Daryl Dixon is a confusing man; he’s a man of few words, infuriating in his incessant need to keep his innermost thoughts and emotions secret as he makes it a habit to rarely speak. Despite this though, it was impossible to mistake the fact that he cares. He’s the definition of a protector type; maybe it was the abuse in his childhood, maybe it was his self-deprecating need to make amends for his life before the apocalypse, or maybe it was the fact that he felt like it’s something he should do. Whatever the motive, he found himself muttering curse words under his breath as he shoulders his crossbow, snatches his backpack from its resting place by the front door and follows after the retreating figure disappearing due to the closing entrance gate.
Try to take a man’s woman, these be the consequences. It’s a shame for the characters going through it, but I do love to see it. And I adore how quietly this ends. So peaceful to combat how intense the day had gotten
Daryl Dixon is a confusing man; he’s a man of few words, infuriating in his incessant need to keep his innermost thoughts and emotions secret as he makes it a habit to rarely speak. Despite this though, it was impossible to mistake the fact that he cares. He’s the definition of a protector type; maybe it was the abuse in his childhood, maybe it was his self-deprecating need to make amends for his life before the apocalypse, or maybe it was the fact that he felt like it’s something he should do. Whatever the motive, he found himself muttering curse words under his breath as he shoulders his crossbow, snatches his backpack from its resting place by the front door and follows after the retreating figure disappearing due to the closing entrance gate.
“Why’re you following me?” The question startled him, reverberating against the dense trees in a distant echo, his movement slowing to an impasse as his hunter’s instincts kicked in, even the hint of a footstep would alert him to a location. “As much as I enjoy our silent bonding, I can take care of myself.” He’s holding his breath, listening carefully as the sound of your voice is carried within the trees with the warm breeze. He ignores the tremble of his spine, tongue dampening his chapped mouth as he catches the distant tousle of a thinning tree branch in his peripheral vision. Nestling the camouflage stock of his crossbow in the crook of his shoulder, he squeezes the trigger, sending an arrow soaring through the air for the bolt to wedge into the gnarled trunk of a tree an inch beside your head.
“Where we goin’?” His voice was hoarse, the question lingering in the silence as you released an exasperated sigh and retrieved the arrow from the tree with a forceful yank before balancing the arrow in the palm of your hand as you waited for him to grab it. He’s stubborn, he wasn’t going back home without you and you knew that.
“I needed air.” You explain, swallowing the saliva in your mouth as his calloused fingertips brush against the delicate skin of your palm. The gesture felt deliberate, his warm flesh lingering longer than necessary but you said nothing about it. You never did. “Being there, behind Alexandria’s aluminum barrier, it feels like a prison sometimes.” He’s watching you, searching your face for something, you knew if anyone could understand, it was Daryl. He’s a runner; from people, from the undead and from feelings. “After everything that’s happened, being behind those walls, it’s more dangerous than being out here.”
“Whatcha mean?” He questions, shouldering his crossbow before he gestures for you to continue on your journey, squeezing the leather strap of his weapon as his laden footsteps fall in time with yours.
“Getting comfortable.” Hesitating, you gnaw on your bottom lip before contemplating on whether you wanted to be honest with him or trail off and continue in silence. “It can fool you into believing that you can be safe. Nowhere is safe. There’s no such thing in this world anymore.”
“Yah made it this far.” He pointed out, stomach knotting at the thought of what could have happened if Rick hadn’t found you. Dehydrated, starving and almost feral; Rick couldn’t, in good conscience, leave you behind without supplies, without weapons, without help. You had no one and it hit the familial piece of his heart as he sighed, placing his calloused hands on his lean hips and started to make his journey back to your hiding spot. It took him a few weeks of returning, offering cans of salvaged food and one-sided conversation before you finally agreed to follow him. A silent nod, but he’d take what he could get.
You remained silent; content in keeping your guard up as you stuck to yourself and watched his group, the way they associated with each other, the way they cared for one another. They were a family; Rick was a noble person, and this observation is what put you at ease enough to remain with them. It was difficult; being a contributing member of the group while trying to remain from getting too close to anyone. You had failed; they became your family, the only person in the group that you hadn’t spoken to much was Daryl. Somehow, despite not having had many conversations with him, he is who you felt the closest to. Maybe it was because he was so much like you, it made you feel like he was your kindred spirit. That was what frightened you the most, that despite this fact and the world you now lived in, you felt something for him. You couldn’t allow yourself to fall for him, not after everything that you’ve lost.
“You alright?” He questions lowly, his gruff voice making your spine shiver, as his glacial blue eyes watch the hesitation on your features before you nod and turn away from him. He refrains from releasing a sigh as he follows after you, wondering whether or not he should speak. He wants to, he doesn’t know what he’d say, but he’d try anything just to hear your melodic voice even for a moment. It’s what gets him through the day. His reason for getting up in the morning and continuing to fight, it’s you.
“Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if the apocalypse hadn’t happened?” The question is quiet, hesitant, as if you had something specific on your mind. “Who you’d be?” He hums, debating on whether he actually ever had wondered. He might have before you came along but it feels like a lifetime has passed since then and he’s sure that he wouldn’t approve of who he would’ve been, and neither would you.
“Nah.” He dismisses the question, fumbling with the pack of stale cigarettes in his plaid shirt pocket. The flick of his lighter interrupts the silence as he inhales deeply and allows the smoke to billow out of his pursed lips. “There ain’t no point in wonderin’.” His tone is light, he doesn’t mean for his answer to sound harsh but he was right. There’s no reason to dwell in the past, not now.
“Maybe.” You murmur, walking side by side with him as you release a distracted sigh, following a dirt path between the foliage and trees. “But sometimes it helps distract me from what’s going on.” You gnaw on your lower lip, contemplating on whether to continue with your thought. You’d never shared anything deeply personal with him, or anyone. “I was engaged, so I’d probably be a housewife. A mom.” You trail off, a bitter smile touching the corners of your mouth before disappearing, leaving a dull ache behind in your chest. He swallows the jealousy bubbling in his veins, he has no right to be envious of your past lovers but it makes him uneasy that you’d been so in love with someone else that you were willing to marry him, to have his child.
“Did yah want to be?” He finds himself asking before he could stop himself, you hesitate for a moment, the memories of your dead fiancé fogging your thoughts as the ghost of a smile haunts your expression. In another life, you’d wanted everything that a majority of people wanted: a happy marriage, babies and a house with a fence and a dog in the yard. Now, it was never further from what you’d allow yourself to have. It was too dangerous. You weren’t sure if you could handle that kind of heartbreak, not again.
“Back then I did.”
“And now?”
“No.” The assertive tone in your voice made him glance in your direction, the darkening expression of your features making his heart ache for you. “I don’t have it in me anymore.” You didn’t have to elaborate, he understood what you meant. It broke his heart, the implication that you couldn’t bring yourself to love again. If anyone deserves love, it’s you. “I need a minute.” You nod your head to a cluster of bushes, raising your eyebrows to see if he’d caught your meaning.
“Don’t use any poison oak leaves.” He comments with a smirk, a giggle escaping your mouth at his words.
“Daryl, was that a joke?” You gasp, feigning shock as you place your hand over your heart in a dramatic fashion. He snorts, waving you off with a pink hue to his cheeks as he turns away to lean on a nearby tree.
He’s occupied by his thoughts of your celestial smile and the warmth in his heart from the sound of your laugh, a smirk quirking his mouth as he flicks the ashes from his cigarette and takes a drawn out drag from the filter. A heart-wrenching scream echoes throughout the trees, the sound piercing his chest as his blood runs cold and he whips around, searching the distance for your shadowed silhouette. It’s the scream of his name being torn from your lips that shakes him to his core, causing his body to lurch forward and his trembling legs thrust him into action. His heart is beating painfully against his ribcage, twigs and foliage crumbling under his boots as his heavy footsteps trample against any and everything. His lone thought, that he needed to find you.
He’s in a complete panic as your screams start to drift, growing quieter and quieter as you’re taken away from him. He doesn’t know what’s happening or who’d taken you but they’d pay. He’d always make sure that anyone that harmed you would pay with their life. Taking a deep breath, he stumbles to a halt, ears perking as he tries to listen for any sort of indicator to where you’d gone. He hears distant voices, hostile voices and the slamming of truck doors. No.
He’s running as fast as his burning legs will carry him, again; he’s in a panic, the heavy stock of his crossbow beating against the wings of his tattered vest as he jumps over fallen moss littered wood and rocks. The sorrow in his stomach intensifies as the echo of a truck engine bounces off of the trees surrounding him. His sole consolation is the fact that the sound is close, and his assumption is proven valid as he slides to a halt in a strewn clearing of leaves as a billow of exhaust kicks from the tailpipe of the beaten old maroon Chevrolet beginning it’s journey into the opposite treeline feet away. “Hey, hey-hey!” The distressed shouts rubbed his throat raw, disappearing in the rumble of the truck’s engine as it began its descent in the opposite direction. There’s a devastating sorrow that bleeds through his stomach, veins running frigid with the crippling fear of losing you. He’d never recover, never forgive himself. In his hysteria, his trembling hands fumble with an arrow, desperate to claw at a semblance of control out of this spiraling situation- he holds his breath, aiming at the retreating tires of the enemies’ truck. Daryl’s abdomen lurches as the arrow soars through the air, the anticipation is crippling, the bolt pierces the worn tire but instead of a satisfying burst of air or a flounder of movement from the truck, it continues on as if nothing has happened.
The ominous growls of a fleeting horde flow within the woodland, a delicate breeze carrying the lurid stench of the rotting corpses, the intermittent snapping of tree branches and squelch of dampened soil allowing Daryl to sustain his trail without resistance. The residual evidence of your enslavers has kept him on a 24hr pursuit so far; he’d stay hidden within these trees amongst the feral undead pursuing any trace of you until he was reunited with you, no matter the time that it took. There’s a strange emotion permeating within his chest, a relentless combination of guilt and sorrow, that almost brings him to his knees at the thought of never seeing you again. How could he have let this happen? He should have done something, anything, to make you turn around and go back to Alexandria. The thought made him cringe, there would be no returning to Alexandria without you because Alexandria isn’t his home; you are. It feels like some kind of cosmic power is on his side, the mere thought of you has summoned the end of his destination. There’s an abandoned dilapidated gas station a mere ten yards beyond the treeline, the maroon truck is parked haphazardly at the debris covered pump, a slender man dressed in tattered military gear leaning against the hood of the truck with a half-smoked cigarette hanging from his mouth. He scans the scene for a hint of your whereabouts, a whispered curse falling from his mouth as he sees no trace of you or the burly partner of this bastard.
Daryl is cautious, hesitant on whether the men were alone or part of a gang, given the precarious situation he needed to formulate a plan on how to extract you from the building without going in guns ablaze. He needed a methodical strategy to ensure that you’d be safe. The archer refused to gamble with your life; he took the deep breath that he needed to subdue the savage urge to barrel downhill and slaughter them for having the nerve to steal you from him. The echo of a ravenous growl interrupted the silence, jolting Daryl from his mind as he crouches at the edge of the shrubbery and catches sight of four walkers approaching the man leaning against the truck. There’s a split second of contemplation before he’s placing the stock of his crossbow against his chest, securing an arrow along the flight groove as he draws the string to the latch and aims at the man’s leg. The dulled thack of the bow’s string forcing the arrow whizzing into the air is followed by the pained scream of the undead tearing at flesh, Daryl isn’t afforded time to gloat, the gas station entrance slams open as the burly man comes running out the door with a pistol in his hand.
“What the fuck?” The man shouts, witnessing the zombies crouched around his partner, rotting flesh covered hands clutching fresh intestines as they take engorging bites. A gunshot rings out earning the walkers’ attention as he misses his target and they start fumbling in his direction. Daryl takes the opportunity to shoot the man in the chest making an easier meal for the insatiable dead. Using the distraction to his advantage, Daryl shoulders his crossbow and takes the biters down one-by-one, adrenaline roaring in his veins and breath labored as the final zombie topples to the pavement in a blood-soaked heap. The shadow of a silhouette in the gas station entrance caused him to raise his crossbow again, however, the second you take a cautious step into the sunlight with a trembling hand shielding your squinting eyes to the drastic change in scenery he drops his weapon and begins to run toward the building.
Daryl finds himself at the threshold of the gas station parking lot; limbs burning as gravel crunches beneath his combat boots, his heart hammers against his ribcage as he meets your petrified expression. The dreadful tension evaporates the instant that you meet Daryl’s tearful ice-blue eyes, the crossbow in his trembling hand clatters to the ground as his lower lip begins to quiver and he’s rushing in your direction with his head bowed and a choked hiccup escaping his chapped lips. He crashes against you, lean muscular arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace as his sweat dampened head nudges your shoulder in a cat-like show of affection. “I knew you’d come for me.” You murmur in a hoarse whisper.
“Always.” The conviction in his rough voice and the gentle manner he's cradling the back of your head with his palm as he squeezes you to his chest demolishes the remaining fragments of your composure. Daryl closes his tearful eyes, nose buried in the crook of your trembling shoulder as your fingers clutch at his leather vest and soon you're sobbing. His chest aches, heart shattering with each cry that meets his ears. He feels so helpless, furious with the men that kidnapped you and with himself for letting this happen.
The campsite is silent albeit for the crackle of the fire, Daryl’s muscular forearm propped against his knee, you’re seated between his sprawled out legs, back against his chest, clutching the arm strewn around your shoulder. It feels perfect; almost like this was always meant to happen, like the flames of emotions and vulnerabilities you both had been holding in since the beginning could no longer be snuffed. It was a silent transition in the relationship, like both of you just knew that this meant you belong to one another. He was never going to let you go again.
A/N: This is a Jesus x Fem!Reader. I’ve addressed before in this post my opinion on the matter. If you don’t like it, don’t read it.
The distant snap of a twig underfoot interrupted the complacent silence; ceasing movement, you squint your eyes as you scrutinize the forest for the disturbance. There was a voice in the furthest part of your mind that reminded you of the careless decision to leave Alexandria and journey to the Hilltop by yourself. It’d become a weekly adventure, wandering the woods to visit Maggie and Daryl as they hid amongst the Hilltop; faceless workers hidden by the shadows whenever the Saviors came crashing through the main entrance. The hairs on the nape of your neck stood on end, nerves alert to the tension radiating from behind a nearby tree; the presence behind the tree. As there were no snarls or groans lingering in the air, it was safe to say that it was a person, whether that person was a friend or foe was still to be determined.
“Come out.” The prestige in your unwavering tone let the presence be known that despite your lack of invasion, you weren’t afraid to attack if provoked. “I won’t say it again.” The hammer on your gun reverberate with a click as you aimed in the direction of the noise, preparing for the stranger’s choice of reaction.
“Alright.” A hesitant male voice called before a teenager appeared from behind the tree holding his hands up in surrender. “Don’t shoot. I am just lost, ma’am.” The teenager’s face was smudged with dirt but his appearance otherwise wasn’t disheveled; this observation alerted you to the fact he had to be a part of a group. The teenager lowers his arms, eyes glistening with guilt as he frowns and speaks. “I am sorry.” He apologizes as the sound of a gun cocking interrupts the tension in the atmosphere. “I have a sister to take care of.”
“Well, well.” A rough male voice murmurs behind you, the familiar feeling of a gun barrel pressed against the back of your head before the voice continues. “I finally caught you. Negan will be pleased.” The rustling of leaves is the sole sound in the air, a disgruntled sigh escaping your mouth as the Savior whistles. Of course, they were never alone. “The redneck missing put him in a mood. He likes you though, so he’ll be happy to know he’s gettin’ a new wife.”
“To hell he is.” The Savior chuckles, amused by the defiance as a pair of hands grab either of your arms. The teenager hides behind the tree as you throw your head back, a satisfying crack reverberating in your ear drums as you make contact with his nose. Acting quickly, you kick at another’s knee, the hoodlum screaming in pain as he slumps into a heap on the ground, clutching his leg. The grasp on your arm slackens, the echo of a sole gunshot lingering in the air causing you to freeze. The Savior that’d been holding onto your bicep falls to the ground, blood oozing from a gunshot to the head. The Savior with a broken nose panics, arm winding around your neck as he presses his gun to your temple and surveys the area.
“I’ll shoot her.” He exclaims, arm crushing your windpipe as he squeezes you closer to his body. “Get out here and give me your gun.”
“I can’t do that.” A smooth voice answers in the distance, you’d recognize that voice anywhere; Paul Rovia. “But I will let you and your other friend live if you leave.”
“I am not leaving without her.” He responds in a growl, shaking you from side to side as he searches for the intruder. “She’s Negan’s.” The Savior says his leader’s name like it’s supposed to strike fear into people's’ hearts. Another gunshot sounds and the Savior who’d been nursing his injured leg falls limply to the leaf covered ground with blood splattering his forehead and a hole near his hairline.
“Please.” Paul speaks politely, the Earth crunching beneath his boots as he appears from behind a nearby tree with a rifle raised, barrel pointed directly at the remaining Savior’s head.
“Jesus.” The Savior laughs. “Negan’ll kill you for helping them. Helping her.” As he’s distracted, you elbow him in the face, reinjuring his nose as he cries out and clutches his face. Paul has no time to react as you plunge your knife into the Savior’s temple and he falls to the ground; lifeless.
“You following me?” You question with a hint of amusement in your tone as you raise an eyebrow at Paul. He chuckles, shouldering his weapon as you wipe your blade against your pants and holster it.
“I might’ve been.” He responds, shrugging as he glances at the teenager peeking from around a tree. “You have any weapons?” The teenager shakes his head ‘no’ and remains in his spot, afraid of what would happen to him if he didn’t.
“He won’t hurt you, promise.” You inform with a hesitant smile, attempting to be understanding about the situation. Afterall, it wasn’t the teenager’s fault, as he said, he has family to look after and Negan has a way of exploiting that.
“I can’t go back.” The teenager responds, hesitant in his movements as he steps out from behind the tree. “Not without them.” He points to the dead bodies. “He’ll kill my sister.”
“Here.” Paul calls as he removes a weapon from the nearest Savior’s body. “Tell him someone ambushed your group, tried to kill you and you got away.” As the teenager leaves, disappearing into the distance, Paul turns his attention to you. He’s silent, tilting his head in the direction of the Hilltop as a gesture to continue. “Guess you’ll need an escort.” The walk is silent, apart from the leaves beneath your footsteps, as the Hilltop’s gates come into view you stop approaching and glance at him.
“Why were you following me?” You question, nibbling on your bottom lip as you await an answer.
“Didn’t want you to get hurt.” He responds, attempting to start walking again, instead stopping as you clutch his gloved hand.
“You weren’t at Alexandria with us.” You state, pulling him closer by his hand. You watch as he swallows nervously and his glacial blue eyes glance between your curious stare and your mouth.
“I kind of come to Alexandria to check up on you.” He murmurs. “Just to make sure you’re doing alright, not in a creepy way.” He rushes with a crimson hue to his pale cheeks. His heart melts as you giggle at his expression, pressing a hand on his chest and kissing him softly on the lips.
“That’s sweet.” You smile, mesmerized by his beautiful blue eyes. “You could’ve just walked with me, you know.”
“Well, if I had then this wouldn’t have happened.” He replied with a grin as he intertwines your fingers.
“That’s true.” You giggle before dragging him with you toward the Hilltop gates. “You’re forgiven for being a stalker.” You laugh as he groans and you enter the gates to visit your family.
A/N: A bit of Season 7 spoilers if you haven’t seen it, I wouldn’t suggest reading.
Escorting Maggie Rhee to the Hilltop should have been simple; it would’ve been had it not been for the Saviors. There were barricades of vehicles blocking each road leading to the Hilltop, the Saviors wielding weapons as they stood in the street with a sadistic sense of satisfaction in their triumph. It was as if they knew that Rick wouldn’t instigate a fight, not now.
Upon arriving at each route, the hope in the air began to fade, a suffocating tension lingering in the atmosphere as everyone began to internalize their panic. It was the final road block that shook everyone’s confidence, the worries and panic were now being verbalized at the sight of a handful of walkers chained to each other wearing mementos of your loved ones. It was when you noticed Daryl’s arrows lodged into the chest of a walker that you swallowed the sadness swelling in your throat and felt a burning rage boil in your chest. They have him; the thought echoed in your head as you reached to retrieve the arrow. The moment your fingertips brushed the fletching, the boisterous sound of gunshots rang through the air as bullets rained down upon the Earth around your group. Rick instructed everyone to return to the RV, but not before he used his axe to sever a walkers arm and unlink the walkers blocking the path.
Everything begins to fall apart; Maggie’s condition is worsening, the Saviors were relentless, and the opportunities for a safe route to the Hilltop were dwindling. Eugene, being his genius self, devised a final effort plan; he’d remain in the RV, driving alone to give the Saviors the illusion that their game was still being played and that they were winning. If only it’d worked. Maybe, just maybe, then your family wouldn’t be surrounded by Saviors, the overwhelming sound of their intimidating whistles echoing throughout the forest in each direction as more silhouettes came into view, allowing your group to realize just how outnumbered you really were. There’d be no fighting this; even if the group managed to take out at least two each, there’d be thirteen more for each person with guns ready to strike you down. This was it; the end.
In a display of dominance, utter control, the Saviors disarmed everyone before forcing everyone to kneel including poor Maggie. The group is on edge as the Savior speaking for them, Simon, calls for Dwight, the Savior that Daryl had named as Denise’s murder. Dwight approaches a van parked with the loading doors aimed toward the group and shoots a satisfied smirk in your direction before opening the doors.
“C’mon, you got people to meet.” Dwight states, almost with amusement to his tone, as he reaches in and grabs someone’s arm.
“Daryl.” You gasp, tears welling in your eyes as you scrutinize his condition; he’s covered in blood, a blood stained blanket thrown over his shoulders, he’s pale and covered in sweat as he meets your worried gaze. “Daryl.” You repeat louder, moving to meet him before a Savior grabs your shoulder and pushes you into the dirt.
“Don’t move.” He growls, causing Daryl to lunge and Dwight to force him onto the ground by squeezing his bloodied shoulder. He hisses in pain, a clear indication that the blood is his, before growling at the Savior behind you.
“Don’t fucking touch her.” The Savior chuckles, amused by Daryl’s warning as there are collective gasps in the group. Rosita, Michonne and Glenn are kneeling beside Daryl; Glenn calling for Maggie before he’s shoved to the ground like the rest.
“All right.” Simon exclaims in a sadistic sense of showmanship. “We got a full boat. Let’s meet the man.” He knocks on the RV door. The group is staring at the door in anticipation of what lies behind it, except for you and Daryl, you’re looking at each other and he’s shaking his head at you. A silent gesture of telling you not to do anything, to be safe and stay quiet. It’s easier said than done as he sways in his seat, surely, due to blood loss. The RV door opens catching your attention once more, a man in a leather jacket wielding a barbed-wire baseball bat steps out with a smile on his greying face.
“Pissin’ our pants yet?” His rough voice questions with the same satisfied smile on his face. He enjoys the dominance and fear, that’s evident by his self-assured posture. “Boy, do I have a feeling we’re gettin’ close.” He’s walking toward the group now and Rick’s watching him with rage in his eyes. “It’s gonna be pee-pee pants city here, real soon.” He scans the group before continuing. “Which one of you pricks is the leader?”
“It’s this one.” Simon states, pointing directly at Rick. “He’s the guy.”
“Hi.” He smiles down at Rick, speaking to him as if it were just a normal chat. “You’re Rick, right? I’m Negan. And I do not appreciate you killing my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people, you killed more of my people. Not cool.” Negan shakes his head before continuing. “Not cool. You have no idea how not cool that shit is. But I think you’re gonna be up to speed shortly.” He lowers his voice. “Yeah. You are so gonna regret crossing me in a few minutes. Yes, you are.” There it is, that smile again. He’s enjoying this too much for any sane person. “You see, Rick, no matter what you do, no matter what, you don’t mess with the new world order. And the new world order is this, and it’s really very simple. So, even if you’re stupid, which you very may well be, you can understand it. You ready? Here goes. Pay attention.” Rick flinches as Negan hovers his bat near Rick’s face, speaking lowly. “Give me your shit or I will kill you. Today was career day.” He’s pacing as he continues his speech and you glance at Daryl to see him watching you. “We invested a lot so you would know who I am and what I can do. You work for me now. You have shit, you give it to me. That’s your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big, nasty pill to swallow, but swallow it you most certainly will. You ruled the roost. You built something. You thought you were safe. I get it. But the word is out. You are not safe. Not even close. In fact, you are pegged, more pegged if you don’t do what I want. And what I want is half your shit. And if that’s too much, you can make, find, or steal more, and it’ll even out sooner or later.” Everyone’s sharing worried glances, watching Rick’s reaction for some kind of indication of whether you were going to fight through or give in.
“This is your way of life now.” Negan holds his arms out, gesturing to the entire crowd surrounding you. “The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So, if someone knocks on your door, you let us in. We own that door. You try to stop us and we will knock it down. You understand?” He’s waiting for Rick to answer and receives no response. He places his hand near his ear and leans toward Rick. “What, no answer? You don’t really think that you were gonna get through this without being punished now, did you? I don’t want to kill you people. Just want to make that clear from the get-go. I want you to work for me. You can’t do that if you’re dead, now, can you? I am not growing a garden. But you killed my people, a whole damn lot of them. More than I am comfortable with and for that, for that you’re gonna pay.” He looks at Daryl, something in you becomes cold and you grow rigid as you straighten your posture. “So now, I’m gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you.” He stares at Rick, swinging his bat around. “This, this is Lucille, and she is awesome. All this, all this is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor.” Negan is walking in front of the group, sizing everyone up. He stops in front of Abraham, who sits up straight and glares up at him, refusing to back down. “Huh. Ugh, I gotta shave this shit.” He states rubbing his face as he looks down at Abraham.
“You got one of our guns.” Negan’s pointing down at Carl, the teenager looking up at him without fear. “Woah. Yeah, you got a lot of our guns.” He crouches down to meet Carl’s height and continues. “Shit, kid, lighten up. At least cry a little.”
This showmanship of authority is just a pissing match; a game derived from a sadistic mind to rule by intimidation and fear. He manipulates the leader, demotion to a mere henchman, and rules the followers with an iron fist of punishment. Negan’s arrogance radiates in a sickening grin as he kneels level with Maggie’s sweat gleaming face and, as the words tumble from his mouth, that gesture is the beginning of the end. Glenn screams; the sound instantly angering the sadist as he scowls and instructs Dwight to drag him back into the lineup.
Negan’s rough voice sings ‘Eeny Meeny Miny Moe’ as he uses his barbedwire bat to point at each member; your stomach sinks as he stares down at Daryl, smiling at him before continuing. Daryl’s glacial blue eyes were focused on you; he’d always thought you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He was smitten with you the moment he met you and his feelings had only intensified with time. He’s never loved anyone before; not like this, not like you. He felt like this game was just for show and that surely, he’d be the person to be bludgeoned to death because he’d killed too many of Negan’s men.
“It.”Daryl’s heart stops beating, the sight of Negan’s weapon staring down at you made his veins run cold. The tears in your eyes aren’t for yourself, but rather for the man you’d fallen in love with. He used to be so closed off and unable to trust; this would break him. You were positive of this fact and yes you were frightened but not for death. Frightened by the thought that he’d revert back to his old self, become reckless and die because he’d refuse to go on without you. Daryl tries to lunge for you but he’s held back by Dwight’s unyielding grip on his wounded shoulder. He doesn’t even feel the pain as Dwight squeezes; he knows that you’re with Daryl. He’s aware that Daryl loves you, and as much as he’d like to see Daryl dead, he also knows how Negan works. Negan won’t kill Daryl, he’ll just use the outburst as an excuse to kill someone else and make Daryl suffer. This, this was better in Dwight’s eyes; making him watch as his love died.
“I love you.” The phrase was rushed; you knew you were on borrowed time and as the tears welled in your eyes, vision blurred, you were thankful that he’d at least be the last sight you’d see. It broke your heart to see him so upset. He’s sobbing, tear stains on his dirt smudged cheeks as his bottom lip quivers and he’s clutching the dirt. He’s murmuring something but you don’t catch it before a crack echoes in your ears and screams begin to overwhelm the hearing you have remaining. Daryl’s screams fall upon deaf ears as the life leaves you; the group is distraught not only by the loss but by Daryl’s heartbreak. No one had seen him this emotional before and the sight was tragic.
Daryl vowed to himself, to you, in that moment that he’d make sure Negan paid for this. He’d kill Negan himself. He wouldn’t eat or sleep until he made sure to brutalize him the way he’s so wrongfully doing to you. Negan was living on borrowed time.
A/N: I wrote this for @grimes-slut‘s writing challenge. My prompt was “Are you jealous?” I hope everyone enjoys it! The only warning is a few curse words. That’s it though. :)
Upon arrival in Alexandria, Daryl’s demeanor portrayed his unease and distrust of the residents. His behavior was to be expected, the traumatic events brought on by the Governor, Terminus and survival inbetween weren’t memories easily forgotten. As time passed, Daryl began to settle in and accept each of the members of the community. Almost. There was a sole resident he couldn’t or wouldn’t trust, hell, he didn’t like him either if he was being honest; Spencer Monroe. There was just something about the eldest Monroe sibling that made Daryl scowl and his lungs sink to his stomach. It was the kind of unease that was hard to place, his senses on edge whenever he was in close proximity and his gaze always trained on him even if in his peripheral vision.
“What’s up, loser?” Daryl wiped his motor oil stained hands on his jeans, attention following the sound of your voice as he caught sight of you greeting Spencer feet away. He hated it; the knowledge that someone like Spencer could entertain your attention even for a moment. “I am tagging along with Glenn on a run. You wanna go?”
“Does he know you’re inviting me?” Spencer questioned with a hint of playfulness to his tone. He shoulders his rifle before nudging your shoulder with his. “He doesn’t like me like you do.”
“Who said I like you?” The flirtatious suggestion made Daryl cringe, a disgruntled snort interrupting the silence before he lit a cigarette and sat on the steps.
After an awkward murmured conversation between you and Glenn, accompanied by Daryl’s unwavering glare, Spencer decided to stay back in Alexandria. Daryl tried to ignore the conversation between you and Tara, turning up the volume on the stereo to drown out the sound of Spencer’s name as Glenn drove to the destination drawn on Eugene’s map. He spent the remainder of the drive with his dirt littered boots on the dash and a cigarette dangling from his mouth as he scowled.
Upon arrival at the warehouse, Glenn instructed Tara to follow him as he went in through the loading dock, leaving you with Daryl to clear the entrance of walkers. He kept his distance, remaining quiet as the walker bodies piled up behind you. Daryl fought to keep silent, he kept telling himself that he didn’t care how you feel about Spencer. He kept repeating that he shouldn’t care how you feel about Spencer. When you started humming a song he heard you listening to with Spencer a few days previous, he lost his composure.
“What’s goin’ on with Spencer?” Daryl’s gruff voice questioned interrupting the silence and catching you off guard.
“What do you mean?” You inquire as you glance in his direction with a knowing smirk.
“Are yah with him or somethin’?” He scrunches his nose as the words leave his tongue and he can’t help but feel that sinking in his stomach as he awaits an answer.
“No.” You respond, a quiet sigh interrupting the silence before you continue. “Not yet.”
“What’s that mean?” He shoots a walker in the skull, aggressive in his retrieval of the arrow as he stomps on it’s back and yanks it out with force.
“He’s sweet, he’s learning how to survive and he cares.” You shrug, glancing around a corner to assess the situation. “It’s not bad to want to be with someone. I want to love someone.”
“What, like this guy?” He scoffs, stopping in his tracks as he scowls and realization suddenly hits him. It’s not that he necessarily dislikes Spencer, he just hates the idea of Spencer being with you.
“Are you jealous?” You giggle, squinting at him as the sun peeks over his broad shoulder. He doesn’t answer and your smile falters. “Daryl, are you really jealous?”
“Of Spencer?” He snorts, tightening the grip on his crossbow. “Nah.”
“If you were, I’d tell you that you shouldn’t be.” You murmur, meeting Daryl’s curious blue eyes. “I don’t like him like that. I flirt with him but it was only to get someone else’s attention.”
“Who?” He questions more quickly than he meant to. He can feel the sinking in his stomach ease as he watches a lighthearted smile spread across your face before winking at him.
I just wanted to address my unexpected semi-hiatus. There were some unexpected health issues that arose in my family. My Grandpa was diagnosed with an aggressive brain cancer, that kind of felt like it came out of nowhere, and just as he accepted treatment, he passed away. I haven’t really been in an emotionally stable place since he’s passed. I am trying to heal and get myself back into my writing. Writing has always been an emotional outlet for me, so I am hoping to finish up the requests I have and try to move things forward. Thank you for being patient with me.
A/N: This was requested smut. Read at your own discretion. I don’t write a lot of smut, so I apologize in advance if this is terrible. I’d really like to get more comfortable with writing smut but don’t get a lot of requests for it. Anywho, enjoy! :)
Carl Grimes retained an innate expertise in evoking confusion and frustration; at least, that’s what it feels like as he’d slipped into an awkward limbo of evasion and blatant spurn. Judging by the curious and concerned exchanges of pointed expressions and hushed whispers, Carl’s behavior is beginning to rouse concern from those closest to him. Growing continuously exasperated with him, you release an annoyed sigh before following him as he snuck out of Alexandria.
The trek into the forest was routine; a hike you’d made numerous times in the past as he made animated conversation and his warm slender fingers interlaced with yours. The thought elicit a frown, this excursion is with a much gloomier undertone. As he approaches his destination, he glances behind himself on instinct, as his vibrant blue eyes meet yours, his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his emotion and disappears into the abandoned house without a second glance. It takes a second for the annoyance to settle in again before you stomp toward the house with determination.
“Grimes.” You growl, the sound interrupting the silence as you ascend the stairs to his favorite room in the building. “You’re not avoiding this anymore.”
“I am not avoiding anything.” Despite the statement being a lie, and the only thing he’s said to you in about a week, the rich tone of his voice elicits a flutter in your belly. He shuffles the pages of his comic book, attention trained on the colorful artwork as you plop beside him on the dirty baseboards with a thud and a snort.
“I thought we promised we’d never lie to each other, Carl.” The inflection in your tone causes him to wince, he knew you’d be annoyed with him but he didn’t think you’d be angry.
“I am not lying just because I can’t talk to you about something.” He murmurs, tossing his comic book onto the toppling pile nestled in the corner of the bedroom. After discovering the abandoned house, Carl brought his collection of comic books and explained that there’s a remnant, however minute, of himself that needed this place to be a secret. He needed a break; he never needs an escape from you, or at least that’s what he let you believe until a week ago, it was everyone else that he needed distance from on occasion.
“We’re supposed to be able to talk to each other about everything.” You reply with a mixture of sadness and hurt in your tone. “We’re best friends.”
“We’re not friends.” He snaps, the emotion he’s been suppressing boiling as he releases a bitter snort. He hesitates before his blazen ocean blue eyes meet yours. “We’re closer than just friends.”
The sound of his voice lingers in your eardrums, the atmosphere transforming to a grueling tension with a nuance of repressed attraction. Carl Grimes is far from subtle. He might not’ve verbalized his feelings but he’s always shown the fondness in his heart. The line between friendship and romance has vanished altogether; he holds your hand, cuddles you close, twirls your hair around his fingers, spends a vast amount of his time thinking about you and he has become anything but a stranger to the feeling of your warm lips pressed against his.
“I just.” He hesitates, slender fingers scratching at the stubble growing on his chin before continuing. “I want to be able to say I am more than a friend. I want to be your boyfriend.” He’s staring at his hands, pale cheeks flushed a darkening pink as he avoids meeting your gaze. Suppressing a smile, you reach out and grasp his hand causing him to cease his uncomfortable movement before looking at you.
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask.” You confess in a quiet murmur, grinning as a handsome smile brightens his freckled face. He removes his father’s Sheriff’s hat, placing it atop of your head before lacing your fingers together.
“So, will you be my girlfriend?” He inquires with a playful tone in his voice. Without a word, you lean forward and press a chaste kiss to his mouth. As the kiss ends, you tangle your fingers in his hair pulling him close as his nose touches yours.
“I love you, Carl Grimes.” You murmur, warm breath ghosting over his tongue dampened lips. He swallows, throat bobbing as his heartbeat stalls at the confession. He’s overwhelmed, he’s loved you for as long as he can remember but he never thought he’d be lucky enough to hear you say those words. It’s as if something in him changes, there’s a darkness that sweeps into his ocean blue eyes like a storm. He jolts forward, crashing his mouth against yours as he kisses you with every ounce of endearment in his heart. He tilts his head, the movement knocking the Sheriff’s hat from your head as his tongue massages yours in the heated exchange.
Crawling to straddle his lap, he grunts against your mouth as you end the kiss to nibble on his lower lip. The room is silent, albeit for Carl’s labored breath as you release his lip and trail tender kisses from his mouth, defined jaw and ending at the base of his neck. He places his hands on your hips, fingers squeezing the denim as he struggles with arousal. “Do you want to stop?” You mumble against the warm flesh of his neck.
“No.” Carl’s voice is hoarse with lust; the sound stirring a twinge between your thighs, and he’s pleasantly surprised as you begin rolling your hips against his. He curses, breath catching in his throat as he savors the exotic gratification of the friction. The sensations rippling throughout your bodies were unfamiliar and welcomed; being virgins, it’s something neither of you had the delight of experiencing before. Here, in the moment, both of you were grateful to be able to share the sinful experience with each other.
Carl is going crazy; his hormones are raging and his stomach is tensing in a divine knot. He groans, knowing that if he lets you continue he’s going to blow in his pants and have an awkward conversation with his father upon returning home with damp pants. As if reading his mind, or being swept into the moment, you cease movement and nibble your bottom lip as your fingertips play with the hem of his t-shirt. His attention flitters to your nimble fingertips, he’s struggling with himself as he’s desperate in his need for things to progress but he doesn’t want you to feel pressured. “I love you.” He states, hands engulfing yours as he meets your eyes. “So, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can wait.”
“I am tired of waiting.” You whisper, pressing an affectionate kiss to his lips. “I just want you, Carl.”
That phrase reignited his need; the need to taste your supple lips, to feel your warm skin under his fingertips and to relish in the wavering breath against his ear. Both of you are naked; Carl’s hovering over you, nestled between your thighs, as you lay on a forest green plaid fleece blanket from Alexandria and his calloused palms are traveling the contours of your body. He palms at your breast, squeezing for a moment before tangling his fingers in your hair and kissing you breathless. He moans against your mouth as you reach between your bodies and grab his erection, the explorative strokes causing him to shiver and bump his nose against yours.
“Are you sure about this?” His tenor voice questioned in a murmur. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I trust you.” You reply, half-lidded eyes meeting his in a lustful haze. He bites his lip, pumping himself with a wavering breath before he rubs the head of his penis along your folds. He fumbles in his attempt to align himself, taking a second to steady his trembling hand before you place a comforting hand on his cheek.
“Do I just.” He hesitates before continuing. “Do it slow?”
“Y-Yeah.” You stutter, becoming anxious for the impending pain or pleasure. There’d been various occasions where you’d overheard the adults’ conversations about sex. There’s a 50/50 chance that the first time would be painful or feel like an awkwardness that evolves into pleasure. You were praying for the latter.
Carl nods, easing himself within your folds and scrutinizing your expression for discomfort or pain. He stops as he notices the twitch in your nose and tears welled in your eyes. He feels a disheartening guilt because it’s all he can do to keep from moaning at the feeling of being inside you. “Are you okay?” He mumbles, nudging his freckled nose against yours.
“It hurts a bit but it’s just uncomfortable.” You respond, unaware of whether the feeling would disappear. He furrows his eyebrows, mouth trembling as he releases an exhale and closes his eyes. “Maybe if you keep going.” You suggest, urging him to continue as you notice that he’s trying to suppress his euphoria for you. He nods, thrusting slowly, cursing under his breath as his eyes roll into his head. The discomfort begins to subside as you adjust to his girth, his pelvis bumps your clit and a startled moan interrupts his breathing. He notices, instinctively reaching between you, he uses his thumb to rub your clit in unsteady circles as he continues to thrust; picking up the speed a notch as he begins to feel his lower abdomen tightening. “Oh god, Carl.” You moan, pulling him down for a sloppy kiss as a ripple of electric pleasure pulses throughout your body. He groans, enjoying the sultry tone to your voice as he removes his hand, holding himself up on trembling arms as he can feel his impending orgasm. You rub your clit, it was almost as if you were masturbating as you’ve done on occasion but it felt even better having Carl inside of you reaching his own orgasm. It only lasted another minute or so before your orgasms hit you, a static heat rippling throughout your limbs as your muscles tighten and your body jerks. Carl is breathing heavy, lying limp against you as he places kisses on your neck and shoulder.
“I love you.” Carl breathes with a lazy smile on his face.
“I love you.” You giggle, pressing a kiss to his freckled nose before he sets his head on your chest, relishing in the afterglow of your first time.
A/N: This is the third part to this and this imagine. Enjoy!
The ambrosial aroma of coffee lingered in the kitchen; the scent eliciting a sense of calming warmth as your bare feet met the frigid tiles. Daryl was seated on the marble countertop, dust littered boots drumming a dulled rhythm as the heel beat against the wood; his glacial blue eyes gazing out the window, a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a steaming mug of coffee nestled against his denim clad legs. Avoiding the urge to give him an affectionate greeting, you release an amused sigh, reaching out to steal the smoking cigarette from his pursed lips before tossing it in the sink and drowning it under the sink’s stream of water. A disgruntled scoff interrupts the silence before he takes a drink of his coffee, murmuring to himself under his breath with a scowl.
“Not in the house.” You chastise, shooting a stern look in his direction before retrieving a mug from the near barren cupboard.
“Judith ain’t even up.” He responds with a hint of defense in his tone as he bounces off the countertop. He receives a hum in return as you pour yourself coffee, nose scrunching in disappointment as you stare into the empty sugar bowl beside the stove. “Here.” He nudges his warm mug against your forearm, nodding at the cup as a silent instruction to take it. “Tastes like shit anyway.” He comments in an effort to dismiss the gesture.
“You’re so sweet.” You coo at him, smirking as you trade him cups. He snorts, mumbling ‘stop’ before taking a convenient drink of coffee to hide the tinge of pink on his cheeks.
“Morning.” Michonne’s tired voice interrupts the moment, Daryl almost jumping away from you on instinct as she enters the kitchen on a mission for coffee. “Just a warning, Rick is not going to let this go.” She gestures between you and Daryl before leaning against the counter.
“How long has this been going on?” Rick’s southern drawl questions the moment he’s in the kitchen threshold. He glares at Daryl as he speaks, enjoying his discomfort as he fidgets across the room.
“Not long.” You sigh, dreading the impending conversation as you silently thank Michonne for the fact he doesn’t have his gun in it’s holster. There’s no need to tell him the exact time frame, he’s angry enough as it is.
“How did this happen?” He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leans against the doorframe, afraid to be any closer for fear of lashing out again. Michonne warned him of the damage it would cause to his relationship with you.
“We just.” You hesitate, glancing at Daryl as he shrugs. “Got closer like you and Michonne. It just… happened.”
“I’ve had time to think about this.” Rick states with a wave of his hand. “It’s gonna take some getting used to but Michonne had a point when we talked. I trust Daryl.” The words earned Daryl’s attention as he meets Rick’s eyes. “I know he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you and I also know he’ll protect you with his life. In this world, that’s all I can ask for.”
“So you’re not angry?” You question with a hopeful tone, exchanging glances with everyone in the kitchen before landing on your father.
“No, I am not angry.” A small smile quirked his mouth as he looks at you. “You had to grow up sometime, right? I guess it’s just hard to look at you and see anything other than that little girl with pigtails and a bright smile. A father never looks forward to the day his little girl doesn’t need him anymore.” He confesses with an awkward scratch of his scalp.
“Daryl’s not replacing you, Dad.” You sigh, setting your cup down as you head over and wrap him in a tight hug. “I love you both.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder as he hold out his free hand in Daryl’s direction. Daryl approaches to shake his hand, a tinge of skepticism in his eyes as he silently questions whether it’s a trap.
“We’re family, Daryl.” He offers a smile before continuing. “Family fights sometimes but we always get through it.” Daryl nods at his words before Rick tilts his head in Daryl’s direction. “Have breakfast together. Michonne and I have things to do.”
So mine isn't a suicide thing but I see you write walking dead and mine has something to do with the show that happened in the first episode of season 7. I can't see the guidelines cause I'm on mobile so that's why I asked
It's completely okay, love. Always feel free to ask questions. I don't bite. :) You can send it in if you'd like. I'd be happy to write it for you. :)
So I have a question about requests. What are your guidelines? Is there something you won't write or will you write pretty much anything?
Hi! My guidelines are above my askbox but I don't think you can see them on mobile so for the most part I try to accommodate every request but I won't write about suicide, domestic violence or rape. I can allude to it because I understand it's how some people cope. However, having gone through those horrific situations myself, I can't bring myself to write those scenarios in graphic detail. I appreciate you asking! Have a great day/night beauty!
do you write jesus fanfics? with women i mean. a lot of people dont because they say its homophobic. jw because id like to request about him when the box is open again..
I haven’t written anything for him, yet. I do indeed have a request for him that’s been written down on the to-do list but I haven’t gotten around to it; and it is based around a romantic interest in a female reader.
I contemplated whether or not to actually write requests based on Jesus. I do really enjoy his character, and let’s be honest Tom Payne is gorgeous, but I have seen a deal of hostility toward those that choose to pair him with women in fanfictions/imagines as he is indeed gay in the comics. It has yet to be established in the show but I am fairly certain that his sexuality won’t be changed.
As a bisexual person myself, I do understand the need for representation in Hollywood. I am not undermining that fact, however, I don’t see a problem with altering or tweaking for fiction. By adding an original character, such as a reader insert, you’re essentially creating an alternate universe. As long as nothing is being changed with the intent on purposely being hostile toward a specific race, gender, nationality, or sexual orientation then I see absolutely nothing wrong with that.
So, the answer is yes. I am completely okay with receiving requests with Jesus paired with a female reader. :)
Weakness is in human nature; emotions are man’s greatest weakness, especially in the midst of the apocalypse. As fate would have it, these tortuous realities were beaten into your darkening heart with each loss of a beloved family member. Building an impenetrable barrier for emotions is quite simple; you give into the instinctual fragment of your brain, concentrate on survival and just stop caring. At least, it was simple until Rick Grimes stumbled upon you and your elder brother living in his broken down Honda on an abandoned highway.
Being surrounded by Rick’s group felt bizarre; it’d been ages since you’d felt anything like trust for someone that wasn’t blood. Your brother had been the only person you trusted, cared about, so it wasn’t a surprise to Rick or his group that you were closed off. Rick’s son, Carl, had taken a special interest in you. He relished in acquainting himself with your likes and dislikes, familiarizing himself with your movements and reactions. He felt like he knew you. Well, as much as you can know someone who never speaks to you. The connection that’d formed felt peculiar; he’d find himself sat beside you, a comfortable silence lingering in the air as neither said a word but he’d share whatever he had with you. The comic books Michonne scavenged for him, the meat Daryl caught for the everyone, trinkets he’d find, books he thought you’d enjoy. Anything that he had was yours, you didn’t even have to ask.
Carl knew what’d happened in the past, your brother had shared with him the stories of loss and heartache. The stories made him feel closer to you, it made him feel like he understood you. And he did. He understood that your brother meant everything to you. He’s all you had left. He enjoyed the discrete smiles that illuminate your face in your brother’s presence, the happiness you tried to hide from everyone, the hushed conversations about nothing and everything. It was the only time he was blessed enough to hear your voice and he was thankful to your brother for it. He loved your brother for loving you; for being the light left in the darkness.
Carl also knew that when Rick, Daryl and Glenn came back from a scavenge without him that it’d devastate you. He saw the guilt and pain in his father’s eyes as he shook his head and wiped at his face before heading to deliver the grave news. Daryl frowned, shouldering his crossbow before stomping off in the distance. He always took a loss to heart. Carl sighed, wiping at his own blurred eyes as he processed the information. He knows you’re tough but this, this would be a definite blow.
He wandered around for a few minutes, boots kicking up dirt as his heavy footsteps grew slower. He instinctively placed a steady hand on his knife as he heard a faint noise, fingers tightening around the hilt as he continued on his path. The scene before him both stunned him and broke his heart. You were seated near a tree trunk, arms wrapped around your legs as you cried into your knees. His chest began to ache as you looked up at him with tears trailing down your cheeks. In that moment, he was reminded that you were just a girl; a teenager without her family. The straight-faced, tough facade that he associated with you disappeared in that second. The dirt smudged, hardened girl was gone; replaced by a fragile girl desperate to hold on to a reason to keep going. He felt the sorrow in your eyes and couldn’t help himself.
“H-He’s g-gone, Carl.” You stammer, surprising him as the first words you’ve spoken to him was such a heavy phrase. “I am a-all alone. I d-don’t have a-anyone.”
“You have me.” He murmured, kneeling beside you as he wrapped his lean arms around your trembling frame. “You’ll always have me.”
A/N: I really love Elvis and I thoroughly enjoyed this request. I need more cute Daryl in my life. <3
The streets of Alexandria are peaceful as the sun sets in the horizon; a peach glow cast upon the town, rhythmic footsteps interrupting the complacent silence as the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and worn leather elicit a subconscious smirk. Daryl remains quiet; fidgeting with the strap of his crossbow as his tattered boots keep pace beside you. The ghost of a smile quirks his mouth, his heart skipping a beat as he feels your fingertips brush against his palm. This is normal for him now; subtle affections, conversation in hushed whispers until sleep takes over, sharing his bed and an unyielding love that sways his judgement. He tries to let you in; reminiscing of memories, both dear and haunting, while also revealing his ambitions for the future. He’ll always have trouble being vulnerable but he tries his best, for you.
Daryl removes his hand from yours, being the chivalrous gentleman that he can be, he opens the house door gesturing you in with the tilt of his head. He scoffs with a suppressed smirk as you curtsy at him before walking in, both of you pleasantly surprised by the silence of the household. No one is home. This kind of moment is rare. When these opportunities present themselves, as uncommon as they are, it’s wise to embrace them. Daryl plops onto the beige sofa, slamming his dust littered boots onto the coffee table with a thud. He opens his arms wide, powder blue eyes watching you as he gestures you into his embrace with a wiggle of his fingers. He grunts as you plop down beside him, his strong arms wrapping around your shoulders as he nuzzles your neck like a kitten. As the relationship strengthens, you notice that it’s easier for him to be affectionate and loving. The revelation making you smile as you set your cheek against his dark hair.
“It’s weird that the house is so quiet.” You murmur, he hums in response but doesn’t move from his position. The record player near the fireplace catches your attention, the promise of music is appealing as it feels strange to sit in silence in the midst of the apocalypse. Daryl groans in protest as you stand, a giggle interrupting the silence as you approach the record player and flip a switch. Setting the needle on the edge of the record, you’re pleasantly surprised when “Can’t Help Falling In Love” by Elvis Presley flitters through the dust covered speakers. Daryl’s watches as you sway your hips, the movement is graceful and hypnotizing. “Dance with me.” You call, tilting your head as he snorts and shakes his head ‘no’ with a disgusted expression on his face.
“I don’t dance.” He replies, picking at the dirt beneath his nails as you purse your lips at him.
“Please?” You plead in a childish tone, pouting as he shakes his head again. “But I love this song.”
“That ain’t me.” His gruff voice disapproves. “I ain’t a dancer.”
“You don’t know how, do you?” You challenge, narrowing your eyes at him as you place your hands on your hips. He shrugs, remaining silent as a pink hue spreads across his cheekbones. “Alright.” You start, grabbing his hands and attempting to tug him to his feet. “I’ll show you.”
“I ain’t gonna be good.” He informs. An amused chuckle rumbling in his chest as you stick your tongue out at him.
“I bet you’ll be a natural.” You comment, placing his hands on your hips before wrapping your arms around his neck. He mumbles ‘hardly’ under his breath causing you to tug on a strand of his hair before starting the lesson. “This is a slow song. So, you kind of just sway to the music.” He awkwardly allows you to lead as you begin to sway from right to left. “Right to left and left to right.”
“Sorry.” He mumbles as his boots catch your toes.
“It’s alright. You’re learning.” You giggle as he huffs and glowers down at his feet. “You sway left to right and right to left then you either take a step forward or backward.” He grumbles under his breath as he takes a step forward just as you do the same causing you to stumble as his chest meets yours. “Relax.” You giggle, sliding a hand down his shoulder and to his chest. “I’ll let you lead.”
Daryl doesn’t give himself enough credit; despite a few mishaps, he catches on and soon you’re leaning against his chest with his cheek against your head and he’s hugging you tightly as you both dance slowly to the song. Neither of you notice the presence lingering in the living room doorway, startled by the sudden clapping as the record skips and the song ends. Daryl, embarrassed by the intimate moment, yanks himself away from you and frowns at Rick. He’s leaning against the wooden doorframe with an amused grin on his face as he points at Daryl. “I never took you for the romantic type.”
“Whatever.” Daryl’s deep voice dismisses with a scoff as he flips him off and leaves the room in a rush.
Alvin Murphy is a sought after commodity; the antibodies in his blood make him salvation to the remnants of mankind and the second Citizen Z played a distress signal through each available radio frequency it became a war for ‘The Murphy’ and the bounty promised by the CDC laboratory in California for his safe delivery. Running into Murphy after he’d disappeared was a stroke of luck; unfortunately, the competition is fierce and the further the group chases him the more enemies crawl out of the shadows. The streets of Cheyenne, Wyoming are a battlefield; bullet casings littering the streets, screams accompanied by the sound of gunshots, and the occasional deep boom of an explosion in the distance. Amongst the chaos, you’re separated from the group.
Roberta’s authoritative voice instructing the group was the last sound you can remember before an explosion reverberate in your ears and the group disbanded. A scream tore through your throat as a searing pain throbbed in your chest, worsening as someone’s fingertips made contact with the wound just below your clavicle. “You’re shot.” Tommy’s familiar voice shout in concern, an expression of panic on his handsome face as he shouldered his rifle and shot an approaching zombie. “W-We gotta find Doc.” He stammered to himself, his lean arm wrapping around your waist as he helps you to your feet. Concern is an understatement, he knows first-aid and how to survive thanks to his upbringing but his emotions are clouding his judgment.
Maneuvering is difficult but not impossible, he’s dodging gunfire as he drags you with him, keeping vigilant, he notices you fighting to keep conscious. He swallows the urge to speak as he catches sight of the amount of blood expelling from your gunshot wound. Your shirt is soaked, his vest falling victim also as he notices the crimson hue spreading across the denim fabric. As your eyes flutter, a tired smile spreads across your mouth as you gaze up at him. “I am not gonna make it, Tommy.” You rasp, head lulling for a moment as you fight consciousness. “I think they hit an artery or something.”
“Don’t say that. We’re gonna find the group.” He dismissed, scrutinizing the area as he fights the instinct to panic. “Doc and Warren can patch you up.”
“We’re not going to find them in time. I am slowing you down.” You murmur, bloodied hand leaving a smudge against his pale skin as you brush his cheek. “I love you, Tommy.” You confess causing his adam’s apple to bob as he swallows the surprise and meets your gaze with a saddened smile. “That’s why I need you to leave me here. I can’t be the reason you die.” The moment is interrupted when Addy’s familiar voice shouts your name in the distance. He gestures the group over and relief crashes against his chest as Doc immediately takes over.
“We gotta stop this bleeding.” Doc states with a furrowed brow, digging a handkerchief out of his pant pocket and dabbing at the wound. A hiss escapes your clenched teeth at the contact, Tommy’s concerned expression coming into view just before you give in to the darkness. “Just passed out, don’t worry, kid.” Doc informs with a nudge of his shoulder as he attends to your wounds. Tommy’s eyes blur with warm tears and he’s quick to look away, the last thing he wants is to draw attention to himself in this moment. He just needs you to be okay. He wants to tell you he loves you too, he’s angry with himself for not saying it back. He knows Doc is doing his best but what if it’s not enough? What if you don’t make it? Then you’ll never know that he’s always loved you too.
