One of my favourite bits of media history trivia is that back in the Elizabethan period, people used to publish unauthorised copies of plays by sending someone who was good with shorthand to discretely write down all of the play's dialogue while they watched it, then reconstructing the play by combining those notes with audience interviews to recover the stage directions; in some cases, these unauthorised copies are the only record of a given play that survives to the present day. It's one of my favourites for two reasons:
It demonstrates that piracy has always lay at the heart of media preservation; and
Imagine being the 1603 equivalent of the guy with the cell phone camera in the movie theatre, furtively scribbling down notes in a little book and hoping Shakespeare himself doesn't catch you.
How twd men would help you when you have heat stroke
(rick grimes, negan smith, daryl dixon)
The Alexandria sun beat down with relentless ferocity, each ray a hammer blow against the fragile sanctuary they had built. Even within the walls, the heat was stifling, clinging to everything like a damp shroud. You, usually so vibrant and full of energy, felt it first as a subtle unease, a prickling discomfort that quickly escalated into something far more menacing.
Rick had noticed the change in you almost imperceptibly. He was a man attuned to the nuances of survival, and that extended to the woman he loved. He saw the slight flush high on your cheeks, the way you fanned yourself with a worn map, the almost imperceptible droop of your shoulders. He knew the signs of strain, the harbingers of danger, as intimately as he knew the lines etched on his own calloused hands.
He found you tending the small vegetable garden you had painstakingly cultivated near the south wall. The tomatoes, usually your pride and joy, seemed to mock you with their plump, red ripeness. Your movements were sluggish, your brow furrowed with a concentration that seemed disproportionate to the task at hand.
"You okay, darlin'?" His voice, rough-edged but laced with concern, cut through the buzzing heat.
You straightened, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Just a little warm, Rick. It's nothing I can't handle."
He didn't believe you, of course. He never did when you tried to minimize your discomfort, to shoulder burdens alone. It was a quality he admired, your fierce independence, but sometimes it worried him, too.
"Come on," he said, his hand gently finding the small of your back. "Let's get you inside. You've been out here long enough."
You resisted for a moment, the stubborn streak that he both loved and despaired of flaring to life. "But the tomatoes…"
"The tomatoes can wait," he said firmly, but his voice was soft. "You can't."
He guided you back towards the house, his hand a steady presence against your spine. The world seemed to tilt and sway slightly, the vibrant colors of the Alexandria gardens blurring at the edges. You stumbled, and Rick's grip tightened, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you.
"Easy now," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "Just lean on me."
Inside, the relative coolness of the house offered a small measure of relief, but it was fleeting. Rick led you to the bedroom you shared, the room a sanctuary of quiet intimacy amidst the chaos of their lives. He sat you down on the edge of the bed, his gaze searching your face.
"You don't look good," he said, stating the obvious with a bluntness born of concern. "I think you've got heatstroke."
The room spun again, and you closed your eyes, a wave of nausea washing over you. "Maybe," you whispered, your voice thin and reedy.
Rick moved quickly, his movements efficient and purposeful. He grabbed a cool, damp cloth from the washbasin and gently pressed it against your forehead. The coolness was instantly soothing, a small oasis of relief in the burning desert of your body.
"Here," he said, offering you a glass of water. "Drink this slowly."
You sipped the water, the cool liquid a balm to your parched throat. Rick knelt beside you, his hand resting on your knee, his gaze unwavering.
"Tell me what you're feeling," he said, his voice calm and steady.
You described the dizziness, the nausea, the throbbing headache that seemed to explode behind your eyes. He listened intently, his brow furrowed, his expression a mixture of concern and determination.
"Alright," he said when you had finished. "We need to cool you down."
He worked with a focused intensity that was both comforting and strangely arousing. He loosened your clothing, unbuttoning your shirt and gently fanning you with a makeshift fan fashioned from a magazine. He brought more cool cloths, dabbing them on your neck, your wrists, your ankles. He spoke to you constantly, his voice a low, soothing rumble that seemed to ground you in the present moment.
"Just breathe, darlin'," he'd say. "Just focus on my voice."
As the hours passed, your condition slowly began to improve. The dizziness subsided, the nausea lessened, the pounding in your head eased. Rick remained by your side, a steadfast presence, his unwavering attention a testament to his love.
At one point, you drifted into a fitful sleep, punctuated by mumbled words and restless movements. Rick didn't leave your side. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand holding yours, his eyes never straying from your face. He watched over you with the fierce protectiveness of a man who had lost too much, a man who knew the fragility of life and the preciousness of love.
When you finally awoke, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room. You felt weak and drained, but the worst of the heatstroke had passed. Rick was still there, his hand still holding yours, his eyes filled with relief.
"Hey," he said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You're back with me."
You squeezed his hand, your fingers entwining with his. "I am," you whispered, your voice still a little shaky.
He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," you said. "Thanks to you."
He shrugged, his expression modest. "Just taking care of my woman."
He helped you sit up, supporting you with his arm as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. He brought you more water, and a small bowl of soup that he had managed to scrounge up from the pantry. He sat beside you as you ate, his presence a silent reassurance.
Later, as you lay back against the pillows, feeling the cool night air filtering through the open window, Rick joined you on the bed. He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you, his body a warm, comforting presence against your back.
"I was scared," he admitted, his voice low and husky.
"I know," you said, reaching back to stroke his cheek. "I could feel it."
He held you tighter, burying his face in your hair. "I don't know what I would do without you," he whispered.
You turned in his arms, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. "You'll never have to find out," you said, your voice filled with conviction.
He kissed you then, a slow, tender kiss that spoke of gratitude, relief, and enduring love. It was a kiss that sealed a bond forged in the crucible of survival, a bond that was stronger than any hardship, any threat, any danger.
As you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew that you were safe, protected by the strength of his love, sheltered within the walls of Alexandria, and cherished by the man who would always be your sanctuary. The memory of the day's heat still lingered, but it was overshadowed by the warmth of Rick's unwavering devotion, a warmth that would sustain you through any storm, any challenge, any hardship that life might throw your way. You were home, safe, and loved, and that was all that mattered.
The Sanctuary wasn't known for its charm. It was concrete, grit, and the ever-present scent of gasoline. But for (Y/N), it was home, or at least, home adjacent. Home was wherever Negan was. And lately, home had been baking under the relentless Georgia sun.
(Y/N) loved the community garden. It was her small rebellion against the harshness of their reality. Rows of tomatoes, peppers, and herbs thrived under her care, a vibrant splash of color against the drab backdrop of the Sanctuary. Negan, surprisingly, supported her little project. He saw the way it lifted spirits, the fresh produce a welcome change from the limited rations. He even, on occasion, brought her seeds or seedlings he’d “acquired” on supply runs, a mischievous glint in his eye.
Today, however, the garden felt less like a sanctuary and more like a sauna. The sun beat down mercilessly, and the air hung thick and heavy. (Y/N), determined to get the tomatoes staked before they drooped further, pushed herself. She ignored the beads of sweat trickling down her temples, the slight dizziness that tugged at the edges of her vision. She just needed to finish this row.
Negan watched her from the doorway of the Sanctuary. He leaned against the frame, Lucille resting casually on his shoulder, a proprietary gleam in his eyes. He admired her dedication, her almost stubborn will. He knew she loved the garden, but he also knew she had a tendency to overdo it. He’d warned her this morning to take it easy, to stay hydrated. She'd just smiled that dazzling smile of hers and promised she would.
He saw it happen in slow motion. One moment, she was upright, tying a tomato plant to its stake. The next, she swayed, her hand flying to her head as if trying to ward off a blow. Then, she crumpled.
Negan was across the yard in a heartbeat. He dropped Lucille with a thud, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. “Shit, (Y/N)!” He knelt beside her, his brow furrowed with concern. Her face was flushed, almost unnaturally red, and her skin was clammy to the touch. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. Her breathing was shallow and rapid.
“Hey, sweetheart, can you hear me?” he asked, his voice softer than anyone at the Sanctuary would ever believe.
(Y/N) groaned, her eyes fluttering open. “Negan?” she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. “Too… hot…”
He didn't need a doctor to tell him what was wrong. Heatstroke. He scooped her up in his arms, surprised at how light she felt. “Alright, baby, I got you. We’re getting you inside.”
The Sanctuary was a hive of activity, but as Negan strode through with (Y/N) in his arms, the usual hustle and bustle faded into a respectful hush. Everyone knew (Y/N) was special to Negan. She was the one person who could consistently soften his edges, who could make him laugh genuinely, who could look him in the eye and not flinch. They also knew better than to get in his way when he looked like this – a potent mix of fierce protectiveness and raw worry etched on his face.
He carried her to their quarters, a surprisingly cozy space amidst the utilitarian starkness of the Sanctuary. He'd made sure she had everything she needed, from soft blankets to a collection of her favorite books pilfered from various supply runs.
He gently laid her on the bed and immediately started shedding her sweaty clothes. He grabbed a cool, damp cloth and began dabbing at her face and neck. “(Y/N), come on, wake up for me. Just a little.”
She moaned again, her eyes fluttering open slightly. "Negan… so cold..." She shivered despite the heat.
He understood. The body's response to heatstroke was often paradoxical. He grabbed a light blanket and draped it over her, careful not to overheat her further. "Just for a minute, baby. You're burning up, but your body's confused. We need to cool you down."
He sent a guard scurrying for ice water and another for Doc Carson, the Sanctuary’s medic. Then, he sat beside her, gently stroking her hair, whispering soothing words.
“You’re gonna be okay, (Y/N). I got you. You’re safe here with me.” He repeated the words like a mantra, trying to reassure both her and himself.
Doc Carson arrived a few minutes later, his brow furrowed with concern. He quickly assessed (Y/N), nodding grimly. “Heatstroke, alright. Negan, you did good getting her inside. We need to get her temperature down.”
He directed a couple of Saviors to bring in buckets of cool water and instructed them to soak towels to place on her forehead, under her arms, and around her ankles. He also hooked her up to an IV to rehydrate her.
Negan hovered, his anxiety palpable. He watched Doc Carson work, his eyes constantly darting back to (Y/N)’s pale face. He gently took her hand in his, his thumb stroking her knuckles. “Come on, sweetheart, fight this. You're stronger than this.”
As the cool water worked its magic, (Y/N)’s shivering subsided, and her breathing became less labored. Her color started to return, and she stirred slightly.
“Negan?” she whispered, her voice a little stronger this time.
“I’m here, baby. I’m right here.” He squeezed her hand.
“Garden…” she mumbled, her eyes still closed.
Negan chuckled softly. “The garden can wait, (Y/N). Right now, you need to focus on getting better.”
Doc Carson gave Negan a small, reassuring nod. “She’s responding well. Keep doing what you’re doing. Keep her cool and hydrated. She’ll be alright.”
Negan stayed by her side for hours, never leaving her for a moment. He continued to dab her face with cool cloths, whispered words of encouragement, and held her hand. He even managed to coax her to drink a few sips of the ice water.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the Sanctuary, (Y/N) finally drifted into a peaceful sleep. Her breathing was even, and her color was normal. Negan watched her, his heart filled with a mixture of relief and lingering worry.
He knew she was strong, resilient. She had to be, to survive in this world, to survive alongside him. But seeing her so vulnerable, so helpless, had shaken him to his core. It reminded him of how fragile life could be, how much he had to lose.
He leaned down and gently kissed her forehead. “I love you, (Y/N). More than you know.” He knew he didn't say those words often enough. He wasn't good at expressing his emotions, especially not his softer ones. But with (Y/N), he felt safe enough to let his guard down, to show her the man beneath the hardened exterior.
He pulled a chair up next to the bed and settled in for the night. He wouldn't leave her side, not until he was sure she was completely recovered. He knew she'd probably scold him for worrying so much, for being so overprotective. But he couldn't help it. She was his anchor, his light in the darkness. And he would do anything, anything, to keep her safe.
As he watched her sleep, he made a silent promise to himself to be more mindful, to pay closer attention. He’d make sure she took breaks in the garden, that she stayed hydrated, that she didn’t push herself too hard. And maybe, just maybe, he’d even help her a little with the weeding. After all, even a hardened leader like Negan Smith could be tamed by the love of a good woman – especially one who smelled faintly of tomatoes and sunshine. The Sanctuary might be a harsh place, but with (Y/N) by his side, it was a little bit brighter, a little bit softer, a little bit more like home. And that was worth fighting for.
The sun beat down on the prison yard, turning the already sweltering air into a thick, suffocating blanket. It was a day that felt like wading through molasses, each movement heavy and labored. You were helping Maggie in the garden, trying to coax life from the parched earth, your brow slick with sweat. Even the zombies seemed sluggish today, their moans drawn out and languid as they pressed against the fences.
You loved the garden. It was a small piece of normalcy in a world gone mad, a vibrant splash of green against the gray backdrop of the prison walls. But today, the heat was relentless, and even the simple act of pulling weeds felt like an insurmountable task. You could feel the sun burning your skin, your head beginning to throb with a dull ache.
Across the yard, you saw Daryl, his silhouette framed by the shimmering heat haze. He was teaching some of the younger members how to shoot, his movements precise and economical, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the buzz of the insects. He was a man of few words, Daryl, but his presence was a constant reassurance, a silent promise of protection.
You and Daryl were an unlikely pair, a fact that hadn't escaped the notice of the other survivors. You, with your bright smile and endless optimism, and Daryl, with his gruff demeanor and haunted eyes. Yet, somehow, you had found solace in each other, a shared understanding that transcended words. Your relationship was public, a beacon of hope in a world consumed by darkness. It wasn't always easy, navigating the complexities of love in the apocalypse, but you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that you were stronger together.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the throbbing in your head intensified. You felt dizzy, your vision blurring at the edges. You stumbled, your hand instinctively reaching out to steady yourself. Maggie, ever vigilant, noticed your distress immediately.
"(Y/N), are you alright?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.
You tried to reply, but your tongue felt thick and clumsy. "Just… hot," you managed to croak out, the words barely audible.
Maggie frowned, reaching out to touch your forehead. "You're burning up. You need to get out of this sun."
Before you could protest, the world tilted sharply, and you crumpled to the ground.
The next thing you knew, you were dimly aware of strong arms lifting you, carrying you towards the cool darkness of the prison block. The throbbing in your head was a deafening roar, and your skin felt like it was on fire. You tried to focus, to make sense of the blurry shapes around you, but your thoughts were fragments, disconnected and fleeting.
You felt a cool cloth being pressed against your forehead, a small measure of relief against the inferno raging within you. A familiar voice, rough around the edges but laced with concern, murmured in your ear.
"(Y/N)? Stay with me, darlin'."
Daryl.
His voice cut through the haze, grounding you, pulling you back from the brink. You clung to the sound of it, focusing all your energy on the simple act of breathing.
He carried you into one of the cells, carefully laying you down on the makeshift bed. The air was marginally cooler inside, but the heat still clung to you like a shroud. He knelt beside you, his brow furrowed with worry.
"Maggie said you got heatstroke," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Gonna get you cooled down."
He didn't waste any time. He soaked another cloth in cool water, gently dabbing it against your face and neck. His touch was surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to his rough exterior. He loosened your clothes, allowing your skin to breathe, and fanned you with a piece of cardboard, creating a small breeze that offered a moment of respite.
"Water," you managed to whisper, your throat dry and scratchy.
He held a canteen to your lips, carefully tilting it so you could drink without choking. The cool water was like a balm, soothing your parched throat and easing the throbbing in your head.
He stayed with you for what felt like an eternity, tending to you with a quiet devotion that spoke volumes. He didn't leave your side, not even for a moment. He continued to bathe your face with cool water, fanning you and murmuring words of encouragement.
"Just rest, darlin'," he said, his hand gently stroking your hair. "Gonna be alright."
As the hours passed, the fever slowly began to break. The throbbing in your head subsided, and your vision gradually cleared. The feeling of being consumed by fire began to dissipate, replaced by a weak but welcome coolness.
You opened your eyes, focusing on the familiar lines of Daryl's face. His eyes, usually guarded and distant, were filled with a raw vulnerability that you rarely saw.
"Daryl," you whispered, your voice still weak but clear.
He looked down at you, his expression softening. "Hey," he said, his voice rough with relief. "You're back with me."
You reached out, your hand finding his. His calloused fingers wrapped around yours, holding on tight.
"Thank you," you said, squeezing his hand. "For everything."
He shrugged, his gaze dropping to your intertwined hands. "Just lookin' after you," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing slightly.
You knew it was more than that. He had shown you a depth of care and tenderness that belied his gruff exterior. He had stayed by your side, unwavering in his devotion, until the danger had passed.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the prison yard, you felt a profound sense of gratitude. You were alive, safe, and in the arms of the man you loved. The world outside the prison walls was still a dangerous and unpredictable place, but within these confines, you had found a haven, a sanctuary built on love and loyalty.
You knew that the road ahead would be long and arduous, filled with challenges and uncertainties. But with Daryl by your side, you felt confident that you could face anything. His love was your strength, your shield against the darkness. And in the quiet solitude of that prison cell, as the world outside faded into night, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be. You were home.
The prison was a stark and unforgiving place, but within its cold, concrete walls, a fragile sense of community had begun to bloom. You were a part of that fragile ecosystem, drawn in by the promise of safety and the shared struggle for survival. But it was Daryl Dixon, with his gruff exterior and quietly observant eyes, who had truly captured your attention. His world was a complex tapestry of survival instincts and hidden depths, and you found yourself inexplicably drawn to him.
You knew your feelings were a risk, a dangerous indulgence in this brutal new world. Daryl was a loner, a man of few words, and affection seemed like a foreign language to him. Yet, you couldn't deny the way your heart leaped whenever he was near, the comfort you found in his silent presence, the way his calloused hand would linger a moment too long when he helped you with something.
He was protective of the group, fiercely loyal, and you'd seen glimpses of a tenderness he kept carefully hidden. It was those fleeting moments, those cracks in his hardened exterior, that fueled your hope and solidified your feelings. But you were also acutely aware of the barriers between you: his past, the trauma he carried, and the ever-present threat of the world outside.
Today had been your turn on the supply run. Food was dwindling, and the need was urgent. Daryl had been adamant that you stay behind. "Too risky," he'd grumbled, his eyes narrowed with concern. "Let me go."
But you were stubborn, desperate to prove your worth, to contribute to the group's survival. You argued, pleaded, and finally, with a sigh of resignation, Rick had allowed you to join the team. Daryl's jaw had tightened, his gaze hardening as he turned away without another word.
The run had been fraught with tension from the start. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and walkers seemed to lurk around every corner.
A sudden ambush had separated you from the others, and in the chaos, you’d taken a nasty fall, twisting your ankle and earning a deep gash on your arm. You managed to fend off the walkers, your adrenaline masking the pain, and eventually, rejoined the group, limping and bloodied.
Back at the prison, Rick had helped you tend to your wounds, his expression tight with worry. But it was Daryl's reaction that cut you the deepest. He'd seen you, your face pale and streaked with dirt and blood, and his eyes had flashed with a raw, untamed anger.
"I told you not to go!" he'd roared, his voice echoing in the cramped cell block. "Damn it, (Y/N), what the hell were you thinking?"
His words were like a physical blow. You flinched, the pain in your ankle momentarily forgotten. "I wanted to help," you whispered, your voice trembling.
"Help? You call this help?" He gestured dismissively at your injured arm. "You could've gotten yourself killed! Now we gotta worry about you!"
Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision. "I'm sorry," you choked out, the fight draining out of you.
Hi!!! If your taking requests I was wondering if you could do a Daryl Dixon x daughter reader? It would be angst where reader was out checking traps outside Alexandria (she could be like a teenager to be old enough to do this by herself) and got attacked by a group of scavengers and won the fight (cuz duh lol) but got super injured like 🔪 or 🔫 wounds and makes it somewhat back to Alexandria before collapsing and Daryl, worried about it taking so long, goes out to find her and sees the aftermath of the fight and finds her dying and has to save her. She lives but if you have other ideas that would be great too!! Let me know if your interested in this one 😊 Ik it’s a bit dark sry lol
You’d been out since dawn. Just a quick check on the traps, you promised him that. The woods were quiet at first, the kind of eerie stillness that made your skin crawl. Birds didn’t even sing anymore, just the wind cutting through the trees like a whisper.
Your boots were damp with dew, and you’d just reset one of the snares when you heard them. Voices. Not walkers. People.
Three of them. Scavengers, ragged and mean-eyed. You had the drop on them at first, until one spotted you. The fight came fast, brutal, chaotic. You moved just like your dad taught you, knife and bow.
The first man dropped with an arrow through his throat. The second lunged and got a blade between his ribs for his trouble. But the third, he was quicker, stronger, and his knife flashed out before you could dodge. Pain tore through your side, white hot and sharp.
You still killed him.
You killed all of them.
But the ground tilted when you tried to breathe.
Blood soaked your shirt. Your knees buckled. For a second, you just stood there in the aftermath, chest heaving, surrounded by bodies. You could almost hear Daryl’s voice in your head, rough and steady: Don’t stop. Get home.
So you did.
You pressed your hand over the wound, stumbled your way through the trees, every breath coming harder than the last. The world was fuzzy, tilting at the edges, your boots dragging through dirt. You could see the towers of Alexandria in the distance, blurry against the rising sun.
You made it halfway down the road before your legs gave out.
Back at the gates, Daryl was pacing. He kept checking the watch strapped to his wrist, jaw tight, eyes flicking to the treeline every few seconds.
“She should’ve been back an hour ago” he muttered, voice cracking just slightly.
Carol glanced over from where she stood, “Maybe she found more traps to check”
He shook his head, grabbed his crossbow, “No. She always tells me when she’s gonna go further. Somethin’s wrong”
He didn’t wait for anyone to argue. The gates opened and he was gone, boots pounding down the dirt road, eyes scanning the forest.
The smell hit him first, copper and rot. Then he saw it, the fight site. Three bodies sprawled in the mud, one with your arrow in his neck.
His stomach dropped. He yelled out your name.
No answer. Just wind.
He followed the blood trail, every red drop cutting into him like a knife. When he found you, you were lying half on the road, half in the grass, one hand still clutching your side, face pale as death.
“Jesus Christ” He dropped to his knees beside you, heart slamming in his chest, “Hey, hey, kid, look at me”
Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused, “Dad…?”
“Yeah, it’s me” His voice broke as he pressed his hands to the wound “Goddamn it, what’d you do?”
You tried to laugh but it came out a whimper, “Won the fight”
“Don’t you start jokin’ with me now” he growled, voice shaking “You’re gonna be fine, you hear me?”
You nodded weakly, but your lips were turning blue. Daryl ripped his sleeve off, pressing it hard against the wound. You screamed, body jerking, and he murmured a curse, holding you still.
“Stay with me, baby girl. Come on”
He pulled you into his arms, lifting you up against his chest like you weighed nothing. Your head lolled against his shoulder, eyes slipping shut.
“No, no, no, don’t you dare” he rasped, voice raw “Don’t close your eyes, you keep lookin’ at me”
He ran. Full sprint. Through mud, through blood, through the gates of Alexandria that barely had time to open before he was shouting for help.
“Get Denise! Now!”
Someone took you from him, but he was right there the whole time, hands shaking, blood smeared across his face and arms. He couldn’t even tell which was yours and which was theirs.
Hours later, when it was over, Daryl sat beside your bed. You were pale but breathing, stitched and bandaged. He hadn’t moved since they brought you in.
When your eyes finally fluttered open, you saw him, slumped in the chair, elbows on his knees, eyes red and wet.
“Hey” you croaked.
He looked up fast, “Hey”
“Guess I owe you one” you murmured weakly.
He huffed a shaky breath, brushing a hand over your hair, “You owe me nothin’. Just… don’t do that again”
You smiled, small and tired, “Can’t promise that”
He sighed, eyes glistening, “You’re just like me, too much sweetheart”
You grinned faintly, “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me”
He barked out a laugh, rough, broken, full of relief. Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, whispering, “Ain’t losin’ you too. Not ever kiddo”
Summary: After getting attacked by a Saviour that hurt you, Daryl was visibly shaken up, enraged by what happened. You needed to talk him down and try and help him relax, not realizing that your injuries were worse than you thought.
A/N: I don’t really know what this is, but I felt bad for the lack of writing and need to post something, so here’s this lol. It’s not my best work at all, but hope you all like this nonetheless!
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Daryl was visibly shaken up, his appearance one of disarray. His hair was a mess, mud and splatters of blood coating the brown strands. His clothes were dirty and torn, and his face had blood dripping from it, both his own and from the now-dead prick that lay in front of him, the perp’s face unrecognizable from the sheer force of Daryl’s punches. Daryl’s knuckles were split open and clearly needed medical attention, although that was the least of his concern.
His mind was racing at the speed of light, his eyes resting solely on the corpse at his feet. Daryl was furious, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, his breaths deep and heavy. He was barely aware of his surroundings, too caught up in his own rage-driven thoughts.
“Daryl?”
The soft, quiet sound of your voice reached the huntsman’s ears. However, he did not react to it. It sounded like you were far away, like he was submerged in water and your voice was muffled to him. He knew he had to snap out of it. He knew the two of you needed to get out of there. Other Saviours could show up at any given moment and then this would all have been for nothing. However, it was like he was paralyzed, unable to move, speak, or do anything.
Slowly and carefully, your frame appeared in front of him, your own appearance similar to his, and that made Daryl’s jaw clench. If the guy wasn’t already dead, Daryl would murder him again. He hurt you. He put his hands on you. That bastard deserved to burn in the fiery depths of hell for all eternity.
“Daryl,” you called to him softly, hoping to calm him down enough to make him realize that you both needed to get the hell out of there.
You raised your hand slowly, it being shaky and trembling, and gently cupped his cheek. The archer flinched a little but didn’t pull away, finally snapping out of the daze he was in. His cerulean eyes flickered over your face, taking in the cuts and bruises that were forming, his heart aching for the state you were in. The state his actions got you in. He felt absolutely terrible.
As if reading his mind, your gaze softened and you subtly shook your head. “Don’t.” When you saw the frown tug at Daryl’s eyebrows, you continued, “Don’t blame yourself for this. It’s not your fault.”
Daryl inhaled a shaky breath, not sure if he wanted to start crying or punch a wall. He was enraged at the whole situation. He was mad at himself for letting you get hurt. He was mad at the Saviour for daring to lay a finger on you. He was mad at everything. Everything except you.
“I’m okay, Dar. I promise.”
Daryl shook his head. “Y’ain’t. You’re hurt.”
You knew there was no use in trying to deny it. You were hurt. You ached all over, and you felt really dizzy. However, you couldn’t let that slow you down.
“I am,” you admitted, “but I’ll be fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” When Daryl went to protest, you cut him off. “I promise I’ll be okay, Dar.”
Daryl wanted to protest. However, low groans filled the air, and he saw the guy he had killed start to twitch. He had changed. Some part of Daryl wanted to leave the bastard like that. To let him walk like that for his whole miserable undead existence. However, he didn’t. Daryl forced himself to get it together and stepped away from your touch to get the walker in the brain, effectively killing the Saviour for the second time.
When he turned back to you, you were already adjusting your bag on your shoulders, grimacing at the pain that shot through your body at the added weight and stumbling a little bit. However, you chose to ignore it, knowing that there were more pressing concerns at hand.
“Let’s go,” you said quietly.
Daryl exhaled and strode over to you, holding his trusted crossbow up in front of him as you both began making your way out of the room. He snuck glances at you every few seconds, trying not to let the guilt of letting you get hurt consume him. There would be time to process and deal with everything later when you were back at Alexandria, safe and taken care of.
Daryl opened his mouth to say something, but before a sound could even leave him, you suddenly collapsed in front of him, no warning whatsoever. His heart stopped, before he rushed over to you, dropping his crossbow in the process. He dropped to his knees next to you, taking your face in his hands.
“Y/N?!” he exclaimed, scanning you to see what made you collapse. “Y/N!”
You weren’t fully unconscious, but Daryl knew you would be soon. Gingerly tilting your head to the side, he tried to see what caused this, his heart hammering against his ribcage when he saw blood pooling from a wound on the back of your head, one neither of you had noticed. As you slipped from consciousness, Daryl had only one thing on his mind:
He needed to get you back to Alexandria, and soon. And any Saviour that dared get in his way would suffer.
Note: This story was rewritten and made longer as of 02/20/2026
The supplu run you and Daryl had been on was supposed to be simple.
In and out.
A quick run along the road to the west of Alexandria to try and find some buildings.
Maybe find some canned goods, maybe some ammo if you were lucky.
The woods are quiet—almost too quiet—but after everything you’ve survived since the world went to shit, you’ve learned not to question moments of calm.
You and Daryl move easily together, falling into that silent rhythm the two of you have built over time.
A glance.
A nod.
A shift of his crossbow.
No words needed.
You were just starting to think maybe this one would go smoothly—
That’s when your boot came down on something metallic hidden beneath leaves.
A sharp SNAP split the air.
And then—Pain.
White-hot, blinding, pain.
“AHHH!” you scream as the force knocks you backward onto the forest floor.
The impact rattles your bones, but it’s nothing compared to the crushing agony clamped around your leg.
You look down and your stomach drops.
An old bear trap. Rusted teeth sunk deep into your calf.
“Shit!” Daryl’s voice is sharp as he drops to his knees beside you, already pulling his knife free. “Hang on, hang on.”
Your hands claw at the dirt as tears sting your eyes.
The metal bites deeper every time you move.
“Hold still,” he says, his voice low but urgent.
“Okay… I’ll try—” you gasp, your chest heaving as you try to slow down your breathing.
Daryl wedges the knife between the jaws of the trap, his jaw tight with focus.
His forearms strain as he pries.
“Almost… almost…”
The trap springs open with a metallic CLANG.
Your leg jerks free—and the sudden release sends a fresh wave of agony through you.
“AH!—Fuck!” You exclaim clutching your leg.
Daryl tosses the trap aside and grips your shoulders. “Ya alright?”
You nod weakly. “Yeah… I’m okay… It just—it just hurts.”
Your gaze moves down to your injured leg.
Blood seeps through the torn fabric of your pant leg.
Even through the small holes through the fabric, you can tell that the punctures are deep, angry.
Before you or Daryl can even move to look at your injury, you hear something—
Low, distant growls.
Your blood runs cold.
Walkers.
“C’mon. We gotta move.” Daryl slings his pack over his shoulder and stands, offering you his hand.
Knowing that he’s right, you don’t hesitate in grabbing his hand.
The moment you try to stand though, your leg nearly gives out, causing a broken sound to leave your throat.
Before you can fall to the ground, Daryl pulls your arm over and around his shoulders. “I gotcha.”
“Let’s go.” he says, his other arm around your waist, steady and strong, practically carrying your weight as you limp away from the sound of snapping branches and dragging feet behind you.
The woods feel endless.
Every step sends sharp pain shooting up your leg.
Daryl moves fast but careful, scanning the trees constantly.
After what feels like forever—nearly an hour of limping, stopping, listening, moving again—he finally slows.
“Alrigh’. Let’s stop here.”
You’re barely processing anything when he guides you to a fallen log.
“Sit.” he tells you as he guides you in front of the log. “Easy does it.”
You lower yourself down with a shaky breath, stretching your injured leg out in front of you.
Once settled on the log, your gaze lands on your leg and you see the fabric of your pant leg is soaked dark.
“Shit…” you whisper, staring at the puncture wounds.
Daryl kneels in front of you, already pulling out gauze. “Here. Let’s wrap this up before it gets worse.”
“Go for it,” you mutter, bracing yourself.
Daryl takes his knife and cuts your pant leg away so that he can see the wound.
After grabbing some gauze and disinfectant from his pack, his hands are careful—gentler than you expect.
He unscrews the cap of a small bottle of disinfectant from his pack, his blue eyes meeting yours. “This is gonna sting.”
“Yeah, I figured.” you reply, bracing yourself for the pain.
He doesn’t warn you again.
The liquid hits the wounds.
You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, hands fisting into the edge of the log.
“Shit—” your voice trembles despite your effort to keep it steady.
“I know,” he murmurs gently. “I know.”
His free hand comes up instinctively, bracing just above your knee to keep your leg from jerking.
His grip is firm, warm, grounding.
You focus on that instead of the burn.
Instead of the pain.
He works carefully, wiping away blood and dirt with a strip of cloth that was in his pack.
His movements are precise—practiced.
You’ve seen him patch himself up plenty of times.
But this feels different.
He’s slower with you.
More careful.
“Trap was old,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Rusty.”
“That supposed to make me feel better?” you question gently as you watch him work.
“Means it ain’t been reset in a while.” he replies.
You huff weakly. “Comforting.”
He finishes cleaning it, then pulls out fresh gauze.
He starts wrapping it around your calf with steady hands, overlapping each layer tightly enough to secure but not cut off circulation.
You watch his fingers move.
There’s dried blood on his knuckles—yours.
“Does it look bad?” you ask quietly after a moment.
He doesn’t answer right away.
“It’ll heal,” he says finally.
“That’s not what I asked Daryl.”
His eyes flick up to yours then.
“It ain’t life-threatening,” he says. “But it’s deep.”
You swallow.
He ties off the gauze and presses lightly along the edges to make sure it’s secure.
“You feel any numbness?” he asks.
“No.”
“Can ya move your toes?”
You wiggle them slightly.
It hurts, but they move.
“Yeah.”
He nods once, relieved, though he doesn’t say it out loud.
There’s a long moment where neither of you speak before you try to stand.
Your leg protests immediately causing you to stumble—and Daryl catches you before you hit the ground.
His arms wrap around you instinctively, steadying your waist.
“Easy,” he says firmly.
You grip his vest, breathing heavier now—not just from pain.
“I hate this,” you whisper. “I hate being the one slowing us down.”
His expression shifts instantly. “You ain’t slowin’ me down.”
“I can barely walk Daryl…”
“So what?” he questions.
You blink up at him.
“So I walk slower,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I ain’t gonna leave ya behind.”
Your throat tightens at that.
He adjusts your arm over his shoulders again, but this time his hold lingers a second longer than necessary.
“You ever gonna stop doin’ reckless shit?” he mutters.
“I stepped on a hidden bear trap.”
“Still counts.”
Despite everything, you laugh softly.
He shakes his head, but there’s the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.
Then he shifts slightly, setting you back down onto the log and crouching in front of you again.
“Alright,” he says. “I’m gonna tighten this one more time.”
“Daryl—” you try to protest, but he cuts you off. “I gotta make sure that it holds.”
He gently lifts your leg onto his thigh to get a better angle.
The position brings him closer—close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him through his clothes.
He rewraps the top layer more securely, fingers brushing your skin accidentally.
You shiver—not from cold.
His movements slow just slightly.
“You’re shakin’,” he says quietly.
“Adrenaline,” you lie.
He doesn’t call you out on it.
When he’s satisfied, he lowers your leg carefully back down and rests his hands there for a moment, as if reluctant to let go.
“You’re gonna have a hell of a scar,” he stating.
You glance at him. “You saying I didn’t already?”
That earns you a small snort. “Guess it’ll match the rest of us.”
There’s something soft in his tone when he says that.
Like you belong in that us.
He finally stands, offering you his hand again.
This time when you take it, your fingers lace with his for just a second longer than necessary, and he doesn’t pull away.
The walkers had finally thinned out.
After nearly an hour of limping through dense woods, ducking behind trees and pausing every time a twig snapped, your injured leg was burning with every step.
Sweat clings to your skin despite the cool air.
Daryl’s arm is firm around you, steady and unshaking.
“You still with me?” he mutters quietly.
“Unfortunately,” you breathe back, trying for humor—even though your vision is starting to blur at the edges.
As you and Daryl continue to walk, the trees around you begin to thin.
Through the branches, you see something unnatural to your left—straight lines cutting through the forest.
Metal.
“Daryl…” you whisper. “Look.”
He stops instantly, lowering you slightly so you both can crouch behind a cluster of brush.
He lifts his crossbow in one smooth motion as the two of you look through the trees.
About fifty yards in front of you sits an old warehouse, half-hidden by overgrowth.
The siding is faded and peeling.
One large loading bay door hung crooked, and a faded company name is barely visible across the front.
It looks abandoned.
But so do most things these days.
“Do you see any movement?” you asked softly.
Daryl narrows his eyes, scanning the building slowly. “Not yet.”
The wind pushes against the trees, making loose sheet metal rattle faintly somewhere on the structure.
The sound makes your shoulders tense.
“Could be walkers inside,” you say.
“Could be nothin’,” he replies.
Your leg buckles slightly, forcing him to tighten his grip on you.
“We ain’t makin’ it much farther,” he said quietly.
You know he’s right.
“Okay,” you nod. “We check it.”
He shifts position, lowering you carefully behind a thicker tree trunk.
“Stay,” he murmurs.
You roll your eyes faintly. “Where exactly would I go?”
A ghost of a smirk tugs at his mouth—brief, but real.
Then he moves toward the warehouse.
Low.
Silent.
Efficient.
You watch him weave through the trees toward the warehouse, crossbow raised, steps measured.
Every few seconds he pauses, listening for movement—whether it be from walkers stuck inside or people living inside.
As you watch him, the woods feel too loud without him beside you.
Your heart pounds harder the longer he’s gone.
A crow suddenly bursts from the roof, flapping into the air with a harsh cry.
The movement nearly made you lift your pistol.
Seconds later, you hear it—A dull thud.
Then another.
Your stomach drops.
Walkers?
You strain to see, but the angle blocks most of the loading bay entrance.
After what feels like forever, Daryl emerges from the shadows near the side door.
He looks towards you, and lifts two fingers in your direction.
Clear.
Relief floods through you so fast your leg nearly gives out again.
Daryl jogs back to you, slipping under your arm once more.
“Two inside,” he mutters. “Took care of ’em.”
“Just two?”
He hums.
“Ain’t been anyone here in a while.”
That’s good.
Probably.
Together, you make your way toward the building, the gravel crunching softly beneath your boots.
Every step closer makes the structure seem bigger.
More looming.
As you approach the loading bay, you can see dark streaks of old blood dried along the concrete near the entrance.
A broken pallet lays off to one side.
The inside beyond the doorway is shadowy and deep.
You hesitate for a moment.
Daryl notices immediately. “What?”
You shake your head. “It just feels… exposed.”
He studies the open yard behind you—wide and visible from multiple angles.
“Better than the woods,” he begins. “out there, we can’t see what’s comin’.”
He’s got a point.
You nod, and he leads you inside.
The air changes instantly—cooler, heavier.
It smells like rust, mildew, and old oil.
The high windows near the ceiling let in thin strips of fading sunlight.
Rows of empty metal shelving line the walls.
A forklift sits abandoned near the back, one tire completely flat.
Your footsteps echo faintly across the concrete floor as Daryl guides you toward the center of the space before carefully easing you down against a support pillar.
“Stay put,” he says softly.
You nod, watching him circle the perimeter one more time—checking corners, scanning the catwalk above, kicking lightly at stacked crates to make sure nothing was hiding behind them.
He tests a side door.
Locked.
Checked the upstairs storage area.
Clear.
Finally, he comes back to you. “It’ll do.”
You exhale slowly, tension draining just a little.
He crouches in front of you, eyes searching your face.
“For now,” you add.
“For now,” he agrees.
As you sit on an old crate in the warehouse, the silence between you and Daryl stretches.
You can practically see the gears turning in his head.
The distance back to Alexandria.
How fast you were moving before.
How slow you are now.
How many walkers might still be roaming around.
You watch as he walks toward the warehouse entrance, peering outside through the cracked door.
The sun is lower now.
The shadows of the trees at the edge of the clearing are longer.
Time is slipping.
You watch his shoulders tense.
“Daryl?” you ask quietly.
He doesn’t answer at first.
Instead, he steps outside briefly—just far enough to scan the treeline.
When he comes back inside a moment later, his expression tight as his eyes meet yours. “Sun’s droppin’.”
You nod, trying to push through the pain radiating up your leg.
“We can make it,” you insist. “We’ve done worse.”
He looks at you then—really looks at you.
Your pale face.
The way you’re holding your breath every few seconds to keep from groaning.
The faint tremble in your hands.
His jaw clenches. “Ya can’t even take ten steps on yer’ own.”
You hate that he’s right.
“I just need a minute.” you reply.
“You’ve had a minute.” he replies back.
The words aren’t harsh.
They’re worried.
“So what’s the alternative?” you snap. “We just sit here all night?”
He doesn’t answer.
He starts pacing slowly—not far, just a few steps one way, then back.
You’ve seen this before.
This is Daryl trying to problem-solve.
“There’s gotta be somethin’ nearby,” he mutters under his breath. “Road can’t be far. Might be a car left.”
Your heart skips.
A car.
You hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“You think one would still run?” you ask.
“Maybe.” he replies.
“Maybe” isn’t comforting.
He stops pacing and looks toward the warehouse entrance.
You see it happen.
The exact moment the idea settles fully in his mind.
The decision forming.
He looks back at you.
You shake your head immediately. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say nothin’.”
“You were about to.” you argue back gently.
He exhales slowly through his nose.
“You can’t make that walk,” he says carefully, like he’s choosing each word. “Not before dark.”
You swallow. “I can try.”
“And if we don’t make it before nightfall?” he presses. “You wanna be out there in the woods with that leg when it gets dark?”
You don’t answer.
Because the thought terrifies you.
The warehouse groans softly as the wind hits the siding again.
It’s not safe.
But it’s shelter.
He kneels in front of you, resting his forearms on his thighs.
“We ain’t far from the road,” he says. “Saw tire tracks maybe a mile back.”
“A mile?” you repeat.
He nods.
Your stomach drops.
You know what that means.
“I could check it,” he continues quietly. “See if there’s somethin’ usable.”
Your voice comes out small. “What about me?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
And that silence tells you everything.
You stare at him.
He stares back.
Neither of you wants to say it out loud.
Because once he does—It becomes real.
The air feels heavier suddenly.
“Daryl…” you whisper.
He shifts slightly closer, like he’s already bracing for the argument he knows is coming.
“You gotta stay here.”
He finally says it.
And the words land like a gunshot.
You shake your head immediately. “No.”
His jaw tightens. “Listen—”
“No.” Your voice cracks, but you don’t care. “We’ll figure something else out.”
“There ain’t nothin’ else we can do.”
He runs a hand through his hair, frustration flashing across his face—not at you, but at the situation.
At himself.
“I ain’t riskin’ you passin’ out halfway through the woods,” he says to you after a moment. “And I sure as hell ain’t draggin’ you through it if a herd rolls through.”
“I won’t pass out.”
“You almost did five minutes ago.”
You go quiet.
Because he’s right.
And you hate that he’s right.
He steps closer, crouching in front of you so you’re eye-level.
“Look at me.”
You don’t want to.
But you do anyway.
His eyes aren’t angry.
They’re scared.
“Daryl…” you whimper as he turns away, slinging his pack on and grabs his crossbow.
“You can’t make that walk on that leg…” he says softer now. “Not before dark.”
“So what? I just sit here and hope nothing finds me?” You question, you breathing picking up. “This place isn’t safe, Daryl…”
“Nowhere’s safe.”
“That’s not the-!” you try to protest but he cuts you off be gripping your shoulders—firm, grounding.
“Look, I cleared it. Twice. I’ll block the door. You’ll have cover.”
“And if something gets in?” you question.
“You shoot it.” he answers.
“And if it’s more than one?” you press again, voice trembling.
His expression flickers—just for a split second—and that’s what breaks you.
His jaw then tightens. “Then you hide.”
Silence settles between you.
You hate that this is normal now—conversations about how you might have to fight alone.
“(Y/N)... look at me.” he whispers.
You gulp as you look up at him again.
“You’re stronger than ya think.” he continues quietly.
You let out a shaky laugh. “That’s not what I’m worried about…”
His brows knit slightly. “Then what?”
Your fingers tighten around your pistol. “I’m worried you won’t come back…”
“So many people have told me that…” you whisper shakily a moment later. “And they never do…”
The admission slips out before you can stop it.
For a moment, neither of you move.
Daryl stills.
His expression changes instantly.
Not defensive.
Hurt.
“I ain’t them,” he says.
“You don’t know that…”
He adjusts his position in front of you, until there’s barely space between you. “I do.”
His forehead almost brushes yours.
“I ain’t walkin’ away from you. I’m walkin’ to get somethin’ that gets you home.”
Your breathing is uneven now.
“You promise?” you ask, hating how small your voice sounds.
His jaw flexes. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
His eyes lock with yours—blue and steady, but softer than usual.
One of his hands comes up, curling around the back of your neck gently.
Warm.
Grounding.
And then he leans in.
His lips press against yours.
You freeze, shocked—nearly tipping backward from the surprise—but the warmth spreads fast.
The kiss is firm, sure, like he’s trying to anchor the promise into you.
He pulls back slowly, forehead brushing yours.
“I’ll come back and get ya when I get a car, I promise.” he says quietly, his thumb brushing lightly against your jaw.
“You keep your pistol close. Stay outta sight.” he instructs.
“I’ll be back.”
You search his face for any sign of doubt.
You don’t find any.
Your throat tightens, but you nod. “Okay, I believe you.”
After a moment of staring into each other’s eyes, he leans down
He leans down then — kissing you again. Slower this time. Not rushed. Not just reassurance.
It feels like a vow.
When he pulls back a moment later, his hand lingers at your jaw.
“I’ll come back,” he says quietly. “Even if I gotta steal the damn car from somebody still alive an’ breathin’.”
Despite yourself, a shaky laugh escapes you.
“You keep that pistol in your hand,” he continues as his forehead presses against yours briefly. “An’ if you hear anything, you don’t hesitate.”
“And you?”
“I don’t hesitate either.”
There’s something dangerous in his tone.
Protectiveness.
After a moment, he stands and steps back reluctantly.
You feel the space immediately.
He takes a moment to sling his crossbow over his shoulder, checks the bolts and adjusts the strap of his pack.
Every small movement he makes feels like a countdown.
“Count to sixty after I leave,” he says. “Then move to that back corner. Less visible from the door.”
You nod slowly. “Okay…”
He takes one last look at you—like he’s burning the image into memory before he walks over to the door.
“Daryl,” you call out quickly.
He pauses at the door.
“Come back.”
His eyes meet yours. “I will.”
Then he pushes the door open.
Cool evening air rushes in.
He steps outside.
The door closes.
You limp over to the door and slide the bar into place with trembling hands.
Before you step away from the door, you watch him jog toward the treeline, crossbow ready, disappearing into the woods without looking back.
Because if he looks back—He might hesitate.
And you both know hesitation gets people killed.
The warehouse swallows you in silence.
You count.
One.
Two.
Three.
Your breathing echoes louder than you’d like.
By the time you hit sixty, the only sound left is the faint wind outside and the distant creak of old metal shifting.
You’re alone.
And all you can do now—Is trust that he meant it.
The warehouse is too quiet after Daryl leaves.
Every small sound makes your heart jump.
A drip.
A scuff.
The building settling.
Minutes stretch into what feels like hours.
The pain in your leg throbs steadily now—less sharp, more heavy and aching.
You adjust the gauze, trying not to look at the blood seeping faintly through.
You start to think about all the times someone said they’d come back.
And didn’t.
Your chest tightens.
You grip your pistol tighter.
You count your breaths.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Don’t panic.
Daryl promised.
He promised.
That’s when you hear it—
An engine roaring in the distance.
You freeze.
It could be anyone.
Your grip tightens around your pistol as the sound grows louder, tires crunching over gravel outside.
The engine cuts abruptly.
Silence.
Footsteps approach.
Your pulse pounds in your ears.
The warehouse door rattles.
You raise the gun with shaking hands.
A moment passes before the door creaks open—And there he is.
Daryl steps inside, crossbow slung over his back, a smudge of dirt across his cheek.
Behind him, parked crooked but running, is an old beat-up sedan.
Relief hits so hard it almost makes you dizzy.
“Daryl… You came back…” you breathe.
He gives you a look—half offended, half soft.
“Told ya I would.”
You lower the pistol, your vision blurring slightly with emotion.
“Found her about two miles east,” he says, jerking his head toward the car. “Ain’t pretty, but she runs.”
You laugh weakly, and it turns into something dangerously close to a sob.
Daryl crosses the room in a few strides and kneels beside you. “How’s the leg?”
“Still attached,” you manage.
“Good.” he nods as he slides one arm under your knees and the other behind your back before you can protest.
He lifts you like you weigh nothing.
The cool air outside hits your face as he carries you toward the car.
The world feels brighter somehow.
Safer.
The driver’s side door hangs slightly crooked, one headlight’s busted, but it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve seen all day.
He carefully settles you into the passenger seat, adjusting your leg so it rests gently across the dashboard.
“There,” he mutters. “Don’t move it too much.”
You nod and he closes the door.
You watch him walk around to the driver’s side, the light from the setting sun catching in his hair.
He slides in, shuts the door, and the engine rumbles back to life.
For a moment, neither of you speak.
He turns to look at you after a moment. “Let’s get you home.”
You smile. “Yeah, let’s go home.”
And with that, Daryl begins driving down the road, the warehouse disappearing in the rearview mirror.
As Daryl drives, trees blur past.
The tires hum against cracked asphalt.
A few scattered walkers wander along the shoulder of the road, but Daryl doesn’t slow down.
You glance at him.
He’s focused.
Jaw tight.
One hand steady on the wheel.
“You really came back,” you say softly.
He shoots you a sideways look.
“Ya really thought I wouldn’t?”
You hesitate.
“I didn’t want to think that…”
His grip tightens slightly on the steering wheel.
“I ain’t like everybody else,” he says quietly.
The words settle deep into your chest.
You hesitate for a second before you reach for his free hand, your fingers brushing lightly against it.
You expect him to pull away, but he doesn’t, he actually links his fingers with yours and he doesn’t let go.
The drive feels endless.
The engine rattles every time Daryl presses the gas, and each bump in the road sends a sharp throb up your injured leg.
You try not to react, but your fingers dig into the seat anyway.
Daryl notices.
He always notices.
“We’re almost there,” he mutters to you, eyes fixed on the road.
You don’t ask how he knows.
He just does.
The trees along the road begin to thin.
The familiar stretch of cracked asphalt curves ahead, and then—You see it.
The tall, reinforced walls of Alexandria rising beyond the treeline.
You feel your body relax as you’re finally back home.
For a second—just a second—you feel like you might cry.
Daryl slows the car as you approach, engine rumbling low.
One of the guards at the top of the wall to the right of the gate shifts, looking down towards the person who’s down below guarding the gate.
Daryl rolls down the window, ready to call out for them to open the gate for you, but before he can even say anything, there’s movement at the gate.
And then—you see him.
Rick steps out from the gate, his revolver resting low but ready in his hand out of habit.
His eyes narrow slightly as he approaches the car.
Daryl rolls down the window more just as Rick stops a few feet from the hood.
His gaze flicks from Daryl—To you.
His expression changes instantly and he comes up to the driver's side window.
“What happened?” he asks, voice firm but edged with concern.
“Trap,” Daryl answers shortly. “Bear trap.”
Rick’s eyes drop to your leg seeing the blood-soaked gauze.
“You bit?” Rick asks immediately.
“No,” Daryl answers firmly before you can. “Just metal.”
Rick exhales slowly—the tension in his body easing just a fraction.
“Okay,” he nods once. “Okay.”
“You two run into anything else?” he asks.
“Couple walkers. Nothin’ major,” Daryl replies.
Rick’s eyes shift back to you again. “You able to walk?”
You hesitate.
Daryl answers for you. “No.”
Rick exhales through his nose, nodding once like he expected that answer. “Denise is at the infirmary,” he says. “I’ll radio ahead.”
“Alrigh’” Daryl nods.
“Open the gate!” Rick calls out and the gate begins to open with a heavy metallic groan.
The gate opens fully and Rick steps back, giving the car room to pass through the gate.
But before Daryl drives forward, Rick leans slightly toward the open window.
“You did good,” he says quietly—not just to Daryl.
To both of you.
Daryl gives a small nod.
The car rolls through the gates.
As you pass Rick, he walks alongside for a few steps, scanning the street behind you automatically, hand still resting near his revolver.
Habit.
Protection.
Once fully inside, the gate closes behind you with a loud metallic thud.
The sound echoes through the night air.
Final.
Safe.
Daryl drives up to the infirmary and gets out, coming over to the passenger side to help you out.
“Easy does it.” he tells you as he helps you up and out of the car, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side.
Before Daryl can bring you up the porch steps, Rick walks up to the two of you, his blue eyes lingering on you.
“You scared us, y’know.”
You offer him a weak smile. “Wasn’t exactly on purpose.”
A faint flicker of amusement crosses his face.
“You get patched up,” he says. “We’ll talk later.”
There’s reassurance in his tone.
Leadership.
Steady ground.
“Will do, constable.” you smirk.
That makes Rick chuckle before he walks back towards the gate.
“Alrigh’,” Daryl begins. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.”
You nod, ready to make your way up the steps.
Before you can even take a step though, Daryl keeps his arm around your waist as he slides his free arm under your knees, picking you up.
You instinctively wrap your arms around his shoulders as he carries you up the porch steps.
As Daryl gets onto the front porch, the front door opens and Denise stands in the doorway, her eyes widening at the sight of you.
“Oh my God—what happened?” she asks, her voice full of worry and concern.
“Bear trap.” Daryl replies as he steps inside and around her, and inside the house to the examination table. “An old, rusted one.”
“Okay, okay—that’s… that’s not great, but we can handle that,” Denise says quickly, voice slightly shaky but focused as she grabs the supplies that she needs.
Daryl sets you down carefully on the examination table like you’re something fragile.
Like you might break.
“Okay. Okay. Let’s take a look.” Denise says as she steps up to your leg with a pair of scissors.
You wince as she starts cutting away the gauze Daryl had wrapped earlier and you reach for Daryl’s sleeve instinctively, causing him to stay close to you at the side of the table.
When Denise peels back the last layer of gauze, she inhales sharply. “Okay… yeah. That’s deep.”
Daryl’s jaw tightens instantly.
“She gonna be alright?” he asks.
Denise nods quickly. “Yeah. Yes. It just needs to be cleaned properly and stitched in a few spots. We also need to watch for infection, though. Rusty metal is… not ideal.”
You laugh weakly. “That’s the understatement of the year.”
Daryl doesn’t laugh.
He steps closer, standing near your shoulder now.
She begins gently cleaning the wounds again, more thoroughly this time.
The disinfectant burns worse than before.
You suck in a sharp breath.
Daryl’s hand finds yours instantly.
You didn’t even realize you were reaching for him.
He squeezes once.
Hard.
You squeeze back.
Denise glances between the two of you but says nothing, focusing on her work.
“This is deep,” she murmurs. “But you’re lucky. It missed anything major.”
Lucky.
That word feels strange considering how the day started.
“Will she be able to walk?” Daryl asks, voice low and steady—but you can hear the edge underneath.
“Yes,” Denise answers quickly. “She’ll need to stay off it for a few days. Maybe longer. Stitches, antibiotics, rest.”
“But-” you try to protest, only for Daryl to cut you off.
“I’ll make sure that she stays off her leg.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no fight in it.
After what feels like forever, Denise finishes wrapping your leg properly — clean bandages, tight but comfortable.
“There,” she says gently. “All set. I want you back here tomorrow so I can check it again.”
Daryl nods before you can answer. “I’ll bring her.”
“Thank you,” you say softly.
“That’s what I’m here for.” Denise smiles gently, giving you a small, knowing smile before stepping away to wash her hands.
Once she leaves the room, the room quiets.
Daryl’s still holding your hand.
You glance up at him.
“You came back,”
He looks down at you like the idea that he wouldn’t come back for you still offends him. “Told ya I would.”
Your eyes sting.
He notices.
“Hey,” he says, stepping closer to you.
His free hand brushes lightly against your hair. “You’re home.”
The word settles deep inside you.
Home.
The fear that had been coiled tight in your chest all day finally begins to loosen.
Summary: What happens when you and your best friend get 'walker trapped' inside a cabin and have to share a bed for the night?
Warnings: usual TWD stuff, only one bed trope, best friends to lovers, idiots in love, walkers, weapons, mentions of injuries and wounds, drama, angst and almost a panic attack, fluff
Set in Season 11!
Word Count: 6,2k
a/n: I got heavily inspired by sombr's song 'back to friends'. Had to write this. ☺️
Big shout-out to @levislolita ! She was my motivator and had quite a few good ideas for this! 🤗
Love In The Rearview Mirror °☆• EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist
"I'm going out," you announced; looking into the round - at the people who gathered around the wooden table in the mostly destroyed 'community hut' of Alexandria. Thanks to Alpha and her horde... Maggie, Aaron, Carol, Rosita and Gabriel. "See what I can find. If there's anything left to hunt. I gotta try. The stuff we got from Meridian is good - but not enough. Not for the long shot. And you all know it." "Y/N, you think that's a good idea? After all that just happened?" Aaron threw in. "We lost so many people barely two days ago. We're weak. Weaker than we probably ever were." "We can't risk losing you, too. It's dangerous out there," agreed Maggie. You merely shrugged your shoulders. "It's always dangerous out there." "Yes, but luck is not on our side at the moment. And we all need to get our strength back first. There's not many people fit enough right now to go out with you," Aaron argued further.
You sighed and shook your head. "I'm gonna go alone then. Wouldn't be the first time. I-" You didn't get to finish your sentence since another voice - a so far silent participant of the discussion, spoke up. "Nah. Gonna go with ya." Daryl. Unlike the others, Daryl sat on a wooden chair in the corner of the room - kudos to the bullet wound his leg suffered in the fight against the Reapers. Luckily it wasn't the already ailing one. The thigh Alpha almost butchered up. It was the other one - which didn't make things exactly better...
You turned to face the archer with a disbelieving look on your face. "You? Hell no. You certainly won't go with me. Daryl, you're injured. Your leg isn't fit enough for this." The man merely shrugged his shoulders, "Dun care. Had worse." and heaved himself out of the chair - determined. "I ain't gonna let ya go alone. 'Sides, 'm the best shot ya got."
Stubborn mule.
Unfortunately, Daryl was right - and you hated it. He was the best hunter. There was nobody in Alexandria as good as him. Carol was a good shot, too, yeah, but not as good as the man across from the room. Nevertheless, you tried to argue - of course.
"No," you said firmly with crossed arms over your chest and shook your head. "I can take Carol with me." You exchanged a look with the gray-haired woman, who gave you a little nod and smile in return. "Nah. She's needed 'ere. 'M gonna go with ya. Whenever ya like it or not." Daryl's words were final. You knew it. He was determined and wouldn't give in.
Daryl gave you nothing more than a sharp nod and a signature grunt in return as he watched you 'storm' off. The other participants of this 'meeting' exchanged quite a few looks.
Everyone else had watched the conversation in silence; not stepping in because they all knew arguing with Daryl on this was most likely in vain. "Fine," you more or less hissed through gritted teeth and headed for the exit. You had to leave before you'd say anything you might regret...
"Get ready. The gate in two hours." You more or less threw the words at Daryl; not wanting to keep this conversation going longer. You had to calm down first. How could he be so stubborn and... reckless?!
Daryl's deep, smokey voice interrupted your train of thoughts. You looked up to focus on him. He was already waiting for you; backpack and crossbow slung over his shoulders. "Already thought ya changed yer mind." You scoffed but couldn't stop the small smile from darting across your face at his playful banter. "Let's get going. I want to be back before sunset." He nodded and followed you outside the safety of the walls - slower than usual, though. There was a very noticeable limp in the way he walked. His leg most likely wasn't as good as he claimed it is. Typical.
Two hours later - after you got your things for the hunt ready and had taken a relaxing shower to calm down again, you made your way to the gates of Alexandria.
You had spent almost thirty minutes in that damn shower and tried to convince yourself that it was not your problem. It was Daryl's decision to accompany you. His responsibility. Not yours. He knew the dangers and risks, and if he was willing to put his health and healing process on the line, it was his problem... Right? Right?! And yet your heart told an entirely different story. The mere thought of something worse happening to the archer because of the hunt you wanted to go on left your chest constricted. It was hard trying not to care about a person you secretly lov- "There ya are."
You looked over your shoulder with a stern gaze. "You stay close. No running off. And no unnecessary walker executions. I don't need your leg more injured than it already is. You listen to me and tell me when you need a break or go back home. You won't push yourself further than your body allows right now," you stated with a firm voice. "Got it, mister?" Daryl gave you the tiniest, cutest crooked smile you had probably ever witnessed him smile. "Yes, ma'am." "Good." You didn't expect him to 'give in' that easily but you certainly did not complain.
You 'searched' the woods around Alexandria for anything to hunt - without much success. Alpha - or well, Beta and his stupid horde scared off most of the animals. So, it was no wonder that your search for some big-game hunting led you out further and further; farther away from home. You checked on Daryl regularly, of course; making sure that he was still okay and able to go.
You giggled and stepped closer. "How's your leg?" The man adjusted the crossbow on his back and closed the drawer he was looking in shut again. "'S fine. Let's move on. Still got 'bout ten cabins left." You nodded. "Yeah, but I'm thinking about heading back. It's gonna get dark soon." Daryl followed your gaze outside the small, dusty window. "Nah. Got about three hours of sunlight left." You crossed your arms over your chest. "Yeah, I know, but we're also about two hours away from Alexandria." "Yer sayin' we dun make it to search all cabins in one hour, Y/L/L? C'mon, we're better than tha'." You shrugged your shoulders; deciding to let your 'bossy' attitude slip for a moment to indulge into the banter. "Dunno, Dixon. You tell me. I'm not the one with a damaged leg." He scoffed once again; the corners of his mouth truly lifting inside a little smirk now. "Had worse than tha'. This ain't gonna stop me. Ya should know by now. Lost count of how many times I got shot," he said and started to make his way towards the main door. You rolled your eyes playfully. You knew he had endured worse - unfortunately, but that didn't change the fact that you were protective of him. You didn't want these things to happen to him. Quite the opposite... You couldn't let that show through too much, though. He was your best friend. Nothing more - and it would forever stay that way. Daryl wasn't the type of man to get romantically involved with somebody. He didn't do relationships - and you were painfully aware of that.
At some point, you came across a very hidden settlement. Of course, you set foot into it before but never really looked through all cabins for some canned goods, weapons or medicine.
"Shall we see if we can scavenge some stuff?" You asked the man beside you. "If there's any stuff left ta scavenge..." You shrugged your shoulders. "We could try?" Daryl chewed on his lower lip - and nodded. "Yeah, let's 'ave a look. If we can't find any animals to hunt, we might as well search for some food 'ere. Dun wanna go back empty handed." "Me neither," you agreed with a nod of your head and started to walk ahead. "C'mon."
It took the both of you five cabins to actually find something. A few cans with beans, some bullets and antibiotics. It wasn't much but at least it was something.
"Found something?" You asked Daryl as you made your way out of the former bathroom of the sixth cabin; joining him in the small 'kitchen'. "Nah, you?" You shook your head. "Nope. Nothing besides an concerning amount of dolls." The archer scoffed and shook his head but clearly tried to hide a smile.
Together, you made your way to the next cabin. The wind picked up and blew straight into your faces; rustling you hair - and that was when you heard it. Unmistakable, faint but present growling noises. You heard it and stopped instantly in your tracks; straining your ears. Daryl apparently didn't. When the archer noticed that you stopped, he stopped as well and turned to face you. "Wha' is it? Ya okay?" You lifted a finger to shush him. "Shh. You hear that?" The man got quiet and listened closely as well. "Sounds like... a herd." You nodded, then looked around; quickly spying the water tower not far ahead. "Let's get up there and have a look." Daryl followed your gaze and nodded. "Yeah."
Slightly shaking your head to get yourself out of these thoughts again, you followed him and picked up the conversation once more.
"Remember when Andrea shot you all those years back on the Greene farm 'cause she thought you were a walker?" Daryl scoffed once more. "Dun remind me 'a tha'. Still can feel the dull ache in my skull sometimes." Your eyes went wide. "Really?" He nodded and opened the door. You exited the cabin after him. "Really." "That's... ouch."
You walked ahead with the archer following behind. Of course, he wanted to climb the ladder of the water tower as well - but you managed to hold him back. You certainly wouldn't let him do that with his injured leg. Hell no. So, you climbed up the old, rusty ladder alone carefully. Step after step. Once up there, you retrieved your binoculars from your backpack and took a look around - and what you saw wasn't exactly good. It was like you expected...
"Can ya see sum'thin'?!" Daryl called up to you. You nodded, "There's a herd!" and moved to climb down the ladder again. You had seen enough. "And it's coming straight our way." "Fuck." "Precisely," you agreed as your feet touched safely steady ground again. "How big?" "Too big to fight them alone. Hundred. At least." "Damnit," the archer cursed again. "We can't outrun them either, 'cause that'd take us only further away from home - which wouldn't be that much of a problem under normal circumstances, but you shouldn't strain your leg even more." He sighed but nodded; knowing you were right. "Can't get 'round them either. A herd tha' big. 'S too dangerous." "So what are we doing then?" The man looked around. "Think we ain't got 'nother choice than to hide in one of 'em cabins 'n wait it out." You nodded. He was right. It was the only option you got at the moment. "Okay, yeah, let's get settled and safe. We don't have much time until the herd passes through. Half an hour at the latest."
So that's what the both of you did. Unfortunately, it took the herd longer than expected to pass through the settlement. The sun had already set when the last few stray walkers stumbled past your cabin - audibly. You didn't see much, though. It was dark after all and the moon didn't spend enough light tonight. It was too cloudy. "Think those were the last. We're good to go. C'mon," Daryl announced and grabbed his backpack to sling it over his shoulder. But before he could start to undo the safety measures, you stopped him. "Dar, wait..." you started, then shook your head. "I think we should stay the night and go back home tomorrow." The man opposite you blinked. "Why? 'S over. The herd's through." Once more you shook your head. "We don't know that for sure. It's fucking dark outside and moonlight isn't enough to see and make sure we're really good to go." "Why 'r ya bein' so dramatic about it? We did tha' before. 'S not like we couldn't fight 'em."
You and the archer worked as quick and efficient as possible to get to safety. You chose the hopefully best cabin - one that was located a little higher than the rest and which provided a good all-around visibility. You barricaded the door and boarded up the few windows as best as you could. Then all you had to do was waiting. It didn't take long, though, until you got hit by the herd. The loud growling, snarling and shuffling of dead feet was hard to not hear.
"They're here," you announced quietly and joined Daryl, who sat on the wooden floor; back leaned against the wall. He would never admit it, but he needed the break - and you knew it. After all these years you knew your friend quite well. The archer gave you a nod. "Now we jus' gotta be quiet 'n wait it out."
You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest. "Why are you being so reckless about this?" You half-heartedly quoted him; throwing a question right back. "You're hurt, Daryl. How many times do I have to remind you? Sure, we did that before. Sure, we could be lucky and there are only five walkers left out there. But this could also go sideways and there are fifty." You shook your head firmly. "It's not worth taking the risk. Not if we can easily spend the night here. I'm not losing you, Dar. Certainly not because of your stubbornness and a rushed, ill-considered plan. Hell no. We're staying here."
You looked at him flabbergasted. You couldn't understand why Daryl - one of the smartest people you knew... the man who was more than the perfect survivalist - would do something so... rash and reckless. Especially in his current situation where he wasn't at a hundred percent. His leg wasn't that good yet.
He usually wasn't like that. Why now?
Did he have another choice, though? Apparently not. You were right and your words determined.
The archer had listened to your every word in silence. Gaze averted, head lowered and jaw clenching. Of course, he knew you were absolutely right. Of course, he knew that it was risky. Of course, he knew he wanted to act headless. But he didn't have a choice. His mind was panicking at the moment. The mere thought of having to spend a whole night with you alone caused his head to spin...
See, what you did not know was that your more than friendship feelings were actually requited. The problem? Daryl had yet to work up the courage to tell you. And he didn't know if spending a night with you would help him to get that courage - or rather leave him aching and bleeding.
Once both your bellies were filled with food and satisfied, you and Daryl just continued to sit in front of the warm fire; enjoying the peaceful and quiet atmosphere. Until...
He grunted in dislike but ultimately gave in. "Fine. Let's stay the damn night." You nodded; glad and relieved he was insightful. "Good. Let's start a fire and eat something. I'm starving." To that, Daryl agreed. "We can use the fireplace." You blessed the archer with one of your brilliant smiles as you grabbed an old wooden chair to get it over to the small fireplace. "That was the plan."
Daryl helped you, of course, and no ten minutes later echoed the crackling sound of burning wood through the little cabin. It warmed your canned goods, and your bodies.
"You're telling me you intend to sleep on the floor?" He nodded. "'Course. You take the bed." "With your injured leg?" Once more he gave you a nod. "Ain't a problem." You blinked again in sheer disbelief, then put your hands on your hips, "Hell no." and shook your head. "You're certainly not going to sleep on the floor." Now Daryl blinked - dumbfounded. "Why not?" You scoffed and rolled your eyes in frustration.
"We should try to get some sleep," you started, "Got a long journey home ahead of us tomorrow." and got up to unpack your sleeping gear. Two light blankets; neatly folded to fit inside your backpack. Daryl, for once, instantly agreed with you. "Yeah, we should." He reached for his backpack as well; having packed a light blanket, too. You directed your attention to the bed; properly checking what you were dealing with. It wasn't really big, but not super small either - fit for two people nevertheless. Yeah, you could definitely work with that.
You tried to get the bed as 'dust free' as possible, before you covered it in one of said blankets - providing at lest a little cleanliness. "Alright. Bed is rea- What are you doing?" You had turned to face your friend again and instantly frowned. The archer gazed up at you with a scoff and that teasing look on his face. "Wha's it look like? Gettin' my bed ready." You blinked; brain needing to process his entirely stupid intention.
Why was he like that? Why so stubborn? Why didn't he take care of himself? It mentally and physically hurt your heart. You wanted, no, needed the most important person in your life to be okay and safe. Not like that.
"Again, because you're fucking injured, Daryl." He carelessly shrugged his shoulders. "Had worse. You take the bed. Want ya to be comfortable. Ain't no way 'm lettin' sleep a woman on the floor. Ain't no damn asshole."
"Nah." You groaned. That single word was enough to make you lose your shit. You were going to make sure he was alright - if he wanted or not. "I told you this afternoon to listen to me - and you agreed," you stated firmly; reminding him of his 'promise'. "So shut up and damn well listen to me." Your words actually didn't leave any room for arguments - again, but the kinda desperate archer tried anyway. He opened his mouth to say something, but you didn't even let him get that far.
Ugh... You wanted to kiss and strangle him simultaneously. It was frustrating. Who gave him the right to be so selfless and reckless at the same time? It was so damn attractive, you wanted to scream.
Nevertheless, you tried to stay strong and win this round of discussions as well.
"I don't fucking care, Dixon. You got a bullet wound and I'm not gonna let you sleep on the floor. The bed is big enough for both of us."
Your last sentence got Daryl's head spinning - unbeknownst to you. Sharing a bed? With you? This day seemed to get worse and worse for him. It was bad enough that he had to spend the night with you. His feelings were already all over the place. His heart was already running so fast as if it had to win a marathon. He didn't need more. He most likely couldn't take more.
You shook your head, "No. Don't even think about it." and swiftly placed a hand on his chest; firmly but slowly starting to push him backwards - direction bed. And Daryl let it happen. One touch - especially such an intimate one, was enough to make him melt. He was practically putty in your hands.
You had walked him back so far, that his ass had landed on the bed. He was sitting in front of you now, but your hand was still splayed on his chest - as if to keep him in place. Not that it was necessary. "You're going to sleep in the bed, you hear me? End of discussion." Daryl nodded; eyes trained on you and breath slightly laboured. "Y-Yeah," he more or less croaked out.
Could you feel how much of a fool he was for you? How damn whipped he actually was for you? Hopefully not...
Not even an hour later, you were laying both in that damn bed. You on the right, Daryl on the left side. You were fast asleep; cuddled up in your blanket and Daryl's, since you were cold and he didn't need his. He ran hot. Always had.
Unlike you, the archer was wide awake. With his arms crossed behind his head, he was staring up at the ceiling. His brain still needed to get around the fact that he was sharing a bed with you. That if he'd reach over, he could just drape his arm around you. That you were so freaking close to him.
It took him another while to calm his mind and body so far down that he was able to catch some sleep. Not for long, though...
Try to get some sleep. He was funny, you thought. How were you supposed to sleep with a freaking thunderstorm outside the door? You absolutely despised thunderstorms. Always did. As a child, as a teenager and now as an adult as well. It was not just hatred you felt towards the natural phenomenom, no... It was pure, unbridled fear as well. Every sound in combination was so frightening... The rain drumming against the ceiling and the old window panes. The dark, threatening growl of the thunder. And the wind howling its song. To you, it sounded like a composition straight out of hell. Not to mention the creepy lightning...
A particularly loud, earth shattering clap of thunder ripped you and the man beside you out of your sleep. It was raining pitchforks. The lightnings were so bright and strong, they dipped the whole cabin into creepy white-, blue- and purple-ish light. It almost looked like the world was ending a second time.
"Fucking hell," you cursed under your breath; clutching your rapidly beating heart. Then you heard movement from beside you, followed by Daryl's sleepy and even deeper voice. "Ya a'right?" You nodded - mostly to reassure yourself. "Y-Yeah. Just woke with a start is all." The man behind you grunted in acknowledge and mumbled something along the lines 'Yah, me too.' before he shifted again. "'S jus' a thunderstorm. We're safe in 'ere. Try to get some more sleep, 'kay? 'S gonna be a long day tomorrow."
While Daryl was already halfway back in dreamland, you had your eyes wide open; constantly scanning your dark surroundings. You clutched the blankets around you tighter; hoping to find shelter in them. Hoping that they'd protect you. Your breath was laboured. Heart beating fast. Your whole body was shaking life a leaf in the wind. "It's okay. You're fine. It's just a thunderstorm," you mumbled repeatedly under your breath; trying to somehow calm yourself down - and not very successfully.
He didn't believe you. Not a single word. Daryl knew you long enough now to know when you were lying.
Daryl heard your mumbling. He couldn't understand what you were saying but he could clearly identify your voice throughout the 'noise'. He reopened his eyes with a frown and turned once more to face you. "Ya talkin' to me?" His sudden voice startled you; thinking he had gone back to sleep, but it simultaneously soothed you a little bit at the reminder that you weren't alone.
"O-Oh, uh, no. To myself. Just c-can't sleep. Sorry, Dar." The archer's suspicion only grew from that point on. His frown deepened. "Ya sure yer okay?" "Y-Yeah, sure. Just c-can't sleep."
"Nah, yer not. Why 'r ya lyin'?"
You squeezed your eyes shut. Shit. You should've known that you couldn't play him. How foolish... You swallowed hard and turned to face him as well. The room was darkish without much light - only the lightnings which darted across the sky lit up the cabin from time to time. Nevertheless could Daryl clearly see the tears on your cheeks and the fear in your eyes.
"B-Because it's stupid to be afraid of thunderstorms as a grownup..." You whispered then and wiped away a stray tear - but the man laying beside you heard you nevertheless. He instantly shook his head; voice and expression softening. "Nah, 's not stupid. We're all afraid of sum'thin'. 'S what makes us human, I guess," he stated and shrugged his shoulders. "I was afraid of 'em as a kid. Still got respect for it."
Daryl had witnessed everything. His heart ached and bled for you; seeing you this scared. And before his brain could actually think through the next sentence his lips released, it was too late. Heart over head. His love for you had spoken.
You were beyond relieved that he understood and didn't make fun of you. For that thought, you got instantly scolded by the rational part of your brain. Of course he'd understand you and certainly not make fun of you. It's Daryl for crying out loud!
You had just opened your mouth to answer him when a particularly loud clap of thunder shook the earth and pierced marrow and bone; causing you to almost jump out of your skin.
"C'mere," he rasped in that deep, smokey voice of his.
It was one single word. An invitation. An offering. One word, enough to throw caution to the wind. Your body acted on its own on the search for comfort and safety. The fear in your head drowned out the voice of reason.
You instantly scooted closer - straight into his awaiting arms. You buried your face in his shirt clad chest, causing his scent to invade your airways right away. Smoke, leather, something musky and woodsy, combined with a tinge of sweat. You felt his strong arms around you; caging you against his firm yet soft and warm body - like a lifebelt. They kept you safe. Protected. Warm. Daryl gave you everything you needed in that very moment. Your body stopped to shake. Your breath calmed down, and your heart rate went back to normality. Something the archer could feel, too.
"Better?" He whispered into the dark and felt you instantly nod. You didn't say a word. You didn't have to. Your body did all the talking already. You felt so good - so comfortable and safe, that it didn't take you long to fall asleep in his arms. Thunderstorm long forgotten.
And Daryl? Daryl could barely believe that this was truly happening. That he truly held you in his arms right now. He wasn't dreaming or imagining things. His heart was beating fast; butterflies erupting in his belly. It gave his heart hope. Hope that this could actually bloom into more than just friendship. Of course, it was supposed to be a hug. Probably between friends. It was supposed to not last. It was supposed to not feel that right and good. But the archer couldn't help it. He couldn't bring himself to move your body away from his. So, he kept you in his arms and finally found some peaceful sleep as well.
You were the first one to wake up the next morning. It wasn't raining anymore but certainly not sunny as well. You blinked your eyes open and adjusted them to the light; surroundings slowly becoming clear. That's when you remembered. The cabin. The herd of walkers. The thunderstorm. And- Your eyes widened as you realised that you were still in Daryl's arms.
Shit.
You didn't mean to fall asleep in his arms. You didn't mean to cross that line; afraid you'd torn the friendship you had with him to shreds. What if exactly that just happened? What if you had really crossed the line? Unintentionally. Out of fear. Fuck, you cursed internally and instantly moved away from the man who was still sleeping and got up. You felt... weird about this whole situation. Sure, you would've lied if you said you didn't enjoy being in Daryl's arms. Hell, you loved it. Your heart jumped in happiness at the mere thought of it, but... You just couldn't get your hopes up. It was a hug between friends. To soothe your anxiety. Nothing more.
"Morning," you replied shortly; not brave enough to look at him or much less into his eyes. "Ready to go?" "Uh, yeah, 'course. Jus' gotta pack my stuff." You could tell by the sound of his voice that he was a little perplex - something you couldn't blame him for. "Okay, do that and let's head back home. Perhaps we see some hunting game on our way back." Daryl nodded and swallowed hard. His eyes on you; watching how you started to move the things that helped you barricade the door.
Not knowing if you were ready to talk to Daryl yet, you decided to let him sleep and pack your things together again so that you'd be ready to head out and back home.
You didn't get that much time, though. The archer woke up only a short while later. You successfully ignored that fact - and him, until he appeared in your peripheral vision. Daryl came to stand beside you as you shouldered your backpack. "Mornin'," he said in that rough, deep - and admittedly sexy morning voice. The one that managed to send a shiver down your spine.
He wanted to confront you. To clear the air. He wanted things to go back to normal. If he couldn't have more than friendship, then he wanted at least his friend back. Unfortunately wasn't talking his strong suit. He was unsure and shy. Therefore, it took him several days to get around and gather enough bravery to finally talk to you about the unmistakable elephant in the room.
There was this weird... tension between the both of you. And not in a good way... A way that made the archer's heart clench in his chest. He didn't understand. You acted like nothing happened. Like you didn't share a bed with him. Like you didn't sleep in his arms. Did he misread the signs?
This went on. For days. Even when you were back at Alexandria. You put him at an arms-length and gave him the cold shoulder. Even the friendship between the both of you felt strange now. Daryl just didn't understand.
It was a beautiful, yet breezy evening as Daryl made his way up the porch to the house you lived in in Alexandria; sharing it with Rosita. He was sure his heart would soon be bursting out of his ribcage at how fast it was beating. He was nervous. So goddamn nervous. And afraid to fuck things up even more...
With a deep breath, he knocked.
Seconds ticked by; feeling endless - before he finally heard steps from the other side of the door. Then it got opened to reveal not you, but Rosita. "Daryl? Hey. What are you up to?" He nibbled nervously at the inside of his bottom lip. "H-Heya, um, I, uh," he stammered - like a fool. "Is Y/N home?" He could detect a smidge of scepticism in Rosita's eyes, but she didn't question him. Luckily. She nodded and gave him a small smirk. "Yeah. I get her for you." Daryl gave his friend a thankful nod and waited.
Minutes felt like hours; the archer's hands getting sweatier with every passing second. When you finally appeared in the doorframe right in front of him, he felt his heart skip a beat and start to run a marathon. He was so damn nervous. So afraid to fuck this up even more than he already seemed to have. "Hey, what's up? Rosita said it seems urgent." The man swallowed hard and nodded; lowered his head and nervously fumbled with his fingers. "Uh, yeah, kinda. Can we... talk?" You nodded, "Sure." and closed the door behind yourself before you moved to sit down on the steps leading to the porch. Daryl followed and sat down beside you.
A long moment of silence passed between the both of you, in which you just looked ahead to watch the sunset and Daryl stared at the ground beneath his feet; trying to find the right words.
"So? What do you wanna talk about?" You didn't mean to push him - but you knew that whatever this was about, Daryl urgently needed to get it off his chest. It troubled him.
He nodded. It gave you chills - and you felt your heart shattering into a million pieces.
"U-Us," he finally croaked out - taking you quite a bit by surprise. "'Bout this. 'B-Bout what we... have." You swallowed hard; feeling the fear crawling up your neck. Fear of losing him. Fear of losing his friendship. That's it. I've gone too far, you scolded yourself internally. I should've respected his borders - his personal space, and not sleep in his arms that damn night.
"U-Um, okay? W-What about it?" You asked carefully - fearfully. "Do you... Not want to be friends anymore?" Daryl's reaction to your words shook you to your very core.
"N-Nah, honestly not, 'cause I-" He huffed out a breath; having trouble to form the words. "I dunno if I can do tha', Y/N. Goin' back to bein' jus' friends after we, uh, shared that bed a few days ago. A-After ya slept in my arms, I- Fuck..."
You weren't sure if you could trust what your ears just heard. They were deceiving you, right? This couldn't be.
"W-What?" You croaked out in disbelief; your eyes meeting his uncertain, insecure ones. "Y-You're telling me you want to be more than just friends?" The archer nodded almost shyly; looking at you from below - like a lost puppy - through the curtain of chestnut brown hair. "Can't do this any longer, Y/N. 'S killin' me. I-I kept those feelings locked away for so long, thinkin' that you'd never fall for a guy like me 'n then tha' night at the cabin happened. It gave me sum'thin' I ain't felt before... Hope. But then ya acted like nothin' happened. Ya gave me the cold shoulder 'n now I'm afraid I fucked everythin' up. 'Specially our friendship. I dun wanna lose ya."
You stared at him - flabbergasted, overwhelmed, and with the nagging feeling of guilt already knocking against the door to your brain. The realisation hit hard. You had hurt the man you loved. Unintentionally, sure, but nevertheless...
"I'm sorry..." You whispered; voice on the verge of breaking. Tears glistened in your eyes. "I-I'm so sorry. I n-never ever intended to hurt you like this, I..." You inhaled a deep breath. "I just did what I thought was right, 'cause I didn't want to ruin our friendship. I thought I fucked it up with that night. I didn't want to cross any lines; knowing that you're not interested in romantic relationships - but I was wrong. I was blind."
Once he was brave enough to face you again, he turned his head. "So, uh, we, uh," he stammered. "We're good?" Your smile never vanished; was only brightening. "We're good. In fact..." You started a slowly scooted closer to him. "I'd say we're more than good." Your eyes were locked; gazing deeply into his beautiful blue orbs. Daryl's gaze didn't waver for even a second. But his lips parted slightly to take in a shaky breath at how close you were.
Daryl's heart skipped a beat at your words. The feeling of hope started to flood his veins once more. Everything was basically just a huge misunderstanding?
"Me too," he croaked out with a nod. "I was wrong, too. 'N blind. Hell, 'm sorry. 'S jus' so hard to believe tha' a woman like you could love a guy like me." You smiled at him and shook your head, while you wiped away a few stray tears. "Well, you better believe it now." A shy smile crept up the man's face and he averted his eyes and turned his head to hide the blush on his cheeks. He clearly needed a moment to wrap his head around this; around the conversation you just had.
And you intended to get even closer.
Letting your eyelids flutter shut, you slightly tilted your head - and bridged the last few inches separating you and Daryl. Your lips connected with his. Shy, hesitant and softly at first. Testing the waters. You could literally feel how the archer tensed at the sudden, strange contact.
Unbeknownst to the both of you, was standing Rosita at the kitchen window after feeding Coco; accidentally having caught a glimpse of you and Daryl kissing on the porch. A victorious smile was stretched over her face. "Finally," she whispered mostly to herself. Coco answered her, though, with a sweet coo. The woman nodded and looked down at her daughter. "Mhm, you're right. Took them long enough."
You gave him the chance to end this any time, of course, if he felt uncomfortable. But he didn't. It took him a hot moment to grasp what truly was going on, but once he did, Daryl started to shyly kiss you back. His chapped but utterly gentle lips mimicked your lips' movements. You smiled; heart jumping with joy and just continued to kiss him; changing the angle from time to time and cupping his cheek to feel his rough skin and stubble against your palm.
It was sweet. It was a little messy and lacking of skills. But it was perfect. Perfectly Daryl.
“Shatterpoint is a Force ability that can be used to sense the significance of an event that will have a great role in the course of fate.”
“But ask me the secrets of Sith alchemy, and I would ask you for three measures of blood: one from a person you love, one from a person you hate, and one from yourself.”
―Naga Sadow, Dark Lord of the Sith
Five years after the Battle of Exegol, Rey has still not given up on her mission to bring Ben back. In her search for any knowledge that might help her, she finds out about the legendary World Between Worlds. An ancient map tells her that Exegol and Ach-To are two portals to that world, one for the Dark Side and one for the Light Side.
However, the World Between Worlds is a place as powerful as it is dangerous.
Desperate to bring Ben back home, Rey is willing to sacrifice everything.
Foreword/Warnings - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 -
Can't stop thinking about unconscious whumpee waking up in the middle of being cared for.
The initial realization from carer (or carers) that whumpee is gaining consciousness. "They're coming around" (maybe said with relief, or with quietly uttered curses because whumpee being awake will only make things more complicated at this moment) and "Hey, Whumpee, you with me?" and "You're safe, I've got you."
Whumpee coming to, confused and hurting, while carer struggles to keep them calm so they don't injure themself further. Maybe whumpee is too out of it to remember anything after the fact, but their screams, the pleas and begging, are something carer won't soon forget. Or maybe whumpee remembers every second of it, and afterwards has to face carer knowing that carer has seen them at their most vulnerable.
Daryl could hear the smile in your voice and he sighed. "We ain't lost," he drawled.
"Are you sure? Because I think we might be going in circles. I swear I've seen that tree stump before... and that clump of grass. And that squirrel."
Daryl let out an amused huff. "What, yer on a first name basis with the squirrels now?"
You grinned at him. "Maybe. I think you're just distracted and are too embarrassed to admit that you, the great Daryl Dixon, are, in fact, lost."
Daryl stopped walking and turned to face you, trying to hide the small mark of amusement that kept tugging on his lips. "The only thing distractin' me righ' now is the unending stream of talk comin' outta yer mouth," he teased. "I know righ' where we are. Just trust me."
You shrugged and fell into stride beside him again. "If you say so. Though... it might not be too bad if we were lost."
He glanced sideways at you, perplexed. "The hell ya talkin' 'bout?"
"Nothing. Just—it's kind of nice, you know?"
"What is?" Daryl asked, already feeling heat flushing in the center of his chest and threatening to spill into his face. He thought he could sense something.
"Being alone with you for a walk in the woods," you said. "I can think of far worse things to be doing with my time. Almost an infinite number."
Now the heat was pouring into his face. He was sure of it. "Whatever," he murmured. "Weirdo..." Deflection. Real brave, Daryl.
But you only smiled at him serenely and watched him shake his wavy hair forward as he ducked his head in an attempt to hide his face.
Prompt: "Just admit it. We're lost."
Your blurbs have been so good! Can I please get a 🙅♀️🩹 🧸😬👀
both of us (spencer reid x reader)
prompt: 🙅♀️ stopping a lover from sacrificing themselves, 🩹 tending to each other's wounds, 🧸 exes with feelings, 😬 confessing their feelings, 👀 forced proximity
summary: when a bomb leaves you trapped in rubble with your ex, the two of you are forced to address your feelings.
category: angst with happy ending
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
warnings: mentions of a bomb, descriptions of injury/violence/blood, serious injury
word count: 2.1k
a/n: so this turned into a bit longer than a blurb, but there was so much here and i wanted to do the prompt justice bc it was a brilliant idea.
Send me a request!
Send me a blurb prompt!
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
It took three minutes and forty-seven seconds to take down the unsub. Luckily, it had only taken two of you to apprehend him.
It was better this way, you thought as the bomb exploded one minute and thirteen seconds later, there were fewer casualties. The team would arrive to a decimated building, a dead unsub, and two agents in varying conditions. There were better results to a case, but you’d rather it be you than the entirety of your team.
You would mourn the fact that Spencer was there in the blast with you. He deserved a full life and all of the happiness he could possibly imagine. You’d once thought that you’d be a part of that happiness, back before the weight of this job darkened both of you.
As you laid on the ground slowly drifting off to unconsciousness, you wondered briefly if maybe you’d get that happiness with Spencer after all, in another place far from here.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
The afterlife felt pretty horrible.
When your mind came back to your body, the first thing that process was that your head was aching. Your ears were ringing, your left leg was far too painful to think about, and there was a large mass on top of you.
Then your eyes fluttered open only to meet the gaze of Spencer, whose face was inches from yours. “You’re awake,” Spencer sighed in relief, though every word was tensed as if he were in pain. “Are you hurt? Other than your head, I mean.”
Your head? One hand came up to press against the side of your head, wincing at the sting and the way your fingertips came away red. “My leg hurts,” you groaned, trying to look down to see the damage only to find that Spencer was hovering over you in a plank position, forearms on either side of your shoulders holding him up. The way his arms were engaged told you he was trying to keep off of you as much as possible, but you could feel his middle was still pressed against your lower abdomen and his legs were entangled with yours. Unfortunately with his height and the way he was laying, you couldn’t really see the rest of your bodies. You’d assume the leg injury wasn’t bad. “Uh, Reid?”
He hated when you called him that. It hurt you to call him anything else. “Yeah?”
“I’m a little scared to ask this, but why are you laying on top of me?”
He didn’t answer for a while. It took you repeating his name for him to finally tell you, amber eyes drifting to look off to the side. “There’s a piece of rebar in my side. It’s stuck in the ground and if I try to remove it there’s a good chance I’ll bleed out before help comes.”
Well damn. “You look pretty good for getting impaled.”
“That’s what you have to say to me?” Spencer asked incredulously.
“What do you want me to say, Spencer? It’s a shitty situation and I’m scared, but panicking over it won’t do anyone any good,” you answered then added, “at least we both brushed our teeth this morning, otherwise, this would really suck.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Aw, you’re gonna have to dumb it down for me so I can understand the insult a little better.”
“You know what insufferable means, Y/N. You’re one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met.”
“Oh really? ‘Cause when we broke up I distinctly remember you saying you wanted to date someone on your level,” you snapped, trying not to shift your body under his too much. As much as he annoyed you, Spencer was still someone you cared about and you’d hate to see him in more pain because of you.
When Spencer didn’t answer (and honestly, you didn’t blame him), you asked, “How long do we have until they can get us out?”
Spencer surveyed the space you two were in; it was small due to all of the rubble over top of you. There was a moderately-sized fire on the other side of the rubble you knew would eventually cause trouble for you two. Even if Spencer managed to dislodge the metal in his side, you weren’t sure the two of you could make it out without assistance.
“Search and rescue can’t come in until the building is deemed stable enough. With a building this size, it’ll take hours to stabilize. They might try to rush if there was a risk of heavy loss of life, but considering there were only three of us and one of them was a serial killer...”
“We’re fucked.”
“Yeah, that.” His words certainly didn’t spark any hope in your mind, especially since that fire was only making you run out of precious oxygen faster.
Time passed by slowly. There were long periods of time spent in silence until one of you would say something, anything. Finally, you asked, “Reid, can you reach my thigh?”
“You, what?” Spencer asked, eyes wide as if he hadn’t quite heard you right.
“I know you heard me,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “My leg really hurts and I need to assess the damage but I don’t want to move and make you fall.” It had seemed the way the metal was positioned in Spencer’s body—you shuddered at the mere thought of it—was keeping the bleeding at a minimum. Any movement at all would risk opening the wound far sooner than it would take for the rescue team to get there.
“Okay,” Spencer agreed. It would be a team effort to make it happen. You brought your hands up to Spencer’s shoulders to steady him while he moved one arm down to your leg. You couldn’t help the small gasp that came when you felt his fingers against your thigh for the first time in a year.
As much as you tried not to admit it, you missed Spencer. Of course, you still saw him at work every day. After the breakup, you both decided to stay civil at work because you each loved the BAU team too much to transfer out. It was great in that you got to continue seeing your friends every day, but now you had to constantly see your ex. You watched as he seemingly moved on from you a little more each day until all that was left was you two interacting as little as possible at work.
“It feels like a cut. It’ll need stitches when we get out of here, but it’s not actively bleeding,” Spencer summarized for you before bringing his arm back up by your shoulder to hold him up.
“Well, good to hear I’m not dying,” you joked, trying to keep the mood up. Because what else was there to do when you were stuck with your ex literally pinned on top of you?
“Stop, Y/N. Don’t joke about that.”
“What? I’m sorry.”
“I just, I don’t want to think about you dying,” Spencer told you, effectively stopping the conversation.
Not for the first time since it happened a year ago, you wished you hadn’t broken up with him. It had been a stupid fight really, but when Spencer gets mad he knows the exact thing to say to cut right to someone’s core. He’d never been that mad at you before, but the moment he did he’d spouted such awful things about you, things you’d already thought more than once about yourself.
It wasn’t much longer until the light inside the building was dimming, signaling night was coming. You were also coughing more, turning your head, and trying to ignore the way your jerking chest made Spencer wince in pain.
“We won’t last much longer like this,” Spencer broke the silence again, and you could just make out the grim expression on his face. It was the look he was giving you that made a pit form in your stomach.
“It’ll be okay. They’re coming for us,” you reassured him. You’d long since pressed your hands back up against his chest, helping Spencer stay in position when his arms had started to shake. It was true you were exhausted; every muscle in your arms was burning and you were sure Spencer’s were worse. Your lungs were starting to sting from the gathering smoke slowly leaking into the enclosed space you two were trapped in. Spencer wasn’t wrong, you just didn’t want to consider that you two had suffered this long only to lose in the end anyway.
“We might not have time,” Spencer reminded you, eyebrows drawing together as he spoke. “You can get out.”
“Uh, Reid? I don’t know if you forgot, but you’re kinda on top of me.”
“I know.” Spencer sighed, wisely looking away from you as he said, “If I move off of the rebar, you can get out of here.”
No. You hadn’t answered aloud, and your hands scrambled to wrap around him as Spencer’s body began moving. “No! Absolutely fucking not, you’re not sacrificing yourself for me.”
“I’m not letting you die like this, Y/N. You need to live, I’ll do anything to make that happen.”
“You can’t, I won’t let you,” you insisted.
“Why not? Why are you being so stubborn?” Spencer exclaimed, the hair that had long since fallen into his face moving around a little with his exaggerated movements.
“Because I love you!” you shouted, the words echoing off of all the ruined metal around you two. That statement alone had shocked Spencer into silence, but you couldn’t leave it there. “I love you, Spencer Reid, so much. You’re not dying for me. We either die together or we make it out so I can show you how much I’ve missed you.”
“You love me?” His voice was small now, careful as though he was expecting a trap. You supposed you couldn’t blame him, after everything that had happened.
“I never stopped, how could I when you’re so...well, you?”
“You broke up with me.”
“I know,” you sighed, feeling the tears slip down your cheeks onto the rapidly cooling concrete below you. Your heart was still racing from the danger of losing Spencer, and you wondered if he could feel it against his own. “I was angry and hurt. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”
“Don’t, you can apologize to me when we get out of here.”
“But, Y/N, what if I d-”
“No, you will. You will, Spencer, you hear me? It’s not happening like this,” you demanded. And as if to prove your point, you ignored the sharp pain in your head as you leaned up just enough to press a brushing kiss to his lips. “We’re going to be saved, just hold on for me, please.”
And sure enough, it wasn’t long before you could hear the distant sounds of the fire department moving through the rubble. “Oh, thank G-d,” you breathed. “See, Spencer? They’re coming for us.”
No reply. Oh no. Feeling panic rising in your throat, you tried again. “Spencer? Spencer, c’mon.” Reaching your hand down, you could feel a renewed gentle flow of blood seeping out of Spencer’s abdomen onto yours. You thought of how you’d clung to him at the thought of him dying, how you’d pulled his body close to yours. Had that done this?
“Help! Please, help us!” you screamed at such a high volume it hurt your throat. “Please, we need help in here!” Your hands were now the only thing holding Spencer up. A sob ripped from your throat as your arms shook, muscles trying to give in but your sheer strength of will kept them engaged. “Please!”
Then men and women were breaking through the rubble. You sobbed with relief as they took up the mantle of holding Spencer steady as they cut him free. Within minutes both of you were strapped to boards and being led out of the rubble.
The team was all there. Emily was on you in seconds, walking right alongside the emergency personnel. “You’re okay, it’s okay, Y/N. You have to calm down.”
Were you panicking?
“You’re strapped down so you don’t hurt yourself, Y/N, it’s okay.”
“Spencer,” you finally gasped out, trying to look for him but being unable to move your neck around the c-collar.
“They said he’ll be okay,” Emily reassured you as she hopped into the ambulance with you. “He’s already on the way to the hospital, Morgan’s with him. You’re both going to be okay.”
“We’ll be okay,” you whispered. You repeated it until you got to the hospital; until you got to the emergency department trauma room where you were given so many medications it made your mind float away.
And when you woke up again, it was the first set of words on your lips. Upon turning your head, you saw Spencer peacefully unconscious in the hospital bed beside yours. At least the team had been kind enough to request you two be in the same room.
Hi I’m back because couples who aren’t together just yet are EVERYTHING
And the new theme?? The icon?? Sanne 😍
May I request “you matter so much to me” with Dick? A little angsty if you’re feeling it?
hey there!!! thank you hehe i felt it was time for a theme change bc fall ❤️ hope you like it! thanks for sending a request 🥰
dick grayson x gn!reader. tw: reader is injured but not much description of the injury, mention of bombing, dick being a protective sweetheart, love confession.
****
You're probably being paranoid.
You probably don't need to call Dick. He'll definitely be busy right now. And you call him way too much as it is.
Wally had asked last month if you two were dating, which had been a humiliating conversation, so you've been vigilant about not clinging to Dick so much. You're just friends. That's all you'll ever be.
These two guys at the train station are really freaking you out, though. What do all the posters say? See something, say something?
You take a deep breath and dial.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Dick," you say tentatively.
"Hey!" Dick says, sounding slightly breathless. "Hey, how are you? I've missed you, what have you been up to?"
The smile in his voice makes you ache. Fuck. You should've just called an Uber.
"Hey. I'm okay. Sorry for not calling, I've been, uh, swamped at work."
"That's okay. It's nice to hear from you."
You melt. "It's nice to hear from you, too."
One of the guys across the station tosses a duffel bag inside of a storage closet and closes the door, then locks it. Right. Back to why you called.
"Dick, I think these two guys at the train station might be up to something. I could be wrong! I-I'm probably wrong, but—"
"What are they doing?" he asks, and you can hear him shifting to Nightwing Mode.
"They threw a duffel bag into a closet, but they don't look like workers. And—"
One of them lifts his coat, and you see a holstered gun. Shit.
"Oh my God," you whisper. "One of them has a gun."
"Get out of there," Dick orders. "I'm on my way. I'll pick you up. Meet me on the corner of Mason and Jewel."
"Okay," you say, heartbeat rabbiting. "Okay, um, Mason and Jewel. Got it."
"It'll be okay," he says, a little gentler this time. "I won't let anything happen to you, alright? Go somewhere where there's a lot of people, and stay on the line."
You take a deep breath. "O-okay. I trust you."
You head for the stairs when the ground rumbles under your feet. People begin to shout and you run faster, trying to make it out of the station.
"What's happening, honey? Talk to me," Dick urges.
You hardly register the honey in your panic.
"The ground's shaking. Dick—"
Something knocks into your back and you crumple to the floor, phone falling from your hand. Everything goes black.
****
You open your eyes to blackness, and for a moment, you're afraid you've lost your sight. But then the shadows become clearer, and you can make out distinct, albeit dimly lit, shapes.
You try to form a word but the air has been sucked out of your lungs and it sounds more like a wheeze.
The surface beneath you is soft and firm. There's a blanket over your shoulders.
You rasp out a sound that's an attempt at 'hello.' Your lips are cracked, and your throat feels like you chugged cement.
A hand rests on your forehead. You try to sit up.
"Easy, easy. Don't try moving just yet."
Dick is in his Nightwing suit, but the mask is off. You blink at him slowly. You'd almost forgotten how blue his eyes are.
"Can you tell me your birthday?" he asks, continuing to stroke your face.
You tell him your birthday. Your throat feels like sandpaper, and a straw is pushed to your lips. You drink the water greedily.
"Wha' happ'd?" you ask.
"There was a small bomb. Half the station collapsed." Dick sucks in a deep breath and seems to steel himself. "You, um, you hit your head pretty hard. I found you and brought you back to the Batcave. I want to monitor you overnight just in case."
Your eyes widen. "Batcave?"
Dick smiles. "The one and only. I'll give you a tour later."
You frown. "Shouldn't you be out there?"
"Oh." Dick rubs his neck. "Well, uh, the others have got it pretty much covered. But I can give you space, if-if you're tired or something. Uh, Alfred's upstairs if you need anyth—"
You shake your head. "Not kicking you out, Dickie. Just don't wanna keep you from important stuff."
Dick leans in, looking at you intently.
"You're important."
You smile and look away, belly swooping at his seriousness.
"Oh. Thank you, Dick."
"I mean it," he says fiercely, then swallows. "You are... you're one of the most important people in my life. You matter so much to me. I should've said so earlier, and I guess today was the kick in the pants I needed."
You turn to him, eyes wide. "What are you saying?"
Dick slips his hand into yours, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.
"Every day, I see how fragile life is," Dick says. "Witnessed it for myself, too. I can't—I don't want to pretend that I don't care about you as much as I do. That I don't wish we were more. And if you don't feel the same way, then that's okay, but I needed to say something before—"
"Dick," you murmur.
He stops. "Yeah?"
"Kiss me."
He blinks once, twice, then wastes no more time. Dick cups your jaw with both hands. It's almost overwhelming, the way Dick Grayson kisses you like you're the only person in the universe.
His hair is just as soft as you imagined, and you tangle your other hand in it, massaging the base of his neck. Dick makes a quiet whine in the back of his throat, and you hungrily swallow the sound.
"Ahem."
You flinch apart, and Dick covers his mouth. He glances at you through his lashes, and the look promises that he's not finished with you.
All excitement about said promise self-destructs when you see Batman standing ten feet away. Even under the cowl, he looks unimpressed.
"Nightwing," he says. "Taking care of our patient?"
Oh God. You're never setting foot in Gotham again.
"Excellent care," Dick says, apparently used to Batman's cheek.
"Hn. I expect a report of the station incident tomorrow."
"Of course. Do you need me out there?"
"No. It's handled." Batman looks at you. "You are welcome to join us for dinner."
He swooshes away with a truly unnecessary jump into the Batmobile. You wait until he's gone before groaning and putting your face in your hands.
"Oh my God, I just made out with you in front of Batman. I can never face him."
Dick pulls you into his arms, kissing your temple.
"Are you kidding? He basically just welcomed you into the family. I knew he'd like you."
Life Is Short And So Am I @whiskeywinter89 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
