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sleepyangelkami · 6 months ago

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Omgg I'm new to tublr but I love ur work smm could you pls do more carl grimes

SHELTERED c.grimes

☆ WORD COUNT - 2.8K

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

☆ SUMMARY - carl's alexandrian girlfriend had always been somewhat sheltered, never so much as laid eyes on a zombie. however, when he decides to go on a supply run with his dad, some of her friends drag her to a party in the woods where she uncovers her first ever walker.

☆ WARNINGS - blood, gore, zombies, twd themes, violence, guns, crying, anxiety, worry, (1) use of y/n, pet names, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

alexandria was a quiet place in a world of chaos. it was nothing but comfort and clouds, nothing to worry for, nothing to be anxious about.

carl was anything but.

the boy was quite alike a storm the minute he'd entered the town. he was... different from other kids, that much was for sure. he was interested in comics and action while most the kids of alexandria only cared for their xbox's that were powered by the solar pannels.

so it was safe to say that when carl grimes made his way to the gazebo on a sunny day to read his action comic, you sitting with your romance novel threw him off a little.

he soon realised that you too were different.

you two got close so quickly, with your shelteredness, growing up in alexandria and his need to protect, having been on the road for so long, you were practically attached by the hip and the whole of alexandria could see.

when carl first met you, he took not of the plain innocence you displayed, not just because of your skirts and dresses that you pranced around in, pretty bow against your hair, but the fact that you grew up in alexandria. when shit hit the fan and the world turned to death, you never had to experience any of it. you were simply shielded from the dangers of the world as soon as the walls had been placed around your town.

truthfully, carl was glad.

one of the things the boy loved the most about you was the type of purity you displayed. every one of your actions was done with the need to help people. pure intentions.

you didn't have the type of heart for a world like their own, much too sweet to face the death that would stare right back at you.

"do you have to go?" That mumble he'd grown rather attached to. you used that mumble when you were tired, like now when the sun had set and darkness loomed over the town, still wrapped in your own bedsheets.

the boy hummed with dissatisfaction. "i'll be back tomorrow night." it wasn't unusual for the boy to leave at random hours of the night, not making it back until the next. it was to help his father and daryl on their runs, to get what the town needed.

was it selfish to wish he didn't have to?

you made a whine type of noise while muffled between the white pillows. carl only smiled softly. "get some rest, baby." the boy with the cowboy hat pressed a gentle kiss against the crown of your head, picking up his gun and making his way towards the door. "goodnight."

"g'night." but you were almost positive that you'd been asleep by the time the door closed shut again.

as much as carl loved going out on runs, there was something so god awful about leaving you wrapped up in the bed, alone. you were so sheltered your entire life, never knowing what was out there. it was almost as if he felt the need to protect you at all times, every day, assure both you and him that nothing was going to happen to you.

you had no intentions of leaving the walls.

alexandria was your home, your safety. you'd never so much as seen a walker before and you didn't plan on it anytime soon.

so when the words, "so, are you going?" came out of your best friends boyfriends lips, you only stared in shock.

enid, your best friend could only roll her eyes at the boy. "she doesn't want to." she spoke for you. "y/n doesn't like going outside of the walls, you know this."

and yet, he pressed further. "come on, everyone's gonna bet there, this will be the biggest one yet." a party that the teenagers and some of the younger adults went to. it was beyond the walls, out past where you were supposed to be. if anyone were to ever find out, you'd all be killed. so, you kept your mouth shut in hoping that if someone did find out about the parties, you'd never be tied to it. it wasn't as if you'd ever gone to one. "your little boyfriend never lets you go."

ron anderson wasn't the fondest of your boyfriend. it was evident since the day they met that they didn't like each other. believe me, carl had as much of a distaste for the boy as he did him. "carl isn't the reason."

"then what is?" you shrugged your shoulders, glancing down at your shoes. "you never do anything with us, it's like carl is the only thing you care about."

manipulation at it's finest. harmless, though, right?

"what?" an evident frown came across your face upon the realisation that your friends weren't even all the way sure if you liked them. "i do care about you guys."

"then do something with us for a change." the fourth of the group chimed in, mikey was his name. "besides, carl's gone and it's not like we're gonna tell him. your secrets safe with us."

you didn't want to go.

yet somehow, you found yourself wound up exactly where you 'didn't want to be'.

it wasn't that you were worried what carl would think. truthfully, as much as you valued the boy's opinion, you would never let him boss you around and tell you what you could and couldn't do. carl accepted you for all the beauty, all the ugly and never so much as questioned your actions, only doting when you got hurt. you couldn't love someone more. and neither could he.

but when your friends announced that they thought all you cared about was carl, you couldn't help but feel the guilt swirl through your veins. you loved carl, adored even but you could have friends to.

worried that they'd think you didn't want to hang out with them anymore, you found yourself for the first time in your life, exiting the walls.

you knew it was wrong the moment you stepped outside.

carl's old discarded flannel did nothing to help you keep the heat inside your body. you held it close, hoping the scent of carl would overpower the scent of alcohol that filled your nose. "you okay?" enid was the only one who took notice of your stiff figure.

" 'm fine." was the answer you gave, whether or not it had been true. all your mind could travel to was your boyfriend. yes, you never wanted to leave the walls of alexandria in fear of the walkers but you also knew how much carl wished for you to stay behind the protective walls to.

and he was going to be so mad once he found out where you were.

you could imagine him walking onto the street where your house lay. he'd climbed in through your bedroom window thousands of times before, you left it open for him to enter at any stage of the day or night. now, he'd find an empty bed.

enid noticed the way your face was twitching, though. "you sure? i can stay with you, if you want." but you could see the way her eyes were trailing towards her boyfriend from the other side of the party.

"no, it's okay." the girl gave you a unconvinced face. "really, 'm okay, now go get your boyfriend."

but you weren't okay.

the anxious thought started over as soon as enid left your side. the party unfolded, stupid music playing in the background. surely, that would attract walkers? your hazy eyes looked from person to person. enid was sat atop ron's lap, kissing him. mikey was between two girls, grinning to himself with a bottle in his hands. various other teenagers having the time of their lives. one boy, ethan you thought the name was, was standing on top of a makeshift table, chugging cans until the table collapsed beneath him.

you couldn't bear the sight, nor the smell of alcohol or any of the worry that filled your lungs making it suddenly hard to breathe.

you could imagine the state this would end up in, should a walker make it's way here. the teenagers here were the same sheltered people you'd grown up with, they'd went to the school with you in alexandria, they'd never been beyond the walls. now, they had and they hadn't been hunted down by walkers yet so they didn't expect it to happen.

but what if it did?

none of them were fighters, none of them went on supply runs or so much as tried to deal with walkers before.

it was only a matter of time before something went wrong.

and you simply couldn't be here anymore.

your chest was heavy as you stood from your place on the ground, trying to make your way towards the woods, tripping over rocks and bottles as you went.

the forest was dark and hidden, no light source aside from the moon. you squinted your eyes, trying to see where you were going. you looked in front of you, suddenly not knowing whether to turn left or right.

had you even taken this road on the way here...?

sudden worry that you were going the wrong way. you couldn't hear the music of the party anymore, it was long gone and it had been your only way back there.

you were lost and if you didn't make it back to the party or alexandria soon, nobody would ever find you. that's what you told yourself, at least. carl would spend forever looking for you until one day, he'll stumble across your dead corpse, either half eaten or roaming around in the same clothes you'd worn that day, his flannel shirt hanging from your frame.

the thoughts caused your head to spin, obviously not taking much notice of the ground in front of you. you held your hands out as your foot tripped over a rock, you used them to catch whatever was in front of you, preventing your fall.

you grasped what you thought was a tree.

until you heard the groan of the dead.

it stared you in the eye, his own glazed over with a type of grey. blood surrounded his mouth, dead skin hanging from his body. he appeared to be missing a finger.

you yelped, falling backwards and straight onto your back. your head scratched itself off a rock, using your hands to straighten yourself back up when you noticed it hadn't just been one dead, but three.

they all turned to you, a sick hungry look in their eye as they began stalking forward, gugrles and groans leaving their mouthes as they found the food of that day.

you'd never seen one before though you knew they'd be horrid looking. you never expected the smell, though. the rotting flesh scent that filled your nose, certainly overpowering the scent of the flannel. their rotted teeth and lack of hair had you scrambling to find something, a rock, a discarded knife or twig, something to use as some kind of a weapon.

but the truth was, you'd been sheltered too long.

how were you ever supposed to pick yourself up out of something like this when you didn't know the first thing about walkers.

you would have accepted your faith with a scream, let them tear into your flesh because you were no help to anybody, including yourself.

you couldn't so much as weave your way away from three walkers, hopeless.

then the sight of a knife sticking into his head was in front of you.

blood spurted out, covering your clothes and the boy next to the walker. carl grimes with his infamous sheriff's hat along with the knife that he plunged into the walker's head. "what the hell are you doing out here?!" shock was evident in his voice, though he appeared to be alone. he whipped around, taking out both the other two walkers while you merely stared in shock.

the blood that spurted onto the ground as the final walker fell to the grass. your glassy eyes could still make out carl's boot stomping onto its head, squishing it and causing blood, insides and flesh to tear and fall.

carl was met with the sight of your glassy eyes staring up at him, fear-stricken expression.

he found himself rushing towards you.

"'m sorry, 'm so sorry, carl. i didn't― ron―" the words came out like a childish blubber, unable to form sentences as fat tears left your eyes, rolling down your flush cheeks.

"are you bit?" carl didn't care for the words you spoke, scanning your body, pushing your arm up to scan wherever he could. "did you hurt your―" he cut himself off as his eyes landed on the blood dripping from your forehead. "what did you do?"

the sound of his disapproving voice was enough for your breath to shake. "'m sorry." you kept repeating. "i just― please don't be mad at me."

finally the words that ached the back of your throat.

it seemed as though shock was the thing that fell across his face, wondering why you'd ever think he'd get mad at you for something like this. "hey, hey, 'm not mad, baby, c'mere." in the dead of night, through the trees, the boy took you into his arms, seating you onto his lap as the sobs emitted your mouth. he carefully drew circles on your back with the palm of his hand. "you're jus' scared, is all, you're okay, sweetheart." sweet nothings filled your ears, nothing but comfort against your skin.

you choked, blubbering as you pushed your face away from the crook of his neck. "the others― we have to warn them." though eyes still full of tears.

innocence had obviously still been deeply embedded into your brain. otherwise, you would have figured out by now that they'd known. "They know, baby." you looked at him with confusion. "saw a couple of them throwing rocks at a walker."

thoughts filled your brain, confused.

enid and ron told you that this was the safest party there was. and despite your obvious doubts about something so ridiculous, they'd assured you that no walker had ever been so much as seen where you would be going.

you felt a pang of betrayal set in your bones. not only at the fact that they'd lied but at the fact that these people you grew up with, very same innocence as your own, were using walkers like toys, pets even.

"come on, pretty girl." fingers working against your waist, gently soothing the skin. "let's get you home."

home. that sounded nice. "'kay." voice still slick with your earlier tears.

carl practically carried you all the way home. it wasn't until you were sat inside your bathroom, sat against the porcelain toilet while he crouched in front of you on the ground that the tears stopped. "'s gonna hurt." he warned.

you nodded, fingers holding around his own hand while the free one used a cotton pad filled with rubbing alcohol to disinfect the wound.

you winced, glass glossing over again. "i know, sweetheart, i know." pretty words falling from his lips as he cared for you like no other human being would ever be capable of doing. "jus' gotta get it done, yeah?"

and he did just that, quickly disinfecting the wound before grasping the gauze. your eyes were open, staring forward at his pretty face in front of you. he looked tired enough but he usually did with his sunken eye and tired perplexion. you always said it was because he wasn't eating enough. that was the thing about carl, always forgetting to take care of himself in the simplest of ways.

but you? no, he couldn't possibly forget a thing.

" 'm sorry." you'd said it before, but you couldn't express it enough.

carl slowly retracted his hands from your face, sighing gently. he moved his hands back up, only this time they cupped your cheeks instead of dusting your forehead. "what you did was stupid." you nodded in agreement. "you should know better, what's out there should stay out there and you should stay in here, where it's safe." you didn't bother explaining the situation, knowing it'd been you who decided to leave, ron didn't decide that for you. "you're lucky today didn't end worse."

"i know." voice cracking as your eyes gazed down upon the tiled ground of your bathroom where carl crouched.

he lifted your face up with his left hand, tilting his head slightly. "but that doesn't mean 'm mad at you, you know that, right?" you shrugged, supposing you didn't know that. "could never be mad at you."

"'m an idiot." you mumbled, attempting to look as far away from the boy as you could.

"a little." he grinned causing you to turn with a smile of your own. "'s okay, though. i'll do the thinkin' for you from now on, yeah?"

didn't seem like too bad of an idea.

main masterlist/carl's masterlist

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 4 months ago

Text

Blood Ties Chapter 33

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; mentions of hurting an infant; mentions of injuries; mentions of descriptions of breastfeeding; descriptions of postpartum changes; sexual situations; fingering; oral (m receiving)

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the amazing @dixons-sunshine. Happy belated birthday, my love. I’m sorry that it had to be this chapter I dedicated because I am just not confident of it. I never am, if I’m being honest, and most of you know that. It’s just taken so long to update and I’ve even had to ask folks about things I’ve included previously or not included because I can’t remember. I just hope that it was worth the wait even if it’s not top tier.

“Daryl.” Every raging emotion wreaking havoc inside your chest was belied by the calm in which you said his name. Another close call, too close for a baby only a couple of days into the world. Birdie was with Hershel. She was safe. She would be fine. “Daryl.” You took a step toward him, the wind from the window clawing at his clothing and hair.

No one else was moving or speaking. If you couldn’t see them in your peripheral, you’d have sworn you were alone on that landing with the archer. Daryl remained utterly unmoving, only the heaving of his shoulders indicating that he was even real. Another step, but then you found you couldn’t will your feet to stop moving until you reached him.

Even in his current state, you knew he would never hurt you. Even if he would, he needed a tether, needed to be brought back from the razor-sharp edge of his anger before it sliced him too deeply. Without another thought, you slid your arms beneath his and molded yourself to his back, your cheek resting between his shoulder blades.

“It’s okay.” You soothed while your fingertips gently massaged into his chest in an attempt to ground him. “They’re gone.” You felt the moment he came back to himself, the minute jerk of his body against yours, the sharp inhale.

“Y/N.” He whispered, barely audible over the biting wind. “Birdie?” His voice cracked.

“She’s okay. She’s with Hershel.” You squeezed a little tighter, anticipating his next question. “I’m alright, Daryl. Everyone’s alright.” His shoulders dropped, breaths slowing to something at least approaching normal.

You held on until his fingers were prying yours away. When he turned, the rage had faded from those blue pools, replaced with an anguish that made your heart ache. He had murdered people—with good reason, utterly justifiable—and he was in a fierce battle with the guilt that accompanied the actions. It wasn’t the first time he had taken a life, but it was the first time he had done so with such violence, blinded by an anger that it had him quaking so hard that he might have just shaken apart.

“I—” His eyes flickered upward, somewhere over your shoulder and reminded you that you weren’t alone. The others were likely staring, only adding to the archer’s discomfort and shame. Twisting an arm behind your back, you jerked your wrist in a dismissive gesture and heard the shuffling of feet mere seconds later. When his head dropped onto your shoulder, he sighed, the trembling subsided, and you held him.

“You did what was necessary to protect us.” After a moment, he nodded against your skin.

“Need to see ‘er.” His voice was muffled but no less distressed. Turning your face into his hair, you pressed a kiss to his hair.

“Let’s get you cleaned up first, okay?”

You had led Daryl to an isolated spot in the warehouse, grabbing his bag from where he had discarded it upon entry. He let you strip him of his poncho and vest, work the buttons open and slide his shirt from his shoulders. The blood and grime that covered him was more than that of the people he had slain. He had fought his way to you—to Birdie—throughout the wilderness, slathered in brain matter and dark liquid. You didn't ask him about the journey. If he wanted you to know, he would tell you.

The water was cold, the saturated fabric leaving gooseflesh in its wake. His face was first, blue eyes focused on you as you worked. You paused beside his mouth and traced your thumb across his bottom lip. Heavy lids fluttered shut, opening a moment later to reveal a darkness that was perilously close to unbridled desire. Something you could handle later. He made no move to act upon it, Hershel’s strict orders to abstain likely circling in his head just as it was your own. There were other ways to bring him that sort of comfort.

“Y’alright?” He asked, lifting a hand but dropping it a heartbeat later. He could have had walker blood on his fingers, smart enough to resist touching the bruising cut on your forehead.

“Mhm.” You nodded. He was clearly unconvinced. “I’ll let Hershel check it. Promise.”

Moving on, you cleaned his chest, tilting your head when your hand paused just above a weeping slice in his skin, just below his ribs. “Daryl, were you hit?” You swallowed hard, awaiting his answer regardless of the minor severity of the wound. The skin around it was dirty but free of the darkened blood of walkers. There was little likelihood that he was infected.

“S’just a graze.” He sniffed hard and averted his eyes. It would need stitched and he knew it, but it wasn’t unusual for him to downplay an injury. Exchanging the flannel square for a fresh one, you mopped away the fresh blood, raising a skeptical brow while staring at him from beneath your lashes. “It’ll keep for now.” Pursing your lips, you mulled it over, narrowing your eyes at the deep injury before you settled upon allowing his deterrence to stand. It continued to ooze, but you moved on regardless. He was still watching you, you could feel his gaze as you carried on with your ministrations. “I love ya.”

Your hand stilled, your breath hitching. It was so sudden and full of conviction, and no doubt brought upon by the traumatic events. That made it no less true. Your free hand came to rest on his cheek, thumb stroking beneath his eye. “I love you, too.” With a tight smile, you leaned forward and granted a chaste kiss, nuzzling your nose against his before continuing to wipe at his chest and stomach, his scars prominent on chilled skin.

“Wan’cha to be a Dixon for real.” And that did more than make your breath stutter. It stopped it altogether.

“What?” You managed, sitting straighter. His eyes squinted, full of determination.

“Already made ya a mama. S’ass backwards, but I—y’know what I mean.” Ducking his head, he looked away, cheeks flushed. “S’okay if ya don’t wanna. Ain’t gonna be mad or nothin’.”

You had to refrain from smacking his shoulder. How could he even begin to think you wouldn’t want to be his wife? Then you were forced to remember the examples of love he’d been given growing up, the seeds of uncertainty and inconfidence that had been planted so deeply inside of him and allowed to take root.

“Of course I’d want it.” You finally replied, likely leaving the silence to fester too long, enough to fill him with a doubt you’d need to strive to correct. “Daryl, is this what you really want?”

“Would’na asked if it weren’t.” He answered without hesitation, his gaze snapping up to meet yours. There was such a lack of confidence in his eyes. He was far outside his comfort zone, holding on by the skin of his teeth.

“You didn’t really ask.” You chuckled, needlessly running the cloth down his jaw again. While some would have found the proposal lackluster, to you—it was perfect. So Daryl that you were warmed inside and butterflies had stirred to life deep within your stomach.

“What? Y’want the one knee an’ ring?”

“No.” You leaned in for a gentle kiss. He returned it, though his eyes remained open and his brow remained drawn. “The answer is yes, but if you change your mind—”

“Won’t.”

“But if you do—”

“Won’t.”

“Okay, okay.” You held up your palms, surrendering, while the fabric hung from between two fingers on your right hand. “Yes, but we wait a while before we tell anyone, before anything is official.”

“Ain’t really no way to make it official anymore beyond decidin’.”

He had you there. A wedding would simply be a formality. There were no documents to sign, no certificates. Nothing beyond the vows you’d make and the last name you chose to carry.

“Still.” I wanna give you an out. He could walk away regardless, at any time after the decision. He could change his mind without attorneys and legal systems. Regardless, you needed him to know that you weren’t trapping him. “Please.”

He was observing you stoically, an obvious refusal on the tip of his tongue. After a moment, he grunted. “Fine.” You kissed him again, a simple peck even as he scowled.

“Thank you.”

You continued to clean his skin, eyes flitting over to the steadily seeping wound. Hershel would need to disinfect and stitch it, or you could if he truly preferred. Your partner was likely to be particular with such a small injury.

Your financè.

That realization brought upon an unbidden smile, one that Daryl clearly caught and returned with a twitch of his lips. Yet another happiness in such a cruel world.

Daryl was sitting cross-legged, Birdie’s bottom perched where his legs intersected. Supporting her head with overlapped hands, he was tenderly swaying her, her eyes heavy and attempting to close. She was so obviously milk drunk, having nursed for the second time before you passed her over to her father again. Perhaps it was her desperate cries much earlier in the night that had triggered your milk production or maybe it was simply timing. Either way, you were finding the postpartum cramps less and less painful each time she nursed.

There was something serene about the archer’s expression, a gratuitous relief with a hint of awe. The latter was almost always present when he looked at his daughter. Smiling softly, you dug through your bag for a fresh sweater and bra, the ones you wore being saturated with breast milk. Lori wasn’t kidding. Your nipples were fountains.

“I’m gonna go change.” You informed Daryl while grabbing a couple of bra pads. Pushing to your feet, you winced, pinching one eye closed when your head pulsed. Hershel had said it was a mild concussion. Unsurprising.

“Y/N.” Daryl’s tone was teetering somewhere between a warning and concern.

“I’m okay.”

He squinted at you, still swaying little Birdie while his eyes dropped to Carol. He jerked his chin toward you and received a nod in return. You slouched in defeat, a chuckle sounding from behind you before her petite hands steered you by your shoulders toward a nearby office.

Once the door closed, Carol leaned against it, arms wrapped around herself and head turned to afford you some privacy. To your surprise, you appreciated it. Before giving birth, you wouldn’t have cared in the slightest, but pregnancy had altered your body in such a way that you felt foreignly self conscious. Your stomach was soft but still swollen, stretch marks littered across the once smooth skin. It wasn’t until you had removed your sweater and bra, however, that you noticed yet another difference.

“Jesus, my tits are huge.” You professed, wide eyes studying the way your nipples leaked in the absence of your daughter.

“It happens.” The other woman responded without missing a beat. “You’ll likely need to pump in between feedings, though we have no way to keep the milk frozen until it’s needed.”

You bounced on the balls of your feet and watched the mounds of your chest jiggle up and down. “Almost seems like a waste.”

Carol hummed. “Sometimes it’s necessary. Becoming engorged can be painful. And don’t get me started on clogged milk ducts.”

“What’s that?” You fastened the bra, trying to quickly stuff pads into the cups before the liquid could drench the fabric.

“I don’t really know how to explain it but the milk won’t come out. There’s usually some swelling, like a knot. It’s painful.” When she no longer heard you moving, she chanced sliding her eyes toward you. Your face surely reflected the fearful anxiousness you were feeling inside. “It’s okay, honey. It’s pretty easily treated.”

You nodded with a hard swallow. “Anything else I should dread?” Slipping your arms into your sweater, you pulled it over your head and smoothed it in place.

“Certainly not something to dread, but I noticed Daryl brought back a pump when he got all those supplies.” You remained still and silent. “I’ll show you how to use it. You can pump some milk into a bottle. It’ll allow for Daryl to feed her too.”

That erased any and all negative emotion, replacing it with the mental image of your partner—Birdie nestled in the crook of his elbow—holding a bottle for your little one to get what she needed while he watched her with those wonderstruck eyes. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.” You downplayed. Carol saw right through it.

She smiled, that soft reassuring upturn of her lips that somehow always set your mind at ease. One hand on the doorknob, she reached out for you with the opposite one. “No, it wouldn’t. Now come on before he loses his mind and comes looking for you.”

“We’ve been gone five minutes.” You reasoned. The woman shot you a look. Daryl could sometimes be a little overprotective, it said. Lips pursed, you nodded. “Fair point.”

The warehouse was cold. The old files from the office burned too quickly—Daryl had warned as much—with a smell that had everyone coughing and the archer standing far away with your baby to shield her from the smoke.

“Told ya.” He had stated matter-of-factly, a large finger gently holding the pacifier in place while Birdie sucked away at it.

Sleeping bags and blankets were passed around, those who were willing were sleeping in pairs to stave off hyperthermia. You laid on your side, facing Daryl with Birdie swaddled between your bodies. A sleeping bag was zipped around you and your daughter, her little form pressed nearer to you than her father—even though he laid close to ensure his body heat kept the baby warm. Another blanket was draped across the three of you.

You listened to the dwindling sounds of the walkers outside, their attention drawn elsewhere with the lack of noise within the warehouse. Your eyes were on Daryl’s face. He was actually sleeping, having knocked out almost immediately. He had to be exhausted from the hike to get to you and then the bloodbath that had followed his arrival.

Glenn was keeping watch, but you still flinched at every groan of the building, every howl of the winter wind outside. The image of little Birdie screaming on that cold floor, a gun aimed at her—it was seared into the back of your eyelids. You couldn’t close your eyes without seeing it, without hearing her. All it would have taken was one twitch of a finger and your innocent baby girl would have—

“Hey.”

Your eyes snapped open, blurry, unfocused, a familiar blue distorted and moving until your vision settled onto Daryl’s gaze. His brow was drawn inward, mouth set in a thin line. His shoulder shifted just before you felt the rough pads of his fingers against your cheek. His hand cupped your face, calloused skin in such brave contrast to the tender touch. You raised your head just enough to lean into his palm.

“She’s right here.” He whispered, reading your mind—or more likely, your eyes. “Ain’t gonna let nobody take ‘er from ya, y’hear me?” His eyes were shining but the tears never fell. “From me.” He added, his voice cracking as his bottom lip trembled. With the silence stretching, his touch lingering, you pulled your arm from within the sleeping bag to place your hand over his.

“I know you won’t.”

He squinted for the briefest of moments, as if studying you, before he turned his hand, squeezed your fingers, and pulled away.

“Get some sleep.” His hand lowered to brush over Birdie’s hair before retreating entirely. “Gonna be wakin’ up hungry soon.”

You smiled softly as his eyes closed, knowing that he’d get up with you when Birdie woke up to nurse. How had the powers that be seen fit to grant you Daryl Dixon as the father of your baby? As the man who wanted to spend his life with you? What had you done to deserve such a perfect little family at the end of the world?

Letting your own eyes close, you saw not the fearful image of your Birdie so cold and scared, but Daryl feeding his daughter her first bottle without a single hint of apprehension in his loving gaze.

It was cold.

What in the world had possessed you to try and wipe down while there was no fire to warm the water? Oh. Right. You were still bleeding from the birth and a woman could only take so much before feeling she was a walking brick of iron.

Using the office, you had placed one of your shirts across the top of the door to cover as much of the glass as you could before undressing to take care of business. Urinating in an empty trashcan felt awkward but it was a you gotta do what you gotta do type situation. Stripped bare, you shivered as you wiped down, removing the sweat and dirt of the last few days before focusing on the main area of concern.

Using a clean scrap of fabric, you dipped it into the bowl, counting down from three before swiping it through your folds, over your groin and inner thighs. It was a little surprising to feel a twinge of relief when the cold touched the warm, abused area. Carol had told you that healing would be slower with the inability to manage a healthy diet and maintain a sleeping schedule. Not that you didn’t believe her, but the heat you could feel through the cloth, the soreness that remained, only confirmed her words.

Feeling like a new woman, you tossed the cloth into the bowl and reached for your clothes, your head snapping up when you heard the turn of the knob. Grabbing your sweater, you covered your pubic area while an arm hugged around your chest to shield at least your nipples from the intruder.

Daryl slid through the barely open door with his head down, lip tucked between his teeth. He was in a button-up, his poncho and vest missing until they could be cleaned. He closed the door quickly and offered you his back, clearing his throat. His arm came up to display two pads for your bra between his fingers.

“Ya, uh—ya forgot these.”

Amused, you dropped your arm and tossed the sweater onto the desk. “You can turn around, Daryl.” The instant regret slammed into you like a freight train. Yes, he had seen your body before—before you had given birth. He hadn’t seen the soft curve of skin on your belly with its marks and wrinkles. When he actually began to turn, you panicked, flailing and grabbing the sweater up again to cover your abdomen.

Luckily, Daryl’s eyes were immediately drawn to your breasts.

He only stared for a moment before noticeably swallowing and ducking his head, his cheeks flaring. You would have found it cute if you weren’t currently battling the nausea that accompanied the tight anxiety in your chest. Daryl cleared his throat.

“They, uh—they look—shit.”

Thankful for the distraction of your fuller chest, you smiled nervously. “It’s the milk. They won’t be like this forever.” He only hummed, apparently finding the spot where the wall met the ceiling fascinating. You gulped and absently wondered how quickly you’d want to take back your next words. “You can touch them if you want.”

The look he gave you was downright comical, as if you had just asked him to do your taxes.

“Better, uh—yeah, better not.”

While your first thought was to assume rejection, it was quickly tramped down. You knew him better than that. The slight flex of his fingers, pressing in and out of the pads he carried, folding them to nearly a point of unusable. The way he trembled with keeping his eyes on your face. The redness to his cheeks that traveled all the way to his ears.

“And why’s that?” You sauntered toward him, the sweater still covering your stomach. You knew you’d need to drop it if you were going to do what you planned. When he didn’t answer, you continued forward, pressing yourself against him, backing him up against the door. “Why’s that, Daryl?”

His throat worked around words he was struggling to articulate, but the hardness that was now pressing against the back of the hand over your stomach spoke for him. “Hershel said—I ain’t gonna risk hurtin’ ya.”

With an inward sigh, a reluctance you didn’t allow to reflect on your features, you relieved him of the bra pads, tossing both them and the sweater to the top of the desk behind you. Keeping your body close to his—enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin—you hoped you could hide your imperfections. Keep him occupied with the one thing pregnancy and giving birth had gifted you.

Wrapping your fingers around one of his wrists, you lifted his hand to your lips, wasting no time in drawing his middle finger into the warm wetness of your mouth. Daryl groaned, a drawn out, deep vibration that you could feel just as much as you heard. With your other hand, you guided his palm to your breast. It was awkward at first, his fingers stiff, his hand unmoving. It wasn’t until you hollowed your cheeks and pulled against his finger that you felt him squeeze.

Your breasts were sensitive, nipples even more so, but the dull pain only sparked your desire into a simmering heat between your legs. Finding it didn’t immediately cause discomfort, you pressed onward, releasing his digit before seeking out his mouth. His other hand came to rest on your hip, kneading the supple flesh there, nearly dousing your arousal with a downpour of anxiety.

He eagerly licked into your mouth, chasing your tongue, which you granted him with equal fervor, insecurities forgotten. His hand massaged your chest, milk leaking out between his fingers and giving him pause. He pulled away, breaths heavy from the kiss, staring at his hand curiously. Even with all the blood in his body maintaining his erection, he still managed to have enough to redden his face.

“What?” You asked, your hands bracketing his neck, thumbs stroking his jaw.

“S’just—I’m—”

“Curious?” You supplied. You couldn’t fault him when you found yourself wondering the same thing: what did the milk taste like? Pulling your lip between your teeth, your gaze shifted to his hand. Moving slowly, deliberately, you took hold of his wrist and bowed your head, releasing your lip in favor of presenting your tongue.

You could feel Daryl’s eyes on you as you took the first taste, straightening before you swallowed.

“It’s—sweet.” You proclaimed quietly. When he made no attempt at moving, you gently tugged his wrist to position his hand just in front of his mouth. “It’s okay, Daryl.”

“S’Birdie’s. Feels—ain’t it wrong?”

Shaking your head, your free hand slid up to his cheek. “No. Not at all.” Of course, he wasn’t convinced. Daryl Dixon was nothing if not suspicious. “You’re not stealing from her by being curious.” His eyes flickered back and forth between you and the milk, the flashlight’s beam resulting in a slick shine across his knuckles. With a pragmatic hesitance, he flicked his tongue over the skin.

“Huh.” He grunted, lowering his hand to your waist. “S’pretty, uh—amazing whatcha do for ‘er.” You were unsure whether or not he had stopped blushing since he had entered the room. He must have realized it as well, what with the way he swiftly hid his face against your shoulder.

“It’s just biology.” You shrugged. Daryl hummed, his lips then attached to your neck, sucking a bruise before soothing it with his tongue. Your knees nearly buckled, forcing him to hold your weight with an arm around the small of your back. Continuing his expedition across your skin, you focused on the pulse within the apex of your thighs.

With both hands now obtaining a tight hold on your waist, he pulled you fully against him in an almost rough, possessive manner, your hips slapping hard into his.

“Shit.” He hissed in your ear, his stubble scratching deliciously against your cheek. “Wanna touch ya.”

With a smirk, you pulled back your hips—even as he weakly tried to hold you still—and slammed them against his again, only just biting back a grimace at the cramp that radiated throughout your lower abdomen. “Then touch me.” His fingertips clasped your flesh. It was an almost painful display of restraint. Daryl pressed his back against the door, letting his head thump on the shirt-covered glass.

“Y’know what Hershel said.”

“I’m aware.” You tilted your head almost thoughtfully, letting your eyes follow your hand as it smoothed over his clothed chest and stomach, across his belt buckle, and finally came to rest against the bulge in his jeans. You caressed the area in short, slow circles before grabbing it firmly. “He said no intercourse.”

“Mhm.” His response was strained, the tendons pulled taut in his neck, his fingers maintaining a bruising hold on your hips.

“There’s still outercourse.” You suggested, back to massaging him through the denim.

“Huh?”

Maybe he really didn’t know, or maybe he was close to cumming in his pants. Either way, his head was pressed into the door and his eyes were closed, right eyebrow ticking rhythmically. “You know. I could give you head. You could—” you allowed the word to drag out while you used your free hand to station his between your legs. When his fingertips brushed your swollen clit, you stopped him from descending further. “Touch me there.”

Daryl was nearly panting. “Ain’t—ain’tcha still—”

“You afraid of a little blood?” You challenged boldly. When his eyes opened, the only blue that remained was a thin ring around dilated pupils.

“Nah.” His mouth was on yours in an instant, his fingers—abandoned by your guiding hand—now rubbing delicious circles over your clit. You were sore and the pull and give of the flesh at his whim did result in some discomfort, but holy shit, it felt too good to let that be a hindering factor.

“Oh, god.” You tilted back your head and opened the expanse of your throat for his mouth, your fingers sliding up his arm, across his shoulder, and up to his hair, twisting the digits in the slightly longer strands. Your hips were already rolling, grinding your clit down onto his fingers. “I’m—”

“Already?” Came the chuckle against your collarbone. You groaned, tugging his hair roughly. Your orgasm was building quickly, faster than you had anticipated, definitely faster than you wanted.

“Shut up and don’t stop.”

Your hand twisted loose when Daryl spun you, your back connecting with his broad chest, his fingers never missing a stroke. Even as your skin grew hotter and your breaths faster, the sudden shame of your body being on full display was quickly working against you.

“Wait. Wait, wait, stop.” You managed, whining when you felt the immediate absence of his hand.

“Well, which is it?” The archer asked breathlessly.

Folding inward, you crossed your arms over your stomach, your back still to Daryl. You were desperate to keep yourself shielded, terrified to witness his repulsion, to risk the grand step the two of you had taken. If he saw you now, what you hadn’t had a chance to correct—was it something you could even fix? Firm? Tighten?—then he wouldn’t want you anymore. Wait. Were you insinuating that Daryl was shallow? Hadn’t this been a conversation before?

“Ya think any louder an’ them walkers are gonna come back.”

“Sorry, I just—” You could feel his body heat against your back just before his arms wound around you, a palm flat against your sternum gently guiding you to straighten. Your hands remained on your stomach. “I don’t look like—”

“Told ya before that shit don’t matter to me.” His hand remained against your chest as he stepped to the side and maneuvered you back against the door. He was silent as he pulled your hands away from your body, unyielding when you tried to keep them in place.

“Daryl, it’s—”

“Hush.” His tone was stern, not unkind. Large hands took hold of your waist, his thumbs brushing up and down over the soft swell of your stomach. You watched his face as he took in the state of your midsection, his expression tender. “Ain’t understandin’ why you’re so worried ‘bout it.”

Your throat worked to allow you to swallow. Why were you worried? Where was the confidence of the woman that had seduced the man in front of you in the woods all those months ago?

“Because—I don’t know.”

“Ya don’t know.” He repeated quietly. When his lips met yours, you weren’t expecting it. The kiss was unhurried, a warm ember in the cold, cold room. His hands never stopped moving, caressing your stomach, the curves of your breasts, your hips. Yet they always returned to your abdomen, gliding outwards to your sides and back again, feeling the stretched skin manipulate beneath his hands. He never stopped kissing you, mouth moving over your own in slow repetition, his tongue gliding over your bottom lip before dipping inside for the quickest taste. When he pulled away, it was by mere centimeters, his forehead against yours. He was once again breathless. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with ya, y’hear me?”

There was a moment of hesitance, a split second need to argue your prerogative. In the end, under his steady gaze, the pale glow of the candle making his blue irises dance, you conceded with a nod.

“You’re perfect.” He whispered, nuzzling his cheek against your temple. The absolute softheartedness that man could display was unparalleled.

His right hand drifted down, leaving a tingle across your skin in its wake. He cupped your mound and used his ring and index fingers to part your folds, the heat of his middle digit warming your sensitive nub. With a kiss to your jaw, he pulled back, the intensity of his gaze begging one question:

Do you want this?

“Please.” Your voice came out deep with desire, a rekindled hunger for his touch that you weren’t sure could even be sated that night but you’d take what you could get.

Your hips jolted at the first touch, a delicate stroke before he moved away only to repeat the action. As he worked you toward orgasm, your hands smoothed over his chest and over his shoulders, your arms winding around his neck to pull him back to you, mouths crashing together. This kiss was fiery, setting your lips and tongue ablaze until you were being consumed by him.

Daryl used his hold on your waist to tilt your hips out and up, nearly forcing you to stand on the tips of your toes. It hardly mattered, you were too lost in the electricity spiderwebbing from the single finger, the current charging up into the pit of your stomach where it coiled tighter and tighter.

“Oh god, Daryl.” Each syllable played out against his mouth, his own breathing labored. For the briefest of moments, you wondered if he might cum just from touching you, from watching you make the climb toward the precipice. You could feel yourself—stiff and swollen—pulsing beneath his touch, begging for release that he had no viable reason to deny you.

“Just let go for me.” He whispered in turn, deep and raspy, his lips massaging yours. “I gotcha.”

That quiet reassurance was enough to snap the flaming cable within you, sending wave after wave of pleasure from where his finger massaged. Your eyes rolled back, your attempts at crying out muffled by his mouth slotting over yours. His hand left your hip to slide around to the small of your back, holding you steady through each surge of ecstasy until you were nothing but pliable limbs and twitching hips.

Between your legs—as well as Daryl’s hand—would surely be a mess of your desire and blood, but cleaning up was merely an afterthought behind the last waves of your orgasm, the warmth of his body, the strength of his muscles holding you in place, and the soft kisses he was peppering to the skin above your pulse. You were truly loathe to have him anywhere but right where he was.

With a hum, you pushed against his chest and caught his wrist when he tried to move further away than you were willing to allow. “Let’s get cleaned up, hmm?” You pulled him behind you, guiding him to the desk. He didn’t object when you used a fresh scrap of fabric to wash his hand and yet another to clean yourself. You had barely placed the cloth into the bowl of water before he was cupping your chin, bringing your face closer to his.

“Ain’t ever gotta worry ‘bout what’cha look like. Not with me. Not ever.” You opened your mouth, not even really sure what you were intending to say, but you achieved nothing more than a content sigh against his lips when he closed the distance between you. His thumb was tracing the line of your jaw, back and forth, when he pulled back and used the light hold on your chin to tilt your face down and kiss your forehead.

You were left blinking away tears while he traipsed to the door. “Wait.” He turned to regard you with an arched brow, his eyes following your movements as you sauntered toward him with a newfound confidence for which you had every intention of thanking him. Splayed fingers on his chest pushed him flush against the door before both hands began working at his belt. “Your turn.”

“Y’ain’t gotta—fuck.”

Your hand had already slipped into his jeans, past his underwear, and begun to stroke him. He was still half hard, making it easy to bring him to a state of fully aroused. “I wish we could.” You teased in a sultry tone, your lips against his neck.

He was tense beneath your mouth, stressed and more than a little riled up, something you hoped to remedy. Dropping to your knees, you didn’t allow him time to think, even a second to protest, before freeing him only to draw his cock into your mouth.

The sound he made was dangerously close to a whimper. His right hand came to rest on the back of your head, heavy but immobile. With half of his length weighing on your tongue, you swirled the muscle around his shaft, placing pressure on the vein running beneath while pushing your head forward to draw him fully inside. Your nose met the skin above the base, the impulse to gag strong and forcing you to pull back while still keeping him engulfed within the wet heat of your mouth.

“Jesus fuck.” His fingers curled into your hair, hand trembling in denial of the need to guide you. The wet sounds of debauchery filled the small office as you repeated the action, slowly edging him toward an orgasm that—if the already present twitch and pulse of his cock was any indication—wouldn’t take long to achieve.

With fluid and deliberate movements, your hand slipped beneath his shirt and slid over his stomach—his muscles twitching—and up to his chest. When your nails scraped downward, he moaned, low and deep. His hips jerked on reflex, causing you to gag which only ended in the same reaction. Your hand stopped when you felt the raised skin of a scar, fingers straightening so that your touch was gentle over marks left gifted out of anger and malice. You had long ago vowed to never grant those areas anything less than tenderness.

Lifting your hand away from his skin, you used both to grip his denim clad thighs and slid them around to squeeze his buttocks, using that hold to push him toward you and draw him back, directing him to use your mouth for his pleasure.

And still he didn’t.

You should have known he wouldn’t, always afraid of hurting you, of pushing you past your limits. Had your mouth not been full of him, you would have smiled. Instead, you kept one hand on his ass while the other wrapped around what you could not easily take. Your lips chased your fingers back and forth, your head bobbing.

“Y/N.” He growled from above, his grip in your hair tightening enough to make your scalp sing. Still, he merely held on while his other hand joined the first. Between wet slurps and quiet grunts, the room was filled with filth and sin and the scent of sweat and sex.

Daryl was hanging on by a thread.

Your efforts doubled, your cheeks hollowed and pace quickened. His breaths were heavy, near wheezing, with barely contained moans, his head pressed back into the door, eyes tightly closed and lips minisculary parted.

“M’—m’gonna—”

You hummed around him, the only warning you received before he spilled against the back of your throat was the tensing of his muscles beneath your hand. A string of expletives left his mouth in a rush of breath, his body bowing over you while he finally allowed his hands a purpose of holding you in place while his hips thrust to prolong the intense waves of pleasure.

As he came back to himself, he quickly released you, watching you pull yourself off of him with a hard swallow and deep inhale. Daryl was trembling, his knees slightly bent. Sensing he was barely maintaining his footing, you rose and wiggled your arms around his torso, providing him support while simultaneously laying your head against his chest to hear his heart gallop.

After a moment, you felt his cheek rest against your temple, a deep breath shuddering beneath your cheek.

“You’re tryin’ to kill me.”

“Nah,” you laughed. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d use a knife.” He straightened, forcing you to pull back and look at him. He was sweating while you were growing colder in your bare state, your chilled hands tucking him away and doing up his pants.

He opened his mouth, likely a retort on his tongue, when there came a knock on the door. Dear god, had someone heard?

“Someone’s getting cranky out here.” Carol’s voice was quiet, amused, and close to the door.

Daryl gulped, his eyes wide before he settled into stoicism and jerked his chin toward the desk. “Finish up, I got ‘er.”

You offered him a nod and stepped back enough for him to open the door and slip out. You grabbed your sweater and went back to the door, listening for what you could possibly hear on the other side.

“Can’t let’cha mama an’ ol’ man have a break, kid?” Daryl asked quietly, still close to the door. You could hear Birdie’s little squeaks as she likely settled into her father’s arms.

“She wants to be an only child for at least a year, Daryl.” Carol’s voice was further away.

“Th’fuck? How’d—” The archer exclaimed.

“I hear everything. I mean everything.”

Your face reddened and you stepped away from the door, knowing full well that a teasing was awaiting upon your return. Pulling on your bra, you situated the pads and then continued to dress. The mess of cloths and water were dumped into the trashcan. With an indignant pout, you reached for the doorknob.

“I swear that woman has a built in sex alert system.” You grumbled on your way out, closing the door behind you.

#murda writes #daryl dixon #blood ties #the walking dead #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon smut #dad!daryl #daryl dixon fluff #dad!daryl dixon #birdie dixon #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x you

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mawidixon · 6 months ago

Text

Saying "I missed you" won't express how I was dying inside

Daryl x fem!pregnant!reader

One-shot

Genre: Angst, fluff at the end

Warnings: Twd violence, swearing, pregnancy stuff,

Setting: Season 7 - Hilltop

Summary: After Daryl was taken by the Saviors, your life became much more difficult. However, you had a little reminder of him growing inside your womb.

A/N: This is my first one-shot. I did my best, but I'm not sure what to think about it. I hope you like it! Have a nice day! Sorry for any mistakes if there are any.

@mawi22 I don't want my work to be modified, copied, or any of this kind of stuff without my consent!!!

Your situation was rather of the ‘surprise’ kind of pregnancy that most women would not have been expecting to happen to them any time soon. At first, you could only feel the element of fear as you tried to think of how Daryl would respond to this new development that you never saw coming. It was troubling in your heart, for you understood well that he had his qualms about having a baby at this stage in life. There lies the grey area of a personal experience of a man who could not escape the dark memories of his childhood to become a responsible father and provider; the fear of making the same mistakes and reproducing the same patterns that define bad parenting. The commitment that a child would bring was too heavy for him to bear at this time in his life as he saw it as a mountain he would have to climb. This was the feeling you had when you were carrying this secret within you, a feeling of conflict within the self, torn between protecting him from the truth and the truth within your senses and conscience. However, with time, the silence became unbearable and you got to a stage that one could not continue suppressing the truth anymore regardless the fact that it created a feeling of awkwardness. The desire of getting closer and creating a fair partnership could not remain unanswered anymore, so it is, you had to face this sensitive concern with bravery and openness.

As time went by, Daryl's feelings for the unborn child grew stronger. Despite his initial fears, the anxiety that had plagued him over the past few months began to fade. He had always been cautious, but now, a new kind of tenderness emerged. When you were cuddling on the couch, he would often place his rough, calloused hand on your belly, rubbing it gently as if he could already feel the connection to his child. Daryl's efforts to prepare for the baby were evident. Every time he came back from a run, his backpack would be filled with baby clothes, toys, and little trinkets he thought might be useful. His eyes would light up with a mix of pride and excitement as he showed you his finds, his voice tinged with a rare softness as he explained why he chose each item.

One night, you pretended to be asleep, curious about the whispers coming from his side of the bed. You peeked through half-closed eyes to see Daryl leaning close to your belly, his lips barely an inch away from your skin. He was talking to the baby, his voice low and gentle, filled with promises and dreams for the future. It was a side of him you rarely saw, vulnerable and hopeful, and it made your heart swell with love. However, Daryl's protectiveness sometimes bordered on overbearing. He couldn't stand to see you doing any kind of unnecessary work. Whether it was lifting a box or bending down to pick something up, he would swoop in, insisting that you rest and let him handle it. At times, it was endearing, but often it left you feeling frustrated. You appreciated his concern, but you also craved a bit of independence.

"Darlin', you shouldn't be doing that," he'd say, gently taking a task out of your hands. You'd sigh, sometimes rolling your eyes, but deep down, you knew it came from a place of love and fear of losing you both. Despite the occasional annoyance, you found comfort in his unwavering dedication. Daryl had faced so many dangers in his life, but none seemed to shake him as much as the prospect of fatherhood. And in his own way, he was already proving to be a devoted and loving partner, ready to protect and cherish his growing family.

...

That was until Negan and his people took Daryl. The day everything changed, you were at the Hilltop, just weeks away from your due date. The anticipation of meeting your baby was mingled with the joy of Daryl’s newfound tenderness and protectiveness. It was supposed to be a time of hope and new beginnings. You were resting in one of the rooms when the commotion outside caught your attention. Peeking through the window, you saw a group of people rushing towards the main gate. Your heart sank as you recognized Sasha and Maggie, both with tears streaming down their faces. You hurried out, your swollen belly making every step a little more difficult.

Sasha spotted you immediately and ran over, her face a mix of grief and urgency. "Daryl… they took Daryl, and killed Abraham and Glenn." she said, her voice breaking. For a moment, her words didn’t register. The world seemed to tilt, and you had to steady yourself against a nearby wall.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you knew it, you were crying uncontrollably. Your sobs echoed through the courtyard, a raw expression of the fear and despair gripping your heart. Everything had been perfect, or as perfect as it could be in this world. You were about to start a family with the man you loved, and now… now, he was gone. Each moment that passed without Daryl felt like an eternity. The fear that he might be dead gnawed at you, a constant, unbearable weight. You clutched your belly, feeling the baby move inside you, a bittersweet reminder of the life you had hoped to share with Daryl.

The Hilltop community tried to offer support, but nothing could quell the storm of emotions inside you. The world that had seemed so promising just a few hours ago now felt dark and uncertain. All you could do was cling to the hope that the love of your life was still out there, fighting to come back to you and the child he had already come to love so deeply.

It was another day without Daryl. Each morning, you woke with a glimmer of hope that he might somehow return, only to be crushed by the reality that he was still out there, somewhere, in the clutches of the Saviors.

As you sat in the room you once shared with him, your eyes wandered to the baby items scattered around, each one a testament to Daryl's growing excitement about becoming a father. Tiny clothes, soft blankets, and the little toys he had brought back from his runs—each piece carried a memory of happier times. You remembered the day you and Daryl decided to keep the baby’s gender a surprise. It had been a moment filled with laughter and love, a rare lightness in your often perilous lives. He had said about teaching the baby to hunt and fix motorcycles. The memory brought a bittersweet smile to your face, followed quickly by a pang of sorrow. Now, with Daryl gone and no certainty of his fate, the need to know the baby’s gender became overwhelming. It felt like a way to hold onto him, to make the waiting a little more bearable. Perhaps knowing would bring some comfort, some sense of connection to him amidst the chaos.

You made your way to the Hilltop’s infirmary, your heart heavy but resolute. As the doctor performed the ultrasound, you held your breath, tears threatening to spill over. The sound of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room, strong and steady, a small beacon of hope in the darkness.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced with a gentle smile, and the tears you had been holding back finally flowed freely. You clutched your belly, imagining a little boy with Daryl’s piercing blue eyes, his determined spirit, and his fierce love. The knowledge that you were carrying a son gave you a renewed sense of purpose. You whispered to your belly, promising Daryl that you would stay strong, that you would protect their child with everything you had. The thought of a little boy who would grow up to be a hundred percent version of his father brought a sliver of light to your heart.

Each kick and movement from your baby boy was a reminder of the love you shared with Daryl, a love that had created this new life. Despite the uncertainty and fear, you held onto the hope that one day, Daryl would return, and you would introduce him to his son. Until then, you would keep fighting, for both of them.

...

Thirty minutes had passed, and you were in the kitchen, preparing something to eat. The rhythmic chopping of vegetables was almost soothing, a temporary distraction from the gnawing worry that had settled in your chest. Maggie was sitting beside the table, her expression a mix of concern and frustration.

“You should really let me do this,” Maggie insisted for the tenth time, her voice firm yet gentle. “You’re in the late stage of pregnancy. You need to rest.” You sighed, pausing for a moment to look at her. “Maggie, I’m fine.”

Maggie opened her mouth to argue again, but the sound of the gate to the Hilltop cracking open interrupted her. Her head snapped towards the window, eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of hope. She quickly got up, moving to the stove to turn off the gas. "Hey, what’s going on?” you asked, a mix of confusion and worry in your voice.

Maggie turned to you, her face lit up with a sudden, intense emotion. “Daryl came back!” Her voice trembled with joy and disbelief. For a moment, you stood there frozen, the words echoing in your mind. Daryl came back. The knife slipped from your hand, clattering onto the counter as you felt your heart race with a mixture of hope and fear.

You hurried towards the door, following Maggie. As you reached the courtyard, the sight that met your eyes took your breath away. There, amidst the gathering crowd, was Daryl. His clothes were worn and dirty, his face marked by exhaustion and pain, but he was there. He was alive.

Daryl looked up, and his eyes met yours. For a moment, everything else faded away. You rushed towards him, your hands instinctively moving to your belly, feeling the life inside you kicking in response to your racing heart.

“Daryl!” you cried, your voice breaking with emotion. He moved towards you, his steps quickening as he saw you. In an instant, he was there, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. You buried your face in his chest, sobbing with relief.

“'m here,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with love. “’m here, an' 'm not goin' anywhere.” You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands cupping his face. “I was so scared,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “I didn’t know if you were...” He just wiped away your tears in response.

In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his embrace and the sound of his heartbeat, the world felt right again. You held onto him, promising yourself that you would never let go.

To your surprise, tears began to stream down Daryl’s face too. The strong man you knew, who rarely showed any signs of weakness, was now falling apart before your very eyes. He got on his knees and cupped your distended belly with his calloused hands, running his fingers over your skin softly, which brought tears to your eyes. "How is my little one?" he said with happiness and the tenderness of a father. He smiled at you and the weariness in his eyes was replaced by hope. “He’s okay,” you responded, not even realizing that you were saying it out loud. As for Daryl, his eyes opened wide in shock. “He?” he repeated, coming to the realization. It suddenly dawned on you that you had let it slip. You had planned to surprise him but in the heat of the moment, you blurted it out. “I’m sorry. .. Yes, I shouldn’t have—”Before you could finish, Daryl’s face softened. He slowly stood up, reaching out to cup your face gently. He said softly, “Nothin' to apologize for.”

"I love you"

"I love ya too"

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #x reader #daryl x reader #tw depressing stuff

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corvidcrossbow · 6 months ago

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~•♡•~ Daddy's Little Dhampir

➳ Summary: All you'd wanted in life was to meet a real life vampire, and by some twist of fate, you got so much more than that (Dad!Vamp!Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, picking up at 6 years post outbreak – references to your childhood

➳ Word count: 2.9k

➳ C/W: Mentions of blood and vampire stuff, allusions to typical TWD gore

➳ A/N: I had to dump this rq while we're still on the vamp train, and thank y'all for all the love n 140+ followers I appreciate y'all 🫶

If you could go back and tell your little nine year old self that vampires were real, she'd lose. her. mind.

The nine year old who checked out every book from the library on them and other folklore creatures, and would sit immersed for hours, taking notes and educating herself before falling asleep in front of it all: but picking it all back up the next day.

The nine year old who urged her friends to come exploring with her in the forest after dark, and proudly said ‘Fine. I'll just do it by myself’ when they all declined. Who trekked over dead leaves with a dim flashlight, who's pulse spiked and excitement grew as noises rustled around her and her gaze shot up to the sky to see a bat fly overhead. Who had the widest smile in existence… just to turn and have a blinding light shone in her face and police officers announce ‘We found her!’ – and who pouted when her parents scolded her for sneaking out before wrapping her in tight hugs and saying they were just glad she was safe, and she snapped back with: ‘I don’ wanna be safe! I wanna find the vampires and I was about to and you guys ruined it!’

The nine year old who eventually fell out of her obsessive phase, but always maintained belief. Who retained every bit of knowledge, and would still step outside sometimes in the night, or veer off her path and wander in the woods while walking somewhere. Who traveled to major cities solely to explore nightclubs and hot spots. Who truly believed deep down in her heart and soul that vampires were real.

If you told her, 25 years from then, she'd not only know a vampire, but be married to him, and sit against the headboard in their bed at home with him beside her, head resting on her shoulder as they both stared down at the newborn infant in her arms… you think she'd pass out. Especially if you added the whole part about an unknown virus sparking a massive outbreak that caused people to rise from the dead and turn into rotting, flesh eating monsters, and in return cause the entirety of society across the globe to collapse, leaving only a fraction of the population alive, and that's how she'd even meet said vampire in the first place – and that it's already been 6 years since then.

But while she may pass out, you didn't. It was ironic, how everything you'd ever dreamt about came true in the one way you'd never imagined it. Despite all the negatives, everything you lost; you gained so many positives: the vampiric love of your life, and the daughter you shared.

The smile on your face was wider than the one in the forest that night so long ago, eyes glued to the baby in front of you that slept so peacefully despite the chaos that surrounded her existence. Simply conceiving her was a challenge atop everything else, given the crossing of your species. You tilted your head to the side, resting against the mans, and murmured an ‘I love you’.

To which he shifted his and brought lips to your jawline, returning the admission as a second nature, it having grown so much easier to express such since he met you. And how could he not pour his heart out and remind you every second how madly, crazily, desperately, needily and obsessively in love with you he was – the same way you were in love with even just the concept of his existence – now that you'd carried, birthed, and held his perfect baby girl in your arms.

The newborn wriggled in adjustment, subconsciously cuddling closer to the warmth of your body, fully reliant on you for survival.

“She's gonna be yer little dhampir, Daryl… Daddy's little dhampir,” You spoke softly, admiring the blessing of her life.

“Yea, she is…” He replied, reaching a hand to stroke the side of her face with a gentle finger, which lulled her back into rest. He lived for you, and now he lived for her.

❥-》》—————➣

You loved your daughter to bits, but those books didn't quite warn you how difficult raising a dhampir would be sometimes.

“God, Daryl- What do I do? How the hell do I feed her?!” You asked frantically as the baby screamed and cried so hard in your hold it was concerning. Breastfeeding didn't quench this thirst, yet she had no teeth to bite into you.

“Fuck, jus’-” Daryl sputtered, grabbing a bottle and a knife, and slicing open his palm, flexing muscles to drain it faster into the container before screwing on the lid and shoving it to you to feed her as he spat into his hand to heal over the wound. Crisis averted.

Luckily, she didn't seem to require blood often, and you two created a better system after that: Daryl building an enclosure in the yard and storing live animals he'd find there so you could drain them when needed.

When her teeth did eventually come in, she had the cutest smile ever – small yet pin-sharp fangs poking through the pinkish gums of her mouth.

“Yea? Yer’ah damn lil’ biter, huh?” Daryl chaffed, playfully flicking splashes at her during bath time as you both sat at the edge of the tub.

She giggled, edges of her mouth curling up as she slapped the surface of the water to try and get him back for it – and he'd always dramatically act like he was hit by a tsunami when in reality it was just a few small drops on his arms. Just to hear her laugh.

The moment she was walking, she was outside, stumbling around and soon running, that instinct to be out in nature clearly taken from her father.

“Poppa,” She whined as you set her down at the bottom of the steps outside the house, her turning back and reaching a grasping hand towards Daryl, the other holding yours, as he took a seat on the steps, sun on the other side of the home and shadow protecting him from the daylight, but not the yard.

“Daddy can only watch right now. Remember the sunlight isn't good for him, okay sweetheart?” You cautiously reminded her as her head looked back to you, too young to wrap her mind around the concept.

He'd watch and talk as you two'd sit in the grass and play, sometimes covering best he could and making the sacrifice anyway just to make his daughter happy. And you'd always go out and play at nighttime anyway.

Growing into a toddler and young child, she was an absolute menace, Daryl just fueling her every troublemaking behavior.

“What in the world are you two doing?!” You called from the stairs, wiping sleep from your eyes and catching Daryl and your daughter immediately freeze, having been loudly chasing each other around downstairs with their enhanced agility in the middle of the night – busted.

The child gave an innocent toothy smile, and Daryl a sheepish grin as she pointed at him. “‘Ts daddy's fault!” She always blamed him when it was 100% her doing.

You rolled your eyes and groaned, pinching your brow. “Dixon, get yer damn daughter to bed and your ass into ours.” It was nowhere near the first time they'd woken you up with such.

“Yes ma'am.” And he took the moment of distraction to grab the child as she kicked and squealed in the interlocking cell his arms created.

Then as she aged, she completely mirrored every aspect of his personality, practically a carbon copy of him.

“Shuddup! Yall'ere ah buncha assholes!”

“Ay! Ya better watch yer mouth girl! Ain't nobody tell ya you could be talkin’ like tha’!” Daryl called across the way, catching hints of her civil argument with some other kids – as civil as a Dixon could be.

“That one really is your fault,” You teased him with a smirk, gently elbowing his side as he rolled his eyes and groaned.

“They called me Lucille cause ‘ima bloodthirsty bat’!” She nor Daryl even possessed the ability to transform. That was more fantasy.

He vanished to deal with it before you could finish your blink, leaving just the energy of his protectiveness in his wake.

—

“Hey ma, I gotcha somethin’!” She practically slid across the edge of the kitchen counter, clasped hand held out to you.

“If this is another big ass bug-”

“It's not! It's not!” She opened to a large stone of jasper. “Found it while wanderin’ – inside the walls –, thought ya might want it cause dad always gets ya ‘em, ‘nd yer ring.” She motioned to the band on your finger, adorned with a jasper center. Daryl started collecting them for you after you'd liked the one he found back near the prison.

—

“Nah, ts'only 4.9. Mine's bigger.” Daryl beamed triumphantly as they each weighed cottontail rabbits they'd caught on a hunt. They always had competitions on who could catch more, or the larger game.

“Tha's not fair! Only weighs less now cause it lost more blood on tha way back than yers did!”

“Still counts. Gotta get'ah cleaner shot, babyfangs. Then ya won’ waste so much.”

So many moments were leagues better than what your imagination curated in your youth, full of that real laughter and care and love that you could only placebo before.

But… some moments of it were the hardest, scariest moments of your life.

“Do you have any traces of her at all? Can you smell her??” You asked worriedly through labored breaths as you ran faster than you had from any person or walker or thing before. Fear pumped through your veins, somehow pushing you to keep up with Daryl's vampiric pace as you sped through the forest, bow on your back and crossbow on his, searching for your daughter.

“Yea, she ain't far. Ts’jus’ hard tah pick ‘er out with tha walkers cloudin’ it,” He grunted back, straining his senses to try and focus in on where she'd be. Sunlight seared his skin, having left the house so quickly he had no time to dress in proper attire. He didn't care, he didn't even feel it over everything he felt for his perfect girl.

“Daddy?” That soft, familiar voice ripped you both from your rush, stopping so fast you nearly toppled over and mutually whipped to take hurdles towards your daughter and wrap her in your arms. Now you truly understood your parents – so, so many years ago; that burning, aching dread to do anything and everything for your baby, to exhaust yourself to find them when they were lost, how it felt to have them in your arms again after thinking the worst thoughts one could illustrate. But there were some situations your parents never had to worry about.

“What? What is it?” You asked in alarm, pulling back to look at your daughter's face as tears started to stream down her cheeks and her gaze flicked away, the teenager so reluctant to be honest. “Please baby, what is it!?”

To your every worst fear, she reached up and pulled the neckline of her shirt aside, revealing the distinctive imprint of a walker's bite carved into the flesh on the nape of her neck.

“M'sorry, m'so sorry- I dun’ kno’ what happened I jus’-” She stammered, unable to find the words or will to begin to explain herself. Your stomach dropped so far you wouldn't be surprised if it was down in the molten core of the Earth.

The neck. It had to be neck. If it was the arm, you could amputate it, maybe she'd even have the chance of regrowing the limb, and same with the leg. If Daryl had converted you to a vampire like you'd talked about once many years ago, she never would've been a dhampir, and would never need to care about the risk walkers posed to her – whole vampiric nature making it impossible for the virus to infect them, able to survive bites and just let them heal over. If you'd payed some more fucking attention to what she was doing and where she was going, she wouldn't even be out here. If this, if that. If-

“Am I gonna die?” She sobbed, looking between you two with the most terrified expression you'd ever seen. You couldn't even register her question before her dad answered. He was always better at those split second response times where every extra beat changed the confidence of a statement.

“Nah. Yer not dyin’. Drink.” Daryl tore away his shirt, craning his neck to expose a spot by his left clavicle, close to his heart so it'd pump the most blood the quickest, and he knelt to her level. She was hesitant. “C'mon. Now!”

You watched as she stepped forward and sunk teeth into him, drawing long siphons of his blood. You prayed the purity of it compared to hers would aid her system in warding off the infection, should a dhamir still be susceptible to it. You didn't know. You didn't know if this would even work. Your heart raced so fast you couldn't even feel it anymore, like your body was already trying to shield you from how it may feel if it breaks.

“Daryl, that's enoug-” You started after a long moment, worried he'd just end up killing himself too. You couldn't lose either of them, but especially not both.

“Nah. Drink till ya can't no more – don’ give'ah damn ‘bout how much ya take,” He barked at you, then lightened his tone for her. He was beginning to feel woozy, pressure building in his head as his body's efforts to replenish struggled to keep up with her anxious draws. But again, he didn't care. He would do anything for her. He would bleed himself dry should it mean even the chance of keeping her alive.

But eventually she retracted her fangs, guilt overpowering the rest of her emotions. How could she live with herself if she was responsible for her own father's death? “Daddy, m'sorry, I-”

“Ya needah… drink, moonshine…” He wavered, and you grabbed him steady before he collapsed, resting him back against a tree trunk as you and your daughter sat on either side.

“Shit, Daryl.. c'mon, drink somma mine,” You urged, tugging your own top out of the way and offering to him.

“Nah, m'not-”

“I told ya to fuckin’ drink it!” In the rare times you raised your voice at him, he'd immediately listen: now driving his canines into your body, but taking far less of your crimson than he needed. He was too selfless for his own good.

You brushed the matted hair from his charring forehead, looking back at your daughter who tried to quiet her cries as she couldn't bring herself to look at him, curling into a ball of her own pity and shame.

“Honey, look at me,” You reached out, sliding your hand to cup her cheek and bring it up, her glassy eyes meeting yours. “I need you to help me get him home, okay? Ts’not safe out here.”

She just sat there for a moment, silently looking at you. She didn't want to accept that any of this was actually happening.

“We're all gonna be okay, so long as we get home. I love you.” That motherly tone melted her, and she nodded a little, unwinding and helping you to hoist the archer up and carry him back to Alexandria.

You kept them both in bed with you, nursing Daryl's drained status back to the typical, and keeping close watch on your daughter for any symptoms of the infection. You stayed there hour after hour, only leaving for brief moments to harvest another rabbit or squirrel for your husband, and fluids for yourself to regenerate as you'd been having him feed from you in intervals.

Your daughter spent most of it distant on the other side of the bed, back to you both, but not asleep. And you frowned.

“Babygirl, come here.” She didn't move, prefering to still act like she had nothing to do with any of this. “Sweetheart…” You reached down and forcibly dragged her up to cuddle between you and her father, soothingly stroking her head as she broke into tears again and he wrapped her in a half-dazed embrace.

Daryl was fine, just a little droopy at this point, and you mutually watched and held your girl. You prayed and pleaded and begged more than you had as a child, for a completely different reason. And to your every actually important hope and dream, a fever never spiked. Her skin never grew sweaty and clammy, eyebags never sagged, never grew weak.

Whether being a dhampir alone saved her, or Daryl's healing components pulled the rest of the weight, it didn't really matter. She was alive, and she'd live, and neither of you would ever allow this to repeat.

That customarily fatal bite turned to a scar, then smoothed back out to the unscathed plane it was before. Daryl spooned her as they both drifted into a slumber, a faint smile cresting your lips as you gazed from the opposite side. It wasn't as big as that night as a kid, or when your daughter was born, but it held as much meaning. You were all okay.

You got your vampire, and he got you – and you both got your little girl.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

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weretheones · 1 year ago

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All You Got | Part 12

Part 12: What's Left

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: typical twd content. references to sexual assault, nothing ridiculously explicit in my opinion but just a heads up. A/N: me? on time for a posting? impossible... enjoy ;)

Daryl insisted on traveling through the tree line rather than the road. That bandage had unsettled him— who knew who left it? The last time you’d seen people, it’d meant a week of bed rest, a bullet through the shoulder, and that broken look in your eye.

He wasn’t eager to repeat any of it.

But then there was you. You who couldn’t seem to stop chirping about how it could be good to find this new group— even if neither of you had any idea who the hell they were. How the gas you found would prove useful after all— even if the road was still long and dangerous. Hope seemed to infect you, filling every breath you took with an air of naivety that only made the hairs on the back of his neck raise— even if you had that pretty smile to tempt him, otherwise.

“It might not even be there anymore.”

He didn’t mean to be an asshole. Sometimes it just snuck up on him like an old habit. Thankfully, you mostly seemed to understand that, nowadays.

Mostly.

You rolled your eyes, voice a hitch higher.

“They were broadcasting just a couple of months ago and they have signs all over the state,” you snapped. “It might be gone but it could very well still be standing, and if it is, then that’s what we need.”

Put in his place, he shut his mouth for a moment.

Those signs. Something about them was bugging him. It was like putting out a damn welcome mat for any Governor-type asshole this world still had slithering around. If Terminus was still around after all, and they let you both in, he’d be the first to rip them down.

“Jus’ don’t wanna see ya broken up if it doesn’t work out.”

His tone was softer. Concerned.

You sighed and turned his way.

“I know, and you’re right. It’s just… it’s nice to have a lead, again. It’s been hard not having somewhere to go, you know? Just wandering around, without an end.”

Daryl nodded. “Guess it’s fittin’ then.”

“How so?”

“That’s what it means: Terminus. Endpoint.”

“Well that sounds ominous,” you laughed. “I guess it could have a good meaning though. The end of running, hiding. All of that.”

Daryl gave a half-hearted smile. His lips slightly curled with the only twinge of hope he had left in his chest.

“Maybe.”

The car couldn’t have been much further by that point. The road was littered with familiar cracks, from the glimpses of it you could see past the thicket of trees. Maybe it was time to put some concrete under your feet instead of cold earth.

But just as you were about to say just as much to Daryl, the quiet air broke.

“Bullshit!”

The yell pierced the thin veil of safety that silence had wrapped around you. Daryl’s head snapped up first, hunter’s instincts and all that, but you were merely a fraction of a second behind. Within the next second, he had yanked you back behind a tree, palm pressed flat against your sternum as your back slammed against the rough bark. You bit your lip, trapping the gasp of pain as he glared around the side. He was close enough that you could watch the flick of his wide eyes, bouncing left then right then left again as he watched the road, waiting for the moment the group of men would notice that rustle in the bushes and head your way. As those blue slits of anticipation calculated your odds, you could practically hear the swear he only dared to mouth. Maybe he could hear the sound of your heart pounding against your ribs— he could definitely feel it.

He was close— so were they— how many bullets did you have left?

A squeeze of your shirt brought you back, snapping your eyes into focus as Daryl spoke to you through nothing but a look. Stay silent. You silently nodded as your hand wrapped around the cool handle of your gun at your hip.

“The hell you idiots hollering about?”

“Len’s a goddamn liar, tha’s what!”

“I told ya, it's already claimed.”

“Bullshit,” the man growled this time, voice so thick you could practically hear the way he clenched his teeth. “You didn’t claim nothin’!”

You gingerly wrapped your fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand from your chest. He let it fall off silently, sparing you a glance as you checked your gun’s clip, then peeked around the bend of the trunk, too. Daryl held his crossbow only an inch from his eye, ready to fire around the tree’s cover at any second. The bush separating you from them— whoever the hell they were— was thin enough that if the men looked your way, and the light was right, they might’ve seen you. But as it was, the pair of you were as silent as you were still, and there was nothing to draw their attention your way.

You could see the men move around the car like a pack of vultures. The two arguing rounded the front with both their chests puffed out. The way they were going, it seemed as if they might solve themselves before they became a real problem.

The one who was a proclaimed liar— Len— was tall, with outgrown brown hair and a thick beard that made his already long face look even thinner. That stained hoodie, half-zipped, hung off him. He was cockier than he deserved to be; the other man looked considerably more threatening, even if he stood a few inches shorter under his blue beanie.

Appearances could be deceiving, though, and they proved to be when the shorter man finally snapped his fist forward and Len dodged it easily. He was thin but fast, and knew how to throw a punch as well as he could dodge one. It didn’t take long for the other man to end up on the ground, his stomach kicked twice while the others stood by idly. As if nothing was happening. Their indifference to violence was not necessarily shocking— but weren’t they supposed to be a group? They were traveling together, scouting together, but they didn’t care much about one another.

No. These men weren’t family. They were just a group of survivors, cruel and scarred alike. Certainly not the type of men you wanted to find on the side of the road.

But the car…

“Should we wait them out?” You whispered.

Daryl’s eyes never moved off them, and his jaw was clenched. Tighter than you ever remembered it before.

“Dunno yet.”

“Joe!”

The grey-haired one stepped forward. He had on a black button-down with red skulls embroidered and a commanding way about his voice when he finally yelled,

“Will you two idiots stop already?”

The men listened. The beating stopped and Len laughed at the crumpled mess of a man on the concrete, even as the blood leaked out of him. He only managed to catch his footing with help from the car’s trunk.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Joe chuckled from in front of the wide-open trunk.

“Wha’ is it?” Len asked, barely sparing the man he’d just beaten a glance before he was strolling to the others.

“Found something else to fight over.”

He threw a brightly coloured box to Len and your heart skipped a beat.

Tampons.

“This car belongs to a woman.”

A sickening grin broke across his face.

All their faces.

The yellow of their teeth— the ones still left— was almost visible from here, and you didn’t need to look anymore to know that their eyes had all darkened. These men stank of cruelty and seemed to take joy in handing it out to each other. You didn’t expect they would spare a random woman of that, either. The chorus of sickening words that followed proved such: promises of first turns and declarations of the ‘lonely’ months since they last found someone to attack.

The fear bundled in your chest. Tightening its little knot around your stomach, your lungs, reaching higher and higher until every muscle in your body felt acutely taut. A stinging mix of bile and a breath you couldn’t seem to catch burnt a hole right in the middle of your throat.

Your finger twitched along the trigger.

They couldn’t find you— you couldn’t let them get you.

You didn’t realize when you’d looked toward Daryl, but a part of you knew it was only a matter of time. Whenever dread took root inside of you and seemed to burn your hope away from the inside out, he was there to calm the fire with those icy blue eyes. They were narrow now. Fierce and terrifying at first glance, but he held onto your stare firmly. And for once, you could read his mind as he so casually did yours.

They won’t get you.

You took a breath. It was admittedly raspy, a hitch too loud for your liking, so you made a point to be smoother the next time.

“Think it's the same one?”

“I hope so. Hope she got that piece of shit with her, too.”

Your stomach dropped.

Did they mean Daryl?

“No. Whoever’s been shackin’ up in this van has been here longer than they’ve been house hoppin’.” Joe kissed his teeth in disappointment. “It ain’t them.”

The knot in your stomach loosened a bit, but it was still a heavyweight; they might not have been tracking you and Daryl— not yet, at least— but they were tracking others, and you doubted they had good intentions once they found them.

“So we stayin’ or not?”

Another interrupted, “How do we know she’s even comin’ back?”

“There's enough food in ‘ere to last a few days, at least. She’s either comin’ back or she’s already dead.”

A shadow loomed closer, bigger and bigger until there was a rustle in the bushes.

You and Daryl moved back behind the tree, without much time to go anywhere else. Bark digging into your back again, Daryl’s hands pressed around your body like a cage. You tried to find comfort in the idea of his arms surrounding you, instead of that suffocating feeling that was climbing up your chest.

A belt buckle clinked. Then the thump of pants dropped to the ground.

“She better be hot!”

That thin man again. Len.

“Waiting out here like a bunch’a assholes… better be worth it,” he grumbled, more to himself than anyone else.

You heard it, of course. So did Daryl.

The cage slipped away, and whatever comfort it brought did, too; one of his hands dropped to his hip, steady fingers unbuckled his knife’s sheath and wrapped around the handle. You glanced up to his face, where his eyes had narrowed into slits. It was a familiar look, one you’d seen before his bolt sliced into a squirrel or a rabbit. The look of a hunter, closing in on its prey.

Anger swarmed him. Pupils blown so wide you couldn’t see that ring of blue anymore. He was going to kill him. Take his knife and stick it in him as many times as he needed until Len stopped squealing like the nasty pig he was. Right here, right now.

And you wanted him to.

But, then there was reason.

It always snuck in, eventually.

With a shaky— perhaps unsure— hand, you caught his wrist. Wrapped your fingers around him as softly as you could and held his hand still. Kept that knife in its sheath, kept the two of you hidden and safe.

Daryl’s eyes locked onto yours, still steaming from all that anger boiling up. It took him a moment, but eventually your gentle touch swarmed his rage. Smothered the fire.

He got the point.

Not now.

Oblivious, Len sighed.

You held your breath. Closed your eyes.

Anything to get away, until you actually could.

—

The minute Len went back to the road, you and Daryl made a run for it. The gas canister and all your hopes of a quick trip up to Terminus were abandoned at the trunk of that tree.

They hadn’t heard you get away.

However, that little fact didn’t do much to soothe the worry in your chest. A heavy ball, swinging back and forth, slamming into your heart, your lungs, your ribs. It made you nauseous. Made your head ring like a damn church bell with every pulse of your blood.

Dead leaves crunched under your bloodstained boots. Daryl’s too. The ground was cold and hard. Unforgiving.

Chances were, it would be your bed for the night.

You glanced up at the sky, already a dusty navy blue. Free of clouds, free of sun. The moon was round, just at the cusp of being a full circle of white light.

The earth would be your bed if you ever stopped walking.

It’d been since the car. Since the men who beat each other over a simple misunderstanding, but rallied together at the thought of an unsuspecting woman.

You.

“Daryl.”

He turned on his heel. Faster than you expected.

Eventually, your feet had stopped listening to the pursuit forward. A protest from stiff and tired muscles, standing still instead of following him through the weave of the forest. You weren’t sure why. Exhaustion hadn’t stopped you much before.

You’d probably be dead if it had.

“I, um—”

You shook your head. At that moment, there seemed to be a lot you weren’t sure about.

“Can we just hold up a minute?”

“We should keep moving.”

“We’ve been walking all day. All night.”

“We gotta,” he huffed.

“They didn’t see us leave. You covered our tracks.”

You stepped closer to him, a soft, reasonable whisper into the dark air.

“They’re not following us.”

“We don’t know tha’.”

“Daryl.”

Your eyes did most of the pleading.

He bit his lip, then nodded softly.

The closest tree was as good as any. With a heavy sigh, you fell against it, and for the first time since those nightmares, you closed your eyes. Just for a second. The bark was uncomfortable, digging into the shoulder that had already been bruised under a similarly rough tree. But it’d been either that or being caught.

Daryl was still standing. Pacing the small path back and forth like he could feel something coming closer. Watching you. He tried to watch it, too, but he never could seem to catch it. Or maybe there wasn’t actually anything out there.

From that angle, he seemed to be standing almost as tall as the trees. He was certainly as stiff as them when you called out again.

“You can sit.”

A glance your way. It felt tense, made your throat squeeze just a bit tighter. But eventually, he found something in your expression that seemed to stabilize the irregularity of his heart, pounding out of his chest.

He sighed, then gave in.

Winter’s breath slipped past your lips, a cloud of mist. It was dark tonight; there was barely enough silver moonlight to see past the second ring of trees surrounding you, but you were focused on Daryl anyway. His tree. The way he fell against it, rigid shoulders and bouncing eyes that always seemed to see better than yours when it came to the forest.

Exhaustion had dulled your senses, no doubt about it. But you could still feel the goosebumps rise. Could feel the shiver run down your spine. It was as cold as it was dark, like every night before this one, though it’d been a long time since you’d had to curl up against a tree instead of a backseat or squeaky mattress.

When he peeled off his jacket, your brow furrowed. His mouth was still shut, from what the shadows spared, but then there was a tumbling ball of darkness coming toward you until denim landed in your lap. Your heart dropped. It wasn’t an aching pain, this time. Not a bad one, at least. A low thump of memory coursing through your veins, thinking back to all the times he’d spared an inch of comfort just for you.

You bundled the jacket in your hands, then with your last burst of energy, pushed yourself back up and practically crawled over to his tree, instead. His jacket was always thrown overtop a couple of flannels and still loose, so it was big enough to wrap around you, and then him.

Him who stared at you like you’d grown a second head.

“This okay?” You asked, a touch too late.

Still, he nodded. Eyes falling off your sweet expression to find that cold earth underneath him.

“’S better than a fire.”

Another meaning slipped into his head— maybe the one he really meant. His voice picked up to clarify, “The smoke, I meant.”

“I figured you’d say no.” You spared a small smile. “But it’s still too cold.”

Daryl looked out to the forest again. Maybe he could see something out there, or maybe staring out into darkness was better than acknowledging how close you were. You shuffled next to him, trying to give him space without compromising the jacket’s cover, but damn, he was so warm. So close already.

Did another inch make any difference?

“You burn like a damn furnace, anyway.”

You took in a deep breath. Every thump of his nervous heart beating waves of heat toward you, melting away that frost that seemed to line your insides some days.

“So do you.”

He scoffed.

It grew quiet, again.

Breaths in and out. Daryl even seemed to relax. His shoulder became softer and softer under your cheek— only God knew when it landed there. The comfort should have lulled you to sleep, but there was still something lingering at the back of your throat, waiting for the chance to slip your lips.

“You wanted to kill that guy.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t really an accusation, either.

“I woulda.” His voice vibrated into you, that deep, threatening rumble of a man. “If he’d seen us.”

But you’d seen that look in his eye. Knew the urge ran deeper than that.

Daryl seemed to notice you picking him apart, piece by piece like a damn puzzle, and his gaze slipped away. Lost in the breeze of tall trees and low bushes, where he prayed nothing would jump from.

Still.

There was something about the way you watched him as if you could see past the mask he spent years piecing together. For his father, for his brother, for anyone else who dared to spend more than an hour by his side. It wasn’t enough. Not for you.

And for once in his life, he didn’t seem to mind.

He sighed, “Shoulda put a bolt in him, anyway.”

“If you did, they would be hunting us down right now.”

You were right.

Of course, you were right. It didn't make his regret ache any less. He sighed, again, and let his head rest against the tree trunk. Pressed to his side, you could hear the slow inhale of his breath, rattling past his dry throat and into those smoke-stained lungs. The thump of his heart seemed stronger than any of it, though. A soothing pulse, more even as the seconds ticked by.

Yours had evened out, too.

“I’m okay, you know.”

His head turned. A soft rustle compared to the low night breeze. It didn’t matter that your gaze had slipped off him, a moment or two ago. You could feel his stare lock onto the curve of your face. The flutter of your eyelashes as you blinked away that shimmer in your eye— the bad kind. Shift down to the way your shoulders slowly relaxed. Reaffirming those little words; wrapping a warm blanket around his heart. Making that crossbow in his hands feel as light as the way your arm brushed up against his.

He cleared his throat. You could feel his breath on your cheek.

“Ya— Y’know, I’d die before I’d let…”

His voice was raspy, dying off even before he lost the words entirely. It wasn’t anything you needed to hear, anyway. Not when the shine in his eyes was pointed down at you.

No more anger, not anymore.

Something darker than the night sky. Unreadable.

You nodded.

There was still that inkling of dread in your chest, stomping on top of your hope like a bratty child, but he seemed to make the pound of your heart slow. Seemed to make you feel safe even if you were anything but.

“I know.”

The words were a bare whisper. A delicate hush that came out as softly as the way your eyes felt slipping down his face. His lips were parted with slow breaths slipping past, like those thoughts that snuck into your mind, wondering what he might do if you leant closer. Touched him in a new way.

A breeze ran past you. Cold air biting your skin and a tinge of smoke.

The pair of you stilled. Pulled apart. The thought was caught in the smokey wind, carried away.

There was a fire nearby.

-> part 13

A/N: shit is about to get real y'all.

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

AYG taglist: @fuseburner @itsmeatballworld @rickysgrimes @stevenknightmarc @huffledor-able541 @your-shifting-gurl @hopefulatrocity @strnqer @dreamtofus @fillechatoyante @suniloli @kiaslily @poubxlle @normanplusdaryl @sseleniaa @wanhedavaliquette

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alkaline-wtr · 1 year ago

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WE WILL SURVIVE

- - CHAPTER 1 - -

Ghost x reader Description: Reader runs into a helpful stranger on the road who saves her life. Genre/Warnings: zombie apocalypse AU, Ghost x fem!reader, survivor!reader, angst, gore, violence, explicit language, weapons, mentions of death WC: 1.9k

My Masterlist

**I've been brainstorming for weeks, trying to develop a solid idea for a multi-chapter series to write. I had an old draft of this chapter from another fanfic sitting around for a long time, and I was inspired by the MW3 zombies announcement and decided to mix that with my love for TWD. So, here is the first chapter. I'm incredibly proud of it and have a lot planned for this series. I'm excited to see how this goes. Enjoy.

The gloomy sky matches the empty feeling in your stomach as you drag your feet across the gravel beneath you. Your heavy eyes are trained on the isolated road ahead.

It had been days... almost three at this point. No food. No water. No shelter. You'd been droning on for miles, and your body begged for rest. Wind rustles the branches of the trees beside you, making you jump. Paranoia settles into your sleep-deprived mind. You stop and look over your shoulder as if studying the woods, expecting something to appear.

Your heart sinks in your chest, as you hear a distinct 'click' in your ear. Slowly, you turn your head. A few feet in front of you is a man. In the corner of your eye is the barrel of a gun.

"Let's see those hands."

A masculine voice commanded beside you. The bitter-sweet tone makes you cringe. You slowly raise your hands, watching the man ahead of you.

"What do you wan-"

"Shut up! We are doing all the talking here."

You tense up as a hand tugged at the bag on your shoulders. The familiar sound of a zipper fills the silence and the man with the gun rifles through your belongings. You silently watch the cocky smirk of the man ahead of you.

"Anything good?"

He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. The second man is silent momentarily, still digging through your backpack. Finally, he steps into your line of sight, backing up slowly to join his friend, gun still cocked and aimed your way.

"Nothing."

The men look at you, anger and disappointment clear across their faces.

"Now, what are we to do with you?"

The cocky one says, dropping his folded arms.

"Please, just let me g-"

"I said shut it!"

He snaps. His eyes roll in annoyance as he turns to face his buddy.

"By the looks of her, she won't last more than another day out here alone. Might as well put her out of her misery."

The armed man says, adjusting his aim. You press your lips into a line. Fear fills your stomach as you realize that you're about to die.

The other man shakes his head. Unsatisfied with the suggestion. You watch him pace as he thinks of what to do next.

A gunshot rings through the air. You are frozen with fear, fully anticipating pain to wash over you any second.

The armed man crumples to the ground, blood pooling around his head. His friend looks at you in shock, but you are just as shocked and confused.

His eyes snap away from you as he throws his hands up defensively.

"Woah! Woah! Hey. Look, we can work this out."

He pleads. Another shot rings out, and the man screams, clutching his bloody leg. You turn to look across the road, where a masked man stands. His tall, brooding figure loomed in the distance. You recognize the bottom half of a military uniform, his icy blue eyes narrowing at you. He holds his gun steadily, aiming at the pleading man. Oddly, you feel a sense of relief wash over you as you lock your eyes with his cold gaze.

He stays still a moment longer before walking towards you. His gun remains pointed in the man's direction as he lies on the pavement crying and holding his knee to his chest. You gasp at the sudden tug on your arm.

"Let's go."

He says firmly, pulling you with him back across the road. You are pushed protectively behind the stranger as he crouches down cautiously, swiping the dead man's handgun off the pavement and backing himself in your direction. He stares at the injured stranger the whole way, his intimidating stare never wavering.

Once you are safely on the other side of the road and under the cover of the woods. The man stops in his tracks. He turns you to face him, his hands holding you by the shoulders. He leans down to meet your eyes. His gaze softens to concern as he asks,

"Are you injured? Bit?"

His low, gravelly voice was laced with a thick, foreign accent. You simply shake your head in response, looking over your shoulder. He looks you up and down to confirm you have no apparent wounds before standing back up straight. A strong hand is still planted on your shoulder.

His eyes shift behind the black skull print balaclava toward the crying man on the road. His faint screams echoed within the trees.

"We need to move. Between the gunshots and all this noise, they'll be coming soon."

A hint of annoyance rings through his words. He lets go of you, making his way through the trees. You glance around, worried. The stranger stops and turns back to you.

"You comin'?"

You nod before hesitantly following.

The sun is beginning to set as the stranger drops his bag on the ground and sits comfortably on a tree stump. You look around at the makeshift campsite. A dark-colored sheet is propped up between two trees. A sleeping bag lays neatly beneath it.

You turn back to the man who is searching for his backpack. He pulls out a half-empty water bottle and holds it out to you. You grab it, giving a slight nod of thanks.

"Are you hungry?"

You take a quick drink of water, having to stop yourself from chugging it in your dehydrated state. You cap the bottle and hand it back, replying to his question.

"I haven't been able to find food for a few days."

The stranger pulls his mask over his nose, taking a drink himself. You get a glimpse of his sharp jawline. A blonde stubble was present on his chin. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"What's your name?"

"Y/N."

You reply softly. He gives you a nod before pulling a can out of his bag.

"You like soup?"

The stranger pulls a knife from the holster strapped to his thigh and pries the lid off before passing it to you.

You sit down in the dirt in front of him, keeping a few feet of distance between you.

"Go ahead and have it all. I would heat it up for you, but fire draws too much attention."

"Thank you," you say graciously.

You sip at the cold soup. Careful not to cut your lip on the can's jagged edge. You savor the flavor, feeling a comforting warmth in the achy pit of your stomach.

The stranger sits quietly, turning the knife mindlessly in his hands. You watch him curiously. His eyes darted around.

"You didn't tell me your name."

The stranger's eyes fall to you. His oversized stature seems to tower over you, even sitting down hunched forward over his knees.

"Call me Ghost."

His voice is low. He seemed cautious of you, which was strange considering he was the sizeable scary man in this equation, with much more strength to overpower you if needed.

You continue to sip at the can of soup. By the time you are slurping up the last drops of the savory broth, the sun has set, and darkness has crept through the treetops.

You set the empty can aside, listening to the distant chatter of crickets. Ghost stands up, shuffling around a bit in the dark. He pulls a small flashlight from his bag, the dim blue light guiding him as he moves his backpack closer to the makeshift tent.

"You rest. I'll take watch."

He ends with a soft grunt. You don't speak or move from your spot on the ground. You felt uneasy about sleeping near this stranger. If he wanted to harm you, he would've done so by now. You have to remind yourself.

You weren't so much worried about him hurting you. But what if you woke up and he was gone? The loneliness would kill you if you had to bear it again.

After receiving no response, Ghost lowers the flashlight, aiming it at your shoes.

"What?"

He asks. His brow raised in confusion. You pick yourself reluctantly off the floor, your body aching from the days of walking. Exhaustion seeped into your bones as you dragged your feet through the dirt and leaves below.

Ghost lights your way, your tired body dropping to the sleeping bag with a huff. Ghost clicks the end of the flashlight as you snuggle into the plush nylon. He places the flashlight next to your head.

"Keep that one. Try to reserve the battery."

His voice had a certain softness to it now. It didn't take long for you to feel the heaviness of sleep tugging at your eyelids. Gravity pulls your body to the ground with a force unknown to you, the sleep deprivation overtaking the soreness in your muscles. As you drift into a deep sleep.

You wander aimlessly through the foggy trees. The eerie silence rings in your ears. You can taste the murky air as you breathe deep, trying relentlessly to calm the pounding in your chest. A soft rustling ahead causes the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. You slowly step forward to peer over the bushes. A man kneels beside a woman on the ground. Her wide eyes glazed over and her body, limp and still, save for the occasional jolt from the man.

You hear a faint huff and chatter from him. The crunch of vegetation beneath your shoe alerts him to your presence. A breath is caught in your throat as the man snaps his head to you. The woman's midsection is ripped wide open, her intestines laced through his bony fingers, blood coating his front and dripping from his chin. His bloodshot eyes and gray skin send a shiver down your spine. He snarls, snapping his teeth and crawling in your direction. You scream, terrified as a bloody hand reaches out to you.

Your eyes snap open. The forest around you is engulfed in a warm yellow light. Your breath hitches, and you are met with the cold gaze of the masked man.

You sit up on your elbow. Ghost turns to face you, holding out the empty soup can from the night before. A small fire crackled below him. The bottom of the can is scorched and blackened. You take it, a warmth flowing through your fingertips.

"Tea." He says plainly.

You look into the can. A soft yellow liquid sloshes against the sides. You give a grateful nod, sitting up and crossing your legs in front of you.

Ghost stokes the flame with a stick. His gloved hand gripping another can of tea.

You eye the knife strapped to his thigh. You can't help but wonder how you've faired this long without your own weapon. Ghost's eyes follow yours to the blade. He clears his throat, your attention changing to him.

"If you're planning on trying to kill me. I would advise against it."

You shake your head, pressing the warm can between your palms.

"No. Just thinking."

His brow raises as he stares at you, examining your nervous body language.

"I think we should stick together." You add.

Ghost snorts at the idea, turning his attention back to the fire. You take offense to his reaction.

"You don't agree?"

Ghost doesn't respond. He continues to stoke the fire, the can propped up on a neat pedestal of rocks in the middle.

"Why would you help me if you didn't intend to stick together?"

Anger rises in your voice as you furrow your brow, glaring into the side of his masked face.

"I did you a service. You're fed, hydrated,"

He gestures to the can.

"And rested. Now we can go our separate ways."

You huff out an irritated sigh.

"Please. Please don't leave me on my own. I almost died out there as it is! I don't even have a weapon!"

You exclaim. Your words become more frantic as the desperation seeps in.

"If you leave me out here alone again... you might as well consider me dead."

Ghost's face stays still and emotionless. His eyes are unblinking as he scans your face. You see his shoulders relax, and he closes his eyes.

"Okay."

A wave of relief washes through me.

"We can stick together. But… Only until we find some more supplies. Once you're set-up, you're on your own."

His voice is stern, and his brow lifts almost as if asking if you understand. You nod. It wasn't exactly what you were hoping for. But, for now, at least, it was guaranteed survival.

PART 2 >>

#cod au #zombie apocalypse au #simon ghost riley #cw: gore #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #cod x reader #mw2 fanfic #ghost x female reader #ghost mw3 #alkaline writes #☑️mstlst

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specialagentlokitty · 9 months ago

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Rosita x sibling!reader - we got each other

Hi! I saw that you have opened requests for TWD characters. Could I request a story where the reader is Rosita’s sibling, who (I have two ideas for the character; please pick which one you think is best ❤️) either gets taken by the Saviors like Darryl, and Rosita saves them and helps them with the aftermath - or one where the reader and Rosita reunite after a long time of being separated? - Anon💜

You had never stopped searching for your sister, not since you had lost her at the start of this all, because you knew she would be alive somewhere.

If you had to spend your whole life searching the whole country up and down then you did, because at this point you didn’t have anything to lose.

There was nothing.

No home. No job. No bills to stress about.

It was like freedom with a heavy price, the price of the dead wondering around, the the price that you hadn’t seen Rosita in so long you weren’t sure where she would even be.

Standing by the side of the road you looked at the map in your hand and sighed, stuffing it back into your pocket at looked around.

You decided to just follow the road, see where it was going to take you since you were bound to come across a town or something which you could hold up in for a few days rest.

Pulling your hat a little further down so you could block the sun from your eyes, and you squinted a little as you saw figures in the distance.

Reaching into your bag you pulled out some binoculars and looked to see it was a small group of people and a few horses.

“Well shit..” you whispered.

They were walking towards you, so you stuffed your binoculars away and your hand hovered over your gun.

You kept walking, and you could tell they noticed you by the way they got ready to grab their weapons and you stopped.

“Who are you?” You called.

“You first!” A man snapped.

He was aiming a crossbow at you.

“Nah, I asked first.”

Another man walked in front, raising both his hands, gesturing for his friend to back down a little.

“We mean no harm, we’re just travelling. That’s all. I’m Rick, what’s your name?”

You studied him for a moment.

“You a cop?”

“How’d you know?”

“Cop recognises cop. I’m (Y/N).”

You relaxed a little bit still didn’t move your hand, letting Rick know that you were ready to use it if it came to it.

He did the same thing, letting you see that his people were also armed and ready to attack if you tried to attack them.

“A lotta shit there for a small group, you got more people?”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you that. We’re not sure if you’re with another group.” Rick said.

“Well, seems we’re at a crossroad then, because I’m not moving, but I ain’t telling you shit about me either.”

“Want to tell us why you’re out here?”

You thought for a moment.

You hadn’t seen people in a long while, and knowing your sister she would’ve done the smart thing and gathered with a group.

“I’m reaching for a photo, don’t shoot.”

You reached into the pockets of your jeans and pulled out a photo, walking over to Rick and you held it out the him.

It was folded in half to hide you on the other side, and you showed him the woman.

“You seen her?”

“Who is she to you?”

“Have you see her?” You pressed.

Rick gestured to the photo then to his people.

“May I?”

You nodded your head, letting him take it and he walked over to the others where they had a hushed conversation.

A few of them glanced over at you, and a woman walked over.

“How many walkers have you killed?”

“What is this? An interrogation? I don’t know. Lost count.”

“How many people have you killed?”

“Two.”

“Why?”

“They were bit.”

She turned to Rick, and Rick gave a nod of his head and walked back over, placing his hand on the woman’s shoulder.

He handed your photo back to you.

“We know where your sister is.”

“How’d you know she was my sister?”

Rick smiled, reaching into his pocket he pulled out a photo just like yours.

“Rosita gives it to someone who’s going out just in case they come across you. Let me introduce you to everyone.”

There was a few minutes of introductions before they began to move again, and you were walking alongside of them.

They told you about how they came to meet your sister, and that she was alright, and as you got closer to their community you felt yourself growing nervous.

It had been a while since you had been around people, so knowing that just beyond those gates was even more people made you uncomfortable.

You flinched a little as they creaked loudly, the gates slowly opening, and you were led inside where you just stood awkwardly to the side.

Michonne stood next to you.

“Has it really been that long since you saw Rosita?”

“We had an argument before this started, I decided to leave. Then the world went to shit.”

“And you’ve spent all these years trying to find her?”

“She’s my sister, my family, course I have.”

She smiled, gesturing behind you and you turned around.

You both just stared at one another, and you slowly set your bag on the ground, giving a little smile.

“Hey…”

Rosita walked over, and she stood in front of you, not saying a word.

You noticed a small scar on her face, and you frowned a little bit.

“You been causing shit?”

“Shut up.”

She pulled you in for a hug and you laughed, hugging her back tightly, letting tears fall from your eyes.

“You’re a fucking idiot…” you whispered.

You held her hit your back.

“You’re the dumbass who ran away…”

Pulling back, you nodded your head, running a hand down your face in order to wipe your tears.

“Yeah, I know…”

“Come on.”

Rosita grabbed your bag, leading you away from all the prying eyes that were watching the pair of you and she took you somewhere quiet.

She set your bag down in her room, and you sat down against the wall while she sat down on the bed.

“Looks like you got a pretty cozy place here.”

“Yeah, ain’t bad really. A good group of people.”

You nodded your head, taking the photo out of your pocket in order to look at it.

Rosita watched your for a moment, not really sure what to say.

You had both been looking for each other for so long, she had given up, but you? You kept going, you kept looking for her and she began to feel regret.

Getting up, she walked in front of your and sat down.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t look for you…” she whispered.

You just smiled, that same smile you would always give her whenever she did something stupid when you guys were kids.

You reached out, placing your hand on her head.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you found a place to stay safe, and people to look after you.”

Rosita moved over, sitting next to you so she could lay her head on your shoulder, and you held her hand tightly.

“Don’t leave…” she whispered.

“I’m not…”

Rosita was beyond excited to show you everything she had been doing here at Alexandria, she wanted you to love the place like she did.

Whether it was the people, or the things they were trying to do she wanted to show you how worth it it was, and she wanted you to stay.

“Rosita?”

She hummed a little bit.

You reached out and lightly back handed her stomach.

“Wanna go kill some dead fuckers?”

“Oh fuck yeah.”

You both jumped up, grabbing your weapons and you ran out of the house with her on your heels, turning it into a race.

Because everything was a competition between siblings, especially in the middle of the apocalypse

#the walking dead #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead x you #the walking dead x y/n #the walking dead imagine #twd #twd x reader #twd x you #twd x y/n #twd imagine #rosita espinosa #rosita espinosa x reader #Rosita Espinosa x you #Rosita Espinosa imagine

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misguidedasgardian · 4 months ago

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Wildcats (The Exterminators Inc)

O. The Exterminators Inc.

A special chapter for Wildcats TWD au

MASTERLIST

Summary: How, against all odds, acquired the skills to survive this long.

Pairing: None for this chapter

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse AU, living dead, zombies, guts, blood, guns, injures, DEATH, use of heavy artillery, religious remarks, discussions about domestic accidents with guns, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Notes: This is some sort of backstory for the reader, you don’t have to read it though, it might help to understand chapter VI. “The season to mourn”, and chapters VII. and VIII.

“Guns don’t kill people, people kill people”, he said lightly

“My mom traumatized me when I was young, always telling me this horror stories about accidents in the home with kids and guns”, he hummed

“And they are true”, he answered, he walked towards you, grabbed you by your shoulders, “but now your life will depend on it”, he said with a grave tone, “you understand?”, you nodded, “grab it, grab it properly”. You did, your hands were shaking, it was heavy, our right index finger twitched when it caressed the trigger. You pointed at the target practice at the end of the warehouse where you were hiding

“It’s shit”, you said shakily, you didn’t really know what to say

“This gun”, he said, “it’s what might save your life in the world out there, do you understand?”, you nodded, “do you?”

“Yes”, you muttered

“You shoot it, this piece of metal won’t do anything you won’t tell her to do, alright?”, you nodded, “now take out the safety”, you did, as he had instructed you earlier, “you handle the gun, the gun doesn’t handle you, it’s an instrument, to your will, get it?”

“I GET IT!”, you said, exasperated

“Do it then, again, disarm it, arm it, secure it, take off the safety, and shoot again, and then we’ll move to the AK’s”, he commanded. You watched him walk away from you and to your friends, or rather, teammates

Last weeks had been so surreal you didn’t even know what was going on. You were at a freaking airport when it happened. From a second to the next all the planes were grounded, you had even surrendered your bag to be stored inside the plane, you were in the freaking boarding room when it broke in the news.

They let you leave, or rather, they couldn’t contain all the people, you took a van with several others back into the city, yet, you never made it.

You were stuck in the highway, and you ran again.

You were trapped inside a Bass Pro shop for a week, and it was a well seeked place because it had all the necessary utilities to survive out there,in the wild. Of course, back then you never realized how lucky you had been, nobody really knew what this was about, but you took a first aid kit, some tools, and your beloved ax.

You then end up in a “refuge”, impulsed by the last attempts of a government the US had.

You had a small group of soldiers who rested inside that huge warehouse, rested at night and fought the living dead in the daylight, protected you.

That’s when the army fell, that is when they bombed the city. The Warehouse were in the outskirts, luckily

Everything fell like dominoes after that.

From the group of fifty men only one survived.

Wyatt, he would make you call him Mayor. You had actually befriended him, he was older than the rest, the leader of his battalion. Sergeant maybe.

And soon he was going to become the leader of yours.

The refuge was overrun on the 30th day.

Mayor took you and three more out of there, when the dead took the warehouse as their own.

You were kind of forced to go back to the city. hold up in an abandoned building, clearing them out, until you found the perfect one, the entire first floor had been blown out by the bombs they threw to try to eliminate the threat,

But the second, third, fourth, was completely usable, you held up there.

It was like one of the zombie movies you liked.

The most unusual group, an elderly badass, military man, a badass girl who liked computers and mastered the comms, a big man with a heart of gold… and a dickhead with a love for guns and little scruples, who seemed to be in his element.

“You need to learn, pick your weapon, and get to know everything about it, when you do, you’ll only need to pick it up to know if it’s charged or not, and if you good enough, maybe even tell how many bullets are inside” he kept saying out loud, “this isn’t a movie, you will count your shots, got it?”, he said then, “that might save your life, that might be the difference between life and death, to know how many shots you still got in that magazine”

He had trained the fear of guns out of you.

“Today, we are jumping off of buildings”, he said

“You are teaching us parkour?”, you asked, not convinced

“You are some of the least athletic people I know”, he said, “you need to learn these things, climbing can save your life”

You believed “can save your life”, was the most spoken phrase of Mayor, and you always smiled when he said it.

You were never the star athlete of any group you had been in, including this one, of course Baer would jump up and down and was like a ninja, but you?, you struggle to get up a half wall of 1mtr. You were in deep shit, you had been lucky so far, but things could turn quickly.

It was some of the worst weeks of your life, at the end of the day you felt like your entire body was aflame, but Mayor taught you how to use your body, your weight, in your own advantage, and even better, he told you that life was not only about the X or Y, but Z as well, vertically.

It was amazing. You felt powerful.

You could climb now, and everything was going to be easier, you were becoming stronger, faster, you could manipulate every gun, or at least the most common ones, and you were not afraid of them anymore.

Mayor taught you everything he knew.

You had always carried a knife, a gun and a weapon of your choice, you had your ax. Your friends all carried weapons, and you began to hunt the dead down.

When you overcome your first horrid impressions it became scary easy to take them down, they weren’t people anymore, the souls weren’t there, they were just corpses moving, it made it even more easier the fact that they tried to kill you.

You discovered quite easy that yo I were a fighter and not a flyer.

All of those you encountered you ended. Mayor had all these weapons from the military, which gave you a cool advantage.

“I always wanted to have one of these”, you said with a wide smile, looking at the beautiful white Toyota Tacoma with black fixings, you had found in a garage, full tank and all.

“Let’s mount the machine gun”, Mayor commanded, as you found a huge one that belonged to the army. And the ammo to go with it.

“With this! we are the exterminators INC”, said Baer, you laughed, “you call us and we’ll…”, he stopped himself on his tracks. Then it suddenly hit… nobody was going to call you, you weren’t saving anyone on the spot… you were sort of… avenging the fallen world.

It took the five of you to do so, to install the huge machine gun, and finally, you had wheels now, to wreak havoc on the dead, and take back the city of Atlanta.

“The world is for the living”, Mayor would say.

Soon you had a reason, a goal, to rid cities from the dead, to give the living a chance, you’d realize that it was you VS them, the living against the dead, to needed to wipe them out, to start fresh, to eliminate the threat as it were.

You’d watch the dead, their behaviors, soon, they started to go on herds, they could enter this state of hibernation, but it could be quickly awaken, and other interesting facts, that seemed too obvious at first, they were attracted by noise, specially noise, and smell, and sudden movements.

You started by the suburbs, killing every fucker that you encountered, it was some sort of training ground so you could move onto the big city, downtown, the real deadzone.

You felt like in one of those cool action movies.

Until you bite more than you could chew.

You were finally moving inside of Atlanta, right in the thick of it.

You were camping in an apartment building that night. You felt like this is the last day you were going to be on this earth, tomorrow you go to hell mouth, in a silly attempt to kill all the dead from the city, at least those who were on the streets anyways.

Amy Jun, the only other girl on the team had found an old city map and was drawing strategies for where to go, and exit routes especially

Mayor actually had made dinner this time, a very protein filled-meal (canned protein, but still),

You were sharpening your ax and cleaning your gun.

Baer was reading an old playboy magazine you found, chuckling every three second. You tried not to pay much attention to him.

And Pope… well…

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to throw away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace”, you heard him mumble, reading his bible by the fire you had set inside a trash can.

“Shut up!”, called Baer, “who are you, the pope?”, he asked angrily. feeling some sort of Catholic guilt you’d supposed?

“Let him read”, you said, as you always found it peaceful, and he read the most meaningful passages anyways.

You got up and exited the apartment, and you went all the way to the roof, to stand some sort of guard

It was surreal, the new world you’d live in, you were in the biggest cities in Georgia, and it was so quiet, you could barely hear some grumbles in the far streets. Everything was in the dark… all of it, the whole scene, was haunting.

You felt Mayor coming near you, you barely looked at hi,

“I don’t understand what am I doing here”, you said quietly, “I didn’t know how to wield a weapon, I could barely shoot”, you mumbled, “before you saved me and trained me”, it was true, in the shelter there was so many people “eligible” for the job, for surviving, for thriving in a world like this.

“You know why I chose you?”, he asked proudly, “I saw it in your eyes…there is something poetic…”, he said, slowly and carefully, “something almost mythical, tragic… about when a good person it's made to do terrible things, with no choice but to execute them”, he said slowly, the words sinking into you, “they say when a good man goes to war… even the devil clenches it’s buttcheeks” , you both kept looking at you and then you both just broke into laughter

“Who said that?!” You said with a grin.

“I did, just now”, he said unapologetically, “All the devils go on the run… when a good man goes to war”, he quoted the real phrase, although you liked the other one better

“I saw it in your eyes”, he echoed, “the resignation”, he said, “the resignation of having to go to war for your very right of being alive”, he said, “that is why I chose you”, he placed a hand on your shoulder and left you.

The very next day was going to be one of the most adrenaline-filled, unbelievable days of your life. The exterminators inc. were in full swing, Baer, as he was the biggest and strongest one, was shooting the machine gun, while Amy, Mayor, and you were shooting your guns and. You were at it for hours, as the loud noises of the guns draw even more fuckers.

It was a very good first day of cleaning. You found a tank, surrounded by fuckers, you cleaned it all up and found good ammo and a couple of granades. That you were going to use the very next day, to draw them out and kill some more.

Although the city was mostly sacked, you still could find some interesting things.

But things went south pretty quickly. they caught you in a close street, you were running low on ammo, the trucks a few blocks away, you had advanced more then you thought and soon you were surrounded.

You opened a hallway to scape the herd, but Mayor he… stood back, screamed for them to get him, and when they did… he blew himself up.

You had played the scenario over and over in your head, wondering time and time again if anything you’ve done could have been done differently, to obtain a different outcome of the situation, but you couldn’t.

The group unraveled after his death

Bear wanted to take over the leadership, but you didn’t trust him, he was immature, he was violent, he wasn’t as smart as he thought himself to be.

The second to go was Amy.

Of course Baer’s strategy was to go guns blazing into that military warehouse, you’d never think you’d find the whole battalion turned.

Again you didn’t have the truck, you were running low on ammunition.

You barely made it out alive

You lost Amy, you could still feel the phantom grip she had on your wrist when they sank their rotten teeth into her.

Baer just thought about her an extra mouth to feed, not that he fed you anyways.

“We can’t keep going on like this”, said Pope, “we need to be more careful”

“This wasn’t my fault!”, muttered Baer, even if nobody said anything, you’d thought about it, “she was careless”

“We were careless” you said, “we went in there blind!”

“We still got ammo”, he defended childishly

“But we lost Amy”, you whispered

“Is not like she did much”, she grumbled under his breath, you felt pope’s eyes on you, watching your reaction, scared of the coming fight

“She was the one who always made sure we have plans, and contingency plans, and escape routes!”, you said, “if it wasn’t for her we’d all be dead already! She was the brains on the team”

“oh yeah?”, he said, with a cruel look on his face, “and what are you?”, the heart you’d thought. But you got quiet. He only laughed cruelly

“You know why he took you with us?”, he asked leaning into you, “because you have a good ass, that’s all”. You punched him so hard in the face he actually stumbled a couple of paces back, grabbing his cheek. You walked away from him, into your room, leaving the door open, you started to pack a bag with your essentials. He followed you in

“What are you doing?”, he asked, enraged

“I’m out of here”, you said quickly

“People like you don’t make it out there”, he mocked, “where are you gonna go?”

“I’ll take my chances, anywhere’s better than here”, you bit out. You saw Pope, watching you from the corner, “you coming?”, you asked him

“I…”, he stuttered, calling your name in an apologizing manner. He was a bit cowardly, he was, and that was alright, but that mistake might cost him, “we will never make it”, he said apologetically

“Yes we will”, you said, “we will never make it with this prick!”, you said, pushing Baer out of your room.l, but he grabbed you, roughly, you swore you felt your life pass in front of your eyes, a ringing in your ears, when you saw him making a fist with his other hand.

Pope grabbed him, quickly. Making him stop

“Why don’t you make us a dinner, uh?”, Baer said, “make yourself useful”

He only chuckled, walking away.

He wouldn’t believe you'd do it.

You looked at Pope wide-eyed

“Don’t go”, he said, and you truly regret leaving him, not Baer, but him

“I will not stay, you, cannot stay”, you said, convinced

“We can go to Grady Memorial, ask for sanctuary there”, he said

“They’ll never take us”, you said back, you had encountered them a while back, “and even if they did, I don’t roll that way”, you did not want to commit yourself to voluntary servitude, thank you very much.

Baer was drunk, fast asleep when you sneaked out, after Pope basically begging you to stay.

But you couldn’t, you were afraid of Baer.

You took everything you could carry in a medium sized backpack, your gun, silencer and ax. And you abandoned the office building where you had been holding up.

You’d thought about taking the truck, but that would be too much.

Baer would hunt you down and kill you if you did.

You found another car instead, but you weren’t the only one, a man got inside it, while you were on the drivers seat, he pointed a gun at you, told you to leave your pack, to leave the car.

You didn’t

You shoot first.

And drove off

Maybe you were downplaying what happened, it’s been weeks, months in which you wondered if you did what was right, abandoning them, leaving to uncertainty, to nothingness, living on your own. Exclusively depending on you, alone.

The only comfort was yourself, your active imagination, your memories, it’s what kept you going, and for some days you found peace in solitude.

But you were growing tired.

You had been going through the woods for weeks on end, some days you couldn’t even find food. You could hunt for shirt with a knife, ax or gun.

Until you found a couple of houses. You found a good bounty, you found… or rather… they found you.

ACN: I don’t know if I managed to accomplish what I was looking for, but stil, enjoy.

#misguidedcats #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #alternate universe #zombie

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itsgrimeytime · 7 months ago

Text

Home is Where the Heart is (Part Ten) || Farmer!Rick Grimes (TWD) x Teacher!GN!reader AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9...

Taglist: @1tsk1tty

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker @zomb-1-egutzz

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: Like Real People Do by Hozier and Begin Again by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your life was spinning out of control, you knew that. After a string of particularly shattering events, you decided it was time to start anew. With a little help from one of your Grandma's rentals, you found yourself in the small town of Alexandria. The last thing you expected was your neighbor, Rick Grimes.

TWs: kinda anti-Lori, a lil bit of crying, alluding to sex (nothing graphic), and mentioned child abandonment.

[[A/N: Fun fact, I based the multiplication tables on actual posters I had as a kid. And yes, I did have physical multiplication tables on my walls, I was a nerd. This one is quite the rollercoaster. Enjoy :))]

You woke up early that morning, dancing around your house trying to gather everything up. It was almost 2 weeks until school started, and you had honestly never been more panicked in your life.

Grabbing stacks of paper and a few colorful posters you saved from your job in the city, you pushed open the door and unloaded it into your car. It wasn't your first trip to the car that morning, and it was starting to get a little tedious (you would've been frustrated if you weren't so nervous).

Slipping them into the trunk, you took a big breath out of your lungs and readied yourself up for another load. There was a lot more than you'd thought there'd be to decorate a classroom-

"Mornin', darlin'," a voice called to you, and you immediately spun on your toes to meet the one and only Rick Grimes.

It had been a few days since you'd seen him. You started working over at his house, so you wouldn't be running yourself into the ground again. He kept you hydrated and fed, and if you got stressed, he'd kiss your temple or drag you away from the computer. It was a really nice change of pace. You'd been relatively less stressed because of it, except for, well, now.

Rick was leaning against the fence, sleeves rolled up past his elbows (a worn flannel that maybe he wore just for morning work, you noted), and forearms on full display. You could see dirt on his hands though, and you realized it was early enough he must have been working too. Grinning at you and blue eyes twinkling, a stray curl hanging over his face (you had the instinct to comb it back). He actually looked a little messy, imperfect even, who knew he could do that?

Making your way over to him, you chimed with a bright smile, "Hey, loverboy, funny seeing you here."

He laughed, eyes swimming all over your face as you stood in front of him, "'Could say the same for you, ya know."

You smiled, teasing, "You always watch me like that?"

He let out a low chuckle, eyes intently focused on you -you really were never going to get used to that, "Only sometimes."

Laughing, you gently combed the curl back in its place and while you were at it fixed the rest of the muss of his hair. It looked a little like a bedhead, so you spent a little longer fixing it. Rick just watched you do so, maybe a little fondly.

"'S gettin' a lil' long, ain't it?" he offered, and you looked at it for a moment -the bundle of curls almost reached the bottom of his neck.

"Rick, believe me when I say this," you moved your hand to his cheek -mock-serious, "-I will kill you if you cut your hair."

Rick let out a full-body laugh at that one, head tilting up to the sky. You smiled at the noise, heart lurching in your chest.

"Don't get me wrong," you clarified, hand still in place "-I've seen the pictures, and you are very handsome with short hair-"

He just smiled at you, eyes trickling all over your features. It made you want to fidget a little.

"-in fact, I think you'd be handsome with any hair, actually-"

Rick leaned forward and pecked your lips, effectively cutting off your reasoning. It was a simple kiss, just surface level, still made you smile though.

"Ya do know how to flatter a guy, you know 'at?" he hummed, fingers tapping along the wood. He kind of looked like he wanted to touch you, but, you know, dirt hands.

"I am just stating facts," you argued. It was unreal how he did not know how plain attractive he was. God, you could wake up every day stoked just because you were together.

He changed his footing, looking at you curiously, "What are ya doin' out 'ere anyway?"

Blue eyes drew to your trunk, where a substantial pile was growing -messy colors and books and stationery-

"'Looks like a lotta stuff," he commented, saying playfully (but there was something a little serious in his tone), "-Ya ain't leavin' me, are ya?"

"No," you laughed in disbelief, but you saw something in him relax, "-Remember that job I have? That you ignore?"

Rick rolled his eyes, "I don't ignore it."

"You do," you patted his cheek, "-you buy everything for me. But-"

He smiled at you, affectionately, turning to kiss your palm.

"-since school starts in a few weeks," you explained, "-I have to go set up my classroom. What is in my trunk is not my stuff, but instead, tragically, is cute little posters about multiplication tables."

"Cute?" he questioned, eyes looking at you so fondly you thought that you might melt in your place.

"They're jungle themed," you clarified, motioning with your hands, "-have little monkeys on the sides."

Rick smiled at you, something smoothing into his eyes, "'At does sound pretty cute."

Your eyes flicked between his, "I said that, didn't I?"

He laughed again, and you pulled him to your lips that time -a little longer than before, but not much more than the press of the lips. Although you were pretty sure Rick wanted it to be. You too, really.

"Alright, loverboy," you parted, dropping your hands from his face, "-you've distracted me enough, I have some work to do. The colorful letter cutouts will not stack themselves."

He looked at you a second, before asking, "Ya need an extra set of hands? Or maybe three?"

"Oh, you don't need to wake them up, Rick, I'll be fine-" you hummed, "-it'll only take a few hours."

"Carl's helpin' me outside, and Judith is pickin' flowers, think she might give 'em to ya actually, and-" he tilted his head -playfully, "-I gotta few hours."

You laughed, "Do you?"

"For ya?" he grinned, eyes skimming over yours -fond, "-Absolutely."

Rick ended up piling up his kids in his truck and following you to the school. What can you say? You were weak-willed when it came to Rick Grimes.

Now, you were roaming down the hallways, hands full of papers, muttering the instructions you got from an email to your classroom. Beside you, Rick held most of the stuff (not that you hadn't offered), Carl held one box, and with your free hand, you held Judith's -keeping her close. Rick's eyes had been following it the whole way, you probably would've said something, if you weren't so distracted.

"Rick!" a woman called, crouching down to the kids' level, "-and look, Carl and Judith too! Hey guys."

She was young, wearing a floral top and regular jeans. She had blonde curly hair and a deep sort of blue eyes. Her voice was warm and she seemed so welcoming it was actually unbelievable-

Now that you noticed it, she came out of the first hallway -the younger classes. You briefly wondered if she was a teacher too.

"Hey, Beth," Rick chimed happily, warm, "-just helpin' Y/N get 'eir room ready."

"Y/N," she smiled, big and bright, rising back to her feet, "-the Y/N?"

He chuckled, and you saw the tips of his ears go pink (a smile bloomed onto your lips again), but still, he confirmed, "Yeah if ya wanna say it like 'at, the Y/N."

The woman grinned, something twinkling in her eyes, before realizing she hadn't turned to you yet, "Oh, I'm sorry! I'm Beth, Beth Greene, I teach Kindergarten here."

Figures.

"Hi, it's really nice to meet you," you chimed, smiling, "-and even though you don't need it apparently," your eyes shot to Rick a second, "-I'm Y/N. I teach third grade, and am... currently trying to find my classroom."

"Oh," she spoke, eyes lighting up at the idea of helping, "-I can totally help you with that! Third is gonna be the second hallway, what's your classroom number?"

"203," you replied with ease -in all your nerves, you had memorized it.

"That's easy," she waved a hand dismissively, "-should be right at the front, odd rooms are on the left."

"Thank you," you smiled.

"I hope to see you around!"

You grinned wide and continued walking down the main hallway. Maybe I shouldn't be so nervous.

"Look at ya," Rick hummed, teasingly, "-already makin' friends."

You pursed your lips, warning, "Don't start, loverboy."

He laughed, as you turned down the second hallway -eyes darting between room numbers, a little frantically. Rick's eyes lingered on you a little longer, eyebrows furrowing a second. He opened his mouth to say something, but you interrupted him.

"There it is," you breathed out a sigh of relief -second door on the left.

Grabbing your key off your lanyard which had your photo ID too, you slid it into the lock and turned.

Taking in the room, you were nearly bouncing on your toes. Not that it was anything special, it was just a basic classroom with lines of desks, a big whiteboard, plain white brick walls, and a big desk in the corner. It was just... your very own classroom.

"Ya look happy," Rick chimed, coming up to your side as Judith and Carl ran into the room.

You instinctively called out, thinking of the hard tile flooring under your shoes, "Be careful, you two! Don't fall!"

The both of them slowed down considerably, and you let out a sigh of relief -placing the papers you had on one of the desks in front of you and turning to Rick.

He was smiling at you so fondly that you promptly forgot what you were saying -heart skittering in your chest, "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Ya look happy," he repeated, blue eyes skimming over your face a little like he couldn't get enough of you.

"Oh, yeah, I am," you agreed, smile on your face, "-I've always had assistant jobs, this is... I finally have my own classroom. It's big for me, even if sounds a little stupid-"

Rick shook his head, putting the boxes onto the floor, and approached you -running his hands along your arms, "Ain't stupid, baby. Not at all."

You smiled at him but not quite the fullest, nerves still bubbling under your skin, "Thank you."

He furrowed his eyebrows, eyes smoothing over your smile, "'Ere's somethin' else. What's wrong?"

You bit at your lips a second, "I just... I really don't want to mess this up. I've only ever been an assistant-"

His hands moved up to cup your face, turning your eyes onto his -steady gaze, "You're gonna do great. Not a doubt in my mind."

You pursed your lips.

"I've seen ya wit' Carl and Judith," he continued, genuine and honestly, "-you're amazin', baby. You 'ave nothin' to worry 'bout."

"Yeah?"

"'Course," he assured, leaning forward and pecking your lips once, "-Now, what ya want me to do, boss?"

You laughed, and the four of you got to work. Well, Judith was sitting at a desk coloring with crayons but you'd still counted it (especially when she'd offered you the finished product after Carl signed it for her. You immediately stuck it on the pinboard behind your desk. Rick couldn't stop smiling at you).

You were, at the current moment, making nametags with Carl; you were writing their names and he was folding them into triangles -quite diligently, you added. Every once in a while he'd tell you about somebody if he knew them, 'Annie likes the color pink, and James likes dinosaurs, he let me play with his favorite once. It was so cool-'. Attentively listening, you carefully skimmed every name, making sure that their name was spelled right.

"Do you know what Mary's favorite princess is?" you asked, curiously.

Carl paused from folding, gathering an oddly serious face (you almost laughed), "'Think she told somebody it was Cinderella once."

Kind of basic, your mind chimed.

"Good choice," you hummed instead, and you could feel Rick's eyes heavy on the two of you -you chanced a look at him and sweetly smiled. He grinned, shaking his head, and busying himself with the posters.

And then, there was a rapt on the door.

You curiously looked to the door and spotted a man with dark hair and dark eyes. His eyes surfed along the room before landing on Rick, a grin seeping across his face.

"I heard we had a visitor," he spoke, echoing out into the room.

Rick spun to him, grinning wide and making strides to the door, "Glenn, 'ey! Ya heard from Maggie?"

The man, Glenn, smiled in a small sort of way, shaking his head -embarrassed. You peeked up at the two of them, curiosity peaked.

Carl whispered, low for your ear, "'At's Glenn, he teaches here."

You turned to him, digging deeper, "And whose Maggie?"

He darted to the group, seeing they were lost in conversation, and putting his hand in front of his mouth, whispering, "She sells flowers in town, he has a big crush on 'er."

"Really?" you whispered back, "-How do you know?"

"Dad said so," he responded, blue eyes locked onto yours, "-Glenn won't ask her to be his girlfriend though."

"No," you exaggerated, enraptured, "-does Maggie like him back?"

"Yeah," he answered, mindlessly folding, "-she looks at 'im how Dad looks at you. And Dad really likes you."

You smiled, something in your chest fluttering, laughing a little, "Does she?"

"Yeah," he hummed, adding dramatically, "-And she twirls her hair."

"Oh, wow," you responded, playfully, "-she must really like him then."

He nodded at you, as you continued writing away. Until a thought crossed your mind.

"Has your Dad ever tried to get Maggie to make a move?" you asked.

"Dunno," Carl answered, shrugging, "-Dad says everybody in Alexandria is waiting on it. I don't really care, though."

You laughed, and you felt Rick's eyes dart to you at the noise, "Well, at least, you have your priorities straight, Carl."

There was a pause.

"You should try it though," he added, a little quietly, not looking at you.

"Should I?"

"Yeah," he leaned into his hand, "-I think if two people like each other, they should be together. 'Specially if they really like each other. Like you and Dad."

"And you're-" you pursed your lips, "-you're okay with me and your Dad?"

"Yeah," Carl spoke, instantly, "-he smiles a lot with you. 'Didn't used to smile that much when we weren't around."

You frowned slightly but didn't say a word.

"'Cause Mom left," he commented, tone much lower than before. You just watched him quietly. You hadn't really thought too much about Lori, or, at the very least, Carl's perspective.

It might be a little like he lost a Mom.

You bit your lip, bouncing your pen for a moment, "Hey Carl?"

He turned to you, big blue eyes, and his fingers dancing along the table.

"It's okay to miss her sometimes," you decided, eyes settling along his face, "-even if... even if she left on purpose. You can still miss her."

"I can?" he asked so genuinely that it made your heart ache in your chest.

"Yeah, of course," you hummed, giving him your full attention, "-we can still miss the people who hurt us. Especially if you love them."

"And," he started, voice maybe a little wobbly, "-And it's okay if it did hurt me?"

Something in your gut twisted. Oh, Carl.

You took a breath in, hand coming to smooth down his arm, "Yeah, sometimes-" your hand smoothed along his head, "-sometimes people do things that hurt us, and it-" you bit your lip, remembering things yourself, "-it hurts for a long time. And you know what? That's okay."

Carl just looked at you.

"It's okay to feel hurt by someone," you added, not moving your eyes from his, "-even when you love them."

Carl looked at you for a second, processing the words. You attentively kept his gaze, patient.

Before you could blink, he scraped back his chair and threw himself into your arms. Tiny little arms and hands hugging you.

You smiled, a little bittersweetly (maybe with a dusting of tears in your eyes), hand coming up to carefully hold the back of his head. Wordlessly, you smoothed your palm against it -repetitively.

Looking up to match Rick's concerned eyes, you motioned dismissively with your free hand, mouthing 'Later'. He seemed to shoot between your eyes and the back of Carl's head, rolling his lip in between his teeth.

'It's okay', you mouthed, trying to reassure him, '-he's okay.'

Something in him softened, and he took a deep breath, turning back to Glenn.

You did eventually meet Glenn, Rhee you learned; he taught fifth grade, towards the end of the third hall. Just like everyone else, he'd said Rick had practically introduced you already. It made you grin, just like it did every other time. He was nice, friendly even, offered to help you learn the ropes -which, you kind of desperately needed.

A little after that, with the help of Rick's height and Carl's remarkable focus (seriously, you wished you had that), you finished your classroom. Cubbies pushed against the wall, crayons in little drawers, papers properly filed in your desk, and walls covered in cute posters. You deserved a little break, so you took one.

Eating dinner with the Grimes, you stayed over. Leading you to now, as you sat -curled up on the couch watching whatever sitcom was on. It seemed familiar, but you couldn't really remember. Rick was putting Carl to bed, as he'd put Judith a few hours earlier, and you just sat in the coziness of his house.

It was crazy how nice it felt to be in here.

"Hey, baby," Rick hummed out, waltzing up to your side.

"Hey," you greeted with a sweet sort of smile.

Rick sat down just beside you, pulling you into his side (his body warmth bubbling along his skin, and a woodsy smell pulling through your nose). In response, you went to lean your head onto his shoulder -naturally.

"Just one thin'," he hummed, and you stopped in your tracks as he guided your chin up. And with fond, twinkly eyes, he kissed you.

It was languid, beard scratching at your face, and fingertips gently on your skin. Your hand naturally pushed through his hair, brushing through the curls with your fingers. Rick let out a low hum in response that made your stomach twist in a sort of pleasant way, so you kept doing it. Lips melding together with each breath you took, you had the spare thought that he kissed you a little carefully -gently. It made sparks shoot to your toes that he cared so much. Wanted to make you feel special and cared for.

You parted then, eyes fluttering open with a breath, a little flustered. Rick laughed a little at your reaction, fingers brushing along the hinge of your jaw -the careful touch of his callouses.

"Ya are so cute," he hummed, low as a whisper, "-always so flustered by me. 'S cute."

"In my defense," you responded, "-you are probably the hottest person like... maybe ever."

He quirked an eyebrow, a playful smirk smoothing across his lips, "Hottest, huh?"

You paused, "Uh, yeah. I call you handsome all the time-"

"Handsome and hot are two different thin's darlin'," he interrupted, curling his hand behind your ear, "-'s 'bout the intention."

"Well, then-" you continued a little uncertain, "-yeah. You look like you deserve to be carved out of marble-"

His eyes just laid heavily on you, but you could see the tips of his ears turn pink.

"-and at the same time, I would like to watch you chop wood shirtless sometimes," you finished, a little quieter.

He laughed just a little, before confessing, "Sometimes, I do chop wood, actually."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he explained, voice low and gruff, "-in the winter, in case the power goes out. Keep some firewood for the fireplace. Don't think bein' shirtless would be a good idea in 'at weather."

You hummed, distracted by the way his fingers were brushing against your skin. It was so fond it made your head spin.

"'Could be shirtless for other reasons though," he added, tone coated in something different.

You let out a breath, eyes flicking between his, mindlessly poking his chest -accusingly, "Now that's not fair, Grimes. Jokes like that-"

"Who said I was jokin'?"

Your breath hollowed out in your chest, your heart pounding a little too fast. You swallowed, eyes holding his heavy look that you had never really seen before, but you knew very much what it meant.

Heart leaping into your chest, you spoke, "Yeah?"

"Kids are asleep," he offered, eyes set on your face -dipping to your lips, "-if ya want to, I want to."

"Jesus Christ," you muttered.

He laughed a little at that, eyes fond for a second. But continued strumming along your skin, careful touch now definitely making your head spin.

You breathed out, "I would like that. Yeah, who wouldn't?"

Laughing again, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours -surface level, but something new biting there. A promise for more.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, hands twisting into his hair. He hummed again, but this time a little differently.

Before you could blink, he was pulling you up to stand, and right before you could do that, he hitched his arms under your thighs -effectively carrying you.

You swallowed, god help me.

Rick grinned at you, something shining in his blue eyes, "'Figured I could show you somethin' else with my strength, yeah?"

You croaked out, just staring at him, "Yeah."

He laughed big and bright then, eyes smoothing to your lips, and decidedly saying, "'Said I was gonna take care of ya, didn't I?"

You blinked, swallowing. Well, maybe you didn't need god to help you.

You looked at Rick a second, before he started to move to the bedroom with a pretty quick pace -almost running. You laughed.

Maybe you were already blessed.

#its griming time #rick grimes #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #home is where the heart is

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richonnesbitch · 6 months ago

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Hey I'm trying to prepare my partner for TOWL (they watched the first few seasons of TWD) and I compiled a brief watchlist of The Most important Richonne episodes. I chose 6x10, 7x12, 8x14, 9x05, 9x14, 10x13.

I didn't want it to be more than 6 but Idk if this is enough! Suggestions??

It's gonna be tough to choose just 6 episodes! There's a lot to miss out on! But honestly I think if you wanna get your partner into richonne just when they are officially a couple, I do think this is a good list. But if you're ever interest in episodes from when they aren't canon I recommend Clear, Claimed, A, The Distance, Conquer, and No Way Out. Post-canon episodes that are also good for their story could be Last Day on Earth, Service, Go Getters, Hearts Still Beating, The First Day of the Rest of Your Life, Honor, and Warning Signs. I may have missed a few but these are what first come to mind.

Also if you feel that's not enough, here is an amazing richonne edit (and my favorite, might I add) that perfectly shows their story! It doesn't have anything from TOWL either. so you can consider it spoiler free.

youtube

#michonne grimes #rick grimes #richonne #the walking dead #twd #the ones who live #towl

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yourimagines · 6 months ago

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hiii!! do you think you’d write some twd maggie greene x reader fic ?

Here it is, it’s a short one.

I hope you’re having a good day today!

Just relax

*English is not my first language I apologise

*Gif is not mine

*Triggers: Fluff

Y/N POV

It was a raining day as we were all sitting inside a old house, taking shelter from all the rainy weather and thunderstorms. Rick was telling Daryl their plan for tomorrow and Glenn was trying to get some sleep. Maggie was sitting next to me, cleaning up her knife and gun.

"Can you stop?" I asked her as she was bouncing her knees in a nervous way. "I'm sorry." She says quietly. "Are you okay?" I whispered to her, not wanting the rest hearing us. "I'm not used to this, we traveled the last few months." I nodded, knowing what she meant. "Let's go upstairs and relax a bit because we won't be staying here for too long." I joked to her, she smiles and nods at me.

We both got up and went upstairs, to an old bedroom. "Can we just cuddle?" She asks shyly as we both entered the bedroom. "Sure, whatever makes you less nervous." She opened an old closet and took out an blanket and thrown it on the bed. "Come on then." she grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the bed. "Easy now, we have time enough."

Maggie POV

We both fell on the bed and we both started to laugh. "Are you okay?" I nodded and wrapped my arms around them. "Just cuddle me." I nuzzled my face against their shoulder and closed my eyes. I felt their hands moving under my shirt, caressing my back. "Tell me more about your life from before all of this happened." I asked as I was focusing on their breathing. "Uhh well I lived close by my brother’s house, I always was hanging out there even when he was at work." My hands traveled over their arms as they were telling me about visiting their brother Shane.

"I know what you think about him but believe me he wasn't like this before this happens, yes he was an asshole but he never meant to hurt others" Their voice trailed off as they stared up at the ceiling. "I believe you, I believe that this changed people not only for the best but also for the worst." I smiled sadly, knowing it hurts them so much. "I love you." They placed a kiss on my head. "I love you too." I placed a kiss in their neck and closed my eyes again. “I’m always here for you.” “I’m always here for you too.”

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years ago

Text

Us and Them.

Daryl Dixon x F Reader.

Tags: Not SFW, follow up to Hierarchy of Needs, takes place from Daryl's POV. Simping o'clock. Some typical TWD horror elements. Word count: 11.5k.

It takes a great deal to crack Daryl’s focus.

The life he’s led up until this point necessitated the fact. To ensure he’d hit his mark or continue tracking the elusive fauna hiding in the thickets, he needed to block the rest of the world out and hone in on his objective. This tendency bled into the other aspects of his day-to-day existence as well. It’s made him notoriously reliable, a reality he doesn’t take pride in, for he’s just doing what he thinks anyone should do. Shaking this cornerstone of his identity is no easy task.

Unless you’re thrown into the mix, that is.

Then it’s as if every functioning brain cell he has decides to jump ship in favor of seeking you out, no matter how detrimental it may be to him. Truth be told, he can’t even bring himself to mind half the time. You’re a distraction he’d hold the door open for. That being said, as much as he’d love to entertain thoughts of you 24/7, it’s an unrealistic dream. There’s work to be done and he can’t take up residence in la-la land. He’ll be forcibly evicted most of the time, should he not leave of his own volition.

His present predicament does well to remind him of this.

“You with me, Daryl?”

Rick’s voice is a scythe cutting through the overgrown verdure of his mind. Daryl grunts, probably agreeing to something he should’ve been paying closer attention to. It’s too late for him to play it off, he can tell by Rick’s expression alone. He’s giving that raised eyebrow, head tilted look you once theorized to be the byproduct of being a sheriff for years. Officer Friendly’s changed a lot since they first met, but that look has remained reliably consistent.

“That so? Mind telling me what I just said then?” Rick challenges.

Daryl doesn’t even bother to entertain the charade. He knows when to cut his losses. “Sorry. Wasn’t listening.”

“Mhm,” Rick nods his head in the direction Daryl’s been staring. “Let me guess. It got anything to do with our social butterfly over there?”

Daryl doesn’t know why Rick’s asking when he likely already knows the answer to the question. Indeed, Daryl’s been keeping an eye on you while Rick discussed various happenings. You were reading Frankenstein beneath a gazebo for a whopping five minutes before an interloper made himself known. One of Deanna’s sons — Daryl can barely tell them apart, they leave so little of an impression — decided to strike up a conversation with you. The complete and utter disregard for your personal time has him fuming. You’ve been so busy shadowing Deanna that you’ve barely had a moment’s respite, you deserve to read your damn book in peace.

He knows you’ve been working yourself to the bone. Alexandria is important to you, you’ve been doing everything possible to guarantee a future for your tight-knit group here. It helps that Deanna’s taken a shine to you; the opportunities this granted have been paramount. You’re slowly winning over the skeptical residents and explaining away any errant behavior from your group. Whatever tale you're spinning, he figures it must be working. He can at least walk around without being gawked at. Regardless, you confided to him that there's still much to do. Tensions are brewing faster than you can reconcile them.

“Hardly see ‘er no more,” Daryl scoffs. “Yuppies are takin’ up all her damn time.”

Rick gives a thoughtful hum. “It’s good, what she’s doing. Building up trust. Might help us if things are headed the way I think they are.”

What was no doubt intended to lift Daryl’s spirits does the opposite, plunging them down into a deeper depth. He feels he’s deceiving you somehow by not mentioning Rick and Carol’s ‘backup plan’ should the Alexandria inhabitants prove beyond help. He also knows you loathe feeling used — a vulnerable confession owing to a drink too many — and that’s what this feels like. Using the good graces you’ve painstakingly established for an ulterior motive.

Daryl keeps quiet. Fortunately, Rick is quick to catch on and changes the subject.

“You know,” he starts, looking away from you to focus on Daryl, “I’ve noticed something’s different between you two. Ever since the night of that welcoming party.”

Daryl assumes a poker face. He knew he should expect this line of questioning at some point, because things did change between you, in a way that exceeded his wildest dreams. Still, the way Rick’s sizing him up makes him feel like a teenager being greeted by your dad at the front door before your first date. He doesn’t know how to deal with this shit. The only person close to Daryl in terms of their protectiveness over you is Rick. Is this some type of test? That can’t be right; Rick’s been trying to convince him to shoot his shot with you since the prison. He probably just wants to know everything’s fine. Ever the worrier, holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“She, uh,” Daryl focuses on his scuffed boots, before finally managing to look Rick in the eye. “She knows.”

Rick’s countenance betrays his disbelief. “You told her?”

Well, it’d be more accurate to say you told him by kissing him silly and putting his many doubts to rest, but he isn’t about to go around announcing that. He’ll hold this near and dear to his heart.

“Yeah.”

“And?” Rick presses, borderline impatient for the information Daryl’s so stingy on handing over. “What’d she say?”

Daryl can’t stop his lips from quirking into a closed-mouth smile. “Feels the same.”

Unlike Daryl, Rick doesn’t bother trying to hide his grin. “What’d I tell you, huh? That’s— that’s great. I’m happy for you. For both of you. It’s about time you both stopped dancing around things.”

Daryl wants to grumble over Rick giving him a hard time, but he can’t bring himself to, because the man’s right. While it may not have been love back at the quarry, even then he thought you were the prettiest damn woman he’d ever had the blessing to lay eyes on. His attachment to you only grew from there. By his estimation, that’d place it somewhere around two years of having the hots for you without ever making a serious move. While he doesn’t regret the time dedicated to deepening your friendship, it would’ve saved him a lot of grief if he knew you reciprocated his affections. He’d lost track of the nights spent tossing and turning, contemplating just how out of his league you are.

“While we’re on the subject, Glenn’s got some condoms on him, should you need any.”

Daryl coughs into his hand to hide the wicked blush rising to his cheeks. “The hell, man?”

“Just sayin’,” Rick puts his hands up in defense. “It’s best to be proactive. Sometimes you look at the girl like you’re ready to pounce.”

He fights back a groan at the new ammunition Rick has to tease him with. It is good knowledge to have, though, so he makes a note of it. You had only slept together once on that fateful night roughly two weeks ago. Daryl was mistaken in thinking getting a taste of you would calm the raging flames of desire that burn him from the inside out. If anything, it’s as if they’ve been doused with gasoline. Every little thing you do nearly drives him mad with need. When you chew on your bottom lip in contemplation, bend over to grab something, or make those cute little noises when you stretch, the list goes on and on. You’re making it a damn challenge to think with his head and not his dick.

How can he not, when he’s experienced how exhilarating it is to become one with the person he loves most? The sights and sounds of that night play on a loop in his mind constantly. The teasing banter, the taste of chocolate on your lips, the mind-numbing pleasure that exceeds anything he’d felt in his life… it’s got to be a special kind of torture to know he can have that with you, if he only he could get you alone. He swears every force in the universe is working against him. You’re living in a house packed like sardines, your schedules don’t line up (he’s an early riser, you love ‘your beauty sleep’), and you’ve been busy as a bee.

In your benevolence, you’ve treated him to some fleeting kisses and hugs, which, while he treasures those more than the air in his lungs, can’t satisfy the excruciating need he has for your body. He has to stop himself from undressing you with his eyes the few times of day you’re around. You’re just so gorgeous, so exuberant, lighting up the room in the way only you can and leaving a cold emptiness inside him when you’re gone.

He used to harp on lovesick fools for gushing over their ‘other half’, but now he gets it, he truly does. Going without you for any length of time is a unique agony that twists his guts into a knot.

Glancing back over your way, his blood freezes over at the sight he’s greeted with.

The prick had the audacity to put his hand on your lower back while Daryl was preoccupied. His eye twitches and his nostrils flare, hands balling into fists by his side. Rick senses the change in demeanor and follows Daryl’s line of sight to identify the reason, instantly piecing together the problem. Right before Daryl can charge over and rip the asshole’s slimy hand off you, Rick steps in, motioning for him to slow down.

“Hey, hey, look at me—”

“He’s fuckin’ touching her,” Daryl seethes, barely able to hear anything over the sound of his heart thumping in his ears. “She’s uncomfortable, I’m gonna—”

This time, it’s Rick who interrupts him. “I get it, I really do, but we can’t afford to go makin’ a scene over something like this. [First] wouldn’t want that. You know she wouldn’t. So let’s take a moment and calm down.”

“The hell do you know ‘bout what she wants?” Daryl challenges, his voice raising enough to attract some nearby attention. He juts his shoulder out of the way when Rick tries to lay his hand on it. “We both know why you’re letting ‘er play nice.”

Rick’s eyebrows furrow, hurt at the insinuation. “Daryl…”

He turns on his heel and storms off.

Rick calls out to him a few more times, but he makes a point of ignoring him, along with the stares his outburst garnered. A quiet, reasonable voice whispers to him that he’s blowing things out of proportion. This sensible counsel is overpowered by his Dixon blood yelling otherwise. He’s always been quick to default to anger, it’s an emotion he can make the most sense of when everything’s confusing. Rage is all-consuming and familiar. It gives him an easy target to release his pent-up negative emotions.

There’s just too much for him to work through. The gnawing insecurity, that in this stable environment, you could do so much better than him and he wouldn't have the slightest clue how to stop it. He’s not a smooth talker, can’t excuse confidence in spades. Hell, he couldn’t even confess to you first, you had to come to him. Who in their right mind would want a man like that? A man like him?

His jaw feels like it could snap from how hard he’s grinding his teeth together.

When he gets back to the group’s shared residence, he slings his crossbow into place and makes for Alexandria’s gates. He’s got to get away from here before he pulls an even dumber stunt he’ll surely regret later. The lone guard stationed there looks about ready to give him a difficult time until he sees the grave expression on Daryl’s face. That’s enough for him to wordlessly grant passage to the outside world.

Daryl opts for using his knife to take out the walkers prowling past the entrance. Adrenaline pumps throughout his body as the blade breaches a skull, then another, the bodies sagging to the ground with a satisfying thump. He cleans the gore off his knife and sets out for the woods, grateful to leave the oppressive community he’ll never fully fit into behind him.

Out here, he’s in his element. Weaving in and out of paths he’s already started to memorize, hearing the coos of mourning doves and shrill chirps of cardinals. He isn’t meant to fraternize with some hoity-toity folks who still think carrying a gun around inside the walls is excessive. His previous anger simmers down into frustration with each step he takes. In his haste, he hadn’t grabbed that many arrows. He knows he shouldn’t be out here for long.

However, the alternative is just as undesirable. He’ll man up and give Rick the apology he’s owed, but there’s no doubt his stunt today hurt what you’ve been trying to build. The folks wearing their polo shirts and khakis will probably go back to staring at him like he’s some sort of bogeyman come to life. He scoffs quietly to himself at the thought, bending over to inspect some fresh-looking tracks in the dirt. A deer must’ve come through here not long ago. Snagging a catch like that would do wonders for lifting his dampened mood. It’s tangible proof that he belongs, that he isn’t some freak like his brother would have him believe.

It’s strange to care about what he’s gone his entire life ignoring. When you have a reputation like the Dixon’s did in the town he grew up in, ostracization was to be expected. He’d lost count of the times he’d have to bail Merle’s ass out of the county jail only for the process to start back up a few months down the line. They might as well have kept a parking spot with his name written on it, as often as he stopped by the place. The stares, the whispers. They followed him everywhere he went. He learned to stop caring, he didn’t really have any better alternatives.

He thinks of you — how quick you are to fit in — how wide the chasm is that separates you. It’s been a while since he’s had to grapple with these misgivings, the farm must’ve been the last time. Daryl knows it’s shameful, but he likes when he’s the one providing for you. Not so he could lord it over you, he wouldn’t dream of that. It’s more so how it justifies him being in your orbit. Solidifies his place by your side.

No one else can take it if it’s carved out in his shape.

The sun begins its lull in the sky. Shades of brilliant amber and gold trickle in through the interstices of the trees overhead, cascading like embers. Daryl mulls over what you might be doing now as he gulps down water from his canteen. Are you having dinner with Reg and Deanna? Or are you back at home, encouraging Judith to eat her veggies and trying to convince Carl there are more things to read than comics? Have you noticed his absence? Or are you too preoccupied to realize he’s gone?

His heart plummets down to his stomach.

Daryl crouches over, inspecting some flowers that have been chewed down to the stem. It’s still glistening with saliva. A deer’s doing, no doubt. This paired with the tracks he’s been following promises that he’s getting closer. Any other day, personal qualms would be the last thing on his mind when he’s about to land a deer, but you’re an apparition that won’t stop haunting him. He misses you. He sees you every day, yet it isn’t enough. He misses hearing your lame jokes that you laugh at (and he laughs at too, occasionally), the weird thoughts that occupy your pretty little head (seriously, who ponders over the origin of the phrase ‘elephant in the room’?), arguing over if Back in Black or The Dark Side of the Moon is the better album (he caught you humming Time to Judith once, trying to indoctrinate her early, no doubt).

He misses you so badly it makes him physically ache.

The crackling of foliage ahead temporarily releases him from his bitter rumination.

He fastens his crossbow into place, mindful of his every step. He makes his way through a clearing. It’s the scent he notices first, the miasma of rot. Then there’s the sound of flies buzzing and wet, vicious squelching. Ripping and tearing. Daryl knows what he’s destined to see before he even lays eyes on it. A group of voracious walkers gorge themselves upon the fallen deer, too preoccupied with devouring the viscera to notice his presence. Rigor mortis hadn’t even set in yet, he’d just barely missed his window.

It’s one of those days, he supposes.

The trek back to Alexandria is noticeably devoid of thought. He gladly welcomes the reprieve, wanting nothing more than for his head to hit the pillow so he can sleep today’s events off. Alexandria’s walls loom in front of him soon enough. He calls over to be let back in. Without delay, the gate creaks to the side, revealing the last figure he expected to be greeted with upon his return.

You.

You stand a few paces ahead, relief visible on your features when you establish eye contact. You’re wearing a yellow gingham blouse, white denim jeans, and those sneakers from what he’d consider the best day of his life. Your hair that you’ve been complaining is too long is tied up in a high ponytail, revealing that neck he longs to smother in kisses again. You’re so fucking radiant it should be illegal. Intelligent thought flies out the window, though luckily for him, you almost never run out of things to say.

“Are you alright?” Is what you decide upon, your voice sweeter than candy. He’d eat it up if he could.

He nods, his body recalling how to do basic motor functions after a sizable delay. You secure the gate behind you, muttering some gratitude to the guard Daryl scowled into submission earlier, then jog to catch up with him. He swears he could distinguish the sounds of your footsteps in his sleep. As much as he’d love to, he doesn’t look at you, choosing to fixate on the road ahead. After the events of the day, he doesn't trust himself not to pull anything stupid.

“Daryl, hello hello,” you say with a singsong lilt, “You do notice me, right? I’m not that short.”

“Tired, s’all,” he murmurs.

“Have you not been sleeping well?”

He shrugs. “Guess not.”

There’s a beat of silence. Unable to bear it, he turns toward you, immediately noting the uncharacteristic frown on your features. A deep pang resonates inside him at the sight. He knows he’s worrying you, causing extra strife you most certainly don’t deserve to deal with, but he can’t think straight. The culmination of two weeks’ worth of navigating foreign feelings he’s never experienced before is taking a toll on him. You mentioned having an ex-boyfriend to Maggie in the past — a notion he’s hardly surprised by, considering you got him of all people falling head over heels — so this must be familiar territory for you.

“When I asked if you were fine earlier, I didn’t just mean physically,” you nudge him playfully with your elbow, although your expression is serious. “Is something up?”

“Jesus, I’m fine, woman,” Daryl huffs. The tone he takes has you pursing your lips. He no longer hears your footsteps struggling to keep up, you must’ve stopped. He does too. Turning himself to face you is no easy task, yet he somehow manages. What remains of the sunset basks your features in a gentle glow. He can make out each fleck of color in your iris’, finding the distinct splash of color to be his favorite. You have every right to be annoyed with him, you should be, honestly — and still, there are no traces of irritation. That alone melts his heart.

You’re just looking at him, trying to piece together what’s brought him to this point. You never assume the worst of him, you never have. Instead, you choose to carefully comb through the information available to understand what he barely understands himself. This is one of your strengths he’s always admired.

When he once asked you why you gave others the benefit of the doubt, you compared it to his tracking process.

“There’s more going on than what’s visible at first glance, right?” You reasoned. “You have to stop, slow down. Take time to inspect things a little closer. If you don’t, you risk missing what’s truly important.”

Waves of guilt crash over him like the roaring ocean upon the shore. You’re so good — the epitome of everything worth preserving in this decaying world.

“... ‘m sorry,” Daryl swallows thickly. “Just… bad day, is all.”

Your visage softens. “Hey, it’s okay.”

He flinches. You’re far too quick to forgive.

“Nah, it ain’t. I shouldn’t take it out on ya.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” You offer, still refusing to hold Daryl’s shortcomings over his head. “I, um, actually had something I wanted to show you. It’s somewhere quiet. It’d just be us there.”

He parts his lips, ready to reinforce the fact you should be upset with him, when he sees your smile. This is the kind you’ve only ever graced him with. There’s this innate understanding in your eyes, a compassion to the curve of your lips. A look of pure love. He’s committed every facet of you he can to memory, he knows no one else is the recipient of this specific tenderness. It’s reserved solely for him.

There’s a gravitational pull around you that draws him close and refuses to let him go.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Positive.”

You hold your hand out.

He hesitates, wondering if he deserves to take it.

When he does, the way your smile grows tells him he made the right choice.

It’s him following you now. There’s a pep in your step, he can feel the excitement radiating off of you. A few Alexandrians he hasn’t bothered learning the names of yet give a wave upon spotting you, an act you gladly reciprocate. You haven’t the slightest ounce of shame about the rugged man trailing behind you. An insecure part of him that stubbornly refuses to die suggested that as you integrate into the community, you might leave him behind. Find a man that fits in here rather than sticking out like a sore thumb as he does.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

The guilt returns, slithering its tendrils around his person and preparing to bite down hard. He’s been weaving falsehoods about you because of his own problems. You aren’t that type of person. He needs to get out of his own head and accept that maybe, just maybe, this’ll be his shot at happiness. The concept is so surreal that his body has been rejecting it like it were a foreign invader. He doesn’t want to fall prey to his natural tendencies anymore, he has to fight it.

He imagines it’ll be a slow and tedious process, uprooting the thorny vines he’s grown to protect himself. You’re worth the effort, reckons. You always have been.

Suburbia surrounds you on both sides. This must be another residential area of Alexandria, one that is vacant from what he can tell. You pause in front of one of the homes, nestled toward the end of the street. It’s the picture-perfect representation of the upper-middle-class ideal. A two-story high house styled like the others, with beige siding and a light gray roof. After letting him take it in for a second, you pull a set of keys from your back pocket, then grin.

“I bought us a house,” you twirl the jingling keys on your pointer finger. “My credit wasn’t the best, and we’ll probably have to do a reverse mortgage in a decade, but it’s ours.”

Daryl squints, trying to deduce how much of what you’re saying is in jest.

“I’ve been working with Deanna to get our group more settled in, since this looks permanent. We finished ironing out the details today, and, uh, yeah. We get a house all for ourselves.”

Your voice grows smaller toward the end of your sentence, almost tentative. You’re gauging him just as much as he is you.

“Ya wanna,” he takes a moment to find the right words, “Ya wanna live with me?”

You shrink into yourself. “I do. O-Only if you want to, of course! If this is weird, or, I’m uh, being too forward, then just— oof!”

You’re never given the chance to finish your sheepish ramblings, for he lifts you in the air, spinning you once then wrapping you in a tight embrace. You give him a breathless laugh and return his affection in kind. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, breathing in the familiar scent of cocoa butter and shea. In any other circumstance, he’d shy away from such a bold display in public, but he’s too damn ecstatic to care. Let anyone who happens by watch. See for themselves that you’re his and he’d sooner keel over than let you go.

“I take it that’s a yes, then?” You hum as he carefully puts you down, treating you like you were made of glass.

“Yeah,” he reassures. He huffs in amusement at the stars that are practically glittering in your eyes. “Guess that means the others’ll know ‘bout us.”

You’re quick to fall back into your usual demeanor, now that you know he wasn’t put off. “Are you embarrassed of me, Mr. Dixon?”

He rolls his eyes at your theatrics, replying lightheartedly, “Stop.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure the others already know,” you say. “Well, some of them, at least. Women have a sixth sense for these things.”

Daryl raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I mostly plead the fifth. Rosita and Maggie keep smirking at me though. I think we developed some sort of witch coven-level bond while out on the road.”

He lets out a ‘pfft’ at the phraseology that’s so distinctly you. He’s always loved hearing you talk, he swears you could make an instruction manual on how to set up a dresser entertaining. Aside from how unfairly pretty you are, your mannerisms are what caught his eye. You have this way of creating a comfortable atmosphere. Back at the quarry, you stubbornly worked to peel back his layers, one at a time. You somehow knew what conversations to broach and which to steer clear of. Before he knew what was happening, you became his favorite person to spend time with, and he actively sought you out; ignoring Merle’s disparaging remarks along the way.

The rest is history, as they say.

You both walk up to the porch, taking in every last detail. The spacious front yard, bushes that Daryl makes a mental note to trim later, and the little stone pathway which leads up to the steps. A soft breeze passes through, encouraging the rustle of towering tree branches. The scent of daisies and honeysuckle wafts in the cool evening air and he deeply inhales nature’s aromatic perfume. You trace the porch’s white pillar with your fingertips, seemingly entranced, disbelief written over your features.

“From a prison cell to this,” you shake your head. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“Nah. You ain’t.”

You point at the closed garage. “You can park your bike there, turn it into a workshop or something.”

Next, the empty garden.

“And— and we can plant carrots, peas, zucchini… maybe find a blueberry bush. Flowers too. Oh, I love hydrangeas, they can be tricky though. We should also plant a fruit tree. What about apple? Yeah, let’s do that. The kids’ll love it. Apple pie, apple cider… did you know Carl’s never had apple cider? How is that even possible?”

There’s a glossy tint to your eyes as you ramble on, so taken by the idea of a future that you don’t know what to do with yourself. He has to fight against a lump threatening to form in his throat. Daryl hugs you from behind, holding you against him as if you’d disappear like sand through his fingers should he let go. You feel so good in his arms. So right.

“We have to make this work, Daryl,” your voice is tight. “We have to. No matter what.”

This serious declaration takes him back weeks prior, to the day your fates became permanently intertwined. You’ve been pushing yourself to fulfill what you said then and now. He’s sure you’d much rather spend time with your group, your family, but you’ve been building the groundwork for a future. The very same groundwork he’s been undermining by plotting outside the walls with Rick and Carol, well-intentioned as it may be.

“I gotta tell ya something,” he murmurs, placing a chaste kiss atop your head. Your hair smells heavenly. “Has to do with earlier.”

After feeling you nod, he continues, albeit hesitantly.

“Me, Rick n’ Carol have been talking. ‘Bout Alexandria. What we should do here. They’re thinkin’ we might hafta take over, if worse comes to worst. These people… they’re weak. Don’t know a damn thing ‘bout what’s happenin’ outside them walls.”

He loosens his grip as you twist around to face him. Once again, he braces himself for heavy rebuke; a confirmation that you’ll be as upset as he imagined upon learning about this. You place both your hands on the railing behind you while looking up, your head tilting to the side.

“I already knew about that.”

Daryl knits his eyebrows together, incredulous. “You— what?”

“Not the specifics, maybe, but I got the gist of things,” you confirm. This further reinforces his belief that you’re perceptive to a freaky degree. “I mean… I get where you guys are coming from. What we’ve been through… what we’ve seen… God… I never let myself think about it for long. I can’t. I push that shit down as deep as it’ll go. Lock it up and throw away the key.”

You sigh and give him a weary smile that tugs on his heartstrings. “I’m not going to say that you’re in the wrong, because honestly, I haven’t the faintest clue. I wish I did, but I don’t. All I know is that it doesn’t hurt to try. What’s that adage Rick is so fond of…? Ah, yes, let’s ‘see what we see’. If you do, and still think they’re a lost cause, then… I’ll trust your judgment. I always have. Always will, too. There’s no one I trust more in this world than you, Daryl. Not even myself.”

You’ve stolen the air from his lungs and words from his mouth, it’s like he’s been sucker-punched. He tries and fails to string together a coherent sentence. It shouldn’t be too difficult, the assembly of vowels and consonants, yet every word in the English language slips his mind. He’s long since held the belief that you’re an angel incarnate — you might as well be, given your beauty — but thinking that way is ultimately doing you a disservice.

You’re scared, you’re confused, you’re human. Blood pumps through your heart, not ichor.

Daryl takes your pretty face into his hands, wishing he could smooth away the lines of worry. “I’ll try. Promise.”

You kiss his inner palm. “That’s all I could ask for.”

“What you said… ‘bout not trustin’ yourself…” he trails off, almost wincing at hearing the words spoken aloud again, “You should. Trust yourself, I mean. You're smart. Crafty. Made some damn good calls I never woulda thought to.”

“Are you buttering me up, Daryl?” You teasingly suggest. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me.”

He grunts. There you go with your tendency to keep things light-hearted when they get uncomfortably personal again.

“... Really, though, thank you,” the inflection of your voice reverts back to sincere in record time. You almost give him whiplash with the ease in which you shift moods. “We probably should’ve had this talk sooner, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry ‘bout that. I wanted… wanted to surprise you, and I got so swept up in that, I missed what’s really important.”

Daryl feels his lips twitching into a smile at your subconscious elision — Carol once pointed out that you sometimes talk like him, and vice versa. She said you guys hang out together so often, it’s to be expected. He’s picked up your favorite idioms and rubbed off his tendency to curse on you, even if you don’t do it anywhere near as often as him. To think that two years ago, his preppy princess went from having the cleanest mouth around to dropping expletives without batting an eyelash.

“‘S fine. Still don’t think ya did anything wrong.”

“You’re a bit biased, don’t you think?”

“Mm. Maybe.”

You laugh at his candidness. “It just occurred to me that all our best conversations happen on porches. Is that why you lived out on the porch for our first few days here?”

“Nah. Had to keep ya safe,” Daryl runs the pad of his thumb over your cheekbones. “Can’t let anything happen to ya, butterfly.”

You preen at the personal touch to your infamous nickname, evidently liking it as much as he does. “I told you, I’m more of a caterpillar for the time being.”

He snorts. “Coulda fooled me.”

“Hm… a cocoon, then? Agree to disagree?”

“Ain’t calling ya a fuckin’ cocoon, woman.”

“Oh, but if it’s your voice saying it, I’ll get all hot and bothered,” you lean forward, pressing the swell of your chest against his. He swears he can feel his blood rushing south. “You could make anything sound good. Even… hm… let me think… the word foible.”

Daryl scrunches up his nose. “The hell? That’s a word?”

“Sure is. It might be the only one that hasn’t found its way into Eugene’s impressive lexicon yet.”

“You couldn’t pay me ‘nough to say that.”

“It’s a good thing the economy is in shambles then,” you wink. Then you stifle a laugh with your hand. “Huh. I really need to get better at flirting. I’m rusty… way out of practice. Mind helping me out with that, Dixon? If not, Maggie’s gonna get stuck dealing with the brunt of it.”

The look he gives has you showing your palms in surrender. “I told you! It’s witch coven level stuff between us now. I’m waiting with bated breath for someone to suggest a blood oath.”

“Don’t need no practice, all ya do is flirt with me, damn vixen.”

He pinches your cheek, content to see how they’ve filled back out after two weeks of eating regularly.

“Took you long enough to notice.”

You guide his hands to your hips and he’s more than happy to place them there. Next, you secure your arms around his neck, then start swaying side to side. Everything about you is so magnetic. God, that expression is nearly lethal. You’re gazing up at him through lidded eyes, worrying your lower lip beneath your teeth. He feels his cock twitching to life. You barely need to do a damn thing and he’s ready to fall to the ground and worship you.

Daryl has to fight off a debauched noise as you stand on your tiptoes, your tongue poking out to coat your lips in an enticing sheen. He feels your hot breath fan against his face and tightens his grip on you to keep himself steady. You pause, content to stay where you are, so close to where he wants you yet cruelly far away. You breathe in one another’s air for a few, agonizing seconds, your noses touching. Then you’re moving again. Right when he thinks he’s going to be treated to your taste, frustration boils within when you kiss the corner of his mouth instead. He could take whatever he wants from you — his immense strength speaks to that — yet there’s something so undeniably charming about letting you think you’re in control.

He figures he can play along a while longer.

“Do me a favor, sweetheart,” you whisper, the huskiness of your voice causing goosebumps to erupt all over his skin, “Grab what’s in my back left pocket.”

Curious, he does just that. His fingers come into contact with a plastic serrated edge. He knows what it is before he even pulls it out.

“This time, I can’t say I didn’t plan things in advance,” you take pride in admitting.

He frowns. “Just have these on you?”

Despite knowing it’s entirely unreasonable, he can’t suppress a sting of jealousy. He silently hopes you haven’t been carrying these things around for long. Not if you wanted to use them with someone else.

“Mhm. I had some at the farm, then the prison,” if you notice how his expression darkens, you don’t mention it. “There’s this guy who caught my eye, you see, a very handsome one. I’ve wanted him to have his way with me for ages. Couldn’t work up the courage to admit that for the life of me, though. Until very recently.”

He mentally sighs at the reassurance no one’s gotten to touch you while he was stuck silently yearning from afar. There were a few panic-inducing moments that drove him crazier than he’d ever admit, due largely in part to your friendly personality. You’re touchy-feely with those you care about. While he reaped the benefits of this, it’s a double-edged sword. You hug your friends, fall asleep on their shoulder, and dote over them at every chance. He once mistakenly snapped one of his arrows in half when he saw you run and jump to embrace Rick.

Daryl knew it was wrong to feel possessive over a grown woman who he wasn’t in a romantic relationship with, yet his heart refused to listen to his brain. People were drawn in by your wit and charm, there wasn’t much to do about it. It wasn’t like he could station himself by your side every waking hour to scare off any asshole who thought they had a shot at you.

… He has considered the idea, though.

“That right?” He asks, maintaining eye contact while his hands go to give your ass a squeeze. He’s never felt the most confident when it came to flirting, yet you make him feel wanted, like you’re into him as much as he’s into you.

“Right as rain,” you give him those doe eyes that make him weak in the knees. “It made me have to settle for the next best thing.”

Daryl’s entirely under your spell and he wouldn’t want it any other way. “What’d that be, princess?”

He bites back a knowing smirk at the way you shiver, your eyes glazing over with lust. Learning your little thing for hearing him call you princess was a piece of knowledge he fully intended on making good use of.

“My hands,” you murmur. He knew what you were implying, but hearing you say it out loud almost makes him lose his fucking mind. “I’d think about how strong he was, how good he’d make me feel. I was always scheming, y’know. Wearing short shorts, low cut shirts. Think it may have caught his attention?”

Oh, so that’s how it was, huh? He’d always get caught between feeling grateful for seeing so much of you and possessive when he realized everyone else got the same privilege. A few men and women back at the prison let their eyes linger far longer than he would’ve preferred. He’d spend balmy nights tucked away on his lonesome, wrestling his belt and pants down so he could relieve himself to the thought of you. Guilt would rear its head when he saw you the next day, running over to excitedly greet him, oblivious to how he objectified you in his mind hours prior.

It comes as a mild relief to know that was what you intended.

“Don’t needta think. Know for a fact it did.”

You pout, upping his urge to kiss you by a hundred percent. “Are you sure? He hasn’t tried to touch me lately. It’s starting to hurt my feelings.”

“Hard to touch a woman who ain’t there,” Daryl huffs, indignant.

“Well, I’m here now,” you reassure. “Maybe you should make the best of it, hm?”

You don’t need to tell him twice.

He snatches the keys and wastes no time unlocking the front door, motioning for you to go in first. He enters immediately after. The lock is redone in anticipation of what’ll come next, you’ll both be needing your privacy. Daryl loves your little group, would die for them in a heartbeat, but he’s been waiting what feels like eons to get you alone again. He’s surprised with the amount of self-control he’s exercising, the urge to rip your clothes off and take you against the closest available surface is overwhelming. You bring out this animalistic side to him he never knew existed.

You start making your way upstairs after leaving your shoes by the door. From this angle, he’s treated to a lovely angle of your hips and shapely ass. His nerves are set aflame by the mere thought of seeing you bare again. He damn near sprints to catch up with you, not caring to hide his desperation in the slightest. He scoops you up bridal style along the way — he really might have a thing for manhandling you, although he’s never rough — the ease in which he can maneuver your body just feels right. Satisfies what little ego he has when it comes to romantic endeavors.

“I never have to use my legs when you’re around,” you giggle.

“That’s the goal.”

In more ways than one, he hopes.

Daryl brings you into the first bedroom he sees. You’re gently laid down atop the plush comforter, while he gets to work ridding himself of his clothes. The condom from earlier is placed on the bed’s edge. He pulls his angel wing vest over his head, kicks off his boots, then his jeans. The weight of your gaze on him is tangible, you look at him as if he were a piece of art. He’s unsure if he should feel embarrassed or prideful by your unabashed staring. A blush dusts his cheeks when he catches you rubbing your thighs together, causing him to lean toward the former.

He freezes when he gets to his black button-up shirt. The last time you were intimate, it was dark enough that he didn’t feel entirely exposed. As much as he loves seeing you painted in warm hues of orange and red, that means he’ll be fully visible too. Every inch of his body and its testament to a life of hardships. You’d seen the scars on his back when tending to his injuries back on the farm, yet you didn’t dare to make a comment. The way he flinched and shrunk away told you everything you needed to know.

Sensing his hesitation, you stand to your feet and approach him. Your fingers settle on the top button, though you make no movement past that. He can practically hear the cogs turning in your head.

“If you don’t want—”

“I do,” he cuts you off, knowing what you intend to say. “I trust ya. Just…”

“Just…?”

He shrugs, the tips of his ears burning. “Want ya to like what ya see.”

“Oh, darling,” you croon, the unexpected pet name makes his blush infinitely stronger, “Maggie used to call me out for drooling over you when you wore those sleeveless shirts. Made me wish I had a pair of opera glasses. You’re handsome. Unbelievably so.”

He doesn’t know what to say, caught in a swirl of embarrassment and delight over the praise you wholeheartedly offer.

You undo the first button, then stop, looking up to check with him again. When he nods, you keep going, revealing the skin that closely hugs his defined muscles. You don’t recoil in disgust or give him pity-filled glances when spotting his scars, instead, you look mesmerized. He can hear your breathing pick up and see the way your pupils dilate.

Daryl thought he was too old to get butterflies in his stomach, but there’s nothing you’re better at than revealing parts of himself he didn’t know existed.

You smooth your palms over his pecs. “I really am going to start drooling.”

He huffs and shrugs off his shirt, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. “Lay your ass back down, girl.”

You give a dorky double thumbs up and do just that.

He joins you not long after, both his arms caging you against the bed.

Daryl nods toward your still-clothed body and quirks his head to the side.

“What? You don’t wanna be the one to undress me? I’m sure you’ve thought about it.” You provoke. His hands almost start trembling from the sheer excitement the prospect stirs up in him. You’re such a coquettish little thing, playing dirty whenever you’re presented with the choice. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it, though. You know how to rile him up.

“Once or twice,” he replies, nimble fingers finding the hem of your shirt and lifting. You raise an eyebrow, challenging his purposefully low estimation. He gives a throaty chuckle, soothing your ire by kissing you on the forehead. “A day.”

You look pleased with the revelation. “There. Much better.”

He greedily takes in every inch of skin that’s revealed to him as he lifts your shirt. Heaven itself couldn’t compare to the beauty that is your body, he almost forgets how to breathe when he sees the start of your chest. His heartbeat rises in a crescendo as he slowly pulls the fabric upward. Finally, he gets an unobstructed view of your tits, wrapped up nice and pretty in a black bra. He wets his lips and bites back a groan. His large, calloused hands immediately set to work on kneading the supple flesh. There’s nothing he loves the feel of more.

“Ya really did plan this,” Daryl has to stop himself from rutting against the bed like an animal, the desperation you instill in him is unreal. “Wanted to drive me fuckin’ crazy, huh?”

“Maybe a little.”

He pinches your nipples then, earning a gasp so lovely from you that a guttural growl leaves his throat. He’s just as obsessed with your voice as you are with his. There’s a sweetness to it that tickles his ears just right. Whether you’re laughing, moaning, or simply saying his name in that way only you can, there’s this lilt that has him hooked. Nicotine be damned, you’re an addiction that surpasses all else.

His fingers make their way to your back, undoing the clasp of your bra. “A little, hm?”

You nod after a moment’s hesitation.

“Ya never were a good liar,” Daryl muses. He’s always found this positively adorable about you. Once he taught you the rules of poker and you joined in on some game nights, it became clear that wasn’t your area of expertise. You’d squirm in your seat, glare or beam at your cards, your intentions practically announced for the whole world by your transparent body language. He’d lost count of the number of times he had to bite back a smile when watching you.

He wraps his mouth around your nipple, alternating between suckling and licking it with his tongue. If given the chance, he’d sit here and do this for ages.

“Is that— mm— a bad thing?”

He pulls back from his important task long enough to reply, “Nah. Love that ‘bout ya.”

While he contents himself by playing with your tits, you grow adorably impatient, wriggling in an attempt to get some friction where you want it most. He grabs your hips and holds you still to stop your indulgence, eliciting an irritated huff from you. He hadn’t anticipated this brattier side of you, but there’s something about it that gets him going. Electricity crackles between you, filling the atmosphere with thick tension.

“There somethin’ you want, girl?” He teases, attention flittering between the coat of his saliva on your chest and the depraved curve of your countenance. He can feel precum leaking from his tip when you try to grind on him again, your frustration fucking delicious.

Your eyes widen when he pulls away, much to his amusement. “Asked ya a question, butterfly. You best be answerin’ it.”

“What do you think I want, Daryl?” The little whine you accentuate your words with works wonders on him.

He shrugs, playing ignorant. “Dunno. A nap, maybe. Ya act all pissy if ya don’t get your eight hours.”

“I told you, my beauty sleep is important,” you huff, directing a halfhearted glare his way. He exhales sharply, betraying his bemusement. You’re about as intimidating as a bunny rabbit to him. “Admittedly, while the prospect of a nap is tempting, I’d rather you fuck me until my brain is scrambled.”

This vulgar side of you is a damn treat he’ll never tire of devouring.

“That so, princess?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Take them pants off then.”

You oblige without protest. You hook your thumb on the waistband, maintaining smoldering eye contact as you drag it down oh so slowly. He palms at his hardened length while you put on your little show, the throb of his cock close to constant. His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he spots your panties. They’re the same shade of black as your bra, the fabric next to scant, hugging your curves tightly. He can see the outline of your folds against it, your wetness seeping through. His tongue slips out to moisten his lips when he remembers how amazing you tasted. He’s brought back to the blissful experience, the softness of your thighs around his face, how you wriggled and squirmed so delightfully for him…

“My eyes are up here, Mister,” you hum. Normally, he’d have a clever remark ready to match you, but he’s completely at a loss. You’ve rendered him speechless.

You were wearing this all day, just for his viewing pleasure?

Maybe there is a God after all — some higher power has got to be smiling down on him. You could make a zealot out of the most impious man.

By the time he manages to break from his reverie, your pants have been tossed aside. It’s you who approaches first, crawling over to where he sits still as a statue, looking up at him through your eyelashes. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly, completely and utterly smitten by you. Your breath hitches in your throat when you notice the prominent outline of his cock against his boxers. If that visceral reaction does something for his ego, he’ll never admit it.

You settle onto his lap like it’s where you belong most — he’d argue until he was blue that it is — both of you releasing a content noise at finally having contact where you want it most. Your lips are on his in a feverish kiss. His hands start at the dimples on your back, then move down, cupping your ass and encouraging you to grind against him. You use his shoulders as leverage to better control your movements. He groans when your fingernails dig into his flesh, and you take the opportunity to sneak your tongue into his mouth, getting drunk on the taste of one another. Today, you taste like lemonade. The tart flavor is best when sampled from you.

His mouth smothers your whimpers and soft moans of his name. When you pull back, he’s initially disappointed, until he realizes this grants him the perfect view of each twist of your face. You appear hazy with pleasure, your bare chest heaving and glossy lips parted. There’s a telltale tensing in your thighs that catches him off guard.

“You gettin’ off on this?” Daryl asks, his voice heady with lust. “Grindin’ on me, making all them sweet lil noises?”

“Yes,” you whimper, your shame long forgotten. Not that you ever have much when it comes to him.

This is better than anything he’d concocted in his wildest fantasies. You wanting him as much as he wants you, chasing after your high without reservation. He faithfully does his part to help you along. He follows the rhythm you set, his eyes never leaving your face, deriving unmatched satisfaction from knowing he’s the reason you’re like this. It’s him who knows how to fire you up and cool you down, him who you’re humping against like depravity is your natural element.

You’re gripping him tighter, nails digging deep. He savors the slight ache, intending to wear your marks like a badge of honor.

“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice raspy. “C’mon. Show me how good ya feel. Wanna see it.”

You’re nothing if not obedient, once in a blue moon.

You come undone, throwing your head back, your eyes squeezed shut as you savor your release. He fixates upon the muscles of your neck, on display like a canvas ready to receive his designs. His lips hover over your racing pulse, the stubble of his beard against your skin prompting a fit of giggles. He mouths at your skin, humming low in appreciation at the saltiness coating it. You sure do get yourself all worked up over him. Knowing that does things for him, stokes the flames of an already raging fire.

“God, I’m obsessed with you, Daryl Dixon,” you confess, moving your head aside so he can have better access to your neck. “You’re all I think about. We’re just— we were made for one another, weren’t we? You’re my best friend, my — I don’t know — does boyfriend sound kinda silly at this point, or is it just me?”

Love blooms in his chest, temporarily overpowering his lust. Or perhaps the two are mixing to form an entirely new color. “I’ll be whatever ya like, so long as I get to see that again.”

“Even my…?” You cut yourself off, and he pulls back, finding himself unable to read your countenance. That’s an exceedingly rare occurrence.

“Your…?” He prompts, the both of you whispering like you’re exchanging precious secrets.

“No, it’s—” you suck in a deep breath and shake your head. “Ahem. Too soon for that.”

You try to distract him by pawing at his waistband. It is a clever move on your part, but he musters up the willpower to stop thinking with his dick for a few seconds.

“Nah. Ya ain’t doin’ that. Finish the damn sentence, woman.”

This is a rabbit hole he wants to explore. His intuition offers a suggestion that’d fill in the blank, yet he shrugs it off, scoffing internally. There’s no way you possibly meant that, his brain just isn’t working properly. No, a pretty thing like you couldn’t possibly want to marry an asshole redneck like him—

“Marriage is off the table until we at least go on one date. Your treat. I’m ordering appetizers and a dessert, too.”

Only you would essentially propose to him while throwing in a joke for good measure. Yeah, that’s the love of his life alright. A hot mess. Heavy emphasis on hot. Somewhat lighter emphasis on mess.

“... Orgasm felt that good, huh?”

You swat at his chest. “Shut up, I’m sleep deprived and not thinking clearly.”

Daryl notices that you’re looking everywhere but at his face, embarrassment prominent. He props himself up some so that you’re able to pull his boxers off, his dick springing out of its restraints. There are about a million things he wants to say to you, some teasing, some entirely genuine, but when you wrap your soft hands around the base of his cock, he blanks. He pants your name as you start pumping him. Pearls of cum are quick to coat his length, making the process even easier for you.

You bend forward, your tongue licking up everything that oozes from his flushed tip. Then your mouth starts taking him in. The warm wetness feels divine and he keens. The noise surprises you both, encouraging you to keep going. You hollow out your cheeks, then start sucking, all the while jerking off what isn’t in your mouth yet. Caving into instinct, his hands fly to either side of your head. He helps ease you up and down his length.

Daryl wonders if he’s dreaming — he doesn’t want to pinch himself to find out, just in case that’d wake him up.

The fact a girl as stunning as you is sucking his dick with unbridled enthusiasm simply doesn’t compute. His peak is growing more and more imminent. The tightness of your mouth, how you’re moaning against him like you’re the one being pleasured; it’s too much in the best of ways. He was already worked up to a frenzy after witnessing you come from grinding on him.

Briefly, he entertains the thought of what it’d be like if he released his load in your mouth. He’d make sure you swallowed every last drop. Knowing you, however, you’d probably do so without his prompting, swallowing while looking him straight in the eye. You know what you do to him. That you have him wrapped around your pretty little finger. You know it and love it, maybe almost as much as he does.

Daryl utilizes every last ounce of self-control in his body and pulls you off his weeping cock.

A trail of saliva connects your lips to his tip, a sight he intends to burn into his memory forever.

“Hey, I was enjoying myself,” you complain with an exaggerated sigh.

“Me too.”

He reaches over to grab the condom from earlier. Ripping into it with his teeth, he rolls the plastic over his sensitive cock. Once it’s on, his hands go to your shoulder, gently pushing so that you’ll lay down for him. You pique his interest by shaking your head. You must have plans of your own, for you reclaim your spot on his lap. He’s plenty content to accommodate this apparent desire of yours and leans back.

You line him up with one hand and tenderly cup his cheek with the other.

Slowly, you sink down onto him, lulling your head back while you do so. He helps hold your hips in place so you can adjust to him at your pace. Instinct begs him to rut up into your accommodating warmth, but he values your comfort more than his own carnality. Your eyelashes flutter shut whereas he keeps himself trained on you. When you’re halfway down, he kisses your inner wrist, grateful for the pulse beneath your skin.

“You’re takin’ me in well,” he praises. If there were ever a man capable of penning hymns dedicated to you, it’d be him. “Just like that. Nice n’ easy.”

A high-pitched whine leaves your lips when he’s fully inside you.

“That’s it, good girl.”

You reopen your eyes, granting him the sight of what’s become his favorite color ever since he met you.

“You’re spoiling me with all these compliments.”

Your hands run over his jaw, then the tensing tendons of his neck, finally settling on his sun-kissed shoulders.

“Ya deserve it,” Daryl murmurs. “Beautiful woman.”

Dizzying pleasure thrums throughout him when your walls clench, his words hitting your sweet spot. Sweat coats both your bodies in a light sheen. You rotate your hips, allowing him to stretch you out, the slight friction far from enough yet tantalizing nonetheless. Finally, after what feels like an excruciating wait, you lift yourself off him and come back down. The decadent pleasure builds and builds with each repeat of the motion. He’s close, painfully so, but letting you take what you want from him is given top priority. The sinful sounds pouring from your lips with increasing urgency hint that you might not last long either.

Calloused fingers work to rub messy circles against your clit. This added layer of stimulation has you moaning incoherently near his ear, half-legible sentiments tumbling out.

“Feels so good,” you whimper, almost delirious. “I wanna be yours. Please.”

You’re growing increasingly erratic as your second high looms on the horizon. The telltale tensing of your muscles has him picking up momentum. One hand guides you up and down his cock, the other pleasuring you where you need it most. Your declaration envelops him, making him feel impossibly warmer. How you vacillate between uttering the naughtiest and sweetest things is a mystery to him he won’t bother solving. All he knows is that his adoration for you won’t ever stop growing, no; this is where a new chapter of it begins.

“You are. Always ‘ave been.”

Daryl knew it couldn’t have just been his imagination, the once-in-a-lifetime connection that formed soon after your paths crossed. It strung you both together. Whenever one wandered too far from the other, the rope would go taut, forcing you to stumble back where you belonged.

Your walls tighten around him and you snap, back arching, pressing those perfect tits against his chest.

He grunts at the sensation of you coming on his cock, thrusting upward to meet your stuttering hips. He loses himself in the aroma of sex and you. You go partially limp when you’ve come down from your high, which allows him to maneuver your body with greater ease. The release he denied himself minutes prior threatens to consume him once again. How could it not, when he got to witness your blissed-out face, hear the sounds of your gratification?

Daryl’s hands latch into the soft flesh of your waist hard. He slams into you a few more times, the sound of skin slapping skin reverberating throughout the room. His cum spurts out into the condom’s plastic confines, filling you with his warmth. He faintly registers that you’re lavishing his neck in sloppy kisses as he basks in his high.

Both your chests heave as you pant, greedily taking in the air you willingly deprived yourselves of during the act.

Your shaky fingers comb through the mess that is his bangs. Daryl lets you do as you please, too busy admiring every inch of your face to care about anything else. You press a chaste kiss against his forehead, then his nose, and finally, his awaiting lips. He chases after yours when you pull away, an action that makes you laugh. He huffs at the return of your brattiness. When he sees how wide you’re smiling, however, it becomes difficult for him to maintain his disgruntled facade. Your joy is contagious.

“Plannin’ on stayin’ there all night?” He nods at the junction where your bodies remain connected. His cock has gone soft and you’ve made no sign of getting off him yet, not that he’s complaining. He knows you’re real fussy about cleanliness (a concept that eludes his understanding, since it’s the damn apocalypse), so he’s pleasantly surprised you haven’t run off to wipe yourself down.

“Would you be opposed if I said yes?”

“‘Course not.”

However much you’d both love to live in this little slice of reality, you know it isn’t meant to last. People will come looking if you’re both gone too long. He sighs when you climb off him, already missing the feeling of being inside you. You both get to work on making yourselves presentable, you more so than him. You smooth out the wrinkles in your clothes and fight with your hair while he perches himself on the side of the bed, lost in thought.

“Did ya mean it?” Daryl breaks the silence.

“Hm?” You glance over your shoulder, blinking rapidly. “Mean what?”

He fights the urge to roll his eyes at you for acting innocent; you’re too smart to not know what he’s talking about.

Although, when he struggles to get the two-syllable word out himself, he can sympathize with your efforts.

“... Marriage,” he drawls, heat flooding across his face. He feels better when he sees you’re similarly embarrassed. You pad quietly against the hardwood floor (he’s always marveled over how silent your footsteps are, perfect for joining him on hunts), and sit beside him. Your arms come to wrap around his bicep. Taking a deep breath, you rest your head on his shoulder, as you’ve done multiple times prior. On the road especially.

He pulls you in closer and lays his head against yours.

“It kinda feels like we already are,” you admit. He can hear the fond smile in your voice. “You’re my home. The person I depend on most, someone I can’t do without.”

Your grip on him tightens. “However much life ahead of me I have… I want to spend it with you. If that’s alright.”

Daryl feels so light he thinks he might be floating.

There’s an underlying melancholy — the uncertainty which comes as a consequence to the world you now inhabit — yet you never let that stay the focus. You always find ways to plant seeds of tentative hope in what appears to be corrupt soil. Maybe it’s for the reason you said earlier, that you can’t let yourself dwell on the bad in fear of what it’d reduce you to, but he can’t bring himself to mind should that be the case.

What matters is that you shine bright to illuminate him when he thinks darkness is all he’ll ever know.

“‘If that’s alright’?” He repeats, incredulous. “I ain’t ever lettin’ ya go, butterfly.”

You relax, knowing Daryl’s nothing if not a man of his word.

“You’d really wanna be my husband?”

He looks at you like you have three heads. “Shouldn’t I be askin’ why the hell you wanna be my wife?”

“Because I have good taste. Also, I’m secretly aiming for your assets. We’re not getting a prenup just for that reason alone.”

Daryl snorts and shakes his head. Assets, this woman says. As if he had any in this world or the last.

“Fine by me,” he kisses your temple. “You know I’d give ya anything ya asked for.”

“... Even your crossbow?”

“Last I recall, ya could only hold it for ‘bout ten minutes ‘fore complainin’ your ‘muscles were shriveling up.’”

“You make it look so easy!” You complain, lightly hitting him on the chest. He smirks at the roundabout compliment. Your fingers linger, splaying out and making their way over to where his heart steadily beats. “Hm… can I have this, then?”

“Already do.”

He’s certain you’re well aware of the fact. After all, you are his freakishly perceptive woman.

Regardless, no matter how many times you may ask, he’ll gladly remind you, each and every time.

Ah, the things you do for the ones you love.

“We should probably head back to HQ before Rick sends a search party out for us, huh?”

Daryl’s muscles go taut at the mention of Rick. You wriggle free from beneath his arm so you can examine his face, inquisitive as ever.

“Didn’t part on the best terms with ‘im,” Daryl reveals. He takes another moment to collect his thoughts. “Kinda what started this whole thing today. Saw that Monroe kid touchin’ ya, it got me all riled up. Was aboutta make a scene til Rick stepped in. He said… said ya wouldn’t ‘ave wanted that. Thought ‘bout how he was letting ya cozy up to the folks ‘ere, knowin’ full well he planned on usin’ it to his advantage. I dunno. Made me see red.”

Your eyes hold an indescribable softness for him. “Thank you.”

“For what? Makin’ an ass of myself?” He scoffs.

“Always having my best interest in mind,” your way of wording things always sounds better. “It’s okay, though. Like I said earlier, I get why Rick’s doing what he’s doing, even if I don’t fully agree. Ultimately, we’re all on the same team.”

Daryl shakes his head. “... You’re too forgivin’, butterfly.”

You shrug. “Hafta be with family. Holding onto things never does any good in the long run. Which is why I’m sure it’ll be fine, once you talk with him.”

He doubts he’ll have a lengthy heart-to-heart like whatever you’re envisioning, but he keeps the thought to himself.

“Let’s get going, okay?” You stand and start pulling on his hands. He gets up with some reluctance, not entirely willing to leave this little world where just you and him exist. “Carol made this delicious lemonade, it’s to die for. Metaphorically.”

He gives a crooked grin. “Yeah, I know.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

Daryl tugs you back to him in a mess of surprised exclamations and tumbling limbs. He secures you on his lap, fully intending to savor you a little while longer. It doesn’t take you long to relax. Not when he’s the one touching you.

“Ya already gave me a taste.”

#i'm totally normal about him i swear #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #reader insert #not sfw #my stuff

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