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corazondebeskar-reads · 2 months ago

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of rage and ruin - chapter eight

chapter eight

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 4.1k

summary: joel's lies and the creeping winter breed discontent as the raiders wait to find out the fate of the man you bit.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), body horror, viewer discretion is advised, mention of attempted sexual assault (NOT by joel, very unsuccessful), oral, p in v, discussion of dub-con and I guess mind-control?

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Tommy Miller wasn’t a man of faith. Never really had been, and especially not now, not after the things he’d seen. Couldn’t fathom the thought of any god who’d let the world go to hell, who’d let his niece die in her father’s arms before she even really got to live.

He doesn’t believe in much, never has, but he’d put all his faith in Joel. Always had. His first steps were toward Joel. His first word was his name. All his life, he’d followed his brother, even as they fell darker and darker into the end of the world. Even as Joel went down a road he thought he’d never have to follow.

It was all for Tommy, anyway. He couldn’t turn away from the monster Joel became when it was all to keep Tommy alive. So when Joel turned into a literal monster, straight outta the movies they’d stayed up far too late to watch when Tommy was far too little?

That was nothin’. A no-brainer. Joel was Joel. You don’t turn your back on your brother, even if he turns all hairy and slobbery and weird.

So if there had been anyone left in the world who knew them, who had seen the Miller brothers grow, they’d have said it was no surprise that the little one refused to give up when things seemed hopeless.

Inseparable, they’d say.

After Joel went missing, one year turned into two, and Tommy Miller never gave up on his brother.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found,” Laura said one night over rabbit stew.

“Nah,” Tommy said, blowing on a spoonful before feeding it to her littlest one — DJ, after her brother, the dead beta — “He wouldn’t have done that to me. If he’s out there, he’s in trouble.”

Laura looked skeptical, but Tess nodded from the other end of the table, wagging her spoon in their direction.

“He’s right. That cranky old bastard mighta given anyone else the slip, but not Tommy.” Tess always sat at the far end, keeping distance between herself and the rambunctious children with razor-sharp teeth.

“I’m not interested in runnin’ around buck naked, howlin’ at the moon, or dying from a toddler bite,” she’d said. But it didn’t stop her from showing up every new moon for dinner.

Not more than that, though. She couldn’t bear to see the hope living in Tommy’s heart any more than he could bear to see the pity in her eyes. They all thought Joel was dead. All but Tommy.

“If you’d just turn me,” he tries.

Laura rolls her eyes. “You know it’s not that simple. My bite probably couldn't even turn you. Chances are you’d just... die.”

“If he dies, I get to shoot her,” Mike says to Cheryl. He’s the other half of the Idiot Twins, you’ve learned. Mike and Randall. Randall’s the one kicking around all pissy in your old cell with the crescent of your teeth debossed in his skin.

Mike’s the one bitching up and down the hall, shotgun on his shoulder.

Cheryl doesn’t give a shit. She’s only interested in what might happen if Randall doesn’t kick the bucket.

“The hell you do,” she sneers. “She’s worth too much. Now shut it.”

You’re in the corner on the mattress, Joel’s furry body between you and the door. His hackles haven’t settled, and neither has the tense line of his shoulders. You haven’t spoken since Cheryl came down to watch, but Joel’s kept his eyes on the shotgun the entire time.

You don’t need to talk to know he’s thinking about putting himself between you and a bullet. Your hand finds its way to the thick fur on his neck, weaving gently between tufts.

It’s not as comforting as it was.

And oh, he can tell. It hurts. It took him less than a day after your heat ended to start to lose you, and the worst part is that he doesn’t know if he even wants to do what he’d have to, to admit to you that even though he’d never, that he could. He could make you do anything he commanded.

You’ve been right all this time. Being an omega ain’t fair. He has all the power, and you have all the vulnerability, exposed to him like a wound. Like the one he’s left on your shoulder.

So he’s gotta be the shield, too. The bandage. He’s gonna be the barrier between you and everything that threatens to infect you. Even himself.

Especially himself.

After the third day passes, the only infection Randall’s gotten from you was the festering bite mark. And really, that wasn’t even from you; that was from locking him in that nasty room with an open wound. That’s kind of on them.

He goes upstairs with Cheryl and never comes back. It’s not just Joel from whom they don’t tolerate disobedience.

Mike sulks but doesn’t try to retaliate. He must be too chicken-shit after seeing what happened to his buddy. They still make him deliver food, but he’s got a new partner now, who doesn’t seem too fond of him. Meal drop-off is a no-nonsense silent affair now, which suits you just fine.

The difference between you and them has never been clearer. Not just in that you’re the captives, and they’re your captors. Not just in the sickening way they decide if you lived or died.

No. You’re finally seeing it. What they’ve seen all along—the difference between human and something undeniably more.

It’s stark, now. You’re not sure if something changed about you, physically, after your heat, or if it just laid clear the things that changed with the shot. But you can’t pretend anymore, either way. You’re not human. You’re not like them. You never were, really, but now it’s in your goddamn genetic code.

The man wrapped around you is even less of a man, but you think you’re starting to catch up.

He stays resolutely the wolf, but you don’t mind. You haven’t felt much like talking lately, anyway. You’ve gone quiet. It’d be unsettling if you hadn’t sunken to his level of grunts and huffs and whines.

Why talk when he can’t talk back? Why talk when you already know what he’s saying? When he can understand you better now than ever before?

There’s no need for a charade between you. You’re beasts together. The bite you shared is more of a bridge between you than a bond, but that’s okay.

Neither one of you were looking to be tied together, anyway.

The strange, serene silence lasts until the new moon. He doesn’t have much choice, and you’re feeling it, too. The fatigue. The wariness. The loss of security. With the light of the moon in absentia, you’re left undone.

So you put each other back together.

You wake to his hairy face, but it’s human hairy. His coarse salt-and-pepper beard. His morose hazel eyes.

“Look—” he starts, voice extra gruff from neglect, but you find you’re uninterested in his excuses.

You kiss him instead, craning your neck to reach his chapped lips, a hand cupping that handsome beard.

One of his huge hands goes to your waist immediately as he clings to your subject change with relief.

There’s no trace of heat, now, nor rut. Just you. Just him. His hand, calloused and hot, leaves a trail across your bare skin, achingly gentle.

You let yourself be coddled, this once. Let him treat you like something precious. Something worth preserving. No claws or fangs, just the warmth of his palm cupping your breast, the heat of his tongue on your nipple.

A trail of ticklish kisses down your stomach that makes you squirm for more than one reason. When he parts your thighs to make room for himself, it’s as if he’s setting out the fine china.

Before, he’d always dove in, like seeking the antidote to a snake bite. Eager to gulp down as much of you as fast as he could.

This time, he doesn’t rush. They won’t take him out tonight on the new moon. They’ve given up on making him useful when he's useless. He’s grateful, for once, for his weakness, because it means he can be yours.

And you? Well. You’re always his. But now he can take his time with you.

His lips brush your thighs, gentle bites with blunt teeth interspersing the worshipful kisses. He presses them to the seam of your cunt, not opening you for him yet, just kissing along your labia and basking in your scent. It’s heady, even when it’s not fragrant with fertility.

He parts your lips with his tongue. No greedy fingers rend you, just the soft swipe, barely ducking between. He does it, again and again, until he works you wide and waiting.

A smirk spreads when you gasp at the bump of his nose against your clit, but he doesn’t leave you wanting. He graces it with a tender kiss that leaves you writhing, panting, trying to cant up to meet him.

He lets you. But he doesn’t let your mewls rush him. He leaves you clit throbbing and drags his attention down to where you weep for him. The noises alone are debauched, echoing in the old shower room, his groans and licks melting into your gasps and cries.

Your chest aches. It aches with need, with want, yes, but also with a strange sadness. It’s bleeding from him into you. It seems to never leave him, not for a moment, and it drives your hands to his hair, a poor facsimile of the connection you both need and cannot allow yourselves to have.

It’s enough, though, for now. He’s pleased that he’s pleased you, and doesn’t relent. It’s as much for you as it is for him. He alternates between softly suckling at your clit and licking you clean until he’s drawn two saccharine orgasms from you, leaving you trembling and covered in sweat.

When he comes back up to meet you, cock resting against your cunt, you take his kiss greedily, and give in. More and more, every moment you’re his, you become wilder. Claimed but not kept. Bound but not burdened. You lick your slick from his beard in a manner more affectionate than arousing. He interrupts, kissing your neck and pushing you down onto the mattress so he can ease his length inside you.

There’s no resistance. You’re soaked and stretched, his thick fingers having reached inside to take his prize from within you. You breathe again once he’s nestled deep within, feeling the pulse and press of him where no man other than him can rightfully claim to have been.

He rocks his hips, barely pulling out, unwilling to leave the wet heat of you. It’s arduous and delicious, savoring him like this. Feeling the curves and veins of him against your walls, imprinting themselves on you.

Even now, even fully human, you don’t trouble yourselves with talk. Your ragged breaths fill the room, and he chases your lips for a kiss each time he bottoms out. They’re almost chaste, if only they weren’t so filthy. There’s barely any tongue, and yet, more intense than any you’ve had before.

You come again as he fills you, spilling deep and letting you both savor the sensation.

When he pulls out, you shiver. The chill that spreads over you has as much to do with the things left unsaid as it does with the cold basement. You only have the one bra to wear, after all. He tucks the little blanket around you, but it’s a lost cause.

Neither of you are sure that you want his body heat, with the way things have frosted over after your parting. He waits, eyes closed, until he feels you curl up to him.

Once you’re tucked into the crook of his arm, his leg slung over you, you finally say it. The two words that have been ricocheting around in your brain since that day.

“You lied,” you whisper to his chest. It stutters as he slips on a breath.

“I did,” he agrees after a long, long moment.

“To me,” you clarify.

“Yes.”

It’s heavy. It’s loud. Much louder than reality, where it’s whispered, but in your head, it falls with a flat thump.

“You were already scared. I didn’t want to scare ya more,” he says. It doesn’t come out like an excuse. It’s not defensive. It’s just a fact.

Maybe he didn’t mean it as such, but that’s how you take it. You were scared. You were terrified.

“I don’t care,” you decide. “That’s not how this is gonna work. We’re—we’re stuck together for now whether we like it or not ,and you are not going to decide what I can or can’t handle.” You poke him in the chest with the finger you were inadvertently waggling.

For now? Oh, sweetheart, he thinks, gut aching at your—he suspects—willful naivety. He raises both hands in supplication.

“Alright, darlin’,” he capitulates, gruffer than he means to.

The way he gives in without a fight but also without an apology stings, but you resolve to lick your wounds later when you’re not itching for a fight.

“And you better explain. Now. No runnin’.”

He puts his arms down, and they melt into a slump of a heavy sigh. “I don’ know much. I never do. You ask me all these damn questions when I’ve told you —”

“Stop deflectin’ and fess the fuck up, Joel,” you snap.

He glowers for a moment before sitting up a little to lean against the frigid tile wall. “I suppose…” but he just sighs again.

But you sit up, criss-cross applesauce with the blanket around your lap. And you wait. You’re pretty sure he’ll talk, given his own time to do it. Where your mind never seems to settle, his seems to take a while to boot up. He isn’t stupid by any means; he just needs a minute to organize what he’s trying to explain.

You’re rewarded for scraping up what was left of your patience when he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I don’t know much. That ain’t ever gonna change. But this was somethin’ I learned from the widow o’ the man that bit me.”

“Ew, wait, you actually got bitten?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Look, don’ worry about that. I keep forgettin’ you were one o’ the experiments.”

You gape at him for a moment. “Eugh,” you shudder. “Fuck, I hate that. Experiment. Damn.”

He gives a little ‘well?’ with the splay of his palms to the sky and watches you with eyes of lead. “Look,” he sighs again.

You imagine a drinking game involving his sigh count would send you to a swift and shallow grave.

“Y’ain’t gonna like it, but it’s true. To some extent, omegas seem to be… more inclined to listen to an alpha if the alpha talks with a certain tone of voice. S’hard to explain.”

“You’ve done it before,” you guess. “Not just to me.”

“No,” he sighs, and in an imaginary alternate universe, you die of liver poisoning, “not just to you.”

And he tells you of the early days with Laura. When the change first started, and he couldn’t sleep, thinkin’ he might hurt somebody. Somebody that didn’t deserve it.

“And she told me that Peter would drop his voice into this kind of… register, and he would talk her to sleep. Except one night he was tired himself and didn’t have the energy. So all he said to her was ‘go to sleep.’ And she did.”

“That’s… fucking horrible,” you say. “Not their cutesy couple-y stuff. The… Jesus, the implications of that kind of…”

Suddenly, you look down at the blanket, picking with the jagged tip of your bitten fingernail at where the ancient fleece was pilling.

“You, um…” but the words get caught in your chest where someone has tightened a belt, cutting off all connection to the rest of your body, leaving it cold. A thousand logical, reasonable thoughts traverse your conflicted brain. You don’t know him. He’s got a darkness to him. He kills on the regular to keep himself alive. You don’t know him.

But you don’t think he’s the type of man to have done something quite like that. And he’s been nothing but gentle with you, really. Too gentle, like he thought the lightest touch of a claw might split you like a plump plum, skin stretching and giving way for him to flay the flesh underneath.

You’re made of tougher stuff than that. Mostly. Kind of. In a way.

Oh, damnit.

“What did you use it on me for?” you say instead.

His teeth grind at what you almost asked. He figures you were afraid to piss him off by asking. Or afraid for him to lie to your face again. He should be insulted that you’d even consider the possibility that he violated you.

He reminds himself that you don’t know him. He’s bigger than you, stronger. And he’s just told you he can more or less hypnotize you.

Shit, this is a right hell of a mess.

You both sigh this time, and you’ve already forgotten your imaginary drinking game self’s corpse. You can feel it this time. The weariness. How it soaks into the marrow and flushes everything out.

“You need to understand,” he starts seriously. His brows are pinched and eyes narrowed, pitching a sturdy fence around his too-fragile self. “I did not do anything…unsavory. And I didn’t even mean to do it to ya in the first place.”

He scrubs a hand over his face again, and it’s ruddy when he pulls away. “It was durin’ your heat, okay? It wasn’t even anything serious; I just told you to listen to me, and you did. And I…” he grunts and looks away.

You think maybe all this time alone made him forget how to say sorry.

You’re not sure what you’d do with it anyway.

So instead, you close your eyes and take a deep breath in your nose and out of your mouth. You think vaguely about being nauseous or anxious or infuriated. You indulge in the fantasy of getting truly angry, of letting yourself feel the injustice of it all, the horror.

You entertain thoughts of screams of rage, of violence, of throwing and breaking and banging your fists against the wall, of wrapping your hands around Jim’s throat, of driving yourself mad and bloody in a frenzy for freedom.

The thoughts hurt as much as they help. You take the rage and prod at it until it hides back behind your ribs where it belongs.

He leans forward, now, elbows on his knees. It’s hard not to be distracted by his dick, but also, you always feel guilty when you ogle it. It’s not his fault he’s been denied of any privacy or dignity. And plus, you’ve been walking around, pussy out, since your heat.

Thinking about that too much makes you sick.

He sighs again but you feel like maybe this one cost him something more. He sits up straight and puts his hands on your shoulders. “I can’t promise it won’t happen by accident,” he says solemnly.

You chew on it for a while, climbing into his lap and pulling the blanket over yours. He’s trying, and you’re having a hard time staying mad, especially when he’s warm and comfortable.

His arms loop loosely around you, unconsciously rubbing his thumbs against your bare skin. It’s soothing, but you suspect it’s even more soothing for him.

Your head finds its place in the crook of his shoulder, and it’s your turn again to sigh. “You think maybe I could learn to resist it?”

He startles a little, looking down at you incredulously. No, looking down at you like you’re something incredible. That’s worse, maybe, because it makes you squirm away from his (albeit minimal) idolatry.

“Maybe. I don’t know enough about it. But would you even want to try? It would mean me havin’ to…”

“I dunno,” you admit. “Might be worth it. I’ll… I’m gonna think about it.”

He takes what he can take and presses a kiss to the top of your head, a compulsion that’s rapidly becoming habitual.

Not that either of you are complaining.

When you think of it again later, in the dead of night, Joel sawing lumber while half-sprawled on the floor, it settles like cement in your lungs.

He settles like cement in your lungs. Something neither your mind nor body can ignore. And maybe it’s the bond, but you know there’s no chipping him out of there. Not completely. This strange man, who isn’t so strange these days, has instead become something of a warm knit cardigan or a rail on a slippery stair.

Maybe you don’t need him.

Maybe you’d get by without him.

But, well. You’re better off with him than without.

Time in your little cell passes all at once and not at all. Winter creeps in, and the basement becomes nearly unbearably cold. You watch jealously as Joel retreats to his built-in jacket, and as much as he tries to be your personal furnace, it only goes so far.

And the full moon comes, and brings a blizzard with it.

You think maybe they won’t go out, but Jim’s got a particular target in mind nearby that he demands retribution from. And no silly snowstorm is going to stop him.

They take him from you at nightfall, and he watches you shiver as he leaves.

It must be Christmas, because he comes back with a gift.

You honest to god gasp when he shows you his prize. “Thanks, Santa!” you tease, and he rolls his eyes.

“Arms up,” he says, and you let him have this. You think the wolf must be going out of his mind with possessiveness, and you’re right because he can barely stay only partially transformed. He struggles not to give in to the change, fighting his own instincts and the moon just so he can talk to you.

You don’t say it, but that almost means more than the gift.

You close your eyes as he tugs the ratty sweater over you, either oversized or from a very large man. It fits like a dress, though a very short one. But it means your ass isn’t hanging out, and you’ve got another layer between your poor freezing tits and the breeze that whispers through the rotting grout.

“Joel, how—”

But he cuts you off. “Don’t ask me, darlin’. You don’t wanna know.” He’s a little tender but a little sharp, too.

“But where—“

“I said don’t ask me that,” he snarls. “Do not fucking ask me that.” He sees the look on your face and softens. “Please.” It’s a whisper, and oh, it hurts.

You don’t have to ask. You know, now. What it cost him. What it cost someone else. “Thank you, alpha,” you murmur. It has the usual effect, his eyes shining a little brighter as you play with the wolf and let the man be.

He pulls you against his chest and rubs his chin on the top of your head, soothing the unease in his sternum. “It fucking stinks, though. Gonna have to figure somethin’ out.”

You wrinkle your nose. “It’s not bad.”

“It’s not me,” he grunts, and you take the cue to shut up.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs after a few minutes of silence. “Looks real nice,” he adds and preens when the compliment sends you shyly snuffling your face into his chest.

You let him hold you there as he scents you, bafflingly large palms smoothing over your neck and rubbing your arms. His musk envelopes you as much as his broad body does, and you keep your cheek pressed against the soft quilt of hair across his chest. When he’s mostly wolf like this, he’s practically covered in it. His soft, strong arms are dark with it; his chest is buried beneath it; it even trails across the plush pouch of his stomach.

When he’s done proverbially bathing you in him, he steps back, cheeks ruddy and dark eyes anywhere but you. He clears his throat but says nothing.

You observe him, this forsaken beast of a man. This creature from children’s nightmares, this creature who definitely just gave adults nightmares, but who would put himself between you and your own.

You close the gap between you, your hand on his chest, another finding its way to his cheek. His eyes stutter and fall closed, only the tiniest sigh escaping him now. A shuddering thing full of far too much for one man, whether he’s actually a man or a beast.

“Thank you, Joel,” you whisper, as if you could ease his aches with your gratitude. As if you could take on some of his pain for your own.

He kisses you like he knows you’d try.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #alpha!joel x omega!reader #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #alpha!joel miller #werewolf!joel #werewolf!joel miller #dead dove fic #dark fic #the last of us fic #joel miller fic

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bisexual-horror-fan · 2 years ago

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Through The Heart Is The Only Way. Chapter Five. "What Are The Odds?" Poly!Chiffany X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Hey, hey, hey! Well here I am! I wanted to get this out before weeks end and here it is! The latest update to my current long fic! It has been over a month since the last update but this one is long, a lot happens, much spice, a ton of ground covered and I hope it more than makes up for the wait! Let’s not waste time, this is a big turning point, let’s go! Masterlist for the rest of the series here.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 11.5K. Charles Lee Ray X Tiffany Ray Valentine X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Kissing. Making Out. Semi-Public. Don’t Get Caught. Teasing. Taunting. Grinding. Glove Kink. Vaginal Fingering. Cunnlingus. Day Date. Skating. Alcohol Consumption. Cum Eating. Bets. Smoking. Ranting About How Much New York City Sucks. Groping. Biting.

—

You floated through the week with intense anticipation and thoughts of them as you waited for the weekend and the pair of them to come and see you. Day in, day out, waiting with bated breath and unreasonably excited to see them. On Friday night when you had a lull in the shift you are near the bar, in between rounds of your tables, taking a quick moment. Logan was busy serving, you were watching, keeping an eye on the room when Rachel came up, she looked, worried, nervous?

You leaned over, tapped her elbow and asked over the noise and music of the club, “You good Rach?”

She looked over at you, head whipping in your direction, as if she didn’t even notice you were right there until you touched her and spoke to her. She forced a too tight smile you have seen before spread across her features when some customer leers too close for her comfort, her eyes give it away. You knew her too well to be fooled, even as she assured, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

You gave her a very unimpressed look and she buckled almost immediately. A roll of her eyes with a groan, “Okay, okay, you’re right I’m not okay-”

“Yeah no shit, so what’s up?” Even with the words you said, some care to inject some warmth into them was taken along with touching her arm lightly and she spilled like a glass of water on an uneven table. “So you know that guy who comes through and like never lets anyone but me serve him? Usually alone?”

You knew just who she meant, you responded, “Yeah Randall, what about him?”

“He hasn’t come by in a while.” She started. “How long is a while?”

“Like a few weeks I guess…” She said softly and you hummed and responded easily, “But doesn’t he travel a lot for work? Could just be outta the country for a while, forgot to tell you he was going-”

“He always tells me though!” Rachel insisted her hand latched onto your wrist, she seemed really bothered and you said, “Okay, okay I believe you! But maybe it was last minute? He doesn’t have your number or anything, he only sees you here.”

She nodded, brows furrowing, “Yeah, yeah you think?”

“Yeah! He is like obsessed with you! If he was in the city, he’d be here.” You assured and her expression softened, he squeezed your hand and said sincerely, “Thank you so much for calming me down, you’re right I was just freaking out over nothing, M’ sure he’s fine.”

“Oh of course, no problem at all.” You held out your arms and shared a quick hug, a few pats on the back before you see someone over Rachel’s shoulder at one of your tables gesturing for a drink, “Shit, sorry, duty calls but if you need to talk anytime, you know I am here for you, right?”

She pulled back, her hands in yours, “I know, I know, thanks again, now go!” She encouraged, picking up her own tray and you headed to the table, parting ways. The rest of the night was busy but during the clean up you checked in with her again, she got a lot of tips and was feeling fine and she suggested you do a shot before leaving with a smile and you knew for sure she was all good.

The next day, Saturday, you find yourself looking at the door all evening just waiting for them, focusing on work was actually a challenge which is so unlike you. Normally you rock your job with ease, no fucking problem but tonight you were just a little too preoccupied to be doing it as perfectly as you normally did.

Once you had truly settled in, started to get into the real rhythm of it, that is when they came in. You saw them enter, coats slung over their arms, not caring about the winter’s chill outside now that they were in the almost oppressively warm space of the club where you worked. You were in the middle of serving a table but still watched as they came in and meandered to one of the empty tables and as soon as you were done you made your move over to them, giddy to talk to them once more and check in.

It had been days since your date and you had been thinking of them often, thinking of the awful movie you watched and laughed at, the pizza you shared and that steamy make out session in front of your apartment building of course. You’d been thinking of that last one a lot. Might have been falling asleep to it, well masturbating to a few solid orgasms before falling asleep to it. You made your approach and they noticed, the smiles already on their faces broadening upon seeing you, Tiffany throwing her coat onto the table and Chucky’s hands held out as she called out, “There she is!”

You were right in front of them now, tray in one hand resting on your hip and Tiffany grabbed your other hand, a small squeeze, the light touch was welcomed, sweet. You all hand’t talked about how physical you should be, you had been on like one fucking date and hadn’t commited to anything explicitly exclusive. They were together but no mention was made of what YOU were in relation to them. You were glad that they were taking it easy, you haven’t told anyone of course that you were doing this, great care was needed naturally for honestly a million reasons you didn’t really want to think about.

Coat still over his arm as he leaned one arm onto the table, saying in a teasing tone that fit him so well, “Already rushing over, what a good girl.”

Him uttering those last two words in combination with how much you had been thinking of her and him lately hit hard. You tried your best to not outwardly show how it got to you, Tiffany gently nudged him with a fond roll of her eyes, “Jeeze, lay it on thicker why don’t you.”

“What? Am I not allowed to compliment her?” He teased further and she leaned over, her hand slipping out of yours and you wish she wouldn’t. She said, “Never said that but maybe keep it to a less public venue eh tiger?”

He sighs like he is put out, a joking act as he says, “Whatever the lady wishes.”

You change the subject taking the opportunity to ask, “What can I get you two to drink?”

They ask you to surprise them yet again, a trend that seems to have stuck in their visits to your work so far. You get them drinks and are extra attentive to them all night, you work extra hard to make sure your other tables are more than satisfied so any time spent lingering with them is perfectly acceptable. They have a few drinks, throw you a good stack of tips, you laugh and talk and your next date is planned in a few days time for your next day off from work, Wednesday. They tell you they are excited for it and you have to admit you are too. They leave about an hour before close, you say your goodbyes, no hugs or kisses permitted obviously but sincere wishes to be well and that you are all equally looking forward to the date you have coming up.

The last hour you work passes quickly and easily. You clean up with your co-workers, count tips, the pair tipped you the most by far, you wondered if you should feel weird about that, dating them but still accepting tip money. You pushed the thought from your mind, you went on one date and you deserved to get paid for your stellar service, you were amazing at your job and they clearly wanted to give you the money so you shouldn’t worry about this, not yet anyway. A good drink that made you feel warm down to your toes and fingertips as you left with Jackson and made your way to the train station.

You had been talking about the shift, Jackson talking about this cute guy he was thinking about asking out at a restaurant on the same street the club you worked in was at and you encouraged him to do so. “I mean he sounds fucking great you should go for it.”

“Yeah? Thanks! I totally will-” He sighed wistfully before looking over at you, “-but what about you?”

“What about me?” You asked playing just a little dumb to which he scoffed, “I mean what about you! Are you dating anyone?”

“Noooo, no I am not.” You responded automatically and he hummed, “Hmmm, really? Then who were you getting so cosy with earlier?”

Shit he saw. “Who do you mean?”

“That tall blonde, the really hot one. Isn’t she the same one that you helped with that song request a while back?” He asked with a wide grin.

Fuck.

You deflect, “Hot? Isn’t she not your type? Cuz she’s, you know, a she?” You asked and he laughed, his arm looping in yours, something you allowed, walking arm in arm with him as he said, “Listen I might be gay but I’m not fucking blind! The woman is gorgeous!”

You giggled along with him, “Alright good to know your reputation of good taste continues. But no, I am not seeing her.”

“Why not? She clearly likes you.” He said and you responded, “Don’t you see how she is with the red-headed guy she comes in with?”

“Oh yeah, him. Shades, well dressed, fan of long coats and scarves?” He asked and you continued, “Yeah him, well they are together.”

“Ouch. Sorry to hear that babe.” He sighed. “Well maybe we can find you a hottie with a body soon, right? It’s been forever for you, I’m genuinely shocked you haven’t exploded from sheer frustration yet.”

“I mean I got hands, don’t I?” You said with a smile paired with an exaggerated gesture of jazz hands even with your arm still looped through his and he laughed again.

If it was just Tiffany you might have been able to tell him. Jackson was one of the only people you were out to, the only one at work anyway, gay and bi solidarity and all of that made the foundation of your strong friendship, mutual likes and shared job building much more onto that. Jackson was one of your co-workers you would jump to hang with outside of work first, every single time. Him accepting you being bisexual was one thing, him accepting you dating more than one person at once, dating a couple that was already together was a horse of a different color. And while Jackson is a friend of Dorothy, maybe he wasn’t down with the Emerald city and you think you weren’t ready to figure out where he stood yet.

The next day, Sunday, was average, much quieter in comparison to Saturday anyway. You end up talking with Logan at the bar during a lul.

“Just tell meeee-” He whined and you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms on the bartop, “No because there is nothing to tell!”

“Stop lying! It is so obvious you are seeing someone! You can talk to me about it, I’m just happy you are back out there! Your last relationship was fucking how long ago?”

“Oh my God Lo, you are relentless, I swear to fucking God I am not seeing anybody!” You try to argue but he tells you, “Bullshit! I see that fucking smile, all dopey and dumb!”

“Why are you calling her dumb excatly?” Marcy had sidled up to put in her current drink order, “Because that is the best descriptor for that dreamy little smile she gets on her face that tells me she is so clearly seeing somebody.” He reached out and attempted to boop your nose and you knocked his hand away, Marcy laughing over the interaction.

“He is so nice to you.” Marcy said with a smile and you looked over to her, “Yeah isn’t he just?”

A deep breath before you continued.

“Really Logan, I am not seeing anyone but if I fucking was, it is new and fresh and undefined, tenuous even and IF there was something to share you should trust I would share it when it’s more concrete.” You said seriously and he nodded, “Okay, see that makes sense. Thank you. I appreciate your honesty.”

“What honesty? I am talking about hypotheticals Logan.” You said with a smile and he gave you a knowing look, “Right. Hypothetical.”

“Anyway if you are done berating her for information she doesn’t have I have a drink order I need sometime this month-”

You hope what you tell him is enough to tide him over and that both he and Marcy have the good sense to shut up and not spread it around.

Sunday picked up a bit after that, some people clearly not wanting to accept Monday was on the horizon, wanting to enjoy the last bit of freedom of their Sunday. You walk away with a pocketful of more tips than you were anticipating and excited to face the new week which spelt out your second official date with the pair.

Monday is always dead at the club. It is dedicated to cleaning and extra work to make sure you are all good post weekend, something you don’t mind and are grateful for honestly. You finish later than normal on a Monday and when you get out a certain redhead is waiting for you.

He was having a smoke leaned against the brick wall next to the exit of the club, his head turning, a small wave of his hand that didn’t have the cigarette between two fingers, “Heya sweetheart.”

“Hi Chucky, what are you doing here?” You asked and he said, “Was in the area, thought I might walk you to the train station, if you’d like that.”

Oh how sweet was that? You take him up on that easily, “That would be great honestly, thank you.”

“S’ nothing really.” He finished his smoke and dropped the butt, stamping it out before holding out his hand, “Shall we?”

“We shall.” You and he head off in the direction of the train station. “So you all alone again? Where is that walking buddy of yours-” he snapped his fingers, trying to come up with the name, knowing you had mentioned it once before, you filled in the blank, “Jackson.”

“Yeah! Him! Doesn’t ol Jacky boy walk you to the station? Where’s he at?” He asked and you said, “Oh he left early, had something important to go do.”

“Important, eh?” He prompted and you said, “Asking out someone he’s been liking for a while.”

“So he’s not into you and I got nothing to worry about then.” He teased and you laughed, the idea of Jackson being into you was hilarious, “Mmm yeah trust me, more than you know you got nothing to worry about between me and Jackson.”

“Good.” He sighed, and you took the chance to ask something for a change, “Good?”

“Yeah, good.” He took your hand, far enough away from the club he was confident no one you knew would see you.

“You gonna elaborate, big guy?” Your fingers laced with his as he said, “I’m not really into the idea of sharing you with anybody but Tiff.”

Well fuck that was a big thing to throw out there. “You think about sharing me with Tiffany do you?”

“Almost obsessively.” He admitted his shoulder bumping yours playfully with a raise of his eyebrows and the image of that is forced into your mind, being between both of them just as you had been at the end of your last date. You try to push out the thought but instead you give an admission of your own, “Can’t say it isn’t on my mind right now.”

“It’s a fun thought isn’t it?” He teased again and you look up to see his eyes already on your face, a nod that could be almost considered shy, “Real fun.”

“Looking forward to it maybe being a reality?” he asked and you said, “I can say with the utmost confidence, yes I am.”

That is when you are pulled suddenly by him off of the sidewalk and down and into an alleyway, you keep up until you are spun and pushed into the wall by him. His hands on your shoulders, his eyes looking into yours as he asks, “I know it’s just me and you tonight but how about a preview?”

Like you would ever say no to that.

Instead of a verbal response you leaned up and caught his mouth in a deep kiss. Soon as you did that all bets were off, he was returning your affection, kissing you with equal heat, his hands sliding down off your shoulders, ribs, avoiding your chest for now, you wished he wouldn’t, before they were resting on your waist, a small squeeze and you hummed against his mouth. On it went, your hands reached out, caught on the sleeves of his coat, held there, your tongue passed over his bottom lip first and that caused a small change in his breathing, one you picked up on and so you pushed it further still. You nipped gently and you heard a small sound come from the back of his throat, one you could barely process before he nipped back, harder, it shocked you, sent a spike of arousal right through your core and a moan into his mouth.

It escalated much further, much faster and you didn’t object for a second, if anything you encouraged it, craved much more. You didn’t even notice when one of his hands left your waist and moved, slipped down and then up, was between your thighs and up the short hem of the dress you had worn to work that night. The move was confident, it was smooth, his hand slotting between your thighs, his whole hand cupping you causing your hips to squirm. You break the kiss, breathing out, questioning the current venue of your makeout session, “Oh Chucky, here?”

“You objectin’?” He asked, leaning in, lips dragged up your throat, your head fell back against the wall as his hand moved, two fingers tracing the line of your slit, pressing over your hole before dragging up till he passed above your clit. He laid kisses down, teeth grazing making you moan softly, “You really want me to stop?”

It leaves your mouth easily, betraying the sheer amount of want you felt in that moment, “No.”

“You gonna be extra good and say it?” He prompted, slow circles drawn, teasing the edges of your panties, a threat that he would dip under the quickly dampening lace. Is this how he was? Hot and commanding and confident and that fucking voice, you liked it enough on it’s own, the rougher edge to it but in thise context, laced with heat and implication and more, it made you feel a little weak in the knees. “Please don’t stop.”

His head came back up, his gaze catching yours as he praised, quietly and just to you, “Good job.”

That is when his hand slipped into your panties and you realised he still had his gloves on. You should have known better, you hadn’t seen him take them off after all but you were distracted and only upon feeling the cool leather against overheated flesh you truly took the fact in.

You kissed him again, using your hands gripping his sleeves to pull him to you and his hand got to work. You were so excited, kissing him so feverishly he didn’t take too much time teasing you. A few passes with his fingers, parting your slick folds, collecting the mess of you before using your slick as lube to rub your clit. You let yourself breathe harder, allowed yourself to moan into his mouth, he was very into it, how you couldn’t keep quiet even though you clearly wanted to avoid getting caught.

He found the pace you liked best, the pattern that made you cling closer, that made your lips and tongue slow against his and pulled the filthiest moans from your mouth. You started moving with him, rocking your hips along with his hand, chasing your pleasure, working with him to get yourself there. He was the one to break apart, he was out of breath as he asked, “Good?”

A furious nod, “So fucking good, don’t stop Chuck, pl-please?”

Like he would ever dream of it. He pressed harder and your body tensed, biting your bottom lip with a louder moan, eyes threatening to totally close, he laughed softly before reassuring, “I won’t stop, don’t worry.”

The way he spoke and touched and looked at you, like he was fucking hungry and couldn’t get enough it helps increase how you felt. It pulls you closer, drags you to the edge much faster than anticipated, the place that you were in was helping too, the risk was exhilarating, someone could walk down this alley and catch you at any moment in such a compromising position. You felt the pleasure spiking, getting nearer and nearer, your eyes finally slip closed, panting out, “Chucky, ah, ahhhn, M’ almost there-”

He let out a soft groan, you feel him press closer, feel how hard he is against your hip through his open coat and his pants, he rocks against you and you buck into his hand, still working relentlessly to bring you pleasure. “C’mon hon, wanna see it, feel it.”

Him wanting it so badly, asking for it in that tone, it doesn’t take much more after that, his lips brushed against yours and the sparks of that makes your stomach twist and you gasp out his name as you tip over and for the first time you cum from his efforts. If you could think you would have the thought that it blew every orgasm you had that past week by your own hands out of the water, the rush of it was incredible.

Your hands were tangled in the lapels of his coat, trembling, panting, weak and incoherent moans tumbling out of your open mouth as you leaned your weight against the wall for support. He slowed his touch to drag it out as much as he could before your hands let go of his jacket and dropped down, pushed on his wrist, a silent plea for him to let up and he finally did, a laugh of, “Okay, okay.”

His fingers leave your clit and you sigh in relief, it had been starting to border on painful from overstimulation. You expected him to pull his hand out of your clothing but instead his hand moved lower, two fingers find your dripping hole and he slides him inside with one fluid motion and you tense with a surprised moan. You were still so sensitive just after coming, “Fuck! Wha-what are you doin-”

He shh’d you, a playful look in his eyes as he said, “Just a second baby, you can do this for me, can’t you?”

You bite your bottom lip and endure the few very intense curls of his fingers, he grinds his clothed erection into your hip as he breathes out, “You are so warm inside, Can feel it through my gloves.”

You barely hold back a whine, “Chucky please-” He reassured you again, “Amost, just a little more-”

His fingers finally pull out, “-there you go.” His hand leaves your underwear and you struggle to catch your breath as you stay against the wall, he still feels hard against your hip and you wonder if you should drop to your knees, do something for him but what happens next kind of makes your mind go blank.

He maintained eye contact with you as he brought up his gloved hand, his middle and ring finger that had just been buried in your soaked hole, totally wet with your juices, slipped into his mouth and he sucked, tasting you for the first time, letting out a satisfied hum as he did so. His eyes fell closed for a moment before he pulled his fingers out and he said, quietly, “Fuck, you taste good.”

Were you breathing? You don’t think you were and you seriously don’t care.

Once his eyes open back up he laughs, “You good?”

A shake of your head as you catch yourself, a half laugh of your own, “Yeah, I’m so, so fucking good.”

“Good. Now c’mon.” His gloved hand takes yours, it still feels wet but now from his spit instead of from you, and he leads you out of the alley, pulling you along as your legs are still unsteady underneath you.

“Wait, what about you?”

He looked over at you, “What about me?”

“Don’t you want me to-” You started and he cut you off, “You got a train to catch and trust me I am just fine.”

“Really? Just getting me off and you-” He interjected again, his hand that wasn’t holding yours runs through his hair, “Go home and fuck my beautiful girlfriend? Yeah, real tragic.”

He finished the thought by throwing you a wink and you snorted out a laugh, “Alright fair.”

“Seriously, it’s fine, I’m not in a rush. And besides, maybe I wanna make you sweat a bit, make you really want it.” He teased, drawing out the ‘really’ and you grinned, totally reassured that he was fine waiting, more like he wanted you to beg on your knees to suck him off, “Now that sounds more like you.”

You speak again before he can, “But about Tiff, she’s uh fine with this?”

“What? You an’ me doing stuff just us?” He asked and you swung your hands a little as you walked, “Yeah, don’t worry, her and I talked a lot about this, she knows and it’s totally fine.”

If only you knew what he and Tiffany had talked all about. After your last date, the next day at a diner, over breakfast and coffee and cigarettes they talked about you, how it all went, how they felt and mostly, how much they wanted you.

“She is too fucking hot, I swear watching you two kiss, ugh-” Chucky groaned, head tipping back as he took a drag off his smoke and Tiffany sighed out, spoon stirring her coffee in her mug as she asked aloud, “Her lips are so soft, how are they so soft?”

“Fuck if I know.” He said with a shake of his head before saying, “I can’t wait to see you two do more than just kiss.”

“Yeah too tame for you right? Need more than that to really get off?” She asked with a coy smile and he said, “Naturally. Don’t act like you don’t like watching me with her, I saw your face.”

“You got me there, it is really hot.” She admitted and he said, “I can’t wait to really touch her.”

“Oh same, she has no idea what she is in for.” She said as she leaned forward on her forearms, he was scooping some egg onto his fork as he inquired, “Yeah, you gonna rock her world?”

“Obviously Chucky.” She assured with a raise of her eyebrows as she picked up a piece of toast spread with strawberry jam and he thought. For a long moment before speaking, “You know what might be fun, Tiff?”

Her eyes lit up, leaning over the table with a point of a well manicured finger, “I know that look! You have a game in mind!” A casual shrug, another drag and she gave him an expectant look before he said, “Maybe I do.”

“Well spill! I am dying to hear.” She encouraged and he leaned forward, speaking lower to her, “Okay here me out on this one, okay?”

She listened, the smile refusing to leave her lips as he outlined a little bet. A contest of sorts. Who could get you off first and hardest, him or her. Tiffany was more than in, she was wet at the very thought.

Both intended to have you solo before your coming date, both totally fine with this arrangement and excited as all hell to pull it off. A hand shake over the table once basic rules were laid down and a word of may the best man win passed over their remaining food before the check came.

But you didn’t know all that. You just thought it was a hot, spur of the moment thing, a spontaneous thing that was driven by need, which in part, it definitely was, this whole contest was pushed by the need that Chucky and Tiffany shared for you.

Just based on what he said, as simple as it was, you didn’t doubt him. They seemed to be really honest with each other and were fine with sharing you, talking about them both hooking up with you solo didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility. So you decided to trust him.

“Well I’ll be honest Chuck, I’m really glad for that because holy shit was that good.” You said with a soft laugh, a shake of your head in disbelief, your legs still didn’t feel normal as you walked beside him. He squeezed your hand, pulling on it so your shoulder bumped into his as he teased, “I know I’m pretty great, right?”

Another laugh pulled from you, he was too good at making you laugh, a wide smile as you said, “I better be careful what I say. If your head gets too big it might just pop and Tiffany would never forgive me.”

“Forgive you? Hell, catch her in the right mood and she’d thank you.” He joked as you both turned down the next street towards the train station.

Your timing couldn’t have been better, if you had taken the time to put your own hands to work you would have missed the train for sure, it was on the approach as you reached the platform. You turned to him, arms around his neck you leaned up and kissed him and once you did you realised you could taste yourself on his lips. His hands on your hips he kissed you back and pulled away when you heard the train stop on the platform took everything in you. Reluctantly breaking apart, “Sorry, gotta go, bye!”

“Go on, see you Wednesday!” He called and you threw him a wave as you headed into the train car.

He watched the doors slide closed and the train head down the tracks before he makes his way back to his and Tiffany’s apartment. He catches himself whistling, very pleased with how it went, the lingering flavour of you clinging to his lips. He still felt hard, his mind running over what he just did to you. The way you sounded and your body moved, so receptive and responsive, so hot for him you were fine getting fingered in an alleyway in mid-winter, you in that short little outfit you wore for work. If only you knew what he and Tiffany did in that alley weeks back. If you knew that they murdered that man that you pointed out in the club, Randall, in that very same alley, less than five feet away from where he made you cum against the wall, you probably wouldn’t have been so eager. You didn’t need to know all that, didn’t need to know that man was dead because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

If only you knew the other people you kept unintentionally pointing out to them with all the people you knew from your work. A lot of fun had been had already with him and Tiffany engaging in their little hobby more often and more safely thanks to you. He couldn’t wait to get home and brag about his big success to Tiffany.

You didn’t feel any of that winter chill again on your walk home. You slept so well, the day was great, flew by and before you knew it you were back at work and it is slow yet again. But that is Tuesdays for you, small groups, all having a few casual drinks, nothing crazy, very manageable.

So you were pretty free up when she came in. As soon as she came in she made her way straight to you. A table near the bar, leaning against it and right next to you, a warm smile on her face, “Hey there sweet thing.”

“Tiffany! Hi!” The urge to hug her hello was great but you managed to hold it back. “What are you doing here?” You asked and she shrugged, “Wanted a drink, figured where better than here.”

That made you feel warm all over again. Her first choice was here, where you worked, to come and see you and spend time with you.

“Really? Well how sweet. What can I get you?” The question rolled off your tongue with practised ease and she said, “Mmm thinking something strong.”

“Strong?” You asked and she sighed, “Yeah, hard day. Need to loosen up. Need the courage too.”

“The courage? What do you need courage for exactly?” You asked with a giggle, she was already so confident and she leaned closer saying in that utterly addictive voice of hers, “Trust me, if I am going to try to drag you off to that bathroom for a little one on one time I am going to need it.”

Oh fuck.

Was she trying to kill you?

“So I should go and get you that shot.” You said as you started to pull away and she laughed, “Yeah better hurry up honey.”

You went to the bar and in less than a minute and a half you came back, tray in hand with two shots, you set the tray down on the table and she asked, “Two? I asked for one.”

“One’s for me.” You said as you picked it up, tapped it twice on the table top before bringing it up and with a small gesture you said, “Cheers.”

And you threw it back and Tiffany laughed before following suit, your first real drink together. A hastily taken shot of vodka with no chaser was swallowed down by both of you. Shot glasses turned upside down onto the tray and you look around, no one else looks like they need anything, your few co-workers on this barely staffed Tuesday night are all occupied and not looking so you take her hand and say, “Come on.”

You end up in that same bathroom, the one you met outside of for the first time, the one you shared your first kiss in, and now you and her were scrambling into a stall, closing the door behind you both.

While it was slow right now and no one needed you, it wouldn’t stay that way, so you had to rush, get your fill now. Your body felt even more receptive than last night, was it because of that? Because her long time partner got you off in an alleyway a few blocks from here before going back home to her? You wondered briefly as your lips met hers, what they did last night, what did he tell her, could she taste any of the remaining flavour of you on his lips? Brief images of the pair of them passionately making out, touching, groping, stripping each other, fuck, you were dying to know more of what they looked like, the small bits you’ve seen exposed were not enough. Fucking winter in Chicago cock blocking you from not seeing more of their bodies yet.

Even though you can’t see as much as you might like, you were feeling plenty, Tiffany’s body pressed to yours, her hands cradling your face as she led the kiss and you followed along eagerly. You stopped thinking about the pair of them focusing on the moment, on how she feels. On how she tasted, like the cigarette she must have had on the way over and of the vodka shot you both downed and another flavour below all that, one that was totally and thoroughly her.

She broke away only briefly to say, “I’ve been thinking about this since the last time I saw you.”

A small breathless giggle leaves you before you place another quick kiss on her lips before asking, “Really?”

“Oh God yeah, I hated not being able to touch you and kiss you good-bye like I really wanted to.” She affirmed with a wide grin and you loved she felt the same way that you did because Lord knows you wanted to do the same when she was in here last.

You didn’t need to hear more, you pulled her to you and kissed her again, she let out a soft moan against your lips that only made you kiss her deeper. Her tongue slipped into your mouth first and you rushed to match her. The make out session was fast paced, knowing again that you couldn’t be in here forever, as much as you wished that was the case, it was boring tonight but to be fair anything that isn’t making out with Tiffany sounded boring and awful and unimportant and unnecessary at this moment.

She had this amazing give and take she would pull you along with her, would assault your senses with her, a trace of her tongue, brushing her lips against yours, a small bite pulling a moan from you. It felt right and natural, like you knew just what to do next, just what she wanted, it was all communicated with startling ease. Again the similarities and differences between her and Chucky hit you, he tried to have a bit more self control than she did but she was really throwing herself into this. She seemed to be just as affected but was more willing to really give in. Her hands had slipped down from your face, fingertips skated over your neck and down your chest and she started to move down, kissing down your neck, a bite that made you want to yelp but you hold it in.

“C’mon don’t do that, we’re alone in here.” She prompted as she sunk lower, kissing over your exposed collarbone and she pressed further as heat curled in your stomach, “You can let it out a little.”

You think she could convince you to do just about anything with that voice of hers. Her hands on your ribs as she kept moving down, kissing the exposed part of your chest and lower and lower still you arched off the wall of the stall, closer to her. What was she doing, where was she going, she took her coat off, barely pulling away from you, laying it down on the floor and as soon it was there, so was she. A few more kisses down your stomach and she was on her knees, hands now on your hips and you gasped out, “Tiff-any?”

She laughed, looking up at you as her hands kept wandering, down your thighs before coming up, starting to slide up the bottom of your dress, “Yes?”

“Wha-what are you doing?” You asked much more out of breath than you meant to sound as she caught your gaze. “Isn’t it obvious? Something I’ve been dreaming about…”

Her hands were under your dress and her fingers were hooking in the sides of your underwear and she asked, “Is that okay with you?”

She wanted to eat you out right here, right now and she thought there might even be the slightest doubt that you didn’t want that just as much as she did?

“Yes, God yes, please-” You begged, head resting against the wall, unable to keep eye contact, it was too much but she didn’t mind. You didn’t need to look at her to hear the smile in her tone as she said, “Thank fuck.”

She dragged your underwear down, practically had to peel it off of you from how wet you were, you could feel how damp the crotch of your panties were as she pulled them far enough to drop down and pool at your feet. She tapped your leg and you stepped one foot out of them, her hand moved, encouraging you to put one of your legs over her shoulder. You do as she wanted, your back still leaning against the stall wall for extra support, she pushed your dress up over your hips and you were truly exposed to her.

“Holy shit.” She sounded almost awed and you asked quietly, “What?”

“Is every part of you so fucking beautiful?” The inquiry was said genuinely, so sincerely, how were you supposed to stay on your feet?

You were weak, totally fucking weak for her.

The sensation of her breath on your inner thigh steals your own. She didn’t waste more time, almost like you being inches away without her tasting you was painful for her. You understood, you were aching pretty badly but her lips made contact and that feeling was both soothed and nurtured. She kissed over you, mound and lips and the crease where thigh stops and soaked heat begins until you were squirming, a soft, “Please Tiff-”

Is what urges her to give you what you truly need. All it took was one well placed kiss on your clit to make you moan out loud and to cause you to actually drip down your thigh. Her tongue slid up through your folds and you gasped and she moaned against you, after that all bets were off. Your taste was addictive. Your reactions even more so.

She wished she didn’t have to rush this, wishing that she could take all the time in the world to truly worship you and your body but in this particular venue that wasn’t an option. She was far too hungry for that anyway, she simply needed, had to have, needed to take. How she felt was communicated easily in how she moved, her hot pink tongue licking up and over your folds in a famished sort of reverence. Up she would trace before descending back down again but, she did something you hadn’t experienced previously while on the receiving end of this particular act, she wouldn’t break contact. Her tongue would run up, soft and sweet, moving through your folds, up and over your clit and then her head would dip back down but the back of her tongue, somehow impossibly softer, would run back over the path she had just foraged on the movement of her sliding down. And she continued this beautiful torture, a perfect steady rythm with pressure as delicious as you tasted to her. Up and over and down and back on and on.

It made you shiver, made you struggle to keep your breathing even as you tried to endure, you couldn’t speak in coherent sentences, simple attempts were made but all that came through was her name and words that were trying to praise her. The best you got out, as broken as it was being, “So good.”

Time is again, sadly, limited and even as you shake, moaning and nearly being crushed under the weight of the pleasure she was bestowing upon you, she needed to feel it. Need to make you break, tangle your hands in her hair and grind your cunt on her tongue and cum in a fashion that threatens your secret to be revealed and people outside the confines of this bathroom to become aware of what you were up to. Her plush lips wrapping around your sensitive bud and she sucks carefully, experimentally and your head is thrown back so fast and hard you nearly smack it on the stall wall behind you. A loud gasp, hands laid flat on the wall of the stall, scrambling for any kind of purchase, a rock of your hips, she takes the invitation and sucks harder, deeper. Her tongue swirls over the part of you caught in her mouth and you whimper, she feels you pulse against her tongue and she soothes you further with more affection.

Another suck, another swirl and her hands squeeze you reassuringly, one on your thigh and one on your hip, encouragement to do it, chase it, get yours and you again, unspoken, listen. You buck, hips squirm, another grind and she moans against you from how confident the movement is. The vibration makes your eyes squeeze shut and you moan out her name from the increase of sensation, “Tiffany!”

She doesn’t relent, she presses on, she can feel how you tremble, know you are almost there, ragged breathing, chest heaving and the excitement she feels is intense. You are so close, almost there, about to cum for the very first time from something she is doing, first of hopefully many. You already taste amazing but she cannot wait to drink from you post orgasm, to really taste pure and concentrated you. It happens in a second, on the very edge of bliss, teetering there, so close but not quite to then shifting your hips just so, pushing yourself harder into her mouth as she sucks and you cum.

The feeling of it practically knocks the wind out of you, a mixture of a choked sob and a gasp spills from your lips as your clit throbs on her tongue, your one leg you are standing on almost gives out from under you. She slows her movements on your come down and releases you before slipping her tongue lower, lapping at your drooling hole, drinking you down and you squirm again from the small overstimulation before she pulls back with a sigh of contentment Your eyes reopen and you look down at her still on her knees, smiling up at you, mouth wet and eyes warm and mischievous. “So…?”

You let out a laugh, a shake of your head as you slowly catch your breath, “What do you think?”

“Amazing?” She offered up and you said, “Close, not sure I have words for how that felt yet. Get back to me on it?”

“Deal.” She affirmed with a nod.

She hoisted your leg off her shoulder only when you gave her the go ahead you were sure you could handle it and then you held out both hands and helped her up. Her jacket was picked up and thrown over her arm and you both came out of the bathroom stall. She walked over to the sinks as she shrugged her coat back in, hand dipping into the pocket, she licked her lips and you noticed as you looked at her in the mirror she hadn’t worn lipstick when she came in.

The realisation washed over you as she pulled out the golden tube and started to apply her lipstick only when her lips had been totally cleaned of the remainder of you. She spread the dark berry colour and you asked, “Did you come in knowing you wanted to do this?”

She laughed, pausing applying the lipcolour as she asked, “What?”

“You came in with no lipstick on. Did you really come in here fully knowing that you were going to drag me in here and we were going to do this?” You asked as you came up right beside her, one hand on the countertop as you leaned over her shoulder, staring her down in the mirror.

She turned her head, coy smile on her face, recapping her lipstick before putting it away, you turned your head too, meeting her gaze as she said, “Maybe.”

“Oh you conniving little-” You teased with a big smile and she cut you off with a kiss to your cheek. “Hey, c’mon I think it was pretty nice of me to do that so you wouldn’t be all marked up and can get back to work with no suspicion.”

True, it really was and you laughed out, “Okay, okay, thank you.”

“Now you gotta get back out there before they notice you are gone and I gotta go.” She said easily as she started to pull away and you grabbed her hand, keeping her close, “Awe so soon?”

She leaned in, a deep kiss that made the pout get wiped clean from your face, her tongue slips into your mouth and you taste yourself, mind goes blank as she forces the flavour of your own cunt onto you. Eyes flutter closed and you kiss her back, a beautiful moment shared before she pulls back and checks her watch before saying, “Sorry sugar. I got a dinner reservation. I really gotta go.”

Your eyes slide back open, a dopey smile on your face and you give a single nod, “Mmhmm, okay.”

She let out a musical laugh again before saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow for our date.”

“Yeah see you then.” Your eyes follow her as she heads out, heels clicking on the tile, hand meets handle and she stops, a look over her shoulder, “Might wanna check your lipstick before you get back out there.” With a wink and pull of the door she was gone.

After she left you behind you turn to look in the mirror and see that your own lips were a mess, smudged with her much darker lipstick as well as an imprint from where she kissed your cheek. “Shit.”

Once your lipstick was fixed and you got back out there no one noticed you had gone, thank God for that. You finished the rest of the date, thinking of last night with Chucky and now tonight with Tiffany and honestly way too excited for tomorrow's date, wondering what just might happen with both of them at once.

Tiffany came into the restaurant, long purposeful strides as she made her way to their table, spotting him was easy. She leaned down, a kiss pressed to his cheek before she slid into the seat as she took off her coat. “There you are, I was wondering when you’d grace me with your presence.”

“Sorry I ran a bit late, wanted to grab a drink before I got here and it ran unexpectedly long.” She said as she settled into the chair across from him. “Oh really? An’ where did you get this drink exactly?”

“What’s it to you?” She fired back with a smile and he said, “Just wondering what was keeping my girl away from me, is that a crime?”

“Not one punishable by a court of law anyway.” She said as she reached to pick up the drink he had already ordered for her.

“What did you have to drink if I may ask because I have a feeling of what it mighta been.” He was leaning closer, arms resting on the table and she said with a coy shrug, “A shot of vodka.”

“A shot, huh? On an empty stomach, pre-dinner?” He asked and she teased. “Yeah, that a problem for you sweet face?”

“Nope, not at all. Just makes me curious. A shot is typically real quick and you took so long. You sure that is the only drink you had?” He pressed and she said, “Well maybe I did have one more.”

“And did that drink happen to be called-” The waiter came by and set down the appetisers he had ordered prior to her arrival, effectively cutting off and spoiling Chucky’s little joke, something that made Tiffany grin as she watched how annoyed it made him. The waiter left promptly and the blonde finally filled him in, “I know you won’t let it go till I spill so yes, I paid our new friend a visit and had a taste.”

“I fucking knew it.” He said with a shake of his head as he reached out to start digging into the food and she sighed, “I couldn’t help it, I got a taste when you came home last night and it just wasn’t enough, had to go get some for myself.”

She said nothing after that until he asked, “Well?”

“Well what?” She said in a faux innocent tone, trying to pretend she didn’t know what he meant. “What do you mean what?! I gave you all the details about what I did last night, so c’mon share with the class.”

She knew just what he wanted but had wanted to hear him say it. “Okay so I get there right?”

She told him all about how you both talked, flirted, shared a shot and made it to the bathroom, the intense make out and how she got on her knees for you and made you totally see stars all from her talented mouth. He was very impressed and also, completely hard under the table as he listened to her speak in hushed tones with that sultry voice so the nearby tables wouldn’t overhear them. The fact she did that less an twenty minutes ago before coming here was so fucking hot to him.

They both didn’t get too into talking about how fantastic you were, both were still in a public setting and they knew if they got started they wouldn’t be able to stop or keep their hands off each other. Both did allow a small moment to gush before Tiffany said, “So clearly I won.”

That made Chucky cover his mouth with the back of his hand, speaking around his mouthful, “The fuck makes you think that?”

“Uh I dunno she nearly collapsed when I made her cum, and if you would have heard the sounds she was making there is no doubt I’m the winner-” She started and he swallowed before saying, “No, no, the bet was who did it first and I beat you to it last night-”

“First AND hardest I believe were the exact terms used, sure you might have made her cum first but I definitely made her cum harder than you did.” She insisted and he said, “Oh don’t throw around words like fucking ‘deffinetly’ over this!”

“Again you weren’t there Chuck-” She began but was promptly cut off, “And you weren’t there when I was with her either, Tiff!”

The fight was undeniably playful as they teased one another and argued over who was the true winner but over the course of dinner they made no progress. As he was paying for the bill he said with a sigh, “I think we’ve reached an impasse.”

“Definitely. Think we have to get her opinion tomorrow to really settle this.” She was slipping her coat back on and so was he, “Agreed, and just you wait, you’re gonna be going down.”

“Oooh twice in two days, how fun.” She said casually as she started to head out, rushing to follow behind her as he deadpanned, “Ha-ha, you’re hilarious.”

“I know.” She said warmly as she took his hand as they walked out onto the street.

You made sure to leave the house early that day, didn’t want to even have the smallest risk of being late. It was cloudy and overcast, not unusual for this time of year, light snowfall dusting your shoulders as you made your way into the park. The three of you planned your date a few days ago and you had made the suggestion of ice skating, something Tiffany ood’ over and Chuck seemed less than impressed about even though he tried to hide it.

You hadn’t been skating in a while, not nearly enough this winter and you were looking forward to this and some lunch afterwards. You were the one who picked this rink, it was your favourite, you loved skating in the park, definitely the best of the ice rink’s you’d tired in town so far. They had actually got here first, also clearly had plans of being on time and you greeted the pair warmly. You were in your warmest coat pulled tight around you, gloves and pants, a hat, you felt very cosy and comfortable at the moment, winter chill kept far away.

They both looked weather appropriate, Tiffany was in pants for once, they looked way too good on her, they hugged her thighs beautifully and her coat was thicker than usual, even he went for warmer attire but he still had the leather gloves and red scarf on and you were slowly starting to associate with him.

A hug for each of them, “Hiii, how are you both?”

“Hey! Good.” Chucky said, “I’ve been looking forward to this.” Tiffany said with a smile. Skates were rented by the pair as you sat on a nearby bench, lacing up the skates you brought along. “You own yours?”

He asked and you nodded, “Mmhmm, sure do.” You replied as you finished tying up your left skate.

“You like that much?” Tiffany asked, “Duh, it’s so much fun.”

She smiled wider at your use of the word ‘duh’ and so did he, a reminder of previous times together. Tiffany leaned over to him as she said, “Hear that Chucky? It’s fun.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here aren’t I? I’m trying it.” He argued with a small smile. You stood up and said, “C’mon Tiff, he’s making an effort, give the man some credit.”

Once you were all in your skates you started, stepped onto the ice and glided with ease, a few strides out before making a turn to face where they would come onto the rink. Tiffany follows suit, relative ease as she makes her way out, she skates right on up to you and you swear the smile refuses to leave your face. This was going to be such a good afternoon.

You hear the exclamation and that makes you both look to see Chucky, on the ice now, both arms out, clearly having just stopped himself from falling and eating total shit.

His eyes met yours, a coy smile on your face and a raise of your eyebrows and his expression hardened, determined. He carefully pushed with one foot and instead of switching, keeping momentum going, he pushed again with the same foot and then again. It was like a kid trying to ride a skateboard, badly. He was getting nowhere fast and he almost fell again and just barely stopped himself once more.

You didn’t suppress your giggle as you and Tiffany both skated over, taking one hand each, you soothed, “It’s alright Chuck.”

“Yeah sweet face, we got you. We won’t let you fall.” She added on and he sighed, head hanging for a moment, “Gee thanks.”

“Awe there is no shame in not knowing how to skate, now stop sulking and let’s have some fun.”

You and Tiffany both led, holding onto his hands casually as you showed him how to skate, helped him maintain his balance as you instructed and he slowly started to pick up on it. Not needing to hang on as tight as you went.

“People are looking.” He said sternly and you laughed, “No one is looking Chuck!”

“They are! Grown ass man doesn’t know how to skate and needs-” He started to rant and Tiffany cut him off, “-to be pressed between two really hot women with their hands on him? How terrible.”

The snow continued to fall and he continued to improve as easy conversation flowed between the three of you. This was much better than you hoped honestly. Being able to do this, holding hands as a trio in public on a date, even if it was under the excuse of making sure ol Chuck didn’t fall flat on his face, was nice. So, so fucking nice, something you didn’t think you could have honestly.

You skated for a long time, conversation and comfortable silence as you skated together until the cold had made its way through your skates biting your toes and numbing your gloved fingers making you all leave the rink. Skates returned and regular shoes back on, your own skates the laces tied and hoisted over your shoulder, you all make your way and rush to find some serious warmth.

You leave the park and find a nice restaurant you had heard good things about but had never been to before, you left your skates by the door and were all seated around a table, still shivering, desperate to warm up. The waiter came by and you all ordered coffee and as soon as it was brought mugs were in freezing palms to help remedy the chill. The coffee helps as you all look over menus and then lunch is ordered, sandwiches and a big plate of fries in the middle of the table to all split.

“You don’t like malt vinegar?” You asked and Chucky scrunched up his nose, “On fries? Not really, what’s wrong with ketchup? It’s a classic.”

“I guess, just seems so juvenile.” You teased as you took a portion of the fries and moved them to your plate. “Then it fits him to a T obviously.” Tiffany said as she picked up a fry and popped it in her mouth.

Before Chucky could argue she then said, “You know I hear people in other parts of the world eat fries with mayo.”

“Mayo? Like as in nnaise?” You asked and Chucky snorted out a laugh before he added on, “That sounds made up.”

“Swear to God, the total truth.” She said with one hand up and the other over her chest like she was swearing on the bible itself. You didn’t care much for God but had to admit, even without having actually seen them, that her chest was much more worthy of your worship. You shake the thought from your head and he argues further, “Bullshit, where’d you hear it?”

“I read it in a book, I read, you know.” She said dropping her hands and you smile as the conversation continues on. Chucky wondering if they should get some mayonnaise to actually try it and see if it was any good, something you decided to put the kibosh on.

Midway through the meal you asked them, “So you lived near there, how is New York? I’ve never been.”

They both groaned, he started, “Oh my God-”

And she finished, “-So overrated.”

“Really?” You leaned closer as they both went on, you are reminded of your last date, it was interesting that it wasn’t just Chucky saying it this time, Tiffany seemed totally on the same page about this one, deemed it worthy of going off on.

“It is loud-” He said, “-and noisy-” she said, “-and dirty!” he added.

It was almost like a dance, a patter to it, back and forth, your eyes flitting between the pair as they expounded their intense dislike.

“The people are rude!”

“Too many people, period!”

“Full of pretentious-”

“-snobby-”

“-Goddamn assholes.”

You held up both hands, a light laugh, “Okay, okay, fuck, is this gonna be a trend on our dates? I gotta be careful what I ask about or I’m gonna get a rant?”

“Sorry, just, fuck, New York sucks! They like to think they are so much better than everyone else, such a piss off.” Chucky said and Tiffany said, “He’s right, but really sorry about that.”

“I’m kidding around, it’s fine! I like the passion.” You admitted and Tiffany said, “How about next time we let you get a rant in? Make it even?”

“Sounds fair to me.”

You did mean what you said, listening to them talk like that was fun, very entertaining. You could listen to them go on like that for much longer.

Lunch was done and everyone was warmed up, the bill paid up and you ventured back into the cold afternoon outside. The afternoon was still young and you weren’t in a rush to get anywhere and neither were they so you all did some casual window shopping. Eventually finding yourself in a bookstore.

You are all looking around, eventually you make your way to the back of the stacks, checking out the horror novels, far from view when you soon feel you aren’t alone any longer. You feel a hand slide onto your lower back and you turn to see Chucky right there, leaning onto the shelf next to you. “Heya stranger.” You start and he said, “Hey to you too.”

You feel the book being taken out of your hand and it makes your head turn to the other side, seeing Tiffany looking at the back of the book you had selected. You had been effectively cornered, boxed in by the duo and you were feeling it.

“Good pick, I hear this one is great.” Tiffany praised as she held the book up and you started to respond but instead you felt Chucky’s hands wandering, sliding onto your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Woah, Chuck, what are you doing?” You stage whispered to him, a slight struggle and you felt his lips on the back of your neck, “Awe c’mon they can’t see us back here. Live a little.”

“Yeah hon. You are fine cumming in alleyways and public bathrooms at your fucking job but the back stacks are too far?” Tiffany asked, leaning much closer to you, her lips mere inches from yours as she continued on. “You know we had a little something we wanted to talk to you about.”

“Talk to me about?” You asked, trying not to get lost in her eyes or be too distracted by the way Chucky’s hands squeezed and how he kissed your neck.

“Well Tiff and I had a little wager-”

His teeth grazed and you asked breathlessly, “A wager?”

“A bet. And we need you to settle it for us.” Tiffany said and you asked, eyes threatening to slide closed, Chucky asked, “Can you do that for us sweetheart?”

“I-I can certainly try.” You had no idea what they were talking about, a bet? What kind of bet could they need your input on?

That is when they spilled it all. Tiffany’s lips brushing yours as she tucked some hair behind your ear as she told you how it started. Chucky admitted it was his idea. The sheer need they both felt for you, the intense want to make you feel good, how that desire drove them to this small contest to see who could do it better.

The way that they gave this admission was nearly too much, it was uttered with no small amount of heat and very, very playful too. Wander hands, stolen kisses and you were feeling very excited, wet, ready and wanting, especially as they recounted certain details, praised the sounds you made and the way you tasted, how hot they both found the solo hookups being recounted were. It made you feel good, more than good, it had the effect they wanted, you felt very wanted, desirable.

To think they would go to the lengths of inventing this contest to have their way with you and put your enjoyment, your pleasure at the very centre of it.

When they were done telling you this you gasped out, “So what’s the problem?”

“We need to know who did the better job of course.” He said and she pressed, “Yeah, tell us sweet thing, who made you cum harder?”

How could you even begin to answer that question?

Both were so good, but so different, you enjoyed both hookups for different reasons. The build up, the teasing and the taking, how confident they both were, the locations and of course the physical aspect were fantastic, you had no way of being able to pick. You hum and haw and they don’t stop prompting you, they don’t stop touching you either. Tiffany’s hand almost between your legs, manicured nails brush over the material of your inner thigh and even through the material of your pants you want to shiver.

“I-I uh dunno, I just, ugh I dunno who was better-” Which was true you really didn’t but they didn’t seem to like that answer.

“Awe, you really can’t pick?” He asked and you shook your head, “I really can’t.”

“Why not?” She asked and you said, “I-...You were both so, so good, I can’t decide-”

“Well that isn’t gonna work.” He nipped at your ear lobe and she kissed you deeply and you melted as you were squeezed between them. They both broke away, she said, “We gotta know for sure.”

He nodded to what Tiffany asked, “How are we gonna know? Do we need a repeat performance?”

You felt yourself throb and leak at the very suggestion. You tried to play it cool as you said, “Maybe we do need that.”

They both shared a private look over your shoulder, a shared smile as they locked eyes and you asked quickly, “Can we go somewhere else to settle this properly?”

Tiffany and Chucky had just the answer and they knew just what to say. Still so close he asked low in your ear, “How about our place?”

#Charles Lee Ray X Reader #Tiffany Valentine X Reader #Poly!Chiffany X reader #slasher x reader #BHF writing #Through The Heart Is The Only Way #TTHISTOW #Hope you alllllll love it!

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crossbowking · 4 years ago

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Honey & Whiskey

Summary: (Set throughout series) When the world ended, everything good died along with it. At least, that's what Daryl Dixon thought. But then he met a stranger in the woods and his entire world turned upside down.

A/N: HOLY MOLY. I can't believe it's here! I've been working on this story since October and I'm so excited for y'all to finally read it. This story is absolutely my favorite of all time and it's 20,835 words of pure Daryl POV (which is just *chef kiss*) — that being said, it’s also a slow burn...and I mean an entirely self-indulgent SLOWWWW burn. So strap in, y’all.

PSA: There are mentions of 'Dog' in this story that are sort of non-canon, especially now that we've seen a backstory as to how Daryl actually found him in the show...so for the sake of the story, let's just pretend 10.18 doesn't exist :)

Anywho, please be sure to share your thoughts with me afterward!

Happy reading!

xx Jess

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The sun dipped below the horizon, the sky alight with brilliant orange and yellow rays.

Daryl tilted his head back, glancing up at the shifting colors as night drew near. The air was crisp, a welcomed change from the usual summer heat. The streets of Alexandria were fairly empty, most already settling into their respective homes before nightfall. Though the unusual silence was near deafening, the archer paid it no mind.

He appreciated the quiet these days.

The grass poked and prodded beneath where he sat, but he simply shifted, drawing one knee to his chest, the other leg splayed out in front of him. He picked absently at one of the holes in his worn jeans, tugging at the string hanging off the fabric.

And then he thought of her.

Leaves and twigs crunched beneath Daryl’s boots as he traversed through the otherwise silent woods.

The farm was destroyed, winter was approaching, and there seemed to be an ever-looming pang of hunger in the pit of his stomach. He pushed away any inkling of weakness, forging ahead with determined strides. His people were waiting for him, hunkering down in an abandoned diner less than a mile East, hoping he’d bring back something to dull the growing ache inside all of them.

Daryl’s steps faltered — ‘his’ people.

The thought had come so naturally it nearly took him off guard. The feeling of community, of belonging, was something he’d never felt in his entire life. It was a strange notion, but that drive, that need he felt to provide, pushed him further out into the forest.

The archer kept his footsteps light, practically imperceptible, listening for noises only a seasoned hunter could distinguish. When a twig suddenly snapped off to his left, he froze, scanning the stillness around him. He raised his crossbow, the weight familiar in his grasp as he took a small step in the direction the noise had come from.

A moment later, Daryl spotted it — a lone raccoon just a few yards ahead.

The archer felt a rush of adrenaline, a tingling sensation in his fingertips as they hovered over the trigger. He exhaled a soft breath, focusing all his attention on the animal. But with his concentration elsewhere, it wasn’t until after he’d pulled the trigger that he’d realized he was no longer alone in the woods.

Daryl spun around, coming face to face with an incredibly grotesque-looking walker, teeth bared, arms outstretched, launching itself towards him. The archer braced his arm against the biter’s throat just in time, grunting under its weight as he stumbled backward.

“Shit,” he snarled through gritted teeth, tossing his unloaded weapon aside as he fought against the attack. Using his free hand, he reached for the hunting knife secured on his belt, grabbing onto the hilt.

But before he could yank it out, the world began tilting rapidly around him.

Daryl’s back slammed against the harsh wooded ground, his foot tangled up in an exposed root. He spat another vicious curse as the walker thrashed on top of him, snapping its mangled jaw closer and closer, growling in starved desperation.

Then suddenly, it stilled.

The archer froze, his gaze locked on the unexpected sight of one of his arrows now embedded through the biter’s temple. He snapped out of his reverie, shoving the dead off his chest and scrambling back to his feet.

And then he saw her.

She stood just a few feet away, her rapid breathing mirroring his own, looking as though she was seconds away from passing out. Her hair was matted by a mixture of blood and dirt, her clothes were torn and ratted, her wide eyes seemingly too big for her gaunt features. She had a nasty cut across her temple, blood dripping down the side of her face, past her neck, pooling at the collar of her shirt.

Daryl’s eyes bounced back up to meet hers — his guarded and calloused, hers unsure and fatigued.

“I’m assuming — this — is yours?” she spoke between heaving breaths, tossing something in his direction, the motion causing her to sway unsteadily.

Daryl glanced down, spotting the raccoon he’d shot earlier now lying at his feet — but the arrow he’d used to kill it was no longer there.

Now, it was lodged through the skull of the walker that’d attacked him.

The archer focused back on the stranger — but before he could respond, her skin was suddenly paling, her body crumpling to the ground like a paper doll.

Daryl stared down at her unmoving form in bewilderment. He could tell by the shallow rise and fall of her chest that she was at least breathing. The cut on her temple was still bleeding, the wound looking fairly recent — his best guess was a concussion or exhaustion. Most likely both.

He took a small step forward, almost hesitantly. But when his approach didn’t stir the stranger, he found himself facing an unforeseen decision.

He could leave her — he should leave her. She wasn’t his responsibility. She was a complete stranger. She chose to intervene, not him. She made that choice. Not him. Her.

Though as he turned to leave, as he scooped up the limp raccoon and shoved it into his bag, as he grabbed his strewn crossbow and strapped it across his back, one thing became startlingly clear.

He couldn’t do it — he couldn’t just walk away.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

He could’ve sworn that day in the woods was an entire lifetime ago.

Rick had nearly lost his damn mind when he’d returned to the diner with not only a small woodland creature in his pack, but a stranger slung over his shoulder.

“Is she dead?” Carl pressed nosily, hovering by the booth where the stranger was now laid out, still unconscious.

Lori quickly intervened, moving forward with one hand on her protruding belly, the other grabbing onto Carl’s shoulder. “Step back, baby. Give Hershel some space to work, okay?” she cautioned, pulling the inquisitive boy away.

“Oh, it’s quite alright — I’m just about done here anyways,” Hershel drawled, setting aside the blood-soaked cloth he’d been using to tend to the stranger’s head wound.

Daryl watched the exchange from across the room, arms folded tight against his chest, ignoring the stares coming from other group members.

The front door of the diner suddenly swung open as Rick marched through. He shot the archer a disapproving look before addressing the others. “I think we’re okay,” he finally spoke, re-holstering his pistol. “If Daryl had been followed here, I’m sure we would’ve known by now. We’ll keep somebody on watch — jus’ as a precaution — an’ get back on the road first thing.”

The archer gnawed on the inside of his cheek as the rest of the group began whispering amongst themselves, clearly distressed about the possible danger his decision may have put them in.

Rick approached a moment later, his steadfast strides immediately setting Daryl on edge. “Can I speak with you?” the sheriff hissed, glancing over his shoulder and locking eyes with Lori’s worried gaze. “In private?” he added in a hushed tone before turning around and storming back outside.

Daryl scoffed under his breath, pushing away from the counter he’d been leaning against and stalking after Rick.

The archer yanked the door open, the cool air biting at his skin as he followed suit. He spotted Rick pacing back and forth across the parking lot, surveying the surrounding woods warily before spinning around and facing him head-on.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” Rick demanded, taking a step forward.

Daryl fought back the instinctual urge to be on the attack. Instead, he took a breath. “What was I supposed ta’ do, man? Jus’ leave her out there?” he countered, eyes narrowing.

“You don’t bring her here,” the sheriff snapped before pinching the bridge of his nose, attempting to collect himself. “We — we have ta’ look after our own, Daryl — you know that. We have no idea who she is, where she came from, who she’s with,” he specified sharply before shaking his head. “That’s jus' not a risk I’m willin’ ta’ take. Are you?”

Daryl held Rick’s gaze for a long moment before looking away, glancing towards the tree line. The sheriff had a point, he couldn’t deny that. But there was something inside him, a nagging sensation in the pit of his stomach that said otherwise.

Rick slowly nodded, interpreting Daryl’s silence as an answer. “When she wakes, she’s gone,” he finally resolved, stepping past the archer and back towards the diner without another word.

But Daryl couldn’t let it go. “Hey,” he called after Rick, the sheriff’s strides halting mid-pace as he glanced back, the harshness in his features fading, unveiling a man with nothing but the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Back when Carl got shot, if Hershel had turned us away, what’d ya think would’a happened?”

Rick paused before exhaling a long, heavy breath, some of the fight leaving him with it. “That��s not — it’s not the same —”

“It is,” Daryl interjected. “It’s the same damn thing.”

The air grew quiet as Rick’s shoulders sagged, one hand resting against his hip. “My family…” he suddenly murmured, shaking his head sadly. “I can’t risk it.”

Daryl nodded once. “I get it. After everythin’ with Shane an’ Randall, losin’ the farm the way we did, I get it, man,” he rasped, regarding him earnestly. “But m’ tellin’ ya…this’s the wrong call, Rick.”

The diner door suddenly flung open, interrupting the conversation and revealing a flustered-looking Glenn.

“Uh, hey guys,” he interrupted, sending the pair an awkward wave. “Just wanted to let you know that she’s, uh — she’s awake.”

Rick and Daryl shared a look.

“And kinda freaking out,” Glenn quickly tacked on at the end.

Daryl didn’t hesitate. He stormed past Rick and back into the diner, making a beeline towards the small crowd that had gathered around her.

“— okay, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you, sweetheart,” Lori spoke softly, holding her hands out in front of her as though approaching a caged animal.

The archer pushed through the group, spotting the stranger a moment later.

She was still sitting in the booth he’d initially laid her out in — though now she was huddled away from everyone, back pressed up against the wall, knees drawn to her chest in a cowering stance. Her gaze darted frantically around the room, clearly confused and disoriented and overwhelmed.

Daryl couldn’t even begin to understand why, but he felt a wave of outrage course through him.

“C’mon, people. She ain’t a fuckin’ zoo animal,” the archer growled abruptly, taking a defensive stance in front of the booth and motioning for the rest of the group to move back. “Give the girl some damn space.”

The archer waited until everyone stepped away before turning back around and glancing down at the stranger. He was surprised to see her eyes trained on him — even more surprised at the flush of heat that spread across his chest. He held her gaze a second longer before Rick appeared, parting through the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea.

The stranger shrunk away.

Daryl wondered why the sight bothered him so much.

Rick came to a slow halt in front of her. “What’s your name?” he finally asked, his tone measured and firm.

The stranger did another sweep of the room, as though surveying just how much possible danger she was in. But when her eyes flashed up towards the archer once again, some of her unease faded. “Y/N,” she spoke hesitantly.

Rick nodded slowly before extending his arm. “Rick Grimes.”

Y/N looked at the gesture cautiously. Still, she reached out and took his hand in hers.

She appeared composed but Daryl noticed the slight tremble in her grip.

After a brief shake, Rick grabbed an empty chair and sat down at the end of the booth, resting his forearms against the table. “So, Y/N,” he began, giving the archer a look of resolve. “What happened ta’ you?”

The time after the farm fell was foggy, each day blurring into the next, suffocated by a heaviness the unknown inherently brought. But that day, the day he met her, ran stark against the rest.

Y/N had told her story like Rick asked her to do. She spoke of the small group she’d been staying with and the refuge they’d built, ultimately destroyed by the dead. Everybody had scattered — and if they hadn’t…

Any previous hesitancies the group held melted into understanding and sympathy almost immediately.

Daryl had known Y/N would be accepted into the group. Rick had hardened since the farm, but he wasn’t heartless. He wouldn’t be able to turn her away, just as the archer hadn’t been able to leave her out in those woods.

Spending the winter season on the run had been difficult for everyone — constantly running from the dead, cold and bitter nights, supplies growing scarce. The road was unforgiving, proving time and time again how completely fucked this new world was, how things would never return to the way they were, how this was now the new way of life.

Though for Daryl, if he was being honest, it wasn’t all bad — not in comparison to what his old life had given him.

He’d choose a lifetime of running over the stench of whiskey and the sting of belt buckles any day.

The only other person who’d appeared unaffected was Y/N. Besides showcasing a natural skillset in survival, she’d found her place amongst the group with ease — so effortlessly that Daryl hadn’t been able to recall what life looked like before her. She exuded a warmth that people were drawn towards — that the rest of the group clung to during the darkest of days.

But not Daryl.

He’d kept her at a distance, kept her at arm’s length because he refused to let her in as everyone else had.

Little did he know.

Daryl swiped at the beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face.

The Georgian heat was nearly suffocating, blanketing over his body and setting his skin ablaze. He pushed away the discomfort, bending down and grabbing the ankles of one of the many walkers spread out across the prison’s courtyard. He’d lost track of how many bodies he’d dragged out, his group working tirelessly to clean out their newfound home.

The archer had just pulled the limp body through one of the fences, nearing the pickup truck used for disposal, when he heard someone approach.

“Need a hand?”

Daryl stilled — he glanced up, his eyes locking with Y/N’s, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Her hair was pulled back out of her face, a thin sheen of sweat laid out across her forehead. One hand rested on her hip, the other hovered near her face, blocking the sun rays. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up past her elbows, streaks of dirt and blood visible against her exposed skin.

He realized then that she was really rather beautiful.

The intrusive thought caught the archer completely off guard. He quickly turned his attention downward, grunting a half-assed ‘nah’ before continuing his trek to the pickup truck, determined to preserve some space between them.

But instead of leaving, as he’d assumed she would, Y/N remained rooted in place.

Daryl faltered, the expression that flickered across her face hinting that maybe she hadn’t come to just ‘lend a helping hand’. She had something on her mind — he could tell by the way she snagged her bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing absently as she shifted her weight back and forth.

The archer dropped his hold from around the walker’s ankles and straightened. “What?” he demanded gruffly, curiosity getting the best of him.

Y/N’s eyes found his as she took a small step forward — Daryl fought back the urge to back up. “I, uh —” she paused, her mouth twisting to the side as though fumbling for the right words. “Just — thank you.”

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “For what?” he huffed.

Y/N’s head cocked to the side, seemingly surprised. “I — I don’t know,” she murmured, a soft, sort of bewildered laugh slipping past her lips. “For bringing me here, for introducing me to your people — for everything, I guess,” she expressed sincerely. “You could’ve just left me out in those woods that day — most people would’ve.”

The archer chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling incredibly exposed for some strange reason. “Was nothin’,” he finally grunted, ignoring the prickle of heat at the tips of his ears.

“It wasn’t nothing,” Y/N replied indignantly, like she was offended at the notion that he didn’t deserve her gratitude. “You saved my life.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, wanting nothing more than for this interaction to be over with — because once that happened, he could go back to maintaining his distance, he could go back to allowing the air between them to be just that. “Figured I owed ya,” he finally mustered, recalling the first day they’d met.

Y/N’s lips curled up into a megawatt smile and Daryl could’ve sworn he’d never seen anything so damn captivating in his entire life. “Okay,” she grinned, sticking her hand out in front of her. “We’ll call it even then.”

The archer glanced down at the gesture before warily reaching forward, taking her hand in his, and shaking once, twice, three times. Her grip was firm and she didn’t seem to mind the grime coating his skin.

When she pulled away, Daryl felt the empty spaces she’d filled set ablaze.

Y/N shot him one last smile before turning around and heading back towards the courtyard. But she’d only made it a few feet when she paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Make sure you eat something, okay?”

She didn’t wait for a response — instead, she narrowed her eyes, shooting him a look in mock-seriousness as if to say ‘I’m watching you’. Then her face broke out into another grin before she sent him a small wave — and she was gone.

Daryl watched her leave, unable to pull his gaze from her retreating form.

He tried to ignore the mess his mind was becoming, littered with confusion and insecurity, the nagging voice that lingered telling him he’d never be good enough, strong enough, brave enough for anything other than what he’d always known.

He wouldn’t let her in — he couldn’t let her in.

But as he bent down, grasping onto either ankle of the walker at his feet, he felt a tingling sensation in his fingertips he swore had everything to do with the Georgian heat and nothing to do with her.

A gentle breeze roused Daryl from his thoughts.

He shifted from where he sat, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for the pack of cigarettes he kept there.

The package was falling apart, half-crushed, half-wrinkled from everyday wear and tear, but the archer slipped one of the few remaining cigarettes out anyway and caught it between his lips.

It hadn’t taken long for him to realize that keeping Y/N at arm’s length was a futile attempt — he’d been naive to think it was possible in the first place.

Before he knew it, she’d wormed her way into the forefronts of his mind and found herself a nice, cozy corner to call home. She’d done it as effortlessly as the blink of an eye or the beat of a heart. It just happened — no rhyme or reason, no explanation or logic. It just happened.

Which made leaving that much harder.

“Daryl!”

The archer ignored Glenn’s shout, marching further into the woods and approaching a snide-looking Merle. “C’mon, bro,” the younger brother grunted, worried if they didn’t leave right then and there, he’d change his mind and return to the prison with the others.

Merle’s booming laugh sounded, drawing Daryl from his thoughts. “Well, I’ll be damned,” the man sneered, tossing an arm around the archer’s shoulders. “Looks like somebody decided ta’ grow himself a big ole’ pair a’ cojones while I was gone,” he snarked, pushing Daryl forward and falling in step beside him.

The archer pressed his lips together, swallowing his retort and focusing ahead.

“Hey, wait up!”

The voice that sounded halted Daryl in his tracks. He spun around, spotting Y/N making her way through the forest, her strides long and determined as she headed straight towards him.

“Well, would ya look a’ that,” Merle quipped under his breath, leering at her approach, his tone sending a swell of aggravation through the younger brother.

“Jus’ gimme a minute,” Daryl quickly waved him off, ignoring the prickle of heat creeping up his neck as he trudged towards her.

Y/N came to a stop in front of him, slightly out of breath, her eyes searching his for a long moment.

She seemed to have something to say, a reason for chasing after him — but it was as though she couldn’t get the words together. She glanced down, shaking her head slowly before taking a deep breath. When she looked back up, Daryl noticed a resignation in her gaze that wasn’t there before.

“Are you sure about this?” she finally asked, her troubled expression sending a pang of guilt through him.

Daryl looked away. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure — he wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

He shifted his weight, focusing back on her. “Ya watch out for yourself, ya hear me?” he rumbled, pushing away the unexpected worry gnawing at him.

Y/N’s shoulders sagged in disappointment, her defeated expression damn near changing his mind altogether. “I will,” she murmured, a bittersweet smile ghosting across her features.

Daryl held her gaze a moment longer before nodding once, turning without another word.

But he’d barely taken a step when he suddenly felt her grab his wrist and twist him back around.

Before he knew what was happening, Y/N was hugging him. She threw her arms around his middle and squeezed tight, leaving Daryl completely and utterly dumbfounded. His arms hung limply at his sides, caught off guard by the surprising gesture. Though as soon as it’d begun, it ended. Y/N unwound herself from around his body and took a step back, a pink tinge to her cheeks he hadn’t noticed earlier.

She whispered a somber goodbye — though Daryl couldn’t hear it over the sound of the blood rushing to his ears — and then she was gone.

The archer fought back the urge to follow, telling himself over and over again that he was making the right decision — he was choosing blood, he was choosing family, he was choosing —

“Hey! Where’s my hug at, sweet cheeks?” Merle’s suddenly hollered, calling after Y/N.

She didn’t look back and Daryl fought back the impulse to start swinging.

But Merle just laughed, the noise loud and boisterous as he sauntered forward. “Damn, lil’ brother. Didn’t think ya had it in ya! I was startin’ ta’ think ya played for the other fuckin’ team’,” he jeered, clapping the archer on the back with more force than necessary.

Daryl’s entire body tensed up, his darkened gaze snapping towards his brother. He noticed then that Merle was also watching Y/N — though his eye line was fixated on one specific part of her body…

“Let’s go,” the archer spat under his breath as he spun around and stormed off, his hands balling into fists.

He had to walk away. Otherwise, he’d lose it — he’d give in to instinct, he’d allow the rage coursing through him to take over, and all of this would’ve been for nothing.

So he took a deep breath, relaxed his clenched fists, and dismissed any lingering thoughts of her.

Daryl scoffed at the memory, an unlit cigarette still caught between his teeth.

He pulled out his lighter and flicked his thumb against the wheel, sparking a small flame before inhaling a deep breath. The familiar taste of nicotine and ash filled his senses as he drew smoke into his lungs, immediately feeling a rush of calm flow through him.

Daryl existed in the quiet, taking another long drag of his cigarette. He pulled his legs towards his chest, resting his elbows atop his knees, letting his hands dangle in front of him. He watched the lit cigarette butt dim and dance between his fingertips, the embers burning off and drifting into the grass.

It’d only taken a single day for the archer to come to his senses — to realize the mistake he’d made in leaving with his brother. And if he was being honest, it’d had nothing to do with Merle. He couldn’t blame his brother because his brother hadn’t changed — his brother was still the same brash, volatile, ill-tempered redneck he’d known his whole life.

No, it was him — he was the one who had changed.

“Would ya slow yer damn roll? I ain’t the athlete I used ta’ be, ya know!” Merle bellowed from somewhere behind Daryl, clearly struggling to keep up with the younger brother’s pace.

But the archer didn’t slow, his strides matching the beat of his pounding heart. He ducked under tree branches and side-stepped exposed roots, the prison growing nearer with each step he took.

It wasn’t until Daryl heard a sudden thud, followed by a viciously snarled curse, that he slowed. He spun around, spotting Merle pushing up off the forest floor.

“Ya good?” Daryl called out, crossing back and reaching down, offering his hand.

But Merle just swatted him away, his expression twisting in contempt as he staggered back to his feet. “Lemme ask ya somethin’,” he growled. “How the hell ya think this’s gonna go, huh? Ya think those assholes are jus’ gonna forget ‘bout everythin’ that happened? Ya think we’re jus’ gonna hug it out an’ sing ‘round the campfire like some kinda damn afternoon special?”

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “Ya —”

“This ‘bout that skirt from yesterday? Huh? That it?” Merle steamrolled over his attempt to interrupt, taking a step forward, the brothers now toe to toe.

Daryl felt a prickle of heat flush the back of his neck, his chest tightening. Merle was just trying to get a rise out of him — he knew that deep down — but damn, was it working. “It ain’t ‘bout her,” the archer growled defensively, fixing him with a glare. “It’s ‘bout survival, ’bout rebuildin’ — ‘bout tryin’ ta’ make somethin’ outta this shit world. It can’t jus’ be us out here, man — not anymore.”

Merle rolled his eyes. “Oh, c’mon, did Officer Friendly force-feed ya that bullshit?”

Daryl stiffened before huffing a breath and waving his brother off. He turned away, determined to continue his trek back home before it was too late — but he’d only made it a couple of feet when Merle called after him once more.

“It ain’t ever gonna work,” the older brother voiced, his usually brash tone dimming into something surprisingly vulnerable. “It — it jus’ ain’t. Not after everythin’ — not after what I did.”

The archer glanced back, watching Merle’s notorious bravado finally melt away, replaced with something he could’ve sworn looked like guilt. “We ain’t dead yet, man,” Daryl rumbled simply. “Still time ta’ make shit right.”

Merle considered his words for a long moment — but before he could respond, the sound of barraging gunfire exploded through the air.

Daryl’s head snapped in the direction of the noise, feeling his stomach drop when he realized where exactly it was coming from.

He took off into a sprint, Merle’s pounding footsteps echoing directly behind him.

Daryl lied to his brother that day.

In his defense, it hadn’t been deliberate. When Merle had questioned his intentions, alluding to the idea that Y/N was the main reason for his urgency to return home, the archer had denied it.

He hadn’t known it back then, but the truth became startlingly clear once he’d made it back to the prison, marched up the pathway leading to cellblock C, and laid eyes on her.

Daryl found Y/N crouched down beside Axel’s unmoving form, one hand resting on his shoulder.

His steps faltered, feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment — but he couldn’t help himself. The Governor had attacked the prison, his people were shaken, and damn it, he just needed to make sure she was okay.

She stood a moment later, turning to rejoin the rest of the group huddled by the fence, her despondent expression filling his bones with a red-hot rage.

But then her eyes met his.

Y/N’s footsteps stilled, her gaze widening in disbelief as she looked at him. A heartbeat passed between them before Daryl noticed how she was holding herself — hunched over slightly, one hand wrapped around the opposite arm, blood seeping out from between her fingertips.

He crossed to her in three long strides, ignoring the heat that flushed his chest the closer he neared.

Instead, he focused on the wound — that he could deal with, that made sense.

Unlike the unexpected and rapid thrumming of his pulse.

“Daryl,” she breathed in disbelief, her voice thick as though the word had gotten tangled somewhere in her throat.

His name sounded like honey the way it rolled off her tongue.

He shrugged off his crossbow and tossed it aside, wordlessly reaching forward and pulling her hand away from the injury. He examined the laceration carefully — which upon closer inspection appeared to be a gunshot wound — though luckily enough, the bullet seemed to have only grazed the side of her arm.

The archer reached into his back pocket, grabbed the red rag he kept there, and gently pressed it against the wound. “Jus’ keep pressure on it, alright?” he rasped, guiding Y/N’s limp hand to rest over the cloth, stalling the blood flow.

He glanced down at her, doing a slight double-take when he realized she was watching him, a slightly strained smile pulling at her lips. “You came back,” she whispered, her eyes warm despite the blood splattered across her cheek, the pallor in her complexion.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, incredibly aware of how little space remained between them. He managed a stiff nod in response, his voice suddenly lost.

But Y/N’s smile merely grew, like the first hint of sunshine after a devastating storm.

And the tightness in his chest finally faded.

The archer inhaled another long drag from his cigarette, the smoke spilling past his lips and disappearing into the growing night.

Returning to the prison had given Daryl a sense of purpose, a sense of hope — he was back where he belonged and the threat of the Governor just didn’t seem so insurmountable anymore.

And then his big brother went and got himself killed.

Daryl stormed across the field that led to the prison’s courtyard, shoulders set, fists balled, eyes rimmed red.

The Governor would pay — he’d pay for what he’d done.

To Glenn, to Maggie, to countless others.

He’d pay for what he did to Merle.

The archer’s footsteps faltered, only briefly, when he spotted Y/N pacing back and forth behind the gate. Her head snapped towards him as he approached, her worried expression melting into relief as she quickly pulled the gate open for him.

“You okay?” she called to him, brow furrowing as she craned her neck, now looking behind him. “Where’s Merle?”

Daryl kept his gaze forward, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand as he marched past her without a second glance. “Dead,” he grunted, ignoring the prickling sensation growing behind his eyes.

“What?” he heard her exclaim, though he didn’t turn around — he kept his momentum pushing ahead, hellbent on going after the Governor and taking him down once and for all.

No matter what the cost.

He stalked towards where he’d parked his motorcycle, slinging his crossbow over his back and mounting the bike in one swift motion.

But Y/N was just as quick.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she jogged towards him, planting herself in front of the bike, an alarmed look in her eyes. “What’re you doing?”

Daryl felt a swell of anger wash over him, an unusual feeling when directed towards her. “Move,” he growled, using his heel to knock the bike’s kickstand up.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, his intent becomingly startling clear. “No.”

He was caught off guard by her protest, though snapped out of it just as soon — his scowl deepened, his eyes darkening, seeing nothing but redness and fury and Merle’s reanimated corpse flickering through his mind. “Move, damn it,” he snarled once more.

But Y/N stood her ground regardless of the wariness in her gaze. “No.”

The archer’s rage churned inside him, his grip white-knuckled around the throttle. “Ya —”

“Please, don’t do this,” she interrupted his brusque retort, shaking her head. “I promise — I promise — he’ll get what’s coming to him, but Daryl…this is not the way.”

He knew deep down she was right, but he didn’t want to hear it — he didn’t want to hear ration or reason or the pity in her voice.

He didn’t want to hear any of it.

“I’m sorry,” she suddenly whispered, emotion clouding her eyes. “God, I’m so sorry about Merle. I’m —”

Something inside the archer snapped. “Ya know what, ya can drop the damn act,” he hissed, springing off the bike and shoving it to the ground with a deafening crash. He ignored the way Y/N flinched as he barreled towards her like a surging storm. “Ya can stop pretendin’ like anyone in this fuckin’ place gave a single shit ‘bout my brother!” he fired back, his voice rising. “Or me, for that matter!”

Y/N recoiled away from him, eyes wide. “I’m —” she started, shrinking under his heated approach. “I didn’t —”

“Forget it,” the archer spat, unable to stop the fervor spewing out of him. “Ya don’t know shit.”

A beat of silence passed as they stared one another down — but the more the quiet stretched on, the more a different emotion began to seep through the archer.

Guilt.

Unable to watch the hurt settling across Y/N’s features, Daryl turned away, allowing his brewing vehemence to carry him across the courtyard and to the doors leading into cellblock C. He paused at the doorway, unable to stop himself from looking back.

He watched Y/N’s head lower, her shoulders drop, before she slowly reached down, grabbing his toppled motorcycle by the handlebars and propping it upright.

The archer swallowed his remorse, buried his instincts, and stalked inside.

Daryl hissed a breath as the burnt end of the cigarette singed his fingertip. He stubbed the flame out against the heel of his boot, flicking the butt away into the grass.

Still, to this day, he felt bad about losing his temper. The anger had clearly been misdirected, but in the moment, he hadn’t been able to get a handle on it — Y/N had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Despite the aftermath of his outburst weighing heavily on him, he’d kept his distance from her throughout the days that followed.

Old habits die hard.

Daryl woke with a start, his eyes snapping open, chasing away lingering images of the nightmare he’d found himself immersed in.

Sleep had never been kind to him, even before everything went to shit — tonight was no different.

He could still see flashes of redness and death, smell the scent of rotting corpses and bloodshed, hear the sounds of tormented screams and anguished whimpers —

Daryl’s thoughts faltered as he quickly pushed up onto his elbows, straining his ears.

He realized then that the whimpering wasn’t coming from just his imagination. No, it was real — and it was coming from somewhere inside the cellblock.

The archer sprang up, untangling himself from the bed sheet coiled at his feet before shuffling towards the doorway. He paused there, his senses on high alert, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he listened carefully.

When another soft cry sounded, he moved from the entryway, slowly slinking past cell after cell and following the noise.

It wasn’t long before he found himself standing outside Y/N’s cell.

Daryl peered into the shadowed room, just barely able to make out the shape of her beneath the covers. She murmured something jumbled and incoherent, her words muffled as though her face was pressed into the pillow. She tossed and turned for a moment before finally settling.

When she remained still, the archer nearly left for his own cell.

But then he heard a quietly gasped sob and began moving forward before he could think twice.

Daryl crouched down beside Y/N’s bedside, turning on the lantern she’d left sitting on the floor. He shielded his eyes from the light until they adjusted before focusing on her.

She was curled up, covers drawn to her chin, faint tear tracks marking the sides of her face. Her brow was knitted, causing lines to form across her forehead — he fought back the urge to reach out and smooth them away.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one sleep was unkind to.

Another soft whimper blew past her lips and Daryl reached for her, gently shaking her shoulder.

Y/N immediately jolted awake, shooting upright, disoriented and alarmed as her bleary eyes darted around the cell.

“Hey, hey,” Daryl quickly rasped, holding his hands out in front of him. “It’s alright.”

“What — what happened?” she croaked, her voice thick with sleep, her wide gaze finally settling on him.

The archer shook his head, pulling back slightly, second-guessing his decision to wake her. “Nothin’ — nothin’, alright? We’re okay.”

“What —” she sounded, a bewildered look flitting across her face as she settled her hand against her undoubtedly racing heart. “Are you okay?”

Daryl’s brow furrowed at her question, confused as to why that would be her next question and not ‘what the fuck are you doing in my cell?’ Regardless, he nodded once. “Yeah,” the archer brushed off her concern, sitting back on his haunches. “Ya — uh, ya were cryin’,” he revealed hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck as he watched for her reaction.

Y/N straightened, the top bunk just grazing the crown of her head as she dabbed her fingertip at the corner of her eye, appearing almost embarrassed suddenly. “Oh,” she whispered, wiping away the tears that’d formed.

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek. “Ya alright?” he rasped after a long moment.

She quickly nodded her head, waving off his worry. “Oh, no — yeah, no, I’m fine,” she replied flippantly, shooting the archer a tight-lipped smile.

Despite Daryl seeing right through her bullshit, he didn’t push.

Instead, he nodded once and clambered back to his feet.

But he’d just barely turned to leave when Y/N spoke up once more. “Hey, Daryl?”

The archer faltered, glancing back at her. “Yeah?”

Her demeanor appeared collected, though he could see her hands twisting nervously around the sheet splayed out across his lap. “I —” she paused, seemingly working up the nerve to say what was next. “Are we okay?”

Daryl felt his chest tighten, the heaviness that’d grown between them splintering in that moment. There was something about her words, the smallness in her voice, that had him kicking himself for being so damn stubborn, for not making things right sooner.

She raked a hand through her tousled hair. “I just — I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I mean, I wasn’t trying to —”

“Stop,” Daryl cut off her rambling, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I was actin’ like an asshole,” he grumbled admittedly, the shame he’d buried creeping back in.

The tension in Y/N’s features softened as she regarded him. “It’s okay.”

For some reason, her easy forgiveness made Daryl’s insides churn.

“Nah, it ain’t,” he shot back sharply, almost wishing she’d curse him out instead. “Wasn’t right ta’ take that shit out on ya.”

“You were grieving,” she justified, her explanation simple and understanding.

Daryl worked his jaw, clenching and unclenching as he stared at the far wall of her cell, his gaze darkening — he didn’t deserve her compassion. “Well, ya probably stopped me from doin’ somethin’ real stupid,” he muttered dryly.

She merely shrugged, still completely unfazed. “Grief makes us do stupid things,” she murmured, defending him yet again. “I am sorry about your brother, you know,” she whispered a moment later, the sincerity in her voice knocking down the wall Daryl had worked so hard to keep between them.

He nodded slowly, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Merle was no hero,” he finally rumbled. “But he died tryin’ ta’ make shit right,” he mustered, his eyes finding hers amidst the shadows of her cell.

Y/N shot him a small, somewhat sad smile. “Then he didn’t die for nothing.”

Daryl swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, feeling as though his heart was moments away from bursting out of his chest. It was as though the cell was shrinking around him, the walls closing in — and the only thing keeping him above the surface was her.

“Get some sleep,” he managed gruffly, turning to leave once more.

“Daryl?”

The archer stilled. “Hm?” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

“Can you stay?” she whispered, so softly he almost missed it entirely. “Just a little longer?”

Daryl shifted his weight back and forth, feeling the overwhelming urge to run, to retreat to his own cell and pretend he hadn’t heard her.

But the slight tremble in her voice, something others surely would’ve missed, pulled him right back in.

The air thickened as he walked towards her, every fiber of his being screaming at him to make a run for it while he still had the chance. Y/N watched him approach, slightly wide-eyed, his steps faltering the closer he neared. She maneuvered slightly on the bed, moving towards the wall as though making room for him beside her.

Instead, Daryl did the most rational thing he could think of — he grabbed the empty mattress on the top bunk, slid it off the frame, and dropped it onto the floor next to her.

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Oh, you don’t have to —”

“G’night,” Daryl interjected abruptly, avoiding her gaze as he quickly turned off the lantern and laid down. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, his face surely on fire.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Daryl peeked an eye open, certain she could hear his thrumming pulse from where she sat. But a moment later, the bed creaked as she settled back down against the rickety mattress.

He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The archer wasn’t sure how much time passed before Y/N’s breathing evened out, the stranger from the woods all those days ago finally falling into a deep and restful sleep.

He, on the other hand, remained awake until morning came.

She’d asked him to stay and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Not even sleep could take him from her.

Everything changed after that night.

After the people from Woodbury moved into the prison, the demand for supplies nearly tripled. The archer found himself going on runs more often than not, hunting for game or scavenging local businesses — but the days and nights he was home were spent with her.

They fell into a routine of sorts. The days were spent working the fence or tending to things around the prison — but most nights, they’d sneak away from the others and spend hours sitting atop one of the unused watchtowers.

It became ‘their spot’, as Y/N had put it.

Some nights they sat quietly, existing in comfortable silence, watching the vast night sky. Other nights, Daryl would learn things about her — those were his favorite nights.

Y/N would talk about anything and everything — the mundane stuff, the deep stuff, the things in between — while Daryl would rest his head against the watchtower and close his eyes, listening to the way her voice rose and fell. She’d tell stories of her life before the end and her hopes for the future as though there still was one.

And over time, despite the world decaying at its very core, even Daryl started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there could be one.

She became his solace.

Hell, maybe she always had been, but he’d been too damn stupid to realize it.

“I’m sick of hearing myself talk,” Y/N suddenly spoke, a soft laugh following.

Daryl’s eyes snapped open as he glanced over at her, his brow furrowing.

She shifted from where she sat, the side of her face illuminated by moonlight. “Tell me something about you,” she said sweetly, her knee brushing against his as she rested one shoulder against the watchtower, giving him her full attention.

The archer felt his face warm under her curiosity. “Ya know plenty,” he grunted — and it was the truth. He’d told her more about himself than anyone else in his entire life.

“Oh, come on,” she countered and though Daryl couldn’t see it, he sensed an eye roll. “Just one thing? Something I don’t already know and then I’ll leave you alone.”

He huffed a breath. “Fine,” he grumbled, giving in.

Y/N waited patiently as the archer fell into thought, racking his brain for something to share — something even worth sharing. The silence that dredged on wasn’t helping either — if anything, it only added to the pressure. His life wasn’t all that interesting, never had been, never would be.

Daryl snuck a glance at Y/N — well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

“Uh,” he rumbled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know. Guess I always wanted a dog?” he mustered, the confession coming off more so a question than an actual statement.

Still, Y/N’s face broke out into one of her million-dollar smiles. “I can totally see you with a dog,” she beamed. “You never had one?”

Daryl almost shook his head, but then a faint memory came to mind. He looked away, propping his elbows against his knees and focusing straight ahead.

“When, uh —” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, picking absently at the skin beside his thumbnail. “When I was a kid, I was walkin’ home from school. Found this stray covered in mud, damn near skin an’ bones. An’ so I took it home,” he pressed his lips together before snorting a breath. “Even tied my shoelace ‘round its neck like a leash.”

“Aw,” Y/N sounded softly.

“Mhm,” the archer mumbled, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

After a stretch of silence lingered, she spoke up once more. “But you didn’t keep it?”

Daryl began picking at his skin a little more aggressively. “My old man — he was on a bender. Started screamin’ an’ hollerin’ when he saw me ‘cause he ‘didn’t wanna take care a’ no mangy mutt’,” he bit out, echoing his father’s words from all those years ago. “He threw somethin’ — don’t remember what. Maybe an empty whiskey bottle. Poor dog was scared outta its mind,” he murmured, shaking his head. “It pissed on the floor, right in front a’ him.”

Y/N’s expression turned troubled, her lips forming into a small frown.

Daryl ignored the tightness growing in his throat. “So he tossed the dog in his truck, drove off, an’ that was that — I never saw it again,” he finished, wincing as he ripped a small piece of skin off his thumb, drawing a drop of blood.

“What’d your dad do?” Y/N asked, her voice small.

The archer wiped the blood off onto his jeans. “Don’t know,” he shrugged, glancing over at her. “He never said an’ I never asked.”

She held his gaze for a long moment before letting out a soft sigh.

Daryl turned his head, staring out over the railing and into the darkened forest. He’d never told anyone that story — not even Merle, who’d been doing another stint in juvie at the time. The truth was, he carried a lot of guilt from that day. Sure, he was only a kid, but he was the one who’d brought the stray home in the first place.

Whatever happened to that dog…well, that was on him.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, gently poking the side of his arm, drawing him back to her. “Maybe we’ll find you a dog of your own someday.”

Daryl quirked a brow, unconvinced.

“You never know,” she shrugged. “What would you name it?”

He scoffed softly in response, shaking his head.

“Come on,” she reached over and poked him once more. “Humor me.”

“How ‘bout this,” the archer relented. “If — an’ that’s a big-ass if — we ever find a dog someday, ya get ta' name it.”

Y/N’s face immediately lit up. “Me?”

“Mhm,” he nodded his head, feeling the corners of his lips twitch.

She exhaled a breath, her gaze widening. “This…this is a shit-ton of pressure, Dixon,” she whispered, the wheels in her mind, very obviously, turning.

Despite everything, a soft laugh rumbled from deep inside Daryl’s chest, the sound strange and unfamiliar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely laughed — the noise got stuck in his throat, like his body was physically rejecting the sensation.

When he noticed Y/N watching him, a cheeky grin plastered across her face, his skin flushed.

“Okay, okay, let me think…” she grew serious, closing her eyes and resting her chin against her clasped hands. Not even a second later, her eyes shot open. “Got it!”

Daryl motioned for her to continue. “Lemme hear it.”

“Alright,” she shifted, facing him head-on. “Dog.”

The archer’s brow knitted together, his gaze narrowing. “Dog?”

“Dog,” she nodded resolutely.

“Ya — ya wanna name the dog ‘Dog’?” he questioned dubiously.

“Yup,” she grinned, popping the ‘p’.

Daryl rolled his eyes, fighting back a smirk. “Ya got a couple a’ screws loose, ya know that?” he teased, tapping the side of his head.

“Shut up,” Y/N laughed softly, nudging him with her elbow.

A beat of quiet passed between them before Daryl cleared his throat. “We ought'a head back,” he grumbled, starting to stand.

But then Y/N reached out, grabbing onto his hand. “Hang on,” she objected, looking up at him. “Just a few more minutes?” she asked, gently tugging his arm down.

The skin on his hand tingled beneath her touch as her gaze, warm like honey, melted further into his.

Before he could think twice, he found himself settling back down beside her, his hand still intertwined around hers.

Besides, when had he ever been able to say ‘no’ to her?

Daryl could’ve sworn those nights up in the watchtower were the best nights of his life.

Then the prison fell.

And destroyed everything good along with it.

“Do you miss her?”

Daryl’s eyes snapped open, just then noticing the quiet that’d settled over the funeral home. He glanced over at Beth, who remained seated in front of the piano, her kind gaze watching him curiously.

Settling further inside the casket he laid in, the archer turned to stare up at the ceiling, folding one arm behind his head, the other laid out across his stomach. He ignored Beth’s question — not because it wasn’t true, but because he knew if he spoke, if he started talking about her, the hollowness inside his chest would swallow him whole.

“I think she’s still out there,” Beth assured him quietly, steadfast in hanging onto whatever hope she could muster. “I think they all are.”

Daryl grunted softly in response, not trusting his voice.

He wanted to believe that — he wanted nothing more than to believe that Y/N and the others were out there somewhere, somewhere safe. But he wasn’t a foolish man — and he just couldn’t bring himself to feign the kind of certainty that came so effortlessly to Beth.

“‘And whatever you ask in prayer, you will receive, if you have faith’,” she suddenly murmured, her eyes glowing against the candlelight, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Daddy used ta’ quote scripture — that was one of his favorites,” she explained, her voice growing thick at the mention of her father. She pulled herself together before continuing. “I have faith,” her words were resolute, as though not only trying to convince him but herself as well.

The archer huffed a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Got enough for the both a’ us?” he muttered dryly, quirking a brow.

Beth laughed, breaking the heaviness that’d spread. “Sure do,” she beamed before shooting him a meaningful look. “You can thank me later.”

With that, she swiveled around on the bench and faced the piano once more, her fingers dancing along the keys, filling the room with a gentle melody.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man — never had been, never would be.

He didn’t buy into all that bullshit. If there was a God out there…what the fuck was he doing? Where was he? Why didn’t he stop the world from ending? Why did he let the bad destroy the good, time and time again?

He just couldn’t put his faith into something so cruel, so merciless.

Daryl wasn’t a religious man.

But for the first time in his entire life, he closed his eyes and prayed.

The archer felt his throat constrict.

He tilted his head back, looking up at the darkened sky. The sun had melted into the Earth, in its place thousands upon thousands of littered stars, surrounding a glowing crescent-shaped moon.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe there was a God out there — some higher power or greater being — who’d been listening that night in the funeral home.

Because somehow, someway, despite all the odds stacked against him…he’d found her.

Daryl felt his lip split beneath another vicious punch, his head snapping to the side.

He was losing strength, his bruised body slowly giving out on him as two of the Claimers continued to relentlessly beat him. It seemed like no matter how hard he fought back, he just couldn’t get the upper hand.

He was outnumbered and unarmed, but as long as their attention remained on him, he wouldn’t back down — because once they were done with him, they’d move on to the others.

They’d move on to her.

Daryl caught Y/N’s horrified gaze from the other side of the road — she was knelt in front of Tony, who had a fistful of her hair in his grip, simultaneously holding Michonne at gunpoint. Y/N was struggling against his hold, attempting to break free, her features twisted in pain.

A low growl rumbled from deep inside the archer, a red-hot rage coursing through his veins as he fought even harder against the two men.

He managed to dodge another punch, but in the process, connected with a swift jab to the ribcage. He exhaled sharply, losing his breath as the two closed in on him once more — though as the archer braced himself for the next strike, he noticed that the men had suddenly frozen in place.

Daryl followed their stares, finally understanding what had caused the abrupt standstill.

Rick was staggering away from the leader of the Claimers, red staining the bottom half of his face — the archer didn’t even realize it was blood until he saw Joe. The man swayed unsteadily on his feet, eyes wide, mouth agape, as his hands reached for where his throat should’ve been.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Michonne grabbed Tony’s gun and turned it on himself, shooting him once. Daryl followed suit, landing a solid hook against the side of Billy’s face. He heard another gunshot ring out but was too focused on the man at his feet to notice. Without any hesitation, the archer stomped the heel of his boot into the man’s skull, killing him instantly.

He backed away from Billy’s crushed form, stumbling over Harvey’s body, a bullet hole now between his lifeless eyes. He spun around, steadying himself against the hood of the car in front of him as he worked to control his heaving breaths. He’d turned just in time to see Rick mercilessly stabbing Dan, over and over again until the man’s center was nothing but a mess of blood and guts.

And then he saw her.

She was still on her knees, though now hunched over beside Tony, staring silently at his unmoving figure.

Daryl pushed away from the truck and rounded the hood, his heart leaping into his throat as he made a beeline towards her. His footsteps faltered the closer he neared, the sight before him suddenly registering — Tony had been shot through the neck by Michonne, but the front of his skull had also been caved in.

His gaze flickered towards Y/N, just then noticing the blood-soaked boulder clasped tightly in her hand.

It took every ounce of strength to not rush forward, to not pull her into his arms and hold her close because damn it, she was alive, she was okay, she was here.

The archer stepped over Tony’s body, slowly crouching down in front of Y/N — when his approach didn’t stir her, a jolt of unease shot through him. Her vacant eyes were trained on the dead man, her features expressionless and ashen. There was a cut just above her eyebrow, a small trail of blood trickling down the side of her face, but other than that, she appeared relatively unharmed.

Daryl gently took her hand in his and carefully unclasped her fingers from around the rock. He tossed the boulder aside before settling down, kneeling opposite her, his deep blue eyes maintaining a watchful look.

The archer brushed his thumb over the back of her limp hand, squeezing softly a moment later.

And then, almost hesitantly, she squeezed back.

Daryl held his breath as her eyes found his, welling with unshed tears, the helplessness in her haunted gaze twisting his insides. “I never killed someone before,” she whispered suddenly, choking on her words as though speaking shards of glass.

He wasn’t used to seeing her this way — she’d always been so steady, a light others were drawn towards, that he’d been drawn towards. And now…well, now he wished the Claimers would come alive so he could rip them apart all over again.

Unable to stand the sight of her broken expression any longer, Daryl reached for her. “C’mere,” he rasped, slipping his hand behind the back of her head and pulling her forward.

Y/N’s features crumpled as she fell against his chest, a hitched sob catching in her throat. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, gripping onto the front of his vest as though he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He wrapped his other arm securely around her back, keeping her cradled against his body. “S’ alright,” the archer rumbled as she held on tighter to him, her frame trembling as she cried. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya.”

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, woven around one another, his pounding heart echoing hers.

But he didn’t mind — because he’d found her.

And nothing else seemed to matter much with her engulfed in his arms.

The weeks that’d followed nearly destroyed them all.

With unrelenting heat, dwindling supplies, and the hollowness of loss inside each of them, morale had been at an all-time low. The little amount of food they’d managed to scrounge up had been divvied into morsels — though not enough to soothe their aches of hunger. The water supply eventually depleted, leaving their throats raw and mouths like cotton as they walked — day after day, down winding road after winding road, searching for salvation that was nowhere to find.

The line that’d separated them from the dead had become alarmingly thin.

And it’d only been a matter of time before that line disappeared altogether.

Daryl roused from his sleep, somehow feeling even more exhausted than when he first closed his eyes.

He scrubbed at his face, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that’d formed before huffing a breath. The sign of first morning light seeped through the canopy of trees above him, visible through the motionless overgrowth of leaves and greenery. The heat was already suffocating — his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin, his throat desperate for water he couldn’t afford to drink.

But focusing on that, focusing on the discomfort, was much easier than acknowledging the looming darkness that lingered.

The archer pushed up onto his elbows, the forest floor digging into his skin. He scanned the makeshift camp his group had set up, positioned just off the main road. Almost everyone was still asleep, curled up on the harsh wooded ground within the permitter they’d barricaded.

Except for Y/N who was nowhere to be seen.

Daryl felt his stomach lurch as he pulled himself off the ground and staggered to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness he felt — it’d been days since he’d eaten, since any of them had eaten. He grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder, tiptoeing around the others as to not wake them — they deserved a few more minutes in a reality that wasn’t as fucked as this one.

The only other person awake was Glenn, who’d volunteered to be on watch. He sat with his back against a large tree trunk, Maggie at his side, her head resting against his shoulder.

Daryl headed towards them, drawing Glenn’s attention. But before he could say anything, Glenn nodded his head towards something on the main road, careful not to jostle Maggie awake.

The archer followed his gaze, spotting Y/N through the trees. He nodded once in silent ‘thanks’, feeling the pit in his stomach loosen as he marched out of the woods and crossed over the asphalt.

Y/N was sitting on the hood of a long-since abandoned car, her feet perched atop the dented front bumper. Her eyes flashed towards him as he approached, prominent dark circles beneath a weary gaze, so unlike the warmth he was used to seeing.

Daryl felt his throat constrict — he could handle his own demons, the heaviness that’d latched onto his bones after the last few weeks.

But hers?

She needed to be okay — he needed her to be okay.

He slid onto the hood, the car dipping below his weight as he settled beside her. A comfortable silence stretched on as they stared down the long and desolate road ahead, each lost in their own thoughts.

“I miss ‘our spot’,” Y/N suddenly murmured, her tone wistful.

Daryl grunted softly in response, the nights they’d spent up in the watchtower flashing through his mind.

He missed it too — he hadn’t known peace like that before.

“God, we had it so good back then,” she exhaled a breath, lowering her head.

The archer peeked over at her, hearing the hint of emotion growing in her words, the sadness she tried to conceal. But she couldn’t hide it — not from him.

He could tell how she was feeling by the steadiness of her breath.

“We still had Hershel…” she whispered, clasping her hands together, her knuckles turning white. “Bob…Tyreese…” her voice cracked slightly before she glanced up. “Beth.”

It was Daryl’s turn to look away.

He couldn’t think about her — not without smelling moonshine and ash, not without feeling the weight of her lifeless body in his arms.

He never got to thank her.

When the prison fell, Daryl had been certain he’d never see Y/N again — that somehow, someway, she’d burned along with it. But Beth…she’d known — she’d known he’d find her again one day.

And he never got to thank her.

“I know you’re in pain,” Y/N’s voice broke through his guilt-ridden thoughts, drawing him back to her. “And I know how easy it is to just shove it down and push it away and pretend like it doesn’t exist,” she looked over at him then, her gaze steady and knowing — and despite the scrutiny, he couldn’t find it in himself to look away. “And I’m not asking you to talk about it. But please, just — just don’t pretend like it’s not there.”

Daryl gnawed on the inside of his cheek, his teeth breaking skin and filling his senses with the metallic taste of blood.

When Y/N reached towards him, he stiffened.

She slowly brushed away the hair that fell in front of his eyes, smoothing the strands back out of his face. “You’re not carved out of stone, Daryl,” she murmured gently before resting her palm against his flushed cheek.

The air suddenly thickened, the archer becoming painfully aware of how little space remained between them. There was a pull — almost magnetic — that urged him to lean closer, to draw nearer, to take her in his arms and shut out the rest of the world.

But before he could give into instinct, he pulled away and hopped off the hood of the car, landing on his feet with a huff.

Daryl looked anywhere but at her, ignoring the slight tremble in his fingertips. “M’ gonna —” he quickly cleared the thickness in his throat. “M’ gonna take a look ‘round — see what I can see.”

Y/N was quiet, though the archer didn’t dare look at her. “Okay,” she finally sounded — and even though Daryl couldn’t see her expression, he could hear the tangible defeat in her tone.

He clenched his jaw, kicking himself for being the source of her disappointment as he beelined towards the woods on the other side of the road, opposite the campsite.

But he’d only taken a couple of steps when he faltered, realizing then that he couldn’t just walk away — he’d never been able to just walk away.

Not from her.

“I hear ya,” he rasped, glancing back at her, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Ya know, what ya were sayin’ before an’ — an’ all that. I jus’ — I hear ya,” he mustered, the jumbled explanation all he could offer.

A tired smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “I know,” she assured him softly.

Daryl held her gaze before nodding once, turning without another word, and disappearing into the trees.

A newfound determination coursed through the archer as he ventured further into the woods — there had to be something else out there, somewhere his people could call ‘home’. They couldn’t keep going on like this, fighting day-to-day just to survive — it couldn’t be them and the dead anymore.

There had to be something else, something more.

The world couldn’t be all bad.

Not the same world that’d given him her.

Daryl pulled his gaze away from the darkened sky.

His eyes trailed over the towering gates that surrounded Alexandria — sturdy iron sheets and impenetrable steel, the only thing keeping away the dead that roamed just outside them. He brushed his fingers over the ground, tugging at the overgrown blades of grass beneath where he sat as he fell back in thought.

Despite his initial doubt that Alexandria was all it promised to be, in time, the community had proven him wrong. Sure, there were fractures in its foundation, but it was better than nothing.

It was better than before.

And for the first time since the end of everything, there was hope for a future.

Smoke spilled past the archer’s lips, wafting in front of him before disappearing into the night air.

The streets of Alexandria were still — a welcomed change in comparison to life outside the walls. Daryl shifted on the porch steps, taking another drag from his cigarette as he rested his back against the railing. He tilted his head backward, blowing out a lungful of smoke, feeling his nerves calm in the process.

“Hey, stranger,” a voice suddenly called, breaking the quiet that’d stretched on.

Daryl knew that voice — knew it better than the back of his own damn hand.

He quickly shook away the hair that’d fallen in front of his eyes, watching as Y/N approached.

She looked different — her hair was washed, her clothes no longer blood-stained and tattered. The lines of worry that’d marred her features were smoothed away, replaced by a warm smile that only grew the closer she neared. It was strange — almost like getting a glimpse of her before the dead started walking.

Her footsteps slowed as she stopped in front of him, her head cocking slightly to the side. “What’s that look for?”

Daryl ducked his head down, his face feeling fuzzy — like a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Nothin’,” he shook his head, inhaling another drag from his cigarette before stubbing the flame out against the porch steps.

Y/N plopped down beside him, propping her back up against the railing opposite his. “So,” she started, turning her attention towards him. “Deanna was asking where you were tonight.”

The archer scoffed as he flicked the cigarette butt away. “Aaron’s,” he rasped, pulling one knee to his chest, resting his elbow on top of it.

Y/N appeared surprised at his response but didn’t push further. Instead, she exhaled heavily. “This place is like the fucking Twilight Zone.”

He huffed a breath, nodding in agreement. “Ya headin’ back over there?” he rumbled after a moment, jerking his head in the direction of the welcome party.

“Oh, no,” she quickly shook her head. “I’m sick of people,” she admitted before glancing over at him. “You don’t count.”

Daryl snorted a laugh, rolling his eyes despite the strange sort of pride her words brought him.

A beat of silence passed before Y/N spoke again. “Aaron seems like a good guy.”

The archer grunted softly in response, their conversation from earlier coming to mind. “He wants me ta’ start scoutin’ with him — findin’ other survivors, bringin’ ‘em back.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Daryl sounded, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

“Is that something you’d wanna do?” she asked, leaning forward a fraction.

He paused, taking a minute to consider her words. If he was being honest, he felt more comfortable outside Alexandria’s walls than inside — and having a good enough reason to be back on the road didn’t seem like such a bad thing. But if he was being really honest…

Daryl’s gaze met Y/N’s once more — he hadn’t been away from her since the prison fell.

That wasn’t exactly a time in his life he’d like to revisit.

“I do alright out there, I guess,” he shrugged a shoulder up, dropping his hand back into his lap.

A look of amusement flashed over her features in response. “That’s quite the understatement.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, but he couldn’t seem to ease the sudden worry gnawing at him. “Ya gonna be alright in here?” he rasped, steadying her with a serious look.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” she countered smoothly — but Daryl could hear the hint of something in her tone, something he couldn’t quite place. When he remained silent, Y/N’s expression turned reflective. “I think it’ll be a good thing — you could help a lot of people out there who need it.”

The archer picked up on her deflection. “That ain’t what m’ askin’,” he retorted, calling her bluff.

Y/N looked as though she wanted to argue — but then her lips pressed together, forming a thin line. “I don’t know,” she finally said, avoiding his gaze. “I just — I don’t like being away from you, that’s all,” she admitted quietly, wringing her clasped hands together.

He stilled, never having been more grateful for nightfall — otherwise, she surely would’ve seen the sudden redness creeping over his cheeks.

“But, like I said,” she continued, exhaling a slightly awkward laugh. “It’ll be a good thing.”

He nodded once. “Mhm,” he sounded, not trusting his voice.

Her eyes softened before she began pulling herself up off the porch steps. “Well, I’m gonna get some sleep — see you in the morning?”

The archer cleared his throat. “I’ll see ya,” he rumbled.

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she headed up the steps, gently squeezing his shoulder as she passed.

He didn’t move a muscle, listening intently for the sound of the front door shutting before closing his eyes, ignoring the tingling sensation beneath where she’d touched him.

Daryl huffed a defeated breath. “Shit.”

Had he given into instinct that night, he would’ve told her the truth.

He would’ve told her that he felt the same way, that being away from her felt like losing half of himself, that nothing in his life had ever made sense until he met her. The words had toyed at the tip of his tongue, desperate to be heard after being swallowed time and time again — but he just hadn’t been able to do it.

He could almost hear Merle’s snide voice in the back of his head — taunting him, calling him ‘whipped’ and a ‘pussy’ and a ‘good-for-nothin’ redneck’, mocking him for even considering that someone like her could feel anything for someone like him.

So instead, he’d reverted back to what he knew best — shutting down and pushing away.

It wasn’t intentional, merely second nature after years and years of repetition.

But the wall he’d worked so hard to build stood no chance.

Not against her.

Daryl knew something was wrong the moment he crossed back through Alexandria’s gates.

And then the screaming started.

He took off into a sprint, his heart mimicking the echo of his footsteps pounding against the asphalt. He could hear Aaron and Morgan just behind, right on his heels, their heavy breathing mirroring his own as the sounds of anguish grew louder.

The archer felt his stomach drop the closer he neared, his mind repeating one, single phrase over and over again —

Just let her be okay.

When he and Aaron had gotten trapped in that car earlier, surrounded by walkers, he’d thought that was it for him. He was going to lead the dead away and give Aaron enough time to make it out, to make it back to Alexandria where he could continue doing what he did best — bringing salvation to those who needed it.

He’d made peace with his decision.

And as he’d grabbed the door handle, moments away from pushing into the raging swarm, he’d only been thinking one thing —

Just let her be okay.

For some reason, he’d been given a second chance and all he wanted was to see her again. It was nearly overwhelming, setting his nerves ablaze, sending his heart racing — it consumed him entirely, the thought of her.

He’d realized then what he should’ve known all along.

He’d never felt for anyone the way he felt for her.

Daryl finally found the others, all gathered in the center of town — but he barely had time to register what was happening when a single gunshot rang out.

Aaron and Morgan stood frozen beside him as they took in the scene — Rick had a gun in hand, the barrel pointed towards the ground, directly above Pete’s now-shattered skull. The crowd looked on in horror, huddled together near a dimly lit fire, eyes wide, mouths agape. Then he saw Reg — his throat sliced open, his body splayed out across Deanna’s lap, Michonne’s bloody katana lying beside him.

“Rick?” Morgan suddenly spoke, breaking the deafening silence that’d followed.

The sound drew Rick’s attention, his vacant eyes finding Morgan’s — but Daryl’s gaze drifted, meeting hers instead.

His stomach dropped when he saw her — she had one hand pressed against her cheek, blood trickling out from between her fingers, her face frozen in disbelief.

Daryl moved towards her, the rest of the world fading away.

Just let her be okay.

Y/N’s expression shifted as he neared, the apprehension that’d marred her features melting, turning into relief despite her ashen complexion and the chaos surrounding them. She absently shook her head back and forth, opening her mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.

The archer came to a stop in front of her, his own voice lost somewhere deep inside his chest. So instead, he reached for her, very carefully, as though she’d been spun from glass. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gently pulled her hand away from her face, revealing a gash that stretched across the entirety of her cheek.

The swell of rage that coursed through him felt red-hot, flushing his skin as he stared at the wound, his eyes glinting dangerously by the light of the fire.

“She caught the nasty end of Petey-boy’s backswing,” came Abraham’s gruff voice.

Daryl hadn’t even realized the man approached — he was too busy thinking up new ways to bring Pete back to life, all so he could shoot the dead prick dead all over again.

Abraham crouched down a few inches beside him, taking a closer look at Y/N’s injury before whistling softly. “Ya must be ridin’ the gravy train with biscuit wheels, lil’ lady. That sack a’ shit damn near took your eye out,” he drawled before glancing over at Daryl. “Don’t think she needs stitches — unless someone wants ta’ reincarnate Dr. Dickwad for a second opinion.”

Y/N attempted to huff a laugh, but the motion had her wincing, her features twisting in pain.

And Daryl had seen enough.

He grunted a gruff ‘I got it’, giving Abraham a nod of appreciation before taking Y/N by the elbow and maneuvering her away from the others, back onto the street.

She allowed him to guide her elsewhere, neither saying a single word.

The two houses Deanna had provided to the group had been split amongst the lot of them. Daryl chose to reside in the finished basement — it was small and dingy, but he didn’t mind. The room had a couch and a bathroom and was much nicer than any other place he’d ever stayed at — even before the end of times.

And right now, it was serving as a makeshift infirmary.

Y/N sat perched on the edge of the couch, her knee bouncing anxiously as she watched Daryl barrel around the space like a rampant tornado. He grabbed whatever he could think of — the first aid kit stored beneath the bathroom sink, a bottle of water, a clean t-shirt to swap out for her blood-spattered one — before making his way back to her. He set the items down on the coffee table in front of the couch and took a seat on the edge of it, opposite her.

Still, neither spoke.

Daryl kept his eyes focused on the slash mark — that was much easier than acknowledging the absence of space between them. He unscrewed the cap to the water bottle, emptying a small amount onto a dry piece of gauze before leaning forward. Ever so slowly, he dabbed at the blood that’d dripped down her face and onto her neck, ignoring the near-palpable tension.

Y/N sat still as a statue, tilting her head back slightly as he wiped away the redness. But when he moved further up, nearing the wound, she flinched, hissing reflexively. Daryl snatched his hand back as if slapped, his eyes meeting hers, quietly apologetic.

She nodded for him to continue, taking a deep breath and balling her hands into fists atop her thighs.

The archer worked his jaw, lightening his touch.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that — all he knew was that when he was with her, nothing else really seemed to matter.

Luckily, the wound wasn’t as severe as it’d initially appeared — it was fairly shallow, faint towards the edges, and in time would heal completely. He wanted to tell her so, but the words wouldn’t formulate — the silence that’d stretched on felt untouchable.

So instead, Daryl focused on her hands, wiping away the blood that’d stained the grooves of her skin — and although she tried to conceal it, he could feel the slight tremble in her fingertips.

After he was done cleaning her hands, he sat back, his knee brushing against hers. He glanced up, flicking his hair away and studying the cut on her face — it’d stopped bleeding, though the edges were an angry-red, spiking his own temper once more. The collar of her shirt was soaked crimson, the color more muted in areas that’d already dried.

He hadn’t noticed the way their hands remained intertwined until Y/N squeezed softly, snapping him back to reality.

Daryl pulled his hand from hers and stood, grabbing the extra t-shirt off the table and dropping it into her lap. He scooped up the first aid kit before spinning around and stalking back towards the bathroom, giving her privacy as she began to change.

The archer avoided his reflection entirely, certain he’d see nothing but flushed skin and remorseful eyes. He squatted down, yanking open the drawer beneath the sink and tossing the kit inside. He gnashed his teeth together and grabbed onto the counter, his grip white-knuckled around the edge.

He needed to get a fucking hold of himself, that was for damn sure.

After regaining his composure, Daryl slammed the drawer shut with more force than necessary and pulled himself up in one swift motion.

But his entire body froze, his blood running ice-cold, when he noticed Y/N in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, standing in the doorway behind him.

Their eyes met through the glass before the archer twisted around, facing her head-on.

Her brow was furrowed as she stared at him, her head tilting to the side, the wheels in her mind visibly turning though her expression remained unreadable. She looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how to say it. She inhaled a breath, opening her mouth, but quickly snapped it shut — and then something different flickered across her features, an expression he hadn’t seen before.

Daryl waited for her to speak, to finally break the prolonged quietness that’d carried on.

But then she was suddenly crossing towards him.

He didn’t realize what was happening until Y/N’s lips crashed against his.

It was as though a dam had broken open — every fleeting feeling, every moment of suppressed longing coming to a head after dancing around one another for so long. At first, Daryl’s entire body went numb, his brain scrambling to figure out just what in the hell was actually happening. His breath caught in his throat as he stiffened instinctually, years of touch deprivation and self-consciousness clawing their way to the surface, leaving him paralyzed against her.

But when Y/N pulled back, breaking away from the kiss, he found himself craving her in the spaces she’d filled.

Her eyes were wide, boring into his, her gaze a mixture of shock and awe that he was certain mirrored his own — like even she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. She clung onto the collar of his shirt, the material balled in her fists.

Daryl’s chest heaved beneath her touch, his breathing syncing up with hers as they stared at one another, their noses only a few inches apart, each soaking the other in for what felt like the first time.

Something inside the archer fractured, right then and there. The wall he’d created inside his mind, the one designed to keep everyone at arm’s length, began to crumble. His guard fell to pieces, brick by brick, shattering at the very foundation he’d built it on.

And in its place…her.

Without any hesitation, Daryl slipped a hand behind Y/N’s neck and surged forward, closing the gap between them and bringing his lips to hers once more.

A soft gasp escaped her at first — one of surprise — the feel of it against his mouth sending a tingle down his spine before she returned the kiss with equal fervor. Her hands slid down his chest, snaking around his middle as she pressed herself against him with similar desperation.

He slid his hand up the back of her head, holding her in place as their lips parted, exploring each other with a deeper intensity. His fingers tangled throughout her hair, desperate to feel her in all of the ways he’d denied himself of, his other hand rising to gently cup the side of her face.

But when Y/N inhaled sharply, suddenly jerking back a fraction, Daryl’s eyes snapped open.

“Ow, fuck,” she hissed, her expression pinched.

“Shit,” the archer rasped, realizing then that his hand had brushed up against the cut on her cheek. “Ya alright?” he rumbled, pulling back further to get a better look.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, her face lighting up in a way he’d never seen before. “Yeah,” she whispered hoarsely, her cheeks tinged pink, her lips red and slightly swollen.

Once again, Daryl found himself fighting to catch his breath.

He swallowed the thickness in his throat, carefully reaching forward and picking at a strand of hair that’d been swept out of place, tucking it behind her ear instead.

Y/N leaned into his palm, laying her hands against his chest, staring at him like she thought he’d hung the moon and painted the stars.

The look shifted into something deeper as she stepped back, ghosting her fingertips down each of his arms, his skin catching fire beneath her touch. She intertwined her hands around his calloused ones and began inching backward, slowly leading him out of the bathroom without another word.

The archer felt something stir deep inside him, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach as she guided him towards the couch. He was entranced — like a man who’d been lost at sea for far too long, finally catching a glimpse of salvation from a lighthouse, beckoning him home.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid.

Daryl flushed at the memory.

She still had that same damn effect on him. It didn’t matter how much time passed, how many years went by, he’d never tire of her. She was, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to him.

He’d always felt out of place — even before the end. It was like everybody who’d ever lived was somehow born knowing the same song and dance — and yet there he’d been, stumbling along, fighting to catch up and fall in step with the rest of the world. It’d isolated him, made him feel weak and undeserving — like no matter how hard he tried, he’d never truly belong.

And now?

The only comfortable place his mind seemed to know was her.

Daryl fought back a wince, his entire body tensing up.

“Almost done,” Denise murmured as she continued stitching up the laceration on his back.

“Ya said that an hour ago,” the archer grumbled in response, grinding his teeth together.

“It definitely wasn’t an hour and you’re the one who refused the numbing cream, remember?” she countered evenly, her tone unwavering.

The archer merely huffed in response, fighting back a scowl as he gripped tightly onto the edge of the metal table he sat on top of. He ignored the feeling of Denise’s needle digging into his skin, closing up the knife wound he’d received back on the road, surveying the quieted house-turned-infirmary instead.

Rick was in the next room over, not having moved from Carl’s bedside since the survivors had taken Alexandria back from the dead. Glenn and Maggie were huddled together on the cot across the room while Michonne rocked Judith back and forth, exiting the infirmary with her a moment later. The others were gathered outside, recuperating after the long and harrowing fight that’d taken place mere hours ago.

And then there was Y/N — she sat on the floor beside his dangling legs, her head resting against the side of his knee, his vest laid out across her curled form. He could tell by her steady breathing and the way her head lolled every so often that she’d fallen asleep against him.

The entire community was running on little to no sleep, having fought through the night, taking on the herd that’d invaded their home — now, hundreds of bodies littered the streets, the wall that’d collapsed needed to be rebuilt, and those they’d lost during the attack needed to be buried.

Daryl glanced down when he heard a soft sigh, feeling his chest constrict as Y/N nestled closer.

She hadn’t strayed far since he’d returned and honestly, he wasn’t quite ready to be away from her either — especially after what happened on the road. Over the two days he was gone, he’d nearly lost his life on more than one occasion — and from what he'd heard, she’d nearly lost hers when the Wolves attacked.

But they were okay — she was okay — and that was what mattered.

Michonne reentered the infirmary a moment later, the exhaustion on her face mirroring his own. Judith, on the other hand, had fallen asleep in her arms, curled up against her chest, dark blonde wisps of hair sticking to her forehead.

“How’re you holding up?” Michonne asked softly as she approached the table, not wanting to wake Judith — or Y/N, for that matter.

“Jus’ a scratch, is all,” Daryl rumbled in response, peeking over his shoulder at Denise who remained focused on the wound.

Michonne nodded, rubbing small circles against Judith’s back. “I sent everyone home — Rosita and Heath are keeping watch where the wall came down. We’ll clear the dead once everyone gets some rest.”

“Alright,” Daryl rasped, a bone-deep tiredness beginning to seep in.

Before leaving, Michonne paused, looking down at Y/N’s sleeping form. When she glanced back up, her expression had shifted into something softer, something less tense. “She’s good for you,” she suddenly murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You deserve that,” she whispered, reaching out and squeezing his hand, still latched around the edge of the table.

Daryl’s hand flexed beneath hers as he glanced down at the top of Y/N’s head — did he really deserve someone like her?

He’d spend the rest of his life wondering that.

Michonne patted the top of his hand before pulling away, disappearing into Carl’s room without another word, Judith still fast asleep against her.

“Alrighty,” Denise exhaled, drawing him back to the present. “You, my friend, are free to go.”

The archer grunted a gruff ‘thanks’ as she began cleaning up the supplies she’d used to stitch him up. He bit back a grimace as he pulled his shirt over his head, feeling the stitches stretch as he moved.

He reached forward then, gently ruffling the top of Y/N’s head, stirring her awake. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes before craning her neck and looking up, her bleary gaze meeting his. “All done?” she murmured, her voice slightly croaky.

“Mhm,” he sounded, sliding off the table and offering his hand to her.

The corner of her mouth quirked up as she grabbed it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She swayed, fighting back a yawn, Daryl’s hand finding the small of her back and steadying her. Wordlessly, she held out his vest, which he slowly slipped back on, grinding his teeth together as a sharp jolt of pain shot across his shoulder.

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she watched him, her eyes narrowing — but before she could comment, Denise approached once more.

“Change the gauze in a couple of hours and take two of these for the pain,” she informed, holding out a small bundle of supplies, including fresh bandages and pills. “Doctor’s orders."

But Daryl waved her off. “Save ‘em,” he grumbled, carefully adjusting his vest.

He saw Y/N throw him a glance from the corner of his eye, though she didn’t protest — instead, she stepped forward and held her hand out.

Denise passed the supplies to her before lifting her glasses and rubbing one eye with the back of her hand, her fingertips stained red with blood. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything strenuous for a few days or he’ll tear the stitches,” she continued, speaking solely to Y/N as she set her glasses back in place.

Daryl huffed a breath. “M’ standin’ right here, ya know.”

Y/N nudged him in the ribcage, giving him a look that clearly translated to ‘be nice’.

Denise directed her attention back to the archer. “Don’t tear my stitches,” she reiterated emphatically before her expression eased. “Rest, relax, sleep — both of you.” She shot Y/N a pointed look before shooing them towards the front door, heading over to check in with Glenn and Maggie.

Y/N glanced over at Daryl once they were alone, her eyebrow quirking playfully. “I like this new side of Denise.”

The arched scoffed in response, flicking the hair from his face. “I liked it better when she was scared a’ me,” he grumbled as they fell in step, making their way out of the infirmary and back outside.

A laugh slipped past Y/N’s lips as they crossed over the porch. “Sounds about right,” she grinned, thoroughly amused.

“S’ true,” he shrugged his uninjured shoulder up as they made their way down the stairs and back onto the street.

“You know, you really aren’t that sc—”

Y/N stopped mid-sentence, her footsteps halting abruptly. Daryl faltered as well, glancing back at her, his brow knitting together. Before he could ask what was wrong, he realized what she was looking at.

In the light of day, the aftermath of the attack was startling. There were more bodies than he could count, rotted and decaying, bones torn through skin, blood spilling out onto the street, stark against the asphalt. The carnage was overwhelming, the reality of what they’d accomplished, as well as what they’d almost lost, suddenly settling in.

“We’ll fix this place up — make sure nothin’ like this ever happens again,” Daryl rasped, not entirely certain if he was trying to reassure her or himself.

Y/N’s expression turned solemn. “It’s not the dead I worry about,” she fixed him with a stare, her gaze flickering towards the wound on his back before she continued surveying the damage done to their community.

There wasn’t anything he could say that would make her feel better — not in a world as dark and void and meaningless as the one they lived in.

The only thing he could do was just be there.

Daryl reached for her, slipping his hand around hers and squeezing softly, drawing her back to him.

Although Y/N kept her eyes forward, he felt the tension leave her.

And then she squeezed back.

The archer huffed a breath, nestling the side of his thumb between his teeth.

Well, maybe the world wasn’t entirely meaningless.

Daryl stood still beneath the shower head, warm water washing over his body.

But he couldn’t focus on that — all he could focus on was Y/N, standing behind him, her arms wrapped around his middle, her bare chest pressed against his back. He closed his eyes, committing the feeling to memory — her heart steadily pounding against him, her cheek resting against his shoulder as water continued to cascade down their bodies.

She pulled back slightly, gently pressing her lips against one of the scars on his back.

Daryl felt a chill run down his spine despite the steam around him, fighting back the instinctual urge to stiffen — and as she moved to the next scar and the next, softly kissing each one, he couldn’t help but melt beneath her touch.

He turned then, feeling the tips of his ear redden at the sight of her before he quickly averted his gaze.

Y/N laughed, soft and sweet, reaching towards him and brushing the hair from his face.

Daryl caught her hand with his own, pressing her palm flat against the curve of his jaw. The cut on her cheek had healed, leaving only a faint, thin line below her eye. His own knife wound was still fresh, but in time, would heal as well.

He brought his hand up and gently brushed his thumb across the length of the mark before tilting her head back, bringing his lips to hers.

He wasn’t sure where the sudden boldness came from — still, Y/N returned the kiss, her arms snaking around his neck, his around her waist.

It wasn’t until the water began to run cold that Daryl, begrudgingly, turned the shower off.

They moved about in comfortable silence — drying off, changing into clean clothes, completing eerily normal and mundane tasks that had the archer wondering if he’d somehow transported into an alternate reality without realizing it.

But the blood and muck that’d washed off their bodies and collected at the bottom of the tub reminded him otherwise.

It’d taken three whole days to clear Alexandria of all the walkers that’d infiltrated their walls. Now, they could start rebuilding, reinforcing, doing whatever they needed to do to make sure an attack like that never happened again.

Daryl climbed into the bed he shared with Y/N, having moved up from the basement and into her room after that first night they’d spent together. He winced as he rotated his shoulder — despite Denise’s instructions to limit arduous activity, he’d worked the past three days from sun up to sun down in removing all the bodies from within the gates.

Y/N had tried to get him to take it easy, but he hadn’t — that just wasn’t in his nature.

She crawled into bed after him, sighing softly as she settled by his side, sitting with her legs crossed beneath her. She held her hand out towards him and in her palm, two pills — he recognized them as the ones Denise had given her.

Daryl huffed a breath.

“Don’t make me say ‘please’,” she warned, raising her brow expectantly.

The archer fought back the urge to roll his eyes but took the pills anyway, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with the bottle of water he’d left by the bedside. Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she laid down, curling onto her side, facing away from him.

He reached over, wrapping an arm around her middle and dragging her towards him, eliciting a surprised laugh from her. She nestled closer, her back pressed against his chest, one hand clasped around his forearm, drawing absent circles against his skin with her thumb.

Daryl felt himself fading, slipping into unconsciousness after a long, tiring day of survival.

But just before the world darkened entirely, a whisper broke through the quiet.

“I love you.”

The archer’s eyes snapped open. Part of him wondered if Y/N was sleep-talking. An even bigger part of him figured he’d imagined it because there was no way — no way in hell — she could’ve consciously and deliberately said that to him.

But then she was shifting, rolling onto her back and looking up at him.

He searched her gaze for something, anything — a punchline, an explanation, a ‘hah, fooled ya!’ — that would explain what in the fuck he’d just heard.

Except that didn’t happen.

Instead, Y/N slowly nodded, like she was finally coming to terms with her own blatantly impromptu confession. “Yeah, I-I do — I —” she fumbled slightly in her admittance before steadying. “I love you,” she murmured, blinking up at him.

Daryl swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind screaming at him to say something instead of just staring at her like he’d seen a ghost. He could feel the words toying at the tip of his tongue — he wanted to say it, he did, because…well, of course. Of course, he wanted to. But it was like his body was physically rejecting a response.

Y/N patiently watched him struggle, giving him a second to get his shit together, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

The archer pushed up onto his elbow, clearing his throat, his cheeks burning red. “I, uh,” he grumbled, shaking his head slightly. “Y-Yeah, I —” he faltered, clearly struggling. But when his baffled gaze met her kind one, almost instantly, his wall of insecurity diminished. “Yeah,” the single word came out resolute and sure, everything he needed her to hear.

Y/N’s smile grew, stretching across her face, bright enough to light the sky on fire. “Yeah?” she asked softly, reading between the lines.

Daryl nodded once. “Yeah,” he rasped thickly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world — because it was.

He’d felt that way since the day he met her, even if he hadn’t known it.

She reached up, twisting her fingers in his hair and bringing his face down to meet hers, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips.

Then she was curling onto her other side so they laid chest to chest, her head tucked beneath his chin as she snuggled closer, his arms wrapping around her instinctually.

Daryl wasn’t sure how long they laid like that, limbs weaved around one another like coiled rope. But when her breathing evened out, he pulled back and snuck a glance, tracing every inch of her face as though the first time and the last. He brought his hand to her face, carefully brushing back the hair that’d swept over her features before leaning in and pressing a kiss against her forehead.

Then sleep came for him as well.

Daryl dropped his hand back into his lap, drawing his legs to his chest.

Being with Y/N was effortless — as easy as breathing. It came, somewhat alarmingly, natural to him. He’d never pictured himself with anyone ever. Before the end, before her, he’d been content to sit on the sidelines and watch all the relationships around him undoubtedly burn — it was all he’d ever known, it was all he’d ever seen.

But then she came along and flipped his entire world upside down.

A love that came without warning.

“Let’s get this shit loaded up — looks like it’s gonna rain soon,” Daryl rumbled, peering up at the darkening sky, noticing a cluster of bulbous clouds rolling in.

Y/N tilted her head back, following his gaze before humming a breath. “I don’t know — the wind’s blowing East. It might just miss us,” she remarked, catching the archer’s eye, a mischievous look flashing across her features. “Wanna make a bet?”

Daryl scoffed a breath in response, shutting the car trunk filled with scavenged supplies and adjusting the strap of the rifle slung across his chest — he was still getting used to the weapon. It felt unfamiliar in comparison to the weight of his crossbow. The reminder of his stolen weapon sent a flush of anger through his veins. He’d find those assholes someday and get it back, that was for damn sure.

“Come on,” Y/N grinned, drawing him back as she hefted another box over to him, dropping it onto the ground with a huff. “How about this? If it rains…I’ll take your watch shift tonight with Elizabeth.”

The archer quirked a brow, suddenly intrigued. Elizabeth was one of the original members of Alexandria — and she was…chatty. “Fine,” he nodded, opening the car door and lobbing the box she’d brought over onto the backseat. “She’s always yappin’ ‘bout books an’ shit I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout. Damn irritatin’ sometimes,” he grumbled.

Y/N laughed at his aggravation, turning to pick up another box. “I like her,” she shrugged, making her way towards him.

Daryl huffed a breath, waving her off. “Alright an’ if it doesn’t rain? What’d ya want?” he questioned, taking the box from her hands and sliding it into the car.

Before she had the chance to respond, Rick suddenly appeared, pushing through the front doors of the high school they’d been scavenging — it’d been turned into a FEMA evacuation center right at the beginning of the end. It’d somehow, miraculously, been left untouched — the doors and windows had been barred and chained, but luckily they’d had the tools needed to break in.

It’d been a little over a month since Alexandria had been overrun with the dead — the wall had been rebuilt and fortified, but the survivors had been hesitant to venture outside the gates after what happened the last time. Regardless, supplies were dwindling and a run had to be made.

“How’s it comin’ along out here?” Rick called as he jogged down the front steps and into the parking lot.

“Filled up the trunk pretty good — gonna need another car or two jus’ ta’ fit the rest a’ this shit,” Daryl remarked as the sheriff approached, motioning to the rest of the unpacked boxes lying around.

Rick came to a stop in front of them, one hand resting on top of the handle of his pistol strapped around his waist. “This is good — this is real good,” a rare smile spread across his face, so unlike the usual tension in his features.

“Tara’s finishing up around back — she’s grabbing the rest of the stuff from the greenhouse,” Y/N relayed to Rick, sharing a hopeful look with the archer. “We’ve got enough stuff to last us, I don’t know, at least another couple of months — that’ll be enough time to get some crops growing, maybe even a garden or two.”

Rick huffed a laugh in disbelief, shaking his head. “Who would’a thought,” he mused to himself before taking a breath. “Alright, I’m gonna grab a few last things inside an’ then we’ll lock up — come back tomorrow with a couple a’ cars an’ clean this place out.”

The sheriff left without another word, leaving Daryl and Y/N alone once again.

He began rearranging the boxes in the backseat, making sure there was enough room for two people to sit there on the way back home.

“A date,” Y/N suddenly spoke, catching him off guard.

Daryl straightened, turning back around to look at her, his brow knitting together. “Huh?”

The corner of Y/N’s mouth quirked up as she took a step towards him. “If I win, if it doesn’t rain today…I want you to take me on a date.”

The archer tilted his head to the side, trying to distinguish if she was joking or not. “Ya serious?”

“Yeah,” Y/N nodded, a sort of awkward laugh slipping past her lips. “I know it’s stupid — and given the way you’re looking at me right now, I know you’re thinking the same thing,” she laughed again as he quickly erased the skepticism from his expression. “But that’s —” she shrugged a shoulder up, “— that’s what I want.”

Daryl scratched the side of his head, flicking the hair from his face as he studied her, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the car. “That really what ya want?”

“Mhm,” she sounded. “And it doesn’t have to be anything special — just us and, I don’t know…maybe Aaron can whip up some of his famous spaghetti,” a soft smile grew on her face as she looked at him. “I, uh — I just — I want to do this right, you know?” her expression turned earnest. “I want those moments with you, Daryl.”

The archer felt a swell of warmth spread throughout him as he looked at her, feeling his resolve give way. “Alright,” he managed to rasp, his throat tight with emotion.

“Alright,” Y/N reiterated with a nod, sticking her hand out, a playful look in her eye.

Daryl snorted a laugh as he reached out and grasped her hand with his own, shaking once to seal the deal.

Y/N shot him a cheeky grin as she pulled from his grip. “We should —”

“Guys?” Tara’s voice suddenly sounded, drawing their attention.

Daryl knew as he pushed off the car, as he turned around that something was very wrong — he could hear it in her tone.

It took a moment for him to fully register the scene before him — a wide-eyed Tara just a few feet away, standing straight as an arrow, holding her hands up near her head.

Then he spotted a man.

The stranger stood just behind Tara, one arm wrapped around her neck, the other holding a gun, the barrel pressed against her temple. He was young, maybe early twenties, though it was hard to tell with all of the blood coating his skin. He peered over Tara’s shoulder, his frantic gaze bouncing wildly back and forth between the archer and Y/N.

Daryl’s protective instinct kicked in as he took a step forward, drawing the man’s attention, keeping Y/N out of his line of fire. His hand automatically reached for the rifle strapped around him but his movements stilled when the man’s eyes widened, his arm tightening around Tara’s neck.

“Hey, take it easy,” Daryl held out his hands in front of him.

“Move,” the man growled, jerking his head to the side. “Away from the car.”

Daryl felt Y/N grab a fistful of material from his shirt, slowly pulling him back as the man moved towards them, keeping Tara in front of him to conceal his body.

A tense standoff of sorts stretched on as they maneuvered around, the man never taking his eyes off of Daryl. When the stranger made it to the driver’s side of the car, he unwound his arm from around Tara’s neck, using it to open the door instead — though his finger remained twitching above the trigger. Once the door was opened, he faltered, realizing he’d lose the coverage of Tara’s body if he tried to get inside.

“Take it,” Y/N suddenly spoke, stepping out from behind Daryl with her hands near her head, drawing the man’s attention.

The archer shot her a sharp glance. “Y/N —”

“Take the car, take the supplies, take whatever you need,” she continued calmly, ignoring Daryl’s growled protest. “Just let her go, okay? No one’s here to hurt you.”

The stranger��s expression shifted, the animalistic look on his face shifting into something that resembled more of a quiet desperation than anything else. “I —“ he shook his head quickly, shifting back and forth. “I just need — I just need to go — I need to go.”

Y/N took another step forward, the side of her arm brushing against Daryl’s. “Okay,” she nodded, exhaling a breath. “That’s okay — just let our friend go and —”

Her sentence was interrupted by the front door of the school swinging open.

Daryl whipped his head around, feeling his stomach drop when he spotted Rick walking out with a stack of boxes — but when the sheriff noticed the standoff happening just down the steps, the boxes came crashing down, falling out of his hands, and instead…he grabbed his pistol.

It was as though everything happened in slow motion.

The stranger’s expression twisted as his sights set in on Rick — he swung the barrel of his gun away from Tara, who instantly dropped to the ground as the man pointed the weapon up the steps, and then…

A barrage of gunfire sounded as Rick and the man began shooting at one another in rapid succession. The sheriff used the front door as a shield, attempting to fire from around the frame, the awkward angle throwing off his aim. The stranger, on the other hand, fired away in no particular direction — his aim was erratic and panicked as he tried using the car door as coverage.

When a bullet flew past the side of Daryl’s head, he dove towards Y/N. He knocked her off her feet and onto the pavement, attempting to take cover from the shootout. The archer flipped onto his back, fumbling for his rifle before finally getting a grip and pointing it at the man.

But before he could take a shot, the stranger threw himself into the car, slamming the door shut, bullets from Rick’s pistol embedding into the metal. He peeled recklessly out of the parking lot, still firing from out of the opened window as he made his getaway.

Despite one of the back tires exploding after getting hit with a stray bullet, the stranger kept driving, disappearing onto the main road and out of sight, leaving a wake of destruction in his path.

“What the fuck?” Tara called from where she’d taken cover.

“Is everybody alright?” Rick yelled back, coming out from behind the door and running down the steps.

Daryl twisted onto his side, looking over at Y/N. “Hey, ya alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” she murmured shakily, pushing up onto her hands and knees. “I’m okay.”

The archer let out a sigh of relief, climbing to his feet and surveying the damage done around them as Rick appeared at his side.

“What an asshole,” Tara swore, coming to a stand as her eyes bounced between Rick, Daryl, and Y/N. “Seriously, what kind of —”

Daryl looked over at her, waiting to hear the rest — but that was when he noticed her staring at something just behind him, the horrified expression on her face filling him with a vast and all-consuming sense of dread.

The archer spun around.

And that was when he saw her.

Y/N stood a few feet away, swaying unsteadily, her hand pressed tightly against the center of her stomach. Her head was lowered, bowed to her chest as she slowly pulled her trembling hand away, revealing a stark redness pooling from her midsection, staining the front of her shirt. She looked up then, her eyes meeting his, the shock in her gaze surely mirroring his own.

“No,” Daryl whispered, the word sounding strangled in his throat as Y/N’s knees suddenly began to give out. “No!” he roared, rushing forward and grabbing onto her before she could collapse.

His arms slipped around her middle before he carefully lowered her onto the ground, her head drooping down against his shoulder. His heart pounded so violently against his ribcage, part of him wondered if it was giving out on him entirely — maybe it was. Maybe this was what dying felt like. Maybe this was what it felt like to have your soul ripped straight out of your body.

Daryl cradled the back of Y/N’s head with one hand as he laid her down flat against the pavement, her eyes wide and unseeing, staring straight up at the sky. “Hey, hey, look a’ me, jus’ look a’ me,” he urged, brushing the hair back from her face, ignoring the blood now staining his hands — her blood.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay,” she mumbled, repeating it over and over again as though she could will it to be true — though her skin grew more ashen with each minute that slipped by.

Rick suddenly kneeled on the opposite side of Y/N, taking a piece of cloth and holding it against the wound. “Keep pressure on it,” he instructed Daryl and although he tried to conceal it, the archer could hear the way his voice wavered. “You jus’ hold on, Y/N, understand? We’re gonna get you outta here,” he promised, reaching down and squeezing one of her hands before disappearing.

Daryl watched him leave, dragging a teary-eyed, slack-jawed Tara along with him as they began frantically searching the abandoned parking lot for any working vehicles — it was their only chance at getting her back to Alexandria.

And if they didn’t…

No.

No, he couldn’t go there.

Instead, he pressed the cloth against the gunshot wound, attempting to stall the blood flow, the pressure eliciting a pained whimper from Y/N that almost made the contents of his stomach reappear. “I got ya, Y/N, I got ya,” he rasped, grabbing her limp hand with his own and intertwining their fingers, holding his other hand firmly against her stomach.

His words seemed to bring her back to him, her hollow gaze shifting into one of panic — like she only just realized what was happening. Her features crumpled, a flash of fear skirting across her face as the shock began to wear off. “Am — am I dying?” she managed to choke out, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she looked up at him.

“No,” he shook his head resolutely, feeling moisture build in the corners of his own eyes. “No, ya ain’t goin’ nowhere, ya hear me?” his grip tightened around her hand — like his touch alone could keep her there with him. “We’re gonna get ya back ta’ Alexandria an’ — an’ get ya patched up, good as new, alright? Ya jus’ gotta hang on for me, girl.”

Y/N’s bottom lip quivered as a tear snaked down the side of her face. “I-I don’t want to leave you,” she whispered, a sob hitching in her throat.

“Hey, it’s gonna — ya gonna — jus’ — Rick!” Daryl suddenly bellowed, sitting back on his haunches and desperately scanning the area for any sign of him or Tara. He spotted them at the opposite end of the parking lot, running from car to car, searching for keys or at least a way to jumpstart one of the abandoned vehicles.

But luck was not seeming to be on their side.

Daryl let out a vicious string of curses before focusing back on Y/N. He’d never felt so helpless in his entire life — and God, if he could, he’d take her place in a second.

She was fading — fading so rapidly it made him dizzy. Her skin was cold to the touch, her lips tinged a disturbing shade of blue, her eyes lacking the warmth he was so used to seeing. He felt a swell of emotion rise in his throat, threatening to consume him, but he shoved it down.

“Hey, y-you were right,” she murmured weakly, the corner of her mouth twitching up as she tilted her head to look up at the sky once more. “I think it’s gonna rain.”

Daryl felt a tear spill down his cheek as he followed her eye line, the previously blue sky now blanketed with thick, dark clouds. He huffed a humorless laugh, their conversation from a few minutes earlier ringing through his mind, somehow seeming like an entire lifetime ago. “Guess that means ya — ya gotta take watch tonight, right?” he rasped despondently, keeping his gaze towards the sky.

He stilled when he was met with nothing but a deafening silence.

He felt his stomach roll as he squeezed his eyes shut, afraid of what he'd see if he looked down. “Y/N?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

When she didn’t respond, Daryl knew.

She was gone.

His girl was gone.

And his entire world came crashing down around him.

Daryl forced his eyes open.

His body went numb at the sight of her, his mind refusing to accept the image before him — empty eyes, grey flesh, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Her hand slipped from his grasp then, dropping onto the pavement beside her unmoving form as she continued staring vacantly up at the sky.

His brain couldn’t process what was happening — where he was, what he was doing, why he was there. It felt like a nightmare — a reality that wasn’t quite reality, warped and desolate and consuming him whole. The only tangible thing he felt was a sharp, physical pain in the center of his chest, his breaths short and hitched, causing black spots to dance in his vision.

Over the blood rushing to his ears, he could just barely make out the sound of a car engine, the noise muted and dull as it approached…

But it was too late.

They were too late.

Daryl reached for her hesitantly, hands trembling as he wound his arms beneath her back and carefully scooped her up off the ground, falling back slightly as he pulled her body across his lap. When her head lolled listlessly to the side, he brought his hand up, brushing his bloodstained fingers through her hair before cradling the back of her head, pressing his cheek against hers.

“Ya said —” he squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth as his grip around her lifeless body tightened. “Ya said ya were okay,” he choked out brokenly, his own shock slowly wearing off as something deep inside his soul fractured.

Then he broke.

And the sky opened up and wept alongside him.

The sound of barking drew Daryl back to reality.

He glanced over his shoulder, quickly blinking away the tears that’d formed, spotting Dog trotting towards him. The German Shepard’s tongue hung lazily out of his mouth, his easy pace picking up the closer he neared, letting out another short bark.

Daryl rumbled a laugh as Dog came to a halt at his side, plopping down next to him. “Hey, boy,” he rasped softly, scratching behind his dog’s ear and earning a sloppy lick in return He wiped away the moisture from his cheek as the canine laid down beside him with a huff. “Good, Dog.”

The archer ran his fingers through his sleek fur, feeling his throat tighten. When he’d found the German Shepard a few years back, he’d remembered the conversation with Y/N from back at the prison — and it’d only felt right to name him ‘Dog’.

It’s what she would’ve wanted — and somehow, it made him feel just a little bit closer to her.

“Man, she would’a loved ya,” he whispered thickly, sighing a long and heavy breath.

Daryl looked forward once more, studying the small gravestone in front of him — her gravestone.

For a long time, he stayed away. He hadn't been able to go near where she'd been laid to rest, he just couldn’t — it was too fucking painful, like part of himself had been buried right along with her. But over time, the grief became easier to manage — it never went away, it'd never go away — but he found a way to exist alongside it.

Now, he found a strange sort of peace here.

It’d been years since he’d lost her — she’d been gone for longer than he’d known her. It was hard to keep track of time these days, they seemed to come and go without rhyme or reason. So much had happened since that day — the war against the Saviors, the looming threat of the Whisperers, losing friends, family, Rick…

Time seemed to move differently after losing the people loved most.

After that day at the high school, Daryl had tried to find the man responsible for what happened to Y/N — he’d gone back to the high school, wild and unhinged in his grief, hellbent on retracing their steps and tracking down the stranger. He’d needed revenge, bloodshed, he’d needed the man to know what he’d done, who he’d taken from the world.

Despite the improbability, the archer had no trouble finding him.

The back tire that had been blown out during the exchange of gunfire had sent the car careening down an embankment and into a large tree less than a mile from the school. One of the branches had broken through the windshield and punctured the man’s chest, most likely killing him on impact.

He’d reanimated still strapped in the driver’s seat.

Daryl left him that way.

It wasn’t the ending he’d hoped for, but maybe it was the ending he deserved.

He reached down, absently stroking the top of Dog’s head, and inhaled a deep breath.

Not a single day went by without the thought of her.

She came and went — like a flash of light or the beat of a heart. Daryl had barely had any time to hold onto her before she was gone — and he would’ve held her so much tighter had he known it’d be the last chance he’d have.

Some people were just too bright to stay, too good for what the world had become — at least that’s what he told himself on the really dark days.

The archer closed his eyes, imagining her at his side — sometimes if he sat like that for long enough, he could almost hear her voice, her laugh, he could almost feel her warmth, her touch — and it was like she was still there, sitting right beside him.

It wasn’t the same, but it was enough — at least until he could be with her once more.

Daryl opened his eyes, peering up at the vast night sky, and released the breath he’d been holding.

Someday, he’d find his way home again.

Fin.

A/N: ...hi...how y'all doin'? lol

So yeah, this is a lot to unpack. If you've made it to the very end, THANK YOU! I know this was a super-dee-duper-long oneshot but hopefully (heartbreak and all) it was worth it.

Most of this story was purely self-indulgent - I mean, come on, who doesn't want this kind of love? But aside from that, I also wanted to write a relationship for Daryl that felt authentic and true to his character (*cough cough* definitely not throwing shade at 10.18...nope...not at all...lol)

What also made this story super fun was the fact that I was able to incorporate other characters from over the course of the series! (Even though he's only in it for .2 seconds, Abraham is probably my personal favorite lol I'd never written for him before, and damn, is it fun!)

I also like the little 'twist' at the end when we realize that in the present parts of the story, he's been hanging out at the reader's grave the entire time, reminiscing. Ow, that hurts my heart.

After writing this for months, I was the last person who wanted to see the story end like this. I honestly grew super attached to this relationship and part of me contemplated ending it on more of a 'happy' note...or as 'happy' as you can get with a show like this one. But this was the ending I'd envisioned from the beginning. We got to experience a Daryl x Reader relationship from the very start to the very end. No open-ended questions, no 'what ifs'.

And I think that's sorta beautiful.

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know!

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