Don’t know if you’re still taking whump requests but I thought about a Reader who sometimes can faint and at times deals with feelings like she’s gonna faint. I know you said Daryl is usually your subject of whumping but I thought I’d just ask for a request like this cause it’s special to me and I think you’d write it wonderfully. Like Daryl is in complete panic mode slightly but he’s focused on helping her because he knows how to deal with it from the times it’s happened over the years aghhgh
I Want Something Just Like This
Pairing: Daryl & Fem!Reader (pre-relationship)
Warnings: Health conditions (vertigo/syncope)
A/N: I went with a period of a few months instead of years. I hope that’s okay. 🩵
At least he knew when it was coming now.
Daryl always kept an eye on you, even before he knew of your health condition. You had intrigued him from the get-go, regardless of how much it irritated him. He was never one to be drawn by a pretty face. It had been instilled in him that everyone had an ulterior motive regardless of what a lovely package they may have been wrapped in.
But you had always been different.
You hid your condition well. It wasn’t terminal, but could prove to be fatal if it happened at the wrong time. And in life after the turn, it was always the wrong time. Regardless, you handled it quietly. Once the signs presented themselves, you would slink away from the group. Of course, Daryl would follow. It was usually after something stressful or traumatic, he had learned.
Most of the time, you’d already be recovering, pulling yourself to your feet with slow movements. Then he was forced to sneak away as stealthily as he had approached, still plagued with more questions than answers.
It wasn’t until the prison fell, and you were alone with him, that he got a front row seat. Each time the two of you faced down a challenge and came out alive, you had collapsed. Fainted. At first, he didn’t know what to do other than shake you and call your name whilst trying to quell the panic that roared uncomfortably behind his ribs.
“It happens.” You had shrugged after the first time. “For as long as I can remember. When something is—overwhelming or taxing on my body, my blood pressure drops and I—I faint.” You had made yourself so small as you had explained, eventually asking the question he had been awaiting. “You’re not gonna leave me behind, are you?”
Daryl had scoffed. “Ain’t likely.”
Since that day, he had learned to watch you for the cues. You’d go pale as milk, still as a statue, and then you’d sometimes drop. Not always. There were times when you just needed to lie down, elevate your legs. You taught him what you’d learned before the end of the world, so he knew how to help you. There wasn’t much that could be done, but it was nice knowing that you weren’t alone anymore
You weren’t ready for everyone else to know but as the group walked the woods after the close call at Terminus, your body decided it was time to come clean. Daryl was walking behind you when you stopped, your skin draining of all color. He moved in an instant, one hand cradling your head while the other arm wrapped around your waist, easing you to the ground.
The group panicked. Of course they did. But Daryl remained calm even as they swarmed, hands reaching for you to check for injuries.
“She ain’t hurt.” He said, trying to keep the bite out of his tone. They were only trying to help. “Back up.” He ordered, waving everyone away. He moved down toward your legs, lifting them to place your ankles on his forearm, ensuring they were high enough for the blood flow to be restored to your brain. Rubbing your knee did nothing to aid other than reassure you that it was him when you awoke. When your eyes fluttered, he didn’t smile even if he felt the urge. “Ya with me?” His voice was gruff but not unkind. Never unkind. Not with you.
You blinked for a moment before seeking him out. A small smile—one born of both embarrassment and gratitude—curved your lips. “I’m with you.”
Daryl slowly lowered your legs and plopped down on his ass beside you. You needed to be still for a moment, give yourself time to stop shaking and gather your bearings. You both could feel the curious and concerned gazes on you, but for a heartbeat, it was just you and him.
Just those blue eyes looking at you with acceptance and understanding. And something else—something you couldn’t quite place. Something that made you reach for his hand. When your fingers grazed across his knuckles, he didn’t bristle or pull away. Daryl didn’t like to be touched, so why did he—
“She alright?”
Daryl’s head snapped up and yours rolled toward the voice, your hands pulling away simultaneously.
Rick cleared his throat, his expression making it clear that he knew he’d just interrupted a moment. Looking away from Daryl, he turned his gaze to you. “You alright?”
“Mhm.” You nodded, pushing up onto your elbows. Then Daryl’s hand was there, just behind your shoulder. A silent support of which you’d never tire. It remained as you got to your feet then shifted down to your lower back to hover there. You could feel the heat of his palm even without the physical touch. “Thank you.” You smiled, the expression dangerously close to shy.
“Ain’t nothin’.” Daryl shrugged a shoulder, his hand dropping away. “Ya good to walk?”
“Yeah.” You nodded, your eyes meeting his as you fell in step together. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Summary: Since settling into Jackson, you’d come to appreciate the serenity that came with the early mornings. However, what better way was there to spice up your mornings than some playful bickering about tea?
Genre: Fluff.
Era: Jackson.
Warnings: Swearing, nothing else that I can think of.
Word count: 704
A/N: Oh what I’d do to have simple mornings like this with him... I watched the newest episode (no spoilers in this fic!) and am in my fluffy Joel feels, so I wrote something short and sweet. Also, please ignore if the title is lame. I could not, for the life of me, think of something else. Anyways, I hope you all like this! Also, got the idea that Joel doesn’t like peppermint tea from @daryltwdixon.
The hum of the coffee machine pierced through the otherwise quiet air. Letting out a quiet yawn, you inhaled the scent of your tea, your eyes trained on the marble countertop in front of you. It was early, only nearing seven, and the house was relatively silent. Ellie had woken up early and gone out, and Joel was still asleep, finally being able to get some decent sleep since settling down in Jackson.
With a contented sigh, you placed your cup down on the counter, patiently waiting for the coffee machine to let you know it was done. The sun shining through the kitchen window was warming you up, and you couldn’t help but smile at the serenity. Life nowadays wasn’t perfect. Hell, it probably wouldn’t ever be again, so that made you cherish moments like these even more.
The feeling of two strong arms wrapping around your midsection caught you off guard, but you didn’t jump, didn’t startle. You knew those arms could only belong to a certain someone. A certain someone you had come to love more than most other things on the planet.
“Mornin’,” Joel whispered close to your ear, his voice gruff and laced with sleep, sending shivers over your spine.
Smiling, you leaned back against his chest, tilting your head back to look at him. “Good morning, handsome. Sleep okay?”
Joel hummed, his eyes fluttering shut, clearly still fighting to wake up. “Mhm.” Sighing softly, he let his head fall forward onto your shoulder, his lips tugging into a small smile at the sound of your sweet, honey-like laughter. “Still tired, though.”
“Then get back in bed. Nothing’s stopping you.”
“Nothin’ except the goddamn patrol,” he groaned into your shoulder, eliciting another laugh from you. “Tommy ain’t gonna let me skip out on this. Too much shit that needs to be done.”
Humming, you reached forward to grab your mug again, unwrapping yourself from Joel’s embrace. “Want me to go talk to Tommy? See if I can get you out of it?”
Joel shook his head. “Nah, s’alright. Better to get it over and done with.” Joel’s eyes flickered down to the blue mug in your hand, watching the steam coming from the hot beverage in it. “What’s that?”
Already knowing where this conversation was going, you chuckled a little, swirling the liquid around in the ceramic cup. “Tea.”
“Sweet?”
You shook your head. “Peppermint.” Twitching his nose, Joel’s face contorted in obvious disgust, and you failed to keep your laughter at bay. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”
Joel scoffed and shook his head. “What, brushin’ your teeth ain’t good enough? Gotta drink that to get the taste?”
Placing the mug back down on the counter, your body shook with laughter you couldn’t contain, just like you always did whenever this argument came up between the two of you. “How can you hate on something you’ve never even tried?”
“I did try it,” he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, a smile spreading across his face at your obvious glee. “Remember when you handed me the wrong cup a couple of days ago? Didn’t like it then, ain’t gonna like it now.”
Shaking your head, you raised your hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You win this time, Miller. ”
Joel nodded, clearly satisfied. “Good.” He looked at you as you raised your mug once more to take a sip of your tea, and he grimaced. “Christ, I really don’t know how you drink that shit.”
“With my mouth,” you joked, giggling when Joel gave you a deadpan look. “Sorry. The set-up was just too good to pass up.”
Turning around to face the coffee machine, you pulled a spare mug closer—a white one that was chipped on the rim—and patiently waited for the machine to finish up. You felt Joel step up beside you, stretching his arms above his head.
“That for me?” he inquired, his brown, coffee-like eyes sparkling in the morning sun.
You shrugged. “Yeah, unless you’d rather drink some toothpaste tea with me.”
Joel rolled his eyes. “Hilarious.”
“Thank you. I’ll be here all day,” you joked.
“Yeah, and I’m startin’ to be real glad I ain’t gonna be.”
“Please, you know you love me.”
Everything Taglist: @francisofthespook @angelsanarchy @negansbestie @holdmytesseract (comment/DM/inbox me to be added/removed!)
so... this cute guy asked me if i had a boyfriend/girlfriend, proceeded to call me 'love', touched my thigh while talking with me and offered me his blunt. was he hitting on me or was he being friendly?
warnings/tags.⠀⠀MINORS DNI, mature content, moments of fluff + lil angst + lil smut, est. relationship, lowercase intended, second pov, f!reader but no desc given, no use of y/n, hints of sub!daryl bc i had to obvi
word count.⠀⠀1.6k
summary.⠀⠀certain men will refer to their girlfriends or wives as "mama" to express respect, appreciation, and sometimes a sense of her being a nurturing figure. this is exactly what daryl does for you, no matter where you are or what is happening around you.⠀⠀⠀OR⠀⠀⠀a collection of times of when daryl calls you "mama".
the world could be ending and daryl would still call you by his specific nickname for you. hell, the world was and is ending all around you. yet, he never stops. at this point, you’re convinced that you’ve heard it more times than you’ve heard your own name. he will call you the other and more common pet names still; baby, honey, darling. however, none of those are used to the extent as this one or holds the same weight, not even close.
he calls you this during quick passing moments that occur throughout the day.
once while on his motorcycle, daryl glances back at you as you hop on, your leg being thrown over the threshold. unlike what he expects you to do though, you don’t initially wrap your arms around him like you always do and instead opt to hold the bar at the rear of the bike, just behind you.
he scoffs almost comically, taking another look back at you incredulously, an eyebrow lifting. he knew what you were doing just by the hint of a teasing smile that threatened to pull at the corners of your lips. “the hell you doin’?” he asks, chin jutting out to gesture at your arms behind you.
daryl lets a half grin show as you just giggle in response, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he shakes his head; a habit that displays his light annoyance while also making it clear it was all taken in stride. immediately, you wrap your arms around his middle so eagerly that it makes him lurch forward slightly in the seat with a grunt and you scoot in even closer to him.
“hold on tight, mama.” he says as he pats your hand that was placed at his torso, just moments before the engine of the motorcycle roars to life and he lets off of the brakes. the name makes you smile while you let your head rest on his leather clad back, cheek pressed against his shoulder blade.
he will call you that when it's early in the morning, the sun not even rising in the sky yet. daryl gets up this early simply because he's used to it, and it gives him a head start on his hunting. but before he's even able to start getting ready, he has to accomplish the difficult task of unwrapping your tangled limbs from each other and roll out of the bed with minimal movement, all without waking you up.
he fails, of course. he always does. daryl is the stealthiest person you know, yet you're just too damn determined to ever let him leave before telling you goodbye.
"go back to sleep, mama." he sighs when he sees you stir awake, his voice soft yet so raspy, still thick with drowsiness.
the way you pout at him as he leans down to you pulls at his heart strings. he remains strong-willed though, surprisingly so. he places a kiss to the top of your hair before standing back up straight and you watch him with hooded eyes from your comfortable spot in the sheets, knowing he’d be back in your arms soon enough.
he evens calls you that when both of you are in the face of danger. just like any other run that you guys have been on, there was always a high chance of things going south. and that’s exactly what had happened.
the air was completely knocked out of you as your back slammed against the cold hard floor of the dusty gas station. it was unclear where or how the walkers got in even after the space was cleared and now you were there, pinned against the ground with one right on top of you. while you managed to hold it back, your muscles were already beginning to ache. it was taking both of your arms’ strength to keep the undead creature above you at bay so there was no reaching for your blade at your side without risking everything, but you just might have to.
suddenly, a sickening squelching sound reached your ears and the body on top of you stilled. it was then lifted and tossed to the side like it was nothing, by none other than daryl. “i got ya, mama.” he grunts as he quickly reaches for your upper arm, hoisting you up to your feet before you could even so much as breathe a sigh of relief. he then began hurriedly guiding both of you to your exit with a gentle hand on your lower back, the dead still walking dangerously among you. “let’s go.”
you get called the endearment when you need it the most as well; when you thought that you may never even hear it again.
you remember how the members of your group parted, as if moses himself was parting them just for you and created a path that led directly to daryl. it wasn’t clear to you what was happening at first, you had hung back as everyone made their way into hilltop and your ears failed to pick up the reunion everyone had with him after his escape from the sanctuary.
a noise of utter shock came from you involuntarily. whatever was in your hands— you don’t even remember what it was anymore— fell to the ground.
his eyes had been searching for you, it was obvious with the way his eyes were darting from side to side and chin lifted to the air to look above the heads around him. but at your commotion, his head whipped forward to meet your eyes finally.
daryl was in front of you within seconds, arms wrapping around you and his head buried into the crook of your neck. it felt like home, to you and to him. he settled into your embrace like it was second nature to him, your hand coming to soothingly stroke the back of his head.
“i missed ya, mama.” he mumbled into your shoulder and the words broke you; a sob racking through your body instantly and your eyes started to burn. lifting his head at the sound, he lets your foreheads rest against each other just so he can see you while also managing to keep you as close as he could.
by the shaking and quivering of his lower lip, you knew he was trying his damndest to not crack and you leaned in to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose before whispering back to him, “i missed you, too.”
lastly, daryl calls you by your designated pet name when you’re all alone; when the lights are off and the doors are locked, when you both feel the safest.
the hunter watches you from his place on his back, not even a pillow behind him cushioning his head as it was most likely somewhere on the floor. perhaps next to the discarded clothes that belonged to the both of you. not that it mattered or that he even cared about it, his mind was elsewhere right now. but who could blame him when your hips were hovered just above his and his hands gripped harshly at your thighs in anticipation.
from his perspective, he couldn’t even find the words to describe how you looked. it could be because you were just too beautiful— alarmingly so— even in the low lighting of the room. or it could be because you let your bare center finally meet his, letting his hardened length slide back and forth between your slick folds that made his mouth completely fall open in silent pleasure. either way, you rendered him speechless.
just when he was about to completely surrender to you and find his voice just to beg, you snaked your hand down to where your middles met to take a hold of him. with one hand planted flat on his chest to help your balance and the other guiding his tip into your entrance, you inhaled a shaky breath.
daryl’s head fell back against the mattress and lids fall shut as you sunk down onto his cock while a whimper escaped you. the stretch was downright delicious. and you could only guess he thought so as well with how he let out a drawn out groan when you were fully seated on him.
it takes him a moment to pull himself together, but once he does, his eyes reopen. it’s hard to meet your gaze, it always was for him especially when he was intimate with you. however, he forces it because after all this time, after all you two have been through, he needs to see you. it’s like the ultimate gift from the universe.
daryl then moves to sit up with his arms wrapping securely around you. the movement causes surges of pleasure to hit both of you, your breath hitching as you hold him against your chest and his mouth places sloppy kisses onto the skin of your naked cleavage. “you feel so good, mama.” you hear him say in a rough voice and the only thing you can muster up is a moan in response, his arms tightening around your waist at the sound.
your hands slide over any and all exposed skin of his; his arms, biceps, back— the warmth he was radiating off addicting. they then landed on both of his shoulders and you pushed him until he was flat on his back once more, palms pressing against his chest to keep him there this time. it was a wordless declaration that control was back in your grasp and it was going to stay there.
he grunts your name softly before following up, “gonna fuckin’ kill me.” his voice thick with arousal, speaking in the deep and gravelly way that sends heat straight to your core. you laugh, cruelly so, he thinks. and your hips begin to drag themselves against his that makes his gut tighten.
“alright, mama— do your worst,” he adds, breathless, and you do just that.
a/n.⠀⠀idk what this was tbh lol i just know good southern men loooove to call their girls "mama" & i know for a fact that daryl would too YUPPPP
likes, rbs, & just general feedback is always appreciated mwah <3
Hey! Remember me? Me either. I'm back though! And so is Skeletons! And boy, what a brutal place for me to disappear at. And a gruesome return. Here's to Season 7!
SKELETONS | ch. 82
daryl dixon x f!oc
masterlist
a03 link
Summary: Negan makes an introduction, and leaves quite the wake.
Warnings/Information: AMC's The Walking Dead OC Insert | 18+ Advised | strangers to lovers; the slowest of slow burns; gore; angst; horror; humour; m/f; extortion, manipulation, threats via guns, fire, hostages, mind games, murder, someone being hanged, hunting people like animals, taunting, insults, assault, non-sexual bondage, Negan, GORE, vomit, canon character death, threatening to force amputation
Chapter 82 - Day One
Iris flinched, then everything was numb. Every nerve in her body pricked and shrouded by empty space. She stopped hearing with the first wet thud of the bat, her ears ringing instead. She would not close her eyes, but she would not dare move, not a millimetre, to look. Each thud resounded in the earth beneath them, vibrations Iris would not feel.
She couldn’t feel the blood and flesh spattered across her neck, eyes, mouth. She didn’t taste it on her tongue. It was easier this way, to completely lose yourself into time and space and not witness any of it. She couldn’t hear Negan’s taunts to her family, their pants and cries as they remained kneeling in line. She didn’t shake like the rest of them. It would be wrong to say she didn’t feel fear, because in that moment, it was all she felt. Gut-wrenching, mind-numbing, conscious-splitting terror.
They had all cried out as Abraham sat up on shaking knees, a Lucille-shaped dent bleeding profusely above his left eye. He swore at Negan then, his last words in defence of himself and his family. He had taken it like he knew it would be him, standing taller when Negan faced him like he had accepted it was time. Negan kept hitting, even as they sobbed and he was long dead. His head was a bloody pulp on the ground, and it took everything in them not to cry out as Negan flicked the bat, flinging Abraham’s blood around, on all of them.
“Sweetheart.” Negan murmured, holding the bat up to Iris’ face. “Take a look at that.” She shuddered through an inhale and he blinked. “Oh damn. That sucks. Well, you should know, there was a reason for all this. Red— and hell, he was, is, and will ever be red— He just took one or six or seven for the team! So take… a damn… look. Take a damn look!” He shoved the dripping bat in her face and she made no movements, but Daryl was angry. Beyond angry. He cried out as he shoved himself to his feet, half alive and bleeding, and punched Negan squarely across the jaw with his bloody fist.
He grunted as Negan’s men grabbed him, tackling him to the ground and making him bleed more. They kicked and punched at him as he curled to protect his bullet wound, Negan wiping his face. Iris was wide awake now, her eyes lined with tears as Negan’s smile had been wiped off his face. He pointed Lucille at Daryl, gritting his teeth.
“No!” He yelled. Negan took a breath, replacing his smile. “No. That? Oh, my. That is a no-no. The whole thing. Not one bit of that shit flies here.” He crouched down next to Daryl as they pinned him to the ground, pressing Lucille close enough that Daryl could taste it. He was forced into an unnatural position, grunts of pain spat from his mouth as he was held down. Dwight replaced one of the men as he pointed Daryl’s own crossbow down between his eyes. Iris was seconds from emptying her stomach across the gravel and blood in front of her.
“Do you want me to do it?” Dwight panted, his own hands shaking. “Right here…”
“No. No, you don’t kill them.” Negan tutted. “Not until you try a little.” Dwight’s rigidity faltered, lowering the crossbow before he and the other two raked Daryl across the gravel, back to his place in line. Negan pushed back to his feet, sighing. “And anyway,” he called loudly, “that’s not how it works. Now, I already told you people. First one’s free, then what’d I say? I said I would shut that shit down! No exceptions. Now I don’t know what kind of lying assholes you’ve been dealing with, but I’m a man of my word. First impressions are important. I need you to know me. So… let’s get back to it.”
Iris sucked in a sharp breath as he whipped around, bringing Lucille down on the top of Glenn’s head, right beside her. She froze again, all of them gasping, wheezing, sobbing as Glenn slumped to the ground, hearing thud after thud, more gore spattered across their clothes, hands, faces. Glenn groaned, blubbering, attempting to speak through the blood dripping down his face. His forehead was gone, skull splintered with pieces littering the ground. His left eye was moments from popping out and rolling to the gravel.
“Buddy, are you still there?” Negan asked, amused. He leaned over, looking at Glenn and admiring his handiwork. “I don’t know, it seems like you’re trying to speak, but you just took a hell of a hit. I just popped your skull so hard, your eyeball just popped out and it is gross as shit!”
“Maggie, I’ll find you.” Glenn said, garbled and almost inaudible, but they all heard it. He choked, wheezing, coughing.
“Oh…” Negan feigned sympathy. “Oh, hell. I can see this is hard on you guys. I am sorry. I truly am. But I did say it. No exceptions!” He swung around again with a grunt, striking Glenn across the face. He was no longer recognizable.
Iris felt bile fill her mouth as she watched Maggie’s face, contorted in such horror. Every nerve was alight with fear and she wrestled with her own body, trying not to violently shiver or scramble away. She winced as Glenn’s hand grasped for hers on the ground, simply holding tight to it. He squeezed hard, his body violently twitching.
With each blow, each squelch and responding sob from Maggie, they broke. They all cried hard, lips cracked and bleeding, eyes bloodshot. “You bunch of pussies.” Negan panted in between swings. “I’m just getting started.”
There wasn’t much left of Glenn’s head when Negan was done. The chunks of bloody pulp no longer attached, simply in an unceremonious pile on the ground near where his body sagged. His hand still twitched in Iris’, and she let the tears fall as she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, her mouth filling with copper.
“Lucille is thirsty!” Negan said as he stood back, laughing. Something akin to skin or muscle hung in a strip off of the barbed wire. “She is a vampire bat!” All Iris could think about was how Glenn’s hand was still so warm, gripping hers tightly. Whether it was warm from the blood or his body, she couldn’t tell. But she was extremely aware of the cool piece of metal and glass that was Hershel’s pocket watch sandwiched in between their palms.
Familiarity settled in Iris. A familiarity with death, with loss, with suffering. Negan’s face, his voice, it ricocheted across her mind. After this, there was no way she could ever forget it. It would haunt her until her dying day. Maybe only a few minutes more. It was a face Iris felt like she had seen before. A generically handsome man with an anger problem and a loud voice. It all suited him nicely. As did the blood that flecked across his skin.
“What? Was the joke that bad?” Negan asked as he flicked the blood and minuscule bits of flesh off of Lucille. Rick looked up at him, blinking through his tears.
“I’m gonna kill you.” He whispered. He made the mistake of glancing sideward, witnessing everything. His eyes were fuzzy, pupils blown. Negan knelt down in front of him, Lucille still dripping, onto Rick’s jeans.
“What?” He asked, barely above a whisper, bringing Rick’s gaze to his face. “I didn’t quite catch that, you’re gonna have to speak up.” Rick gathered himself then, already numbed, it seemed, to any horror Negan might inflict. He swallowed, sniffing as he looked Negan in the eye.
“Not today… not tomorrow… but I’m gonna kill you.” He repeated. Negan blinked, sucking on a tooth as his attention faded to somewhere in the back of his mind. His face was still set in his charming grin, though it had faltered in the spirit of retaliation.
“Jesus.” He murmured. His voice got louder as he addressed the cheerful man. “Simon… what did he have, a knife?”
“Uh, he had a hatchet.” Simon replied quietly, respectfully. Negan blinked as his persona settled back into place, looking over at Simon as his grin spread wide.
“A hatchet?” He mused.
“He had an axe.” Simon nodded.
“Ha.” Negan breathed. He looked at Rick then, holding his gaze intimately, almost tenderly. “Simon’s my right hand man,” He explained, “having one of those is important. I mean, what do you have left without them? A whole lot of work. Do you have one? Maybe one of these fine people still breathing? Oh… or did I…” He clicked his tongue as he gently bopped Lucille into his hand. Rick was shaking now, with rage. Negan sighed, smiling. “Sure, yeah. Give me his axe.”
Negan didn’t break eye contact as Simon walked over, gently depositing Rick’s hatchet in his outstretched palm. He waited for any sort of reaction, the silence stretching across the night, accompanied only by crickets. He stood suddenly, slipping the hatchet into his belt and grabbing the collar of Rick’s jacket, throwing him forward.
“Be right back. Maybe Rick will be with me. And if not, well, we can just turn these people inside out, won’t we? I mean… the ones that are left.” Negan called to his men, dragging a flailing Rick with him as he took methodical steps back to the RV, slamming the door shut behind them.
When Iris blinked again, she hadn’t registered Glenn’s blood seeping through her pants, staining her knees. No one dared move as the dawn began to break over the horizon, a thick mist or layer of smoke, Iris couldn’t tell, settling in the coming daylight. The RV moved, Negan driving them off somewhere, perhaps to torture Rick a little more.
Memories of Glenn flooded through Iris. Every second she’d known him. When she’d looked up from the bag of guns in the middle of the street in Atlanta, seeing the shocked expression on his face. When they’d officially met, over a man wheezing with asthma, and he almost didn’t shake her hand. Every moment she looked down from the RV on guard duty, seeing Dale and Glenn elbow deep underneath the hood.
When she’d been loopy after a series of intense blood transfusions, and he held her up. His facial expression when Iris was hauled out of that well, barely alive, and she grinned at him. Sarcastically saying the prison was ‘home sweet home’ before they made a true home of it. When Daryl caught him and Maggie in the guard tower, and a few months later they walked around with wedding bands. He assured the group they had to stick together to survive, so they could stay together, after Terminus.
Giving Carl a camera so he could capture a cute moment of Iris and Daryl sleeping against one another. The sound of his fist crushing Aiden’s nose when he stepped over the line. When Carl revealed everyone had been betting on Iris and Daryl’s relationship, only for Glenn to have been continuously betting and now in debt because they took too damn long. His smile when Abraham revealed that Maggie was pregnant. And the hug he gave Iris, the very last one, when she was scared of losing Daryl and he ensured that she knew she would be supported no matter what.
He was one of the only ones Iris was absolutely sure of, that was far too good for this world, and they would be at so much more than a loss now that he wasn’t in it.
-
When Negan parked the RV in the same place it had been when they left, the sun had already risen. The RV was covered in blood stains, having mowed down more than a few walkers on the way to wherever they’d been. Negan shoved Rick, who was considerably bloodier than he had been before, back out the door and dragged him across the space like he had when they left. No one had dared move, not their group, not Negan’s men, they barely even uttered a word, only Simon and Dwight exchanging a few hushed ramblings.
Iris had stayed put, only leaning back, pulling her hand from Glenn’s to slip the pocket watch into her own pocket before someone noticed. Daryl was getting paler by the second, his clothes dark and sopping with his own blood. They all had deep circles under their eyes, gaunt with the trauma they had witnessed. Maggie was barely sitting, every breeze seeming like it would send her to the floor.
Negan threw Rick to the ground in front of them. Rick stayed on his hands and knees as Negan paced behind him, all of them waiting to see what he would do.
“Here we are.” Negan said, seeming only the slightest bit exerted. “Let me ask you something, Rick, do you even know what that little trip was about?” He sighed when Rick didn’t answer. “Speak when you’re spoken to.”
“Okay. Okay.” Rick murmured, his eyes searching for something in his mind, flickering blankly across the empty space in front of him.
“That trip was about the way that you looked at me.” Negan explained. “I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand. But you’re still looking at me the same damn way. Like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that’s not gonna work. So… do I give you another chance?” He knelt down, making sure Rick could see Lucille out of the corner of his eye.
“Yeah,” Rick panted, his voice shaking, “Yes.” Negan pat him on the back, standing straight.
“Alright.” He said, satisfied. “And here it is— the grand prize game. What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone’s last crap day, or just another crap day.” He waved a hand at his men. “Get some guns to the back of their heads.”
The men did as they were bid without question, handguns and rifles cocking as footsteps sounded behind each of them. Iris felt the cool metal press into the back of her skull, not for the first time and perhaps the last, and breathed deep, inhaling the smoke and mist of the morning.
“Good, now, level with their noses, so if you have to fire,” Negan mimicked an explosion, making a noise from the back of his throat as his hand motioned outward, “it’ll be a real mess.” He turned and surveyed the group, his eyes landing on Carl. He did a gentle ‘come here’ motion with his index finger, beckoning as he undid one of three belts he was wearing. “Kid… right here.” Carl didn’t move right away. “Kid… now. Are you a southpaw?”
“Am I a what?” Carl asked, doing nothing to hide the venom in his voice.
“Are you a lefty?” Negan asked again, grinning ear to ear.
“No.” Carl replied sharply.
“Good.” Negan replied simply as he wrapped the belt around Carl’s left arm, tightening it like a tourniquet. “That hurt?” Iris felt her mouth fill with bile again.
“No.” Carl answered.
“Should.” Negan smiled. “It’s supposed to. Alright, get down on the ground, kid, next to Daddy. Spread them wings.” He grabbed Carl’s hat, tossing it over his shoulder as his other hand guided Carl to lie face down on the ground with his arms out. “Simon.” Negan called. “You got a pen?” Simon blinked, before nodding incredulously. Not as if he could not believe the question, but as if he could not believe that Negan would think he didn’t have a pen.
“Yeah.” He said, in the tone of ‘of course.’ He pulled one from his pockets, tossing the sharpie across. Negan caught it easily, using his teeth to pull the cap off and kneeling on the ground.
“Sorry, kid.” He muttered through the pen cap. He started pulling up Carl’s shirtsleeves, helping himself to the flesh canvas beneath. “This is gonna be as cold as a warlock’s ballsack, just like he was hanging his ballsack above you and dragging it right across the forearm. There you go, gives you a little leverage.” He pulled the marker away, a thick black line drawn across Carl’s arm.
“Please.” Rick whispered. “Please. Please don’t. Please don’t.” Negan smiled, finally pleased with the reactions he was receiving.
“Me?” He asked earnestly, chuckling. “I ain’t doing shit.” He stood, sighing. “Rick, I want you to take your axe, cut your son’s left arm off, right on that line. Now I know, you’re gonna have to process that for a second. That makes sense. Still, though, I’m gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die. Then Carl dies, then the people back home die, and then you… eventually. I am gonna keep you breathing for a few years so you can stew on it.”
“Y-you don’t have to do this. We understand.” Michonne pleaded. Iris turned her head to look at her, feeling pain in her neck as she did so. How many hours had she sat still? “We understand—“
“You understand.” Negan corrected. “Yeah. I’m not sure that Rick does. I’m gonna need a clean cut, right there on that line. Now, I know this is a screwed-up thing to ask, but it’s gonna have to be like, a… salami slice. Nothing messy, clean, forty-five degrees, give us something to fold over. We got a great doctor. The kid’ll be fine. Probably.” Rick was shaking furiously, though he made no move to reach for his axe. “Rick, this needs to happen now. Chop, chop, or I will crush the little fella’s skull myself.”
“It can— It can… It can be me. It can be me.” Rick stammered. “W-w— you can do it to me. I can go with— with you.”
“No.” Negan sighed, standing up again. “This is the only way. Rick, pick up the axe. Not making a decision is a big decision. You really want to see all these people die? You will. You will see every ugly thing.” Rick groaned and Negan huffed. “Oh my god. Are you gonna make me count? Okay, Rick. You win. I am counting. Three—“
“Please!” Rick wailed. “Please! It can be me! Please!”
“Two!”
“Please!” Rick blubbered. “Don’t do—“ Negan slapped him across the face, gripping his jaw.
“This is it.” Negan hissed. Rick cried out, wailing. “One!” Rick sobbed.
“Dad… just do it. Just do it.” Carl whispered to him. Rick’s fingers extended, moving outward, searching for grip on the axe but failing. One hand gently cradled Carl’s, the other lifting the axe up as he cried out. He lifted the axe above his head, sobbing, when Negan knelt beside him and Rick looked at him like he was the second coming of Christ.
“Rick.” He whispered tenderly. “You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?” Rick was panting, nodding frantically, putting his head down while he sputtered for breath. “Speak when you’re spoken to!” Negan demanded, grabbing his jaw again. “You answer to me. You provide for me.”
“P-provide for you.” Rick sputtered.
“You belong to me, right?”
“Right.”
“Right.” Negan echoed. He pointed a finger at Rick as he let go of his jaw, settling back on his heels. “That… is the look I wanted to see.” He stood, grabbing the axe and looking around at all of them, utterly cheerful. “We did it. All of us, together… even the dead guys on the ground. Hell, they get the spirit award, for sure. Today was a productive damn day! Now I hope, for all your sake, that you get it now. That you understand how things work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you? That is over now. Ah, Dwight?” He asked, pointing Lucille toward the man. “Load him up.”
Iris opened her mouth to protest when Dwight grabbed Daryl underneath the arms, but nothing came out, her jaw trembling. Daryl wrestled weakly, stumbling as Dwight shoved him back into the dark van they’d been shoved into before. He pushed up onto his hands and knees as Dwight drew his crossbow, shifting back and forth like an animal trapped in a cage.
There was rage written in his face, fear. His eyes moved over to her over Dwight’s shoulder. There was a thousand words exchanged in just one look, and then he mouthed something. But then the doors shut, and Iris couldn’t see him anymore. She felt dizzy, nauseated. She felt like if she tried to vomit, her organs would come out one by one and she might be rid of the terrible feeling that caused her trembling, her sickness.
“He’s got guts.” Negan praised quietly. “Not a little bitch like someone I know. I like him. He’s mine now. But you still want to try something? ‘Not today, not tomorrow, not today, not tomorrow—‘ I will cut pieces off of—“ He stops, frowning, looking up at Simon. “Hell’s his name?”
“Uh… Daryl.” Simon answers. Negan blinks.
“Wow. That actually sounds right. I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep— or better yet, I will bring him to you and have you do it for me.” He pats Rick on the back as he stands again, chuckling to himself.
“Welcome to a brand new beginning, you sorry shits! I’m gonna leave you a truck. Keep it. Use it to cart all the crap you’re gonna find me. We’ll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then…” He pauses, turns around toward one of their cars and throws the axe over his shoulder carelessly. It clangs as it hits the gravel in between Rick and Carl. “Ta-ta.”
-
They sat there in relative silence for a long time. Maggie cried, still barely able to hold herself up, unable to look at Abraham’s body beside her, or Glenn’s a few feet away. But she was the first to stand, Sasha faltering slightly as she raised a hand, ready to catch her if she fell.
“Maggie. Maggie.” Rick murmured quietly, urging her to sit down. She sucked in a sharp breath as she limped over, now looking directly at Glenn. “Maggie, you need to sit down.”
“No.” She bit out. Aaron stood up, along with Rick, in case they needed to catch and carry her. They would have one less man to carry the stretcher to the Hilltop.
“We need to get you to the Hilltop.”
“You need to go get ready.” She corrected. Which was true. Negan wanted half their shit, in one week’s time, and if they wanted to have enough to feed themselves, they sure as hell needed a lot more than they had now. The Hilltop. What would happen to them, now that Alexandria was under the Saviours’ control as well?
“For what?” Rick asked.
“To fight them.” Maggie replied. She looked exhausted. Carl turned to look at her, a defiant expression on his face. Eugene simply sobbed into his hands.
“They have Daryl. They have an army.” He muttered. “We would die, all of us.”
“Go home.” Maggie said, louder, even though it pained her to speak. It pained her to stand. She was hunched over, her body naturally cradling the part of her that ached. “Take everybody with you. I can get there by myself.”
“You can barely stand up.”
“I need to go.” She sobbed. “You need to go to Alexandria. You were out— out here for me.”
“We still are.” Rick assured. Maggie shuddered as she sobbed.
“I can make it now. I need you to go back.” She pleaded. “I can’t have you out here. I can’t have you all out here anymore. I need you to go back.”
“Maggie…” Michonne murmured. She had stood up at one point, Iris didn’t notice. “We’re not letting you go, okay?”
“You have to.”
“It’s not gonna happen.” Rick replied. Sasha pushed to her feet, approaching slowly.
“I’m taking her.” She decided. “I’m gonna get her there. I’m gonna keep her safe.” Iris thought, for a fleeting moment, she sounded like Abraham. “I’m not giving you a choice.”
“I’m taking him with me.” Maggie replied. She shuddered through a few sharp breaths as she knelt in front of her husband. Aaron knelt down to help her, but she shook her head. “I need to do this. Please.”
Iris had not yet moved from her place beside Glenn, at the end of the row, clutching Glenn’s watch like it was keeping her tethered to that point in space and time. Carl knelt down in front of her, carefully reaching out to brush her hand. Iris flinched hard anyways, her eyes darting from their thousand-yard stare to his worried little face. Her hand still shook as she held out the watch, bloody as it was, toward Maggie. She let out another heart-wrenching sob as she took it into her hands, clutching it to her chest.
“I need to do this. Please.” Maggie pleaded.
“We need to help you.” Aaron replied softly.
“No… no.” She murmured.
“Pl-please let us.” Rick insisted. “He’s… he’s our family too.” Maggie stood, accepting a short hug from Carl as Aaron and Rick lifted Glenn’s body as neatly and as gently as they could. Eugene and Sasha struggled at Abraham’s side, and Iris stood to help them. “Iris…” Rick called, but she brushed past him wordlessly, instead standing at Sasha’s side and nodding, taking one half of Abraham’s body as Sasha took the other, Eugene holding his legs.
They carried the bodies as quick as they could to the pickup truck Negan had left them. Negan’s words echoed in their minds. Iris got into the driver's seat as they loaded onto the truck. Rick walked over to the RV, sitting himself down and turning it around the gravel lot. Iris followed in the truck, and they were on their way to the Hilltop.
“Bet you thought you were all gonna grow old together, sitting around the table at Sunday dinner and the happily ever after. No. Doesn’t work like that, Rick. Not anymore.”
You shifted in the darkness and the soft rustling and perhaps some vibe that was radiating out from you caused Negan to speak into the silence. "Are you uncomfortable?"
The deep bass of his voice resonated through his chest and into the mattress you were lying on side-by-side.
"What?" you whispered back.
"Sharing a bed with me," he said. "I can certainly sleep on the floor, doll."
"It's fine," you said. "There's plenty of space." You were a little stiff, not quite relaxed, but exhaustion would soon drag you under to sleep. "As long as you don't get handsy, I don't think we'll have a problem."
"I'll do my best. But I can't be held entirely responsible for what may happen once I'm asleep." You let out a small scoff and he chuckled. "I'm a cuddler, Y/N, what can I say? A real warm and fuzzy kind of guy," he quipped. You could hear him smiling. He rolled onto his back and the whole mattress shifted. He let out a long sigh. "I have to admit—this isn't how I was hoping we'd first wind up sharing a bed—"
"Negan—"
"—but I'll still give it a solid five out of ten."
You sighed loudly and he only laughed again.
"Are you disappointed in my rating? You're all the way over there, darlin'. What do you expect? Just think of it this way—if laying next to you with a six inch space buffer is already a five, the only way you can go from here is up."
"The only thing going up, will be my boot up your ass if you don't stop talking," you replied to the darkness. That elicited a hearty laugh from him and he rolled back onto his side.
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