

San rolled his eyes as he heard Wooyoung sing “Get up” by Na Sangdo on top of his lungs. He had just gotten that song unstuck from his head after performing it with Yunho during the Salary Lupin episode.

What he didn’t expect was the sudden scream from Wooyoung and then silence. Hongjoong also turned around from the stove at the sound and they both looked at each other in confusion before Hongjoong turned off the stove and they both ran to the living room.

⌛

Nothing could have prepared San for the view he was greeted with. Wooyoung was standing frozen in the middle of the living room, mouth open in shock and whole body shaking. Jongho was still lying on the couch, though hanging his head over the edge and there was a disgusting, chunky, yellowish puddle of vomit coating the floor. And Wooyoung’s socks and lower pants. 

Shit. This was not ideal.

“Jongho-yah, you could have told us that you felt sick before”, Hongjoong said weakly, probably mentally trying to prepare himself for the next hours. His voice dripped with sympathy for their youngest, clearly worried.

“Wooyoungie?”, San whispered, reaching out to his best friend. He felt bad about leaving the sick youngest to Hongjoong alone but he needed to get Wooyoung out of the situation ASAP.

“Wooyoungie?”, San tried again as he got no answer. Cautiously he stepped forward, turned Wooyoung away from looking at Jongho and knelt down next to his friend, trying to assess the damage. He definitely didn’t want to touch their makneas’s puke with his bare hands, so he slipped off his own socks to use them as a barrier.

He helped Wooyoung stay steady as he gently pulled down his right sock and helped Wooyoung balance as he got the shaken but obedient man to lift his foot. Then his left sock was off and San tossed them as well as his own to the side. He got up and said: “Your trousers?”

Wooyoung showed no reaction, silent tears flowing down his cheeks. San heard a whimper behind them, not sure if that meant Jongho was about to be sick again but wanting to avoid that in Wooyoung’s presence. He grabbed Wooyoung’s hands and pulled him to the door. 

Miraculously - and very unhelpfully - none of the other members had been alerted by the commotion.

“Hongjoong-hyung, I’m taking Wooyoungie to the bathroom”, he called out to his captain-hyung, getting a nod in approval. Hongjoong was talking quietly to Jongho who was still really pale and swallowing visibly, having pulled a trash can close. San ignored them in favour of yelling for Yeosang, knowing he needed the other man to help with the shaken youngest of their trio.

Yeosang stuck his head out of the door of his room and gasped. Immediately Seonghwa appeared behind him, both of them looking like comic characters with just their heads showing at different heights. San would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. Wooyoung was clutching his hand with all his might, eyes clenched shut and still trembling like he was going to fall apart.

“Wooyoungie is sick?”, Yeosang asked and ran over to check on their friend. San shuddered – that would be a nightmare. It had happened once that Wooyoung got the stomach flu despite all their precautions and none of them really wanted to remember how much he had suffered under the illness and the constant panic. He shook his head as they led Wooyoung into the bathroom. “Jjongie is sick.”

“Oh”, Yeosang frowned, then turned his attention to Wooyoung. He didn’t even spare a glance at Seonghwa now, who told them he was going to check on Jongho. “Let’s sit you down on the toilet seat, okay? We can take off your trousers and then we can take a shower, okay?” 

Wooyoung showed no reaction, so Yeosang just unbuttoned his pants and slid them down, before helping their unsteady friend to sit. Carefully they tucked the soiled garments over his feet and as San continued to hold Wooyoung’s hand, Yeosang started to strip out of his own clothes. There was no way they would let Wooyoung shower alone right now.

Carefully Yeosang and Wooyoung stepped into the shower, their youngest compliant in their hands until San tried to pull away. Panickily he clutched San’s hand tighter, not wanting to give up the little comfort it provided. San shushed the little whimpers he let out. It was the first sound Wooyoung had made since the scream and it broke their hearts to see their always happy friend reduced to tears due to his phobia.

Yeosang started the shower; the new, comforting input was enough to calm Wooyoung down so that San could step away to throw the clothes into the trash can to dispose of them later. There was no way Wooyoung would ever want to wear them again.

San took off his own shirt, not wanting it to get wet when he helped Wooyoung in the shower. But before that he quickly washed his hands, knowing he hadn’t touched the dirty parts of the clothes but wanting to give Wooyoung (and himself) a little relief. Maybe it was more for his own benefit - he wasn’t sure if Wooyoung was even aware enough of his movements. Still, he wanted to return to Wooyoung’s side as soon as possible.

⌛

Once the water had washed off all traces of sickness Yeosang and San helped Wooyoung sit down on the shower floor. Yeosang took out his own precious body wash, pushing out a generous amount and started to lather Wooyoung’s body in bubbles. San stayed close, one hand holding Wooyoung’s ankle to ground him.

They stayed in the water for as long as Wooyoung needed to feel clean again, knowing that while it wasn’t rational and he was already clean, it helped him to calm down to stay for longer. They wouldn’t take it away from him.

“I wanna sleep”, Wooyoung mumbled, nearly fifteen minutes later. He had rested his head against Yeosang’s shoulder and the tension in his body had slowly subsided.

“Alright”, San whispered and while Yeosang shut off the water he got a fluffy towel to make a Wooyoung-burrito. As he said it aloud, encouraging Wooyoung to step out into the real world again, the younger one even giggled a bit. It was far from his normal laugh that everybody loved but it was a start. San hugged Wooyoung close all the while rubbing him dry, as Yeosang got himself dried up.

“What do we do?”, Yeosang asked quietly. “We can’t have them share the dorm like this. The walls aren’t really soundproof - if Jjongie … well, we’ll all be able to hear. Wooyoungie can’t handle that.”

“What if we take him to the managers’ dorm?”, San suggested. While most of their managers had family, there were always at least one or two managers staying the night in the apartment across from theirs to be available to the group. It had been quite useful in the past.

Yeosang tilted his head in contemplation. “Yeah, that might work. Will you call Hyunseok-hyung?” 

San nodded, already pulling his phone out to call their manager who was scheduled to stay the night. Yeosang turned back to comfort Wooyoung, while San stepped out into the hall.

“Hi, Sannie. What can I do for you?”, Manager Hyunseok asked as the call went through.

“Jongho threw up”, San said, sparing no time for formalities, “we were wondering if we could take Wooyoung to your apartment so we can keep him separated from Jongho? He already had a panic attack once.”

“Yes, yes of course”, the manager agreed. They all knew about Wooyoung’s phobia - it wasn’t the first time a member was sick after all. “Do you need anything? Should I come over to help with something?”

“No, it’s okay, thank you. We’ll be over soon,” San said before hanging up hurriedly. They needed to get Wooyoung to safety and free the bathroom for their sick youngest swiftly.

So San stepped back into the bathroom and lifted the exhausted Wooyoung, still wrapped in the towel, into his arms. Wooyoung gave a content sigh and cuddled closely, resting his head on San’s shoulder. Yeosang wrapped his own towel around his waist and peaked outside the bathroom, giving a thumbs up. San, holding on tightly, followed him to the room the other two shared and set down Wooyoung on Yeosang’s lower bunk.

“Let’s get you into comfy clothes”, San suggested and moved around to find him a new set of pyjamas to wear, as well as a new shirt for himself as he had abandoned his old one in the bathroom. Wooyoung whined a bit at the loss of contact but as it was the norm for him so San wasn’t as worried as before. Yeosang meanwhile also changed into pajamas so they could go over to the manager’s dorm quickly.

Once Hyunseok let them in, they spread out on the big couch in the living room, cuddling close to each other. Yeosang would probably fall off the couch in the middle of the night, not quite as fast as San to claim the backrest side. Well, that would be Yeosang’s problem - for now they could rest.

⌛

Seonghwa rushed to the living room as soon as he heard that their youngest was sick. He was a bit confused about what had transpired but the state of Wooyoung was enough evidence that he knew something bad was up. He found Hongjoong kneeling on the floor at one end of the sofa, one of the older blankets they had meant to donate sooner or later thrown over an obvious puddle of sick on the floor. Jongho was lying on the couch, a trash bin by his head and he looked positively awful. Pale, sweaty and incredibly nauseous.

Seonghwa took a moment to observe Hongjoong and Jongho without being noticed, smiling to himself at how far they both had come. Hongjoong was brushing back Jongho’s red hair in obvious worry, gently shushing the now mostly silently crying maknae. Listening closely he could make out the phrases ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Wooyoungie-hyung’. Seonghwa felt bad for the poor maknae, always trying to be so strong and who had now very unintentionally without being at fault at all hurt his beloved hyung in one of the worst possible ways.

The oldest watched the tender moment between captain and youngest play out before stepping forward.

“Wooyoungie is going to be fine, makdoongie”, Seonghwa said, knowing that he was in good hands with Yeosang and San. “Sannie and Yeosangie are taking care of him.”

Jongho didn’t reply, still shaking, but from the way some tension left his shoulders he seemed to have heard him. 

“What happened?”, Seonghwa asked, curious but also wanting to understand. “Have you been feeling sick for longer, baby?”

“When Jjongie woke up from his nap he immediately got sick”, Hongjoong explained in Jongho’s stead, not mentioning Wooyoung at all to keep the maknae calm. Seonghwa could put the pieces together anyways.

“Do you know what is wrong?”, he instead asked. Hongjoong opened his mouth to answer but was shoved aside as Jongho lunged for the bucket.

The maknae’s face had a slight green hue to it and he was gagging dryly, the sound of it terrible. He coughed and then another wave of stomach contents fell from his mouth, landing in the receptacle with a disgusting splat. Hongjoong sighed and rubbed the maknae’s back. From the fullness of the bucket Seonghwa guessed it wasn’t the first time that Jongho had been sick after the disaster on the floor.

“I have no idea”, Hongjoong said with another sigh, “he just can’t stop throwing up. I was hoping it had stopped for now but… I … could you get some cleaning supplies and maybe his bed covers? A thermometer? Anything to make him more comfortable?”

Seonghwa nodded and walked into the kitchen to grab some cleaning stuff. But before he could make it to the cabinet, Mingi and Yunho appeared in the doorway with the same looks of confusion.

“Shouldn’t dinner…?”, Mingi started, but Seonghwainterrupted him. “Maknae threw up. On Wooyoungie. Dinner is cancelled unless you make it yourself.”

Yunho grimaced at the explanation. “Shit. Okay. What’s the plan?”

“I’m gonna get some cleaning supplies and a fresh bucket. Could you go and find the thermometer and medications and bring his comforter and pillow?”, Seonghwa asked. Both nodded and left.

With a sigh, Seonghwa took out the cleaning supplies and a new bucket - the actual designated puke bucket, not the living room trash bin that was now a casualty of war. With gloved hands he returned to the living room where Hongjoong was softly talking to Jongho, a soft hand on his upset stomach. Jongho had his face buried in his captain’s shoulder, clearly still not feeling great. 

Seonghwa replaced the disgustingly full bucket, puke sloshing around and handed it to the very unhappy Yunho who had returned with Jongho’s blanket at just the right - or in Yunho’s case the wrong moment. Hongjoong spread out the comforter over their maknae, patting his back. 

With his thumb and index finger Seonghwa lifted the towel from the floor and, wincing, stuffed it into a trash bag, setting it aside to be thrown away later. Then he went over to mopping the floor and disinfecting it.

Meanwhile Mingi had returned with medications and the thermometer, giving both to Hongjoong. “You’ve got a bit of a fever, Jjongie”, Seonghwa heard Hongjoong mumble. “Do you want to take … no? Okay, just rest for now.”

⌛

Once everything was cleaned, Seonghwa joined Hongjoong in sitting on the floor by Jongho’s side. The maknae had his eyes closed now, head resting on the pillow. He looked incredibly young that way, much younger than he actually was.

“Hyungs? I feel awful”, the maknae whispered, his voice rough from all the vomiting. 

“I know, baby”, Seonghwa mumbled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Jongho’s ear and kissing his forehead. “I know. But we’ll be here with you, okay? Even if it’s all night. Even if it’s tomorrow too. Even if it’s forever, hm? We’ll take care of you.”

And so they rested. Until the sound of the fire alarm broke the silence...

Notes: This is a rewrite + finally finishing one of my first ATEEZ fanfics from over a year ago. I think it shines through in the writing style but I still hope you like it!

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Masterlist - ATEEZ

[elijaheldridge]

[ART] Gravity Falls (Squirrel version vibe style)

by CerdoEnPumpkin

Left- Squirrel Mabel

Right - Squirrel Dipper

[xoxo-sarah]

A Chance

My Wife part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

↝pairing: Season1!Daryl Dixon x wife!reader

↝warning: things are rough between Daryl and Reader, death, cursing, arguing, walkers, ect. The usual twd stuff, angst, reader wears Daryl's clothes ( but as a big girl myself, we can just ignore how he's a twig and that's most likely unrealistic 🫡), not proofread

↝⎙ 1.30.25

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

Daryl Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Daylight broke and Andrea hadn't moved.

Daryl grumbled about Amy turning, but you quickly shot him down each time. People grieve in different ways. Andrea knew what she had to do when the time came.

"Y'all can't be serious." Daryl huffed, watching Andrea through squinted eyes, "Let that girl hamstring us? The dead girl's a time-bomb." He seethed.

"Daryl," You glared up at him, rubbing the scratch on your upper arm. "Don't be insensitive."

"We ain't got time for this." He seethed, glaring back at you.

You stood, "She lost her sister, not her smarts. She knows what to do."

He stepped closer, putting his weight on one leg, slightly slouching to be eye level with you. Maybe he was trying to be intimidating, but it didn't work. You had seen the dark, sad parts of him. He will never be able to scare you or berate you with actions or words. "And if she don't?"

"What do you suggest?"Rick questioned Daryl, stopping the oncoming argument.

Daryl stepped closer to Rick, bringing his fingers to his temple, "Take the shot. Clean, in the brain from here. Hell, I can hit a turkey between the eyes from this distance."

"No," Lori spoke up, "For God's sake, let her be."

Dary scoffed before walking off. In turn, you eyed the back of Andrea's head. She knew what she had to do, right? You hoped so.

Pulling your eyes away from her, you looked around at all of the bodies. Most were people who you had just seen, laughing and eating. Others were the dead that had wandered from the city.

Shutting your eyes, your hand automatically went to your wrist, the tightly woven thread helping to ground you. Your fingers traveled down to your left hand, the wedding ring soothing against your fingertips, a contrast to the thick thread of the collar/ bracelet on your wrist.

Daryl looked up as he helped drag a body across the ground. He watched you, watched your movements; a desperate search for comfort.

- time skip -

Daryl stomped away, not understanding why Amy and Jim were not being taken care of. They were "ticking time bombs". They were liabilities. In the new world, there was not time to grieve. Sneering at the thought, he yanked the tent flap back, watching you jump, immediately wiping under your eyes.

His eyes trailed over you in the silence of the moment. You needed comforting. He wanted to comfort you. He really did. But he had a feeling those tears were his doing. He shouldn't have taken his frustration out on you, knowing you had witnessed something horrific.

The tent opening fell down as he walked away.

Your hands instantly went back to your face, muffling the sobs that raked your body.

-

Sweat had mixed with the dirt and grime, caking your skin as you helped bury the bodies. The bright sun beat down, causing you to squint.

Daryl kept an eye on you from a distance. Neither of you had uttered a word to each other since the morning. You were both too stubborn.

Backing his truck up, bodies in the bed of it, Daryl caught sight of you looking up through the side mirrors. Just as quickly, you looked away and got back to digging, ignoring Rick and Shane's argument to your left. Turning the truck off, Daryl jumped out, slamming the door.

He made his way to where you, Rick, and Shane were digging holes for the friends you had light the night prior. "I still think it's a mistake not burning these bodies. It's what we said we'd do, right? Burn 'em all, wasn't that the idea?"

"At first."

Daryl scoffed, "The Chinaman gets all emotional, says it's not the thing to do, we just follow 'em along? These people need to know who the hell's in charge here- what the rules are."

"And who the hell's in charge, Daryl? It sure as hell ain't you."

Daryl scoffed again, watching as you glared at him, waiting for him to reply, from where you had jumped down in a freshly dug hole.

"There are no rules." Rick countered Daryl's statement.

"Well, that's a problem." Lori walked past Daryl's truck, children and their mothers behind her. "We haven't had one moment to hold onto anything of our old selves. We need time to mourn, and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do." With that, she turned and walked away, not caring to hear what anyone thought about that.

-

Feeling disgusting, you had made your way back to the tent. Not having any clothes, you opted for something of Daryl's. His cut shirts weren't ideal, but they were cooling and non-restricting. His old work pants fit loose, but that's not anything string couldn't fix.

Buttoning the second to last button of the dingy shirt, you heard the opening of the tent begin to unzip. You moved to cover yourself, but ultimately relaxed when Daryl stepped in. He looked up, scanning your body before glancing behind himself, making sure nobody had seen you changing from over his shoulder. He zipped the flap back up, before simply standing there. He was slightly hunched over, as were you, thanks to the small tent.

It was silent.

Your fingers went back to the button, as you ignored your husband's presence.

Daryl moved closer, standing behind you. The air around you two changed. His head fell to your shoulder, his own grime mixing with yours. He stayed there, vulnerable. This was his way of apologizing.

Your body relaxed further, sinking back into him. His arms snaked around your middle, holding you close.

"It's okay." You whispered, only loud enough for him to hear, and not to disturb this newfound peaceful atmosphere. He nodded, moving his hands to your hips, turning you around. His fingers made quick work of buttoning the last button for you.

-

The next morning, everyone was getting ready to leave for the C.D.C. Rick was out in the field, talking to a man named Morgan, the guy who had saved Rick’s life. Lori, Carol, and the kids were helping to load everything into cars. You helped Daryl load up his truck. Hopping onto the tailgate, you helped pull Daryl’s bike up, gently laying it on the truck bed.

“Are ya willin’ to put your life in his hands?” Daryl helped you jump down, glancing at Rick in the distance. Daryl was looking to you for answers. You were always the more level-headed of the two. Daryl would follow you into fire, he’d follow you to the end of the world. And you just might be doing that.

“I think you have to hope there’s a safe place out there. If we don’t hope for it, then we won’t get it. Hope is all we’ve got.” You patted his chest, before walking by him. He watched you, before slamming the rusted tailgate closed.

-

The wind blew through your hair, cooling your face. Daryl drove, one hand on the steering wheel, the other near his mouth as he nipped at his fingernails. The leg that was not being used for the gas and brake pedals slightly shook, a trailer to his nerves. You rode in silence.

“”M sorry–‘bout yesterday.” He spoke up first, biting his thumb nail. You turned your head, looking at his side-profile. He didn’t dare to glance at you.

“I know. I am too. We were both on edge; said some things. It’s alright.”

He nodded, pulling his thumb from his mouth. “Ya think Merle’s alright?”

You thought about it. Daryl had told you what they found on the roof and what they had run into.

“I think he’s a tough fucker to kill.” Daryl let out an entertained huff, “He had enough energy to steal the van, so there’s a high chance he’s okay…maybe.”

Daryl let your words marinate. Letting out a deep exhale, he swapped hands on the wheel, placing his right one of your knee. You moved closer to him, placing your hand over his.

-

Guilt was eating at you.

You had all left Jim under a tree. Sure, it was per his request, but that didn’t stop the shame bubbling in your gut. Even miles from where he sat, you had a frown on your face, thinking of him. The turning was inevitable. But the thought of him having to sit there and deal with the feeling of his bones being made of glass, cutting into him with the slightest move, having to deal with that all on his own, hurt you.

Daryl felt the tension in the truck. You sat closer to the door, hands in your lap.

His hand moved toward the radio, before cursing himself. That wouldn’t work in the apocalypse

Grumbling, he leaned over, opening the glove box and blindly digging through. Pulling a cassette tape out, he plucked it into the truck, twisting the volume knob.

It’s what Jim wanted, you kept reminding yourself. But it didn’t make you feel any better about yourself. You just hoped he wasn’t in pain for much longer.

-

Daryl tapped your arm, watching you blink awake. The melody had settled you to a light slumber. Still groggy from sleep, you took in your surroundings. For a moment, you forgot that the world went to shit. The sky was turning a dark orange, sun setting in the distance. But as you sat up in the seat, you could see the bodies on the ground, bugs buzzing above them.

“Wanna get out?” Daryl stared at you as you looked at the huge building through the windshield. Even more bodies laid in front of the building, flies swarming them. Some bodies were mindlessly wandering around.

This was the C.D.C?

Without giving a response, you opened your door, jumping out. Daryl followed, grabbing his crossbow and a shotgun from the floorboard. Walking around the truck, he pressed the gun to your side, getting your attention. You grabbed it and began following everyone to the building.

The stench alone almost had you hurling.

“Alright, everybody,” Shane began whispering, “Keep moving. Go on. Stay quiet. Let’s go.”

The constant buzzing of flies and the horrible smell of decay just might be your own personal hell.

Finally, you were a few feet from the building. Rick and Shane beat on the roll-up doors.

“There’s nobody here.” T-Dog swayed on his feet, turning to look over his shoulder every few seconds.

“Then why are these shutters down?” Rick was holding onto hope; he had to.

“Walkers!” Daryl pulled you by the arm, putting you behind him.

Children screamed, guns cocked, feet shuffled.

“You led us into a graveyard!” Daryl turned, making his way toward Rick. His nostrils flared. Fury behind his eyes.

You stepped in front of him, separating him and what he wanted to do out of anger and frustration.

“He made a call!” Dale interjected.

Daryl rounded you, “It was the wrong damn call!”

Shane stopped Daryl. “Just shut up. You hear me? Shut. Up. Shut up!” He pushed Daryl back, pointing at him.

You quickly walked over, grabbing Daryl’s shoulder before the whole thing could escalate.

Shane turned, walking back to Rick, who still stood at the shutters. “Rick, this is a dead end.”

“Where are we gonna go?” Carol held onto her daughter, but was ignored.

Night was blanketing the sky–fast. You could barely see where the cats were parked from where you stood.

Shane continued, “Do you hear me? No blame.”

Lori acknowledged Carol, “She’s right. We can’t be here, this close to the city after dark.”

“Fort Benning, Rick-still an option.”

“On what?” Andrea stepped forward, glowering. “No food, no fuel. That’s 100 miles.”

“125. I checked the map.” Glenn corrected.

Carl clung to Lori’s legs. She stared at her husband, “Forget Fort Benning! We need answers tonight, now.”

“We’ll think of something.” Rick tried, not meeting his wife’s eyes.

“C’mon!” “Let’s go!” “Let’s get out of here!” Everyone began to make their way back to the vehicles, “Alright, everybody back to the cars. Let’s go, move.”

“The camera– It moved!”

“You imagined it.”

“It. Moved.” Rick didn’t think anything of Dale’s words, walking closer to the camera near the doors. “It moved.”

“Rick, man. It’s an automated device. It’s gears, okay? They’re just winding down. Now come on. Man, just listen to me.” Shane grabbed Rick by his upper arm, trying to drag him away. “Look around this place. It’s dead, okay? It’s. Dead. You need to let it go, Rick!”

Rick pushed Shane off, going to the shutters and beating against them again. He stared up into the camera.

“Rick! There’s nobody here!” Lori yelled.

Rick ignored her, “I know you can hear me!”

Shane began ushering everyone back to the cars. “Everybody get back to the cars, now!”

Rick didn’t budge. “Please, we’re desperate. Please help us.” He begged, “We have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left.”

Lori thrusted Carl onto you, seeing as you were the closest to her, and ran over to Rick. She grabbed him. “Rick-”

“We have nowhere else to go-”

“There’s nobody here.”

Rick continued to pound on the doors.

Carl clung tighter to you.

“Keep your eyes open.” Shane ordered.

“If you don’t let us in, you’re killing us! Please!” Rick yelled at the top of his lungs.

Shane went over, pushing Lori away and grabbing Rick by his shoulders. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go.”

Carl pushed himself closer to you, hearing his father so desperate but to no avail.

Rick fought against getting dragged back, still staring into the camera, “Please help us.”

People shouted. Carl’s tears soaked into your /Daryl’s/ pants.

“You’re killing us! YOU’RE KILLING US!”

Shane shoved Rick away, watching his face crumble.

“You’re killing us.”

Your eyes widened, holding Carl closer, as a bright light nearly blinded you. The shutters opened, rolling up slowly. A hissing echoed. Everyone gawked, not knowing what to do.

“Daryl, you cover the back.” Shane ordered. Carl let go, running to his mother.

You cocked your gun, joining Daryl. He glanced at you, a questioning gaze set on you. You simply blinked at him, in shock.

Everyone walked toward the light, looking around and gawking at the interior. It smelt clean, a contrast to the horrid, rotting smell outside.

“Hello? Hello?!”

“Close those doors.”

“Watch for walkers.”

“Hello?”

A gun cocking had the group readying themselves, wildly looking around for the source.

A man stood in the shadows, gun in hand. “Anybody infected?”

“One of our group was. He didn’t make it.” Rick answered the unknown man.

“Why are you here?” The man stepped forward, “What do you want?” He put the gun down, looking at all of your grime-covered faces.

“A chance.”

Part 4 (TBA)

•2021-2025 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I do NOT give permission!]

[scourgebff]

back here again

[nikrei]

Eepy buddies waiting for their friends to stop being homoerotic and just get dressed already! How long can it take?? There's a costume party to get to!

[mrbhilalbn]

[intrikatie]

[rsier]

happy birthday hobi🐿

my eternal sunshine