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itsgrimeytime · 1 year

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The Nurse (Part Two) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part 1, Part 2

Taglist: @strnqer, @1985bitch, @curlycarley, @imaginemyfavoritefics,

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You'd always wondered where he'd ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, hospital mention, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), swearing, all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: Let me know if you want to be tagged! And this time is loosely based on S3, E5, where Daryl and Maggie go to get baby supplies for Judith. I will not be following the story to a T though, and will kinda carve out my own path, it's been ages since I've seen it so, any weird story omits or things I don't mention are just not happening here lol. And I know this is kinda fast, I'm just writing as I feel like it, so don't expect super quick updates all the time, but here's a treat. Thanks for reading!]]

You stopped, hand resting on a tree, just for a moment. Taking some deep breaths, you scanned the area, looking for anything familiar or anything that you could, at least, stay the night in. You were practically running on less than an hour of sleep, the pure adrenaline of surviving being the only thing forcing your eyes open.

Currently, your plan was to use some old lipstick you'd found in a purse - somewhere along the road - to mark trees. Leaving a trail, so you knew where you'd been and where you were going. It was simple, and would probably wash away in the rain, but it was enough for now.

With an exhale, you kept moving deeper into the forest - a hope for a cabin, deep in your heart. An unoccupied cabin.

It's not that you didn't want to help people. You truly did. And if you found anyone who needed it, you would - other straggling groups with limps and cuts and bruises. You'd give them advice on how to clean wounds properly, some regular items they could use. If an injury was more serious, you'd stay with them just for a while to watch the person, keep an eye on whatever you had to.

It never stuck, though. You found it easier to be alone, to be on the move. You could help more people that way.

Plus, there were... others. Driven to madness by the tragedy, brutally ready to kill at first sight for whatever fucked up reason they came up with. Some of them had used you for a while, providing you food and shelter, just to ship off wounded soldiers to you - ones they wounded themselves. It was eerily familiar to your previous job, and you almost fell into a rhythm - even thinking about it now, it snuck a knot of guilt in your stomach. One too many threats, and you found yourself back to traveling.

The scrubs you still wore stuck to your skin, hair matted and blood soaked - you imagined this wasn't one of your best days. But it honestly probably wasn't your worst either.

And then, you heard it. The snap of a twig.

"Fuck," you whispered barely even a breath, pulling your duffel over your side and readying your fire axe. (You'd grabbed it back at the hospital, all that time ago.)

There was something to be said about a single snap of a twig because the dead were noisy.

They were unaware - would continue down the path, crunching leaves and snapping more twigs, dragging their feet through the dirt. In different circumstances, they could sneak up on you. With the soft grass under their feet and the hum of the animals in the forest mixing in with their own tones, sometimes you had to rely on the quietest of noises.

But this forest? No.

Without thinking a second more, you spun behind the nearest tree, the red of the lipstick - grazing along your fingers.

"What, so-" a voice spoke, "-we just give up?"

"No," a gruff tone responded, hair a little overgrown, and what seemed to be a crossbow on his back, "-Just means we got some extra work to do."

The woman, who had short brunette hair and a pistol in her hands, said, "Yeah, and we're gonna do it. We... have to. She deserves a chance."

"Of course," the man responded, a little bit upset she even insinuated he wouldn't care.

You watched carefully, eyes following the pair as they roamed through the woods - before stopping in front of one of your trees, your marked trees.

"Fuck," you muttered, so soft, the wind could’ve whisked it away, exhaling carefully and turning around to face the other way.

"What's that?" the woman asked, a tone of mixed concern and curiousity.

There was a scrape, and you could only assume the man touched the lipstick mark, as he hummed, "Not blood."

"I think..." the woman muttered, the slight slur of her accent becoming stronger, "-I think it's lipstick."

The man huffed, his accent strong, "What for?"

There was more leave crunching, and the woman replied, "Maybe a path? I don't..."

"Hello?" the man spoke, and you heard the click of metal, like he'd moved his gun up, "Is anyone there?"

The woman seemed to keep moving, leaves crunching getting closer and closer to your ears, you knew they'd notice an end of the path.

You needed to do something quick.

"I'll give ya 'til a count of 3," the man spoke, the metal clicking once more, "-one."

Your breaths shook, as you debated your options, based on what you'd seen the gun the man had was long range. So, running was out of the question.

"Two," his accent lilted.

Your feet were almost rooted in fear, what if it happened again? What if all you were surrounded by was death? What if they used you and then killed you next? God, you couldn't die, not now. Not after everything you'd done.

"Three," he added, tone more aggressive, and the click of the metal once more sending fear down your spine.

You couldn't wait any longer, squeezing your eyes shut, you spun around, "Wait!"

Expecting the blossoming pain, you flinched. Yet, after a moment, nothing happened.

You cracked open your eyes, and saw two guns trained at you, the woman and man now in clear sight. Noticing now, the bags full placed at their feet, you wondered if they thought you were here for their supplies.

Without hesitation, the man straightened his gun and asked, "Are ya bit?"

"No," you answered quickly, flourishing your arms forward as if to show the lack of teeth marks, "-no, I'm clean, you can check."

"What's your name?" the woman spoke, tone solid and unmoving.

"Y-Y/N." you stuttered out, looking down the barrel of two guns wasn't exactly calming.

The man, a bit distant, replied, "What are you doing out here?"

"I..." you exhaled, trying to calm your shaking hands which were still caked in blood (as the rest of you were), "-I'm just looking for shelter for the night. Look, I don't mean you two any harm, just leave me be and I'll-"

The woman faltered, her green eyes flickering with emotion -just for a second, "You need shelter?"

"Uh, yes," you spoke, a bit bewildered that they were listening but too tired to question it, "-I haven't slept in 3 days, I just need some rest and I'll be-"

"Maggie," the man spoke stern and low, and you weren't sure you were supposed to hear it.

The sun was setting now, and if they had some shelter, this was your last chance for the night and you were just so tired. What else could you do?

Maybe you could bring something to the table.

Interrupting their hushed conversations, you began, "I... I heard you say a 'she' earlier, is there something wrong with her?"

The two stopped talking, the man's icy glare set on you, "Why you askin'?"

"I-If she's sick, I can help," you beckoned, "-I come from a hospital, I have all kinds of medical supplies. I-I can show you if you want. And-"

The man interrupted again, as the woman, Maggie you now knew, carefully watched you, "You a doctor of some kind?"

You paused, waiting for a moment before responding, "Y-yes. I'm a nurse, er well, I used to be. I... I worked at Harrison Memorial Hospital when it all went down."

The woman started this time, "And you're willing to help us?"

"Yes," you asserted, "-as long as I have a place to stay for the night. That's... that's all I ask."

"But you'll stay as long as we need ya?"

You furiously nodded, "Of course. I won't... I won't leave someone I know I can help behind."

The two turned to each other, before slowly pointing their guns to the ground. You exhaled a big breath of relief as your heartbeat slowed, muttering out, "Thank god."

The woman, held out her hand, "Maggie."

You hesitated for a moment, at the current state of your hands, before accepting it with a quick shake.

"Daryl," the man added, hand extended as well. You shook his, and began to follow in their footsteps -leading about west of where you were headed just earlier.

"Are you with a group?" Maggie asked, strolling along the woodlands.

"No," you replied, "-I... I come and go. Sometime people need a doctor so I help, but-"

The two looked at you, still watching you to say something wrong. They were still heavily armed afterall. The thought made your hands shake.

"I ended up in some shady places," you continued, "-because I stayed. So, I don't really stay anymore."

Daryl hummed in response, and Maggie simply looked at you with eyes of hesitant trust. Like she wanted desperately to trust you, but it seemed hard. You didn't blame her. Not really.

The last time you trusted someone, it hadn't gone well then either. This world is not one of trust, you knew that.

"We have a group," Maggie continued, walking in step with you as Daryl scouted ahead, "-it's small but we don't trust too well."

"Right," you murmured, expecting as much.

Daryl hummed, "We have a leader too. You'll have to meet him. You gonna be alright with that?"

Before you could even respond, Maggie interjected -an unsettled look in her eyes, "Daryl, is he even... in the space to do this?"

"Don't have to be," he responded, a little coldly, but you figured that was just kind of his tone at this point, "-he's gotta. I'll talk to 'em."

You furrowed your eyebrows, a question on your tongue, but found the following silence was not one to be interrupted. Without thought, you simply adjusted your bag and continued along. Their path was set as if this happened often, and the knowledge that you were going to a very settled camp irked you just a little.

A dynamic that felt substantial in this post-apocalyptical world usually wasn't the kindest. Oftentimes, it was 'kill or be killed'.

You knew that well, staring down at your hands (which had definitely dried by now) -you wished you had a way to wash them off. But the water was too precious to risk anyone's supplies, frankly. It reminded you of before, when veins would rupture, when hearts wouldn't beat, and everything felt like it was on the line.

An exhale, and you scrubbed your hands on your pants.

It felt immoral, as you held a fire axe in your hands. Weren't you supposed to save people? Wasn't that in the oath?

Shaking your head, you glanced ahead at the pair wondering how exactly this group operated -where they had a protocol for finding people. That wasn't... You hadn't seen much of it.

"This group," you questioned, "-how long have you guys been together?"

"Long enough," Daryl answered, curtly, "-prove yourself and you might just have a spot with us." Maggie hummed in agreement, pulling her pistol close to her chest, as a large barbed wire fence came into your view. And... were those... watchtowers?

"Is this...?" You trailed off, eyes taking in the surrounding concrete and the few stragglers either slowly trudging to the group you found yourself in, or mindlessly clawing at the tall fences as if it would do anything.

"Our base," Maggie finished, pulling her pistol to attention and shooting one of the dead just ahead of you -right in front of what you assumed was the opening gate.

"And it's a..."

"Prison, yeah," Daryl finished, pulling out his bow and killing the other one without a flinch.

"Right," you responded, a bit astonished, "-have you guys cleared the place?"

"Almost," Maggie answered, as the three of you stood directly in front of the gate. There was a watchtower to your left, and you could see the familiar glint of a scope shining down from the top.

"Glenn!" Daryl shouted, you watched as the dead stirred toward the noise, "-Let us in!"

There was a moment of hesitation, a breath of air catching in your lungs as the corpses made their way to you -slowly but surely. You knew a few weren't a threat, not with a group the size you currently were in, but you still felt this buzz of fear under your skin. Normally, you would be gone by now, vanished into the dust -not wanting to waste durability on a fight that would only bring more opponents.

Without warning, the door swung open and you assumed they had silenced the mechanism because no sound other than the screech of metal moving across the concrete filled your ears.

Which was not pleasant. At all.

The crowd there wasn't particularly large, but still seemed odd. Maybe you had been alone for too long.

A man quickly approached the group with a warm smile, rushing up to Maggie and scooping her into a hug. This figure hardly even noticed you or Daryl, now that you thought about it, but you doubted you would have either.

Daryl spoke, with a taste of disgust (you couldn't tell if it was playful or not) "That's Glenn, Maggie's boyfriend, you'll get used to it."

You nodded, pointing to a few stragglers around what looked like crops, "Okay, and... who are they?"

Without answering you, Daryl called out, "Rick out here?"

The older man who was tending to the crops looked up, eyeing you for a second, before answering, "I think he's inside, clearing out block F."

Maggie responded, "Daddy, can you see if you can get him out here?"

You blinked, absorbing the new information, Maggie's dad, right. The old man sighed, standing and brushing off his hands on his knees.

"I'll try."

Daryl nodded, not leaving your side, and it would've been comforting had you not known it was because you weren't fully trusted yet. Maggie guided you to a table, assumedly brought out from the cafeteria, and sat you down with a calm gesture to a chair. Glenn followed close behind, and Daryl merely observed.

You doubted he'd even blink while you waited for the mysterious Rick. He seemed the type to take his duty seriously.

"I'm Glenn," he held out his hand across the table, sitting just beside Maggie with curious but cautious eyes. It seemed he trusted Maggie's hesitant judgment of you.

"Y/N," you replied, accepting his hand, "-this is a lot, huh?"

"Oh yeah," Glenn continued, looking around the courtyard, "-finding the prison has been life-changing for us."

"I imagine," you laughed, a little in disbelief at the mere size, and looking over the two's shoulders to see the dead staring in through the fence. There weren't that many at all, but it still trickled in some of your solo senses.

Which were mostly bashing their head in before they get too close.

Maggie caught your eye, inquisitive almost like you were in an interview, "How familiar are you with the walkers?"

"You mean the dead?" you clarified, fingers trailing along the blood in the creases of your palms, "More familiar than I ever wanted to be, that's for sure."

Glenn opened his mouth to say something, but something bumped into your ankle and you were immediately on your feet. Prepared for the worst.

Instead of what you expected, there was a ball... An old deflated basketball probably from the court somewhere around here, you stared at it a bit incredulously. Like you'd almost forgotten it was a thing. You picked it up, brushing your finger along the bumpy texture.

"Sorry," a voice spoke. Squeaky and... familiar.

Your eyes snapped up and were met with those eyes 'You have to save him, please.' Breath caught in your lungs, your mouth moved but nothing came out. He was a little older now, with hair a touch longer and a sheriff's hat on the top of his head. But that was-

Daryl grunted, "Play somewhere else-"

"Carl?" you interrupted, tilting your head and dropping the ball to the floor; what were the chances?

Maggie stuttered out, a tone of protectiveness in her voice you'd have yet to experience, "You know him? Carl, do you know them?"

He paused, tilting his head in the same way you had just seconds before like he was trying to get a good look at you, "I..."

He looked into your eyes, eyeing your scrubs for a second -probably the same he'd seen you in so long ago. And the blue eyes that were so achingly familiar seemed to light up in recognition, he questioned, "Nurse Y/N?"

It was like a pin could drop, as the boy's gaze settled on you curiously, and every adult in the vicinity watched you like you were the most dangerous criminal in the world. A tension settling within the air that gave you uncomfortable goosebumps, and desperately made you want out of the spotlight.

Slowly, a grin slid across his features, his tiny finger pointing at you, elated, "You saved my Dad!" And before you could even react, the little boy had scurried up to you and wrapped his arms tightly around your middle - almost knocking off his hat at the force.

You blinked, a little stunned at the current predicament, but shook yourself awake. Completing the hug, you exhaled a sort of relief you hadn't known you needed. Seeing this little boy surviving such a terrible world gave you a spark of something. Like you'd been waiting to hear this.

"I promised I would, didn't I?" you hummed with a very soft smile.

Just as he let go, you crouched down and fixed his hat on his head, suddenly much more comfortable in a known presence, "Cool hat, kiddo."

He grinned even wider, but before he could even say another word, another voice echoed through the courtyard. Tone hardened and deep, this one could not be missed.

"Carl?" a breathy southern drawl -that you knew- interrupted, and your stomach flipped.

The tone was accusatory, dangerous even, so you stood quickly. A distance now established, you looked up into the figure. That couldn't be-

The blue eyes had burned into your head, so clear, so decisive.

"Rick Grimes?"

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #the nurse #nurse!reader #doctor!reader

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

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Hierarchy of Needs.

Daryl Dixon x F Reader.

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

Daryl is a hands-on type of man.

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

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

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

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

“Got room for one more?”

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

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

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

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

“Can’t stop ya.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘S stupid. Don’t let it get to ya.”

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

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

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

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

“Révolution.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus Christ, woman.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Great! It’s a date then.”

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

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

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

“Good luck on your search n’ rescue.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re shitting me,” he deadpans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Daryl?”

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

“You really are a good man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Make me.”

That successfully ignites the competitive streak you know he has.

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

“Do you want… to take this inside?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saw [First], didn’t you?”

“Shut up, man.”

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

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

You were that precious to him.

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

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

You don’t need to ask him twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Let’s see it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your competitive streak might be as bad as his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That so?”

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

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

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

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

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

“It feel good? Hm?”

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

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

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

He loves you. He has for the longest time.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, please do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Only for you.”

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

“Think you can handle my fingers?”

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

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

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

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

“Christ, woman. You tryna kill me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still sure you want this?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Won’t be the last.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need me to carry ya?”

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

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

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

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

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

He’ll do anything to keep it that way.

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

He grunts to prove he’s listening.

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

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

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

“I love you too. More ‘n anything.”

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

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

“Hell no.”

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

He always does.

#i know this is so random but i'm going absolutely feral over him right now. god bless #i locked myself in my room this weekend and thirsted over an older man #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead x reader #reader insert #not sfw #my stuff

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theriverbeyond · 9 months

Note

have you seen any breakdown of the political situation on New Rho (in New Rho? is the rest of the planet also populated? I think at one point someone says "down in Ur" but maybe there is an application of 2-dimensional direction terms to 3d space I havent yet thought of). Like who do they mean by militia, who is the government (who is the police?), is there any official house presence, what is the status of the barracks, who manned the spaceport, what power does BoE hold and how are they viewed in the population (Hot Sauce denounces them but who is her faction-that Pyrrha saw her with-then?) and do they know how splintered and farspread it is? what is the siege the blurb is speaking of, just the imperial emissaries showing up?

Also assuming the BoE wings are all named after different planetary settlements which seem in turn to be named after cities in the ancient near east (ur, merv, ctesiphon), why isnt new rho? but i might be misinterpreting this.

Also where does the Empire want non-House humanity to end up? They seem to be turning planets left and right with no endgoal. And how many settled planets might there be?

Sorry I'm dumping this all at you, I havent seen any worldbuilding discussion here on tumblr at all really so maybe you can redirect me somewhere.

Thankies, keep up the good work (posting)

I HAVE seen posts about the political situation on New Rho including analysis posts that were very interesting and I have utterly failed to tag them appropriately, I am sorry -- if anyone who sees this has links to that meta pls add on/reply to help anon!

But to cover the rest of your points:

What is Ur?

Ur is mentioned twice that i can find, in ch 16: Ianthe says that the end has come to the "rebels of Ur", and a person in the crowd says "Ur is fighting".

EDIT: big thank you to @eskildit in replies: "There are four total references to Ur- Corona also says that Judith is in the Ur facility and Kiriona says that the 6th house is "parked outside the Ur system". Could be that Ur is the planet New Rho is located on. While we refer the nine houses as planets, canonically the houses are actually "installations" on each planet with quite small populations. New Rho alone, which is specifically stated to be just one city on a resettled planet, is 3x the size of the 6th house"

It may have been mentioned more times, but Kindle search is giving me the 2,320 times the letters "ur" were used next to each other so I'm ngl I cannot sift through that. Rather than being a city, though, I actually am assuming that Ur is another planet entirely! This is due to multi-planet SciFi in general treating entire planets like countries or even big cities. Like…. planets are huge. There are thousands of different cultures on a planet, but in SciFi planets are often like. One Big City. One Big Country, if you have a particularly ambitious worldbuilder. See: Star Wars, the Nine Houses themselves, etc. not saying that Ur cannot be on New Rho, just that I don't think it is because this is multi-planet Sci Fi.

The militia/civic government?

In chapter 6 a distinction is made between "the militia and the old civic govnerment". Following that, I think the civic government was probably installed by the Houses, as a ruling party that is friendly to them/House interests. I think the militia is a non-unified population of hired guns, that probably revolted at some point priot to the story. It does seem like at least some section of the militia is in power in most of the city, but I do not think there is one coherent government at the moment

Official house presence?

Yes, because there are official cohort barracks. I don't think they have much political leverage by the time NtN rolls around, though

Barrack status?

Under siege due to the people of New Rho hating them/political instability/possible militia revolt, doing badly otherwise because any and all necromancers are suffering from Blue Madness/RB proximity, as seen in ch 20 when Ianthe mentioned some of them were so poorly she had to put them down.

Space port?

I am assuming the civic government/House was originally in charge. unsure of who is in charge during NtN

What power does BOE hold?

Unclear. It seems like BOE itself is fractionated, with a lot of animosity held between different factions, and a lot of both animosity AND collaboration between different factions of BOE, the militia, the population, and the old civic government. It is a very decentralized resistance force, despite sharing a name. BOE do not appear to BE the official government, or BE the militia, though, but I would not be surprised if some groups had ties to one or both. It seems like they have influence both socially and politically but it is unclear what that power is... some factions have some amount of power. Over some parts. But!! it seems that during the events of NtN they had more power than in the past ("best hand they were ever delt", chapter 1)

How is BOE viewed by the population?

My guess is they have mixed reviews. I think a lot of people probably rely on them for resources/protection even if they don't like or fully trust them. I think a lot of people probably see them as extremists and wish they were less extreme (the liberals, u could say). Like Hot Sauce and the gang, a lot of people probably think they aren't radical enough and wish they would resist more, harder, differently. I think a lot of people probably deeply support them, either physically by being part of BOE or by providing resources/etc, or quietly because they are afraid of retaliation by the House or civil government. A lot of the population probably has opinions about BOE versus the militia, BOE verus House, BOE versus the civic government, based on their own interests/position/power. This is a really long answer that can boil down to "idk"

What is the siege?

I think the siege is the cohort being sieged into the barracks. I am guessing there was some sort of revolt in the local government, probably related to Blue Madness weakening the cohort, and they have pushed the cohort into the barracks. , as described in chapters 1 ("the cohort dies like anyone else under seige") and chapter 20 ("the barracks siege").

What group is Hot Sauce in if she denounced BOE?

Hot Sauce specifically calls BOE "fat cats" and "zombie lovers" in chapter 15, after noting that she, Honesty, and Born in the Morning, as well as Born in the Morning's father, are "active" in with an unnamed group at the park. It is unclear what group that is, if it has a name, or if it is organized in any capacity. From what little we know, it appears it is a group of people who are more radical than BOE, which I think is either ex-BOE members that were pushed out for their radial choices/beliefs, or civilians/other freedom fighters that aren't satisfied with what BOE is doing. But beyond that I have no idea

BOE wing names vs New Rho?

So BOE wings are named after historic Earth cities. Ctesiphon, Troia, Merv, Valencia (which is not historic to us, as it exists today, but WOULD be history in 10k years). They are named by BOE, likely to keep connection to Earth, just like BOE people-names. "New Rho", on the other hand, is likely named by the House. Rhodes is a place on the 7th house (see: 7th cavalier is the "Knight of Rhodes"), and I assumed that New Rho was like. The house naming shit. Like how New York is named after York in England, even though that area of land already had a name (Lenapehoking, I think?).

Specifically this difference is important because like, the House is a imperial colonizing force here, and they are naming things after their home system as a part of the imperial violence they are enacting. In As Yet Unsent, Judith notes that the non-house people call New Rho, "Lemuria" -- HOWEVER, in NtN chapter 17, the Angel mentions Lemuria twice in a way that is phrased like Lemuria is Somewhere else, and is Not the city they are in right now ("I was born on Lemuria", "there's still a facility on Lemuria") I am not sure what happened there, honestly. Perhaps an oopsie?

Where does the Empire want non house humanity to end up?

Unclear. Coronabeth notes in As Yet Unsent that even she (who has studied the war in-universe) has no idea what the real goal is. My guess is nowhere, because a forever-war has no end goal. It's a war for resources gained only by literal blood and death. Many analysis could be made about this as an allegory to to oil based forever-wars of today -- I read a few of them and as said before unfortunately failed to tag them, so if anyone has a link and can share with anon that would be awesome! But anyway, I do not think I am smart or learned enough to say a lot beyond this but, yeah. I think there is no end goal to the war besides meaningless revenge and the resources gained via murder, because that's the point. We could learn different in AtN tho! who knows

How many settled planets?

No idea! Thousands. Hundreds of thousands? Hundreds? Unsure! 10k years is a long time, and there are a lot of planets out there in the fantasy universe that could be habitable. EDIT ty @eskildit, unclear how many planets were settled over the course of the Empire, but there are three settled planets by the timeline of NtN: ""Everyone was crammed on one of three planets now, and they all agreed that this planet was easily the worst", from chapter 2

Thanks for sending this!! I really enjoyed answering it, and I hope it helped -- sorry if I missed any. Ask more any time!!

#new rho #nona the ninth #HOPE I DIDNT MISS ANYTHING #TLT META #the locked tomb #this took like 2 hours BUT i was smart and typed it in a google doc so i didn't have #a situation where i misclicked and lost it all. i have LEARNED #tlt thoughts #anon #ask #long post #yayyy

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sophiaatwdluver · 8 days

Text

flowers?

summary: Carl sees you reading on your porch, he asks you what your reading and you say a book about flowers, you tell him your favorite flower and he gets it for you! :)

warnings: nothing really bad, no smut or angst, just fluff, use of Y/N, kiss on cheek, blushing

——————————————————————————

Im sitting on your porch steps, reading a book while eating breakfast, Carl was walking Judith, when he sees me he stops in his tracks, he stares for a second, wondering if he should approach me or not. He finally decides to approach me, he turns Judith’s stroller in my direction, he walks over to me, I look up at him with a smile, Carl feels a warm, jittery feeling in his stomach. butterflies. “Good morning….” He says nervously “uh…. Can I sit?” I nod smiling at him, he sits next to me, he peeks over my book “whatcha reading?” He says. “Oh, just some book about flowers. it says stuff like the ones you could eat, or make medicine and other things out of…. It’s pretty interesting, and useful” I say, kinda fast.

Carl nods, “you like flowers?” Carl says slightly excited, he’s always wanting to get you flowers, but he was always worried you would think it’s stupid. I smile and nod. “Do you have a favorite flower?” Carl asks tone filled with excitement and curiosity. I smile and nod, excited to be able to talk to someone about this. “The rose…. It’s so beautiful, and you can make medicine, skin care, tea-“ I start to babble about how much I love the rose, Carl smiles, finding my babbling adorable. He wants to find roses for me. He needs to find roses for me. I look up at him embarrassed that I was rambling “s-sorry” I say looking away, shy. Carl smiles “I think it’s adorable how you’re so fascinated by flowers” he says with a smile, I look up at him, slight blush creeping up my cheek, Carl realizes what he said. That he called me adorable to my face.

he also blushes, he looks away “I…” he looks down at Judith “Judith’s hungry…. See you later…” Carl rushes away, he finds Olivia, “hey, Olivia, can you watch Judith for a little?” Carl asks Olivia “sure” she says with a smile while grabbing Judith. Carl hurry’s away to find flowers for me. He’s really wants to. He needs to.

——————————————————————————

I’m sitting in the library, reading a novel, Carl nervously walks into the library with his hands behind his back, hiding the roses he got for me. He had spent all his afternoon going out the gates to hand pick them, then go back to his room to pick all the thorns out so they won’t hurt me. Carl approaches me, his hands still behind his back, I look up and smile. “Hey Carl” I say with a wide smile, clearly happy to see him. “Hey Y/N….. I uh….. got you something” Carl says awkwardly, his cheeks a deep shade of red. I smile even wider “thank you Carl, you didn’t have to” Carl pulls out the roses, showing me. My face lights up with pure happiness and excitement, I get up and hug Carl tightly, his blush creeping all alone his face. I kiss him on the cheek, his eyes widen. His whole face goes dark red. Blushing furiously.

I smile at him “thank you Carl” I say. Carl smiles also “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, all for you” he says while holding me close. He never. Ever. Wants this moment to end.

——————————————————————————

@carlsangel @rarllover3753 @txrasbae @carls

HIIIIII!!!!! OK IK RANDOM DROP😭 BUT I JUST HAD TO LET YALL KNOW IM BACKKKKKK, IM SORRY IF I TAGGED YOU AND YOU DONT CARE😭 IMA POST MORE SO LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA GET TAGGED THE NEXT TIME I WRITE (even if I tagged you for this, and if I tagged you here and you don’t want me to tags you, just tell me) ILY SM ALWAYS REMEMBER THAT❤️

#the walking dead #twd #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes fluff

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hardbeingcasual · 2 years

Text

GLIMPSE OF US, carl grimes x fem reader

SUMMARY: You can’t look into the eyes of Judith because you’ll see Carl.

WARNINGS: Death mentions, sad reader, sad Judith

notes: carl fic cause he deserved sooo much better. i’ve not read over this so i apologise if its got some mistakes… title is joji’s song!!!!

You were sat on the porch of your home in alexandria, you had a book on your lap but you weren’t reading it properly. Every time you remembered the book in your lap you skimmed over the words over and over again. It had been 5 years since Carl dying, but you were still not over it. You didn’t think you could ever get over it.

Whenever you saw Judith, you immediately look away, you saw Carl in her. They were so alike. Whenever you saw the hat that Carl once used to wear, your mind traveled to memory lane. Like back in Atlanta, just at the start. Thats when you both had met, you were both so little, so clueless. It wasn’t until you and the group got to Alexandria you and Carl got together. It took you both years to figure out your feelings for each other, but after confessions and shared kisses, you realised you both had a spark.

When you had found out he had been bit your world fell apart. You thought it was just some sick and twisted joke he was playing. But it was no joke, it was real life. The real world is a horrible and dark place. You would be lucky if you even survived in the first place.

You felt horrible, when it came to not looking Judith in the eye. Of course you spoke to her, but you could not look into her eye. She was not dumb, she got that from Carl.

“Why do you not speak to me anymore?” A small fragile voice speaks up, breaking you from your daze, you didn’t even realise she had been in front of you until now.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble with guilt, eyes still on your lap.

“Its okay.” She answers, as she sits next to you on the porch of the house you shared with Rosita. “I think I know why,” She starts, as she tries to find the words to explain it. “You miss him, and you see him when you look at me. I get it a lot.”

Your felt like you were drowning, like your tears that were going to spill were going to drown you. You were too busy wallowing in your own pity to even care what Judith was going through, it was her brother. The brother who always took care of her, or tended to her when Rick was too busy fighting the saviors or doing god knows what.

“I’m so sorry, Judith.” You confessed, finally looking at her, for the first time in ages. She had grown so much, she was getting older, and that struck you right in your heart, you had missed some of it, leaving you guilty again. “I was too busy to even care about you and I am so sorry, I’m so sorry you didn’t have me by your side to help you through it.”

Judith didn’t respond, she just wrapped her arms around you, hugging you, you didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms around her smaller frame, her head in your neck as tears roll down her cheeks and her sobs break through the air.

All you needed was each other, Judith needed you, you needed her, but what you both needed was Carl. But you both knew you’d never see him again, but at least you had each other now. Judith had the person who she saw as a sister back in her life again.

tags @zndayacc (lmk if u want added to twd fics taglist)

#carl grimes #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes fanfic #the walking dead #twd #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #carl grimes x you #carl grimes x reader #judith grimes #twd x reader

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klaineccfanficlibrary · 2 months

Note

What are you fave angsty stories/writers? I love angst, but have a hard time deciding what stories to read!

I always find it difficult to recommend writers as there are so many great writer past and present in the fandom. Plus so many klaine stories have a bit of angst in them.

We do have our angst and blangst tag. So many great stories.

I'd also recommend my other admin Lynne's favorite fics: there's all sorts of fics on there but may are angsty fics.

Also 23 items bookmarked on Klaine fanfic that made you want to reach for a box of tissues, part of our bingo 2023.

Personally, I will name a few, most of these are older fics and come highly recommended in the fandom. These are just a few of mine - people can also recommend in their reblogged tabs, or on the note here. ~Jen

The Awakening by @heartsmadeofbooks

Kurt Hummel has put his perfect life together carefully, making sure all the pieces fit exactly how he wanted them to. But all it takes is one name from his past to make all his hard work go to waste - Blaine Anderson

~~~~~

100 Days by borogroves

Kurt and Blaine have been best friends (and nothing more) since the age of six. Now 22-year-old college graduates, they take a roadtrip around the USA, visiting every state in 100 days. Fifty states. Two boys. One love story.

~~~~~

Perfectly Imperfect by @catcat-85

Golden Globe winning actor, Blaine Anderson went to prison for a murder he did not commit. After 5 long years, he has escaped from prison, and in a desperate need to get to a safe house before he can leave the country; he kidnaps Kurt, and forced him to drive him to a secluded cabin nestled in between the snowy mountains in Vermont. For Blaine, it’s his last chance for freedom. Falling in love is the last thing on Blaine’s mind. It’s not part of the plan. And for Kurt, it’s a terrifying situation that disrupts the impeccably perfect life he has created for himself. He’s outraged and angry at Blaine, and yet; he can’t help but believe Blaine is innocent.

Will the truth finally come out and Blaine be exonerated? Will the FBI catch him and put him back in prison? Will he and Kurt fall in love even in the most hopeless situation? Will love truly prevail all at the end?

Based on the novel, Perfect, by Judith McNaught. This is a story about two men who are complete opposites from one another; and yet, they complete each other in a perfectly imperfect way.

~~~~~

Chrysalis ‘verse by @flowerfan2

Just after graduating from NYU, a car accident puts Blaine into a coma. No one expects him to wake up. Almost three years later, Kurt sees a man in a wheelchair who couldn’t be anyone else. A story of love and new beginnings. Canon compliant through 6x11, then AU.

~~~~~

Foundations by gentlereader

After breaking up Kurt and Blaine went their separate ways.

Blaine’s now a successful LA musician while Kurt is a high school counselor.

The creation of the Pavarotti Music Foundation was their dream… and now its a reality.

~~~~~

No Take backs by @rockitmans

Prompt: A year after this father’s death, Kurt is still reeling from the loss. In an attempt to keep holiday traditions going, despite his father’s absence, Kurt meets a guy at a local Christmas Tree Lot who helps him through.

~~~~~

About us by wildhurricane

It’s an ordinary summer day at the diner where Kurt works, when a new guest enters. He’s hot and flirty and orders coffee and fries, and Kurt. Kurt is instantly attracted and flirts back. When the guy waits for Kurt outside the diner, Kurt decides to go with him for a moment of pleasure. But there’s a spark between them that neither anticipated. Soon Kurt finds out that the guy isn’t who he claims to be and that he’s got other secrets as well. He’s mysterious and exciting and Kurt is falling for him hard and fast, but when the secrets are revealed Kurt finds himself between love and aversion and must decide if he should stay and help Blaine out of an impossible situation or leave him and save his own heart.

~~~~

The Symphony Verse by shandyall

Blaine has spent most of his life feeling like the only thing people notice about him is that he stutters. He’s working hard to overcome his (mostly self created) roadblocks when he meets Kurt in an online class the summer after his freshman year of college.

#klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #angst #recommendations

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lilyoffandoms · 9 months

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Clara Slaying Richards by @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

I wanna do this post justice because it deserves it but also I just wanna scream incoherently as well.

akakldjakkkaja!!! I still can’t believe this art exists!!! Thank you, Thia!! With all my heart, thank you!!!

So now I’m gonna attempt a coherent thought. Wish me luck.

This art came about when I made an offhand comment about this painting in some tags (because I’m a geek about this stuff and Baroque art in particular). The artwork above is based on Judith Slaying Holofernes by Artemisia Gentileschi.

I’ve had it in my head for sooooo long that we needed some art based on this with MC and her bestie taking care of things Richards because no one else is doing anything, nor do they seem inclined to. Sometimes ladies see things that need doing and they just gotta do what they gotta do.

Things need doing and so we do ‘em!!

I always thought the original painting by Artemisia is perfect for this story because MC and Briar don’t give up like the rest of them do. They refuse to resign themselves to their supposed fate and take matters into their own hand. Plus, if you take Artemisia’s own personal history into account, this art as a model for Desire and Decorum MC is perfect.

Artemisia was unable to truly get revenge on the men (one in particular) in her life that sought to use her and so she took well-known stories of women and gave them a new life through her paintings, a realistic one.

Whereas her male counterparts in the art world chose to depict these same women as helpless or even intrigued and accepting of the unwanted advances of gross old men, Artemisia depicted these woman as the victims they truly were or in the case of the above art, depicted the women as their own heroes. Because she learned the lesson well, you can rely on yourself but not your family or those you should be able to trust. Plus you have to admire an artists that breaks tradition and show women that are not the helpless creatures men seem to think they are.

To see this art come to life with MC and Briar is beyond exciting and to see it come to life soooo well is beyond thrilling. Thia, I hope you realize the talent you have!! The things talked most about in art history regarding this work by Artemisia (beyond her history) are the masterful use of chiaroscuro and the tension in the figures. It takes a helluva lot of force to severe a head and so many artists fail to accomplish portraying the strength and sheer force it takes to so such. You have managed both the masterful use of light and shadow and portrayed both MC and Briar absolutely killing it!!

As @noesapphic said when I showed her this art yesterday, SLAY!!!

#choices desire and decorum #playchoices #briar daly #desire and decorum #desire and decorum mc #artemisia gentileschi #fanartists are the best #assassination cw #blood cw #i will never shut up about this art #thank you my dear for this most wonderful surprise!!!#not my commission but you know the drill #my commission

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eloise175 · 4 months

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Profile and Masterlist info ^^

𖤐 ̊⁎+˳✧༺ Welcome to my blog! ༻𖤐 ̊⁎+˳✧

Who am I and what do I do?

I go by El for short (most used), Eloise, or even Eli if that’s what you’d prefer (though not very used); she/her prononouns.

This blog is focused on VADTD and that only. My main focus most of the time are Callisto and Penelope, I love them so so much and have made it a mission to yap about them constantly <3

I post lots of my personal headcanons, AUs, memes and even episode/character/series analyses. Novel reader so beware of spoilers, there are plenty on my page!!

I'm a VADTD fanfic writer and artist, tho I rarely post my art. You can find my fanfics on Ao3 (I'll link my profile down below) ^^

➠ Callisto and/or Penelope haters DNI with me or my posts, you will be blocked. Yes I will block even if see you hate for no reason, and if I see misinformation being spread!!

What fandoms am I in—manhwas/webtoons I've read?

(These are obviously not all of them, but mostly the main ones);

Villains Are Destined to Die (VADTD/VADD) — my longtime favorite and hyperfixation

Genshin Impact: EU sever; AR 60; Yelan main

Honkai Star Rail (HSR): EU server; TL 67; Acheron main

Sailor Moon — mostly SM Crystal

How to Win My Husband Over — quickly became one of my favorites, may or may not be because I have a thing for men with red eyes (what can I say I’m a woman of culture)

The Siren: Becoming the Villain's Family

A Business Proposal — comfort manhwa, I watched the kdrama too but the manhwa is still my favorite

Daytime Star — comfort manhwa yet again, it’s sooo cute

Positively Yours — comfort manhwa pt.3 :))

Unholy Blood — another one of my longtime favs, Euntae and Hayan my beloved <3

Where can you find me?

I have pages on a few other socials, and I'm usually pretty active except stated otherwise. All of my profiles are still very much dedicated to VADTD or underwent changes to conform:

Read my fanfics on Ao3 — For now I only post my fanfics on Ao3 so if you see them posted somewhere else, that is not me! Please let me know if you come across anything like that, or any sort of plagiarism of my works (yes, it has happened before)

Eloise_175 on X/Twitter — Quite active on there lately, sometimes I post things I don't end up posting on here, like threads and whatnot

VADTD Discord server — I tend to be pretty active on discord and consequently on the VADTD server too, everyone is welcomed to join! (please make sure to read the rules carefully ^^)

calliopeys_ on Instagram — I don’t really post much on there as I’m not an Instagram person, but hopefully I’ll get around to posting more on there as well. Created a new account from scratch to maybe post my art and fanfic updates. If I see an influx of people from here on there, I may do some of those quick asks in the stories :))

calliopeys on TikTok — Empty for the moment, but maybe I'll do some silly memes on there

Tags Directory

(might edit this section later on)

Calliope: Penelope Eckhart x Callisto Regulus

Characters:

#blog intro #villains are destined to die

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broadwaydivastournament · 6 months

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Broadway Divas Tournament: Round 1C

Two-time Tony-winning dancer-extraordinaire Bebe Neuwirth (1958) is best known for her winning role as Velma Kelly in Chicago (1996) alongside her beloved Annie Reinking. After playing Velma off-and-on for some years, she then took on Roxie, and later Matron "Mama" Morton. Bebe has also won for Sweet Charity (1986), and is a two-time Emmy winner for, of course, Lilith in Cheers. Other credits include Here Lies Jenny (2004), Fosse (2001), and Cabaret (2024), opening next month. In addition to her beloved stage, Bebe is a devoted cat-lover, and activist. She founded the Dancers' Resource program to provide support for injured and/or aging dancers.

Stalwart theatre veteran Laurie Metcalf (1955) is also a two-time Tony winner and four-time Emmy winner. Her consecutive Tony wins for A Doll's House, Part 2 (2017) and Three Tall Women (2018) places her on an elite list of just six other performers (including fellow Diva Judith Light). She has also appeared in Misery (2015), Hillary and Clinton (2019), and Grey House (2023), an experimental horror play that ultimately flopped. (And I have opinions on that.)

PROPAGANDA AND MEDIA UNDER CUT: ALL POLLS HERE

youtube

"Let me be abundantly clear. Bebe Neuwirth is my ultimate Diva. It may be stiff competition, but she wins the bracket of my heart every time. I would follow this woman to the end of the earth and back. I love everything about her from her cats, to her giggle, to her exquisite grey hair. I so admire any woman who chooses to age gracefully and without resentment, and Bebe's really settled into this adorable cozy old cat lady life. Back in the day, it was all stiletto heels and tight little black dresses and yes, that was very sexy. But now she's enjoying the comforts of flat sturdy boots, massive sweaters with cute little cats on them, glasses on chains, and divine grey hair. Gorgeous, yes. Talented, fuck yes. This woman has music in her bones and not even three hip surgeries can steal it away. I love her."

"Oh, Bebe Neuwirth? Love of my life, champion of my soul? Her legs are simply to die for. Not convinced? Search up When Velma Takes the Stand on YouTube and feast your eyes. You’ll be watching clips of her entire Broadway career next, trust me. She is truly a powerhouse of a woman, and one of Bob Fosse’s greatest interpreters." Propaganda submitted by anon "V"

youtube

"The pandemic robbed us of many things, but for our purposes here, the greatest loss to theatre was the revival of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf starring Laurie Metcalf. During the dinner scene, so I'm told by the gays on twitter, she came out in a sheer white blouse and black bra, and I am devastated we didn't get her unhinged Martha. She would have done Uta Hagen and Elaine Stritch proud."

Bonus poll in the tags/comments: Tell me who you think wins in a fight? Lilith from Cheers/Frasier, or Jackie from Rosanne. If you're too young to know what I'm talking about, what are you doing here?

#broadwaydivastournament #broadway divas #broadway #theatre #tournament poll #bebe neuwirth #laurie metcalf #round 1c #this poll is designed to hurt everyone old enough to have watched 80s/90s sitcoms #funnily enough both characters were heavily queercoded so i think they should just date each other wouldn't that be fun? (or disastrous)

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holdmytesseract · 2 years

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You're My Destiny

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: Barely after he left his home, Daryl starts to question himself, if he made the right decision. Can he find his way back to you and finally bite the bullet?

Warnings: angst (sorry!), walkers, blood, injuries, uhh, swear words, fluff! I promise, it has a happy end this time! 🥺

Set in Season 11 - or well, rather after season 11!

Word Count: 4,2k (Whoops...)

a/n: This is a second part to 'Missed Chances', in order to make up for this sad ending. ☺️ There's a scene in this one, which the lot of you will find awfully familiar. Daryl kind of experiences something he already experienced before - in Season 2, to be precisely. I had the idea to kind of rewrite this scene, but changing it up. Anyways, you'll see what I mean. ☺️ I hope you guys like this second part! I do! 🥰

Divider by the wonderful @fictive-sl0th ! 💚

Tagging... @in-this-minute @thefemininemystiquee @hotgirlsshareaccounts @azanoni @lokisgoodgirl @goobysgoobers @fuseburner @fictive-sl0thh @alexreadz07 @sweetpeapod ...plus @hxad-ovxr-hxart @browneyes528 @starfirette @nuhogom @faithsreades because you seemed to enjoy the first part as well!

Masterlist

One day and one night. That was how long ago had Daryl left Alexandria and the Commonwealth behind him, in order to search for his brother and friend. One day and one night was he already separated from his friends, from his family - from you. He missed them. Without a doubt. He missed the kids, Carol, Connie - and everybody else. But he missed nobody as much as he missed you. It seemed like the more he distanced himself from home, the more he missed you. It started with a tiny crack in his heart, which had turned within those 24 hours into a gaping wound. Sure, he was out there to find and bring back Judith's and RJ's parents, but all he could think about was you. How sad you were when he left. How you cried. The hurt in your voice and eyes.

A big sigh left the archer's lips, as he sat at the small campfire he had made. He couldn't even consider finding sleep that night; so he stayed awake and now watched how the sun replaced the moon. What am I going to do now? Daryl asked himself, chewing absently on the inside of his lip. Moving on, hoping that the pain in his chest would dissipate and his brain would stop thinking about you all the time? Daryl stared into the dying flame of the fire, taking another deep breath and standing up. Yes. That was exactly what he was going to do. It's jus' homesickness, the archer told himself, brushing it off. He extinguished the fire, grabbed his things and sat on his bike; ready to move on. Although, Daryl didn't get far. He had been driving for a few hours now, trying to focus on his mission - but no matter how hard he tried, his mind was always taking him back to the woman he left behind in Alexandria. In fact, the archer was so in thoughts, that he didn't even see the single walker limping in some distance over the deserted, empty road he drove on. When Daryl realised, that he was about to crash into a hungry, growling monster, it was too late. "Shit!" He cursed, trying to dodge the walker in the last possible second - which worked out; but unfortunately, he lost the grip, went into a skid and fell. Daryl got thrown off the vehicle, landed harshly on the roadside. And with that not enough... He had been just passing by an old, very much destroyed farm - and with that a fence along the street, which had probably lined before the downfall a paddock. The fence was made of wooden stakes and barbwire - and Daryl hit the fence with full force. Human body against steel? It was pretty clear who won that duel. The barbwire ripped the shirt he wore and cut easily through his skin and flesh, leaving a gaping wound on his right side. A painful gasp left the archer's mouth, as he tried to reorientate himself and get up, but it was no use. The fall he had just taken wasn't a small one... Daryl tried to turn to examine his wound. It bled - a lot. And it was quite a deep cut, that much he could tell. His breath was laboured; the sun burning down on him. Suddenly, the world around him started to spin, before darkness overcame him.

Daryl's eyes fluttered slightly open, immediately blinded by the bright light shining down on him. "Hey!" A voice suddenly called out from somewhere above him. "Wake up!" Daryl shifted slightly, gritting his teeth at the pain, shooting through his side. "Brother, you need to wake up!" Listening to the familiar, yet far away voice, he forced his eyes to open again. After getting used to the brightness, he suddenly saw a familiar figure squatted down beside him, looking down in concern at him. Rick. "There ya go, brother." Daryl swallowed, blinking and feeling himself slipping in and out of consciousness. "What ya doin' here?" Rick chuckled, shaking his head. "Lookin' after your sorry ass, of course." Daryl just scoffed. "Listen to me, man. You gotta go back home. You're hurt, brother - badly. That cut needs to get stitched up. You can search for me on another day." The archer scoffed once again. "Pfft. Don need that. 'M fine. That never stopped me before. Been through much worse." Another chuckle left Rick's lips, "You're one hell of a stubborn idiot, ya know that?" as he was shaking his head. "It's not just because of that... You need to go back to Y/N; finally man up and tell 'er that you love 'er." Daryl shook his head. "Can't tell 'er." Rick literally snorted out a laugh at the archer's words, "Yes you can." and looked down on his best friend. "Drive back, get your woman and that wound fixed, then keep on searchin' - with her." The archer huffed out a breath. "Ya really think she wants me to be more than jus' a friend? That's ridiculous." "It's not. I know she does. That girl always had eyes just for you, did you never notice? Always makin' sure you're alright. Always lookin' out for you. That's way more than just friendship. If that ain't love, I dunno what it is." "Ya think?" Rick nodded. "I know it." Daryl could've sworn that Rick smiled at him, but his vision went awfully blurry again. "Trust me, brother." The words were quiet and far away, almost like an echo. It was the last thing Daryl heard, before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

They next time he woke up, it was due to a sound as well. Although, it wasn't Rick's voice. It wasn't any voice he knew at all, no... It was the familiar sound of snarling and growling; followed by snapping teeth. Walker. Abruptly, as if stung by an adder, Daryl shot up, ripping his eyes open. His survival instincts kicking in. He quickly - almost frantically reached for his knife, which was still tucked in its knife sheath, while the walker came closer and closer. When the undead, skinny man threw himself on top of Daryl, trying to get a bite out of his neck, he used every strength left in his weakened body to keep his snapping teeth at distance. Once he finally got his knife out of its sheath he drove the blade into the walker's skull, causing it to fall limp and lifelessly on top of Daryl, hitting his chest with a thud. The archer closed shortly his eyes, trying to get his heavy breathing under control.

Grunting, he shoved the dead body off of him, feeling suddenly taken back in time. He had been in such a situation before, years and years back, when he was searching for a little girl named Sophia... The accident, the wound, the unconsciousness, the hallucinations, the walker(s)... Only difference seemed to be that he didn't see Merle this time... He had seen Rick.

Rick. His brother's words echoed through his head again. You gotta go back home. You need to go back to Y/N; finally man up and tell 'er that you love 'er. Daryl swallowed. Love her... Did he really? An image of a smiling Y/N popped up in his head next, causing his stomach to flip. Yes... Probably it was true. That he, in fact, did love that woman. Rick was right - even though he had been just a hallucination. He had to go back. Taking a deep breath, he managed to get up, gritting his teeth as another wave of pain shot through his system. Once Daryl was back on his feet, he examined the deep cut on his side again. Hissing, he ripped off the sleeves of his already damaged shirt, tied them together and slung them tightly around his waist, in order to staunch the wound. After that was done, he more or less stumbled back to his bike, bringing up all the strength he got left to pick it up from the ground. Luckily, the damage was not as bad as he anticipated. The archer was way more affected by the accident than his beloved vehicle. He swung his leg over the motorcycle saddle, then tried to start the engine. It started up. Thank god it started up. Inhaling deeply, he started to drive down the deserted street, going as fast as he could. Sure, the archer knew that driving a bike with a deep cut and high blood loss wasn't a thing you should do, but what choice did he have? All he had to do, was drive fast and keep himself awake someway, somehow.

You stood on one of the guard towers, looking at the beautiful world to your feet. Beautiful, yet deadly. So many threats were lurking outside these walls... Not just walkers. Hopefully Daryl wouldn't run into a death trap on his journey. You'd never know if he... You shook your head. No. You couldn't think like that. He was going to come back to you - someday. Like the others said... Like he promised. If somebody could survive out there, it was him. He didn't choose this world.... This world had chosen him - that was how it seemed to be. The distant hum of an approaching engine ripped you out of your thoughts. Squinting your eyes, you tried to make out something between the trees of the forest, but you couldn't see anything. Why didn't I take my binoculars with me? Nevertheless, your senses were sharpened now, always ready to react. Could be a threat...

The closer the sounds got, the easier it was to identify the engine. It was a motorcycle, without a doubt. Frowning, you tried to think who was riding a bike besides... Your eyes widened. Daryl? Could... Could it really be? Once again you shook your head. No. It was impossible. It couldn't be Daryl. He just left. Not even two days ago... Why would he come back?

Well, you were proven wrong. The motorcycle got closer and closer, and when it was in your field of view, you recognised the archer immediately. Once again, your eyes widened. "Daryl..." You mumbled to yourself, literally couldn't believe what you saw. Maybe this was all just a trick? What if your brain was fooling you? It wasn't. You would recognise him anywhere. Your heart skipped a beat, stomach flipping 360 degrees, as you started to smile brightly. "Daryl!" You screamed from the top of your lungs, happily. But as fast as your smile spread on your lips, as fast vanished it again. Daryl didn't make it to the gate. About hundred feet before the steel doors, he stopped his bike, got off it - and immediately tipped over; his body hitting the hard ground, seemingly unconscious. Your heart fell, just like your facial expressions. "Oh gods..." As fast as your legs could carry you, you climbed down the ladder, before opening the big steel door. You could hear the blood rush into your ears, as you ran through the opened gate and straight to Daryl. Fear, you had never felt in your life before pumped through your veins; afraid of losing the man you loved.

"Daryl!" He didn't respond. "Daryl!" You tried again, but no answer. As soon as you reached him, you literally dropped to the ground beside him, placing both your palms on his shoulders. "Daryl!" His eyes were closed shut and his face was quite pale. "No, no, no..." Your eyes frantically scanned his body, searched for possible injuries. You quickly made a find. The sleeves he had apparently torn off his ragged shirt - as you noticed, were wound around his torso. They were literally drenched in dark crimson red on his right side, causing your eyes to widen once again. "Oh no, no, no..." Your shaky hands started to tie the shirtsleeves loose to examine the wound. It was a wide, deep cut, still slightly oozing with blood. The skin around it was unhealthily reddened and swollen. It didn't look good at all. "Shit," you cursed, feeling tears already well up in your eyes. Turning around for help, you saw another Alexandrian. Quickly taking your chance, you called out to him. "Hey!" His head snapped in your direction. "Get help! Get Tomi! Daryl's hurt! Go!" He immediately seemed to understand and ran off. Sure, you could've gotten a doctor yourself, but you didn't want to leave Daryl's side. It was too dangerous out here. If a walker was going to stroll by, Daryl would be easy prey.

Therefore, that your head was turned to the gate, you didn't notice the fluttering of Daryl's eyelids, until a weak, small voice called out your name. "Y/N?" Hearing his voice, you quickly turned around again, eyes landing on his face. "Daryl!" You placed both your hands back on his shoulders. "Why are you back?! What happened?!" He didn't answer you. He had an idle glance, not even looking at you. Only now did you see the sweat, which had gathered on his forehead and cheeks. You swallowed hard. He had a very bad infection. "Y/N." Your name leaving his lips brought you back to reality. "Daryl... I-I'm here. I'm here..." You tried to reassure him immediately. "He told me to go back to ya..." Daryl breathed out suddenly, breathing heavily. You frowned. "Who told you that?" "He told me to tell ya..." Daryl was talking in riddles. "Tell me what, Daryl? Who is he?" "I love ya." Those three words you had waited such a long time for to leave his lips finally urged to your ears. Your jaw dropped as you couldn't believe it. A weak smile spread on his lips. "I love ya." Daryl repeated over and over again, voice growing quieter and quieter; eyes fluttering shut again. That was the moment you awoke from your rigidity. Your hands flew up to cup his beardy, sweaty cheeks. "Hey, hey, hey! No, no, no. Stay with me Daryl, please. Stay with me…" You rubbed his cheeks gently, but it was no use. He was already unconscious once again. You couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They were falling, rolling down your cheeks and dropping onto Daryl's chest. "No, no, no, please... Wake up..." You whispered. "Wake up..." He didn't. You felt so helpless and vulnerable in that moment; not knowing what to do or how to save him. You were lost and almost like paralyzed. All you could do was cry.

Through the haze you were in, you suddenly heard quick footsteps approaching. "Y/N!" Tomi. "Y/N! What happened?!" Miko's brother rushed to your side, quickly kneeling down beside you. As you didn't react, he gently touched your shoulder, causing you to flinch. "Hey. It's alright. It's just me." You looked at him with blurry red eyes. "What happened?!" Tomi asked again, as his eyes landed on Daryl's wound. You shook your head; completely overwhelmed by the situation. "I-I don't know he... He just said someone told him to go back to me to tell me something and-" You stopped abruptly in the middle of your sentence, realising what you were going to say. "And what, Y/N? And what?" You blinked, eyes meeting Tomi's once again. "That he loves me..." The doctor just looked at you for a moment, before his eyes travelled back to the wound. "Okay, this looks really bad. The wound is clearly infected. We have to do something now, or he is going to die of a sepsis." You frantically nodded, fresh tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. "W-What do we do?!" Just as Tomi wanted to answer, another voice cut through the air. "What is happening here?" Ezekiel. Tomi quickly turned around and explained the governor what was going on. "What do we do?!" You cried out again, interrupting the men's conversation. Tomi shook his head. "You are going to do nothing. You stay with Ezekiel, while I try to help him, okay?" You shook your head. "N-No! I-I can't leave him, I-" "Please, Y/N." Tomi insisted, nodding towards Ezekiel, who helped you up gently from the ground and took you with him. "B-But..." "No, it's for the best." You were way too weak to argue or fight, so you just let Ezekiel lead you away. From the corners of your eyes, you saw how quite a few other men came rushing to help bring Daryl inside the safety of the walls; disappearing inside the big building which was the infirmary.

Ezekiel took you to a quiet place in Alexandria and sat down with you on the warm, soft grass. "Firstly, take a deep breath, Y/N." You did what he said, inhaling deeply. "Good. Now tell me what happened - if you want to." You looked at the friendly man with the grey dreadlocks beside you, who gave you a warm, supportive smile. He was a wonderful friend, without a doubt. You nodded meekly, eyes lifting to meet his. "I-I was on the guard tower and saw that bike approaching." You started, fumbling anxiously with your hands. "I-It was Daryl. Gods, I was so happy to see him, a-and then he got off his bike and just... fell motionless to the ground. I-I was so afraid. I ran to him, saw that he was unconscious a-and that wound on his side... He was awake for a short moment. I-I asked him what happened and why he was back, but he didn't answer me... All he said was that someone told him to go back to me, to tell me something and..." You took another deep breath, feeling another tear roll down your cheek. "And that he loves me." Ezekiel's eyes widened, "He told you he loves you?" before a wide smile spread on his face, "Uh.Huh." accompanied by his signature laugh. "Finally! That's wonderful, Y/N. Isn't this what you always wanted to hear him say?" "Y-Yes but... He was more unconscious than conscious; and he had presumably very high fever. What if he didn't mean it?" Ezekiel laughed once again. "Oh Y/N... He may have been not quite in his right mind, but... I insure you, that he meant this with all his heart. You two have been dancing around each other for ages now." The king said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "It's obvious." You just nodded; your mind already bombarding you with the next bad thought. "A-And what if he's going to die?" The man shook his head. "He won't die. Tomi is a great doctor. He's going to fix him up. Hell, he even made it to fix me." Once more Ezekiel laughed, causing you to stifle a small giggle as well. "Trust me. Daryl won't die because of a cut and an infection. It may look bad, but this man went through far worse than that." "I know," you snivelled. "I know."

The waiting was excruciating. Not knowing what was happening to Daryl was eating you up inside. You were really glad that Ezekiel stayed by your side, with the others coming around as well, after they had heard what happened. First and foremost, Carol. It was her best friend, after all.

You couldn't tell how much time had passed, but when Tomi exited the infirmary, you were literally sprinting to meet him. He saw you coming his way, giving you immediately a smile. Must be a good sign, you thought. It was.

"A-And? H-How is he, Tomi?" The doctor nodded, still softly smiling. "He's okay." A relieved breath left your lips and you just couldn't help yourself, but to hug Tomi - who hugged you back with a gentle laugh. "We cleaned the wound, stitched it up and gave him antibiotics. The fever went down. He's asleep now." "Thank god... Can I go to him?" "Of course. Down the corridor, second room on the left." You smiled, hugging Miko's brother once again. "Thank you, Tomi. I mean it. Really. Thank you." The man smiled at you, nodding and squeezing your shoulder, before he turned on his heel and walked away - probably off to find his sister.

You went of course straight inside the building, entering the second room on the left and sat down on the chair beside Daryl's bed. He was still fast asleep and you didn't want to wake him, so you just stayed quiet, taking his limp hand gently into yours. You studied every inch of his face. His closed eyes. His nose. His lips. The slight grey stubble, which covered mostly his chin and upper lip; only a few sparse hairs on his cheeks. You smiled. So peaceful - and handsome.

You didn't know how long you were just sitting by his side, watching over Daryl and waiting for him to wake up again, but suddenly, you felt his hand twitch in yours, alarming you that he might was about to wake up. "Daryl?" You spoke softly, quietly. The archer's eyelids fluttered, face contorting. He blinked, blue, greyish eyes looking up at you. You smiled, squeezing his hand. "Hey." You whispered, "Y/N?" and nodded. "Yes, it's me. I'm here." Daryl swallowed visibly, eyes carefully roaming around the spacious room. "Am I back home?" "Yes, you are. We are in Alexandria." He then eyed you again - almost critically. "Are ya real?" You giggled slightly at his question, "Yes, I am real. I'm here." and squeezed his hand again, in order to 'proof' it. "So 'm not hallucinating again?" You frowned at his words, slight worry coming up inside you again. This meant nothing good... Daryl nodded, clearing his throat - what caused you to immediately jump into action and hand him the glass of water, which stood on the bedside table. Tomi must've prepared it. He literally gulped down the clear liquid. "Thanks." You smiled at him once again, though it was a very uptight smile. Hallucinating? "I was hallucinating. Can't be any other way..." "What happened?" "Well... I was ridin' my bike down that street, was in thoughts, didn't see that damn walker standin' there, lost control over the bike and yeah... Got thrown right into that barb wire fence." Your eyes widened. "You had a motorcycle accident?" "Yeah. It's nothin'. Jus' a lil' scratch. Wasn't the first." You narrowed your eyes, frowning. How could he play this off so easily? As if it was nothing? "Daryl... You could've died... This isn't nothing." "I know… but I didn't." The man paused for a second, biting his lip, before he continued. "Guess I would've, if he didn't tell me to go back." "Who?" "Rick." Now you were utterly confused. Was this the hallucination he was talking about? Must be. "Rick?" Daryl nodded. "Yeah. I saw Rick. He, uh, kinda woke me up, told me that I had ta go back and fix my wound... Like I said, I was hallucinatin'. From the blood loss, I suppose." "Well, that's kind of crazy, but also beautiful? If you know what I mean?" He nodded. "Yeah..."

You smiled and started to trace the shape of his skull tattoo on the back of his hand with your thumb. "I am very glad you are now here and okay... I missed you." The archer smiled back at you softly. "I missed ya, too." Daryl's words followed a somehow weird and awkward silence, like something unspoken hung in between you and him. Well... There was something. "Daryl?" "Yeah?" Now or never. Man up, Y/N, man the fuck up! "Y-You, um... You were saying, uh, things, when I came to you, shortly after you fell of this bike and were conscious for a moment." You paused, had to take a shaky breath. "I-I don't know if you remember, but... Y-You... You said that-" "I love ya?" Daryl interrupted you, finishing your sentence. Your eyes widened. "Y-You can remember?" He swallowed, visibly, nervous now. "Kinda blurry, but I do remember sayin' that." A beat of silence passed, in which you were just staring down at Daryl. Your heart beat rapidly against your ribcage; threatening to just break free. You didn't know if you should be happy now or not. Remembering to have said something - in a not so great condition, and actually meaning it, were two completely different things. You swallowed, trying to scrape together all the courage you had to ask him the question, which was ghosting through your head. "S-So, uh, is... Is it true? Did you... Did you mean it?" The archer bit his lip, recalling 'Rick's' words in his mind. Finally man up and tell 'er that you love 'er. "Yes." You blinked, still just staring at him and probably afraid to trust your ears. "Y-Yes?" He started to nod. "Loved ya for ages, but didn't have the balls to tell ya. I know I should've told ya earlier and-" You quickly jumped to interrupt him, overwhelmed by your feelings. Your lips collided with his, pulling Daryl into a long overdue kiss. You would've anticipated that he was completely surprised by your sudden, rather bold move - but he wasn't. Quite the opposite... Daryl kissed you back on an instant, as if he had been waiting for exactly this moment.

You smiled like a Cheshire Cat, cupping the man's cheeks again. "I've waited such a long time for this to finally happen." Daryl smiled that sweet smile, softly blushing. "Me too." "Everybody did!" Ezekiel suddenly spoke up behind you. He was leaning against the door frame, smiling widely, causing your cheeks to redden as well. Who knew? Perhaps you and Daryl were always meant to be together? Perhaps, he was your destiny.

#daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon #daryl x you #daryl imagines #twd fanfic #twd imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine

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itsgrimeytime · 1 year

Text

Magnolia in May (Part Seven) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: kinda anti-Lori, misunderstandings, a marriage of convenience, and mentions of loneliness.

[[A/N: girllllll, not another Magnolia in May chapter!!! Whoops. And actually tagging bestie @imaginemyfavoritefics properly this time, bc I did use the idea of Daryl as the courier. Unrelated but this gif of him clenching his jaw... girl. Thanks for reading !! ]]

You'd taken to writing letters -the gentle swish of your quill was calming the storm of your mind. Originally, you had garnered a sort of cold from the walk in the rain and had to heal -now, you'd stayed holed up of your own accord.

'Nonsense, darling,' Headmistress had said, fluffing up your pillows, '-you must heal from a broken heart like any other wound.'

It was fewer letters and more of a sort of journal -only for your eyes to see but sometimes addressed to someone other than yourself. It started simply with one occasionally to Maggie to make her smile, or Beth to tell her things you'd learned so she wouldn't have to, or to remind Father to eat a meal when he'd been so focused on a patient that he'd neglect himself. But then, Mr. Grimes started appearing at the header.

You couldn't remember the first time it had happened, days rather blurred after that day -especially since you were treated shortly after. And rest was all you'd really gotten then, it made the passage of time blurry.

But it became something you were rather dependent on.

'Mr. Grimes,' you wrote in the first of its kind, quill rather fluid at this stage.

'I met your wife, Lori. She's a wonderful woman, kind and perfectly poised. I would, in a different life, maybe be friends with her -seems the type to be good company. Was it always her?

You've got something special, a family with beautiful children. It's every man's dream, is it not? You were my dream. I find it a bit hard to believe she would leave that dream behind. For what is more powerful than one's love for their child? I suppose there were other circumstances that I shall never be aware of. I would've liked to have known why. I understand it's a rather personal thing, but I should be urged to hear something of the full story. I might deserve it.

But I suppose you deserve a full family more. Carl and Judith do. I wouldn't fit in. I would love the best for them, despite not having known Carl, he seems a bright boy. Deserves much of the best in life, I'd garner all children do.

I often wonder if I am to have children. I suppose I could ask you for advice one day, if so. But there's something in me that speaks differently. Like that path with you is gone. Maybe I should run off to the city and write away, become focused on my education. Pay for my father's living, and house my sister's 'til they're wed.

I don't think I could, with good conscience, leave Alexandria. I'm far too fond of the people the town, its where I grew up. And I suppose, to keep my father's clinic running under the family name I may marry. I'm not too sure that I'd marry for love, per say. Can you begin the fall in love more than once? Is it possible? And furthermore, although it is something I wish for, I'm not sure that I would like to bring children into a loveless marriage.

This is getting far too detailed of my own troubles, and for that I apologize.

I truly wish your family well. Even if there's no room for me.

Yours Sincerely,

Y/N Greene'

It was a positive experience, mostly. The smearing on that letter particularly wasn't of cathartic tears. Not quite a release of the emotions dying so tightly within your soul, it was rather grief. Loss of a life that you'd never have. Despite it being the one you desperately wanted.

You sighed, stashing away the paper with the other ones -the second desk drawer to the right, under the math textbook that had been gathering dust even before you were born.

Sure, it messed your hands, but you found it was a small price to be paid for secrecy.

"Y/N, dearest," your Headmistress hummed -voice pounding up the stairs, "-get dressed and meet me at the door in 10, will you?"

"Yes, Headmistress," you echoed, off to your feet and only touching up ever-so-slightly by the mirror. And in your rush, maybe you had forgotten to shut the drawer -you couldn't know now. It stayed open, and the telling corner of dustless papers under a dusty book was certainly one to ponder over.

At least for someone, it was.

You wouldn't know what had occurred until a few weeks later, as you sorted out your joint closet with Maggie. Gathering bows and ribbons, and straightening dresses, was a wonderful way to pass time -since your newest book was seeming to be tucked away in the carriage. You truly could not find it anywhere-

And then, there was a knock at the door.

Now, normally, this was of no notice -either for Maggie (who had gone on frequent outings with Mr. Rhee since the ball) or Father (ranging anywhere from an old friend to an urgent patient). But this was one to put a pause in your mind.

Maggie was, in fact, out -you remembered the shimmer of the carriage as it pulled away, and Father was rushed off for an emergency. And even further, Headmistress and Beth had gone out to a sort of gathering -some sort of tea party, you'd assumed. (They'd invited you, but you'd truly not wished to hear the gossip. Especially not now.)

You stilled, you were alone here then.

Well, you considered -making your way down the steps, -could be a sort of delivery. Ms. Elisa did frequently speak with friends out of town -often through letters. And Father always had an extra copy of cases delivered to his home -so he could think properly on an issue.

Satisfied with that, you approached the door with newfound confidence -fear that had stubbornly stuck there was unfounded. You twisted a bit of fabric in your dress, just to do something with your hands before swinging open the door.

And, it was a familiar face. Not one you had a name to, but one you knew -the courier.

"Ms. Greene," he spoke, his voice gruff and tired, much less peppy than you'd seen him before, "-I assume?"

"Yes," you answered cautiously, "-I'm the eldest Ms. Greene, why? If you're looking for Maggie-"

"No," he answered, simply, long hair moving with the motion of his head, "-Mr. Grimes requested this be given to you, the eldest."

"I can't acce-" you started but fell shut as a letter was extended to you -two letters. One a familiar sort of coffee-tinged brown -paper old and weary, you could hardly believe the quill hadn't punctured right through really. And the other, neatly folded, a pristine sort of ivory, and dark ink that somehow didn't seem to smudge at all. On the side that was exposed to you was written: Ms. Y/N Greene, in handwriting you recognized.

The one that had scribbled across the invitation so long ago-

"Who are you?" you questioned -eagerly bringing the letters close to your chest, "-And how did you get my letter? Have you been in my home-"

"Ms. Greene," he spoke -composed and calm, unmoved by your pressing questions, "-they were presented to me to mail weeks ago."

You froze, something heavy dropping in your stomach, "They? How... How many letters were you given to post?"

"A stack, no more than 10," he responded, "-the youngest Ms. Greene, opened the door for me once to deliver an invitation. The same one I 'ave been for weeks- It ain't relevant, really. She knew where I came from, and requested I bring 'em to Mr. Grimes immediately."

You paused, "An invitation?"

"More like a summonin'," he clarified, rather poised but still somewhat a bit casual, "-it's always the same request for you, the eldest, to attend to the Grimes estate."

"What?"

He paused, "It's supposed to be brought to ya, upon retrieval but... I'd guess it hasn't."

"You've-" you exhaled -a deep uncertain exhale, "-Just how long have you been delivering these?"

"Lost count."

"And-" you stuttered, a bit overwhelmed, "-and the letters, my letters they-"

"I put 'em in his hand, myself," he spoke -an ordered sort of discipline heavy in his tone with a dose of familiar twang.

"Right," you swallowed -pushing down the nerves biting up your throat at such rampant pace, he was never to see those, "-and who are you exactly?"

"Grimes estate courier," he grumbled out, a some of bitterness gathered there.

"No, no," you quirked a brow at him, "-your name? I figured as much otherwise."

He answered, rather improperly -as if he was trained in some ways and ignorant in others just slightly, "-Daryl Dixon."

"Mr. Dixon," you echoed, a sort of curiosity in your tone, "-you said he received the full stack, did he not?"

He merely nodded.

"Well, why do I only have one, then?"

The man pondered it for a second, loosely eyeing the way you held the letters like he knew what they contained (maybe he did), "I suppose he ain't done replyin' to the others."

The rest of the interaction was fairly polite, mere questions about his work -to which he complained quite vividly about the extent of it, but never shred a wrong light on Mr. Grimes. You'd gathered they were well-acquainted, even perhaps friends from youth, but you couldn't exactly pinpoint it. He didn't say anything directly, and was rather quiet around details. Well, details pertaining to Mr. Grimes, you supposed.

You'd initially wanted to search for the invitations he spoke of, but something bigger was biting you.

Your hands were quick to rush to the drawer, pulling it open -to suddenly believe it was not real. To prove that all of this was a farce, that the letters were still safely kept. But, when you opened it, you could tell.

Even still, you pushed forward holding up the book, peering underneath. It was empty, extraordinarily empty.

"No, no, no-" you urged, heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach -heavy, "-it can't be..."

Private pieces of you, of your sadness, your longing- Sent to the married man of the header.

And just back as you pushed back in your chair, the brush of tears only a breath away -your eyes caught on the letter.

It was not yours.

Yours sat just beside it, you recognized it to be the first one -all sort of crumpled and agonizingly smudged. All conflicted feelings and harsh realities buzzing under your skin. You'd written it partially under the delirium of your illness, so it was rather brash but you'd never thought you'd need to worry about it. The only thing different was how it was presented.

You remember hastily shoving it away, between book covers, under table legs, hidden in the dirt of the garden, as you tried to find a good place to stash them. You'd always been so quick to put them away, to get out the feelings and move on-

Looking at it now, though, the worn paper was smoothed out (to the best it could be) and perfectly folded. Each corner matched to another and creases were indented lightly so as to not damage the written word. It was treated as precious. Something... Something he'd rather cared for.

Something told you then to get rid of it, to throw it onto the fire when no one was looking, to stash it away, to never read it no matter the cost because you were doing the right thing and should not be swayed-

But another part of you was dreadfully curious. And dreadfully grieving the loss of a man who still lived.

It was your mail, a letter addressed to you. Wouldn't it be rather rude to not read it? If you hadn't wished the first one to be mailed, you retorted, then no.

And yet, you found yourself picking up the note with the gentlest of graces. Carefully unfolding the thick paper, slowly, timidly, like the words would jump off the page. Like they could hurt you.

You supposed they could.

Once fully opened, you didn't directly focus on the words -instead, detailing the printed bits around the top edges. It looked as though this was an official sort of paper -the same kind an invitation may be extended to. As well as a family seal printed into the bottom right corner, it seemed a little formal for the occasion but you found it didn't bother you. Not really.

Taking a deep breath, you blinked your eyes -wishing to calm your heart, even just for a moment, and started reading.

'Ms. Greene,' it started, letters crisply written in a thin but precise sort of writing. Your finger naturally went to trace over them, dotting the i's and swirling the g's.

'I must first say that it's to my understanding that these letters are rather personal to you. You weren't the one who intended to mail them, I've come to know. I know that this then, by proxy, is a large invasion of your privacy.

And I can only hope you forgive me for such a thing. Because this is my sort of last resort to reach you. I'm sure you're familiar with the invitations that have flooded your door, and although, I understand the no response for what you know, I've become quite desperate.

To be completely clear, I was nearly on my horse to your home the morning these letters arrived. To explain everything as you deserve it to be explained.

I instead am here, writing letters. I cannot tell if that's any sort of better than my original plan was but it is the decision I chose.

In terms of Lori, the situation is rather complicated. Surely, at the young age we married, she was the plan. I'd honestly not given thought to the fact that she'd ever come back. I knew her reasons, and I fully doubted I'd ever see her again. And out of respect for you, I wish for the full story to be in person.

Despite all that, I truly wished she would. I know I did. If not only to see our children, to grace me with some sort of company.

I lived a rather lonely life before you Ms. Greene. Which may seem a bit arbitrary coming from a man with a staff, but it doesn't make it any less the truth. When she left, it was quite the scandal. I never spoke a word on it, too devastated to even imagine what to say. It meant much more reclusion, even from friends I knew from youth. And then, as I'm sure you're familiar, I decided to move back to Alexandria. Atlanta only harbored negative things, and I wished for someplace more pleasant. And it was, but still despite it all, the loneliness persisted.

So this family, this full family, you speak of, it's not what Lori and I would be. It wasn't what we were when we were married. I love my children, beyond belief, but I was still lonely. And I can't imagine a full family has a lonely father.

Frankly, Ms. Greene, I was lonely until that day in the marketplace.

And on the off chance you don't understand what I mean, I ask, from the depths of my heart, don't leave Alexandria.

Yours,

Richard Grimes'

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #magnolia in may #narrative letters ??? drama

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