#and away from the hostile ricks….

[fear-no-mort]

rick not moving until he’s sure morty is okay….

[celtic-crossbow]

Blood Ties Chapter 18

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; mention of injuries; sexual themes; illness

A/N: I know I say this almost every time but this chapter is very lackluster and not my best. I had some major writers block and I struggled to get this done to the point where I was ready to give up altogether. I knew where I wanted to go, but words just weren’t happening. Hopefully, now that I’m past this part, it will be easier. Thank you for reading. I’m so sorry for the subpar work. 😢

You were actually a good patient, following Hershel’s recommendations by staying in bed, drinking more water, and not skipping or sharing meals. Daryl, to your surprise, returned to the room just a while later with a plastic bowl of some tasteless stew Carol had made. You didn’t complain, the woman always did the best she could. They had run out of any seasonings or herbs and with the cold weather, it was unlikely you’d find anything growing. 

“Ya need anything?” Daryl asked. You regarded him as he stood at the foot of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck while avoiding looking at you. 

“No, I’m okay.” You took another bite, eyes following him. He retrieved his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder, heading for the door. “Where’re you going?”

“Gonna try an’ hunt. S’cold as fuck out there but maybe I can manage some rabbit.” He shrugged halfheartedly. You hummed and stirred your stew until you heard the sound of the doorknob turning. 

“Daryl?” You blurted out. 

“Yeah?” He still wasn’t looking at you. You could feel the difference in the atmosphere. It wasn’t hostile, just uncomfortable. 

“Please don’t disappear.” You meant it in more ways than one, though you weren’t sure if he would pick up on the entirety of the request. Please don’t leave us. Please don’t hide away. Please just come back. 

“I won’t.” And then he was gone. He left the door slightly ajar, in case you needed something. 

Daryl didn’t lie aside from his constant use of ‘I’m fine’ when he was always so clearly not. So, you knew he’d be back. He wasn’t just going hunting. He was going to clear his head. You knew that because it’s what you would do, were you able to seek refuge in the woods safely. You missed hunting, the safety and comfort of the trees surrounding you. The stillness and quiet sounds that provided much needed calm in times of overwhelming chaos. You wanted to believe that you would feel it again, but you would have a newborn in a few weeks. A little person that would rely on your constant presence. Maybe those days were over for you. 

Daryl wanted more. He had made that clear. He wasn’t going to run away from the newness of what you had both expressed you were seeking. He needed time. It was fresh and formidable. You weren’t sure of his past experiences with relationships or perhaps even lack thereof, but it was clearly overwhelming for him. 

Especially since you had proclaimed to love him. 

That had shaken him. You could have kicked yourself for burdening him with that information. It wasn’t the right time. He had only just accepted that you meant more to him than you could have ever hoped and you just had to go and complicate it. You could only hope that it wasn’t so much that he’d change his mind. 

Rick had taken Glenn and Maggie to rummage through some nearby homes and a small town, returning with a bottle of meds for you that was about a third full. They had managed several cans of vegetables, two bags of rice, and a box of angel hair pasta. It wasn’t much but it would keep the group from starvation. 

You managed most of the stew, getting out of bed to join everyone else downstairs. Hershel had been apprehensive until you immediately stretched out on the couch and wrapped up in a blanket to continue resting without being trapped in isolation. The silence upstairs had been too much, the voices of fear and doubt in your head speaking too loudly. 

“How are you feeling, young lady?” The old man asked. He checked your stitches, used a stethoscope to listen to the baby’s heartbeat, and felt around on your belly, chuckling when he was continuously kicked at each disturbance. “Someone’s lively this evening.”

“Yeah, they’re tap dancing on my bladder but I don’t…” you trailed off and looked out the window. You had needed to pee since coming downstairs but didn’t feel safe going without Daryl anymore. It almost made you nauseous how dependent you’d become. Always the damsel in distress, the wimpy princess who couldn’t do anything for herself. 

“Things change when you find yourself in your condition.” You slowly brought your attention back to Hershel. The veterinarian was wise, had proven to be so back at the farm. Not always reasonable— as a barn full of walkers had shown —but wise, nonetheless. “You’re accustomed to living a certain way, taking care of yourself. And then there’s suddenly this little person depending on you to keep them safe. It’s not always easy to make that transition.” He gently rolled down your shirt and pulled the blanket up over you. “I could sense from the day I met you that you were a free spirit. You didn’t always want to listen. I’ve watched you shift from a woman who took care of herself by any means necessary to a woman who would do anything to protect her child. There’s no shame in that and the rewards will be sweeter than anything you’ve ever known before.” Hershel stood, knees cracking. With a gentle smile, he patted your shoulder. “You’ll see.”

You returned the smile, rubbing a hand over the swell of your belly as the old man took his leave. “He’s right, Thumper. You’re worth it.” Glancing back out the window, Daryl was trudging tiredly toward the house with two rabbits. You smiled, resting your head on the back of the couch to watch him interact with Rick. “You’re both worth it.”

“Whatcha doin’ outta bed?” Daryl was pulling off his crossbow, watching you warily. You wiggled until you were sitting up against the couch arm. 

“Don’t worry. I asked Hershel. As long as I rest, I’m okay.” He watched you for a moment longer before giving a nod, disappearing to prep the rabbits for cooking the next day. Carol smiled at him in passing. You couldn’t see his face but heard him grunt in acknowledgment. Maybe one day you’d be fluent in the complicated language of Daryl. 

“How’re you feeling?” A bottle of water was handed to you. You hadn’t even realized you were thirsty until you were removing the cap and tilting it to your lips. 

After several generous gulps, you lowered the water and sighed contentedly. “I didn’t know I needed that.” 

“Well, you’ve been—“ she turned her head toward where Daryl had walked away, looking back to you with an arched brow, “preoccupied.”

Your face warmed and you ducked your head. “Is it obvious?”

“Well, I’m not deaf.” She chuckled, patting your knee. 

“You heard?” You blanched, knowing you had grown impossibly redder. 

“I think everyone did.” 

“Oh god.” Mortified was an understatement. You were suddenly trying to recall the moments they could have heard but only succeeded in encouraging a sudden wave of arousal between your thighs. Well, that’s not helping. “Don’t say anything to— they can’t tease him. He’ll never—”

Carol reached out to rub your upper arm, shaking her head. “No one is saying anything. We’re all just glad some of the tension around here has eased.” She meant Rick and Lori, that wasn’t hard to figure out. 

You had barely opened your mouth to reply when Rick came in, moving quickly but quietly. 

“The fire.” He whispered harshly. You sat up straight, ignoring the pull of the stitches, and looked out the window, the scene becoming clear once the reflected light from the flames was doused. 

You managed to duck your head just as a walker passed by the the glass, its arm dragging across the surface with an eerie scraping. A myriad of shadows danced across the wall, your wide eyes following them until Daryl was crouched in front of you with a finger to his lips. His crossbow was by his foot while his hands held your boots and jacket. 

“Be quick.” He whispered so quietly that he may have only mouthed the words. You nodded and took the items, pulling on your boots without tying them and shrugging on your jacket. “Stay low.” It was hard not to smile, even with danger lurking so closely, when he wrapped his hand around yours. You let him guide you, walking as low as you could manage. 

Carol was coming down the stairs, your bag on one shoulder and her own on the other. Daryl let go of your hand to grab his bag on the way to the back door. Everyone had already gathered, Rick falling in behind Carol. The archer held up a hand to have you wait further back while he checked outside. 

“Here.” Carol whispered from your right. You glanced at her only to find her looking down, your knife held out to you. “I’ve got your gun and holsters in your bag.” Nodding your thanks, your hand wrapped around the handle and you brought the weapon in close, meeting Daryl’s eyes for a fleeting moment before he cracked open the door and peered outside. 

“S’clear. Go ‘round the right. Straight to the cars.” He began to wave everyone through, catching your hand as you passed. “Stay close to Carol. Be right behind ya.”

“Okay.” You agreed quickly and followed the other woman out. Only the pale moonlight illuminated the snowy ground as the lot of you bobbed and weaved your way around the herd. You couldn’t hear steps behind you but that wasn’t uncommon with Daryl. Even with the extra weight you carried, your own footfalls were light. 

It was close to impossible to see the dead and with the symphony of moans and snarls echoing from all around, you barely had time to stop and take a step back before the walker crossed into your path. Knife ready, you took down the woman with ease, lowering with the body to keep the noise to a minimum. 

She looked to have been a pretty lady, maybe in her thirties. Her blonde hair was missing in patches and her skin was torn and gaping in places. She was sporting a t-shirt that read “No. 1 Mom.”

You let that simmer after Daryl pulled you to your feet, urging you to resume the trek to the van. It was within view now, with only three walkers circling. Glenn, Maggie, and T-Dog dispatched them quickly enough, creating an open path straight to the vehicle. 

Twenty minutes on the road was long enough to lose yourself in consideration of the woman you’d put down. It wasn’t hard to imagine yourself meeting a similar fate, maybe forced to bear witness to the grizzly death of your child or dying without knowing what became of them. What if she had been the one to kill her kid? What if it was an infant, a toddler? Unable to understand why this person who was meant to protect them was causing them pain?

You cried for her. You cried for the child. Silent tears that you didn’t attempt to hinder while you sought out the comforting rumble of Daryl’s bike just ahead. Even if you did fall victim to the dead, he’d never allow your baby to be hurt. You could take comfort in that. As long as one of you was breathing, your child would never know harm. 

The weather only grew more unforgiving as the days wore on, chipping away at any shreds of hope that were managing to survive in your little group. Another home found and lost. Freezing nights huddled against Daryl in the backseat of the van. A great deal of the blankets had been sacrificed when fleeing the dead. Of course, you, Lori, and Carl were given the heaviest ones that remained. Daryl would wrap you snugly and then hold you tight, claiming that alone would keep him warm enough. Apparently he still thought you were stupid. 

Food was dwindling. Once again, you were arguing with the archer about eating meager portions so that you could have more. If each bite wasn’t worth more than gold had been valued in the old world, you would have surely thrown many a bowl at him. 

His hunting trips grew longer and longer, now gone for no less than two days at a time. Measures were in place to ensure he knew how to find the group should the need to flee become necessary in his absence. Still, you worried. He manged to bring back more, usually rabbits but had lucked out with a small doe on the last excursion. With an extra few runs, enough salt was procured for the majority of the meat to be dried into jerky. It was sorted into each of your bags so it was sure to not be left behind if you had to leave quickly. The rest of the meat was prepared into a stew that could be reheated for a couple of days. 

It was nice to eat well for once, surrounded by full bellies and sleepy faces. The one face you wanted to see was absent, however. Daryl was on first watch at the small ranch style home. There were no fences but the land was open for a good distance before the treeline. Walkers would be spotted and the group could move on before the dead even made it halfway to the house. 

You bundled up, pulling up your hood, meaning to sit outside with him for a while. You grabbed one of the smaller blankets on your way out. Whether he admitted it or not, the long sleeve flannel under his vest was not enough to keep the frigid temperatures at bay. He was coughing into his elbow as you passed over the threshold, noticing his stew, long cold, was hardly touched. Pointing it out would only lead to another argument and at 28 weeks pregnant in an apocalypse, you just didn’t have the energy to spare. 

He was scrubbing a hand roughly over his face when you draped the fabric over his shoulders. For once, he didn’t argue, simply nodding while watching you move his bowl aside to sit down. 

He cleared his throat, his voice quiet and raspy. “Weren’t that hungry.” 

“I can heat it for you later if you change your mind.” Shoving your hands into your pockets, you leaned onto his shoulder and watched the gentle flurries pepper down from above.

“Ain’t gonna nag me?” 

“Nope.” You smiled fondly to yourself. “You’re stubborn as ten mules and this baby has been kicking me non stop for two days. I don’t have the energy to attempt and force feed their father.” He nudged his shoulder upward, jarring a giggle out of you. “We do need to find you a coat. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here.”

“Your tits ain’t never cold.”

Rolling your head on his shoulder, you feigned offense. “Why, Daryl Dixon. Did you just call me a witch?”

“If the broomstick fits.” 

That coaxed a startled laugh out of you. “Huh.” You stared at him a moment longer and then settled back into watching the snow. 

“What?” He leaned a little to angle his head in order to see your face.

“Thought you’d misplaced your sense of humor, that’s all. Maybe you found it while your head was so far up your ass.”

“Think you're funny?” He huffed, clearly not annoyed. It was refreshing to just talk like two people in a relationship on a cold, snowy night. Maybe you could pretend the world hadn’t ended for at least a moment. 

“Oh, I know I am. It’s part of my irresistible charm.” You retorted cheerily. Daryl made a pfft sound and joined you in watching the snow. It was almost hypnotic; the peace of the moment drawing you in until you were sure you’d fall asleep. 

When Daryl coughed again, you startled and sat up straight. He had turned away and buried his face in the crook of his elbow, muffling the sound to the best of his ability. 

“Are you okay?” It was hard to keep the concern out of your tone, terrified he’d withdraw from you. He had been trying, the evidence of his efforts displayed in his own ways. 

Over the last month, you’d never felt closer to him. He had found a truck, loading the bike in the back so that you would be with him anytime moving was necessary. There wasn’t much time for intimacy, not sexually, though he’d made you cum on his fingers a few times while the others laid behind him, sound asleep and none the wiser. He seemed to enjoy your company, especially while on watch. He didn’t speak much but when he did, he was soft and attentive. He would watch you in silence, tinkering with his crossbow or prepping a kill to be cooked. He still agitated easily, but he was trying. You couldn’t ask for more than that. 

“M’fine. Just a cold.”

It made sense. He was out in the elements more than anyone. He wasn’t eating or sleeping nearly enough. His body could only take so much abuse. 

“We have the venison, Daryl. Why don’t you stay in for a few days?” Pulling your hands from your pockets, you dragged the sleeves down to cover them. How did the man stand it without proper clothing?

“Could always use more. That jerky ain’t gonna last forever an’ the stew will keep a day or two.” The flickering glow from the lighter’s flame cast a soft hue across his face, gone too quickly for you to truly admire. Pulling the cigarette from his lips, he turned his head to blow the smoke away from you. Such a small gesture, but it made your heart flutter. 

“Well, I can’t argue with that, I guess.” In truth, you couldn’t. Food was food and it was necessary. “Maybe I could go with you. You know I can hunt and—”

“Nah. No way.” He barely got the words out before coughing again. “You’re stayin’ here with ev’ryone else.”

“I can help and you know it.” You weren’t angry, but still found it difficult to keep the bitterness out of your words.

“Know ya can. Don’t mean ya should.” He took another draw from his smoke, exhaling while rubbing at his throat. Was he even aware he was doing that? “Best way ya can help me is stayin’ here an’ keepin’ the two’a ya safe.” It was dark but you could still see the pink beginning to cover his cheeks. “Get inside ‘fore ya get sick.”

You smiled slyly, crossing your arms. “I’ll go inside if you go too.” He turned his head toward you, brow drawn inward. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, angry, or amused. Either way, you tipped up your chin defiantly. “Someone else can take watch. You’re leaving to hunt tomorrow and need to sleep.”

Those blue eyes narrowed, the flare of the cigarette giving them the illusion of burning like the hottest flame. He never looked away, exhaling from the corner of his mouth to keep the smoke away from you. “You’re a brat.” 

“Yep.” You grinned. 

“Fine. Jesus, go inside. Be there in a minute.” He grumbled something under his breath and continued his smoke, shaking his head after looking away from you. With a triumphant HA, you grabbed the dilapidated railing by the steps and pulled yourself to your feet, cradling your belly to bend enough for your lips to press against his cheek. “Pain in my ass.”

He made you cum twice that night but not before denying you for an agonizing amount of time. 

“This baby is definitely a Dixon. Doesn’t ever stop moving.” 

Carol chuckled, stirring the stew she had just removed from the fire in the other room. “You’re gonna miss it once they’re born, I promise.” Her smile faded, a morose air encasing her. As your baby moved under your hand once again, a pang of guilt came with it. 

“Oh, Carol, I’m sorry.”

The silver-haired woman rarely spoke of her daughter anymore, but that wasn’t to say that the pain ever left her eyes. There was a permanent sadness etched there. Now two women she traveled with, survived alongside, were pregnant. It was a slap in the face from the universe. 

But Carol? She handled it with a grace you weren’t sure you would ever possess. 

“Nothing to apologize for, silly.” She reached for the hand that lay across your rounded middle and squeezed it. You smiled solemnly as she went back to stirring the day’s meal. “Daryl should be back today. He never stays out more than two days.” She chuckled quietly. “I think he only does that much out of necessity. He’d likely stay right here with you if he had a choice.”

“I think he leaves for two days cause he needs a break from me.” You mused, plucking a piece of venison right from the pot. Carol shot you a sarcastic look of disapproval but refrained from scolding you. “I’m not easy to get along with at the best of times. Forget being in a relationship with me while I’m 92 weeks pregnant.”

“So you did take that step.” When you blinked at her with wide eyes, she shrugged. “He’s not exactly forthcoming with details regarding his personal life but sightings have been noted of cheek kissing and even a little hand holding.”

“Glenn never could keep his mouth shut.” 

“Don’t worry. He’s been informed that if Daryl ever hears him, he’s likely to lose a limb. He’s aware of the dangers.” While the two of you laughed, Maggie stuck her head in the door. 

“Daryl’s back.” She waggled her eyebrows at you, prompting a one-fingered gesture in return. “Real classy, Y/N.”

“Hey, I am the perfect representation of a lady.” You winked at Carol and squeezed her upper arm before meeting Maggie in the doorway, bumping her with your hip. You quietly released a tense breath once out of sight. It was getting late. Try as you might, you couldn’t help but worry when it took him a little longer to get back. 

Grabbing your coat, you quickly pulled it on and zipped it. There was still plenty of room for your growing belly. It should last you the remainder of the pregnancy. The snow was at least four inches deep, quite the difference from when the archer had left two days prior. Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog were out scavenging for the usual food and medicine, but you had cornered them before they left and made them promise to find a warm coat for Daryl. 

The wind was frigid in the evening hours, the temperature steadily dropping. Your face stung from only seconds of exposure when you walked down the steps to meet him. At first glance, everything seemed fine. It wasn’t until he was closer that you noticed his unsteady gait, the way he was dragging the string of rabbits through the white powder behind him. 

“Hey.” You called over the gusts, smiling at him when he slowly looked up. He didn’t return the expression but he wasn’t a teeth and gums smiler anyway. That much you could brush aside without concern. It was the wet, barking cough into the crook of his elbow that shifted your concern to something just short of panic. “Daryl?”

“Got some rabbits.” He croaked, walking right past you and into the house. You followed on his heels, leaning forward to relieve him of the four animals before he could object. He fixed you with a sharp glare but you only smiled and backed toward the kitchen. 

“Just gonna put these in there. We can clean them together in just a bit.” There was no time for either of the other women to question your hurry. You deposited the rabbits on the counter by the old sink and exited just as quickly as you had entered. 

Daryl was coughing again when you returned, a painful sounding hack that jarred his entire body. His chest seemed to rattle with each breath, his movements sluggish while he removed his crossbow from his back. 

“Hey, are you okay?” You moved closer but still gave him several feet of distance. 

“M’fine.” He gestured vaguely around his upper torso. “S’just this fuckin’ cold.”

“Right.” You answered, watching him remove his poncho and vest. He must have sensed your eyes on him, an irritated glance thrown your way. 

“What?” He snapped. 

“You look like shit and sound even worse.” Your feet were propelling you toward him but he somehow managed to sidestep around you. “Daryl, hang on.”

“Ain’t in the mood for your shit, Y/N.” There was a sharp retort on the tip of your tongue that you swallowed when he began to cough again and staggered to catch himself against the wall. 

“Daryl?” You were at his side in an instant, your arm winding around this back to help support him. You couldn’t miss the heat you felt beneath his shirt. “Fuck, you’re hotter than a jalapeño’s ass!”

“Told ya, m’fine.” He hissed, probably attempting menacing but only managing a weak rasp. 

“You’re not fine, Daryl.” You held on tighter when he tried to shrug you off, a good thing since his legs buckled a moment later and took you both down. You managed to control the fall, ending with the two of you on your knees. Daryl coughed harshly, only managing to stay upright with your support. “Maggie! Maggie, get Hershel!”

“What’s wrong?” The eldest Greene ran into the room, followed by Carol. “Shit.”  One look and she disappeared, yelling for her father while Carol came around to Daryl’s other side. 

“Ain’t…no reason…for all this fussin’.”

“Shut up, Daryl. Daryl?” Your eyes met his briefly, fear and panic flashing through them before they rolled up and he slumped forward against you. “Daryl!”

[richonnesbitch]

Well, if Andy claims it was pretty much love at first sight for him then it’s not even a reach to believe that Rick’s grief over Lori is in part exacerbated not only because of his self perceived guilt about failing her but also subconscious guilt at how quickly and intensely he’s drawn to Michonne from the start. Even if Richonne was not initially considered right away, Andy certainly played Rick as a man clearly attracted to an alluring woman. Plus I love the idea of their relationship being a slow burn even though their feelings had long made themselves felt.

There have been richonners saying that for years, too!! That Rick was so hostile (for lack of a better word) with Michonne when she first arrived because he felt guilt about feeling attracted to her so soon after Lori died 😭 which is just so funny to me. I mean, who wouldn't fall in love with Michonne at first sight?

I honestly don't see how people can look at richonne and think there was no buildup to their relationship. Watching before they went canon, I literally don't see how it could have went any other way..... to me their entire story has always been romantic. Always. I love their slow burn. It's the best I've ever seen!

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

“The hell d’ya want?” Daryl growled. He didn’t even look up at you, just kept messing with his crossbow across his lap.

You felt wounded by his tone but tried not to take it personally. Finding out Sophia was dead had hurt all of you, but Daryl seemed to take it harder than anyone but Carol. “I—I don’t know. I just—things are tense back over there,” you said, gesturing vaguely back toward the camp close to the farmhouse. Daryl had removed himself from it and was spending his time far away from the others. “Shane and Rick are arguing about everything it seems like...” you stopped and leaned against the tree trunk next to his tent. He stayed silent.

“So?” he growled. This time his eyes flickered up to you and they were steely and guarded. “The hell ya talkin’ to me about it for?”

You gulped and frowned at his response. This was far harsher than usual for the archer... You struggled for something to say, at a loss for how to respond to his hostile tone.

“I got my own damn problems without figuring out you and everybody else’s bullshit,” he snapped at you. “I been takin’ on shit that ain’t mine to deal with since ya’ll showed up at the damn quarry! Maybe Merle was right. Other people are more damn trouble than they’re worth.”

You shook your head. “This isn’t you talking, Daryl. I know you’re upset but—”

He stood up abruptly. “What the hell d’ya know ‘bout me? Not a damn thing! Yer just like the rest of ‘em,” he said, flicking a hand in your direction. “Ya only want me around to watch yer ass and put fuckin’ food on yer plate. Tha’s the only reason ya want me around, to make sure ya dun get fuckin’ bit or starve to death. Well, ‘m sick of it.”

Your jaw clenched and you fought with angry and hurt tears rather unsuccessfully. You knew he was hurting profoundly, but this was too much. “That’s really how you feel?” you choked out.

He glared at you, a turbulent ocean in his eyes. “Yeah. That’s how I fuckin’ feel,” he growled. “Merle was right. We shoulda robbed that damn camp and moved on.”

You recoiled, stunned by what he’d just said and sick and angry all at once. You’d flinched back almost as if he’d physically hit you, and when he saw that his stomach tightened into a knot and twisted. Regret. Instant regret. But the damage was done. He saw the muscle in your jaw tense and the angry tears in your eyes. “Fuck you, then,” you said. You turned, and he watched you stalking away all the way back across the open field, back to the others.

Shit. Why the fuck had he done that, to you of all people? Fuck. Why am I such an asshole? He collapsed down onto his camp chair and put his head in his hands, swirling, stormy emotions welling up in his chest and pushing on his lungs. 

Prompt: “Fuck you, then.” A/N: early show Daryl could be such an explosive, angry dude. Understandably so, but OUCH. C’mon, Dixon. Y/N is here to help... Ya gotta deal with those feelings, babe...

[theteasetwrites]

Don't Go Where I Can't Find You

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 9 (during six year time jump) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT—fingering, grinding, sideways sex?? (idk what it's called lol), gentle sex (I think?), unprotected sex (DON'T TRY IT AT HOME), straight (?) people sex, swearing, angst ❧ Word Count: 9.5k

❧ Prompt: "Did you ever even love me?" from the Norman Reedus Whores Discord Prompt Challenge (more info here)

❧ Summary: Daryl hasn't been the same since losing Rick, and though he loves you, he needs to do what he thinks is right: try to find his friend, bring back his body, or die trying. Six months apart is too much to handle, he soon realizes, and something is calling him back home.

❧ A/N: Hiiii how y'all doin... um so like I tried to do angst, smut, and fluff all in one??? And I also tried to knock out several requests in one fell swoop. So I have sort of a bastardization of what @shariiina requested (tho they asked for a big fight and makeup sex which I don't think I quite nailed but I will definitely try do that more accurately in the future), as well as some anon requests for soft/gentle sex and also reader crying during sex. I was ALSO trying to fit in the prompt from my prompt challenge thingy that my Discord group is doing lol so there's a lot happening here. I just hope it turned out ok! I think this is a pretty sweet little story with a steamy lovemaking scene and a pinch of angst. Some cute/funny moments as well I think.

You weren’t there when the bridge fell, but you heard it, and you felt the ashes from the fire as they drifted over your face. 

Daryl had shifted past you, not answering you as you asked what was going on. He had that thousand yard stare you’d seen before. You’d seen it when he lost Merle… When he lost Beth… When he lost Denise… 

When you grabbed his face with your hands to look him in the eye, asking what on Earth had happened as tears drowned out his vision, you knew what happened. Context clues gave it away, and the ache in Michonne’s wailing as she emerged from behind Daryl, Maggie and Carol supporting her limp, writhing body. 

In your bewilderment, you felt Daryl jerk himself from your grasp, retreating somewhere inside himself you couldn’t reach, somewhere you couldn’t follow. His grief was hostile territory for you, though his heart had become a world of comfort and familiarity the past few years. 

This excursion was far more intense than what you’d seen from him before, though. Death was a fixture of everyday life for you and everyone else you knew, but Rick’s death was unprecedented. Nothing could compare to the grief in its wake, especially not for Daryl.

For as long as you could, you left him alone. The only reminder of his presence after that was the feeling of his body weight dipping on the other side of your bed. You were surprised he even tried to sleep next to you, but it was the one thing reminding you that he was there. 

Only in the morning he’d be gone, a cool, silken expanse of olive green sheets where once his body lay, sprawled out with open arms trapping you so close to his chest for hours on end, until whatever responsibility he had took him away from you. 

Now he seemed to leave on his own accord, you supposed. You weren’t sure where he’d gone during the day, but it wasn’t for lack of looking. You found yourself wandering the streets of Alexandria sometimes, in the back of your mind trying to locate a man who didn’t want to be found, but maybe he wanted you to look for him, you thought. You loved him enough to never stop looking.

Each night he slept less and less. After a while, you weren’t sure if the nights were getting colder from the changing season, or if the warmth of his body you usually relied on was getting further from you. One thing you were sure of—autumn was fading into winter, and for the first time since you found yourself in his arms, you were cold.

One morning when you woke up, you were sure he hadn’t been to bed at all the night before. His musky scent of pine and tobacco still lingered, but it was gradually becoming more faint, and your home was becoming a shell, all because he wasn’t in it.

“Daryl,” you mumbled against your pillow, then flipped over in a half-sleep state to face him where he’d be if he were there. After a month of not waking up next to him, you would’ve thought you’d grow used to it by now. You’d never get used to it, not when waking up next to him was all you had to look forward to.

The haze of sleep still deluding you, you reached out to touch him, the empty space of him. Where are you? you heard your inner voice speak. Daryl… come home. 

Your eyes fluttered open with reluctance to see he wasn’t there. Again. 

But you heard him moving downstairs, that creaking of the old floorboards underneath his feet. You felt his presence when you were awake enough to feel anything. He was home, and that was enough to get you out of bed that morning.

“Daryl?” you called out to him softly, voice still groggy from sleep. Your bare feet were cold against the hardwood floor as you tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room, where you saw Daryl’s worn grey backpack sat upon the couch, next to his crossbow.

“Daryl, are you here?”

Approaching footsteps from the kitchen preceded his appearance. He emerged with a few cans of green beans, and a tired, sleepless look upon his face.

You sighed in relief, happy that he was home instead of wherever he went to be alone. Your smile faded when you realized how exhausted he looked, and how red the whites of his eyes were. 

You hadn’t been able to touch him in weeks, so when you took the cans out of his hands to place them on a nearby table, he seemed almost startled by your movement.

“You need sleep,” you said, tentatively coming closer and closer until you could rest your hands on his chest, gently moving them up and down against the scratchy fabric of his wool poncho. “Let’s lay down. You’re exhausted.”

His tenseness seemed to loosen under your touch, but his glassy eyes portrayed a different story. Something was off, something more than just grief.

“Sweetheart,” you said, while raising a hand to pin the unruly hairs behind his ears, “what’s wrong?”

He huffed, then removed your hands before turning to pick up the cans. “I’m leavin’,” he grumbled, his back turned towards you.

He moved to the couch to stuff the canned beans inside his pack, then zipped and buckled it tight. Next, he turned to the hallway, retrieving his quiver of bolts he usually used on trips outside the walls. 

You didn’t want him to leave. He didn’t have any reason to go out there. As far as you were concerned, his mental health needed to recover from the loss of his best friend, his brother, before he could even think about going out there. Still, maybe it was what he needed, and maybe when he’d come back in a few days like he always did, he’d be more like himself. Maybe it was what he needed to heal.

“When will you be back?” you asked, as you always did. 

He swallowed hard, averting his gaze, but not before he made incidental eye contact with you. You looked so innocent, so unaware of what he had planned. He couldn’t hide from it now. Weeks of milling over it in his addled brain had finally accumulated to this moment—telling you, the person he loved more than anything, that he didn’t know when he was coming back. He wasn’t even entirely sure where he was going. 

“I was going to make that casserole you like for dinner,” you added. It was better than the silence. “But I’ll wait till you get back. Unless you’re coming back tonight?”

He shook his head. “Don’t wait for me.”

“I’ll always wait for you,” you said, with a soft laugh under your breath. “Just tell me when and I’ll save it for when you come home.”

He went silent again, opting to arm himself with his various knives and utility belts instead of answering you. 

It wasn’t like him at all to ignore you, to avoid your touch, to avert his gaze. Maybe when you first met him three or four years ago, but not now. Not after two years of the greatest kind of intimacy two people could share with one another. 

You tested the waters, coming closer to touch him and see if he’d recoil again. Your hands held his, disrupting him from looping his belt. A small smile spread across your face, and though part of it was forced, all of it was born out of love for him. He’d told you before that your smile could fix everything for him, so you hoped he meant it.

“Hey,” you said. “I love you, Tarzan.”

The corner of his lip quirked ever so slightly, but something held him back from returning your smile, even if you called him that little moniker you gave him years ago, to reflect the “wild man” he seemed to be. He always felt more at home in the wilderness, it seemed.

What you expected was for him to return the sentiment, to call you “Jane” as he usually did. He only chewed his bottom lip, and watched your hands as they fit perfectly in his.

He only shook his head, a gesture so foreign to you in this circumstance. He should’ve smiled, held your hands tighter, kiss you… Not loosen himself from your grasp, not take his undying warmth away as he stepped backwards, away from you.

Of course, it was hard to react that way. It wasn’t his instinct, and a part of you knew it, but it still hurt. He didn’t want to say what he was about to, or to do what he was about to do, but he had to. At least, he convinced himself that he had to. 

“I’m goin’ away,” he said. 

“I know.”

“No,” he replied. “I’m goin’ away, and I ain’t comin’ back till I find Rick.”

You stepped back subconsciously, so much so that you couldn’t feel the back of your legs hit the couch. Gravity forced you to sit on the edge, somewhere between disbelief and confusion. None of those words made any sense together, in that order in which he spoke them. It must’ve been an illusion, some trick of the mind orchestrated by the debilitating loneliness that had settled in your heart. To make matters worse, you feared this was just the beginning. 

You tried to make sense of it, in a way that allowed the sense of it to become something else—something you could grasp. “Rick’s gone,” you said quietly. “How are you going to find him if he’s gone?”

He shook his head, as if he didn’t know the answer to that himself. He truly didn’t. “I’m gonna find him, dead or alive.”

“Alive?” you asked in bewilderment. “You… You think he’s alive?”

“Never found a body… Blast of the explosion coulda blown him somewhere nearby.”

“Daryl,” you said, “that’s…” Your words failed you then, as they often did when emotions took over. You couldn’t help it—you loved him, and Daryl never lied. If he said he wasn’t coming back, he wasn’t coming back. “You can’t leave.”

“I gotta.”

The lump in your throat was becoming impossible to swallow, and tried as you might, you couldn’t keep your voice from cracking under the pressure. Tears would soon follow, you were certain of it. Still, you were trying to delude yourself, to interpret Daryl’s straightforward words into something that didn’t tear you apart from the inside out.

“But you’ll be back soon,” you said, looking up at him with much more than just a hint of vulnerability in your face. “You’ll come back, even if you can’t find him?”

He lowered his head in silence, then finally replied: “I dunno.”

Your legs lifted you up to full height, a sudden burst of impatient energy seething through you.

“What does that mean?”

“Means I don’t know, (Y/N).”

You shook your head in bewilderment. “You can’t just leave. I mean, I understand you want to find him but… You can’t leave.”

He huffed through abnormally flared nostrils, indicating that he, too, was losing his patience. It wasn’t pure anger, though, in fact there was very little anger inside of him—it was more like dread, sorrow for the pain he would continue you putting you (and himself) through as he tried to justify his reasons for needing to leave, even though he couldn’t really think of any justifiable reason. It was irrational, impulsive, dangerous, inconsiderate… Most of all, he just wanted to get it over with; to rip off the bandage and try his best to ignore the sting.

“I ain’t tellin’ ya again,” he said, in that low, extra gravelly voice that told you he was close to a breaking point. “It’s settled.”

Your lips trembled as you tried to speak, with nothing but a barely audible whimper falling and fading into thin air. Your tears inevitably broke out, but they were muffled as you tried to maintain composure. You weren’t sure why—Daryl had seen you cry countless times, but this time was different. Maybe Daryl was leaving you because you cried so much, because you cared so much. You feared he found you pathetic or overbearing, maybe even annoying. 

Of course, no such thing was true, but irrational fears born of insecurity and self-doubt got the better of you. The strain in your face was evident.

“I, uh, I don’t wanna leave,” he said. 

“Then don’t!” you suddenly exclaimed, voice weak and faltering. You took a deep breath to calm yourself, then stepped forward tentatively as you approached him. “Or… let me go with you.”

“Nah,” he said quickly. “No way. You gotta stay here where it’s safe.”

“Daryl… I—I can’t. I need you. I love you… How could you say you’re leaving? Doesn’t what we have mean anything to you?”

You hated to ask him that, and you never would’ve unless you weren’t genuinely afraid he felt nothing for you anymore. Of course, it wasn’t that at all—it was the grief that overwhelmed him, called him to take Rick’s disappearance on his already burdened shoulders. In a sense, it had nothing to do with you, but you were the one who was going to suffer. You were the one who’d be left behind.

“You know it does,” he replied, this time voice much more firm and loud, as though he couldn’t even risk the thought of you not knowing that for sure. “This ain’t easy for me, but it’s eating me up inside. I at least gotta try.”

“Then let me help,” you begged, and somehow you’d gotten close enough to take his hands in yours. If you got desperate enough, you wouldn’t be surprised if you found yourself down on both knees before him. “Please. Just don’t leave me… Don’t—don’t go where I can’t find you.”

“Woman,” he sighed, leaning his forehead against yours. He must’ve known how you melted when he called you that, how easily you could give into him. “Don’t go lookin’ for me. I need you right here.”

You squeezed your eyes shut to flood your cheeks with tears. “I need you here,” you said. “I just don’t understand how you can do this after everything.”

You stepped back, gently yanking your hands from Daryl’s grasp until you stumbled back onto the sofa. You sat there staring straight through his face, which had sunk as the grim reality of his decision came shattering down upon him.

He wasn’t sure what was worse: being away from you indefinitely, or leaving you hurt like this. 

As you held your head in your hands, you thought back to all the times Daryl had said he’d never leave you, in the same breath as the words “I love you.” Now that he was leaving you, without a return in sight unless he found Rick, you wondered if those words really meant anything.

“Did you ever even love me?” you asked sincerely. 

It wasn’t that you wanted him to prove it, or to feel guilty for what he was doing, but you genuinely didn’t know anymore, and that uncertainty terrified you. You’d built your whole life around him the last few years. You’d made sacrifices, compromises, choices that were predicated on the belief that you were going to be with him forever. Was it over now? You had a feeling Daryl didn’t even know himself, all he knew was what he thought he needed to do, and that your relationship would have to hang in the balance until he accomplished his self-assigned task.

He swallowed hard, making sure he didn’t cry when he opened his mouth to speak. “I never stopped loving you,” he said. “I never will.”

That was six months ago now.

Six months since he’d seen you, six months since he’d held you, six months since he’d heard you say, “don’t go where I can’t find you.”

He hated that he’d done just that, and he quickly realized that his decision wouldn’t ease the pain of Rick’s disappearance. 

All it did was render him lonely. Much more lonely than he’d ever felt in his life. 

Still, he gave himself a mission, a responsibility to find Rick alive or dead. There were questions that needed to be answered, and Daryl didn’t leave any stone unturned.

He went where you couldn’t find him, though you didn’t try to find him. You were convinced he didn’t want you, that there was more to his leaving than just finding Rick. He didn’t love you anymore, and you still found yourself wondering if he ever did.

Around the same time he left, though, you noticed you couldn’t find one of your blouses—the cream colored peasant blouse with lace trim and cinched waist. You hadn’t worn it in some time, since it was one of Daryl’s favorites on you, but its disappearance drove you crazy, since you couldn’t think of where it had gone to.

That blouse had lived a more interesting life in the past six months than you had, as it lay neatly folded at the bottom of Daryl’s pack, the only thing he had to remember you by. 

Perhaps he should’ve told you he took it, knowing you were rather sentimental about your clothing, but in the emotional minefield of that morning he left, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you. He spoke very little that day, and he regretted not telling you everything he wanted to.

So now, sitting beside a rocky creek in the last golden light of the late spring afternoon, only the gentle sound of trickling water and birds chirping sweetly in the trees, he thought of you.

He always thought of you, especially with the weather warming up, knowing how much you loved to wear your sundresses and sandals. 

You’d frolic around the house, opening the windows to let in the soft, subtle spring breeze and the twinkling sound of the wind chimes. When he was home, you’d somehow get him to lay on the couch, your body snuggled up to his as you both fell asleep to those wind chimes, on an afternoon not unlike today. 

He could practically taste the sweet and sour lemonade you squeezed fresh from the tree that had grown outside the walls, but hovered over just enough to allow ripe yellow lemons to fall on the shady grass below, waiting for you to pluck them up with a delicate hand in the safety of Alexandria.

In his hands, he held your blouse, absentmindedly caressing the fabric between his fingers. He had taken great care not to let the lifestyle he’d been living the last six months tarnish or tear the thin fabric, as he fully intended that someday he’d return it to you. 

He didn’t know when that day would come, which was why he couldn’t promise you he’d return, but for weeks, he’d felt home calling back to him. In fact, he was sure it’d been calling to him since the moment he left, but now he allowed himself to hear it, those dainty chimes on the wind, drowning out the sound of the creek before him.

He didn’t take your blouse out of his pack often. There was no way he’d risk staining it with his filthy hands, or let the well-preserved, lingering scent of your perfume wear off, but lately he found himself sitting here, not far from his camp, holding that shirt.

Did you ever even love me? The phrase rang out in his head, echoing in the empty cathedral of his mind. 

The fact you even had to question it devastated him beyond even his own comprehension. What was worse was how he left without really proving it, without actions to mirror his words. 

I never stopped loving you, he’d said. I never will. 

He’d played that scene out in his head with every possible chain of events, but nothing could stop him from remembering what he had said, and the fact that what he said simply wasn’t enough. 

Stupid, he thought to himself. I’m so fuckin’ stupid. 

Six months of searching for a missing man, and he had nothing to show for it but a few dead ends. If he hadn’t found him now, he was never going to find him. He had told himself he’d never stop looking, but something had struck him just then, when he milled over your words once more: don’t go where I can’t find you. 

If he kept looking for Rick, he’d be lost, too. It was time to go home.

He walked longer than he had in some time, long enough for day to stretch into night. The guards at the gate nearly couldn’t recognize the hero of Alexandria, face shrouded by a tattered hood and smeared with several layers of dirt and blood.

Only the crossbow on his back gave away his identity, as well as the gruffness of his voice. The gate opened for him with a familiar rattle, and quickly the routine began to settle in once again, as though he’d never left.

As his aching feet carried him towards the house he once shared with you, he found himself wondering if you were still there, or if you’d moved to a smaller home. His question was answered when he spied your muddied yellow rain boots sitting outside the front door, and your hand painted welcome stone on the front step. 

Thank goodness he’d never lost his house key—he kept it on a long string of twine so he could never not find it. 

As he turned the key and pushed open the door, he was overwhelmed with the scent of something he vaguely remembered coming from the kitchen, where the oven was still warm from dinner that evening.

Hunger overwhelmed him, and made him instinctively head to the fridge, where a recognizable casserole dish was sitting on the top shelf, still warm.

He didn’t notice he let out an audible grunt of hunger before he bent over to pull the dish out and set it on the counter. Peeling back the tin foil, a smattering of potatoes, cheese, garlic, and probably a myriad of other spices and vegetables you’d thrown together, greeted him.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cheese, or anything moderately tasty, but it must’ve been before he left, certainly it was something you had made. 

As he shoveled spoonfuls of lukewarm food into his mouth, he realized you had inadvertently made good on your promise: you had that casserole ready for him when he got back. 

Turning to face the clock on the wall, he narrowed his eyes to see through the darkness: 10:37 PM. 

You must’ve been asleep upstairs, and plopping himself onto that bed alongside you was just about the best possible thing he could think of right now. He trudged up the stairs, with each step careful not to wake you. He was worried about how you might react to his sudden appearance after so long away, but at the same time, he couldn’t wait to see you. He couldn’t think straight enough to work out the logistics. What if you woke up before he did, and what if you were terrified of his sudden presence? Perhaps you wouldn’t even want him in your house, after so long of not seeing him. Still, there was no indication that your relationship was over when he left. He assumed it was an unspoken agreement that if and when Daryl returned, you’d pick up right where you left off. He only hoped that was a correct assumption.

Sure enough, you were asleep, without the light of the lantern by your bedside table which you used to leave on for him to return. As such, he could hardly see you, your features just barely illuminated by the cool, indigo-tinted light of the moon streaming in through the window. 

In the warmth of the night, you must’ve kicked off your blankets, as your sprawled out body was outlined only in the thin cover of the sheet. He smiled to himself, remembering how much of a restless sleeper you were, always tossing and turning so much that you’d end up tangled in the blankets, and sometimes he’d wake up with your hand dangling over his face. You were even more restless when he wasn’t there, since his arms holding you close to his body seemed to keep you from moving around too much. That, and the comfort he provided you with was enough to lull you into the deepest, most undisturbed sleep. 

As he stripped himself of his vest and shirt, he remembered how filthy he was, covered in grime and tree sap and dried walker blood. He was ashamed to admit he hadn’t had a proper shower in weeks, and if you’d been with him, you would’ve made sure he bathed at least every other day, but he’d been alone for so long, left to his own devices, and his less than sanitary habits.

But a shower sounded almost as good as sleep, so he turned towards the bathroom door, gently closing it behind him as he entered to light the lantern next to the sink. Routine—it was all coming back to him. He had tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy out there in the woods, but he quickly learned that it was nearly impossible, what with the nomadic nature of his lifestyle, moving from camp to camp, never staying in one place for too long. As much as he was used to living like that, he hated it. It made him feel more like an animal than a human. 

Tarzan, he remembered you calling him. Somewhere between man and beast. Right now, under the gentle stream of the warm water, as he struggled to comb his fingers through the large knots in his wild, disheveled hair, he never felt more like he was trying to regain his humanity, to wash the wilderness from his body. 

He raised his hands to rub his face vigorously under the splashing water, and proceeded to further claw at the tangled clumps of chestnut waves on his head. 

“Damnit,” he sighed under his breath. It was so much easier when you did it for him. 

Remembering the existence of shampoo and conditioner, he turned to reach for the bottle of homemade “hair stuff,” as he called it. When he removed the cap, a fragrant burst of sweet pea and lemon awakened his senses. Oh, it was just like he remembered, just like the smell of your hair. 

“(Y/N)...” he mumbled under his breath. “My girl.”

He’d missed lathering his hair with your little concoction, but even more than that, he missed the feeling of your fingers massaging his scalp, and the sound of your voice so close to his ear as you asked him about his day. Maybe you’d accidentally tug on his hair a little too hard as you tried to get out the knots, but he’d never complain. Not when even the pain felt so good.

Soon his head was drenched in white bubbles and soapy lather, cleansing his mop of brown hair and removing the blood and dirt that had somehow found their way into his wavy locks. 

When he washed out the shampoo, he squeezed a hefty dollop of conditioner into his palm, and smoothed it through his less tangled hair to get the real stubborn knots out. It felt wonderful to finally be clean, but that was just his head. His body still needed tending to.

You must’ve still been getting those handmade bars of rose petal soap from the neighbors, since the sweet floral scent quickly wafted into his nostrils as he held it in his hands, rubbing it between them to make a thick lather.

As the conditioner settled in his hair, he dragged the soap languidly across his chest, paying extra attention to his underarms, which surely needed it. 

His hands trailed down with the soap to his abdomen, circling around his navel. It’d been so long since his stomach felt full. His belly protruded more than usual, too, a sight that was welcome as he looked down to see the dirt washing off of him. 

Next was, of course, his nether regions, where he’d felt an irresistible urge since the moment he saw you, even if he could hardly make out your face. He knew you were just as beautiful as ever, and that he wasn’t entirely sure how he could sleep in bed with you without getting lost in his lustful thoughts.

He could already feel the tingling sensation surge through him as he ran his soapy hand along his shaft, paying extra care to the tip and all the crevices. 

“Shit,” he muttered, leaning his forehead against the tile wall. It had been so long since he touched himself. In fact, he was sure he never really had time to do it while he was out in the wilderness, constantly in danger. 

That didn’t stop him from thinking of you, though. All those lonely nights of shallow, dreamless sleep without the softness of your body he’d gotten so accustomed to holding. Too often had he found himself reaching for empty air, or whispering your name in the haze of his exhaustion. On particularly desperate nights, he clung to your blouse, burying his head in the bundle of fabric like it was a burial shroud as he unzipped his pants to just barely touch himself over his underwear, but that was long ago, and lately he had to reserve his yearning to simple thoughts and memories, making it all so much more potent. He needed you.

Without entirely meaning to, he gripped tighter around himself as he made longer and more intentional strokes. Soon the soap in his other hand must’ve slipped from his grasp, and he leaned forward to catch himself before the sudden pleasure of his touching became too much to bear.

He flinched slightly as his forehead pressed against the cool wet tile of the shower wall, one hand outstretched above his head, the other now tugging harder and faster on his cock. 

When he became more aware of his body and its movements, he slowed his pace, opting to thumb at his tip in gentle circles as he took a deep breath. He felt the water hitting his back, heard the heavy pitter patter of droplets hitting the tile below and pooling around his feet ever so slightly. Funny how one could feel so alive, so human, in such a simple way. 

And yet, he could hardly bear to allow himself that simple, human pleasure of intimate touch. How could he do such a thing when he’d left you alone for six months? The shower could cleanse his body, but not his mind. 

Still, he allowed his fingers to trace gently along the semi-hard surface of his shaft, as once your fingers had done the same. “I love you, Tarzan,” your voice echoed in a distant memory. He nudged his forehead in small circles against the tile, as if it could ever feel like your warm, soft body, curled up against his as he held you like he always used to. Why did he ever stop? 

Always trying to find something. Always trying to save someone. Always the hero.

The longer the water ran, the more he returned to the reality of his situation, and the more he realized just how exhausted he really was.

He crept out of the bathroom slowly, careful to hold the lantern close to him so as not to wake you with its light. His sore legs seemed to carry him to the bed—his side of the bed, the one that you’d left deserted for six months, as if you knew all along this night would come, that someday he’d come back to you.

What on Earth was he thinking? He could’ve slept on the couch, he could’ve slept on the front porch, for crying out loud, but would it be so bad if he slept here, where he belonged? Weren’t you still his, anyway? Please, still be mine.

If you were awake, he’d beg you, but you weren’t awake, and he’d spent too long having one-sided conversations. He just needed sleep, or you, whichever one he could have. If it was only sleep, he would take that gladly.

Though it was tempting, he had to admit. Tempting to wake you up. Tempting to gently rub your shoulder until your eyes shot open as they always did, an old habit from living on the road. Tempting to engulf you like quicksand until your body melded with his, for the first time in so long. Tempting to rid you of that silky button-up nightshirt he immediately recognized on your body. It looked a little suffocating, a little too modest for his taste. The night was warm, stolid and heavy. Even that sheet seemed too hot, or maybe he just wanted to see your body, that pliant, supple flesh he had once held sensual dominion over. 

In your sleep, you’d finally settled into a fetal position, curled up on your side, back facing him. As he set down the lantern on the bedside table, you stirred slightly, a small, breathy whimper escaping your lips unconsciously. 

From the indirect light of the lantern, he could finally make out your features—a stinging pain rose up in his abdomen, as he’d almost forgotten how sweet you looked in your sleep. It was something out of a Renaissance painting or a pre-Raphaelite’s hazy daydream. Though he could only see your side profile from his vantage point, your lips parted so delicately as your head moved in adjustment against the softness of your pillow.

He was just about to settle into his side of the bed when he noticed a dark piece of fabric tangled between your arms as you held it close to your chest. Squinting, he lifted his knees to the bed and leaned over you to get a better look, and of course he knew what it was. It was his, after all.

Aw, sunshine, he thought, watching your fingers curl and indent the fabric of his old black t-shirt he used to sleep in on cold winter nights. He could even make out some of the holes, in the same old spots. 

Overwhelmed with love, he let himself lay down as close to you as he could without waking you, he’d hoped. His arm’s old muscle memory immediately kicked in as it draped itself gently over your side, a movement he was quick to take back when he felt your body flinch and heard your breath hitch in unison.

Sleep hadn’t quite lost its hold over you as you mumbled out something incoherent. You’d felt his empty presence before, especially when his name echoed in the atmosphere of your dreams on a nightly basis. By morning, you wouldn’t remember them, only blurry glimpses and long lost sensations. 

In your mind, you always knew that slight weight around your waist was nothing but a phantom limb, but in your heart, you’d always bring yourself to look over your shoulder at his side, where he never was. Until tonight.

When you lifted your gaze ever so slightly, you swore you saw a faint glimmer of familiar blue eyes nestled between dark strands of freshly rinsed hair, though it couldn’t be, you thought.

Still, in your transitory state between consciousness and sleep, you mumbled his name under your breath, almost unintelligibly: “Daryl…”

Though he looked much clearer than he usually did in your dreams, you were quick to dismiss the dimly lit, shadowy figure beside you as nothing more than a lovesick illusion, so you turned and buried your face in the shirt you’d been clinging to every night since Daryl left, not knowing that he was right there, only wanting to hear your voice again.

“Hey, Jane,” he said softly, then reached his hand out to touch your shoulder as you flinched yourself awake.

“Oh... my god,” you said groggily. “Daryl?”

His body didn’t give yours the chance to turn to face him. Instead, he aligned his chest snugly to your back, and tucked his arms tight around your sides until you were fully stuck in his grasp. 

Rendered silent, you shook your head in disbelief as you felt his lips hungrily latch onto your exposed neck, while his hands slid along your side in a desperate attempt to remove the sheet draping your body.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had come over him, whether it was the sound of your voice or the feeling of the warmth radiating from your body, but all he knew was that he had no immediate desire to explain himself, or to excuse his actions, if they could ever even be excused, all he could say, repeated in breathless sweeps of his nearly tear-soaked voice, was: “I’m sorry.”

Between each apology, his lips found a new part of your skin to soak with saliva from his frantic open-mouthed kiss. 

The more you felt his lips tremble against your heated skin, the more your heartbeat thundered in your chest, and the more you couldn’t care less if he was sorry or not—six months without him, without love, made you ravenous for touch, and his touch alone. 

When your shock and relief at his presence subsided, you reached back to squeeze his hand as it grasped firmly onto the fabric of your nightshirt, nearly tearing it in his reckless desperation.

You had barely even seen his face, but you felt his body and his presence with you in the darkness of your room, so it was enough to know he was there, that he loved you enough to come back home to you. Whatever anger and confusion you had was still there, but what consumed you was the very essence of him, the only thing you’d wanted for the past six months.

“Mm, Tarzan,” you hummed sleepily, bringing his hand to your chest to cup your breast. 

You felt his chest heave against your back, and the scent of your shampoo in his hair made you smile as you bit your lip, trying to hold back the happy tears and save them for later. 

His hand squeezed your breast gently, but just enough to elicit a deep sigh from your lips. The erection growing in his underwear was becoming unavoidable, and that hardness pressed up against your bottom made you shiver in need. Your body squirmed and writhed so much he hissed between his teeth, burying his head in the crook of your neck, where his tongue traced circles under your ear. 

Heat spread all through your body, until you were uncomfortable under the thin fabric of the sheet. With a huff, you kicked it off you, and Daryl’s hand didn’t waste a second to reach over your waist and palm at your clothed mound. You’d forgotten how strong he was—the pressure of his heavy hand pulled you even closer to him, and sent a small shockwave through your touch-starved body.

Both of you felt so delicate, like thin sheets of glass ready to shatter at the slightest touch. When his hand fondled you there again, you let out a sharp gasp as you reached down to hold your hand over his. “Yes…” you sighed. “Touch me… Don’t stop.”

He put more pressure on his palm as his fingers circled above your underwear, right over that sensitive little bundle of nerves he used to be so good at stimulating. His fingers were still just as good as they had once been—maybe even better from months of using them so much more than he had before. They were nimble and precise, yet somehow still heavy and bulky in shape. You’d never known such perfect fingers before, or such hands that could caress your body with the utmost love and respect. 

Even in his desperation to touch you, to make love to you, he always held you like he could wait an eternity for you if he needed to—there was never any rush to his love, it was always slow and sweet, tender and soft. If you stopped him now, told him to get out of your house and to never see you again, there was no doubt in his mind that he’d respect your displeasure with him and his absence, but you didn’t pull away. Maybe a part of you wanted to, wanted to torture him and put him through the same pain you went through when he left, but something told you that he had gone through that same pain, too, that he never wanted to leave you, but he felt he had to. 

You always knew he loved you, and here he was—proving it.

As his mouth sucked on the skin of your neck, you maneuvered his hand until his fingers slipped underneath the fabric and tickled your outer lips. His hand stilled for a moment, allowing you to use it to your liking. You used it to spread your lips, and encouraged his fingers to enter you slowly, all while you writhed purposefully against his palm, hitting your sensitive spot.

He groaned lowly in your ear as the feeling returned to his fingers, and he didn’t hesitate to dig deeper, two fingers curling up inside you until you whimpered in satisfaction. “Oh, God… Daryl.”

The weight of your leg being placed atop his as you tried to spread yourself out more caught him off guard, and his fingers dug deeper, sending you writhing and whimpering from the pressure. He felt your tightness squeezing all around his thick fingers, soaking them as you became more aroused.

“Don’t remember you bein’ this tight, sunshine,” he whispered into your ear between kisses. “You’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

“Mm, put it in me,” you said, voice strained as your core rutted against his hand to increase the pressure. You bent the knee of your outstretched leg and grounded your foot on the bed, stretching your entrance as much as you could. “It’s been so long.”

He grunted in agreement as he pulled out his fingers to raise them to your clit once more, circling it in slow, rhythmic motions. 

“I ain’t never stopped thinkin’ of you,” he said. “I missed you… God, I missed you, woman.”

You smiled and reached down to tug off your panties, while he moved to yank himself free from his own underwear. 

Quickly you found yourself reaching back to grasp his hard shaft, pulling it to your folds where you pressed his tip to your clit. His chin pressed firmly to your shoulder, he watched you stroke his cock against your slit, which you dragged back and forth along his now aching shaft.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your neck. “I ain’t gonna last long.”

“Me neither.”

His hips jutted forward and backward, gently rocking himself against you. Each movement hit your clit and forced a heavenly sigh from your lips. Daryl had tried with all the mental fortitude he had to recreate that sound in his head, but your voice was like honey, coated in sugar crystals and dripping from your succulent lips. He hadn’t known sweetness like you and your body for so long, and he knew with every surge of tingles that ran through him that he couldn’t keep himself from his release for too long. 

You gasped when his cock entered you slowly, breaching your entrance and burying itself in your tightness. Now you could feel just how incredibly close you were to bliss—only a handful more minutes of touching and penetrating would relieve you of your need.

“Oh, God!” you cried out in a gasp. “I—I… Oh…”

You felt his cock remain still inside of you as he caught his breath, trying to pace himself. His hand massaged your breast with tender, circular movements, comforting you. 

You bit your lip and shut your eyes tight as you writhed gently to feel more of the pressure of his tip on that tingly spot inside you.

“You all right?” he asked. “Does it hurt?”

“I’m fine… I think I just… forgot how big you are.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked with a smile, slightly more cocky than his usual one-sided smirk. He slowly pushed himself deeper, his cock curving more and more inside of you. The warm, confining walls of your body clenched around him on their own accord as they adjusted to his sizable thickness. Your body had been so used to it before, but now it was almost foreign, like your first time all over again.

“So… tight,” he grumbled against your shoulder. Letting go of your breast, he snaked his hand down to your clit, moving his fingers with increasingly fast pace. “Want you to come on me… Want ya to get this cock all soakin’ wet… like a good girl.”

You giggled under your breath. After all this time, you’d still never get used to Daryl’s dirty talk, but you loved it—the way his gruff, scratchy southern drawl made those sinful words sound so sweet and nearly angelic, yet with a deep, growling animalism in the pit of his stomach.

“Mm, don’t stop,” you sighed. “I’ll… come for you.”

“You better.”

His hand applied more pressure to your outside as his cock buried deeper inside you, going all the way until his hilt hit your bottom. You stretched your leg further behind him, allowing more room for the girth of his cock, though still you were so constrained around him, a feeling that had him gasping for air between heavy, breathless breaths.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You feel so good.”

He moved as rhythmically as he could as he lay on his side, with your leg wrapped behind him and your bottom on his lower abdomen, causing him to strain. His feet anchored him, allowing his hips to thrust in steady, consistent movements. There was just enough pressure on you, just enough to get those shockwaves of bliss pumping through you as he got you closer to letting go.

The more he penetrated you, the more your body soaked him in arousal, allowing more comfort for your orgasm to soon take over. As his hand applied more pressure, you grinded yourself against his palm in a desperate attempt to get more of that sweet tingly feeling.

“Easy, girl,” he whispered in your ear. “It’s all right… I got ya… Your man’s got you. I’m home.”

“Daryl…” you whimpered shakily. “Oh, Daryl… Don’t you… ever leave me again.”

“I won’t. I got you, sunshine. Let me make you feel good, just like I used to.”

Even he was starting to crumble the closer you got to relief, and as he pleasured you, inside and out, you shut your eyes tight and felt the incoming surge of pleasure about to send shockwaves through you. Still, you weren’t quite there, and the agony of wanting that sweet feeling to send your body into unrestrained convulsions was so potent that you couldn’t stand it anymore. Your sensitive, supple body couldn’t stand it anymore.

Tears began to roll down your cheek, seeping out from between the tightly closed lids of your eyes and falling into the corners of your lips until the taste of salt melted onto your tongue.

“Oh, fuck!” you cried out, tears breaking your voice. “I need…”

“What do ya need?”

“I need to… to come.”

“You will.”

His hand gripped your mound hard and hit harder at your clit, sending you into a whimpering state of frantic writhing and panting. “Please…” 

“I’m here… I got ya.”

The glass shattered when you least expected it, but it was so mind-numbingly good that you flung your head back onto his shoulder, while your body writhed and rocked back and forth in pleasure as each wave of bliss surged through you. “Yes!” you cried out. “Oh, yes… Oh, God…”

He held still inside of you as your walls clenched and squeezed around his aching cock, swollen and just about ready to burst inside you. Each pulse has him groaning against your scalp, where he’d buried his face in your hair. “Shit,” he groaned. “You’re gonna make me come, too.”

As your high subsided, you unfurled your leg and rolled more completely onto your side, careful not to let his cock go. He clung to you, his arms around your abdomen as he refused to release you from his grasp. He meant it when he said he wouldn’t leave again—he knew that from the moment he decided to come back home. 

Without a word, he thrusted deep inside of you, moving at a more desperate pace. He kept his arms hugging around you, with his hand placed firmly on your stomach, where he felt his body meeting yours.

“I love you,” he panted in your ear. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, Daryl… Come inside me.”

He groaned just at the thought—the thought of filling you in the most sensual, intimate way possible, and watching it all trickle out, the proof of his love for you.

One more deep thrust and he felt the final pulse trail down his shaft, into the tip, and out into you, his moans and “ah’s” of relief sinking into your shoulder as his teeth dug a small imprint. 

Your sigh of pleasure broke out into a breathy, delirious laugh, the feeling of his spend tickling you from the inside and heating you up with its warmth. He held you close by your waist as his hips kept thrusting, eager to drain every last drop inside of you. 

He must’ve had so much built up inside of him, so much pent up need for release—his explosion never seemed to end. He was writhing against you, dragging heavy, open-mouthed kisses along the nape of your neck. 

“Mm,” you sighed, rubbing your stomach as if you’d just eaten the best meal of your life. “You still got it, Tarzan.”

He blushed and leaned forward to kiss your cheek. “Ain’t nothin’ without you, Jane.”

You turned your head till your lips met his, for the first time in so long. His tongue snaked languidly into your mouth, and yours did the same, until you pulled away, with your tongue circling over his lips.

You studied his face in the dimness of the dark room, and that sorrowful look in his eyes reminded you of your own sadness, the one that had left such a bitter taste in your mouth for so long. Daryl might’ve filled you up with sweetness again, but you wouldn’t forget how he left you.

“You jerk,” you said, much to his surprise. “You left me… I thought you’d never come back.”

“I—I know,” he said, tangling his hand in your hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” He trailed off, not sure what else to say. He never had a way with words, and he was hoping he’d proven it with his actions. “Shoulda never left. Shoulda stayed right here, with you.”

You shook your head and turned your body towards his, finally seeing him in full. It reminded you of long nights laying in bed together, talking endlessly until the sun came up, or until one of you fell asleep, usually you. Only now, instead of talking about the future, you spoke of the past, of the moment Daryl broke your heart, and his own, too.

You soon found your cheeks were soaked in tears, and his hand quickly moved to catch them. You’d cried so many times since he left, always wondering where he was, if he’d found Rick, if he was even alive. You yearned for his touch, for his thumb to brush away the tears and for his lips to kiss them away until there were no more tears left to cry. 

Now, he was finally here, you just weren’t sure how to deal with it. 

“I know… I know that you love me,” you said. “I know that. I just wish… I wish I would’ve wrapped myself around your ankle and made you stay.” You laughed through your tears, and he smiled, too, just a little, at the thought. “I think I loved you too much to do that… You weren’t happy. You did what you needed to do. I understand that. I mean, I didn’t like it, but I understood it.”

He shook his head. “Nah, don’t make excuses for me. You should be mad… Shoulda kicked me outta this bed.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, still tearful, but clouded now by happy tears, not sad ones. “I don’t think I could ever kick you out of bed… But I’ll tell you one thing.” You wrapped your wrists loosely around his neck, pulling him closer until his forehead touched yours. “Next time you leave like that, you might not have a warm bed, or a woman, waiting for you when you come back.”

He nodded seriously, his damp bangs tickling your nose as they fell into place. “Yes, ma’am. Don’t gotta worry about that, though. Told you, I ain’t ever leavin’ again.”

You sniffled and wiped your nose, giggling at your own emotional state. “Good. Sometimes, I felt like going out there, try to find you. Almost did once or twice. Michonne stopped me. But you know, I knew I wouldn’t be able to find you anyway.”

He sighed, the cruel sting of guilt stabbing him in the side. His chin lifted to rest on your head, as his hand moved to stroke your back, replacing your nightshirt to cover your bottom half. “You don’t belong out there,” he said. “Neither do I. I know that now. Just… had to try.”

“I know. Hero complex. I think that’s just one reason why I love you so much.”

You leaned up to kiss his forehead, nestling your nose in his scalp, where you got another good whiff of your shampoo. “Did you take a shower just for me?” you asked, slightly blushing at the idea. Of course, you knew he probably would’ve taken one anyway, but a part of you hoped that maybe, just maybe, he did it for you, knowing how much you loved him when he was clean.

He shrugged, his lips curling into a small, wry smirk. “Well, uh… Maybe. Knew you wouldn’t want me dirtying up the place.” He looked around the room, the light of the lantern behind him casting a shadow of your curved figure on the wall. Not much had changed at all since he left, other than a few of the trinkets he had brought back for you being on full display on your shared dresser. Absence really did make the heart grow even fonder, though you were always certain you couldn’t love Daryl anymore than you already did. 

It reminded him of the shirt he had seen you clinging to as you slept, and how he, too, kept one of your shirts for just the same purpose. “You sleep with my shirt every night?” he asked with a slightly mischievous raised eyebrow.

You huffed. He knew the answer to that question, you could tell. “Don’t make fun,” you said. “I missed you. You’re important to me, and… sometimes, that shirt felt like all I had left of you.”

He swallowed back the lump in his throat that formed at your words, and he knew if you said anything like that again, his heart would break into a million pieces. Not only because he had put you through this, but because he knew the feeling, too. He knew the fear that he would never see you again, the uncertainty of it all. 

“I, uh… I got your shirt, too.”

You furrowed your brow in confusion. “Huh?”

“Well, uh…” He cleared his throat. The slight embarrassment of his sentimentality made him flustered. “Ya know, I… mighta taken that white shirt with me.” Another pang of guilt knocked the wind out of him. He had taken one of your favorite shirts, for his own benefit, what kind of man was he? “I’m sorry. I shoulda asked, or—”

You laughed and squeezed him tight, nestling your head in his shoulder to kiss the junction of his neck. “That’s so sweet,” you said, choking up once again. “Sweetheart, do you have any idea how crazy I was, tearing this place apart looking for my blouse? I thought it just… grew legs and walked out of here, never to be seen again.”

“Well, I kept it in perfect condition,” he said. “Good as new. No stains, no rips, nothin’. Like it never left.”

~

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are always appreciated!

~

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[pastanest]

if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @iamburdened - thanks so much!! ♡

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

spoilers: set in season 4

Got Someone Waitin’ For Me

From the moment Daryl found you, the two of you became inseperable. You had been on your own since the start, everyone you loved was gone, and you were left to fend for yourself. While out searching for Sophia, Daryl found you. In his muddy state, with a string of walker ears dangling from his neck, you were understandably suspicious of him. His gruff voice was something you expected, but the quiet and gentle tone completely threw you off. He crouched down to where you were hidden amongst the bushes. You were muddy too, and the two of you had an immediate understanding of the shit you’d gone through, whether it was recently or further in the past didnt matter. Daryl led you back to the farm; when you arrived some idiot mistook your mutually muddy forms for a pair of walkers, and Daryl got shot. You screamed and cried as you knelt beside him, the first kind soul you had met since the world ended. Or at least, your world had, until you met him. His friends ran to him, the leader shouting at you, demanding to know who you were, but you couldnt speak. You struggled enough speaking to Daryl after not talking to another person in so long, let alone someone whose introduction to you was aggressive shouting.

Daryl was fixed up and in recovery pretty quickly, and you stayed by his side. Anyone who tried to pull you away from him was met with animalistic rage, you’d had a long time to forget about politeness. You stayed at his bedside, falling asleep curled up in a chair, and that was the sight he woke up to. To say he was shocked to see you would be an understatement. He didnt even know your name then, and he didnt want to make you jump by waking you, so he awkwardly waited for you to wake up on your own. It didnt take long, much to his relief. As soon as you saw he was awake, you jumped to his side, standing up and leaning over to check him over in a silent frenzy. He was quick to tell you that he was alright, and you sat back down, your breathing uneven.

You had a bit of a grudge against Andrea after she shot Daryl, she was the one person you were actively hostile towards. When she came to Daryl to apologise for shooting him, you sat beside him scowling at her. She held her hand out to you in an attempt to make friends, but you refused it. She left not long after that, considering how awkward you’d made her feel. Not that you really cared.

“She’s not that bad, y’know.” Daryl chuckled at you, and you huffed.

“Shot you. Bad.” You uttered, your voice much more timid than your body language.

“Not on purpose.” Daryl reminded you, and you shook your head.

You stayed with Daryl through his recovery, he told you to go out and introduce yourself to everyone, but you didnt want to. The only form of communication that you had with the others was when they came to see Daryl. Once he was well enough to get back on his feet, he introduced you to everyone himself. Maggie and Glenn were the first people you trusted after Daryl, they were the least judgemental of you and you. While you sat with them, Daryl left to talk to Rick about you, discussing your presence in the group. A minute or so passed before Daryl called you over, and you walked over to stand beside him.

“If you wanna stay here, ya can.” Daryl told you, and you looked to Rick, knowing he was the leader.

Rick chuckled. “We dont really have a choice, you’d probably kill us if we tried to separate you from Daryl.”

You smiled at that, and Daryl did a double take. That was the first time he’d seen you smile.

Daryl and you became a team. Anytime Daryl went on a run, you went with him. Anytime you needed something on a run, Daryl got it for you. The group grew accustomed to referring to the two of you together, since you were rarely apart.

“Where’s (Y/N) and Daryl?”

“Oh, Daryl and (Y/N) will go and get it.”

You became like Maggie and Glenn, except you two werent romantically involved. At least, not yet.

When the farm fell, that was the first time you and Daryl had been apart since you’d met. Not caring about the noise he made, Daryl rode his bike around the farm shouting your name, trying to find you. He found you surrounded, fighting off a small group of walkers that were reaching for you from all directions. For maybe half a second, he admired your fearlessness, your determination to keep fighting even though you looked trapped. He drove through the walkers, running as many over as he could, and shouting at you to get on the back of his bike, which was an invitation you gladly accepted. The two of you found Carol shortly after, and the three of you headed for the highway.

That night, when you and Daryl stood on watch, he asked you why you looked so scared when he first met you, but when surrounded by walkers you didnt look scared at all. You gave him a very simple answer.

“Fighting off the walkers, I knew you’d find me. Before, I didnt think anyone would.”

Your words hit Daryl right in his heart, you trusted him so much, you trusted him with your life. In the apocalypse, your life was one of the only things you had, at least that’s what Daryl thought until he met you. Not only does he have his life, but he had you to protect, too.

Nobody could have predicted the flu outbreak in the prison. And when you started coughing, Daryl almost lost his mind. He sat on the other side of the glass for hours, not always talking to you, just needing to be with you, to see you on the other side and know that you were still alive. For the first time since you met, you had to be apart from him, to keep him safe. As soon as Hershel brought up the idea of a new location to search for meds, Daryl was desperate to go. He visited you one more time before he left, holding his hand against the glass that kept him from you, and you put your hand up against his on the other side.

“I’ll be back real soon. Just keep breathin’, alright? I’ll be real mad if ya die on me.” He said to you, making you laugh until you coughed. Seeing your smile gave him all the strength he needed.

“I’ll keep breathin’, but you’d better come back or I’ll be the one that’s mad.” You replied, and Daryl did his usual scoff-laugh with a half smile.

Leaving you was the most difficult thing Daryl had ever had to do. He was at war with himself, fighting with his selfish desire to stay with you just in case you didnt make it; he couldnt tell whether going out in search of medicine was a waste of time, whether he was doing it to deliberately avoid the thought of you not surviving this. But his instincts to protect you, to save you, they won, they always did.

Daryl’s natural survival instincts were boosted by the fact that he was quite literally trying to save your life. He had to survive, he had to, to help you get better. And needless to say, when he found the alcohol in Bob’s bag, rather than the meds he had expected to be in there, Daryl was beyond furious.

He stood so close to Bob that their foreheads were touching, his anger intimidating Bob more than it had ever intimidated anyone. “In case ya forgot, we aint out here for you.” Daryl’s voice was low, almost a growl, his fury too powerful for a yell to convey. “Ya may not have someone back there that you’re fightin’ for, but we do.” He gestured to himself and Tyereese. “I got someone waitin’ for me, dependin’ on me, and if you think for a damn second that I’ll let you get in my way, ya dont know me. If ya did, you wouldnt even try. You take one sip before those meds get in our people, in my girl, I’ll beat yer ass into the ground. Ya hear me?” Daryl shoved Bob to emphasise his threat before he stormed past Tyreese and Michonne.

He grew more antsy with every second that he was away from you, he didnt think the trip would take this long. When he’d first noticed the herd in front of the car on the way there, his immediate thought was that he was going to be late back to you. Daryl was too irritated to be the one to drive them back to the prison, so Michonne took the wheel. She couldnt drive fast enough in his mind, he was genuinely debating whether it would be faster for him to run, he didnt know how fast he could run when you were waiting at the finish line, but he knew it would feel faster than this.

While Daryl was gone, you were fighting for your life. Glenn stayed with you, the two of you spending most of your time in silence since anytime you talked, you both experienced coughing fits. It was as silent as it could be in a room filled with people coughing their guts up. When you started feeling lightheaded, though, Hershel insisted that you lay down in a cell and rest. You were in and out of consciousness, in a delirious state. Every time you awoke, you called out for Daryl with the little strength you had left, your voice escaping your lips in a hoarse, whining whisper. Your vision was blurred, but any form you saw walk by your cell, your mind convinced you that you were seeing the silhouette of Daryl, and you would smile before passing back out again.

Glenn stayed with you as much as he could, until Hershel needed his help. He knew Daryl would want a full report on how you’d been while he was gone, and he’d need a detailed explanation of why you couldnt come back to the glass to see him. Glenn wasnt exactly excited to have that conversation, considering how angry Daryl was likely to be. At least there would be glass separating them, too. In between brief moments of consciousness, you overheard a conversation about spaghetti Tuesdays, it probably would’ve made you laugh if you’d been able to. While you were out, Hershel explained that your unconscious state had somewhat saved you, you werent awake to cough and choke, your body was worn out. By no means were you healthy, but at least you werent as close as the others were of dying from the flu.

By the time Daryl and the others were back, though, the countless walkers that covered the prison courtyard floor were enough to send him into a frenzy. Him and Tyreese bolted into the prison, and when he found you safely shut inside your cell, which was otherwise surrounded by more walkers on the ground, the relief he experienced could not be put into words. Before he finally rested, Hershel came to your cell, finding Daryl there, cradling you in his arms on the bed.

“She’s been in and out of consciousness, askin’ if you were back yet every time she’s been awake. A couple times she even confused me for you, askin’ if you were alright. She’ll pull through, though, she’s been the most healthy out of everyone in here.” Hershel told him, and his words were music to Daryl’s ears.

The next time you awoke, the first thing you saw was Daryl. Not an illusion, not a blurry daydream that your mind conjured up to comfort you, it was really him.

“You’re back.” You whispered in the happiest disbelief.

“Shh, get some real sleep. Lil birdy’s told me you’ve been askin’ for me instead of restin’, now Im here ya aint got no excuse.” Daryl cooed, his voice quiet.

“Are you ok?” You asked him, concern covering every area of your face as you stared up at him.

Daryl scoffed. “Cant believe yer the one askin’ me that. Im fine, (Y/N). Aint no walkers gonna get me when I’ve got you waitin’ for me back home, I wont let ‘em.”

You smiled up at him. “You came back and I kept breathing, looks like we both held up our ends of the deal.”

Daryl’s arms tightened around you as he glanced around your cell. “Now ya’ve just gotta get better.”

You raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Another deal? Alright, what do I get in return?”

Daryl’s eyes met yours again. “Anythin’ you want.”

You were thoughtful for a moment, before your features lit up with a fantastic idea. “Once Im better, I want a kiss!”

Daryl’s eyes almost fell out of his skull. “You what?!”

You grinned up at him. “I want a kiss!”

Daryl scoffed in embarrassment and looked away from you. “Shit, fine.”

You giggled and curled into his chest, one of his arms wrapped around your back. You grabbed his other hand and held it close to your face, placing a gentle kiss to his palm before you closed your eyes. Sensing his body go rigid at the affection, you smiled to yourself, and you knew he noticed when you felt his body relax. Daryl’s arms gently squeezed you as he leant down and placed an equally gentle kiss to your forehead, his own silent way of telling you that he liked what you just did.

“That kiss doesnt count, by the way.”

“Didnt think it did, don’ worry.”

[proseover-bros]

FOR THE ONES WE LOVE | CH. 2

FANDOM: The Walking Dead

SERIES: For the Ones We Love

STATUS: Ongoing

ERA: Prison

PAIRING: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader (No Use of “Y/N”)

CHAPTER TWO: New Girl

WORD COUNT: 4k

SUMMARY: After spending the last few weeks getting to know the other residents of the prison, you begrudgingly join Daryl on a hunting trip at Rick’s insistence.

RATING: Mature

WARNINGS: Language, Animal Death (Hunting)

SERIES MASTERLIST

A/N: I’m completely blown away by the response that Backseat Driver received, and am now planning to turn this into a series entitled For the Ones We Love. Thank you for all the likes, reblogs and comments. They definitely helped in getting this next chapter up so quickly. (Also, couldn’t resist since yesterday was Norman’s birthday!) My plan for this series is to start from the Prison Era, and go all the way through to the Commonwealth Era. I will not feature every event in my series, but the key plot points will be mentioned and it will (more or less) follow the same timeline. Readers, please be forthcoming with what you’d like to see. I have my own favorite tropes that I’m going to follow, of course, but would love to hear yours as well. You never know what will inspire a writer!

“Mornin’,” Rick greeted you when you joined his family in the part of the prison where everyone ate their meals.

The former Sheriff’s Deputy offered you a warm smile as you sat down across from he, Carl, and Judith. While they did have an actual cafeteria available, it was a good distance from their living quarters and a trek through the tombs, so the group had decided to move a few tables just outside their cell block instead.

When Daryl brought you back after his run several weeks ago, Rick had been surprised to hear that he’d found you alone. A woman by herself in the middle of nowhere was always an eerie sight, but even more so these days. That knowledge alone was enough to tell him not to underestimate you. The fact that you had been able to stay alive while on your own also made him think you could become an asset to the group, which he discovered was true after he’d taken you for target practice the other day.

Carl was all smiles around you, which Rick was relieved to see. His son hadn’t had much to smile about, not since Lori died giving birth to Judith just a few days after they arrived at the prison.

“Morning,” You replied, returning Rick and Carl’s smiles with one of your own.

Rick Grimes, the leader of Daryl’s group, had kind eyes that made you feel welcome. He was a good man, and had gone out of his way to reestablish society within the prison. Upon arriving, you trusted your first impression of him enough to relinquish your weapons, temporarily and just as a precaution, he’d assured you. His rules were fair and easy to follow, and you found yourself incredibly lucky to have landed in his group. You could recall the feeling of relief settling into your tired bones; a feeling that you’d thought you’d never experience again, when you and Daryl pulled up outside of the prison that first night. Daryl may have been a lot of things, but at least now you knew he wasn’t a liar.

Over the past few weeks, you had made your rounds, getting to know all the other residents of the prison. You weren’t sure how long the group had been together before you came along, but it had certainly been long enough for them to develop friendships — even romantic relationships. You had warmed to Glenn quickly, much to his girlfriend Maggie’s dismay. There wasn’t a physical attraction on either end, but you could sense hostility coming from Maggie every time you were near. As much as you enjoyed Glenn’s company, you’d decided not to make a habit out of being alone with him. The set-up at the prison had very much saved your life, and you didn’t want to blow it over something nonexistent.

Being the leader of the group, Rick always seemed to be busy with something. Maggie’s father, Hershel was an older gentleman who spent a lot of his time planning a garden out in the prison yard, and you welcomed the things he taught you about harvesting. You noticed more than once that Daryl stood off on his own most of the time, but when he did speak to anyone, it was usually to Rick or an older woman named Carol. The truth was, Daryl hadn’t spoken more than a few words to you since the night he brought you back to the prison. While you weren’t exactly expecting that the two of you would become best friends, you wondered why he seemed to be keeping his distance.

Which left Carl and the baby, Judith. While your chores kept you busy, there was also a fair amount of downtime, and you usually spent it with them. It began gradually, since you felt it was best to keep your distance out of respect for Rick. After all, you were a complete stranger and the man was kind enough to allow you shelter in his makeshift home. You didn’t want to make him uneasy by spending too much time with his children. Carl, however, always seemed to find you, and where Carl was, Judith usually was as well. Regardless, Rick had gotten to know you well enough that he didn’t seem to mind, and had even started to ask you if you minded watching Judith when he was busy.

“What’s for breakfast?” You asked, your eyes going straight to the two beige plastic bowls that were currently sitting in front of Rick and Carl.

“Oatmeal. Actually, you can have mine!” Carl offered graciously, pushing his bowl towards you. “It just cooled off; I can make another one.”

Before you could reply with so much as a “thank you”, the younger boy hopped up and hurried over to a counter that housed the breakfast foods.

“I’ve never seen him so excited about oatmeal before.” Rick grinned, finishing off his own breakfast as he cradled Judith in his arms.

You returned Rick’s grin with one of your own. You had been given enough attention by boys and men in the past to know that Carl was crushing on you. He was a cute kid, and you enjoyed his company, but didn’t want him getting his hopes up. You were more than twice his age and any feelings you had towards him would only ever be platonic.

“Hey Juuuude,” You sang softly, leaning over to give Judith’s smooth head a gentle stroke. You had formed a habit of singing that song to the baby as a lullaby during the days you put her down for her naps. You remembered how your mother used to sing that song every time it came on the car radio, and the memory made you smile.

As you hovered over Judith, Rick was practically beaming. You were kind, and so good with his children. Hell, you were honestly a blessing after the death of his wife had taken place so recently. Rick’s smile grew as Judith waved her arms and kicked her legs excitedly at the sight of you.

“You know, she never gets this excited when I sing to her.” He commented, a comically offended tone taking over his voice.

“That’s because you don’t sing her the right songs!” You teased, sitting back down at the table and taking a bite of oatmeal.

“That right?” Rick chuckled, taking a sip from his cup of coffee just as Daryl exited C-Block and joined them.

“You headed out?” Rick asked, looking up at him.

Daryl nodded. “Can’t live on this prison chow forever. Gonna go to the woods, try to find some meat.”

Daryl took quick notice to the fact that you were spending time with Rick, Carl, and Judith. Again. It didn’t annoy him so much as throw him off. For so long it had just been them: Rick, Carl, Carol, Glenn, Hershel, and Maggie. He knew he’d done the right thing when bringing you back that night, but he still hadn’t gotten used to your presence.

Daryl may not have said much to you over the past few weeks, but he’d gone out of his way to keep an eye on you, whether you realized it or not. The truth was, he had never had to deal with a newcomer apart from Rick, and that had been entirely different. Before Rick, he and Merle had been the last to join the Atlanta group, and after that they’d all become the new addition when ending up at the Greene Farm after Carl’s accident.

“Why don’t you take her with you?” Rick suggested, nodding towards you as he patted Judith on the back.

“Why?” Daryl grunted as he lifted a cup to his mouth.

Rick glanced at you, an apologetic look on his face. “Because we could use another hunter around here, and she’s been doing great at target practice. I have a feeling she’ll do just fine.”

Daryl made a noise, somewhere between a scoff and another grunt, but nodded his head whether or not he agreed with Rick’s suggestion.

Scrunching up your nose, you spooned a few more bites of oatmeal into your mouth in attempt to hide just what you thought of Rick’s feeling. While you didn’t mean any offense to him, hunting had never been a favorite pastime of yours. You’d gone on many trips with your father and brother when you were younger, mostly as a way to spite Evan when he got cocky about his skills with a shotgun, but you’d never enjoyed it.

Then there was the thought of going off alone with Mr. Pleasant.

Oh, joy.

“You OK with that?” Rick asked.

“Sure.” You nodded, pushing yourself up from the table. “Gotta start earning my keep around here.”

“I didn’t mean—“ He started.

“It’s fine, I want to.” You smiled reassuringly at Rick, even though you were lying through your goddamn teeth after witnessing how Daryl seemed less than thrilled by the idea of you tagging along.

“Can I come?” Carl asked when he returned to the table with another bowl of oatmeal.

Opening your mouth, you were prepared to agree if Rick didn’t object, when Daryl shook his head.

“Takin’ the bike, not enough room.”

You could see how bummed Carl was by the way he slouched back into his seat, which you hated to see. Especially now that you’d learned his mother had passed away so recently.

Not wanting to disappoint the kid, you stepped in front of Daryl.

“You mean the bike that broke down?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“It’s fixed now.” Daryl said defensively, coming to a stop in front of you as he pulled on his leather vest.

“More like for now.” You mumbled, smirking as you caught Carl’s amused gaze with your own.

Carl chuckled at your smart ass comment about the bike, but after catching sight of Daryl’s face, suddenly became very interested in Glenn and Maggie as they sat down at the next table.

“That’s right, ya only like backseats, don’tcha, Betty?” Daryl asked you tauntingly.

You frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Rick shook his head. “Daryl, ease up.”

With a shrug of his shoulders and another grumble, Daryl crossed the room, busying himself by adding his cup of coffee to the tub of dirty dishes. You narrowed your eyes, watching him as he walked off.

Rick stood up, handing Judith to Carl before stepping over to you.

“Sorry about that.” Rick began, lowering his voice. “He’s just—“

“An asshole?” You finished for him, raising an eyebrow.

Rick chuckled. ‘Asshole’ had definitely been on the list of words that he’d categorized Daryl Dixon under after first meeting him a year ago, but that had recently changed. The youngest Dixon had stepped up when he’d gone out of his way to track Sophia back at the farm, and had only continued to prove himself since then. Stepping in when Rick struggled to put Dale down himself; protecting their group as they moved from one location to the next; hunting and providing food for them — the list of his good deeds went on and on. Since then, Daryl had more than earned the title of Rick’s right-hand man. Rick just wished that he would open up and show his softer side to you as well.

“He’s a good guy. I think you know that, given how you met.”

“Well, I’m starting to think that he’s regretting bringing me back here.” You muttered.

“Give it some time.” Rick pleaded, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“Ya comin’ or not?” Daryl asked, reappearing with his crossbow and the rest of his gear over his shoulder.

At Daryl’s question, you looked to Rick, who shot you another sympathetic look. Before you could respond, he raised his hand to signal for Daryl to wait. “Hold on.”

Turning away, Rick hurried down the hallway to his cell, returning just a moment later with your revolver and knife in his hands. While you’d felt safer in the prison than you had in a very long time, the sight of your weapons brought a smile to your face, as did the thought of what it meant that Rick was returning them to you.

“I take it I’ve proven myself not to be a total psycho?” You smirked at him.

Rick chuckled, nodding as he handed your weapons over. “Just try not to kill him, would ya?”

“No promises.” You muttered, the smirk never leaving your lips as you slid the knife beneath your belt and the revolver into the waistband of your jeans.

When you joined Daryl outside by the gate a few minutes later, he unceremoniously tossed you his backpack before hopping onto his bike.

“Ya ever ride before?” He called over the rumbling noise of the engine.

You nodded, pulling the backpack onto your shoulders and adjusting to the weight of it.

“By yourself, I mean.”

“No, but my ex had one.”

Daryl grunted. “What kind?”

You hesitated. “A . . . fast one?”

As you watched Daryl’s reaction, you could have sworn that you saw the corners of his lips turn up with the slightest hint of amusement, but he soon made another disgruntled noise, making you assume that you’d imagined it completely.

“Yeah, well, mine’s faster.” He grunted. “Get on.”

Raising your hands at his declaration as he turned his back to you, you made a face as if to say “Ohhh, I’m so impressed — NOT!”,  then rolled your eyes while swinging your leg over the seat and climbing onto the back of the bike. Men were absolutely ridiculous when it came to their motorcycles. It was truly the biggest dick measuring contest there was.

Daryl felt the bike shift slightly from your weight, but kept his feet placed firmly on the ground as he straddled it, making no move to go. With a confused frown, you leaned in towards his ear. “I’m ready.”

“Told ya it’s fast.” He grumbled.

Finally understanding that this was probably as close to a warning as you were going to get from Daryl Dixon, you scooted your body closer to his, lowering your hands to his waist and gripping onto the worn leather of his vest a little harder than necessary. It wasn’t that you were nervous on bikes, just that you could feel another smart ass remark dancing on your tongue and were trying hard not to say it out loud.

Shut up. You promised Rick.

At the feel of the warmth and proximity of your body behind him, Daryl kicked his bike into gear just as Carl hurried over to open the gate. Beaming at Rick’s oldest, you raised your arm and waved goodbye as Daryl pulled the throttle, sending you both hurtling past a cluster of walkers that had gathered at the entrance of the prison.

When you arrived at your destination several miles down the road, you followed Daryl’s lead and slid off the bike before walking a couple of paces behind him into the heavily wooded area.

“Soil’s pretty soft here.” He stated, though his tone wasn’t exactly conversational. Mostly he seemed to be thinking out loud. “Gotta be somethin’ close by.”

You squinted at him in the daylight, your hands on your hips. The Georgia sun was unforgiving, as fucking usual, and you were quickly remembering another reason why you hated hunting.

“So, how’d you learn all this?” You asked; your attempt at small talk.

“Gotta eat.” He replied simply.

“But who taught you?”

Daryl shrugged.

“Your dad?”

“Not really.”

When Daryl refused to elaborate, you got the hint. His father obviously wasn’t on the list of topics that he liked to converse with people about — if there happened to be any at all. The next few hours went by agonizingly slowly as you trekked through the woods together. Though Daryl’s personality left a lot to be desired, you had to admit, the man was patient. You, however, were not.

“Maybe there’s a creek nearby?” You suggested, standing up from where you’d been leaning against a tree and brushing your hands off on the back of your jeans. “We could look around.”

“Ya bring along any fishin’ poles? Any bait?” He grunted, making you feel like an absolute idiot.

“Well, there could be mussels . . . or something close to shore.”

“There ain’t any creeks nearby.” He assured you, hefting the half dozen squirrels he’d shot and strung together over his shoulder.

As you pressed your lips together, you chanted that same mantra in your head, over and over again:

Shutupshutupshutup. You promised, Rick. Remember your promise to Rick.

As much as you wanted to keep said promise, the sun was close to setting and your patience was wearing thin. You were about to say as much when you caught sight of several streaks of gray just a few yards to your left. Daryl, clearly having had enough of you, had gone off in the opposite direction. He’d walked too far for him to hear you speak unless you shouted, and you weren’t going to risk scaring these rabbits off.

Remaining where you were, you raised your revolver in both hands, closing your left eye and lining up the barrel of the gun with a rabbit. Releasing a deep breath to steady yourself, you slid the hammer back and pulled the trigger three times in quick succession.

One – two – three.

The bullets fired and soared through the air, hitting two out of your three targets. Daryl whipped around at the sound of gunfire and watched you from behind as you stood with your back straight, your gaze focused. After slipping your gun down into the waistband of your jeans, you did a little happy dance while making your way over to collect your prize.

Picking up a rabbit in each hand, you frowned down at their corpses and muttered under your breath. “Sorry little dudes; gotta eat.”

When you looked up you found Daryl staring at you, and hesitated briefly before deciding that you weren’t going to let the permanent scowl on his face ruin your joy of contributing to their dinner.

“Aww, you’re jealous that I found them first, aren’t you?” You called tauntingly, smirking as you watched him walk towards you, shoulders tense.

Daryl huffed, readjusting the strap of his crossbow. “Beginner’s luck.”

When you returned to the prison about half an hour later the sun had begun to set. Once you secured the gate, you both headed towards a small area where a campfire was set up. Stepping towards the pit, you watched as Daryl got to work on building a fire, your gaze going to your knife as you laid the rabbits down on a nearby table. Then realization suddenly dawned on you. You may have known how to shoot those rabbits, but you had absolutely no fucking idea how to prepare the meat.

“Not so cocky now, are ya?” You could hear the smirk in his voice as he seemed to read your mind.

When you looked up to find Daryl staring back at you, your first thought was that he might actually be cute if he didn’t glower all the time, but that feeling was quickly replaced with annoyance over the fact that he was trying to take you down a peg or two.

“You know, I’m surprised you can shoot anything with that hair hanging in your eyes all the time.”

He scoffed. “Been huntin’ longer than ya been alive, girl.”

“In that case, maybe you’re getting a little too old for it?” You suggested, not even missing a beat.

While you didn’t know Daryl’s exact age, you were assuming that he was in his mid-thirties, which made you over ten years younger, and therefore gave you every right to refer to him as “old” — whether or not you actually thought that he was.

Daryl scoffed once more, but grew quiet, his steadfast gaze easing slightly.

“That wasn’t luck; your shootin’.” He finally spoke a few minutes later. “It wasn’t somethin’ ya picked up from a few days of target practice neither.”

“You’re right.” You admitted, and as you looked at him your grip tightened on the handle of your knife. You may not win this damn staring contest that he’d started, but you were at least going to give him a run for his money.

Daryl hummed and began chewing on the inside of his bottom lip as he appeared to be thinking about something. As much as you were tempted to keep an air of mystery about yourself in the same way that he seemed to like to, you sighed, deciding to just take it as a win that he was at least talking to you now.

“I have . . . “

Had?

No, that hurt too much to think about. Until you knew for sure, you would continue to use present tense when referring to your family.

“ . . . a very protective father. He wouldn’t let me move out on my own until I got a gun permit and went to the shooting range with him for an entire month. He also took me and my brother hunting when I was a kid.”

Daryl seemed to take a moment to consider that.

Again he stared, and again you stared back, wondering if perhaps he might take this opportunity to share something about himself. Instead, he finished building the fire and dusted his hands off on his pants before walking over and setting the squirrels down on the table across from you.

While you were lost in the puzzle that was Daryl Dixon, you’d mindlessly started to work the rabbit over with your knife. With a tilt of his head, he removed his own knife and slid the blade into the stomach of one of his squirrels.

Catching your eye, he nodded in the direction of your rabbit. “Try cuttin’ closer to the bone, like this.”

Your gaze went from Daryl’s face to his hands as he demonstrated by slicing into the squirrel. After a moment spent studying his technique, you used one hand to slide your blade deeper into the animal, and the other to hold it steady. Glancing up at him, you opened your mouth to ask him how you did, when you caught sight of movement behind his shoulder.

Out in the field beyond the fence stood an injured, dark-skinned woman with dreadlocks. At first you assumed it was just another walker in the crowd that seemed to permanently loom outside the gate, but then you looked closer. She was limping, bloodied, and beaten — but what truly stood out was the fact that her eyes were also dark, not the otherworldly green that all walkers possessed. This woman was human, yet surrounded by the dead, and they were completely oblivious to her presence.

“Holy shit.” You breathed, looking to Daryl before raising your arm and pointing out towards the woman. “Who’s that?”

CHAPTER THREE

---

Taglist: @azanoni​, @rickysgrimes​, @dillie60​ @darylsmavis​, @starfirette​, @dxrylswalker​, @luckily-gray, @nuhogom​, @ibellpepper, @angel-winchester-dixon-mendes​, @tryingddfffggt, @averyhockstetter​, @geronimasyaferninblog, @jackstergrey 

[somethingthing]

Di[ck]xon

Daryl Dixon x reader

Warnings: angst and fighting, fluff towards the end

Word count: 931

A/n: I’m gonna admit I found his last name very funny when I first heard it cause I have the same humor as a 12 year old, enjoy! <3

“You’re not helping Daryl! I get that you’re pissed at Rick, I get that you want Negan dead and the Saviors to fall in line, but you’re not helping!” You were angry, so was Daryl and for the first time that anger resulted in a fight since you two got together.

“So what? Want me to let ‘em threaten me? Let ‘em act as if they’ll kill us as soon as they get the chance? I ain’t gonna let that slide!” The Saviors were difficult, some truly wanted and had changed, others were just like before, constantly looking for a war path.

“That’s not what I’m saying” he wasn’t getting it, or he was but just didn’t want to stop arguing now that you were already at it “ But you pointing your bow at them or throwing punches their way won’t make them any less hostile towards you, or any of us!”

“Is that all you think I’ve done? Ain’t got nothin’ to do with Justin huh?” His voice dropped, he was asking if you thought he killed him, of course he was. He stepped towards you, closing the gap between you.

You crooked your neck to look at him, narrowing your eyes “I don’t know Daryl, he was a bother to you, the wound wasn’t from a bullet, could’ve been from an arrow” you didn’t actually think he killed him, but if he wasn’t backing down you weren’t either.

He let out an almost amused huff “I would’ve done it in daylight, I ain’t got shit to hide if I were to kill him” he paused and dropped his head to really look at you “Only reason I haven’t done it is because he ain’t the one I want dead, Negan is” Of course.

You opened your mouth to speak but he continued “Why are you with Rick? Keepin’ him alive, for what? I know the shit he’s done to you, so why ain’t he dead?” That was a low blow, you tried to forget your time with Negan, some things still kept you from sleeping.

This made you take step back “That’s not fair, you can’t ask that, Rick is keeping him alive for everyone’s sakes, to make this work” you pointed at him, more angry now than before “What you want is selfish, and trust me I do want him dead, but what will that do? Huh?!”

“Selfish? Killin’ him is what’s right, for everything he’s done!” He was on his way to say more but you cut him off.

“And then what? We’ll sleep better? All the people he killed will come back? We’ll get the time back that he took?!” You paused taking a deep breath trying to stop the tears that were pooling in your eyes from spilling “My nightmares will disappear? That suffocating feeling I get every time I hear someone talk about him will go away?” You shook your head furiously wiping you cheeks “It won’t Daryl, it won’t help” it came out as a whisper.

“Ya don’t know that” he said, sounding calmer now but still on edge “It could help, but you ain’t gonna know till it’s done” he didn’t try to get closer, just looked at you.

“And you still don’t see that as selfish? It might help me, us, but if it doesn’t we’re back to were we started” the anger had calmed down, but you weren’t in the clear “On top of that everything we’ve worked for will go to shit, you know that”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, just thinking it over. Finally he stepped closer once again “I still want him dead, but I ain’t the one who killed Justin”

You wiped your cheeks one last time “I know that, I do” you were both calmer now “But what I said is still true, you continuing to be hostile towards them won’t help, and Negan will get what he wants, which is for us to fail” you reached your arms out for a hug, he stepped in to them. Just as fast as the fight has started, it was over and you were thanking whoever for it.

You stayed like that for awhile, until he stepped back and dropped his head a bit to look at you “They hit first, I hit back, they threaten me, I ain’t gonna stand quietly, they kill you or anyone else first, I can’t do shit to get you back” so that was it, he was scared you’d be a target.

You let you lips form a small smile “I’m very capable of taking care of myself, why thank you” his face twisted into a sour look.

“You’re ruinin’ it” he grunted, you just giggled.

“You’re cute when you’re worried, you know that Dixon?” You pulled him into a soft kiss “Very cute” you finished with a grin.

He let his forehead rest against yours “Sorry bout what I said, dick move” it made you laugh, knocking your head hard against his by accident “Hey!” He bursted out running his hand against his forehead.

“Yeah, dick move indeed Dixon” you got out between your giggles.

“I ain’t even gonna try anymore, ya ruinin’ it again!” He whined but you could see a grin creeping on to his face “Good one” was the last thing he got out before you were both laughing uncontrollably.

Tears were running down your cheeks once again but now from laughter. After awhile neither of you knew what was so funny from the beginning, but after the argument you just had, it didn’t matter.

——————————

Thank you for reading! <3 Not sure if I like it or not, but here it is! I have like 7 unfinished Daryl fics atm and an unpublished Negan one, I’m also tempted to write a Merle one??? Like what

[zeep-xanflorp]

rambling about the rick-unity-wong talk bc i'm upset about it

r: look, it's clear you weren't lying when you said you could've taken over earth because your finger just took over america. i need you to help me fix that.

u: oh, it took that to make you believe me?

r: why should i believe you? you show up unannounced and hijack a state.

u: i called you! multiple times! you ghosted me.

so there are two ways i think you can read rick not believing unity. one is that he believed it was trying anything to stay in proximity to rick even though he was asserting boundaries, or two, he did actually believe it but wanted to deal with the situation on his own or just wanted it gone. either way, he didn't want to be around it.

then there's the part about rick ghosting it. like okay yes. unity tried giving rick a heads up but the fact is that it knew rick wasn't answering its calls. it Knew rick wouldn't know it was there unless it made a big deal about it being there and that's what it did. it literally showed up without permission and assimilated a whole state on rick's home planet, in rick's country. just to get his attention.

w: rick, is that true?

r: she dumped me. why would i answer her calls?

and now we get a blatant explanation for why rick was ignoring unity. i imagine it would've been clear enough anyway without this explanation but rick is still upset from being broken up with. so he decided to ghost it with no explanation, cutting it off entirely.

w: alright, i'm going to commit a cardinal sin in couples therapy here, but rick, i think you're wrong. [..] you had an outer-space lady who was worried for your life and your response was hostile enough to cause a huge problem.

u: thank you.

w: now you're asking her to both forgive you and solve it?

now, the mistake wong makes here is assuming she knows the full story. obviously she's smart and i think she gave her best analysis based on what she knows of the situation, but in her ignorance she fails to listen to rick, her patient.

the whole theme of this episode is rick asserting his boundaries. he doesn't want to see unity because last time he did it ended catastrophically for him. he's not ignoring it out of pettiness but as a defence mechanism. a coping strategy. and when it decided to follow through with its plan of coming to america anyway, destroying the boundaries rick had in place, it made him lash out.

rick also has a tendency to self sabotage when things are going well for him, whether he realises it or not. he abuses morty when they get too close. he made unity party with him instead of doing its duties. his actions push people away, keeping them at arms length.

i believe his boundaries are in place to prevent these episodes of self sabotage. so when they get ignored and discarded, he goes back into that mindset.

and wong, who would be aware of this at least vaguely, blames unity's actions on rick ignoring it which is not fair in the slightest imo.

w: unity, i think the reason rick brought me here is that he doesn't know how to indicate to you he's changed. because he's changing very slowly. but he is.

now this is something i had trouble understanding bc i am a shameful rick apologist at the best of times and couldn't remember what he actually did wrong. his crime in this instance was when he was distracting unity from its work, influencing it to drink and party all the time and avoid its responsibilities. this became too much for it, especially when it saw how rick used the same methods to detach himself from his family.

so it broke up with him, leaving him to spiral into the worst mental state we as the audience have personally seen him in in present day - his suicide attempt. unity doesn't know about that, and i'm guessing wong doesn't either, because all rick needed to say to wong was that their breakup ended horribly for him so being around it is difficult for him and maybe she would've understood more. but no that's too much vulnerability for old man sanchez.

rick has changed since then. i imagine he better understands why unity left him. i also think he knows that it wants the best for him but struggles with accepting that. that's what led to this mess of a situation.

he feels hurt from being abandoned. it feels hurt that rick couldn't understand why it left. and all of this culminated in a messy situation where unity acted drastically to get rick's attention, and rick in his stubbornness and pain refused to accept it.

and so. i think wong spoke too quickly. i think she definitely knows rick's patterns and is right to call him out but made an unfair judgement on only him because even she expects the worst from him. he is changing, but she is encouraging unity not to give him a second chance because he's not there yet. when really that decision should be up to unity.

even though it does take agency at the end. after unity releases america from its hold, we get this absolutely heartbreaking scene between it and rick.

r: i trust you now.

u: that's nice. but i don't trust you.

unity turns rick's lack of trust in it back at him, and it's telling the truth. it feels betrayed by rick's actions in this episode because it only wanted to make sure rick was alright. to it, rick seems to be punishing unity for caring about him.

anyway in conclusion. rick is mentally ill, wong was a little too harsh on him in this episode bc it's a complex situation, and unity will act drastically if it can't get rick's attention. it's unfair to blame it all on rick in this case (even though things are normally his fault) bc while he did act immaturely in response, he wasn't the only one that escalated the conflict so drastically.

this is not a refined analysis. i might fix it later but no promises.

[mustanggg]

(Rick finds you hiding out in an abandoned building trying to drown your sorrows at the bottom of a bottle)

A/N: bare with me, am still a new to this :)

Warnings: smut

It’s a warm day. You snuck of from the prison into the woods as the first rays of sunlight kissed the sky. It isn’t your first time sneaking off from the prison, finding peace in the solitude of the trees and your little hideout in a near by town. As far as you knew no one knew about your haven. You were always careful not to leave trails and to be sure you weren’t followed, opting to track different ways to get to your destination to be completely sure.

It was here at the very same haven where you were currently holed up, bottle of Jack in hand. It was about a quarter way through the bottle and you first started to feel numb. All the grief and guilt ebbing away the more you drank.

It was only yesterday a run for more supplies had gone wrong and as a consequence of new people joining the group and participating in the run your brother paid the price for their incompetence.

Riley. Gone but never forgotten. Everyone loved him. Everyone got along with him. He pulled his weight. Provided for everyone and helped keep everyone safe. Yet you sit here, barely tipsy and painfully reminisce over his memories.

Sighing you bring the bottle to your lips and go to take another chug when you hear the back door to your hideout creak open. You know you should have been worried and on alert about the possibility of it being hostile strangers but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. So instead you scull down the burning liquid of bourbon and placidly await your fate, whatever it may be.

Turning in the direction of footsteps nearing, your body completely relaxed, you wait for them to round the corner.

Even in your surprised state, you couldn’t bring yourself to move as you took in the sweaty and heaving leader of your group Rick Grimes towering over you as he searched you for injuries. Finding none he slightly relaxes and tilts his head as he studies you.

“What are you doing?” He breaks the silence first as you continue to just blink at him, offering no emotion at his unexpected arrival.

Shrugging nonchalantly you bring the bottle back to your lips and scull down more of the liquid, feeling a little trickle down your chin and into your cleavage. Turning your attention back to Rick you notice his eyes follow the trail before the snap back to yours, almost guiltily.

“Nothin. How’d you find me?” You question. Ready to take another drink in order to avoid this confrontation. Yet before the bottle can successfully reach your lips again Rick is kneeling in front of you and grasps it, prying it from your hands.

“Hey!” You weakly protest, going to retrieve it. Yet Rick just simply moves out your reach. You watch him stand and walk away with your bottle, placing it on the bench on the other side of the little room you currently reside in.

“I’ve known about your sneaking off tendencies. Followed you one day to this place. Wanted to make sure you were okay. Was worried about you,” he drawls as he plops down beside you.

“Worried.. about me?” You question as though it made no sense, which in your state it didn’t.

“Course. When you couldn’t be found, I offered to come out to look for you. Knew you’d come here. Grieve in peace,” he looks to you as he speaks softly, as though your an injured animal ready to bolt.

You don’t reply. Don’t meet his eyes as you fiddle with your fingers. This wasn’t a conversation you wanted to be having. You just wanted to drown your sorrows and forget about everything for the day. Mind made up you make a move to stand and retrieve the bottle before Ricks hand latches to your wrist and pulls you back.

“Don’t. It’s only a temporary solution but in the long run it won’t change nothing. Ain’t worth it,” he tries to reason with you but you’re so over being reasonable. You just want to forget.

“Maybe. But that’s my decision to make, not yours,” you snap at him. Still he barely reacts apart from tightening his grip, determined to keep you away from the bottle. “Please,” you whisper softly.

Hearing a noise emit from the back of his throat you think you’ve won before he tugs on the wrist in his grip and pulls you into his side, wrapping his arms around you in an embrace. In shock you just sit there, surrounding by his muscle and smell and slowly start to relax.

“I know it’s hard. You miss him. Not a day will go by without you thinking of him but it will get easier. But you have to let yourself feel his absence before it consumes you. Let it hurt. Let me help you,” Rick whispers into your hair.

Tensing up you think about pulling away before you feel his arms tighten around you and his thumb absentmindedly stroke your upper arm as his words sink.

No matter how much you trusted Rick, you refused to allow yourself to feel the torment of emotions in front him. Bare that weakness to anyone. So you find the strength and pull out of his grasp, finally turning to meet his eyes.

“Go,” is the only word whispered into the air and Rick looks at you confused. “Leave,” you try again when he doesn’t budge.

Steeling himself he prepares to respond before you push against his chest. “Get out of here.”

“No,” he determinedly answers. “I’m here for you. Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help! I don’t need anyones help! What do you want from me? You want me to cry? Well it’s not going to happen. Just get out of here! Why the hell do you even care? You’ve never showed any affection for me or anyone else before. Why start now?” You’re on the verge of shouting as you repeatedly push at his chest, frustrated Ricks just sitting there allowing you to.

“Because I’m in love you!” Rick interrupts your torment as he raises his voice. “Why do you think I go through the trouble of following you, to make sure your safe? Confiscating the bottle and trying to be here for you?”

Shocked into silence you pause, hands resting against his chest as you stare wide eyed at him. He was in love with you?

“Let me help you,” he pleads again. As he goes to open his mouth to say something else you surprise each other as you push forward and connect his lips with yours.

Rick hesitates before moving against you as he places his hands either side of your face lovingly, almost gently. Your lips move gently against one another before you shuffle closer and press yours against him harder with a moan. Your hands slide into the curls at the bottom of his neck and you tug, emitting a groan from Rick which you use to your advantage and slip you tongue into his mouth.

Feeling confidence from the alcohol and his responses to you, you climb into his lap, pressing your chest against his as you break away for air. “What are you doing?” He whispers as he rests his forehead against yours.

Choosing not to respond, you peck his lips before sliding your lips over his cheek and down along his scruff before you reach his neck. Placing kisses along his neck you bite into the skin, becoming aroused at the throaty groan he lets loose as he tilts his head to the side to give you more access.

“Stop. This isn’t right. Your emotions are out of control and you’ve been drinking,” he breathes weakly yet still doesn’t make any moves to actually stop you.

Removing yourself from his neck you lean back slightly and look him in the eye as you ask. “Do you want me to stop? Stop this?” You kiss his neck again before you bite down. Even harder. His responding groan and hands sliding to your hips to grip gives you the answer you need to continue your assault against his neck.

Underneath you can feel him becoming hard. The bulge and his groans cause you to give an experimental thrust against him. In response his breath hitches against you as you moan softly at the friction. Hearing his sexy voice and feeling him growing underneath you has soaked your panties. Want for this gorgeous man underneath you, at your mercy grows. Makes you unbutton and unzip your jeans before you grab one of his hands and shove it down the front of your pants into your panties, where from there he needs no more encouragement before his fingers begin to explore your mound.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,”he groans as his finger circles you nub, causing you to thrust against his bulge.

Hearing your moans he delicately shoves a finger inside you, moving slowly before you whine. “More Rick. Faster.”

Growling at your pleas he shoves another finger inside you to his knuckles and stills. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Refusing to answer you show him. Lifting yourself up and falling back down, riding his fingers as you chase your own orgasm. Transfixed Rick just watched you ride his fingers, watches your chest heave with your pants and moans slipping out. Before he grips you to a stop and thrusts into you harder then before, curling your fingers to hit that special spot inside you.

“Oh… oh my gosh, Rick. Yes… yes right there,” at your encouragement he speeds up his thrusts and continues to hit that spot repeatedly.

“Jesus I love the way you moan my name,” he groans as he watches your face contort with pleasure, eyes shut tightly.

Feeling your walls begin to flutter around his fingers he quickens his pace once more, causing you to squeal before he crashes you lips against yours to swallow them.

Walls gripping him tightly he leaves your lips to hold you tight against him as he sensually whispers into your ear. “Come for me baby. Come all over my fingers,” and his words is all it takes for you to fall over the edge, coating his fingers.

He continues to thrust as you ride out your orgasm, prolonging it before he pulls softly out and brings his soaked fingers to his lips, groaning at the taste.

Panting you collapse against him. “That’s one way to help me forget,” you remark against his chest as you try to catch your breath.

As you fight for you breath, content against him you feel his hard length underneath you. “Let me help you with that,” you purr as you work on undoing his belt and buckle.

Rick goes to protest, not expecting anything, but his words die on his tongue when you pull start to pull his boxers and pants down, looking up expectedly. Lifting up a little Rick helps you manoeuvre his jeans down to his knees, his length springing out. He quietly watches as you take him in your hands as you kneel beside him, stroking him slowly up and down.

Head falling against the wall behind him his eyes shut at the feel of your hand wrapped around him. Using the advantage of his eyes closed you tighten your grip a little and continued to stroke him as you listen to his low groans as you worked to silently manoeuvre yourself out of your jeans and pantries.

“Fuck,” he sighs at the pleasure. Eyes still closed he wants to beg for you to go faster when he feels you climb back onto his lap and continue to stroke him.

Confused, Rick ignores it as he succumbs to the feeling of your hands stroking him torturously. About to beg you to speed up his eyes snap open and groans loudly into the room at the sudden unexpected feeling of your walls swallowing around him, hips jerking up into you in surprise, causing you to yelp in pleasure.

“Fuckkk, baby. You’re so fucking tight wrapped around my cock,” Rick strangles out into the air, hands gripping your hips as you sink all the way down. You both moan out at the feeling of bottoming out.

Resting your hands on his shoulders you slowly lift up, leaving just his tip inside before you slam back down, moaning out loud as you listen to his growl of pleasure. Repeating the same motion over and over you feel yourself slowly edge towards the relief you’re chasing.

As you go to sink back down Rick suddenly grabs you hips and stills you. Confused you begin to beg. “ Rick plea- aw fuckk,” you yell as he plants his feet and jackhammers into you, balls slapping against your ass.

The brutal thrusts and growls dripping from Ricks lips begins you closer and closer to your orgasm. “I-ah.. I’m-lm gonna come,” you whine when he drops his legs and places his hands on your ass to help lift you up and down on him.

“Come baby, ride me harder. Come all over all over my cock. Fuck” Rick growls as he feels his own orgasm on the horizon.

One particular thrust back down has your walls squeezing around him as your explode, stars igniting behind your eye lids as you collapse but Rick continues to bounce you on him as he chases his own orgasm.

As you bottom out one last time Ricks chest rumbles with his animalistic groan as he spills into you, thighs shaking.

As you both ride out your highs slumped against one another you lift of Rick, wincing as he slips out and curl up beside him. Panting you unexpectedly begin to laugh. Rick, spent just rolls his head to look at you confused.

“Thank you. That’s one heck of a way for being here for me,” you wink. Smiling softly, Rick tucks a hair behind your ear.

“I love you,” he breathes as you nuzzle into his palm. Deep down accepting and understanding right now you couldn’t voice those words. Yet Rick made a vow to himself to always continue to be there for you anyway you need and make you fall hopelessly in love with him.

[lime-parfait]

Paranatural Parents: A Quick Analysis (Spoilers)

Please blacklist #long post for this because a “read more” will be unavailable if this blog were to be deleted in the future and it won’t be accessible.

Also no beta on this analysis

Anyways, been awhile since reading Paranatural seriously (ever since the story’s style changed to a text format it was harder to focus and read it). Anyways, there’s something that ‘clicked’ for me when reading some the recent pages. And it was simply that Paranatural is full of incompetent adults (no brainer). But specifically, it was full of incompetent PARENTS. Especially the ones who are involved in the whole world of spirits.

Okay, okay. Think about it. Isabel’s attitudes towards her family. The way that her grandfather finds ways to constantly point out her flaws and teaches her to use spirits as weapons. Isabel’s father, who we recently learned about, DOES want to care about his daughter, still chooses to be involved in the realm of spirits because he believes that Cherub’s words will help to make balance in the world. And yet, Isabel still doesn’t want to be around her father (based off the attitudes she has and it took a lot of strength for her to even ask her mom to drop her off). Isabel has something important to tell her father, but she reacts negatively when he doesn’t take her seriously. In a nutshell, Isabel has 2 guardian figures in her life who do not listen to her. Her grandfather wants her to be a disciplined warrior at the age of 12, while her father doesn’t seem to do his part in making communication between them easier.

Cody, his father was also involved in the Consortium. That man is a business man now and all he does is try to take property away from people. Back in the long (Jim the Brain)chapter, Cody is super hostile towards his father, who’s about to kill a spirit (because that’s what his father did back in the Consortium; stab spirits). Cody becomes cold and harsh, saying that the spirit was HIS to kill. Like, Cody took a deadly turn and it makes for a theory that his father taught him to be a cold-blooded killer towards spirits. But in the evidence, it’s vague why Cody feels this way towards spirits (we only got Davy saying that even though he wants to protect those he loves, Davy pulls out the ‘dad will take care of it’ card). Cody yells at him after that, forcing him to leave the school (due to vampire rules). It ‘s clear that Cody doesn’t his father to be on his turf  and that he can hold his ground at school (remember, he’s school president). But Davy and Cody have a family tension the involves in protecting what they care about from the ‘evil spirits.’ However, Davy probably failed really bad as a parent if Cody gave him death glares and yelled at him.

EDIT: another thing to consider is that Davy sees his son as a reflection of him (literally) and gets really pissed when Max counters his statement by saying that Cody isnt his mirror. clearly Davy cannot see his son as a son, but some sort of copycat that needs to follow in his footsteps.

Rick Spender (as an adult) is literally the worst at being a reliable person for the Spirit Activity Club, theres records of the way he failed to be there for most of the members. Failing to reassure and listen to Isabel and purposefully keeps isaac in the dark that sparked these two to fight each other because they were both hurting

Ed’s parents who were clearly part of the Consortium and they eventually met their doom WHEN Ed was BARELY 3 YEARS OLD. Ed’s parents weren’t there long enough to actually raise him and see him grow up. Like, they decided that it was okay to pass their kid off to a new guardian in the most nightmare fueled moments before they disappeared. They didn’t try to leave him have a happy memory, but planned to just erase themsleves from his memories??

There’s plenty of other parents who also failed to be decent parents in the story (they weren’t part of Consortium, but they existed and basically don’t look after their kids. Penny and her parents’ treatment towards her and the way they favored her brother. Where the hell is Isaac’s parents). But it seems that a lot of the adults who are deeply involved in the spirit’s world, often tend to overlook their own children. Most of them claim to want to protect their kids from it, only pushing them away and the kid feeling neglected. But in the end, working in the Consortium makes these parents see their own children as an after thought because they’re buried in this this work, only dragging their kids in the mess.

And let’s look at Max Puckett. His mother was part of the Spectrals and possibly in the Consortium. She must have seen this sort of cycle. All of these parents who had spectral kids and planned out their futures to live that sort of life. Isabel’s family planning for her to be a warrior. Ed’s parents accepting their doomsday fate as workers of the Consortium. Max’s mom looked at all of this and didn’t want that. She would not repeat this mistake as other parents of the Consortium. And you know what? She married Peter Puckett, a man who wasn’t a spectral, or a vampire, or a wealthy man. But here’s the thing that Peter Puckett had that every other parent lacked; emotionally availability and unconditional love and care.

Like, Dad Puckett didn’t give up on his kids when his wife died. He picked himself up and did everything to raise them. He accepts that Max is Max, a moody preteen. He gets into the same interest as he does (Insolent Children music) and get involved in his life. Yes, he seems like a manchild at first glance because of his happy attitude and not being that smart. But he can be serious about serious topics when needed. He takes both of his kid to a kids’ arcade in order to let them have fun and be able to ask if Max was being bullied in school. He doesn’t make it a joke either, Peter Puckett is direct and wants to make sure that Max wasn’t being bullied in school. Hell, Dad Puckett took Max to the hospital for a broken arm and everything and you see that his face was full of concern for Max’s well-being. He literally makes time just for his kids no matter what it is. Going to a concert? Yes. Going to the hospital and rushing to get there? Peter will not hesitate. Like, Dad Puckett found the strength to continuing being there for his kids after his wife died. He moved to a new town to begin a new life, he takes their physical and emotional health seriously, he is involved in their interests and he listens to his kids, he doesn’t put pressure on his kids’ futures, all he wants is for them to be happy and safe. No matter what bad happens, Dad Puckett will always make himself emotionally available for his kids.

EDIT: another thing that was interesting during a re-read was that Peter said that Max took after his mom in personality and humor, and honestly that checks out based on what we know about her. This contrasts to Davy treating his son as a mirror, but in reality, Cody is nothing like him. Basically saying that Mr. Puckett understands his son better than Davy assumes what Cody is.

Meanwhile, all of the parents of the Consortium are fighting against a doomsday and not actually thinking about what their kids need most is to be there for them.

To Mom Puckett: you chose the best husband who was more prepared to care about his children

[cabin-3-counselor]

i have a confession, i really think that jason and thalia shouldn't have been siblings by mortal parent, and that they should have been a mirror to nico and hazel's relationship.

there are many inconsistencies in the pjo saga that never got well translated later on in the hoo saga, but one of them, that gets to me, is when we are told that thalia had a younger brother, that she knew of his existence throughout the entirety of pjo and that she wanted to or did look for him WHILE being a Huntress of Artemis, which it doesn't make sense cause Artemis, from the books, would never let her fuck off to somewhere before and after the war with Kronos, before because she lost two huntress and couldn't afford to loose another lieutenant and after because many other huntress died and they needed to get more numbers and Thalia would have to fulfill her role as lieutenant/general and seeing who is worthy of joining or not.

so, given that being a huntress would not help her out, why did she joined if she wanted to find her brother? a brother who surely wouldn't remember her and if he was alive, which was a shot in the dark given that she didn't even go to hades when she died because zeus stopped that by turning her into a tree and putting her in a coma therefore not given her concrete evidence that he was dead, there would be a big chance of him joining kronos's army given that he would've been the perfect choice for them, a son of Zeus (Jupiter) who did not get claimed and is utterly alone in the world.

if rick wanted to make them the grace siblings, related by mortal blood, a nice and interesting topic he could've gone with two routes (in my mind):

1. The Romulus and Remus

The brothers that helped in the foundation of Rome, who were nursed by a wolf, but eventually Romulus kill Remus because he doesn't want to share the title of Creator of Rome.

Jason being Romulus and Thalia being Remus, but instead of killing Thalia, he plays an active role in her choice becoming a huntress. He has been training years non stop in battle and politics, by the age of 14 he would've been an active menace, and he could've, perhaps out of respect for their dead mother, or perhaps to make sure that he would only have to fight with Percy and Nico, he played her, and heavily advised her to enter the huntress, solely to stay out of his way towards glory. It could be an interesting concept of having the Greeks idea of combat and glory rivalry the Roman way with them.

And it would be an interesting comparison to Hazel's and Nico's relationship, specially if it showed that they decided to put the roman vs greek side aside because they don't share any blood relation to anyone else.

2. Thalia choosing to disappear and stay as away from godly business even though she doesn't have a concrete answer as to where Jason is and having him confronting her and her decision after she is forced to fight in the war against Gaea

Thalia coming back from a comatose state seven years after what she thought was her death, and coming to the knowledge that no she didn't die, the choice of Elysium or Re-Birth being taken away from her by her father, a father who didn't interfere when she was in real danger, finding out that her closest best friend is using her and her "death" as an excuse to manipulate demigods into helping him bring kronos back from his slumber and take out the gods, and that he left Annabeth alone and that he stabbed a 12 years old kid because said kid called out his bullshit.

Rick could've shown a Thalia completely traumatized by the events that happened in the night of her death, she despising the sounds of branches and leaves crushing under her feet, because that's what she heard alongside her bones breaking in a fight against the ciclope, her being even more terrified and hostile of Tyson than Annabeth in The Sea of Monsters,when he entered camp for the first time after her resurrection, even being mean to Annabeth and Percy after she is told that they were the ones to take Tyson there, seeing Annabeth disappear and noone, no mortal parent nor godly one, only her, Percy and Grover getting worried and actually doing something.

And after everything she saw in the Titan's Curse, she chooses to not fight because she can't, she, at that point in life, realizes that she wouldn't stand a chance as a warrior, so she decides to turn her back to the mythological world, and she manages to stay away untill years later Annabeth knocks at her door and tells her that Percy is missing and that she needs help to look for him, and so Thalia is dragged back, and when she finally sees Jason again at the Grand Canyon she doesn't know what to do, specially because she didn't go looking for him and now he shows up but without memories of his entire life, and when he comes back to himself and he sees her he asks why she gave up, why he wasn't enough to make her want to fight, could be a very angsty scene that could help give Jason an actual personality.

so yeah, i have many thoughts on this thalia and jason siblinghood specially that it never made sense to me and that it was such a flashed out and boring arc that it would've been better if it didn't happen at all and if it did rick should've either introduced jason in the first saga or create a good reason for thalia not being able to find him.

[madstwd]

Day 2 - Rick Grimes X Reader

"Can you stop getting shot? It stresses me out"

Season: 8

Warnings: none

Words: 1.1k

Here's day 2! Hope you enjoy- mads

Masterlist for the other days

Discord link

--------------------------------------------------------

Your hands were pressed against Ricks side as you bandaged yet another gunshot. “You know getting shot isn't part of the run?” He moaned. It was true, it was only meant to be a simple run, nothing that involved a random hostile group camped where the supplies were. You tried to go for a more calm and reasonable approach, that was until Rick decided he didn't like their lingering eyes or comments. You knew most men, decided that they could have whatever woman they came across. Your experience with the Claimers back in the day proved that much. So Rick being Rick threatened them…with his gun and head tilt.

“I have no idea how to get you back, like it’s just me and we are miles away from the car” you sighed at the man. Rick snickered which was followed by a groan of pain. Your face was looking down at him with concern and amusement. “Your shirt, we can use the flannel to at least put some pressure.” He said. You looked at the flannel you were wearing, one you had stolen from Aarons collection, where you shared a house to help with Gracie. “Well you can tell Aaron that it was your idea” you laughed as you began to slip the shirt off. “I'll find him a new one. On the next run”

“I don’t think that will be for a while, love”

Rick sat up, a smile etched on his face as he saw yours. The man has been shot so much it’s almost like he doesn’t get affected by it anymore. You ripped off the sleeve, folding it into a makeshift pad pressing it to his wound, “hold this”

Ricks hands replaced yours whilst you cut up one more strip from the shirt to tie it around his waist. Once the makeshift bandage was in place, you helped the man stand up before starting the long journey towards the car, supporting most of his weight.

It was dark when you finally got back, racing to the infirmary unsure of how much blood the man had now lost. A tired but not surprised Denise showed up at the door and led you inside. She cleaned the wound, impressed with your innovative idea with Aaron’s shirt. “Unfortunately it's not a clean through shot, so it's going to hurt but we have to take them out” Denise smiled at the man. Rick groaned, his head hitting the white pillow as he braced himself for Denise’s digging around. “Can you go and check on Judith and Carl for me please? Whilst i get stitched up” rick asked, drawing his attention away from Denise walking around gathering the supplies she needed. “You just don’t want me in the room whilst you cry like a baby”

“You figured it out”

You smiled at the wounded man, nodding before saying that you’ll be back in a minute. “Oh Denise, i had to drag his ass all the way here, if you could like poke him with the needle at least once then its his payment back”

You heard her laugh as you closed the door behind you, looking down at your bloodied clothes you sighed before deciding to return home before you saw the kids.

Aaron was there in the kitchen giving Gracie a late night feed. “Rough run?”

“Well Rick decided to shoot up a group because of comments they made about me”

Aaron laughed, giving you a large smile at your tired and unamused expression. “You know, you should tell him how you feel. It’s not wise to just wait anymore”

You turned to look at the man, a soft smile on your face replaced the old expression. “I have to go and check in on carl and Judith, your flannel by the way, is no longer”

“My what?!”

“Ricks fault”

You laughed as you walked up the stairs to get changed, choosing a cleaner tank top and a pair of sweats to go and visit the children. You used wipes to clean your arms and face of any blood, and washed or maybe scrubbed your hands from the dried blood, before you finally made your way to the house.

“Hey Carl,” you said, spotting the kid on the sofa reading a comic.

“Hey, where’s dad?”

“He got shot”

“Again?”

“Again”

The boy gave you an amused smile before returning back to the comic. “I’ll head back over there in a minute, he just asked me to check on you”

“Getting Judith asleep was a bit of a battle, she must have missed you. But I managed” he smiled. You smiled back nodding. “Alright, i'll see you in a bit”

Once you got back to the infirmary, now tired of being on your feet for so long. “Hey, is all good” you asked Denise when you walked in, noticing the man now passed out on the bed. She nodded “yeah, he just passed out from the pain. Don’t worry, I poked him with a needle at least once” she replied. You let out a small chuckle, “thank you, i can watch him now. Get some sleep doc” you said to her, bringing the woman into a small hug. “Goodnight, he might want something for the pain when he wakes”

You nodded as you started to walk over to the chair beside Rick's bed. You took his hand once you sat down, playing with the metal strap of his watch and tracing over the small scars that littered his hands. He looked peaceful like this, no wars or walkers threatening his family, no large amounts of guilt that has piled up over the years. “You shouldn’t stare it's rude”

You jumped from your daydreams, his voice bringing you back to reality. “No teasing or I'll poke the wound,” you joked. Rick laughed looking over at you, your face dusted with a light pink. “Everyone good?”

“Yeah, carl said he thinks judith missed me putting her to bed, guess you’ll have to explain to her it was your fault for getting shot”

“I'll tell her when she’s older” he laughed, his face crinkling in pain. “You know you should really stop getting shot. It stresses me out” you laughed. Rick joined, his chuckle filled the room making the smile on your face grow wider. “You should smile more, take the pain away” he chuckled. You scoffed, turning to face him again. “I never thought I would feel like this again?”

“What shot? It’s like a weekly occurrence for you”

“No..in love” he said, smiling softly at you. His eyes scanned your face as he waited for your response. “I didn't either,” you said. The chair fell over as you stood up, not wasting anymore time to feel his lips on yours. You smiled into the kiss, finally after years feeling them. When you both pulled away, you just stood there smiling like a love struck idiot. Rick scooted to the side of the bed, patting the empty spot. “Lay down, you must be exhausted”

You nodded, slowly getting on the cot, careful not to touch his side before you laid your head on his chest. His heartbeat lulled you into a soft sleep, where your warmth eased Rick into sleep.

[samantha-rae-velcher]

"Give me your hand!"

Aaron x Fem reader

Requested by: @sunnysidesidra thank you for requesting ❤️

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood, Aaron (cuz why not!?), Brief spice.

A/n: I got some negative comments when I posted up what I like to call an ask board. It's where I put pictures of characters and and ask which one you'd like. Aaron was on one of my TWD ask boards and someone didn't like the fact that I was only writing him with a Fem reader. Im not Gay nor do I have any insight on the matter. I do not wish to offend anyone if I get something wrong. For that I've been called Homophobic, call me what you will. Im not hostile towards the LGBTQ+ community, nor do I wish them to be hostile to me. Ross Marquand isn't gay, so I'm not writing him with a male character. Enjoy the story ❤️

__________________________

"Rick!" Y/n yelled from the porch. "Aaron and I are going on a run! We'll be back before sun down, alright!?"

"You two be safe!" Rick yelled back from his place on the roof.

Aaron and Y/n met at the gate, where Jesus let them out. Saying their goodbyes and stay safes and don't be too longs, they took off down the the road. Aaron took y/n's hand and gently swung her arm back and forth, she let out a giggle and began to skip.

"Are you gonna start singing We're off to see the wizard?" He asked.

She let out a laugh. looking up at the clouds above, she watched a bird fly overhead and land in a nearby tree.

"What were you like before all this?" He asked.

"I was on my fifth year of collage, I was studying architectural design. I had five years left when this all went to shit. I was a little timid, I got pretty nervous around people I didn't know. I didn't have a boyfriend, I lived in Springfield Illinois but I went down to Atlanta for vacation then the world got fucked up the ass, and I met Rick in a tank in the middle of the city."

"A tank?" He asked, sounding shocked.

"Yeah. Then Glenn had to save our asses. That Korean was a good guy. Can you believe he was delivering pizzas before all this?"

"Christ." Aaron cursed.

The two walked in silence for a good 20 mins, just enjoying the sound of the birds and the sound of each other's footsteps. The peaceful moment ended when they heard rather aggressive voices nearby.

"Y/n, get down!" He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her behind a building.

He had her caged against the wall, she could feel his breath on her neck. The voices got louder as the men entered the house they were currently hiding behind.

"Aaron, what do we do? They don't sound very friendly." She said.

Meanwhile they could hear one of the men grunting and bitching at the other side of the wall.

"Why can't there be women around here?" The man yelled to the others. "I haven't see a woman in months!"

"No shit! You think they'd come around you with your skunk smellin self!?"

There was a slam that sounded right behind Y/n's head, making her yelp. Aaron clamped his hand over her mouth and shushed her.

There was silence at the other side of the wall, Aaron attempted to calm Y/n down by gently stoking her hair back.

"It's okay." He whispered.

"Did you guys hear that? Or am I just fuckin crazy?"

"Hear what?"

"I don't fuckin know! I hit the wall and I heard a scared screech come from outside."

"Go check it out."

Aaron then grabbed Y/n's arm and ran as fast as he could away from the house. They stopped for a breather when they got far enough away.

"Holy shit!" Y/n said, gasping for breath. "That was close!"

"Come on, the place is about a mile or two from here." He yelled to her as he began trudging up the road.

They made it to what looked like a broken down shack. Y/n stood out front obviously not impressed.

"Oh! Wow! It's a fuckin mansion!" She gave Aaron a look that said "Wtf is this?"

"Hey, honey. Just give it a chance." He said putting his hands up.

They went inside and Y/n headed for the kitchen, she took off her back pack and set it down on the counter. She start to raid the cupboards while Aaron was marveling the woodwork in the living room.

"You gonna help?" She asked.

He walked in and started looking through the large cabinet next to the fridge, he grabbed out some cans of food and a case of water. Y/n stopped when she heard a walker in the next room.

"There's dead in here." She whispered.

"We'll get them when we go into that room."

He tossed her a can of Campbell's chicken soup and winked at her.

"So, what was all that?"

"What was all what?" He asked.

"You know, getting me up against the house wall instead of running."

Aaron smirked and slowly walked over to her, trapping her against that counter. He leaned closer and whispered in her ear.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh but I think you do." She ran her hands up his chest, pressing her lips to his. Aaron began kissing down her neck, slowly unbuttoning her top as he did."

A walker entered the kitchen making Aaron stop what he was doing and stab it in the head, sending blood gush all over the right side of y/n.

"Oh! Yummy! I love that for me!" She yelled.

"Maybe we should finish this at home, huh?"

"Yeah, that'd be best."

They walked down the hallway and entered what used to be the master bedroom. The floor was creaking and the sound of the dead came from below.

"Aaron?"

"I hear them."

Y/n took a step back but the floor boards broke in half, she looked up at him with fear in her eyes.

"A-Aaron.."

"Y/n, it's okay. Just give me your hand."

She reached out for him but one more creak sounded before the boards beneath her caved in.

Aaron ran to where she fell and knelt down next to the hole. Y/n was hanging onto a pipe that was just barely wanting to hold her.

"Y/n!"

She looked underneath her, about seven or eight walkers were below and the basement was filled with water.

"Hold on!" He yelled.

A walker grabbed her foot and attempted to bite her ankle but she pulled away and kicked it in the head.

The sudden movement made one of the braces holding the pipe snap, her grip was slipping and she was ready to fall.

Aaron reached out to her, his arm out stretched. Another walker tried to bite at her legs but she pulled away again. Making her slip further down the pipe.

"AH! Aaron!"

"Give me your hand!"

She reached out for him, their fingers finally grazed when the boards creaked again and Aaron fell through, bringing the whole floor down with him. (him and his fat ass 🤣 jk)

They both landed into the water with a splash. Aaron came back up immediately, attacking the walkers that surrounded them. He took them all down with ease, looking around through the clouded water y/n was no where to be seen. He then spotted something red over in the corner of the basement, it was floating to the surface of the water. He went over to inspect.....blood.

He took a dive and pulled Y/n out, her back was bleeding perfusely, he dragged her to the steps and carried her out of the house. He managed to stop the bleeding but her wound needed stitches, he was worried she wouldn't make it. On top of that the sun was going down.

It took him a while but he finally found a piece of shit car that sounded like it was in need for a mechanic. He set her in the passenger side seat and prayed the vehicle would start.

_______________________

"Wake up....Y/n, honey." Aaron's voice sounded distant. She slowly opened her eyes and Aaron's, Rick's, Daryl's, and Carol's faces all came into view

Y/n kinda jumped at how close they were.

"Jesus Christ!" She said. "Could you get any closer there?"

"Your back in the land of the living." Gabriel said from across the room.

"What happened?" Y/n asked.

Aaron sat beside her while the others finally backed off.

"All in good time." Rick said.

Aaron gripped her hand like she was gonna disappear, he brought it up to his lips and planted a kiss on her knuckles.

"We nearly lost you. If I hadn't gotten that car to start, you wouldn't be here right now." He whispered.

Rick leaned against the bed post, squinted his eyes and furrowed his brows. (Ladies you know the face)

"What's the last thing you remember?" He asked.

"I remember Aaron trying to grab my hand to help me up, but the floor caved in and we both hit the water. I felt a splitting pain in my back and I blacked out."

Aaron nodded and wrapped an arm around her.

"I fought off the walkers and pulled you out of the basement."

Y/n rested her head on Aaron's shoulder, then looked over at Rick.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it back before sun down....dad!" She said sarcastically.

Rick shook his head and chuckled.

"That's it, Y/n! I won't stand for this anymore!"

Everyone in the room let out a couple of good hardy laughs. Rick slapped his hand down on her bed post and pointed at her.

"Get some rest."

Everyone but Aaron left, he stayed by her side holding her to him.

"I'm so sorry I let that happen." He whispered.

"It's not your fault. You tried to save me and you did." She pulled him in for a hug. "Im alive aren't I?"

"Yeah."

"Then get over here and finish what we started in that house."

THE END ❤️

I hope you enjoyed

@starfiresstarbolts

[countlessrealities]

@riiese - continued from HERE

Ingvar had always imagined that any sort of size-altering magic would be not only terribly dangerous (otherwise, wouldn't he see it in use more often, surely, for awful things such as warfare...?) but also horrifically painful, like his body were being stuffed into some little receptacle far too tiny to hold it, or vice versa if one were to try and cast themselves significantly taller. And while this was, in fact, true of the magic of this world, it was not true of the weapon that the boy took out and aimed at him — not that, mind you, Ingvar had the slightest idea at all what type of gun it was, and therefore he very reasonably assumed it was the kind of gun he was accustomed to, the kind with gunpowder, a terrible bang and a stinging pain as a bullet or a ball lodged itself far within skin and drew blood.

As he panicked and held up his arms to shield himself — far better he should be hit in the arms than in the chest, Goddess forbid anything should go near his heart, a giant's one weakness — he was surprised to see that approximately neither of those things he expected, both of them painful, happened. Instead, there was a flash of light, a brief feeling of falling and a lurch of his stomach, and then... then, what, exactly? Then he felt perfectly normal, and reluctantly lowered his arms and opened his eyes.

His jaw dropped at what he beheld. Everything was very suddenly to him far larger than it should have been, with the boy now up to his hips rather than able to fit into a hand. The little giant blinked several times, his jaw agape.

"You... are sorry? Then.... was this... This was... being your doing?" he asked, and though he frowned in thought, there was no malice in his voice; his hands didn't reach for the boy's throat and he drew no weapon.

Morty shifted his weight on his feet, unsure of what to do next. The other's stunned surprise was the perfect chance for him to get away, not just from his unfortunate encounter, but from that dimension altogether. Rick would eventually notice that his portal gun was gone, so the sooner he headed back home, the more likely it would be for him to get away with it.

On the other hand, however, he couldn't bring himself to leave just like that. Not only fleeing with his metaphorical tail between his legs would mean proving that his grandfather was right about how he couldn't handle himself, but he also felt kind of bad. While he was glad that he hadn't truly wounded the giant, perhaps shrinking him down to a human size was even worse.

After having spent who know how long being bigger than everything around you, suddenly finding yourself being smaller couldn't be an easy change to handle.

The creature's voice snapped the teen out of his thoughts, causing his shoulders to tighten defensively. The way his grip tightened around thee gun betrayed that he was expecting to be attack, and so did his surprise when it did not happened. The giant looked confused, troubled, but there was no sign of hostility in his eyes nor in his body language.

Geez. He had attacked a peaceful inhabitant of those lands, hadn't he?

"I-I...uh, yeah. I-I mean, I guess I did. W-Well, not me as in me, y-you know? It was the...this thing," he blurted out, waving the device as if it could explain everything. "I-I thought...I-It was self-defence! I saw...you know...t-this big thing heading towards me and I...usually t-they chase after me and want to...eat me or-or kill me or something, s-so I just...acted?"

That sounded like a bunch of lame excuses, didn't it? Most likely, and the fact that it was the honest truth just made everything worse.

"I can...I-I can fix it!" Morty like Rick could. "I-I just need...uh, y-you have to come back with me. I-I'm sure that...T-This thing doesn't have a, uh, reversing effects mode, b-but I'm sure there's something back home. I-I mean, Summer turned into a giant w-with her skin inside out once, s-so we definitely can make you bigger again!"

Hopefully without turning the other inside out too.

"S-So, uh, it's...w-would that be alright?"

[moa-broke-me]

honestly I have a rant locked and loaded but I don't know if this is something anyone else has noticed so I'm gonna lead with a question:

Have you noticed Rick Riordan's work has become less... Idk... Human lately? As in, leaning more into the symbolic and abstract, particularly when it comes to his characters?

Because I certainly have. I made it to, like, chapter 6 of TSATS before I had to quit because I just couldn't get into it, and even I noticed.

Like... Idk, the whole reason I'm thinking about this was that one post going around explaining that, yes Octavian is flat as a character, but when you start to view him as a symbol of neofascism, then everything clicks into place. And I think that analysis is good, don't get me wrong! It's actually a very well written piece. I wish I had the link to it at the moment so you could all go and read it for yourself.

However, the series doesn't really lend itself to that kind of symbolic, metaphorical thinking. Like there is metaphor in the series, yes, but I don't think there's ever been a human character that's treated as a straight up *symbol* for a certain concept. At least, not frequently enough that it's established as a pattern or even a possibility in the readers' minds.

Notice how I said *human* character. That's important, we're putting a pin in that.

Now, as an aside, I do think that the post could be misinterpreted as 'if you give octavian a backstory or a redemption arc in your fic then you're basically a fascist' and, no. I'm pretty certain that's not what the author of the post intended, don't get defensive and don't delete your blog.

Personally, I think his characterization could also be explained as him being someone who turns to a dangerous, destructive ideology because deep down, he's desperate for unconditional love, and he feels the only way he can get it is through force. Playground bully mentality, basically.

And if you'll notice, though both explanations tie into fascism, mine still emphasizes the humanness of Octavian. Because, well... He's human.

See, my theory is that the gods in the series are basically everything I've said the human characters aren't. Metaphors for different concepts, and how people see those concepts. It's barely even a theory, it's basically canon, but it's something that I feel needs to be pointed out for this analysis to make sense. Like, Zeus is the god of authority, so the way he acts is reflective of the way that human authority figures do. Hades is the god of the underworld, so like the underworld, he's dark and gloomy, mostly ranging between the gothic serenity of asphodel and the burning rage of punishment, though he can be kind, even nurturing at times, like Elysium.

This leaks out in more one on one interactions too. The whole reason Dionysus was so hostile to and dismissive of Percy the whole series is because his only experience with alcohol had been hostile and dismissive. Hera's nice to people at first, but makes it clear that she doesn't extend that kindness to everyone, just like a lot of 'looks good on paper' families (including Annabeth's own stepmother). Eros publicly humiliates Nico, because he sees love, his own love in particular, as humiliating.

And it seems, now, that Rick is shifting away from writing these characters as humans, and moreso how he'd write a god. Which may be why the books are starting to go downhill.

or maybe I'm fulla shit who knows?