A/N: Hello, muffins! The first chapter of the sequel! I have big plans for this one and you're either going to hate me or love me for it. I had in my drafts for the longest time, edited it and now you get to see it! Enjoy! <3
"Over here!"
The sound of Daryl's voice broke through the air like a gunshot.
You were running away from a horde, counting about three dozen. The stench of decay and death filled the air. There was no way you could take on so many of them, so running was the only option at this time. The walkers weren't the fastest, but putting distance between them and you was as vital as breathing. Your footsteps were echoing in the woods, accompanied by snarls and groans of the undead behind you. The leaves were rustling, the branches under your feet breaking with each step. Your breathing heavy and fogged in a crispy autumn air.
Daryl's arm flew up and pointed to something in the distance. You followed his finger and saw an old factory building, with a faint sign that said "Lawson Furniture". It was worth a shot, as running was getting harder with each minute. You didn't think twice, your feet already carrying you towards the building. Daryl launched himself towards it, checking every corner. You were right next to him, covering his six with the same veracity, killing the walkers that stumbled a little too close.
Once you were at the doors, Daryl's foot kicked the doors open. He banged on the frame of the shop. You waited about ten seconds. Nothing. Silence. It was clear, surprisingly. Then - a yank inside by your shoulder. You stumble inside with a grunt. Daryl didn't hesitate. His back to the metal doors, keeping them closed.
"Find something to block it with," he commands, and you know better than to argue when the outside of the building gets slammed by the walker bodies, making Daryl grunt and push on the metal harder.
You scrambled slightly, tripping over your feet, looking around with the intensity of a woman drowning in the sea and needing a lifeline. There were nothing but some metal shelves, some chairs and a few small wooden tables. You chose to push the highest shelf against the door. It was heavy, probably the heaviest in here, but you managed to move it with some grunting and a yelp. Daryl moved away just in time for the shelf to hit the doors with the clank. It looked like it wasn't going to hold, not for long anyway. Daryl must've thought the same thing because he dragged you deeper in the building, looking for the roof access or a space to wait it all out. You felt like a child being pulled around by an adult.
Without a word, he shoved you into a some sort of office space with no windows and a singular door. There was a warped desk and two chairs in the middle of it, with filing cabinets lined perfectly on the back wall and some right by the doors. The smell of rotting wood and mildew was strong. The walls, presented a few awards and some certificates. They looked old, dusty - an artefact from the world before.
Turning around, you saw Daryl pushing the cabinets in front of the doors to block it. Then he sat down on the floor, even though the chairs were in good shape, and sighed heavily. You chose the chair, even though it would've made your clothes stink of mildew and wet dog.
Then, the silence enveloped you both. It's been like that since.
Since that kiss on the porch.
Neither of you addressed it. When he walked away, he hasn't spoken to you for a whole day after, and then he pretended it never happened, and you weren't sure if it's worth ruining your friendship again. You've ruined it once. And it sucked. Was it worth it? He deliberately was avoiding the topic by steering clear of any type of relationship conversations, like a person that is scared they will get burned. You didn't blame him. The kiss was a drunken mistake. That's all. Right?
But you couldn't deny that something has changed. The air. The tension. The whole dynamic. Something was off, and it was palpable. Almost reachable. Taste on your tongue like a bad liquor, burning its way down and making your stomach churn and twist. So close, yet so far away. So close you could touch him, so far he'd pull away like you're a disease.
You were sure he felt it too. You've seen his shoulders tense when you steered a little too close to him. Or when your shoulders touch when you fought the walkers. Or maybe it was just a delusion you pushed yourself into.
The distant snarl of walkers was a constant reminder that you were in danger, the world outside unforgiving and scary, but the office space was just as dangerous with the heavy air.
"You're hurt," he suddenly says, low, so he doesn't attract any of the dead outside the doors.
You furrow your brow, looking all over your body, just to stop on your leg. There was a gash on your calf, blood seeping through the fabric of your khaki jeans.
"Oh, shit," you say, slightly surprised. "Don't even feel it."
Before you know it, Daryl is kneeling in front of you with a piece of clean cloth and some alcohol from his bag. With one swift motion, he rips the leg of your trouser open, unceremoniously starting to clean it. You hiss when the alcohol is poured on top of it, burn is almost red hot, even though you've done this many times before. He doesn't budge, cleans the wound thoroughly, his hands not very gentle, but not rough either, like a harmony between. Once the cloth is tight on the wound, he steps back, leaning against the wall once again.
"Thanks," you say and offer a small smile.
"Welcome," he grunts, nods and looks away.
Ouch. Ooookay.
And then silence again. Ever lasting. Ever consuming.
Your breath shakes when you breathe in and lean back on the chair. But when the chair got too hard, too uncomfortable, you chose to look through the metal cabinets, opening them very quietly and very slowly, so they don't make any unnecessary noise. You look through the documents - names and addresses with order numbers and item names.
John Mullins - #29453 - Oak dining table set (4 chairs) - $2540
Max Sullivan - #93840 - Chisa chest of drawers (4 drawers) - $2645
It looked like it the furniture shop was making good money, creating good quality furniture for the people who can afford it. You finally put the documents away, but not before you spot your own name in the pile. Someone with your exact name and surname bought a lot of furniture and paid almost thirty thousand dollars for it. You look at the price, with raised eyebrows. Back in the day, you could've only dreamt about this type of money. Your family wasn't the richest, and definitely haven't had thirty thousand to spend on oak furniture all at once.
"Oh, to be rich," you murmur to yourself.
"What?" Daryl's murmur resounds in the space.
"Someone with my exact name bought thirty thousand worth of furniture from here," you show him a piece of paper. Not that he could read from where he was seated, anyway. "I was just thinking how my life would look like if I was rich."
He grunts, furrowing his brow, probably thinking about his life and the trailer he used to live in with his abusive dad and piece of shit brother. When he looks at you again, his eyes amused. "You'd probably wear expensive shirts and pencil skirts. And drove like a… a Porsche or something."
You quietly chuckle. "Yeah, maybe even would have a luxury mansion with voice activated lights and a double door fridge. And I'd speak posh too."
For a second, it felt normal again. Two best friends, having a good conversation, laughing and smiling. But then your eyes meet, and he looks away like it was physically hurting him to keep eye contact. You sigh, and you open your mouth to speak again, but you were interrupted by a loud bang on the doors and a really desperate "help".
Your eyes widen, looking at Daryl, who is already working on moving the filing cabinet away from the doors. You help him and then the doors swing open last minute, dragging in the scent of death and sweat, and a young man runs inside, bounces off the office desk with a grunt. You shut the room close again, cutting off a walker hand that was stuck in the threshold. It falls to the ground with a thud. You look at it for a brief moment and then your eyes land on the man.
He was in his twenties, his blonde hair slightly long and messy with some dirt and dried blood stuck in, creating lumps. His brown eyes scanning both you and Daryl with a weariness, caution which was expected from a stranger. The clothes he was wearing were torn and bloody, just like his skin. He had a scratch on his cheek that was beading crimson liquid. Fresh. He smelled like he hasn't had a shower in ages, and his clothes weren't washed since the day we first put them on.
"Thank you," he says, his voice deep and raspy. "Name's Eli."
You introduce yourself and then point to Daryl to introduce him. "You alone, Eli?"
The question hangs in the air for a minute. Eli's hands shake.
"Yes," he answers, his voice carries a slight note of sadness in it. You didn't pry. Didn't have to.
"Hands where I can see them," Daryl snarls behind you, pointing his crossbow at the man, and Eli's hands shoot up instantly with a surrender. "You got a weapon?"
Eli nods. His hand drifts to his pocket and takes out a jagged knife from it, with a chipped point. He throws it on the ground with a clank and goes back to his tense surrender pose. His fingers tremble slightly, like he's itching to pick the knife up and have to stop himself from moving, eyes darting around. He was scared. That was obvious.
"It's all good, man. We're not gonna hurt you," you say, turning to Daryl. "Will we, Daryl?"
"That depends on how he acts."
Your look tells Daryl to lower the weapon and he does. Reluctantly.
As soon as Daryl lowers his crossbow, the entire office trembles with the force of more walkers slamming against the walls, probably hearing the clank of the weapon and all our voices. The undead outside are relentless, their snarls growing louder, their fists and bodies pounding with feverish desperation. Eli flinches when there is a particular loud slam, taking a step back, but you’re already scanning the room for another way out.
Then—BANG!
A metallic crash reverberates through the building. Something gave way. Your stomach twists.
“They’re breaching!” Daryl growls, leaping to his feet. His crossbow is raised again, ready for whatever comes next.
You dart past Eli and use your knife to open a vent —a narrow space stretches ahead, leading deeper into the factory. The darkness inside of it is eerie, almost creating shadows, making everything feel more claustrophobic.
“We need to move,” you say, grabbing Eli by the arm and pushing forward. Daryl is at your heels.
A deafening screech fills the air—a walker has managed to wedge itself through the metal doors, its grotesque, rotting face snapping wildly. The skin was pulling off of them, and the jaw was hanging low, yet still moving. You don’t hesitate. With one swift motion, you stab the knife deep into its skull, twisting until it goes limp.
“You’re gonna have to keep up, kid,” Daryl mutters to Eli, kicking the corpse aside.
The three of you rush through the narrow vent, your heartbeat pounding louder than the walkers outside. Eli gets out first, his body thuds down on the ground as he rolls away slightly, making way for you to land. You land on your side and lift yourself swiftly to your feet, and then Daryl's crossbow thuds to the ground next to your head, before he emerges right after it. But just as you turn a corner—you freeze.
The vent led up into a vast storage room, metal shelves stacked high with crates, weapons, meds - anything that you'd need to survive. The windows were boarded up, ceiling to floor. The lights from fire barrels cast long shadows on the walls. And right in the centre, between you and the only exit, stands a group of survivors, dressed in clean clothing - tops and khakis, with knife holders at their thighs. Some of them had rifles slung on their shoulders, some had swords, machetes, or simple knives.
They did not look welcoming.
Weapons are drawn—one with a slightly rusted axe, another clutching a revolver with shaky hands. Their leader, a tall, wiry woman with short-cropped dark hair, steps forward, her gaze sharp as a blade.
“Look what we have here,” she says, voice dripping with suspicion. “More strays.”
Daryl shifts in front of you, adjusting his grip on the crossbow. You can feel his tension rising, his instinct to fight flickering beneath the surface.
Eli exhales sharply. “I’m not looking for trouble.”
The woman raises a brow. “Funny. Trouble seems to have found you.”
The walkers outside howl louder. Time is running out.
Late summer night, whispered secrets, and the kind of friendship that felt unbreakable—until one night changed everything.
Daryl and you had just repaired your friendship, after all the shit you've been though because of Leah, his now ex. Bound by years of laughter, reckless adventures, and an understanding that didn’t need words. But when an evening of too many drinks led to a kiss on the porch, everything shifted. It was soft, lingering—undeniable. Yet the moment it ended, Daryl left. And they never spoke about it again.
Now, life continues as if nothing happened. They laugh almost like they always did, share playlists, rant about bad days—but the silence between them is louder than ever. Every stolen glance, every save from a near death by walkers, every wound patched up. Neither of them knows if the kiss was a mistake or something more—something terrifyingly real.
So, they pretend.
How long until pretending won't be enough?
Usage of Y/N: minimal
Contains: gore, violence, sexual themes, touches heavily on topics of abuse and torture
Heyy,, when the sequel to I'm not yours coming? i really miss it 💜 love your work
OMG MY FIRST EVER ASK!
First of all, THANK YOU ❤️🤭🥰
The sequel is in the works, for sure! Slowly, but surely! I’m not gonna lie, I have been procrastinating a lot and haven’t written anything new in awhile. Anything I posted in the last few days was already written for a long time. The idea is there and a few chapters are written (not edited yet)!
The Room of Old Sins: Chapter Four - Breaking Free
Read about series and find other chapters -> here <-
words: 4.4k
warnings: swearing, sexual thoughts, gore, blood,
A/N: Hello, muffins! I've had a bit of a break in writing, but I am back and with another chapter!
Silence.
The deafening, ever-consuming silence that enveloped us.
I haven't spoken a word for awhile now. Neither have Daryl.
We weren't sure how many days have passed, our cycle of day and night was completely fucked. Our bodies preserved a little heat in a hug we were in for awhile, but soon enough the autumn air was creeping in on us and we were both a shivering messes. I could clearly see my breath when I was exhaling. My stomach was growling as The Greenborn weren't feeding us, giving us what it seemed like no chance of survival if we decline their offer of joining them. Little did they know we were both stubborn fucks.
I haven't moved from where I was - laying on his chest.
We spoke about the plan only a couple of times before the silence happened. We planned for each and every possibility. There were many things that could go wrong and being prepared for all of it means there are no surprises. The plan was fairly simple. I distract the guards with my body and my charms, because they look like people who don't see women in the light of day and would turn into feral monkeys if they did. Daryl takes them out silently and quickly before they realise that is happening. We dress in their clothes, making sure to cover ourselves as well as we could so no one recognises us. Then, we make our way to North part of settlement and find the way to get out of here.
I tried not to think about what I had to do, even though my mind kept reminding me. Constant nagging feeling of my past coming back to me was almost overwhelming. Thinking about the need of stepping into a role of a seductress once again in my life was not appealing and it would probably open a can of worms that I so meticulously hidden inside of my brain.
It's going to be only a few seconds, don't panic.
Both of us kept shifting from time to time to keep the blood pumping. His hands rubbed my back from time to time, trying to warm me up, making sure I'm not too cold, and I did the same with his arms. I didn't care to admit, but I was getting way too comfortable in exploring the muscles and I was thinking the filthiest things I could do to that man.
Like how his hand would look gripping on my throat when he thrusts into me slowly, making my eyes roll to the back of my head. Or how he'd feel slamming into me from behind, gripping the base of my hair and pulling them backwards so he could kiss and bite on my neck, whispering into my ear about how much of a good girl I am. My mind curated the images of me sucking on his cock, looking up at him like he was the most reverent and holy thing in the world. His eyes would be closed and he would be panting and groaning, while gripping the couch or whatever we'd be on, his muscles flexing for my eyes to relish. Him between my legs, sucking and licking my cunt like it was water, like he needed it to live. Him moaning…
I close my eyes and I shake my head.
Jesus, Nixie... You're no better than any man.
I thought about making a move on him for awhile now, because the darkness we were in was making a perfect opportunity. My hand almost wandered down, and I had to scold myself so many times I've lost count now, feeling my cheeks burning - from both embarrassment and excitement.
I let out a shaky breath and I shift on top of him once again.
"Can you stop wiggling?" his voice resounds for the first time in forever and I have to take a long breath to compose myself.
"Sorry, it's hard to stay still if you're in the same position all the time," I murmur.
"We can change it if you'd like."
I furrow my brow in surprise that he'd be concerned about my comfort, but I nod slightly against his shoulder. "Okay," I move off of him and I sit down in the corner of the hut, pulling my knees in and hugging them to preserve the heat.
Then it came—a sharp, resonating crack that shattered the stillness. The sound of flesh meeting unforgiving stone and some light pitter patter of crumbled clay. I stopped and tensed up, my pulse racing, the sudden noise ricocheting off the walls and reverberating deep within my bones.
Daryl had punched the wall.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe and stilled in my place. I looked into the darkness, hoping I'll see something, anything, but yet again I get nothing. Was it anger? Desperation? The sheer force of it seemed to hang in the air, a tangible thing I could almost touch.
I strained my ears, listening for any further sign, but the only thing I could hear was a heavy breathing coming from Daryl. My mind raced, the shock of the unexpected situation was creepy-crawling on my spine.
Without thinking, I kneel and start touching the wall around the hut, the cold walls making my hands tingle slightly. I finally reach Daryl, and I look for his hand in the darkness, touching my way around his body. Once I found it, I touch his knuckles and I feel the warmness and wetness of blood on my fingertips.
I pull his hand to my mouth and I close it on top of the knuckles, letting my saliva trickle down on the wound. I swear I heard his breath hitch.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"It'll help the bleeding," I say quietly. "Saliva has healing properties. Makes blood clot faster."
It also has a lot of bacteria, but I chose to leave out this minor detail.
He grunts slightly, but doesn't say anything, just lets out a long breath and shifts slightly in his seat. I rub saliva into the knuckle gently and carefully, coating each of them in a generous amount of saliva like an animal licking the wound of their babies. I want to ask what he was thinking and why he punched the wall, but I bite my tongue. It's none of my business, but I could tell. He was as desperate to get out of here as I was. It bothered him to be stuck here, not being able to do anything to help our situation. And I suddenly understood the anger. Nobody likes to be caged, but something told me that he, most of all, wasn't used to this.
He was like a child of the forest. Belonged in the wild almost like Romulus and Remus being raised by the wolves and belonging to animal world. He didn't like to be settled down. Maybe even tried once or twice and it just wasn't right. The nature was calling his name each time. He hated the idea of being in one place for too long, wanting and longing to be out there, hunting, killing. That was his domain.
He was out in the woods, on the road, and not with his group, because this was his nature.
I mention the plan once again to him, trying to distract him from what was happening and we go through it in detail. Daryl's voice is slightly different from his normal tone, but I try my hardest to pay no attention to it.
The doors open with a swish and a bang.
Two people were standing in front of the hut, dressed in the same animal skins. One blonde man and the other dark brown. Their face were stoic - almost as they were not allowed to show emotion. They dragged us outside, which made me impressed by how strong they were to just pick me, or Daryl, the way they did - almost like it was nothing. It meant only one thing.
Distraction time.
I take a deep breath and I get up to my feet, smiling at one of the guards. I look him up and down slowly, like a hunter sizing up their prey. I bite my lip gently, almost flirtatiously. I could see the change in his demeanour pretty much straight away, and I knew I was on the right path. Goddamn vulture. He's going to let his guard down, because men have no self control when it comes to women. Especially when woman is the one who initiates. Not that I thought I was the most beautiful thing out there - I just knew how to use myself to get what I wanted. The guard returns a smirk, his eyes ogling my boobs and hardened from the cold nipples. I step closer to him.
"You wanna touch?" I ask quietly, and I see his breath hitching slightly. I smile at him flirtatiously. Somewhere behind me I hear Daryl's grunt, but I pay no attention to it. "You can take me somewhere, and I'll let you touch more than just these," my hands drag towards my boobs and I squeeze them gently.
It was fairly easy to distract them. Their eyes were glued to the movements of my hands. The other guard was fully distracted already too. His eyes widened and he licked his lips, dragging his dilated with lust pupils up and down my body, like it was the sexiest thing they've ever seen.
I felt the old, familiar feeling creeping up on me - the excitement, the need of being looked at in this hungry, unstoppable way. It was the same amount eerie as it was pleasant and it made my heart beat faster, scaring the shit out of me.
I keep on going, squeezing my nipples between my fingers, my lips part slightly as they step closer to me. Their hands twitch by their sides, longing to touch me and my smirk widens slightly. I step slightly to my right to make sure Daryl is out of their view. And like deer in headlights, they follow.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Daryl taking the opportunity to look around to make sure nobody was watching. Once he was satisfied, he tiptoed closer to one of the guards and he swung his fist right into one of the guards head. He fell with a thump, hitting his head on the nearby rock. I then jumped the other one with a quick punch to the jaw, taking his knife out of his sheath and thrusting it into his chin, getting my underwear stained with the spraying and dripping blood. The man sinks onto his knees when I twist the blade, pulling it out and stabbing him in the head with a grunt.
We look at the guards on the floor, breathing heavily from the adrenaline, and then we quickly start to undress them.
"Take the weapons, too," Daryl says. "You never know if we gonna need them."
"What about our stuff?" I ask.
"We'll find it."
I nod, agreeing with him. The animal skin smelled like smoke and resin, with a faint note of stale meat, but it was warm. I put the clothes inside out to cover up the blood stains. As soon as I wrapped myself in it, I felt the good feeling of warmth spreading deep inside my bones. The shoes were the most uncomfortable thing I have ever put on my feet. They were thin on the bottom and barely held together by a thin rope or a thread. Also, slightly too big for my feet, but I'll take what I can get.
I look towards Daryl, all dressed up. He looked like cave man, with his long, greasy hair and all the primal clothes. It made me smirk.
We take right and quickly stroll through the settlement. Now, we could see even more of it. People were drying meats, making sausages with intestines of animals and even pickling some vegetables. The huge fields were tended by multiple people. The logs and bales were pulled up and stuck in the ground with a handmade pulley system. I see some children playing by one of the bigger tents and realise it was a school or a nursery. Briefly I saw some wooden chairs and desks inside the tent with some drawings on wooden boards. It was quite impressive for people who don't use any type of materials that isn't nature-made.
Looking around, Daryl points out a tent. Through the slit in the fabric we could see all the weapons The Greenborn were using.
"Must be there," Daryl murmurs.
We blend into the crowd, our heads hang low. Our steps fast and determined.
The tent was huge, and there were about fifteen rows of weapons, six foot long. There was no light in it, so we searched it with the only help of some sun shinning through. By one side, there were wooden crates filled with new age weapons - pistols, rifles, so many other things.
"All of these," I say quietly. "They… they belong to all the people that they've captured and…"
"Yeah," Daryl says, like it doesn't bother him. "They're all either dead or joined The Greenborn. My question is, why would they keep these."
"In case of something bad happening. Nature made can only go so far"
"Maybe."
After digging through the weapons, Daryl finally finds his crossbow and my machete. I take the blade, and I put in inside my clothes, weaving it into the band of my underwear.
"How are you gonna take the crossbow out of here?"
"I don't know," he admits, looking at it carefully. "I may have to throw it over the wall and get it later. I'll take this for now."
Daryl picks up a .44 Magnum revolver and what looked like a pruning blade. I huff and nod a few times, looking while he stuffs the weapons inside of his animal skin. He pulls up the far corner of the tent up, tearing it slightly so we could pass through it. We found ourselves behind the tent, and only a couple steps away from the wall. Daryl swings his arm and chucks his crossbow over the high wall. We can hear the thud it makes behind it.
Finally, we walk through the settlement and get to the North part where there were building an extension. Yet another pulley system was helping to put the logs and bales up, to create high walls. People were working fast and efficiently, and you could see that they knew what they were doing just by how they worked. I lower my head, and look around through my lashes, trying to find an opening somewhere. We make our way deeper into the North part of the settlement, walking fast and trying to just blend into the crowd of people.
But little did we know people were much more aware of us than we thought. Someone pointed out that we were the people that were captured and soon enough, they started chasing us. I look over to Daryl and we have a silent agreement. We run. As fast and as long as we could until we reached the North corner of the settlement.
I was searching for an opening, something that would help us get through. I see a small nook blocked with loads of bales tied together to keep anything from coming in and I run to it. I use my bone knife to cut through the rope. The bales roll through the settlement, knocking some of The Greenborn down and flattening some crops. You can hear some people screaming, some grunts of pain and a lot of whistling that curdled my blood. I squeeze through the gap and Daryl does the same and then we run. As fast as we could, into the darkness of the forest that offered somewhere to hide. We duck behind the trees and try to hide in between rock formations. We could hear the people shouting and whistling. They were closing in and I was not going to be captured again.
All I knew at that moment was that we couldn't stay put. We had to run. We had to get somewhere, anywhere but here. Even though we were hungry and thirsty, we had to get out of there. There was no other option. I throw myself to run.
"Nixie!" I hear Daryl hissing out behind me and I turn to him quickly.
"Come on, you gotta trust me on this!" I say in a hushed tone.
His look hardened when I said it and he pressed his lips together. He thought about for exactly two seconds before he nodded and followed me. I was out of breath and struggling, the only thing that was propelling me forward was the fact that I wanted to stay alive. There was no way Cedar would let us stay in the settlement anymore. We killed his people and destroyed a part of his settlement. So letting ourselves be captured again was surely a death sentence.
My feet were on autopilot and my mind was filled with only one word, plastered all around, in each corner of it, slowly vibrating and shimmering.
SURVIVAL.
"Get in," I say and I pull Daryl into a broken down, abandoned house.
We were running for awhile now, only stopping for a minute or two to catch our breaths. There was nothing around for miles, and I guess that's why The Greenborn aren't easily discovered. We stumbled upon a road and I suddenly knew where I was. I've been there before, many times, even spent a little time there to get my shit together.
I followed the road down and turned left onto a gravelly path, barely visible with all the greenery that's been hiding it. And then, there it was. A few houses in cul-de-sac, or more like what's left of them. There must've been a fire, because half of the neighbourhood was charred and black from soot. Some buildings collapsed while other barely stood upwards, only held by a few exposed metal beams. The nearby trees were affected by it too, the bark scorched and stripped leaving them long sentinels in the light of the sunset. It looked like a scene from a horror movie. Now, a still presence of them eerie, reminding every person that crosses their path about the life that was lived here. The laughter, the struggles and the simple everyday life.
Our only chance of survival.
I chose one of the more collapsed houses for our hiding spot, thinking that The Greenborn would probably check the best preserved ones first if they ever find this place. I looked around, heaving for a breath.
"Nixie," I hear Daryl and I turn my head towards him.
"What?"
"Do you really think it's a good idea to stop?"
I let out a long breath. "No, probably not. But I cannot keep running."
Daryl scans me from head to toe and nods gently, before walking inside the house and looking for a place we could hide in. I lean against the crumbly wall, and hang my head between my shoulders. My stomach growled so loud, it echoed through the house. My lips were dry, and I felt extremely dehydrated. No. I was extremely dehydrated. It's been days since we've eaten or drank. Cedar, as a leader, was not doing the greatest job at being a host.
After a few minutes, Daryl comes back and looks at me.
"There's a room. Four walls and a door," he says, motioning behind him. "There's a gap in one of the walls, but I'm sure we could block it with something."
"Okay," I breathe out.
"You okay?"
I blinked a few times, taken aback once again by the niceness. "Yeah. I'm good," I answer quickly and push myself off the wall. "Lead the way."
The room was indeed sort of intact. The green paint was peeling off the walls, and the faint musty smell hung in the air, no doubt coming from the bed sheets and piles of clothing on the floor. There was a bed in the middle of it, a broken down desk with a metal chair next to it, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. Right by the desk, there was a cork board with some photos of a happy friend group and some cutouts of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. I was surprised that any of it survived the fire. From the outside, the houses looked a wrecks, but inside some things were only a bit charred. The gap that Daryl spoke about was a meter wide and stretched from the floorboards all the way to the ceiling, exposing the wooden planks inside of the concrete. It was a small room, but comparing it to the hut we were stuck in for the past few days it was a mansion.
I helped Daryl push a wardrobe right against the crack, and then we used a chair to block the doors. Every single muscle in my body was screaming for me to stop. I had exactly zero percent energy. Looking at Daryl, he was exactly the same.
We both fell to the ground and lean against the nearest wall. I gaze towards him. To my surprise, he was already watching my every move. It was actually quite funny how he was still so mistrustful towards me after everything we've just been through. His eyes were still nothing less of vigilant, trying to make sure that I won't try anything funky.
I huff slightly and smirk, rolling my eyes. "You're such a fucking weirdo," I say quietly. "Seriously. Everything we've been through and you still think that I'm gonna kill ya or something."
"One can never be too careful," he mumbles. "Besides, whatever we went through doesn't make us friends."
"Mm, of course not," I shake my head. "But it also doesn't leave us enemies."
"Now, that's bullshit and you know it."
I furrow my brow and fight the urge to roll my eyes once again. "We shared body heat for days. We're helping each other every step of the way here. And you still think we're enemies?"
"We're only helping each other because we have to," he shrugs his shoulders carelessly. "We need to get to Rick and if that means I have to rely on you for help, then so be it. But don't for a second think my mind's changed about you," he looks at me with the eyes full of irritation.
"Right. Okay."
Guess the honeymoon phase is over, eh?
It was immensely mind-blowing how easily he could go from caring and asking me how I felt and if I was okay, to an absolute dickhead of a human being. He baffled me, made me angry, irritated, curious and excited at the same time. It's a dangerous combination, if you ask me. You never know what to expect from a person like him. But I knew one thing - the urge to punch him and then fuck the shit out of him was almost overbearing.
I take a slow, deep breath and my stomach rumbles once again. I press my lips together and sigh. Daryl shifts in his seat, putting his hand into the pocket of the animal skin. He takes out a corn knob and hands it to me. I raise my eyebrow. He must've stolen it from the fields at The Greenborn settlement when we were passing them by.
"I'm not that hungry," I murmur.
"I'm not having you die on me," he wrinkles his forehead at how much he was frowning. "Eat."
"What about you?"
"I'll be fine."
"No," I take the corn and I use all my strength to pull it into two pieces. I offer him a half. "You need to eat too."
Daryl's eyebrow pull together even more, and he grumbles something under his nose, pushing my hand away from him. I decide to close my eyes for a moment to calm myself down. He was too stubborn for his own good. I was two second away from actually killing him. I stick the corn right under his nose and he angrily snatches it out of my hand.
I take another deep breath.
At least he took it.
My teeth sink into the corn and I carefully eat it, all around, getting every single kernel right into my mouth. The sweetness of it fills my mouth and my stomach makes a slight somersault of happiness knowing there will be food in it.
We eat in silence, our ears sharp to any movement outside. I was prepared to the fact that it wasn't the last of our escape. It couldn't be. Cedar wants to kill us because we now know about him and his settlement, and if we know, we're a liability. He won't stop looking for us until he has us both of us again and we are dead at his feet.
I wonder if Cedar was like this before the zombie outbreak. Was he always mean and calm? Or have something happened to him in the past and changed his ways?
Hours pass by and we hear only faintest noises of walkers from the outside. The night has fallen around us, and we found ourselves in the dark once again. Only this time, the moon was illuminating the inside of the room through the gap in the roof. I didn't like this quiet as it felt like a calm before the storm. It made me anxious and paranoid.
Daryl was sitting there, his eyes firmly locked on the doors. He was leaning against the wall with his whole body weight like keeping upright was depending on it. His legs were stretched out all the way out and the Magnum he took was laying on top of them, pointed in the general area of the room opening.
"You should sleep," he says out of nowhere.
"No," I shake my head slightly.
"Nixie."
The tone of his voice told me he wasn't best pleased at my decline. The way he said my name was a warning, some sort of "don't you dare try and make me fucking mad right now" type of tone that made my blood boil and my heart race.
I look over at him and furrow my brow. "Maybe you should sleep."
His head tilted slightly, finally glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "Cute," the word dripped with sarcasm, but there was something in his tone—something unreadable that made my skin prickle. "But if you're planning to sit there and act like a smart-ass all night, maybe don't forget you're as much a target as I am. So go ahead, Nixie. Burn yourself out. See what happens."
I let out a sharp breath through my nose, a crooked smile pulling at my lips. It wasn’t warm or kind—more like a reflex, something meant to keep myself from saying what I really thought. "Burn myself out. Right. Of course," the words came out sweet, but the edge in my voice cut through every syllable as I aimed the smile right at him.
The tension between us was palpable. He wasn't going to stop and rest, and neither was I.
The Room of Old Sins: Chapter Three - Trouble Ahead
Read about series and find other chapters -> here <-
words: 4.3k
warnings: swearing, sexual thoughts
A/N: Hello, muffins! Another day, another chapter. I've been on vacation for the last couple of days and I decided to share yet another chapter today!
"Hey, asshole! Get up!"
My voice echoes through the woods loudly, as the blood rings in my ears. I was trying to fight off the walkers that started to pour in right before dawn all by myself. Daryl was still asleep, spread out like a fucking princess on the ground, completely unaware of this. I decided I didn't want to wake him up, when the walkers came in the groups of three or four, thinking I could do this on my own, but as more of them showed up, I was struggling to keep up.
They were more and more of them pushing on the wire, making the cans rattle. Their flesh was getting cut with it, and their teeth were snapping closer and closer to me and my hands wielding the knives. I questioned if Daryl could be deaf if he's not hearing any of this, while laying only a couple of meters away. The cans banging against each other were so loud, I could barely hear myself think. Breathing heavily, I killed yet another one with a loud grunt, and I looked over to the man on the ground.
To my surprise, or lack there of, he was up on his feet already, watching me with a small smirk and his arms crossed on his chest. He was leaning against the farthest tree, leaving me to fend for myself. He didn't even have his crossbow on him, to assist me if I needed it. I am pretty sure he was just trying to kill me off so he didn't have to deal with me.
Of course, he was pretending to sleep before. How could I even think otherwise? Stupid, Nixie, stupid.
I pressed my lips together and shook my head slightly in annoyance, feeling like maybe I should just throw my knife at him instead of using it to kill the threat. I scoff, before going back to killing the undead one by one, driven by the deep hate and anger for Daryl, until all of them were laid down at my feet. At this point, the sweat pooled in between my boobs making them stick together, and on my forehead where it was slowly dripping down my face, getting into my eyes and mouth. My top felt like it was soaked too. I was heaving for air, and I must've looked red on the cheeks.
"Thanks for the help," I say sarcastically. "Appreciate it so much, dickhead."
"You handled it well."
"Would be much quicker if you weren't acting like a dead inside person all this time."
He snorted loudly in answer, shaking his head slightly, and picked up his bag from the ground, alongside his crossbow. "We have to move," he says instead, and looked up at me once more. "We're about a day and a half from the camp."
Finally, I find out how far we were going, and I was actually relieved that the camp he was taking me to wasn't a week or two away. Just a couple more days before I can go about my life like I've never met Daryl or anyone else for that instance.
Nodding to him, I propped my hands on my knees, taking a few deep breaths and waited for him to gather his belongings. He pushed off the walkers from the wire and plucked out the bits of rotten skin off of the materials with his bare hands. I was looking at him, in a slight disgust, at how he could just touch walker skin and guts like that. Wrapping them in a ball, Daryl slid them back in his bag, saying he'll just clean them off in the river once we reach it and he wiped his hands on his trousers.
Daryl's footsteps heavy and full of determination while I try to keep up with his pace. The complete silence between us was slightly more comfortable than before, neither of us wanting or feeling like they have to speak. I wasn't going to open my mouth to him, wasting my precious energy to make a conversation, and he had the same idea. As long as we get to Rick, and he then decides my fate, or so he thinks. That was the only thing that mattered right now.
Soon enough, we get to the gentle river, winding its way through a landscape, the surface rippling softly as if whispering secrets to the banks. The clouds above hang heavy and low, their shades of grey mirrored in the water, casting a moody light. The air feels damp, carrying the faint earthy scent of wet soil and foliage. Variety of trees line the banks, their branches swaying slightly in the cool breeze, their reflections stretching and distorting in the river's flow. It's a moment of beauty—tranquil and soft.
Daryl stops at the bigger part of the river and without hesitation, he gets in, taking the cans and wires out to clean it. I watch him from the shore, his muscles dancing under his top once again. It was hard to look away, almost like his physique was hypnotising me. Or maybe it was the fact that it was a long time since someone touched me or looked at me like they wanted me, and I craved that these days. I craved attention— not particularly from him, but from anyone who'd be willing. I don't know. All I know is I wanted to jump his bones, no matter how much I hated him.
I decide to get into the shallow water as well to wash away the sweat and grime after the fight with walkers. It was cold, and I was shivering the whole time, but I felt a lot better after. Plus, it's a free laundry. If you think about it, getting into the water with your clothes on saves on a great deal of washing. When you're not attacked by some water-walkers anyway.
Once Daryl had finished his thing, he commanded to follow him once again, and I did. But we didn't get far.
From the surrounding woods, a large group of people emerged, pointing their wooden sticks and what it seemed to b be bone clubs right at us. They were dressed in animal skins, even the shoes were made from it. They looked like they just popped out of the history books, from a Neanderthal era or something. They were carrying knives made from animal bones, and javelins made from wood, the tips of them raggedy and looked like it would leave you no chance at survival if you were pierced with it. Their hair were clumped with hardened clay and dirt, even though their skin looked clean.
"Drop your weapons," one of them said very calmly.
"I think the fuck not," Daryl speaks up and, with a speed that only added authenticity to his gruff exterior, he whipped the hunting knife from his belt.
The first Neanderthal wannabe barely had time to register the movement before Daryl's blade flashed, slicing a deep and stinging cut across his throat. The man's eyes widened as he sinks to his knees, dropping his javelin. His hands gripping and scratching at his throat, trying to stop the bleeding as best as he could, but there was no use. His body thuds to the floor, and his limbs go limp.
We didn't even have time to think twice, because more of the people showed up from behind the trees, the number of them overwhelmed us. They surged forward, a tide of animal skins and crude weapons. I managed to deflect a blow from a bone club, the impact jarring my arm, but another attacker was on me instantly, his javelin thrusting towards my chest. I twisted my body to try to avoid the hit, but the ragged tip teared through my shirt, leaving a burning trail across my ribs.
Daryl was a whirlwind of motion as well, his knife a blur, slashing at all of them, but he was being slowly pressed back, surrounded by a ring of the attackers, pointing their weapons right at him. A javelin grazed his arm, drawing blood, and he swore loudly, his voice strained. I saw him take down two, then three, but for every one he felled, two more took their place. It was like they were multiplying, somehow the forest was giving birth to them one by one.
I was struggling to stay on my feet. A bone knife sliced across my cheek, and I stumbled, my vision blurring. I managed to grab a fallen club I knocked out of one of their hands, swinging it wildly, but it was no use. The attackers were relentless, their movements savage and coordinated. Daryl's grunts and curses were growing weaker. I saw him go down, his knife clattering on the forest floor as a club connected with his temple. He fell to his knees, then leaned forward, breathing heavily.
The attackers closed in on me, their faces grim. I raised my club, but it was a futile gesture once again. A bone club slammed into my ribs, sending a wave of pain through my body. I gasped, the air leaving my lungs.
"Nixie!" I hear a faint voice, but I didn't have the energy to look up anymore.
We were not completely surrounded, and the people wrapped some sort of rope around our wrists. Dragging us to our feet, they pushed us further into the forest. We were walking deeper and deeper into it, the tree line getting thicker and denser. I saw Daryl's crossbow swinging on one of the men's backs, alongside his bag full of supplies, looking almost comically paired with the all natural attire and javelin in their hand. I tried looking around, but my vision was blurry, my eyes involuntarily water at the stinging sensation all across my body. I could feel the blood trickling down from the cut on my side.
We walk for a good hour or so, although it was hard to know in the state I was in. I kept looking towards Daryl, making sure he was still there. He was, but his body was messed up. There was a cut on his cheek, and a gash on his arm. The ripped top was soaked in blood, telling me he also sustained some type of injury right on the stomach. A slight worry raised inside of me, even though he was the most annoying person in the world. But also, in the situation we were in - the only person that could help me escape.
Soon enough, we get to a gravelly path, leading to the extremely tall, wooden fence right in the middle of the woods. The gates open with a thud and then close behind us. Inside, crowds of people, dressed in the same type of attire as our attackers, gather around to see what was happening. No one spoke to each other, they just looked around with questioning eyes. The settlement was quiet, almost like no one was actually living here which was far from the truth as the amount of residents inside was astonishing. As far as I could see, it was an ocean of animal skins, brown and black. As we were pushed through the crowd, they split in the middle, making a path for us.
If you looked even further into the settlement, there were huts made of clay, some grass and moss, and the tipi tents were wrapped in animal skin, the thick logs pointing up and bonded together with rope at the top. There were fields of corn and wheat, some fruit and vegetable patches, and even apple trees. A pigsty with baby pigs and huge hogs appeared through the crowd, when we were passing through. The air was filled in a smell of cooked meat, wood and resin.
Me and Daryl get undressed to only our underwear, the men touching me more than necessary, and they lead to a tiny hut with no windows and wooden doors. We get shoved inside and we both stumble down on our knees, hitting one of the walls. The darkness envelops us as the people leave us inside. I was impressed at how well these doors were made so there was no light filtering in. I try to adjust to the darkness but there is no use.
"Daryl?"
"Yeah," I hear a grumble in a very close proximity.
"Are you okay?" I ask, surprised that I even cared enough. "I saw the gash on your stomach and—"
"I'm fine," he interrupts me quickly. "Don't worry your head about it."
I nod and sigh, before tilting my head backwards and hitting the wall. I slide down to the ground and sit. My knees touch Daryl knees. The hut was small enough that both of us, sitting in the opposite corners, had to intertwine our legs together. His leg was in between mine and one of mine was in between his. I shiver slightly, feeling the coldness of the air on my skin. My teeth chatter slightly.
Daryl on the other hand doesn't seem to be very affected by it, his legs radiating the warmth that I was soaking up as much as I could. I was glad that he couldn't see me right now, because I if I felt pathetic, then I probably looked just as pathetic. I rub my arms to help with the warmth, but soon enough my whole body is shivering.
I was thinking about how long they're going to leave us here. What is the purpose of this? They're clearly not after what we have - they have enough things and products of their own. They seem to create every single thing they own. So why would they spend their time catching people and bringing them here? Are they gonna eat us? Is that the reason? To have meat with their lovely vegetables?
I shake my head slightly, trying to get rid of the these thoughts and I solely focus on keeping warm and moving as little as possible so I don't lose any of it.
I am not sure how long we were inside of the hut, swathed in darkness, but it felt like an absolute eternity. My body stiffened, and I was cold, shivering uncontrollably now. I felt so helpless and all I wanted was to get out of here. I could hear Daryl's breathing gotten a bit more heavy, meaning he was struggling to keep warmth too. He may have not been chattering his teeth and shivering but he was definitely feeling the air hitting his skin.
"I'm so fucking cold," I mumble, but I don't get any answer.
I wasn't sure why I was wasting my breath, even though I knew it would fall on deaf ears. Maybe because we were in this together and I was hoping we could put our differences aside for the sole purpose of somehow getting out of here. Or maybe I just felt like the hours we already spent here was making me go insane and if I spend any more time in complete silence, I may start seeing my dead family.
But then, there was movement outside and the doors fly open.
A man in a deer skin robe reaching the ground and some sort of lacy sash going across his chest. He was wearing some sort of wooden crown with antlers attached to the top. His feet were dressed in sandals, also made from skin. He was looking from me to Daryl and then to me again and then he gave us the most mirthless smile of them all. He puts a candle on the ground and sits down on the stump that was brought for him to sit on, wafting the faint smell of resin into the hut.
"Hello," he says in a monotonic tone. "Welcome to our settlement."
Me and Daryl look at each other, suspicion in our eyes, but we don't say anything. I look the man up and down, trying to establish if he has any type of weapons on him. I was pretty sure there was nothing, but a small pendant hanging off of his neck, shining in the candle's dim light.
"My name is Cedar," he speaks again.
"Like… cedar tree?" I smirk slightly, finding it funny. It couldn't have been his real name. No one in the right mind calls their kid Cedar.
The man looks at me and nods. "Precisely," his voice was soft, yet carrying a note of weariness. "What are your names?" Once again, he was met with silence from me and Daryl. "It doesn't really matter. You can choose a new name when you join us."
"Join you?" Daryl speaks and his voice sounded dangerous, husky, like he was about to try and attack the guy. "What makes you think we want to join you?"
"We're The Greenborn," Cedar continued, without answering our queries. "We live off entirely from what we make ourselves and what mother nature gives us. We don't use any weapons or eat any food that wasn't made by our own people. Every single thing you'll see in this settlement was made by us. No exceptions."
Cedar got up and started pacing and motioning with his hands, talking about how the whole place came to existence. There were only six of them when it started. Now, there's more than two thousand people living within these walls. When they started building, it started off small—one patch of vegetables, an animal skin tent and nothing else. As they met more people, Cedar rallied them to join his group and with their help the settlement began to expand. It is still expanding, as Cedar says, they're building new huts and some extension walls in the North corner.
I was listening really closely to what he was saying. The term "rallied" resounded in my head and for some reason I felt like this is what it was — this was his convincing speech to get people to join, to stay and to help them grow even bigger.
"My people were trailing you for awhile," he says, looking at me. "I believe you had an accident with a walker in the river. And you—," he looked at Daryl. "You're part of a bigger group, but yet you prefer staying away, alone."
I look at Daryl. His jaw was clenched shut and I could now visibly see that he was as cold as I was, shivering when the autumn cold was hitting his skin. The goosebumps covered him from head to toe, and he was eyeing Cedar with a murderous look.
"You join us, pick your new names and start entire new lives here with us," the man says. "Or we'll kill you and feed you to our pigs. I'll give you a few days to decide."
The words come out of his mouth like it wasn't a threat, but a statement. A fact, just something that he knew it was going to happen if we don't cooperate. I almost flinch when he says that. Becoming food for farm animals was not on my bucket list and it wasn't going to happen. I felt anger bubbling up in my chest and I press my lips together, now also looking at Cedar and imagining him dying, sliced up in half by my machete or eaten by walkers.
"I'd make a decision quickly if you don't want to freeze or starve to death," Cedar says, but the smile he gives us doesn't quite reach his eyes.
He steps closer to us and unties our hands. I immediately grab my wrists and start to rub them and so does Daryl. The leader takes the candle and closes doors, the darkness enveloping us once again.
I sit back down on the cold floor and hug my knees to keep any warmth I had left, which was close to none. My lower lip starts to shake once again and I try to bit it to stop it from trembling. My mind was swirling, thinking about what Cedar told us. I hated the idea of staying here, but I don't see how we could even get out of here. The doors were locked, and there were definitely some guards outside the building. The hut was smooth on the inside, so there was nothing we could use as weapons.
"Are you alright?" I hear from the darkness and I look up, although I couldn't see a single thing.
"I will be as soon as we get out of here," I say shakily. "We need a plan."
"Already working on it."
"Care to share?"
"No."
I roll my eyes and scoff. "F-Fine."
Unbelievable. Even in the face of death, he decides against cooperating.
I put my chin on my knees and close my eyes, trying myself to stop from panicking. The whole situation was fucked up. I didn't want to die. Maybe someday, but not that soon. I had so much life to live still. I always imagined my death to be a little more poetic - maybe finally eaten by a walker while fighting my way out of somewhere or from some sort of injury I sustain. I even thought about dying from old age. But this? Being killed and thrown into a pigsty? No. Not a chance in hell.
There's a shift in the way Daryl was sitting. I heard him move, before I feel his hand on my arm and I furrow my brow. Daryl's hand lingers there for a moment longer than I'd ever expect, his calloused fingers rough against my skin. I glance up, though the darkness still swallows him whole.
"Look," he mutters, his voice low and gravelly, "I ain't thrilled about this, but... we’re gonna freeze if we don’t do somethin’."
"Uh-huh?" I say back to him, pointing out the obvious. "What are you saying?"
He exhales sharply, like the words are physically painful to get out. "I’m sayin’ we need to... stick close. Body heat and all that."
I blink a few times, unsure if I heard him right. My jaw drops and my cheeks burn a little and for the first time since we got here, I am glad it was dark. "You want us to—"
"Don’t make it weird," he snaps, cutting you off. "It’s survival. That’s it."
I hesitate, the idea of being that close to him making my skin crawl, but at the same time it makes me… almost excited. The cold is biting, and deep down, I know he’s right and there was no reason to argue. "Fine," I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper. "But if you try anything—"
"Yeah, yeah," he interrupts, shifting closer. "Trust me, this ain’t exactly my dream scenario either."
Reluctantly, I let him pull me closer and I fall into his chest and on top of him, his warmth seeping through his skin to mine. It’s awkward and stiff, both of us too stubborn to relax. I shift a few times to make myself more comfortable. He does it too, and the movement makes us slightly warmer.
We should have sex, it would keep us warmer.
The thought pops up in my head and I stop breathing for a minute. I scolded myself internally for even thinking about it.
Enemy. Frenemy. Definitely frenemy. Don't be stupid.
I push those thoughts away and lock them inside a tiny box in my mind. It wasn't time to think like this. Not that any time is good for those type of thoughts, especially about Daryl, but it was hard to focus when his muscly arms were wrapped around me and his palms were pressed to my back.
As the minutes tick by, the cold starts to get replaced by warmth and our bodies stop shivering. The hate we had towards each other was replaced by a grudging, fragile truce for the time being.
"Don’t get used to this," I mumble, my head resting against his shoulder, and despite myself I nuzzle into his neck slightly, itching to press my lips to it.
"Wouldn’t dream of it," he grumbles back, but there’s a faint hint of something softer in his tone.
"Want to share the plan you've been working on?"
"No."
"Daryl!" I say a bit frustrated which meets with a huff and puff from Daryl. "We are in this together. I can help and you know it."
I feel him taking a deep breath beneath me and ten letting it out slowly. It was so obvious that he preferred to work alone, to scheme inside his own mind, but I was adamant I could help. I knew I could. I wasn't a damsel in distress that he had to save. I had skills, and two brains are better than just one when it comes to thinking about an escape plan.
"I think we need a distraction" he finally says quietly. "Something to divert peoples attention."
I nod. "Me."
"Huh?"
"The distraction. I can be the distraction."
"How?"
"Well, I'm a woman," I begin to explain to him. "I could use my certain… charms to make people look. It shouldn't be too hard, I'm already in my underwear."
"You gonna flash them?"
"Sure," I say shrugging my shoulders. "They probably don't really see women in the light of day, and seeing as candles are the only light they use at night means that they're not used to seeing nakedness in its full glory, right? It means we could escape. We can knock them out and their clothes and then…use the North side where they're building the extension to leave."
"You sure it will work?"
"No," I admit. "But it's better than not trying at all, right?"
I feel him reluctantly nod at the side of my head and I sigh. It's time to whip out my acting skills, I guess. The ones I haven't used for years, buried them deep inside so I could live as my most authentic self. The ones that were part of my past life that I so desperately tried to lave behind. That life almost ruined me in the worst way possible, making me horrible person that even I had trouble of liking.
But tough situations call for tough measures, right?
Read about series and find other chapters -> here <-
words: 4.5k
warnings: sexual content - some sexual thoughts, do I need to say more?
A/N: Hey, muffins! Here's another chapter of the TROOS! Similar length to the previous one! I've been busy with life lately so writing and posting comes onto a second plan - family is most important! Enjoy! 🖤
I woke up in the morning when the sunshine licked my face through the cracks of the store's boarded up windows. Every single bone in my body was hurting from the hardness of the floor I slept on, and I was sure there was an indent of my bag strap on my cheek. The fire was out, now releasing a soft, white clouds of smoke. How hard did I sleep?
My eyes darted around, checking my surroundings meticulously. I was looking for Daryl, but he was nowhere to be seen. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, trying to get all the sleep out, before checking for my machete. Thankfully, it was still on my belt. A sigh escapes my mouth and I smile gently to myself. He wasn't here, so I was free. I could just go and forget that this whole meeting ever happened.
Jumping to my feet, I quickly pick up my bag and my raincoat. I put them on, feeling almost relieved I didn't have to deal with Daryl anymore. It was clear that neither of us trusted one another, and staying around would be harder than what it's worth. He was a grumpy, middle aged man that tied me up last night, just assuming I'd hurt him. He wasn't wrong, I probably would've. But how about that for a first impression?
I walk through the doors and the sun now fully embraces me, even though the air has a cold bite to it. I loved autumn. It was probably my favourite season. It was cold, but not too cold — just enough to wear a light coat with a cosy jumper underneath. My burgundy jumper which I picked up from one of the abandoned homes, was getting a bit worn out, so I'd have to look for a new one sooner or later, unless I wanted to parade with holes in the woolly fabric. I sigh, looking at the state of my loose trousers, come cuts and hole in them too and I take yet another mental note to get new ones.
It wasn't easy being a bigger girl in the midst of the apocalypse. Every single store was mostly picked out, and anything what was left was either too small or way too big. I always ended up with three sizes too big tops and jeans that I had to tie with a string to keep them up on my hips. But I guess there is no point in complaining. At least I have something.
"Going somewhere?"
The voice caught me by surprise and I stopped walking. I press my lips together and spin on my heel, meeting Daryl's gaze. His hand was squeezing the holster of his crossbow and the other one was hanging loosely by his side. He pushed the sleeves of his Henley up, but he was wearing a black cloak to keep himself warm. His eyes scanned me up and down, which made me unbelievably self-conscious, even though I made peace with the way I looked. So what I was a size 16 woman? Why does it matter in the apocalypse?
"We're heading this way," he pointed behind him. "We will follow the nearby river to get to the camp."
"We?"
"Don't think I like it any more than you do."
"Then why not just let me go?" I ask. "We can both go our own ways and pretend we never saw each other."
He stopped in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening as he turned to face me. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the crunch of gravel under my feet and the faint rustling of wind through the trees. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something that made me feel like he was debating what to do. I could tell he wasn't happy about having me around either, and yet he kept on pressing about it.
"Rick wants everyone he can get," he said finally, his tone flat, almost detached. "Doesn't mean I trust you. Just means you're his problem now."
"I don't want to be anyone's problem," I lament, throwing my hands in the air. "Would be really easy if you looked the other way, and I just ran off. You could pretend you lost me in the woods or something."
He scoffed and shook his head, trying to hide a small smirk that was threatening to show up on his face. "Yeah, sure," he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "And when Rick asks why I came back without you, what am I supposed to say? That you ran off and I didn't try to stop you? Not very believable if you ask me," He adjusted the strap of his crossbow, his gaze hardening. "If anyone’s taking you out, it’s gonna be me and trust me, I will kill you if you run. Rick will forgive me either way."
"How does Rick know about me?"
My question makes him visibly amused, and he takes out a long range walkies out of his pocket. It was all black with a few red buttons, and had a special square screen for sun charging. It was smart, that way you didn't need electricity to keep it going. You only had to put the walkies in the sun to be able to communicate with the other side, wherever that was.
I bite my lip, knowing it was impossible for me to get out of this situation. I calculate the a few ways this could go, and all of them lead to me being shot dead, so I decide to just agree and follow Daryl. He clearly wasn't happy about it either. It made me wonder why he's out here. Is he actually recruiting more people? Is he some sort of Rick's right hand that does all the dirty work for him, or is he something more? The questions bubbled up in my mind, but I quickly shook my head. I didn't care that much and I knew that the first chance I get, I will be gone, making sure to get rid of all the traces of my whereabouts.
When we finally reach the river, the air gets even colder. The trickling of the river calms my nerves and the whooshing of the wind creates an almost peaceful scenery. Well, it would be peaceful if it wasn't for the fact I was stuck with potentially dangerous person, leading me to potentially dangerous people. Even though he hasn't killed me yet, something in my gut told me that he was capable of it, so I should just obey until the time was right.
He suddenly stopped, and I was too distracted to realise so I bump into him, and stumble backwards. He grunts annoyingly and looks over his shoulder. If looks could kill, I'd be one the floor with my tongue sticking out and exes on my eyes, like a cartoon character.
I clear my throat. "Why are we stopping?"
"We need to cross the river here," he murmurs, making a line with his finger, from one side of the water to the other. "The current is the weakest right here."
I look at the river and it was the furthest thing away from clean and see-through. The part of the river he was suggesting, had unusual amount of black sand around the edges which was swept up and into the water, making it murky. There was no way I was going to cross it. Dealing with an UTI was not on my list for the things to do in the upcoming week.
I glance at Daryl. My face had to give him an answer before my mouth could because he spoke again.
"No other choice."
"We could find a bridge."
"Too far."
"We could use the logs to make some sort of passage."
"Too long."
I roll my eyes and beat myself internally for even trying to reason with this man. There was no way he would listen to anything I say. It's like he was programmed to always finish his mission, no matter the consequences or regard to anyone else but himself. Of course, he couldn't let a woman dictate what he's going to do either. His ego would suffer too much.
Standing there, I keep looking at the waters, realising that he really is not bending his will to get to this camp he told me about as soon as possible. His precious Rick is impatiently waiting for us, and what Rick wants, Rick apparently gets. I groan in my mind and then sigh.
Daryl was already treading through the water. "Come on, princess! Or are you too precious to get wet?"
I cringe at the nickname and then put my bag up above my head to keep it from getting soaked. I step inside the waters and my whole body shivers at the coldness. The water laps at my ankles, cold and uninviting, as my thoughts drift to places I’ve tried to bury. The murkiness of the surface feels a little too familiar—like the haze of my own past, the secrets I keep from everyone, burying them deep so even I didn't have to deal with it. No one knows about my past, and no one ever will. It’s safer that way.
But my mind doesn’t let me forget. Ever. It whispers reminders of dimly lit room, the music that drowned out my doubts and questions, and the men that were sneering, twisting their faces into something almost predatory-like. I told myself it was survival, that it didn’t define me. I am not the same person I was many years ago. I'm not.
Yet here I am, standing in water that feels as clouded as my mind.
And then, a tug. Sudden and sharp, it yanks me off balance and I fall backwards into the water, letting go of my bag. My heart leaps as the water claws up my chest, pulling me under. Panic flares as I flail against the unseen force, my screams muffled by the pools of water filling my mouth. Through the chaos of the situation swirling around me, I catch a glimpse of a pale, decomposed hand clutching my ankle.
A walker.
I try to fight it off, writhing as hard as I could but for some reason, it was stronger than me, undoubtedly because of the state of panic within me.
In the next moment, Daryl is right next to me. He must've made his way through the water quicker than I anticipated. His blade slices through the walker’s arm in one swift motion, and its grip loosens as a dark cloud of blood blossoms in the water like a deadly flower. Daryl's hands grab me, steadily and surely, hauling me back up to my feet. I gasp for air, coughing and sputtering as we stumble to the shallows on the other side of the river. Once I find a piece of dry land, I collapse to my knees, trying to catch my breath.
Daryl stands over me, shaking the water from his hair as he mutters, “You got the worst luck, you know that? Walkers seem to like you very much.”
His tone is serious and monotone, but the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth gives him away. I scoff at his words, but I cannot deny the tiny smile that pops up on my lips as I roll my eyes.
After I catch my breath, I stand up and gather my hair into a messy ponytail. I look towards the river and I see my bag, drifting away, with all of the things I had. All of my belongings just washed away because of a bloated water-walker. With a heavy sigh, I turn to Daryl and ask him which way we were heading. He just nods in the general direction of forest. Before I could ask how long it takes to get to the camp, he is already walking away and yet again I have no choice but to follow him.
We spent hours walking in the forest. It was getting dark once again, and Daryl made us stop and set up camp right in the middle of the woods. I watched him take out some wire and some empty food cans out of his bag. He carefully joined them together, before pulling the wire around some trees and fastening them to the bark. He used the end of his crossbow to punch the nails in.
He looks at me, catching my stare and his eyebrow raises slightly. "What?"
"Nothing," I shrug my shoulders and look away.
"You were staring."
"No, I wasn't."
"Liar."
I roll my eyes once again, feeling like all I've done was rolling my eyes at him, but the heat creeping up my neck betrays me. I was indeed staring. And it wasn't subtle. Yes, he was the most annoying person I've ever met and the fact I was a hostage was fucked up, but I couldn't deny the fact that Daryl was hot. I wasn't sure how old he was, and frankly I didn't care. He looked good in all black outfit, his muscles clearly flexing under the shirt as he worked. His eyes were almost too blue to be human, and when he looked my way, there was something that stirred inside of me. Something I wasn't sure I wanted to let out to see the light of day.
Daryl doesn't say anything else, but his eyes scan me up and down, giving me that doubtful look that makes me want to punch him in his teeth. Instead, he turns back to his makeshift alarm system, giving the wire one last tug to make sure it’s secure.
“Just don’t trip over it in the middle of the night,” he mutters, his voice low but laced with amusement. “Last thing we need is you settin’ off the cans and bringin’ walkers down on us.”
I huff, crossing my arms. “I’m not that clumsy.”
He glances over his shoulder, one eyebrow arching in silent challenge. “Okay, if you say so." Before I can come up with a snarky comeback, he straightens up and dusts his hands off on his pants. “Alright, princess. Firewood’s not gonna gather itself. You wanna sit here and pout, or you gonna help?”
"Again? Why can't you do it?"
"I just secured this whole camp. I think we can share the load of the work, don't you, princess?"
The nickname makes me bristle, but I bite back a retort. Instead, I grab my knife and head toward the treeline, muttering under my breath about bossy rednecks that make me want to jump off a cliff. I felt the intense urge to gauge his eyes out with my fingernails and have them cooked for tonight's dinner instead of whatever he was working on opening behind me. He was so annoying, and yet I was stuck with him for God knows how long. My lonely life seemed to be so far away, even though I only spent one night and one full day with Daryl.
All I wanted to do was to go back to my normality. Lone walking, searching for supplies, killing any walkers that come near and worrying only about myself. I was sure Daryl wanted the same thing. He was as much of a loner as I was, I could tell. It was not ideal to have a liability, to have someone you have to keep alive. Not that I couldn't take care of myself. I was skilled, but I guess my luck has been slowly running out as I went on. Proof is in the fact that Daryl had to save me twice in a short span of time.
I wondered who exactly this guy Rick was and who'd I meet when we finally get to the group. Daryl said there were about 15 of them and I was really curious. How did they survive? Where are the from? What's their story? And then I quickly realise I have no right to ask, because the same questions would come back at me. My panic sets in. Rick will ask questions. About me. About my life. To determine if I was a right fit for their group.
The plan forms in my mind. I knew what I had to do. I had to lie. I was pretty good at it, so it shouldn't be a problem. Whatever answer they were expecting, I'd just give them the opposite. Easy. Lie my way out of whatever this whole thing was.
They let me go or kill me. Either way, it's a win.
I bring the gathered wood to Daryl and he quickly lights the fire in a carefully made pit. I sit down on the ground, and I warm myself up against the dancing flames. The air was getting colder with each day, meaning the winter was on the brink of starting. I rub my arms to spread the heat around my body.
The fire crackles between us, as we settle into the silence again. Its light casting sharp shadows on Daryl’s face. For some reason he looked even hotter in this light, his scruffy face was somehow handsome, but my gaze quickly fell to his hands. He sat a little too close to his knife for my liking, absently twirling it in his hands like he’s itching to use it. On what—or who—I don’t care to find out. His eyes flick to me occasionally, like he’s checking to make sure I’m still here, still playing by whatever rules he’s imagined.
I keep my gaze fixed on the flames, refusing to meet his stare. If I don't acknowledge his suspicion, it is non existent. We weren't friends, we weren't even acquaintances. We just exist in the same space because we have to. Well, we don't have to, but, once again, the Rick "needs all the people he can get" and the alternative of not cooperating seemed worse. I know if I tried to make a run for it, I wouldn’t get far before an arrow stopped me. I'd be dragged to the camp, probably tied up like last night, humiliated, and thrown at the mercy of whatever their leader Rick decides. Or, Daryl shoots me right in the head, sets my body on fire and goes back to the camp without me, explaining to Rick that it had to be done.
“What is it?” Daryl mutters, breaking the tense silence. His tone isn’t concerned; it’s edged with apprehension, like he’s waiting for me to slip up.
I glance at him, my expression flat. “What is what?”
"I can practically see the cogs turning in your head."
"You're imagining things."
He snorts, clearly unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Right. You're thinkin’ somethin’.”
I drag my hands over my arms to rub in what little warmth the fire offers. “Believe it or not, Daryl, not everything’s a scheme.”
He doesn’t reply immediately, just narrows his eyes slightly as though trying to read something in my face. “Maybe not,” he says eventually, his shoulders shrug quickly. “But you? Feels like you’re always runnin’ some kinda angle.”
I bristle at his words, but I don’t bite. Let him think what he wants. If he thinks I’m dangerous, he won’t push too hard. At least, that’s the hope. Why would I try to convince him otherwise? This is exactly what I wanted. Suspicion, doubt, eventually freedom from whatever twisted plan Rick had for me. I really couldn't care less what Daryl thought about me at this moment.
He goes back to his knife, sharpening the edge with slow, deliberate strokes on a stone he picked up from the ground. The sound grates against my nerves, but I close my eyes and try to ignore it. I suddenly missed my bag and its content, like the book I picked up scavenging one of the houses in the small village or the notebook where I scribbled and drew when I was bored or needed something to calm me down. It was all I had left and now, it's probably passing yet another riverbed, all of the pages soaked through.
Just when I was about to lay down, my stomach rumbles. I check carefully if Daryl has heard, and he was already looking at me, with some sort of entertained expression. He takes a can of food he put on the fire before, wrapping it in his red and white bandanna and he searches his bag for something. After a second he pulls out a worn out fork and stabs it into the can. Looking straight at me, he takes a first bite. And another. And another.
He's mocking me.
I look away and I lay down on the ground, using my hands as pillow. I turn my back to him and I close my eyes, my hand gripping the handle of my machete yet again. Always weary. Always vigilant. I take a deep breath and I let it out quietly as my stomach rumbles once more.
I can hear a shift and some steps before I hear a zipper of his pants and then trickling on the grass right above my head. "Seriously, dude?"
"I have to piss somewhere."
"And you couldn't do it on your side why?"
He doesn't respond and I keep my eyes closed. My whole body tensed up and I was seconds away from jumping up and shoving my machete up his ass. I shake my head immediately after that thought and I clear my throat. I could not believe what just happened. I knew he did it to make me angry, to maybe even see me lose my composure, but he had no idea who I was. So he had no idea that I was used to biting my tongue and staying calm when it mattered. There was only one person that could make me lose my mind and it most definitely isn't him. No way.
He moves away from my side of the fire to his side, sitting down with a grunt. After multiple attempts at sleeping, I finally give up and I turn to lay on my back. Thoughts churning in my head, until a very much unexpected one makes their way to the surface.
Do I think he's big? Would he fill me up, stretch me out?
My imagination goes wild. I think about his hands all over me, his fingers pumping inside of me fast, making me moan and gasp. I think about how his mouth would feel sucking on my nipples, the beard tickling me slightly, creating an exciting sensation. How his hands would explore my ass, squeezing it and slapping it, while he kisses down on my body, leaving sloppy, wet patches. I finally would feel his tongue on my clit, circling it, tasting me like a man starved.
Oh, my fucking God!
I sit up immediately after that with a long and sharp breath in, feeling the heat rushing to my face and to my lower stomach. My heart beats fast, like I just ran a marathon. Daryl looks up from where he was laying down, puzzled.
"Bad dream," I mutter quickly and stand up. "I'll take the first watch."
"You think I'd sleep around you? Leaving you to do whatever suits you?" His voice comes across as almost a laugh.
"If I wanted to run, I'd do it already."
He looks at me, clearly weighing the options. He's scans my face slowly, and I thank heavens that my flushed cheeks are hidden in a low light of the fire. "No fucking way. I ain't gonna get myself be strayed by you."
"Jesus Christ," I whisper to myself, before speaking louder. "We can both stay awake and lose sleep then."
"Okay."
"Okay."
Leaning on one of the trees, I look towards the vast darkness of the forest. My breathing get steadier and I purge my thoughts. He was my literal enemy. A stranger that is taking me somewhere, to some camp. How do I know that the camp is real? I have no idea about his intentions, or if the Rick guy is even real. I cannot lose sight of what matters the most — not fitting in with the group so I can go my merry way, going back to being by myself and caring only for me.
This is just like the last time when I came across some people. They were called Night Stalkers and, as the name suggests, they only operated during the night when the world was asleep. It gave them an advantage of scouting other groups silently, without being seen, making sure they never cross paths. Their faces were always covered in some sort of black substance and so were their hands and any patch of the skin that was visible through the clothes to help them stay hidden in the darkness of the night. The only element that was visible when you did manage to spot the members was the necklace—a crescent moon painted with luminescent paint, visible exclusively in the darkest hours of the night.
That was how I spotted them one night. I saw a glowing spot in the forest and decide to follow it. Now I know, it wasn't the greatest idea. They weren't exactly friendly to strangers and the idea of being discovered by people was almost terrifying for them. So they kept me with them for a couple of months, trying to make me one of them and making sure I wasn't a threat. Obviously, that didn't work. I managed to get away the night when yet another person ventures too far into the woods and discovered their tiny, veiled in the darkness camp. I used their distraction as my escape cue and I just ran until I was out of the woods. I hid in an old factory for a few weeks until I deemed it safe. They surprisingly haven't searched for me, meaning something most likely happened to them.
It was the first time since the zombie outbreak happened that I stumbled across people. Before that, it felt like Earth was almost dead, no life left anywhere. I knew it was because people tried to play it safe and stayed away from the streets. Not me, though. For some reason, when the undead started roaming around, I never felt more free.
I think back to the river water we've crossed today. The murkiness of it the perfect way to hide what's underneath. Just like me. The shroud that I enveloped myself in, keeping my secrets away from everyone, under the blurry film of my existence.
Behind me, I hear a snore and I turn my head to see Daryl laying down, with his mouth half open. Sleeping. I smirk to myself, remembering how he was so determined to stay awake, so I wasn't going to leave. This was a good change for me to run, I was fully aware. But something inside of me whispered "stay" and I stayed.
The Room of Old Sins: Chapter One - Colliding Paths
Read about series and find other chapters -> here <-
words: 4.7k
warnings: usual zombie apocalypse gore, themes of death and survival, violence
A/N: Hello, muffins! Here's the first chapter of the new series! I actually love it so much, I think this is my favourite series I've written so far. There's just so much going on! Enjoy! 🖤
The woods were dark. The only light out there was the full moon, shining through the branches of the trees. The air was thick with an oppressive fog that swirled and clung to every tree and shadow. The canopy above was dense, blotting out any starlight that might pierce through. The damp earth muffled footsteps, making the forest eerily silent except for the occasional crack of a twig, a snarl, or the rustle of my raincoat. It was a type of the scene I only ever seen in the movies.
The skeletal and gnarled tree shapes around me made me breathe fast and unsteady, their branches reaching out like twisted fingers trying to grab me at every turn. The fog catches on the branches, creating ghostly apparitions that fade in and out of sight. I was running as silently as I could, even though it was hard when you couldn't see where you were going.
A faint, fetid stench of decay lingers in the air, a grim reminder of the unseen horrors lurking beyond my vision. Now and then, the faintest hint of movement catches my eye, but it's hard to distinguish reality from imagination in this darkness. Even when I blink multiple times trying to let my eyes adjust to it, the nothingness has made its way to my mind, making my brain working at thousand miles an hour, making up things that weren't there.
Suddenly, a low, guttural moan rose from the depths of the fog, echoing through the trees and sending a shiver down my spine. The sound was followed by the shuffle of heavy, dragging feet, growing louder and more numerous. My heartbeat quickened as I realised I’m not in the presence of a couple of them—a group was out there, hunting, and it's drawing closer. I was fully aware they could smell me.
In this dark and foggy forest, survival became a game of nerve and wit. Every sound, every movement could mean the difference between life and death, as the relentless, undead menace stalked its prey. The night was endless, and escape seemed impossible, but I pressed on, driven by the primal urge to survive.
I sometimes think about how would it feel to give up. To let these creatures just chomp down on me and tear me to pieces. I always had such gruesome thoughts about life. When watching movies with my sister on a Friday night, I always tried to imagine what the characters would feel when they're close to dying. Would they see the light? Is there a point where they just know it's over? While I never thought I'd be living inside of a horror movie, thinking and keeping my brain sharp was the only fun I had these days. Imagination and occasional book or two saved me from going completely insane.
I squatted behind the tree, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. I knew they were close. I could hear them and smell their decaying flesh in the air. I can’t tell which way they’re coming from, the woods just echo their snarling, leaving me pinned down. My hand squeezed on machete at my side, getting ready for a fight.
I usually was really good at taking care of myself. But since I had to see my father die right in front of me, my ability to be vigilant and sharp dissipated slightly, making me less than a perfect fighter. I knew I would have to push through the walkers, no matter what, there was no escape for me, not in these parts of the woods. It was unfamiliar. I never ventured that far.
Finally, I could hear the group of walkers closest to me. I jumped out behind the tree, machete in my hands. I start hacking at them, one by one. Blood spilled everywhere, and got into my eyes, making it difficult to see where they were coming from. I cut the air a couple of times, retreating back. My feet stumbled on a fallen tree and I dropped on my ass, my machete flying out of my hand.
My eyes widen a little as one of the walkers eliminates the space between us, falling right on top of me. I tried to fight him off, hand in hand, but it wasn't the best idea. My forearm pressed against their neck, stopping them from biting me, as I struggled to get the knife from my boot. Their skin started to peel off at the sides of their face, and the smell of rotten flesh hit my nostrils. The jaw seemed to move a little to the right, as I pressed more intensely into their throat.
I thought I was a goner. I knew I was. There was no way I could survive this as more of them drew closer, getting down on their knees, ready to eat my flesh. I'd be one of them, just a walker, stumbling around with no memories of anything. The only thing I'd think about was eating. Hunger. Tearing flesh off of a human's body, the hot blood trickling down my chin and fingers as I munch on their insides.
Suddenly, a whistle of an arrow cuts through the air and the walker that was on top of me landed heavily on my body, not moving. The arrows flew one after another, killing every single one of them. I tried to look around, but the visibility was still as shit as it was before, so I focused on getting up. I pushed the dead walker off with a grunt and got up quickly, looking for my machete in the dark. I finally found it laying on a bed of moss, and I straightened myself, trying to see anything in the dark and fogginess of the forest.
“Lower your weapon,” I hear a voice from the forest, deep and gravelly, with a bit of a Southern accent.
I furrow my brow and I keep my machete up. My eyes scan the woods carefully, tree after tree, but I couldn't see a thing. My heart was beating frivolously, and I swallow hard.
“I’m pretty sure my arrow can reach you quicker than you can find me and kill me with your machete here, so I’ll say it again,” the voice just echoed in the woods. “Lower. Your. Weapon.”
I was profoundly aware that I couldn't win here. My brain screamed at me, telling me I should run, but I stayed rooted in place. I tried to weigh my options. If I run, he'll shoot and if I stay? Well, I had no idea what happens if I stayed. After a long minute, I put my machete down, my breath visible in the cold.
Finally, a silhouette came out of the shadows and I could sort of see the man that was speaking before in the light of the moon. His hair was covering his face, but I could faintly see the outline of his lips. His crossbow was at the ready, scanning the surroundings with eerie intensity. The silver light caught the edge of his rugged face when he closed in on me. His eyes focused, with an almost animal glint.
“Are you alone?” He asked, his voice commanded attention.
“Yeah,” I said, taking the hood of my raincoat off. “Are you?”
“I’m the one asking questions,” he stepped closer, pointing his bow at me. “Machete,” he extended his hand towards me.
“No fucking way,” I scoffed, looking at him like he was an alien. “It’s my machete. You can’t take away my only weapon.”
“I ain’t asking again. We can do it the easy way or the hard way,” the stranger’s voice was low and steady. “Trust me, you don’t want to see what the hard way looks like.”
I threw my machete at his feet and rolled my eyes. I understood why he was doing this. I probably am in his territory and he doesn't exactly look like the most friendly type. Crossing my arms on my chest, I watched him pick it up, his crossbow still pointed at my chest.
“What’s the point in all this?” I ask. I was weary of him, and he most definitely was weary of me. Both of us, ready to jump into action if the other one gets one step too far.
He doesn’t respond. He takes my machete and puts it through the loop of his black trousers. Still pointing his crossbow at me, he goes to each of the walkers and collect all his arrows. Then, he steps closer, the distance between us only an arm’s length and I could sort of see his face.
His piercing eyes, sharp with an almost predatory alertness. Shadows accentuate the chiselled lines of his jaw and cheekbones, highlighting the grit and determination etched into his visage. He's got a slight beard and a moustache. The darkness of the woods adds an air of mystery to his presence.
“Turn around,” he says gruffly.
I reluctantly turn around, no defensiveness in my moves. He’s got my machete and my knife was still in my boot. It wasn't for long though, because the man had clearly done this before as he reached inside my boot, taking the knife out of it. There was nothing I could do, at least not now. His hands grabbed mine and put a piece of fabric around it, tying them together. He pushed me forward and I took the first steps. His hand was firmly holding my arm like he knew that I was plotting my escape. We walked a little while and then turned into a building.
From the outside, it looked like some sort of a store, and when the man dragged me inside, I confirmed it with a quick look around. The empty shelves were pushed to the sides, leaving the middle of the floor free. The fire was illuminating the inside of the room, making it easier to see things. The smell of burning twigs in the air hit my nostrils. The building looked unsteady, the walls had cracks in them, almost succumbing to the fall. The quiet was almost deafening - the only sound was mine and the stranger’s feet on the floor when we walked towards the crackling fire.
The man pushed me down to sit next to the it. I looked up and saw his features with a bit more clarity. His long brown hair, was shaggy and slightly greasy, falling around his face in an unkempt manner. His face was almost unreadable, weathered, with a scruffy beard. His body was lean and muscular. He was wearing a black Henley top, a leather vest with angel wings adorned on it and black trousers. His shoes had two different laces, one red and one black.
He looked at me with piercing blue eyes. His hooded eyelids told me he was tired and the circle bruise under one of his eyes confirmed that it wasn't the first time he has done what he was doing with me right now. I guess the last time didn't go very well. He sat down on the other side of the fire, as far away from me as he could.
“You hungry?” he asks, a hint of a Southern accent coming out once again when he talked.
“Starving,” I admit.
It was almost three days since I’d eaten something properly. My belly rumbled on cue, the sound echoed in the empty space of the store, and I could hear the man huff.
He opened his bag that was resting on the floor next to the fire and pulled out a dead rabbit. His demeanour was slightly alert and focused, but not as fierce as out there. He took out a knife from the holster in his jeans and slashed the rabbit open, gutting it right in front of me. He stopped midway through and glanced my way, perhaps looking for some reaction, but I looked back at him, raising my eyebrow.
I couldn't see anything in his eyes. They were dead, and his poker face was actually trained to perfection. He kept working on the rabbit and I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the fabric on my wrists dig into my flesh.
“Is this really necessary?” I ask the man. “It’s not like I’m going to kill you.”
"Quit whining, and don’t give me a reason to regret not leavin’ you back there."
"Why didn't you? Nobody asked you to help me."
"It surely looked like you needed my help," I thought I heard him scoff at my comment.
I sigh deeply and looking around, trying to find something to focus on apart from the tingling sensation in my hands. He tied the fabric really tight and I started to lose feeling in my fingers. He wasn't even paying attention to me, still preparing the rabbit. I groan a little and shuffle in my seat.
Suddenly he gets up and comes closer to me, stepping behind me. The fabric comes off from my wrists and I rub them to ease away the pain. Now, I could see that the fabric was a red and white bandanna.
“That's better,” slips out of my mouth and I only get yet another huff.
I stand up on my feet and start taking my raincoat off, feeling the fire warming me up and my cheeks were burning red from the heat. He jumps towards me with a knife pointed at me. I don't even flinch, I just look at him, tilting my head to the side.
“Just taking my coat off,” I say, my hands up. I could see his face changing just for a moment before it turns to the serious one. He swings back around and goes back to his place by the fire.
There was something about this man that was so interesting. I couldn’t pin it down. Maybe it was because of the mystery of the situation. He rescued me from being chomped down on one of the rotters out there. But then he tied me up, mistrustful towards me. It was an array of confusion and a big ‘what the fuck’.
I take my bag off and then my raincoat, and put them next me. I sit back down on the floor, the fire between me and the man. The silence entails us again. I start playing with the laces of my boots, keeping an eye on the man's movement and I could tell he was doing the same.
“What’s your name?” I finally ask, breaking the silence. His eyes shoot a look towards me. “If I am stuck here with you, I may as well know who you are.”
“Daryl,” he says, his voice deep, rumbly, almost sending a shiver down my spine. “What’s yours?”
“Nixie,” I say.
"Nixie?"
"Yeah."
He nodded as if to say ‘Nice to meet you’, but I wasn’t sure. His stoic expression and brusque etiquette wouldn’t let me see any type of emotions he might have. I watched him as he threw the rabbit on the fire and covered it with some ashes, before wrapping the guts in some newspaper and throwing it in the corner of the room.
The silence between us was a bit awkward. I didn’t know if I should speak. I wasn't much of an outgoing person, but something inside of me was pushing me to make a conversation. I figured that Daryl was not much of a talker either, maybe even a bit of a loner too. He didn’t look like he belonged anywhere; like he spent most of the time alone. I could relate to that, I was stuck alone too, just taking it day by day.
We spent a couple of hours in silence and I didn’t even realise when I fell asleep. I must've been more tired than I felt.
I hear a loud bang right in front of my face and jump up, panicked, looking for my weapons. My eyes land on Daryl standing right above me, and then I look down to see the plate of meat by my bag. My bag that has been opened and clearly searched while I was sleeping. I furrow my brow and I bite down on my lip to stop myself from saying something I'd regret.
He searches my bag while I'm asleep and then just throws a plate of rabbit meat at me like I'm some kind of dog? What a dick…
“Eat,” he says pointing at the plate.
“Is it poisoned?” I breathe out.
"Try and find out."
My heart was still racing from the loud bang the plate made when it hit the floor. I sit up and take the plate in my hands, examining it. The rabbit looks like, well, not a rabbit anymore. Just strips of the meat on the plate. I pick some up and throw it in my mouth, chewing slowly, my tongue trying to taste it for any type of drug. I didn't trust him, not one bit. Who was to say he wasn't trying to kill me to have supply of meat or kill me so I wouldn't be a burden?
“You were asleep for 3 hours,” he says and I look at him, surprised that he would even talk to me.
“Oh,” I say, not sure what else to say, the awkwardness palpable, making the air a bit stuffy.
“What were you doing alone out there?” Daryl’s voice cut through the silence.
“Probably the same thing you were,” I say smiling lightly. “Trying to survive.”
Daryl's eyes narrow as he studies my face.
"It's dangerous out here. You should stick close."
"Thanks for the concern," I reply, my smile fading. "But I can handle myself. Been doing it long before we crossed paths."
"That so?" Daryl's tone softens just a fraction. "Well, don't get too comfortable. There's always something lurking."
"Comfort isn't really in my vocabulary," I respond, finishing up my rabbit meat. "But I'll keep an eye out. Thanks for the meal."
He nods almost invisibly and keeps looking down on his rabbit.
A brief moment of understanding passes between us before we both hear snarling and rustling beyond the building’s walls. I look at Daryl, he’s eyes already focused, trying to pinpoint where the sounds were coming from exactly. He gripped his crossbow from the floor and stood up.
“Can I have my machete back?” I ask with a bit of urgency in my voice, scrambling up to my feet and balling my hands into fists.
“No."
“Seriously, man?” I looked at him like he was crazy. “I can help you!”
Daryl shoots me a glare, his eyes darkened. He reaches for his belt and shoves the machete in front of me, the metal hitting my chest. I nod slightly and ready myself for whatever is about to come. He gives me a couple of silent signs to follow him and I do so, stepping carefully and lightly. We move through the building, coming out of the back doors.
I see some walkers to the right and I rush towards them. I slash at them with my machete while Daryl shoots them down with his crossbow. We work in almost perfect harmony, like it was a dance between us and the walkers. Heads are rolling, blood is splashing and we almost revel in the chaos, as if the carnage itself is the only thing keeping us alive. The world fades away for a moment, leaving just the rhythm of survival—swift, brutal, and unrelenting.
I look at Daryl after I kill the last one of them, and nod in appreciation, before I hear more snarling behind me. I turn and see more of them coming out of the woods. Didn’t take me long to realise that we are not dealing only with a few walkers. There’s an entire horde heading our way. My eyes widen and I run back to the building.
“It’s a horde,” I huff towards him. I never was one to run. I was probably the least fit person that is still alive in the apocalypse. “We won’t be able to fight it.”
“Back in,” he says and pushes me inside, closing the doors behind him and using his crossbow to block it.
He drags me away from the doors by my arm and throws me into a room that looks like a supply closet to whatever this shop was before the outbreak. The room was tiny, barely enough for one person, but Daryl came in and closed the doors behind us, his hand gripping the doorknob with all his might, making his muscles ripple under the long sleeves of his top. I could feel his back close to me, breathing slowly. There was barely any room to shuffle but I tried to anyway. He looks at me over his shoulder.
“Stop moving,” he snarls quietly.
“It's kinda hard when you're squashing me,” I whisper, but my movement stops.
My body freezes in place, trying to ignore the fact that I am locked in a closet with a stranger. I am not sure how long we stay inside there, hearing the snarling of the walkers, trying to get in, relentlessly banging on the doors. The only thing that stopped them from coming in was Daryl's crossbow, holding the back doors shut. We hear the arrowheads clinking against the metal doors. It seemed like the walkers were hearing it too, because every time it happened their snarls and moans were getting a lot louder.
We waited until the place quietens again. I feel Daryl moving and opening the doors slightly, to check out if it’s safe. He then pushes the doors open and steps out. I do the same after him, looking around alerted and focused, making sure that there was no other noises. I stretch my body slightly. The fire is still going and the building was free of walkers. The crossbow is still in the doors. Daryl looks at it but doesn’t take it out.
“We need to stay here for the night to make sure they’re all gone,” he says facing me, his face laced with a bit of concern.
“What then?” I ask him, putting my machete in the holster on my belt. “I mean, in the morning? What happens then?”
“I’ll take you to my people,” he says.
“Your people?” I cross my arms on my chest. “What for?”
He doesn’t answer the question. He completely ignores me and he makes his way to the fire and sits down. From his bag, he takes out a few branches. He lays them next to him and takes out a knife. He begins to sharpen them. I watch it all with a furrowed brow, unable to read him or to assess if his people will hurt me or not. I step towards him and sit next to my coat and bag.
“Answer my question,” I demand, looking at him sternly. “What will your people do to me?”
“That is up to Rick, not me,” he says, looking up from sharpening the twigs.
“Who is Rick?”
“He’s a leader of our camp.”
“You’ve got a camp?” I ask, raising my eyebrow. “How many of you?”
“About 15,” He says, not able to pinpoint the exact number.
“Where are you located?” I ask.
“You’re asking too many damn questions.”
Daryl looked down at whatever he was doing, not giving me a straight answer which bothered me. I sigh heavily and I sit down again, brushing my hair away from my face. I felt unsure about this man and not knowing his intentions, or who his group was. For all I knew, they may be serial killers or cannibals. I get up from my seat and pace around the room before I can hear Daryl groaning lightly.
“We won’t hurt you. If we wanted to, you wouldn’t be standing here,” he says firmly, looking me up and down.
“Right, yeah,” I raised my brow amused at his words. "Because you scream all nice and trustworthy," my voice dripped in sarcastic tone.
Daryl tilted his head, giving me a sideways glance that was equal parts sceptical and annoyed. "Well, ain't that rich comin' from someone who's still breathin' 'cause I ain't shot 'em yet." His voice was low, with that signature rasp, as he shifted his weight. He looked up from what he was doing. "Don’t worry," he added, a trace of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I ain't trustin' you either."
I cross my arms on my chest and give him a bitter smile. “Good. Makes things simpler. Trust gets you killed anyway.”
He nods and I can nearly see a hint of understanding in his eyes before I look away. I stare at the flames, thinking about my dead family. My dad, my mum, my sister. I knew my father was dead, but I often thought about my sister and mum, maybe even silently praying to whatever was up there that they find their way to me, or I find my way to them.
The flicker of the flames cast wavering shadows across the make-shift camp Daryl has set for himself, dancing on the hard lines of his face. He sat, crossbow resting against his knee, his eyes darting toward me every so often, guarded and calculating. I didn’t look at him directly, but I could feel it—the weight of his suspicion pressing against my skin. I’d caught him once or twice glancing away, as if he was trying to decide whether I was a threat or just another liability.
I stared at the flames, arms loosely crossed, the silence growing heavier by the second. The only sounds were the occasional snap of burning wood and the far-off rustle of the night. Daryl shifted slightly, the movement drawing my eyes to him for just a moment. His brows furrowed, and you could swear his lips twitched like he might say something—but instead, he reached down and prodded at the fire with a stick.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice gruff. “Firewood’s out. Grab some more.”
I turned to him, raising a brow as my lips twitched slightly into a smirk. “Oh, sure. And maybe I’ll build you a cabin while I’m at it.”
He grumbled, looking away and muttering under his breath. “Just do it.”
Rolling my eyes, I stood up and went to the doors. I took his crossbow off and put it on the ground. Swinging the doors open, I trudged off into the darkness. The sharp chill of the air was a stark contrast to the warmth of the flames, and I couldn’t help but keep glancing over my shoulder. Trust didn’t come easy these days—not for me, not for him.
I gather some twigs and bigger branches off the ground and I wrap them with the bottom part of my top, making a basket for them. When I returned, arms full of wood, Daryl glanced up briefly, then back to the fire. “There,” I said flatly, dropping the bundle beside him with a clank. “Don’t burn it all at once.”
He gave a faint nod, leaning forward to toss a piece into the flames. “Good job,” he said after a beat, his tone dry, yet almost grudgingly appreciative. “Guess you’re useful after all.”
I snorted lightly, crouching back down across from him. “Don’t get used to it. This ain’t a partnership.”
Daryl gave me a short, humourless chuckle, the corner of his mouth twitching into a brief smirk. “You think I want a partner?” His gaze flicked toward me, sharp and unimpressed. “You ain’t my first choice either.”
The two of us locked eyes for a moment, the tension thick but familiar—neither one of us willing to give an inch. Then, with a mutual, silent understanding that neither trusted the other but would tolerate it for now, both of us turned your attention back to the fire.
I laid down on the floor, using my bag as a pillow and my raincoat as a blanket, and I drift off, squeezing the handle of my machete. I was tired, yes. But I slept with one eye open, because I'll be damned if I lose my vigilance around Daryl.
Nixie Rivers has spent her life running—not just from the relentless walkers lurking around every corner, but from the ghosts of her own past that she swore to never visit again. At nearly 30, she's trying her best to survive, alone against everything that the world throws at her. Trusting others has never been an option, not when the cost of betrayal is so steep.
One fateful night, as a group of the dead closes in, Nixie’s path crosses with Daryl Dixon—gruff and fiercely protective of his own survival man, that doesn't care about anything or anyone who isn't a part of his group. He helps her that night, even though he's not happy or sure about it. Equally wary, Nixie guards herself and her secrets like a weapon, keeping Daryl—and the world—at arm's length.
Circumstances, however, leave them no choice but to travel together through the decaying ruins of civilisation. As they battle the undead and navigate the treacherous landscape of mistrust, Nixie and Daryl’s bond begins to shift. Suspicions arise, and so do feelings, and a fragile alliance evolves into something deeper. But when Nixie's secret threatens to unravel, she is left with the choice — confront her past or risk losing the first connection she’s had in years.
This story contains mature themes and explicit content, crafted exclusively for adult audiences. While I cannot control who views it, I am obligated to strongly discourage minors from engaging with this material. Viewer discretion is advised.
The story doesn't have a setting and definitely doesn't follow any particular events from The Walking Dead series or spin offs. It's a figment of my wild imagination and I reserve all the rights to it.
Read about series and find other chapters -> here <-
words: 1190
warnings: the series itself is really spicy and contains a lot of sexual content, so I just want to warn you about any potential spice right here and now. You're responsible for what you read!
A/N: Hello, muffins! I've started new series, and I am really proud of this one! I have a few chapters written already, so I want to start posting and see if you like it! Once again, there is A LOT of spice in this one! Enjoy, muffins! 🖤
The door creaked open as I pushed it gently. My heart was beating faster than ever, and I felt somehow unsteady on my feet as I took a step inside. My eyes were blurry from the anxious tears I tried to keep from flowing, and my hands were shaking uncontrollably. My whole body went tense as soon as I took a step inside the room. My mind filled with the images of the life I thought I'd left behind. Looking around, I tried to hold onto my present, but it seemed like the memories of the past were starting to consume me yet again. I never thought I'd be back here, feeling almost as vulnerable and lost as I did then.
The room smelled of damp and decay. The furniture, placed so immaculately by the walls were almost unrecognisable, slumped with the years of being exposed to the nature that crept inside through the cracks in the roof and walls. The vines, unknowingly representing my current state of mind - the memories slithering in and messing with my usually calm brain. The sunlight was illuminating the inside poorly, seeping in through the tiny gaps, but just enough for me to see the disarrayed state of the place. My eyes immediately were drawn to the pole, situated on a platform in the middle of the room.
The smooth chrome finish that I remembered had succumbed to the relentless march of time, pocked with tiny pits and flakes where the metal had corroded. A dull, reddish-brown hue cloaked the pole, giving it an almost ghostly appearance, like an artefact from a bygone era, staring right at me. The base was littered with specks of dirt and debris. The pole wobbled slightly when I touched it, its once sturdy foundation weakened by years of abandonment. Cobwebs clung to it in delicate, dusty threads, weaving intricate patterns that danced in the dim light and the soft whooshes of air that I was making by walking around.
Scanning the inside of the room further, I saw the bed, tilted to the right because of the broken legs. Its silk sheets were stained, and you could just enough see that they were red once. Now, the time and ever-changing weather left them dark and dirty. The pillows didn't look like pillows anymore, but more like the thinnest pieces of paper, wet and dirty, laid at the top of the bed. The mattress sagged like a crumpled accordion, patches of the once-plush surface now exposed and worn through. Springs jutted out here and there like skeletal fingers, threatening to tear at anything—or anyone—that ventured too close. A faint, musty odour clung to the bed, silently letting me know how long it's been. Torn bits of fabric hung from the edges, swaying slightly with each draft that slipped through the cracks in the decaying walls. The bed frame, once a stately, elegant piece, was now a sad, rusted skeleton, creaking ominously with every subtle shift in the room's atmosphere.
It felt like all of these things were whispering my name, begging me to come back. Begging me to touch them, to use them again. They seemed to be stuck in time, not knowing that the world has gone mental and the things that happened here, won't happen ever again. I could almost hear the music, sensual and loud, masking any other sounds in the room, like the slight squeak of the pole or the click of the heels on the wooden platform. My heart was beating so hard, I could hear the blood pumping in my ears.
Do not panic.
I told myself over and over, pushing to stay calm. I took deep breath and I let it out slowly. My eyes closed for a second as I tried to ground myself.
Looking back at my life, I would never go back and do what I have. It was reckless and stupid, and I shouldn't have done it in the first place. I only did it, because at the time, it seemed like a good idea. I never really thought about how scarring and dangerous it would become. How much life it would suck out of me, leaving me emotionless and willing.
I should've listened to my mother. I should've never ran away from home. She was right, but I was young. I lived thinking that parents were always wrong. I always tried to defy them, tried to prove them wrong. But this time… I should've listened. Maybe that way I could've ended up in a better position.
I've never spoken about it to anyone. I don't like sharing the details of my fucked up life, and most definitely don't like being ridiculed and looked at with disgust. I knew what people thought of me, of what I've done. Hell, I've heard it so many times that it became sort of a norm for me. So, for most of my twenties, I kept it to myself. It wasn't worth it. Why would I ever share if just going to be used against me later? I knew it would be, so I just kept the secret buried deep inside of me. Or so I thought…
When he asked and pried about my past so many times, trying to convince me to tell him, I realised that I haven't got much of a choice. It was this or he'd leave. But I wasn't even sure if this whole thing wouldn't make him leave anyway. It made me frustrated and scared at the same time. I felt like maybe I should be the one to leave. He'd probably thank me. I was so obviously not good for his mental state. He was adamant, though, and I came to terms that he needed to know. And maybe I needed him to see. I needed to take him to this place and show him who I really was. Tell him my story, and trust me, it's so much worse than you could even imagine.
So I spoke. Sharing everything, even the tiniest details.
For the most part, he didn't say anything. He just listened when I talked and then stared at me for what it felt like eternity. He stared like… I was an alien. Like he didn't know me at all. And it was the truth. He barely knew me. I shared only parts of my life that I wanted to share, nothing serious or crazy, like my mum making pancakes every Sunday or my sister's soccer team winnings. It was always short and sweet, and I never steered the topic into the uncomfortable parts. This? This was insane, and I knew it. So I braced myself, waiting, expecting, silently begging for him to say something.
He never did, and I am still not sure what he thought of all of this. But right now, laying on the old sheets of a half broken bed, his blue eyes staring at me like I was sent from up above and his fingers rubbing circles on my cunt, feels like all the years I've spent here didn't matter.
summary: the page from your journal after what Daryl did mere hours ago.
words: 323 - short, concise ending
A/N: And with this part, we are finishing the "i'm not yours" and I am so, so grateful for all the people that liked, commented and reblogged my work! Sending hugs and kisses to all of you, especially the ones who've been here since the beginning! Love you, muffins!
I want to announce that there will be sequel to "i'm not yours"! Soon, muffins, soon... keep an eye out 🖤😉
Read previous part here!
From Y/N journal
How the hell did I end up here?
All those months of denying my feelings. Trying so hard to make myself not feel even the tiniest bit of love towards him, and now he gets a tiny bit tipsy and decides to kiss me like it's nothing?! Like what we've been through as friends didn't matter anymore, and this whole friendship is a joke to him? Am I a joke to him?
What the fuck, Daryl?! Why?
I can't deny, I thought about kissing him tonight too. His blue eyes watching me so intently and his lips so fucking kissable, but I'd never actually act on it. I've been doing so well at pretending I don't have any feelings for him. What now? What am I supposed to do now? Just go about my life and forget about it? Should I talk to him? He wouldn't open the doors… Not when he's in the state he is.
He walked off from me, so quickly, I wasn't able to squeeze a word out of my mouth. His face told me he wasn't sure why he did it, either. I wanted to tell him that it was okay, even if it wasn't. I wanted to tell him that it doesn't matter; it's just a kiss, it doesn't mean anything. It doesn't have to mean anything. We were both under the influence. Things like that happen, right?
Is it possible he
No, no, no, do not even think like that. This begs for another heartbreak. I cannot take another heartbreak.
This is so confusing…
You told me I'd never be yours. You told me it won't happen. And I accepted it. I held my head high and made sure that I was okay with being your friend again, Daryl. Clearly, something changed. What changed?!
I'm never going to be yours. I'm not yours… I'm not yours… I'm not yours…
summary: Daryl and you are friends. He used to date Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart, but after awhile, you returned to being friends... right?
Daryl and you spend a comfortable evening at your porch, drinking whisky and contemplating life. Until...
words: 2k
warnings: none
A/N: we're almost there! One more part and this story is finished! I am working on a sequel, of course, but I am not sure how long it will be or when it is going to come out! Enjoy, muffins!
Daryl looks up at you, his blue eyes filled with something you've seen before. Something you're almost too familiar with.
Pain.
You knew it too well. Even when you aren't close to the people you bury, it stings just as much, knowing you've lost another person. Another precious life in this cruel and unforgiving world. Another son, daughter, partner, sister, brother, mum or dad… Sometimes, it felt like there was no reason to put a value on life anymore, because sooner or later, death will catch up and take what it wants.
You think about Deanna and how sad it was that she's now the only one standing from her entire family. It has to hurt. It must. She's a good person, and yet she has lost everything. It made you think about her holding a rosary and praying, while standing by Spencer's grave, and you asked yourself if God even existed. Because why would he want all of this to happen if he was out there somewhere? Why was He not helping or preventing the whole zombie outbreak thing? How come he let people turn into undead that roam this Earth? He was supposed to be an almighty. Why is there so much chaos in the world then?
As soon as you take a seat next to Daryl, he shoves a bottle right into your hand. It would be futile to argue, so you just nod politely and you take a swig. The alcohol burned its way down your throat, but it didn't matter. It was nothing compared to the feeling of heaviness in your heart, feeling like the world just keeps closing in; like soon enough, it will be your time to die. Or Daryl's. Or yet another person you know. Maybe this time it would be Rick or Michonne, or even Carl or Judith. Your heart clenched at your thought. It wasn't fair that this was all everyone was thinking about these days. Death, destruction, losing people or resources.
You think back to the day where you had Internet and phones, and food every single day of the week that was cooked in the oven or on the hob. The days were so much easier back then. The idea of going out of your house and making your way down the street without having to worry about your life seemed so distant and so unbelievably unreachable now. The way you could just stroll into a shop and buy a basket full of candy and snacks, or go to a restaurant and have your food delivered to you on a silver platter. How people never had to worry about lack of food, or money to buy the essentials.
The heavy grasp of uncertainty and pain of this world was almost too much to handle, but Rick's words were echoing in your head.
We're the ones who live.
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the desolate landscape. Daryl's body leaned against the railing as he sat on the porch of your house, nursing his drink after you gave it back to him. The amber liquid reflected the fading light, shimmering slightly inside the glass, as if it were begging to be drank. Daryl took yet another swig, this one the biggest of them all, causing his cheeks to puff out before he swallowed. The burn was a welcome distraction from the gnawing pain of the day. Beside him, you crossed your legs and leaned your head on the railing as well. Both of you focused on the horizon.
The evening air was cool, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth, mingling with the distant hum of cicadas. The porch creaked softly under the weight of your silence, a comfortable stillness settling between you. The sky above was a canvas of fiery hues, oranges and purples blending seamlessly into the encroaching darkness.
Daryl's eyes, normally sharp and guarded, softened as he stared out at the vast expanse before him. His rugged features were etched with a weariness that spoke of countless battles fought and scars earned. The lines around his eyes deepened, betraying the weight of unspoken thoughts and buried emotions.
You reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm in a silent gesture of support. The contact was brief, but it carried a world of meaning, an unspoken promise that you were there for him. He glanced at you, a flicker of gratitude passing through his gaze before he returned to his vigil.
As the first stars began to emerge, their faint glimmers dotting the darkening sky, you found solace in the shared moment. The world outside might be harsh and unforgiving, but here, on this porch, with Daryl by your side, there was a semblance of peace. The silence spoke volumes, a testament to the bond you shared, forged in the crucible of adversity. Together, you watched as the last remnants of daylight faded away, giving way to the quiet embrace of night.
“I can’t believe we buried another one today,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as if you didn't want to break the silence between you. The wind carries your words away, leaving silence in its wake.
Daryl nods, staring at the ground, kicking a small stone around. “Yeah, it don’t take much, does it? One bite... one second, and it’s all over.”
You finally turn to him, your expression a mix of sorrow and determination. “It’s just... it’s so unfair. Spencer wasn't really liked around here, but he was young. He didn't deserve to die like this.”
“Life don’t care,” he replies, his tone gruff but gentle. “It don’t give a damn who you are or what you’ve got ahead of you. One moment you’re here, and the next... you’re gone.”
You both fall into a contemplative silence, each lost in your own thoughts. His words resounding in your head, making you uneasy. Life don't care. He was right.
Daryl took another swig, passing the bottle to you. You take it gratefully. You take a long drink, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. The only sounds you could hear were your breathing. Alexandria went completely silent, like all the people were giving Deanna space to grief. There were almost no people outside, except from people on patrols and watchtower duty.
“Remember that time we almost got caught by a herd?” you ask, a faint smile breaking through your sadness. “You threw that rock to distract them, and we just... ran.”
“Yeah, I remember,” he chuckles, the sound foreign yet comforting. “Thought we were dead for sure.”
“But we weren’t,” you reply, your smile widening. “We made it. Just like we always do.”
Daryl’s gaze flickers to you, the warmth of your presence a stark contrast to the cold reality surrounding you. “We’re lucky,” he says, almost to himself. “But luck don’t last forever.”
“True,” you agree, your voice growing serious again. “But what’s the point of worrying about it? We can’t control when our time is up. Maybe we should just... live while we can.”
“Easier said than done,” he mutters, but the hint of a smile tugs at his lips.
You continue to drink, the whisky loosening your tongues and dulling the edges of your grief. Stories flow freely—moments of laughter and terror, of survival and loss. Daryl finds himself sharing more than he usually would, drawn in by the camaraderie you share, the bond forged in the fires of your struggles. Even though you thought you knew him pretty well, the stories he shared tonight were different. New. You weren't complaining. Hell, you love hearing about his past. It wasn't the best past, thanks to his dickhead father and absent mother, but some of them were hilarious.
Just like this one, when Merle tripped and fell in deer poo. They were out hunting and were tracking a huge deer. Getting deeper and deeper into the forest, it was thicker and darker. What comes with it, there were more bushes and broken branches of the trees. And, of course, some logs, hidden by the thickness of flora. Just when they were getting closer to catch that deer, Merle tripped over some bunched up branches and vines and landed head first in deer poo. Mind you, he was probably a bit high, but it doesn't change the fact that it was funny. And Daryl spent weeks after that reminding him of it.
“You know,” you say, your voice slightly slurred, “I used to think about what it would be like... if we made it through all this. What we’d do, where we’d go. How would the world even look like.”
“Yeah?” Daryl asks.
His heart racing at the idea of a future, something he rarely lets himself ponder. He never thinks about the future, he lives in the present, because you never know what is going to happen and how your life is going to turn out. For all he knew, he could be eaten by a zombie tomorrow. Or get shot. Or maybe even ran over by a random truck. Everything was possible in this type of world. People can be as cruel as zombies.
“I imagined us finding a place. Somewhere peaceful,” you continue, your eyes shining with a dream long buried. “Maybe a cabin in the woods. Just you and me. Away from all this... chaos.”
Daryl’s breath hitches in his throat. The thought of a normal life feels foreign, almost unattainable. “You really think that’s possible?”
“Why not?” You reply, your confidence unwavering. “If we can survive this long, we can survive anything.”
For a moment, the world seems to fade away. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of your shared dreams, the weight of loss lightened by the promise of hope. Daryl looked at you, his eyes flicking around your face features. It didn't go unnoticed how he stopped at your lips for longer than other parts, and your heart did a somersault.
What the actual fuck?!
You stayed like that, staring at each other for a while. Neither of you was moving. Your whole body tensed up, and your fingers gripped the bottle tighter.
With an impulsive, almost clumsy motion, he moved forward, and his lips brushed against yours, soft and unsure. The kiss was a gentle surprise, leaving your heart racing and your mind spinning. He pulled back, his gaze hazy and unreadable, and you could only stare at him, utterly bewildered. The world around you seemed to blur as you tried to process what had just happened. Your thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and unspoken emotions, a mix of disbelief and a glimmer of something you couldn't quite name.
You audibly let out all the air out of your lungs, your eyes widened. Your mouth open to say something, anything, but nothing happened. As you look at him, you could see the reality of what he has done crashing over him. Panic surged through him, and without a word, he stood up and walked away, leaving you stunned on the porch, the taste of whisky and his kiss lingering in the night air.
“Daryl!” You called after him, but he didn't turn back. As he disappeared into the darkness, the stars above twinkled like distant memories, and you sat alone, grappling with the unexpected turn of your friendship.
The feelings you've been so desperately trying to push away and promised will never see the light of day again surged up once more. Your heart felt like it was going to fall out from your chest and your throat went dry.
I would never see you as something more than a friend.
Those words. Those exact words came out of his mouth the moment you told him you loved him all these months ago. You could picture his face even now when the three words fallen out of your lips. He was so fucking pissed off. He hated the fact you had feelings for him, and now? Now you're not so sure any more. It just makes no sense…
Shortly after the group found Gabriel, the tragedy struck, leading Dixon to be elevated to the title of God. The Sect of Dixon was born. No one can touch him. Blasphemy to even consider. Gabriel may run the camp now, but Dixon holds all the power. Unseen eyes and unheard whispers became constant companions in the camp, hinting at untold secrets. Deception and religion - never a truer couple.
It's a first person story. Usage of character's name included. No usage of Y/N.
The series include sex scenes, mentions of abuse, drug use, alcohol use. Please, be mindful when reading.
You and Daryl, thick as thieves since day one. The kind of friendship where unspoken words and shared glances said it all. Supply runs were just an excuse to be together. But then Leah happened. She swooped in and suddenly, your time with Daryl was halved. Not that it was Leah’s fault you couldn’t stand her; the real culprit was the love you kept buried deep within, terrified it’d shatter your bond. But there came a day when holding back wasn't an option. You confessed. And just like that, the world tilted. Things got weird, distant. Can you ever find your way back to the way things were?
Usage of Y/N: minimal
The series is set in Alexandria times of TWD.
This story does not include any explicit scenes, however things like sex, usage of alcohol and abuse are mentioned a few times during the story, so please be mindful. Thanks!
summary: Daryl and you are friends. He used to date Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart, but after awhile, you returned to being friends... right?
Daryl come around after avoiding you all day to let your know about last night's situation. Yet another tragedy struck.
words: 2.5k
warnings: death
A/N: First of all, thank you so much for over 100 followers! WHAT?! Insane! I'm forever grateful! I've been struggling a bit with inspiration to finish these series. I've decided that instead of 15 parts, I will make only 14! I definitely will be continuing it with a sequel, but I'm not sure when! For now, enjoy, muffins! 🖤
The knock on the doors resounded loudly in an almost empty house. You were brought back from the book you were reading to reality in lighting speed. Your head bopped up quickly, and you took a deep breath in, steadying your raising emotions.
You haven't seen Daryl for the whole day. He was avoiding you, that much was clear. Whenever he saw you outside, he made sure to go a different way or just turned around to never cross paths with you. He even changed the shifts of supply run so he wasn't anywhere near you. It made you feel awkward, but you also knew he needed some time.
Your mind was a hundred percent sure he went to see Leah last night. He figured it out at Aaron's birthday party and decided to take care of it as soon as possible. Whatever he saw up there, it was clear that he knew and want going to let what happened to you slide.
When you got home after Aaron's party, you made your way to your bedroom and changed into pyjamas, but couldn't sleep. Your thoughts were pressing you to do something and every time you closed your eyes, you could see another scenario of how Daryl was taking care of the situation. The thought of following him popped into your head, but you chose to stay in the blissful unknown. You thought it would've been easier that way, but you were incredibly wrong. Scenarios you made in your head exceeded any normality by three in the morning. Did he kill her? No, not possible. Not Daryl. Right?
You remember the anger and confusion in his eyes, looking up at that stair landing, trying to make sense out of what he saw, and your doubt dissipates slightly. You wanted to believe he wouldn't kill her, but you also knew Daryl was capable of murder. Not only that, but you saw him do it a few times.
Your feet finally make their way to the doors and you turn the knob.
"Hey," Daryl says, seeing you. His eyes were scanning you carefully. "We need to talk."
"Okay," you mutter and nod, letting him inside, smelling the usual scent of pine and sweat when he passes by you.
Once the doors are closed, both of you head to the living room and sit down on the couch. Your heart is beating fast, and you fiddle with your fingers, waiting for him to speak up. All this time, he was avoiding your eyes and, frankly, you were quite grateful for that. You had no idea what you'd do if he was looking straight at you right about now.
A few more minutes pass until he finally speaks. "I know who did all those things to you," he says lowly.
"Oh?" You pretend not to know anything about it, trying to force the words out of him.
"Leah," he spits out. "It was Leah."
Another painfully long few minutes pass by, and you gulp when, battling your thoughts.
Should I tell him? How is he going to react?
You sigh deeply and you nod. "I know."
His head swings up, and he looks at you, his eyebrow raised in question. His palms land on his knees, and he pulls himself up to stand, starting to pace around the living room.
"You knew?" His words sounded annoyed, almost angry.
"Yeah."
"And didn't tell me why?"
"Because she was your girlfriend once," you begin to explain. "Wouldn't look weird if I started blaming the one person that I always disliked?"
"No, it-"
"Would you believe me if I told you?"
There's a long pause, and he stops pacing, stopping right in front of you. He sits down on the coffee table and takes your hands into his, sending a jolt of electricity through you, and you try your best to ignore it. He looks into your eyes, trying to figure something out.
"Yes. I would," he speaks up. "After the way she treated me, I think I'd believe anything I hear about her."
"But you understand why I didn't want to risk it, right?"
He accepts it with a silent nod and brushes his lips against your knuckles, which makes you panic internally, but you manage a smile. You sit there for a moment more before he makes a comment about your hair being too greasy and needing to hose you down to clean you. You retorted a short "says you" and suddenly everything was a bit lighter.
But you knew you weren't going to be able to fully relax until you knew what he's done.
"Daryl?"
"Yeah?"
"What did you do to Leah?"
He sucks in a breath and you brace yourself to hear the worst case scenario. Your mind is screaming at you. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. You scold yourself internally, and you gaze towards Daryl that was now sitting on the couch next to you. He looked at you with a glint in his eyes, like he knew what you were thinking.
"She's fine," he says slowly. "I just gave her a piece of my mind, that's all."
"I guess she didn't take it well."
"She begged me to take her back."
"What?"
"She's cuckoo. I have no idea how I haven't seen it before."
"I guess love makes us do stupid things," you chuckled.
"I'm not even sure if I ever loved her," he huffs.
Your eyes dart to him, and he's clearly avoiding your gaze. You look away quickly. All these months ago, when you had that argument, he was so convinced that he loved Leah. He said it pretty clearly back then. Was adamant even. Now, he's saying that he doesn't know if he actually had any feelings for her? If there were no feelings, was the entire argument pointless?
No, don't go there. You argued because of your feelings. Not his.
Looking back at him, you realise that he's been lost in thought too. He stared at the wall, his hand loosely on his lap, and the other one was propping his head on the armrest. You poke his side, pulling him out of his thoughts.
"What are you thinking about?" You ask quietly.
He looks hesitant to share. "I'm thinking that I have no idea how real love feels like."
You wanted to say something, but you were at a loss for words. Your mouth opened and closed many times, but not a single thing came out. Your mind was in overload, thinking about all the ways you could show him what a real love looks like. From gentle kisses to talking about the darkest things possible, you could show him what it feels like to be loved this second if it wasn't for a fact that you swore you wouldn't go there any more. He's your best friend, and you weren't going to risk your friendship ever again.
You take a deep breath, finally finding your voice when a roar of a truck is heard by the both of you. There is a harsh slam of the doors and you can hear Deanna screaming for help. Daryl stands up immediately and you follow. Running to the gates, your heart was beating really hard. It felt like it was about to jump out of your chest. Those type of screams, the blood curdling, toes curling screams, never meant anything good, so you prepared yourself for the worst.
And the worst it was. Spencer hanging off of Deanna's shoulder, bloody and drenched in sweat. His shirt half open, ripped in many places. His boots undone and dusty. His hair disheveled, the usual curls gone and replaced by straight strings clinging to his sweaty forehead. His eyes barely opened like he was about to pass out. A huge, bleeding gash on his shoulder.
Bitten.
"We were gathering garden supplies," Deanna tries to explain, her voice urgent and slightly high pitched. "A group of them attacked us. Spencer told me to stay back… oh, God!"
Your arm snakes around Spencer immediately and Daryl does the same on the other side, taking over from Deanna. You carry him inside Deanna's house and plop him on he couch. You can see he blood staining the cream fabric of it, creating an uneven circle bit by bit. Spencer's mother kneeled next to him, holding his hand, crying quietly and whispering that everything will be okay.
Taking a step back, you lean against the wall, watching the scene. It was hard to watch, knowing what's going to happen next. Sure, Spencer wasn't the best person and had a mentality of a selfish and unreliable person, but it was still somebody's son, brother, life partner. And witnessing Pete slitting Reg's throat and then Rick executing him, you only could imagine what Deanna was feeling right now. Losing your entire family in such short time has to sting a bit, but that is then world you live in now.
You never know what lurks around the corner.
After a few hours, Spencer finally takes his last breath and Deanna insists on piercing his head on her own. Reluctantly, you give her your knife and put a hand on her shoulder to offer support. Spencer's body already started to decompose and it was a matter of time until he wakes up and becomes an undead corpse. You hated this part of the process. As if a person dying isn't enough…
"Goodbye, baby," you hear Deanna say a bit breaks your heart.
She slid the knife into Spencer's head carefully and then left it there. Placing a kiss on her son's forehead, she stood up and looked at Daryl and you. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her lips were pressed into a thin line to stop it from quivering. Her arms straight at her sides, body taut like a string of a bow. She was clearly trying to compose herself.
"You know what to do."
You look over to Daryl and he nods understandingly. He pushes closer to Spencer's body and removes your knife from his head. He gives it back to you, and then slings Spencer over his shoulder and mutters about following him. You do so without question and so does Deanna.
Alexandria has fallen quiet when you came out of the house, the only sound you could hear was sniffling and your footsteps. People came out of their own houses and places of work to spectate and some even joined you. Making your way to the cemetery, the only thing you could think of was your own family and how hard it was to lose them over years.
Once you arrive at the cemetery, Daryl gently put down Spencer's body and grabbed a shovel. Some residents offered help and they all started to dig. Your role in all this was offering comfort, company and support to Deanna. You stood by her, your arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently as she cried and mumbled some unintelligible things.
You stand there for awhile, Deanna was now praying with her head down and eyes closed. She mumbled to her deceased husband, to God, to heavens, trying to guarantee a place of Spencer in there. She was aware he wasn't a perfect person, but he deserved peace after death.
Finally we hear Daryl's voice. "It's ready."
With the help of some people, he lowers Spencer's body into the freshly dug grave and grabs the shovel. He offers it to Deanna to give her a chance to say the final goodbye. She takes it and gets some dirt onto it, throwing it onto Spencer's body. She muttered weak and sniffly goodbye and then gave the shovel back to Daryl.
"I'll help," you say, picking up the shovel.
"No," Daryl protests in a serious tone. "She needs you more."
You look over to Deanna and release that it may be the truth. She looked broken. She stopped crying now and her eyes were empty. Her body seated on the bench was frail and all while she tried to hug herself to protect herself from the pain.
You make your way to Deanna and sit next to her. When she speaks, her voice is weak and quiet.
"Our family was always together. We used to spend every Christmas and Thanksgiving as a family. Spencer and Pete drove all the way to us every single time."
"That sounds nice," you say and smile gently.
"It was horrible. Spencer always found something to argue about and Pete was always drinking way too much," she huffed a quiet laugh. "Every time we ended the holidays on a wrong note, but still they always came back. Because family is important, even if you don't get along."
You nod at her words, agreeing. Your family wasn't perfect either but it was family. It was difficult at times, with everybody having different perspectives on everything. But thinking about it, you wouldn't want it any other way.
Deanna asked you to stay until the grave was done and you did, silently offering support and a shoulder to cry on. She talked a lot more about her family, sharing more anecdotes and stories. You could tell that it was helping her cope so you listened.
After the grave is a gentle heap, Daryl announces to Deanna that it's all finished and she just gently nods. Standing up, she walks over to the grave and kneels at the bottom of it. Her head hangs low.
"I'd like to be alone with my son now," she says.
You nod and gently push the crowd of people away, leaving Deanna alone. Looking back one more time, you see her taking a rosary out of her pocket and starting to pray. Even in the times where the world is filled with undead walking, she still believes there's something, someone out there. Leaving the cemetery, you heard someone saying Spencer was a dickhead anyway.
You look at the male that said it. He was in his twenties.
"Have some respect," you spew out. "Maybe Spencer wasn't the best person, but he was still a human. And a part of this community. So spare the comments like these and maybe think about how would you feel if someone said that about you at your funeral."
The man looks at you and his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He opens his mouth to say something else but the words never come out so you leave. At that moment you felt a little bit triumphant. Your eyes scan the street, trying to find Daryl, but he was nowhere to be seen. Deciding he probably went home, you choose to go back home. You try to process everything what happened, hands stuffed deep into your pockets.
When you reach your house, Daryl is sat on your porch with a bottle of liquor.
A/N: Hello, muffins! 🖤 So, here's the idea of a new series. It was created by my fiancé. He wanted to dab into writing a little and I decided to help out. He wrote, I edited, he edited some more. Daryl Dixon is already perceived as a god by some of us, why not make him an actual god, right? 😉 LET ME KNOW IF YOU'D LIKE THIS TO BE A SERIES!
Words: 1.3k
Synopsis: Shortly after the group found Gabriel, the tragedy struck, leading Dixon to be elevated to the title of God. The Sect of Dixon was born. No one can touch him. Blasphemy to even consider. Gabriel may run the camp now, but Dixon holds all the power. Unseen eyes and unheard whispers became constant companions in the camp, hinting at untold secrets. Deception and religion - never a truer couple.
"Dixon. God that walks amongst men. Forgive those that trespass against us or deliver them from evil!"
Gabriel's voice resounds out across the nave of the church. He's standing at his pulpit, with a serious face and firm gaze that falls on each and every person inside the house of prayer. Weary survivors listen, either knelt in solemn prayer or sat watching with deep warm stares. But it wasn't God they were praying to. It wasn't God they were bowing their heads to. At least not the one you'd assume.
The church was illuminated by the dim candles and morning sunrise spreading through the stain glass windows. The rays dance on the floor and between the benches, the glow falls on the praying people, and paint the walls with beautiful rainbow colours. Six rows of freshly carved and treated wooden pews make up the nave. The church was small, built by the people living in the community, one wooden bale at a time and one stone at a time. The stained windows were made by them, too. It took a long time, but the finished effect was definitely breathtaking. The inside smelled like pine and some strong incense that was slowly burned behind Gabriel's back, placed on a small tabernacle.
Unfortunately for me, Dixon's face was also positioned adjacent to each row of pews. They were carefully crafted wooden busts. But wherever I was looking, his gaze always fell on me.
How lifeless. Surely he isn't that dead in the eyes.
Gabriel's sermon fell on my deaf ears, as thoughts flooded my mind. I was never that religious anyway, but there was just something so hypocritical about it.
A god that walks amongst us? Yeah, right. Probably just giving Dixon an excuse to not bathe or wash his mucky face.
Thoughts raced my head as I try and act like I was at least paying attention.
"Where was Jesus Christ when the hordes came from the mountains? Where was our Lord and Saviour when our neighbours butchered each other?! I say onto you all. I denounce those teachings!" The crowd of survivors shouts out approval, enabling Gabriel. "Dixon was there for us when the hordes rumbled these mighty gates. When false prophets came to deceive us, Dixon delivered them from evil."
Oh, brother. Won't he ever just let it go? They were just hungry thieves, for fuck's sake! They were doing no harm!
I instinctively rolled my eyes. Luckily, I was hidden away under the welcoming shadows at the back of the church. My safe space, even when I was forced to be a part of this madness. Yes, forced. I didn't care much about any of this. More so, I didn't believe it. Why would I? It's all a bit too nuts for me.
My family was religious to the point of never even asking questions to try and understand faith. When I've asked them something I had doubts about, it was dismissed with a wave of a hand. So, naturally, after a while, I just stopped believing in anything and chose to stay away from religion altogether.
Not even that false idol could find me in these shadows. He probably spends too much time getting pampered and doted on. I never see him anyway.
I released a slight chuckle at the thought. My eyes fell on Gabriel one last time. He was passionate, there's no denying it. He was gesticulating a lot while speaking, all this bullshit making me a bit bored, maybe even uncomfortable in a way. I huffed, ready to leave as soon as I was able to.
The stone architecture of the inside was echoing Gabriel's words throughout each nook and cranny. So much so I never even heard a person approaching me from behind. Next thing I realised is the hoarse whisper behind my ear as the cool air exhaled rocked me into fight or flight mode.
"Hey, little lamb."
The emphasis on the hey has sent a shiver down my spine. I threw yourself against the old cold stone to my right and started to pull the hands up to my trained position. Dual blades in a defensive posture. However, just as I reached to the blade holsters on my hips, the 5' 10" figure had pinned your arms to your waist.
"Now, is that any way to treat your God?"
Fuck. Why him?
I let out a long and deep breath, quickly checking to make sure no one was alerted and looking. Luckily, when I dived into the wall, it thrusted me into a nook. I was even further into the shadows, sandwiched between the wall and this false idol.
"Dixon, you shit!" I exclaimed in almost a whisper, "I could have killed you!"
He chuckled at you softly.
Great! Now he's laughing at me.
Dixon released me from his grip. His eyes examining me. "Dual knives. Talk about impersonation," he acts hurt, but that smirk sneaks onto his face, almost teasing me with the insinuation.
I retort softly, near muttering. "Says the false idol of Alexandria."
I stared at him, hoping that stung him. But he shrugged it off like I was nothing, just like he would shrug off an insect from his shoulder. Some plaything. Not worthy of his time.
"That almost hurt, little lamb. What does a god have to do to be treated right around here?" He stated, almost chuckling. Gabriel's sermon was still occurring around us, masking the entire exchange. He's spouting Dixon's achievements, conquests, praise, and something about the lamb of the faith that shall join beside him.
"Stop calling me that," I sighed.
I hated that nickname. He always used to call that before all this madness.
He stared at me. It appeared to be either a puzzled look in his eyes or a mischievous spark. I could never tell with him. A devilish thought crossed my mind.
"Anyway, how would you like to be treated, then?" I said with a sarcastic tone, a dead pan look across my face. I hoped to crack his facade and make him slither away, or at least make that smirk falter.
Ooh. Maybe he wants to be crucified. That could make my day even better. Give up already, Dixon. Ya bore. I've handled the worst people in middle school, for fuck's sake.
He held his stare. I don't think he was even affected by me. Why would he be? In the end, he was still the same deluded, uneducated menace, just the same as he was before Gabriel. I had hoped he showed a bit of humility. I held my gaze on him. I did not even register him closing the already short distance between us. His lips parting slightly before I felt his breath on my lips and cheek. My heart started to betray my ice-cold gaze. My breathing elevated, causing my back to arch off the hard stone wall.
"How about you pray like a good, religious girl? Bruise those knees on these stone slabs a little before we explore the answer to that question, little lamb."
He stated with brimming confidence, before flashing a wide grin. I was in awe. I felt myself getting flush. Either in anger or…
NO!
I refocused and began to articulate my retort, however, he turned on his heel and exited the nook, walking away from me. I could see him disappear into a side door, leaving me leaned against the cold brick in a dazed and blushing state.
Dick. Ain't no way he said that to me.
I slumped to the floor, making sure to keep my back against the stone for support and to cool your flustered self. I ran a hand through my hair. I tried to calm my heart, but it was throbbing in my neck, my breathing ragged. I touched my cheeks, confirming they were hot. Flustered, baffled how he even had the confidence to say those things. I rolled my eyes before thinking.
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