Look For The Light - 4

Y’all gonna make me feel old.

it used to be 2007 you know

Squealing and kicking my feet as I read this!

So precious!

I saw your post about Mikey so I hope this is okay & what you were looking for. Mikey meets a girl that is like sunshine whenever she walks in the room & makes him finally feel worthy/valued so he’ll do anything to make her feel special in return

Sunshine (Mikey Berzatto x Reader)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of weed and alcohol.

Word Count: 4.2k

I found a good boy and he's on my side You're just my eternal sunshine, sunshine

“John, John- you listenin’ to me?!” Mikey was pacing his office, trampling over receipts and month-old sticky notes while aggressively combing his hands through his tussled black hair. “I’ll have your money. When have I not paid you, goombah? I didn’t see the invoice, you should see this fuckin’ office, not enough time to organize this damn shit show” he responded, kicking a stack of papers in the process. 

Bending down, he began rummaging through the various papers littering the office floor, attempting to compile them into categories. “John! You there?! Fuck.” Mikey frantically pat himself down, a sudden yearn for nicotine overcoming him. Finding his carton of Marlboros, he slipped the end of a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

Letting out a sigh, John grunted, “Yeah, I’m here, Mikey. I’ll give you a couple more d-” before being interrupted by the vibrations of Mikey’s phone. 

“Fuck me, that jagoff is calling” Mikey thought out loud. “Listen, John, I hear you, you’ll have your money, mmkay? On my ma, I swear to ya, I gotta go though there’s another ball-buster on the other line. K? Ciao.” Before John could respond, Mikey stood up to accept the other call.

“Mark, brother, hey, before you start… I know, I know.” He picked up his phone, taking it off speaker to slip it under his ear. “I— Listen, I know. I hear you. I- Hey, you gon’ let me speak, or wha’?!” Speaking with his hands he continued to pace around the room, his booming voice stifled by the cigarette. 

The lunch rush at The Beef was dying down, exposing you to increasingly longer bits of the chaotic conversation occurring in the office. This was Mikey’s typical presentation; disheveled, malnourished, and overexaggerately buzzed off of caffeine, nicotine, and italian-ness. Although he was impossible to reason with in this state, you took it upon yourself to fix him up his favourite; a mortadella sandwich with sundried tomatoes, pesto, and mozzarella.

“You think I don’t know that? Pft, c’mon! Mark, man, you’re killin’ me!” You stood in the doorway, observing Mikey as he stood with one hand on his hip, the other flailing around to exemplify his frustrations. In one of your hands was the plate holding the lunch you made; in the other was a Chicago Bears BIC lighter.

Subtly knocking on the already open office door, Mikey whipped around to face you, his inconvenienced facial expression seamlessly evaporating into his wide-tooth grin. Mouthing ‘meet me outside’ was all it took for him to fake an excuse off of the phone and trail in your footsteps.

Albeit cheesy, you had that captivating effect on him, your hidden-well insecurities and past failed relationships blinding you to the fact that Mikey was infatuated with you. That, in combination with the 15-year age gap between you two. For Mikey, none of those factors changed the fact that you were his daylight, sunshine in human form.

Outside in the back you sat on a milk crate, the pre-Spring Chicagoan air fluttering over your skin. Moments after, Mikey joined you by sitting on an adjacent crate close to you after propping open the door. “Thanks, Bella” he said as he leaned over, his palm squeezing your thigh in an attempt to physically communicate the appreciation he held for your act of service. 

You offered out the plate to him, prompting him to begin devouring. He gruffly moaned after taking his first bite. “Mhhhh, shit, this is like Marry Me chicken but in sandwich form.” You giggled in response with your hands resting in your lap, watching as he attacked it hungrily. Mid-bite, he motioned with his head towards the other sandwich on the plate, “Ain’t gonna eat itself, Italiana.”

“I’m not hungry right now, Mike,” you responded, suddenly losing your appetite as you thought of the most effective way to check in on him without him brushing it off. Mikey had a fortified ‘I’ll deal with it maself’ attitude; his hard-headed, traditional Italian, ‘Godfather’ persona caused him to keep you far away from the messes he had gotten himself into. In his eyes, you are more than capable of dealing with life’s bullshit, but his innate urge to protect you from harm’s way and unnecessary stress made it difficult to involve you.

“What was going on in there?” you motioned towards inside with your head. “Ah, nothin’ doll.” He shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to brush off the topic, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Just some bills that need payin’, I got it covered. Business good today? Any jagoffs give you trouble?” He frantically read your face, urgently hoping you’d buy his not-so-discreet attempt at changing the topic.

“C’mon, Mike. Cut the shit. You’re suffocating in that office.” The only person whose bluntness Mikey could listen to happened to also be the only person he’d accept ‘Mike’ from. He took the cigarette that had been hanging from his lips in his office out of his shirt pocket and proceeded to light it. Taking the first drag of it, he flicked it, holding it out to you.

Pursing his lips to blow out his puff, he responded confidently. “I got it all figured out, sunshine. Plus, I got cousin helpin’ me with the books and shit. Just gotta pay back those muthafuckas who keep callin’ me. They’re all, ‘where’s my money!?’” he playfully rolled his eyes, making hand gestures and displaying a funny face as he imitated the callers. You both knew damn well they had every right to be calling him. 

“You telling me that Richie is on the books is supposed to bring me a sense of comfort?” Asking him that question with pure seriousness and handing him back the cigarette, Mikey stifled a laugh. “Hey, him and the IRS are like this” he crossed his middle finger over his index while winking and making a clicking noise with his tongue.

“Cousin, where the fuck are the receipt rolls, the office looks like an abandoned and pissed-in office depot” Richie’s exclaiming became increasingly louder the closer he got. “Feels like we change the damn paper in that thing ever- oh shit, pardon my interruption to your rendezvous. Were you guys about to fuck? I can leave” Richie pointed with his thumb towards the kitchen as he sported a fake-worried and devious expression, slowly inching backwards.

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “No one’s fucking anyone, Rich.” Mikey looked to the ground as he faked a chuckle, ignoring the slight pang of hurt in his chest.

“You want a mortadella sandwhich?” You held out the plate to Richie, knowing he couldn’t resist. “Uh, DUH,” Richie grabbed an additional crate to join the two of you, immediately beginning to eat.

“Oh fuck, are you fucking serious right now?! Mikey, if you don’t marry this girl I’ll do it for you. ‘S like a mouf orgathm” Richie had just begun eating yet he already had food on the corners of his mouth. You chuckled, choosing to ignore the marriage comment. “Here, you child. You’re such a slob” you threw him a napkin you had stored in your apron. 

“Hey, the real slob is right over there” he pointed directly at Mikey, not even bothering to wipe his mouth but proceeding to take a another massive bite. “Something’s gotta be done about that cesspool of an office,” Richie shook his head disapprovingly, despite also functioning well in chaotic enrivonments. Mikey took yet another drag, the stress of you and Richie’s indirect demand to get his shit together getting to him. “It’s organized chaos, I know where everything is, s’all that matters.” 

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This was the third night in a row that you had difficulty falling asleep. You had tried everything in your arsenal of melatonin-producing activities, and yet, your brain was spiraling, most of your thoughts pertaining to Mikey.

You weren’t going to kid yourself. You needed something and you knew exactly who to get it from. Picking up your phone, you made the call.

“Rich?? You awake?” You rolled over to your side, holding yourself up by your elbow and propping your head up with the palm of your hand. “Yeah I’m awake, but why the fuck are you awake, missus?” “I need a favour…” 

Richie’s dirty mind figured any call from a woman at this hour was for sex, but he also knew about Mikey’s schoolboy yearn for you and wouldn’t dare make any advancements. The silence on his end was telling. “Not that type of favour, God, Rich! Stop being a man for a second. I need weed.” You huffed out, a whiny tone of desperation heavy in your voice. 

“Now that I can help you with” he chuckled.

“YES thank you, Rich, oh my god” You sprung up out of bad as if there were hot rocks in it. “I will meet you at The Beef, okay?!” And that was where he met you.

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You and Richie sat at the back of The Beef, exactly where you had had lunch earlier that day. “You want to do the honours, stoner?” Richie held out the joint and lighter for you. You faked an annoying look and exaggerately took them from him. “I’m not a stoner, Rich. I just have an undiagnosed sleeping problem.” You put the joint between your lips and lit it, taking an ungodly large pull from it. 

“Woahhhhh cheech and chong, relax” Richie practically yanked the joint from you. You immediately began coughing as you hadn’t smoked in a while. “What or who the fuck are you trying to forget, Italiana?” Richie’s joking tone didn’t conceal his concern as he took a puff himself. You looked at him, tilting your head to the side to signify confusion.

Richie took another pull before returning the joint to you. “If you’re calling me at 12am to smoke because you couldn’t sleep, it tells me your big brain was overthinking.” You took a moderate inhale this time, the buzz beginning to radiate out to your extremities. “What were you thinking about, Richie? Something tells me you were awake for similar reasons.”

“I’m not sayin’ anything ‘til you do” he responded whilst shrugging. 

Making a sour face, you attempted to restore the saliva in your mouth. “I have cotton mouth like a bitch, I’m going to get something to drink. You want anything?” you asked, heading inside before he could interrogate you further. “Get me a brio!” You chuckled to yourself, shouting back “You know you’re not Italian, right?!”

You walked over to the walk-in fridge, grabbing Richie’s Brio and a Fresca for yourself. On the way back out, Mikey’s office door caught your attention, and you suddenly had an idea. “Rich. Oh my god. I know exactly what we can do.” 

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“I… I think we just made things worse.” Looking up at Richie in horror, he mirrored your reaction. “Yeah, we fucked up cousin. We’re in some deep shit.” 

You and Richie were both sat on the office floor, waist deep in the paper equivalent of a small forest. You took a swig from your Fresca, attempting to decipher where to start. “We can do this. For Mikey. He deserves this, and fuck, let’s face it, he was never gonna do it himself!” You attempted to motivate Richie, knowing his child-like attention span and patience were on their last legs. 

Picking up various pieces of paper, you attempted to make sense of them. “Okay… I’ll make one pile for receipts, and I’ll sort them by date, and then-” You felt Richie’s eyes burning a hole into you, causing you to look at him and flail your hands around. “What?!” Impatiently waiting for his response, you began gnawing on the inside of your cheek, nervous that he was onto you. 

“You like him.” Richie slowly grinned from ear to ear as he stated it matter o’factly. “You like like him.” You flung your head back and groaned. “‘Like like?’ C’mon, Rich, what are you, 12? Shut the fuck up and help me.” The blood rushed into your cheeks almost immediately at his accusation, the THC physiologically betraying you and making it impossible to put on a front. “You like him. Oh my god. I fuckin’ knew it,” he giggled. 

“I don’t know whether it’s the weed or the fact that it’s 3am and I’m reaching the point of delirium, but since I’m not a pre-teen, I’ll admit that you’re not wrong. But it’s never going to happen. He’s mentally ill with a fucked up family and so am I- that doesn’t tend to be the ideal romantic combination. Now, lets finish this so we can still go home and get some rest before shift starts.” You looked at Richie with a stern look; he was shocked at your mini rampage, and internally, you were petrified about the fact that you had just spilt your guts to Mikey’s bestfriend.

“And don’t get any ideas, because this conversation does NOT repeat itself, you hear me, Jerimovich!” When you addressed someone in the kitchen by their last name, they knew you meant business. “Uh-huh, yup, yes ma’am.” Richie gulped, considering you just displayed more emotions in the last 5-minutes than you had for the entire length of time he has known you. It didn’t help that he was beyond stoned and couldn’t quite comprehend the nature of what you had told him. 

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“Cousin! What the fuck is this? Why can I see the floor?” Mikey was standing at the doorway of his office in utter disbelief that morning. Richie jogged over peaking his head into the office. “It was Italiana’s doing, she just told me what to do. We were preeeetty fried” he chuckled to himself, recalling last night’s events. “Surprisingly, we didn’t throw anything out. She’s got a real knack for organizing, should’ve let her do this months ago. The IRS and I aren’t going to have anymore beef, see what I did.” 

Richie couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. His nervous rambling was an attempt to not tell Mikey about your confession. Knowing how much Mikey admired you, it was killing him to not be able to tell his own bestfriend that the girl of his dreams reciprocated his feelings. Mikey slowly turned to look at Richie, hands still on his hips. “What the fuck did you smoke, crack? Why are you acting all fucked?”

You had walked into the kitchen at perfect timing before Richie blabbed your secret. Going to hang your purse up, Mikey called you over; he didn’t even need to see you to feel your presence. “Italiana, come ‘ere!” You sped walk over and stood in the entrance, your hands folded in front of you with a nervousness. A part of you was worried that messing with Mikey’s ‘organized chaos’ was going to disorient him, but you wanted to lessen the stress he was experiencing. That was what you did for the people you loved; especially the man you loved. 

“You did this?” He looked directly at you; despite being an expert in Mikey’s nuances, you couldn’t tell whether he was pissed or overjoyed. “Uh, yeah! It’s all pretty self-explanatory but I can go through it with you if you want? I just thought it’d make your life a lil easier. And Richie’s! Of course.” You rubbed your arm with your hand as a means of self-soothing.

“This is great, Bella. Truly. I can’t believe you went through all this trouble, I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen it look like this ever” he motioned towards the filing cabinet and the paper baskets you had labelled appropriately, using his other hand to comb through his hair in shock. “I couldnt of done it without Richie. And Richie’s weed! It was nothing, Mike” you smiled at him and showed yourself out as nonchalantly as possible. 

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You were waiting the last tables of the day - mainly consisting of left behind beer bottles and plastic sandwich baskets - when Mikey came up behind you putting one hand on your waist. “Meet me in the office when you’re done here, yeah?” As he whispered into your ear, you had to keep your knees from buckling. “Yeah, Mike! Okay!” Fucking Richie.

You attempted to stall for the inevitably painful conversation that awaited you, slowly walking towards the kitchen. While washing your hands, your brain began to spiral. Wiping your hands on your apron, you attempted to bravely walk towards the office, standing in the doorway. 

“What’s up?” You halted in your tracks almost immediately as you noticed the charcuterie board Mikey was standing in front of and the bottle of red wine in his hands. “Fuck me. Okay, listen.” You walked closer to him. “Before you say anything, I don’t know what Richie said to you, but as someone who doesn’t know the difference between your and you’re, he has no idea what he’s talking about. You didn’t have to do any of this.” 

Mikey looked at you like a deer in headlights. “What the fuck are you talking about,” he chuckled. There was that dimpled smile. And now you were confused (and distracted) before you realized Richie didn’t say anything.

“I wanted to thank you for organizing the office…” Mikey explained, twisting the bottle of wine open and pouring you a glass. “I know how much you like your charcuterie. If Starbucks ever stops selling those little boards I’ll wonder what you’re gonna eat.” He earned a laugh from you for joking about your mild salami addiction.

You sported the fakest wide tooth grin you could muster. “Hey, I’m Italian. I can’t help it. I think I’m keeping them in business though” you joked in response. He held out the glass for you and winked. “Thanks, Mike” you smiled, hoping he couldn’t pick up on your nervousness. 

“Okay, let me show you what we’ve got here.” He clapped his hands together, excited to introduce you to his concoction of Italian meets and cheeses. Hunched over his desk with both of his hands planted on the surface to support him, he pointed at each meat and cheese as he went through the board’s contents. 

“We’ve got cacciatore, prosciutto, mortadella, then I added parmesan - I know how much you like it - along with romano and gorgonzola. I was thinking we can add it to the menu. We’re no hipster yuppies but throw some olives and overpriced crackers on here and I mean, we’re talkin’ business, baby.” Looking up at you, he attempted to read your face for your thoughts.

Mikey was passionate. That was his entire nature. And when he presented you with ideas, he seemed to put your approval and opinion on a pedestal. You had helped significantly with business at The Beef, assisting in bringing Mikey’s visions to fruition while also providing your input where necessary; he valued your insight more than you realized. 

Taking a baguette slice, you added cacciatore and parmesan onto it and bit in. “Fuck, Mike.” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you let out a near moan. “We gotta add this. It could even be part of a date night special. The charcuterie as an antipasto, a soup or salad, a main, and then dessert” you presented.

Mike glanced up at you with a smirk, content with your proposal. “Have I ever told you that I love your brain, Italiana?” You giggled as you continued to devour the board, attempting to ignore his blatantly obvious attempt at flirting as you couldn’t believe he could possibly be interested in you. 

The rest of the evening was spent brainstorming business ideas, reminiscing on memories shared between you, Mikey, and Richie, and consuming copious amounts of wine. 

“Oh my god, Mike. You remember when Richie tried picking up that blonde girl at the bar with a magic trick, and you- y- oh my god.” You flung your head back as you cackled; you were wine drunk and snortling to the point of incoherence. You were sat across from Mikey who was planted behind his desk, his ankle resting on top of his other knee. His forearms rested on the arms of his chair, and he loosely held a glass of whiskey as he watched you with amusement and a sly grin of admiration. 

“You had to go over there and save him from the embarrassment. Poor thing.” You chuckled. “I’m pretty sure the chick he was tryna bag had started flirting with me,” Mikey said, taking a sip of his whiskey and raising his eyebrows as he attempted to recall the events of that evening. 

You looked intently at him, not breaking eye contact. “Can you blame her?” The wine encouraged a new-found confidence to emerge from within you. There was no way you would’ve been this direct with Mikey while sober. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mikey leaned forward to put his glass on his desk then returned to his laid back position. With a dumbfounded look on your faced, you laughed then displayed a look of annoyance. “Don’t play stupid. Look at yourself, Mike.” You stood up, put the wine glass down, and rested both of your hands on his desk, leaning forward until you were mere inches away from his face.

Looking into his right eye, glancing down at his lips, and looking back up to his left eye, he began to shift in his seat. It was evident that you were both under a hazy and horny alcohol-induced influence, the sexual tension very obviously suffocating the room. “Now take me home before I say or do something I’ll regret.”

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As Mikey walked you back to your apartment, you held onto the side of his frame with all your might. He guided you through the streets of Chicago with ease; he was nowhere near the level of drunk that you had achieved. “You okay, darlin’?” He looked down, a slight smile on his face as he recognized your drunken effort to walk in a straight line. “Yeah, Mike. Thanks for tonight. No one’s ever gone through such an effort to appreciate me.”

You peered up at him with a smile; you wanted to put into perspective how much his actions meant to you, however, Mikey felt an even stronger urge to spoil you moving forward. Quite frankly, he was bewildered that his small gesture that evening exceeded all that you’ve known. 

Arriving to the door of your apartment, you began rummaging through your purse for your keys. Finding them, you held your arm out straight and dangled them in front of Mikey. “You’re gonna need to unlock the door, mister. I do not currently possess the fine motor skills” you joked, earning a laugh from him.

You caught the glimmer in his eyes. Mikey felt like your fierce protector. You both knew you didn’t need protecting- while this was a part of you he admired, his masculinity often fought for dominance; for the chance to show you how well he could look after you and how much you deserved it. 

He opened the door, propping it open for you as you stumbled through, immediately attempting to take off your shoes. You hadn’t thought this out thoroughly as you ended up toppling over, Mikey catching you in the process. “Easy, doll. Here, sit down,” he motioned toward the ottoman in the foyer of your apartment, guiding you as you lowered yourself. 

He crouched down at your feet and placed the heel of your foot on his thigh, proceeding to untie your shoes. Grasping your ankle one at a time, he wiggled your feet out. You looked down at him, admiring his gentle touch, the concentration present in his furrowed brow; you loved to watch him, whatever he was doing, and you’ve known for a long time that you’ve loved him.

“Let’s get you to bed, yeah?” Holding out both of his hands for you, you stood up, letting him walk you through to your bedroom. You had a case of the over-tired drunken giggles, prompting you to laugh as you slurred your intentions to take off your make-up.

Mikey picked out some pjs for you, then proceeded to pour you a cold glass of water while you got changed. Opening the door to your bedroom, you motioned for him to come inside. “Sleep next to me?” You proposed with a curious tone despite knowing he’d decline as he (annoyingly) insisted on being a respectful gentleman at all times. “S’all good doll, I’ll be good on the couch” he motioned to the living room with his head. “Lemme tuck you in.” 

As you got under the covers, Mikey offered you the glass of water to which you happily obliged. Handing it back to him, he placed it on your bedside table as you snuggled yourself into the sheets. He turned off the lamp, the room engulfing with darkness save for the midnight blue hue that the window cast in. 

Mikey began to walk out of your room when you called out to him. “Hey Mike, c’mere” you turned over, watching him as he slowly approached. Motioning for him to come closer, you whispered into his ear. “I like like you.” 

Knocking out after the words escaped your lips, as if they were made of melatonin, Mikey smiled to himself as he looked down at you. “And I love you, sunshine.”

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EEEEEEEEK my very first Mikey imagine! Which means I am still learning to integrate his personality into my writing- it’s hard when he has extremely minimal screentime. ALSO I am writing this in whatever year Mikey was operating The Beef, so Carmy, Syd, and the others aren’t there, and Richie and Tiff are still together. I am completely open to feedback and would also love to get more requests for Mikey. Let me know what y’all think!!! :)

The End Will Justify It All - Chapter 3

A Negan Series

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Warnings - not too much in this one. Adult themes and some language.

Feedback is always welcome! This series is challenging me for sure, and I'm loving it. Every time I work on it it gets a little longer and starts heading a direction that was unexpected even to me. I hope you'll hang in with me! I think it'll be worth it in the end.

Three days. That’s how long she’d been here. Three days of watching, waiting, learning. Three exhausting days of pretending to want to be one of them and taking advantage of every second alone to search for Daryl, which hadn’t been many. Between the dinners with Negan, and being stuck in the wives’ room, she had only had a few hours yesteday and today to explore. Three damn days in the enemy’s home and all she had to show for it was a wedding ring. Married to a monster.

She had searched every hall she could reasonably claim that she’d gotten lost in while looking her room, or the bathroom, or the kitchen, or whatever else she could think of. After three days, that excuse was losing merit - she should be more familiar with this place by now. Her heart was racing as she tiptoed, barefoot, down another empty hall of closed doors, quietly trying each doorknob. Locked. Locked. Locked. Leaning her ear against the doors, she couldn’t hear anything or anyone inside.

She tried the next. Another locked door. She was starting to lose heart; this hall was yet again a dead end. Would she ever find where they were keeping him? She twisted the next knob – locked. She sighed, glancing at the next door, when something caught her eye. Light. Two doors down at the corner of the corridor, streaming into the hall from…an open door? She flattened herself against the door in front of her, quieting her breath and listening for any sound of someone in the open room. After several minutes frozen there, she tiptoed closer, stopping every few steps to listen again. As she approached, she noticed a red chair against the opposite wall. It sat empty, facing the open door. Flattened against the wall at the edge of the door she paused one last time, before slowly creeping around to peer in.

The apartment before her was small. There was a sink and counters against one wall, a single bed, a chair, and a metal rack of clothes – mostly flannel button down shirts. No people. She ducked inside to get a better look. The apartment was well stocked. A toaster oven, a tv, lamps, a bookcase full of books, and she noticed a few potted plants. The furniture was well used, but slightly dusty. There was no evidence of anything personal in this room, nothing bought or collected like the other rooms she’d snuck into. No evidence anyone had been here recently. This room was waiting for an inhabitant, she realized. She was about to turn and leave when she heard footsteps coming around the corner. Low voices, male, were growing closer.

Her heart racing, she quickly surveyed the room again, this time searching for the best hiding spot. Under the bed wasn’t an option, the mattress was laid on stacks of wood crates. There were not enough clothes on the rack to hide behind. The cabinets on the wall were too small for her to fold into. The footsteps were getting closer, she only had one option.

She ducked behind the solid door just as she heard a voice greet the approaching steps. “Dwighty boy” she heard, and dread filled her. That was Negan’s voice.  He instructed someone to leave so he could speak with Dwight, and she heard rustling of steps outside the door. She squeezed in close and peeked through the crack of the open hinged door. Her heart stopped.

There he was. Daryl. Three days, not even a hint or whisper of him, and now here he was, less than four feet away from her.

---

She’d hoped when Negan had agreed on her first night to let her try out for the Saviors that she’d be able to ask someone about Daryl. Or that she’d be able to talk to any of them at all, learn anything about the place. She’d had no such luck.

She awoke on her second day in the Sanctuary hopeful and eager to start exploring. She dressed in the most practical clothes she could find in her wardrobe, and even asked the guard at the wives’ door for some boots. He’d obtained them for her, just in time to dawn them before… sitting. And waiting. And waiting. She asked him if she’d been sent any instructions on where to go or who to meet with about training or a job. He told her that her orders would come. So, she’d continued to wait.

The wives had pulled her into different activities in the meantime. Scrabble was a favorite of Frankie’s, and they introduced her to their “spa day” ritual, which she gathered was every day. Homemade face masks, manicures, makeup before dinner. It seemed expected of them to be beautiful, and at least it was a way to pass the time. Her impatience grew, however, with every hour that passed. Each wife often left the dorm to walk around the compound, getting some movement and some air, or smoke a cigarette. They seemed to have unquestioned access to wherever they needed to go. She took advantage of that when it was obvious that she wouldn’t be missed. She’d come up empty handed on those brief searches, and each time she returned, she’d asked the guard if her orders had come. He’d just shook his head.

By the time the instructions came for her to join Negan for dinner a second night, she was fuming.

She stomped into his apartment with as much attitude as her high heels would allow, her arms crossed, demanding to know why she had been cooped up in that room all day when he’d agreed to let her be part of a Savior team.

Negan’s answering smile didn’t meet his eyes, and it made her uneasy.

“Good evening to you, too,” he drawled, holding out her chair at the table for her. “Would you like to eat before you continue to rip me a new asshole, or should we do this on empty stomachs?”

She huffed as she sat and began piling her plate with the potpie in front of her.

“We’ve only been married for a day and you’re already angry with me?” Negan teased her.

She willed herself calm and forced an apologetic smile on her face. She needed to stay on his good side, throwing a fit this early might raise questions or make him change his mind about her access. She needed Negan to trust her.

“I’m sorry,” she began, “I have always had a quick temper. I told you, I’m not great at sitting around. I got impatient. I apologize.”

Again, his answering smile didn’t meet his eyes, but he seemed satisfied with her apology.

“I’d like to play a game to start our evening,” he said after a quiet few minutes of eating. “To get to know one another a little better. We are married now, after all.”

“What game?” she asked around a mouthful.

“A drinking game,” he replied, standing and walking to his bar cart in the corner. When he returned, he brought two shot glasses and a decanter of an amber colored liquid.  “I’ll ask you a question, and if you answer - honestly - you get to ask me a question in return. If you don’t answer, or if I think your answer is unsatisfactory, you take a shot and I get to ask another question.”

“I see. And do the same rules apply to you?”

“Sure,” he replied, mischief dancing in his eyes. “I take the rules of games very seriously.”

This made her nervous. She had no way of knowing what he would ask. She could always skip the question if she didn't like it, but too many questions skipped would certainly raise suspicions. She steeled herself as she took her last few bites of food, preparing for the worst.

When she raised her head, she found Negan watching her. She nodded and plastered a smile to her face.

“Sounds sexy. Let’s play.”

He grinned as he poured two shot glasses of the drink and slid one across the table to her.

“My first question,” he said, “is how long were you part of Rick’s group?”

She silently released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She felt a little relief at how simple the question was. She recounted the basic story of coming upon Rick's group in a small church in Georgia several weeks before they found Alexandria, and traveling with them to Virginia, looking for the family of one of their guys.

“How did you all find Alexandria?” Negan asked as her short story came to an end.

“I think it’s my turn for a question,” she teased him, “unless you want to skip that do a shot?”

He grinned in response and gestured for her to ask her question.

This was more pressure than answering. It was a good opportunity to get information, maybe even find out where Daryl is, if she could ask casually enough... She would have to be very careful how she approached it. She decided to start slowly, not too eager to get telling information from him.

“How many communities do you have working for you?” She asked, after some contemplation. Maybe a train of questions that make her seem curious about his operation would seem less suspicious when she got to Daryl.

“A lot,” he answered proudly, “I won't waste time counting them all. It’s a lot though. It has to be, to feed all our people.” A lot. There were a lot of other communities nearby. Potential allies. She filed that information away for later.

“How did your group find Alexandria?” He asked again, now that it was his turn.

“They found us. Their scouts had been watching us on the road. All but starved to death, desperate, and nearly feral. They took us in and gave us jobs. Have you always been the leader of the Saviors?”

Negan’s dark eyes stared at his glass for a long minute. She wasn’t sure he was going to answer, when he finally said, “No, but the guy before me was weak, he didn’t know what he was doing. It’s been me for long enough, and we’re all better for it. You’ve seen what we’ve become. I got us here.”

There was a pause as she took in what he said. He wasn’t wrong. She didn't really want to be here, but she had to admit that it worked. People were safe and fed, and there was a sense of order. Had she found this before Rick’s group, she wouldn’t have hesitated to become part of it.

“If you only got there a month ago, how did Rick end up in charge?” Negan asked.

“Who said Rick was in charge?” she countered.

Negan gave her a pointed look.

“It wasn’t on purpose, necessarily. There was an attack from some crazy outside group – not your guys. A bunch of walkers got past the walls; lost a lot of people - including the town’s leader. Rick is just the sort of guy that others follow, so the natural option was for him to step into the role.”

She hesitated a moment. “What’s your plan for them?” she asked, risking the question. Hoping it felt like an organic follow up. Negan drained his shotglass, not giving anything away. Damn. “What’s your plan for Daryl?” she was risking even more, now, but she wasn’t sure she’d have an opening again.

“I lost a lot of good fighters,” he answered. “I need more, and I like his spirit. He’ll make a great Savior once I wear him down.” She buried the dread that rose in her at his words and willed her heart to stop pounding.

Now his turn, Negan asked her “Who is Rick’s secondhand man?”

Realization hit her like a slap to the face. She should have guessed sooner his purpose for playing this game. She’d been blind, too focused on her own agenda to bother considering his. She’d have to be more careful about her answers now. If she revealed too much about Rick or Alexandria, she could put her friends in even more danger.

“All these questions about Rick…” she said, with a raised eyebrow and a hint of seduction in her voice, “I’m starting to feel a little jealous…” She took her glass and threw the shot to the back of her throat. She coughed a little as she swallowed. Whiskey had always done that to her.

Negan searched her face before grinning and continuing, “I would hate to have my new wife feeling neglected this soon. Tell me, what did you do before the world fell?”

“That's more like it,” she said with a slight curl of her lip. “Although a little difficult to answer. I worked a lot of jobs; I was putting myself through grad school. Took as many part-time jobs as I could.  I had two semesters left, and was already working on my thesis when the outbreak began.”

“Psychology,” she added, as she saw him start to speak again. He confirmed that was his next question with a slight nod of his head. “Same question to you,” she asked, settling back in her chair to keep the room from spinning. She hadn’t done a shot in ages, and her time on the road left her smaller than she ever was during her college partying era. Another shot or two and she wasn’t sure she could trust herself to answer anymore questions.

“I worked with kids,” Negan responded. “Gym teacher and coach.”

She didn’t try to hide a look of surprise, which made Negan chuckle. “I get that a lot when I answer that question.” She would have to work through that information later, figure out what that said about him as a person. The types of people who chose teaching positions… well, it begged the question what had happened to form him into... this? She didn’t have time to flesh that thought out as Negan launched into his next inquiry.

“You studied psychology, and you spent some decent time with him… if you were me, what would your next move against Rick be?”

Shit. She walked right into that one. How was she so off her game tonight?

She searched his face for a minute, took the decanter of whiskey and filled her glass. She met his glare as she gulped the shot down, stifling her cough this time. As she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, she said, “I left their group to join you, but I don’t hate them. I’ll follow orders out there, but you can’t expect me to plot against them in here.”

Negan chewed his lip as he studied her, narrowing his eyes. She waited for his next question or her dismissal. She hoped for the latter.

“If you were me, what would your next move against Rick be?” he asked again, a malicious tone encroaching his voice.

She filled her glass again, but Negan’s hand appeared on its rim, pressing it to the table as she tried to lift it. “I’d like you to answer this one.” He said, threat in his voice despite the polite smile he wore.

As she made to protest, he cut her off. “You see, you asked to be more than just my wife - which stung a little, I won’t lie. But I am a generous husband, I like my wives to be happy. They always did say, ‘happy wife, happy life.’ I’m not one to argue with an age-old adage, but in order to do that for you, to make you happy… give you a job, if that’s really what you want… I gotta know what value you bring. I gotta know if you can do more than just take orders - I have enough obedient dogs out there. You’ve seen the way they bow to me. I don’t need another dog. What I need… is a wolf. A wolf, or a wife. The choice is yours.”

She stared at him, working to keep the rage she felt from burning through her glare. Bastard.

“I’ll give you until dinner tomorrow. Come back with something good, and I do mean something impressive, or settle in as a stay home wife, dear. You asked what I’ll do with Daryl – I guess you get to make that decision. I’d like him to become one of us, but what I need is information, and if you don’t give it, then I’ll get it from him however I have to."

"You’re dismissed.”

---

She’d played that conversation over in her head too many times to count since returning to her room last night. She worked through all her options, even options that weren’t options. How could she live with herself if she gave him all her friends’ weaknesses? How could she live with herself if she didn’t?

Seeing Daryl now, slumped in that red chair, staring into the room she hid in - her heart broke. He was filthy, his hair a level of greasy that was bad even for Daryl. His eyes were cloudy, dark bags hanging under them like he hadn’t slept in days. She shuddered to think what could put him in such a state - her strong, tough Daryl. She knew he wasn’t breaking, but she couldn’t tell how much he had left in him. He was so ragged, so run down.

Her decision was made. She wouldn’t be the cause of more pain for him. She could never forgive herself for that. For him, she could turn into whatever she needed to be. For him, she could be a wolf.

They’d see just how much of a wolf she was.

The comfiest of comfort movies

Watching labyrinth again and all my problems have dissipated

Is there a word for swooning and panting at the same time? This fic is fire!

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.

The Shower

a/n - I am nearing the end of season 6 in my rewatch, and this idea has been stuck in my head since ep. 12 in season 5. I am hyper-fixated on Daryl right now, and I am hoping writing these will get him out of my system!

Daryl x reader (female anatomy described)

Summary: Daryl needs a shower, and you encourage him to take one... with you.

Warnings: smut, 18+ only, m x f, p in v, fingering, stroking, unprotected sex, mentions of loss, killing, hunting

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daryl had not said much to you, or anyone really, since you joined the group. They took you in a few weeks back, when you stumbled across an old church they were hiding in. You'd learn to read them all pretty quickly (you were good at that), trying to figure out how to fit in this tight-knit group.  It was clear they were all hurting. They’d lost a safe place recently, you’d been told. They’d lost people when it fell and they got separated, and since joining them, you’d seen them lose more. Sasha had lost her brother and her boyfriend; Abraham had lost a mission (you still needed to figure out what that was about). You were there when Maggie learned she’d lost her sister. That one seemed to hit hard for everyone in the group, especially for Daryl, you’d noticed.

You didn’t mind that Daryl didn't talk much, it was nice in the moments you found yourself alone with him (which seemed to happen more than not). It was not expected that you'd talk about your past, nor did you expect him to talk about his. You both liked it that way. It seemed to gravitate you both to each other – this silent understanding that you’d both lost people, and keeping to yourself was protection. So, you didn’t fully understand who Beth was to Daryl, but you did understand that he was hurting. For some reason, you could not shake the desperate urge to help him - to fix the hurt - or at the very least distract him from it. And now, seemingly safe in this miraculous compound, safe behind the big walls of what they called Alexandria, he seemed more on edge than anyone. Even Rick - which was saying something. You needed to help him. Watching Daryl sulking in a corner on the front porch while everyone dispersed to explore and get to know our new home, you overheard a conversation that gave you an idea.

“Have you taken a shower yet?” you heard Carol ask him.

“Mmhmm,” you heard him respond, obviously a lie. You could write “wash me” in the dirt and filth accumulated on his skin.

“Take a shower. I’m gonna wash that vest. We need to keep up appearances, even you,” Carol firmly suggested to him as she walked away to meet neighbors and begin her assigned job in the community. You heard Daryl mumble a response; you assumed he declined the shower when you heard Carol retort that she would hose him down in his sleep.

The house was empty now, as you made your way to the porch. This was a bold plan, you knew that. Your heart was pounding in your chest just thinking it through, but you had little doubt it would work. You’d had weeks on the road with this crew, and as time marched, you’d found yourself with Daryl more and more, both of you finding excuses to be alone. Excuses like scouting ahead together, or hunting together when you were all desperate for a meal. You’d become almost friends, and you were confident you could read him well enough to know how he’d respond to this. You hoped.

“Hey,” you drawled as you approached the archer on the porch, cleaning his crossbow. He looked up at you in a silent greeting. “Can I show you something?” you asked, tilting your head toward the door to indicate it was inside. You saw Carol look back at both of you as he put down his weapon and followed you inside.

You lead him upstairs, and through what was presumably the primary bedroom of the house, into the large attached bathroom. “Ya need ta show me somethin’ in the bathroom?” he asked suspiciously as you took his hand and lead him further in.  

“You trust me, right?” you asked him, looking in his eyes, not letting go of his hand. He held your stare for a moment before responding, “yeh, I guess.” Your eyes traveled to his lips and lingered there for a moment, and you could feel tension building in the room. You moved in slowly, meeting his eyes again as you got closer, and lightly kissed him on the lips. He tensed. You pulled back just a hair, searching his eyes for what he could be thinking, your breath mingling with his, and went in for a second kiss. This time, he returned the kiss. Both of you gentle at first, and then both seeming to get hungrier for it. You pushed your tongue against his lips and he opened, letting you in. He pushed your tongue back with his and made his way into your mouth, his hands moving to your waist and pulling you in close as he devoured you.

Yes. This was going to work.

You smiled a bit against his mouth, and teasingly pulled away from the kiss, backing up toward the large walk-in shower. You opened the glass door, and leaned in to turn the water on. Returning to Daryl, you ran your hands up his chest from his abdomen, slipping your hands under the shoulders of his vest and removing as it as your mouth found his again. Your hands moved to his shirt, slowly unbuttoning each one from the top.  He pulled back from the kiss to look at you, searching your face for a clue as to what you were thinking. A sultry smile made its way to the corner of your mouth as you grabbed your shirt at the hem, and took your shirt and bra off in one sweeping motion. He stared at your breasts for a moment, taking in the way they heaved as you breathed in and out quickly, the humidity from the steam and the passion of the moment quickening your breath.

That was all he needed – he quickly removed his shirt, shoes, and pants while you did the same, and then he nearly ran to close the distance between you and cover your mouth with his again. You could feel his length pushing against your stomach as your kisses grew sloppy. With one of his hands wrapped around your waist, and one tangling his fingers through your hair, you could already feel the heat growing in your core, wetting you. You smiled against his mouth again, and moved away from him. “Hang on a sec,” you said, a bit out of breath, as you bent over and collected the discarded clothes on the floor. You moved toward the door, tossed the clothes out, and shut and locked the bathroom door behind you. As you turned, you saw a discouraged look leaving Daryl’s face, and changing his expression to a ravenous one.

You grabbed his hand again as you moved past him into the shower, and standing under the steaming stream of hot water, pulled him against you again. You both quickly resumed your hungry kisses, and as the water washed some of the dirt away from Daryl’s face and neck, you followed the clean path with your mouth. Moving to his chin, then his neck, and slowly to nibble his ear. He groaned, and it was all you could do to keep from jumping on his hard member right then, but you wanted to make this last. You kept nibbling as you reached your hand down and found his shaft, and gently began pulling and stroking it. He responded by pushing you toward the wall and finding your lips with his again. You bit his bottom lip slightly and you stroked longer, and watched as his eyes rolled back in his head slightly. He moved his kisses down your neck and lingered there as he lifted your leg and placed it around his hip.

He held your leg there with one hand, gripping and kneading your thigh and his other hand slowly swept down your side to the front of your stomach, and further. He slowly cupped his hand when he reached your opening, and began sliding his fingers up and down, and in circular motions within your folds. He grunted deeply as he felt the slick that had built for him there. Slowly, he inserted a finger and began rubbing your clit in and out of your opening. You moaned, and then again, as he inserted a second finger, still sucking and kissing your neck. One of your hands slightly clawing his back in response, the other combing through the hair at the base of his neck, you pulled his hair slightly until his head titled backwards and you could feel the water of the shower soaking through his hair. He groaned as you pulled his hair again, and you could no longer stand it. You needed him inside you. Now.

You pulled his hair with one hand as your other hand pushed him backwards, until his legs touched the built-in, tiled bench at the other end of the shower, and he sat. With the warm water streaming down your back, you placed your knees on either side of his thighs, and looked down. His member at its full length now, you gulped at the size of him. You looked into his eyes, and grinned wickedly. He raised an eyebrow in question at you, as you used your hand to guide his tip to your entrance, and slowly sank down onto his cock. He filled you completely, and you had to take your time moving further down as you adjusted to his length. When you had him sheathed to the hilt, you met his eyes with yours again, tangling your fingers into his hair, and began rocking your hips back and forth. You watched as his eyes rolled back in his head again, as you rocked deeper. Your eyes never leaving his, you picked up the pace and felt your orgasm building already. You closed your eyes, throwing your head back and groaning as you ground your hips more and more. You felt his head lean forward and his mouth find the top of your breast. He slowly made his way down your breast with his lips until he found your nipple, and began sucking hard. Your moan was deep and loud in response. He nipped a bit with his teeth, and you felt the build of your orgasm reaching its peak. He sucked again, and thrust upwards with his hips, hitting a spot inside you that you weren’t expecting, and you felt your release shatter you. You gasped and cried out as you came, your arms shaking as your hand stroked his hair.

You felt him grin against your breast as he slowly stood, raising his mouth to yours again, and turning you until your back was pressed against the glass shower wall. He held your thighs around his waist as he began pumping into you, his movements becoming harder and faster, frantic as he chased his own orgasm. He leaned his head against your neck, and you felt his hot breath and he gasped and moaned. You clawed your fingers down his back as he continued grinding into you, making you see stars as the length of him hit every wall inside you. You could hear the wet sound of him thrusting in and out of you, in and out, slamming into you and making the glass wall shake. You felt his movements stutter a bit, and felt him twitch inside you as he let out a low roar, pumping hard two more times before spilling his seed inside you. You both froze there, panting and grinning, both coming down from your orgasms.

When he finally set you back down on your feet, your legs wobbled a bit as you moved to the shampoo, and offered it to him. You spent the rest of the shower cleaning yourselves and trying to get your breath back, shyly stealing glances at each other. When you were both done and drying yourselves with the soft, fluffy towels you found in a cabinet, Daryl broke the quiet.

“Wha’ was that for?” he asked you, not meeting your eyes.

“What do you mean?” you asked back.

“Ya brought me straight up here an’ started that outta nowhere. Why?”

“You mean other than because I wanted to?” you replied, “I guess because I knew you needed it. A release, I mean. You’ve been pent up and tense since...” you trailed off, not wanting to mention Beth’s name, “and it seemed like letting you blow off some steam might help.” And after a beat, you added, “and I didn’t want Carol to hose you off in your sleep.”

You heard him let out a breath like a chuckle, before adding, “I needed it, too, Daryl. I needed you.”

You met his eyes and you could read it there, a thank you. And something else behind it, was it affection?

He moved toward the door and peaked out. “Wha’ the hell? Our clothes ‘er gone.”

“Good. I was hoping Carol caught on and would grab them,” you reply back with a sinister smile.

“What ‘er we ‘spose to do now?” he asked, indignant.

“Well, you can sit in this bathroom wrapped in your towel until she comes back with clean clothes, or you can leave the towel in here with mine, and we can go into that bedroom and find some ways to pass the time,” you said with a wink, dropping your towel and sauntering past him into the bedroom.

He watched you for a moment, his eyes raking up and down your naked form, before dropping his towel and following after you.

Feelings Wheel

This is the feelings wheel by Geoffrey Roberts, shown to me by my therapist. My initial thought was, "what amazing synonyms to use for diverse emotional vocabulary!"

More than that, this wheel is great for understanding your characters inner motivations and reactions to situations. For example, if a character constantly feels helpless, then their overarching characteristics will be that they are fearful.

Characters who are less emotionally aware may use words and act in the inner most circle. Those much more aware of their emotions may describe themselves or express and use words from the outer most circle.

Hopefully you guys find this as helpful as I did! Let me know down in the comments.

Happy Writing!

Two of my favorite things being paralleled in quotes? What a treat!!

“A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.”

Lucien watched the ever-young forest. “Isn’t that what all human women wish for? A handsome faerie lord to wed and shower them with riches for the rest of their lives?”

"From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry."

Her mouth tightened, the only sign of anger in her graceful countenance. “I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.”

I dare say you will find him amiable.

“He is a good male,” I repeated.

"It would be most inconvenient since I have sworn to loathe him for all eternity"

She just ignored him or barely spoke to him until he got the hint and left

He's been a fool about so many things, about Jane, and others... but then, so have I. You see, he and I are so similar.

How Lucien withstood it, I didn’t know. Not that he’d shown any interest in bridging that gap between them.

but I said, “You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?” Elain only stared at the steaming kettle as she set it on the stone counter.

"You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April...."

Elain only shrank further into herself,

tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing.

But she doesn't like him. I thought she didn't like him.

"She has no interest in him anyway"

"So did I, so did we all. We must have been wrong."

SJM loves P&P which in it's simplist form is two characters who develop misconceptions about the other upon their initial meeting. Who can't help but being drawn together throughout the book but refuse to admit it due to their own stubbornness. As a result they either act indifferent and push the other away (Elizabeth) or suffer in silence with longing (Darcy).

It's weird that people know of her love for this movie / book and how everyone in it believed Elizabeth greatly disliked Darcy (up until the end) yet they still act like Elain's indifference towards Lucien is a bad thing.

I typically don’t care for the unplanned pregnancy trope - but honestly I’m living for it in this story.

Can’t wait to read more!

Look for the Light - 3

Masterlist

Summary: Four years ago, Joel saved you from certain death. In return, you followed him faithfully. Always ready to do and give him whatever he asked, despite the hurt it inflicted on you, body and soul. Agreeing to go with him to deliver Ellie to the Fireflies… this would be the last time you’d follow him… After this, your debt would be paid.

Relationships: Reader x Joel Miller, Joel Miller & Ellie, Reader & Ellie

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose to give none. Read at your own risk. 18+ (So excited to share this with you. So much to come folks! 🙊😍)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2

You glanced in the back seat and smiled when you noted that Ellie had drifted off. You'd been on the road most of the day and you supposed that once the initial wonder of being in a car had worn off, the teenager had succumbed to sleep. None of you had slept much since setting off on this journey. The teenager had rattled on about things she'd heard at FEDRA school and asked questions whenever something unusual popped into view. The teenager had been quiet for the last hour however and you had relished the quiet at first.

Now it was choking.

Joel hadn't spoken a word to you since leaving Bill and Frank's. You knew he was struggling to come to terms with losing the two men. He had considered them friends in a messed up sort of way and to find out they'd killed themselves had been a huge blow. Especially so soon after losing Tess... And the journey continued that way until you came across an old service station, littered with cars.

"We need gas." He announced, pulling in and parking up.

Ellie was quick to jump out of the car and you chuckled at the teenager's enthusiasm.

"Where you goin'?" Joel called out when the teenager sprinted towards the building.

"I need a piss man." She grumbled and Joel nodded.

"I'll make sure the building's clear." You stated and Joel nodded at you, watching as you and Ellie disappeared inside.

You were quick to ascertain that the building was free of infected and people and left the girl to relieve herself in privacy. You pulled out your pack and rested it on the counter of the derelict cafe, pulling out the box you'd managed to find at the store a few days prior. Your hands were shaking as you pulled out its contents and stared at it, almost willing for what you were looking at to be different. scraping a hand over your face, you let out a shaky breath, willing yourself not to cry but finding yourself losing that battle.

"What are those?" Ellie asked as she sprinted up behind you, grabbing one off of the counter before you could stop her.

"Two dashes -Pregnant... One dash - Not pregnant..." She spoke as she studied it.

"Ellie please give that back." You pleaded but the teenager didn't listen.

"Well this one has two dashes so..." She trailed off as the realisation dawned on her and then her eyes drifted up to you "Wait are you pregnant?"

"Ellie-"

"Is it Joel's?" She interrupted as she glanced out the window before looking at the test again "It is isn't it!"

"Ellie please-"

"Man, he is gonna freaaaaak."

"I know okay!" You snapped, finally managing to snatch the test away from her.

"Where did you even find those?" She asked as she watched you stuff the tests back into your pack.

"The shop we had shit stashed in." You stated as you leaned against the counter and took a deep breath.

"You going to tell him?" She asked and you let out a long sigh before answering.

"Well, I'm going to have to." You grumbled, "Not something I can exactly hide from him."

"What you gonna do though?" She asked "You going to keep it?... Only I can't see Joel playing happy family."

"I don't know Ellie okay!" You choked "I don't know what I am going to do but I would appreciate it if you could keep this to yourself until I tell him."

"Sure... Course." She nodded and you released the breath you hadn't even realised you'd been holding.

"Thank you." You replied with a small nod "Come on. Should get out there before Joel comes looking."

Outside, Joel was leaning against one of the many abandoned cars that littered the area, fuel pumping from inside the tank into the can he had sat on the floor beside him.

"Good?" He asked and you nodded.

"Fine." You replied plainly, unable to miss the slight wince that appeared on his face when you spoke.

"We have to do this every hour?" Ellie asked as she watched Joel feed the pipe into another car's gas tank.

"Gas breaks down over time." He replied, eyes still focused on what he was doing "This stuff's almost water."

"Back in the day, we'd drive 10, 12 hours on one tank." You piped up and Ellie looked at you in awe.

"You could go anywhere." She stated and you nodded "So where'd you go?"

"Pretty much nowhere." Joel grumbled and you smirked at the man's reply.

He wasn't wrong.

Joel blew air through one of the pipes in his hand and you watched as the gas started to travel through the other one, the liquid pattering against the gas already in the can.

"Nice! How does that work?" Ellie asked, her interest piqued.

"It's a siphon." Stated Joel as he looked up at the teenager "It's when liquid... travels against gravity... because pressure..."

"You don't know." Ellie needled and you choked back a laugh at the girl's statement.

"I know it works." He replied, eyes wandering to you and your smirk soon disappeared.

Something Ellie keenly picked up on.

"You two gonna be fucking miserable around each other the whole way?... Cus I'm not sure I can handle much more of this sexual tension."

"There's no sexual tension." Joel grumbled and the teenager rolled her eyes at the man's reply.

"Sure there isn't." She mumbled as she turned around.

"No wandering." Joel called out and glanced at Ellie.

"Okay." The teen replied before pulling something from her pack "This is your fault then."

Joel look almost worried.

"It doesn't matter how much you push the envelope, it'll still be stationery."

You barked out a laugh that took not just Joel but yourself by surprise. You can't remember the last time you heard a joke. It had been a long time, that was for sure. Not much to joke about anymore.

"No Pun Intended, Volume Too, by Will Livingston." Ellie announced as she showed you both the cover of the book in her hands "Volume Too."

You rolled your eyes at the girl's enthusiasm before looking over at Joel who was shaking his head.

"Look. You get it? 'Too'? Like, T-o-o."

"Jesus." He grumbled.

"What did the mermaid wear to her math class?" Ellie continued and Joel's expression was one that almost looked like terror.

"An algae bra." She chuckled "Like, algae bra."

"Ellie-"

"I stayed up all night...

"No." Joel almost pleaded and you couldn’t not chuckle at the man's obvious discomfort.

"wondering where the sun went... and then it dawned on me."

"Feel free to wait in the truck." Joel growled, shutting the teenager up for the time being.

"Ugh, okay." She groaned " But just know, you can't escape Will Livingston." She warned, looking at you both as she stuffed the book back in her pack "He'll be back... There's nothing you can do to stop him."

Joel managed to get a decent amount of gas from the cars to last you a little while longer. You took the back seat so you could sleep a while, whilst Ellie took the front. She silently studied the landscape as it flew passed the window, careful when she spoke not to wake you. You made one more stop, swapping places with Ellie again so that she could sleep a while if she wanted to. Instead, the teen decided to rummage around in the back.

The girl found a tape that had filled the car with music and for a while, it felt like it was any normal road trip. Like the ones, you'd had with your parents as a kid.

"Oh, man." Called out Ellie "Got somethin' else."

Ellie was silent a while as she analysed what she had found, her eyes growing to the size of saucers at the images she saw.

"It's, uh... light on the reading, but it has some interesting pictures." She stated and that grabbed both your's and Joel's attention.

"Oh. No, no, no. Put that back." Joel ordered but the teenager didn't listen, snatching the mag bag when you tried to grab it from her "That's not for kids. Ellie." He warned but still, she didn't listen.

"How would he even walk around with that thing?"

"Please get rid of it." Joel pleaded and you once again found yourself smirking.

"Hold your horses." Ellie grumbled as she continued to flick through the pages "I wanna see what all the fuss is about."

Joel gave you a pleading look and you shrugged. You'd get the item from the teenager without endangering them all.

"Why are all these pages stuck together?" Ellie asked and suddenly Joel looked like a fish out of water "Uhh... the..."

"I'm just fuckin' with ya." She chuckled, swatting him with the magazine before sitting back and rolling down the window "Bye-bye, dude!" She chuckled as she threw the magazine from the car.

The music continued to play as Joel drove. The conversation between you and the child flowed easily as you talked to her about what she was seeing. She was a curious little thing and it warmed your heart. Your hand unconsciously rested on your stomach as you imagined what the child inside might look like. You imagined a little boy with dark eyes and wild curls. The perfect balance of you and Joel. The image took away the fear you'd been feeling since you learned about them. You still didn't know what you were going to do. This was no world for a baby but there was no safe way of getting rid of it either... and truth be told.

You didn't want to.

When the sky started to darken, Joel glanced at back Ellie before looking over at you and decided that it was probably time to call it a night. He could tell that you both were exhausted and he was too.

"All right. That's enough for today." He piped up and you looked over at him a moment before nodding at him.

He abruptly turned the truck and drove it across a field towards some woods. Driving a fair way in before parking the truck and pulling out some tins of food. After getting the gas stove going, Joel opened up some tins and started to heat them up in a metal tin pot, the smell making your mouth water.

A short while later you were eating the meal Joel had prepared, savouring the flavours. It was the meal you'd eaten in a long while. You knew the diet of jerky you'd been on couldn't have been giving the baby the nutrition it needed so you hoped a few days of decent meals would help it grow. The more your mind dwelt on the baby, the more attached to the idea of being a mum you became. So you decided you were going to keep it... Whether Joel wanted it or now.

"Slow down." Joel grumbled, pulling you from your thoughts.

"This is slow." Ellie mumbled around a mouthful of food.

"What am I even eating?" She asked as she forked another mouthful in.

"That is 20-year-old Chef Boyardee ravioli." Joel replied.

"That guy was good."

"I actually agree."

The three of you ate in silence a while before Ellie asked what you too were wondering.

"How long we staying out here?"

"I figure I sleep tonight... and drive tomorrow, all day, all night, get us to Wyoming by next mornin'."

"So can we start a fire? I'm freezing."

"Now, why am I gonna tell you no?" Joel snapped and Ellie rolled her eyes at the man's tone.

"Because Infected will see the smoke."

"No. Fungus isn't that smart." You piped up, grabbing the other's attention.

"She's right." Joel conceded "This is too remote

for Infected, anyway."

"People?" Ellie asked and you both nodded in unison "So what are they

gonna do? Rob us?"

"Oh, they'll have way more in mind than that." Joel grumbled and Ellie nodded. No more need be said on the matter.

You set up your sleeping bags for the night, one single light illuminating the camp. You said nothing whilst Ellie and Joel muttered things between the two of them. Your mind was going a million miles an hour whilst you stared at the box just visible inside your pack.

Your mind drifted back to the conversation you'd shared a little earlier with Ellie. The girl needled for clarity on what you were going to do about your situation.

"You need to tell him." She said as she glanced at the man who'd been unpacking the truck "Sooner rather than later."

You'd not said anything. Just nodded at him before graciously accepting the sleeping bag Joel had handed you. You'd set yours up a little away from theirs. Wanting space to think about how you were going to approach the subject. As you lay there staring at the sky you heard Ellie speak, the tone grabbing your attention.

"Can I ask you a serious question?" Her tone sounded almost frightened and your heart ached to reach out and comfort her.

"Yeah."

"Why did the scarecrow get an award?"

Your eyes instantly rolled but you stayed silent. Waiting for Joel to tell her off again.

"Because he was outstanding in his field." He replied and you guffawed at his reply.

Joel Miller had a sense of humour. You be damned!

"You dick!" Ellie laughed as Joel rolled back onto his side. "Did you read this?"

"No." Joel grumbled, pulling his sleeping back higher "Now go to sleep."

Silence settled in the camp for a while and you closed your eyes, willing sleep to come but Ellie's voice pulled you back, just as you felt rest tug just a little.

"Those people you said..." She trailed off, tone again a little frightened "There's no way anyone knows we're here, right?"

Your stomach dropped at her question. You'd be lying if you said you weren't frightened of being found. Especially now.

"No one's gonna find us."

"No one's gonna find us." Joel repeated.

"Okay."

With that, the girl allowed herself to close her eyes and you envied how quickly she fell into a deep slumber. You too allowed sleep to take you and you fell into a dreamless slumber. When you woke, the stars were still twinkling above you and you sighed, looking up to see what it was that must've woken you.

Joel was standing guard, gun in hand and you scraped a hand over your tired face before getting up from your bed.

"Can't sleep?" You asked quietly as you came to a stop at his side.

"Something like that." He replied, eyes scanning the darkness.

"What me to take over?"

"I'm fine." His tone was short and it snapped whatever patience you had left in half.

"God, you're an asshole." You grumbled and this grabbed his attention.

"What?"

"I'm sorry it was me instead of Tess." You grumbled as you turned your back to him "I know you'd rather have her here at your side but I can't change what happened."

"I don-"

"I shouldn't have come." You sobbed, wiping your tears with your sleeve "I keep following you around but you clearly don't want me around. I keep inflicting this hurt on myself and I can't do it anymore."

Joel grabbed your arm and turned you to face him. His expression was impossible to read in the dim light of the camp.

"I don't wish it had been you instead of Tess." He uttered, his face not inches away from yours "I have always wanted you around... Since the day I met you."

"What are you saying, Joel?"

He didn't answer with words. He kissed you hard and your hands instantly tangled in his hair as he walked you back. His lips travelled to your neck and you glanced at Ellie a moment before allowing yourself to succumb to the pleasure he was bringing you.

"Got to be quiet ." He whispered as he opened your jeans and pulled them down over your hips.

You nodded eagerly as you helped rid him of his own jeans before opening his shirt and running your hands over his warm flesh. He dropped to his knees, pulling you with him and you straddled his lap, whining at the feel of his erection rubbing against your folds. Your hand snaked between you and grabbed it, positioning it at your entrance before sinking down. Gasping at how well he filled you. Then you kissed him, the two of you swallowing each other's moans as you stayed there a moment, adjusting to his length.

"We haven't got long." Joel uttered against your lips and you nodded, glancing again at Ellie's back before you both started to move.

"Fuck." You choked as he hit that perfect spot over and over again.

The two of you moved in perfect sync. You met each one of his thrusts, noting how he was wincing. This couldn’t be good on his knees.

"Lay down." You uttered but he shook his head, increasing his pace when he felt you start to squeeze him.

"You close?" He asked and you nodded "Cum for me."

And you did. Your heat squeezed him so tight that he came without warning, suddenly racing to pull out but it was too late.

"Shit." He grumbled as he scrambled to get dressed again "Shit, shit shit!"

"Joel-"

"I shouldn't have cum in you." He growled, berating himself under his breath "Fuck."

"Joel, calm down."

"Calm down??" He growled "Do you get what this means?"

"Yes." You spat, keeping your voice low.

"You could end up pregnant." He growled and you threw your head back, letting out a long sigh as you glanced over at your pack.

He watched as you got up, carefully pulling something from your bag before heading back over to him. Your hands were shaking as you knelt down opposite him, clutching the truth in your hands tightly.

"We can't let that happen." Joel uttered, his brows drawn together "We can't bring a baby into our situation."

You let out a sigh before holding the tests out so he could see them. His eyes drifted from you to what you were holding out to him, his eyes widening as he studied the items carefully.

"It's a bit late for that Joel." You replied plainly, pulling his gaze back to you "I'm already pregnant."

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I see no lies.