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alyssaforevermore · 4 months

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Unearthed ↦ Daryl Dixon season one, part one

Synopsis: Based on the events of The Walking Dead television series, Y/N Grimes, younger sister of Rick Grimes, attempts to survive in a world now inhabited by walkers. Family has always meant everything to her, but in this new world, can she keep her family safe and together?

Show: The Walking Dead (S1-S11)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Warnings: coarse language, violence, character deaths, drug and alcohol references, series spoilers and general The Walking Dead content warnings!

Masterlist

If there was one thing you’d learned in your twenty-six years of life, it was that nothing was ever easy; well, almost nothing. You’d grown accustomed to things falling apart, no matter how hard you tried to keep it all together. The only thing you were ever able to keep together was your family.

You grew up in Georgia with your parents and your older brother, Rick. Your mother was a homemaker, always around to support you through your childhood. Your father had fought in the war before you were born, something you had heard little about in your lifetime. He didn’t like to talk about it with you, besides once when you were eight years old. It wasn’t much of a shock when your brother decided to become a deputy for the local sheriff's department. He was so much like your father, always wanting to rush in and save anyone he could. As much as that scared you, you always told yourself that, like your father, he would be okay. That was until his best friend and partner, Shane Walsh, showed up at your front door one afternoon.

You opened the front door of your apartment, Shane standing in front of you with two deputies standing just a little down the hall.

The look on Shane’s face and the way he spoke your name told you everything.

“Is he dead?” You asked, cutting to the chase.

Shane frowned. “He’s in surgery right now. I just dropped off Lori and Carl at the hospital.”

“What happened?”

“There was a chase. We were told there were only two men in the car, but-“ he trailed off. “I’m so sorry.”

You stood in the doorway, trying to process the emotions that were rushing over you like waves crashing the shore. You knew this was a possibility, a risk of the job, but you’d never really let yourself accept that. Finally, your mind shifted to Carl, his son.

“How is Carl handling it?” You asked. “Is he okay?”

Shane nodded. “You know him, always hopeful. He’s stronger than any of us.”

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile among the tears you felt racing down your cheek. Shane was right; Carl had a way to make even the hardest of moments a little easier.

“I should get to the hospital, keep Lori company.” You responded.

“I’ll drive you.”

You nodded, grabbing your keys from the table by your front door.

With you working at the hospital, you spent all of your time there, waiting for your brother to wake up from his coma. You were constantly sending updates to Lori, who you tried to convince to go home and have a proper rest each night. It wasn’t like there was much to update her on though, only really the fact that he was still alive. The most time that passed, the more you began to lose hope.

As if Rick being in a coma wasn’t hard enough to handle, it would only be less than a week until the entire world fell apart.

~.~

You had left the hospital for the first time that night, realizing how badly you needed a proper sleep. With the influx of flu cases, you were past the point of exhaustion. Knowing how bad the city was at the moment, you decided to spend the night at Rick and Lori’s house; It was closer to the hospital anyways.

The next morning you awoke to the sound of movement in the kitchen. Checking the clock, you realized it was already eleven.

You pulled yourself from the couch, making your way into the kitchen to find Lori who was making coffee.

You greeted her with a smile, sitting down at the table.

“He still hasn’t woken up…” Lori mumbled, pouring two cups of coffee. She headed over to the table, sitting down beside you and offering you one of the cups.

“He will,” You spoke, squeezing her hand. “Rick is a fighter. He’ll wake up, I know it.”

Lori tried to muster a smile. “Every morning, every time I pick him up from school, Carl asks me if his daddy is awake yet. Every time I tell him no, I feel like I’m breaking his heart even more.”

It was hard for you to find the words to say to Lori. You weren’t a parent and you had no idea how you would handle the father of your child being where Rick is. All you could do is listen to Lori and try to reassure her, even if you weren’t entirely sure you believed what you were saying.

Rick had always been the strong one; the one who kept it together and let the rest of you lean on him. Now, it was your turn to be the strong one and you finally realized just how much you did need your big brother. How were you going to keep it together if he was gone?

~.~

The question plaguing your mind would be answered sooner than you could have ever expected. Carl was already home from school and you were just about to leave for your shift when Shane came rushing through the front door.

He was freaking out, speaking of things you didn’t understand.

“This illness, whatever it is, is getting worse. It’s not safe here anymore. We have to leave, now.”

Shane urged you all to go with him, saying there was a safe zone in the city. When Lori had asked about Rick, after sending Carl to grab some clothes, Shane’s face fell.

“He’s gone,” Shane spoke. “I went to the hospital first and he’s gone. I’m sorry.”

You’d barely had a moment to process the loss of your brother, Shane rushing you and Lori to collect your things and load up his car. All you had was the clothes on your back, having been in a constant loop of washing the same clothes for the last week. Lori had packed up all the photo albums, a sentimentality you’d always appreciated in her.

The four of you made your way towards the city, the sky falling dark before you got anywhere close. Traffic wasn’t moving, cars lined up as far as your eyes could see. Many people were outside their cars, chatting with those around them.

That is how you met Carol Peletier, her husband Ed, and their daughter Sophia. Carol was a quiet and sweet woman, offering Carl food soon after you’d met. Her husband, on the other hand, was the complete opposite; cold and controlling. Seeing the way Ed was around his wife, you were reminded of the many women you’d treated in the ER. It made your blood boil, but you tried to keep it contained.

Shane and Lori had wandered off for a bit, wanting to see if they could see the entrance to the city; if they were actually letting anyone in. You stayed behind to keep an eye on Carl.

As you stood outside the car, your eyes fixed on the city ahead, you felt a pit begin to build in your stomach. Fighter jets flew over your head on their way towards the city. Before you knew it, the ground began to rumble as fire and explosions lit the night sky.

They were bombing the city.

Shane and Lori quickly returned, Shane having a new plan and inviting Carol, Ed and Sophia along. The drive towards the Quarry was quiet, each of you silently taking in the events of the night.

Your brother was dead.

Society had fallen into disrepair.

It felt as though you were living a nightmare, one you couldn’t force yourself to wake up from. Now, all you had left was Shane, Lori and Carl and you would do anything to keep them safe.

~.~

A month had passed since the outbreak began. Over time more people had joined us at the Quarry, and it started to feel like a little community. The dead rarely traveled up here, which almost made you forget what was happening in the world.

A small group has gone into the city for supplies, a dangerous task considering the streets were filled with the dead. It had been almost a full day since they left, and everyone was beginning to panic, especially one of the girls’ sister Amy. You had gotten a radio call from one of them earlier that morning, saying they were stuck in a building surrounded by the dead. As much as you wanted to believe they’d find a way out, your hope was slowly dying.

For a moment your mind drifted to your brother, wondering what he would do in this situation. You knew he’d be leaving this camp, heading for the city to at least try to save them. Shane was against that, and you weren’t about to fight him on that. As much as you felt for the others, your only concern was your family and they were safe at camp.

The sound of an alarm blaring in the distance caught everyone’s attention, sending most of you rushing towards the main road leading to camp.

You, however, ran towards the RV, an older man standing up there using a pair of binoculars. “Dale, you see what that is?”

The man remained quiet, continuing to stare into the binoculars.

Shane came to your side. “Talk to me, Dale.”

“I can’t tell yet.” He finally responded.

“Is it them? Are they back?” Amy asked, an obvious hopefulness in her voice.

“I’ll be damned.”

“What is it?”

Dale shrugged. “A stolen car is my guess.”

You waited a few minutes before a red Charger sped into the camp. A young man, Glenn, hopped out of the passenger seat, smiling ear to ear.

“Hey,”

“Holy crap,” Dale grumbled. “Turn that thing off!”

“I don’t know how.” Glenn confessed.

Shane headed over to the car. “Pop the hood please.”

Amy rushed over as well, clinging to Glenn. “My sister Andrea-“

“Pop the damn hood!” Shane snapped.

“Alright, alright!” Glenn responded, popping the hood.

“Is she okay? Is Andrea alright?”

Glenn nodded. “She’s okay.”

The alarm stopped, Shane stepping back from the vehicle and taking a deep breath.

“She’s coming back?”

“Yes.”

Amy continued. “Why isn’t she with you?”

Glenn sighed. “She’s okay. Everybody is. Well, Merle not so much.”

Merle Dixon. The current bane of your existence. He was so much of what you hated about humanity, personified in one single person.

Shane marched over to Glenn. “Are you crazy, driving this wailing bastard up here? Are you trying to draw every walker for miles?”

Dale shook his head. “I think we’re okay.”

“You call being stupid okay?”

“Well, the alarm was echoing all over these hills. Hard to pinpoint the source. I'm not arguing. I'm just saying.” Dale responded before turning to Glenn. “It wouldn't hurt you to think things through a little more carefully next time, would it?”

“I’m sorry.” Glenn nodded. “I got a cool car though.”

You nodded, folding your arms across your chest. “It is pretty sweet.”

“See?” Glenn chuckled.

As everyone began to welcome Glenn back, a truck slowly pulled in behind the Charger. Andrea was the first to hop out, her legs shaking as her feet hit the ground.

“Amy.” She called out.

“Andrea!” Amy cheered, rushing over to her sister and pulling her into a hug. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Andrea replied, pulling away and holding her sister's face in her hands. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Next a man named Morales hopped out, his wife and kids running over to greet him.

Dale smiled. “I thought we had lost you folks for sure.”

“How’d y’all get out of there anyway?”

“New guy,” Morales replied. “He got us out.”

“New guy?” You asked.

“Yeah, crazy dude just got into town.” Morales nodded before looking back at the truck. “Helicopter boy! Come say hello.”

Your eyes drifted to Amy and Andrea, still holding one another as Amy continued to ask if Andrea was okay. They made you think of your brother. You would give just about anything to see him again; to be able to hug him and know he was okay.

“Oh my god.”

Your eyes widened, the voice all too familiar. You slowly turned your head, your jaw just about falling to the ground.

“Rick?”

“Dad!” Carl's voice rang out as he ran towards his father.

Rick took his son in his arms, falling to his knees. “Carl.” He choked, tears falling down his cheeks.

Lori ran over, joining the hug and burying her head in her husband's neck. You watched on, frozen in disbelief.

The hug was over and Rick turned his attention to you, his eyes still full of tears.

He called your name, his voice breaking.

You finally allowed yourself to breathe again, all feeling in your body springing back to life. How was this possible? Shane had told you he was dead.

Pushing your confusion aside, you walked towards your brother, pulling him into a hug.

“I thought you were dead.” You whispered in his ear, your voice breaking.

The two of you pulled away from each other and Rick smiled softly. “You think I’d want to miss all of this?”

You chuckled, a tear falling down your cheek.

Shane soon caught your eye, standing behind the hood of one of the cars. You expected him to be smiling and laughing like everyone else, but instead, his face was the same as it had been the night he told you Rick had been shot.

----

AN: Thank you for reading this first chapter, I really hope you all enjoyed it! If you'd like to request to be tagged in future chapters, you can do so here. Please be sure to like and reblog <3

#daryl dixon; unearthed #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 1 year

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Words: 5,746 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: S10/S11, The Reapers Warnings: strong language, violence, gore, blood and injury, angsttttt A/N: All gifs made by me. :) This is Part 9 of a series! Find all the parts on my pinned post, the Master List! Summary: The group continues through the subway tunnel and runs into trouble with the dead. Coming out on the other side, they set off to resupply and regroup.

Previous Chapter - Part 8

As if the creaking and groaning in the pipes wasn’t bad enough, then you came to the corpses. None of you had seen the massive walker rise up behind Gage and Negan was the first one to spring into action. He managed to pin it up against the wall, but it struggled against him, nearly overpowering him as everyone stood watching. It looked as if Negan wouldn’t be able to hold it. “Ah, shit,” you swore aloud and darted over and stabbed it in the side of the head with your blade with a grunt of effort. It stilled immediately and slid down against the wall at your feet. Negan stumbled back, out of breath. “Jesus...” he murmured, glancing at the slime and skin that had slipped off the enormous rotter with disgust. You didn’t say anything in return and the two of you looked back at the rest of the group. All eyes were on you and Negan. You hung back and kept your mouth shut as the arguing started and rose to a near fatal conclusion.

Things didn’t get any better… It wasn’t long after, when you’d all nearly finished your work on clearing the tunnel, that Alden realized Gage and Roy were gone, along with most of the supplies you’d all set aside.

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. “This is what all our fucking arguing got us. That’s most of our rations, our batteries for the flashlights. And we’re blocked here anyway,” you said, gesturing to the train car. Negan was wise enough to keep his mouth shut. Daryl punching him across the face to shut him up seemed to have made an impression, even if it was mostly to avoid Maggie’s rage overboiling and activating her itchy trigger finger.

There was more discussion about what to do next when Daryl suddenly shushed everyone and held up a hand. Growls, a distinctive sound despite the echo off the arched stone walls. The beams of your flashlights illuminated an approaching herd. Too many to count. Perhaps they’d wandered in to instinctively seek shelter from the storm, some part of their diseased brains compelling them to go underground. Perhaps it was random movement or pure coincidence. Whatever it was, you all snapped into action.

You stood alongside Daryl and the others as you readied your bow. Gabriel and Alden frantically tried to pry open the subway car door, but it was jammed shut. Arrows flew and weapons swung and knives plunged, but there were just too many. By the time Daryl gave the call to fall back you were already splattered with walker blood nearly head to tow.

“Up on top! Go! Go!” Daryl yelled. He ushered you toward the car and gave you a frantic look. “I’ll be right behind you,” he said.

“You better be,” you said, stretching and reaching for the first handhold you could find. You’d just been hauled to safety with the help of the others when you heard Dog barking and Daryl frantically shouting after him.

“Dog, no! Dog!” Daryl started toward the side where there was a narrow space in the rubble that Dog had apparently run through. You heard him yell to Maggie. “Meet me at the other end!”

“Daryl, wait! No—Daryl, wait!” Maggie’s frantic voice answered. You knew right then what you had to do, and you swung yourself over the back of the subway car and dropped to your feet again, perhaps a bit clumsily. Negan and Maggie looked at you in surprise. Maggie looked fearful.

“See you on the other side,” you shouted over the approaching growls. “You better go! Go! Climb!” you yelled over your shoulder. You darted after Daryl and soon caught up to him just inside the tight tunnel.

“Y/N?” he looked behind himself at your huddled form over the broken concrete. “No—go back! Stay with the others and—ain’t no way to know where this is goin’ or what’s on the other end!”

“I told you—I’m not separating from you if I can help it! Now hurry up. We need to get to Dog,” you said with finality.

Daryl gulped and turned back around, squeezing himself through the debris. You followed closely behind, glancing over your shoulder as if you expected the horde to follow you in. Finally, Dog’s barking was closer and you came upon an opening in the concrete that had clearly been made in the shape of a door. Daryl stepped out and turned around to take you hand and help you. His fingers squeezed around yours gently and he gave you a worried look. “I shoulda listened to ya. I mean fuck Negan, but I shoulda listened to ya. ‘M sorry,” he said, regret thick and heavy on his tongue.

“It’s okay. We’ll be fine. As long as we’re together, right?”

He nodded solemnly and then turned to look at your surroundings. You were in the remains of an underground camp in an old decommissioned tunnel. Dog was panting at Daryl’s side. It was eerie and silent and the air seemed heavy and dank. Daryl lifted the beam of his flashlight and shone it over graffitied words and a sprawling mural depicting a conflict of the classes. You noticed him swallow thickly and saw that his eyes were slightly glassy. You grabbed his hand again and laced your fingers with his and he looked down at it.

Your eyes wandered over the wall again and the detritus of people who were no longer here. “Do you think this is from before or… or after?” you asked him softly.

The muscle in his jaw clenched. “Both,” he said. “C’mon. Let’s see if there’s anythin’ worth takin’ now that most of our supplies are gone.” You nodded and the two of you started to move on slowly, scanning the heaps of moldering sleeping bags and clothes for anything useful. Daryl picked up a small plastic bag. He pulled out a 100-dollar bill and you read it in the glow of his light. Next, his fingers found a Polaroid photo of two smiling kids, a brother and a sister.

Your heart ached and your stomach felt hollow, as if it suddenly contained a chasm of space that was pushign up on your lungs. Daryl’s free hand drifted toward the left breast of his vest beneath his poncho and landed over the Polaroid of the two of you, stitched in safely there. His hand squeezed yours again and then he rolled the plastic bag closed and stuck it into his pack. There was another moment of silence and then he glanced over at you. “Back there. When ya helped Negan—”

You sighed and nodded. “I know. I—Look, I know what he did. He took a father away from his wife and child. He tortured you and who knows how many other people in one way or another… He’s got blood on his hands that will never completely wash off. But in moments like that—” you searched for the right words, hesitating. “I—I can’t just stand by and not help someone who is supposedly on our side now. Even if it is Negan.”

Daryl nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Okay. Yer—yer a better person than I am,” he drawled, ducking his eyes. His hair fell into his face. “Ya always have been.”

“That’s not true.”

Just then, before you could say anything further, Dog took off in response to unexpected echoing yells and raced to a large drain culvert and jumped inside, paying no attention to Daryl’s shouts.

“Fuck!” Daryl growled, peering inside. His flashlight hardly seemed to penetrate the gloom. He shot an anxious look back at you and then closed his eyes for a long moment when you only nodded stoically. When he opened them again, he climbed in and you slipped inside after him.

The dark was disorienting and the tunnel walls seemed to shrink in around you as you crawled and hunched your way through. The growls and moaning of walkers echoed in the network of metal and stone, bouncing off walls and ricocheting in ways that made it impossible to tell which direction they were coming from. Your knees were scraped and aching from the cobbled stone and metal. Your hands were cold from the moisture pooling in the low, stagnant spots. You could only imagine what the two of you would look like when you emerged at the other end… if you emerged.

Right when you thought you were almost out, there was a sudden growl from an offshoot of the culvert beside you. You looked back just in time to see a gnarled hand shoot out and grip your boot. Some noise of surprise must have escaped you because Daryl was yelling your name. “Y/N! No!”

Your hand fumbled with your sheath and landed on the handle of your knife. You struggled to maneuver in the tight space but after what seemed both entirely too long and lightning speed, you freed yourself from the walker’s grip and lunged with your blade, finding your mark in the skull.

“Are you okay?” Daryl asked desperately, laying on his back, half sitting to look at you. You nodded, gasping in hurried breaths.

There was no time to recover as heavy iron behind him clanged where the exit had just been. More walkers had bumped into the grate, slamming it closed, and they now reached their bony arms through, grappling at the air. “Stay here!” he said gruffly.

“Daryl—!” but he had already pushed himself into the grate, hurling the walkers back as it opened and sending him tumbling down to the floor. You army crawled as fast as you could to the edge of the culvert, gripping his crossbow where he’d left it. But he quickly righted himself and put down the two dead with a few swings of his mace. He glanced up and down the tunnel he’d emerged into before rushing back to take his crossbow onto his shoulder again and to help you out onto your feet. “Are ya good?” he asked you again, studying your face. He couldn’t see any sign of injury. You were both damp from the heavy moisture in the air. Your hair was sticking to your cheeks and your neck. Your eyes were a little wide. He would have clasped your face if his hands weren’t absolutely filthy.

You nodded. “I’m good. Are you?”

“Fine,” he drawled, turning to look into the blackness ahead. Dog’s bark was echoing in the distance. “I dunno what the hell has gotten into him…”

“Let’s go find out,” you said, starting forward again. Daryl walked beside you, clearing on edge. His eyes scanned behind and in front alternately, and then he put out an arm to stop you. His eyes narrowed as he looked ahead toward a dark stain on the ground. He adjusted his grip on his crossbow and stepped protectively ahead of you, shining his light toward the pool that glistened ominously.

You followed just behind him and finally were able to see that it was fresh blood, and not blood from a walker… It was a deep, violent red. Your stomach twisted. “Daryl��”

Suddenly a figure materialized in the dark, staggering toward you. Daryl nearly let a bolt fly, but then he registered that it was Roy right as your breath left your lungs in a puff. He collapsed. The blood was his. Behind him trailed walkers, and in a flash, Dog streaked out of nowhere and took one down, fighting with it ferociously until Daryl could get a shot and it went still.

You pulled out your knife again and rushed one of the others, plunging the blade into its head. Beside you, Daryl dropped his bow and pulled his twin knives from their sheaths in a purposeful movement and he dropped the remaining walker with almost ease.

“Roy!” you said, spinning and hurrying to where he had collapsed. He was covered in blood. “Shit… Shit!” You fumbled with your pack, digging into the front pocket for the med kit. Daryl knelt down beside you and the two of you exchanged a grave look.

Roy let out a wry laugh and coughed up blood onto the concrete. “I can see from your faces that this’ll probably be the last mistake I ever make. Here,” he pulled out his gun and a hand grenade and held them out to Daryl. “Don’t waste any supplies on me. Just—tell my kids I didn’t die a coward.”

You shut your eyes and hung your head. Kids. The man had kids... he was scared and he made a mistake. “Hey. I’m not giving up on you. Come on. Let me patch you up as best I can,” you said.

“Where’s the ammo bag?” Daryl pressed Roy.

“I lost it. And I lost Gage… Please—just—make it quick.” He coughed thickly again.

Daryl’s jaw tightened. “Nah. Ya hang here ‘til we figure this shit out, alright? We’ll come back for ya. Just hang on.”

“We have to get back to the others,” you said, already shouldering your bag again when Daryl was back beside you, greeting Dog happily and scolding him at the same time. “Daryl, he said there are walkers everywhere. What if they’re trapped back there on the subway car still?”

“Yeah… c’mon…”

You were barely there in time. The rest of your group was trapped. On one end, a barricaded door, and on the other a herd of walkers. There were walkers ahead of you too, between you and the barricade, but less than were bearing down on your friends on the other side. You, Daryl, and Dog crept up from behind. You fingered your bowstring, itching to start, an arrow nocked. Daryl loosened his knives and then raised the pistol. You gave him a slow nod to tell him you were ready, and he aimed and pulled the trigger. An arrow whizzed past him and buried itself deeply into the head of the next walker, still covered in the spray of the one whose head had just exploded with Daryl’s bullet. You moved forward swiftly, like a force to be reckoned with, like the storm above, clearing the path to the others. When Daryl ran out of bullets, his knives sang.

He tugged the seat blocking the door out of the way and between him and Negan, they managed to force it open. Your found family poured through. As a final parting, Daryl shoved the hand grenade into the mouth of an advancing walker and kicked it back into the next car, slamming the compartment door closed again. He dove down over you where you were huddled behind a seat, shielding you with his body, as it exploded and vaporized the herd in the next car into nothing more than a sickening spray of gore.

You all slowly rose, glancing around, relieved that you’d managed the narrow escape. Maggie gave you both grateful looks and let out a long exhale. “Thank you. You make a pretty good team,” she said, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

“Wouldn’t mind keepin’ you two around,” Alden joked. Everyone’s hearts lifted, just a little.

Luckily, there were no more surprises during the rest of your underground trip, and you emerged from the station to find that the storm had broken and the sky was clear. An infinite number of stars shown overhead. You found yourself staring, drawing in deep lungfuls of life-giving cool, after-rain air. Daryl was watching you staring. He could see the stars reflected in your eyes—or wait—no. Maybe that was just you shining. Even covered in filth and splattered with walker blood, nothing seemed to dim you.

His hand went to his pocket and he pulled out the 100-dollar bill again, looking at the dark writing and thinking of those two smiling kids in that picture, them huddled around the radio—waiting and hoping. He wondered if they’d made it out, if they’d ever found anywhere safe again. You sank down next to him, close enough that your shoulder and leg were against his. Dog came and sat between your knees and you bent to scratch his chest and kiss the top of his head. Daryl tucked the bill inside his glove and you studied his expression. It was thoughtful and sad. You wished you were alone so you could kiss him right then… Instead, you reached over and rested your hand briefly on the bare skin of his forearm. Your pointer finger swept back and forth, and Daryl glanced over at you again and felt some flickering of warmth start between his lungs again.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were nearly to the hidden supply depot to restock and rest up, when up ahead, something horrific, still encased in deep shadow, loomed. Your inhale was a sharp hiss of breath through your teeth and your hand went reflexively to the handle of your knife. “Daryl…”

A few more steps and it was clear to everyone. Corpses. Rows of corpses, strung up and hanging by their feet. There was one row on each side of the road, lining it like poplar trees on some kind of perverse boulevard. You further loosened your knife in its sheath. “It’s them,” you said. Your voice was steely but Daryl thought he could hear a slight shake in it. “This is them.”

Daryl swung his crossbow off his shoulder and readied it in his hands, squinting ahead into the dark.

Your hand landed on his arm. It felt surprisingly cold and heavy—unlike your usual touch. Or was his perception of you being tainted by the horror show he was staring at? When you spoke again, your voice was more urgent. “We need to get to—” Cover. You’d been about to say “cover.” Too late.

Chaos. Nightmarish, abrupt chaos. Roy dropped to the ground dead with an arrow in his face. Cole’s hand was sliced clean off with a sharp knife that also embedded in his leg. Your group scattered for the trees like frightened rabbits in front of a fox.

“Y/N?!” Daryl whirled, searching for you, but you seemed to have vanished. Yells punctuated the darkness. A draft of air passed his head and he ducked, aware that a knife had flown right past him. He crouched and squinted into the darkness, his heart pounding—was it pounding? Or had it stopped altogether? “Y/N!” he yelled, unable to hear his own voice over the rush of blood in his ears. And just like that—he realized he was seemingly alone, with only Dog nearby. The silence was close, pressing closer, and ominous.

“Okay… okay…” he tried to slow down his racing mind and focus. Where were you? You’d been right beside him when Roy was hit—and then—fuck! It was all too chaotic! He was disoriented in the trees, in the darkness. He felt it all over again—the way your hand and then your fingertips had slipped away… or were pulled? Were you pulled away from him? He shook his head as if that would do fuck all to clear his thinking up. “Focus. Fuckin’ focus,” he muttered to himself, rising from where he was crouching and scanning the ground nearby, hardly daring to step away from the tree he’d been sheltering behind. But he needed to find a trace of you; a track, a scuffmark, a piece of gear, even one of your arrows, or—

He felt a painful jolt rip through him as his eyes landed on a dark splotch in the dirt. He stopped cold. All warmth seemed to leave his veins. He gripped his crossbow with white knuckles. He moved closer and stared at it, bending down on one knee. There was Roy, dead on the ground. Here—he touched a scrape in the dirt—he’d been here… and you. You were just beside him, on the side where that stain glared back at him, looking almost deep purple in the dark and the dust.

As much as he wanted to, he didn’t dare call out for you again, even though every fiber of his being was revolting against his silence. You couldn’t have gone far yet. It’d been only seconds—right? It wasn’t even minutes yet… You had to be nearby still, especially if you were injured. But if he called out, gave away his position—no. He couldn’t get to you, couldn’t help you if he was dead. He stayed silent and it was killing him. It was like Atlanta all over again. You’d been together. And then you were suddenly, cruelly rended apart. He felt your touch slip from him and he willed it not to be the last time he felt your hand on his arm, your skin on his.

Maybe it wasn’t yours. Maybe it wasn’t your blood. Maybe you’d gotten one of them with your knife. He whistled for Dog and pointed to the blood spot. “C’mon. C’mon, boy. We gotta find her. Track. C’mon!”

A sudden rustling in some brush nearby and Daryl rocketed to his feet. A dark clad figure disappeared into the deeper shadow of the woods. “Dog!” He whistled again and signaled for Dog to follow, and they took off at a desperate speed. If you were nearby and injured, he wasn’t going to let this asshole be the one to find you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You pressed your back hard into the bark of the tree behind you. The bite of the ridges and edges barely distracted from the pain as you pressed the sterile gauze into the wound on your side with two fingers. You tasted blood in your mouth from biting down on your cheek in an attempt to stifle any noise that might escape you. Blinding white hot pain and then a deeper streak of ruby red exploded behind your eyes.

Daryl. Where was Daryl? You could still practically feel his arm beneath your hand. Roy had dropped, you’d scattered. He’d been right beside you… and then suddenly The Reapers were on you. You’d felt the icy cold slash of a knife in your side and then it was burning with heat. You’d thrown yourself farther into the trees, moving from the deepest shadow to the deepest shadow.

Behind you, a stick cracked in the deathly quiet and you stopped breathing. Your eyes flew wide open again. Your heart pounded. Your lungs were tight. You turned, angling your ear toward the sound. Someone was walking toward you. It sounded a little jolting, as if they were limping. You hastily pressed a gauze pad down over the packed wound in your side and tugged your shirt down again. It clung to your skin, soaked and sticky with blood. You gulped and gripped the handle of your knife tightly, holding it up near your chest, ready to use it, pressing yourself back against the tree.

The soft steps approached and then hesitated off to your left and you shut your eyes for a brief moment before deciding you’d better be the one to strike first. You gritted your teeth against the pain and leapt to your feet, throwing yourself around the tree trunk at the figure, your blade raised.

But it struck metal and ricocheted off. You nearly doubled over from the excruciating sensations rippling through you from your side. Then, you were shocked when the figure was supporting you, gripping your forearms. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Shit, if it weren’t for my handiness with a goddamn crowbar, you would have just skewered me,” he exclaimed, helping you straighten up.

“Negan,” you said through your gritted teeth, clutching a hand to your side again.

“Yeah, unfortunately it’s just me,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes went to the dark stains down the side of your clothes. You noticed his furrowed brow.

“It’s nothing,” you said, doing your best to stand up tall and straight again.

“Yeah, well, that nothing happens to look suspiciously like a pretty fucking serious injury,” he countered. “Or you slipped and fell in somebody’s bucket o’ blood. I wouldn't put anything past these freaks...”

You glared at him. “It’s not life-threatening, is what I meant.”

“Oh, so you don’t need blood. Okay. Got it,” he said sarcastically. “That’s a new one for me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut against another jolt of that white hot and violent red pain bursting behind your eyes. “I meant—look, conveniently I was shot once in almost the exact same place, okay? I’ll be fine. There are no major vessels there and no vital organs,” you snapped back.

“Interesting,” Negan nodded. “I’m sure that’s a story I want to hear but now probably isn’t the time.” He gripped your upper arm again as you wavered a little on your feet. “Also, it should be noted that I consider all my organs to be rather fucking vital. Just so we’re clear on that.” You were too distracted by another wave of pain to scoff anything back. “Come on. We’ve gotta get the fucking hell out of here before these psychos find us.”

It was then that you noticed the binding around his leg. You’d be willing to bet no one had gotten away completely unscathed… if they’d gotten away at all. “Wait. The others—did you see what happened to them?” you asked.

His eyebrows lifted. “Roy’s definitely dead. I can tell you that much. That karma sure kicks in fast, doesn’t it? Come on.”

“Wait! No—did you see—did—”

Negan suddenly sighed and his shoulders seemed to sag at the desperate look on your face. He shook his head. “I didn’t see Daryl,” he said, his tone sincere. “But if I’ve learned anything about him over the years—it’s that he, out of everyone, will be A-fuckin’ okay.”

You swallowed at a sudden constriction in your throat. “Fuck,” you muttered, pressing your hand down again over your side. “You’re right. We have to get the fuck out of here, and fast. Can you do fast?” you asked him.

He cocked his head at you. “Can you?”

“I said I’ll be fine. Now, where the fuck do we go?”

“Anywhere but here,” Negan said. He started off away into the trees, a limp in his walk, and you followed after him, slightly hunched, still checking over your shoulder with a knife in one hand.

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was nearly light out by the time you came on a dilapidated old house. But there was a solid door and most of the windows were boarded up and Negan didn’t like the gray tinge to your complexion or the cold sweat beading up on your face or neck. His leg also felt as if he was walking around with a giant splinter in the muscle. “I think this is as good as it gets. We better take a rest in here for a while and regroup. We’ve put a good amount of distance between us and that Halloween town.”

You shot him a look, and although you were exhausted and pale, it was still sharp. “Halloween town?” you repeated.

“Yeah, the hanging human piñatas, psychos in masks…” he said, limping up to the door and tapping on it with his crowbar. He paused listening for growls but it was silent, so he wedged the iron edge of the crowbar into the seam and pried. The wood sprung open with a crack.

“Could you not make fucking jokes? We have no idea how many of our people even made it,” you spat at him. You dragged yourself past him and into the house.

“I didn’t say it was a joke,” he countered, stepping in after you and pulling the door shut.

You sunk down against the wall, sliding down against your back, your eyes closed. “Jesus, do you ever shut the fuck up?” you muttered, your eyes closing.

Negan laughed. “No, not really.” He paused, taking in your slumped posture against the wall and the rusty staining on your hand that was pressed over your side. He turned and shut the door again and barricaded it with a heavy old oak desk. Your eyes opened again at the scraping sound and he glanced over at you once he’d finished. He twirled his crowbar in his hands and you could tell he had something on his mind.

You grabbed your pack and started digging in the main pocket again for your canteen. “What?” you prompted him.

“I didn’t really get a chance to thank you for the help in the tunnel—with that fucking behemoth of a walker. Wasn’t about to try and say thanks with the peanut gallery standing around,” he said. "SO, uhh—" he rubbed a hand over his short hair. "Thanks."

You sighed and shook your head. “Yeah, don’t mention it…” You unscrewed the cap of your water and took a long drink. You nodded at him. “Your leg. How bad is it? I’ve got a few supplies if you need to patch it up.”

His hand strayed over the scrap of fabric binding the wound. “It’s okay. I mean, it hurts like hell but—how did you put it? Non-life threatening. What about you?”

You replaced your canteen and rested your head back against the wall. “I’ll have to stitch it. But it’s fine.”

“I can help you with that. I’ve done a few—”

“Hell no,” you interrupted him. “I’ll do it myself.”

He let out a dry laugh. “What, worried that Daryl will find out I’ve had my hands on you?” You scowled up at him. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” He flashed you a smile but your face stayed stoic. “Ah, come on. I’m kidding. That’s the farthest thing from my mind right now. …well maybe not the farthest but—”

“Negan, shut the fuck up! Jesus Christ…” You rubbed a hand over the clamminess on your forehead.

He laughed again and nodded. “Sorry. It’s a bit of a nervous habit if I’m being completely honest.” He sank down on a stiff-backed wooden chair in the corner, his leg stretched out and his hazel eyes fixed on you across the room. “I know I’m not your idea of a perfect traveling companion, but I’m on your team here. And to get ourselves out of this shitstorm we’re going to have to work together.”

You sighed again and nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

He seemed satisfied with that response and stood up, crossing the space to you and bending down. “Now, about those med supplies…”

_ _ _ _ _ _

That Reaper hadn’t found you, hadn’t gotten to you. But neither had Daryl. And now Dog was in the wind. Daryl had gutted up and found Dog’s trail. His hope was that Dog would lead him to you… or at least someone. But he couldn’t stop thinking about that spot of blood back by the road. He wondered where you were hurt, how badly… What if you were—No. No, that wasn’t possible. That wasn’t going to happen now. Not like this, after fucking finding you again after all these years, after you’d relit the spark in him that had all but gone out. You were going to be fine, and he’d find you. He’d find Dog, and then he’d find you.

In the distance; Dog barking. Daryl took off toward the sound.

But Dog wasn’t alone. One of them. A Reaper.

“Let him go,” Daryl said. His voice was gruff but also soft and tired. There was still danger underneath it however. The Reaper didn’t move. Dog sat calmly beside the figure. Daryl withdrew one of his knives. “I said let him go.”

The figured raised a hand and pulled off their mask and a fabric covering beneath. Daryl felt like someone had kicked him in the gut. His racing heart sunk into the pit of his stomach and stayed there, heavy like a river rock.

Leah. The Reaper was Leah.

Next thing he knew, he was at the end of the barrel of her shotgun again. And then it wasn’t just her. He was surrounded.

A burlap bag thrown over his head. Water poured over his face. And Leah… like a shell. Seemingly unmoved. Unfeeling. Indifferent. Cold. Her words rang in his head. “These people are my family. I came home.”

He was disoriented with the racing of his mind. How could she participate in this fucked up horror show? What the fuck kind of person was she really? Maybe he'd never known her at all... Clearly he hadn't. And yet he needed to convince her he wasn’t a threat, that he didn’t know fuck all about “those people on the road.” He needed to convince her that he still cared about her the way he had. On some level, he did still care about her... maybe that was stupid. It probably was. But this? These people? Killing anyone they saw for no fucking reason? Stringing up dead people on the roadside? This was insanity. This was almost inhuman.

And all the while, you flashed in his mind's eye. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N.

When they dragged him to a chain link cell, more like a cage, he saw the shape of you in the sheets beside him in his mind’s eye. When they pulled him out to question him endlessly, he heard your voice saying his name, heard your laugh. As he sat alone on the cold cement floor, he could imagine the feel of you under his hands, the shape of you, the taste of your lips, the smell of your skin and scent of your hair. As the water drowned him, pressing the burlap over his nose and mouth, he saw the sun shining off your hair as you grabbed DJ into a hug. DJ. Now he saw DJ too. His son.

When Leah came and talked softly to him in his cell, he forced himself to say things he didn’t mean, a nauseous churning in his stomach. His heart felt hollow as he tried to sound convincing. When the time was right, he gave her something. That’s when it started.

The fire came next.

Pope came after.

And Daryl was embedded deep, with only you and the rest of his family on his mind, even while he tried his goddamn best to make Leah believe that she was the only thing in this world he cared about besides Dog. It felt like willingly drinking poison.

A/N: I fucking loooove writing redeemed!Negan and was so stoked to have him and Y/N team up in this fic. He's just so damn fun to write, and something about the dynamic of him taking care of Daryl's love is achingly good and delicious. Hope you enjoyed so far! Can't wait to get you all the next update!

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #the reapers #negan smith

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growingnerves · 2 months

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I saw the teaser and it got me thinking…

It’s not some mysterious happenstance that lead to Melissa McBride appearing on our screens again. She’s still around in TWDU because she is responsible for so many of the most iconic, rewatchable and deeply engaging moments and that isn’t easily forgotten among fans. We will always want her here so we can continue the story with Caryl as a united pair. And much as I share in the enthusiasm over how powerful her presence is, that alone isn’t enough! The quality of their story together still matters to us. The generic “thrills” aren’t working. I’m sure Melissa wants quality material to dive into as much as the fans do. She considers us in a way that others working on this spin-off will not. However, the fans will always be an objectively important aspect to the show’s ongoing success or failure. After all, who’s going to be watching?

It can be hard to believe our voices are being heard after countless disappointments, cruel shipbaity manipulations and needless retconning; it has often felt like we haven’t been valued. But the more we speak up about our expectations, the greater chance we have of getting them met. I don’t want past missteps to discourage us to the point of accepting something merely “inoffensive.” Let’s think of what this spin-off could be!

Nothing in those promos is engaging me on a meaningful level and this far along into a story, that shouldn’t be a difficult task. We need to see major changes going forward, especially with the writing. The title alone is unacceptable, and even if I could accept it (which I can’t!), “acceptable” isn’t enough. Once whatever future we get for Carol and Daryl is on our screens, it can’t be undone. Once it’s been decided, we will have to live with it forever. So now is the time to have the highest of expectations and demands. Nothing is set in stone yet! Now is a better time than any to pour our energy into advocating for what we want to see. I’d rather be criticizing the show now rather than once it’s been irreversibly ruined by the current showrunner (Zabel). We know we are going to see Caryl together again, that is our only guarantee atp. Which version of the spin-off we get, could still change, especially going into S3! We don’t have to settle for a lesser version of what should be OUR show.

Our dedication should be rewarded with something to look forward to, not something that causes dread. The dread of further disappointment is what drove viewers away. It burned me out to the point I never finished watching S11 of TWD. I didn’t tune in for the initial season of the spin-off because omitting Carol was the most nonsense decision imaginable. The only thing that would make me consider returning is a storyline worth my time. Because boy do I get invested when I give a damn. Imagine getting a story with actual stakes and payoff. Something a little more captivating than watching two friends suffering through seasons more of the apocalypse.

The purpose of reuniting these two is to profit on their unmatched bond and chemistry. They are capable of anything when they are together and taking their relationship to the next level would open up so many new possibilities storywise. Give us something fresh tonally. Let the relationship develop naturally into something romantic as it always should have been. That’s what’s going to get people talking and clamoring for more. That’s what’s going to get word to reach those who left. Seeing a middle aged couple headlining a series is groundbreaking tv and that representation alone could bring in loads of new eyes and reinvigorate online discussion.

What show are they trying to sell me based on the brief window into S2 with tonight’s promos? Caryl’s relationship isn’t the centerpiece here. What I saw was an attempt to catch my attention with repetitive action sequences. There’s nothing original about shootouts and car crashes and distractingly bad looking CGI blood and verbal cliches. Carol interacted with Daryl’s props? That’s the best you can give me? The unique draw this show has, that makes the appeal one of a kind, is Carol and Daryl played by Melissa and Norman. That’s an absolute narrative goldmine and something no other show on tv can claim. I’m echoing so many other fans when I say this. We are able to see the potential for greatness. An emotionally intimate slow burn relationship built over many years will always have within it a vast, complex narrative to explore that new characters cannot bring to the table. AMC has a rare gift in their hands. Continued success of the franchise hinges on the network making the right call when it comes to this duo. That’s where the attention should go. That’s the tease I was looking for tonight. That’s the upcoming payoff that would win back my trust and viewership. I want to see something I can feel passionate about again. We understand these characters aren’t learning to navigate the world without each other. They are fighting to stay alive so that they can be together again and realize their relationship in a way that is new. Caryl’s history runs deep and they couldn’t give us a single emotional beat to grasp onto in the promo- that’s how I’m feeling right now.

Side note cause I can’t help myself but I know I’m not the only one who noticed that Melissa McBride is a total smokeshow in that teaser. It’s not an obscure observation by any means haha. She looked goddamn amazing and badass and well, fucking hot 🥵 It is an undeniable privilege to see this woman on our screens again.

#caryl #the book of carol #caryl spinoff #melissa mcbride #carylers #bitching at 4AM 💅🏻

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darylsdelts · 2 months

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How did he get into twd and what made Daryl ur fav

Heyyy! By “he” I’m gonna assume you mean me?? Idk.

I started watching twd during covid. I’m real bad at watching shows since I can’t seem to grasp storylines and am awful and taking in info and generally find it hard to get into stuff.

But.

I have an obsession with zombie and apocalypse media and I have done since 2014 when tlou first came out.

So basically I’d watched every zombie film I could find and avoided twd like the plague because I just didn’t think I’d be able to sit through that many seasons but Ofc I broke and I started it and I loved it sm!

Around season three I was finding it hard to keep up with watching it so my mum carried on without me and I came back to watch season four (asked my mum if I missed anything and she said not really💀 didn’t bother telling me about the govenor or Merle so I was a bit lost).

Then I watched the rest of it, completely obsessed and when I finished, season ten had just come out so that was exciting. Then I rewatched the whole show twice before s11. I still continue to rewatch it😭.

As for why Daryl is my favourite… the scene when the barn is burning down and he rides his bike to go pick up and save Carol, I knew I loved him. When I first saw him I thought he was annoying and rude if I’m honest and I hate that I thought that.

I mostly love Daryl because of how intricate and complicated his character is and I also relate to him in a lot of strange ways, plus I admire his bravery.

ALSO… he’s the most beautiful angel to ever exist and I love him with my entire being.

I’ve had many obsessions before, mostly band fandoms and random celebs but they all pretty much lasted two years of being my fixation.

People Ik irl say I have an obsession problem and they’re probably right.

Never been obsessed with anything the way I’m obsessed w twd and Daryl.

#daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #norman reedus #daryl dixon smut #daryl smut #twd smut

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privatehousesanatomy · 2 months

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i'm going to ramble for a minute because i am both greys anatomy's biggest fan while simultaneously being their biggest hater and i have a lot to say.

the show is terrible. i love everything up to s8 and then tap out after s11. i physically cannot watch anything after derek dies. i've watched up to s16 completely and now for the last 4 seasons have been keeping up through spoilers and clips on tiktok but i cannot will myself to keep going. and it's not because it's been renewed for s21 but because it's just so bad.

the last good season was in 2012, which is when it should have ended. the plane crash should have been the end of the series. it would have been a good year to end it. private practice ended in 2012, house md ended in 2012. those shows knew when enough was enough, and given the fact that private practice was a spin off of greys anatomy let's me know that the show runners know when enough is enough, they just don't know how to figure it out for greys.

i understand that it's one of those shows that fans are clinging to because it's a comfort show, but recycling storylines and character arcs just aren't cutting it anymore. they've killed off all of their good characters and are now trying to patch it up with characters that will never compare to previous cast members. they have no original storylines left because there's nothing left to do. and don't even get me started on the fact that they've been trying to replace derek since the moment he died. i don't even think meredith got a full season before they were throwing new love interests at her, and while yes, i liked other more love interests than other ones, there's no replacing derek. yes derek might have been a walking mcredflag but i am a derek shepherd girlie 100% and killing him off should have been the end. like if they were going to extend it past the plane crash, derek's death should have been the end.

another thing that bothers me - ellen pompeo's status on the show. she is the main character. if the main character has to step back because her brain "feels like scrambled eggs" and becoming a recurring guest star rather than in the main cast, that should be a major sign that it's over. enough is enough. you can tell in the last few seasons that she's become so monotone and robotic. she's not meredith anymore. it's obvious that she doesn't want to be there, and yet she keeps getting roped in to more episodes.

like i understand keeping the show going for the super fans who will binge the entire series and for the new watchers who started watching the newer seasons but it's to a point where seeing the announcements for another season actually angers me. bringing back old characters doesn't change how shitty the show is. did i love the beach scenes during the covid season? yes. do i love that they've brought addison back a few times recently? yes. was arizona's episode last week make me a little excited? perhaps. but it's not enough.

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midnights-dragon · 1 year

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wait i haven’t watched the show in a while, why is canon cam bad?

Ooh boy, I could talk about this for ages. I’ll just list the main things. In the majority of the episodes in most of the seasons but primarily in the later half, Cam is toxic, controlling, manipulative, and just all-around a bad partner. He treats Mitchell terribly, from diminishing his trauma and belittling him to flat-out not caring when his own mother, Barb, and his sister, Pam, sexually assaulted Mitchell on multiple occasions.

He plays on Mitchell’s abandonment issues (such as keeping a packed suitcase to leave whenever he wants), he mocks Mitchell for not being romantic but scorns him when he does (‘Manny Get Your Gun’ is the biggest example of this), and openly scorns Mitchell for having boundaries (‘The Kiss’ comes to mind, but this happens in almost every episode). Additionally, there are so many scenes where he just appears to not care about Mitchell whatsoever; in ‘The Wild’, for example, when Mitchell is left outside alone in the middle of the woods at night, Cam doesn’t care at all, or in ‘Summer Lovin’ when his only priority is to shove Mitchell back into work rather than help him work through what’s really going on/what he’s struggling with.

The three worst things Cam has done, however, is 1) in s11 when he lied about Mitchell to their friend group and faked a breakup in order to gain sympathy for no reason other than his own ego, something I have had an ex do to me which makes it more personal, 2) in the episode ‘Mother!’ when Cam is shown to have befriended DeDe (who is portrayed as someone who abused Mitchell and Claire!!) and talked shit about Mitchell to her for their entire relationship, and 3) in the episode ‘Grab It’ when Cam forces Mitchell into a role on stage where he is non-consensually kissed by a girl and forces Mitchell to apologize for ‘ruining his play’ afterward (I’ve actually written a fix-it for several of these aforementioned situations, which you can find on my ao3, link in bio).

I won’t even go into detail about the ending of s11 for them, because I know some people are still watching it, but Mitchell was forced into that too, even when it was an awful situation that would bring good for no one other than - you guessed it - Cameron.

Some people might say that Mitchell is toxic, too. I wholeheartedly disagree, however. One example is, as previously listed, ‘Manny Get Your Gun’, when Mitchell is part of a flash mob to surprise Cam with a romantic gesture, but Cam is ungrateful and angry and just a douche overall.

When Mitchell tells Cam he is being sensitive, he is one hundred percent correct. On the flip side, when Mitchell is sexually assaulted by Cam’s mother and voices his discomfort to Cam, and Cam calls him sensitive - that is toxic. That is not okay. That is disgusting behavior.

I could go on and on and on about how Mitchell deserves so much better, how Cam is terrible, how the homophobia is so deeply rooted in the show’s writers that they made the one gay couple into one of the most manipulative and toxic relationships I’ve ever seen in media. I could also stress how bad this could be for someone in real life (i.e., ‘my favorite TV couple acts like this and so if my relationship is also like that, it must be healthy!’) or how terrible it is given what we know about Mitchell’s past with shitty boyfriends only to be thrust into this new environment with another toxic partner. But I believe I’ve given enough broad examples to this.

Unfortunately, this really can be blamed on the homophobia of the writers/network and of just bad writing itself; sitcoms often fall apart when going on too long, or relationships lose their charm with the audience. That’s my biggest issue with sitcoms, though- I guarantee that no one was laughing when Cam got angry at Mitchell because Cam’s sister assaulted him.

TLDR: Cam is manipulative and toxic and shitty, which is why I write fanfiction for them. Because Mitchell deserves better, and in the fleeting, rare episodes where Cam sticks to his pilot version rather than an awful partner, he is just as wonderful. Fanon Cam, my beloved; canon Cam, you can, disrespectfully, rot in hell

#sorry for the rant #i just. i really really really hate the mofy writers #mitchell pritchett #cameron tucker #camchell #modern family #tw sa mention #anyways thanks for the ask!#jesse tyler ferguson #eric stonestreet

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loudlooks · 24 days

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Day 9 - Mimosas

30 day challenge notes: quantity over quality, limited editing, stand-alone/unrelated stories unless specifically stated otherwise, not always tiva, chronologically randomly set in whatever pre-s11 season seems to fit

A/N: Tony and Ziva banter after an undercover op didn't go as planned

Tag for blocking/following: 30 days of spring

Prompt: “You know mimosas get less socially acceptable when brunch takes place at seven in the morning”

Word count: 561

Tony sat down on the bar stool next to her, and rubbed his face. He sighed heavily, and licked his parched lips—Hawaii was a lot warmer in spring than he remembered. Running a hand through his hair, he took in Ziva; brightly colored sundress, unruly curls, bags under her eyes, chin firmly planted in the palm of her left hand to keep her head up, right hand with bruised knuckles loosely holding on to an orange drink.

“You know mimosas get less socially acceptable when brunch takes place at seven in the morning,” he said with a half grin.

She glared and took a big gulp of the cocktail.

Tony signaled to the bartender to bring another one. Their flight was in three hours, may as well enjoy paradise a little. “Why are you in such a bad mood?” he asked.

Ziva sat up straight and narrowed her eyes at him. “Because I have been up for almost forty hours straight.”

“I know, I was right there with you,” he said mildly annoyed.

“You got to take a nap.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “I was drugged.”

“Yes, you slept for two hours.”

He opened and closed his mouth. No point in arguing with her, unless he wanted to ruin his mood completely. The whole undercover operation had started out so well; sun, sea, cocktails—albeit non-alcoholic—Ziva in a bikini, waving palm trees.

The bartender placed a mimosa in front of him, and he smiled tightly, before taking a sip. And then another as he felt Ziva staring at him.

“Should we…have a campfire about our reports?” she asked.

Tony’s eyes went wide, and he put down the mimosa wishing he had ordered bourbon instead. The whole undercover operation had ended so poorly; them getting abducted by the drug dealers they were supposed to entrap, the drug dealers all but torturing them…the drug dealers turning out to be undercover NCIS agents trying to entrap them. Of course, he hadn’t actually been awake for that reveal, Ziva had informed him of that tidbit of information after he woke up all groggy from his two hour “nap”.

He turned towards her. “I’m not sure our Hawaiian coworkers will be open to a campfire.” Glancing at her bruised right hand, he continued, “They looked a little worse for wear when I last saw them.”

Ziva clenched her jaw. “They forced you to drink something…” She jabbed a finger at him. “You passed out…” She turned away and fiddled with the strawberry on the rim of her glass. “Besides, it was very warm there, and I was tired.”

“If that’s the damage you do when you’re tired-“

She shook her head. “I did not even break any bones…I think.”

Tony lifted a single eyebrow. “Which is why you're right, we probably should have another chat with them.”

Ziva’s shoulders slumped, and she downed her drink. “I hope Vance doesn’t plan a team building event with the Hawaii office any time soon.” Rubbing her eyes, she yawned widely, and slumped onto the bar.

Tony chuckled. “Come on,” he said, and gently held on to her elbow to guide her onto her feet. “I’ll ask them if they have anything left of whatever they used to drug me, so you can sleep on the flight home, while I come up with a way to make our reports disappear.”

#tiva #tiva fanfiction #30 days of spring #my fanfiction #this challenge is like pulling teeth #the tiva spam did not help

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samsexualdeancurious · 9 months

Text

Who Knows? (Everyone Knows)

Pairing: Sam x Castiel

Words: 1,440

Summary: Sam and Cas think no one knows about their relationship.

Warnings: Secretly dating, a teensy bit of nsfw content, set sometime in early s11-ish.

---

“Popcorn?” Sam asks, swinging his legs off the side of the bed.

Castiel considers this for a moment. He’s stripped down to his boxers - no more fully dressed angels in Sam’s bed unless they’re heading for stages of undress, thank you very much. He might be a stranger to societal norms but shoes? No. - and has made himself comfortable under the covers. “I might have a handful or two,” he decides.

Sam nods and leans over to press a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. “All right. Get Netflix set up and I’ll be right back.”

The floor of the bunker is cold underfoot as Sam makes his way to the kitchen. He finds the last back of popcorn in the cupboard and makes a mental note to add it to the grocery list as he tears open the plastic. He pops the bag in the microwave and leans against the counter while he waits. His eyes find the fridge, considering grabbing a beer before he heads back to his room. Cas won’t want one, he knows, but maybe he’ll take two.

Dean comes in as the popcorn starts doing its thing. “That the last one?” he asks, making a beeline to the fridge for a beer of his own.

“Yup.”

“I’ll add it to my list for tomorrow. Beer?”

He tips one towards Sam and cracks it open when he gets a nod in response. Sam accepts the bottle. He keeps one eye on the microwave, listening carefully for the pops to slow down.

“Maybe we should get an air popper or something,” Sam muses as Dean rummages through the fridge, trying to decide what to snack on. “We seem to go through a lot of it.”

“That’s because it’s good. We could get one of those carnival machines. The red ones with the pot thing, like they have at the movies.”

“And put it where? The library?”

“Hell yeah. Popcorn would make research slightly more bearable.”

Sam rolls his eyes and stops the microwave. “You can still have that with an air popper. Plus, it would fit on the kitchen counter and be healthier.”

Dean makes a face, emerging from the fridge with his chosen snack - leftover pizza from the day before. “You’re no fun.”

“Not all of us can live on red meat and cheese. Where’s the popcorn bowl?”

“On the drying rack. And that’s too bad for you. Speaking of ‘us’, where’s Cas? He was here earlier but I can’t find him now.”

Sam retrieves the bowl, forcing himself to stay relaxed and his expression neutral. “I don’t know. Why, do you need him for something?”

Dean shrugs, mouth already full of cold pizza even though he could definitely microwave it. Sam’s never really understood that, even though it was basically a delicacy for his roommates in his dorm days. “Nah, I just didn’t hear him leave. He usually lets us know where he’s going.”

Sam makes a noncommittal noise and pours steaming popcorn into the bowl. Sam knows Dean isn’t homophobic. That’s not why he’s insisted on keeping his relationship with Cas secret, at least for these early months while they found their rhythm as a couple. What he’s really been worried about is how Dean will react to him and Cas. Specifically Cas. Dean’s brother and Dean’s best friend. “He’ll probably shoot you a text at some point.”

“Yeah, and it’ll be half emoji.”

Sam can’t help a laugh at that. Cas is fond of emojis. He blames Claire. “I’ll let you know if I hear from him.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

Popcorn and beer in hand, Sam returns to his room. Cas is right where Sam left him but Netflix is pulled up on the TV now and their current movie night selection - Interstellar - is waiting to be played.

“Popcorn acquired,” Sam says as he locks the bedroom door. “Comfy?”

“Very. C’mere.”

Sam is more than happy to set his bowl and beer on the bedside table and crawl under the covers beside Cas. He settles with his back propped against the headboard, Cas tucked under his arm with his head pillowed on Sam’s chest.

“Ready?” Cas asks.

Sam nods, reaching for the popcorn to settle it in his lap where they can both reach it. “Ready.”

Before Cas, Sam hadn’t slept with someone else in the bed since Jess. He thought it would take him a while to adjust to having someone tucked against his body, their warmth mingling with his, their breath on his skin. The first night he spent with Castiel in his bed, though, was the best night of sleep he’d had in years. With Cas there, Sam’s nightmares have dropped to rare occurrences and when they do happen, they’re soothed away by the angel’s cool palm on his forehead. Cas doesn’t sleep but he enjoys laying with Sam, meditating and resting while Sam gets his eight hours.

The downside of all these perks, though, is Sam struggles more with getting started in the morning. Why go for a run when it’s cold and dark when he can stay in bed and burn off calories in some… other ways? He doesn’t often allow himself to cave to this urge - he needs to keep up his routine for his own sanity - but this morning, the weather app on his phone says it’s raining and cold. Running in the rain is the last thing he wants to do, especially when Cas is tracing warm fingertips over the point of Sam’s hipbone where his t-shirt has ridden up.

Sam hums softly, stretching and returning his phone to his bedside table. “Feels nice.”

Cas kisses the back of his shoulder in response. “Are you going?”

“No. The weather sucks.” Sam twists around under the covers to face his boyfriend, bumping noses as he gets settled on his other side. “Besides, I’d much rather be here.”

Cas’s hand curls around Sam’s hip as their lips meet, pressing their bodies together from chest to knees. Sam sighs happily against Cas’s mouth and allows himself to get lost in this. His morning wood is perking up, very interested in the proceedings, but neither of them move to take things further than this. It’s not often they can take their time and just sink into the simple intimacy of a good make out. Sam would like for it to eventually lead to something more, though, if Cas is feeling up for it.

“Yo! Sammy! You up?”

Sam groans, tearing his mouth away from his lover’s and pressing his face into Castiel’s bare shoulder. Dean bangs loudly on the door.

“Fuck off, Dean!” Sam shouts back.

“Knew you were in there. Jody called with a hunt.”

Cas chuckles softly as Sam, very gently, bangs his forehead against the point of Cas’s shoulder a few times. “Go on,” he encourages. “See what it’s about.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“Then tell him you’d rather stay home.”

Sam huffs, nods, and sits up. He shoves the blankets off his legs and pads over the bedroom door, opening it enough to see Dean while making sure his body blocks any view of the bed. “What.”

“Jody. Hunt. You comin’? Sounds like a poltergeist and Jody’s got some sheriff thing this weekend, so she can’t go.”

Of course not. “Where?”

“‘Bout six hours north, grumpy gills. Did I interrupt something? Cas give you blue balls?”

Sam’s brain stutters to a halt at that, struggling to process what Dean just said. “... what?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I know he’s in there. Where else would he be? He hasn’t left. His coat’s in the library.”

Sam can only stare.

“What?”

“You know?”

Dean gives him a look that says that’s the dumbest question Sam probably could’ve asked. “Uh. Yeah. I know. You might be the brains of this operation but I’m not blind.” He stands on his toes to peek over Sam’s shoulder and waves. “Hi, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“You got him out of the suit,” Dean observes. “I didn’t know it came off.”

“Dean, seriously-”

“What?”

“You’re okay with this?”

Dean lifts one incredulous brow at Sam. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Now Sam feels a little dumb. “I dunno.”

“For someone so bright, you sure can be dumb. Claire figured it out first anyways.”

“Claire knows?” Sam’s given up on trying to hide Cas from Dean’s eyes. There’s no point. “How-?”

“Dunno. Teenage girl intuition or something, I guess. Anyways. That hunt? You can bring your boyfriend.”

Sam’s cheeks warm at Dean calling Cas his boyfriend. “Um. Yeah. Cas? Wanna come with?”

“Of course. I will need to put on clothes first.”

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles. “Please do.”

—

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @manawhaat @books-and-icecream @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @emoryhemsworth @imsuperawkward

#my writing #supernatural #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #spn fanfiction #sastiel #sam winchester/castiel #samcas #sam winchester #castiel #sam winchester x castiel #sam/castiel

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shadypoliticianfromplanetvulcan · 5 months

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s14 is good because Michael keeps asking "what do you want?" and then twists everything to his liking, it is good because Michael!Dean is hot and you can't convince me otherwise, it is bad because its so slow paced you fall asleep, it is bad because they didn't know what to do with the generic au hunters and so they simply had Michael kill them off, it is good because heaven and the empty fight over who gets jack and it makes sense, it is bad because some problems are solved way too quickly while others drag on for way too long, it is good because they abandoned the "wayward sisters" plotline, it is bad because there is no logical reason Nick should be alive but it is good because his struggle after possession is fine and interesting, it is good because it has the right balance between funny and interesting and sad episodes since s11 but bad because some of it seems like a sitcom, it is good because in order to be a saviour Jack has to go through his own "evil" period but bad because they didn't have him talk to Sam but to Donatello about the soulless experience, it is good because Mary had to go in order for the show to go on but bad because they were too afraid to make Jack go all the way evil for him to kill her and made it seem like an accident, it is bad because they could never decide if Dean loved or liked Jack or if he didn't, and good because sometimes you can't decide if you like someone and the found family trope doesn't work for everyone, it is good because Dean's hearts desire was having his family together since s1 and bad because the episode was a 40 minute long cry feast, it is good because the last 4min "god was never on your side" finale kicked ass and bad because it led to the trainwreck that were the first 3 episodes of s15.....

#canon crit #and compliment #idk its weird #michael!dean #jack kline #castiel #sam and dean #sam winchester #dean winchester

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storiesofsvu · 1 year

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This thought ran through my mind today and I would like to know your thoughts on it:

So, if the law and order universe was like Grey’s Anatomy (I feel like everyone is dating/sleeping with everyone in that show) how would the pairing history be of the characters? 👀🫣💕

You don’t have to answer ofc 💕 and you choose which characters to include, as in you don’t have to bring in every single main/recurring character from the shows 😅🫣💕

omg lolol! everyone *really is* sleeping together/dating on Greys, its fucking insane. (although, you work in one place long enough it's bound to happen anywhere.lol)

This will likely get long, so it's going under a cut. Also it will very likely get chaotic. There will be lots of ships, a variety of characters and lots of crossing over. don't hate me if your faved ship isn't here... I also will likely just list all the canon ones down at the bottom and not delve into hc's about them.

omg now i have to try and not forget anyone LOL. so we're gonna start at the beginning.

Starting with an obvious Alex Cabot x Olivia Benson:

these two had chemistry, they flirted, they had lingering looks and touches. They had some form of relationship over s2-5. They definitely slept together, and had a lot of conflicting emotions as they tried to figure things out. I'd like to think that they were dating and in the midst of talking about making things official/taking it to the next level right before Alex got shot. They had no choice but to end it to keep Alex safe and by the time she got back in s11, things were different, weird, Alex wasn't the same person she was before and wasn't in the same place. They do try and go on a couple of dates after Alex has settled, but it's more of a "lets get this friendship back on track" because woof the girls be *fighting*

Casey Novak x Elizabeth Donnelly

it wasn't what either of them expected, when Casey transfers into SVU Liz is her direct supervisor. It's not *wrong* but it's also a little on the shady side when it comes to breaking the rules. Which is exactly what pulls them together more. I think Liz sees a lot of herself when she was a baby prosecutor in Casey. She wants to protect her, esp after Alex has been "killed". This is proven by not once, but TWICE Liz steps down from the bench to defend Casey in court. They're fiery, it's a mentor/men-tee relationship that likely spurred into a sexual one somewhere along the way. It's also VERY likely that Liz helped Casey figure out her sexuality. Liz was married before, but is in the age range that gay marriage was wrong when she was growing up. Casey we know was brought up very catholic. So homegirl doesn't even know what's going on in he head, and after Charlie, she's not sure she wants to date a man again. Liz helps her figure that shit out, and likely guides her through a couple of sexual experiences and they kinda keep things going from there on. THEN in s9 we obviously see the absolute demise of their relationship. I still believe that Casey only returned to the DA's office after hearing that Liz retired. BUT, Liz had her called before the bar to SAVE her career and license (as McCoy earlier said he would yank her license if she fucked up again in Blinded)

It was supposed to be/actually was more casual with Liz, but because she was Casey's mentor, Casey valued her opinion of her a lot higher than she would have otherwise. Their emotional side of their relationship was very foggy and lines scrambled because of that kinda thing, if that makes sense?

Casey Novak x Melinda Warner

definitely dated. Melinda wants to protect her girl, they're bad ass crime fighter, break a few rules to do what's right. There are a few cases/episodes where you can tell they're definitely hanging out. I like to think that it had pretty good potential, but they just figured they'd be better off as friends. And again, casey disappears after her suspension.

Elizabeth Donnelly x Lena Petrovsky

you cannot tell me these two have not fucked

Chester Lake & Casey Novak

these two didn't have anything happen sexually, but he was definitely crushing on her (can't blame him) and i think she accepted that dinner offer, but made it clear it was on a platonic base only. I think these two had such intertwined arcs across s9 that they definitely hung out a few times after work and I like to think that Casey goes to visit him in prison every couple of months (at one point i had a fic idea about that but i can't remember details now. LOL. maye it will return to me)

Dean Porter x Olivia Benson

While i don't think they actually ever managed to fuck. I really think they had the best chemistry out of all the toxic dick choices that were available to her.

Dana Lewis x Olivia Benson

They fucked your honour. Even Calvin knows they have "this your girlfriend?" like.... cmon...

Alex Cabot x Casey Novak

the ever favourite and popular ship despite only having one episode together. Now, in the "real world" these two likely would have known each other prior to alex's death, they would've worked in the same building, same social circles, hell they would've been at school at the same time. They're technically sharing the da's office in s12/13. Which is the prime time for their relationship. Alex is back in NYC, she doesn't really know how to be herself, she's not sure if she can/wants to do the job that almost killed her. She's unsure of herself, on shaky legs persay. Casey's waiting out her suspension, unsure of what to do, and if it's worth it to keep fighting. They somehow run into each other and that's when it all starts. They're both lonely, a little lost, don't feel like themselves anymore kinda thing. They find solace in each other, comfort, a sense of belonging. This is one of my fave ships for Casey, because it truly does have amazing potential. They date, it's serious, likely living together. I think they stick it out when Alex goes to the congo, but when she leaves the da's office again to do vigilante shit, they break up. Not that Casey doesn't support her decisions, they just know they have to go their separate ways.

Rafael Barba x Rita Calhoun

obviously they go on this list. They are a divorced couple who were never married. Whether they dated in college, or shortly after being back in NYC, it happened. Hell maybe it did actually get serious and that's why they know each other *so* well. But they just don't quite fit together long term. Rita spoils too much, Barba finds it overwhelming. (however when things open up to poly, I think they could definitely work) They remain really good friends and I'd honeslty believe they have a "50 and still single" pact kinda thing and are known to still hit each other up for sex because they know it's good and there's no annoying legwork of having to pick up someone new.

Rita Calhoun x Olivia Benson

Now, these two were never going to be endgame and EVERYONE knows it. It was never even a relationship. A couple nights here and there when they were both stressed and needed a relief. It's very likely far before Noah comes along, and Rita is very upfront about her views on children. It's more that they're friends who Olivia enjoys doing different things with that like, Cassidy won't do with her

Rafael Barba x Sonny Carisi

in the world where things make sense, Rafael would have likely been mentoring Carisi through his final year at law school, letting him sit second chair or do more help on the law side of case work with him. One ep of that was stupid, it shouldve been way more. I like to think that somewhere in one of those late nights, a couple glasses of scotch, there's admittance of "you know i don't actually hate you" "oh i know, you tease out of admiration" kinda thing that leads to a little more. I can see them actually dating, but I can also see it just being casual, cause Sonny still has heart eyes for amanda the entire time. Whatever they have going on obviously drops off the face of the earth when Barba leaves.

Rita Calhoun x Amanda Rollins

now this one, is a handful of hook ups and nothing more. Amanda is too chaotic for Rita, their worlds also don't collide very well. Amanda's more likely to be found smoking in some dive bar and avoid the high end places that Rita likes. I like to think that this happens somewhere between Amanda x Nick, and early s17 when Amanda finds out she's pregnant. i DO also believe that Rita kinda keeps her under her wing a bit, encouraging her to cut off her family, let her know if she ever needs help with things (and of course amanda is too stubborn to ever ask for that) but in moments where like, kim has fucked her over, yet again. Amanda finds some anonymous donation and it's like, this unspoken thing between them because you also can't say no to Rita.

William Dodds x Olivia Benson

again, they fucked your honour. and even if there were never officially "dates" they would regularly use each other as plus ones to events that they had to go to for work.

Rafael Barba & Olivia Benson

it never happened, but i had to include it. It was a constant "will they wont they" likely even with money down on it from the squad. They deeply care for each other, love each other, but can never quite figure it out. They're also both so fucking stubborn and there are times when they both have sticks up their asses and hold grudges, neither ever willing to admit defeat or apologize and they know that wouldn't be a healthy relationship.

Rita Calhoun x Casey Novak

my beloved.

these two are a ship that i will die for. It's one of if not the most solid relationship Casey has ever had. They might be endgame. While there's a chance that they would have crossed paths earlier on, they don't really start to pay attention to each other until post suspension/alex leaving.

They might have a case against each other, Casey might be finding prosecution a little stale for herself now. She wants something more. She was so intertwined with alex before that now that she's off pursuing something more, she feels the need to do the same, even if it's within the legal world. Enter Rita, where she can learn about working defence, but not necessarily criminal defence, ya know?

They end up complimenting each other super well, it's the prime golden retriever x black cat, and the smol/tall vibes, which is always hilarious because casey has like, four inches on rita. So i see them in a long term serious relationship.

Kat Tamin x Pippa Cox

Pippa's nervous post hank bs, simply returning to NYC is hard enough, but she finds this solace in Kat. She wasn't around for the whole thing so she doesn't have the subconscious judgment that a lot of other people have. Kat's great with the kids, she's got lots of energy and she's absolutely going to *worship* pippa. Pippa's also likely going to wean her onto a healthier eating style cause Kat is known to crush two pizza's and a litre of pop for dinner kinda thing. Endgame material.

Peter Stone & Sonny Carisi

now, these two haven't directly hooked up. it's not Peter's style. BUT, they've definitely had a few threesomes together with another girl. there's no doubt in my mind.

Kat Tamin x Grace Muncy

these two have hooked up. kat is a daddy. grace is a brat. it just works. they were probably casual fuck buddies/fwb's for a while.

Grace Muncy & Tonie Churlish

they've either hooked up, dated, or mutually pined for each other up until Grace left. I'm in the midst of rewatching Grace's eps so I'll get back to you. lol

Joe Velasco x Grace Muncy

i'm not saying i ship it. I'm saying that these two have this teasing, bantery sibling ISH relationship, and they're likely each other's wingman's more often than not. BUT, there was probably at least one super drunk night that they don't really remember but they woke up together and basically never talk about it.

Samantha Maroun & Rita Calhoun

I can lowkey see a couple of dates here, but it ending up not leading any further than friends. They've both got really good style, Sam wears a lot of colour similar to rita, they probably shop together and i think they'd get along really well.

Honorable mention to Joe Velasco x Amanda Rollins

because if they had met any earlier? they would've hooked up. even just once. they had good chemistry when they did meet and I could see it happening, but she was obvi already with Carisi

I know I must be missing a couple. And there's probably characters I've forgotten about, or not included in this, or just don't have any thoughts about. Also not including any canon ones cause we all know the canon ones. There's also LOTS of other "omg they'd be best fucking friends" that i skipped over cause this was more relationship based. (like, casey, dodds, carisi, kat and grace all have chaotic golden retriever vibes)

Could potentially see Grace x Bobby(?) from OC being a thing, but i can't remember if he's got a gf/wife or not because I clearly don't pay attention when I watch that show lol.

Thank you so much for this ask bestie!! I hope this wasn't too much detail LOL.

Now I'm going to spend the rest of the night thinking about svu x greys anatomy crossovers and who would've slept with who and that is going to be a fucking large list and I'm already thinkin it's a daunting idea LOL.

#law and order svu #alex cabot #olivia benson #casey novak #elizabeth donnelly #melinda warner #kat tamin #pippa cox #grace muncy #joe velasco #tonie churlish #rita calhoun #sonny carisi #amanda rollins #rafael barba

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my-mt-heart · 1 year

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I think I mentioned before that the love triangle is my least favorite trope. It just feels very YA to me, less mature, which definitely doesn’t fit a relationship like Daryl’s and Carol’s, nor their individual characters who are so careful with their hearts. Creating foils for them on the other hand has been very illuminating in some instances.

Even though I don’t like Carol and Ezekiel together at all, I do like seeing Daryl’s jealous side. It’s not a typical jealousy because nothing about Daryl’s character is typical, but it causes him to turn inward and weigh his worth against Ezekiel’s. He knows he’s no king, he isn’t charming, he isn’t a leader, so in his mind, he can’t possibly be good enough for Carol.

But we as an audience learn through the different interactions between all three characters that he could not be more wrong. Daryl understands Carol in ways Ezekiel never could, always putting her needs before his own, respecting her boundaries and her independence. He’s the one who has Carol’s heart, the one who immediately makes her smile when he gives her a gift, the one she’ll say “I love you” to.

The “triangle” if you can really call it that, only takes a wrong turn for me in S11. Carol and Ezekiel do not need to get closure from each other ten times over. They don’t need a long shared arc with far more screentime than the relationship we’re actually invested in, and we don’t need the question of will they/won’t they [get back together] hanging over our heads so close to wrapping the series. Knowing how to use foils also means knowing when they’ve stopped being useful all together.

The same can be said about Carol’s foils. On one hand, Daryl’s and Connie’s dynamic shows us how much Carol is struggling to love herself for who she is. She thinks she’s a bad person, unworthy of Daryl’s love, despite loving him so much she’s ready to sacrifice her own chance of happiness so he can be happy with someone she perceives as “good.”

The romance she keeps pushing for never actually happens though, which in itself reminds us Daryl isn’t an alpha male. He can’t pursue every woman who happens to interact with him. He can’t test the waters with someone he likes or respects. He needs to fall in love first, he needs time, he needs depth, he needs Carol. And that’s all really sweet, but the longer the “Connie” arc drags out, the more superficial it becomes, accomplishing nothing for any of the characters and leaving every viewer unhappy.

Speaking of which, adding Leah to that mix is probably one of TWD’s most controversial writing decisions that everyone (rightfully) resents. It didn’t have to end on such a bitter note though. Unlike killing off Glenn and Carl, which there is absolutely no walking back from, risking Daryl’s character integrity for a random relationship could have at least been the catalyst for Daryl and Carol to finally go canon. The set up is there. We get the parallels between Carol and Leah to tell us who Daryl really chooses and why, but it ultimately goes nowhere. Carol and Leah don’t even get to interact. [Insert long, angry rant about that here].

I’m not looking for a do-over on any of these arcs or for any new ship to take their place (for the love of god, stop with the ship baiting). The more love interests Daryl and Carol garner, the less they feel like themselves and we’re already teetering on the brink of unrecognizable with this ridiculous France premise. But, if there’s more to come for Caryl, some acknowledgement would be good. It only takes a few lines of dialogue to explain to the characters and to the audience why Carol didn’t return Zeke’s feelings, why it wasn’t like that with Connie, why Daryl really got together with Leah. And if handled with care, it could be very impactful

#caryl #carylells #carol peletier #darylneedscarol

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 1 year

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Words: 7,588 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: S10/S11, The Reapers Warnings: violence, gore, minor injuries, blood, sexuality A/N: All gifs made by me. :) This is Part 7 of a series! Find all the parts on my pinned post, the Master List! Summary: The group scavenges for supplies at the base and Daryl and Y/N find themselves with another evening alone.

Previous Chapter - Part 6

It was in the early hours of the morning that you sat suddenly upright in the dark in a cold sweat, chest heaving, trying to get your bearings. After a moment they came back to you. It was still dark outside, but turning from inky black toward deep blue, hinting that the sun would be breaking over the horizon soon.

“Y/N?” Daryl’s voice came gently from his bedroll nearby. “S’goin’ on? Are ya alrigh’?” You heard the soft rustling of fabric and then a small lantern clicked on dimly beside him. You squinted a little in the sudden glow. Daryl was leaned up on his palm, peering at you with concern, his black poncho still partially draped over his shoulder.

You tried to pull in a steadying breath and pressed a hand to your chest. Your heart was still racing, thumping hard under your fingers. “I’m fine. It’s okay.” He looked skeptical and his eyes flickered over you.

“Yer shakin’,” he drawled, the shadow over his eyes deepening with his concern. “What is it?”

You let out a wry laugh and shook your head. “Nothing. It’s nothing… just—bad memories,” you said.

It struck Daryl at that moment that in the same way he’d been through so much trauma and horror since the last time you’d seen each other, you must have experienced just as much, perhaps more with having DJ to worry about and fear for. He wished that he’d already read your whole journal, absorbed it, knew it, so he’d know better what words to say to comfort you, what evils your mind was recalling, so he’d know your whole history, keep it close to his own, heal it as best he could. He could see beads of sweat near your hairline and the tremble in your fingertips as you pushed sweaty strands of your hair away from your face. “That ain’t nothin’,” he said softly. He considered you for a moment and then swallowed down his nervousness. He nudged his head up in a nod as if to beckon you over. “C’mon over here… if ya want to, I mean.”

You paused just a moment in slight surprise before pulling your bedroll over next to his. He laid down again, facing you, his body close enough you swore you could nearly feel the heat of him when you laid down too. To your surprise he moved even closer, all the way to the edge of his bedroll, and he hesitantly draped an arm over your waist, his fingers barely tickling the draping of your shirt. The weight of it was grounding. You blinked up at him and let out a deep breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in along with your tension.

“S’this… uhh—this alrigh’?” he asked quietly. You nodded. Your eyes looked a little wide, doe-eyed and bright, shining by the light of the lantern, and he saw that he still knew the flecks of color in them by perfect memory. “S’okay,” he drawled. “Ya can go back to sleep if ya want.”

He watched you pull your bottom lip in between your teeth for a moment thoughtfully. “Are you going to?” you asked. He could see every individual eyelash rimming your eyes.

He nodded, despite knowing there was no fucking way he’d be able to fall asleep again, not with the way his stomach was fluttering and his heart was pounding having you so close.

“Okay,” you said softly. You leaned up for a moment to turn the lantern back off and Daryl’s hand suddenly found your hip for a brief moment, his fingers curling gently around the flared curve, before his arm quickly return to your waist as you laid down again. In the dark, you moved closer him and nearly curled in against his chest. He gulped, electricity shooting through his body as he shut his eyes and tried to slow down his heart with pure willpower, terrified that you would hear how it was pounding, but in a few short minutes he could tell you were asleep again from the slow steadiness of your breathing.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl watched as you double-checked all of your gear and he nervously worried his bottom lip with his teeth before wandering over. The group was hushed, anxious, as they waited on the roof. You looked up as he came near and stood up.

“I can’t talk ya outta this? Ya could just stay up top here with your bow and—”

You shook your head. “No. We found this place and if other people are going in, I should be one of them. This was our plan.” You gave him a half-smile that made his heart jump. “Don’t worry about me,” you said. “I’ve got somebody I trust watching my back.”

Daryl’s heart skipped a beat at the look you were giving him, but his nod was still resigned and you could tell he was uneasy.

You reached out and touched him on the sleeve so he’d look at you. “It’s gonna be fine.”

He nodded again, but avoided your eyes nervously. “Alrigh’… C’mon. I think it’s time.”

The plan was slightly insane, but you couldn’t find any way around it. There were hundreds of walkers in there, and the entry and extraction of the supplies had to be silent. Those of you who would be lowered in lined up at the skylight and clipped into the ropes with your harnesses. You went down in waves, lowered by your group members stationed on the roof who strained to keep things steady, slow, and silent. You and Carol were the last to touch down, landing lightly on the toes of your boots. You unclipped and headed straight for some crates in the next room once it was open, starting to fill your canvas bag as quickly and quietly as possible.

Everything was going smoothly, completely perfectly to plan—until it wasn’t. It all happened in an instant. One of the ropes must have had a flaw because suddenly it was fraying and then snapped. Daryl lunged and amazingly managed to catch it before the heavy, supply-laden bag fell to floor and woke every one of the dead in there. His chest was pressed across the metal lip of the skylight as he strained to hold on and he could feel it cutting into him even through his clothing. He realized, too late, that his arm had also been cut, and a long rivulet of crimson ran down his forearm and dripped, falling and landing on the cheek of one of the dead. That was it. That was all it took. The bag was hauled up onto the roof, but the damage was done.

What happened next was utter chaos as walkers stirred and rose. Kelly and Magna rushed to get the rest of the supplies out as Rosita, Lydia, Maggie, You, and Carol tried to hold back the tide of walkers so they could get the bags and get out. It wasn’t long before all your arrows were spent. Bolts and arrows rained down from above. You could recall seeing the bright flash of Daryl’s bolts dropping walkers beside you. You put your knife to work as Carol and Maggie frantically grasped for the guns scattered on the floor among the bodies. Finally, Maggie thrust an automatic rifle into your hands and you opened fire on the marching regiment of undead, taking aim at their heads and cutting down their numbers efficiently enough to give the others what they needed—time.

Kelly, Magna, and Lydia were out—hauled to safety with their bags of supplies. Maggie and Rosita were up next, safe on the roof. Your gun clicked—no more ammo. “Fuck!” you yelled, tossing it down and scanning the floor for another weapon. A walker lunged at you, fingers grasping toward your neck, but you ducked it and put it down with your knife a moment later. You spotted a sidearm on a corpse near one of the helicopters and rushed to grab it. “Carol! We have to go!” you shouted over your shoulder. You checked the chamber. “Yes,” you gasped. The slide worked and you took aim at another walker that was getting too close for comfort. Its head exploded with the shot in a cloud of gore. “Carol, get to the rope!” You fired at another, dropping it to the ground. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted something in the helicopter behind you. You did a double take and laid eyes on a large medical kit, still sealed and packaged up. Backing up, firing at the closest walker and taking it out, you then scrambled partially into the helicopter and groped for the case, stretching your arm out to grip the handle. Just as your hand closed on it, you gasped as growls grew to a savage crescendo loudly behind you, nearly on top of you, but there was a sharp shing sound and one of Daryl’s large knives buried itself in the walker’s skull. You glanced up and saw him peering down at you, his expression taught and nearly frantic. You gripped the hilt of the knife and pulled it out of the walker’s skull in a swift and fluid movement as you scrambled down out of the helicopter. Some jagged piece of metal caught your forearm as you rushed out and you were vaguely aware of a warmth and wetness there. You rushed back to the waiting ropes.

You were clipping your bag in as Carol secured herself to the line via her harness. You were about to do the same, when she suddenly spotted another crate of MREs in the far corner. “Carol—” She hurriedly unclipped herself and you followed her gaze to the supplies across the room. “Carol, wait—shit,” you swore under your breath. She’d already taken off after them and a swarm of walkers was following. You shot a glance up and caught Daryl’s eyes. He looked panicked as he leaned down and grabbed hold of the edge of the skylight. One more second, and you took off after Carol, stabbing walkers as you went to clear a path, your own knife in one hand and Daryl’s in the other. You felt the sickening spray of thick, warm blood across your neck as you withdrew your knife from a particularly large walker. Carol was packing the MREs into the canvas bag and you shoved another of the undead away and sent it into two more, knocking them down and delaying them for a brief moment so you could clear another.

Carol shot a frantic look over her shoulder and watched as you kicked another walker in the chest to create more space around you. The crowd of them was gathering, closing in. One rose just behind her on her right, groping for her shoulder. You were busy fighting others off on her other side. There was another metallic sound and rush of air and Daryl’s other knife lodged into its head. It fell to the floor with a weighty thud. Carol slung the bag on her shoulder, firmly tugged Daryl’s knife free, and started to make for the ropes again. “I’ve got it! Let’s go!” she called to you.

“Right behind you!” you yelled back. You took a few hurried steps after her and then felt a surprisingly strong hand on your ankle. You struggled against it for a moment when another hit your knees from behind, knocking your legs completely out from under you.

“Y/N!” Daryl’s voice was piercing through the growls.

The wind was knocked out of your lungs and your head collided hard with the cement floor. Your ears were ringing and your vision was black for a split second and then came back blurred and foggy. Carol was frozen in horror for a moment when she realized you weren’t behind her. She looked back to see you on the ground and about to be buried beneath the rotting bodies of too many walkers to count. Leaving her rope line once again she rushed back toward you and began stabbing and slashing with Daryl’s knife to clear a path. You landed a kick to the face of the walker gripping your ankle and rolled away from more grappling fingers, struggling to your feet. You took aim with your knife at anything that moved, shaking your head as if that would sharpen your vision again. You came toward Carol, staggering a bit, but still fighting through the dead.

She gripped you by the upper arms when you met and took in the slightly stunned look on your face and the splatters and splashes of walker blood on you. There was no time for her to search you for injury. She gripped your hand tightly and tugged you back to the waiting rope lines. Your shaky fingers grasped the carabiner and finally you were clipped in with your last bag of supplies. Carol secured herself and Daryl’s voice came from above as the dead began to close in around you again.

“Go, go, go! C’mon!”

You shut your eyes and felt your feet leave the floor.

Jerry tugged Carol out of the air with her bag of supplies. Daryl was waiting to pull you to safety, panicked as he set you firmly on your feet, supporting you as you hunched over slightly, out of breath and with your head pounding. Your lungs still seemed to refuse to pull in full breaths, your diaphragm stunned from having the breath knocked from your body. “Y/N—they didn’t—are ya?—Tell me ya ain’t—” he stammered, searching every bit of you he could see for signs of bleeding, but it was damn near impossible to tell with how much walker blood was splattered all over you.

You sank down to sit on the roof, feeling near passing out, but still shaking your head. Daryl crumpled down with you, refusing to part from you completely, gripping your upper arms gently. “No. No, I’m not bit or anything,” you gasped. “You can check me.” You pressed a hand to the back of your head and felt a swollen bump already forming where it had collided with the floor. “Fuck—my head and back hurt though. And my arm—I cut it on the helicopter somehow,” you said with a wry laugh. “Here.” You squinted up at Daryl and held out his knife. He took it and stared at you intensely.

Maggie bent and checked your ankles for scratches, just in case. “Not a mark on you from the walkers,” she said with relief, hanging her head and trying to catch her breath now too. Many of the group had stopped breathing as they watched the terrifying drama playing below them as if on some nightmare of a stage. Daryl cut a strip of fabric and bound it around the gash in your arm.

He stood abruptly and rounded on Carol. She held his knife out to him and avoided his narrowed, sharp stare. “What the hell were ya thinkin’?” he growled. “Ya almost got both of ya killed.”

“Daryl, don’t. She didn’t make me go. And to be honest—” You allowed Maggie to help you to your feet again. “—I would have done the same thing she did. That last crate probably had 48 more meals in it.”

Daryl gave her one last look and sighed, turning away, shaking his head, deep lines in his forehead. His expression softened as he looked at you rubbing a hand over the back of your head. “Let’s just get everybody home…”

The mood was tense all the way back to Alexandria from the base. You sat in the front passenger seat beside Daryl in one of the trucks and you could feel him glancing over at you the whole drive. The fogginess in your head had worn off now and was replaced with a pounding and the uncomfortable sensation of your heartbeat through your entire skull that was even less pleasant. The gash in your arm felt like it was on fire. The fabric Daryl had tied around it was soaked crimson. Your back ached and you suspected would be rather bruised the next day, but you were alive and at least everyone would have something to eat back home.

You looked over as Daryl adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles showing white in the dark of the cab, and he sighed heavily.

“Hmm?” you hummed.

He shook his head, still staring out through the windshield. “Carol—goin’ after that last box like that with the two of ya alone down there, all those walkers, nobody up top with ammo… I thought she was over this damn death wish she had but now I ain’t so sure.”

“Death wish?” you asked urgently, your stomach dropping to the floor. “What? Why would she—?”

Daryl shook his head. “She’s lost too much. Too many kids,” he said quietly. “And the last one—” His voice came out strained through the sudden tightness in his throat. “It was—‘member those Whisperers we told ya ‘bout?” You nodded. “Yeah. Well, the leader, she killed Carol and Ezekiel’s son and—” he broke off, not sure how to even voice the horror of what Alpha had done and what Carol had had to see.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “That’s enough for me to understand.”

Daryl gulped. “She ain’t been the same since. I stopped her from runnin’,” he drawled. “Got her to come back home. Maybe I shouldn’ta…”

You saw the depth of his concern and your heart ached. Carol had already lost too many kids when you had known her… the idea that she’d lost another? If you lost DJ, you’d probably lose your mind completely. You’d nearly lost it losing Daryl… “She’ll be okay. Carol has always been strong. It’s better that she’s home with everyone. She needs the support, even if she doesn’t realize it. But don’t be angry with her for tonight. She didn’t make me go after her. I chose to.”

Daryl looked over at you and you saw a flash of fear pass over his face again. “It was too close,” he said. “Too close... And ya got hurt.” He stared back out through the windshield.

“I’m okay,” you reassured him softly. “Just need a little patching up.”

You fell back into silence again and allowed yourself to lean against the passenger window and shut your eyes, focusing on the vibration from the road beneath you instead of the throbbing and pounding in your body. It seemed like no time before you felt the truck slowing to a stop and you looked up and realized you were pulling into Alexandria. Daryl stopped behind the vehicle in front of you. Maggie climbed out and came up to his window as he rolled it down. “Why don’t you two head home and get Y/N taken care of. I’m sure all the kids are already in bed. It’s late. No sense wakin’ them all up to move them now. I can bring them by in the mornin’ when I get Hershel,” she said. “We’ll go through the supplies and ration everything out first thing tomorrow, yeah?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good. See you up at the meetin’ house?” Maggie nodded.

“Yeah. See you. Get some rest. Night,” she said, managing a tight smile. Daryl threw the truck back into gear and drove it down to his place, parking it right outside the garage. You already had the door open when his voice sounded again. “Whoa—hey, take it easy, alrigh’? Just—be careful.”

You shot him an amused look, your hand still on the door handle. “I can step out of the truck,” you laughed.

He looked genuinely worried. “Well, ya might have a concussion. Just wait ‘til I get over there.”

You waved him off. “I’m fine.”

“Y/N—I watched yer head bounce off that concrete. Did your vision go out? Even for a sec?”

“Uhh…” You thought back to the momentary blackness and the fog when your sight returned.

“Yeah, dun move,” he growled, hurriedly opening his door and slamming it behind him, rushing around the front of the truck to your door.

You gave him a half-smile. “Can I—can I step out now? Is that allowed?”

He rolled his eyes. “C’mon…” He stood ready to support you if you wavered, but you were steady on your feet. Your head did swim a little as you stood, but you didn’t tell him that. “Gimme that,” he said, taking your pack, your quiver, and your bow. He led the way through the gate and around the side and held the door open for you to enter the house. “Can ya handle the step?” He still looked genuinely worried that you were about to keel over at any moment, and if you hadn’t felt bad about his very obvious and genuine anxiety you might have laughed.

“I’m good,” you said, navigating it just fine.

Daryl moved farther in and set your stuff down along with his crossbow. You closed the door behind you and bent forward to unlace your boots, and then you ate your words. You started to suddenly pitch forward, the room spinning and the floor tilting. “Shit!”

But Daryl caught you and practically lifted to you to stand you up back on your feet, his hands gentle but firm on your upper arms. You were looking up at him with wide eyes and he gulped. “What was that ya just said?” he drawled. “Yer good?”

“Guess you were right. Not like I could see my own head bounce off the concrete.” You touched the tender spot on the back of your head. “I could just feel it. I mean, it didn’t feel great of course,” you said with a dry laugh. Your equilibrium seemed a little off still, but you were having a hard time telling if it was from the head injury or Daryl. “Why don’t you just sit down on the couch, alrigh’? I’ll go get ya some water and some shit to fix ya up.” He watched your eyes lower to his chest and your brow furrowed. “What?” he asked, glancing down. There was a dark line across his shirt, almost at the bottom of his ribs.

“You’re bleeding,” you said. His hands were still gentle on your upper arms.

“Oh. Yeah, s’nothin’,” he said dismissively. “Just from the edge of the window when I caught that bag.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “You mean when you ninja snatched it out of mid-air?”

He let out a gruff laugh and shook his head. “Alrigh’. You. Couch. Now,” he drawled, finally relinquishing his hold on you. “I’ll be right back.” He started heading down the hall to the bathroom to grab some first aid supplies.

“Fine! But after me, I’m taking a look at you!” you called after him, moving around the coffee table to sink down on the couch. You were suddenly conscious of how much walker blood was on you as you held your arms out in front of yourself, fingers spread, palms down. “Ugh…” you groaned, wrinkling your nose.

Daryl was already on top of it, coming back with a bowl of warm water and a cloth along with the first aid kit. He set both down on the end of the coffee table and sank down on it in the middle, struggling a little to get his tall frame in the space between your knees and the table. “Figured ya might wanna clean up a bit,” he drawled, his eyes flickering over you. He still had that slight furrow in his brow; soft worry. “Must’a gotten the solar panels back up, hmm?” he says, referencing the glow of the lamps and the warmness of the water as you dunk the cloth into it.

“Yeah, Carol and I worked on them when you took DJ out,” you said. You wiped your hands clean and then rubbed in the general area on your neck where you’d been sprayed with that sickening spurt of blood. Daryl’s eyes kept drifting over your face and then flickering down toward your neck and collarbone. “What?” you asked, stopping with the dripping cloth still clutched in your hand. He scratched absently at his head and then licked his lips before nodding at you.

“Yer not, uhh—yer not doin’ so good with that,” he said, amusement in his voice. “You wanna go—? Mirror?” he asked, jutting his thumb over his shoulder toward the hallway.

“Jesus,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “You just do it.” You thrust the cloth at him and he nodded, letting out another gravelly laugh. He dunked it into the water and swished it around, rinsing out what you had managed to clean off your skin.

Daryl wrung the water out and hesitated, looking at you for a long moment. You gave him a small smile. “I won’t bite,” you said softly. “Promise.”

He bit his bottom lip as he pressed the cloth to the side of your neck and wiped away the deep rusty splatter. He chased the stains down to your collarbone and gulped thickly as he nudged your shirt collar aside. He rinsed the cloth again and wiped away a smudge on your cheek and a few splatters near your chin. Sitting back, he gave you a nod. “Better,” he said, setting it aside. “Alrigh’. Lemme see your arm.” He set out some alcohol pads, gauze, bandaging, and ointment. When you finished rolling up your tattered sleeve, he watched your teeth dimple into your bottom lip a little anxiously. His fingers found the fabric he’d bound the wound with and it soon fell away. “This ain’t gonna feel good,” he said, opening several of the alcohol pads.

“I’ve had worse,” you said without hesitation, not taking your eyes off the wound.

He felt a pang in the middle of his chest, but quickly resumed his care. You watched the gentle working of his fingers. “Do you think it needs stitching?” you asked.

“Mmm,” Daryl hummed thoughtfully, tossing down the used pads. “Nah. I don’t think it’s that deep.” He grabbed some ointment and applied it generously over the gash and then fixed a gauze pad in place with the bandaging. “Done.” He shifted and his knee accidentally bumped yours. He felt his face flush with head. Fuck. He was like a goddamned giddy schoolboy around you. We’ve already got a fuckin’ kid together. How do I still feel like this? “How’s the head? And your back?”

You touched the lump on the back of your head. “Not great. But nothing too serious, I don’t think,” you mused. “Nothing bleeding or broken,” you shrugged. “I’m sure tomorrow I’ll be bruised up, but it could be worse.”

A flash of those walkers almost all descending on you flickered in his mind and his heart did a full stop. He nodded and grabbed some Advil and the glass of water he’d brought for you. “Take a few of these. At least then maybe you’ll be able to get some sleep.”

You accepted them and downed the pills with the rest of the water, discarding the empty glass on the side table and sitting forward on the edge of the couch. Your knees fell in between his. “My turn,” you said. “Roll up your sleeve and let me see your arm first.”

He ducked his head and tried to wave you off. “S’nothin’. Ain’t as bad as yours.” You frowned at him softly, your bottom lip curving in a pout.

“This is a two-way street, Daryl,” you said, reaching for his sleeve before he could argue and folding it up carefully. He was right—it didn’t look as bad as yours, but you cleaned it and bandaged it up for him and then sat back. “Alright. Shirt. Off,” you said.

He gulped. “W—what?”

“Your chest,” you said, nodding.

His heart was pounding. “S’fine. It can hardly have—”

“Haven’t you learned not to argue with me yet? Let me see,” you said, reaching for more alcohol wipes and giving him an impatient look. “I can’t trust you to take as good of care of yourself as you did of me. And I’m not above undressing you myself,” you said, a half-smile on your face that had him flushing again.

He swore under his breath and gave in, ducking his head so his curtain of dark hair hopefully hid the worst of his blush. He pushed off his vest and jacket and then his fingers found the buttons of his black shirt. You busied yourself with the supplies to give him at least the illusion of privacy, but finally he shrugged his shirt off and you looked up again at his strong, bare chest. Your breath caught in your throat.

Daryl seemed to be avoiding your eyes, you thought perhaps insecure and he was seemingly paralyzed. The sharp edge of the metal had scraped or cut into his chest just below his breastbone, across his ribs where it had contacted the lip of the skylight. The surrounding skin was red and inflamed, the precursor of a bruise, but that wasn’t what you were staring at.

In the center of his chest, right on his sternum, was a tattoo he hadn’t had when you were last together, and it was unmistakably your initials—a simple script, just the initials of your name. Your eyes were wide and stunned. The supplies you’d been holding slipped from your fingers and fluttered to the floor, and Daryl finally hazarded a glance up at your expression, and then he couldn’t look away. Glassy tears pooled in your eyes and you managed to pull in a shaky breath.

Daryl cleared his throat. “I, uhh—wasn’t sure ya’d ever see it or… I—Shit… maybe I shoulda told ya that I—”

He couldn’t stumble through anymore words because suddenly you were kissing him, eyes closed, arms around his neck, your lips crashing into his. It took him hardly a fraction of a second to gently loop his arms around your back and then another to tighten them and pull you into him. You kissed him heatedly as if you needed him to breathe, urgently, hungrily. Your hand clasped his face and your fingers trailed along his strong jaw as he deepened the kiss and you yielded to the near desperation with which he was kissing you back. Your other hand slid down to his bare chest, moving gently over his scars as lovingly as he always remembered you touching him. No one ever touched him like you did—no one. You were setting him ablaze. Every nerve, every cell was burning and crackling with electricity and his desperate need for you. Your palm landed flush in the middle of his chest, right over the tattoo, and you felt the expansion of his lungs and the running of his heart. The kiss softened and slowed, but felt no less deep or intense. His hands wandered to your lower back and then settled on your hips. You were out of breath when you finally parted just enough to look at him, staring searchingly into his eyes. He was staring right back, a little frozen in disbelief, his blue eyes flitting down to your lips and back up to your eyes.

“I never stopped being in love with you,” you said. Your voice was breathy and soft and goosebumps rose on his skin.

He shook his head, still awash in disbelief that it was this easy holding you, kissing you, having you in his arms after all that time, after all his self-doubt, after ten fucking years. You still wanted him? You still wanted him as badly as he wanted you… He brushed his fingers through your hair and they gently landed on the nape of your neck. “Me neither,” he drawled. “Never. And I won’t ever.” You felt the deep resonance of his voice under your fingers. You glanced back at the tattoo in the center of his chest, right under your fingertips, and then you gave him a teary smile.

“Let me take care of you, and then kiss me again,” you whispered. Daryl nodded, in a daze, and sat frozen as you cleaned the scrape across his broad rib cage, your free hand resting lightly on his thigh and causing more waves of heat to crest over him. He gulped as he watched you wipe your hands and sit back to look at him, moving a strand of his wavy hair away from his face. “There.”

Daryl couldn’t wait a moment longer and he clasped your face delicately between both his hands and kissed you again with the same fire, his fingertips tangling into your hair and drifting down the graceful curve of your neck. The heat between the two of you was building. Your hand was drifting up and down his thigh, driving him insane. He deepened the kiss and you happily gave way beneath his lips, beneath his hands, melting under his touch.

You separated from him, your fingers landing lightly in the center of his chest again, skin to skin, your eyes flickering over his face. “Take me to bed,” you said. Your voice was low and silky and Daryl’s heart jumped in his chest.

“Are ya sure?” he asked in a low voice. “If this is too fast—”

“Is it for you?” you asked with sudden concern.

He shook his head, his eyes drinking you in. “Fuck no. But it’s been a long day—and yer hurt and—”

You leaned in and kissed him heatedly again and then your lips left his and kissed his neck, and then tickled at the soft spot just below his ear. He felt electric tingles rising all over his skin. “Take me to bed,” you said again.

A chesty growl of an exhale left him and then he was on his feet, tugging you gently along behind him, down the hall, and into his bedroom. He glanced around and realized his knives and his bow were still in the other room—something unacceptable to him in this world, especially with you to protect. He kissed you again, struggling to pull his lips from yours one more time, and then he walked you back and lifted you onto the edge of the bed with his hands on your hips. “Wait righ’ here,” he drawled, fire in his eyes. “Dun go anywhere.”

You smiled at him and then bit your bottom lip. “I promise I won’t…”

You watched the strong muscles in his shoulders and back ripple as he left and you felt more heat growing in your core until your eyes landed on a new scar on his lower back, a thick deep “X” and you nearly flinched at the sight of it. So many stories you didn’t know of each other’s lives yet… so much history to cover of the desperate in-between time. Daryl was back in an instant and you felt another wave of admiration as you realized he’d left to get his weapons—Daryl the Protector, always. He set them beside the bed and then stood a little awkwardly in front of you again, wringing his hands as if he was suddenly unsure about this. His broad shoulders and the tapering of his body to the narrowness of his hips had you biting your lip again subconsciously. You toed off your boots and slipped back down onto your feet, moving in against him and looping your fingers just into his front pockets, looking up at him with warm desire in your eyes.

He gulped and his hands found your waist.

You reached for the hem of your shirt and started to pull it over your head but the muscles in your back were tight and painful from your fall and you winced before letting out a few dry laughs. “Help me out with this,” you said, catching his eyes again.

“Are ya sure?” he asked you again, his fingers finding the soft cotton of your hem.

You answered in part by finding the button and zipper of your own fly hastily and undoing them. “I’m fucking sure,” you said, nodding. That was the last permission Daryl needed. He swept your shirt off and over your head, and his hands returned to your hips, pulling you in against him to feel the silk of you against his skin, his eyes wandering over every inch of you now bared before him. They caught on a deep scar on your side, just above your hip, and then on a small sharp one near your shoulder, but he was quickly distracted as your fingers landed on the button of his fly and you gave him an almost pleading look. He swallowed thickly and walked you backwards to the edge of the bed. He lifted you onto it again and leaned over you as you laid down beneath him, caged under his body. He captured your lips in a heated kiss, almost bruising, but a small noise of pleasure escaped you in a hum that had Daryl’s grip on your hip tightening. Your fingernails raked gently down his back and he swore electricity was crackling in their wake. His kisses moved to your neck and you looped your arms around him again, sighing at the chills and alternate flashes of heat he was sending through your body. His teeth grazed the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

Soon he was tugging off your pants and pushing down his own, stepping out of his boots and socks as fast as he fucking could, tossing them carelessly behind him. He leaned over you again, brushing your hair away from your face, admiring how beautiful you looked in that moment beneath him, different from the passing years and yet the same—comfortable, familiar, safe, and stunning. He was nearly overwhelmed. This was happening? This was really happening? You were going to be together again with him in ways he’d only dreamed of, fantasized about late at night when he couldn’t stop himself… He kissed the stretch marks on your stomach and thighs and the new scars he’d never seen. He wandered the shape of you. His lips returned to your skin and you gasped at the sensations he was able to pull from you with them and his hands, palms rough, fingers applying just the right amount of coarse pressure here and light touch there. His hands remembered your body perfectly. He still knew exactly what to do to make you gasp and make your toes curl. Pleasure rippled through you and soon had you begging him for more, your hands fisting the sheets. Daryl could hardly stand it, hearing you gasp out his name, dragging moans of pleasure and bliss from your full lips. He was about done right there… You begged him for more in the prettiest, breathy voice and looked up at him through your lashes, your chest heaving.

He lifted you and moved you up onto the pillows, pausing for a moment to drink you in, your flushed cheeks and chest, your kiss swollen lips. You ran your fingers gently down his chest. “What’s the matter?” you asked, still out of breath, taking his hesitation for something it wasn’t.

He shook his head. “Nothin’. Not a thing.” His eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile and one grew on your face to match before you pulled his lips back down against yours. He gripped your hip and laced his fingers with yours, your arm above your head, and the two of you became one again after so much time with stuttered gasps and sinful sounds. Your back arched as you moved in sync together and the coil tightened in your core. Daryl buried his face against your neck, breathing in your scent and kissing your soft skin all the way down to your collarbone. The two of you crashed through your highs together, the coil finally snapping, and you felt the edge of Daryl’s teeth nipping at your shoulder. He stilled, gasping, and then collapsed beside you, his chest heaving, but he refused to break contact with you completely, pulling you over onto your side so you were faced into one another and draping his arm over the dip of your waist. His fingers tickled at your back. You beamed at him in blissed out happiness through half-lidded eyes.

“Oh my God,” you said, still breathing through the residual effects of your high.

He nodded, moving a sweaty strand of hair away from your face. “I—I dun even know what to say,” he drawled, his eyes searching your face. “God, I missed ya so much I thought it would kill me.” He leaned in and kissed you, clasping your face so gently it was as if you were some precious, delicate thing he was afraid of leaving fingerprints on. He pulled the blankets over both of you and sighed contentedly, pulling you in more closely, tucking you against him, the corners of his eyes smiling.

You pressed a hand flush to his chest again to feel the strong and reassuring beating of his heart, your palm landing coincidentally over the initials of your name.

“Are ya okay?” he asked suddenly, remembering your injuries. He took your hand in his and pressed it to his lips, kissing the back of your fingers.

You nodded, still smiling. “Fine. My head doesn’t even hurt at all anymore. Maybe you’re my medicine.” He cocked an eyebrow up at you, drawing a laugh.

He shifted, his fingers drawing absent circles on the flare of your hip, wandering down to the sensitive skin above your thigh and back. “Better give ya another dose soon then,” he said. “Make sure ya stay pain free.”

You bit your bottom lip. “I’m good with that.” He responded by burying his face in the crook of your neck. You shut your eyes, laughing, and sighed. After leaving a kiss on the sensitive spot just below your ear he pulled back to look at you again. He moved some of your hair aside and you knew what he was looking at; a jagged scar near your hairline, usually concealed by the wispy strands around your face. “It’s from a glass bottle. This psycho attacked me while I was scavenging,” you said, your expression less starry instantly as the bad memory floated to the surface. Daryl’s brow furrowed heavily. “DJ was barely a toddler.” He traced the scar gently with a finger. “It’s okay,” you said. “You should see the other guy.”

“This one?” he asked, gesturing to the round, deep scar above your hip on your side.

You looked at him for a long moment. “I got shot.” The shadow on his face deepened and you pressed your body into his again. “Let’s not ruin this with ‘a thousand ways to die in a zombie apocalypse’,” you said with a dry laugh. “We have plenty of time now to catch up about old wounds. What I really could use at this exact moment, since the solar panels are up and running again, is a hot shower. Are you interested?”

“Are ya kiddin’? Ain’t even a question.”

You kissed him again, passionately and heatedly and desire bloomed in you all over again. His hand pressed firmly into your lower back, holding you into him.

His blue eyes were soft when you pulled back and he chewed on his bottom lip anxiously for a moment. “I love you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Like I ain’t ever loved anybody else.”

You felt like your heart was fit to burst. “I love you too.” You grinned at him and his heart leapt, surely skipping several beats. “Now, how would you feel about escorting me to a hot shower, pushing me against the wall and having your way with me?” you asked, a blush warming your cheeks.

He blinked back at you, stunned for a moment at your boldness. “Fuck yeah. Hell yeah. Uhh—but, like… respectfully,” he drawled.

You laughed and he loved the way your eyes smiled and your nose scrunched ever so slightly as you gave into it. “You don’t have to be that respectful actually,” you said, grazing the shell of his ear with your teeth, your voice flirtatious and low.

Daryl let out a breath that was almost a growl and the look he gave you was almost predatory, drawing another laugh from you. “What the hell are we waitin’ for? C'mon.” And in no time the two of you were cloaked in the cascade of hot water, thoroughly losing yourselves in each other again.

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