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I LOVE ELIO AND WHEN I SAY LOVE I MEAN LOOOOVE
Timothèe Chalamet was such good casting for Elio and I can proudly say I've read the book and watched the movie (this is fucking astonishing because I normally lurk around the internet)
There's barely any of these so I'll make one myself
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ELIO PERLMAN X MALE READER
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Summary: You take the place of Oliver. Elio is 18, you are 20. This takes place in the part of the movie version where Oliver leaves and Elio is left heartbroken but you however realise you can't live without the love of your life so you drag your ass back to him.
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Have you ever heard of the phrase distance makes the heart grow fonder? Well in your case that statement is very much true.
You'd just arrived at the airport and your flight was due to be boarding any minute yet you had a sickening feeling in your gut with every step you took closer to that gate. You were about third in line, your passport open on the page with your picture, when suddenly tealisation hits you like a freight train.
This was wrong.
You shouldn't be here.
You should be with him.
So you closed your passport and bolted murmuring 'excuse me' every time someone got in your way because you were now a man with a mission. The wheels of your suitcase could barely keep up as they groaned from your frantic dragging, it was now that you were thanking the lords above that you only travelled with one item of luggage.
You made your way into the main foyer and ran towards the main entrance trying to flag a taxi.
"Scusi, do you need help?" A small woman asked from the side of you seeing your struggle of trying to get a taxi.
"Yes, I need to be in Crema as soon as possible but none of them seem to notice me." You say with a pitiful tone laced with spite.
"Crema?" She asked.
"Yes, I need to visit someone very special to me before it is too late." You reply looking downcast.
"I am going to Crema, I will give you a lift." She said sympathising with your unfortunate situation.
"Really! Thank you so much I'll be forever grateful!" You say in disbelief of this womans generosity.
She just smiles and nods her head. You couldn't resist and wrapped your clumsy frame around her in a loving hug, she laughed and patted your back.
"Come on we must leave if we want to make it by the end of today" She demands ushering you towards the car.
You place yourself in the passenger seat as she gets in the drivers and quickly pulls out of the hellish car park. Your leg bounces up and down in nervous excitement. What if he never forgives you for leaving? What if you were just a summer fling?
What if he didn't want you to return?
"Tell me about them" She says.
And that's how you spend the seemingly never ending journey, rambling on about the boy you had fallen in love with in a scarily short amount of time. The conversation wasn't completely one sided as she tells you about a husband she has waiting for her in her small residence in Crema and how she's been so excited to see him and her little boy - Lèon.
You ride was filled with a love sick aura as you discussed those who you loved dearly and she didn't even blink when you mentioned your lover was a boy. By the end of the journey you'd made a new friend.
The beautiful place of Crema began to appear with its trees lined paths and cobbled roads, outside was nearly dark now as the last 5 hours had been pure travelling with your new companion. She drive the car through the quiet streets before she reached the dusty path that had begun to feel like home over this summer.
She stopped the car and turned to look at you.
"Go in there and you tell that boy you love him and if no one accepts you here come to mine and I'll gladly make up the spare bedroom." She says smiling widely at you.
You lean over and hug her tightly.
"Thank you so much, you don't know how much this means to me." You tell her.
Before you could say anything else though she shooed you out the car wishing you luck.
Nerves started creeping in along with all the negative outcomes and scenarios playing on repeat through your mind as you approached the doors of the Italian villa. Your hand clenched into a fist - your knuckles pale - and knocked on the door thrice.
The sound of rushed footsteps and the noise of blanketed voices talking in Italian caused you to stand up straight with a nervous smile etched on your lips. The door opened and the woman known as Mrs Perlman or as she insisted you called her Anella, had her face turned away from you still in conversation with Mr Perlman.
As soon as she turned her head towards you she let out a gasp and then smiled widely pulling you in for a big hug.
"What are you doing here (___)!?" She said happily.
You were unsure of what to say.
"I ..... couldn't leave?" You said with anticipation.
"(___) my son is in love with you and if you are in love with him then I give you my blessing" She poke quietly and you couldn't help but let tears begin to pool along your water line.
"Go, he's in his room, he hasn't stopped crying since you left." She told you.
With that you bolted up the stairs running towards the door that you'd acquainted yourself with, knocking gently.
"Leave me alone" A voice that sounded almost like a whimper said in Italian.
You turn the handle and peak your head around the door seeing Elio's thin form curled in the bed you used to sleep in, your shirt clutched tightly in his hands.
"Go away" His voice was so tired and fragile.
You went to the bed perching yourself in the space by his upper body. You saw the redness of his cheeks and the paths of the tears leading from his closed eyes, it broke your heart to see his agonised body lying tense in front of you.
Your hand approached his hair and you brushed a stray curl off his forehead, only then did he open his eyes.
As soon as he saw you he leapt into your arms and collapsed into sobs, fingernails dragging along your arms, trying to draw your body impossibly close.
"(___)" He said softly almost as if he wasn't sure you were really there.
"I'm here my love." You whisper moving your arms to wrap around his waist and resting your head on top of his.
You sat like this for what seemed like seconds but was actually nearly half an hour, he just kept whispering your name and clawing your arms and back while sobbing desperately in your arms. Finally his cries subsided into sniffles and he relaxed slightly in your arms.
He looked up at you and you raised your hands to cradle his face in your palms.
"Why are you here?" He asked as if he was scared of your answer.
"Because I love you and I can't imagine my life without you in it." You said before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss onto his lips which conveyed all the emotions you couldn't put into words.
He kissed back before pulling away with a smile.
"I love you too. Promise me you won't leave again." He asked.
"Of course not, I plan to stay as long as you'll have me." You respond, every word being the truth.
And that's how your life went, a life full of romance and happiness, one where you never left each other for anything that wasn't completely necessary.
It was just you and Elio.
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AHH ANOTHER ONE DONE THIS MIGHT BE MY FAV
Don't judge its 1am so sorry for any shitty mistakes or anything
It's short but something, I had an English exam today and I think that might of sucked all the good writing out of me so my condolences
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if you do negan could you do any kind of thing about reader being his son and meeting up after not seeing eachother for the apocalypse
𝐑𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧~
genre: angst & fluff
pairing: Negan x m!reader
summary: It's been years since the reader has last heard of and seen his dad, Negan. That's until now.
warning: cursing & mention of death
a/n: wrote this whole entire thing at 2AM... my sleep schedule is fucked up 😭 (not proofread)
Negan had left you and Mom back at home, as he had decided to find the necessary medical supplies to aid Mom’s health condition. But he was taking a while and so you decided to go out and look for him; leaving behind Mom who was sleeping soundlessly.
After aimlessly yet cautiously walking around town, you had found yourself lost. Everything was in ruins and just unrecognizable, which made matters worse. You didn’t know where to go or where to find Negan. It had been a full day and when you finally found your way back home, you came face-to-face with a terrifying scene.
Mom’s heart had stopped. And Mom was no longer Mom, but a corpse rotting on the bed you would often cuddle in with her.
You couldn’t hold back the tears that began to spill, the heartache burning inside you as you clutched at your chest. Dad was nowhere to be seen. So, you stayed there for a week, expecting Dad to show up, maybe even expecting that everything would be back to normal when you closed your eyes every night. Desperately wanting to wake up from this nightmare.
— — —
It had been years since the death of Mom and since you’ve seen Negan. You didn’t know what happened to Dad, but one thing was for sure. You hated him for leaving that day and not returning.
Surviving on your own wasn’t as hard as you thought. Sure, you had no company and were often bored of the silence, yet it was peaceful. You still miss Mom and Dad, but you learned to live on your own, to live for them.
Walking through a now abandoned neighborhood, you could feel the soft breeze of the chilly summer afternoon. You were searching for shelter, as you had been sleeping in a car for the past month before someone decided to ransack the vehicle, taking almost everything, you had inside.
Finally reaching a nice and somewhat clean-looking house, you decide to enter it. Ready in case a Walker lunges at you. You open the door wide enough, holstering your machete as your eyes scan the inside.
After a while of making sure the home was clear of Walkers, you shut the door and let yourself fall on the couch, a sigh leaving your lips.
Your stomach grumbles, reminding you that you haven’t eaten in days. With a soft groan, you get off the couch and walk into the kitchen. It was small, yet colorful. You open the cabinets and cupboards only two find a few canned foods.
Turning the 4 cans, you read the front of them: Canned Corn, Canned Peaches, Tomato Soup, and Baked Beans. It wasn’t something appetizing, but it would do the job. A spoonful of corn is shoved into your mouth, helping to get rid of the hunger you’re feeling. The can was almost empty, and your boredom was beginning to get to you.
But before you can even think of what to do, the sound of footsteps can be heard right outside the front door.
Fuck, why this house out of all?
You thought to yourself before quickly shoving the other canned food into your backpack and getting your machete readying in a strong grip. Your eyes dart around the kitchen, trying to find the perfect hiding spot. The pantry or under the table.
The door opens and you can hear what sounds like three men talking, steps getting closer, and just before they reach the kitchen, you duck under the table.
Pressing your back against the wall, you bite your tongue to keep quiet and ready for anything. Your eyes follow the shoes as they walk past the table. The noise of cabinets flying open, and dishes being moved around with the sound of two men talking filled the small kitchen before it slowly faded away.
You discreetly watch from under the table, following the men walk out of the kitchen with your eyes, The floorboards and staircase creak as they walk up to the second level of the home. This was your only chance to get out and so you took it.
Sneaking out from under the table you fix your backpack before quietly running out of the kitchen into the living room, almost out the front door before you’re stopped halfway.
“Oh, not so fast young man.” A teasing voice calls after you, having caught you trying to run out of the house. A voice you recognized so well.
You grit your teeth, cursing under your breath, “Shit.” You weren’t expecting anyone to be in the living room.
Slow heavy steps walk to behind you, your back facing this stranger.
“If I were you, I would drop that.” He’s talking about your machete. You feel your eyes sting and your heart begins to beat with anxiety. Something you haven’t felt in so long.
You slowly turn around with hands raised, weapon still in your possession. Your eyes land on his face.
He looked the same but, still different. Something about him had changed and you couldn’t quite place your finger on it.
“Dad?” Your voice wavers, holding yourself together.
Negan’s smirk falls off his face when he stares at you, eyes scanning your face. His eyes search yours, trying to read you. Wondering if he was dreaming again.
“Son?” He lowers his bat, face softening when it fully settles in him. He had found you, after years of searching. You were there, standing just a couple of feet away from him. All this time he thought his only son was gone forever, never to be found.
Even though you had so much anger bottled up inside you, you still couldn't hold back the joy and relief you felt when seeing your dad. Without hesitation, you drop your weapon and run toward him, embracing him in a tight and much-needed hug.
“Every day, I thought about you,” Negan tightens the hug, the sensation of feeling the love and relief from him made you at ease. He lets out a chuckle, pulling you back to grab the sides of your shoulders, looking you up and down.
He smiles down at you, eyes teary as he sniffles. “You've grown into a hell of a survivor, kid. I'm proud of you.” He grabs your face before ruffling your hair, earning a slight groan from you.
“I learned from the best.” You tell him, a sad smile on your lips. Negan seems to take notice of it as he pats your shoulder. “I'm sorry I couldn't protect you like I promised.”
His words make your heartache.
“It’s all in the past now… I’m just glad to have found you, Dad.” You remind him, blinking back tears before he pulls you back into a hug. This time, something different filled the room.
Peace.
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My Best Friend
Words: 1,907
POV: 3rd Person
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Male!Reader [Platonic]
Warning(s): Loss of a pet, descriptive death of an animal (no gore), hurt/comfort, I cried while writing and revising this so beware...
Summary: Luna has been by the reader's side ever since he first started hunting. However, as the years went by and as she got older, he had been seeing less and less of her because of his profession. Little did he know that when he said 'goodbye' to her before his latest hunt, it would be for the last time.
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As soon as the Impala pulled into the garage, (Y/N) was quick to jump out of the backseat and head for the front door of the bunker. A smile was plastered on his face and the excitement of returning home soared through him. Dean and Sam both stepped out of the car.
“Hey! Aren’t you going to grab your things?” Dean called out.
(Y/N) turned his head to look at him as he opened the bunker door. “I will in a minute!” He called back before he rushed inside.
(Y/N) barrelled down the stairs and began to make his way down the hallway toward his bedroom. “Luna!” He called out, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Daddy’s home! I brought a present for you!”
It didn’t take long before (Y/N) got to his room, the door slightly ajar, just as he had left it before he went on the hunt. As he peered into the room, he was able to see the pile of black fur that rested atop the comforter of his bed. His smile widened.
Luna had been (Y/N)’s traveling companion ever since he started hunting. He had found her on the side of the road as a kitten and nursed her back to health. She had been with him for years, hopping from motel to motel. It made hunting a little less lonely. When (Y/N) met the Winchester Brothers and the offer to move in with them was fronted, it took a lot of convincing for Dean to allow the pet he was allergic to in the same space as he was. Eventually, he caved, and Luna and (Y/N) moved into the Men of Letters Bunker.
As Luna got older, she didn’t do as much moving around as she used to, but after each hunt, (Y/N) always brought back a little present for her, whether it be a new toy or a new pet treat he knew that she would love. Although he didn’t see her nearly as often as he wanted to, (Y/N) knew that, with Luna being at the bunker, she was safe, and it made him feel overjoyed whenever he got home.
(Y/N) chuckled ever so slightly as he walked into the room. He kicked off his boots and tossed them to the side. “Hey, sleepy girl,” he said as he knelt beside the bed. “You remember how you hit your mouse toy under the fridge and we couldn’t get it back? Well, I got something that might be able to make you feel better,” he smirked as he reached into his pocket and brought out a small green and yellow mouse. “It’s not your old toy, but it's something,” he shrugged.
When (Y/N) looked down at Luna again, he noticed that she hadn’t lifted her head. She hadn’t even opened her eyes to acknowledge his presence. (Y/N) gave a small smile as he reached over, placed his hand on top of her head, and, using the pad of his thumb, lightly pet the bridge of her nose.
“Luna,” he cooed in a soft tone.
Even with the gentle touches, Luna was still. Cautiously, (Y/N) reached his thumb down and caressed her grayed muzzle, brushing her whiskers ever so slightly. Still, she lay unresponsive. The smile faded from his lips as he felt a lump begin to form in his throat.
“Luna?” His voice was quiet.
(Y/N) pulled his hand back from her face and placed it carefully onto her stomach. He waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And her stomach never moved.
Hesitantly, (Y/N) stood. He licked his lips as he crawled onto the bed, watching Luna as the bed dipped, yet all she did was lay there. When he got himself situated on the bed, legs crossed loosely, he reached over, placed one hand underneath her body, and picked her up, bringing her close to his chest. Her head lulled to the side as it lay limply against him.
(Y/N)’s eyes began to well up with tears as he brushed her fur out of her face. “Please,” he breathed as his bottom lip began to tremble. “Please wake up.”
Luna never woke up.
Soon, the dam broke. Tears began to stream down (Y/N)’s cheeks, leaving wet, red streaks as he pulled her even closer to him, nuzzling his cheek against hers, rocking himself back and forth ever so slightly on the bed. He sniffled as he let out small, pain-filled sobs. The emotions hit him like a truck. Luna was gone. His hunting companion was gone. His best friend was gone.
(Y/N) didn’t even hear the footsteps that came down the hallway and halted at his door, his cries and the breaking of his heart being the only thing that filled his ears. Dean peaked his head into the room, a concerned expression on his face. He placed his hand on the doorframe as he leaned against it.
“(Y/N)? You okay?” He asked, his voice laced with worry as he slowly stepped into the room.
As he got closer to the duo, he surveyed the scene in front of him. The way Luna’s body rested against (Y/N)’s chest, the wet spots on his cheeks, and the sound of (Y/N)’s cries. It didn’t take long for Dean to understand what was happening. He raised his brows as he looked down at Luna, his eyes immediately filling with sympathy as he walked over and placed a hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder.
Even though Dean was less than happy at first to have a cat in the bunker, he found that he had grown rather close to Luna. Although she caused his allergies to act up substantially, he had learned to love the way that she would nuzzle on his lap when he was watching a movie or the way that she would sneak into his room at night sometimes to cuddle up to him. Even though there were days when he would have rather not been around a cat constantly, he could never imagine a day going by without her being there. He saw the way she made (Y/N) smile. How close they were. He could tell that Luna meant a lot to his friend, that she was his family.
And now she’s gone.
Dean said nothing as he wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, pulling him close. (Y/N) laid his head against Dean as he cried. His chest moved up and down rapidly with the increased rate of his breathing. His tears left a wet spot on Dean’s t-shirt, but Dean didn’t mind. Dean closed his eyes as he rubbed (Y/N)’s shoulder comfortingly.
After a couple of minutes, (Y/N)’s sobs began to diminish as he looked at Luna. “I should have been here for her,” he whispered, his voice shaky and broken. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone on that hunt. I-” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I should have stayed with her…” (Y/N) shook his head. “She must’ve thought I left her.”
“Of course, she didn’t, (Y/N),” Dean said in a soft, reassuring voice. “She loved you. She would get so excited whenever you would come back from hunts.”
“Then why didn’t she wait?”
Dean opened his mouth to speak but closed it. He shook his head slightly. “She probably didn’t want you to see her like this.”
(Y/N) sniffled and paused for a moment. “She was always so stubborn.”
Dean let out a dry chuckle. “She always did like to remind us that she was in charge.”
The tears had stopped at that point as Dean and (Y/N) sat there in silence. Dean’s hand ran up and down (Y/N)’s shoulder while (Y/N) ran his fingers through Luna’s soft fur. It felt like an eternity before (Y/N) finally spoke.
“Dean?” He asked in a whisper.
“Yes?”
“Can you…” he hesitated. He sat in another minute of silence before he continued. “Can you help me give her a proper funeral? A hunter’s funeral? I…I know she’s just a cat, but-”
“Hey,” Dean interjected as he pulled back to look down at (Y/N)’s face. “She wasn’t just a cat. She was a hunter, just like you and me. She may not have killed monsters like us, but she was with you every step of the way. I’d say she deserves a hunter’s funeral.”
(Y/N)’s bottom lip began to wobble once more as he heard Dean’s words. He sniffled and reached up to wipe the fresh tears away from his eyes.
“Thank you.”
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The crisp night air felt heavier than it should have been. The stars twinkled bright that night as the quiet wind caressed (Y/N)’s face. Dean finished placing the wood together in the smaller, makeshift pyre he had constructed. (Y/N) sat and watched as he held Luna’s body, wrapped in cloth, close to him. Once Dean was finished, he stood up and backed away, his boots crunching against the leaves that rested on the ground. He turned and looked at his friend for a moment, giving him a small nod.
(Y/N) nodded in return as he walked up to the pyre. He looked down at the wrapped-up bundle in his arms and placed a loving kiss atop Luna’s head before he set her down on the wood. He reached into his pocket and took out the small toy mouse that he had gotten her. He stared at it, his fingers brushing over the fabric for a second before placing it on her body. He then backed up and stood next to Dean.
Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter. He held it out to (Y/N). (Y/N) glanced down at the lighter, seeing the silver finish gleam in the moonlight. Timidly, he reached over, grabbed it from Dean, and opened it. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, attempting to will away the tears that were starting to form in the corner of his eyes once again. It took a while for him to finally open his eyes and ignite the flame. He hesitated, watching as the flame danced on top of the hood, before tossing the lighter towards the pyre.
The wood burned agonizingly slow. (Y/N) watched as the fire began to spread, engulfing the remains of his best friend. He thought back to all the moments that they shared. The times when he would come back from a hunt, beaten and broken, but he would still have her to cuddle with to make him feel better. The times when he was trying to research and all she would do was plop down on his book or laptop and beg for his attention. The times when he would cry over the loss of his friends and she would bring him her favorite toy to try and comfort him. Even the times they got on each other’s nerves. Luna was still there for him, through the good, the bad, and the ugly.
And as he stood there, watching as the firey embers drifted off into the night sky, he couldn’t believe that it had taken him so long to realize;
Luna had saved (Y/N), just like he had saved her.
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Imagine:
Miguel O'Hara wanting to be around you
Request: Yes or No
I have a cold and its beating my ass but Midnight Beach should resume on mon or tues
~~~
He shouldn't be doing this. He should've stopped months ago. He was supposed to go in to this new dimension, catch the anomaly, and return to the headquarters. And he'd successfully caught the anomaly and sent them back. But he'd stayed behind in a world that wasn't his cause for a moment, just for a brief moment... He wanted to stop and take a breath. That small break brought him to a rooftop of an old apartment building.
It brought him to you.
The day had been cloudy and cool with a breeze drifting by occasionally. You'd been sitting on the rooftop of your apartment building with a small easel in hand and a paint-coated brush in the other. Your favorite hobby after a long, stressful work day. You hadn't noticed the figure perched up on the ledge meters away until you went to grab another color and spotted him. He looked like Spiderman, but didn't at the same time. The colors weren't right. His structure was too tall and muscular for the lanky man who spent his time saving the city. But something told you that is was alright, he meant no danger. So you returned to painting and he watched.
After that, it became a habit. Miguel knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn't have been spending time with a civilian, much less one from another dimension. He just couldn't help it. You were so... calming. You hadn't looked at him with fear or that awestruck fan glint. You had regarded him as if he were a neighbor. And for a man used to being feared or glared at, it felt good to be seen again.
He often transported to your world, to your rooftop. You'd be there just about every day. You always acknowledged his presence with a nod but kept to yourself. No questions, no prodding, no begs for selfies or autographs. A nod and sometimes a smile. He never returned the gestures, only watched from a distance. Never too close but never too far.
It took him four months to grow comfortable enough to get closer. Each week, he'd perch on the ledge just the slightest bit closer, craning his neck to catch a sight of the easel and holding your gaze when you looked at him. Until he was close enough to watch your face as you painted.
Which led him to today, where once again, there he was. Sitting on that damned ledge and watching you paint. He'd seen the paintings come and ago. They were often of the city or the sky. Sometimes you'd just splatter paint on the canvas and make it up as you went. He liked watching the process. He liked watching you relax over time. The lines between your brows would soften, your shoulders would lower, you'd go between firmly holding the brush and letting it hang loosely between your fingers.
"I have something for you." His eyes snap up from the half-finished canvas. He stays silent and still, his body going rigid. He liked your voice- Ay, Dios, he liked your voice. His finger twitches and he thinks about leaving the rooftop and returning to Nueva York. Back to his office where he doesn't have to worry about seeing you, where he would forget about you. But he stays. You lean down and your fingers shuffle through the array of canvases you'd brought up with you today.
You hum quietly and pull a canvas out from the row, tilting it over so he can see. It's him. A painting of him. "I've never really drawn a superhero before," You speak and chuckle. "But I tried."
"It's..." His voice is uncharacteristically soft and he reaches out with careful hands, gently taking the sides of the canvas and staring at him. It's like staring into a mirror but this time, he doesn't loathe what he sees.
"Glad you like it, Spiderman."
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That Smile
Negan x TransMale!Reader (GN pronouns)
Synopsis: Negan offers some very Negan-esque support when he discovers that the Reader has had to deal with some transphobic issues at the Sanctuary.
CW: transphobia, no slurs used, Negan being very Negan, Negan being suggestive (as per usual), no pronouns used for the Reader though it is specified that they are trans male.
Requests are: OPEN
“Oh, fuck,” Negan says, looking almost like he’s about to panic. Which is decidedly not a common occurrence for him. “Shit, handsome- I didn’t mean it. I was just breaking your balls a little bit.”
You might have made a mistake here. Of all the people you could have screamed at- the leader of the Sanctuary was probably not the smartest choice. Oh, but you just couldn’t help it.
Not everyone stared, and not everyone was rude. There was pockets of kindness here and there- people who understood who you were and respected you for who you were.
As always, though, there were people who did not understand. People who looked at you weird or avoided you in the market. Negan had set out rules for basic respect, but that didn’t stop the occasional hate-speech or threat. It was the end of the world, after all, not Utopia.
“You have no idea what this is like, Negan,” you say with a sneer. He sets his jaw but doesn’t reply, letting you vent. “Every day someone makes a comment just loud enough that I can hear, or someone shoves into my shoulder. Or, hell, just the other day- someone called me something that was… absolutely vile.”
You point an accusatory finger at the man, whose gaze is getting darker with anger by the second.
“And you!” You start to raise your voice, and Negan’s lips twitch as if he’s trying not to grin. “You let it happen. And I am so sick of everyone’s fucking shit!”
Negan rubs a gloved hand over his chin, chuckling darkly as he does so.
“You done, gorgeous?” He asks, or tells, really. There’s no room for argument with the way he unclenches his jaw. “Because I have something to say, and you? You are gonna listen.”
Negan places Lucille carefully leaned against the table before rounding it to stand before you. You swallow thickly, not sure where this is going, but not sure you like it either.
“I need you,” he says slowly while raising a finger to brush your temple softly. “To cast your big ‘ol brain back a few days and really think about what I’m about to ask you.”
You stumble over a few attempts at speech before he shushes you softly.
“The fuckhead that broke the rules? Called you something he really shouldn’t have…” His eyes flit between yours, lips spreading out into a grin that would send molten heat through a celibacy-practicing nun. “...when did you see him last?”
You let out a little ‘uh’ sound, trying to order your brain to stop tumbling around and work out the answer. It had been three days since the slur, and… now that you were really thinking about it. You hadn’t seen him since. Usually he was always lurking around to get another shot in.
The realisation must have shown on your face, because Negan let out a throaty chuckle.
“See? Now you’re gettin’ it,” he says, leaning back against the table and crossing his arms. “Now, I know you wouldn’t want me killing anyone, so, don’t worry. He’s not dead.” You bit back the sarcastic comment that threatened to spill out.
Negan runs his tongue over his bottom lip as if savouring something very sweet. Your eyes track the movement, and you know he knows it.
“But that doesn’t mean he’s having a good time, either.”
“What did you, uh, do to him?” You ask, voice breathy with desire. No one had defended you quite like this before. And if you didn’t know any better, you’d think Negan was flirting with you just to make a point.
But it had been like this for months. Negan putting on all the charm when you were around, and doing his damndest to get you to open up to him. He didn’t care that you were trans, he liked you for you.
You liked him too, of course. How could you not? Big strapping man with big dick energy, a leather jacket and a phallic bat? What wasn’t to love?
“Oh, you know,” he chuckled. “Threw him the hole for a few days. Shit, I think he’s still in there.”
You stifled a smile, knowing that the asshole was now suffering for his crimes. Well, shit- turns out Negan did give a shit about your rights. It was almost like he was an active protestor for Trans Rights. The thought made you laugh.
“I’ll have to make a trip down there to see if he’s learned his lesson yet.”
This time you can’t bite back the smile, and he draws out an appreciative noise.
“Oh, there he is,” he brushes your chin with his thumb. “There’s that handsome smile. Fuck, you really turn me on, you know that?”
Your grin splits wider and blood rises to your cheeks.
“I’m serious!” He defends himself. “My dick is so hard right now- I could cut diamonds.”
You role your eyes at his theatrics, but he knows that you enjoy his crude comments. He knows you want him. His gaze softens for a moment, and the sincerity you see there almost makes you melt.
“No more hiding things from me,” he says. “Something happens- someone breaks the rules? You come find me.” Negan lets out a huff of a sigh, caressing your jaw now.
“Can’t have my handsome man upset, can we? I just live for that smile.”
You don’t even notice the grin spreading across your lips this time.
“Yeah, that’s the one…”
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★-{Wild Sunflowers}-★
(Daryl Dixon X Reader)
Summary; Stumbling upon each other, with weapons pointed straight in the other's face. Nothing was lost yet there was a lot to gain, but for what?
Warnings; Slow burn?, TWD stuff, blood, gore, wounds, killing of animals.
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[Chapter One/001]
-(It’s mine)-
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—The morning air was cold and stale, and the sound of crows were still cawing throughout the cloudy pale blue sky. You held onto the black strap of your bag as you continue to walk through the dense woods. Leaves, sticks, and rocks breaking under your feet leaving crunchy noises below.
Beads of sweat was dribbling down your face, as you made your way breaking branches and grass. All of your senses were in hyper drive, any noises that were made were louder than anything. Currently you were crouching with your bow in hand and pointed at a helpless brown rabbit.
The animal looked around the wooded scenery, the ears were on high alert from any other being trying to get it killed. You take a shallow deep breath before you shoot at the animal. There was a small squeak that left its mouth right before it died. You happily stand up and run towards your food. A small laugh leaves your lips, you pull the arrow out of the neck and picked up the thing by its ears
Next you wrapped some thin rope around its neck so you could hold it better, then you tied the rope tightly to the handle on your dark green backpack. Taking another breath you continue on your journey to absolutely no where. You had nothing in mind when you had left the sanctity of your home. You didn’t even think you could have lasted this long. Even though its been a month, it still feels like no one is alive except for you.
The only place you had in mind was somewhere far far away from others, and somewhere that is safe from the undead. You had no clue what had started this, seemingly you didn’t care. You didn’t want to know anything about this ‘virus’, as you didn’t want to accept that there is no cure and the government is not going to save you. Sleep was still evident in your eyes, as your eye-bags were puffy and a dark color.
Forcing your yawn to stay down, you push through the woods. Its wasn’t long till you found tracks in the softish soil. It was a adult males shoe prints. You continue to look around for more tracks hoping its not a group trying to ambush you. Thats until you felt eyes on you, your body tenses thinking quickly on a way to stay calm and not to get killed.
But on second thought if they wanted that they would have shot you, unless they dont have a gun. Either or you continued to walk forward slowly. Your heart rate was speeding at an alarming rate, and your eyes continue to scan the woods around you making sure not to stare too long at the area you feel like you’re being watched at.
With shaking hands you ready your bow and arrow in a position where you can easily shoot. You felt the person stalk closer to you, the only thought that roams in your head is death. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ Is repeated over and over again. Just hoping the guy makes a sound so you could look at who was about to kill you.
God seemed to be on your side as a stick snaps under the persons foot. Without thinking you spun around to face them. You sucked in when you saw the man in front of you. He looked like he knew what he was doing out here. He had short brown hair, a noticeable mole above his lip, and most importantly he had a crossbow loaded and pointed straight at you.
Your body seemed to tense more than you thought it could. Your head was racing with every question on earth. Your breathing was shortened whilst you got a good look at the man. Your body was shaking and the tension in the air gotten thicker and thicker. It felt like it was silent for years before he spoke in a raspy southern accent.
“Hand over your rabbit an’ nobody gets hurt.” As he spoke he walked to the side trying to get a good angle at what you have. “The only person whose gunna get hurt is you, so I suggest you walk away with your tail between your legs while you can.” You mustered up a strong voice but failed miserably as there was a shaky undertone.
The man scoffs out a dry laugh, he knew you couldn’t do anything to him. Yet he still understood that you had a bit more control over the situation than him. With your bow, depending of your reflexes you could kill him faster than he could pull the trigger to his crossbow. “I need that rabbit more than you, so I suggest hand it over.” His country accent became deeper as the sentence ended.
He wasn’t playing around, but you weren’t either. You had just caught this thing your not gonna hand it over to some guy that points his weapon at you. ‘Who does he think he is?’ your body slowly stops shaking as that thought makes its rounds in your head. ‘Who does he think he is?’ Your face scrunches up at him with a scowl.
“I don’t care that you ‘need this more than me’. I caught it, it’s mine, so fuck off and find you your own food.” Your voice came out firm this time, you clench your weapon tightly ignoring the small ache in your palms from your nails digging into it. His eyebrows furrow in anger before he yells directly at you.
“Just hand me the goddamn thing you fucking bitch! Or you’ll become one of those walkers before you know it!” He continues to yell profanities at you letting his anger get the better of him. Everything was directed at you, even his full attention. He didn’t seem to notice one of the undead people walking behind him on his right side (or your left).
Before he knew what was coming you shot straight at the undead. Bullseye, the dark red blood squirts out of its eye and drops to the leafy ground. The man was in a shocked state, the blood from the walker had splattered onto his cheek. Even though it wasn’t much it was still visible from where you were standing.
He had dropped his crossbow from pointing at you once he figured out what you had done. He had looked back and seen the creature lying there lifeless. “You have a bit of something there on your face there.” You teasingly point out to him, like it wasn’t obvious to him. He quickly wipes off the blood that stained his cheek. It wasn’t long till you continued to talk to the man.
“Look, Im willing to make a deal with you.” You took a deep breath before continuing. “Ill give you this animal, and in return let me stay at your camp for a while.” You finished your statement before you walked towards the rotten corpse and violently yank out the arrow from its eye.
The guy kept a reasonable distance from you, considering your proposal. You stood away from him and stared off till he gave you an answer. “Fine, but if you do anything to harm me or the group ill kill you right then and there, you got it?” He walked closer to you with every word that came out of his mouth.
“Aye-eye captain.” You agreed in a monotone voice. He rolled his eyes and scoffed right before you walked off, presumably to his little camp site. You followed behind leaving a big gap in between the both of you. You were greatful that hes letting you stay at his camp for a while. But you are also regretting your decision to give him the whole rabbit as it was a fairly large one.
The two of you continued your walk in silence, which is giving you time to think about what had happened over and over again. You didn’t even ask for his name, nor did he ask for yours yet you didn’t really care for his name at all. You only felt a strong annoyance to the guy, you had just met him but he just reeks of ‘Im better than you’ vibes.
It wasn’t long till you reached a clearing from out of the woods. Even when the two of you gotten that far you still felt the need to have yourself ready to attack him just in case this is just a whole elaborate trap to kill you. Your dominant hand clenches on your blade that you have strapped to your thigh. Your heart rate speeds up again and your hearing is focused on your surroundings as your brain only focused on the red neck man in front of you.
You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard laughing and screaming from kids playing. Your body slowly relaxes again when you see a RV and some tents signaling that a lot of people stayed here. You where snapped out of your head by the red neck speaking again. “We’re here, give me the rabbit.” His voice was annoyed as his hand was reached out for the dead animal.
You take off your bag and cut the string that held the poor thing to you and you handed it to him. As your hand touched his rough ones you heard another male’s voice. It was an older one, and it led to a old man in his 50s perhaps maybe older. He had a rifle strapped to his back as he jogged towards the both of you.
“Daryl! You got something?” He didn’t seem to notice you as you were behind him crouching at your bag. “Someone is more like it.” You guess his name is Daryl grumbled under his breath. The older man questioned him before he looked down and spotted you. “Oh, you found a drifter. Are you lookin’ to stay here with us?” The oldie spoke as he put his hands on his hips and took a breather. “For as long as Im welcome here.” You decide to play it off nice for now, you didn’t want to cause too much trouble when you only just got there.
“Im Dale, I own that RV right over there, if you need me just holler.” He smiles right at you. “Of course, Im Y/n I hope I wont need anyones help. I dont want to burden people.” You smile back to Dale. “Oh don’t worry about that. You’re always welcome.” Dale waves his hand around in front of him. A guy yells for Dale and you make your goodbyes and he left with a smile.
‘He’s nice, I guess.’ You nervously thought about meeting all the others. Not wanting to come off too nice and people get attached to you. But also not wanting to come off too mean and people want to kick you out of the camp. So you’ll just stick to how you’re already doing things. Be nice, but dont get too close with anyone. “Hey Dar-?” You spoke but as you looked around the man was gone. Apparently Daryl gad left you when you were talking with Dale, now you’ll have to figure out where you will sleep for the night on your own.
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A/N; First chapter to the fic- I hope I will always have the energy to keep up writing this :)
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Desert road
Daryl Dixon X Male Reader.
Angst fic, character death.
I wrote this years ago for a challenge and found it again recently, decided to throw it out there.
Summary: Y/n picks Daryl up from a bar in town, miles from their home. Shitfaced drunk, Daryl experiences the most traumatic event in his life.
Warnings: Drunk Daryl. Verbal fighting. Daryl being an asshole. Injuries. Death.
Setting: Right before season 1 of twd.
Enjoy!
It happened on a Saturday, late at night, or maybe early Sunday. Not that it mattered. It was a memory that haunted him every night, every single night. It didn’t matter whether he was asleep or not, the dark sky, the side of an abandoned road at night, a walker with bloody flesh hanging off its dead mouth, it all reminded him of that one night. If only he had known what would happen, if only he had listened, he could’ve stopped it. But he didn’t know at the time, couldn’t have known. And he didn’t listen, too absorbed in other things to even cast a glance to the side. And he couldn’t stop it, because it had already happened before he had the chance to turn around. He beats himself up over it every night, every single night.
~
“Daryl, c'mon, we gotta go home!” The voice calling for him was familiar, but Daryl’s drunk mind couldn’t process who it was or where it came from. When did the music get this loud? He turned his head to the left, and then to the right, searching the sweaty, dancing bodies around him, trying to find the person who the voice belonged to. A hand on his shoulder caught his attention, and he whirled around to see the face of his lovely boyfriend. He tried to smile at him, but it faltered as soon as he saw the glare directed at him.
“Y/n? We, we can stay here! It’s f-fun!” His words were slightly slurred, but he sobered up just by looking into his boyfriend’s angry eyes. Y/n was never angry at him, annoyed, sure, but never angry. It’s like Y/n wasn’t capable of being angry, always smiling, trying to cheer people up or solve a problem. Y/n hated arguing, and often didn’t see the point in getting mad. But this was different.
“We are leaving, right now.” His voice was a bit lower than usual, just a tad bit intimidating to get through to Daryl. Daryl’s mind barely had time to process the hand grabbing at his sleeve, and he soon felt the cold air hit him outside the bar. When did he start walking? His boyfriend was talking, probably to him, but he was distracted by the bottle in his hand that he hadn’t noticed before. When did he get this? He took a careful sniff at it, and once he knew what it was, he took a sip. The alcohol burned his throat, but it felt good. Life had been cruel to him for too long, the only good thing about it being Y/n, and he needed a break.
The walk to the car was long and awkward and cold, and Daryl disliked every second of it, but so did Y/n. This was the third time in a month that Daryl had gotten so drunk he could barely walk, and Y/n was getting sick of dragging him out of a random bar in town before he could start a fight. Daryl got drunk often, started fights in bars, and seemed to have little to no respect for Y/n while in this state, but he loved the man, and he won’t let such a thing ruin them.
Y/n slowly guided them down the sidewalk, making sure Daryl didn’t trip over his own feet, and unlocked the car once they got to it. He lowered Daryl into the passenger seat and got into the drivers seat himself, glad he didn’t drink that night. It was then that he noticed the already half empty bottle in his boyfriend’s hand, and sent him a questioning glance.
“Seriously? You’re still going at it?” He started the car, not really expecting Daryl to answer, and drove out of the parking lot. They drove in silence for a long while, stuck between not knowing what to say and not wanting to say anything at all. The longer they drove, the more tense the air became, until Daryl had had enough of it. He leaned his head against the cool window, watching the scenery pass by as he blurted it out.
“Y'know, I don’t need you to babysit me. I can take care of myself.” If he had been sober, he would’ve slapped himself for saying that, but in that moment, he couldn’t think.
“Oh, well, I’m sorry for wanting to look out for my boyfriend. And I also sincerely apologize for keeping you out of fights, and for taking care of you when you have a hangover, and for driving miles through a goddamn desert to come get you, and for driving miles through a desert again to take you home. Wow, yeah, I’m such an asshole, and so unreasonable, and oh my, I think you should just get out now and walk the rest of the way, or maybe back to the bar seeing as you can’t get enough of that whiskey.” His voice was even, calm, and nothing like the tone Daryl’s past partners have used in an argument. That’s a thing Daryl loves about Y/n, he never raises his voice unless absolutely necessary, and he always listens to Daryl no matter how unreasonable he’s being.
Daryl is about to snap back at Y/n, to say something he doesn’t mean and will regret later, but he doesn’t get the chance. His boyfriend slams down on the brakes, causing the car to make a screeching sound and stop in its tracks. Y/n’s arm shoots out to stop Daryl from smashing into the window, and he turns on the mist lights, dark, scared eyes scanning the empty road around them. Daryl takes a few long seconds to process the sudden halt, and his drunken mind tells him to be angry.
“What the hell was that?! You can’t just do that!” His angry roar breaks the silence, and Y/n visibly flinches. Oh. He didn’t mean to scare him, but he doesn’t realize that now, his temper worsened by the high percentage of alcohol and his reason nowhere to be seen. Y/n doesn’t answer him, doesn’t even spare him a glance, as his eyes search the road and desert around them, for what, Daryl doesn’t know.
“What the fuck are you looking for? Hey, Y/n! Why’d ya stop driving?” He couldn’t stop himself from snapping again, his words landing like a blow to the face. Y/n curls in on himself, eyes going impossibly wider.
“I, I just.. There was, I think, and I saw-” He takes sharp, uneven breaths, and points a shaking hand at the road.
“There was someone, a, a person, I think.” Daryl scoffs, shaking his head as he looks where Y/n is pointing.
“There’s nothing there, you’re just seeing things.” He leans back against the seat, expecting Y/n to start the car again, which he does. The car rumbles for a few seconds before it starts, and they continue to drive down the road. After a few, silent minutes, Y/n takes a longer inhale and tightens his grip on the steering wheel.
“Yeah, you’re right. I think I’m probably just seeing things.”
Dead trees and bushes flash past them, illuminated by the bright lights of the car. Y/n still hadn’t turned off the mist lights, too shaken up by the strange, stumbling figure he had seen about a mile back.
“What if it was someone in need of help? What if they got stranded in the desert, injured, alone and without food? Why didn’t we get out of the car to look? To ask them?” Daryl sighed as he listened to his boyfriend’s rambling, sitting up a bit and turning to him.
“Look, Y/n, I know that you tend to worry about others, but we ain’t going back. If they need help, another car will come by sooner or later. And what if it was someone on drugs? Or a serial killer waiting for their new victims? Just take us home and forget about it.”
“What if I can’t?” Daryl’s eyes snapped open at that, and he glared fiercely at his boyfriend.
“Don’t you fucking dare.” His warning didn’t do anything, as Y/n turned the wheel and changed the car’s direction, driving back the way they came too fast.
“Y/n! Y/n stop! You’re gonna cause an accident!” Daryl tightly grabbed at his seat, desperate for something to hold onto as the car sped down the dark road.
But no one was prepared for what happened next.
It happened in mere seconds, but both of them felt as though it lasted minutes. The car slipped, the brakes stopped working, the car slid over something on the road, it spun around, three, four, five times, before it came to a halt, lower to the ground than it was supposed to be. The airbags had shot out, softening the impact of Y/n’s head hitting the steering wheel. Daryl had been somewhat lucky, his hands clamped so tightly to the seat and window that he hadn’t crashed into anything.
“Daryl?” He took another sip of the whiskey, which had also survived the almost crash, before he looked to his left, seeing Y/n with a bloody nose and a forming bruise on his right cheekbone. He wanted to worry, to wipe away the blood and place a soft kiss over the bruise, but his rage won the battle, settling deep into his core as he realized what had happened, and who had caused it.
He stepped out of the car, rounded it, and noticed that the two front tires were flat. He cursed loudly, opening his boyfriend’s door and almost yanking him out of the car, pointing at the damage.
“You fucking idiot! Are you kidding me? You ruined our car! How are we getting home now, huh? How are you gonna fix this?” His voice was like thunder, and Y/n flinched out of his grip.
“I’m sorry, I really am! But I swear, there was something on the road!” He wiped at the blood on his face, this was the first time he was truly afraid of Daryl. But his boyfriend would never hit him, he never had and he never would.
It was quiet then. They didn’t know what to say or what to do. What could they do? Their car was ruined, and Daryl was so drunk he could barely keep standing.
“I’ll call Merle to pick us up, he’s probably still in town anyway.” He turned away then, leaving Y/n to himself. He muttered something about Merle probably being drunk as well before turning to the car and looking at the reflection of the window.
“Fucking great, lovely, it’s not like I have a goddamn job interview in two days.. Nope, not at all.” He hissed as his fingers brushed over the bruise, quickly pulling away. Daryl had walked to the side of the road, sitting down on a fallen tree as he tried to reach his brother.
“What did we hit in the first place, anyway?” Y/n wondered as he took a few steps away from the car, rounding it and searching the road for anything that could’ve caused the car to crash. He took out his phone and used it to shine a light on the road, noticing some red, sticky substance.
“Okay, well, that’s unsettling. Look at me, talking to myself in the middle of the night, looking at blood, sounds like a goddamn horror movie!” He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he inspected the blood. But a long, vicious groan cut his train of thought off. It came from under the car.
“Okay, what the actual fuck. Daryl?” His boyfriend was still on the phone, apparently now arguing with his older brother, and he didn’t look up at the mention of his name. Y/n was about to walk over, when another groan came from under the car. His gaze snapped to the source of it, and he kneeled down.
“Please don’t be a poor dying cat, please don’t be a poor dying ca- WHAT THE HECK?!” A hand shot out, but not a normal hand, it was rotten, with flesh loosely hanging around it while black blood coated its fingers. It grabbed a hold of Y/n’s wrist before he could pull away. Y/n screamed, a loud, distressed sound which had Daryl drop his phone and jump up immediately.
Then a head came from under the car, dead and rotting and the stench was unbearable. It released another groan before diving its teeth into Y/n’s arm, biting through the flesh and muscle. But it didn’t stop there, it tore off the skin, turning the arm into a bleeding mess.
Y/n screamed again. A long, agonizing sound ripped through the air as he yanked his arm back, cradling it against his chest and staining his shirt with blood. His breaths came out fast and short as he struggled to move away, the pain in his arm so overwhelming he could barely sense Daryl’s hands on his shoulders.
“Y/n! Y/n, look at me, it’s okay, you’re gonna be fine.” Daryl’s face came in his vision, the familiar warm eyes and worried expression soothing Y/n’s incredibly fast beating heart. Their eyes locked for a brief moment before Daryl’s attention was on the wound, his hands hovering over it as he tried to figure out what to do.
“Okay, it’s, it’s not that bad. Let me just, grab s-some spare bandages from the trunk, okay?” He made sure to place a reassuring kiss on Y/n’s forehead before standing up and heading to the car.
“Wait!” Y/n’s hand shot out, catching Daryl’s wrist.
“Please don’t go, I don’t feel so, so good.” A sweat broke out on his forehead and his cheeks flushed.
“What’s wrong, how can I help?” Daryl’s worried tone did little to no good as Y/n slumped backwards, too weak to sit up anymore. Daryl quickly fell to his knees beside him, putting his hand of Y/n’s forehead to check for a fever.
“You’re burning up!” His mind shot into panic, he didn’t know what to do. Things like this normally didn’t cause an instant fever. But normally, a not-so-dead corpse wouldn’t bite into someone’s arm..
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, Y/n I’m so incredibly sorry!” He cradled Y/n as he spoke, afraid that this would be it, that this would be the last time he could look into those beautiful eyes.
“For what?” Y/n’s weak voice hurt his heart, this is really it.
“For everything. For drinking so often, for yelling at you, for blaming you for everything. I love you, so so much, I never wanted to hurt you.” Tears streamed down his face as he cupped Y/n’s cheek, stroking it with his fingers.
“First of all, I forgive you. It’s okay, I stayed, didn’t I? And second, you act like I’m dying! C’mon Daryl, I’m fine!” He coughed then, long and hard. His vision blurred a little as he tried to sit up. What in the world was happening to him?
“Let me call an ambulance, please?” Daryl knew how stubborn Y/n could be, especially when it came to injuries, but he was just so worried. He could be dying for all he knows! Y/n sighed but nodded, watching as Daryl walked towards his phone.
His head hurt, his vision was blurred, he felt dizzy and the pain in his arm spread through his whole body, but he still smiled, because he had a reason to smile, he had Daryl. With that thought, his consciousness faded and his body slumped on the ground.
~
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Acula (2) - Daryl Dixon x Male Reader
Sophia’s end had hit Daryl hard.
Angry and filled with as much grief as the rest of you, he pulled himself away from the group. With Hershel’s sharp deadline looming over your head, you seeked him out, not wanting to end your acquaintance with the cold hunter.
--
This chapter was long overdue, and a very dialogue heavy one at that!!! An extended version will be posted soon on coralpot (AO3).
Warnings: Mentions of death, violence, brief mentions of homophobia
Tag: Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: 1.36K
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Embers filled the sky as a small fire crackled, not too far from the farm. The flames highlighted the pinched face of the man beside you, neither speaking. No words, no shuffling; you could barely hear Daryl breathe. Not even the smoke could compete with how the events of the past day weighed down the air in your little campsite, nor the trivial feelings of something so complicated.
“You can’t stay out here forever, you know,” you sighed, pointedly looking at Daryl.
He finally speaks, ever the man of few words, “Says who?”
“Logic.”
“You ain’t my mother.”
“Don’t forget which man dragged you out of that forest,” A twinkle of humor shone in your eyes, “Dixon.”
“Pfft.”
Your posture slumped into a tree, the awkward atmosphere finally calming to a soothing, familiar lull. Bark scratched up your shirt, moss leaving smudged, green marks with it. The rotten taste of burning corpses still lingered in your mouth, and you shook your head with an ironic giggle.
“You know, this is the most I’ve gotten out of you lately.”
“Wonder why.”
His gruff tone stomped out the laughter inside, “Isolating yourself isn’t gonna help.”
“Bein’ all friendly ain’t gonna bring her back neither!”
“I understand that, but you know that she wouldn’t want you doing this.”
Silence.
“C’mon, Daryl, talk about it.”
His outburst did not deter you, only making you more concerned as you reached out to gingerly touch his shoulder. Daryl flinched and hissed under his breath, seeming to debate pulling away. You rethought your action, realizing just how weird it must have come off as. A man, touching another man, in such an intimate environment? He looked like the type that wouldn’t take such a gesture well, more like an insult to their high-regarded masculinity. You yanked your hand back, wanting to hide, run away, do anything but face the man in front of you, only for it to be forcefully stopped.
Daryl had an expression that told you to shut your mouth, sliding your palm back on his shoulder. He felt warm, but stiff under your fingers. His face was turned away from you, and no matter how you twisted, Daryl’s features were stubbornly hidden from you. Eventually, in a boat of silence you built for yourself, you gave up. Tapping your foot, you rubbed small circles into his back, hoping to relax him enough for him to return the stare.
“Whenever you’re ready, man.” The softness of your voice surprised you.
He fidgeted with the folds of his pants, “Dunno.”
“Elaborate?”
“Don’t know where to start.”
“Do you want me to help or do you want time?”
“Kinda wanted you to give me somethin’ to work with.”
“That’s fine with me.”
…
“Say, earlier,” you exhaled, “were you helping out with the fires? I didn’t see you.”
“Nah, couldn’t.”
Your eyebrows raised, and his fidgeting worsened, “Couldn’t?”
“I couldn’t see that shit.”
“Why?”
“It made me sick;” he hesitated to elaborate, “I… failed her. Couldn’t make myself see that grave they were diggin’ for her.”
You nodded, not able to do anything more. Daryl must have felt the movement on his back stop, because he mustered up the courage to look up at you. Beyond the usual sharp hues, a certain semblance of vulnerability laid, shattering the blue. In this frozen position, you absentmindedly thought about the fact that you never had this good of a glimpse into his eyes before.
“Well, are you gonna say somethin’?”
The fire must be warming your cheeks, “Uh… yeah?”
Daryl shrugged your hand off, quickly closing off. A quick pang in your heart was shoved down as you finally got a hold of yourself, your mind racing as you tried to think of a better response.
“It wasn’t your fault, Dixon.”
That certainly hadn’t been what he expected, “It was.”
“How was it your fault?”
“Coulda’ searched more, harder.”
Your hand was allowed back on his shoulder, “If anything, out of anyone, you’re the last to blame here.”
Daryl didn’t respond, facing away from you again.
“Daryl, look at me, please.”
Like a pouting toddler, his shoulders lifted and he slowly slid his body 90 degrees in your general direction. After an unimpressed glare from you, he corrected himself and stared at your nose. It was good enough.
“You were out there searching for that little girl almost every single day, even though you didn’t know her all that much personally. The only time you took a break was when you were shot, for fuck’s sake!”
“Least I coulda’ done.”
“You did more than the men encouraging you that it was a lost cause.”
“If it ain’t my fault, than who’s is it?”
“Whatever the hell’s infecting people, that’s what.”
There was a certain heaviness in his voice, “Couldn’t’ve let her die, me and Carol both were sure of it. It still happened anyways.”
You were silent as you waited for him to continue, “Seein’ the grave, seein’ the smoke, smelling what she was damned to, it set in. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
Suddenly, how you stank from the bodies was made obvious to you. Even some of the rotten smell had gotten on Daryl, and with his recent confession, that wasn’t the best thing. Your bag was carelessly slung over your lap, forgotten in favor of comfort. It’s possible that was making the stench worse, you were sure.
As you moved the bag, planning to throw it off to the side, you got a whiff of something that was most certainly not charred, diseased flesh. Quite good, actually. Earthy. The smell took you back to the moments after Andrea shot down Daryl, and he was delivered to recover in a tent. He had been knocked out cold, and despite how Hershel insisted that there was no need to worry, you still had the unsatiable urge to help. Unknown to old Hershel, you stole herbs from his tea cabinet, hoping to make a medicinal tea. Alas, with all the drama of the barn, Sophia, and Daryl’s stubborn nature, you never had the chance to give them to him.
“I have an idea,” you spoke, pulling out the variety stashed inside.
“Huh?”
Daryl flinched towards your hand as you took it away, laying out all the different plants on your thighs, “You said the smell made you feel worse, yeah? I know I stink of it, don’t lie, so I thought these would help.”
“You scavenged these? When?”
“Nah, I stole them from Hershel. Choose your pick; don’t tell.”
He scoffed, rubbing his hands to warm them before hovering over the herbs, thinking hard about the choice. Soon enough, he selected a few stalks of rosemary, holding them gently in his palms. Your choice followed, immediately gravitating towards the lavender, and you set the rest away.
“You know what to do?”
The only response you received was a quick nod of his head, and he rubbed the stalks in between his hands harshly before rubbing them over any part of his body he could reach. Chuckling, you did the same, making sure to pay extra attention to key spots, such as anywhere you touched the corpses with. You would need to wash your clothes with Maggie come morning.
Afterwards, you both threw the mangled herbs into the deep forest, and Daryl stared after them. From this angle, you could see the burgundy scab ripping across his temple. Whether it was the sight or the late night temperature, a chill ran down your spine, and it was then that you realized just how much time you lost with him.
“What do you say about heading back to camp? It’s late.”
Daryl looked like he wanted to protest, but thought the better of it, “Fine.”
You got up from your seat, brushing dirt and grass off of your aching ass. The other man had a large stain on the back of his pants from the contents he sat on, but you supposed it wouldn’t be too evil to let him discover that on his own. Slinging your bag over your back, you reached out to him, even as he stomped out the fire.
“Ready?”
-
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Acula! - Daryl Dixon x M! Reader
Word count: 4.6K
Status: Request
I gave up near the end lol 😵💫 As always, English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes <33
-
Your pen softly glided over the paper on your desk, complimenting the constant tics of a clock. The house was peaceful and undisturbed.
However, something seemed to put you on edge. It was just a feeling, everything was painstakingly ordinary. Nothing lately stood out to you; nothing served as the inspiration you craved so desperately. Groaning, you put your pen aside. The paper in front of you held no leads or meaning. Mindless scribbles, for lack of better words.
Idly, your mind wandered to Otis. The man had yet to return from his hunting trip, which was unusual. That had to be the most interesting thing to happen since the outbreak and must be why you were feeling so irritable. Nonetheless, you were sure the man was completely fine.
The pit in your stomach didn’t agree. In fact, it only got larger as the faint sound of shouting caught your attention. Crumpling the paper, you practically tripped over yourself sprinting outside.
The very first thing that caught your eye was the color red. A lot of it. Soaking the stranger’s shirt, soaking the child in the stranger’s arms, and dripping onto the dirt under their feet. The shouting melted into patchy warbling and you could barely feel it when a body roughly pushed itself past you to take a firm hold on the child.
That body was none other than Hershel’s, and just as quickly, the world sped up again. You followed the stranger and your panicking family back inside, instinctively following every order your father barked out. Rushing to get water from the farm well, you almost missed Otis stumbling his way into the house.
Back and forth, back and forth until you could see the sun starting to set. Your muscles ache and your ears ring as you finally allow yourself to sit down. It wasn’t over yet.
“You shot him?”
“I was trackin’ a deer and the bullet went straight through it! I hadn’t even seen the boy until he was on the floor!” Otis exclaimed defensively.
The room exploded into hushed chatter and your temples throbbed in response. The original two men that had carried the injured child to the farm property were supposedly part of a bigger group and Maggie had been sent to retrieve one of them. From what you could see now, she had brought back the mother of the kid.
Said mother took a threatening step towards Otis, “You’re an idiot—!”
Hershel stepped in between them, promptly breaking up the scrabble, giving a stern glance. Instead of staying inside the crowded room any longer, you decided to step out to make your way back to your room. The commotion was quickly making you feel trapped and unable to breathe. Here, you could still hear the louder comments, just muffled. You couldn’t help anyone while this anxious, even though you wanted to.
When morning comes, you’ll surely give Otis a good talk with Hershel.
Silently, you massaged your palms. You could still feel the imprint of the bucket handle on one. That is when you were hit with what you were doing. What did you mean, not being able to help right now? You could help just fine!
Marching outside with your bucket in hand, you were fueled by confidence. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement in the distance, probably some birds. You were going to bring back plenty of water for the new patients.
You knew that there was more to the strangers’ group and wondered when they would arrive. If at all, but you knew Maggie had alerted them. Why would they abandon their teammates with total strangers? Would they be aggressive?
Finding comfort in the distracting sting of your raw hands, you headed back once again with another bucket of water. The farm’s blue car was gone and you were met only with solemn faces.
“What’d I miss?” You pant, placing the bucket by the shaking father’s feet.
Hershel made a slight gesture towards the small body on the bed, “We lack the needed medical supplies for the surgery this young boy needs.”
You could hear Patricia let out a sob in the hallway.
“Otis and Mr. Walsh bravely volunteered to retrieve them,” He continued, “at the high school.”
Your eyes flicked back to the shaking father, “Huh, when’ll they be back?”
“Hopefully in the next two hours, we can’t afford to wait any longer than that.”
“Will the kid be okay if you don’t get the supplies and still go through with the surgery?”
The looming silence was an answer enough. Otis and the other man had yet to return and the pit in your stomach had yet to leave. The boy on the bed was ghostly pale; you could see the sheen of sweat coating his skin from where you crouched. The scent of sorrow clung thickly to everyone in the room and you wondered if it would ever leave. All anyone here could do was wait.
—
The ticking of the clock became absolutely unbearable. Otis and Mr. Walsh had yet to return, and you knew time was running faster than them.
The father of the child, who’s name you learned was Rick, could barely stand. That certainly didn’t deter him from trying to follow the volunteers to the highschool multiple times. Hershel and the man’s wife, Lori, had to remind him several times that he just gave up dangerous levels of blood and that he would faint before he could even get out the door.
You could understand his desperation. The boy’s face was somehow even paler than before and you could tell that if the volunteers didn’t turn up soon, he would slip away. You half-expected to see the grim reaper tonight.
Just as you were about to give up hope, you picked up the faint sound of an engine. Everyone was on their feet in an instant, scrambling to see the volunteers. Only the man you assumed was Mr. Walsh stepped out of the car.
Hershel gave him a concerned look, “Where’s Otis?”
Mr. Walsh hesitated, looking a little sick, “Otis didn’t make it.”
Even with only a few seconds of silence, you could feel the sorrowful energy deepen tremendously.
“Should we tell Patricia?” you mumbled.
“Not yet,” Hershel grunted, “we need everyone on-hand for the surgery. It can wait.”
Mr. Walsh nodded hurriedly, pushing past everyone else. The rest followed, running about in preparation. You massaged your hands and headed out with your bucket.
That way, you couldn’t hear the screams coming from that poor child. You wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Regardless of your efforts, the surgery went on for what felt like hours. The child lost even more blood, but in the end it was successful. You were glad, however your heart proved heavy when you heard Patricia’s shaking sobs in another room.
You felt horribly guilty as you plopped down on your bed. Maybe if you had gone as well, Otis would still be alive. Glancing at the long forgotten paper, you couldn’t help but think about the new bald spot on Mr. Walsh’s hair.
-
You got up early the next day and wandered into the kitchen. Today would be Otis’ funeral, you knew. He had died honorably, always a kind soul. The pit in your stomach deepened at the thought of it again. Something just didn’t feel right about it, but you had no reason to think so. It had to be your nerves from last night, right? Yeah.
Heavy footsteps approached, ones you certainly didn’t recognize. Your hand flew to the knife in your pocket and you turned your head towards the kitchen’s door. A tanned, large hand came first. A muscular arm came next, followed by a grouchy face.
For a few moments, neither of you moved. As you were studying him, he was studying you. The man was tall, taller than you, if only slightly. Stronger than you, maybe. You could see the exact moment when his eyes landed on where your hand was hovering and his jaw visibly clenched.
So, that moment passed, and you both blurted out, “Who the fuck are you?”
“I live here,” you hissed.
He scoffed, “Didn’t answer my question.”
You dropped your hand in favor of standing up, “Just a resident. Rick’s group, right?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“I haven’t had a chance to meet most of you.”
Cracking your knuckles, you held your left hand out. The redneck stared at it blankly for a moment before his expression cleared. Roughly, he grabbed your hand and shook it. His skin was unsurprisingly tough and dry.
“The name’s Daryl,” he finally supplied.
You gave a firm nod, “I like that name.”
Both hands dropped and you shrugged, “Well, it was nice meeting you. My rest time’s up.”
You lightly kicked your chair back in position, sauntering out the second door. It was fair to say you left an impression, as you could feel a gaze burning the back of your neck.
You joined Maggie near the chicken coop and snatched a nearby basket. Hearing you come in, she turned towards you.
“‘Morning,” she murmured.
“G’morning,” you replied, “I met one of the newcomers.”
She raised an eyebrow, “Which one?”
“Tall, grouchy, and a redneck? Said his name was Daryl?”
“I think I saw him last night, he didn’t seem friendly.”
“Do you trust him?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
You bit your cheek, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“You’ve only met him, right?” Maggie guessed.
You nodded. Maggie rubbed an egg with her thumb, a thoughtful expression on her face.
She finally released, “It’d help us all if everyone met officially before the funeral.”
“I suppose,” you shrugged.
You both stepped out of the coop with full baskets, making your way back into the house. Everyone was awake now, with the exception of Carl. Despite that, the farm was seized by silence. Daryl was sitting with others of his group, more notably Mr. Walsh.
However, there was something different about Mr. Walsh this morning. It was one of the first things you noticed walking in. All of his hair had been messily shaved off and the hairless style was made complete with a baseball cap. Strange, wasn’t it?
Maggie made a point to sit down in a chair and you decided to do the same. There were several new, grim faces in the room.
You decided to speak up first, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet all of you.”
The room was silent except for a few hums of agreement, and you cleared your throat, “I’ve heard a few things about you, all good.”
Mr. Walsh stood up first, reaching out a hand, “Shane Walsh.”
You stood up and shaked his hand with a tight smile. This man made your stomach flip with sick anxiety. The awkward introductions continued until no one was left unknown, and Hershel made a point to sweep into the room at that moment.
“Gather outside,” he gruffly ordered.
The world outside was a direct contrast to the mood of the people living in it. Sunlight filtered a cheery green through the leaves of a residing tree and the temperature was slowly rising. A cart full of stones was set down by a few of the other refugees.
Everyone gathered into a half circle, leaving Hershel to stand in front of them. Bible in hand, he cleared his throat.
“Blessed be God. A dear friend of ours has passed with honor and bravery. He was kind, loyal, and generous to the end. Otis sacrificed his life for a younger one; may he rest in God’s hands with great dignity. He died as he lived, in grace.
Shane, will you speak for Otis?”
The group all had placed a few stones on Otis’ gravesite. Everyone except for Shane.
“I’m not very good at these types of things,” he mentioned when Hershel approached him.
“You were with him in his final moments,” Patricia sobbed.
Shane sighed, seeing no way out of this. His eyes seemed panicked.
His voice was scratchy as he spoke, “We were about done, running out of ammo. I was limping, it was bad. It was a mighty sacrifice he made, and it wasn’t in vain.”
You could see Patricia’s bottom lip tremble from your spot beside Maggie, the lack of noise making the wound deeper. Softly glancing around, you could see a similar look of distant horror on the faces of everyone around you. Shane limped towards the makeshift grave, placing the final stone on top.
“He saved us both,” Shane finished.
Patricia nodded, her face red with held-in tears.
-
The farm’s residents were still in mourning, but you were rather curious about the newcomers. The day had swung in with boiling heat, and some of the new men were gathered around a map outside. Everyone else stayed inside. You joined their group, staring questionably at the piece of paper they were studying.
You frowned, “What’s this about?”
“Lil’ missing girl, Sophia,” one of them murmured.
Rick pointed to an area on the map, “She could’ve gone down here.”
“I’ll help search,” you added, “if you need me.”
You could feel eyes on you, but yours stayed locked on the map, “Are we going in pairs?”
“I’m sure Daryl wouldn’t mind you helping him, right?” Rick gave a stern look to the rugged man beside him.
Daryl clicked his tongue, begrudgingly throwing out a rough, “Yeah, yeah.”
You grinned, “Great! Now, where were we?”
When everything was planned, you downed a glass of water and headed out with Daryl. The walk across the field was awkwardly silent, and neither of you seemed to trust the other. You didn’t know much of what to expect from him.
There was a shuffling noise as he hoisted his crossbow over his shoulder. The afternoon sun made you both glisten with sweat and you stole small glances at the other as you walked.
You had gotten so used to the silence that you practically jumped out of your skin when he suddenly said, “So, are ya just gonna keep starin’ at me or what?”
Your throat suddenly felt dry, “What of it? I haven’t seen a person like you in a while.”
“A person like me, huh?”
“A guy with your style, not since before the breakout.” You gestured towards him with your hands.
“Huh,” is all that Daryl offered in response.
-
While you didn’t discover anything related to the missing girl, you did find out more about the past strangers. You were still wary of them, as they were to you, but you could find yourself drawn to them more everyday. Carol was the mother of Sophia and she was getting more restless as time went on.
You could understand, as you were as well. You had never even met this girl, but you were sparing time every night to pray for her safe return. Carl, on the other hand, was up and running again. He was a curious little boy, very interested in the world around him.
When you and the other men were planning another search round, Carl had been listening intently. However, the boy was strictly prohibited from tagging along or using guns.
You got on one knee, facing him, “Don’t worry about it, we’ll bring your friend back safe and sound.”
Out of the corner of your eye, could you see Daryl nod and Shane scoff. Though, your reassurances seemed to convince Carl for the time being, and he ran off. You exhaled, standing up again.
“I’ll be taking a nap,” you stated.
With that, you started on your journey back to the house, rubbing your temples. The heat was not helping the cause. You collapsed on the bed, thinking about how much Shane annoyed you.
You tossed and turned, but to no avail. The weight of Sophia was heavy on your mind, preventing you from sleeping. You didn’t know how long it had been since you’d first laid down, but it was still light outside. You kicked off the covers and stretched, buttoning up your shirt and shoes. Making your way back outside, the previous group of men had dispersed. They were sprinkled around the property, from what you could tell. Only Daryl was nowhere to be found.
“Hey, Carol,” you called, jogging over to where she was sitting under a tree, “where’s Daryl?”
“Daryl? I saw him taking one of Hershel’s horses to start another search,” she said.
“Alone?”
“I didn’t see anyone else with him, no.”
“Shit,” you gasp.
“Did something happen?” Carol’s voice tipped up in concern.
“Nothing that I know of, but it’s fucking dangerous for him to do that alone!”
Did he have a death wish? You knew he was reckless, but damn did it seem like it. Without giving Carol time to answer, you start sprinting towards the forest. It was where the group was planning to search earlier, you remember. Leaves and thin branches whipped your skin as you ran further inside.
You stopped abruptly. Flashes of white danced a few feet away, forming into a very panicked and very big horse. A panicked horse with an empty saddle. The saddle had embroidery on it, specifically the type you recognized to be on all of the farm’s saddles.
Slowly approaching it, you took a hold on its reins. You spent a few slow minutes attempting to calm it down, eventually succeeding in what felt like forever. Taking out a rope, you tied the horse to a thick tree. You cracked your knuckles and stepped back. What did you see Daryl doing when you were running searches together?
That’s right! You squatted, reviewing your surroundings. The wildlife seemed to have been demolished by something, definitely not small. The trail leads to a steep slope downwards, a trail of equally squashed plants following it.
You huffed, grinning, “I’ve got you now, Daryl.”
Carefully, you slid down the hill, keeping your eyes on the trail. A creek was rapidly approaching, and you tumbled out onto the shore. To your surprise, Daryl was nowhere to be found. Instead, you found disturbed dirt, blood, and fallen zombies.
Where the zombies’ ears should be, ripped flesh and blood was smeared. They had suffered head injuries and showed no signs of getting up again. You glanced around, your hand instinctively gripping your knife.
“What the fuck?” you whispered.
Whoever had done this had struggled. The sand was thrashed around and the trail of smashed plants continued forwards. Carefully stepping around the zombies, you went on your way, faster. This seemed like Daryl’s doing, and even if it wasn’t, he could be in serious danger.
You yelled, “Daryl?”
You never expected a response and none ever came. Except you thought you heard a quiet groan. Stopping your rampage, you silenced your breathing and stood still. Could it be a zombie? Daryl? Daryl as a zombie?
Nothing attacked you, but you heard another groan, this time louder. You creeped forward, pushing past a bush. Bruised, dirty, and tanned skin came into view and you almost fainted in relief. The man was mumbling quiet nonsense; the only thing you could catch was a name. Merle.
Now that you had a better view of him, you could see that he was making a struggling attempt to climb up the hill. He had only made it halfway up by the time you found him, it seems. Sighing, you put a firm foot down and started to climb after him. Since you weren’t in an injured daze, you caught up with him in a matter of minutes, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder.
Daryl flinched, his face whipping to look at you. Though, his eyes didn’t see you. They were distant and glazed over, surely a fever. You circled an arm around his waist, pulling him up with you as you climbed.
“Merle?” Daryl squinted at you.
Who was Merle? A friend? This person wasn’t in his group, you knew. Well, that was something to ponder over later. For now, Daryl needed you. The man was starting to struggle in your arms, albeit weakly. It was slowing you down.
“Let me go, I ain’t a sissy,” he spit, “I don’t need your help!”
That only made you grip him tighter. In one final push, you hoisted him over the edge and struggled onto it yourself. Holy shit, you’d be sore in the morning. Chest heaving, you peered over to Daryl. He was sluggishly trying to get up, and there were weird shapes on his usual necklace. Squinting, you could make out that they were ears.
So that’s where they went. Huh.
Reaching out, you tugged the necklace off and threw it in the woods for the wildlife to eat away. Next, you grabbed him and leaned most of his body weight on you. Now, you are ready to resume the mission. Dragging him up, you walked one step at a time. One arm of his was thrown over your shoulder, and the other was grasping his side. To no avail, however, you could see crimson blood dripping from in between his fingers. The smell was even stronger.
“Stop fucking yourself over, Dixon,” you gasp.
With sticks cracking under your feet, the two of you manage to stumble out of the forest and into the clearing. Without the trees blocking it, the fresh wind blew in your face and the smell of sweat almost went away with it. Almost.
The sun beat down on your figures and that made those desert scenes in movies seem like child’s play. It was bright, blinding you to the point that you could only see the silhouette of the house. So much so that you couldn’t see the gun pointed at you from across the field.
You could make out shouting and a small group running towards you. To help, you hoped. You could only carry the other for so long. They got closer and you recognized the three men. They were all part of Daryl’s group; Rick, T-Dog, and Shane. All wore worried expressions and reached out to lend a hand.
That is, before a loud shot was the only warning you got before a weight was pulling you backwards and onto the hard ground. You could hear a shout of pain escape the man you were still holding onto.
“What the fuck,” someone hissed, and your world collapsed into chaos again.
Rough hands pulled you up, “Get up, man!”
The same hands, belonging to T-Dog, supported you. Quickly getting your bearings, you whipped around to check on Daryl. Rick and Shane were dragging him ahead of you, yelling for the shooter to stand down. That there were no walkers around, as they liked to call them. T-Dog dropped his hands and ran off after them, leaving you to stumble behind.
-
Your foot tapped angrily on the floor, “What do you mean, she thought we were one of those things?”
“I know, but she was on orders not to shoot. We have absolutely no intentions to harm you, you have my word,” Rick sighed.
“So she almost killed not only Daryl, but me, ‘cause she wanted to make a point?”
The leader’s face turned grim and you rubbed your temples. Standing up, you sulked towards the tent where Daryl was staying while he healed. He deserved an apology from you. You tapped the flap over the entrance lightly to let him know you were coming in. Sliding your body in, you were met with an unimpressed expression.
“Hey,” you murmured, “how’s it going?”
He grunted, “What d’ya think?”
“Yeah, I get it. Look, I’m sorry for what happened.”
“It ain’t your fault I got shot.”
“I didn’t go with you.”
“And I didn’t wait for you, so it ain’t your fault.”
You huffed, you weren’t there to argue, “Alright, you win. Are you feeling any better, at least?”
“A bit.”
“I’m glad.”
He didn’t respond and an awkward silence ensued. Finally, to cut that in half, you asked about something that has been stuck in your mind ever since you found him.
“You know, you were hallucinating badly when I found you.”
“Yeah? What ‘bout it?”
“You mentioned someone named Merle. Who’s that?”
“Just someone. Not important.”
Seeing his unwillingness, you decided it wasn’t good to push, “Alright.”
Carefully, you took the gift you brought for him out of your pocket. Nothing fancy, just a simple compass. You set it down near where his hands rested, letting a small smile take over your face.
“I hope you feel better soon.”
With that, you left, before Daryl could say anything in response. You knew he was a tracker, therefore the gift was practically useless, but gifts can be more than usefulness. Spending time in his company made your mood instantly brighten despite the other’s closed-off attitude. Even Maggie stopped what she was doing to ask what made you so cheery right after almost getting shot in the head.
You shrugged and continued on your way.
-
Sophia was dead. Well, it’s complicated. That little girl everyone had been searching for had been turned into one of those sick people. Or as the outsiders called them, walkers.
Your ears rang as you took in the scene before you. The bodies of the walkers were practically piled on top of one another, unmoving. The little girl had been the last to come out, stumbling with a nasty bite on the shoulder. Even from your spot, you could see Rick’s arms shake as he stared at the bloody body lying in front of him. The only thing you could hear were soft pants and weeping.
You sprinted over to Carol, one of the perpetrators, kneeling beside her. You didn’t need to see the face that matched the arms holding her, you just wanted to focus on her. After all, Sophia’s death had to be the hardest on her. The woman was struggling to breathe through her sobs.
“Carol, you need to breathe,” you comment.
She responded, but only God could make out what she said. You took her hand, feeling the body above both of you start to crouch down. Glancing up, you could see that the eyes of the man were cloudy and distant. Such a look that you’ve never witnessed before on Daryl; it made you want to hold his hand too. You would need to check on him soon.
You gently rubbed Carol’s knuckles as she shook her head, “I understand, but it’s important to breathe.
Do it with me— inhale, 1, 2, 3, exhale, 1, 2, 3!”
As you hoped, Carol followed. When the occasional sob broke the pattern, you would pause to offer reassuring touches on her hand before continuing. She was doing well and you couldn’t be prouder.
Everyone else in the area blurred away; they weren’t important. Your heart was tight as you still knelt in the dirt, it was simply the three of you. The chest beside you was following just as much as the other, and the sound of breathing slowed time. It pitied the group.
Eventually, Carol calmed down enough to talk. You and Daryl watched reluctantly as Lori led her back to the house. After the two became but a speck, you turned to study the other man. His rigid figure mimicked you, still distant. Almost as if testing new waters, you reached out your own to grab his hand, finding the need to comfort him.
All at once, it seemed like his whole character was zapped into his existence. His eyes snapped into a wild light and he froze for a few little seconds. As soon as that passed, he hurriedly shook off your hand and stalked away, huffing. You chose to believe he could feel your eyes on his back.
“Hey, we need your help over here,” a voice called out.
Disturbing a strand of hair with a puff of air, you snapped your attention to the rest of the group. Daryl would have to wait.
—
Pt 2 in the future??
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Perhaps a soft and somewhat smutty transmasc insert x negan fic where he’s heavily focused on the readers surgery scars, just tracing them with his fingers and kissing them cause I just know that man has a scar kink
(Also this is just a fully self indulgent req)
Glass Scars
pairing: negan smith x trans male reader
wc: 4,621
tags: smut, fluff but it’s negan so you know, scar kink, oral (reader receiving), only masculine terms used
an: (this is such a basic fic title but my mind blanked out and i couldn’t come up with anything else) i know this literally took forever for me to finish but i think it’s worth it? maybe? idk but i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoy reading :)
dni: cis/fem people…it’s self explanatory
(i tried to add in a really sexy gif here but i’m stupid and it didn’t work so </3)
“Jesus christ, that was a fucking shit show.” Negan exhales heavily. He’s currently hunched over, hands on his knees, completely out of breath.
After running into a small horde of walkers, you and Negan had to basically fight your way through them. There was nowhere to simply stay put and wait it out as they came at you from all directions and quickly boxed you in. Honestly, you were sure you were about to kick the bucket right then and there, but luckily Negan kept an eye on you and stepped in to help you as needed. You truly don’t know what you would do without that man. Die, probably.
“Yeah.” You agree softly, panting. Your pants and tee are basically drenched in blood and some small bits of guts, sticking uncomfortably to your skin. You have to stop yourself from gagging a few times as the smell of it all finally hits you. “We’re going back, right? I really need a shower.” You mention tersely, grimacing at your current state.
Negan sighs. “Fuck, babe. C’mon, you look so hot covered in blood.” He exasperates, slowly striding over to you and enveloping you by your waist, gently pulling you close.
You roll your eyes, though the small smirk attempting to cross your lips eventually betrays you. “Negan, please. This shit smells awful and feels disgusting.” You whine softly, starting to pull out of Negan’s grip even though you really don’t want to.
Negan kisses your cheek before you get too far away from him, his lips tinted red after. “Well, I think we’ve gathered enough supplies.” He mentions, glancing at the few duffel bags that you’d both dropped when the horde approached. “Yeah, let’s go back. This shit does feel fuckin’ disgusting.” He agrees, his form suddenly stiff and uncomfortable.
You nod in response, feeling relieved about Negan’s decision. After tucking away your knife and checking yourself over - making sure you didn’t drop anything - you make your way over to the bags and haul one up, resting heavily on your shoulder. As you move to grab another, Negan moves in the corner of your eye, catching your attention. You glance over and watch him for a moment; he slowly peels off his leather jacket, seemingly in a bit of pain. His white tee underneath is damp with blood, the fabric clinging to his skin. He may be in pain but he also looks extremely attractive like this. You can’t help the way your eyes skim up and down his upper body, taking notice of his hard nipples protruding his tee.
Just as he turns his head to look at you, you also turn, attention back on the bags. You repeat your previous movement with another bag, though luckily this one is a bit lighter. Still, the strain of them on each of your shoulders is definitely gonna hit you later.
As you try to make the weight as bearable as you can, Negan comes over and gathers the rest of the bags; three in total. Negan then leads the way, walking a short distance back to the truck. It was honestly a stupid idea to leave it, but the spot you guys were trying to get to wasn’t accessible by the road as it had been blocked off, which really left no other choice but to walk. You definitely wouldn’t be coming this way again without a few more men.
Just a few minutes later you’re piling the bags into the bed of the truck and soon after making yourself comfortable in the passenger seat. The drive back to the sanctuary shouldn’t take too long, but things aren’t always set in stone out here. You guys could stumble upon another horde or maybe even some people. All you can do is just sit back and wait.
You drift in and out of sleep throughout the whole ride, Negan’s hand a comforting warmth on your thigh. He laughs at you every time your head bobs forward, on the brink of sleep. You only have enough energy to groan softly, exhausted from your previous exertion.
Eventually you’re home, parked in the small parking lot beside the sanctuary. Negan squeezes your thigh a few times, getting your attention. “C’mon.” He says, nodding his head in the direction of the building. “Let’s get cleaned up, hm?” He offers softly, though his voice is deep and husky.
“Mhm.” You hum slowly, still half asleep and feeling very groggy. You manage to get out and step onto the gravel, hearing it crunch beneath your boots. The sound brings a wave of comfort over you, knowing that just an hour ago you were on the verge of death. The slam of Negan’s door rattles you from your thoughts, bringing you back to reality. You take a moment to gather your bearings and close your door, then you slowly make your way to the back of the truck towards Negan.
“I told the guys to get the shit in the back. I’m dying for a shower.” He sighs dramatically, waiting until you’re close enough so he can take your hand in his. He then leads the way, entering through one of the side doors and ascending a few flights of stairs before stopping at the third floor.
He trails down the long hallway, stopping at the door to his room. He lets go of your hand and enters his room, immediately chucking his shirt off and tossing it to the floor. You stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching him. He’s absolutely ridiculous but you love it.
Following him inside, you close the door behind you and lock it as usual. When you turn back around the only piece of clothing left on Negan is his boxers, which happen to also have a few spots of blood on them, probably from the thick liquid seeping through his pants. Lastly, he removes his boxers, sighing in relief.
You’ve seen Negan naked hundreds of times now but each time always feels like the first, sending a shock up your spine and a shiver throughout your entire body. He’s just so alluring and gorgeous, no matter how many times you’ve seen his body; he’s perfect.
You eventually begin to follow Negan’s lead, undressing. You move extremely slow as you’re still very exhausted, but Negan seems to notice this and is quick to step in and help. He unbuckles your belt and unzips your pants, undoing the button and letting your jeans fall down your legs. You hold onto his shoulder as you step out of them and kick them aside. The same movement is done when removing your boxers.
Negan’s hands are on your waist in an instant, skimming them up and down your sides, lightly scratching his nails against your skin. You have to bite back a moan, though it’s not from arousal; Negan’s hands just feel incredibly good and cause you to become even more tired.
“C’mon. I’m gonna fall asleep if we don’t shower soon.” You warn slowly, smiling softly as your eyes begin to close unwillingly.
Negan chuckles deeply, the sound rumbling in his throat. “Alright, alright.” He concedes, his hands coming to a halt. “I just love touching you.” He whispers, lips gracing the shell of your ear. He then plants a few gentle kisses along your neck, ending with a quick nip.
“Yeah, well, you can do that in the shower, y’know.” You point out teasingly, earning another chuckle from Negan.
“You fuckin’ bet I will.” He growls lowly, leaning in for one last nip to your neck.
From there, he finally obeys and leads you to the bathroom, quickly turning on the shower. You both idle for a minute or two as the water begins to warm up, eventually shivering a bit from the cool air touching your skin.
Negan steps in the shower a moment later, pulling you along. The warm water rains down on your head, running down your body and effectively warming you. Before you know it Negan’s massaging shampoo into your hair, the sudden touch startling you a bit. You quickly relax into it, though, tilting your head back and closing your eyes.
A good minute of massaging and Negan’s maneuvering you around the shower, letting the spray of water hit you directly. He gently rinses out the shampoo, placing a kiss to your temple afterwards.
“Thank you.” You say softly, warming even more at Negan’s lips against you. “Let me do you, too.” You offer, moving to reach for the bottle of shampoo and pouring some out onto your hand. After lathering up your hands you reach up and run your fingers through Negan’s hair. He smiles at the feeling, dipping his head down a bit so it’s less of a reach for you.
Once his hair has been thoroughly washed, you help him rinse out the shampoo, wiping away any suds that get too close to his eyes. You give him a quick, chaste kiss after, amused when he furrows his brows and pleads with his eyes for more.
“Later.” You counter, though you’re not even sure if you’ll be awake later. With the way you feel currently, you assume you won’t be, but who knows.
“Why do you always play hard to get?” He chides lowly, swooping in close and wrapping his arms around your waist.
You roll your eyes, offering a soft smile. “Negan, we’re both covered in blood and I’m fucking exhausted. I just wanna shower in peace.” You explain a bit firmly, though the smile covering your lips has yet to drop.
“Well, I can surely be of service.” He assures with a wink, immediately moving to grab your washcloth. After rinsing it out he grabs the bar of soap and lathers up the cloth. He then starts cleaning you up, rubbing the cloth against your skin to get rid of the dry bits of blood. Continuing on, he does the rest of your upper body and then your lower, humming pleasantly once he’s done and sees that you’re clean.
After he rinses out the washcloth and hangs it back up, he again grabs the bar of soap and lathers his hands this time. While you watch him, you immediately know what he’s about to do.
Negan settles himself behind you and slips a hand around your waist, resting gently against your lower stomach. His other hand follows but rests on your groin, soon moving down and slipping your cock between his fingers. The motion makes you gasp, feeling arousal start to build in your gut. When his fingers move down just a bit then back up, you can’t help the moan that slips past your lips.
You honestly thought you were way too tired to get worked up, but clearly you were very wrong about that. You know Negan is still just cleaning you up, but of course his movements are painfully slow - most likely on purpose - which isn’t helping your increasing arousal.
Eventually his movement concludes, removing his hand. You sigh at the lack of touch, somewhat wishing Negan would put his hand back even though you’re still exhausted.
You take a moment to gather yourself before you copy Negan’s actions, offering to wash him off. He lets you do as you please, ridding his body of sticky blood. When your eyes manage to drift down, you’re sort of surprised he’s not hard. With the way he was touching you, you fully expected him to be.
As you finish up, Negan’s hands rest on your chest, trailing down and stopping right above your diaphragm. “Couldn’t see your scars when you were covered in blood.” He comments softly, eyeing your chest. His thumbs glide along them, from edge to edge.
You’re quiet for a long moment, unsure of what to even say to such a comment. His thumbs continue to trace your scars, side to side. “That feels good.” You say, lifting your head to look up at him. He looks totally entranced, eyes following the movement of one of his thumbs.
“Do you know how much I truly adore your scars?” He asks gently, eyes unmoving from your chest.
“Well, I could guess.” You chuckle softly. A smirk creeps onto Negan’s face in return, eyes finally looking up to meet your own. He dips his head down and places kiss after kiss along your neck, trailing them down to your collarbone; each kiss elicits a warm flush throughout your entire body.
Eventually, you completely lose track of time, though; the water runs colder and colder and soon you’re almost shivering.
“Negan, c’mon. We used all the hot water.” You note, slowly pulling yourself out of his grasp. He practically whines at the movement, hands moving quickly to pull you back into him, though you refuse and step back, turning off the water. “I’m freezing.” You grunt softly, looking up at him with annoyance.
“You know I’m a fuckin’ human furnace, babe.” He winks, his usual sly smirk covering his lips. He moves to push aside the shower curtain, stepping out after. He grabs one of the towels set on the counter and unfolds it, holding it up in front of him. “C’mere, let me warm you up.” He offers, softer than before.
You reluctantly step out, quickly wrapped up in the towel with firm, warm arms surrounding you. Negan first dries off your hair, ruffling it with the towel until it’s just damp, then moves onto your body. He’s quick but gentle, working up then down, making sure you’re all dry. Now, without cold droplets of water covering your skin, you’re much warmer but you still feel a deep need for actual heat.
Right as you’re about to head out of the bathroom, aiming to find something warm to wear, Negan stops you with a gentle grip on your forearm.
“Wait. Don’t get dressed.” He requests quickly, loosening his grip on your arm.
You furrow your brows. “Why?” You question curiously, confused.
Negan doesn’t respond for a moment which just manages to confuse you even more, but the light pink blush tinting his cheeks distracts you until he does. “I just like seeing you; your scars, the rest of your body. I love it.” He admits softly, his voice trailing off into a whisper. His cheeks are now red rather than pink, which tells you he was probably nervous to confess such a thing.
Negan’s statement has you at a loss for words, though. Of course he’s not necessarily the softest person, he’s always sarcastic and vulgar, causing him to usually say all the wrong things, but throughout the time you’ve been together, his soft side peeks out more and more each day.
“Oh.” You sigh, trying to muster up the right words to say. “Thank you. I-I-“ You stutter, quickly stopping yourself from continuing. You can’t believe the second you’re vulnerable you immediately start stuttering. Although it’s somewhat expected, it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.
Negan smiles, holding back a soft chuckle. “It’s alright, baby.” He assures, noticing the nervous expression etched onto your face and wanting to bring you some comfort. “I’m gonna dry off. Just go wait for me.” He nods, quickly kissing your cheek.
You give him a soft smile and then you’re turning around, heading out of the bathroom once again. You end up following through with Negan’s request, ditching your clothes completely. You’re not even that cold anymore, the embarrassment and slightest bit of adrenaline warming you. Once you slide onto the bed, making yourself comfortable on top of the silk sheets, you finally relax. After today, you definitely need a break from beyond the walls. Knowing Negan, he’ll probably be hesitant to let you out again unless he’s by your side, but you’ll worry about that when it happens. For now, you let your limbs go limp and sink into the soft mattress as you wait for Negan.
A few short minutes later the bathroom door squeaks open, revealing a naked Negan. He wastes no time getting into bed; he pushes apart your legs and settles himself between them, his chest against your stomach. He really is a human furnace.
Soon enough you feel his lips against you, kissing up and down your chest, your nipples, your scars. He hums contentedly as he kisses along each scar, from one edge to the other; he doesn’t miss a single spot.
You work your hands into his hair, combing it back as he continues his relentless kissing. After a few minutes, you realize you could definitely fall asleep like this; Negan’s lips grazing your chest. You’re already exhausted, so why not? You let yourself slowly drift off, eyes feeling heavier and heavier as each second passes.
“You’re so perfect, baby. So handsome.” Negan mumbles deeply, his throat and lips vibrating against you.
His soft words cause your eyes to pop open, feeling overwhelmed with affection and love. You somehow still haven’t gotten used to Negan’s praises; each time he says something even remotely good about you, your stomach flips and twists with the strongest feeling of appreciation. You’ve never felt so loved in your entire life.
“Kiss me.” You plead softly, almost whispering. He makes a noise similar to a hum but doesn’t stop what he’s doing. You pull on his hair gently but he resists, ignoring it and continuing his kisses along your chest. “Negan, please.” You groan, tugging on his hair again, though a bit harder this time.
He releases a throaty moan at the harsh pull of his hair, finally relenting and moving up your body, coming face to face with you. His usual sly grin is smeared across his lips, cockiness clearly flowing through him as he idles in front of your face, not making any attempts at moving closer and kissing you.
Feeling annoyed, you hurriedly grab the nape of his neck and pull him close, crashing your lips together. He chuckles at your gesture and struggles to kiss you back for a moment, but rather quickly he settles down and starts moving his lips against your own.
The movement of your lips started off fast but is beginning to slow and match Negan’s pace, which you really don’t mind. As long as you’re kissing him you have nothing to complain about.
Negan’s tongue dips into your mouth slowly, licking past your lips and grazing your teeth with his tongue. The moan that slips out of you is purely accidental but Negan certainly finds the noise pleasurable as his lips curl up into a small smirk.
His hands then skim up your body, stopping below your pecs. Once again he begins to smooth over your scars, each of his thumbs moving back and forth. You have no clue why he seems to be so obsessed with them, but it’s honestly a very relieving feeling knowing that your scars don’t bother him.
Suddenly Negan bites your lip, not hard but the gesture somewhat surprises you. As you relax into it, it feels good, almost intoxicating. Again you moan, wishing he would bite just a little bit harder. As if Negan is capable of reading your mind, he bites down harder a short moment later, eliciting yet another moan from you.
Fuck, his teeth feel so good latched onto your bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. The sensation of it is almost overwhelming. An immeasurable amount of pressure and heat builds within your groin, quickly becoming unbearable. You grind your hips up, coming into contact with Negan’s cock, his warmth pressed against you lightly.
“Please.” You ground out after pulling out of the kiss, panting. Honestly, you’re not even sure what you’re begging for at this point, you just want to be pleasured, touched. Anything.
Negan hums lowly, smirking as usual. “What do you want? Hm?” He inquires deep but soft. He begins placing kisses to your neck and slowly trails them down to your nipples, kissing each one wetly as his thumbs continue to caress your scars. “What does my pretty boy want?” He murmurs into your skin, his lips vibrating against you softly.
Unwillingly, your hips buck, connecting with Negan’s lower chest. He chuckles against you, lips around one of your nipples. You open your mouth to speak but find that you simply can’t. Instead of words coming out of your mouth, a loud moan slips past your lips. Without even thinking you grab Negan's hair, both hands twined into bundles of strands. You pull up, even though that’s not the direction you want him to go in, you just desperately need to tug on something.
Negan groans softly at the pull of his hair, humming lowly after. Before he kisses down the rest of your torso, his tongue darts out and ever so slowly licks across each of your scars, making you shiver.
“Jesus.” You gasp softly, a bit shocked. Negan must really have a thing for scars. Either way, his tongue feels good on you, tracing side to side.
Once he seems to have his fill of your scars, he kisses down your stomach all the way to your groin. You whine as you feel his lips getting closer and closer to such a sensitive area, resisting the urge to roll your hips. He places feather light kisses to the inside of your thigh, trailing them up and down. He’s kissing everywhere you don’t want him to; not that it doesn’t feel good but you’re so pent up with arousal that it’s starting to hurt.
Tightening your grip on his hair, you quickly tug, his head now hovering right above your cock. His eyes flick up to yours, dark and teasing, his usual sly smirk covering his lips.
“Are you gonna tell me what you want now?” Negan asks lowly, feigning curiosity. “Cause I’ve got no fuckin’ clue.” He chuckles soft and deep, resuming his kisses; he’s so full of shit it’s painful.
Negan’s lips are now incredibly close to your dick and you want nothing more than for him to finally put his mouth to work on you. When his kissing doesn’t stop, you finally obey and voice your needs.
“Suck me off.” You whine softly, voice barely reaching a whisper. Your hips roll involuntarily, crotch brushing against Negan’s scruffy chin. Even that slightest bit of friction has you moaning again, just hoping Negan will put a stop to his teasing and finally give you what you want.
Negan laughs darkly, eyes half lidded as he looks up at you. His tongue darts out and skims across his lips, biting it softly as he slowly puts it back in his mouth. “I can’t decide if I should make you beg for it or not.” He teases, smirk never faltering. His fingers rub along your hip, digging in just slightly.
You tighten your hand in Negan’s hair, pulling on it. “Please.” You whimper softly, desperation filling your voice.
Your begging causes Negan’s smirk to grow even wider, his teeth gleaming at you. He’s clearly enjoying this but you’re not sure how much more you can take. You’re so pent up with sexual desire it’s unfathomable.
Negan then begins to plant kiss after kiss to your groin, leading down to your sensitive cock. The second his lips come into contact with your dick you can’t help but buck your hips. Negan’s fingers are quick to dig into your hips and hold you down, though his kissing never stops.
The slight sting coming from Negan’s nails digging into you isn’t unpleasant, it’s actually extremely endearing and only turns you on even more. You’re quickly pulled from the sensation by Negan’s tongue gliding along your cock. You almost scream at how good it feels, though it’s more of a choked moan which is honestly a little embarrassing.
Your embarrassment is very quickly disregarded once Negan’s lips close around you, gently sucking what he can into his mouth. Your grip on Negan’s hair tightens immensely, fearing you may rip out chunks of it, though you know he really wouldn’t mind which would definitely be comical in another situation.
Negan continues his gentle sucking, slightly bobbing his head. You’re still rolling your hips though there’s not a lot of movement since Negan is keeping you in a steady hold.
After about a minute or so, Negan begins to suck harder along with digging his nails deeper into your hip. Both sensations mixed together have you going crazy, heading towards the edge. Whimpers begin to flood your mouth, dripping out like liquid. You simply can’t stop yourself, nor do you want to. Your own moans almost accentuate your pleasure, which is odd but you’ll gladly take it.
Negan then hums while he continues his incessant sucking - almost as if he’s also moaning - sending ripples of vibration through your groin, intensifying your pleasure even more.
“Jesus christ, Negan.” You pant, arching your back off the bed completely. You can feel the way your legs are trembling, indicating your climax is approaching. Practically your entire body is covered in a layer of sweat, droplets running down your face and chest. You’re about to burst at any moment.
You can’t even control the movement of your hips, it simply has a mind of its own, bucking hard and fast into Negan’s mouth, though he’s still holding you down as best as he can. Eventually, though, he relents and let’s go, giving you free range. Holding onto the back of his head, you fuck into his mouth repeatedly.
He’s happy to let you use him until you finally come, hips stuttering and shaking as you continue to roll them. It’s such an intense, overstimulating feeling, but at the same time it feels like pure heaven.
Your whimpering only gets louder and louder as you ride out your orgasm, body trembling with pleasure. “Fuck.” You whine, voice hoarse and wavering.
Negan chuckles, which sends another vibration through you. It’s too much, though. You’re officially overstimulated. You yank Negan’s head off of you by his hair, freeing yourself from his mouth.
“Shit.” You pant, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm roll through you. Negan looks up at you with half lidded eyes, smiling softly. There’s a single string of saliva leading from his lips to your dick, which elicits a small chuckle from your throat. Using your thumb, you gently wipe it away.
“Thanks.” Negan chuckles, resting his head on your lower stomach.
“Mhm.” You hum in response, smiling. “C’mere, let me return the favor.” You decide, smoothing your hands along his upper back.
Negan yawns. “I already came.” He states, looking back up at you. “You’re just so fuckin’ sexy when your cock is in my mouth, making all those pretty noises. Only had to grind against the bed for like, two fuckin’ seconds before I came.” He explains easily, feeling his cock twitch as he thinks about the noises you were making.
“Oh.” You mumble softly, extremely flustered from Negan’s admission. “So, you ruined the sheets?” You question, yanking his chain.
Negan huffs a laugh. “Probably.” He agrees, chuckling. He slowly crawls up your body and places a gentle kiss to your lips before laying down beside you. He’s quick to pull you into his side, arms wrapped around you.
You sigh and relax into his hold, resting your head atop his chest; the hair there manages to tickle your nose every now and then, but you really don’t mind - you wouldn’t change it.
As you listen to the sound of Negan’s heartbeat, you quickly find yourself drifting off into sleep, body and mind completely exhausted. You refuse to fight it and eventually you slip into a deep sleep, cradled by the only man you’ve ever wanted.
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Can you do Daryl finding out reader is trans? Early season 4, perhaps? :3
Attentu - Daryl Dixon x FTM Reader
Your wish is my command!!
Warnings: Gore, murder, violence, blood, cussing, mentions of transphobia and death, and addictions.
Word Count: 2.6K
You eagerly join in on the medical supply run, despite the group's awful luck. A confession from Bob has you feeling quite guilty about a personal matter...
-
It was dead.
You threw the car battery to the side, sick of the luck your supply group had. Daryl was on the other side of the room, shuffling through drawers in an attempt to obtain the right part. For an auto repair shop, it was horribly disorganized.
“Got anything?” you called over, impatient.
A grin took over your face as he tossed the find at you, catching it in a firm grip, “Nah.”
The car was not in terrible shape, not really. Some rust here and there, with paint scratched off from long road adventures before the outbreak. Your father had a similar car when you were just a child, and he was insistent that he passed on his knowledge, despite your mother’s constant objections. It was not fit for someone like you; that your hands should never be calloused from the tough ground nor covered in grease, she said. He always ended up laughing in her face.
So as he would have it, the two of you got in all sorts of trouble. Hijacking cars, picking locks, prying cabinets open with a pocket knife; all things he said would come in handy one day. Daryl seemed like he had the same type of upbringing, all rough and tumble, and perhaps that’s what drew you to him. That, or he was just really damn good with surviving.
Daryl’s footsteps creaked as he led the way out of the building, shining his flashlight on any possible threats around. Someone had to, as you weren’t keen to look after Bob found an old walker stuck under a desk, ending that misery. It was the only one left. One by one, you circled out of the building, with Bob’s silent trepidation behind you as you arrived back at the car. Daryl opened its hood again, and you both set to work.
His voice was muffled around his cigarette, “You never told us about the group you were with, before.”
You glanced up as Bob replied, “Which one?”
“You know,” he continued, when Daryl gave him a look, “when you found me out on that road, I almost kept walking.”
“Why’s that?’
“I was done being a witness. It happened two times, two different groups.”
…
“I was the last one standing, like God intended for me to see it over and over; a curse,” he shook his head, pursing his lips, “but, when it’s just you out there with the quiet, I used to drink a bottle of just 'bout anything just so I could sleep at night.”
“The run to the big spot, I only did it for me.”
You froze, a jug of clear liquid still in your hands. Daryl took it from you, completely unfazed, and managed to get a swig out of it.
He licked his lips, “You gotta keep busy somehow.”
“No, I did it so I could get me a bottle, a bottle of anything. That’s what got Zack killed.”
“That’s bullshit,” Daryl peered at him, “why don’t you get in there and try the engine? Should be the red and green wires, it ain’t rocket science.”
Even as Bob walked away, you stayed silent. Your fingers burned as you rigged the working car battery back in, but never as much as your thoughts. The other man nudged you, urging you to take your hands off as the engine roared in front of you. He clapped his hands and brought them up to his mouth; a sharp whistle rang through the air. Bob’s alcohol troubles seemed to be forgotten by Daryl, since he gave you a rusty smile while you slammed down the hood.
“Nobody coulda’ known, and you ain’t gonna be standing alone. Not anymore,” he reassured Bob.
You huffed, swinging a few plastic bags of gas in the back seats, ducking to join them. Tyreese and Michonne got the rest and the three of you squeezed together with the luggage, closing the door. With that, you left the burdensome place behind.
The ride to the college was short, but Bob still parked a little ways out, and the group set off to walk the rest of the distance. You passed most of the buildings on campus; dull brick that plants jumped at the opportunity to outgrow after a year of inactivity.
“Looks like the building we want is up ahead,” Tyreese stated.
For the first time since Bob’s confession, you spoke, “Are we splitting up? We’ll cover more ground that way.”
“Is that safe?” Michonne questioned, and Daryl eyed you.
“I know I can cover myself, if I end up alone.”
The brunette scoffed, and you shifted a glare at him, “You know I can, too. You’ve seen me.”
“I think,” Bob uttered, “it’s a good idea.”
“We don’t have a lot of time, I’ll shoot if I run into any trouble. Meet me back at the car.”
Outside of the Learning Resource Center, you split from the group, sneaking close to the ground. You heard the rest shuffle in the opposite direction with a soft “C’mon, c’mon.”, and let out a shaky breath. Two pairs, then three pairs of footsteps faded away.
The lights of the wing flickered and let out fading sparks as you padded along, dust pillowing up from wherever you stepped. God, the outbreak sure did a number on this place. Shadows grew as abundantly as the plants, but never dulled the smears of blood along the walls, floor, and shattered glass. It cracked and snapped under you, somewhere behind you, and you hissed as you looked at the walls alongside you. There were several doorways leading to different rooms, most likely supply closets or classrooms. Carefully, you dipped yourself into the nearest doorway, a heavy feeling on your back. Your heart pumped wildly in your chest and your stomach had a sick pit of anxiety as you thumbed through the biggest drawers. There were plenty of jars, containers, and vials, but none of them had what you needed. You read all the labels once, twice, the text in messy handwriting or tiny fonts.
Testosterone, in its liquid form made for injections, should be a clear liquid. You knew that much from what your provider told you, and from your own studies. Any colored liquids, or any with particles floating inside, you discarded from your search immediately. You were taking too long, you started to think, or were you? You didn’t know if you were gone for ten or if you have been here for thirty.
Once again, you slid back into the trashed hallway, trying to make your way towards the next doorway. The only things you could hear were your quick breaths and a creak, most likely from the forgotten building. A set pattern was in your mind as you dove into the room, and the haze of adrenaline made it hard to think. Walkers, as the prison liked to call them, were not your biggest concern. Even before the outbreak, it was dangerous for you to step outside; to live your life. If you passed by the wrong person, your face would be on the hot topic of the community for the week after. Getting caught was not an option.
You blinked, trying to clear the thumping in your ears. The vial’s label looked like a foreign language, though you knew it wasn’t, so you peered closer at it. A gust of hot air hit your neck, and again. Hot air. This place was cold.
Your fingers scrambled for the knife at your side, it was there, wasn’t it? You slashed before you could think. Hair scratched your fingers; your knife dug into a warm crevice. The hot air turned into a raw, groaning noise. The hot air stopped.
You pushed the body to the ground and your blade was released. The blood trickled hot down your wrist. Instead of the red you expected, it was a sludgy, filthy brown. It dripped in slow droplets on the floor beside your shoes. This was the first opportunity to look at the thing, and what a sight it was.
The knife had caved in a part of its skull, which itself was like a rotten, stomped on pumpkin. It oozed and dripped the same muck over the tile, muddying the disfigured face underneath. It made Osbourne’s stage trick look like simple child’s play to anyone who witnessed the act. Its eyes were still open; bulging out in that manic, hungry way only a madman got before the outbreak. You looked away from the mess, your breakfast seizing in your throat, and you busied yourself with getting more testosterone vials in your bag. The most important thing was that it was not human, not anymore.
Stuffing your full hand in your bag, you made a beeline for the doorway.
You should have learned your lesson.
A weight tumbled over you and knocked you to the floor, breathless. It screeched, rabid, like some sort of fucked up dog. If a dog hadn’t eaten for a month, that is. It stunk, too. It stunk so bad that you thought you might die from suffocation first.
It clawed at you, gnashing its yellow teeth. Your hands were pinned underneath the mass and you heard your knife land across the floor with a clang. This was going to be it. The end. It’s funny, isn’t it? Dying searching for your lifeline. You almost giggled at the irony.
The teeth were close to your neck, aiming to kill. To eat until you were nothing but an unrecognizable pile of flesh and bones. You had to do something, and soon. The only part of your body you could move were your legs, and you tensed them up. You were going to survive this, you were going to get back to that car.
Three.
You struggled to prop your shoulder up, knocking the danger away from your neck. Its eyes were bloodshot and cloudy. As empty as a corpse.
Two.
The walker got more desperate to bite you, wiggling around harshly on top of you. You tried your best to keep your face far away from its own, but it successfully nipped the edge of your nose. This was going to hurt.
One.
Its final noise was a gurgling one, close to your ear. The weight flopped to your right side, stilling its frugal attempt to destroy you.
“You got yourself covered, huh,” a voice remarked.
You wheezed, “Christ.”
“What were you doin’?”
“Shit.”
Daryl stepped over you, pulling his arrow out of the corpse, “I’m serious.”
You finally got your legs under you, and the first thing you did was back a good distance away from him. There was no getting out of this, you both knew that Daryl would know if you lied to him. Yet, he was one of the last people in the prison you felt comfortable telling. Daryl was a classic redneck, with a bigot older brother and a taste for mysteriousness. There was so much you didn’t know about him, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up like a wildfire. You would have much rather told Carol or even Michonne, if you had to choose.
“You know what Bob said.”
“Yeah,” he stated, “but you ain’t an alcoholic. I know that much.”
“I’m not, but that wasn’t the point. I only came on this run for one thing, and it isn’t medicine. It’s testosterone.”
“Why do you need that? You’re strong enough without that steroid shit.”
“I don’t get as much as you do naturally.”
“So a medical condition?”
“Kind of.”
“Even if it was, that don’t explain why you had to sneak away from the group to get it. What’re you hiding?”
“I’m transgender, Daryl. I wasn’t born a boy like you,” you murmured.
There was a parade of footsteps down the hallway, and Tyreese burst through the door, the others close behind. He looked spooked, with sweat dripping down his disheveled face. Michonne and, speaking of the devil, Bob looked no better off.
He exclaimed, “Jesus, there you two are. We gotta go, now.”
“What, why?”
“Walkers. Tons of ‘em. Let’s go!”
You gladly took this chance, shoving past Daryl to dart out into the hallway with the others. Everyone else was rushing, but it was a minute before you also heard footsteps behind you. The infected corpses swarmed the building, even though it wasn’t like that before, and it made you wonder what the hell released them. Your group ran up the stairs with walkers not too far behind, and those trapped banged on whatever surface they could reach.
“There was a ledge near the fire escape,” Michonne hissed, “we can go through there.”
No one responded unless a quick nod could be considered one, and you were off. Michonne went first, then Tyreese, you, and finally Daryl. Your legs were shaking, and you paid Bob a glance. He tensed up, seemingly trying to gauge the distance, before jumping. He was barely right, and landed a little too close to the edge, teetering off. His arms flailed and an army of bodies from below swarmed up to grab his heavy bag. You rushed to catch him, attempting to pull the man up, but he refused to let his backpack go.
Finally, you ripped both the man and his bag away from the grasp of the walkers, panting, “What the fuck were you doing? What’s in that bag that could possibly be so important?”
“He’s right.” Daryl took the bag from Bob, zipping it open.
Bob rushed to stop him, but it was too late. Daryl dropped the backpack as quick as he picked it up, and he seized Bob by the collar.
“If I ever catch you puttin’ a bottle before a need, I’ll feed you to the walkers myself. You hear me?”
You froze as Daryl let the shorter man down, pushing him as he did so. Everyone else shot him a disappointed look or a glare, and Michonne waved her hand. You were all to keep moving; the run was over, and on an especially sour note.
The group arrived back to the prison safe and sound, the most daring of injuries being bruises, or small cuts. Tyreese and Michonne left to do their own activities, while Bob left to lick his wounds. This retired Daryl and yourself alone, to an awkward silence. With nothing else to do, you picked at a particularly nasty cut on your forearm. It was starting to look infected.
You cleared your throat, “Do you have anything left in your bag?”
“Yeah.”
“Mind if I use some?”
“Nah.” Daryl tossed you his bag.
Carefully, you peeked inside. There wasn’t much left, some disinfectant spray and vials of a clear liquid. No, that couldn’t be, could it?
Testosterone. At least three good vials of it.
You raised them up to your face, not believing your eyes, “Daryl, where the hell did you get these?”
“Grabbed them from that drawer you found the others in,” he refused to make eye contact, “after you left.”
“Why?”
“You might’ve needed more than you got.”
That… meant a lot to you. You had expected him to at the very least ignore you, or even worse, disgusted by you. What were the chances he would grab extras for you, just in case? Instead of yelling or hitting or kicking you out of his life, Daryl did that. If you were being honest, this was one of the weirdest coming out stories to date, but nothing can really beat zombies being included.
“You aren’t mad?”
“Nah. I’m a little confused, though.”
“On the topic?”
Daryl sighed, “Yeah. Wasn’t educated that much.”
“Well, if you want, I could help with that.”
Just for a second, he looked you in the eyes. In that moment, you didn’t see hate, anger, or anything negative. Only a sharp, beautiful glimpse of curiosity.
“Yeah.”
-
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Part one
I Can't Understand You, Damnit!
WARNINGS: Gore, hints at mental illness for Negan
MALE READER INSERT
"Where the fuck is he?" Negan grabbed Lucille and swung her skillfully over his shoulder. His right hand of man, Simon, followed him like a lost puppy. He was walking so fast to keep up with Negan that he began tripping over his own feet. Just like his legs his words began to stumble.
"I-I'm sorry? Who's m-missing?" Simon kept a safe distance from his leader. Negan was renowned for having unpridictable mood swings. At this moment, a rookie made the mistake of stepping just a little too close to Negan's reach.
Negan turned around to face Simon, swinging his bat infront of his face at full force. A newbie at the facility ended with his face smashed in. Negan seemed to not notice the crunch of the man's skull hollowing in or the eyes bulging. Negan's brown eyes didn't even flicker to the spreading blood and chunks of flesh that stuck to the barbed wire hugging Lucille. "I'm talkin' about that dickwad that we captured from Rick the fucking Prick!"
Simon became quiet. His body language said it all and Negan was pissed. "He-" Simon began, rubbing the bald spot on his head.
"Escaped didn't he?" When Simon didn't answer right away, Negan slammed Lucille against the wall. His slick, black hair falling in his face and his deep dimples making him look mad.
"Didn't he!" Negan yelled.
Simon began spitting out his words so fast, Negan almost didn't catch what the man was saying. "Yes, he did. He ran off and stole a truck when my men wasn't looking! They shot at him but he kept on driving! I-I didn't wanna inform you yet but-"
"Zip it." Negan all but whispered, to which, Simin immediately complies.
Negan leaned his body against the wall. Tired, overwhelmed, and over the prisoners shit he groaned. He should just kill him off. His eyes lazily looked over at his pawn.
"What direction?"
"North." Simon answered uneasily.
Negan finally looked down and acknowleged the body at his feet. He turned and headed to the vehicles still in the Sanctuary. "Oh and Simon, get someone to clean that nitwit up. He's blocking the hall."
"Negan." Simon's voice seemed to echo in the hallway. The dictator of the Sanctuary turned on his heel to face the mere peasent. "He didn't take any guns."
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Well I definitely lied about no more Walking Dead drawings…
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The Everlasting Love of the Enemy
Pairing: Negan Smith x Male!Reader
Prompt: "i finally found a place where i am loved"
Warnings: angst, dad! Rick Grimes so age gap between Negan and Reader, mentions of twd s7 spoilers.
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You'd been spending all of your time at the sanctuary recently after Negan had managed to woo you into coming back with him. You wouldn't have gone with him if your dad, Rick Grimes, the leader of Alexandria after Deana died wasn't so rude to you. He picks on every small thing you do and finds something to complain about and it just got exceedingly worse after he met the saviours and Negan, he would snap and bark orders at you treating you as anything but his son. Carl on the other hand was treated like some sort of precious, fragile item that Rick had to protect at all costs. So, due to Ricks sheer negligence towards you, you decided to go with Negan after he promised you a life that sounded much more pleasant than the one you were living with Rick.
Of course though, after a while you wanted to go with Negan on one of his visits to Alexandria, why wouldn't you want to at least check on your friends and family to make sure they're okay? So that's what you did, Negan helped you step into the truck like a gentleman (knowing you were completely capable) and held your hand the entire way to Alexandria, giving you small kisses on the top of your head on the journey there. In comparison to Rick, Negan treated you with every ounce of respect he could and although he hadn't said the three words you were aching to hear, to reassure he loved you, he showed his strong feelings through actions like physical affection. With Negan you felt loved in a way you hadn't felt loved since your mother had died, you actually felt worth something with him.
When the truck stopped at the gate to Alexandria Negan helped you out and you walked through the gates into the place you called home, as you came face-to-face with your father your heart dropped. He was clearly exhausted and overworking himself to meet Negans expectations with collections. You felt a pang of guilt course through you seeing the state your own father was in, but you quickly reminded yourself of the way he had treated you and made you feel and the guilt quickly subsided.
You spent your time stuck to Negan as he walked through Alexandria with Rick moping behind him, the three of you soon settled onto Ricks porch and sat on the couple of chairs that were placed out there, Rick remained standing. Suddenly Rick spoke up, "Negan. Can I talk to my son in private?" Negans shit eating grin widened and he looked towards Rick. "What d'you say prick?" Ricks adams apple bobbed and he replied with a quiet, "please." Negan let out a laugh before turning towards you, his expression changing to one of compassion and care, "My love, would you like to speak to your father in private?" You nod and get up off of the chair you were sat on and followed Rick inside.
"What the fuck is this?" Rick begins. "What do you mean 'what the fuck is this'? Dad, me and Negan are together, I thought you might've come to that conclusion when he flirted with me and took me to the sanctuary?" You argued back. "Y/n, you are sleeping with our enemy! I'm your father for god's sake! And you just decide you'd rather be with the man who killed Glenn, Abraham?! He was going to make me cut off Carls arm and made me risk my life for a damn axe! I could be dead because of him, Carl could be missing and arm because of him, Glenn and Abraham are dead because of him! But you're stuck to his side like a lost fucking puppy!" Rick raised his voice but kept himself quiet enough as to make sure Negan didn't hear him. "You don't get to speak to me like that anymore dad! You never made me feel worth anything, you constantly shit on me for every little thing I did that you didn't agree with and I felt like I wasn't worth anything to you, I felt like my own fucking dad didn't love me! I finally found somewhere were I am loved and you still shit on me! You really cannot stand seeing me happy can you Rick!" You spat, your words were filled with a new found confidence and hatred you gained due to your time with Negan. Rick was lost for words knowing what he'd done and a guilty look washed over his face.
Without saying anymore you stormed out and made your way back to the truck, Negan shouted after you but didn't follow instead going into the house to most likely give Rick a peice of his mind.
The thought of Negan hurting your father like your father hurt you made you grin as you stepped into the truck and got comfortable waiting for Negan.
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A/n: Hi, just a shorter one as I'm slowly getting back into writing. Slowly getting through requests but am completely hyperfixated on TWD rn and Pedro fics are gonna be slow coming out. But hope you enjoyed <3
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❝ could you just…talk to me? it doesn’t have to be anything important. i just like listening to your voice. it calms me. ❞
- Daryl
❝ could you just…talk to me? it doesn’t have to be anything important. i just like listening to your voice. it calms me. ❞
Pronouns: They/Them, Gender Neutral
The storm raged on outside. The wind howled and shrieked, slamming against the rooftop of the small store so hard you feared it'd come off completely. It was supposed to be a quick scavenging trip with Daryl. In and out. Of course, luck had never particularly liked you.
So, there you were. Sitting in the corner of a run-down, boarded up, old as shit pharmacy and trying to keep your nerves in check. You'd never grown out of your fear of thunderstorms. A pretty childish phobia to still have when the dead walked the Earth. But the loud claps of thunder and flashes of lighting still made you bury your face in your arms. Daryl had already gone down the check-list and had taken anything else he deemed useful. He stood by the front windows, peeking out in between the boards.
"Damn," He clicked his tongue. "Bike fell over."
You could only muster a soft hum before another clap of thunder had you pulling your knees further against your chest and whimpering. Daryl turned his head to look at you, brows furrowing at your trembling form. You barely heard the sound of his worn-down boots getting closer until he was right infront of you.
"Hey, you good? What's got you shakin' like that? You bit or somethin'?"
"No." You whispered, voice shaking. God, you were crying infront of Daryl Dixon of all people. A man who barely ever expressed any emotion other than anger, let alone cried. "I just... I don't like thunderstorms."
"You scared? Of a storm?"
"T-The sounds. It makes me anxious." You explained shakily, lifting your head from your arms. Daryl's puzzled expression dropped at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks and he clicked his tongue again, gaze shifting onto the ground. He cleared his throat and moved onto his knees before plopping down beside you and awkwardly wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
"I ain't gonna let a little storm hurt ya." Daryl murmured in a genuine attempt at sounding comforting. You hesitantly pressed closer against his side and leaned your head against his chest.
"Could you just… talk to me? It doesn’t have to be anything important. I just like listening to your voice. it calms me." Your words made Daryl tense briefly, warmth creeping up his neck.
"Yeah... Yeah, I can do that."
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Hi! Idk if you’re taking requests or not, but I really love your work, and I was wondering if you wanted to do another Daryl one? Based off of it inspired by the song Night Shift by Lucy Dacus that takes place before and after the apocalypse. You can pick time frames/eras I’m not super picky about that I’ve just been thinking about this angst/fluff idea for a while and I’m not the greatest writer in the world. Totally fine if not! Please feel free to ask me questions if you need clarity
Night Shift
Daryl Dixon x Male reader
(I love the song it's so good!!! Hope you enjoy this! Sorry that it took so long)
tw: homophobia, violence...
You worked a thrift store before the apocalypse, Daryl was a regular there and you had your eye on him. You would always strike up conversations and after getting to know him better you would set aside clothes you knew he would like. For example a sleeveless jacket, which you decided to add wings to because it fitted him. You knew he was struggling with money so you convinced him to work in the store. He agreed to it because his brother was in jail so he had nothing holding him back from changing his way of life.
You started spending more and more time together because you worked the same shifts. You noticed how nice he is to the kids visiting the store, seeing his softer side made you realize your crush had turned in to something more. So one day you gathered the courage to ask him out after your shift. He freaked out and ran. When he got home he kept replaying the moment in is head, remembering his brother’s slurs and his father’s hits. He spent the night overthinking but came to the conclusion that they weren’t in his life anymore but you were and he sure wasn’t giving up on you so quickly.
The next day the first thing he did when he saw you was apologizing, you understood and made sure he knew he could always talk to you if he was struggling with things. You took him out to dinner the same evening and everything evolved from there. You start dating and everything was going great. In the beginning it was kinda rough but Daryl opened up eventually and you made sure he felt loved. After a few months you moved in together and even got a dog named Dixy. You were together for a year before your happiness came to an end.
You had finished your mutual shift and walked out the store hand in hand, you kissed Daryl’s cheek. You were planning a movie night and were discussing which snacks you were going to buy before a crusty looking redneck came up to you. Daryl froze and pulled his hand out of yours, you didn’t have enough time to realize it was Merle and you didn’t have enough time to dodge his fist going towards your face. You fell to the ground and the only thing you remember where more punches, slurs and Daryl’s voice getting his brother away from you. You lay there in pain when your coworker found you and got you to a hospital. The bruises didn’t hurt as much as the realization you had when you got back to your flat. Daryl wasn’t coming back, he had left your life without any goodbyes, without any tears, without any notice.
You carried on, changed appartements, changed your shift to the night shift so you wouldn’t run into his brother looking for more trouble. It had been a week since the accident when the pandemic broke out. You were one of the lucky ones that got out of the city in time. Ever since you’ve been wandering around with your dog, she was the reason you were still alive that, and the thought of Daryl still being out there.
You keep going, Dixy walking besides you, if temperatures kept rising you would have to find extra water but for now you were set on just moving forward, following the road. You were just about to sit down to rest when a bunch of walkers came out of the woods. Dixy barks and you grab your machete, with this many walkers you would usually just run but they seemed to emerge from everywhere. You chop a few heads off while Dixy puts her teeth into a walker’s neck. The walkers keep coming and you start to panic, suddenly you hear a car’s engine approaching. Any other day you would’ve hid but you would rather face some strangers then get eaten by some dead creatures so you ran towards the car. It swerved, hit a few walkers and a man and woman got out. The man holding a knife and the woman holding a katana. Together you finish the hoard off.
You are covered in guts and blood just like your guardian angels. You thank them while checking if Dixy is alright and introduce yourself. The man seems hesitant to talk to you but the woman replies “I’m Michonne, this is Rick” Rick nods at you and shares a glance with Michonne. He looks back at you “How many walkers have you killed?”
And that’s how you find yourself in a car on the way to a place called Alexandria. You chat a bit with Michonne and immediately like her, she is someone who you would’ve been friends with before the world ended. You could tell Rick was a bit more careful, the closer you got to Alexandria the tenser he got. “Hey man, I understand that you don’t know me but I really am glad that you saved my life and I look forward to becoming friends.” You tried to ensure him that you were one of the good guys, you totally understood his attitude, you too had met the more unpleasant types out there. Rick hummed “It’s cool man, we’ll see.”
The car approaches the gate and you feel the nerves in your gut, you can finally see a brighter future. Living in a community again, having friends, feeling safe, it was the best thing you could ask for in this world. The gate opens and your eyes widen at the sight. The car parked and you get out. You get some strange looks but after handing in your weapons and Rick introducing you, people start coming up to you to introduce themselves. Dixy was getting petted by some kids and was enjoying herself when woman came up to you with cookies “I’m Carol, welcome to Alexandria!” You thank her for the cookies and eat one of them because you were actually quite hungry. “These are really good!” you acclaim and she shrugs it off. You were in heaven.
Suddenly Dixy starts barking, everyone tenses and you search for the source of her vigilance. The first thing you notice is a motorbike, the second thing you notice is the love of your life next to it working on it. He looks up to look at the noise and your heart starts beating rapidly. Before you know it your legs run toward him and you yell out his name. He realises what’s happening and drops the wrench to run your way. Your bodies collide, your face in the crook of his neck and your arms wrapped around his torso. Everything is too much and you let out a sob. You take his face in your hands to make sure he’s real. His eyes are watery and his smile is a mix between happiness, confusion and repent. “I’m sorry I left” his voice breaks a bit. “I don’t care Daryl, I’m just glad we found each other again.” You kiss him softly, look into his eyes and kiss him again. You were never gonna let this man leave again.
You let go of each other and notice the people around you being astounded by the whole scene. Dixy is now circling Daryl and he gives her a few belly rubs. “So, I assume you two know each other” Michonne comments with a smirk. “Yes” you answer while taking Daryl’s hand in yours, this time keeping it there. Maybe this wasn’t really the end of the world.
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Faint
*Requested from this ask :)*
Era: Farm
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Pronouns: None-Specified
Word Count: 2.5k
Warnings: mild language, brief descriptions of fainting and dehydration, fluff!!
Summary: After pushing yourself a little too hard in the hot Georgia sun, you find yourself losing consciousness. Luckily, Daryl’s right there to help you out.
It was hot—probably one of the hottest days since the apocalypse started. The blaring sun was not holding back, as there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky to block the assaulting rays from your skin for even a few seconds. The Georgia humidity also wasn’t helping; it made the air you breathed feel denser and like there wasn’t much oxygen to inhale. Sweat collected across your hairline, around your neck, and dripped down your spine. The clothes you were wearing stuck to your body like another layer of skin, and you were sure there were patches of sweat staining your shirt. Before the outbreak happened, you would have been embarrassed by it, but there were more important things to be worried about nowadays instead of people seeing you sweat.
With most of the group out of commission or being assigned to do something else, it was only you and Daryl looking for Sophia today. Daryl was heading towards the creek, seeing what he could find at the only landmark the little girl had to go by, while you searched in the opposite direction; just in case she had wandered out further than anticipated.
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