This Is The Most Wholesome Thing On The Internet.

🥵

Y’all always out here giving some new TV boyfriend to obsess about

♡ Hotline ♡

Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: You and Mikey have been casually seeing each other for a few weeks. After a late night text from him, you make the drunken insomniac executive decision of calling him back. Naughtiness ensues.

Or: the one where you and Michael have phone sex.

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, M/F. Minors DNI // PWP, P!rn With Feelings. Phone sex, flirting, teasing, sexual innuendos, dirty talking, mentions of oral sex (m. receiving), masturbation (m. and f.), sexual fantasies, role-playing scenarios, librarian k!nk, mentions of rough sex. // Blink-and-you-miss-it angst, alcohol use, mentions of insomnia, anxiety and self esteem issues.

Word count: 3.8k

Read below the cut OR on AO3

Notes: Reader wears glasses in this - don't look at me like that, it's integral to the plot 🙄

For the history nerds, the quote at the beginning is from the book "Fire from Heaven" by Mary Renault, about the relationship between Alexander the Great and his friend and lover, Hephaestion.

Enjoy! As always, likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated ♡

His feelings were confused; he wanted to grasp till Alexander's very bones were somehow engulfed within himself, but knew this to be wicked and mad; he would kill anyone who harmed a hair of his head…

… you yawned at the page you’d been reading (i.e., staring at without absorbing a single bit of information), before turning your head to the nightstand and seeing the clock mark 2:49 am.

“Good god”, you whispered, tiredly rubbing your face with one hand, while the other reached for the half-full glass of red wine keeping you company in your insomnia.

Technically, you knew drinking was the last thing you should be doing on a weeknight, when you were having a hard time falling asleep and were expected at work in the morning. But living alone was really not helping you behave like a responsible adult with bills to pay. So, you slowly sip your wine, read your book, and hope that eventually your brain will give up and allow you to pass out for at least a few hours.

Suddenly, your phone lights up with a text. Michael B., it says on the screen. A pang of excitement hits you, and you immediately scoff for reacting so earnestly to a text from a guy you’ve been with (not even biblically, just the daytime coffee dates that people with busy lives manage to pack into a crazy week) for a grand total of two times and less than two hours, overall. Not pathetic at all.

Still, you can’t help but reach for the phone.

Hey, I know it’s late and you probably won’t read this until morning, sorry. Wanna have dinner at that spot we talked about? I can pick you up at the office ;) – M.

You smile, and without really thinking, hit the call button.

He picks up quickly, an amused tone in his voice. “Well, I was not expecting that. What the hell are you still doing up, princess? No work tomorrow?”

You laugh. “God, I wish. I just can’t sleep. Haven’t had one of these nights in a while… my brain won’t shut up, even though I’m so tired I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck”.

“Ooof. That fucking sucks.”

“Yup.”

“Well, I’m glad to be your booty call in this desperate time.”

“Michael”, you laugh so hard you choke on some wine and must set the glass back on the table. “I really don’t think that’s what this is”.

“Oh, no?”, he feigns innocence.

“No…”, chuckling, you continue with the most sultry, mock-seductive voice you can muster “… a booty call is if I was like: Sooo, Mikey… are you, like, busy right now? Do you wanna… come over? I’m aaall alone…”.

You make sure to put particular emphasis on the word ‘come’ and Mike sounds like he is doubling over with laughter. “That was the worst proposition I have ever heard, no doubt”.

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re officially off my booty call list. I don’t need this kind of negativity in my life.”

“Ah, shit… I fucked up now, didn’t I?”, you swear you can hear his grin from the other end of the line. And see the laugh lines that form on the corner of his eyes when he smiles genuinely, the rare but so cute nose crinkle that makes your belly flutter…

You would love to get a fucking grip, thank you very much, but the wine was making you incapable of keeping a level head in this flirtation.

“Well… all is not lost. Taking me out to dinner is a good start to redeem yourself. If your game is on point tomorrow, your booty call list status might be revised… in the not-so-far future”, you add, suggestively.

“Shit. Now the stakes are on. I gotta be on my best behavior tomorrow, then”.

“I don’t know about best behavior…”. You feel like slapping yourself for your lack of subtlety.

He chuckles. “So… you like them a little nasty, huh?”

You’re glad he can’t see you blush furiously. “Not like that… but I do like a man who isn’t afraid to… take what he wants. Respectfully, of course.”

“Of course… damn, girl. You’re getting me thinking about all sorts of things…”

“Well, you’re the one who started talking about booty calls. It’s technically your fault”.

“That’s fucking rich. I was being a gentleman, sent you a sweet text and all. Not a single sex reference!”, he says, proudly.

“Ok, that is true”, you concede, laughing softly. “Are you still at the restaurant?”

He sighs deeply. “Yeah… paperwork coming out of my eyeballs. I don’t even understand how the hell I organized this mess”. You hear rustling through the line, and imagine the mess of letters, invoices and bills that must be covering his office desk.

“That fucking sucks”.

“Word”. His chair squeaks loudly. “So… what are you wearing?”

You laugh. “You’re unbelievable”.

“What? I’m just trying to keep the conversation light, you know? Nobody wants to hear about my fuckin’ paperwork at 3 am”.

It was subtle, but you could sense something deeper in his words (sadness? self-deprecation?).

“I wouldn’t mind hearing about your ‘fuckin’ paperwork’ at any time of day, Michael”.

The line goes silent, and you fear you went too deep, too soon. Made this weird in record time, wow.

“I didn’t mean it like… I meant if you want to talk to me about your shitty day, you know, you can, but I don’t want you to be uncomf-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay sweetheart. I get it… thank you for that”, he says, softly. “Maybe some other time. Right now, I honestly just wanna forget about this for a little while... I was really pumped when you called”.

“That’s okay. Really?” You smile, relieved.

“Yeah, really. So… wanna make a guy happy and tell him what you’re wearing?”

With a chuckle, you concede. “Well, nothing. I’m in bed and I sleep naked, so… yeah”.

There’s a heavy pause. “Holy shit. Are you for real?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Jesus, fuck… baby, you can’t say stuff like that and expect me to be normal about it”.

You grin, having just decided that, actually, you wanna play dirty.

“Who says I want you to be normal about it? Besides”, you throw back, suggestively, “I hardly think a woman can be held accountable for what she says after four glasses of wine on a Thursday night… naked and alone, in such a big bed…”

“Now, see, that was a much better pitch for a booty call than the first o-”

“I’m gonna hang up.”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry”, he laughs.

“You’re an asshole”. Even as you say it, you’re smiling.

“And you are a minx, lady. Gettin’ a guy all worked up…”

“Oh, my... I don’t know what you mean…”, you whisper into the comforter, now balled up in your fist over your mouth, as if to cover up your blushing cheeks from an invisible audience.

“Oh, I disagree… I think you know exactly what you’re doing”. There’s a note of sarcasm in his voice you find exhilarating. A sudden noise – like a chair squeaking loudly on a panel floor – can be heard from his end. Followed by… a metallic rattle, more subtle but still clear. A… belt unbuckling?

Wait. Is he…?

You grin, amused. “Mr. Berzatto… I’m hearing suspicious noises. What is going on over there?”

A deep grunt. “Nothin’ much, sweetheart. Just making myself comfortable, is all”.

“And how exactly are you doing that, mister?”

“You know… freeing the junk.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Well, that certainly helps set the mood”.

“Hm… baby, can I ask you for something? It’s totally fine if you don’t wanna do it… but I figure I might as well shoot my shot.”

You notice you are sitting up very still against the pillows in your bed, holding your breath in anticipation. “Sure… what is it?”

A heavy pause follows. Your heart feels like it’s about to beat itself out of your ribcage, your throat feels dry, and your tongue sits heavy and thick in your mouth, the taste of wine suddenly overpowering your senses. And you are so horny.

“Could you… send me a photo of you right now? Are you wearing those new glasses?”. He sounds… eager, almost nervous with the way he trips over the second question.

Oh. Something clicks for you, then. You smile. “So, you really liked the new glasses, huh?”

“Shit… c’mon, don’t bust my balls about it”, he says, with an embarrassed chuckle of admission.

“I’m not! It’s very flattering, actually”. You hope you conveyed how much you are not making fun of him. However, you hate misunderstandings, and to dispel any that might be going on here, you decide there is only one acceptable solution.

“Give me a minute”, you tell him, determined. You don’t wait for an answer before you drop your phone and get to work.

Meanwhile, Mikey sits in his rusty office chair, in what he thinks must look like a very… undignified position. Cock out, right hand stroking it lazily, slumped back with his jeans barely down his ass, work shirt dirty and stinking of cooking oil, his entire body tense in a mix of anticipation and shame. A part of him can’t help but wonder if you are fucking with him: laughing from the other end of the line, leaving him hanging – literally and figuratively (he chuckles dejectedly at the realization that he still remembers something from high school Lit class). He guesses he would kinda deserve that. What type of freak asks for nudes after two… dates? Do those rapid-fire coffee-grabs even count? He is so shit at this. Anything more than a casual hook-up or a quickie behind a sleezy pub is rocket science for him. ‘Congrats, loser! You just fucked it, yet again’.

Then, his phone pings. 5 photos received.

In the first one, you are lying on your side, in bed, a dim warm light illuminating the scene. He can see the contours of your body clearly, despite being covered by a layer of nearly sheer white sheets. His gaze follows your exposed collarbone, to the silhouette of your breasts – he is sure you purposefully allowed a bit of side-boob to slip past the entrapment of sheets… just for him.

He swears he could stare at the shapes of your body all day and never get tired – or limp. His dick is throbbing painfully, now.

It does not get better when he sees the rest of the photos. Your face is visible, on those. The last two are his favorites. You are laying on your stomach, with the reading glasses on, as promised – except they sit lower on your nose than usual, so that your eyes peak out from over the top of the frames. Your hair is down, tousled and wild like it’s just gotten messed up. ‘Is this what she looks like after…’. You are holding a glass of wine to your mouth – lips plump and lightly tinged red – that detail drives him a little insane –, and in front of you lays a book, delicately held open with your other hand. And in the last photo, the sheets have slipped lower down your breasts, revealing a generous cleavage. You’re staring directly at the camera with an inquiring gaze, biting your lower lip. ‘Come get me’.

“… Mike? Are you still there?”

It’s been some time since you sent the photos (twenty seconds, which your anxiety tells you is actually half an hour), with no reaction from him. Your cheeks heat up, and you suddenly feel very silly and insecure. Are they even… good? What makes a good nude? Do these even qualify as nudes? You’re not showing anything super explicit… they’re suggestive, at best. Is he going to think you’re a prude? God, why is this so diff-

Mike clears his throat. “Yeah, I… fuck. Fuckin’ hell. Holy shit. Sweetheart… these are so hot. Jesus… thank you so much. You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous…”. The last part comes out as a whisper, like he’s starstruck.  

You didn’t know it was possible to get more flustered than you already were. “You’re welcome… I’m flattered I managed to make Michael Berzatto incoherent over some low-res thirst trap selfies.”

“Baby, these are genuinely the hottest pics I’ve ever seen. You look like a hot librarian or something”.

You laugh out loud, triumphantly. “Ah! I knew it!”

“What?”, he laughs along.

“Something you wanna share with the class, Mr. Berzatto?”.

“Fuck, don’t stop calling me that, sweetheart”, he says, sounding out of breath.

“Yeah?”, you whisper.

“Fuck, yeah. It’s just… I’ve got a thing for girls with a kinda nerdy, librarian type of vibe, you know? And when I saw you this last time, holding a book and wearing your reading glasses… I gotta admit, my mind went straight to the gutter.”

Interesting. “Really? What did you imagine then?”.

A pause. “I’m not sure you want to hear it… I don’t want you thinking I’m a pervert or something”.

You sigh. “Mikey, I just sent you near-naked photos of me. We’re having phone sex. We are two horny adults having fun. Besides…”, you switch your tone to what you hope comes across as faux innocence, “… I asked you about it. It is kinda my fault, right? I guess I was kind of… bad”.

“Oh, is that what’s happening?”. He chuckles, as if saying challenge accepted. “Alright, then. When I saw you like that for the first time, this image popped into my head, right? I mean, you looked like a really hot librarian. So, I started picturing you in that scenario, with big glasses and all – just like the photos you sent me… except you had your hair in a cute ponytail, and your lips were even redder with lipstick… and you were wearing fishnet stockings up to your thighs – fuck, you got such nice legs, baby –, and you had a pair of those… what are they called. Uh, kitten heels. Yeah. Fuck, your ass would look unbelievable like that. I mean, it is unbelievable, you know what I mean? When you show up at the restaurant wearing those cute little dresses and skirts, I feel my dick twitching in my pants… that’s how hot you are, baby… that’s how crazy you make me feel.”

His words were streaming out like an avalanche – a filthy stream-of-consciousness. Flash images of all the times you were together pop into your mind. He was always nice and polite to you, if cheeky – that was his personality, after all. You’d never felt disrespected or threatened around him. Maybe that’s why, now that you knew he had been actively thinking about you like this… you were very turned on.

“Too much, sweetheart? You wanna keep listening to this filth?”

“… yeah, Mikey. Keep going. What happened then?”

“Then, I took you to a hidden corner in the library, rucked up your pretty little skirt and ripped your real nice dress shirt open… you know, so I could suck on your tits while I fucked you hard against some shelves. Didn’t even need to rip your panties off, ‘cause you weren’t wearing any. Just lifted you up and slammed my cock right into your pussy… God, you were drippin’ wet for me, and you mewled so sweetly… loud, too. Had to shove my fingers into your pretty mouth to keep you quiet. That’s what I imagined, sweetheart. More or less.”

The crass and vivid way in which he described his fantasy made you speechless. It was exhilarating. Knowing that all those times he had talked to you with a straight face, he had been actively fantasizing about fucking you hard. His words.

“Jesus Christ, Mikey”, you breathe out. “That’s… I can’t believe we had entire conversations while you had a cheap porn flick playing in your head”, you laugh softly, unconvincingly.

He sighed deeply. “See, I knew this was a bad idea… honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit. I guess I’m just a fucking perv-”

“Babe…”, you interrupt him, gentle, but firm, “shut up, please. I’m messing with you. I told you, it’s very flattering that you’re attracted to me. In fact… it’s super hot. Knowing you were having all those dirty thoughts about me while still being a gentleman… is making me feel all kinds of things, right now.”

“Yeah? What kinds of things?”

“Good things, Mikey… I’m so wet right now”, you mewl, the need for release in your core overwhelming the embarrassment you would be feeling otherwise. Without thinking, you kick the sheets away from your body and cup one of your breasts, kneading it and flicking your nipple – a moan leaves your mouth in a desperate plea.

“Fuck”, he whispers, “you got wet over that filth? Jesus Christ, baby. I won the fuckin’ lottery”.

You are burning with desire, and you can feel your pussy throbbing when you finally give in, sliding one hand down and shoving two fingers inside with barely any resistance. “Mikey… I wanna come so bad. Can you talk me through it… please?”

“Fuck… yeah, sweetheart, anything you want”. He moans, then, and you don’t think you have ever been so turned on in your life. Mikey Berzatto, a horny, moaning mess, jerking off in his mess of an office at 3 am… because of you.

Chicago’s Helen of Troy. You chuckled softly at the thought and decided to up the ante. “Baby… do you know what I was thinking when you were telling that beautiful story just now?”

He laughs, voice recked. “What, baby?”

You pout, and add another finger in, increasing the pace of the thrusts. “I wish you had pictured kissing me real hard, while I unbuckled your belt… would you let me get down on my knees for you, baby? I really wanna have you in my mouth, Mikey, like, right now”. Your words come out broken, sentences all messed up – you sound pathetic, but you are so past caring.

“Shit-”, a gasp, followed by a deep breath and the noise of something hitting a surface really hard. “… holy shit. Baby, I imagined all that and a whole lot more – seriously, you have no idea. Hell, if the lady wants to suck my dick, who am I to deny her, uh? Fuck. Would you let me fuck your mouth, baby…?”

You moan loudly at that and realize you need both hands, putting the phone on speaker – fuck the neighbors – and bringing your other hand to your clit, rubbing lightly, but fast. You were so close. The thought of kneeling on the floor, clothes and hair all messed up from Mikey’s hands, lipstick smudged… looking up at him, and watching his composure unravel because of you…

“Hm… yeah, Mikey, I think I would… ‘cause you’re so nice to me… such a gentleman, even when you’re fucking me hard… would you ask me real nice, baby? Hold my face gently in your big hands, while you fuck it?”

“Fuck, baby… I would treat you so right, you deserve everything-”, he chokes up and, for a few moments, you hear a distant cacophony of noises, like he’s put the phone down. Then, he’s back. “Sorry, sweetheart, I need both hands now”, he chuckles.

You giggle, “Me too… you got me so hot I’m fucking myself on my fingers and rubbing my clit at the same time… and it’s still not enough. I need you…”

“Fuck, that’s so hot. You fuckin’ yourself because of me… I know it’s not enough, baby… you need my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes! Mikey… please…”, you howl, completely out of your mind.

“How do you want me to fuck you, baby? Hm? Want it nice and slow? Nah… I think you like it fast and rough, don’t you? Long as I keep kissing you real good, touchin’ you real gentle, all over your body… you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”. How he manages to say such filthy things with so much honey dripping from every syllable, is beyond you.

“Yeah, fuck, baby… it doesn’t matter. I’m so wet already, you don’t need to do anything else, just hoist me up in your arms and pin me against the shelves… and shove it in me”.

You are still holding onto a shred of decency because you blush at your own crass admission – still, there is clearly not a whole lot left, as you start rubbing your clit and fucking yourself harder and faster. “I don’t want you to be gentle when you fuck me… I just need to feel your cock stretch me open… wanna feel the sting of it for days, be at work and not be able to focus because all I can think about is how you fucked me so good-”

At this point, you have no idea if he can understand anything you’re saying, because your words are intercut with moans and gasps and mewls and incoherent babble, as you’re about to reach your peak imagining Mikey’s on top of you, railing you into the bed.

“Baby, I’m gonna come… fuckin’ Christ”.

“Mikey- fuck!”.

Your body shakes and your eyes roll back from the strength of your orgasm. Distantly, your brain registers a broken string of moans and curses from the other end of the line.

A few seconds pass, and you feel yourself coming back down to Earth. You lazily stretch out on the bed, completely relaxed and fucked out. “That’s so cute… we came at the same time, babe”, you happily whisper, a ditsy smile on your face.

He huffs, amused “Yeah… what can I say? I’m a romantic at heart”.

You laugh sincerely. “This was… so good, actually. I’m glad I gave into my instinct and called you”.

“Well, I’m even more sticky now”. You both laugh at that. “But I’m also glad you called… like, really glad. Uh, can I ask you something?”

You notice a shift in his voice.

“Yeah… what is it?”

“I don’t want things to get weird between us after this… Like, I don’t want you to feel like you need to do all these things to get me off. You know what I mean? It’s just a fantasy… I’ll have you in any way you want me. Okay?”

You feel a tightness in your chest, and you wish, not for the first time tonight, you had him right in front of you so you could kiss him all over and hug him.

“Mikey… I genuinely liked tonight. And the more we talk, the more I like you. You’re not the only one who feels like you won the lottery…”.

“Baby… you’re too sweet. Don’t you think you already got me blushing enough for one night?”

“That’s fucking rich. I must’ve gone through all shades of red tonight, because of your filthy mouth”.

“Please. You loved it”, he chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess I did”, you concede, with a smile.

After saying goodbye – and confirming that yes, you would very much like for him to pick you up and take you to dinner later – you fall asleep fast, your mind finally catching up to the pleasant tiredness in your body, a soft smile on your lips.

Michonne: I dare you to kiss the next person who walks into this room.

Y/N: Screw that, I’m not kissing any of you.

*Rick walks in*

Y/N: Fine, I’ll do it. Rules are rules you know

♥️

Things that don't make you less of a writer:

-Writing dark topics/sad or tragic endings -Writing fanfiction -Writing a lot of projects at the same time or just focusing on a single one -Having difficulty naming things -Having difficulty writing dialogue or descriptions or action sequences -Having areas in writing that you find difficult -Only writing in a single genre -Only really covering one topic in your writing -Being scared to branch out of your comfort zone -Never wanting to publish -Being rejected by publishers -Not using clever word play in your writing -Having literal writing style -Writing slower than those around you -Being unable to finish any of your projects you start -Having to take long breaks even though you didn't write a lot -Getting exhausted by writing (it's not that you don't love it, it's just exhausting!)

There are so many more things I can add to this list. Literally every single habit of writers, I could add to this list. These are just some really big ones I've seen people get down on themselves about. So just remember: you are no less of a writer than those around you. Be proud, love your writing. You put the time and effort into it. No one has put the time you have into it, so you should love it more than anyone in the whole world.

Love your writing, no matter what kind of writing it is, no matter how diverse the subjects and genres are... it doesn't matter. YOU made it. You alone.

This was heartbreaking 💔

He’s so tender. I just want them to hold each other!

Look for the Light - 5

Masterlist

Summary: Four years ago, Joel saved you from certain death. In return, you followed him faithfully. Always ready to do and give him whatever he asked, despite the hurt it inflicted on you, body and soul. Agreeing to go with him to deliver Ellie to the Fireflies… this would be the last time you’d follow him… After this, your debt would be paid.

Relationships: Reader x Joel Miller, Joel Miller & Ellie, Reader & Ellie

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose to give none. Read at your own risk. 18+ (So excited to share this with you. So much to come folks! 🙊😍)

Series Masterlist - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

You watched Joel from your seat beside the fire. The stone wall at your back does little to keep back the biting cold. You knew you must be close to where Tommy's last known location was and your mind started to wander as to what the plan was once you found him. Joel was so certain that his brother would lead them to the fireflies and yet believed that unlikely. The man had left them for a reason.

"You two ever going to speak again?" Ellie piped up, pulling your attention away from Joel.

"Ellie." You warned but the teenager scoffed.

"You two have barely spoken a word to each other since..." She trailed off, knowing the subject was still raw for you "You can't keep going on like this."

"I have his back when he needs it and he has mine... we don't need to speak to each other to achieve that."

"He's hurting too." Ellie pushed and you rolled your eyes at her "He is."

"Drop it, Ellie." You grumbled "Get some sleep. Early start ahead."

The teenager didn't push and you were glad of that. The two of you pulled out your blankets and settled down for the night, knowing Joel wouldn't allow either one of you to take the watch. Your eyes drifted to the man whose eyes scanned the darkened landscape, heart aching a little at the thought that he felt even a small semblance of pain to what had happened.

Little did you know, Joel was heartbroken. That day haunted his dreams and robbed him of his ability to sleep. Your tear-filled eyes and bloody hands were permanently seared into his memory, forever torturing him.

Joel fought to keep his tears at bay as he stripped away your soiled jeans. There was so much blood. He feared for your life if you lost much more. He knew that miscarriages could be dangerous when heavy bleeding was involved and this... this he felt fit those symptoms. Your skin was pale and your eyes looked sunken. Like you'd not slept in days and he supposed that to an extent, you probably hadn't.

"Is she losing the baby?" Ellie asked, her eyes wide as she watched the man throw the ruined garment away.

"Fetch me some water." He asked, knowing that the taps still worked in the abandoned motel.

"Joel-"

Just do as I ask Ellie." He snapped, voice wobbling a little as he looked at the teenager with an expression she found hard to read.

She didn't argue then. Rummaging through your pack, she grabbed one of the tins and ran to the bathroom, filling the vestibule with water before grabbing an old towel hanging beside the sink.

"Here." She said when she'd made her way back, handing the water and towel to Joel before sitting down on the bed beside you "You're okay." She said softly as she stroked the hair out of your face "Joel's gonna clean you up and then we'll move you to my bed so you can get some sleep."

"Ellie-" You choked but the girl just hushed you, cradling your head in her arms and pulling it to her chest.

Joel watched out of the corner of his eye whilst he worked to clean away the blood that painted your thighs. He was unable to stop his hands from shaking as he worked. His heart was breaking. Despite how he'd reacted when you'd told him the news, he had since come around to the idea that he was to have a baby with you.

He had started to picture what they would look like. He'd imagined another daughter. His curly brown hair and your eyes. He'd started to picture you, round with his child and how you'd glow. It was a picture that now had burned away. Disappearing in a puff of smoke. He knew you were never going to be the same after this.

And neither was he.

When he was done cleaning you up, he lifted you into his arms and carried you into the room Ellie had slept in that night. He was glad you'd fallen asleep or you would have seen the bodies of Henry and Sam still laying there.

Once you were settled in the bed, he went to work burying the boys. Needing some time away from the devastation inside. Ellie had gone in search of some clothes that might fit you. Your jean were beyond saving. He knew that eventually, he'd need to speak to you about what had happened but he would wait until you were ready.

However long that was.

"Here." Said Joel as he handed you a mug, coffee steaming within.

You nodded your thanks then returned to starting at the landscape beyond, bringing the mug to your lips so you could blow on its contents. Joel lingered a moment, looking at you longingly, praying that you would spare him at least one glance but you didn't. You just sipped your twenty-year-old coffee and paid him no heed.

You had barely spoken to him at all since leaving the motel two weeks ago. He didn't push you to speak to him. Your interactions with Ellie had remained the same but with him, they had ceased completely. He was in agony. The longer you froze him out, the more his heart cracked. He was sure that if this went on much longer it would shatter completely and he would surely bleed out.

You noticed him walk away from the corner of your eye and you breathed a sigh of relief at his retreat. You weren't sure what he wanted from you. He got what he wanted. The baby was gone. Did he expect you to want to talk about it? Join him in his relief? All you wanted to do now was achieve your mission so you could be rid of him. The reminder of what you lost.

"You gonna be pissed at him forever?" Ellie asked as she plonked herself next to you.

"Maybe." You replied curtly, eyes remaining fixed ahead.

"It's not his fault you know." She stated and this grabbed your attention "You losing the baby isn't his fault."

"That's not-"

"You can't blame him for what happened." Ellie pushed and you sighed "You'll need to talk to him eventually."

"I know." You grumbled, scrapping a hand over your face before sipping at the coffee Joel had made you "I will. I just... I need some time."

"Understandable." Ellie replied, giving you a warm smile "Just don't leave it too long."

It was later that night when Ellie had fallen asleep that you had decided to break your silence. Joel was perched on a fallen tree trunk, gun in hand as he scanned the woodland that surrounded you. You sat yourself down at the other end, not wanting to be too close to him, and then you spoke.

"I can take the watch tonight." You piped up, taking Joel by surprise "You could do with some sleep."

"It's fine, you go ahead." Joel replied, shaking his head at you "Don't sleep much these days anyway."

"Joel, you can't keep going on like this." You argued and this grabbed his attention "You have to let us help you."

"You know, that's might rich of you to say." Joel grumbled, turning his body to face you "Seein' as you don't seem to want to speak to me anymore."

"Joel-"

"I know you're hurtin' and I understand but-"

"Understand?" You spat, eyes growing wide in disbelief "How could you possibly understand this?"

"I lost a child once before... remember?" He said, his voice lowered in an attempt to keep this conversation out of Ellie's ears "I understand how much you're hurtin' but you have to let me in."

"You didn't even want it." You growled, eyes cold as you stared back at him "I bet you're relieved!"

"I'm not." He growled, his face hardening at your accusation "But we both know that it was probably for the best." He continued "What sort of life could we have offered them?"

"I would have loved them." You sobbed "Nurtured them. I would have given all I had to give them a good life but that opportunity was taken away from me."

Joel stared at you with wide eyes. His heart ached to tell you that he was just as heartbroken as you. That he had hoped, after delivering Ellie to the fireflies, you and he would find somewhere to settle to raise your baby together. Instead, he watched you as you cried, hand resting on where your child had once rested and he found himself unable to say anything. You scoffed at his lack of response, cementing your belief that he was relieved you had lost the baby.

Watching you walk away, sobbing, his heart broke all over again. He had lost you once and for all.

You admired the river that carved its path through the landscape on your right. The landscape was something you'd read about in the books that had survived the apocalypse.

"Look at that river. It's crazy blue." Said Ellie as she too admired the wilderness surrounding you all "Hey, Joel... what if this is the River of Death?"

This made you a Joel pause. The words of that couple echoed in your brain as you share a look with the older man.

"What's past the river?" Ellie had asked and she had replied

"Death."

Horses whinnying, made you jump from your skin and you grabbed your gun as Joel pushed Ellie back.

"Get behind me." Joel ordered, studying their mounted foes and coming to the conclusion that fighting them wasn't an option "We ain't lookin' for any trouble. We're just passin' through."

"Drop the guns." One of them ordered and both complied, raising your hands above your head once you had "You... take five steps back."

"How 'bout we just talk this through?" Joel said calmly, desperate to placate the situation.

"How 'bout you shut the fսck up?" The man spat and you flinched at his tone, heart thumping wildly in your chest.

"Okay, easy. You'll be okay."

"You been near Infected?" The man demanded and you scoffed.

"There's no Infected out here." You piped up and the group all looked at you.

"The hell there ain't." The man replied before whistling, a dog barking then it trotted into view "Last chance for a bullet. If you've been infected, he will smell it, and he will rip you up.

The dog sniffed at Joel's legs before moving on to you. The animal grunted when it was satisfied that neither of you was infected.

"Like I said... we'll just move on." Joel said as he looked from the dog to the man that owned it.

"Now her." He said, motioning at Ellie and Joel felt his heart start to race. Low growling echoed in his ears and yet he found himself glued to the spot. Unable to do anything but wait for what came next.

"Hi. Hi." She giggled, the dog licking her face and Joel turned to see the girl grinning at him.

The man whistled, pulling the dog back to his side and Joel felt his heart slow again. His eyes returned to the leader of the group.

"You just bought yourself 10 more seconds. What are you doin' out here?"

"I'm just lookin' for my brother. That's all, nothin' more." Joel replied, his expression almost pleading.

"Hо! What's your name?" Asked a woman, pulling down the fabric that covered her face.

"Joel."

"Get them on some horses."

"But-"

"Just do it." She ordered "They're coming with us."

You mounted the horse given to you, Ellie joining you on yours as Joel gets on his own. The three of you then followed the group for a short while. Not a word was shared between anyone until you reached a set of tall wooden gates, flanked on either side by a wall just as high.

The gates opened. Revealing a bustling town that looked like it had never been touched by the tragedy that had torn the world to shreds. It reminded you of where you'd grown up. Just on the border of Canada. The wooden buildings felt familiar to you and you felt safe for the first time in years. Children laughed around you. People sang Christmas carols as they gathered around a tree that stood proudly in the square.

"TOMMY!" Joel's shouting pulled your attention away from the town and you watched the man leap from his horse and sprint towards a man you recognised as Tommy.

He didn't appear to have aged since you'd seen him last, unlike Joel.

"What the fսck you doin' here?" He asked, pulling back from his embrace with his brother to look at him better.

"I came here to save you," Joel replied, the two brothers sharing a look before he pulled him into a hug again.

The sight stirred something you'd thought long dead.

Affection.

The three of you were then led to a canteen-like space where you were served a piping hot meal and the cleanest water you'd tasted in years. Then, after Joel scorned Ellie for her manners and you'd all learned that Tommy was now married to the woman who'd brought you to town. A woman who went by the name of Maria. She then proceeded to give you a tour of the town before Maria took Ellie to the house they'd allocated them and you and Joel went to the town bar to catch up.

You weren't sure why Tommy had insisted you come. You weren't family. You suspected he hoped it would soothe over the grilling he knew he was inevitably going to receive from Joel. You knew differently.

"Been a long time." Chuckled as he stroked the polished wooden bar.

"I've never been in a bar." You teased, surprised at how relaxed you now found yourself.

"Shut up." The brothers replied in unison, making you smirk at them.

"Doesn't seem like you aged much." Joel said as he returned his attention to his brother, watching as he poured you both a glass of amber liquid.

"You, on the other hand." Tommy said, winking at you before pushing the glasses towards you and Joel "Thanks for still givin' a shit about me." He toasted, smiling at Joel before sipping his drink.

Joel's mouth formed a pouty 'O' as he looked from the glass to his brother. A silent conversation passed between the two men.

"Workin' on raisin' some hogs, too. Once we get bacon, I mean, what's even left?"

"Pshoo." Joel laughed "Christmas trees and bacon? Pretty decent setup." Joel said as he stood and walked over to the fireplace across from the bar. Studying the pictures sat on the mantle.

"So, how's Tess?" Tommy asked as his gaze flitted between you and Joel.

"She's fine. All right." Joel replied, taking you by surprise so you opted to keep your mouth shut. The man knew what he was doing.

"Good then. And the kid?" Pushed and Joel once again answered before you had a chance to open your mouth.

"Oh, yeah. She’s the daughter of some Firefly muckety-muck... Try'na find her family somewhere out here. I was headin' in this direction, so..."

"Really? Goodness of your heart?" Tommy scoffed, his gaze drifting to you.

"There's a payment." You replied, watching as his eyes squinted at you. "So you know where they might be? These Fireflies?" You asked, taking a sip of your drink.

"Well, they got a base down at the University of Eastern Colorado. It's, uh, a week's ride south. But it is severely fսckеd up between here and there. Infected... raiders." Tommy stated, his gaze returning to his brother "It’s not exactly an easy trip."

"It’ll be easy for us, seeing as how you can headshot Infected from half a mile away, which is a bunch of bullshit, by the way." You chuckled at Joel's statement, remembering how good a shot Tommy had been back in the day.

"Yeah, I can’t go."

"Oh, come on." You chuckled, sure that Tommy was having you both on. "I made it across the country."

"The two of us can make it from here to Colorado." Joel pushed, brows pulled together as he studied his brother's boy language closely. "What, ’cause your wife won’t let you?"

"They’re good people." Tommy argued "They didn’t have to take me in, but they did. And all they ask is that I follow their rules."

"I’m your brother." Joel growled, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Yeah, I’m aware." Tommy scoffed "They’re very protective of this place, and for good fuckin’ reason." The younger man continued, sipping his drink again "I mean, folks find out we’re up here…"

"No, we heard." Joel interrupted and Tommy sighed.

"Wrong people might show up."

"So is that what we are? Are we the wrong people?" He asked, motioning between you and him.

"Joel…"

"Those things I did, Tommy, those things that you judge me for, I did those things to keep us alive." Joel spat, edging closer to his sibling.

"We did those things." Tommy snarled "And they weren’t 'things.' We murdered people... And I don’t judge you for it." Tommy paused, letting out a sigh as he looked between you and Joel "We survived the only way we knew how. But there were other ways..." He trailed off "We just weren’t any good at ’em."

"If you knew the shit that we've been through... Tommy, tryin’ to find you these last few months…"

"I’m gonna be a father."

This news hit you like a freight train.

You saw Joel glance at you. Felt his eyes on you as you started down into your drink. Desperately trying to keep yourself together.

"Maria’s a few months along now." Tommy continued, smiling as he played with the glass in his hands "So I just gotta be more careful..." He paused, glancing at you and Joel "To be honest, I’m scared to death. But I don’t know. Uh… I feel like I’d be a good dad."

A pregnant pause hung over you all. Joel looked at you before returning his attention to his drink. Downing the last of it before speaking.

"Guess we’ll find out." He said as he poured himself a drink.

“I guess we’ll find out?" Tommy spat, angry at his brother's response "That’s all you got?"

"What else am I supposed to say?" The older man asked, looking at his brother who was now squared up to him.

"Just because life stopped for you… doesn’t mean it has to stop for me." Tommy snarled and you swear you could hear Joel's heart shatter.

With tearful eyes, he glanced at you before downing his drink and grabbing his coat.

"We’ll grab some supplies and be outta your hair in the mornin’."

You watched Joel leave. Tommy called after him before slamming his hand on the counter of the bar.

"We lost a baby." You said numbly, grabbing Tommy's attention.

"What?"

"Joel and I... We found out three months ago that I was pregnant." You replied, eyes locking with the man's as you continued "We lost it after escaping from Kansas City."

"Shit I'm-"

"I'm happy for you Tommy." You continued "But don't expect us to be jumping for joy."

You finished your drink and then grabbed your coat, wanting to be out of this place as soon as possible.

"I'm sorry you lost your baby." Tommy piped up, stopping you in your tracks "But life goes on. You can't live your life bitter because other people have what it is you want... It'll poison you."

You didn't reply. You simply left, your tears streaming by the time you stepped outside.

You managed to find the house Maria and Tommy had told you about. You'd decided to take a walk on your own for a few hours and before you'd realised, the sun had set and the town was now blanketed in the soft yellow light. Stepping inside you could hear talking coming from upstairs.

"I’m not her, you know?" Ellie said as you came to a stop outside her room "Maria told me about Sarah and…"

"Don’t." Joel warned, his voice low "Don’t say another word."

"I-I’m sorry about your daughter, Joel." Ellie pushed on, ignoring the man's warning "But I have lost people, too."

"You have no idea what loss is." Joel growled, his tone making you shiver.

"Everybody I have cared for has either died or left me." Ellie spat "Everybody, fucking except for you!" She yelled "So don’t tell me that I’d be safer with somebody else because the truth is I would just be more scared."

"You’re right." Joel piped up after a short pause "You’re not my daughter and I sure as hell ain’t your dad..." He paused a moment, and you wondered where he was going with this. Your question was soon answered.

"Now, come dawn… we’re goin’ our separate ways." You felt your blood boil.

You didn't even flinch when he opened the door to see you standing on the other side. The two of you then just glared at each other before you stormed off, leaving a frustrated Joel in your wake.

The words his brother had spoken to him less than an hour earlier after he'd pleaded for the man to take Ellie still swirled around in his head.

"I know you lost another child Joel... and for that Brother I am sorry but you can't keep shutting her out. I know you're grieving... Don't bottle it up."

Making his way downstairs, he placed himself down on the couch and threw his head into his hands. Memories of Sarah flashed in his mind. Of him decorating the tree with her. Making Christmas cookies to hand from its branches. Not that many made it onto the tree.

His mind then drifted to you. How he could have shared that with you one day. How he still wanted to. He knew he had to make things right with you.

He just wasn't sure how.

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Is there a word for swooning and panting at the same time? This fic is fire!

Hierarchy of Needs.

Daryl Dixon x F Reader.

Notes: originally, i was gonna keep this one between me and my google docs, but it's kinda cute ngl so everyone gets to see it Tags: Not SFW, set at the start of Alexandria era, takes place from Daryl's POV. Word count: 10.5k.

Daryl is a hands-on type of man.

He was never one to dawdle, sitting in one place for too long made him squirm. He swore it could be an allergy or some shit. Gets him all itchy and shifting his weight from foot to foot. The problem is, given the general uncertainty surrounding their current living arrangements, Daryl’s limited on what he can and can’t do. For the first time since the dead started walking, he’s caught up in the invisible net of “social expectations”.

Normally, he wouldn’t give a damn, but this isn’t just about him. This is about Judith getting the nutrients she needs. Carl not having to figure out how many sips of his rapidly diminishing water canteen to take to avoid dehydration. The group that’s come to be his family, in every sense of the word, having a roof over their heads and some peace of mind at night. There’s too much on the line for him to screw this up.

So he’s just got to grin and bear it (without the grinning).

Another particular individual comes to mind — all bright smiles and what seems to him to be the physical embodiment of all that’s good in this decaying world — but he swats the thought away like a pesky gnat. In his heart of hearts, he knows he’s dealing with the uppity bullshit for everyone’s sake, but… maybe there is one person he’s putting in the extra effort for. The person that kept him from glaring at some old folk who were looking at him earlier this morning like he was some escaped convict, the person who he’d kill for if it ever came down to it. Someone he already has killed for.

“Got room for one more?”

Daryl almost jumps out of his skin at the abrupt awakening from his thoughts, though from anyone else’s perspective, it probably just looks like he’s scowling harder. It’s wholly unlike him to not notice someone’s approach, human or otherwise. He’s about to give a grunt of indifference before it clicks in his brain just who is standing before him.

It’s you, the person he’d swear he wasn’t thinking such mushy thoughts about even if someone tried to waterboard the information out of him. He has to blink a few times for your newly freshened-up appearance to sink in. Your skin is clean, not a spec of dirt or grime in sight, the same going for your hair. He can’t remember the last time he’d seen you wear it down. Since the colder months in the prison, maybe? It’s a good look on you. To be fair, he’d think just about anything would look good on you.

One of his shirts, for instance. He can envision it picture it now, clear as day—

He has to stop himself from chasing after that line of thought, recalling with mild embarrassment how he still has yet to answer you.

“Can’t stop ya.”

You roll your eyes at that, giving him a look that screams ‘oh really?’, but take a seat nonetheless. Daryl’s set himself up on the porch of the house the group’s been granted. Given the position of the sun in the sky, he figures it’s about noon now. The shift in time brought a volume change. This morning, he could hear the chatter coming from within like he was in the room, everyone having finally received a proper night’s sleep for the first time in who knows how long. It quieted down when the group dispersed to their newly assigned jobs, or in the case of others, to sightsee.

Daryl takes a long drag of his cigarette while you situate yourself next to him on the porch’s steps. He eyes your outfit from his peripherals, an odd wave of something inexplicable rushing over him at the sight. It’s a nice white blouse with some jeans maybe a size or two too large for you. He can’t help but give his garments a once over. They still show evidence of the rough past few months spent living on the road. Now that he thinks about it, everything about him probably sends that message. He’d yet to take a shower or do so much as clean his face.

Is that why the Alexandrians had been giving him the side eye? Everyone else had practically been tripping over each other at the opportunity to shower, whereas he couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d disregarded Carol’s comments about it and would likely do the same if anyone had the balls to bring it up to his face, but for some reason, having you in his general vicinity is making him feel uncharacteristically self-conscious. You’re not looking at him with disgust, or looking at him with anything really, just your trademark smile that made him feel like melting into a pile of happy goo.

“You didn’t feel up to going out and exploring?” You inquire, hugging a knee to your chest. He shakes his head. At this, you scoot closer, excitement radiating from your being. “Want to come check it out with me, then? It feels… weird going places by myself. We’d always pair up in twos at least. I feel like I’m betraying our unspoken buddy system.”

He snorts at that. “Nah, ‘ve seen all I need to already.”

He knows he needs to change the subject before you decide this is a venture worth pursuing. If you gave him those damn doe eyes and asked sweetly enough, he’d do just about anything you asked. Hell, you didn’t even need to do all that for him to almost always cave. This weakness of his went mostly unnoticed to himself (or maybe he didn’t want to acknowledge it), until Merle put two and two together. It didn’t take him long either. He’d asked none too quietly how his little brother ended up pussy-whipped in his absence. Daryl had almost converted when he realized some higher power stopped you from overhearing the comment.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last smarmy comment about you Merle was destined to make. If anything, that was one of the more forgivable remarks, since the brunt of it was directed at him.

No, the worst had come when Merle had been tasked with taking Michonne to The Governor. It was a regrettable final exchange between brothers all around. Daryl can’t recall exactly how the conversation had shifted to you, or the exact words that led up to that final gut punch, but he can still hear his brother’s mocking voice speak the sentence that’s haunted him ever since.

“You've been so busy drooling over her to realize, so let me spell it out for ya nice and slow. She ain't ever gonna want you the same way you want her. We're freaks to people like that. Nothing but redneck trash. And don’t you ever forget it.”

Daryl inhales deeply, the scent of cheap tobacco mixing with the shampoo you must’ve used. It’s light and sweet. Nothing could fit you better.

“Thought you’d be at the infirmary by now,” Daryl isn’t sure who he’s trying to distract anymore — you, or him. “Got ran off already?”

Your closed-mouth smile falters for a millisecond. Anyone else might not have noticed the nearly imperceptible change, but Daryl’s got a hunter’s eye, not to mention how attuned he is to your every mannerism. He’s ready to shove his personal woes aside if it means making room for yours.

“Well, that’s a way to describe it,” he can tell by your tone that you’re trying to keep the conversation lighthearted. How very like you. “When Deanna interviewed me, I not-so-subtly hinted at everything I had learned from Hershel. Although, to be fair, I talked up everyone from our group. I even defended Eugene’s honor like the man had won a Pulitzer. I would’ve said anything if it meant not getting thrown back out there.”

He nods, listening to your every word as if the secrets to the universe were held within.

“Anyway… I guess my sales pitch went purposefully unnoticed. She did say that she’d let the resident doctor know, but that he was ‘particular’ about how he goes about his practice. I think that’s politician talk for ‘not gonna happen’. She seemed eager to move on from the subject. So, for the time being, we’re both unemployed.”

Daryl has to will himself not to get distracted and laugh at your joke. He knows you don’t like to be ‘a downer’ (your words, not his), which leads you to hide negative sentiments behind that pretty smile. He gets it, because he does the same thing, utilizing a gruff exterior instead of your near-blinding charm.

“‘S stupid. Don’t let it get to ya.”

“Oh, I won’t,” you grin at him genuinely enough. He temporarily reassesses, wondering if he read you wrong, when your shoulders slightly slump. “I just really want this to work. We need this to work. The fact we lasted out there for so long, with a baby, is almost enough to have me asking Gabriel if he can send my regards to the big man in the sky.”

“It’ll work,” he tells you, his tongue working faster than his brain. You give him a hesitant nod. You know just as well as he does that there’s no way to make guarantees like that. Still, when Daryl’s so used to seeing you in bloom, having you wilt beside him hurts. Worse than a knife being twisted in his gut.

“Yeah,” your voice drops to a whisper then. You glance around, as if checking for prying eyes and ears, then continue when satisfied there are none. “I hope everyone else thinks so too. Rick looks to me like he's been thinking 'Viva La Vida' ever since we first set foot inside.”

Daryl searches the recesses of his brain to grasp at what your vague term means, squinting while he does so. He thinks he may have heard it in a history class at some point, in between playing hooky. Sensing his confusion, you elaborate, but not without throwing in a shitty French accent that has no business sounding as cute as it does.

“Révolution.”

You’re more perceptive than you let on, aren’t you? He wonders if Carol has been taking notes, considering the friendly-totally-not-threatening-cookie-and-casserole-making façade she’s recently adopted. He supposes it’s a bit different. You don’t actively hide your strengths, but you don’t go around advertising them either.

It was one of the first things Daryl noticed about you. In truth, he hadn’t given you much thought when he initially met you back on the side of the highway in Atlanta. He mentally categorized you as some city girl who’d probably complain about how the mosquitos are constantly biting or whatever. While you did express your fair share of disdain over the bloodsucking bugs, it was more of an icebreaker than anything. A way to loosen people up. Lighten the spirits when things got too heavy.

You were the opposite of Daryl in that way, a bonafide people magnet. He hadn’t given this quality of yours enough credit until he saw you bring a smile to Carl’s face soon after his mom’s tragic death. Then there was the way you cared for the people he found out on the road back in the prison days. They were often understandably closed off, disbelieving of the security the chain link fences supposedly provided. You made it a point to help bring them into the fold. No one asked you to, you just did it, because that’s the type of person you are.

Daryl brought people in, you made them feel at home. He cherished that little connection he had with you. It made him feel warm and fuzzy, like he’d downed enough liquor to feel buzzed without getting drunk. Everything about you was similarly stupefying and addicting.

When the prison fell, he thought all possibilities of restoring that connection fell with it. A silly thing to mourn, but he mourned it nonetheless, another line on a seemingly infinite list. Maybe… maybe it doesn’t have to be a figment of the past. If this place, Alexandria, is where your group decides to kick up their feet, he could start recruiting again. Look forward to seeing how you run over to greet the fresh faces upon hearing of his return.

It’s a nice thought. He’ll have to see if reality is anywhere near as kind.

“Rick’s just wary, ‘s all. Hard not to be. Y’know how it was out there. What we saw.”

“… Yeah,” you shift in your seat. “Well, at least these folks didn’t break out the salt and pepper when we walked through the gates.”

“Jesus Christ, woman.”

He can’t stop a single chuckle from slipping out, though he still cringes at the Terminus callback.

“Heard they got a shrink somewhere ‘round here. Might wanna look into that.”

“Hey, I said I’m trying to make this work, not end up in a Hannibal Lecter getup.”

You and your damn movie references. At least he’s familiar with this one. Sometimes he swore you and Eugene were speaking in another language when you two got on the topic of entertainment. Not being able to share that interest with you made him feel a certain way — a real shitty way.

“You’re the last one of us they’d throw out,” Daryl muses. You tilt your head at that, furrowing your eyebrows like when he’d first recounted the chupacabra story. He decides not to expand on the subject; it has too many of his feelings intertwined. Not worth the risk. “Unless they catch wind of your shitty sense of humor. Can’t say what’d happen then.”

You place a hand to your chest in faux indignation. “Well, Dixon, you laugh at my ‘shitty sense of humor’ more often than you don’t, so what does that say about you?”

A lot of things he can’t bring himself to admit out loud, mostly.

You give him a playful punch in the shoulder when he doesn’t dignify you with a response. The touch is so innocent, a mere brush of your knuckles against his skin, yet it throws his mind into temporary disarray. The effect you have on him could be subject to study; it’s as if every nerve in his body is set on fire. He feels warm, from his face to the tip of his ears. Then that heat drifts steadily downward. It’s then that he becomes fully aware of how close you are. How he can see your collarbones, and if he tilts his head at just the right angle, the start of some cleavage.

It’s got to be wrong, how much he desires you. The ways he desires you. It makes him feel ickier than the months without a proper shower ever could. You’re so bright, so kind, so good, he shouldn’t be lusting after you like some boy whose voice hasn’t broken yet. You trust him, he knows you do. He’s overheard you go so far as to call him one of your closest friends. Considering the far better options you have out there, he should feel blessed you even give him that much. Wanting anything more than that isn’t just greedy, it’s downright risky.

Daryl would never forgive himself if he made you the slightest bit uncomfortable, he’s given people shit for less. Someone could look in your general direction for too long and he’d start glaring.

Right when he starts willing himself to pull his head out of the gutter, you go to tie your hair up, effectively shutting any possibility of him doing that down. Your chest arches forward at the movement and he’s treated to a lovely view of your neck. You must sense the heavy way he’s staring at you, for you turn your head towards him. He doesn’t make the situation any better by shifting his attention ahead fast enough to almost give him whiplash.

“Are you planning on coming to that welcoming party tonight?”

Daryl has to bite back a groan at this topic of conversation. Why is everyone so damn interested in his attendance to some yuppie soiree? He knows that if the request is coming from you, it’ll steadily break his resolve down.

His facial expressions must have betrayed his thoughts, for you laugh. “I didn’t think so. I can’t blame you. I’m actually planning on bailing at the first opportunity I get.”

He raises an eyebrow at this. “Really? Can’t believe ’m hearing that from Miss Social Butterfly.”

“I think I’m more of a social caterpillar for the time being. It’s just, uh, a lot. I’m pretty sure Rick wants to put me on display as some sort of standup citizen like back on the farm. That I could handle. This, I’m not so sure. I don’t know the first thing about croquet. I feel like I’m lowering the GDP just by being in the general vicinity.”

He has to stop himself from gawking. He can’t fathom why you of all people would feel this way. That elderly couple who was staring him down probably would’ve fawned over you, pinched your cheeks and welcomed you in for quinoa. He’s about to voice this when your comment about the farm catches his attention more.

“The hell’d he have you do on the farm?”

“Oh, that’s right, you may not have noticed. I’d mostly situate myself in the areas Hershel was bound to come across with a Bible in my hands. Y’know, nodding my head and stuff, looking really into it. Worked like a charm. Tensions were high, but I think he felt slightly less inclined to send us packing knowing there was a God-fearing individual among us.”

He snorts, shaking his head in disbelief. You really were something else. He swears he could talk to you for hours if you allowed him.

“Try the Bible-thumping again. Might just do the trick.”

“Somehow or another, I doubt that. You’ve noticed it, haven’t you? The staring. I swear I saw some blinds being drawn when we all came out earlier.”

Of course he’d noticed. He’s likely half the reason behind it. “That’s what you’re ‘ere for. To get ‘em to stop looking at us like a damn circus act.”

“You and Rick are overestimating me. Maggie and Glenn have got it covered, little Judith adds brownie points too,” you tilt your head back to look at the cloudless sky. “Anyway, I figured if you planned on ditching, I’d invite myself along. Buddy system, remember?”

He flicks the cigarette out of his hands and onto the ground, extinguishing it beneath the sole of his boot. “Like I said earlier — can’t stop ya.”

Daryl silently praises himself for keeping up the cool and indifferent front when he’s internally celebrating over the prospect of having more alone time with you. What he wouldn’t give for more of that. He hasn’t the slightest damn clue why you seem to favor his company, but if there’s anything the apocalypse has taught him, it’s to accept a miracle when he’s handed one.

You smile at him as if he’d just offered you the world on a silver platter. It does too much to his poor heart.

“Great! It’s a date then.”

He almost chokes on his spit from how casually you say that, his eyes wide blown and jaw slacking. Fortunately, you’re none the wiser, standing up and patting the dirt off your jeans. The realization you’re about to leave makes him feel pathetically empty. He’d spent just about every moment of the past few weeks by your side, yet it wasn’t enough, he doesn’t think anything can be enough. The more of you he gets, the more of you he wants. You’re worse than the drugs his brother used to sing the praises of.

“Heading out?” Daryl can’t stop himself from questioning, no matter how obvious it might make him look. The porch steps already felt a whole lot emptier without you sitting beside him.

“Yeah, I promised to save Michonne if she wasn’t back in ten. She’s getting swarmed by children curious about her sword.”

“Good luck on your search n’ rescue.”

You give him a silly salute then, finishing the pantomime off with a bout of giggles. Then you’re off. Daryl exhales shakily, cursing himself for the way his heart’s pounding like he’d just run a marathon. He knows he needs to squash this lovesickness before it’s too late — if it isn’t already too late. He didn’t agree with Merle on a lot of things, especially when it came to you, but that last remark rings true. It’d be laughable for him to delude himself into thinking you feel anything but platonic affection toward him.

Especially with the options you have here in Alexandria. It may have been slim pickings before, but now, you might as well have an entire buffet laid out. You’re bound to catch the eye of some of the folk around here. If you could get him to like you, he figures you could win over almost anyone. Why would you give him the time of day when there are those clean-shaven, college-educated men running around like they own the place? If the world hadn’t gone to shit, that’s probably who you would’ve gone for.

It’s only because the world went to shit that you even know his name.

Watching how some Alexandrians wave at you, a gesture you animatedly return, he reaches for another smoke.

His brother’s words echo in his head, falling somewhere between a taunt and a warning.

“She ain't ever gonna want you the same way you want her.”

He would do well to remember that, wouldn’t he?

-

If someone told Daryl he’d died and gone to heaven, he’d believe them.

You’re leaning against one of the porch’s pillars, humming a tune to yourself, not having noticed his presence yet. He decides to keep it that way if it means he gets to admire you a while longer. You’re wearing a dark blue dress (he can imagine you correcting him and calling it ‘indigo’ or some shit), looking like an angel incarnate beneath the moonlight. It’s such a simple garment, stopping right above your knees, but to him, you might as well be wearing a ball gown. You’ve got those white tennis shoes that he saw you furiously scrubbing grass stains off of earlier today, the outline of a knife tucked away in them. His chest swells with pride at the knowledge you’re always ready to take care of yourself, thanks in part to his teaching.

Eventually, he manages to break himself free from his you-induced reverie, calling out your name to catch your attention.

You spin on your heel, placing your hands on your hips at the sight of him. “There you are. I thought my ditching buddy ditched me.”

He has to stop himself from saying he’d cross a river of broken glass barefoot if you were standing on the other side, instead settling on, “Aaron and Eric invited me over, figured you’d still be at the party. Did I keep ya waiting long?”

“No, you didn’t, I’m just being dramatic,” you revert back to your usual posture and grin. “It’s good. That they invited you over and you accepted it, I mean. Aaron’s a cool guy. Eric is too, from what I can tell. You guys have some manly bonding time?”

He rolls his eyes at the teasing lilt in your voice. “Mhm, sat around chuggin’ beer and talking ‘bout sports for hours. You?”

“Nothing of much note went down, just a lot of handshaking. I did get stuck talking to one of Deanna’s son for a while, though. I had to practically jump through hoops of fire to escape.”

Daryl swallows down the unpleasant taste that revelation leaves in his mouth. “You don’t like ‘im?”

“He’s… fine, I guess? Harmless enough. Just a really dry conversationalist, which to me, is a cardinal sin,” you stretch your arm above your head and Daryl has to stop himself from staring at how your skirt lifts up, revealing more of your shapely legs. Shit, he really does drool over you. “Oh, you’ll get a kick out of this. He invited me to a game of croquet. I was joking about that earlier, turns out I was right on the money.”

“You’re shitting me,” he deadpans.

“As much as I wish I was, no. God. I knew they’d be a bit sheltered here, but this… I don’t know. It worries me. I wish I could tell myself they can keep living this way, because that’s what they’re doing. Living. They really don’t know how bad it is. And if the bad ever makes its way here…”

You trail off, not needing to fill in the gaps for Daryl to piece it together. He gets what you mean. The entire group does. Carol thinks they’re children and Rick’s ready to take over at the drop of a hat. No one aside from you has expressed concern about their wellbeing out loud, although it’d been in the back of his mind when he saw there were children and old folk here. It’s this compassion of yours that brings him in like a moth to light. After everything you’d been through, you had every right to become a bitter husk of the woman you once were, but you haven’t.

And he thanks the God he isn’t sure he believes in for it.

After a moment’s deliberation, he sets his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. “It ain’t too late for ‘em. You learned. So can they.”

“Well, it did help that I had an excellent teacher.”

He grumbles a ‘shut up’ despite wanting you to do anything but.

Silence sets in for a few beats then. It takes him longer to notice this than it usually would, his head caught up in the near-euphoric experience of receiving a compliment from you. He realizes that he has yet to take his hand off your shoulder and has undoubtedly let it linger too long. He clears his throat, detaching himself from your person with some reluctance, suddenly taking an acute interest in the floorboards you’re both standing on.

Why is it still silent, save for the buzz of cicadas and the chirps of grasshoppers? Shit, did he cross some invisible line in the sand?

“Daryl?”

He grunts at that, not trusting his voice when his thoughts are at war with one another.

“You really are a good man.”

His head shoots back up and he’s searching your countenance for any signs of deception. You’re always teasing one another, this could be another instance of that. However, when your eyes meet his, he sees nothing but unabashed admiration shining in them. He doesn’t think he deserves to be looked at that way, much less by you of all people. You were looking at him like he was the second coming of Christ or something. It makes his stomach do backflips and his poor heart might go into cardiac arrest.

He tries to dismiss your claim with a lighthearted ‘nah’, not because he can’t accept the compliment, but because he doesn’t think it’s true. If you knew the way he thought about you, you’d take your words right back. Look at him the way people have his entire life. Disgust, maybe some pity. Doing what anyone would’ve done doesn’t make him a saint, no matter how hard you and Carol try to argue otherwise.

“You might not believe it, but I hope me thinking so suffices in the meantime,” you say, doing that creepy mind-reading thing you tend to be good at. “I’m truly grateful I met you. You make this life worth living.”

Should you keep going on like this, you might make him well up with tears. He’s glad there aren’t any reflective surfaces nearby because he can’t fathom the expression must be making. What is this? What are you doing to him? Those soft, kissable lips of yours must’ve casted a spell. You’re reaching forward now, pressing your palm against his cheek, and he considers pinching himself to see if this is all a dream.

If it is, he might not want to wake up.

Out of some primal, base instinct, he leans down, wanting nothing more than anything to get a taste of you. It’s when his lips are a few inches from yours that his brother’s words come hurling his way, knocking him off balance and making him jerk backwards. He sees something flit over your face — hates himself for it, too — the sight further reinforcing the prophecy spoken over him.

You deserve more. You deserve some man who knows how to speak what’s on his mind, who doesn’t shy away the second a conversation gets the slightest bit personal. Daryl doesn’t know how to do that, he might never figure it out either. If he does try, you’d have to bear the brunt of his inexperience, and your patience is bound to run out. He can barely put up with it himself sometimes, he can’t fathom putting you through it too.

“Are you okay?”

You’re staring up at him, your eyebrows knitting together, a frown that he so desperately longs to kiss away on your lips. He should be the one asking you that. From your perspective, you must figure he’s rejecting you. And still, you don’t stomp off in a huff or put him down. The tenderness emanating from those three words melts his heart like snow come spring. He opens his mouth, then closes it, licking his lower lip while trying to decide the best approach. Catching those damn hogs back at the prison was easier than getting a few words dislodged from his throat.

“You… you’re sure?” Daryl winces at how unlike himself he sounds when whispering this. “You feel that way ‘bout me?”

The pad of your thumb runs over his cheekbone. “Mhm. Guilty as charged.”

No matter how nonchalant you’re trying to act, he can feel the way your hand shakes against him. See the lines of worry you try to cover with a smile. Hear your every shallow breath. This must be fucking terrifying for you, baring yourself before him like you did, granting him a glimpse of your heart. His mask is one of indifference and yours is one of charm. You’re trying to keep things light like all those times on the road. When he saw you tossing and turning in your sleep, fighting back tears when you thought no one was looking.

He knew. He’s always known. He just never knew what to do about it, how to provide the same comfort you gave others.

“I wanna look out for you,” Daryl’s larger hand envelops the one you’ve placed on his face, causing your eyebrows to raise ever so slightly. “Wanna… wanna keep you safe and smiling. Want you to feel like you can do more than that ‘round me too. You can cry, get angry. ‘S alright. I know. I know.”

Tears well up on your lower lash line, and maybe he should feel a bit guilty for thinking so, but damn, you look beautiful. “See? This is what I meant when I said you’re a good man.”

“Cut it with your shitty jokes, woman,” he knows his bark is worse than his bite when you laugh at him, tilting your head back and revealing more of that tempting neck of yours. He swears to burn this image into the recesses of his mind for as long as he lives. You’re being you, he’s being him, and there’s nothing better.

All his bravado slips through his fingers like sand when you stand up on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. You breathe a taunting command against the shell of his ear and he shivers.

“Make me.”

That successfully ignites the competitive streak you know he has.

For how coquettish you were acting, you return his kiss in a gentle manner, and he reciprocates the pace you set. His hands find their way to your waist without daring to go lower, no matter how loudly his instincts urge otherwise. He’d sooner breathe his last breath than make you feel uncomfortable. If this sweet kiss is all you want, he’d count himself a blessed man from this day forward. It’s you who parts first, leaning back just enough to give your lungs some much-needed air. You stare up at him through your eyelashes, giving him that look that would make him agree to anything you ask.

“Do you want… to take this inside?”

Your voice dies off toward the end and he swears his brain temporarily shut off at the implication. Barely a second earlier he was thinking how he’d die a happy man just for getting a simple kiss from you, he’d written off the possibility of anything more than that. He nods his head, his hand going to the small of your back to lead you inside, when you turn and start making for the front lawn.

Reading the confusion on his face, you explain, “We were given two houses, remember? It might be a better idea to use the empty one for this.”

Daryl really had forgotten the rest of the world exists when he was in that bubble with you. The streets may be empty, but who knows how long that welcoming party will last. He’s grateful one of you has a head clear enough to consider these things. You’re his smart girl for a reason.

“Ya plan this?” He can’t stop himself from asking when he half-jogs after you. The thoughts that run through his head when you bend over to pick up a key hidden beneath a welcome mat will stay between him and God. You slot it into place, turn, then open the door, beckoning him to follow with a finger. He feels his pants growing tighter by the second.

“I’d be a liar if I said yes, though I wish I could take credit for everything,” you lock the door behind him. “No… it just felt like it was time. I’d been waiting for my moment for ages. Guess I got a little impatient.”

Your back is up against the door the second that last word is out of your mouth. He takes your lips for his own again, something like a gasp leaving him when you lift a leg to curl around his waist. He steadies you with his hands to ensure you don’t fall over, the air in the room feeling thicker than those humid Georgian summers you spent together. When he senses you’re stable enough, he lifts one hand to cup your cheek like you did to him, pulling you as close as he physically can. Your arms are around his neck once more, playing with the ends of his hair that he’s grateful he washed hours prior. He hadn’t anticipated this, yet knowing he had plans to spend time with you gave him the motivation to clean up.

Rick teased him for it earlier. The former sheriff had walked in on him shaping up his beard, a knowing smile on his lips.

“Saw [First], didn’t you?”

“Shut up, man.”

Officer Friendly had called it. Carol gave him a nod that made him figure she knew it too. So much for being covert about his feelings for you. Deep down, he knew it must be obvious, the extensive special treatment he gave you. His brother wasn’t too far off with his pussy-whipped comment, crass or not. Daryl would offer you his last bite of rations, final sip of water, hell, he asked if you wanted him to carry you on the grueling walk to DC when everyone was at their wit’s end. You had given him a weak chuckle and said he wasn’t in any shape to do that.

Regardless of how true that was, had you said yes, he still would’ve found a way to make it happen.

You were that precious to him.

Daryl starts tugging the hem of your dress, revealing the tantalizing sight of your bare thighs beneath. Before he can pull it up any further, your hand is on his, and he stops in fear he’d done something wrong.

Those self-doubts are washed away by the sheer neediness in your next word. “Bedroom?”

You don’t need to ask him twice.

The noise you let out when he lifts you up has got to be one of the cutest damn things he’s ever heard. Your response is immediate, you encircle your limbs around him, clinging on like he’d ever dare to drop you. The house doesn’t have any lights on, but Daryl’s eyes are good in the dark. He carries you up the steps while you bury yourself in the crook of his neck. He finds an empty master bedroom, shuts and locks the door behind him, then brings you over to the queen-sized bed.

You start to take your sneakers off when he touches your wrist and shakes his head. Before you can question his intentions, he kneels in front of you, getting down on his hands and knees. This here is a gift you’re giving him. He’d be damned if he didn’t act accordingly. He takes your shoes off with a surprising amount of patience, pressing a chaste kiss to your shin when he’s done.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” His voice comes out deeper than he’s ever heard it. “That you want it?”

“I’m absolutely positive. I’ll even beg, if you ask nicely enough. I’m nice like that.”

He squeezes your thighs. “There you go, running that mouth o’ yours again.”

“You could always make it so I can’t.”

Daryl raises an eyebrow at the insinuation, his cock twitching inside his briefs at the mental image it conjures up. You, sitting pretty on your hands and knees, mouth open and waiting for him. Knowing you, you’d probably rile him up first. Kiss his tip and apply the bare minimum amount of pressure. Would you take him in slow? Lick him up and down the side while staring up at him with those gorgeous eyes?

Tempting as it is to find out, he’s got other plans in mind. He wants to see your face twist in pleasure and hear his name fall from your lips. It’d do his pride some good to know one as sought over as you chose him.

You start playing with the straps of your dress, pulling him from his fantasies. “Do you want to take this off, or should I?”

He bites his lower lip hard enough that it’s a miracle it doesn’t start bleeding. He had intended to unwrap the present before him, but when you put it like that… it makes him curious about the alternative. He’d love to see what little show you’d put on for him, he’s got front-row seats, after all.

“Alright. Let’s see it.”

Daryl gets up from his kneeling position and takes a seat beside you on the bed. You get the hint, standing with legs that wobble ever so slightly. You don’t look surprised when he chooses to poke fun at your current state.

“Woah there, you good? Legs still work?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Better than ever, thank you very much.”

He leans back, making himself comfortable for whatever comes next. “Mhm. Whatever you say, princess.”

At hearing the sarcastic nickname, you go stiff as a board. He catches the way your pupils dilate. You press your face into your hands to muffle a groan, hiding a very noticeably flustered expression from his prying eyes.

“I haven’t heard you call me that for ages. I think it may have awoken something in me,” you confess, pulling your hands away at his prompting. “I may or may not have developed the biggest crush on you when you called me that back at the prison. It got me riled up every time. Even if I was laying on my ass ‘cause you flipped me over for the umpteenth time that day.”

Daryl snorts at the memory. “Ya always did seem to be out for blood after I said it.”

He keeps the fact that he found your frustration cute. It was a hidden ace up his sleeve that he utilized when it looked like you were about to give up, his training regiment admittedly brutal. He couldn’t risk going easy on you with the world being the way it is. You’d be down on the grass, soaked in sweat, groaning for him to call it a day because ‘you think every bone in your body is broken’. Apparently, all it took was a little taunting for you to hop right back on your feet again.

Your competitive streak might be as bad as his.

“Did you like me then, Daryl?” You question, dropping the left shoulder strap just enough to give him a treat. “You must’ve, if you never shooed me away.”

Damn freakishly perceptive woman. “Why ya asking if you already know the answer?”

“Because your voice is the best sound I’ve ever heard. Can’t blame a girl for wanting to hear more of it.”

He grunts, unable to meet your eyes after an embarrassing proclamation like that, his face flushing. How is it you say half the stuff you do? You and your stupid silver tongue would be the death of him. There are worse ways to go, he figures. He struggles to keep his eyes focused on the wall when you lean forward, granting him an unrivaled sight of your cleavage. His embarrassment still slightly outweighs his burning desire to ogle you. Sensing this, you splay your fingers against his clothed chest. Slowly, ever so slowly, your hand ghosts upward. Over his jugular then settling on his jaw. You move his face until he’s looking you dead in the eye again.

“Hey handsome,” your voice pours over him, sweet and thick like honey, “Eyes over here. I get jealous rather easily.”

God, he hopes you don’t notice the goosebumps dotting his skin. Maybe you were a cross between an angel and a witch, what with your ability to enthrall him. His boxers have never felt more uncomfortable in his life. He balls his hands into fists by his side, utilizing every ounce of his self-control to stop himself from picking you up, throwing you on the bed, and utterly ravishing you.

“That so?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, the next strap falling victim to your ministrations. The front of your dress starts to slip down. His Adam's apple bobs from how thickly he swallows. The swell of your chest comes into view, pushed up by your nude-colored bra. His knuckles go white from how tight he’s grabbing the comforter to keep himself in check. You’re treating him to a show, it’d be rude to interrupt your performance now.

Without the support of the straps, the fabric continues falling, revealing more and more of your beautiful body for him. The wet patch of your panties isn’t lost on him — you’re relishing in every second like he is. While never looking away from him, your hands disappear behind your back, fiddling with your bra strap. He swears he’s never felt less like a man and more like a beast when he’s finally able to see your chest in its entirety.

You walk to him as if you have all the time in the world, your knees hitting the bed’s side not nearly fast enough for his liking. Finally, you take a seat on his lap, your crotch pressing perfectly against his. He lets out a low groan then, grateful for any pressure to relieve the near painful hard-on you’ve given him. His hands settle on your ass, grinding you against his clothed length, and you stifle a moan by biting down on your lower lip.

Daryl tuts, stopping before he’s even begun. “Nah, I don’t think so. Don’t go getting shy on me now, girl. Ain’t like ya.”

After a moment’s consideration, you nod your head, your eagerness apparently outweighing the shame he didn’t know you had. He grins at you, resuming his previous actions and earning those debauched noises he’s longed to hear. Your panties might be staining his jeans, but he can’t find it in himself to complain, he’d wear it like a damn badge of pride. You’re his woman now. He belongs to you as well — heart, mind, body, and soul — if you asked, he’d happily hand it over.

“It feel good? Hm?”

“Like everything I ever wanted and more,” you confess, the breathiness of your voice making his brain feel hazy. “You’re— god— I adore you, Daryl. You’re so good to me.”

His lips are on yours then, this kiss being the messiest yet. His tongue pokes at your lips, and when you part them, ready to receive whatever he’s willing to give, his tongue goes to explore the newfound territory. You taste sweet (is that chocolate?), like the best treat he’s ever been given. He swallows your little gasps and whimpers, giving your ass a firm squeeze to ground himself.

Daryl can’t believe this is really happening. That you want him as much as he wants you and have no qualms showing it. He might be drunk on lust, but there’s something else in there, a flavor he’s never experienced before you stumbled into his life. It’s sweeter than the chocolate, more addicting than the bottle.

He loves you. He has for the longest time.

He slows down his maneuvering of your body, letting you catch your breath and tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“You okay?” You ask in between huffs, peppering his hairline with featherlight kisses.

“Better than ever,” he repeats your words from earlier, albeit with a southern drawl. Faster than you can process it, he flips you over, kicking his shoes off to lord knows where. You get over your surprise fast enough and shuffle back to make room for him. He hovers above you, almost uncertain of where to start. You must be feeling particularly gracious, for you let him drink in the sight of you without making any smart comments. Your body is pure eye candy and he’d be damned if he didn’t get himself a nice taste.

His lips are feverish against your neck, alternating between bites and open-mouthed kisses. He’s finally able to lavish your chest in some well-deserved attention, his rough palms pressing against the flesh, feeling you up like his life depended on it. You, being the perfect creature you are, grind up against him, drawing out a growl from his throat.

“It alright if I mark you up?” He breathes against your skin in between kisses. “Show everyone you’re mine?”

“Yes, please do.”

Never one to deny you anything, especially when you ask so nicely, he gets to work leaving proof of this tryst on your neck. Little bruises start to form where he’s concentrated his attention, right above your racing pulse. Content with its appearance, his lips start adventuring down. He takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks, more than pleased at the gasp you let out in response. While his tongue swirls around you, his hand makes its way to the hem of your panties, the last clothing item keeping you from being entirely bare. He detaches himself from your chest with some reluctance, so he can witness this final barrier being torn away.

“If you look at me like that, I might just get embarrassed,” you laugh at the halfhearted glare he gives you for the comment. He supposes it wouldn’t be you if you weren’t actively trying to rile him up. You were coy like that, frequently looking for a way to get him going, not that he minded. It’s starting to add up in retrospect. You’d been flirting with him all this time, a fact that went right over his head.

“‘S fine by me. Would probably do you some good.”

Your eyes crinkle from how wide your smile is, unadulterated affection gleaming in your eyes. He can’t help himself — he bends down to peck your now pouting lips. Tempting as it is to kiss you silly for the remainder of the night, he’s a man on a mission. You lift your legs to help him get that final undergarment off. He sets it aside so you won’t have any difficulty finding it later. Then he’s drinking in the beauty that is your glistening folds, subconsciously licking his lips at such an appetizing display.

A soft call of his name breaks him from his stupor. “Hm?”

“Don’t, uh, feel like you have to do that,” you give him a sheepish glance. “It’s okay if you just want to, y’know.”

If he were a cruel man, he’d tease you until you squirmed for how adorable you’re acting, but he decides to have mercy. Gotta be gracious with the love of your life and all that. Still, he can’t help feeling slightly miffed you’d think he’s going to eat you out over some obligation. Your pleasure is his pleasure, your happiness is his happiness. He thought his desperation for you soaked into his every action since you confessed on that porch. Then he remembers he hasn’t got much room to talk, the voice of insecurity could be brought down to a whisper, yet never entirely silenced.

He gives your pelvis a kiss. “I wanna. Simple as that.”

Daryl’s reassurance comes out gruff, and while it might not be dripping with romance, it visibly puts you at ease. He doesn’t do anything until you nod. Then he’s in between your legs, feeling more at home by the second. He kisses you up your inner thigh, his beard tickling over the smooth expanse of skin. Finally, his tongue slips between his lips, pressing flat against your cunt. The way you shudder encourages him to repeat the action, testing the new waters with care.

His technique isn’t the most refined, but he’s eager, lapping you up with unmatched zeal. The wet sounds of him feasting himself on you fill the room, and he thinks it might be one of the best sounds to grace his ears. He alternates between licking you and pulling on your folds toward him slightly with his teeth. Whatever it is he’s doing, you seem to be enjoying it, if the way your legs go wide for him is any indicator. He pulls you flush against his mouth by your love handles, delighting in how you moan so prettily for him. He’d tried to imagine what you might sound like if he ever had a chance with you, what dulcet tones your voice would take on.

Those thoughts were enough to satisfy him on lonely nights, but they pale in comparison to the real thing. You’re a force of nature. So beguiling, so easy to love, that he’s once again reminded that it’s a miracle he’s the one you’ve chosen. Never has he felt so grateful. People had tried, yet you never went for it. Was he on your mind in those moments? Steering you away from anyone that isn’t him? He could only hope so.

Daryl pulls back, chuckling at the whine you let out at the loss. “Needy thing, ain’t ya?”

“Only for you.”

Once again, you prove to him that you always know what to say. You and your feminine wiles.

“Think you can handle my fingers?”

At this, you nod. He gathers your slick in his pointer and middle finger. He starts with his pointer finger, watching with something like awe as it eases inside you. Once he’s certain that it doesn't hurt, his middle finger is next, stretching out the walls that envelop him. A sinfully delightful sound is produced when he takes his fingers out and slides them back in. He eyes the slick coating his fingers, and after realizing he misses how you taste, dips his head back down to messily kiss your clit. Your hips are thrusting to meet his fingers halfway, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Close,” you breathe out in between moans, “I’m close.”

He hums against you, the low vibration adding to your mounting pleasure. He doesn’t care if his wrist hurts for the foreseeable future, he wants you to feel good, to completely unravel and show him he’s done a good job. The muscles in your thighs go tense and he hears you let out the most depraved whimper of his name. He doesn’t let up, hellbent on seeing you through the entirety of your high.

Your body goes limp as a ragdoll against the bed. Gently, you pull him back, combing your fingers through his tousled hair. He removes his fingers from you and plops them into his mouth, content to savor your taste a while longer. It’s second only to the taste of your lips. Once he’s finished cleaning them off, you guide his hand to your face, and he watches the act with muted confusion. He lets out a sound like a choke when your mouth wraps around his fingers, hollowing your cheeks while you do so.

“Christ, woman. You tryna kill me?”

A quiet pop sound resonates in the room when you detach yourself from him. “Of course not. I’m far too enamored with you.”

Daryl still can’t entirely fathom why exactly that is, but he keeps the thought to himself.

In his fervor, he neglected to shed his own clothes, a fault he works to remedy. There’s nothing he wants more than to feel your skin against his without any barriers. He stands up to make the process easier, starting with his vest, then the halfway decent shirt he picked for the night. Next is his buckle and jeans. He doesn’t have time to feel self-conscious, not when you’re laying there, waiting for him so well. The scars and other various imperfections marring his skin must be difficult to make out in the low light, anyway. He knows you wouldn’t judge him — he feels it in his bones — yet that’s a can of worms he’d prefer to leave for another day.

He lets out a sigh of relief when his cock is freed from its restraints. Copious amounts of pre-cum leak from the tip, a testimony to your influence on him. He gives himself a few strokes, yet stops when he releases how sensitive he is. He wants to make this last. He needs to make this last. He knows that every second he spends inside you is bound to feel like heaven on earth.

Daryl crawls over to you. You part your legs without him needing to ask, your eyes lidded and hair messily framing your face. He lines himself up at your entrance yet makes no movement beyond that. This isn’t an act that’s meant to be rushed through — no, he intends to savor every second as if it were his last. The intensity of his stare can only be matched by yours. It’s an intimate moment, this little reality you carved out together, apart from the struggle and anguish you’d both become so familiar with.

He knows it won’t magically go away. You know it too. But if you have one another, you can both start living again instead of surviving.

“Still sure you want this?”

“I’m sure,” you whisper in a voice meant for his ears and no one else’s. “Please.”

Daryl handles you with care he didn’t even know he was capable of. He begins to push into you, sucking in a breath while he does so, his eyes glued to your face for any signs of discomfort. Your warmth wraps around him and draws him in. When he’s halfway inside, your hand grabs his, fingers intertwining. He stops, rubbing circles into the top of your hand with his thumb, silently admiring every way your face contorts while adjusting to his length. You inhale and exhale shakily before nodding your head, giving his hand a squeeze. He groans when he’s sunk all the way inside you.

You both stay like that for a moment, breathing in each other’s air.

“Have I ever told you,” he almost sounds pained when he speaks, “That you’re fuckin’ gorgeous?”

You give him one of those melodious laughs that makes his heart do things. “This’d be the first time.”

“Won’t be the last.”

You crane your neck to give him a chaste kiss. He’s about to chase after your lips when you pull away, but the words you say next cause all his higher thought to temporarily cease. “You can move now. Fuck me, Daryl.”

He feels himself twitch inside you and curses under his breath. It’s slow at first, so he can gauge what sort of rhythm you might like. The roll of his hips is sensual, his admiration of your facial expressions bordering on worship. Your hands go to his back to find purchase, unintentionally pulling him even closer in the process, and he grunts. He sets a steady pace. You throw your head back into the pillow, letting all your pretty noises out for him unabashedly. Praises fall from your lips, reassuring him of how good he’s making you feel, and how you want everything he’s willing to give. The encouragement makes his chest swell with pride.

You chose him. Out of everyone you could’ve pursued, you gave your affection to him, and that knowledge alone almost feels better than the way your walls flutter around his length.

“I care about you,” he pants into your ear, a declaration that makes you whine. “Have for so long. Want— want to show you. How much you mean t’me.”

Daryl hears you try to muster up a response in between your gasps, but it’s no use, you’re too lost in the throes of pleasure. He notices the way your moans grow higher in pitch, the sound music to his ears. Utilizing what little brain power he has left, he figures you must be getting close. The fact you’re going to come undone around him spurs him on. His fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing rushed circles around it. You tighten around him and it takes all the strength he has not to collapse on you, lost in the dizzying feeling.

There’s no more precision to his movements, everything is messy and frenzied.

You let out a cry of his name, and then a high-pitched whimper of, “I’m—”

And just like that, you unravel for him, nails digging into his skin and hips thrusting forward to meet his. He wills himself to stave off his own release so that you can enjoy yours. The sight and sounds you let out might be the most erotic thing he’s ever seen, he etches every detail of it into his memory.

He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Daryl pulls out once he’s certain you’re done, fucking his fist like a man possessed. It doesn’t take much for him to come undone after witnessing what you just showed him. A gruff rendition of your name leaves his lips as he spills out onto his hand, his release coming out in spurts, coating his palm in white.

You both stay still for a few moments, taking the time to catch your breath. You’re the first to move, sluggishly at that, sitting up on your elbows and giving him a content smile. He’s about to cradle your face and put his forehead against yours when he recalls his release is still on his hand. He shifts to get up, noting the attached bathroom in this room. You stop him before he gets the chance, gingerly wrapping your fingers around his wrist, stilling his hand in the process. He gapes like a fish out of water as you lick the remnants off his skin, closing your eyes and humming as if it was the best thing you’d ever tasted.

When you finish helping yourself, you give each of his knuckles a kiss. “I think the bones in my legs are broken. For real this time.”

Daryl snorts at the callback to your prison days, fond nostalgia swirling in his head.

“Need me to carry ya?”

You outstretch your arms for him. “Yes, please.”

He knows you’re being dramatic but can’t bring himself to care. He lifts you up, taking care not to trip on any of the clothes strewn on the floor, then sets you down on the sink’s granite counter. You both help yourselves to some nearby washcloths to get cleaned off. He kisses your shoulder when you’re done. Once back inside the bedroom, he slides his boxers back on, and you, your undergarments. You throw your back onto the bed and stretch, letting out a cute little noise while you do so.

Daryl’s feeling exhausted himself, but he figures you both shouldn’t be missing for too long. It’d make the others worry.

“I’m claiming this as our bedroom,” you fluff out a pillow before laying it down. The way his heart skips a beat at your usage of the word ‘our’ almost embarrasses him. Almost. “I’m not going to let you keep sleeping out on the porch. It hurts my back just thinking about it.”

He makes his way back over to you, footsteps silent against the hardwood. The second he lays down, you’re cozying up against his side, resting your head on his chest. His arms wrap around your frame as if he’d done it a million times before. It’s divine, hearing your steady breathing, feeling the warmth of your body. Despite everything, you’re still here. So is he.

He’ll do anything to keep it that way.

You lift yourself up to get a good look at him, your hair tickling his face. “Hey.”

He grunts to prove he’s listening.

“I love you,” you give him a kiss on his forehead, then his nose, and finally, his lips. “Thank you for letting me.”

The words from his brother on that sweltering day breathe down his neck. For some reason, the specific verbiage can’t form in his mind, it’s more of a muffled voice coming from another room. The sentiment is still there. Piercing, meant to hurt his heart in ways a weapon never could. That deep of a wound won’t heal itself overnight, yet if you’re the one holding the thread and needle, he thinks it can finally start closing.

He only whispers his next words when you press your forehead against his.

“I love you too. More ‘n anything.”

There’s a mischievous glimmer in your eyes which makes him nervous. Uh oh. He knows that look.

“… Enough to be my croquet partner tomorrow at noon?”

“Hell no.”

Unfortunately for him, you know as well as he does that if you keep asking nice enough, he’s bound to give in eventually.

He always does.

BRB, just inserting myself into all of @cultofdixon’s fic quotes with my boyfriend Daryl.

Y/N: *gifts Daryl a rock*

Daryl: The fuck am I supposed to do with this?

Y/N: Fuck I guess nothing. Give it back if you’re gonna be that way

Daryl: NO

Justified - Chapter 7

A Negan Series

Chapter 6 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 1

Warnings: smut - detailed and implied. Language. 18+ only.

A/n - Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me on this journey! There's one more little wrap up to this series coming (Daryl reunion, anyone?), but this piece feels good to finally finish. As always, feedback is welcome!

Her days bedridden passed lazily and slowly. Negan woke her with long, sensual kisses each morning before leaving her for most of the day.

She read to pass the time, sometimes reading aloud to Negan when he joined her again in the evenings. She liked making use of her vocal muscles, any way to release some of the energy that was returning to her more each day. He liked the sound of her voice, never really paying much attention to the subject of her reading. She noticed this, of course, and began sneaking in some smutty romance to see if he’d notice.

He did.

The IV and the pain of her wound still prevented much physical activity, but they found plenty of ways to work around that. The more time they spent together, the more they seemed to crave it.

In her moments alone, she found herself thinking of Daryl and did her best to push the thoughts away. Often unsuccessful, she sat in self-loathing, remembering the person she was with him. In the months they’d shared, they’d easily fallen into a rhythm of teamwork. Their runs together took longer than any other runs, not only because they enjoyed the time with one another, or because they liked to take advantage of the alone time with stolen kisses (and often more than that). Neither would openly admit it to the other, but they both brought with them a list for others in the community. Items Tara would request, or something that might make Carl smile, or a snack or drink Daryl had overheard Rosita reminiscing about. Anything one of their family would enjoy having. They both loved watching the faces of their people light up when they saw their treats. Both she and Daryl had figured out the other was doing the same thing, but neither wanted to call attention to it. It was an unspoken quest they were both happy to be part of.

 On the days they were working apart, sometimes with schedules so opposite they’d only see each other in passing, they had developed a secret code to signal the other for a secret rendezvous. A hideous turquoise and zebra print scarf - found in the bottom of a closet in the room they shared in the Grimes’s Alexandria home - spotted tied around a post, or tree, or car mirror, meant they’d find the other waiting for them at their claimed spot in the woods. It was a small clearing, wildflowers blooming across it in the spring, bordered on one edge by a large, downed tree that was great for sitting, but more importantly hid them from view from anyone who might be wandering from the community. They’d return home together half an hour later, smiling conspicuously, their clothes in disarray and often picking leaves and twigs off each other, before separating again to the tasks they’d been assigned. It was good. He was good, and she was good. They were happy.

The thought of returning to that now left her heart torn in two; she longed for it, for him to look at her in that trusting, happy way; and she knew without doubt that she could never have that again. When Daryl learned what she’d done, who she’d become…she imagined his face, what would simmer in his eyes when he looked at her, and she couldn’t bear it. Pushing the image deep within herself, she’d pick up another book and force herself to focus on the words.

She couldn’t deny that things had changed here in the Sanctuary. The people were mostly the same, though many of the Saviors she’d come to know would send her gifts and cards to wish her a speedy recovery, many stopping by to say hello and offer help. The place seemed brighter, somehow. Lighter. Like everyone was breathing easier. Even Negan seemed to have softened some. He was brooding less, and his jokes not so dark. It was nothing like Alexandria had been, but she couldn’t deny it felt… comfortable. Happy, even.

She almost kissed the doctor on the mouth when he informed her that her infection had cleared up and she could stop the IVs and begin light activity to strengthen her leg.

Negan turned his grin toward her as the doctor left the room. “So, would you like a walk outside or a shower?” he asked her, knowing both were on the top of her list of things to do first. She slowly stood, taking his outstretched hand and limping toward him.

It took a frustratingly long time to reach him. Finally in front of him, she lifted to her tiptoes, putting most weight on her good leg to do so, and planted her lips firmly against his. When he returned her kiss, she began unbuckling the belt of his pants. “I can think of something else I’d like first,” she mumbled against his mouth.

He pulled away to look her in the eye. “Are you sure?”

“The doctor said light activity was good for me,” she replied seductively.

He lifted her off the floor and she wrapped her legs around him and returned her lips to his.

“Not the bed,” she said against his mouth when he started moving her backwards. She’d spent too much time in that bed lately. He pivoted and instead made his way to the couch with her. He sat, her straddling his lap, and their kisses got more heated. Their tongues in a playful dance, her occasionally biting his lip in the way that drove him crazy. She felt his growing erection pressing into her core from within his jeans.

She made her way to his neck, sucking and kissing the tender spots, eliciting deep growls of pleasure from him.

She slowly moved to put her knees on the floor before him, careful not to flex her thigh too much, and finished the job of undoing his belt. She looked up at him with sultry eyes, biting her lip as she worked on his jeans, the heat in his eyes immediately making her wet between her thighs.

His jeans undone, his member sprung free of its cage, and she felt a tingle deep between her legs. The thick shaft, hard as a rock, beckoned for her to consume it. She conceded to its call, taking his tip into her mouth and flicking it with her tongue. She varied between a light suck and massaging it with her tongue, and raising her eyes, watched as he held her eye contact with every gasp she drew from him. She moved her mouth further down his length, working her tongue underneath his shaft. His head rolled back as she took him as far into her mouth as she could, coughing when he reached her gag reflex. Her hands moved to the area of shaft that remained exposed as she worked him up and down with her mouth, massaging and pumping him. Continuing with her mouth pumping and her hands massaging, she heard his moans and sharp breaths, and knew he didn’t have much further to go before he found release.

She withdrew from him, carefully and timidly standing, and met his eyes as she slowly dropped her pajama shorts to the floor. Stepping out of them, she pulled her shirt over her head and threw it haphazardly in the direction of the bed. Now bare before him, he could not help but reach out and touch her. She let him trace her shape with his hands from her hips to her breasts, where he cupped each in one hand. She moved to straddle him while he massaged her, and lowered herself until she felt his hardness pressed against her. She raised just slightly, enough to place his tip at her entrance, and she paused there. She leaned in, kissing him passionately. She began rocking her hips back and forth, feeling his slick tip rub up and down her center. She moved her mouth to his neck again, continuing the movement of her hips. She wanted him inside her, but not yet. She leaned back to look in his eyes as she continued teasing him and saw a plead in his eyes. He made to push into her, and she pushed his abdomen back down, preventing him.

“Y/n,” he moaned out, the plead moving from his eyes to his voice.

Her lips curled upward in a devious smile, she savored the power she held over him.

“Y/n,” this time a deeper growl, laced with demand.

She grinned wickedly at him, then holding his cock with her hand, moved him to her entrance and lowered herself onto him, fully sheathing him in her tight warmth. She leaned further away from him as she rolled her hips, savoring the way he filled her. He gripped her hips, steadying her with each roll. Negan began pumping up into her, finding her rhythm and matching it. They held eye contact as they rhythmically moved together. She picked up the pace and he groaned as his eyes rolled back in his head. She moved her hand between her legs, but he pushed it aside to replace it with one of his own. She felt her orgasm building as she continued to ride him, feeling him hit every wall within her, while he rubbed her clit in circles. As her moans grew louder and her eyes closed, she felt him pump up into her more vigorously. She shattered, leaning into him and crying out. When he was sure she’d ridden out her high, Negan lifted her and placing her on her back on the floor, quickly pumped back into her. He worked her fiercely, removing his cock almost completely from her and then pounding back in. Out and in, out and in, grunting with each insertion. She couldn’t stop herself from crying out in pleasure at every pump. A second orgasm was now verging on release. His pumps became more frantic, animalistic and he shoved in and out of her, her hands gripping the hair on the back of his head, and she gasped as her second release exploded through her. He followed immediately, erupting within her with a cry of his own. He stilled as he finished, pumped into her a few short times as she rode out her high, and then collapsed on the floor beside her, both panting.

“Fuck, y/n,” Negan said in a breathless voice.

The floodgates opened; they could not seem to get enough of each other after that. Not half an hour later, they were at it again in the shower. Her energy depleted quickly in her recovering state. Following the shower, she climbed back into bed, exhausted and sore. She smiled as she drifted into sleep. She awoke to Negan between her legs again, eager and demanding. After dinner, she did attempt a walk outside, but couldn’t get down more than three stairs before having Negan help her back to his room. Her leg throbbing from all the movement, the doctor gave her something strong for the pain. She slept a fitful sleep, dreaming of Daryl throughout the night.

-------

As she continued to recover, she did not return to her own room. There was no mention of it from either of them. The sex didn’t slow. They found themselves hungrily attaching to each other with every spare minute Negan could find. It did not matter where they were, and soon she was sure he’d had her in every room of the Sanctuary, and even places that weren’t rooms. Each day she got stronger and able to walk further, until finally she was limping around the border gates unsupported.

She was finishing one of those such walks, heading back toward the stairwell entrance where Negan had disappeared - giving her a suggestive nod to follow him inside - when she saw it. It was a brief flash of color in the corner of her eye, causing her to look again. Just another walker chained to the fence, she turned to walk to the door and froze. That was just another walker, but what it was wearing stopped her heart. She slowly turned to look again, hoping she imagined it. She hadn’t.

Draped around the walker’s decaying neck was the familiar black, white, and turquoise scarf.

She scanned the perimeter, panic rising in her. He couldn’t be here; it would be so stupid to come back here. A flash from the corner of a rundown building caught her attention, she squinted to see a figure half hidden there, rotating a small mirror to catch the sun. She moved closer to the fence, and the man stepped out from the building. Aaron. She relaxed a little, selfishly grateful it was not Daryl putting his life in danger. She shook her head at him as if to say, not now. She tapped her wrist where a watch would be, and held up three fingers, then shifted them into a circle. Thirty minutes, she willed him to understand. He nodded and disappeared completely behind the building.

Thirty minutes later, she was hobbling away from a disappointed Negan through the gates and toward the buildings across the street from the Sanctuary. He had been expecting a hot and heavy round in the stairs with her when she told him she’d seen something suspicious in the town. She suspected just a loose walker but wanted to check it out. He protested, but she’d made a solid argument for needing to get her sea legs back. She needed the practice. As she veered left, heading toward an alley two buildings away from where she’d seen Aaron, she heard light footsteps behind her. She grinned to herself as she picked up her pace and ducked around the building. She moved as quickly as she could around buildings, down alleys, seemingly lost and wandering, until she found the cracked door of the building Aaron had been hiding behind. She was met with stairs, and took them to the first landing, where she found another door cracked open. She had just stepped through it when she heard the outside door squeak open behind her.

She located Aaron in the second room on the right and as quickly as possible whispered “We are not alone. Speak carefully.”

Aaron squinted and blinked at her as he processed what she’d said. She began the conversation in a hushed voice, “What are you doing here? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Because that is what will happen if they find you sneaking around out here.”

“Are you okay?” he replied. “Some Saviors came looking for Daryl, said he’d run away.  We wanted to see if you were still here, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You shouldn’t have come here. Don’t let them see you when you leave.” She turned to leave.

“Come with me,” Aaron said. She halted and turned to face him again.

“Why would I?” she asked coldly.

“Why would you stay here? These people… Negan…,” Aaron searched for the words, “you’re better than this. Better than them. You belong with us.”

She scoffed. “I’m right where I should be.”

Aaron searched her face, and she softened it a little. She had quickly liked Aaron; he was such a genuine person. “I’m not going back with you,” she said, more gently this time.

As she turned again to leave, Aaron grabbed her by the arm. Their eyes met, and she saw fierce warning in them. “We’re going to fight, Y/N. Soon. We will not hesitate to take down anyone on his side. You should come back.”

“Aaron,” she gave her own warning, “You can’t fight him. Numbers are not on your side, and you’ve lost enough people. Don’t lose more for no reason.”

She pulled her arm from his grip and made for the door. When she got to the threshold and saw no one in the hall, she turned to Aaron one more time, with a plea in her eye.

“Give me a couple of days. To talk to him, try to convince him to negotiate with Rick. I don’t want anyone else to die.”

Aaron gave her one short nod. She left.

-------

She found Negan and Dwight talking in low voices in the courtyard when she came through the gate. She should have guessed that little weasel was the one following her, now giving a full report of what he’d heard from her meeting with Aaron. Negan gave an order and Dwight nodded and disappeared inside the building, leaving her limping toward Negan alone.

“I don’t see any walker blood on you,” Negan said, giving her a once over.

“I don’t appreciate you having me followed. Especially not by him,” she replied, jerking her chin in the direction Dwight had gone.

“I don’t like being lied to,” he replied shortly.

“What did he tell you?”

“That we’re going to war,” he replied as he moved to the door and held it open, indicating she should join him inside. She saw a couple of guys hanging around a few feet past the entrance. She stopped as she entered the building, and faced Negan as he entered behind her.

“You don’t have to go to war, Negan,” she said, sincerity flooding her voice. “You could meet with Rick, find a solution that works for all of us to keep the peace. Work out a trade deal with him. Not everything has to be a fight.”

“This does.”

“Negan,” she touched his arm, “aren’t you tired of this? Aren’t you tired of losing our people?” The term struck her as odd – our people. But they were her people, too. They had become her people. She knew the guys here, knew their families, where they’d come from and what they’d been through. She’d spent months getting to know them, and she even liked a good number of them. “He kills our guys, you kill his, is it going to go on and on forever?”

“No, I am not tired, and no it will not go on and on forever. We are going to end this, for real this time.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t just make that decision; you can’t just ignore other options because you and Rick aren’t done measuring your dicks. We’ve lost too many people already.”

Negan looked at the guys standing nearby, who had not even tried to hide that they were eavesdropping. When they saw him looking at them, they immediately found themselves needed somewhere else.

“In private,” Negan looked at her, furious, “you can say whatever the hell you want to me, but you question me in front of my guys again,” he looked pointedly where the men had been standing, then moved in close to her as he said “I will shut. your. shit. down. Are we clear?”

She did not break his stare.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, move your ass. You have an assembly to join.”

She entered the large warehouse area and proceeded down the stairs to join the large group of Saviors and workers gathered there. She noticed the two guys who’d heard her conversation with Negan gathered with a group of other guys, talking lowly and watching her as she passed them. Telling them what she’d said to Negan, no doubt. One thing about the Saviors, she could count on them all to be busybodies and gossips.

Negan began from his place on the platform above the assembly, briefly explaining that Rick and his “merry band” were planning on coming for them, and it was time to put an end to them. She waited patiently, watching the crowd as they began whispering and grumbling amongst themselves. The mood of the room shifted - the dissatisfaction was almost tangible. Those busybodies had done fast work.  

She raised her hand, willing herself not to shake, not to show the overwhelming sense of fear she felt. This is what she’d been working toward for months.

Negan saw her hand, his eyes found hers, and he could have burned holes into her with the look behind them.

“I am not currently taking questions,” he said curtly. Everyone turned to see who he was speaking to.

“I don’t have a question,” she said, her voice miraculously unshaken. “More of a statement – I think we should take a vote.”

“A vote?” he answered in surprise.

“Yes. You and Rick have been at each other for months now. He’s killed way more of our people than we have of his. We should vote if we want to continue fighting him.”

“We don’t vote here,” Negan said, at a near laugh. “In case you are confused, this has never been, and never will be a democracy. If I say you are going to fight, you are going to fight.”

“Why are we even doing this? They don’t have a food source, they don’t have any weapons, we already took those. They aren’t really giving us anything. This is about nothing but you and your pride. He doesn’t want to keep kissing your ass, and you’re pissed off about it. If you won’t let us vote, then I won’t sit by and watch these people, my friends, die for your sick games and your pride.”

She could hear the murmurs growing in volume around her, felt the tension as everyone waited to see what Negan would do.

“You know where the door is,” he said as he gestured behind him. “No one is forcing anyone to stay here. But if you want to continue living the lovely, easy life you’ve seemed to grow accustomed to, you will fall. in. line.” Each word of his dripping with rage and threat.

“I’m not being unreasonable, Negan,” she pressed, “I just want you to consider less drastic options. I just want the bloodshed to end.”

Negan stared at her, rage nearly visibly radiating from him. Low agreements began filling the room.

After what felt like several minutes of a hate-filled staring contest, she began pushing through the crowd toward the exit.

“I can’t be part of it,” she said as she passed under his perch on the bridge, “I can’t watch you get us all killed.”

She left the building and began walking toward the vehicles parked outside. She heard the doors open behind her and turning, saw three women rushing toward her. “We want to go with you!” Tanya all but yelled at her as Negan’s remaining wives caught up to her.

They hadn’t made it to a vehicle yet when the doors opened again, and men began trickling out - a few at first, then more and more -all heading for their own bikes and trucks and muttering and griping. By the time the wives had loaded into the old SUV she pointed them to, the yard was filled with what looked like every Savior from the assembly, all preparing their own vehicles.

She did not try to hide her grin as she drove through the gates of the Sanctuary, and watched as the yard emptied behind her, following. She was almost giddy - it had worked so perfectly.

-------

No one was there when Rick and the small army he had gathered came to take Negan. They rounded each corner confused, finding every hall, every room, completely empty. Even the workers had abandoned the place, gathering supplies and food, first.

They found Negan sitting alone in his room, sipping his whiskey on his couch. He put up no fight as Rick tied him up and brought him back to Alexandria, locking him in the cell Morgan had built.

Me posting on tumblr:

I’m on my like 3rd rewatch of The Last of Us, and I just watched the Kansas City episodes.

During the big fight with all the infected running around, the way Joel anticipates every move of Ellie’s and covers her from the house… it’s the absolute hottest thing he does in the whole show.

It makes me tingle.

I just started watching Buffy for the first time.

I’m really trying to decipher what it means that instead of an obsessive infatuation with Angel (cause, I mean, drool…) I somehow found myself here. Daydreaming about the mentor librarian.

I swear I don’t have daddy issues!

Hi me again! 👋🏻

I was wondering if you had time maybe to write a small fic (or one shot whatever you’re comfortable with) where the reader is Buffy’s cousin ( also library assistant or whatever you would like ) and the reader and Giles are in a secret relationship ( maybe smut?? ) and they’re navigating that and Buffy finds out and it’s this whole thing. If you’re busy I totally understand or if you just don’t want to, again it’s okay. I really do enjoy your work 🥰.

Not Unavailable, More Unimpressed

pairing(s): Giles x Summers!Reader

summary: what started out as a short term fling has gotten increasingly complicated when the reciprocity and sincerity of feelings is called into questions. pt.1 of ???

warnings: smut, fem!reader, drinking, hand job, a bit of breast worship, clothed grinding, riding, slight choking, age gap (Giles is in his mid to late 40's, reader is in her late 20s/ early 30s), reader has nipple piercings bc I said so and I think they are hot

an: This fic will contain smut so be warned. You are responsible for your own media consumption, read at your own risk.

The man at the bar was a mystery to you. He didn't quite fit into the bar atmosphere. He wasn't one of the barely legals or illegals who snuck in eager to drink, he wasn't one of the old guys who came to hit on the bottle girls, he didn't smell like a smoker or shoot whiskey like a drinker. He was also British, something that left an odd taste in your mouth.

You couldn't call yourself a regular here, more often than not you found yourself at the Bronze, purely per Buffy's request, which had okay enough booze and slightly better music. Here, some place clearly meant for an older crowd called Jack's, is where the older man sat. Alone, he sat at the far corner, sometimes looking longingly at the stage like he was a performer. He didn't look like a performer though.

He was older than you. He was greyed out and looked like he came from when TVs were still in sepia tones. He looked like Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird, like he was always a moment away from scolding someone. It didn't help that he always looked tired, like a lot of his age came from stress. If that was the case, it still didn't make sense as to why he chose a bar to be his spot to wind down.

It was loud. Not in the way that the Bronze was, a type of loud filled with life. A loud spurred by rowdy souls, people who couldn't let loose at home, so they came to one of the only shitty bars in the small town to drink a shitty beer and watch their favorite sports team lose. Not to mention the countless barely legals who got into fights with the bartenders after they failed to get their underage friends a drink. Jack's wasn't a place to have fun, it was the place to avoid doing something reckless during your midlife crisis. You were only there because of convenience, and after being there for a half hour were already beginning to get a migraine.

Job hunting was rough. When you moved to Sunnydale on behalf of your aunt, she offered to let you stay under her roof, but being a grown woman who got up to grown woman shenanigans, it would be more than distasteful to do it in Joyce's home. You were lucky enough that the housing market was great in the area, with all the supernatural happenings so one chose to move to Sunnydale, but that still didn't mean that a decent looking apartment wouldn't cost you a nice sum of money every month.

I could just work here, was your first thought. You were once a young college student also desperate for money, you had bartended, you could always go back if you lacked self-respect. You had a degree dammit, sure you didn't have a doctorate, but you shouldn't need one to get a nice quiet desk job. Neither option was all that fulfilling, but something told you that bartending in a town when demons just roamed the streets didn't seem like a great idea.

The mystery man looked like he had a nice job. Maybe a nice car. Possibly a nice house. He looked financially stable, and fuck was that hot. What did he do? What was there to do in Sunnydale? You could ask.

You looked at his hands to see if there was a ring or any indication that there was someone waiting for him wherever he came from. Maybe a picture of a kid, maybe a photo of a significant other. Nothing. Nothing.

You slinked over to the seat beside him, not meaning to make your presence immediately known yet he still looked up as he felt the heat of someone else beside him. His glasses perched low on his nose and his grey hair tussled. His eyes were green. He was pretty.

"Hello?" He looked at you confused. He took a moment to drink you in. Younger, gorgeous, clearly bold.

"Hello."

"Are you waiting for someone?" You shook your head.

"No. Are you?" and he'd be lying if he said he was.

☽✯☾

"You know, I don't do this often." He said between the rare breaths that were allowed in between suffocating kisses. Whatever he took up in his free time must've involved a great workout regimen. His hand sat comfortably at your neck, and you basked in the warmth that it provided in his cold apartment. His other held your cheek, his thumb mindless rubbing against it in a way that was hypnotizing. It almost had a numbing affect, your skin not being able to get past the feeling making your brain pause as he kissed your lips.

He tasted like fine wine. He smelled like old books. You half expected him to quote a classic at you, you didn't know him well enough to gauge if he was the type. His tongue contradicted his previous statement. These weren't the kisses of a man out of practice, that or he did it so much in his youth it was impossible to forget. Something like riding a bike.

"For a man who doesn't do this often, you're mighty good at it." He smirked; you could feel it against your lips. You wished you could see it, but he had the lights in his bedroom turned low and you weren't sure you wanted to open your eyes in the fear that you were dreaming. It was warm, he was so warm. So warm it was noticeable when his lips left yours and moved to your neck, hovering under your ears. His breath fanning against your neck was enough to send shivers down your spine.

"You haven't even seen how good I am, darling." The pet name alone made you weak in the knees, but you would be damned if you swooned at someone called you darling. Granted, you couldn't help how your mouth went dry or how your pussy clenched at nothing, but he didn't need to know that. He was going to find out, but he can find out later when your lust ridden brain stopped listening to reason and pride.

"Show me, then."

He dipped his head to kiss you, grabbing a fistful of your hair to tip your head back and you let him, grabbing on to his broad shoulders to stabilize yourself. You were pressed between the wall and him, pressing him even closer as you fisted his shirt to pull him closer, but he was hesitant to oblige. He was teasing, you could tell by the way he smiled into your kisses, pulling away like he needed air while you chased after his lips.

"You having issues breathing, old man?" The hand at your neck squeezed, not enough to choke you but enough to make your head even dizzier. His other hand travelled to any piece of skin he could get his hands on. Feather light, his fingers ran across your arms, then your collarbones, before knocking the straps of your dress off your shoulder. His kisses moved slow, his tongue damn near like languid waves that you were somehow managing to drown in.

Still, you chased after him, and still, he ran. His lips ran to the corner of your mouth, to the skin of your neck his hand didn't engulf, to where your strap lay useless. His kisses scorched your otherwise cold skin, his mouth sucking hickeys and then immediately soothing them.

He was so soft. Soft in how his hands found the back of your dress, soft in how his eyes looked into yours, asking permission without even saying a word, soft like the way the fabric slipped of your body and onto the floor. Soft like the bed he laid you on. Even soft in the way he continued to tease you, his knee meeting the crotch of your panties and him meticulously unsnapping your bra as if you couldn't tell he knew how to do it.

He then paused for a minute, finally coming across something he hadn't experienced before. His fingers took the ball of cool metal between his fingers, and you moaned at how it pulled ever so slightly at your nipple.

"What are these?" You chuckled.

"I got 'em pierced ages ago. Drunk night out with a few friends my senior year." He continued to play with the metal ball, well aware of how you keened and ground yourself into his knee.

"So, I can play with them." Fuck. It was how he said it. Like a nerd you might've messed around with in school because he was a good tutor but also because he had that nerdy charm to him. Like playing with your body was a game of Operations he had been so eager to play and was determined to get good at. It was easy to imagine Giles like that, fogged up glasses, eyes concentrated and focused on figuring out what buttons to press to get a prize. There was the curiosity in his lust-blown eyes, and in your lust addled brain you were fine with being his toy.

"Please do." He didn't need to be told twice. Avid learner he was, he went in, his large hands easily covering your breasts. His fingers pulled at the bars, drawing whimpers out of you the more he prodded. It wasn't too rough, Giles was too soft to ever be truly rough, but the feeling of his gaze, your clothed pussy rubbing against his soft slacks, and his large hands over your chest was getting a bit much. And he hadn't even put his mouth on you yet.

It didn't take long for him to realize the feeling of your pierced tits in his mouth was one of the best things he's felt, and it felt even better for you. A wet patch had long since been growing and he certainly felt it too, it egged him on. He wasn't even in you, he hadn't even tasted you, and you were almost there. You were so close.

You grabbed at anything you could, his shirt, his sheets, his hands that held yours as you rocked yourself onto his knee until you saw stars. Then he grabbed your face and swallowed your moans as he kissed and kissed you until you came down. A moment of clarity hit you, and you pulled on his shirt. "Off." you told him simply, and he obliged. You smashed your lips into his, peeling off button after button until the shirt was thrown to the side and his undershirt beneath was discarded with even less care.

"Issues with patience, darling?" You shook your head.

"Not fair I'm practically naked and you were fully clothed." His retort was cut off by your lips as you sat up to meet him, his hands absent-mindedly finding your breasts and yours finding his belt and making quick work of it before he even realized what was happening. You kissed him through it, anyway, still chasing after him as he pulled away to curse at the feeling of your hand around his dick.

"Gods." he muttered, words tumbling out clumsily as you rubbed the tip of his cock. He never had the control to pull away fast enough for an adequate breather, just a second to get a breath out and pray. You were flattered. His hand seemed like it wanted to swat you away, but it didn't have the strength to betray his brain like that. It felt good. Too good. So good he couldn't even think, and Giles never stopping thinking and now he was drawing blanks. He was sure you had mocked him once or twice, which went through one ear and out the other.

He caught himself thrusting into your hand before he caught himself, grabbing your wrist. "Hang on." He choked out, but you didn't listen. Your hand moved up and down his shaft terribly slow, and it was almost worse. Watching you spit on your hand and collect pre-cum from his tip and spread it like some sick simulation of what it would be like to be in you, and yet he couldn't help but watch his hand completely cover yours as you pumped him. Don't cum yet.

"I said hang on." His breath was ragged and his voice was deep. This time he meant it. "There are condoms in the top left drawer. Take one out for me, love." And you did as such. Did it with so much assurance that you slid it on without him even needing to ask you. Slid your panties off and sank down so fast neither one of you was ready.

You both sat there a moment, feeling your nerve endings tingle and burn, like you were both on fire. But you were on fire together. Like you could feel every atom in your body, like it had all been reduced to nothing but water, you were both feeling everything and anything yet absolutely nothing at the same time. So much feeling any nuance got lost in the moment. Just being there, breaths away, with a complete stranger you were sleeping with because he was pretty and looked financially stable.

You kissed him, a real kiss. Spontaneous. One with a feeling neither one of you could decipher and both assumed meant nothing. You rode it out until you had both exhausted each other, you falling on top of him and him catching you.

"Would you like to use my shower before you go? Did you need a ride home?" You cheesed to yourself. And they say chivalry is dead.

"Yeah, that would be nice." You had already rolled out of his bed in search of your dress and waiting for feeling to return to your legs. "I never got your name."

"Giles. Rupert Giles." You giggled as you shook of your dress after picking it up from the floor. Sounds about right.

"And what do you do for a living, Mr. Giles."

"Do these things typically end in interviews?" He made no effort to get out of his bed, he even had the decency to turn away while you get dressed as if he wasn't just balls deep in you.

"No, but I am new to town and would like to not be broke."

"I'm a librarian." Of course, you are. "Have you any interest in literature?" You did. You were a nerd. You had tried convincing yourself you weren't for years, but you majored in philosophy and minored in classic literature; and no one likes philosophy majors.

"I dabble a bit. Got a degree from all the reading I did if that counts." He looked at you like he knew you were trying to make yourself sound cooler. Nerd calls to nerd.

"Well, plenty of places are always hiring. The turnover rate is quite atrocious here." And even new to town, you believed it.

"I just might."

☽✯☾

You did end applying, you even ended up getting the job. Apparently, your little cousin's high school was in desperate need of a library assistant. You also had the pleasure of freezing when you saw Giles again and watching your little cousin greet her favorite teacher.

It was almost worth it for the look on his face, though.