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millers-girl · 27 days ago

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who we carry

chapter 6 of willow & whiskey

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: You, Joel, and Ellie slowly make your way toward Jackson, and each mile slowly begins to heal your heart little by little.

warnings/tags: age gap, adult language, tooth-rotting fluff

word count: 4.5k

series masterlist

Somewhere outside Lincoln, Nebraska – 2 weeks after the events of Kansas City

Henry and Sam’s deaths haunted you long after you buried them in Missouri. Every time you shut your eyes, you saw Sam’s lifeless body on the floor of the motel room, blood pooling by his head. You saw Henry, his wide, desperate eyes locked onto yours as he muttered a broken apology – then the sharp crack of the gunshot that followed.

That moment never faded; it had carved itself into the marrow of your bones, settling deep in your chest like an ache that refused to heal.

You tried your best to push through it, for Ellie’s sake. She wasn’t handling it well either – wasn’t eating much, wasn’t as chatty. Every day, as you inched closer to Jackson, her small hand clutched yours, gripping tight for hours on end. At night, she shuffled closer to you as she ate dinner; stuffed herself in your sleeping bag, head curled deep into your chest as if the steady rhythm of your heartbeat could somehow protect her from the weight of grief.

You were thankful she slept.

You weren’t so lucky.

Rest came only when exhaustion finally forced your body to surrender. On the rare nights you managed to drift off, it never lasted long. You’d jolt up in a panic, heart pounding, disoriented and breathless.

Joel noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He didn’t get much sleep either. He spent many nights sitting near the fire, keeping watch – for intruders, sure, but mostly for you. He saw how your hands trembled when you drank water to calm yourself, saw the way your eyes began to dart toward him before quickly abandoning their endeavor. He knew that look on your face. He’d worn it himself for years.

You pretended not to notice his gaze – pretended not to see the way his brow furrowed, and his grip on his rifle tightened like he wanted to physically fight off what haunted you.

You thought ignoring it would spare him the worrying, but in reality, it only made him more restless. He wished you’d just look up at him once, with those big, warm eyes of yours. Wished you’d let him help.

After two weeks of this, he decided he was done wishing.

One night, the three of you camped on an open hilltop just outside Lincoln, overlooking the plains. On any other night, in any other world, the view of the vast emptiness could’ve been beautiful – in fact, in this one, it was, but it was also unsettling.

Joel, as always, took “first watch” – which, realistically, meant he’d take watch for the entire night, wanting you two to get some sleep.

As you shuffled around in your shared sleeping bag with Ellie, you could feel the air starting to get colder – autumn was on the way; you wouldn’t be able to sleep outside for much longer.

So, you tried to enjoy the night sky for as long as you could tonight. With no city lights, the stars were incredibly bright, creating a rare peaceful moment for you as you traced constellations with your tired eyes.

At some point, your body betrayed you, pulling you into an uneasy sleep.

It didn’t last long.

You gasped awake, heart slamming against your ribs.

Immediately, you could tell this time felt different from the others. The usual tricks––deep breaths, drinking water, staring into the fire––did nothing. Your skin felt too tight, your lungs too small. Even Ellie stirred beside you, as if she could sense your distress.

Helpless, you turned to the one person who you knew would be watching.

When your gaze moved over Joel’s face, his eyes were already locked on you. You quickly shuffled out of the sleeping bag and made your way over to where he sat, and climbed into his lap. You burrowed into him, seeking warmth and comfort.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with worry in a way that made a lump form in your throat. He wrapped his arms around you. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

His hand ran slowly and steady along your spine, grounding you, pulling you back to the present. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, pulling his jacket tighter around you. The scent of leather and pine filled your senses and you clung to it like an anchor.

Your breathing eventually evened out. The night settled around you again.

After a moment, you lifted your chin, gaze drifting back up to the starry sky, now finding your favorite constellation – bright and unwavering.

“What are you lookin’ at?” Joel softly asked.

“Andromeda,” you pointed out. “She was chained to a rock as a sacrifice to a sea monster. On his way back from slaying Medusa, Perseus––of all people––rescued her, just in time.”

You snorted humorlessly to yourself. “It’s funny. She was trapped, bound to something she couldn’t escape from, waiting for someone to save her…”

Like you.

Chained to your grief, to your guilt, to the memories that wouldn’t let you go.

And in some ways, Joel was Perseus. Scarred and weary, a man who had lived through unspeakable horrors and yet continued to move forward.

“Guess it’s a good story,” you said softly, leaning against his shoulder. “At least some people get saved.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy with the things you didn’t say.

Joel's voice was quiet but firm when he finally spoke.

“Yeah, and some people fight their way out.”

His lips pressed against your temple, gentle and lingering. A silent reassurance. A reminder that he saw your strength even when you couldn’t.

You swallowed hard, fingers absentmindedly twiddling with the rough hem of his jacket.

“I had a dream about Henry,” you whispered, barely audible, before correcting, “I had a nightmare about Henry.”

Joel didn’t press. Didn’t make you meet his gaze. He just waited.

“I hesitated,” you coked out, “ – and I – I could’ve saved him, I could’ve saved them both if – ”

The words felt like glass in your throat, each one sharper than the last.

Joel’s hand tightened on your back, warm and steady. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

Your voice cracked. “Then, why do I keep replaying that moment over and over? It’s all I can think about…”

A long pause. Then, his voice, low and certain, said, “You did all you could… Ain’t ever gonna feel like enough.”

Something in his tone made you lift your head slightly. He wasn't just talking about you.

Your breath hitched, but you nevertheless nodded. The weight in your chest shifted, just slightly.

You exhaled, long and slow. “Then, how am I supposed to stop feeling this way?”

Joel’s arms tightened around you. “You will,” he promised. “Time heals all wounds.”

You almost scoffed, almost told him that felt like bullshit – but then he added, “And, you have me and Ellie. We’ll get through this… That’s what families do.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Family.

The word settled in your chest, filling the hollow space where the grief had made its home.

For the first time in two weeks, you felt something other than sorrow. Something lighter, something safer.

You didn’t answer, just let yourself sink into Joel’s warmth, let the stars blur above you as sleep finally started to take hold.

This time, it felt different.

This time, you didn’t fight it.

Near the Rocky Mountains – 5 weeks after the events of Kansas City

The unforgiving torrential downpour slammed against the asphalt as you, Joel, and Ellie sprinted toward the only building in sight – a rundown farmhouse crouched in the a valley, surrounded by mountains on either side.

You didn’t know how long the storm had been building behind you until it was suddenly everywhere, soaking your clothes and whipping your hair into your face as thunder angrily cracked above.

By the time you stumbled into the foyer and Joel hurriedly shoved the door shut behind you, you were drenched. Rain dripped from your clothes onto the worn hardwood floor, but your senses were focused on the sudden stillness inside.

The storm had blanketed the house in a dark, gloomy gray tone. Only the occasional flicker of lightning brightened the house, illuminating old, broken furniture, worn wallpaper, and a fireplace that looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades.

By the time you and Joel had cleared the house and secured the doors, Ellie was yawning and dropping her pack with a thud, murmuring something about a real bed before vanishing up the stairs and passing out on the dusty mattress.

You couldn’t even blame her. After weeks of sleeping on forest floors and cracked linoleum, even the sagging, moth-bitten mattress probably felt like a cloud. You lingered near the front window, peering through the glass at the storm that trapped you here. You should’ve felt unsettled, seeing as you couldn’t make anything out further than five feet in front of you. Instead, you somehow felt still, in a good way.

You weren’t even that tired tonight. Lately, miraculously, you’d been sleeping decently – well “decently” meaning not waking up every single night from nightmares. And you knew the reason for it.

It wasn’t time. It wasn’t healing.

It was Joel.

Now, across the room, he moved quietly, methodically checking the window locks. He hadn’t said much since coming inside, but he didn’t need to.

What happened in Lincoln had changed things. He’d become quietly protective over you. In ways that weren’t obvious unless you were looking.

When he handed you dinner, you noticed he always made sure to give you the warmest portion, or the piece with the most meat. When you hiked, his hand was a constant – guiding you up tricky inclines, steadying you with a brush of fingers at your elbow. At night, when you shifted in your sleep, it was his jacket that was draped over your shoulders.

Now, as you sank onto the couch near the fireplace, the change felt noticeable. Heavier, harder to pretend it wasn’t happening.

Joel knelt in front of you, undoing the laces on your boots with slow, sure hands.

You arched a brow, teasing, “Are you obsessed with me?”

Joel turned to you, brows furrowed in curiosity, not confusion. No, he wasn’t confused because this wasn’t coming out of nowhere. He was intentional with his touches lately, and even he couldn’t ignore the way Ellie had snickered, “You guys are like an old married couple,” when he had leaned forward during the hike to adjust the strap of your pack on your shoulders. You’d nudged him with your shoulder when you continued walking, expecting him to push back, but he just let the touch linger.

The fire before you now cracked low in the hearth, Joel having brought it back to life. It cast a soft light over the ruined living room, and you hesitantly grabbed a blanket before pulling it over your lap, finally relaxing for the first time all day.

Joel settled in beside you, arms folded, gaze glued to the flames.

For a while, there was only silence. Then, he spoke, voice low. “You been sleeping better,” he noted. You hummed, nodding. “What changed?”

You chewed your lip, then finally admitted, “You did.” Joel didn’t move, but you felt the shift in the air. “It’s easier… when you’re around. Like I’m not carrying it all on my own.”

He didn’t answer right away, but when he did, it was soft. “S’cause you’re not.”

The words buried themselves deep in your chest, forcing you to realize how much you needed to hear someone say it – how badly you needed to hear him say it.

You exhaled deeply, leaning your head on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch, didn’t tense. Just let you rest there, warm and quiet and safe.

“Feels weird,” you murmured. “Letting someone else help. I’m used to taking care of Ellie myself. Doing everything myself.”

Joel’s hand settled over yours on your lap. “Yeah,” he agreed, feeling that same change in his own life. “It does.”

You glanced at him, eventually feeling your body catch up to your mind. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the combination of the fire, warmth, and Joel’s steady presence made it impossible.

You drifted off with your head on his shoulder, the sound of rain tapping on the window like a lullaby.

When you blinked awake hours later, morning light flickered through the warped glass, soft and golden. The storm had passed.

Joel was still beside you, arm loosely draped around your back, breath slow and even.

You looked up at him. He cracked an eye open and gave you a sleepy grunt. You gave him a questioning look and revelled in the fact that, though he shrugged, his ears turned pink. Yes, it was a big deal.

You smiled, resting your head against him again, letting the silence say everything.

Outside, the mountains loomed in the distance – tall and vast and daunting. But you didn't feel scared. Not anymore.

You had help now.

Somewhere in Central Wyoming - 2 months after the events of Kansas City

It was officially too cold to sleep outside comfortably.

Your breath fogged in the morning air, fingers stiff around the straps of your pack as you trudged along the frostbitten road. Snow hadn’t fallen yet, but the wind had a bite to it now – sharp and unforgiving. Still, despite the numbness creeping into your toes, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. Not quite back to happy as usual, but something close enough to it that you didn’t question the lift in your chest.

Winter had always been your favorite season. Something about the way the world seemed to soften under fresh snowfall, how quiet and peaceful it all became. Like even the apocalypse had to slow down and take a breath.

And then, of course, there was Christmas.

You knew it must’ve seemed silly to others––maybe even naive of you––but the thought of it still stirred warmth in your chest. Not the mediocre gifts you and Ellie exchanged, necessarily, nor the poor attempt at festive decorations. Just the idea of it. Joy for the sake of joy. An excuse to show people they mattered.

So when you asked Joel what he wanted for Christmas, it wasn’t a joke, but he seemed to take it as one.

He gave you a look like he hadn’t even heard of the holiday. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“Christmas,” you repeated, keeping your tone light. “You remember Christmas, right? Presents under the tree, string lights, big fat jolly fella?”

Joel scoffed, the corners of his mouth twitching with reluctant amusement. “’Course I remember Christmas. I was celebratin’ it before you were born.” He winced slightly, and you could tell he was doing the math. “Why’re you askin’?”

“Because it’s almost time to celebrate,” you said simply, letting your fingers brush through the brittle tall grass as you three followed signs for the town of Casper.

He glanced between you and Ellie, who was skipping a few paces head, before shaking his head. “Let me get this right – you two still celebrate Christmas?”

“Why would we stop?” Ellie asked, furrowing her brow like he was the one not making sense.

Joel huffed. “Cause the world ended?”

“So?” you shot back. “Did the idea of presents end, too? Or showing people how much they mean to you?”

Joel didn’t respond. Just pressed his lips together like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. Like maybe it had, once, and he’d burned his mind of the thought.

“What’d you get each other last year?” he asked after a pause.

“I got Ellie a guitar.”

That seemed to jolt him a little. His eyebrows rose. “Y’know how to play?” he asked Ellie.

“I tried,” Ellie muttered, eyes meeting yours. “But the person teaching me – I mean… I didn’t really have anyone to teach me. Not many books, either. I had to leave it behind at the apartment.”

Joel was quiet for a long second. Then, he said, “When we’re done with all this Firefly business, we’ll find another guitar. I’ll teach you.”

Ellie’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“You know how to play guitar?” you asked, genuinely surprised. Joel shrugged, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. ��Keep surprising me, Miller,” you muttered under your breath.

Joel looked over at Ellie, then gave her a small nudge and nodded towards you. “What’d you get her?”

Though you only hesitated and misstepped for a single second, Joel caught it. Your smile dropped. The breath in your lungs froze somewhere in your chest. You looked at Ellie, and for a moment, she looked like she might answer honestly. But you shook your head – just barely.

“Nothing important,” you said quietly, clearing your throat. “Now, are we planning on making it to Casper today or you two need another break?”

Ellie groaned. Joel muttered something about his back. But they followed you, and you kept your face forward so they couldn’t see the sudden tightness behind your eyes.

Casper wasn’t what you expected. It was one of the bigger towns you’d come across since Kansas City, for one. A once-bustling downtown now laid half-ruined, skeletal buildings casting long shadows across the abandoned streets. But the bones of the city were still there – road signs, cracked pavement, a few intact storefronts. It felt like stumbling into a shell of a world that had only just slipped away.

The three of you scavenged in mostly silence. Joel found clean clothes for all three of you, Ellie found canned peaches and made a war cry over it like she’d just slain an enemy, and by sheer luck, you had miraculously found a motel where the hot water was still running.

The sign was barely legible, half-hanging from its frame, but the doors to the rooms were unlocked.

“This is amazing!” Ellie yelled from the bathroom, voice echoing over the sound of the shower. “I’m never leaving!”

“Leave some hot water for the rest of us!” you begged, sitting on the bed and peeling off your jacket.

Joel came to sit beside you, legs stretched out, head tipped back against the wall. For a moment, the only sound was the running water and the occasional creak of the old buildings settling all around you.

You turned to look at him, watching the lines on his face.

“You seriously haven’t celebrated Christmas in twenty years?”

“Haven’t celebrated my birthday, either,” he admitted, glancing down at his wrist for a millisecond.

“Do you miss it? Normal life?”

He took a moment to answer. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

You nodded. “Me too.” A quiet blanketed over the two of you for a moment, and it ate at you until you were saying, “Look, back on the road earlier… when you asked Ellie what she got me for Christmas – ”

Joel was already shaking his head, staring at you with those big, warm, understanding brown eyes of his. “You don’t have to explain.”

He was giving you space, in that quiet, steady way of his. And as much as you appreciated it, you found yourself wanting to share, for the first time since it happened.

You exhaled slowly, reaching into your shirt to pull a necklace out.

“This is what she got me,” you said after a beat, clutching at the pendant hanging. “It’s nothing fancy. Just a gold chain that probably cost her way too many ration cards, sold by someone at one of those market stalls…”

Joel’s gaze flickered to your chest, and you slowly uncurled your fingers, letting the little star pendant show.

“I never take it off,” you added, softer still. A faint smile tugged at your lips, but it faded just as quick. “She was so proud to give it to me. Said Nate helped her pick it out.”

Joel shifted slightly. Oh.

“And his Christmas present to Ellie was to teach her how to play that guitar,” you revealed, and suddenly all the pieces fell into place for Joel. Why both you and Ellie acted put-off by the topic.

You gulped, before finishing, in a whisper, “He, uh – he didn’t get a chance to… And, when we were talking about it – it just hit me all at once. The necklace, the guitar, the fact that he should been here… teaching her. I didn’t want to say it out loud, I guess. Didn’t want to make it real.”

Joel exhaled quietly, deep frown matching yours. “I get it.”

“I’m… I’m glad for the pain, in a way, you know? It’s a reminder. I think I’m just scared of when it won’t hurt anymore.”

Joel just nodded slowly, like he understood that, too. He didn’t answer right away, letting what you said sink in. Then, he held his wrist out to show you his broken watch.

“Sarah got me this,” he revealed. “It broke on Outbreak Day. But I never took it off. Never tried to fix it, either.”

Your eyes were glued to the broken watch, throat thick.

“I don’t think it’s about forgettin’,” he continued. “It’s about carryin’. What we carry – who we carry – and who we let go… It’s okay if you’re not ready to let go. I’m not, either.”

You swallowed hard, nodding and brushing away your tears before they had a chance to fall. “What if I want to carry him with me forever?” you asked quietly.

His hand came to rest reassuringly on your shoulder. Steady. Grounding.

“That’s okay, too.”

50 miles outside of Jackson, Wyoming - 3 months after the events of Kansas City

It was almost Christmas.

The snow outside blanketed the woods in a thick silence, flakes drifting lazily from the gray sky as you watched from the window of a small hunting cabin you’d stumbled upon two days ago.

There was a stillness here, a kind of peace you hadn’t really felt since Kansas City. Maybe it was because you were getting close to Jackson. Less than a hundred miles away now. Your adventure would be over in a few days and whatever was in Jackson would be awaiting your group.

The fire crackled softly behind you, warming the cabin’s single room. Pine-scented air drifted through the poorly-sealed window panes, mixing with the sharp bite of winter. You pulled your coat tighter, getting comfortable.

Behind you, Ellie snored in her own sleeping bag, the corner of her mouth slack and blissfully drooling. Joel laid beside you in your shared sleeping bag, already awake but clearly pretending not to be. His eyes flickered open the second you sat up.

“Sleeping in, old man?” you asked, voice heavy with sleep but light with affection.

He cracked one eye open. “Didn’t realize sunrise was considered sleeping in.”

You smirked and turned around, nuzzlign deep into the crook of his neck as you mumbled, “It’s your turn to make coffee.”

Joel grumbled something about “It’s somehow my turn every damn day,” but he sat up anyway, slowly stretching with a groan before getting up to prepare the brew with the last of the grounds Ellie had scavenged in the last town.

You turned in the sleeping bag to watch him, head still resting on your pillow. The snow outside reflected a cool light across his face, outlining the soft gray in his beard and the soft cut of his jaw.

You’d gotten used to watching him like this. It was easier now – no longer full of longing or guilt, but something quieter. Steadier.

He glanced back. “You’re starin’ again.”

“How many times do I have to tell you I’m admiring? There’s a difference,” you shot back.

His lips tugged at the corner, and a smile ghosted over his face. “Liar.”

He came back over, squatting to hand you a tin mug with practiced ease. You took it, fingers brushing his.

Ellie stirred then, grunting, “It’s like seven in the morning. Are you really going to torment me with the flirting this early?”

You grinned, and Joel was quick to point out, “S’one-sided.”

You snorted at that, and Ellie rolled her eyes, not believing him either. She tugged her sleeping back over her head.

You took a sip of the coffee, wincing slightly at the bitterness. You really would never get over the taste. Still, it kept you awake, so you couldn’t have asked for much more.

After a quiet breakfast and a short trek to check the perimeter, Joel returned to the cabin, fiddling with something behind his back. When he caught your eye, he paused awkwardly, clearly caught in the act.

Your brow quirked. “What’re you hiding, Miller?”

He grumbled, “Ain’t hiding anything. Sit down.”

You did as asked, and Joel stood in front of you, reaching into his jacket pocket. He held something in his hands, face unreadable.

“I know it’s not exactly Christmas yet,” he muttered. “But… I got you somethin’.”

He pulled his hand out, revealing his palm. Inside, a small bundle, wrapped in what looked like torn flannel and tied with a shoelace. Carefully, you unfolded the cloth and gasped.

It was a small fox, carefully carved out of wood.

“Foxes remind me of you – clever, quick-witted, protective. Playful.”

Your eyes softened as you carefully picked the tiny fox up, observing it. You’d seen Joel carving little things for a while – while you were meant to be asleep or on watch. He’d been practicing on scrape, but this is the first one that felt good enough to give.

“It looked like you, too, ’cept the ears were smaller.”

You rolled your eyes, smile widening as you brought the fox, wrapped in your hands, to your heart, cherishing it. You looked back up at him, eyes wide and full. “Joel.”

He shrugged, like it was nothing, but there was a flicker of nerves beneath his calm. “Y’like it?”

You blinked against the sudden sting in your eyes. “I can’t believe you made this… for me.”

“Who else would it be for?”

Your chest ached. Not in the way it used to––with grief and regret––but with something blooming. Something real.

You clutched the fox in your hand and rose to your feet, wrapping your arms around Joel and pressing your forehead against his shoulder. His hand came up to your back without hesitation.

Behind you, Ellie groaned dramatically from her sleeping bag. “You guys are the worst.”

Joel snorted. “Can’t be worse than you, waking up this late.”

“Can’t wait till we get to Jackson and I can bunk with literally anyone else,” she grumbled, though a smile found itself on her face.

You matched it, grinning into Joel’s chest, feeling the way his laugh rumbled beneath your cheek.

Tightening your hold on the fox, you came to the realization that whatever lay in Jackson––whatever about it that had your stomach grumbling––you’d survive, as a family.

taglist: @orcasoul @lizlil @littleshadow17 @joeldjarin @mrsyixingunicorn10 @luvwanda @escaping-reality8 @hoddystark @mmkkzz @victoriaholland @xodilfluvr @ilovetoomanymen @21tao @mystickittytaco @keileighr @buckyandlokirunmylife @deesparticus

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violettwrites · 7 months ago

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trust i seek, and i find in you — daryl dixon

a/n: hi guys ! sorry it’s been a little while, i’ve honestly not had much motivation but i managed to get this out for the person that requested ! i think i may have a little writers block, but i’m gonna try and rewatch twd to help me out with my inspo 🫶🏻 i apologise that it’s short, but hey, what can we do !

if you enjoy my writing, please don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment ! your support always means the world to me 🫶🏻 requests are currently closed, but i will be opening them up soon hopefully !

summary: daryl thinks he isn’t good enough for you because he’s too “old”

requested: @/nuhogom requested; could you do an age gap fic with daryl? reader is well into her/their 20’s though!! i’d love a secret relationship too! maybe if it’s set in twd, it’s because daryl is still kinda insecure etc.

warnings: none ! a bit of angst maybe???

word count: 879

resources: divider by @/adornedwithlight

➵ rules

➵ masterlist

➵ ask box

it was late at hilltop, and the faint hum of crickets mixed with the occasional groan of a walker beyond the walls. inside, everything felt peaceful. you sat in your little trailer, curled beneath a blanket, waiting for daryl. he didn’t stop by every night, much to your dismay, but you could always sense when he would. there was something between you—something electric, fragile, and unspoken, like a current neither of you dared disturb.

a soft knock echoed through the quiet, followed by the slow creak of the door opening. there he was, crossbow slung over his shoulder, eyes a mix of stoic and softened by the dim light of your trailer. his gaze found yours immediately, warm and inviting.

“thought you weren’t comin’,” you said, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as you watched him, your eyes tracing every one of his movements.

“had to finish a run for tara,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly. he didn’t need to explain further—his presence was enough. it always had been. words had never been necessary between the two of you.

you’d been seeing each other for months now, in secret. daryl, being in his forties, knew that people would talk if they found out. they’d whisper, judge, say you were too young for him, too bright for someone as worn as him. he hated the idea of being the one to pull you into those whispers, to tarnish you with their judgments. but at the same time, he couldn’t stay away.

you didn’t care about any of that, though. not in a world like this. what did other people’s opinions matter when survival was all that was left?

“no one’s gonna know,” you whispered, sitting up a bit and placing a hand on his arm. “it’s just us here.”

he hesitated, glancing away for a moment before his eyes settled back on you. “it ain’t right. yer young. people’ll talk, make it worse.”

you could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his need to protect you warred with his desire to be close. but you weren’t a kid anymore. you were capable of making your own decisions, and you had chosen him.

“i don’t care what they think,” you said softly but firmly. “none of that matters. i care about you—that’s all i need.”

daryl sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he shook his head, but his hand found yours. his fingers, rough and calloused from years of surviving, wrapped gently around yours. he pulled you closer, tucking you under his arm as you leaned into him, your head resting against his chest. his other arm came around you, solid and protective, as though he were the only thing standing between you and the chaos of the world outside.

“don’t know why you want someone like me,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you.

you tilted your head to look up at him, his expression clouded with doubt. “i want someone like you because you’re kind, and you care more than you let on. you see me for who i am, not for who people think i should be.”

his brow furrowed slightly, the weight of your words sinking in. it wasn’t often that anyone took the time to look past the walls he kept up, and fewer still bothered to try.

you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “stop worrying about them. it’s just us.”

daryl didn’t reply, but his arms tightened around you, pulling you in until you were practically in his lap. your head rested against his chest, and you listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, a sound that brought you more comfort than you ever thought possible.

his fingers slowly combed through your hair as the silence stretched between you, easy and familiar. your eyes drifted closed, feeling the tension seep out of him as his body relaxed against yours. this was a side of him no one else saw—vulnerable, unguarded, and you cherished it, every rare moment of it.

time seemed to blur, the rest of the world fading away as you sat there together. daryl’s hand never stopped moving through your hair, his touch so tender it was hard to believe it came from someone so hardened by life.

“i ain’t good at this,” he mumbled after a while, his voice low and almost apologetic. “don’ know how to do relationships—how to… be what you need.”

you lifted your head, meeting his gaze. “you’re already everything i need, daryl.”

his eyes softened at your words, the usual tension in his features melting away. he leaned in slowly, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips. it wasn’t rushed, as though he wanted to savor every second, commit it all to memory.

when you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, breathing him in. “i’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “not unless you want me to.”

he shook his head, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “ain’t ever gonna want that.”

your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled, nestling back into his chest, his arms keeping you close, holding onto you like you were his anchor in the storm.

and for now, that was all that mattered.

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bring-forth-his-sac · 3 months ago

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Sugar, Spice and All Things Nice

summary: After his stunt with the Whisperers, Negan thought the Alexandrians would finally come around to him… but it seems like you’re the only one who’ll happily put up with him

word count: 3.4k

tags: sunshine reader, swearing, some serious potty mouth lmao, food/ eating mentioned throughout

A/N: Hello to the anon that sent in the request for a Negan x reader fic based on Discord and Fluttershy's relationship! This is for you my dear anon <333 I really hope I did ok! ... although I may have made the reader a little more vulgar than Fluttershy lmao

Well, shit. Isn’t this just like high school?

Looking around the makeshift cafeteria, Negan can feel daggers being glared his way in at least three different directions. As if he wasn’t already public enemy number one, most Alexandrians saw his heroic attempt to infiltrate the Whisperer’s as his way of trying to regain some power with the enemy.

It didn’t help that Carol seemed less than willing to reveal her part in the plan.

Negan sighs, his eyes dropping to his tray of food. Given the recent destruction of Alexandria—oh, and let’s not forget, he’s also getting blamed for that—supplies are running dangerously low. Most buildings need some kind of reconstruction before people can move back in, the walls have never been weaker and the food is sparse.

“Negan?”.

His tray looks like someone's poor attempt at a dinner. A small bowl of watered down soup. A sad heap of green beans. And some meat. What meat exactly, he’s hesitant whether he wants to know.

“Neeeegan?”.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Negan half expects to see a bowl of soup flying his way but instead, he sees your smiling face. You sit smack bang in the middle of the cafeteria, at a table where Negan only vaguely recognizes the other people.

In case he still hasn’t spotted you yet, you shoot your arm up and wave. “Negan!” you call again “Come sit over here!”. He can’t quite tell if you’re oblivious to the dirty looks or if you’re just too damn cheerful to care.

How you do it, Negan isn’t sure. Even when he still had his dear old Lucille… the bat, that is, and he strutted though Alexandria with his Saviors, you were the one who told Carl not to gun them down as they ransacked your community. You kept your composure, staying civil and sweet without letting anyone push you around.

And here you are now, being the utter definition of sweetness once again.

Negan hesitates for a second. He could easily sit alone and keep his head down but there's something about you that has always pulled Negan in despite himself.

With his sad tray of food, he begins making his way towards your table. You pat the seat next to you. "I saved you a seat,” you say once he’s close enough, that bright smile never fading.

Negan grunts as he sits, setting his tray in front of him with a loud clink. “I was wondering where you were today! Wasn’t sure if you’d have time for dinner. I heard they’re working you like a dog,” you take a sip of soup before gesturing to the woman across from you “but then Dianne told me you were helping—“.

Before you can continue, Dianne stands suddenly, her chair scraping sharply against the floor. Without a word, she grabs her tray and walks off, taking her dinner to a different table. A few people glance at each other, clearly noticing the tension. The others remain seated but they subtly shift away from Negan, lowering their voices as they avoid making any further eye contact.

You sit there, frozen for a beat as you watch Dianne stalk off. Negan wonders if this’ll be a wake-up call for you. That maybe now you’ll realize that his bad name can affect how people see you too.

You chew on a green bean, feeling the awkwardness settle in. As you swallow, you lower your voice just for Negan to hear. “She’s still uh… well, she’s not over the whole Hilltop fiasco,” you explain somewhat sheepishly “just give her time”.

Clearing his throat to ease the heavy tension, Negan pokes and prods at his dinner with a fork. “The green beans are nice,” you make casual conversation “the meat is… unpredictable but the soup can be tasty, once you season it a little”.

“You got access to a whole pantry of seasoning?” he teases. With a lopsided grin, Negan takes his chances with the mystery meat.

You shrug coyly, not wanting to reveal all of your secrets. “Maybe I do,” you smirk playfully.

Negan doesn’t notice how you subtly dip your hand into the pocket of your jeans, clutching something small in your fist. He takes a bite of the meat, chewing thoughtfully as you nudge the side of his thigh.

As much as Negan hopes you would give him a secret handy under the table, he knows that isn’t your kind of thing. You’re all things pure and thoughtful, not lewd sexual acts.

Trying to push away his risqué thoughts of you, he looks down at his leg and watches as you carefully open up your hand. “Holy shit,” Negan chuckles amusingly “where’d you get that?”.

Bringing his hand down to yours, Negan watches as you gently place the salt sachet into his palm. “Found a whole container full of them a few weeks back… my own secret stash” you reveal, bringing your hand back up to the table as you try to act normal.

“Well, fuck me” he muses, carefully tearing the top open “and here I was thinking you were a goody two shoes who couldn’t kill a walker without apologizing to the damn thing”.

“Hey I’m still good!” You protest, careful not to straight out call yourself a goody two shoes “I’m sharing my stash, aren’t I? And sharing is caring”.

He can’t argue with that.

Being as nonchalant as possible, Negan sprinkles some of the salt over his soup, adding a little to the mystery meat before passing the sachet to you. As you mimic his subtle movements, Negan scans the surrounding area.

Thankfully, most look away, not wanting to catch his eyes. But that doesn’t mean he can’t feel the judgement practically radiating off them. He can’t even have a damn meal without these people frowning upon it.

No matter what he does now, Negan knows they’ll always see him as a monster. It doesn’t matter how many people he saves, how many strenuous jobs around Alexandria he does or how many times he puts himself in harm's way; they’ll never move on. This isn't anything new but it never really gets easier either.

You notice it too but decide not to say anything. The way the discomfort hangs in the air, the uneasy shift people do in their seats when he looks around, and who could forget the way they shake their heads disapprovingly as if that’ll show Negan who’s boss.

But instead of letting it simmer, you dive back into the conversation like it’s just another day, talking to Negan the same way you’d talk to any friend of yours. You make a deliberate effort to keep things casual, focusing on the mundane as you both eat your dinners.

“So, what’d you do today?” you ask “More repairs or did you get a break for once?”.

Negan looks over at you, a grateful flicker in his eyes. Your voice is a lifeline in a sea of sideways glances, pulling him back into something resembling normality. You’ve always been good at that, helping him navigate the weird, tense spaces where everyone treats him like he’s a ticking time bomb.

“Fixing damn doors and floorboards again,” he mutters with a dry chuckle. “But honestly, I’m happy to be working… keeps me busy, ya know?” his lips tug into a half-smile.

“I was supposed to spend the day on guard duty with Gabriel but I kinda pretended I was doing other stuff” you admit, taking a small sip of the soup “I mean, I like Gabriel, don’t get me wrong… I just… I don’t know, sometimes he can come off a little preachy. Does that make sense? Is that mean?”.

Negan hides his smile with a spoonful of green beans, chewing slowly. As if you could ever be mean. Still, he hums as if he needs to think about that being a possibility.

"I know Gabe can be a pain in the ass, but I don't think he deserved to get stranded," Negan says just to mess with you.

You sigh in defeat as you watch Negan slurp down his soup. “I know, I know, I just…” You pause, trying to find the right words “I think I’d rather shit in my hands and clap than spend a whole day with Gabriel”.

Negan blinks, totally thrown off by the sudden confession. The soup almost gets stuck in his throat as he chokes, his instinct to spit it out clashing with the urge to just swallow the damn thing.

He barks out a cough, a small dribble of soup escapes his mouth before he can stop it. A few people glance over, clearly startled by the loud, unexpected sound. It’s as if any loud noise from Negan’s direction draws all eyes to him, people acting as if he has a loaded gun at the ready.

“Oh!” You quickly gather the sleeve of your sweater and bring it up to his mouth, trying to shield him from the prying eyes.

“Here, just… um…” You hesitate, unsure how to help, but slowly begin dabbing at the side of his mouth. “You’ve got a little something there... and there… oh, and a bit by your chin”.

Negan’s mind can’t catch up with what’s happening. How did it go from the most innocent person in the world giving Gabe an almighty diss, to him almost choking to now you’re wiping soup off his face?!

You dab it away, ruining your own sleeve for the sake of him. “Just lemme…” you give one last dab by his lip “there! All gone”.

Negan meets your satisfied smile with a slight pout. His gratitude is there but it’s quickly overtaken by the twinge of embarrassment creeping up on him.

“You’re like a mama bird wrapped in a blanket of sweetness and sprinkled with sugar, spice, and all things nice,” he mutters, his voice low and teasing as he accepts the situation with a resigned grin.

“Are you okay? I wasn’t sure if you needed the Heimlich!” You ask, worry evident into your voice.

Negan chuckles and brushes off your concern, the only thing hurt being his ego. Dribbling in front of a pretty girl doesn't exactly leave the best impression—unless it's on a basketball court.

“I’m fine,” he waves it off “I just didn’t think you had such a fuckin’ potty mouth.”

“Well, I try not to let it run wild,” you admit, feeling a little bashful as you nudge him. “But I figured I’m in good company”.

Negan laughs, the deep sound rumbling in his chest. He leans back in his seat, finally catching his breath. “Well, I’m not sure the rest would agree with that assessment, sweetheart” he says with a smirk, feeling more like himself.

You shrug, deciding to tease him a little in your response “Hm, yeah I guess you got a way of bringing out the worst in people”.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “Worst? Nah darlin’ it’s not the worst. It’s just a little… unfiltered. Like a good whiskey. Strong, bold, but doesn’t go down smooth unless you know how to handle it”.

Giving a laugh, you continue to eat your meal “I guess I’ll take your word for it”.

You and Negan relax into a comfortable silence as you both eat. Eventually, the dirty looks dull, people’s initial amped up hatred leveling out when they realize Negan won’t scatter that easily.

The tension never fully vanishes but it becomes background noise, swallowed up by the mundane act of eating.

After dinner, you find yourself walking along the streets of Alexandria with Negan. “How do you do it?” he breaks the silence, stuffing his hands into his pockets “Make all this shit feel less like… well, shit?”.

“I’m not sure,” you reply honestly “I just try to be nice. I don’t see why I shouldn’t be when the world is already so cruel”.

Negan huffs a quiet laugh, his footsteps slow and deliberate. “Nice, huh?” He glances over at you, something almost contemplative in his gaze "Guess that’s one way to keep your head above water. Doesn’t always work, though. The world’s pretty damn good at crushing people”.

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. There’s a rhythm to the way he talks, a calmness in his voice that contradicts the chaos he’s lived through. How he's still able to be so witty with his jokes and always willing to help, you're not sure.

“I don’t think being nice is about keeping your head above water,” you say after a moment “It’s something everyone can do and it costs nothing”.

He lets a few beats of silence pass, making sure there’s no one else in earshot before being more specific. “Ok but why be nice to me? After all the shit I’ve done” Negan gets to the point.

You look at him from the corner of your eye, a small sigh escaping you. This question isn’t new. He’s asked versions of it before, although he’s never been this direct.

“I don’t really have a good answer,” you say "Maybe it's because I think people are too quick to judge you. You’re not all bad, Negan. You can do good when you want to".

Negan lets out a surprised huff “So you think I need saving, huh?”.

You shake your head almost immediately, not wanting him to get the wrong impression. “No," you say firmly "I don’t think you need saving. You’re not helpless, I know that. I think the others like to think that you are now, without your Saviors or lieutenants or… um, other things. But you’ve always been a capable guy”.

He falls quiet for a moment. You wonder if he’s even hearing you or if he’s just lost in some thought, some memory you’ll never understand. Then, as Negan exhales a long breath, he looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“That’s some real heart warming shit,” he says finally, his voice not unkind, but laced with a touch of something that might be regret, or maybe just old wounds. “Guess I’m just asking because they all fuckin' hate me. Other than you, Carol was the only other person to give a shit- and that's only because she had an agenda”.

“Maybe my only agenda is to be your friend,” you say softly, your voice steady but sincere. “We’ve all done ugly things to survive—things we’d rather bury. I don’t see why we have to parade you around as some kind of example of remorse. You’re more than that”.

Negan chuckles at that. As much as he hates to admit it, when Negan first met you, he didn’t think you used your brain much. He was one of the idiots that took your kindness as a show of ignorance, thinking that you just floated around like you were living in some fairy tale.

But now? Now Negan knows how wrong he was. Underestimating you was one hell of a mistake and a massive misjudgement of your character.

He glances up, his eyes lingering on the damaged homes around. Then, without warning, he asks, “Would you stay here?”

You blink, surprised by the abruptness of the question. “In… Alexandria?” You try to follow his train of thought. He nods once, slow and deliberate.

You take a moment to consider, weighing up your options. “I don’t see why I’d leave,” you wager “It’s safe here. Not just with the walls keeping things out, but there’s safety in numbers too”.

Negan lets a silence linger after your answer, taking your insights to heart. Some others pass by but they pay no attention to either of you, unaware of the risky conversation that’s taking place.

While the Alexandrians have tried to oust Negan in the past, that was under their terms. They wanted Negan to stay in a cabin they decided upon, somewhere they’d know he is if they ever needed him again. If Negan was to leave in the morning and not look back, you don’t know how the Alexandrians would take that.

You glance at him, curiosity piqued. “Why are you asking me that, though?” you wonder, unsure if he’s serious or just toying with the idea.

Negan has never been one to beat around the bush and now is no different. Keeping his voice clear but low, he reveals “Just curious whether I should ask you to leave with me when the time comes”.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, worry washing over you. You stand there, momentarily speechless. Would the Alexandrians let him leave so easily?

You blink a couple of times, trying to regain your composure. "You... you don’t have to leave," you finally manage, trying to de-escalate the situation “Things will get better. More people will come around, eventually. They’ll accept you. It’s just... it’s gonna take time”.

Negan can’t tell if you’re trying to rationalize this for him or for yourself. You’re just too damn caring to realize people won’t change.

Negan’s expression stays the same. “It’s been years, hun,” he breaks it to you as gently as he can “It’s still the same and it’ll always be the same. You know it, too”.

The way he says it carries a heaviness, a truth he’s known for a long time. And even though his words sting, you can’t help but see that small, almost imperceptible shift in him. It’s as if he’s tired of pretending, tired of waiting for something that feels like it’ll never come.

You hold his gaze when no words come. You know Negan’s right but how can you agree with a truth that’s so awful?

Negan has always worn a mask of tough bravado, his smile twisted in a way that hinted at danger rather than warmth. But in this moment, as he watches you, someone who has quietly but consistently shown him kindness, there is something different in his eyes.

He didn’t know how to process it at first, the warmth that spreads through his chest and the fluttering in his stomach that makes him feel alive. It’s something he hasn't felt in years. Hell, maybe even decades. But now he feels it every time he looks at you.

Negan watches you, his heart tight with the weight of your silence. He had been hoping for something, anything. Negan hoped for assurance, a simple confirmation that you’d be there, that you'd go with him.

But you don’t respond.

The air between you both thickens and the words he had been longing to hear are nowhere to be found. After a long pause, he exhales softly, trying to mask the disappointment creeping in.

His voice takes on a casual edge, the bravado slipping back into place. “Well, guess the workday’s not done yet” He nods toward one of the houses being repaired, offering a strained smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Then, with a shrug, he begins to turn away.

The moment hangs there, unspoken and unfulfilled, acting as a space neither of you dare to cross. But just as he’s about to walk away, your voice breaks through the silence.

“I’d go with you”.

Negan freezes, his heart stumbling in his chest. “What?” He asks, not quite sure if he heard you right.

You shift from foot to foot, your gaze drifting away from his for a moment, as if the vulnerability of the moment is too much to bear.

With a simple shrug, you reply "Well... if you weren’t here anymore, who the hell would I use my potty mouth around?". The words are teasing but there’s a thread of sincerity weaving through them.

Negan lets out a chuckle, though it’s tempered by the way his gaze softens when it lands on you. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer, and in that instant, the playful banter fades. There’s no jest in the air anymore, only the quiet understanding that when it comes down to it, you'd go with him.

No matter the wreckage of the world or the mess that surrounds him, you would go.

Negan studies you, as if trying to read between the lines of your words. He doesn't pry into your answer, not asking you why or teasing you. Instead Negan gives you a small, almost nonexistent nod, before heading back to his work.

You don’t take offense, knowing that Negan’s starting a new game now. This isn’t him stalking off because of your answer. This is Negan playing the long game, maintaining his role of the solemn workhorse to the others as he secretly bides his time until his— no, your eventual escape.

Negan keeps his head down as he gets back to work, knowing that disappearing will be tougher now with an extra person, but it’s something he’s more than willing to put up with.

In that moment, Negan wonders if there really is a future that doesn’t feel so damn lonely after all.

#negan fanfiction #negan smith fanfiction #negan x reader #negan x you #twd negan #negan #negan smith #negan twd #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jdm x reader #twd fanfiction #negan the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead negan

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meadowfics · 3 months ago

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suddenly, you're my valentine

se-mi x f!reader

your bestfriend turned lover gives you a good valentine's day

warnings: friends to lovers. reader has issues with love.

valentine’s day has always been bittersweet for you.

no matter how much you try to ignore it, the ache of loneliness never fails to creep in. everywhere you turn, there are couples holding hands, exchanging gifts, sharing soft kisses.

reminders of the love you’ve always wanted but never truly had.

you’ve never had good luck in love.

every time you let someone in, they leave.

maybe it’s you. maybe you’re just not meant to be loved the way you hope for.

so, when you wake up to a bouquet of deep red roses sitting on your nightstand, your heart stutters. confusion swirls in your chest because no one has ever done something like this for you.

did someone get into your house? there is only one person who has a key to your apartment besides you.

attached to the bouquet is a small envelope, your name written neatly in handwriting you recognize instantly..

semi’s.

your best friend,

the other person who has a key to your apartment.

your lips twitch into a small smile as you open the card.

nside, there’s a note written in semi’s familiar, neat script:

happy valentine’s day, y/n. get ready, i’m picking you up at 7. wear something nice.

your heart races.

semi’s always been sweet to you, but this feels… different. still, you push down the lingering hope that bubbles in your chest, telling yourself that she’s just being the best friend she’s always been.

at exactly seven, semi arrives, a small grin on her lips as she stands at your door with a single red rose in hand.

she looks stunning, dressed in a dark red blouse that complements her effortlessly, her dark hair styled just right.

your breath catches for a second.

“wow,” you murmur, before you can stop yourself.

“you clean up nice.”

semi chuckles, handing you the rose.

“you look beautiful, y/n.”

your face heats up at the compliment, but you shake it off. this is just semi being semi.

nothing more.

she takes you to one of the nicest restaurants in the city, one you’ve always wanted to go to but never had the chance. the candlelit ambiance, the soft music, the way semi’s eyes never leave you.

it all feels so intimate, so much like a date, and yet you don’t let yourself believe it.

“so,” you say, swirling your drink, trying to ignore the way your heart is betraying you.

“what’s all this for? i mean, i know it’s valentine’s day, but this seems like… a lot.”

semi leans forward slightly, her fingers playing with the stem of her wine glass.

“you deserve it.”

you scoff, shaking your head.

“i don’t know about that.”

se-mi's brows furrow, lips pressing into a thin line.

“why do you do that?”

“do what?”

“act like you’re not worthy of good things. of love.”

your stomach twists.

“because I do not feel like I am worthy, semi.”

semi's expression softens, but there’s a certain intensity in her gaze that makes it hard to hold.

“that’s not true.”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you focus on your food, pretending like your heart isn’t hammering in your chest.

the night continues with semi making sure you feel special, treating you with so much tenderness it nearly makes you want to cry.

she pays the bill before you can argue, and when you step outside, the cool night air kissing your skin, she turns to you with a small smile.

“one more surprise,” she says, taking your hand in hers.

you don’t question it.

you never do when it comes to semi.

she drives you to a secluded hilltop, where a blanket is already set up with fairy lights twinkling softly around it. there’s a small box sitting at the center of the blanket.

“semi…” your voice is barely above a whisper, overwhelmed by everything she’s done for you tonight.

she gestures for you to sit, and when you do, she hands you the box. with hesitant hands, you open it, only to find a delicate silver bracelet inside, a small charm hanging from it..

your initial intertwined with hers.

your breath hitches.

“semi… this is… this is beautiful.”

you smile up at her.

"you're such a good best friend, semi."

she watches you carefully, lips parting slightly like she’s holding something back. then, she finally speaks.

“i didn’t do this as your best friend, y/n.”

your fingers tighten around the bracelet. your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

“what… what do you mean?”

semi exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair.

“i did this because i’m in love with you.”

everything stills.

your eyes snap to hers, searching, needing to know if she’s serious.

there’s no hesitation, no doubt in her gaze.

“you’re lying.” the words leave your lips before you can stop them.

“you… you don’t love me like that. i’m not even your type, semi.”

she shakes her head, frustration flickering across her face.

“what does that even mean, y/n? you’ve always been my type. I just...i didn’t know how to tell you without scaring you away.”

your breath shudders as you take in her words, your emotions a tangled mess inside of you.

all this time, you’ve convinced yourself that you weren’t enough. that love wasn’t meant for you.

however, here she is. semi, your best friend, the only person who has ever truly seen you...telling you that she loves you.

before you can think, before doubt can creep in, you surge forward, crashing your lips against hers.

semi freezes for a split second before responding with just as much urgency, her hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer.

the kiss is desperate, filled with all the emotions you’ve buried for so long.

your hands tangle in her hair, and she groans softly into your mouth, tilting her head to deepen the kiss. your plump lips attaching to hers..

it’s intoxicating, the way she tastes, the way she feels against you.

when you finally pull away, breathless, foreheads pressed together, you whisper,

“i love you too, semi. happy valentine’s day.”

she lets out a shaky laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

“best valentine’s day ever.”

masterlist

#se mi #squid game #squid game s2 #squid game fanfic #squid game season 2 #squid game x y/n #squid game x reader #squid game x you #multifandom account #se mi squid game #se mi x reader #player 380 #squid game headcanons

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siilent-wanderer · 3 months ago

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Valentines with aespa

Where would the aespa members take you out on a date?

Jimin

Late-Night Drive & Stargazing

Picks you up in her car with a playlist full of R&B and dreamy pop songs

Takes you to a secluded hilltop or a beachside parking lot with the best view of the night sky

"I swear, this spot has the best view. Just wait till your eyes adjust."

Brings a cozy blanket, some hot chocolate, and snacks she prepared (probably cutely packed bento-style)

Talks about everything and nothing, her fingers intertwined with yours as she leans in close

As you admire the stars, she murmurs, "You know, I could stare at something just as breathtaking right next to me."

"Always so cheesy, babe"

Sings softly along to the music while looking at you, her eyes full of admiration

"This song reminds me of you"

Steals kisses under the stars when she thinks you're too distracted by the view

When you shiver slightly, she shifts closer, draping her arm around you. "Cold? Here, come here."

Aeri

Underground Live Music Bar & Arcade Night

Finds a cozy, dimly lit bar with live indie bands where you can sit close, sharing drinks and vibing to the music

Loves how you lean into her when the music gets louder, her arm draped over the back of your chair

She nudges your shoulder as you sip your drink, "Hey, if I wrote you a song, would you come to my concert?"

"You know I would, baby"

"Serious?"

"I've always been your number one fan, Aeri, that's not gonna change"

Challenges you to a round of arcade games afterward, acting smug when she wins but giving you prizes anyway

The moment she picks up a toy from the claw machine, she turns to you

"For you, my queen. Only took me five tries."

Gets competitive in air hockey but lets you win “because you’re cute when you gloat”

Holds your hand the entire time, her thumb rubbing circles on your skin absentmindedly

Ends the night by walking you home, casually throwing her jacket over your shoulders if you get cold

Minjeong

Cozy Bookstore Date & Café Hopping

Brings you to an aesthetic, indie bookstore where you both browse through poetry and fantasy novels

Playfully picks out books she thinks you'd like (or ones with the most dramatic romance plots)

Insists on reading a passage out loud just to see you react

She absentmindedly taps the spine of her book, then mumbles, "You look really pretty when you’re focused, you know that?"

Drags you to her favorite hole-in-the-wall café, where she’s a regular and knows exactly what to order for you

"You know me so well"

Ends up feeding you bites of her dessert while laughing at her own jokes

As you sip your coffee, she watches you and grins

"You have a little foam on your lip"

"Hmm?"

"Wait, let me…"

She wipes it off with her thumb, eyes flickering to your lips

Holds your hand across the table, squeezing it every time she finds you extra cute

Yizhuo

Amusement Park & Street Food Date

Takes you to a theme park and insists on going on all the fast rides first

Holds your hand tightly on roller coasters but teases you if you scream too much

As the roller coaster drops, she screams "I LOVE YOU—" before bursting into laughter

"Wait, I didn’t mean to confess like that!"

Wins you the biggest plushie at a carnival game just to show off

She grins as she holds up a huge stuffed animal

"I won this for you. Say I’m the best, and I might win you another one. Come on."

Dares you to try weird street food combinations with her — probably something spicy and chaotic

Laughs until she can’t breathe when you make a funny face after eating something too sour

Walks beside you with her arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close every time you giggle at her antics

She links arms with you while strolling through the park

"Let’s take cute pictures so you can look at them when you miss me."

At the end of the night, she tugs you close

"One more ride? Or do you just want to hold my hand and pretend we’re in a kdrama?"

"You never run out of things to say, do you?"

"Never. You gotta get used to it"

#aespa imagines #aespa scenarios #karina x reader #giselle x reader #winter x reader #ningning x reader #karina imagines #giselle imagines #winter imagines #ningning imagines #fem reader #girl group imagines #yu jimin #aeri uchinaga #kim minjeong #ning yizhuo #aespa headcanons

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leaderwon · 3 months ago

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𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 : 𝐒𝐉𝐘 | 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐝𝐚𝐲 — 𝟑)

synopsis : A spontaneous midnight hangout at Jake’s favorite lookout spot turns into an unexpected heart-to-heart, where unspoken feelings finally come to light.

warnings : teasing, skinship, light kissing

wc : 1.3k+

MASTERLIST

It was Jake’s idea to meet at the hilltop.

“It’s got the best view,” he’d said earlier in the day, excitement dancing in his eyes. “You’ll love it, trust me.” You’d rolled your eyes at his insistence, but here you were now, bundled up against the chilly night air as you followed him up a narrow trail. He carried a small backpack over one shoulder, the faint sound of clinking glass bottles coming from inside.

“You never told me why this place is so special,” you said, your breath visible in the cold. Jake turned to look at you, walking backward with an easy grin. “It’s not just the view,” he explained. “It’s the quiet. No distractions, no noise. Just us.”

His words lingered in the air, and you felt your cheeks heat up despite the cold.

When you reached the top, you were met with a breathtaking view of the city below. The twinkling lights stretched as far as the eye could see, the skyline glowing softly against the dark sky. Jake set his bag down and pulled out a blanket, spreading it on the grass before gesturing for you to sit.

“See? Worth the hike, right?” he asked, dropping down beside you.

“Okay, I’ll admit it’s pretty amazing,” you replied, leaning back on your hands as you took in the view. Jake grinned, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Told you.”

From his bag, he pulled out two bottles of soda and handed you one. The gesture was so Jake so simple, thoughtful, and effortlessly charming.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping your drinks and letting the quiet of the night settle around you. It was easy to lose yourself in moments like this with him, where words didn’t feel necessary, and the company was enough.

Jake broke the silence first. “You know, I don’t bring just anyone up here.” You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Should I feel special?” He chuckled, leaning back on his elbows. “Maybe you should.” There was a teasing edge to his voice, but when you looked at him, his expression was softer, more sincere. His eyes, always so warm and inviting, seemed to hold something unspoken.

“Jake,” you began, shifting to face him fully, “why do I get the feeling you have something on your mind?” He hesitated, his gaze flickering back to the city lights below. For a moment, you thought he might brush it off with one of his usual jokes, but instead, he let out a quiet sigh.

“You’re not wrong,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “There’s been something I’ve been wanting to say, but I didn’t know how.” Your heart started to race, the weight of his words settling between you. “You can tell me anything, you know that,” you said gently. Jake smiled, a small, almost nervous curve of his lips. “I know. It’s just hard to find the right words.”

He sat up straighter, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. “You mean a lot to me. More than I think you realize. And I’ve been scared to say it because... what if you don’t feel the same?”

Your breath caught, his confession hanging in the air. Jake wasn’t usually one to doubt himself. He was confident, playful, and sure of his place in the world. Seeing him like this, vulnerable and unsure, only made your heart ache for him.

“Jake,” you said softly, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to be scared.” He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours for any hint of rejection. But all he found was warmth, understanding, and something else, something that mirrored the feelings he’d just laid bare.

“I’ve felt the same for a while now,” you admitted, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. His expression shifted instantly, a mixture of relief and joy lighting up his face. “You have?” You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I thought you’d figured it out by now. You’re not exactly subtle, Jake.”

He laughed at that, the sound bright and genuine. “Guess I’m not as smooth as I thought, huh?” “Not even close,” you teased, leaning into him slightly.

Jake’s laughter softened, and he reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was light, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “I’m really glad I brought you here tonight,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “Me too,” you replied, your gaze dropping to his lips for the briefest of moments.

Jake noticed, of course he did, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his tone filled with a mix of confidence and hesitation. Your heart skipped a beat at his question, but you didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” you said softly.

The kiss was gentle at first, his lips brushing against yours as if testing the waters. But when you leaned into him, your hand resting lightly on his chest, he deepened the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle your face.

The world around you seemed to fade away, the city lights below becoming nothing more than a distant glow. All that mattered in that moment was him, his warmth, his touch, and the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

When you finally pulled away, Jake rested his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed as he let out a quiet laugh. “That was even better than I imagined,” he admitted, his voice filled with awe. You smiled, your fingers lightly tracing the fabric of his jacket. “You’ve imagined this?” “More times than I can count,” he confessed, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, the night air cool around you but the warmth between you keeping the chill at bay. As the stars began to peek out from behind the clouds, you realized that this moment, this night, was one you’d never forget.

And from the way Jake held your hand on the walk back, neither would he.

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 11 months ago

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It was still dark out when you heard Daryl moving softly about your little camp. You shifted on your bedroll and smiled when his poncho slipped down off you as your propped yourself up on your palm. You rubbed at the sleep still keeping your eyelids heavy. "Daryl?" you called softly.

"Yeah, 'm righ' here," he drawled quietly, materializing in the low glow of the coals.

"Is everything okay?" you asked, your breath rising in a translucent cloud in the cold air.

He nodded. "Yeah. I heard somethin'. S'just a deer. Go back to sleep."

You studied his broad shoulders for a moment and a flame of heat wicked up suddenly in your chest. "Are you?"

"Uhh—" he shrugged. "I dunno. Not sure if I can. I ain't much good at goin' back to sleep once 'm up."

"Mmmm," you hummed, nodding. "Well," you went on, sitting up, "we can get warm again now and maybe that will help." You leaned forward and Daryl watched you throw some small sticks on the coals and stir them around, blowing the ash away. The sticks caught and soon you had fed the fire back to life.

Daryl sunk down a short distance away from you, chewing on his bottom lip. It was a nervous habit of his that you knew well. "Are you alright? Something on your mind?" you asked.

His blue eyes shot up to land on your face again. "Yeah... kinda..."

"You wanna talk about it or no?"

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and ducked his head for a moment, trying to heave up some courage like an anchor from the depths. "Could—" he gulped, "—could you be happy... here with me? I mean," he suddenly became very interested in a loose string on his pants, "if I asked ya to—to stay? I know that would mean ya can't go back to Hilltop with Maggie. I know that... ya can't be in two places at once. But—"

Your face suddenly grew into an elated smile, and you seemed to brighten with a glow as it did. When Daryl hazarded a glance at you again, he couldn't look away. "Are you asking me to?"

He gulped again, but nodded. "Yeah. I am. I just—" his brow furrowed for a moment as he tried to figure out how to voice his feelings, "—I feel like part of me is missin' when ya ain't here."

Your expression softened and Daryl's heart raced. "I feel the same way. Exactly the same."

A cool rush of relief passed over Daryl. "Ya do?"

"I do," you said, nodding again.

Daryl thought he was about to burst he was so happy.

Prompt: "Could you be happy here with me?"

#soft!daryl #l #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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janiehellion · 5 months ago

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𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝚸𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Winter has always been a season of bitter memories for you—cold nights, a frozen soul, and scars that still bleed into the snow. Until Daryl Dixon shows up, dragging a plastic Christmas tree with him—and the warmth that'll melt the ice around your heart.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Hurt ⋮ Comfort ⋮ Trauma ⋮ Childhood Neglect & Abandonment ⋮ Emotional & Physical Abuse ⋮ Fluff ⋮ Angst

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 7.227 𝑺𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈: S9E16 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: GenderNeutral!Reader

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆: A work around the themes of loneliness, healing, and Christmas. The holidays aren’t always full of joy and warmth, and sometimes they bring up the memories we’d rather forget.

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

Outside, Alexandria was covered in snow, untouched and pure, like the world had decided to play pretend for a day.

Everything looked peaceful.

You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, though it wasn't the cold creeping through the windows that made you shiver. It was the kind of silent pain that settled in during the quiet moments, the one that came when the world slowed down enough for your mind to wander where you didn't want it to go.

It was beautiful in a way that felt cruel—mocking, almost. The kind of beauty that reminded you of what the world used to be, back before the dead started walking and the winters turned colder in more ways than one. And you didn't know when it started—the feeling that something inside you was broken beyond repair.

That you could never be whole.

Your eyes looked at the group arriving outside. They were wearing whatever winter clothes they'd managed to scavenge over the years—puffy jackets, old scarves, patched gloves.

Judith ran through the snow as Lydia chased her, trying to hit her with a snowball. RJ crouched behind Michonne, who had her hands on her hips, pretending to scold him while he piled snowballs together for an attack. Carol stood nearby, her arms crossed, but with the kind of smile that said she was about to join. And then there was Daryl.

God, Daryl.

He was back. He was safe. That was supposed to be enough to make you smile too. But, even now, as you watched him, your thoughts wandered elsewhere.

You had always been happy to see him come back home after a long trip, but this time, something felt different. He'd been gone for what felt like forever—taking the people from the fallen Kingdom to the Hilltop, making sure they were safe. And usually, you'd be waiting by the gates, running into his arms, even more so because of how much you secretly loved him.

And now he stood out there like he belonged to that snow-covered world.

He had a snowball in one hand, and the second you saw the way he laughed, you knew someone was about to get hit by it. Sure enough, he threw it across the street, hitting RJ, but the grin on his face said he wasn't angry.

You realized how you'd never seen him like this—laughing, actually laughing, as RJ made a surprise attack on him and managed to hit him back. Daryl stumbled back dramatically, pretending to be wounded, before throwing himself into the snow with a groan that made the kids and everyone else laugh in pure joy.

Daryl didn't get moments like this often. Hell, none of you did. Watching him like this felt like being let in on a secret he didn't even realize he was sharing. For a moment, it was enough to warm you.

But then it wasn't.

The smile faded as the memories came back, uninvited as always. Snow had never been a source of joy for you. It had been the weather too many winters where the cold wasn't just outside but inside, too. Inside your home, inside your family, inside the way they'd looked at you—or didn't.

No, snow never brought good memories for you. Winter meant cold floors and lonely nights, shivering under thin blankets that never quite kept the frost out. It meant sitting by a broken heater in the living room, praying the old thing wouldn't quit on you while you were freezing near the Christmas tree your grandma had decorated with so much love.

She'd tried; bless her heart. She'd tried so much. Your grandma had done everything she could for you, but she'd been sick, and she wasn't getting better. She was all you had, and she loved you even though you had always felt like a mistake, the failed abortion and black sheep, in your family. The scapegoat.

You let out a deep and slow breath, trying to shove the memories back where they belonged—some dark corner of your mind where you didn't have to feel them anymore. But the pain was still there, as it always was, like a scar that never quite healed.

"Get it together," you mumbled to yourself, trying not to sob. "That was a long time ago. Doesn't matter now. Not anymore."

But then there were them.

Your aunt had moved in not long after your grandma started showing signs of dementia, bringing her two mean, hateful kids with her. Cousins around the same age as you who looked at you like you were shit and treated you even worse than that. And Christmas? Christmas was just another excuse for them to make you feel like a burden and to bully you.

It was the time when you had to sit far enough away that it was clear you weren't part of the celebration and were unwanted. Wrapping paper on the floor all around you, your hands busy cleaning up while everyone else laughed, opening the gifts you didn't even dare hope were for you, and feeling the emptiness in your heart when your treats disappeared before you could even touch them.

You could still remember sitting by the beautiful Christmas tree, watching them rip into the presents. You didn't get to open yours the same way, either—no, your aunt made sure of that. She'd hand you the gifts with your name on them like it was some kind of joke, then make sure her kids could take them away before you even had time to blink.

"Why don't you let your cousins play with it, huh?" She'd say, not even trying to hide the hate in her voice. "They don't have much, you know."

And the food? God, the food. You'd sit there, stomach growling, watching the plates on the table full of ham, mashed potatoes, and so much more—more than enough for everyone. But somehow, when it was your turn to eat, the plates were already empty. Or worse, someone would take yours right out of your hands.

"You don't need that," one of your cousins would say, shoving a stolen cookie into his mouth or spitting on it while you sat there, not wanting to cry in front of them and make your grandma feel bad for you. "Let me eat it. You're too fat already, so…"

They'd talked about how your grandma was a fool for keeping you around, for "wasting good food on a mouth that didn't deserve to eat." And later came the sounds of plates breaking, footsteps stomping closer to your dark room where you'd curled up on the bed, too afraid to even breathe and too scared to move at all.

You remembered the way your cousins would come into your room as they whispered the things they knew would make you cry.

"Why don't you run away? No one here wants you anyway."

"You're not a part of our family; you don't even look related. Bet you're adopted."

"She only kept you 'cause she felt bad that you're the child of her dead daughter. Bet she wishes she didn't. It's your fault, after all."

And the worst—oh God, the worst—was when they'd smirk and say, "She's gonna die soon, you know? Then it'll just be us. And you'll be all alone."

You'd bite your tongue until it bled, refusing to let them see the tears they wanted to see. But when you were alone—when the house was finally quiet at night, when the cold was the only thing around you, keeping you company—you'd cry so hard your whole body hurt, muffling the sounds into your pillow so no one would hear. Because if they heard, they'd use it against you.

And then there were the nights when the lights didn't come back on. When the power went out and the heater stopped, you sat in the dark, curled up in a ball, listening to the wind howl through slightly broken windows. Nights when you were so cold that you wondered—not for the first time—if it would be better to just... stop trying.

You used to dream about what it would be like to disappear. To leave that house, that family, that life. Not to run away—no, running wasn't enough. You wanted to vanish, to sink into the snow and let it bury you, let the frost take you somewhere they couldn't follow. Somewhere quiet.

But you never did. You'd tried. You just never let yourself. Because every time you thought about really giving up, you'd remember her—the way your grandma's trembling hands would tuck the blanket tighter around you in the middle of the night, only to kiss the top of your head and stroke your cheek while watching you hug the teddy bear she'd bought you with the bit of money she'd left of her pension.

You remembered how your grandma also tried to fight for you when she could. Still, she was too weak, and your aunt always knew how to manipulate her. Her own mother.

You bit your lip hard as the memories came back like old scars tearing themselves open again. Your hand tightened on the blanket around you, your knuckles turning white as you remembered how much you'd hated the teddy bear at first, thinking it was given to you out of pity back then. "That fucking Teddy. I never knew why I hated it… until I didn't anymore," you whispered, though the words felt meaningless. "No! It's over. Done. They're all gone. Dead. Doesn't matter anymore."

But it did matter. It always did. And it still does. No matter how much you told yourself and how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise. It all mattered.

Your eyes moved back to the window, back to Daryl. For a man who didn't seem to think much of himself, he sure had a way of making people feel safe, of making them smile—even when he wasn't trying.

He had just been tackled by Lydia, who laughed as she tried to shove snow down the back of his poncho. He was pretending to be mad, but the way his hands ruffled her hair when she let go made it clear he didn't mean it.

You couldn't help but wonder if Daryl had ever had something like that growing up—if he'd had anyone to laugh with during the winters, anyone to pull him away from his own painful memories. Or if he'd just kept it all hidden the way you did.

You sighed, your breath fogging up the glass of the window as you watched the snowflakes fall softly to the ground. "You're a real idiot," you said to yourself. "Standing here like this when he's out there laughing and being happy."

Still, you didn't move. Not yet. Something about watching him felt safer than stepping out there like the glass between you and the fun was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

And here you were, still inside, while he was out there living. It wasn't fair to him—not when he'd done so much to keep you safe, to remind you that life could still have moments like this. Moments of joy, no matter how small.

You sighed, taking a step back. "Guess I'll just keep watching for now," you whispered to no one in particular. "He looks so damn happy out there. Don't wanna fuck that up."

But as much as you tried to convince yourself, you couldn't shake the thought that maybe—just maybe—he'd notice you were missing from the fun. He always noticed, didn't he?

But maybe he could be part of what could heal if you let him in.

He had to know, right? That you were more than just the person who waited for him to come back and make sure he was safe, too? That, sometimes, the waiting felt like suffocating, like you were caught in your memories that didn't belong to you anymore?

He was always there for you. You knew that. He had shown up when you needed him most, and yet, here you were, watching him laugh with the others, longing for something more.

But what would more look like?

You didn't have the answer yet.

The laughter outside just felt like it belonged to another world—something distant and innocent, something you couldn't quite enjoy without bringing all your memories with you. That was the problem, wasn't it? You didn't want to drag anyone else into your past, least of all him.

Especially not him.

He deserved this—the joy, the playfulness. He deserved to feel like things weren't so damn hard all the time.

But you also couldn't tear your eyes away.

Daryl looked up as RJ yelled something you couldn't quite make out while he dodged another snowball, quick as ever, and then his eyes looked away for just a second—enough to catch you staring out of the window. You gulped. Hard. You froze like you'd been caught doing something you weren't supposed to, something bad, even though all you'd done was watch.

And then he smiled.

Daryl bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and packed it into a ball. You saw the smile on his face turn into a smirk right before his arm moved forward, sending the snowball flying right toward the house.

It hit the window, leaving a wet trail that started to drip down the glass. You blinked, startled, and the kids outside burst into laughter. Judith tapped Michonne's arm, pointing at the window like it was the funniest thing she'd seen all day.

You wanted to be annoyed—you felt as if you should've been annoyed—but instead, a little laugh slipped out before you could stop it.

And Daryl noticed.

His smirk turned into a soft smile, but the way his brow furrowed just slightly told you he'd picked up on more than you wanted him to. He knew something was wrong. And something told you he wasn't about to let it go.

"No… Don't ruin it for him," you said again, trying to convince yourself to stay put. He was happy out there. That should've been enough.

Of course, you wanted to be near him, but not to annoy him with unnecessary sadness. You were still thinking when you noticed him stand up, brushing snow off himself as he took a quick look over his shoulder. Then he said something to the kids and the others before turning away. Judith pouted, clearly wanting him to stay, but he shook his head.

And then? Then he walked toward the house.

Shit... He'd noticed. He knew.

You turned away from the window, your heart racing as the sound of his boots crunching through the snow grew louder. Part of you wanted to run upstairs and hide in any room until he gave up, but you just stood there, unable to move.

The front door opened, letting in the cold air from outside that made you shiver, and you heard him stomp the snow off his boots before he took them off by the door.

"Thought I saw ya by the window. What're ya doin' standin' here all by yerself?"

You didn't turn around to face him; you didn't trust yourself to look him in the eye just yet. "Just… watching," you mumbled quietly, looking down to the floor.

Daryl didn't believe you. You could feel him staring at you, trying to figure out what exactly was wrong. "Nah, ya look like hell," he said bluntly, but it wasn't mean—it was just Daryl.

You snorted in return, shaking your head. "Thanks, I guess."

"What's goin' on?" He asked, more gently this time, taking a few steps toward you.

"It's nothing, Daryl. Come on… The kids are still out there, waiting for you."

He didn't call you out on it, but you could feel his frustration. He hated when you shut him out, but he also knew better than to push too hard. Instead, he just stood there now, waiting.

And it made you want to cry.

No, Daryl never pressed you further or forced answers you weren't ready to give. He just let out a quiet grunt after a while, the kind that could mean anything from 'fine' to 'I'll be right back,' before he turned and headed toward another room.

In an instant, everything felt emptier without him. You figured he was giving you space—something he did better than most people in Alexandria—but when you heard the sound of another door opening and closing again, your brow furrowed.

You didn't do anything until you heard Daryl clear his throat behind you, and when you finally looked at him, the sight stopped you dead.

There he stood, looking more awkward than you'd ever seen him, holding the most hideous and rather small plastic Christmas tree you'd ever laid eyes on. It was lopsided, with lots of fake needles missing from the branches, and the base looked like it'd been duct-taped back together at some point. In his other hand was a beat-up old box with the words 'Our Holiday Decorations' written across the side with a marker that looked faded by now.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

He moved uncomfortably, his eyes looking from you to the ridiculous tree and back again. "Found it a while back," he said in a way that suggested he was already regretting the decision to bring it out and show it to you. "Thought... maybe we could, uh... fix it up. Or somethin'. Like, y'know?"

You blinked, completely confused yet surprised. "Daryl, what in the world…"

"It ain't much," he said quickly, cutting you off like he was bracing for you to hate it. "Jus' somethin' I found. Figured it might…" He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes now looking anywhere but at you. "Y'know... help. Dunno."

You didn't realize your hands were trembling until you had to tighten your grip on the blanket once more to keep them steady. "You… Daryl, why did you do this? What did you do this for? That—"

He shrugged, almost a little too unbothered for your liking, and cut you off again. "Ain't nothin'. Jus' thought ya might, uh… like it. Yeah. No one else 'round here does. Can't blame 'em. Looks ridiculous, don't it?"

He set the box with the decorations down on the coffee table and started looking through it. Inside was random stuff, like ornaments, most of them having a crack. A string of lights that no longer worked with a few burnt-out and broken bulbs. A garland that looked like it had been pieced together from three others or more. It was a complete mess.

Daryl then held up a dusty angel topper and a star topper as well, the gold paint peeling off the wings from the angel. "Ain't pretty either, but it'll do," he said, turning them over in his hands.

Your heart ached. It was too much—too sweet, too thoughtful, too Daryl. You wiped the edge of the blanket over your face quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice the tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, but of course, he did.

"What's wrong?" His voice softened, and when you looked up, he was watching you in a way that always made you feel like he could see straight through you. "Don't like it?"

You shook your head, trying to laugh it off. "It's just… I didn't expect this, you know? I don't—" Your voice cracked, and you hated how pathetic it made you sound. "I don't deserve this, I suppose."

Daryl frowned, his eyes narrowing like you'd just said the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. "That's bullshit."

You turned away, biting your lip, trying to keep the memories hidden, but it was like trying to hold back a storm. It wasn't just the tree—it was Daryl standing there, trying so hard to give you something you couldn't ask for, even if you wanted to.

"I just…" You swallowed hard, your voice shaking. "Christmas was never good for me. I—" You stopped, stumbling over your own words, but Daryl didn't say anything. He just waited, patient as always.

You took a deep breath, staring at the ugly little tree like it might help you. "I never told you anything about my past, even though you've asked me about it for years by now, I know. It's just… Okay, you really want to know? Do you want to listen? To hear it? Fine."

You walked over to the window again, preparing yourself. "My parents died when I was a baby. I don't even remember them. I just know my mom was beaten by my dad, which led to her death in the end, and my dad then killed himself. Of course, I've been told all my life it was because of me. That it was all my fault. I grew up with my grandma, but she was sick—really sick. She tried, but she couldn't keep up after Grandpa died, and only a bit later, my mother, too. My aunt moved in to ‘help,' but she just... made everything worse."

Your hands clenched into fists, the blanket slipping off your shoulders as the memories came back in full force. "She hated me. I don't know why, but she did. She only wanted my grandma's money. The bit that was left of it. And every Christmas, she'd make sure I knew I wasn't part of the family. The presents weren't for me—they were for her kids. If I got anything, it was trash. Like, literal trash. The wrapping paper and such…"

You swallowed hard. "I wasn't allowed to sit with them under the tree. They'd make me clean up the wrapping paper while they opened their gifts. And one year…" You hesitated, the memory hurting like a fresh wound. "One year, my aunt backed her car over my foot outside the house. On purpose. Said I was in her way when we wanted to drive to church."

You hugged yourself, fingers pressing into your arms like you could stop the pain. "I heard the engine before I felt it. And then…" You closed your eyes like it was happening all over again. "I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even scream. I just stood there while she rolled the window down and said I should’ve gotten out of the way."

Meanwhile, Daryl's muscles in his arms flexed, his hands turning into fists at his sides, but he didn't interrupt.

"I spent the rest of that Christmas in my bedroom," you whispered further as you continued. "Well, it was more of a storage room for them to use from time to time, really. One of my cousins sometimes hid rotten food in it and all. But when I sneaked out in pain to get something to eat, all the food was gone. They didn't save me anything. Nothing at all. My grandma thought I'd eaten already. I lied and said yes, that I was staying home on purpose in case Santa might still be around. I haven't told her what her own daughter did. I didn't want to worry her. Didn't want to see her cry. I wanted her to be happy, to see and have a happy family, or… what was left of it."

Daryl was still quiet. You had no idea what he was thinking, but you didn’t want to know. Not right now.

Your shoulders shook, and you hated yourself for breaking down, but it was too late to stop it. "I hated Christmas from then on. Hated winter. The snow. It just… It always felt cold, no matter how many blankets I had. I never felt… wanted. It's ridiculous, I know! It's embarrassing! It's... bullshit! God, I don't even know why I'm telling you all this, even though it's only a tiny part of my past."

You turned to look at Daryl, and the anger in his eyes wasn't for you—it was for them, for every single person who had ever hurt you. "'S still yer past. And it ain’t yer fault."

It was too late. The words had already left you, and now, there was no going back.

"But it is," you said softly, almost to yourself. "Because maybe it’s just... me."

"It ain't. They're gone," he said quietly, reaching out to grab your arm. "They can't hurt ya no more. And I ain't them," he added, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "I ain't gonna let ya feel like that ever again. Gonna make sure of that."

You couldn't stop yourself from laughing all of a sudden—loud and unhinged like it was the only thing left in you to do as you jerked your arm away from his touch. "You don't know shit, Daryl," you spat out, shaking your head as you backed away. "You think just because you showed up and listened to me, everything's gonna change? That everything's gonna be okay?"

Your voice trembled, but you didn't care. You were already gone—lost in the shame, the rage that had been deep inside you for so long. You didn't even look at him anymore when you spoke. You couldn't.

"Nothing's gonna change. Nothing, okay?" The tears burned like acid behind your eyes, but you were done holding them back. "You think you can fix this? Me? You think you're just gonna come in here and make everything feel better?" You then rushed toward him, fists in the air. "It's too fucking late for that!"

Your hands hit his chest, not hard enough to hurt him, but it was enough. Enough to make your anger feel real. You hit him again and again, your rage turning desperate. "You don't get it! You can't fix shit! You can't! I don't want your fucking pity, Daryl!"

You shoved him backward, your breath coming out ragged and fast. "What the hell do you think you're even doing? Trying to save me from myself?"

Daryl didn't back away from you. He didn't even move when your fists hit him. Instead, he huffed, and he reached for your wrists, pinning them back down to your sides.

"Let go of me, Daryl!" You fought against him, trying to push him away, but he was too strong. "Just leave me be!"

"Damn it, jus' stop," he growled. "Stop pushin' me away like ya always did. Like ya still do!"

But his words didn't stop you. You kept trying to get free and to escape. "No! And I don't care, Daryl! I don't! Just forget about it! Forget about what I said!"

His eyes closed, and you felt him tense up. But instead of letting go, instead of pushing you away like everyone else had, something inside of him just... snapped. And in an instant, he pulled you into his arms.

You didn't fight. You couldn't. You just let yourself go. You relaxed into him, your hands holding onto his shirt after his arms wrapped around you. The tears hurt your eyes, wet and painful, like a fire that was trying to burn you alive from the inside out.

Daryl didn't speak for a long time. You couldn't even look at him. You couldn't look at anything. You just needed to breathe—just needed to stop feeling like you were suffocating and turning into ashes while being trapped inside your skin.

After some time, Daryl finally spoke, his voice sounding like he was struggling to keep it together himself. "I get it," he mumbled, one of his hands rubbing up and down your back slowly. "I get it more than ya know. I ain't never been fixed. Ain't never been saved. Hell, I'm still fuckin' broken myself, too."

You shook your head, sniffling, but you didn't pull away. His words hit you like a punch to the gut—his words were a truth you couldn't deny. He'd been through his own hell, his own darkness. And you knew. He'd told you. Out of every person he could've trusted enough, he'd always chosen you.

But when you finally pulled back, he handed you a small, wrapped package from his jacket pocket without any explanation and no hesitation either. "And actually…" He continued and held it up. "Got this for ya."

He opened it with slightly trembling hands, your breath stopping when you saw the small, handmade bracelet inside. Each charm was different—a tiny feather, a little carved dog, a tree, and an arrow.

Pieces of him, pieces of you.

"It ain't much," he said again, but the way he looked at you said it meant everything as he handed you the bracelet.

You stared down at it in your hands, your heart racing, the tears in your eyes making the little charms blurry as you looked at them and turned the bracelet over, your fingers trembling. "What…? Daryl, no…"

He moved a bit awkwardly in front of you, his eyes moving from you to the floor like he wasn't sure where to look. "Ain't nothin' too fancy," he grumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "Jus' figured... y'know. Thought ya might like it more if ya won't like the tree."

"Like it?" Your voice cracked, and you laughed a little, though it came out choked and shaky. "It's, it's... I just—" You swallowed hard, your heart aching from how much you wanted to say. "I don't… I don't deserve this."

Daryl's head snapped up at that, his eyes narrowing fast. "Cut that shit out," he sighed, though there was no anger in his voice. "Ain't 'bout what ya think ya deserve. S' yours."

Your hands trembled as you turned the bracelet over once more, and Daryl then started to point at each charm of the bracelet.

"This one," he then said, pointing to the tiny feather, "s'posed to be a dove's feather, maybe. Thought it could mean somethin' like peace."

"Peace? Feathers are just what's left after the bird is gone. Blown away like it never mattered," you scoffed in defiance, not wanting to believe him.

But he simply moved on to the next charm, the little dog. "That one's a dog. Reminded me of… well, Dog. Y'know, always loyal. Ain't goin' anywhere."

"Loyal," you grumbled. "Or just waiting. Waiting for its owner, who might not come back."

Daryl took a quick look at you but continued. "The tree... ain't jus' 'bout trees out there. It's... I dunno, 'bout strong roots. Growin'. Even when it's hard."

You huffed. "Roots keep you stuck, too, don’t they? No choice but to stay wherever the hell you are. Rooted too deep to move, even when you want to."

Daryl's lips parted slightly, and he sighed, maybe in frustration, maybe in understanding. Still, he pressed forward. By now, your hands were shaking so much you could barely hold the bracelet steady. His eyes looked at your face, noticing the tears still, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.

"And the arrow," he said. "That's for strength. 'Cause ya pull it back, and then it flies farther than ya think. Thought… maybe ya'd remember that. Every time ya see it. Goin' forward."

You laughed through your tears. "Or it misses. It misses and ends up somewhere you didn’t mean it to."

"Or maybe," Daryl answered in an instant, "it hits exactly where it needs to."

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think. The bracelet. The care. It was too much, and yet it wasn't enough to make you believe you deserved it.

"Daryl," you choked out, "I really can't… I don't…" You couldn't finish, and suddenly, you were holding the bracelet to your heart as though letting it go might tear you apart in an instant.

But you didn’t even realize you were falling—not until you felt his arms around you. Strong and impossibly gentle, they caught you before you could hit the ground. For a second, maybe two, the world stood still. It felt as if your tears froze, and the only thing holding you to reality was the real presence of him.

His hands held you like you might fall apart if he let go, pulling you closer, closer still. You didn’t even have time to stop him, not that you could. Your legs started to tremble, and for a moment, you thought this was it—this was when you’d finally break.

But he didn’t let you.

Instead, Daryl moved with you like he’d done it a hundred, maybe a thousand, times before. Over and over again. Slowly—so, so slowly—he sank onto his knees on the cold floor with you.

The cry that tore through you wasn’t quiet or controlled—it was loud and ugly, ripping its way through your heart like it might kill you. But Daryl didn’t move. He didn’t pull away.

His hold only tightened. Like he could block out the world, the pain, the memories—all of it—just by holding on. Neither of you moved. You were frozen in that moment—held not just by him, but by the truth that this—this—was the first time in forever you had let yourself fall.

But you weren’t just falling.

You were being caught.

Time felt like it had stopped.

Daryl's fingers soon fumbled with the bracelet as he put it around your wrist without giving you time to protest. "Hold still. I gotcha," he grumbled. "This damn thing's harder than skinnin' a squirrel."

You snorted a laugh through the tears in return. "Why? Is that something you still do often?"

"More'n ya'd think," he answered, finally managing to fasten it. "There. Ain't gonna fall off or nothin'."

You stared at it—the small, simple charms. The tiny feather. The dog. The tree. The arrow. Each one a piece of… him.

"But," you whispered, looking up at him. "I... I don't have anything for you in return. I have nothing to give you."

"Bullshit," he said, sitting back on his heels. "Ya think I don't see it jus' 'cause yer the one who can't see it? What ya give me?"

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died on the spot as he reached up, his hand hushing you.

"Stop. Don't wanna hear that shit, alright?" He pulled his hand back. "Ya give me peace."

You couldn't help but laugh at that. "Peace? Daryl, I don't even know what the hell I'm doing half the time! You—you hold everything together, and I just—"

"But yer holdin' me together..." His voice cracked, and you froze. He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable, but he still didn't move as you pushed your head against his shoulder.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there, wrapped in Daryl’s arms, but your breathing had finally slowed, and you sniffled, your fingers loosening their grip on him.

"Ya good for now?"

You nodded against his shoulder, though your answer felt pitiful at best. "Yeah... I think so." You wiped at your face quickly, too embarrassed to even look at him.

"Alright, then." He shifted slightly, giving you room to pull back, but one hand stayed on your arm. "C'mon. That tree ain't gonna decorate itself."

You blinked, confused by the sudden change in topic. "The tree?" You sniffled again, your voice cracking, and Daryl grunted in response.

"Yeah. Figured if it’s gonna stand there lookin' like shit, might as well give it somethin' worth fallin' over for."

"It already looks like it wants to fall over just from existing, Daryl. Or from dying."

"Exactly." He leaned back on his heels. "Means we gotta hurry ‘fore it gives up."

"It already has… The tree's ugly as hell."

"'S what I told ya," he agreed, smirking at you. "But so are ya when ya cry. Guess it fits."

Your jaw dropped, and you smacked his arm with force. "You're such an ass, Daryl Dixon!"

"Yeah, yeah," he answered, reaching over to grab the box with the decorations. "And that thing's lookin' like a wet noodle from here."

Before you could choke out another tearful laugh, Daryl moved his head toward the tree again. "C'mon now," he said. "Tree's waitin'."

And it was waiting, alright—waiting to collapse at any second. When the two of you knelt in front of the "tree"—if a bunch of plastic could even be called that—it looked worse than you remembered when he had brought it in.

You couldn't help it—you laughed again. "Daryl, it is looking like a tiny crime scene."

He snorted, reaching for an ornament inside the box. "Hey, don't judge it. Yer bein' small as hell, too."

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe. But I'm pretty sure it's leaning like it's had too much to drink. It's looking very… rustic."

"Rustic my ass," he grumbled, with that same smirk on his face. "Ya better help me clean up the crime scene now."

And you did.

You put the ornament on the tree, and slowly but surely, the tree started to look... well, not good. But better. Sort of. The garland was still sagging, and the broken lights didn't work, but by the time you reached the top, you found yourself smiling—really smiling—for the first time in what felt like ages.

When you reached for the toppers, you paused, turning the angel one over in your hands. The peeling gold wings and torn-off face should've made it ridiculous, but somehow, it felt right.

You looked at Daryl, and without saying a word, you carefully placed the angel at the very top before you turned back to him.

And that's when a branch gave out, dropping half the garland to the floor with a sad-sounding plop.

"Tree's fightin' back," Daryl pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. "Guess it don't like the angel."

You just grinned in response. "Maybe it's protesting how ugly it is. This thing looks like it wants to be put out of its misery, after all."

He smiled, leaning closer so his shoulder touched yours. "Could be worse. Coulda put Dog on top."

And you were laughing again, so hard it hurt.

It was the kind of laugh that came out of nowhere, loud and uncontrollable, leaving your stomach in pain. You hadn't laughed like this in… God, who even knew how long? Maybe forever. And as ridiculous as it felt to be laughing over a plastic Christmas tree, it was exactly what you needed.

Your eyes looked back to Daryl, who was by now grinning a little—just enough that you could tell he was enjoying himself in his quiet, own kind of way.

But he caught you looking and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," you said quickly, but your heart was doing that annoying thing where it felt as if it dropped straight down to your feet. You blamed the stupid tree—or the stupid bracelet—or maybe the stupid way he'd pieced a part of you together without asking for anything from you in return.

"Bullshit," Daryl said, squinting at you like he was trying to guess the answer. "Yer makin' that face again."

"What face?"

"The one where yer thinkin' too much." He shook his head, returning his attention to the tree before continuing. "Overthinkin'."

He wasn't wrong. Thinking too much was exactly your problem. Overthinking... Like how you were suddenly very aware of how close he was, or how the warmth of him was feeling so comfortable as he tried to put a piece of garland back onto the tree.

You thought about how he had simply shown up after returning to Alexandria, dragging a plastic disaster of a Christmas tree into your life, not because he had to—but because he wanted to. He'd done it for you. For you.

"Daryl," you said softly after a while, and he turned to look at you, his brow furrowing ever so slightly.

"Yeah?"

You opened your mouth, but the words felt stuck. How the hell were you supposed to explain this? How were you supposed to tell him that he'd somehow managed to give you something you hadn't felt in years? That for the first time in forever, you didn't feel like you were completely alone? That, right now, you were feeling anything but the loneliness that has been eating you up for years?

And so, instead of answering, you did the only thing that felt right. You didn't overthink.

You let yourself feel it—the warmth of him being so close, every quiet moment he’d chosen to be here with you. You stared at the bracelet on your wrist, the tiny charms... Each one was what you hadn’t let yourself believe in for so long.

Your heart raced as your eyes looked up to meet his. There was no pity there, no hesitation—just the quiet way he looked at you like you were something worth standing still for.

It scared you how much you wanted to trust it. To trust him.

You took a deep, trembling breath, your hand stopping midair like it couldn’t decide if it was brave enough to reach for him. And then, without thinking—without overthinking—you closed the space between you.

You kissed him. Hard.

It wasn’t smooth—your noses bumped against each other, and his stubble scratched against your skin. But it was real. Your hands held onto the front of his shirt, grabbing it like you were afraid to let go. Afraid to fall.

Daryl froze for a second, and you nearly pulled back, terrified you’d made a huge mistake. But then his hands were on you, pulling you closer, and the desperation in the way he kissed you back pushed away every fear and every doubt you’d ever had.

He kissed you like he needed this as much as you did.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, Daryl’s forehead rested against yours.

"’Bout time."

You blinked at him, still trying to catch up with what had just happened. "About time?" Your voice cracked, halfway between a laugh and wanting to argue again. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean now?"

"Means I been waitin’." His voice was rather quiet—like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Before you could reply, the tree behind you made way for another pathetic sound, the angel topper tilting dangerously to one side like it had finally given up.

Daryl stared at it, rolling his eyes. "Guess the tree’s still waitin’, too."

You snorted, the sound half-choked by the laughter that came out of you. "Waiting for what? A funeral?"

"Nah." He pulled you closer, putting his arm around you. "'S waitin' for more duct tape, probably."

You buried your face against Daryl's shoulder, unable to stop your laughter. The plastic tree was still ugly, still barely holding itself together. But somehow, it looked like the most beautiful and small Christmas tree in the world.

For the first time in years, it felt like Christmas. Like a winter that didn't feel so cold anymore.

It felt like home.

This—this moment, this feeling, this man who somehow saw you when you couldn't even see yourself—was home.

And maybe—just maybe—it was perfect.

Imperfectly perfect.

This is one of those stories where I asked myself, ‘What am I putting my readers through today?’ and spun the wheel of seasonal sadness.

On a more serious note, this story is deeply personal to me, so I’d really appreciate thoughtful feedback if you choose to leave a comment.

Writing it meant a lot to me, and I hope it resonates with those who read it. Those who've ever found themselves searching for warmth in the cold.

The song below is a recommendation that just ties to this story.

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formylovetodaryldixon · 5 months ago

Text

“When you finally came back.” Daryl Dixon Imagine.

After escaping from the saviors, Daryl and you finally meet again to stay together this time. Alone, your husband gives you a letter that perhaps expresses a little of what you mean to him.

A/N: This is an imagine I wrote looong time ago. It’s literally my second try to write smut. I don't do it often because I feel i can't express properly how the characters feel :( But I tried, so I hope you like it n’ the letter Daryl gives to you. Thank you!

We’ll find a way to get you back. Okay? Just be strong, please. The only thing he can’t take away from you is your strength. So you just have to prove them you are stronger than them.”

With the light steps of a professional hunter, like the most dangerous and silent animal, that predator that doesn't make the slightest noise before catching its prey, Daryl walks through the empty halls, in the middle of those cold and gray walls. The small chance of escaping from that place is shaped as a key, hiding in the pocket of the trousers he stole from Dwight’s room, not without destroying his carved figurines on the table first. Daryl is agile to avoid the saviors, deathly silent as he takes that pipe, running down the last aisle before turning in the right corner to leave the place, hiding his face under a cap.

Finally, he opens the door to get out of the building, running to the first motorcycle on the line full of them.

“What the hell?” Joey looks at Daryl, who looks at him back, holding a calm, but completely threatening look. “Wow. Wow…” He drops the half of his sandwich and raises his hands in the air, just to show he is harmless. “It’s cool. I swear…”

Daryl approaches him, slowly, his gaze fixed on the frightened prey in front of him.

“Buddy, you can walk down that back gate there and I won’t say anything to anybody. I’m supposed to be there now, but… listen… I… I’m just trying to get by, just like you… Please…”

But, with a contained fury that surpasses human strength, Daryl lifts the pipe and smashes it into Joey’s head, again and again, and again. He remembers the brutality with which he was treated, the fear, and the anger that explodes inside him right there, letting out all the pain in the most inhuman way possible.

Turning around the corner, Jesus runs to him from behind some trucks, stopping at the bloody commotion.

“Daryl…” Jesus says, but Daryl doesn’t stop while the blood splashes on his clothes and part of his face. “Daryl!”

Then, like being pulled out of a trance, Daryl finally stops, looking at what is left of Joey.

“He was jus' walkin’ by here… but it ain’t 'bout gettin’ by.” He breathes out, dropping the pipe. Rick’s gun is hanging from Joey’s waist and Daryl takes it, straightening up himself to look at Jesus. “Ya know anythin’ 'bout ma wife?”

“Yeah. Carl said she’s fine so don’t worry. You will be with (Y/N) again very soon.” Jesus looks at Joey quickly before looking back at Daryl, still surprised by what had happened.

Daryl nods absently, thinking about you as he walks again to the motorcycle.

“I got the key. Let’s go.”

As the others enter the Hilltop through the tall wood gates, your owl brooch slips from your shaky hand in the middle of your way. You are nervous, and you stop yourself to pick it up. The brooch has two silver owls sitting on a branch, and it might have been cheesy if you had received it in the old world you used to live in, and although Daryl said that too when he gave it to you, the gift was a reminder of him.

Finally, you walk through the open gates, but stopping yourself again as you hold the brooch a little harder when you see Daryl pulling away from Rick’s hug when he looks at you. Rick smiles before patting his best friend’s back so Daryl can walk to you, without stopping for a single second. You feel the tingling in your chest, something moving inside you when he picks you up from the ground, taking you in a warm embrace as you wrap your legs around his waist, arms around his neck as his strong arms around your back hold you tight. Still holding the brooch, you hide your face in the crook of his neck as you feel a total relief to see him safe, finally home with his family.

A breath of air for the times you two stopped breathing, hearts beating again for the times they stopped beating, bodies aching for the time you two were apart.

“I made it, peach.” Daryl says, breathless, pulling apart just a little to look into your eyes. “I made it thanks to ya.”

But you shake your head, pushing his hair away from his eyes.

“You made it because you’re strong.”

Daryl smiles softly, finally in peace before kissing you.

After the failed attempt to convince Gregory to fight against Negan, fighting against the urge to shoot him when he found a polite way to tell you all to go to hell, while using the back door of the Hilltop, you all go to see King Ezekiel looking for help, guided by Jesus and his good intentions, but that doesn’t work either. King Ezekiel wanted to give asylum to Daryl, but he rejected it believing that the lack of strength from the king against the saviors wasn’t going to help you all beat Negan and his sadistic people.

It was a waste of time for Daryl, so with all of you standing in the middle of the street in the Kingdom, he puts his hand on your lower back to make you turn, pulling you with him to get out of there. One by one, the group walk to the exit too, plunging into a new kind of disappointment.

“Hey. Open it up!” Daryl says to the man in charge of the front doors. “We’re gone.”

The gates make a metallic sound and it opens for the group who walk out of there.

“You’re not.” Rick says to Daryl, and in the middle of his confusion, he makes you stop.

“I ain’t stayin’ here.” He says looking at Rick, his accent getting thick, his voice deep and full of frustration.

“You have to. It’s the smartest play. You know it is.” Rick places his hand on Daryl's shoulder, trying to tell him with words and a kind look that this is what he has to do. “Try to talk to Ezekiel. Whatever it takes. We’ll be back soon.” Rick walks out of the Kingdom, looking at you both before the doors closed. “We’ll come back for you two.”

Alone in that unfamiliar place, Morgan guides you two to a room so you both can rest. Your spirit is more tired than your body, so you say thank you before following him, with Daryl taking the hand you offer to let himself be guided as well.

Uneasy with the lack of support, but not wanting to say anything because more negativity is not going to help save the situation, you lie back in bed, on your right side, kicking your boots off first, head on the pillow, your disappointed gaze lost in the window. Daryl closes the door, locking it before approaching the bed as well, taking his boots off as well before lying on his side so he could look at you in the eyes this time.

"We will going to be okay, right?" You ask, in a small voice.

His hand looks for the warm of your body, your soft skin under your black t–shirt, smiling at the contact he missed so much.

"We will, peach."

The sunlight comes in, the garden is green on the outside, and you hear people’s voice passing by the building, believing they will be safe forever. Even if Daryl doesn’t want to stay there he has to. It was necessary for him to be safe from the saviors. However, right now, he seems to enjoy your hand massaging his hair. His eyes are closed, grunting softly once in a while every time you touch a good spot. Everything seems to be okay when the world is as quiet as it is right now, without the endless grunting of the walkers, nor Negan’s voice that had no mercy.

“Stop thinkin’ 'bout it.” Daryl says softly, opening his eyes again while taking your hand away from his hair to hold it in his. “We’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

He watches the ring in your finger, the place where it belonged to, and then, Daryl finally looks at you for real. This time, for a moment at least, there is not a shred of shame in his gaze, exposing himself completely to you, as he did every time you two were alone, because it was easy for him to be who he really was with you. Your love was the kind of love he never thought he would get, or deserved, but there you are now: loving him like no one else ever did.

“I got somethin’ for ya…” His hand leaves yours, looking in the back pocket of his pants. But suddenly, it is as if a feeling of vulnerability comes over him as Daryl pulls a folded sheet of paper, handing it to you as his blue eyes sparkle with a new kind of shyness. “S’ somethin’ I wrote for ya… ’bout ya, actually.”

You smile at him before looking at the paper, but without opening it yet. You know Daryl never was good with words, even when there was so much he wanted to tell you, so you understand that he decided to write those feelings down. But they weren't even a quarter of what he really felt for you.

“Can I read it now?” You look at him kindly, giving him the option to be there or not if he wasn't comfortable with it. "If not, I can wait ‘til I'm alone."

“Ya can read it.” He gets closer to you, pushing you softly for you to lay on your back while climbing on you, his nose brushing your skin as he starts kissing your neck, his hand caressing your side. “I'll entertain maself with somethin’ else.”

You love the sudden hot feeling, the tickling between your legs in anticipation, the need to have him close again.

“That’s not fair, you asshole.” You chuckle, trying your best to read the letter.

Daryl loves the aggression, chuckling too against your skin as he pulls himself lower, just to meet your most sensitive and still covered area. His hands look for the bottom and the zipper of your jeans, pushing them out of you with your underwear lock in his fingers. You try very hard to concentrate on reading, trying to understand the messy words on the paper, but when Daryl buries his face into you without a warning, just to devour you completely and earning a moan form your closed lips, it is impossible to do so.

His hot tongue moves against you, kissing and licking and sucking, sending a vibration with the low grunt he makes and that travels through your entire body, so intense that you have to hold onto his long hair to keep your balance, so that your now bent legs wouldn't give in with everything he’s giving you.

Your back arches, overwhelmed with the thousands of different sensations that hits you right there. The cold air mixes with the heat emanating from his tongue, as hot as your body starts to be, so hot that you think it is hell itself. The view of the roof is replaced with darkness behind your closed eyes, mouth finally open as the pleasure is starting to make you see stars.

For a second, you think he can make you come with just that, just like the previous times he did, but now it’s because it had been a while since you two made love, your body extremely sensitive to his touch. Right there, your sex is throbbing painfully, waiting impatiently for him to be inside you.

“Daryl, please…”

He can hear the plea in your voice, so full of desire that he can feel it right in his hard member. Daryl licks and tastes one more time, his warm hands holding your hips, pulling you closer to his mouth to get you ready. Daryl loved that feeling every time he ate you out, to know only he could take you so high with only his tongue, listening to those sinful sounds from your precious mouth, but as he rises on his knees, his hands catching the buttons of his shirt to remove it, Daryl and his ego love the view of you.

“Take off yer t–shirt.” He says low. “This ain’t over yet, peach.”

It’s not a warning but a promise and you lick your lip but you do as he says, sitting on the bed before taking the t–shirt out of your body, your bra next, with him loving the view of your naked and soft flesh. But as he finishes the last bottoms and while feeling bold, you lean forward, your hands finding the belt of his pants, mouth close but holding an innocent smile as you undo it.

“Only ya can be hot and cute at the same time, woman.” Daryl grunts. “Now lay back and lemme feel what I've been missin’ all this time.”

You lay back down, watching your husband take off his pants and his boxers, like the hottest imagine in the whole world. Daryl is hot, with his broad shoulders, the tattoo in his chest, his strong arms and calloused hands that always touch you softly. And when he’s completely naked, he lays on top of you, feeling the beating of your heart in his own body, with you bending your legs at each side of his waist and hips, feeling him pushing himself inside of you.

He is thick, and he fills you completely, reaching places you are dying to feel him again, and then, your moans and his grunts are silenced when he kisses you, finally moving. Your hips receive the movement of his, pushing himself even deeper, one hand on your cheek, the other holding himself at the side of your body.

You feel his length beating inside you, your walls squeezing around him, making him grunt against your parted lips. The feeling inside you intensifies with the minutes, with the swaying of his body and yours, your hands hugging his back, feeling his muscles contract under your touch.

Daryl rests his forehead against yours, breathing through his parted lips.

“That feels good?” He asks, and you nod, drowned in the sensation to form a word. “Lemme hear ya, peach. I really need ya right now.”

He chokes with his own words, looking at you with eyes full of lust and between the strands of hair that fall over his forehead, but when you think that can’t get any hotter, Daryl brings two of his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them before pressing them against your clit, rubbing the area, hard and fast, causing you to cry his name.

And he fucking loves that. He would gladly drown in your voice calling his name.

The sensations and the sounds are making him mad as he feels close to his climax, pressing himself into you even harder, deeper and faster when he feels your inner walls clenching against him. You feel close too, and it takes you seconds to finally cum letting out a cry, feeling him release inside of you with one long push.

Daryl buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily, moving slowly as you two enjoy the hot feeling leaving your bodies. You stroke his hair, just to give him some comfort.

And after a while, he pulls away to look at you, but so close you feel his nose brushing yours, with him smiling at the contact. Daryl strokes your cheek softly, making you smile too. His touch is always soft, it is sincere, just like his love for you.

“I love ya, Mrs. Dixon. Ya’ll be only one for the rest of ma life.”

He presses his lips against yours, and it melts you like sweet honey. He came back to you to stay for real this time, and as Daryl falls sleep on his side after a while, dressed again, pressing his body against yours, you take the letter which was forgotten next to the pillow.

His handwriting was always messy, and you used to tease him about it, but now, it makes you hold the air inside your body as you start reading.

Ma lil’ angel:

Awake or when I can sleep, m’ always dreamin’ ‘bout ya. Sometimes I dream ‘bout meetin’ ya in the old world. I wish I could have found ya there. Our life together wouldn't have been perfect but I’d have worked hard to give ya all the things ya deserved, I’d have done everythin’ to make ya the happiest woman. I know someone like me couldn’t have offered ya much in that world, fuck, I can’t offer ya much in this one either, but I promised ya I’d protect ya from everythin’ an’ Imma keep ma word ‘cause now I can’t live without ya. Ya always were a sweet thing to look at an’ even when Carol used to make fun of me when she caught me doin’ it, I couldn’t stop. Ya jus’ made me love ya damn so much. But even now when in ma mind I see the ring in yer finger, I still can’t believe yer really ma wife. I never told ya this but when ya said yes I promised God I would never let ya go. An’ now yer stuck with me forever ‘cause thanks to ya I started livin’ an’ not jus’ survivin’. So yeah, yer ma life, yer the peace, the sun, the moon and all the fuckin’ stars in the diamond sky as ya call it.

It was nice to find someone who loves me like ya do, even with ma temper. I love ya, peach, so much, and m’ sorry I don’ say it often. Ya know m’ bad with words but I’ll try to be better.

Yours, Daryl Dixon.

@fluffy-dixon

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon

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the-queen-of-hell-666 · 6 months ago

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Getting Him Back

Pairing: Daryl Dixon (Alexandria, Pre-Saviors War) x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: You finally get Daryl back after he escapes from Negan.

Warnings: explicit language, established relationship, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, vaginal sex, creampie, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, sweet sex, soft sex), quite of bit of angst, mentions of murder, mentions of blood and gore, depression, Negan being an asshole

a/n: I've had this idea for a while and wanted to see if I could write it as well as I thought of it. I hope I did good! Let me know if you want a part two where Negan intergates the reader?

Banners by @vase-of-lilies

It had been one week, two days, and five hours since Negan had taken your husband. You remembered the broken look in his blue eyes as the saviors tossed him into then back of the truck, more tears falling down your cheeks as you made eye contact with Daryl. You felt rooted in your spot on the hard ground, the strong smell of blood and bile stinging your nose. You couldn’t look around you, you couldn’t see your dead friends, or the broken faces of your friends. You felt like in the process of taking Daryl, Negan might as well have rammed Lucille through your chest.

Michonne helped you back to Alexandria, up to her guest room, helping you wash up. You felt empty, your body felt numb, you couldn’t talk, you wanted it to be a horrible nightmare, that you would wake up and Daryl would be wrapped around you. His strong arms keeping you against his chest, making you feel safe like nothing could ever hurt you. You stayed in bed for days till the Saviors arrived at the gate wanting to see what they could take. You were startled when Negan came bursting through the door to your temporary room. You immediately stood up grabbing your knife from its place on the nightstand.

Your tired eyes met Negan’s hazel ones as amusement filled his face, “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Dixon. You look like horse shit.” He chuckled as he placed his hands on his hips.

You avoided his gaze and sat down on the bed, letting your shoulders curl in on you, “Take whatever you want, I don’t care.” You mumbled feeling utterly defeated as you pulled your legs up to your chest.

He rolled his eyes, “Oh, c’mon. Where’s that little spitfire that almost yanked Fat Joey’s jewels off?” He chuckled and sat next to you, making you flinch.

“You took my husband. I won’t do anything to harm him.” You said as you flipped your knife in your hand. “I just want him back.” You mumbled as you looked away from Negan.

He let out a sigh, “Sorry, sweet cheeks. Your boy messed up, he’s mine now, but I’ll tell you what I told him.” He said and you turned to look at him, “As long as he does what I say, no harm will come to you. I won’t fuck up your little home. You’ll be safe.” He said in a serious tone and small tears welled in your eyes and you looked away from him.

You sniffled softly and wiped your tears away, “T-thanks.” You said in a low and shaky voice. He smirked and patted your shoulder before leaving. As much as you wanted to kill Negan, but as long as he had Daryl, you wouldn’t. You’d just sit quietly hoping that one day, Daryl will come home.

The day Rick decided to fight the saviors and a group of you all made your way to the Hilltop, your hopes were answered. The gate opened to the Hilltop and you all walked in and from behind the door was Daryl. He looked exhausted, skinny, but alive. Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes locked with his, your feet moving of their own accord as you ran over to him. He met you in the middle, scooping you up in his arms, your lips meeting his in a passionate and loving kiss. His hands pressed against your back as your thighs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck.

Later that night, you and Daryl sat around a secluded fire near the back wall of Hilltop. You were planted in Daryl’s lap, his strong arms wrapped around your waist. Your fingers intertwined with his, as you laid against his chest, his nose nuzzled in your hair.

“I missed you.” You whispered into the air as you watched the flames dance.

He let out a soft sigh and kissed your temple, “Everyday in that damn cell, I dreamed about gettin’ home to ya.” He mumbled against your hair, squeezing your hands in his, like he used to do on runs when you two would split up.

You turned in his hold to look up at him, you tucked his hair behind his ears, admiring his handsome face. You could see his cheeks darken in the flickering light, “I thought I lost you.” You whispered as small tears escaped your eyes and trailed down your cheeks.

You saw small tears fill his eyes as he rested his forehead against yours, “Only thing keepin’ me goin’ was you. Wanted to get home to ya.” He whispered, his voice full of emotions as you saw a small tear track down his cheek.

You wiped it away with your thumb, “M’here now. Not going anywhere.” You whispered to him and he smiled softly and caught your lips in a soft kiss. His hands let go of yours and moved down to grasp your hips softly. You trailed your hands up his chest to tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss.

His hands moved down to grasp your ass tight. You let out a surprised gasp as you felt his strong hands slip into the back of your jeans. You moved your hands down to undo his button-up, caressing up and down his bare chest. He quickly undid your jeans slipping them down your thighs to reveal your panties while you undid his jeans and pulled out his hardening cock. You stroked him slowly in your hand as he kissed down your neck, nipping on your pulse point, sucking a bruise into your skin. His hands moved down to slide your panties aside and helped you sink down on his hard cock. You moaned his name as your hips met his, his cock deep in your cunt, the tip kissing your cervix as he bottomed out in you.

You laced your fingers through his hair, pulling him back in for a kiss as you slowly started moving your hips up and down, letting out moans and gasps against his lips. His cock brushed against your sweet spot with every thrust, as his hips bucked up into you, matching your pace while his hands grasped your hips tight. He grunted softly with each thrust, “F-fuck, darlin’. Been too long.” His voice sounded rough and strung out as he pushed you to your orgasm. His thrusts grew faster and harder as you two chased your orgasms.

“M’so close, Dar. Wanna cum with you. Please.” You whined as you felt the coil in your belly tightened as he moved a hand down to circle your clit with his rough fingers. You caught his lips in a deep kiss as you moaned louder, cumming around his cock hard. Your thighs shaking from their place around his hips, and he groaned against your lips as he reached his orgasm, painting your walls white with his spend. You moaned as you felt his warm cum fill you up and your fingers dug into his shoulders as you rode out your orgasm, your walls milking his cock with each pulse of your walls.

You slumped against him, his cock still deep in you. You rested your forehead against his and you cupped his cheeks softly, giving him a small smile. “I love you, Daryl.” You whispered softly, caressing his cheek softly, tucking a strand of his dark hair behind his ear.

He gave you a small smile and pecked your nose, making you blush softly. “I love ya too, darlin’.” He mumbled and you nuzzled into his chest, vowing never to let go of his ever again.

#fanfic #fanfiction #fandom #twd #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead

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sqgeism · 26 days ago

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𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 | mark grayson x gender neutral reader

love mail — URGGHHH laurie... LAURIE!MARK GRAYSON IS REAL. THE AGENDA IS REAL !!!! hes actually quite a horrible husband pls forgive me ☹️ aarrgh this is kinda bad i hate writing 🥀 cw: for CHEATING. don't cheat yall 😓 this is how i express my hatred to how laurie was written in the movies. not proofread save me (´＿｀。)ﾞ

there's a hilltop that haunts you in your dreams. seeing mark’s tear-filled eyes, black hair an absolute mess and his heart laid bare for you to see. that heart that's loved you for years; longed for you in ways that you can never imagine, watching it break with each passing moment of your silence – the way you looked at him was enough of an answer.

you sit atop it now, wondering what could have been. you're 26, unmarried, and quite happy with that. but it's lonely, your siblings have gone and left massachusetts. and eve, your sister, was preparing to marry in chicago.

you were happy for her, really. after her fall out with that jerk—rex sloane—she deserved this. a good man, and who else could it be, if not the best one you knew? mark, mark grayson. the boy who loved you like he'd never love again. but he did, and he was getting married. you smile at the invite that had been brought with you to the hill, overjoyed to attend their wedding.

you could've sworn mark looked at you while he said his vows. maybe you were just seeing things.

after the ceremony, you returned to massachusetts. back to the home you took your first steps in, and likely your last. the halls that were full of child wonder and laughter are empty, replaced with the ticking of an old clock. the silence is your friend, you've learned. it was so quiet that it made you think, work, do anything to replace the eerie stillness.

couple of years pass, and a knock comes to your door. a rare noise, really. no one's bothered to visit ever since they've outgrown the house that you can't seem to leave. like the very foundation has been built to fit you, and you alone. there is an unexpected comfort in something feeling genuinely right for you. especially in a world full of love for a partner, while your adoration remains for the words written in the pages of novels and books.

and while you turn the old knob, you're greeted with mark. he's got a fond smile on his face, and a baby in those arms that used to carry you over muddy grass. he's clearly grown, dressed like a true man and the messy locks have been brushed and gelled down. and the ring, the beautiful ring that signified his commitment and devotion to eve.

you chuckle at the sight. "and you couldn't write in advance?" he gives the baby a squeeze. "hands were full."

and the house doesn't feel as empty. there's hot water boiling in the kettle, and two cups set out on a counter. the atmosphere is warmer, more familiar. and laughter shared between two old friends are the reason. "and you're telling me that you'd nearly lost your ring, the night after the wedding? goodness, mark! i'm surprised you had woken up with eve still in bed the next morning." he quickly let out a scoff, but he couldn't stop the smile that naturally came when he was with you.

he missed that greatly. what a traitorous heart he had.

the baby girl in his arm coos, reaching out to you with happy babbles. it was a little funny, she was an almost exact copy of mark. black hair, thick brows, you had expected at least eve's eye color—but you pause.

it's like a mirror. what stares back at you, are your eyes. your exact color.

the eyes that have haunted him since he was 21. eyes he had fallen in love with when he was only 16. yours.

like he's always been, even if he's married to another.

he knows you've figured it out. he opens his mouth, but you cut him off. "mark." it sounds like a broken record, the way your voice trembles. he's got that look, the one engraved in your memory, and all of a sudden you're back on that hilltop.

and what could have been is suddenly very real, when the daughter he's cared for all this time could almost be your own. but it isn't, and you curse yourself for ever thinking that way. eve probably loved that girl as her own, and mark—he was loving her like she was yours.

betrayal for your sister burns in your chest, and you can't stand to be in the same room as him for another moment. mark's gaze follows you when you abruptly stand, calling your name in a plea for forgiveness. "please, (name)." he tries to start, but you're shutting him out. how could he do this to eve? your sweet, gentle eve. "why? mark, why?" you question harshly, clutching the material of your shirt in your hands.

you don't bother to hear the answer. the idea that you are the reason, that the love mark harbored for you made him an unfaithful husband for your sister makes you sick.

he's kicked out without a word. his head hung in shame, his confused baby in hand as he knows a letter addressed to his wife awaits him at home.

the guilt consumes him. but at least—he had a few hours of you laughing again. that's the only thing that keeps his aching heart soothed, no matter how horrible of a man it made him.

#♡ — 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x y/n #invincible #invincible x reader #invincible x you #invincible x y/n

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topazy · 7 months ago

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Teen spirit

Pairing: Carl Grimes x reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood

Chapter: 6.07

You silently prayed, holding onto the silver cross Carl gave you while Maggie slept in the bed in the RV. She was in so much pain, and eventually exhaustion had taken over her. The thought of losing her terrified you.

Rick crouches down beside you and gently squeezes your shoulder. “Do you remember the night at the prison when the gate fell down and the walkers got through; it was at the same time everyone was sick with the flu?”

You wipe at your eyes, which now feel sticky with tears. “Yeah?”

“Me, you, and Carl stopped the horde from getting to the people we love.”

“I don’t understand,” you admit.

“You needed to be brave that night, just as you have so many other times. When you shot Ron... Maggie needs you to be brave now.”

“I’m scared I’m going to lose her.”

“I know, but the doctor in Hilltop will take good care of her.” Rick lowers his voice. “It’s not just your sister that needs you; Carl does as well. He’s trying to be strong, but everything that’s happened since we arrived in Alexandria... I know he’s struggling.”

You turn your head and nod, “Okay.”

Rick kisses your forehead and goes to join Sasha, Abraham, Eugene, Aaron, and Carl at the front of the RV, but just as he does, the campervan comes to a sudden halt.

“What’s going on?”

“Enemy close,” Abraham says calmly.

You stand up to look out of the front window to see a group of men with guns standing around a man who is laying on the road who looks as if he’s had a bad beating.

Rick goes to open the door, but pauses and hands you a gun first. “YN, stay here with Maggie. The rest of you are with me.”

You crouch down, trying to keep out of view while watching. It’s hard for you to hear everything that’s being said, but Rick and the other man in charge have a standoff, but surprisingly no bullets are fired.

—

Carl tilts the blinds to look out of the window, watching as Walker stumbles through the field next to the road. He closes the blinds and looks at Aaron, “Why didn’t you stay back and defend the place?”

You were sitting further up the RV at a small table with Eugene trying to help him look for another route to Hilltop from your current position, but you still had a view of the bed your sister was in, including those sitting next to her.

“I owe her,” Aaron answers, looking at Maggie. “Why did you come?”

“I owe them, plus I need to keep Y/N safe.”

You start to grow nervous when Eugene stops mumbling to himself; you’re afraid there is no other route, and the only other options are to return home and hope for the best, or fight with the men from the saviors and hope for the best. But Eugene finally breaks his silence. “I think I’ve got something.”

—

“Do you think you could do it?” Abraham asks as he drives the RV along the new route. It was only the two of you sitting up the front, so you weren’t sure where the conversation was coming from since you’d been sitting in silence.

“Do what?”

“Do what Maggie and Glenn did with Carl?”

You laugh at his words, “I’m too young to think about marriage and babies.”

“I may have agreed with you at one point, but now in this new world?” He sees the expression on your face and chuckles to himself, “I’m not saying you get Gabriel to perform a ceremony the moment we go home, but if what you have is special, then never let it go. No matter how old you are.”

You knew Abraham was just trying to distract you from being upset, but you did appreciate it. “The last thing anybody needs is a drunk behind the wheel.”

“You always had a smart mouth on ya, I was starting to miss hearing your shit talk.”

Growing up the way you did, your mother and father always drilled it into you to be polite, respectful, and never swear, and even during the apocalypse, you were afraid something bad would happen if you did. “My daddy would have said you were a bad influence.”

“That’s funny because Glenn said the exact same thing to me last week.” He clears his throat. “Tell you what? Once this is all done and dusted, I’ll teach you how to drive properly so the next time I’m drunk driving, you can take over.”

“Deal.”

A few more moments of silence pass until Abraham turns the corner and you see another group of men with guns blocking the road, “bitch nuts. Y/N, don’t get too close to the window.”

Everyone gathers to stare at the men; you gulp down. If they decided to attack now, it wouldn’t take long for all of you to be dead. Unless Abraham managed to speed away, then our group would easily be overpowered.

“Do we make a stand?” Sasha asks.

“Yeah,” Carl looks at his dad. “We end it.”

“No, we can’t. This is a trap; the moment we step out of the RV, we are dead.”

“With one of us behind a wheel that’s five on sixteen,” Rick adds. “We’re gonna play it our way, how we want.”

Abraham slowly backs the RV up, and when he doesn't, one of the men starts firing into the sky, causing you to flinch, feeling as scared as you did when the men ambushed you, Daryl, Rosita, and Denise.

You start to feel yourself panic, but a hand reaches out and holds onto your wrist. Carl keeps hold of you until you’re far enough away that the gunshots start to fade into the distance.

—

“Wait, dad, something's not right.”

The saviors were now toying with your group and had set traps up blocking the different roads. They had a row of walkers chained together blocking the road, but it wasn’t until now that you noticed what Carl was so freaked out about.

“Oh my god, that’s Daryl’s.”

One of the walkers had a piece of Michonne attached to the side of its head; the others had clothing that belonged to other members of your group.

Rick goes to stab one of the walkers in the head, but men appear on either side of the road and begin firing at you.

“Everyone into the RV now!”

Carl and Sasha cover Rick while he breaks the blockade of walkers by cutting off their arms, making space for Abraham to drive through. Once you make it back onto the RV, you immediately go to Maggie’s side and notice how much worse she looks.

—

You place your hand on Maggie’s forehead. “She’s burning up.”

“She’s going to make it,” Carl says, trying to reassure you.

“The Saviors are messing with us for fun. They’ve made sure we know they have our people; they aren’t afraid of walkers, but yet they aren’t killing us.” Each time Abraham drove so far up another road, there would be another blockage preventing you from going any further. They even hung a man and set fire to one of the blockades in front of you. “These people aren’t scared of anything.”

Seeing Maggie start to stir, you take hold of her hand. “Hey, it’s fine. It’s going to be okay.”

“I heard gunshots.”

“It was the Saviors, but it’s fine now.”

—

The odds were staking up against you, but Eugene came through with a plan. The saviors were waiting to see the RV appearing on the road, so if you waited until nightfall, you would have a better chance of traveling on foot without being seen while he still drives the RV to make them think your group was still on the road.

“Maggie, we are going to get you to the doctor soon,” you smile. “You and baby will be okay.”

Her skin was pale and sweaty, and you didn’t actually believe what you were saying. You had a feeling something terrible was about to happen.

After making a stretcher out of what you could find in the RV, all of you aside from Eugene start to go through the woods. Maggie, being her stubborn self, insisted she walk to Hilltop, but it wasn’t going to happen. You and Carl take out the walkers that get too close while the remaining four people take a corner of the stretcher.

You’re unsure of how long you’ve been walking for when you notice something shining on the ground. “Wait up,” you whisper, bending down to inspect the familiar jewelry. You pick it up but then quickly toss it, feeling the wetness on it. “Rick, Rick.”

He looks over at you with a panicked look in his eyes. “What is it?”

“We need to go back.” You hold up your hand so he can see the blood on it. “Rosita’s earrings; she was wearing them when she left Alexandria—”

Before you can say anything else, you are cut off by multiple people whistling. This whole thing was a trap, even the way the jewelry was laid out was so easy to find. The Saviors just wanted to torment as many people as they could.

“Go! Go!”

You take off running through the woods until a bright light blinds you, and you’re suddenly surrounded by saviors and different vehicles, making it impossible to run away from them. All of them were whistling.

Holding your gun, you stand with your back to Maggie, prepared to shoot anyone who tries to hurt her.

The man called Simon, who Rick spoke with earlier, appears and points his gun at Carl, ordering all of you to hand over your weapons. This was the first time you’d ever seen Rick look terrified, and that’s how you knew you were screwed.

—

“Y/N,” Carl’s face turns pale as he notices the blood soaking through your shirt.

“I know.”

Between running and being forced down onto your knees by the saviors, the stitches from your stab wound had pulled, and your wound was now bleeding.

“Hey, hey,” Abraham gets your attention. “Show them no goddamn fear.”

You wanted to be brave like them, but you weren’t. You felt completely helpless while you watched them force Maggie onto her knees.

A van door is opened, and Michonne, Rosita, Glenn, and Daryl are dragged from it, then forced onto the ground beside the rest of you. Simon gleefully knocks on the RV door, “Alright, let’s meet the man.”

Through teary eyes, you meet Carl’s gaze. The two of you were on opposite ends of the line-up. You were now kneeling on the ground between Glenn and Rosita.

The door opens, and a dark-haired man with a wide grin walks out, “Pissing our pants yet?”

Satan in a Sunday hat.

“Boy, so I gave a feeling we’re getting close.” The man walks back and forth along the line, sizing everyone up while holding a wooden basketball bat that had barbed wire wrapped around it. “It’s gonna be pee-pee pants city here real soon. Which one you pricks is the leader?”

“It’s this one,” Simon points to Rick. “He’s the guy.”

The man sighs, “Hi, you’re Rick, right? I’m Negan. And I do not appreciate you killing my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people, you killed more of my people. Not cool. Not cool. You have no idea how not cool that shit is. But I think you’re gonna be up to speed shortly. Yeah. You are so gonna regret crossing me in a few minutes.”

You silently start to pray again, taking hold of the small silver cross between your fingers.

“You see, stick to whatever you do; no matter what, you don’t mess with the new world order. And the new world order is this: And it’s really very simple. So, even if you’re stupid, which you very well may be, you can understand it. Are you ready? Here goes, pay attention.” He points his bat in Rick's face, “Give me your shit, or I will kill you. Today was career day. We invested a lot so you would know who I am and what I can do. You work for me now. You have shit; you give it to me. That’s your job.”

While Negan continues to taunt your group, your eyes move along every single person who you know is considered family. Everyone was crying and shaking aside from Abraham and Carl.

Negan keeps repeating that he wants half your group's supplies, but that wouldn’t be enough.

“So if someone knocks on your door, you let us in. We own that door. You try to stop us, and we will knock it down. Understand?” Negan mockingly puts his hand up to his ear, “What, no answer?”

Negan reminds you of the governor.

“You don’t really think that you were gonna get through this without being punished, now did you?” Negan shakes his head. “I don’t wanna kill you people. Just want to make that clear from the get-go. I want you to work for me.”

Just like the governor wanted you all the live together at one point.

“You can’t do that if you’re dead, now, can you? I’m not growing a garden, but you killed my people—a whole damn lot of them. More than I’m comfortable with. And for that—for that you’re going to pay.”

An eye for an eye.

“So now, I’m gonna beat the holy hell out of one of you.”

The crazy bastard introduces his baseball bat as Lucille, Negan is crazy. He stands in front of Abraham and seems amused when Abraham holds his gaze and rises up on his knees. Chucking Negan moves down the line and points at Carl, “You had one of our guns.”

Carl says nothing.

Negan crouches in front of him. “You got a lot of our guns. Shit, kid, lighten up. At least cry a little.”

He starts to walk back up the line and stops in front of Maggie. “Jesus, you look shitty. I should just put you out of your misery.”

The second Negan lifts the bat up, both you and Glenn yell for him to stop. Glenn tries to reach Maggie but is pinned down to the ground by a savior.

“Nope. Nope, get him back in line,” Negan says, sounding like an unimpressed parent. “Don’t any of you do that again. I will shut that shit down, no exceptions. First ones free; it’s an emotional moment; I get it.”

You press your palm against your side in a poor attempt to stop it hurting so much, which Negan notices. He laughs, “Jesus Rick, you could have at least made it harder for me. Half your camp looks as if it’s dying off already.”

You want to cry but don’t allow yourself to, not anymore. Giving Negan the satisfaction would be more painful than the wound itself. He points to your side with his bad, “What the hell happened to you?”

“One of your men stabbed me.”

“One of my men stabbed you? A kid?” He kneels down with a smirk on his face. “So you know I have men that can and will fight for me. What does that tell you?”

“It tells me you have men who take the easy option and stab a little girl rather than actually putting up a real fight.”

His smile disappears. Negan just stares at you for a few moments until he suddenly stands and looks back over at Carl, who was glaring at him. “I’ve been trying to put two and two together, but I think I now get it; this is your little girlfriend.” He turns back to look at Rick, “And this must be your kid; you have a similar evil eye.”

“That’s enough!”

“Do not make me kill the little future serial killer; don’t make it easy on me. I gotta pick somebody, and everybody is at the table waiting for their order.”

Negan starts whistling while trying to decide who to kill.

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