oceans-goddess
Oceans_Goddess
Hey! I just write fanfiction when it comes to me. REQUESTS ARE OPEN! I write for The Maze Runner, The Umbrella Academy, Harry Potter, My Hero Academia, Criminal Minds, Twilight, Supernatural, Shameless, Hunter x Hunter, Divergent, The Outsiders, Haikyuu!, Mid90's, Anne with an E, The Walking Dead, Wednesday, Inception, etc.
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Hurt
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Summary: You're injured whilst out on a run, how will Daryl react when he finds out?
(Setting: prison) Angst and fluff
Warnings: Injury description and blood
Word Count: 1,968
You awoke slowly, although you were pretty sure you were still dreaming as your bed seemed to be bouncing around. You thought you could hear someone calling your name but they sounded far away, almost as if you were submerged underwater. An attempt to open your eyes resulted in searing pain shooting across your head. You groaned as you tried to adjust to the light.
When your vision finally adjusted you realised why your bed was bouncing, because you weren’t in your bed at all you seemed to be sprawled out on the back seat of a truck. The muffled sound in your ears hadn’t died down, though the voice calling you seemed to be closer now. You turned your head to try and find who it belonged to.
Your eyes finally focused fully on Maggie, you saw her leaning over you from the front seat, her eyes wide and arms covered in blood. ‘Try not to move, we’ll be back soon.’ Why did she sound so panicked? Whose blood was on her arms? ‘Glenn hurry up!’ She frantically called over her shoulder. Alarm bells started going off in your head upon hearing that, what had happened?
You tried to sit up but fell back as pain shot through your body. ‘M-maggie,’ you tried to speak though your voice came out croaky. ‘What…’ you took a deep, shaky breath unable to finish your question as the pain settled across your entire body.
‘Shh shhh, just lay back.’ You could now feel Maggie pressing down onto your stomach and realised that's where the pain was emanating from. You searched your memory trying to figure out what had happened, you remembered leaving for a run, finding a warehouse and then… nothing. Your mind was completely blank.
The car hit a bump and jolted your entire body causing you to let out a brief cry. Your throat suddenly tightened and an involuntary cough erupted from you, leaving the metallic taste of blood in its wake. Each breath began to feel more like a struggle, the taste of blood became stronger and stronger as the seconds passed by.
You couldn’t help but panic, the thought that you could die today settled around you. Amidst everything going on your thoughts involuntarily wandered to Daryl. Images of his rough exterior and the smile he seemed to keep just for you flickered across your head. You wondered how he would react to what was going on.
The idea of leaving him and not getting to see him again intensified your fear in a way you didn’t expect. Realisation dawned on you, this could be your final day on Earth and you couldn’t stop thinking about Daryl. You coughed again, more blood filling your mouth as tears began to flow freely from your eyes. The reminder of your mortality scared you, reaching out you gripped Maggie’s arm as tightly as you could manage.
She met your eyes and said firmly, ‘we’re getting you back. Just hold on.’ Pain shook your body and you could feel your eyes wanting to close again. You fought the feeling, trying to keep your eyes on Maggie’s. The world faded in and out, feeling as though you were at sea fighting against the tide to keep yourself above the water. As darkness once again consumed you heard Glenn shout, ‘we’re back just hold on!’
Daryl's POV
Relief flooded Daryl as he watched the truck speed through the gates. He’d arrived back from a week-long run that morning to discover you out on your own run with Glenn and Maggie. He’d hidden his disappointment at your absence. He couldn’t pinpoint when it started but you’d gradually become Daryl’s first stop whenever he returned to the prison.
He started to make his way over to where the truck was stopping. Only for his heart to stop at the site of Maggie leaping from the passenger side covered in blood. Glenn was already rushing inside, calling for Hershel. No this can’t be happening, whose blood was that.
His feet were racing over to Maggie’s side before he could even register he was moving. As he got closer he watched as Maggie swung the back door open, revealing you, covered in blood and looking pale as a ghost. Panic surged through him in a way he hadn’t experienced before. ‘Wha’ the hell happened?!’ he shouted as he got close.
Maggie rambled about running into a group of people on a supply run, one of them had a gun. He couldn’t take in much more of what she said, blood was roaring in his ears. His body went on autopilot once he reached the truck, reaching in and picking you up carefully. He could feel the blood soaking through his shirt the second you were close to him. He ignored it as he rushed you inside to the makeshift infirmary.
Hershel was already in there waiting, his grim expression upon seeing you just fueled Daryl’s anxiety. He hovered near the door and every passing moment felt like an eternity. His clothes and hands were stained with your blood, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding in front of him. Hershel had cut you open, operating quickly to remove the bullet and to stop your bleeding.
Time slowed as he silently willed Hershel to work faster, desperately wishing for you to be ok. The raw feeling that he could lose you gripped him, the person he’d come to care for in such a slow way; so slow that he hadn’t even realised how deeply he cared until this very moment. He chewed his bottom lip as guilt consumed him, feeling that he should have been by your side in order to protect you.
After what felt like hours, Hershel had done everything he could and it was just down to you to wake back up. One thing was certain, Daryl had no plans to leave your side at any point, he was prepared to wait forever if it meant seeing your eyes open again. The depth of his feelings had been unveiled to him in a terrifying way, and he couldn’t fathom the thought of not getting more time with you.
He took up a seat by your bed, the room that had been filled with such urgency mere moments ago had fallen into a suffocating silence. Your face, still pale, seemed so vulnerable and though Daryl couldn’t bear to see you like that he also couldn’t look away.
Multiple people came in over the following hours to see how you were doing. Daryl didn’t talk to anyone, too consumed in his feelings to even want to acknowledge anyone. Until Carol came in.
‘Not hungry,’ he huffed out as she set the plate down at his side.
‘Well you’re not gonna be any good if you starve yourself,’ she’d replied as she gave you a once over before looking down to him again. ‘She’s strong, she’ll make it through this Daryl. But she needs you to be strong too.’ She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly before leaving the room.
He glanced over at the plate, reluctantly picking it up and tucking in. Each bite felt like effort, but ultimately he knew Carol was right. Taking care of himself was crucial for your sake.
As the hours stretched on Daryl stayed rooted at your bedside. His head was still chaotic, memories of the two of you flashing across his mind as the time went on. All he could do was wait and hope that you would wake up and flash him that smile he’d come to love.
Despite the urge to keep watch over you, exhaustion began to set in as the night went on. The sombre lights of the room drew him closer to succumbing to sleep.
He still refused to leave the room, but managed to make himself relatively comfy by pulling his chair closer to your bed and resting his arms on the edge of the mattress. He allowed himself to close his eyes, a moment of rest wouldn’t matter.
Your POV
You awoke slowly, but the panic you’d felt from earlier had dissipated. The pain from earlier was still there but you felt comfortable, your body no longer feeling as though it was in fight or flight. As your eyes peeled open the familiar view of the prison greeted you, relief washed over you knowing your friends had got you back in time. Your eyes fell to the only other figure in the room; a sleeping Daryl Dixon leaning on the edge of your bed.
A small smile graced your face at the sight, happy that your fears from earlier about not seeing him again hadn’t come true. The realisation that you cared for Daryl more deeply than you’d known settled comfortably inside of you. You couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been by your side. There was a pang in your heart seeing the worriedness etched on his face even in his sleep. You instinctively reached up to brush a fallen strand of hair out of his face.
Your gentle touch caused him to stir, and as his eyes began to open you noted momentary confusion written across his features. You kept your hand gently stroking his hair as you watched him wake up. ‘Hey Daryl,’ your voice came out as barely more than a whisper.
His head shot up upon hearing your voice, eyes bright as he took you in. ‘Hey, how are ya feeling?’ He asked with a softness you’d never heard from him before.
‘Been better,’ you managed to get out. You watched as he took in your appearance.
‘Ya still hurt?’ He asked, his eyebrows knitting together. ‘I can get Hershel, he can help.’
His question drew your attention back to the lingering pain but you didn’t want Daryl to leave. You gently took his hand in yours to reassure him. ‘I don’t need Hershel,’ you replied, your voice still a bit raspy. Daryl looked down to where your hands were connected, he moved almost hesitantly as he intertwined your fingers with his.
‘Ya scared the shit outta me,’ he admitted quietly, looking up at you once again. There was a vulnerability behind his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. ‘Thought I was gonna lose ya,’ his voice barely a whisper now, as if he spoke any louder you might disappear.
‘I’m not going anywhere Daryl, you’re stuck with me,’ you joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. A faint smile tugged on the corner of his lips. Though his eyes filled with relief at your reassurance, even if it were a joke.
‘Good,’ he spoke, more sure of himself now. ‘Who else would come an’ annoy me after my runs.’ He joked back, and you couldn’t stop the laugh, even if it did cause you to wince in pain. A full smile appeared on Daryl’s face at the sound.
‘Pretty sure you’re the one that comes and annoys me Dixon,’ you retaliated. He huffed out his own laugh at that. The room settled into a comfortable silence after your brief banter, his thumb now tenderly tracing small patterns onto the back of your hand. You began to feel the soft tug of sleep pulling at your mind. Though you fought to stay awake, wanting to stay in this moment with Daryl for as long as possible.
Daryl could read you like a book it seemed, sensing your inner battle to stay awake. ‘Sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up,’ he gently coaxed.
‘Thank you for being here,’ you whispered gratefully as you let your eyes close. The feeling of your hand in Daryl’s comforting you.
Just as sleep washed over you, you heard Daryl say one final word, a promise that wrapped around you. ‘Always.’
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This was chef’s kiss😌👌
Last Night on Earth
Summary: During your time with the Atlanta Camp, you form an unlikely friendship with the younger Dixon brother. When the group finds their way to the CDC, you feel safe enough to push past the lines of just friends.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader
Era: Quarry/CDC (TWD S1 E4-6)
Word Count: 11k
Warnings: typical TWD violence, character death, guns, alcohol use, explicit language, sexual content (don't know if I would call it smut but it's in there!)
A/N: this is my first ever fic, and it definitely ended up being longer than anticipated, but I'm pretty happy with it! I am open to feedback, just please be nice about it i am so anxious to be posting this on the internet
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Everyone sits, laughing and eating around the fire. Amy and Andrea had caught a whole bunch of fish today, and the group was feasting for the first time in a while. Dale even cracked open a few beers for the adults of the group. You had gladly taken one, determined to have a good time tonight, determined to ignore the twinge of fear in your gut. You didn’t want to ruin the fun of the evening. Everyone was happy.
Well, you think to yourself. Not everyone.
A group had gone into Atlanta today, Daryl among them. He wanted to go because the new guy - Rick, Lori’s husband (which could’ve fooled you, with the way she has been acting around Shane) - had handcuffed his brother Merle to a roof and they went back to find him. You know that Daryl can handle himself - he was pretty much made for the apocalypse - but you can’t help but worry about him.
You and Daryl are unlikely friends, you know that. Before the world fell to shit, you were down in Florida, visiting friends from college. When the news broadcasts started becoming concerning, you had decided to cut your trip short and start driving back north, trying to get home to your family. But you had gotten caught in the traffic outside of Atlanta, with everyone trying to get in. You ended up stopped not far from Lori, Shane, and Carl and quickly became acquainted with them, as well as Carol and her family. You had watched the bombs get dropped on Atlanta with Lori and Shane, and since then, you were adopted into their group. It took a bit of convincing on Shane’s part - Lori had fought him very loudly about not wanting to leave you behind, since you were traveling alone - but one look at Carl clinging to your neck sealed the deal for him, and you’ve been with them ever since.
From there, your little group, including Carol and her husband and daughter, met Dale, Andrea, and Amy, and set up a small campsite not far outside of the city limits. A few days later, the Dixon brothers stumbled upon your camp. Most people were afraid of them; Merle and Daryl did not initially look like the friendly type, but their ability to hunt and provide food for the group was enough for everybody else to begin to tolerate them.
But you did more than tolerate them. You actually began to form a bit of a friendship with the younger brother, Daryl. Merle was an ass, spitting nasty comments at everybody for any given reason, but Daryl was different. While he followed his brother almost everywhere, he was also more reserved and, once you got to know him, exceptionally kind.
It started small, with him making sure that you had enough to eat whenever they brought back game from their hunting trips. But then it blossomed into him finding reasons to be around you; he started walking with you when you needed to go to the lake for water or to wash clothes or yourself. Eventually, it led to him inviting you to go hunting with him when Merle was still sleeping or too fucked up to go with him. You didn’t know anything about hunting, but he brought you along anyway, teaching you how to walk quietly through the woods, as to not scare any animals off, and even how to set up a few basic snares and traps. After a few trips, he gave you one of his hunting knives, showing you how to use it both for hunting and for fighting off walkers.
You later realized that Daryl actually seemed to like your company. And you were surprised to discover how much you liked his too. A deep gnawing feeling inside of you reminded you that you were as much of an outsider to the group as the Dixons were: Lori had her family, especially once Rick came back from the dead; Carol had her family, as shitty as her husband was; Andrea and Amy had each other, and Dale had them; the Morales all had each other too. So you had the Dixons, even Merle and his ridiculousness.
You started spending more time with them. You ate your meals with them around their smaller campfire, as they were rarely invited to sit with the rest of the group. You even moved out of Dale’s RV and started sleeping in their tent, much to Merle’s chagrin. With that in mind, Daryl also insisted on you sleeping behind him, probably so that he could keep an eye on his brother. Eventually Merle began to lighten up about you being around, nicknaming you “dollface,” which was a huge upgrade from “slut,” “whore,” or “that nice piece of ass.”
So when Glenn, Andrea, Jacqui, T-Dog, and Morales came back from Atlanta with Rick instead of Merle, you were able to anticipate Daryl’s meltdown. Unfortunately, the men had found Daryl first, and an altercation occurred. When Daryl stalked off into the woods, you knew he needed space, but you followed him anyway.
“I have to go get him,” he kept saying, pacing back and forth. “I have to.”
“I know,” you had reassured him. “You will.”
But that was hours ago, and they still weren’t back. So as much as you wanted to enjoy the fish-fry with everyone else, you worried about your friend. When the plates of food were passed around, you took extra and hid it on another plate, making sure to save some for the Dixons when they came back.
Because they will come back, you kept telling yourself. Struggling to eat with your stomach in knots, you keep to slowly sipping your beer and trying to focus on the conversation around the fire.
“We’re out of toilet paper?” Amy calls from the Rv. You laugh with the rest of the group, paying little mind to her until you hear the screaming. All of your heads snap to the young blonde, and the walker taking a bite out of her arm.
The camp quickly erupts into chaos as walkers appear from every direction. Lori and Carol grab their kids and run for cover while the men get their weapons out. You unsheathe the hunting knife that Daryl had given you, sending up a grateful prayer to him, wherever he was. You run forward to stab the nearest walker in the head with your knife, making sure to hit the brain, just like Daryl had shown you. You yank it back out and jump backwards as a second walker lunges for you.
The air is full of gunfire as Shane unloads round after round into the oncoming walkers. All around you, people are screaming. You see multiple members of the group getting taken down by walkers, and you run away, knowing it's too late for them.
Daryl, you think into the universe, where are you?
A cold hand grabs your arm, and you turn to find a walker latched on to you. You scream, but no one’s around to help - everyone is fighting their own battles. You’re on your own. You raise your foot and kick the walker in the stomach with enough force that it has to let go of you, then you quickly ram your knife into its head before it can try again. It falls to your feet, taking your knife with it. You try to pull it out but it’s caught. You hear the groan of another walker stumbling towards you, so you try even harder to get the knife out but it won’t budge. The walker gets closer, and you’re about to give up on the knife when the walker's head explodes, blood splattering your face.
Frozen in fear, you don’t register the face in front of yours until it yells at you.
“C’mon!” Daryl yells, looping an arm under yours and pulling you up. His strength is enough to help you pull the knife out of the dead walker’s skull, and he nearly drags you towards the RV. He shoots two more walkers along the way before the two of you are surrounded. He lets go of you, using the butt of his gun to smash in the heads of a few walkers. One goes for his back but you catch it just in time, driving your knife into its skull just before it can bite him. You stumble but Daryl catches you, pulling you the rest of the way to safety.
When you get to the RV, Daryl pushes you behind him, putting himself between you and any other potential threats. After scanning the scene and seeing that it’s clear, he turns back to you.
“You alright?” he asks, grabbing your face. “You good?”
You nod the best you can, still recovering from the shock of it all. “Ye-yeah,” you manage to stutter out. “I’m okay.”
“Good,” he grunts out, still holding you. You place your hand over his, still cupping your face, close your eyes and take deep breaths, happy that the two of you are alive, despite the carnage that surrounds you.
You spend most of the next day helping the group dispose of the bodies, both walkers and fellow group members. Daryl uses a pickaxe to hit them in the brain so that the bodies can be burned. You follow him around, using the hunting knife to gently prevent your former friends from turning into walkers themselves.
When Daryl gets into an argument with Glenn about what to do with their bodies, you can’t help but agree with Glenn.
“These were our friends,” you say to Daryl, when he was huffing and puffing about it afterwards.
“Not mah friends,” he spits out. “Not yers, neither.” This stings, so you look away, not wanting him to see the tears pricking your eyes. But of course, he does anyway. “‘m sorry,” he mutters, not meeting your eyes. “That was mean.”
“It’s okay,” you say, sniffling. “You’re not wrong.” Then you glare at him. “But they were still people. Our people.” He looks up at you. “So we bury them, okay?”
“Fine,” he mutters. He may not agree with you, but he works with you anyway, helping to move the bodies to the graves that Jim had ominously dug the day before.
When Jim is discovered to have been bitten, Daryl immediately moves in front of you, using his body as a shield to keep you safe. He pushes you back before moving in to lift Jim’s shirt and reveal the bite to the group. You slowly move to where Lori and Carol stand with the kids, ready to grab one of them and run if it comes down to it. Thankfully, it doesn’t.
The group discusses where to go and what to do. You hang back with Sophia and Carl, knowing that you don’t have much to add to the conversation since you’re not from around here. But when Daryl runs at Jim with the pickaxe and Rick puts a gun to his head, you quickly jump in between them.
“Hey!” you yell, startling both of the men. You stare Rick down, his gun pointed between your eyebrows. Daryl lowers the pickaxe and wraps an arm around you but you plant your feet and refuse to move.
“We don’t kill the living,” Rick says through gritted teeth.
“That’s funny coming from a man who just put a gun to our heads,” Daryl snarls. You smack him in the side.
“We may disagree on some things, not on this,” Shane drawls in agreement with Rick. “You put it down,” he orders Daryl. “Go on.” Daryl slams the pickaxe on the ground and stalks off, taking you with him.
The two of you return to his tent.
“Pack up yer things,” he murmurs, still glaring at Rick and Shane. “I feel like we’re gonna be moving soon.”
“Okay,” you say. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
The left side of his mouth lifts into a small smirk. “Never,” he says before turning his back and returning to cleaning up the campsite.
After you pack up your few belongings, plus Daryl and Merle’s stuff, you pop back out of the tent to see Daryl handing the pickaxe to Carol. She then drives it into her dead husband’s skull time after time.
Good for her, you think to yourself, smiling. He sucked anyway.
Not long after, the group convenes up by the graves. You stand next to Daryl as everyone watches Andrea and Dale lower Amy’s body into her final resting place. Andrea is clearly struggling, and you feel for her - of everyone in the group, Amy was one of your favorites, always so positive despite the dire circumstances you all lived in every day. A tear runs down your cheek, surprising you. You quickly wipe it away, hoping no one noticed, but Daryl always does. He takes your hand and gives it a quick squeeze. You squeeze his hand back, before he pulls it away, a blush creeping up his neck. He disappears as soon as the group disperses.
You walk back from the graves with Carol and her daughter. Carol is also one of your favorite people in camp. You saw how her husband mistreated her and always felt the urge to step in and protect her. You wrap an arm around her, and she drops her head onto your shoulder. The two of you walk this way until you get back to camp. Carol gives you a small smile before heading to her destroyed tent with Sophia to pack up their belongings. Your heart breaks for her too, but not as much.
Shane calls for a group meeting. You take a seat in one of the plastic folding chairs around the fire. Daryl appears behind you, resting his hands on the back of your chair. You instantly feel safer with him there.
“I’ve been thinking about Rick’s plan,” Shane says to the group. “Now look, there are no guarantees either way. I’ll be the first one to admit that. But I’ve known this man a long time. I trust his instincts. I say the most important thing here is we need to stay together.” He looks around the group as he talks. “So those of you that agree, we leave first thing in the morning. Okay?”
Most of the group nods in agreement. You just sit there and listen, taking in the information as well as the events of last night.
When everyone heads towards their own tents, Daryl falls into step with you.
“So what do ya think?” he asks you. “You wanna go with ‘em?”
You just shrug. “I got nowhere else to go,” you say simply. “You?”
Daryl looks at the ground, suddenly incredibly interested with the tip of his boots. “I go wherever you go,” he mutters.
You can’t help but smile. “Then I guess we’re going,” you say, unzipping the tent. You crawl inside. Daryl looks around a few times, before following you in as well.
The next morning, you wake up to a heavy weight on your stomach. You crack up an eye to find Daryl’s arm draped over you. For once, you didn’t have to sleep squeezed between him and the edge of the tent, with his body acting as a barrier between you and Merle, so you got to sleep on the inside. Apparently in his sleep, Daryl curled into you, wrapping his arm around you. You smiled, unable to help feeling safe this way. You close your eyes, savoring the moment.
Not long after, you feel Daryl start to stir behind you. You feign sleep, not wanting to make him feel embarrassed or anything about how your bodies ended up during the night. You expect him to jump up, snatching his arm back, not wanting to be caught with it around your sleeping form. But to your surprise, you feel him let out a deep sigh and curl even closer into your back before getting up. He carefully crawls over you, thinking you're still asleep, and unzips the tent. You don’t hear anything for a minute, but you can sense that he’s still there. You hear a low chuckle before you feel the tent move as he exits it.
You wait at least ten minutes before moving yourself. You crawl out of the tent to find the group circling up. Daryl walks back towards you as you slide into your boots, and he extends a hand to you, which you gladly take, helping you up. He doesn’t let it go as the two of you walk over to everyone else as Shane addresses the group yet again.
“Everybody listen up,” he instructs. You fight the urge to roll your eyes. He really loves the sound of his own voice, you think snarkily to yourself. “Those of you with C.B.s, we’re gonna be on channel 40,” he continues. “Let’s keep the chatter down, okay? Now you got a problem, don’t have a C.B., can’t get a signal or anything at all, you’re gonna hit your horn one time. That’ll stop the caravan. Any questions?” He looks around the group.
“We’re, uh,” Morales starts, and your heart immediately drops. “We’re not going.”
“We have family in Birmingham,” his wife continues for him. “We wanna be with our people.”
“You go on your own, you won’t have anyone to watch your back,” Shane says, like he's trying to convince them not to go.
“We’ll take the chance,” Morales says. “I gotta do what’s best for my family.”
“You sure?” Rick asks, earnestly.
“We talked about it,” Morales replies. “We’re sure.”
“All right,” Rick says, bending down. He and Shane whisper to each other about who knows what. Then they step toward him, handing him a handgun and ammo.
“Box is half full,” Shane explains.
Next to you, Daryl is clearly frustrated. He’s biting his nails on the hand that’s not holding yours. Then he scoffs and turns, letting go of your hand and stalking off, leaving you with the rest of the group. They’re all giving each other heartfelt goodbyes. Morales claps you on the shoulder and tells you to take care of yourself. “And Dixon,” he says with a smirk. You smile back. To your surprise, his kids latch on to your waist as his wife pulls you into a tight hug. You didn’t expect the affection from them, but you appreciate it nonetheless.
After you peel yourself away from the Morales family, you walk towards Daryl’s pickup. He has Merle’s motorcycle strapped to the back, and all of your stuff in the backseat.
“Got room for one more?” you ask playfully.
Daryl looks up at you from the other side of the truck. “ ‘course,” he says.
“Wasn’t sure if you were trying to pawn me off on somebody else,” you joke.
“Shut up,” he says, smirking. He climbs into the driver’s seat. You hop in the passenger side and barely close the door before he starts driving, following the rest of the caravan out of the quarry.
The caravan drives for several hours. You entertain yourself by bothering Daryl while he drives. This time, you’re reading the horoscopes off of an old newspaper you found on the floor of the backseat.
“When’s your birthday?” you ask him.
“Why?” he asks, trying to sound annoyed with you but you can see right through him - he’s happy to not be alone on this drive.
“Stop being so difficult and tell me,” you snap, hitting him with the newspaper.
“April 7th,” he answers, reluctantly.
“Hmmmm,” you say, reading. “So you’re an Aries. That makes sense.”
“What’s that supposed t’ mean?” he demands.
“‘Aries have bold personalities,’” you read from the newspaper. “‘They are courageous and determined individuals, natural leaders, but tend to be moody and aggressive when they don’t get their say.’” You burst out laughing.
“Shut up,” he says for the millionth time on this car ride, but you can see he’s trying not to smile.
“It’s so true though!” you yell between laughs.
“Yeah?” he says, giving into his smile, “what about yours?”
“April 23rd,” you tell him. “Taurus.” You quickly scan the paper. “‘Reliable, patient, and as devoted and loyal as they come,’” you read. “‘Stubborn to a fault and possessive of those they love.’”
It’s Daryl’s turn to laugh. “That sounds right,” he says. “Yer stubborn as shit.” You hit him with the newspaper again, laughing with him, before he has to slam on the breaks. The caravan has stopped.
“Stay here,” he says quickly, putting the truck in park and sliding out of it.
“What, am I safer here?” you ask, rolling your eyes.
“Nah,” he says simply. “So you can protect my bike.” He dodges the newspaper that you ball up and throw at him, laughing, as he takes his crossbow and runs up to the front of the RV.
Asshole, you think to yourself, but you can’t help but laugh too.
After a while, Daryl walks back to the truck, all the laughter and levity from before wiped from his expression.
“What’s going on?” you ask, suddenly concerned.
“Jim’s done,” Daryl says, looking at the ground. “He’s struggling. Wants to be left behind, so that’s what we’re gonna do.” He comes around the truck and opens the door for you. You slide out, and follow him up to where the rest of the group is.
Jim is sitting up against a tree when you get there. Jacqui talks to him softly before planting a kiss on his cheek. Rick offers him a gun - you guess to end it for good - but he refuses it.
“I’m okay,” Jim reassures him.
The group takes turns saying goodbye to him. You and Daryl weren’t particularly close with him - to be honest, he kinda gave you the creeps, not for any fault of his own but because of everything he had been through before he joined the group - so you both give him a goodbye nod before walking back to the truck.
This time, when you and Daryl get back into your seats, you stay quiet while you drive off.
Just before sundown, the caravan parks outside of the CDC building. When you jump out of the pickup truck, you struggle to take in the scene in front of you. There are bodies everywhere. Piles of sandbags suggest that the military was there, but there are no surviving humans in sight. There are several walkers stumbling about, but for the most part, the place is a graveyard. Flies buzz around everywhere.
Daryl has his crossbow raised and a shotgun in his other hand, ready to fight. You grip the hunting knife he gave you and follow him and the rest of the group. As quietly as possible, you all approach the building.
Rick knocks on the shutter doors. The sound is so loud compared to the silence of the place. It immediately draws the dead.
“Walkers!” someone yells.
You and Daryl turn, ready to fight them off. He shoots the closest one with his crossbow, but more are quickly approaching. He tosses you his gun.
“Aim for their heads,” he tells you. “Do yer best, I’ll handle the rest.”
You raise the gun, never having shot one before, and aim it at an approaching walker. You fire, hitting it in the chest. You pump the gun again to get another bullet in the chamber and this time, you hit the walker straight in the face. Next to you, Daryl takes out two more.
Behind you, Shane and Rick are arguing again, and you can hear Lori trying to get involved too. But you don’t have time to focus on what they’re saying - Carol cries, holding Sophia to her chest, and you refuse to let anything happen to them. You shoot another walker that tries to close in on them, then place yourself between Carol and any more of the dead that try to follow. You take aim at another one, when all of a sudden, there’s a loud sound and a bright light behind you. You turn, and see that the doors to the CDC are open.
The group rushes inside the building. Daryl pretty much pushes you through the door, keeping his eye on the walkers stumbling their way forward.
You step into the lobby of the CDC. It’s bright, even with most of the lights off. The place is amazingly clean, given the carnage that lays just outside its front doors. From what you can see, it’s empty. Everyone that’s armed keeps their guns up, reading for the next attack, but it doesn’t come.
“Anybody infected?” a voice calls from inside. You can’t see where it’s coming from.
“One of our group was,” Rick explains. “He didn’t make it.”
“Why are you here? What do you want?” the voice asks again. Now you see the lone man with a gun approaching the group.
“A chance,” Rick answers.
“That’s asking an awful lot these days,” the stranger says, still approaching. You raise your gun at him, not even sure if you have any ammunition left.
“I know,” Rick says simply.
There’s a pause as the man surveys the group in front of him. You can only imagine what you all must look like to him.
But after a minute or so, he announces, “You all submit to a blood test. That’s the price of admission.”
“We can do that,” Rick assures him.
The man lowers his gun. “You have stuff to bring in, you do it now. Once this door closes, it stays closed.”
Daryl quickly hands you his crossbow as he runs outside. You stand in the doorway, watching his back as he collects your bags from his truck. You don’t breathe until he comes back in, and the group piles into an elevator.
You and Daryl stand in the back corner. He moves himself in front of you, placing himself between you and this strange new man. You are grateful for it, and you lean your forehead into his back as you take deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down. We’re safe, you tell yourself. We’re safe now.
When the elevator dings, you follow Daryl and the rest of the group out and down a long hallway.
“Are we underground?” you hear Carol ask.
“Are you claustrophobic?” he asks back.
“A little,” she says quietly.
“Try not to think about it,” is all he says back.
Dick, you think.
He leads the group into a big room with a lot of computers, where he announces that he’s the only one left there. Rick and several others ask him a bunch of questions, but you can’t be bothered to listen. You are still trying to process the events of the last half hour, and have to lean heavily on Daryl to keep your breathing steady. He lets you, giving your shoulder a small squeeze as he leads you to the next room where the man - Dr. Edwin Jenner, you find out - takes blood samples from you all.
After he takes Andrea’s blood sample, she stumbles.
“Are you okay?” the doctor asks.
“She hasn’t eaten in days,” Jacqui explains. “None of us have.”
Jenner looks around at the group thoughtfully, then leaves the room without a word.
A short while later, the smell of food fills the air. You follow Daryl into yet another room, and see a table covered in food. There’s pasta and vegetables and bread. And wine! So much wine. Jenner pops a bottle open and pours some for all of the adults around the table. You swallow half of yours down, and savor the fuzzy feeling you get as it hits your brain.
T-Dog piles a mound of spaghetti onto your plate and you dig in right away. It’s been so long since you’ve had something as simple as pasta, and you nearly moan after the first bite. Your cheeks burn, almost embarrassed at your reaction, but everyone around the table is reacting to the food as well, so you’re sure your reaction went1 unnoticed.
For the first time in what feels like weeks, the atmosphere of the group is pure happiness. Everyone is eating their fill and enjoying the drinks that Jenner has provided. Dale goes around the table, topping off everyone’s wine glasses, and everyone laughs as Carl takes his first sip of wine and nearly spits it out onto the table.
Having finished eating, Daryl has taken to leaning against the counter behind where you sit, bottle of Southern Comfort in hand. You keep turning around to steal peeks at him as he taunts Glenn, making the group laugh even more. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile this big before. He catches your eye, and you match his smile, holding your glass out to him. He clinks his bottle with it and you each take a sip, not breaking eye contact until Rick starts tapping his knife on his glass.
“It seems to me we haven’t thanked our host properly,” Rick announces, standing and lifting his glass into the air.
“He is more than just our host!” T-Dog calls out, raising his glass too.
Everyone in the group raises their glasses in cheers to Jenner.
“Booyah!” Daryl yells, and Dale and T-Dog echo his cheer. Everyone goes around, clinking glasses together and laughing and drinking to your host, thanking him for his hospitality.
Shane is the first one to break the levity of the evening. “So when are you gonna tell us what the Hell happened here, Doc?” he asks Jenner. The room goes quiet. “All the—the other doctors that were supposed to be figuring out what happened, where are they?”
“We’re celebrating, Shane,” Rick says quietly, sitting down. “Don’t need to do this now.”
But of course, Shane continues. “Whoa, wait a second. This is why we’re here, right? This was your move—supposed to find all the answers. Instead we—” he stops, chuckling to himself. “we found him. Found one man, why?”
Jenner clearly looks uncomfortable, but answers him anyway. “Well, when things got bad, a lot of people just left, went off to be with their families. And when things got worse, when the military cordon got overrun, the rest bolted.”
“Every last one?” Shane presses him.
“No,” Jenner replies, staring him down. “Many couldn’t face walking out the door. They… opted out. There was a rash of suicides.” He looks away, as if reliving it. “That was a bad time.”
This time, Andrea leans in and asks, “You didn’t leave. Why?”
“I just kept working, hoping to do some good,” he answers sadly, looking up at her.
An awkward silence falls over the group. Everyone takes quiet sips from their drink, not making eye contact with anyone else, waiting for someone to break the tension.
Glenn wanders forward, looking at Shane. “Dude, you are such a buzzkill, man,” he mumbles.
Shane at least has the courtesy to look a little ashamed of himself.
After dinner, you stumble behind the rest of the group, the effects of the wine hitting you harder than you expected. Daryl swoops in, reaching an arm around you and holding you steady.
“You all right?” he asks, concern lacing his glassy eyes. He’s probably just as drunk as you are.
“I’m more than all right,” you answer, a smile breaking across your face. “I feel great!” You sway as you say this, and Daryl is the only thing keeping you from falling. He smirks as he pulls you upright, and the two of you nearly trip over each other, trying to follow everyone else.
Jenner is explaining things to those of the group who can actually listen. But whatever he says last catches Glenn’s attention. He turns back to the rest of the group, and says excitedly, “Hot water?”
“That’s what the man said,” T-Dog replies, and both of the men start laughing.
Then, the group splits up, each running to a room to call dibs on a shower. You are too busy laughing to try and claim one for yourself. Thankfully, Daryl has you, and he pulls you into one of the rooms with him.
Inside, there is a twin bed, a nightstand, and another door that you are assuming leads to the bathroom and the glorious shower with hot water. You fall onto the bed, laughing still as you sit up and look at Daryl. He stands by the door, looking at the ground awkwardly.
“What?” you ask him, giggling.
“You can go first,” he says shyly. “In the shower, I mean.”
“Oh,” you say, standing up off of the bed. You grab onto the doorframe of the bathroom to keep from falling. Daryl is right behind you, a hand on your waist, steadying you. You smile at him, then once you get your balance back, you walk into the small bathroom, and turn the water on for the shower. It comes out cold, so you decide to give it a minute before getting in.
When you turn around, you see Daryl trying to walk out of the bathroom.
“Wait,” you say, grabbing his arm.
“What?” he asks, looking at your hand on him rather than your face.
“Come with me,” you say quickly.
His face shoots up to yours. “What?” he asks again. You see the tips of his ears turning pink.
“There’s not much hot water,” you say. You feel your cheeks burning, not sure if it’s the wine or what you’re saying, but you carry on anyway. “This way, we’ll both get some.”
“Are you sure?” he asks quietly.
“Very sure,” you reply, pulling him towards you.
When his body nearly collides with yours, you bring your hand up to his face and crash your mouth onto his. You can tell you took him by surprise - for a moment he freezes, but before you can pull back and apologize, his hand finds the back of your neck and he’s kissing you back. His kisses start off gentle but quickly deepen as he pulls you even closer to him. You run your tongue along his bottom lip and he parts his, letting you slip inside. He tastes of cigarettes and whiskey, and the taste alone is enough to make you moan.
Daryl pushes you so that your back is up against the wall, the hand that’s not on your neck finding your waist, slipping his fingers under the hem of your shirt. You raise your arms so that he can slip your shirt off entirely, only breaking the kiss when it gets in the way. Once it’s off, you wrap your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss even further as the two of you wrestle for dominance.
You slide your hands down his muscular chest and move to unbotton his shirt, but he catches your hand, stopping you. “Wait,” he says.
“I don’t want to,” you say, trying to catch his mouth with yours again but he dodges it, looking at the ground instead.
“You don’t want-” he starts, but you cut him off.
“I do,” you say quickly. “Whatever you’re going to say, I do.” You cup his cheek with one hand. “We might die tomorrow. Who knows in this world.” You rub your thumb along his cheekbone. “But what I do know is that I want this. I want you.” You bend your knees, putting your face in front of his so that you can look into his eyes. “Please, Daryl.”
He gazes into your eyes. “You sure?” he asks.
“If you ask me that one more time, I’m taking your crossbow and shooting you with it,” you say smirking. At this, he smiles, grabbing your face with both of his hands and smashing his lips onto yours.
You and Daryl kiss each other while also trying to kick your shoes off. You have to break apart so that you can each wrestle with your pants. You’re suddenly really regretting your choice of skinny jeans, as you have to jump and yank to get them off. When you finally do, you find Daryl standing in front of you in just his boxers, and you take in his muscular form. His chest and arms are littered with scars, all of which you plant kisses on before he places his hands at the back of your thighs and picks up you, pushing you back into the wall. You wrap your legs around him and you catch his mouth with yours, savoring every moment of this kiss.
He reaches one hand out and feels the shower water.
“It’s hot,” he murmurs into your kisses.
“Put me down,” you nearly yell, wiggling out of his arms. “I want in!”
Daryl laughs as he drops you to the floor, then he catches his fingers under your sports bra and pulls it up over your head. You grab the waistband of his boxers and yank them down just as he does the same to your panties. You stand in front of him, naked as the day you were born. Daryl looks you up and down, and you swear you can see the hunger in his eyes.
“C’mon now,” he says as he takes your waist, and pulls you into the shower with him.
You can’t decide what feels better: the hot water or Daryl Dixon’s kisses. The water sprays your back as he kisses and nibbles your lips, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Your hands find their way into his hair, running your fingers through it. A small moan escapes you as he worships you with his lips. Daryl kisses you lower and lower until he gets down onto his knees, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder, and he bites the inside of your thigh. You grab a fistful of his hair as he moves in to kiss your core.
The effect is immediate: you fall back into the wall as Daryl licks his way from your entrance up to your clit. One of his large hands grips your waist, holding you in place. Your head falls back in pleasure as he sucks on the sensitive nub, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. Your knee buckles beneath you, but he doesn’t let you fall. His free hand finds your entrance, teasing you by circling around it before he slips one finger inside.
You moan loudly as his finger enters you. You can’t remember the last time you felt this good, the last time you even hooked up with someone, and it sends your body into a frenzy. You tug on his hair, pulling his face up from kissing your core.
“I need you,” you say, breathlessly. “I need you now.”
Daryl immediately yields to your desire. He stands up, towering over you. When he kisses you, you taste yourself on his lips, and it makes you crave him even more. One of your legs already around his hip, he gently lifts you like you weigh nothing. You wrap both of your legs around his waist as he lines himself up with your entrance. He catches your lips in his, then presses his forehead to yours, looking deep into your eyes.
“All right?” he asks, his voice low and husky. You want to melt just at the sound of it.
“All right,” you whisper back. And when he pushes himself into you.
His head falls into the space between your shoulder and your neck as he does, starting slow. Gradually, he pushes into you further until he bottoms out. He pauses there, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, before he pulls his head back up, catching your lips in his.
You kiss him back fiercely, letting him know you’re okay, and then he begins thrusting into you. He is gentle at first but he quickly picks up the pace. Your back slides up the wall with the power of his hips, but you can barely tell. All you can think - and feel and taste - is Daryl. Arms circling his neck, you kiss any part of him that you can reach: his lips, his jaw, just under his ear, his neck. When you bite down on his shoulder, you elicit a deep groan from him, and the sound makes your toes start to curl.
The mix of the hot water, his thrusts, the friction between you from his closeness lights a fire deep in your lower belly. You can feel your orgasm approaching, starting as a little spark and growing into a wildfire. With all your might, you pull him closer to you, moaning his name as you do.
“Oh Daryl,” you say breathlessly. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna-” and then your head falls back as your orgasm crashes over you.
All at once, your body feels as if it engulfs in flames. The knot in your stomach explodes like a firework show. Eyes closed, you moan and whimper into Daryl’s ear as he fucks you through your orgasm. He keeps the pace of his thrusts slow and steady. Your arms start to slip, but his grip on your thighs tightens, refusing to let you fall. He places gentle kisses and bites along your neck and jaw as you ride out your high.
When you start to come down, you catch his lips in yours.
“You good?” he asks into your kiss.
“So good,” you mumble out, smiling into his lips.
Daryl bites your lower lip, pulling on it lightly before letting go. His forehead finds the crook of your neck again as he thrusts into you harder, searching for his release next. Your nails drag along the back of his neck and his shoulders as he keeps pushing you up and into the shower wall. His thrusts become more erratic as he approaches his own orgasm. You grab a handful of his hair and pull, forcing him to lean his head back so you can kiss and bite along his neck.
This undoes him. Quickly, he pulls out of you, lowering one of your legs to the floor. Eyes squeezed shut, he pumps himself once, twice, three times before he comes too, trying his best to aim it away from you. One leg still wrapped around him, you lay kisses along his chest, sucking on his collarbone as he rides out his own high. You steady him the best you can, then he falls into you, groaning as he does.
You kiss him on the forehead. “You good?” you ask, smirking.
Daryl chuckles before responding. “Amazin’, darlin’,” he drawls. He catches your lips again, then gently lowers your other leg so that you are standing on your own. You kiss him deeply, exhausted and giddy, wanting to draw it out for as long as possible. His hands are on your waist again, with one slowly dragging its way up your body, sending a shiver up your spine.
He pulls away, looking up into the stream of water. “Guess we should actually shower, huh?” he asks, smirking.
“Yeah,” you say, a little reluctantly, not wanting this moment to end. “If we run out of hot water, I’ll cry.”
Both laughing, you and Daryl break apart to start cleaning up. Thankfully, the CDC has body wash, shampoo, and conditioner dispensers on the wall of the shower. You grab some of the shampoo and dig your fingers into Daryl’s hair before he can stop you. You massage it into his scalp, eliciting another deliciously low groan from him. While you work on his hair, he reaches behind you to get some of the soap, and starts lathering your body, working meticulously from your shoulders to your chest, down your legs. He grabs you, switching your places so that he’s under the stream of water, rinsing out the shampoo as you start to shampoo your own hair.
By the time the water starts to run cold, you and Daryl are both washed, rinsed, and conditioned. He jumps out of the shower first, tying a towel around his waist before wrapping you in one. Arms trapped inside, you have to let Daryl pull you out of the shower and back into the room. You trip over your discarded shoes, and land on the bed, giggling.
As soon as you feel the softness of the mattress, your exhaustion catches up to you. You dry yourself the best you can, before chucking the towel across the room.
“Don’t be getting mah bed all wet,” Daryl says from across the room. He’s already slipped back into his boxers and sleeveless flannel shirt.
“Shut up, Daryl,” you mumble, sinking into the pillows. You pull the blanket out, making space for him to lay with you. He scoffs, but he climbs in anyway. You lay your head on his chest, pulling him tight. You barely feel his kiss on the top of your head before sleep overtakes you.
The next morning, you wake up, still snuggled into Daryl’s chest. You can tell that he's already awake; you can feel him gnawing on his fingernails before you even open your eyes. Anxiety radiates off of him.
Using your arms, you squeeze into him tighter, then lean up to kiss his neck.
“Good morning,” you murmur, eyes still closed but smiling.
“Mornin’,” he says, shortly.
Your eyes shoot open at his tone. All the affection, the gentleness from last night has been replaced by a coldness. You sit up, leaning on your elbow so you can look at him. He looks away.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
“Nothin,” he grunts out.
You nudge him. “Liar,” you say. You grab his face with your free hand, and pull it towards you, forcing him to look at you. “Talk to me.”
“It’s nothin,” he mutters. He moves to get out of the bed but you don’t let him go.
“It’s not,” you say, more forcefully this time.
Daryl looks away from you again. It makes you want to punch him in the face.
“So that’s it?” you ask, trying to ignore the prickling of the tears in your eyes. “You get to fuck me once, and then go cold on me? That’s what we’re gonna be now?”
“That what you want?” he asks, still not looking at you.
“If you would look at me, you could see that’s not what I want at all,” you snap.
This makes him look at you, and he immediately sees how glassy your eyes are. He hesitates, eyes flicking between yours and your lips. “You don’t?”
“Not at all,” you whisper. You cup his cheek with your hand, and he leans into it, eyes falling closed. “I want you. Just as much as I did last night. I want you. I want this. Forever. Even if forever is just for today.”
His eyes snap back open. “You do?” he asks, and you can hear the eagerness in his voice, even as he tries to hide it.
“I do,” you say breathlessly. You lean your face in towards his, pausing less than an inch away from his lips. “I really do.”
You can feel his breath hitch at your words. Gingerly, you close the gap between your lips and his, and place a soft kiss upon them. He kisses you back timidly, as if waiting for you to be repulsed. But when you deepen the kiss, he relaxes, his hands crawling up your back to pull you in closer.
Without breaking the kiss, you lay back onto the mattress, pulling him on top of you. Using one arm to hold up his weight, Daryl’s free hand trails up your side to cup your face. You slide your hand down his body, feeling the muscles of his chest again and then catching on the waistband of his boxers. Taking your hint, he pulls them down, releasing his cock, already hard, and lines it up with your entrance. He breaks the kiss only for a moment to look into your eyes, before pushing into you again.
Forehead pressed against yours, Daryl grinds into your body slowly. You lift your hips to meet him with each thrust, your hands exploring every inch of your body. The warmth that radiates off of his skin reignites your fire from last night. You catch his mouth with yours, his lips parting to allow your tongue in as your kisses deepen.
Your bodies begin to flow like one, melting into one another with every movement. One of your legs wraps around his hips, pulling him in even closer. Daryl’s kisses become sloppy, slipping from your mouth to your jawline, trailing along it and down to your neck. Every one of your nerves feels like it's been pulled taut; every place that he touches you is like him strumming them like a guitar.
The deep pool of desire inside of you begins to overflow, and your fingers find his hair as you come undone in his arms again. You moan his name, pepper him with kisses, drag your nails along his arms as your body gives into the pleasure that only he can give you. Your walls clench around him, and he barely lasts through your orgasm before he has to pull away, shooting his own onto the bed just beneath you.
Daryl lays his head on your chest as you both recover from your mutual releases. Eyes closed, you rub his back as he pushes kisses into your skin. He eventually crawls back up to you and kisses your forehead, your nose, then your lips. When you open your eyes, you can see a gleam in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.
“Let’s go find some grub,” he says through his smirk. “I’m starvin’.”
You can’t help smiling, feeling happier than you have in a long time. But you should’ve known better.
By the time you and Daryl make your way to the breakfast room, most of the group is following Jenner out. You look at him, but he just shrugs and moves to follow the group. You stop to pour yourself a cup of coffee; the smell alone is making your mouth water, and you refuse to miss out on a luxury you used to take for granted. You assure Daryl that you’ll be in there in just a minute.
“I won’t be missing out on anything too exciting,” you say to him with a smirk.
Boy, were you wrong.
When you walk into the main computer room, everyone is crowded around Jenner and watching the big screen. On it, you see what looks like an x-ray of a brain, and you nearly jump out of your skin when a streak of light shoots through it.
Carol asks, “God. What was that?”
“He shot his patient in the head,” Andrea explains, turning to Jenner. “Didn’t you?”
Jenner hesitates, before talking to the computer. “VI, Power down the main screen and the workstations.”
The computer voice responds, “Powering down main screen and workstations.” The room starts to go dark.
As people hound the doctor with questions, you move over to where Daryl is standing. He watches the doctor carefully, and you can feel the tension radiating off of him. You try to place a hand on his arms but he pulls away, starting to pace the floor.
“So it’s not just here,” Andrea questions Jenner. “There’s nothing left anywhere? Nothing? That’s what you’re really saying, right?”
When he doesn’t answer, realization hits the group like a bag of bricks.
“Jesus,” Jacqui mutters, exasperated.
Daryl rubs his hands into his eyes, still pacing, “Man, I’m gonna get shitfaced drunk again,” he complains, leaning on one of the computers.
Dale speaks up, “Dr. Jenner, I know this has been taxing for you and I hate to ask one more question, but…that clock—” he points to a big red countdown clock on the wall. “it’s counting down. What happens at zero?”
“The basement generators—they run out of fuel,” Jenner answers quickly, before walking out of the room.
“And then?” Rick asks, but Jenner ignores him. Instead, Rick turns back to the supercomputer. “VI, what happens when the power runs out?”
The computer answers, “When the power runs out, facility-wide decontamination will occur.”
Daryl throws his hands up into the arm and curses before stalking out of the room. You look around at the rest of the group, who all look just as confused as you are. Rick nods his head towards Shane and the two of them, followed by Glenn and T-Dog, run out of the room. You look over at Carol and Lori, who are both holding their kids close. You decide to go find Daryl and try to figure out what the fuck is going on.
You find him back in the room where you had spent the night with him. He’s pacing the room, bottle of whiskey in hand. Every few steps, he takes a swig from it, muttering to himself.
“Daryl,” you say gently. He doesn’t seem to hear you. He keeps pacing and talking to himself as if you’re not even there.
“Daryl,” you say again, louder. He stops and looks at you. “Calm down,” you say, moving closer to him. “We’ll figure something out.”
“But what if we don’t?” he asks angrily. But underneath that anger, you can hear a twinge of fear laced in his voice.
“We will,” you reassure him. “Rick and some of the guys ran off, probably to go look at those generators.”
Daryl only grunts at you. You chuckle a little, before snatching the whiskey out of his hand. You plop down on the bed, patting the space next to you.
“C’mon,” you try to coax him over, but he doesn’t move.
“What are we supposed to do now?” he asks, quietly.
“I mean, you did say something about getting drunk,” you trail off, taking a long sip of the whiskey.
With a huff, Daryl lands on the bed next to you, snatching the bottle back from you and drinking.
A short while later, you are still sitting on the bed, legs draped over Daryl’s lap, enjoying the fuzziness in your head, courtesy of the whiskey. Daryl’s sitting with his head leaned back against the wall, one hand making lazy circles along your thigh. You take another sip from the bottle before passing it back to his open hand. As you do, the lights in the room dim.
Daryl immediately jumps, and moves to pop his head out into the hall. “What’s going on?” he asks. “Why is everything turned off?”
Jenner walks past your room, dressed in a shirt, tie, and lab coat, and takes the whiskey bottle from Daryl as he continues moving down the hall.
“Energy use is being prioritized,” he says as a means of explanation.
“Air isn’t a priority?” Dale asks, dumbfounded. “And lights?”
Jenner takes a swig from the bottle and says simply, “It’s not up to me. Zone 5 is shutting itself down.”
Daryl starts following him down the hallway. “Hey! Hey, what the Hell’s that mean?”
But Jenner keeps walking, and your entire group follows. You trail behind everyone else, just barely able to make out Daryl yelling at the doctor. “Hey, man, I’m talking to you. What do you mean it’s shutting itself down? How can a building do anything?”
More lights begin to turn off as you follow Jenner back to the computer room. Rick, T-Dog, Glenn and Shane come running from another doorway to join the rest of the group. Rick runs ahead and meets up with Jenner, demanding answers. The rest of you trickle down the stairs to join them at the computers.
The clock on the wall reads 30 minutes left.
Jenner pauses, allowing everyone to catch up. He hands the bottle to Daryl, who angrily snatches it out of his hand, spilling some whiskey on the floor.
Then Jenner turns to Andrea. “It was the French,” he says.
“What?” she asks, confused.
“They were the last ones to hold out as far as I know,” he explains. “While our people were bolting out the doors and committing suicide in the hallways, they stayed in the labs till the end. They thought they were close to a solution.”
“What happened?” Jacqui asks.
Jenner looks defeated as he continues. “The same thing that’s happening here. No power grid. Ran out of juice. The world runs on fossil fuel. I mean, how stupid is that?”
Shane jumps up to confront him but Rick pulls him back. He calls out behind him, “Lori, grab our things. Everybody, get your stuff. We’re getting out of here now!”
But as you all turn to run back to the rooms, an alarm starts blaring.
“What’s that?” Shane asks Jenner.
The computer answers for him, announcing: “30 minutes to decontamination.” Everyone is looking around the room, at each other, panic in their eyes.
“Doc, what’s going on here?” Daryl yells. But Jenner is too busy messing with the computers to answer.
Shane addresses the group, “Everybody, y’all heard Rick. Get your stuff and let’s go! Go now! Go!”
But as everyone starts to run again, there’s a loud bang: the security door to the computer room has slammed shut.
“He just locked us in!” Glenn yells, fear almost causing his voice to break.
You look for Daryl in the chaos, and you find him running at Jenner, the bottle in hand, ready to hit him.
“You son of a bitch!” he yells as he tries to swing, but Shane and T-Dog catch him before he can connect with the doctor’s head.
Rick stalks up to him. “Hey, Jenner, open that door now,” he demands.
“There’s no point,” Jenner explains, dejected. “Everything topside is locked down. The emergency exits are sealed.”
“Well, open the damn things,” Dale yells.
“That’s not something I control,” Jenner continues. “The computers do. I told you: once that front door closed, it wouldn’t open again. You heard me say that. It’s better this way.”
Rick looks at him, confused. “What is? What happens in 28 minutes?” When Jenner doesn’t answer, Rick asks again, “What happens in 28 minutes?!”
Jenner shouts back, “You know what this place is?! We protected the public from very nasty stuff! Weaponized smallpox! Ebola strains that could wipe out half the country! Stuff you don’t want getting out! Ever!” He pauses, sitting back down. He continues, quieter this time. “In the event of a catastrophic power failure—in a terrorist attack, for example—H.I.T.s are deployed to prevent any organisms from getting out.”
“H.I.T.s?” Rick asks, approaching him.
Jenner orders the computer to define it for him. “H.I.T.s—high-impulse thermo baric fuel-air explosives consist of a two-stage aerosol ignition that produces a blast wave of significantly greater power and duration than any other known explosive except nuclear. The vacuum-pressure effect ignites the oxygen at between 5,000 degrees and 6,000 degrees and is useful when the greatest loss of life and damage to structures is desired.”
“It sets the air on fire,” Jenner explains in a low voice, not making eye contact with anyone. “No pain.”
The group stares at Jenner, understanding hitting everyone differently. Rick grabs Lori and Carol, holding them close. Carol is openly crying now, hugging Sophia to her chest. Dale and T-Dog just stare, mouths agape. Your hands reach up to cover your mouth as you try to process what you just heard: Jenner is going to kill us all.
Only Daryl still has his wits about him. Kind of. He throws the liquor bottle at the sealed door, yelling at Jenner to open it.
Shane runs at the door with a fire ax, trying to cut it open. T-Dog tosses a second one to Daryl, who catches it and starts working with Shane to get the door open. Lori and Carol slide down to the floor, each with their kid in their lap, trying to keep them calm. You move closer to where Shane and Daryl are working on the door, trying to watch for any indication that it’s working. As far as you can see, they aren’t making a dent.
After a few minutes of no progress, they both stop, out of breath. You try to catch Daryl, but he and Shane are moving back to where Rick is talking to Jenner, practically begging him to let you all out.
“Can’t make a dent,” Shane tells him, out of breath.
“Those doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher,” Jenner explains, smugly.
“Well, your head ain’t!” Daryl yells, running up, swinging his ax at the man.
It takes Dale, Rick and T-Dog to hold Daryl back. T-Dog pulls the ax out of Daryl’s hands, who pushes past them all and stalks back over to the door. You follow him.
“Daryl-” you start, but he cuts you off.
“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he snaps at you.
“I wasn’t-” you try but he moves in swiftly, taking your face between his hands.
“You said you wanted forever, right?” he asks. Tears in your eyes, you can only nod in response. “Then I’m gettin you yer forever.” He leans in, touching his forehead to yours, and looks deeply into your eyes. “I’m gettin’ us out of here.”
You nod again. “O-okay,” you manage to get out. You and Daryl stay this way for a minute, soaking each other in, only breaking apart when you hear the sound of a shotgun cocking. Both of your heads snap back to the group as Shane runs up to Jenner with the gun, pressing it into his face.
“Open that door or I’m gonna blow your head off. Do you hear me?” he threatens the doctor.
Rick and Lori try to talk him down, but Shane begins yelling and shooting at the computer monitors. The other members of the group duck for cover as pieces of the machines start flying in different directions. Daryl nearly has to knock you to the ground as Rick tries to get the gun from Shane, causing a stray round to hit the light fixture above you.
Rick wrestles the gun away from Shane. Everyone looks to him for guidance. He hands it off to T-Dog before turning on Jenner again. “I think you’re lying,” he says. “You’re lying about no hope. If that were true, you’d have bolted with the rest or taken the easy way out. You didn’t. You chose the hard path. Why?”
Exasperated, Daryl finds the ax again and returns to beating on the door. You follow him with the second one, and stand between him and the rest of the group, trying to hear what they’re saying in between the slams of the ax on the door. Each slam of the ax on the door lines up with your heart, which is pounding in your chest. Fear threatens to take over, but you shove it back down. Daryl’s going to get us out of here, you tell yourself on repeat. We are going to live.
After a while, Daryl’s hits on the door begin to slow down. He stops, hands on his knees, panting. He refuses to look at you. Don’t give up, you want to tell him, but your throat feels like it's closing. You look back to Jenner, who is watching Rick intently as he continues to plead.
Whatever he says to Jenner must work, because all of a sudden, the door shoots open.
“Come on!” Daryl yells, signaling for everyone to follow him. You reach him at the door, pulling him into a quick hug as everyone runs up behind you.
Everyone except Jacqui.
“Let’s go. Let’s go,” T-Dog says to her, trying to pull her along.
But Jacqui pulls away. “No no. I’m staying,” she tells him, tears in her eyes. “I’m staying, sweetie.”
“But that’s insane!”
“No, it’s completely sane,” she continues. “For the first time in a long time. I’m not ending up like Jim and Amy.” Everyone stops and stares at her. She looks at the group, and motions them forward. “There’s no time to argue. And no point, not if you want to get out. Just get out. Get out.” She pushes T-Dog to urge him to go.
Daryl grabs your hand. “We gotta go, girl,” he says as he starts pulling you down the hallway. You stumble along behind him, doing your best to keep up. You hear the footsteps behind you as more group members run out, but when you peer behind you, you see that Dale hasn’t left the computer room, and neither has Andrea. You want to yell out but you can’t as Daryl throws open the door to the stairwell and you have to start climbing.
When you make it to the lobby, T-Dog runs forward, trying to open the doors. They’re locked.
Daryl and Shane take the axes again and start trying to break open the windows, but they barely even splinter with each hit.
Your blood is pounding in your ears. There has to be only three minutes left on that timer, and you can’t find a way out of the building. You look around for something to use to try and break out, but there’s no use. T-Dog hits the window with a chair but it bounces right off each time. Shane shoots at it with the shotgun and, while it makes a small crack in it, it’s not enough to break it open.
We’re not going to get out in time, you think to yourself. You feel your chest tightening as fear takes over. Tears start to prick your eyes again as you look at Daryl. He’s frantic, looking up and down the lobby, trying to come up with another plan. But you can tell he comes up empty-handed.
Then Carol runs forward, digging in her purse, “Rick, I have something that might help,” she cries. Shane mutters under his breath, but she ignores him. “Your first morning at camp, when I washed your uniform I found this in your pocket.” She pulls out a grenade - a grenade?! - and hands it to Rick before running back to her daughter.
As Rick runs towards the window with the grenade, Daryl runs at you, looping an arm around your waist and dragging you behind a low wall. He spins you around so that his back is to the windows, and he holds you tight. You grip his arms and squeeze your eyes closed, bracing for whatever is about to happen.
The grenade explodes, shattering the window. Daryl pokes his head up, peering over the wall, then grabs you by the arm. “Run!” he yells, and you and the rest of the group make a break for it.
Daryl reaches the window first, tossing the ax out before jumping down to the ground. Then he turns around, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you down next to him. He picks the ax back up, and yells at you to stay behind him. You pull your hunting knife out of its sheath on your hip and follow him.
Together, you make a beeline for his truck. Everyone is running. Shane and Rick shoot a couple of lingering walkers, clearing a path to the vehicles. Daryl drops your hand to take the head off of an incoming walker with the ax. He pushes you on ahead of him and you sprint to the pick up.
When you reach it, you run around to the driver’s side, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the building as possible. Daryl runs up, yanking the door open.
“Get in, get in,” he yells, half lifting you into the truck. You barely make it on to the seat before he jumps in behind you, slamming the door shut. You go to slide over but Daryl pushes you down so that you’re laying on the seat. He lays on top of you, holding you close to his chest. You squeeze your eyes closed and wrap your arms around him the best you can, and you pray for the first time in ages.
Please god, you beg. Let us be okay-
Then you hear the explosion. The truck rattles at the sheer force of it. Daryl pulls you even closer to him, his face lost in your hair.
It feels like it goes on forever. Eventually when it starts to quiet down, you feel Daryl sit up slightly. You lean forward too, trying to peer out of the window, and you gasp.
The building is gone. All that’s in front of you is a pile of rubble and massive flames, with black smoke reaching up to touch the sky. You let your tears stream down your face now, thinking about your friends who stayed behind.
You crawl out from under Daryl to get a closer look. Behind one of the sandbags, you see a blonde ponytail pop up.
“Oh my god,” you cry out, hitting Daryl’s arm. You point. “Look!” He leans in, and the two of you watch Andrea and Dale stumble towards the RV. “They made it,” you sigh, leaning back in the seat. Daryl leans back too, chest heaving.
The two of you sit there for a moment, catching your breath and taking in the destruction around you. Eventually, you hear the RV’s engine start up. Daryl puts the keys in the ignition of the truck, starting it too. He turns and looks at you.
You place a hand on his thigh. “So forever, huh?” you ask.
A small smirk reaches his lips. “Yup,” he says, putting the truck into gear. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you across the bench seat and into his side. “Forever.”
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Floral Sheets
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Daryl Dixon x Fem! Reader
Tags: Fluff.
Word Count: 2.1k
"Not ready for tomorrow yet."
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The sun had set over Alexandria long ago.
The hues of orange and purple had faded with the falling sun and transformed the sky into a canvas of inky black, speckled with twinkling stars -- a perfect end to an otherwise arduous day.
Alexandria was thriving, and everyone in it was better than they had been in years...possibly since the apocalypse had begun.
Once a quiet suburban neighborhood, it had become a safe haven for Rick and his fellow survivors in a world full of the living dead. Alexandria was more than another camp...it was a symbol of human resilience and a testament to their will to survive.
There was a consistent supply of food, shelter, water, and (most importantly) safety. It was the safest and the healthiest that Rick and his group had been in a long time.
Alexandria had blossomed into a perfect sanctuary, and everyone was grateful for it. But such a thriving community required intense and constant work to keep it to that standard. Keeping track of weapons, supplies, and all the basic resources was vitally important. When certain supplies were to the point of restocking, Daryl was almost always the errand boy.
He could handle himself better than anyone in Alexandria. He worked well alone, and he could get himself out of a dangerous situation if he found himself in a pinch.
Daryl knew that he had a long day ahead of him from the moment his feet hit the floor early that morning. He had several stops to make on his journey outside of the walls of Alexandria, and a few of those stops were quite out of the way.
Not to mention, the blazing heat of summer was nearly blistering during the day, and even during the night hours, it wasn't much cooler. It was so humid that sometimes it made the air so thick that it felt like breathing soup.
Daryl was used to the heat, and while it didn't bother him all that much -- it still made a long, tiring day even longer and more exhausting.
And the moment that he stepped through the door late that night, he felt a sense of relief crash over him. It was significantly cooler inside your house, and he was so glad to be out of the heat and at home.
He had three things on his mind when he entered your home: food, a shower, and you.
If he could have it his way, he would've liked those things in reverse order -- but he couldn't bring himself to wake you just for a shower you didn't need, and he doubted you wanted to be disturbed just to sit with him while he horked down whatever he could scrounge up for dinner. And he knew you definitely wouldn't want him crawling into bed without eating or showering.
His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor, his steps heavy and not as quiet as he wanted them to be. He knew that you would be long asleep by now, and he wanted to do his best to keep you sleeping peacefully.
He made a beeline for the kitchen, his stomach grumbling and growling with the simple request to be fed. He smacked himself for not snatching a can of something for himself when he was unloading the goodies he had picked up that day, but when he opened the refrigerator -- he realized that he didn't need it.
Right there, sitting perfectly wrapped on the center of the top shelf, was a plate of that night's leftovers that he knew you had saved just for him.
He didn't even need to see what the leftovers were to know that he was about to scarf down every last morsel on that plate. He didn't even bother heating it up because eating it cold didn't make a difference to him in the slightest.
He rinsed his plate (a habit that he only came to have after living with you full time) and left it in the sink to be washed in the morning before moving on to his next step.
He opted to use the shower on the opposite side of the house, knowing that using the one connected to the bedroom would surely end up with you waking up to the sound of him clambering around.
He was caked in dirt, sweat, and who knows what else. He felt five pounds heavier just with whatever was sitting on his skin and clothes. Daryl didn't mind getting dirty and staying dirty, but tonight it was actually bothering him a bit.
Needless to say, a shower was needed.
It was well appreciated nonetheless, and the stream of water felt incredible on his tired muscles that were in need of rest. He took his time though, maneuvering around the tiny guest bathroom shower and scrubbing his body until his natural skin tone wasn't obstructed by muck and grime.
He lathered soap on his face, ears, and neck thoroughly, watching the evidence of the long day wash along the shower floor and down the drain to never be seen again. He rubbed his eyes, feeling his eyelids grow heavier by the minute.
The fatigue was setting in fast. Between his fed belly and the relaxation of home, several hours of sleep were calling his name...and no matter what anybody said, Daryl had made the decision to sleep in the next morning.
After all, he knew you were awaiting him just across the small house, and he would never pass up an opportunity to wake up with you.
Once he felt fresh and clean, he turned off the water and stepped out. He dried himself, wrapping the towel around his waist to make the short journey to the bedroom. He gathered his dirty (an understatement) clothes so they could be washed later, knowing to toss them in the hamper (also a habit he developed post-living with you) by the closet.
His feet made it to the closed bedroom door, and he was slow to open it. As he knew you would be, you were curled up in bed
He stopped in the doorway for just a moment to observe you. Your eyes closed softly and your breathing steady brought a flutter to his heart. It let him know you were comfortable and safe...you felt safe.
You were the balm to his weary soul, your presence a comfort he had come to rely on. He didn't watch you for long, knowing that he would much rather be with you up close than from afar.
He approached his side of the bed, carefully adjusting his pillow and peeling back the covers...to reveal quite the surprise.
Ordinarily, Daryl wasn't sure if he would've even noticed. However, this was such a difference that he wasn't sure if he couldn't have not noticed.
New sheets. He thought to himself, the corners of his lips turning up slightly.
In terms of quality, this bedding was a major upgrade. Your last set of sheets were very plain and, despite the fact that they kept you warm, were just plain overused.
But in terms of looks? Daryl wasn't so sure that this new bedding was an improvement.
You had mentioned to him a time or two that you wanted to change up your bedroom. Alexandria was proving to be your permanent home for the foreseeable future, so making your house the way you wanted seemed logical. Over time, Daryl had managed to find random furniture pieces out in the world outside the walls. Lamps, chairs, and whatnot.
Sheets, on the other hand, were much harder to come across. Frankly, Daryl hadn't ever found a set of sheets that were suitable for sleeping on...no matter how many times you washed them.
Daryl studied the sheets. They were light pink, decorated with a simple printed pattern of roses. It wasn't the tacky grandma type of floral/rose design -- this pattern was much more simplistic...dainty even.
Daryl didn't exactly love the sheets. But a bed was a bed, and as long as you were in it, he didn't rightly care.
Least the comforter is the same. He thought to himself.
He climbed into bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He tried to keep his movements slow and gentle, but Daryl wasn't exactly known for being graceful.
He winced when you began to stir with a whimper, a brief look of panic in your eyes when they opened.
“Hey, hey…” He rested his hands on your shoulders. “It’s just me.”
You stared at him through squinted eyes for only a moment before sighing out a breath of relief and falling back into your pillow. You wasted no time moving closer to him, snuggling up to him with a content, soft smile.
"Hi." You whispered.
"Hey, pretty girl. Sorry I'm so late gettin' in."
You shook your head, not even giving it a second thought.
"It's okay. How was today?" You asked groggily.
He wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead. He felt the stress and pressure of the day melt away in the feeling of you.
"Can't complain. Got what we needed," He said. "I'm sorry I woke you."
"It's okay," You shrugged. "I'm happy you're here."
Your face was nuzzled into his neck, the smell of bar soap from his recent shower filling your senses. Daryl danced his fingertips along your back, noting that you were much warmer than he was from being in the bed for longer.
Speaking of, he knew it wouldn't be long before you wanted to discuss your new addition to the room.
“I got new sheets.” You mumbled, but even in your state of half sleep, he could tell you were excited about it.
“Mmhm.” He hummed. "I noticed."
The sound of his indifference caused you to pull your head back to look at him.
“You don’t like them?” You asked.
“A bit girly for me. Glad you like ‘em though,” He said. "Where'd you get 'em?"
"Michonne actually. She and Rick were out today and found a place stocked with that sort of stuff," You explained. "It must've been a Bed Bath and Beyond or something."
"A what?" He snorted.
"Bed Bath and Beyond. It was a furniture/home decor retail store back in the day," You explained. "That was a joke, but it had to have been some kind of home decor store. I don't know how else they could've found bedding this nice and new."
Daryl gave a small chuckle, amused by your high enthusiasm for just a set of new sheets. But he understood that they were much more than just sheets to you. They comforted you, and they gave you something to be excited about.
"What do you have to do tomorrow?" You asked, and Daryl couldn't help but groan.
He didn't want to think about tomorrow yet. He had literally just finished today. He knew that, even with a late start, he would have a day just like today: busy, hot, and exhausting.
For now, he wanted to enjoy the end of today...or what was left of it at least. He wanted to hold you close, get some sleep, and be thankful for another day survived.
And hope for many more to come.
"Same ol' things," He sighed. "Not ready for tomorrow yet."
You understood what he meant and ditched the topic. He smirked when you kissed him, which was your way of changing the subject and when you had run out of things to say.
Not that Daryl minded.
He held your face in his hand, keeping you close and preventing you from straying far from him. He felt himself melt into you, the best feeling in the world after a day like this. He wished he could have this every night.
His kisses were lazy and slow, which was a bit out of the norm for him. You could tell he was fighting sleep, and you didn't blame him in the slightest for being tired.
"How about we get some sleep? I know you're exhausted." You brushed a strand of hair from his eyes, noting how heavy they looked.
Normally, he would've fought for a few more minutes...but tonight, sleep sounded all too good.
"Yeah." He agreed.
"Talk more in the morning?" You asked, and he gave a grin.
"'Course, baby." He pressed his lips to the crown of your head.
Daryl shifted further under the covers, making sure that you were snuggled in and warm. Daryl kept you close for the rest of the night, sharing kisses when he could and keeping you in his dreams.
All wrapped up in those pink, floral sheets.
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on my knees begging
taglist : @colt-python @narcissismand @epilepsywarrior8787 @celtic-crossbow @ririi-3 @walker-bait-1973 @versatilehater @chibsgirl143 @blackvelveteen1339
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I’m the anon who requested the injured reader and newt!!! Ohmygod I love it!!! Thank you so much for writing and giving into my self indulgence I will definitely be requesting more from you if that’s okay 👉🏼👈🏼
Omggggg thank you! I’m so glad you liked it❤️❤️ can’t wait to hear your future requests🥳🥳 heal up soon, I hope your surgery went well!
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I don’t know if you would be open to this idea but a tmr newt imagine where the reader hurts her knee and now has a limp like newt and she is frustrated with it and it gets him to open up and it’s all fluffy??? I have just had knee surgery so I am being very self indulgent… again if you don’t want to no worries at all!!!
Author's note: Omg of course!!! Agh, I'm so excited, this is my first time responding to a request, so I hope you enjoy! Also, I wrote this really fckin fast, so I'm sorry if it's shit.
Guys, send in more requests! This was so fun to write!!!
Pairing: TMR Newt x reader
Warnings: mentions of suicide and death, leg injury
“This bloody knee!” you hissed, tossing your gardening tool to the side and pulling at your hair in frustration.
“Did you just say bloody? I must really be rubbing off on you” Newt said from above you. You gasped in surprise.
“Newt! What are you– aren’t you supposed to be talking with Alby right now?” You asked.
“Finished early. Not much to debrief today. Aren’t you supposed to be heading to lunch?”
Your boyfriend sat down beside you and picked up the tool you’d been using, toying with it as he waited for you to respond.
“I don’t think I’m gonna make it today. I’m running way, way behind. This piece of klunk knee brace won’t let me bend down to work, and Clint and Jeff refuse to let me take it off. I have to either stand straight or sit down, neither of which are fast enough to finish all this in time.”
You finished speaking with a huff, and Newt smiled beside you.
“Hey, that’s just what a brace is meant to do. You shouldn’t bend it until you’re all healed up. It’s only been a week, love.”
A week, you thought, recalling the accident that had occurred just a few days before:
“It should be all set. Just take it easy for a few weeks, y/n,” Jeff explained, helping you to stand and placing a rudimentary wooden crutch under one arm.
“And no more messing around climbing trees,” Clint warned, opening the door that led out of the med-jacks’ building where Newt waited. You nodded, but the comment stung your pride.
Earlier that morning, you had been sitting up in a tall oak tree in the deadheads. The location was morbid, you knew, but it was also quiet. A place to breathe. To think. If you sat up there long enough, it sometimes felt like the trees went on forever– like there were no walls, no maze, standing just yards away, separating you from the world beyond.
You’d been up there a while, and you knew your break would soon be over. The gardens needed tending, after all. That, and Newt would begin to worry and come looking. You knew he could handle himself, but the last thing you wanted was to see him struggle through the underbrush of the deadheads with his bad knee because of you.
You swung yourself off the branch you’d been sitting on and began making your way down the tree. As you placed your foot onto a small notch in the tree bark, the branch you held onto with your right hand snapped. You gasped, clawing at what was left of the branch, but your foot slipped, and suddenly you were falling to the side.
You let out a scream and braced yourself to hit the forest floor. Your right knee was the first part of your body to land, and it connected with a rock or a tree root– you weren’t sure. Your right shoulder slammed to the ground, though thankfully, it seemed that your knee had borne most of the brunt of the fall. Chest heaving, you slowly sat up and you tried lifting yourself off the ground. Pain surged through your leg, and a cry of agony escaped your lips. You sat back against the trunk of the tree for a moment, then tried to stand again. It was in vain– your leg couldn’t support you.
Just when you’d made your mind up to crawl back to the field where someone would see you and bring you to a med-jack, you heard a crunch of leaves nearby.
“Y/n?” Newt called frantically. When he saw you, the expression on his face made you want to disappear. His eyes were wide, and he cringed as he saw the way you held your leg. Others followed behind him. How he’d gotten here on his leg first, you didn’t know. Must’ve been the little piece of runner still left in him. He dropped down onto his knees beside you, calling out, “Bring the med-jacks, now!”
And then you wound up here, with a makeshift brace around your leg and a boyfriend that wouldn’t stop looking at you with that nauseatingly concerned expression on his face. It was all you could do not to scream in anger and humiliation.
You shook yourself out of the memory and turned away from Newt.
“I know the brace is helping. It’s just– it gets in the way. I’m so much slower than I was, so much less graceful, efficient, I feel… I feel like I just don’t operate like I used to. Like I’m supposed to. It’s so embarrassing. Like, everyone else is pulling their weight but me.”
It was quiet for a moment. Newt only watched as you clenched your fists together, but when he noticed that you were beginning to hold back tears, he reached over and rubbed your back.
“Hey, it’s alright. I understand. Sometimes I feel the same way about my own knee.”
At that, your stomach dropped, and you clapped a hand over your mouth. All the complaining you’d just done must’ve sounded so horrible– so inconsiderate– to him. You’d only been struggling for a week; his knee would trouble him for the rest of his life. And even then, he was trying to make you feel better, like always. That was what made you care so much about him. He always did what he could to make things easier for you, to comfort you, to make you happy.
“I’m so sorry,” you breathed.
“It’s okay, honestly. It’s alright.” Newt scooted closer to you and draped his arm over your shoulder. You leaned into him and took in his warmth, his earthy smell.
“Can I tell you something kind of sad?” he asked, his voice only a whisper. You didn’t know where this was going, but you nodded silently. Newt took a deep breath beside you.
“Aah, okay… you know I used to be a runner and everything, right? Before my knee?”
You nodded again, looking up at him. His brown eyes gazed down into yours with a mixture of affection and anxiety, but he continued on.
“Well, I don’t really ever talk about how I hurt my knee. It’s…” he swallowed. “it’s hard to talk about it now.” He shifted uncomfortably beside you, but you waited patiently.
“I… I really hated it here for a long time. It’s alright now, I’ve sort of made my peace with living here, in a way, but I just couldn’t take being trapped in this box. It drove me mad. One day, while I was on a run, I climbed up some of the vines and ended up on top of one of the maze walls.”
You could hear his heart beating faster now as you leaned against his chest. The next words out of his mouth were barely a whisper.
“I knew this wasn’t what I wanted. I couldn’t stand it. And I… I jumped.”
You gasped and sat up, looking into his face for more information. He only looked back at you with the most heartbreaking expression you’d ever seen on him.
“I wanted to be done. With it all. But, much to my resentment at the time, Alby found me. Dragged me back into the glade just before the doors closed. They fixed me up. I spent about a month under constant supervision from Clint and Jeff, and then I wasn’t allowed to be alone for another few weeks. Everyone thought I’d try again. I… I wanted to.
“It was even worse with my bum leg. Everything was harder, more irritating. I felt more useless every day.”
Hot tears rolled down your face. Newt brought up one hand and wiped them away with his thumb before kissing your forehead.
“I’m so sorry, Newt,” you whispered, and he pulled you in for a tight embrace.
“It’s alright, love,” he whispered back. “Things have gotten better since then. I found I was pretty good at gardening, and now, here I am. Made some new friends as well. And, of course, I met you.”
Newt pulled away and brought his hand back up to your face, resting his palm against your cheek.
“And I promise you I’m here to stay.”
You let out a quiet sob and pulled him in for a kiss. Your lips met passionately, and you ran your fingers through his dirty blond hair. He was as gentle, as loving, as always. When you pulled away, he was smiling.
“Another thing that’s changed though,” he began, “is that I’m seriously afraid of heights now. That fear extends to you. So please, love, please, I’m begging you. No more climbing trees. I almost had a heart attack when I heard you scream”
You let out a surprised laugh before responding.
“Okay, honey. Don’t worry. No more climbing trees. I promise.”
“Good,” he said with a nod. “Now– let’s go get some lunch. We’ll worry about the garden later.”
#requests are open#newt#tmr newt#newt x reader#newt x y/n#newt x you#newt maze runner#tmr#the maze runner fic#the maze runner fluff#newt x reader fluff
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I might need to be put down after this one cuz im fs going feral rn
Jeffrey Dean Morgan as Max
THE RESIDENT (2011)
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Negan x reader pt. 1
Author's note: Guys, I'm sorry, this is so shit. All I've written lately are papers for class, so I just wrote this to get the creative juices flowing. I know its not much, but PART 2 IS COMING AND IT WILL BE FLUFFIER DON'T WORRY!!! Trust the process🙏🙏🙏🙏. I'm planning on having this be a multi-part story because I've been fucking obsessed w this man lately like fucckkkkkk just LOOK AT HIM ARGH anyways let me know if you wanna be in the taglist😘😘
Summary: Female!reader is on her own until she comes across Negan and his men on a supply run.
Warnings: mentions of death, panic attack
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Making it this far was pure luck. When the walkers came, I’d been lucky enough to have a father who’d been in the military and could teach me how to shoot. When we had to leave home and live life out on the road, constantly searching for cans of old food, I’d been lucky enough to always come across something to eat. When it got cold, we got lucky enough to find houses with fireplaces and enough firewood to last us the night.
I guess my luck ran out a month ago when a walker fell out of a closet and latched onto my dad’s throat while we were scoping out another house to stay in.
Since then, I’ve been on my own, running out of bullets, out of gas, out of hope. But I had to keep going. He’d been so sure that we would find others. Survivors. People who could help us. I had to find them– to know that his hope wasn’t for nothing. He’d kept a map with him, and we had been driving in a circular pattern, the center being our house in southern Virginia, looking for evidence of a settlement.
So here I was, staying in the master bedroom of a quaint house with a well-stocked pantry, planning out my next steps– with every closet checked, of course. I was plotting out the highway exit I would take tomorrow when I suddenly heard an engine.
A car engine.
People.
I hurried over to the window and peaked through the blinds. Surprisingly, the people in the trucks and vans stopped just a few houses down from the one I was in. Why didn’t they continue on?
Several men climbed out of a large truck– and all of them were equipped with massive guns. I knew that they were likely for walkers, but the sneers on their faces were unnerving. I watched to see what they would do.
Then, a man with a black leather jacket and a barbed bat hopped out of the cab of another truck and began ordering the men in different directions with a wild smile plastered across his face. Anxiety grew in the pit of my stomach.
After a few minutes, his men came back out of the houses nearest to the trucks with arms full of soup cans and furniture. When they were done, he ordered them to continue on in other houses, pointing directly at the one I was in.
My father might’ve been right– there were other people out there– but I never really considered that they might not want to help me. That they might not want me to join them. Not to mention I hadn’t seen a single woman come out of any car...
I needed to get out before they got here.
I dropped to the floor, grabbed my things as quickly as I could, and shoved them into my pack, but before I could stand, there was a bang from downstairs. I heard men speaking, laughing.
My heart racing, I pulled the closet door open as quietly as I could and slipped inside, listening for a moment before I realized where I stood.
I was standing inside a closet, waiting for someone to finish searching the house.
Images of my father bleeding out on the floor surged into my mind. I gagged as I remembered the foul smell that billowed out of that closet when it opened just moments before I lost him. I remembered his screams, and my hands shaking as I shoved a knife through its skull. And then through his when he died.
Tears streamed down my face, and I covered my mouth, choking back sobs. They couldn’t find me. They couldn’t. I could tell these men wouldn’t allow anything to take them by surprise like my father had. They would shoot first, ask questions later.
I heard footsteps as a few men clomped up the stairs. More tears fell. All I could think of were their guns, and my father’s blood; their knives, and him lying there on the floor.
* * *
“It’s a girl, sir.”
Negan raised a brow.
“A girl? In the house? Alive?”
“Yes, sir. She was hiding in a closet upstairs, crying.” The leader of the Saviors hummed in reply, and stood thinking for a moment.
“Should I… should I bring her out here?” his subordinate asked. He only waved a hand in response and walked toward the house.
Inside, men looked at him with wide eyes and confused expressions. One man-- Nicholas, he believed his name was-- walked up to him and explained that the girl wouldn’t move from the closet floor.
Upon reaching the master bedroom, more of his men bombarded him with dimwitted statements.
“Sir, she won’t move."
“She just keeps crying.”
“Alright, alright, guys. Honestly, it is just a girl. I’m sure you’ve seen one before, so fucking relax,” he said with exasperation in his voice. He stopped when he heard a sniffle from the closet, then walked over and peered inside.
Though Negan wasn’t known for his big heart, he was sure his broke a little when he saw the young woman that sat before him.
* * *
“All of you, out. Now.”
That was all the man in the leather jacket had to say for the room to become empty again, save for the two of us. I was still on the floor, my chest heaving, my hands shaking.
The man squatted in front of me, bat in hand. It was chipped and cracked in several spots, especially at the head. In the blemishes, I swore I saw faint splotches of red. I thought I would vomit.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” he said, in a voice that sounded as if he was speaking to a cornered animal. In a way, I suppose, he was.
“Are you alright? Why are you crying? You hurt?”
I inhaled, meaning to respond, but all I could manage was another weak cry.
The man cocked his head to the side a bit, then looked down at the bat in his hand, realizing what was the matter. He tossed it behind him onto the bed, then turned back to me and raised his hands and continued.
“Sorry about that. Sometimes I forget I’ve even got her in my hands... I’m Negan. What’s your name, doll?”
With the bat out of sight, it was a bit easier to concentrate on his hands, his face. Though he looked quite rugged, with a shaggy beard and thick eyebrows, his brown eyes were soft, inviting.
“Y/n,” I whispered after a moment. My voice was hoarse, and I let out a cough. He sat down fully on the ground and crossed his legs.
“I’m sorry, can you say that one more time? I didn’t quite catch it.”
“Sorry… It’s-- it's Y/n,” I repeated, wringing my hands together as I spoke. He smiled.
“Y/n. What a beautiful name. It suits you, it really does. Look, I’m sorry we scared you, sweetheart. Is this your house? We didn’t know anyone was here when we came in.”
I shook my head.
“No, this isn’t my house. I was just passing through.” The man, Negan, nodded.
“Are you by yourself, honey?”
I hesitated. He put his hands up again.
“I promise, we don’t wanna hurt you. We were just lookin’ for supplies to take back with us.” My eyes widened as I recalled what I had been thinking when Negan’s trucks first arrived on the street. This could be my chance to escape the world my father hadn’t been able to. This is what he would have wanted for me, I knew it.
“I… yes, I’m alone. I have been for a while now.” A short whistle sounded from Negan’s lips.
“You’ve been surviving out here all on your own? That’s fucking badass, I hope you know that.”
I smiled shyly, looking down at my lap and sniffling.
“Hey, have you eaten in a while?” he asked. “We’ve got a few sandwiches, apples, some sodas, down in one of the trucks. I’m sure we could spare some for you if you’re hungry.”
“I don't wanna take your lunch–”
“Aw, don’t worry about it, doll. There’s plenty extra. But I appreciate you bein’ so considerate,” he explained, finishing with a smile. He must’ve known he was making progress with me. I wiped my eyes a bit.
“C’mon, let’s go grab you something to eat,” he said, standing up and holding his large hand out to me. Looking up at him from where I sat, I could imagine how meek I must’ve looked– how embarrassingly harmless. But looking up at him stirred something in me. His confident half-smile, his slicked back hair-- his entire persona was so charming, so comforting.
I grabbed his hand, and he pulled me up with ease before grabbing his bat and leading me downstairs.
* * *
“You feel like having another?” Negan asked as I finished my second peanut butter and jelly. We sat in the dusty cab of the truck he’d come in, and he tapped his fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel while watching me eat. I shook my head.
“No, I’m okay, thanks,” I responded. The bed of the truck shifted up and down as men piled boxes of supplies into it. If they needed this much stuff, I thought, there had to be a ton of people where they came from that were planning to use it. With that in mind, I cleared my throat to ask the question I’d been gathering the guts to ask since I’d sat down.
“Negan,” I began, and he hummed. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything you want, honey,” he said, a smile spreading across his face. I blushed and looked away, then carried on.
“You said you were taking the supplies back with you…”
“Mmhmm,” he grunted, gently urging me to continue.
“Back to where, exactly?” I whispered. He twisted to face me more in his seat.
“We’ve got sort of a compound set up,” he explained. “It’s not too far from here. It’s got fences, walls. Lots of people, and plenty more food to go around.”
All this time, my father had been right, and then some. People weren’t just surviving out here in this world– they were thriving.
“Do you… have any extra space?”
Negan laughed heartily.
“For you, doll? Abso-friggin-lutely.”
I nodded.
“So I can… I can come back with you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I’d love to have you come back with us, y/n. Can’t leave a pretty thing like you with them ugly sons of bitches, now can I? You’d be much more protected there than you are here, I can tell you that.”
* * *
About an hour later, Negan sent a grumbling Dwight to find a new seat in another truck and was driving back to the compound with y/n in the passenger seat.
She was a cute little thing, he’d decided, and he’d been watching her shamelessly since he’d brought her outside. Her teary, guarded eyes, her cute little pout, everything about her was fucking adorable.
Although, he was also amazed at how long she’d held up out here. People like her, people who hid and cried instead of standing and fighting, those people were pretty much gone by now. How had she made it this far?
He struck up a polite conversation, asking questions here and there. There had to be some explanation for how she’d survived for all this time. After a few minutes, though, it was clear that the questions were making her nervous. His curiosity about her was eating away at him as he drove– he was used to getting answers faster than this. But he supposed he could wait this time.
The sweet girl beside him sat silently for the rest of the drive, and though the questions piled up in his mind, Negan was smiling.
#twd negan#twd negan smith#negan smith x reader#negan#the walking dead#negan fanfiction#negan smith fanfiction#negan x y/n#negan fluff#negan smith fluff#the walking dead negan#the walking dead negan smith#fanfic
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i will never get over this man i fear !!!!
taglist : @versatilehater @ilovedilfstoomuch @taylormarieee @empty-malboro-box @nadiasgf @blackvelveteen1339
if you want to join the taglist comment here
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GOD FUCKING DAMN
Aaron Taylor-Johnson as Tangerine
⤷ Bullet Train, 2022 | dir. David Leitch
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phases of Negan staring at your ass when you walk away….
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He knew exactly what he was doing in this scene
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Fuck yeah I do😤😤
*Very original statement*
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Y/N: Eddie, what are you doing?
Eddie: Making chocolate pudding.
Y/N: It's four in the morning, why are you making chocolate pudding?
Eddie: Because I've lost control of my life.
Eddie: Here's your pudding, Venom.
Venom: Oh that's ok, I'm not hungry anymore.
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