The End Will Justify It All

Justified, pt. 2

The final piece of the Negan series.

Warnings - some language, implied smut, 18+ only.

It took me a long time to write this one - I kept going back and forth on who she was going to choose. I hope you all like the ending. As always, feedback is welcome! Thanks for reading along.

She hadn’t expected to see him here, in the Kingdom. But then, she did tell him not to go to Rick. She hadn’t known where he would end up, the Kingdom was as probable as any of the nearby settlements.

She didn’t know what they must have thought of her here, opening the gates to find her leading an army of their enemy, begging for help and shelter. It took a long time to convince them of her story. King Ezekiel finally conceded that while she might be telling the truth, they could not take in this many people. He did help them scout out a few buildings nearby, big enough to fit all the Saviors (ex-Saviors?) for a few days. He was gracious enough to provide them food for those few days too. The workers from the Sanctuary who had caught up with them later brought a big stash of food as well, so that took a little of the pressure off.

She’d wanted to ditch them all on their journey to the kingdom, and she thought seriously about doing it. She could easily just excuse herself to the woods to relieve herself and then just keep going. But convictions wouldn’t let her. She’d started this – she’d won their allegiance and their support enough to abandon their best chances at survival. She’d convinced them to turn against Negan and follow her. She was responsible for them now, no matter how much she did not want to be. The Kingdom was the only place she could think to take them, and she’d hoped she could pawn leadership of them off on Ezekiel, but he’d made it clear that would not happen.

Exiting his crown room – an old school theater – after a few long hours of arguing and planning with the helpful King, she paused to breathe. A heavy sigh escaped her as she pinched the bridge of her nose, frustrated that she would have to continue in this position of leadership for the time being.

“Heard you were here,” a deep voice grunted behind her. Surprised, she whirled to find the source of the familiar voice and found herself face to face with Daryl. He was leaning against the wall beside the door she’d just come out of. He looked as gorgeous as she’d ever seen him, muscular arms bare in his cut off sleeves, his hair recently washed, and his wounds from the Sanctuary healed. She didn’t move, but took in every inch of him, checking him for injuries or signs of anything wrong. Satisfied that he was unharmed, she half jumped to clear the space between them, embracing him so hard he would have fallen over had he not already been supported by the wall. He wrapped his arms around her too, hesitantly at first, and then tighter until she could barely breathe. She didn’t care.

The hug seemed to last for minutes, and she only let go enough to move her face to his, instinctively leaning toward his mouth with hers. Before the kiss landed, guilt dropped on her like a ton of bricks, and she found herself pulling away to search his face instead.

“You’re okay?” she asked, brushing hair from his face to see him better.

He met her eyes for only a second before looking at the ground and he responded, “yeh, I’m a’ight.”

There was a tense pause, she had so much she wanted to say to him, so much she wanted to explain, so much she knew would hurt him. She couldn’t find the words, and right now she didn’t have the time.

“I need to see Rick,” she told him, breaking the long silence. “Will you take me?”

“Yeh,” he responded with no hesitation, “I’ll get the bike ready and meet you at the gate in a few minutes.”

As she watched him walk away, her heart ached. She had given so much of herself to free him, and she would do it all again without question. But the stuff that came after… would he love her if he knew? Would she be able to let him? He deserved so much better.

She pushed the thoughts and the lump in her throat down as she walked to the gate to meet Daryl.

--------

Her hand touched the doorknob in front of her. She yanked it back, looking around her in confusion. She didn’t remember walking here. She had set out from the Grimes’ house for the infirmary to see if there were any tampons there - thanking whatever higher power had kindly prevented her from getting pregnant. She and Negan hadn’t exactly been careful about that. She must have gotten lost in thought, and now she was staring at the entrance to the basement where Negan was kept in a cell.

She’d been back in Alexandria for a few days and had effectively avoided getting within twenty yards of this door. She was confused and slightly irritated that she’d somehow ended up here without thinking. Shaking her head to clear it, she turned to resume her journey to the infirmary.

“I can see your shadow from the windows of the door,” she heard Negan call from inside. “I’m in a cage, you don’t have to be afraid to come in. I know you all want to spit in my face!”

She blew a deep breath out and opened the door. She knew nothing good could come of this, but something deep within her pushed her forward.

“Well, if it isn’t my lovely wife,” Negan cooed as she came into view. “I was wondering when my conjugal visits would begin.” He grinned that wicked Negan grin, and she forced herself not to return it – she’d grown to enjoy his dark sense of humor during their time together.

“I’m not your wife,” she replied curtly, “and definitely not here for that.”

“Well, your tune sure has changed,” Negan answered. “If you aren’t here to bang one out, why are you here?”

“Honestly,” she said hesitantly. She knew she shouldn’t continue, but that same thing that pushed her in here kept her talking, “I’m not sure. Maybe part of me wanted to taunt you, to see the fruits of all my labor.”

Negan looked her over for a long moment.

“Or,” he replied, his dark eyes surprisingly soft, “maybe part of you wanted to see if I was okay - if we were okay, after you put me in here. Maybe you’re lonely, and realizing you miss me a little. The reunion isn’t going quite how you hoped, is it?”

She studied his face. She found no trace of mocking, only a knowing look. Her days here had been harder than expected. Rick had welcomed her with a warm hug, and they’d been deliberating for days about what to do with the large group of Saviors now in need of a leader. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t quite trust her. In fact, there was a tension between her and everyone here. She seemed to find herself alone at mealtimes, the Grimes family having either just finished eating as she came in or eating at someone else’s home. They never invited her along. She offered help around the compound whenever she wasn’t in a meeting with Rick, but no one accepted it, claiming they had everything they needed. Maggie was the only one who didn’t seem to hate her. She’d wept when she saw Maggie, alive and well, and hugged her until Maggie complained she couldn’t breathe. They cried together for Glenn, and Maggie made her feel hopeful, like she was still one of them. But she had only seen her that one day, before Maggie returned to Hilltop. And Daryl… well, Daryl was a whole different heartache. They technically shared their previous bed, but he never joined her there at night. Most nights he was still out when she went to bed, and most mornings he was gone before she rose. There was a neat stack of blankets and a pillow on the couch downstairs that told her where he’d been sleeping.

Her face must have reflected these thoughts because when Negan spoke again, he was gentle.

“You don’t fit here as easily as you did before, right?” She met his eyes but didn’t respond.

“It’s because you don’t. You never did,” he continued, “it was a nice thought back then, right? A group of people who loved each other and made each other better? They even made you better… but those people didn’t love you. They loved what you could bring to the table. They loved what they could make you into, who they could change you to be and control you.”

“And I suppose you think you’re better for me, right?” her voice was quiet, but the anger building behind them was unmissable. “Am I supposed to believe you loved me?”

“I think you know the answer to that, y/n, or you wouldn’t be here,” he replied, less gentle now. “And I think you loved me, too. It felt good, right? To be seen for who you are, not who someone wants you to be? You didn’t have to work to be anyone but yourself. I have seen the real you, and the real you flourished with me. You know why? Because we are the same, you and me. We both know that.”

“No,” she said, louder this time, “we don’t. It was a mistake coming in here.” She turned to leave.

As she reached for the door Negan aimed his final shot, “you know once he knows you loved me it will be over. How could he love the girl who fell for the guy who killed his friends and put him through hell?” He hit his mark.

She forced her chin to remain high and her shoulders to refrain from slumping as she left and held that position until she reached her room in the Grimes’ home where she stayed until nightfall.

--------

That night didn’t bring much sleep. Negan’s words haunted her. He’d said she loved him. It echoed in her head louder than anything else. She didn’t love him, right? How could she, after all he’d done? But then, there was all she’d done, too… She’d seen a softer side to Negan, a glimmer of what he might have once been, before he embraced the monster in him.

When she did manage to drift off, her dreams were full of Negan, over and over she would find herself alone with him, in a lover’s embrace, and then suddenly he was a walker, biting her, taking her down with him. She would wake sweating and shaking.

She knew he was right…they were the same. She knew his monster because she had been fighting the same one in her since the world fell apart. Once Daryl knew the truth, he would never look at her the same. There was a good chance he would hate her. She wasn’t sure she didn’t hate herself.

After the third one of these dreams woke her, realizing the night would not bring rest, she sat up in bed rubbing her eyes.

“You a’ight?” She yelped and jumped at the sound of Daryl’s voice across the room. She turned on the bedside lamp to find him sitting in the armchair close to the door.

Her heart racing, she whispered, “I didn’t know you were in here.”

“Didn’t mean to scare ya,” he half-whispered, matching her volume. “I came to check on ya when I got in, you were tossin’ and turnin’ and hollerin’ some.”

“Sorry,” she admitted, “bad dreams.”

“Yeh, I get those, too” he said as he rose and made towards the door.

“Daryl,” she said a little louder, longing in her voice. “Stay.” He paused with his hand on the knob.

“Please.”

He slowly turned and after removing his shoes climbed into bed and sat beside her. They didn’t touch, and she didn’t turn off the lights.

They sat in silence for what felt like an hour.

She finally worked up the nerve to speak. She needed to tell him, needed him to know who she’d become in Negan’s thrall, and needed to see his response. She knew it would be awful, but if she didn’t face this now, she would go insane in the tension.

“Daryl,” she started, but he cut her off.

“I don’t need to know, y/n.”

“What?”

“I don’t need to know what hapn’d in there. I know it was bad, it was bad for me, too. But I know ya did what ya did to save me, and then to survive. ‘sall I need to know about it.”

She didn’t know what to say. She grabbed his hand, expecting him to pull away, but he let her hold it. He closed his hand around hers in response and looked her in the eye.

“We all have summin’ dark in us,” he said, his eyes gleaming with memories of his own, “what makes us different from him is we fight it. ‘n we fight it together. I’ll help ya fight it if you’ll let me.”

Speechless, she reached up to cup his cheek with her free hand and stared into his eyes for a long moment. She hoped he could read in her eyes everything she wanted to say but couldn’t find the words.

When she leaned in to kiss him, he met her halfway. They shared a long, passionate kiss, until desire swept them both under its current and they found themselves naked, tangled up in one another, moving in rhythm until they were both spent. She felt new - refreshed somehow, even though she hadn’t slept.

She raised herself up on one arm to look at his face. He was gazing at her, lazily combing through her unbound hair with his fingers.

“Can we leave here?” she asked him, her face earnest.

He sat up at that.

“Leave this room?” he asked.

“Leave Alexandria. We can go to the Kingdom, or Hilltop with Maggie. We can still be part of this,” she said, waving her hand, “just not in Alexandria?”

He studied her face for a long moment before asking, “why? Wus wrong w’ Alexandria?”

“I think,” she said slowly, trying to find the right words, “our people may need to heal before they will let me in again. I don’t know if I can be the town pariah long-term.”

He waited for more. She sighed, knowing he knew her well enough to see right through that answer.

“I can’t be here while he’s here, Daryl,” she said, now pleading with her eyes. “He… Rick will never move him out of that cell. I have a lot of healing to do, a lot to work through. You and I have a lot of healing to do together. I don’t think we can do that when he’s two blocks away.”

Daryl didn’t answer immediately. After a long pause he said, not meeting her eyes, “Rick needs me here. ‘stoo much to plan. Too much to do. Can’t leave.”

Her heart shattered. She needed the chance to start fresh with him. Needed it to be somewhere far away from Negan and the impossible hold he had over her. She could tell from Daryl’s face there would be no changing his mind.

--------

Daryl awoke with a strange sense that something was… off. He tried to call to mind what could be causing the unease, but nothing came. Things with y/n had been better since their late-night talk three nights ago. He was glad for that, the tension upon their return to Alexandria had been eating him alive. He’d heard enough talk from the Saviors during his captivity to know what Negan required of his wives, and the night Dwight walked him back to his cell on a strange route would never stop ringing in his ears. Dwight stopped him outside of a room he hadn’t seen before, but quickly learned – as the savior posted outside the door relayed to Dwight that Negan was busy inside – it was Negan’s room. As they turned to leave, a familiar moan made its way to Dwight’s ears. His heart stopped and his breath caught as he recognized the pleasurable sounds of her – he’d know those noises anywhere. He’d certainly enticed them out of her enough. She had been behind that door, making them for Negan. Daryl’s fists instinctively clenched at the memory. Dwight had grinned wickedly at him as he locked him in his cell that night, not even playing that god-awful song he’d been torturing him with. He left Daryl in silence to replay what he’d heard over and over.

Daryl knew that hadn’t been the last time she’d been with Negan while she was in his Sanctuary. He’d had a lot of time to work through that and the emotions it brought with it before she got out. They all came flooding back the first time he saw her again, and the guilt she wore plain as day in her eyes didn’t help. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t be around her without wanting to tear Negan’s throat out with his bare hands. So, he’d distanced himself. Until he saw how much she was struggling.

Everyone in Alexandria seemed to avoid her like she smelled bad. He watched as it wore her down, and even from a distance saw the demons she was battling. He’d been there before. He still had to fight demons and the person he’d been before all this. Merle had brought out the worst in him since childhood, and before his death it had been a constant battle not to slip into his old self. Daryl began to understand her struggle and found that each time he saw her slumped shoulders and haunted eyes, his heart ached for her more and more.

He’d forgiven her and was happy to move on. She’d seemed grateful enough for that the night they reconnected. Though things were better between them, she still seemed haunted. She tossed and turned beside him most nights, and when she did sleep almost always woke up shortly after, sweating or silently crying.

Daryl knew why. She’d told him. She’d all but begged him to leave with her so she could get away from Negan – be free of him for good. It stung like a blow to the face to realize Negan still affected her like that, and he’d told her no to spite her for it. He’d been regretting that since.

He turned over in bed to reach for her, wanting to hold her and smell her hair, the clean, light rose scent always calmed him – but the bed was empty. That wasn’t unusual, she often gave up trying to sleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

Still feeling somewhat uneasy, Daryl decided to find her. Maybe he just needed to talk to her to get his balance back.

An hour later he returned to their room, hopeful they’d just missed each other, and she was back in the house. Not finding her in their room or the attached bathroom, he moved downstairs to see if she was in any of the shared living spaces.

Daryl was returning to the kitchen from the back den when Rick bounded through the front door looking frenzied and angry. Daryl raised his eyebrows, silently questioning the sheriff.

“We got a problem,” Rick said, somewhat out of breath.

“What?” Daryl asked him audibly this time.

“Come with me,” was all Rick said before bolting back outside and down the steps of the porch. As Daryl moved to follow him, he saw something he hadn’t noticed earlier. Or rather, he didn’t see it – the bag and gun y/n hung from the mounted coat rack by the door was gone.

Daryl pushed that away to figure out later as he tried to catch up with Rick. He followed him straight to the basement that housed Negan in a cell. He braced himself for the worst as he pushed past Rick and through the door to investigate and saw – nothing.

Daryl cursed at the sight of the empty cell, the door swinging open, singing a taunting tune.

“Nothin’ was broken,” Rick said, “so someone had to let him out. Or he picked the lock somehow. But we are very careful about what goes into his cell with his food, someone would have had to help him either way.”

Daryl threw the cell door all the way open and stomped inside to look around. A yellow piece of paper folded and placed neatly on the cot caught his attention. He picked it up and carefully opened it, already certain what it would tell him.

I’m sorry. That was all it said.

“It was y/n,” Daryl said so softly Rick wasn’t sure he heard him right.  

“What? How do you know?”

Daryl handed him the note. “It’s her handwritin’.” The pen matched the note he’d found in his cell at the Sanctuary, and other little notes she’d left him around the house in their months before Negan.

At that moment, Michonne burst through the outer door. “Rick,” she managed to get out through her panting. They stared at her expectantly as she caught her breath.

“I was checking in on our supplies this morning,” she finally said once she could breathe. “There are a few guns missing, and a good bit of food. Enough for someone going on a run, but no one was scheduled to this week.”

Rick gave Daryl a knowing look.

“I ran to the front gate to see if Eugene knew anything. He told me Rosita had the night watch, but that y/n came out in the middle of the night and relieved her – told Rosita she couldn’t sleep anyway, she might as well be useful. When Eugene got to his post this morning, there was no one there. And a car is gone.”

Daryl stormed past them both and out the door, fuming. He was going to hunt them down. He’d kill Negan and be done with the evil bastard forever. And her. He didn’t know what he would do with her yet, but he knew he was done with her. This was twice she’d chosen him over Daryl – once when she snuck Daryl out and stayed behind. He watched her walk right to Negan like she belonged there. Now she’d not only let Negan out, but run off with him?

He didn’t notice Rick running up behind him until he spoke, “maybe you should let ‘em go, Daryl. She won’t let him come after us, anyway, she would never do that.”

“Naw,” Daryl huffed, “this is personal.” He reached his motorcycle and mounted it. He nearly peeled out as he left the house driveway and made for the gate of Alexandria. More of their people had gathered there, wanting to know what was going on.

He weaved past them on his bike and was about to shout at Eugene to open the gate when he noticed it was already half open, and someone was coming inside.

Daryl froze in confusion as he watched her walk inside. She’d come back. On foot? His heart was pounding in his chest, he didn’t know what to make of this.

She was sweaty and dirty, and had some walker blood on her, but he didn’t see any injuries on her as she walked past everyone’s questioning looks straight to Daryl on his bike.

“I guess y’all found my note,” she said with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. He didn’t return her smile.

“I’m sorry, Daryl,” she said, tears filling her eyes now. “I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t stay with him here. But I couldn’t leave you, either. This was all I could think to do.”

Rick was beside them now. “You let him go?”

“Yes,” she said, not taking her eyes from Daryl’s. “I gave him food and a couple of weapons, blindfolded him, and drove as far away as possible, taking random turns and even backtracking, until the car ran out of gas. Then I told him to figure it out from there, but if I ever saw his face again, I’d shoot him on sight. I walked back. He didn’t follow me.”

Rick sighed heavily, then grasped her shoulder. “Well, then. That’s done.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling at little at Daryl now, “it is.” He nodded and couldn’t fight the returning smile creeping to the edges of his mouth.

She climbed on his bike, wrapped her arms more tightly around his waist than she needed to, and he drove them both home.

“I Should Like to Worship You Tonight”

This is probably (definitely) the most niche smut I’ve ever written, or even daydreamed up. I grew up in the Bible Belt and Feature Films for Families were a staple in our home. Rigoletto (1993) was my favorite. I’m a sucker for a Beauty and the Beast themed story, and the music was so beautiful. And of course, as an adult, I’m wildly attracted to the MMC. (Confession - I find that with any BatB story, I tend to prefer the “Beast” before his transition in the end. What does that say about me? Maybe I’ll ask my therapist.) I recently rewatched the movie a thousand times, and I have a whole fic plotted out with stories before this one, but I needed to get this one out of my head an onto “paper.” I hope someone enjoys my warping of a family movie into something not family friendly at all. ;-)

It had been three nights since I was last alone with him, my brooding master of the manor. Three nights since I’d somehow mustered the courage, or maybe it was simply a lack of inhibition?, to boldly confess how my body ached for his touch and burned with the thought of his lips trailing kisses down every bare inch of my skin.

My work had certainly suffered in the days following, constantly drifting into a daydream -memory, really- of the passion that followed . I’d find myself forgetting why I entered a room, not knowing how long I’d been standing there staring at nothing, or holding an item I didn’t remember picking up. The trance his touch had left me in… the spell I was under… it was incurable and unbreakable, save one remedy.

As I tiptoed through the dark manor, conscious of every little sound, my heart racing at who might be around the next corner, who might catch me on my secret quest, I prayed he was awake and as hungry as I.

I’d had little opportunity to be near him, and none at all to be alone with him since that night. Hans, the ever loyal manservant, had -unfortunately- finally recovered from his days long illness that had allowed me such closeness with Ari to begin with. I’d made sure to tiptoe past his door first, where I was relieved to hear him snoring like a bear.

As I descended the last few stairs to the main foyer, the door to his study and music room in sight, my prayer was answered. He was awake, and playing his pianoforte, as he did more often than he didn’t. It was his most beautiful quality, although his voice rivaled it, and the songs he made the instrument sing often filled the halls of this enormous house. I had been haunted from my first day here with the enchanting loneliness of the tunes that seemed to pierce straight to my soul. As the days went on, though, they turned to somewhat brighter notes, lonely but with a tinge of hope. From there they drifted into scores of longing, an unrequited love. Since our union three nights ago, the halls had been filled with lovely romantic tunes, sometimes sultry and passionate, sometimes light and airy like rays of sun slipping through the trees in the early morning hours. It was this type of tune I followed now, my bare feet padding lightly on the wooden floors.

I slipped through the sliding door of his study, silently closing it behind me, and through the open doors into the room beyond I saw him, his long, dark hair shining in the gentle candlelight. I could see the shadows dancing on the scars of his face as he moved with the music. I thought to walk over and touch them, to caress the evidence of all the pain of his previous life. But tonight, I was feeling a bit playful.

As his tune drifted like those morning rays of light over a misty field, warming and awakening something deep within me, I began twirling and moving with the rhythm. I have never been accused of being a lovely dancer, but I felt graceful as I lightly moved across the room. I stopped in front of the bay window, opening the curtains to let the rays of moonlight in. The beauty of the full moon illuminating the front courtyard gave me pause and for a moment I was lost in the night, with the low, beautiful melody of his song in the background.

I don’t know how long it had been, but I suddenly became aware that the music had stopped some time ago. I turned my back to the window and found him still at the piano, but with his hands stacked on his cane, watching me. I had the feeling he’d been staring at me for quite a while, and the feeling brought a blush to my cheeks. I felt bared naked, though I was still wrapped in my silk robe.

“You are a goddess,” Ari finally broke the silence.

I smiled shyly at him, trying to think of something clever and flirty to reply. My words failed me as he rose. The light tap of his cane filling the quiet room as he moved slowly toward me.

He towered over me, his gaze piercing mine, as he held my chin between his thumb and forefinger. I closed my eyes, desperately wanting him to close the distance between our lips, to start our dance together.

His hand left my chin and as I opened my eyes in confusion, I felt the belt of my robe tugged undone. As he slipped it from my shoulders, baring my completely naked body, my breath caught in my throat.

“I should like to worship you tonight,” he continued his thought, his eyes raking over every inch of my moonlit form.

His hand found my waist and gently pushed until my back touched the window, a gasp escaping my mouth at the shock of the cold glass on my skin.

He grinned devilishly at the sound, and using his cane for support, made his way down onto his good knee. Before I could make another sound, he’d lifted my leg and draped it on his shoulder, baring my flower to his hungry gaze.

He began with slow, warm kisses at the top of my thigh. It tickled and I giggled, but ran my hands through his thick hair in encouragement. His kisses moved inward, finding my petals, and the tickles quickly turned to tingles. He moved inward still, his lips finding the center of me, and his kisses became sucks. His tongue began making long, lazy strokes, and I knew I was dripping wet from more than his mouth. My groans could not be stifled as he continued, alternating between sucks, licks, and kisses.

The sudden sensation of fingers entering me caused a yelp of pleasure, and I felt him smile against me before continuing his skilled work. His fingers moved as expertly as his tongue, and I soon felt the crescendo of an orgasm building within me. My hands tugged in his hair, my back arching away from the window and pushing my core further onto his face. His remaining hand cupped my ass, and as he forcefully sucked one long time, I unraveled against him, gasping sharply and exhaling his name, “Ari”.

He was gentle as he continued his work while I came down from my high, and when he finally set my leg down and rose, his own arousal was evident under his robe.

He stopped me when I moved to reach for his erection, more than willing to return the favor. He smiled as he kissed me, moving my hand to his face.

“I said I would like to worship you tonight,” he whispered onto my mouth, “how should you like to be worshiped next?”

I kissed him deeply, and then led him by the hand back to his piano bench.

“With the piano, I think,” I said, giving him a sincere smile.

The melody he played will follow me the rest of my days- it’s beauty, I’m convinced, can never be matched.

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.

The End Will Justify It All - Chapter 6

A Negan Series

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

Warnings - guns, shooting, wounds, blood, violence, captivity, illness, and some language. 18+ only.

Feedback is welcome!

This was wrong.

There were too many. How had this happened?

She’d sent a note through a Savior to Simon earlier in the day to meet her for a drink at the fire after her dinner with Negan, which meant there should be three guys along the fence: Simon at the fire on the far end, and two guys on guard.

She counted 14 right now, maybe more, they kept moving. She looked at Daryl and Sherry, hunched down beside her, the three of them hiding behind a stack of wood crates. There were enough stacks and barrels between them and the hole she’d strategically placed in the fence that in the dark of night, they could get most of the way unseen.  The last ten yards to the hole was so exposed that no matter how well they timed the run, with this many eyes looking around, they would be seen.

Everything else had gone perfectly today. Fat Joey didn’t question her at all when she told him Dwight asked her to tune up his bike and have it waiting outside the gate for him. She had a whole story ready to explain where Dwight was going and why, but he could not have cared less. He was just happy to be speaking to her. She smiled sweetly at him, and he handed her the keys without another thought.

She’d asked Sherry to deliver Dwight’s lunch to him in front of Daryl’s cell today, so she could get to her target practice early.

“Hey, before I forget,” she said to Sherry as she handed her Dwight’s tray with a BLT, pickle, and glass of iced sweet tea, “can you meet me in the stairwell after my dinner with Negan tonight? I just need to talk for a while.” Sherry agreed, happily, as she walked away with the tray of food.

Her dinner with Negan was normal, if not a little awkward after the events of the night before. They ate, they played Scrabble, and they drank. She needed the drink. She found herself a little too distracted by every move of his mouth, flashes of their encounter last night trying to make their way into her mind. She had to force herself to focus on her Scrabble tiles more than once. It didn’t help that Negan played suggestive words, with that wicked grin, every chance he got. She was starting to sweat. She offered to refill their drinks when they were about halfway through the game and left him staring at his tiles while she worked at the bar cart. She delivered a well-timed joke and they both chuckled as she tipped the small bag of crushed sleeping pills into his whiskey. Swirling the glass around as she walked back, she smiled to herself as the powder dissolved in the amber liquid.

He'd emptied the glass by the time the game finished, him beating her for the first time. She wished she’d purposefully let that happen.  She bid him goodnight. She even kissed him on the cheek before leaving, and grinned again.

Dwight was passed out in his chair outside Daryl’s cell, as she expected. She’d put enough crushed sleeping pills in both his mayo and his sweet tea to knock Fat Joey out, but she couldn’t risk him waking up and ruining it all.

Daryl stared at her wide-eyed when she opened his cell and dragged the sleeping Dwight into it. She wanted to embrace Daryl, kiss him, and explain everything, but she had the escape planned very specifically. There just wasn’t time. She settled for one deep but quick kiss and held his hands as she instructed him to follow her closely, silently, and do exactly what she said.

They tiptoed as fast as they could down the halls, only having to duck into an empty room once to hide from a passerby. When they reached the stairwell, they found Sherry where she’d said she’d be. Sherry seemed to understand what was happening as soon as she saw Daryl, and without a word followed them both down the stairs.

“Wassat?” Daryl asked her as she grabbed a backpack from a dark corner at the bottom of the stairs.

“Supplies,” she answered, flinging it on her back and motioning for them to hide against the wall while she opened the door to outside.

They crouched, scampered, and crawled in the dark, finally making it here, where she was frozen, trying to figure out what went wrong. She hadn’t planned for this many guys; there shouldn’t be this many guys.

“Wha’s wrong?” Daryl asked her, feeling her stress.

“Just let me think for a second,” she whispered back.

She knew it wasn’t possible. She couldn’t get them all out without them being seen. If they were seen, they’d be hunted down. What would follow that made her stomach turn.

She knew what she had to do.

She turned to Daryl, kissed him hard and passionately. She handed him the bag of supplies and told him, “Stay low behind the row of stacks and barrels, when you get to the end, time it so no one sees you, and make a run straight to the fence. There is a hole cut out there, you can’t see it until you’re on it. Whatever you do, just keep going. When you get to the woods, follow the cuts in the tree like you taught me, you’ll find a bike ready to go. Do not wait for me, I will find you. Take Sherry wherever she wants to go, and then you go somewhere else. Daryl,” she held his face in her hands and looked hard in his eyes, “do not go back to Alexandria. Find another community to hide in until it’s safe to contact Rick.”

She looked at Sherry, “whatever happens here, keep going. Make him keep going.”

Sherry hugged her as she said, “I will. Thank you.”

Daryl started to argue, but she gently pushed him. She watched as they turned and slipped away into the dark.

When they’d gotten far enough away, she took a deep breath and stood, stepping into the flood lights. All the guys stopped moving and looked at her. She looked toward Simon, who should have been expecting her, and her heart stopped. Standing right beside him, with his arms crossed and Lucille hanging from one hand, was Negan. Well, his sleeping pills didn’t work, she thought.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” he shook his head, “well, boys, it looks like you were telling me the truth. Unlike Y/N here, who has been lying to me…”

When she said nothing, Negan turned to Simon, “I believe you two were going to be having a drink together? Well, what the hell? Let’s have a drink!”

And there it was, exactly what she needed. What Daryl and Sherry needed. “Negan, I’m so glad you’re joining us!” she exclaimed, seeing a flash of surprise across of Negan’s face at her response. “I love having drinks around the fire with friends! In fact, why don’t we invite everyone?”

She spun in a half circle, looking at each Savior in area. “Negan and I would like to invite you all to have a drink with us right now,” and when only a few moved toward her she added, “on Negan!”

They all moved at that, smiles spreading across their faces, and some swatting her arm in thanks as they passed. She smiled at Negan as they all filed in around the fire, far from the fence Daryl and Sherry should be approaching now.

She thought she heard the ting of metal moving. She smiled to herself.

She spent the next hour and a half making her rounds with the guys at the fire, joking with most of them, asking some of them about their girlfriends or wives. Everyone enjoying the beers she’d provided on Negan’s tab. When she felt she’d given Daryl and Sherry a big enough safety net of time, she said her goodnights and made her way back to the building.

She was almost to the door when Negan called from the group, “Y/n! You can’t go yet! You and Simon barely spoke, and I for one, would like to know what it was you wanted to talk about that brought you out in on this cold night, sneaking around like a rat, to talk in the dark…”

------

She braced herself for whatever he was about to say or do. She could almost see the fury radiating from him in waves. It no longer mattered what happened to her, she could handle it. Or maybe she couldn’t. That was fine, too. Daryl was out, he could be with his family again. He could do good, be good out there. Somehow, he and Rick would take Negan down, she had no doubt about that. Hopefully she would live to see it, she thought, as she saw the rage in Negan’s eyes directed at her.

He opened his mouth to speak, but it wasn’t his voice that escaped his mouth, it was a boom. A gunshot. No, it didn’t come from his mouth, it had come from somewhere behind him. Was someone shooting? Time seemed to slow. She felt a pang in her thigh, she looked down. There was blood, dark and thick, insidiously oozing from a hole in her pants, where the sting came from. Her legs gave out in that moment, and she was on the ground. She could no longer hear anything around her, could only feel the pain. She was on fire. She gripped at her thigh, a wounded animal panicking. She needed to calm down, get help, breathe. When was the last time she took a breath? She willed herself to suck in air, her head clearing some with the effort. She winced as she forced herself into a sitting position and took another breath. Apply pressure, she told herself, stop the bleeding until someone gets the doctor. She pressed, screaming at the added pain, her vision fading at the edges. She breathed again and kept pressing. Why was no one coming to help? Her ears cleared, and she knew without looking that no one would be. She raised her head to see blurs of legs as people ran past her, she heard men yelling, some screaming in pain, more gunshots. There were others here, now. Their faces were covered with what looked like ski masks.

She needed to get somewhere safe or get to some weapons. She tried to stand, stumbled back down, vision almost completely black from the effort. She tried again. Successfully on her feet now, she raised upright to evaluate the best direction to go. She saw it happen from her peripheral, but not in time to stop the metal cylinder from connecting with her skull. She barely had time to register the pain erupt from her temple before she was unconscious.   

She felt the pain before she knew she was awake. She’d never felt anything like it, she could barely breathe she hurt so badly. She couldn’t decide what parts of her hurt worse – her left thigh was still screaming with pain. Her head throbbed, a sharp pain radiating from her right cheek. She could taste blood, and guessed at her stuffy nose that she must have fallen on her face. The pain on her back was new – it stung, as cool air whispered against raw skin. She must have been dragged, she realized. Dragged where?

She opened her eyes. Well, she tried. Only her left eye would open, the swelling from her right cheek forcing that eye closed. Her head still drooping, she was looking at her lap. Her left pant leg was soaked in her own blood. She slowly lifted her hand to survey her head wound, but it wouldn’t move. She noticed then the ropes tying her hands behind her, uncomfortable as her elbows awkwardly tried to bend around the chairback behind her. She saw similar ropes restraining her feet to the legs of the chair she sat in. Do not panic, she told herself, assess.

As slowly as possible, to avoid blacking out, she raised her head. She saw a dark room lit by several camping lanterns placed on the floor. Concrete walls with no windows, some large iron equipment and pipes, possibly a boiler room? She and the lamps were the only occupants. She carefully turned her head, searching for a door. She heard one open behind her, and light flooded the floor in front of her, shadowed by her own hunched figure. “She’s awake,” a man’s voice said.

Two sets of footsteps approached behind her. Another voice said, “We know you’re in some considerable pain…” she didn’t respond. “We’d like to help you, if you want that.”

He waited for her to answer. She didn’t.

“We wouldn’t ask for much in return,” the first voice added, “just some information.”

“You gonna make me talk to the wall or come around and face me like men?” she growled, the effort of speaking sending the pain in her cheek rioting through her head.

One of them chuckled. “I would bet money that spirit is what attracted Negan to you,” he said as he moved in front of her and crouched to meet her eyes. He surveyed her face and whistled, “it might have been your face too, before this.” He touched her cheek on the last word, and she flinched away from him at the fire hot pain it sent through her.

“Shooo, I bet that does hurt.” He cooed at her. She glared as best she could with one open eye.

“We have some medicine, a doctor here, that could at least make that hurt less,” he said, “all we need to know is how many people Negan has working for him, and where they are stationed.”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” she said nonchalantly. She couldn’t think clearly from the pain, but she knew she didn’t want to give these assholes anything they wanted. “I think I’m good.”

The man in her face smiled, the smile not unlike one she’d seen on Negan’s face plenty of times, before making a point. “Well, I guess we need to change that,” he said viciously, before his right hand made forceful contact with her left jaw, sending her head flying right, only to see the back hand of the other guy flying toward her wounded cheek. She went unconscious again.

When she woke the next time, she heard thumping. Unrhythmic, sporadic, and it was coming from several different directions. She heard her two new friends talking in low, panicked voices behind her. “I thought we’d have more time!” one of them said, “how did they find us after only two days?” “I don’t know, but we gotta do something.” “What? They have us surrounded, and they’ve already killed most of our people!” The pause in their conversation gave her mind a chance to catch up, to realize what she was heard was gunshots.

“Did you really think,” her words were slow, the effort of talking through her newly bruised jaw slowing her down, “you could hit him at home, and he wouldn’t retaliate?” The guys moved from the door to stand in front of her while she talked. “You didn’t even know how many people he had, and you thought you could beat him?” she forced a laugh through the excruciating pain.

“You think this is funny, bitch?” one of them responded. “Well I’ll show you what I think is funny,” he said, lifting his metal pipe, the one she assumed gave her the busted face, like a baseball bat.

“I would not do that if I were you,” a familiar villainous voice growled from the door behind her, and her heart fluttered. Negan was here. For her. She was surprised at the relief she felt. “Not that holding back now will save you.”

Two Saviors appeared from behind her, holding guns. Her captors raised their hands, and the Saviors forced them to their knees. She felt her wrist restraints cut and fall, and rubbed her arms as she watched Negan cut her foot restraints. He placed her arm around his shoulder and helped her to stand on her good foot. With most of her weight leaning on him, he helped her to limp toward the door. She stopped him before they exited and turned back toward the room.

“If I can’t be the one to do it, I need to see it,” she told him. He nodded in understanding, and then toward the Saviors. She didn’t flinch at all at the gunshots, or as their lifeless bodies hit the floor.

Negan picked her up, then, carrying her from the room. He rushed down passages, and out through double doors. Blinking her good eye against the blinding sun, she heard continued shooting, and saw bodies, both Saviors and not, on the ground as Negan ran with her toward a truck. He placed her in the passenger seat as easily as he could and made for the driver’s side. She heard him yell orders to whoever was near as he climbed in and started the truck, not hesitating before throwing it in reverse and speeding away from the battle.

------

The truck sputtered and steam flooded from the hood.

“Shit.” Negan grumbled as the truck came to a stop on its own. “It must have been shot before we got away.” He frantically searched the cab of the truck. “Of course there is no damn radio in here! Is everyone an idiot?”

He thought for a moment, and finally asked, “Can you walk at all?”

It was the first time he’d spoken to her since they’d fled, they had been driving for about thirty minutes. “I… um, I can try,” she replied.

She steeled herself. This was going to hurt, but she knew there was no alternative. With all the gunfire, they didn’t know how many walkers were on their way toward them, and who knew how long it would be until their guys started heading back. If there were any guys left to come back… she shook the thought from her head as Negan opened her door and helped her out of the truck.

Immediately she knew she couldn’t do this, but she refused to tell Negan that. Refused to let him see the severity of her pain. So she began trying to find a rhythm of step, lean into him, hop. Each hop sent a white-hot flare of pain through her whole body, but she kept going. She was grateful that he would stop often to let her catch her breath, using the time to also wiggle her jaw, which was getting stiff and even more sore from clenching her teeth.

She guessed they’d been slowly hobbling down the road for about two hours when they saw an old barn ahead, a short distance from the road, in a field. He jerked his chin in the barn’s direction and said, “we need to stop here for the night.” It was nearly dusk already, and she knew if they kept going, they would risk tripping in the dark. The thought of that pain alone made her flinch.

Inside the barn, Negan gathered a mound of hay and gently set her down on it. After securing the doors behind them, he sat down across from her, resting his head against the wall behind him and closing his eyes. She watched as he seemed to be calming himself down, if she didn’t know better, she would have thought he was meditating.

“Who were those guys?” she asked, finally breaking the tense silence.

“One of the communities we own,” he said without opening his eyes, “we caught one of them at the Sanctuary when they took you. Took the bastard a whole day to break and tell us where they’d taken you. It took us half the next day to get there.” He finally lifted his head and surveyed her, lingering on her wounds. “It’s gonna be a long walk back…”

She nodded, fighting back the stinging tears at the thought of the long journey ahead of her tomorrow.

He moved to her, gingerly touching her wounded face and looking more closely at the wounds in the fading rays of light barn walls were allowing in. He met her eyes, still lightly holding her face in his hands. It hurt, but she didn’t mind.  

“I saw you go down,” he said slowly, “from the first shot. But I didn’t see where they’d hit you. By the time I got to where you fell, you were gone. I thought you were dead, until Simon said he saw them load you up and take off.” His eyes shone with pain.

“I didn’t know if anyone would come for me,” she said softly. She hadn’t admitted it to herself in that boiler room, but she had not been hopeful of making it back out of there. “When I heard you…” her voice broke as her tears finally flooded. He gently pulled her into his chest and wrapped her in his arms as she wept. When she stopped, she said into his shirt, “we really gotta stop hanging out like this.” They both chuckled as they separated.

It was dark now, and the temperature was dropping. Negan made a dugout in the hay and helped her to lay down in it. Once she was settled, he settled in behind her, pulling her close for warmth. They laid that way for a long time, listening to each other breathe, when she eventually broke the silence.

“I believe I still have two free questions,” she said in lighthearted tone.

“You definitely used two already,” he quipped back.

“Yes, but you only answered one of them,” she said, lightly pressing him with her elbow. “So, I get the second one back.”

“I’ll allow it,” he said, pulling her a little closer and nestling her head under his chin.

She laid there a few more minutes before asking, “you showing up there today, was that… well, was that to find me? Or for retaliation for attacking you?”

He didn’t answer for long enough that she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. “It wasn’t about retaliation,” he said finally. “As for your other question… Lucille was my wife, before. And during. She died, because of me… because of my inaction. I wasn’t going to let inaction be the cause of your death, too.” Something in her ached at his response, some twinge beginning of understanding how he’d become the Negan she knew.

The cold crept deeper into her. She shivered, despite the warmth Negan wrapped around her.

As she succumbed to a pressing urge to sleep, she thought she heard Negan say, “you are burning up.”

------

When she woke up, she was in Negan’s bed in the Sanctuary. An IV in her arm snaked to two pouches of liquids hung from a metal pole beside the head of the bed. She couldn’t remember getting here. In fact, she couldn’t remember much at all following the night in the barn. There were brief flashes of trees rushing past while Negan carried her, the doctor holding her non-wounded eye open and flashing a light into her eye, and the occasional voice talking to her, or someone beside her. It was an unnerving feeling, remembering nothing between one place and the next, but somehow knowing that time had passed.

She realized suddenly how dry her mouth was, and how thirsty she felt. She looked around the room to find a glass of water on the nightstand beside her. Beside the nightstand, in the leather armchair that used to be in the sitting area, Negan slept. He couldn’t have been comfortable, she thought, with his neck at that angle against the back of the chair. He looked a little haggard. Dark circles under his eyes, his scruff longer than he usually kept it, his hair unwashed and a little unkempt. He stirred as she reached for the water glass, just slightly too far away, and sat up when he realized she was awake. He stood, handed the glass to her, and walked out of the room. A moment later, he returned with the doctor.

As he assessed her, she asked questions to fill in the gaps. Her bullet wound was a good one – all the way through, no major arteries nicked, it didn’t hit bone. It would take some time and some effort, but the muscle it pierced would heal and she’d be able to walk again. It had become infected while she was tied up, and the infection had gone deep. Her fever had gotten dangerously high, which explained her sleeping through the last four days. Her cheekbone was likely fractured, though he expected it to heal well, too. Her nose had been reset, and her jaw and cheek bruises were already turning shades of greens and yellows. The swelling had receded enough that she could open her right eye enough to see out of. She turned down the offer to see herself in a mirror. Negan listened intently, not saying anything and not meeting her eyes.

The doctor left her with orders to drink as much water as she could, eat as much as she could, and sleep as much as she could. Once the infection cleared and the gunshot wound had closed, she could start working on walking again.

She looked at Negan, who was staring at the door the doctor had shut behind him.

“I vaguely remember you carrying me through the woods… you must have nearly killed yourself carrying me that far. I can’t thank you enough,” she said, meaning every word. He did not turn his head.

“I can ask the doctor to help me move to my room, so you can have your bed back.”

“No,” was all he said, before leaving her alone.

She told herself not to stress about whatever that was. If it was about her, he’d eventually have it out with her, and if it wasn’t then it would go away. But sitting there, in his bed, with nothing to do but think, stressing about it is what she did. She went over every possible reason he would be pissed at her, when she was literally unconscious for four days. After an hour or so of spiraling, the door opened, and she was surprised to see Tanya enter with a tray of food. Tanya set the tray up on the bed and made her way to sit in the chair near the bedside.

“Um,” she said to Tanya, with a raised eyebrow, “thank you?”

Tanya seemed to know she wasn’t asking about the food and explained. “Negan sent me to sit with you for a while. If you need anything I can get it for you. Or I guess if you want to talk, that’s what I’m here for, too.” Then she added, quietly, “which will be a nice change of pace.”

“Wait,” she asked Tanya, pulling the tray of food closer, “what does that mean?”

“Oh,” Tanya pushed a breath out of her nose in a sort-of laugh, “you’ve just been asleep every time I’ve been in here before.”

“You... you came to see me?” she was surprised. She and Tanya weren’t exactly friends. With Sherry gone, she wasn’t sure she had any friends here anymore.

“Well… Negan didn’t want you to be alone. He sat with you almost all of the time, but if he had to leave for whatever reason, he sent one of us to be with you. Said we had to stay awake in case you woke up.”

“I guess that explains why he looked so rough,” she commented.

Tanya replied, “yeah, I don’t think he’s had much sleep since he carried you in.”

She contemplated all of this while she ate the food Tanya had brought her. It didn’t take her long, she found with the first bite that she was famished.

When she finished her meal, she asked Tanya to fill her in on what she’d missed. She put on her best surprised face when Tanya told her Daryl had escaped. As Tanya informed her that when Negan was gathering the troops to come after her and her captors, they’d discovered Dwight missing, and the wives had not seen Sherry for a while either. They assumed both had run away together. Then two days ago, Negan suddenly remembered Daryl was locked up and with Dwight gone, no one was making sure he was fed, but they opened the cell to find Dwight in there, half-starved and feral. He said Sherry had drugged his food, and he woke up in Daryl’s cell.

“Sherry and Daryl ran away together?” she asked Tanya, dumbfounded.

Tanya couldn’t believe it either, “Negan was furious. He sent Simon and a group to Alexandria to find Daryl, but they haven’t been able to find him.”

She didn’t let Tanya see the relief she felt. This had worked out surprisingly well for her. She had planned to deal with Dwight later, though she hadn’t quite decided how at the time she’d locked him up. And Daryl had listened to her and didn’t go find Rick, that, too, was a relief.

After a few more minutes of chitchat, and Tanya getting a couple of books for her to read while she was bedbound, she told Tanya she was feeling very tired. According to Tanya, Negan wanted Tanya in there anyway, so she got a book for herself, and moved to Negan’s couch.

Sleep quickly consumed her, and she woke hours later to find Negan gently shaking the foot of her good leg to rouse her.

“Dinner,” he grunted, motioning to the tray on the bed.  He helped her into a sitting position before seating himself in the chair beside the bed.

“You don’t want to eat, too?” she asked him. 

“No,” he bluntly replied. Still in a mood.

She ate in silence for a few minutes. She was trying to decide how to proceed in conversation when he beat her to it.

“Free question,” he declared. “And don’t lie this time.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “When did I lie to you?” she asked him, not looking away from her stew as she took a spoonful.

“When I asked you before why you were really here. You lied. I want the truth this time.”

Her food turned leaden in her stomach, and she suddenly had no appetite.

“You came here to get Daryl out, didn’t you?”

She looked up at him, held his hard stare.

“Yes.”

“And you succeeded, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I knew the moment we couldn’t find Dwight and Sherry was gone, too, there was more to it than them running away. They’d already tried that and failed miserably; Dwight is too spineless to try a second time. And that douchebag in Alexandria, Spencer, he’d let it slip that you and Daryl had a little thing going before you met me… so, I checked Daryl’s cell,” he confessed, “and who did I find, sleeping like a baby, not a scratch on him?”

“Negan,” she started, but he cut her off.

“Here’s the other thing, you didn’t just drug Dwight and get Daryl out… you tried to drug me, too. Didn’t you?”

She didn’t respond.

“I took one sip of that whiskey and could tell something was off about it. But I wanted to see what you were doing.”

She swallowed down the bile rising in her throat. She couldn’t run, she knew screaming would be useless. All she had on this tray was a spoon and some hot stew… she could throw it in his face, but that would only piss him off… she had no option but to take whatever punishment he had in store for her.

“Are you going to burn my face?” she asked him, no fear in her voice.

He stared at her for a long time before responding.

“No,” he said, defeat laced his tone. “No. You covered your tracks well. Dwight believes Sherry drugged him, and everyone else believes it, too.”

She loosed a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She wanted to thank him, but she didn’t think he’d receive it well.

They sat in silence for the rest of the evening, Negan removing her tray when she didn’t touch it for a while. He retreated to the bathroom, and she heard the shower turn on. She settled in, feeling tired again, and closed her eyes. Sleep didn’t come, but she kept her eyes closed, as Negan completed his shower and came back into the room. She heard him click lamps off, his footsteps moving around the room. She felt the bed dip as he climbed in beside her.

He'd found her out, revealed her plans, she had confessed it all, and now he was going to sleep beside her. She turned to her side to find his bare back facing her.

She knew she shouldn’t press her luck, but now curiosity was getting the best of her.

“If you knew when those guys took me… why did you come for me? Why lose all those guys to get me back?”

She watched his back decompress as she sighed, and then as he turned to his side to face her.

“How is the answer to that not obvious by now?”

She searched his eyes and watched as they moved to her mouth and then back to her eyes. He moved in close, their lips nearly touching. Then he kissed her. This kiss was not like the last time he kissed her. This was gentle, passionate, soft but powerful. She kissed him back.

When he pulled away from the kiss several minutes later, her silently cursing her wounds and the IV preventing them from going further, Negan said softly to her, “you will have to decide one of these days. You can try to survive with Daryl, or you can thrive here with me. You can’t be in my bed and his, too.” With that, he turned over and went to sleep.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 –

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 –

affectionate, approving, beaming, bright, brilliant, broad, charming, cheerful, compassionate, dazzling, encouraging, enthusiastic, friendly, gentle, genuine, infectious, innocent, irresistible, placid, playful, pleased, radiant, reassuring, sweet, soft, sunny, tender, warm, welcoming, windsome.

𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 –

cold, condescending, cruel, dazed, devilish, dry, enigmatic, evil, feeble, fixed, forced, furtive, grave, grim, haughty, helpless, ingratiating, insolent, ironic, malicious, meek, melancholy, mocking, mournful, mysterious, oily, reluctant, rueful, sarcastic, sardonic, scornful, shy, slight, smug, sober, strained, strange, stony, thin, timid, tremulous, triumphant, ugly, vague, weak, weird, wicked, wistful, wry.

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 –

amused, crooked, knowing, mischievous, quiet, quick, rusty, sudden, vacant.

𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲 –

chapped, cracked, moist, plump, thin, tight.

“My dear Bagginses and Boffins, Tooks and Brandybucks, Grubbs, Chubbs, Hornblowers, Bolgers, Bracegirdles and Proudfoots.”

Or, if you’re in a hurry,

“Sup nerds!”

“Girls gays and theys” <- uninclusive while trying to be inclusive. Bad. Makes me uncomfortable.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and other distinguished guests” <- inclusive but far, far too formal

“Alrighty gamers” <- Incisive of everyone, informal, and fun to say.

Actually lol’d

I see no lies.

batter up.

Negan Smith x f!reader

» RATING explicit. 18+ only.

» LENGTH 6,003

» CONTENT Savior!Negan, colorful language, canon-accurate violence, nsfw, smut [v fingering, f receiving oral, unprotected p in v, creampie, cockwarming], various kinks [praise, biting, spit, breeding]

It should have been obvious that batting lessons with him would end up like this.

You’d known exactly what your salacious tone indicated the moment the words had left your lips. 

“You ever gonna show me how you swing that bat of yours around, Negan?”

The drawl of his name from your mouth – your fuckin’ mouth like a sailor – ticked his lips upward into an amused smile, eyes regarding you up and down slowly. He leaned back in the chair he sat in, motioning with a finger for you to come closer before returning his attention to the object in question, a wet cloth removing remnants of blood and brains from the wood.

The chill down your spine should have been from fear. That was far from the case.

You were new. Shiny. You’d been alone for an impressive amount of time, and it had ruined your people skills. You were mostly quiet, kept to yourself, carried your weight for the group, and hardly anyone ever needed to talk to you. But when they did – hell hath no fury. You had a sharp tongue and little filter when that pretty mouth of yours did open. 

You found yourself in the presence of his laughter often when you spoke. You always got your way. You were quickly his favorite toy.

He wondered – often – about the life you had before everything went to hell in a handbasket. He wondered what job you had, what your damn hobbies were, if you had a husband, maybe some kids runnin’ around. It wasn’t his business. He never asked. 

“You ever gonna ask nicely?”

You sat atop the table in front of him, crossing your legs slowly, dramatically, temptingly, relishing in the way his eyes dragged across your legs in the short shorts you’d been wearing in the July heat for a moment as you twisted your upper body toward him, leaning your weight on one arm. 

His hand that rested on the surface twitched toward yours. 

“I’d love it if you’d be sweet enough to show me how good you are with that bat,” you spoke lowly, eyes burning into his. His pupils blew wider as you spoke each word. You wished you could be close enough to see that each time you spoke. “Pretty please.”

It was a wonder to this new world that he hadn’t fucked you yet. 

“Gonna take patrol later,” he began, eyes finding yours once again. With wide eyes and semi-pouted lips you were practically begging him. It was dangerous how he’d give you whatever you wanted. “You can come with me if you promise not to get yourself killed.”

You smiled, fingers sliding closer to his, lightly gliding over the back of his hand feather light. You noticed the hitch in his breath, the temptation to point it out almost too strong to ignore. You opted to give the man before you a pass. 

“Guess somebody better keep me safe then, huh?”

“Like you’re not capable of taking care of yourself.”

He knew he’d fallen into some kinda trap when his response brought your signature, mischievous grin. He was perfectly content – at least for the moment – not to even try to climb out. 

“Oh, I’m capable,” you responded carefully, flipping his hand over to run your fingers over his palm. His hands were large – much larger than yours – and rough. Battle scarred. It wasn’t the first time you’d fantasized about how they felt. “But sometimes it’s just so much nicer for someone else to take care of you.”

It didn’t take him deciphering a fucking code or something to know exactly what the double meaning behind your words was. His self-control was stretching terribly thin – the thread holding it together would snap soon. 

An opening door behind you made you jump back to your feet, removing yourself to a reasonable distance before you were joined by the company. His right hand entered the room a moment after, and you offered Negan another smile before turning to exit. He called a reminder to you before you disappeared.

“Meet me tonight and we’ll go have some fun.”

Whatever his words meant, you were certain the sentiment was true.

“Thought you were standin’ me up.”

He always knew when you approached, even when no one else could seem to hear your footsteps – it sparked curiosity in you to ponder exactly when he’d become so familiar with you, and what else he’d memorized. You dropped down from the wall you walked across directly behind him, boots landing on the ground with a thud. 

“That’d be stupid of me,” you replied, circling him to stand in front of him. It was seldom you stood this close to him – the fact that he towered over you only making you want to be closer. “Don’t wanna make the big man angry.”

He caught the subtle shake to your voice and smirked, dimples on full display. Fuck him. 

“Smart woman,” he complimented, his voice a little too honey-thick for you to handle. You caught yourself momentarily breathless, his eyes now burning into yours. “Now, I know you took care of yourself real well while you were alone. But tonight, the first rule, you’re with me – and outside you’ve gotta listen. I don’t wanna hear that pretty mouth of yours run.”

You only smiled up at him, looking up into his eyes between your lashes as you blinked languidly, bottom lip pulling between your teeth. You nodded in agreement – he remained transfixed on your lips.

“You’re the boss,” you asserted, zipping up the tattered leather jacket you wore to shield from the night air and offer extra protection against bites. He loved when you pulled the jacket on, and often craved to see you swallowed in his instead. He only smiled at your response – he knew you’d run your mouth at some point still.

“Second rule,” he started, eyes intense. “I don’t want you more than an arm’s length away.”

“My arm length or yours?”

Infuriating. You didn’t even make it through the rules without breaking rule one – and what made it more annoying was the fact he was still amused by it.  

“We’ll say yours since they’re shorter,” he replied, reaching to grasp one of your hands and raise your arm upward, stepping closer to demonstrate the distance he desired. You took a step even closer than that – closer would be fine, too.

“Yes, sir,” you replied lowly, tilting your head slightly as you gazed up at him, melting at the feeling of his hand engulfing yours. 

He tried to ignore the rush of heat that spread across his body.

“We’re going into the woods. Don’t want you to get lost,” he tried to continue, to ignore the name you’d called him. The feeling that fluttered in his stomach insisted to be acknowledged. 

“You big softie. Let’s go,” you replied, turning to face the gate and motioning to the guard to let you through. You turned your head to glance up at him and offer that playful smile again, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “Teach me how to be scary.”

“Oh, you’re plenty scary,” he replied as the two of you exited. “Just gonna teach ya how to do it with a bat.”

It was mostly a comfortable silence as the two of you made your way through the thick trees. He didn’t go far – maybe a 2-mile radius was all it took for him to feel the two of you had covered enough ground. 

You watched intently, biting at your bottom lip several times as he swung the bat to handle walkers coming your way. By the twelfth one he’d began to show off, pulling his jacket off to reveal the flexing muscles in the arms of his blood-stained white t-shirt as he swung Lucille over his head with a particularly hard landing blow. 

You weren’t sure he ever looked sexier than when splashes of red painted his face.

It got easier the longer you went on, the conversation flowing between the two of you – the flirtatious nature always lurking beneath, begging to be unleashed fully. The two of you got so comfortable even talking about your lives before was an option. It all came back to the star – to where you two were now.

“Been with us a few weeks now.”

“Approaching week eight,” you replied, adjusting the strap of the gun you still wore slung over your back. Negan had already remarked that you didn’t need to bring it along. 

“Remind me how long you were alone before that,” he feigned a normal amount of interest, though inside he was congratulating himself for finally getting the answers he wanted. 

“Eight months, give or take,” your reply caused him to whistle lowly, an appreciative sound. It was impressive to be alone for any amount of time, let alone eight months. You’d been rough when he’d found you – but even he didn’t know just how that time had passed for you. “Stopped keepin’ count.”

“You were alone all winter?”

“Uh huh,” you confirmed, glancing up at him to briefly meet his gaze. He shook his head, huffing out a deep breath as he thought about your words. It had been hell for him from the start – for everyone, really…but you’d been living a different nightmare altogether.  

“You’re an impressive woman, you know that?” he drawled, your cheeks heating up over his flirtatious affection. Even as he walked he focused his attention on you – it was too much, and yet just his eyes on you wasn’t nearly enough. “Who’s the last person you were with?” 

You paused, but not for long – not longer than an arm’s length.

“Used to be my neighbor,” you replied simply, eyes suddenly focused on anything else. Already Fall, the leaves had long turned their seasonal vibrant shades. There was still some beauty in the world, and you were keen on admiring it as often as the universe allowed.

“He help you when it all went to shit?”

You knew the question was coming, and it still sucked the wind from you, replacing it with a familiar feeling of dread. It was a conversation you’d avoided for weeks now – it was coming eventually. 

“He took me when it all went to shit,” you replied simply, stopping in your tracks to pick some ripe berries on a nearby bush. He was intent to watch you work and happy for the break on his feet. “Kept me in his basement. Called me his wife.”

“Jesus, I…”

“Do not apologize,” you snapped, avoiding his eyes now. A hint of blue caught your eye close to the ground and you quickly shined a flashlight, confirming berries were growing on a bush. You motioned with your head to Negan to follow. “He ain’t worth it.”

“You escape then?” he questioned, burying the urge to ask you exactly what being the man’s wife meant exactly – he had some idea. For all the horrors in the outside world, the thought of the horrors you’d faced in a basement for months made his blood boil. It made his skin crawl worse than any walker he’d seen so far.

And he’s seen a lot of nasty ones.

He hoped the world had claimed a piece of shit like that. 

“In a manner of speaking,” you replied as you crouched down, picking one of the ripe berries and rolling it between your fingers to test it before popping it into your mouth, savoring the sweetness. As you picked the berries you alternated between pocketing them in a pouch on your jacket and handing them to him. “I killed him one night. Just…had enough. Snapped. Ripped his throat out with m’teeth.”

Yeah. You were definitely his favorite.

Snarling approaching disrupted the conversation, both of your heads snapping in the direction of the sound as you each took a step inward to be closer to one another. Your hand reached out, grasping around his that held the smooth wood of the bat. 

“Lemme try this one,” you stated, smiling up at him with a wicked twinkle in your eye that pulled at his heart. He slid the weapon into your hand slowly, watching as you turned on your heel to stalk your way toward the growling, grotesque man – Gary, from the looks of his RadioShack nametag. He was certain he could remember a comic book character or two that had swung their hips as they wound up a bat at their side as you were now. 

The first crack of wood against skull had him clapping, looking on with pride.

“There you go,” he encouraged, his voice a tone you were certain you’d only heard him use with you. “Look at ya.”

The second remark was intended to stay mental, but left his mouth as a low, appreciative grumble, sending a wave of heat straight to your core. His steps carried him close enough behind you to intervene if he was needed, and he was close enough now to your back you could feel his breath on your neck. 

“Got another one comin’,” he pointed over your shoulder toward the tree line, smiling when you immediately took a step toward it.

“I got ‘er.”

The first under your belt now, you understood the weight of the barbwire-wrapped wood, and the first swing was perfect precise, enough force connecting with its head to send it to the ground. Every swing after that was purely for show – for him. He knew it, and he loved it. 

“Atta girl,” he cooed, walking closer behind you again. “Goddamn natural.”

“All done,” you breathed out heavy as you stood straight, admiring your work for a moment before beginning to turn back to him. “Gonna have to get me one of these.”

You had barely turned and finished your words when his hands grasped your face, pulling you in to press his lips to yours hard and desperate – starved. The gasp that slipped from you was muffled by his lips as you returned his kiss just as heavy, clutching to the collar of his jacket with the hand that didn’t hold Lucille. 

One of his hands slid to your hip first, pulling you closer to him as his fingers brushed against your jaw, his tongue gliding along the seam of your lips to encourage them apart. As your mouth fell open for him and he tasted you his hand continued downward, grasping your backside and pulling you in closer. 

The bulge at his waist was unmistakable, the mere sight of you bloodied and vicious causing his cock to strain in his pants immediately. You released your hold on his collar as your tongue danced with his to slide it downward, cupping the sizable bulge and giving a light squeeze. The groan that rumbled in his chest had you clenching your thighs together tighter, desperate for some pressure of your own. 

“Oh, you fuckin’ naughty thing…” he grumbled against your lips, releasing you just enough so you both could catch your breath. He nipped at your bottom lip lightly, pulling a quiet moan from your lips. You felt his cock twitch in his jeans. “Couldn’t help myself, you looked so damn sexy swingin’ Lucille around like that…”

You pressed your lips to his again, eager to show him your appreciation for his continued praise but finding the words didn’t exist in your mind – all that existed was need for him. To your dismay a hearty chuckle rumbled in his chest, his lips curving to a smile against yours. 

“Can’t fuck you right here, darlin’,” he cooed, nipping at your bottom lip again out of refusal to outright return your kiss. “Too many dead in these trees. Not the kind of eyes I want on us.”

When you gave his cock another slow squeeze his eyes narrowed as he grunted, his hips thrusting forward to meet your hand for the pressure. Your eyes burned into his as he gazed down at your lips. “We should head back to the sanctuary then.”

“We should,” the hesitation was evident in his voice, the desire making it honey thick and low. His blown pupils and deep breaths combined with that voice let you know everything he really wanted. He leaned forward to press a long, heavy kiss to your lips, his hand sliding to the back of your neck where he caressed you gently. The whine that fell from your lips only made him grin more. 

It should have been obvious that batting lessons with him would end up like this.

“‘C’mere, pretty girl,” Negan instructed the moment the two of you were tucked away into his room together, his legs sprawled wide as he dropped onto the leather couch that sprawled across his room. He’d been supporting you with an arm around your waist nearly the entire walk back, through the gates and to his room, your legs shaking just from kissing him. 

He took every opportunity the two of you were within sight of someone else since returning to show things had escalated, pressing kisses to your temple, and grasping your waist so tight and so low – friendly behavior was left in the past. He’d even considered pinning you to the fence and fucking you right there – for anyone awake in the middle of the night or on guard to see – but he decided against it. 

For now, anyway. 

You nodded as you made your way to him, climbing into his lap carefully, your legs straddling his thighs as your arms locked around his neck. One of his hands found a home on your cheek again, cradling it gently as his callused thumb brushed across your cheekbone. You leaned to his affection as naturally as you breathed. 

“Did such a good job out there,” he complimented with a lightness to his voice you hadn’t heard before, not even when the two of you had been alone. While there was always something behind his gaze – appreciation, desire, hunger – now it held so many things so entirely new. There was a newfound intimacy to how his eyes roamed your face, searching your own for matching emotions. “Gonna have to take you out with me some more.”

He drank in the smile his compliment earned, breathing out deeply as you turned your head to press your lips to his palm. Your eyes continued to burn into his. “Whenever you ask me to.”

“Oh, you’re not gonna be out of my sight after tonight, sweetheart,” he stated, his tone unwavering and absolute. You believed him. “Attached at the hip.”

“Mm,” you hummed as you pondered his words, eyes raking over his face. One of your hands slid to rest on his cheek as well, your thumb brushing over his bottom lip gently. You were teasing him, merely taunting – he knew. “I don’t remember us talkin’ about that.”

You’d seen this smirk on his face before. Now, as his face inched closer and his breath ghosted over your lips, it sent a flood of arousal straight to your aching cunt – you’d been wet since the kiss in the woods. 

“You won’t wanna be away from me after tonight,” he laughed, soft and low as his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you closer to claim your lips in a heavy kiss again. 

“Hope you’re prepared to back up all that talk, Negan,” you breathed against his lips when he released you, leaning closer to nip at his bottom lip as you slowly rocked your hips against his waist, grinding your covered, soaked core against the throbbing erection in his pants.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hand not holding the back of your head seizing hold on your hip to steady you as you continued to rut against him. His tone was dark, low – much-more desire filled than it had ever been for you. “You need somethin’, pretty girl? Could ask nicely.”

“Need you, Negan,” you whined, grinding down particularly slowly as one of your hands began to work at the zipper of his jacket. “S-so fucking tired of waitin’. Don’t make me beg.”

“Bet you’d sound pretty though.”

You opened your mind to protest but were quickly silenced by another heavy kisses, his tongue immediately seeking yours out for the newfound dance he loved as his hands abandoned their hold on you to start removing your clothes. 

He instructed you to stand just long enough to remove your blood-stained pants and t-shirt, his eyes running over your legs and lingering on your thighs and core. He pointed with a thick finger to the bed behind him, rising to his feet to remove his own jacket and shirt as you did what was instructed, sitting on the bed. 

You’d figured his room was comfortable – but this was luxury. 

“Lemme see,” he breathed in this new husky tone as his shirt was pulled over his head, his muscles flexing as he did so. The scars that graffitied his torso raised more questions – you wanted to ask about each one, press kisses to them, run your fingers on the particularly nasty ones – you’d do that later. For now, you leaned back on the bed slightly, propping yourself up with one arm as you spread your legs for him. 

His tongue darted out from his lips as his eyes ran over your soaked core, his steps carrying him closer until he was in front of you, within reach of his hands again. One of his hands ran up the inside of your thigh slowly, the other reaching to push a finger against your chin to tilt your head upward.

“Look at me,” he cooed, cupping your cheek again as he ran two fingers through your soaked folds, spreading your arousal through them more with an appreciative hum. “So wet for me already. Walked back from the woods like this I’ll bet.”

You whimpered lightly as he continued to run his fingers back and forth, breathing out shaky as you nodded up at him, pupils blown wide and lips fallen open. He took advantage of your partially open mouth to slip a finger in, groaning when you immediately closed your lips around it to suck lightly. 

He’d waited too damn long for this.

He slipped his index finger into your waiting heat, cock twitching in his pants when he felt your tight walls engulf his finger. A moan sounded in your chest that vibrated around his finger as you swirled your tongue – his eyes seemed to grow darker by the second. When he’d fully sheathed his finger in you he curled it, stroking your soft inner walls as he removed his finger to hear you moan. 

“Tight little thing, aren’t you?” he cooed, removing his finger before he pumped it back into you with the company of a second, curling them both to stroke behind your clit. You keened, hips thrusting forward to meet his hand that was soaked with your arousal, head surging forward to claim his lips with your own kiss. 

He chuckled against your lips as he began to pump his fingers, ensuring the palm of his hand rubbed against your clit with each re-entry. Touch-starved and desperate your legs were already shaking, your tongue eagerly tasting his mouth. You hardly registered his free hand drop to his own waistband, working his belt and tight jeans free before kicking them to the floor.

The sound of the fabric hitting the ground was your realization, and without freeing him from the kiss you reached between your bodies to wrap your fingers around his long, thick shaft, your thumb rubbing along the pronounced vein. He pulled away from your lips to groan deeply, looking into your eyes with a fire ignited so bright it burned.

Another moan fell from your lips with a particularly hard thrust of his fingers, though it didn’t stop you from removing your hand from his cock to spit on it. Wrapping your hand back around his throbbing length you began to stroke him slowly, grasping with the perfect amount of pressure to cause his eyes to roll back slightly. 

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he groaned, running his nose along your jaw before pressing a kiss beneath your ear. “You – fuck – you keep doin’ that and I’m not gonna be able to taste you. Don’t make me tie those pretty hands up.”

You whimpered and defiantly gave his cock several more strokes before releasing your hold, unwilling to have your hands restricted – the first time with him, anyway. As he sank to his knees on the hard floor in front of you, you drank in the sight, keening when he scissored his fingers inside of you. He pressed a kiss to your knee before he trailed his lips upward, inhaling the scent of your arousal deep into his lungs. 

“Negan…” you began to protest slightly in bashfulness, and he only chuckled in response, pressing a kiss high up on your thigh before he gave your clit a gentle lick. 

“Hush,” he cooed, removing his fingers from you to run his tongue through your folds slowly with a low, appreciative groan. 

You forgot any argument you had intended to present when he finished the swipe of his tongue by flicking the warm muscle against your clit again before sucking it briefly. He savored every moan he pulled from you, how your breath began to become desperate as he fucked his tongue into your wet heat repeatedly, reaching to rub his thumb around your clit repeatedly and fast. He was like a man starved for months in the way his tongue devoured you, alternating between fucking into you and licking slowly to swallow as much of your arousal as he could.

“Good god you taste good,” he complimented from between your legs, pulling back to speak and press a kiss to your clit, then your inner thigh. He nipped at the spot carefully, just enough to bruise. “No fuckin’ way I’m lettin’ this pussy go. No way.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind when you fuck me,” you managed to stammer out, your voice pitched higher as he reached to rub your clit again, smiling up at you wickedly. You were already glowing for him practically…he couldn’t wait to see you fucked out.

He was torn between wondering if your mouth was still running, he wasn’t doing his job well enough; or if your mouth wasn’t running if he’d even like you anymore. 

“Not a chance in hell,” he murmured before slipping his fingers back into you, leaning forward to claim your clit between his lips again with a soft suck.

It wasn’t long before your legs were shaking on either side of his head, clenching harder as the pressure built up in you heavier and heavier, threatening to burst. When he nipped at the sensitive bundle of nerves with his teeth lightly it erupted, your orgasm flooding from you as you moaned loudly. White overtook your vision, heat swallowing you whole. 

He removed his fingers to connect his mouth and tongue to you again, savoring as much of the liquid gold that hadn’t covered his face. When he pulled away from you he muttered compliments into your thighs, hips, stomach, and breasts as you came down from the orgasm. He was circling his tongue around one of your budded nipples when your vision became clearer, looking up at you with an adoration filled smile.

You already knew he was right – you would never want to be away from him again.

“There she is,” he cooed, releasing your breast from his mouth to lean upward and press a gentle kiss to your lips – uncharacteristically gentle. It occurred to you now that you were unlocking a side to Negan you decided likely no one had seen since the outbreak. 

You tasted yourself on his tongue as he deepened the kiss, now encouraging you to move back on the bed and lay flat. He leaned over you, supporting his weight with one arm so he could continue to stroke your side gently. When he released your lips again, he bit into the bottom one a little harder, a little more desperate and unhinged, much closer to the Negan you knew, before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

Duality – nothing about Negan made sense and yet everything about him was exactly as it should be.

“Now you can beg,” he whispered against your forehead lightly. You felt his lips curve into a smile. “Just a little. Lemme hear how nice you can be, pretty girl.”

“Negan, jesus christ, not now,” you whimpered, raising your hips to press up into his. It pulled a groan from you but he only grasped your hip tight to steady you. “Please, please not now. I can’t…I can’t wait. Please fuck me.”

And it was a blur of pleases and whimpers then until he was satisfied, your words devolving into moderately incoherent babble as you kissed his neck, his chest, dragged your hands over his torso…you were begging him in every way you could. Finally, he conceded, tilting your head up to kiss your lips again gently.

“C’mere, sweetheart, I got ya,” he cooed, lifting your hips up to slide a pillow under them. He ran one hand slowly down your leg, grasping your ankle to lift the singular leg up over his shoulder. He leaned down to kiss you again, fisting his length before he ran the velvet head through your slick folds. 

He groaned as he sank into you, breathing out deep as your warm channel welcomed him home. Your eyes rolled back, quiet moans falling from your lips. 

“Holy hell,” he breathed against your lips as he pressed several light kisses to them, resting his forehead against yours briefly as he bottomed out. He stilled for a moment to allow you to adjust to the fullness of him, one of his hands grasping your hip tightly, the other fondling one of your breasts. He couldn’t get enough of you. “Fuck, you feel good.”

He kissed you reverently then, deep and passionate and fulfilling as he found himself enchanted by being inside you finally. 

“F-feel so full…” you muttered against his lips, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes already. He pulled back with a final kiss to bump his nose against yours, a light hum rumbling in his chest as he dragged his cock from you slowly before working each inch in again.

“I know, baby, but you’re taking me so well,” he breathed out lightly, ducking his head to kiss down your neck lightly. He began to suck marks into the skin – the more exposed they’d be later, the better. “Look so fuckin’ pretty, too.”

“Negan,” you whined, raising your hips off the pillow slightly, wiggling slightly. He removed his hand from your breast to grab both of your hips, his tongue clicking against the back of his teeth before he bit down onto your shoulder. 

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight,” he groaned as he repeated the slow removal and thrust back into you again, savoring how your walls gripped him with each entry. “I’m gonna wreck you.”

“Please,” was the unexpected reply that filled his ears, and from there, he was insatiable.

He thrust into you hard, heavy, each time slowing enough to ensure the tip of his cock rubbed against the sensitive patch a couple of inches inside of you before he thrusted the rest of the way relentlessly. He didn’t let up – his hips didn’t falter as your walls fluttered around him, his pace consistent and desperate.

When he connected a thumb to your clit and began rubbing circles you felt the tears spill down your cheeks. He keened and raised his head to kiss one of them away, rubbing figure eights on the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Negan, t-too much…” you whimpered, legs shaking again. He leaned up and away from your face to kneel, keeping one of your legs over his shoulder. The new angle was deeper, the head of his cock occasionally knocking against your cervix. Each cry it pulled from your chest made his cock throb more.

“I won’t finish ‘til you gush on my cock like you did on my face,” he breathed out, eyes burning into yours with a frenzied look in his eyes. As you whimpered he flicked your clit, turning the quiet sound into a loud scream. It was the brightest smile of the night from him – dimples on full display as an low groan sounded in his chest. “That’s right, baby, let the whole sanctuary know. Scream my fuckin’ name.”

He removed his hand from you to spit on your clit, continuing to grin as you gasped at the cold liquid running down you. He smeared the liquid around before he started rubbing your clit again harder, his thrusts now becoming sloppy and desperate. He was chasing his own release and coaxing you closer to yours – he wouldn’t finish until you had.

You gushed around his cock again while you screamed his name – certain at least one person in the sanctuary would be woken to the sounds of your pleasure in the early morning. The white-hot heat spread over you, blinding your vision, blurring the ceiling and him above you as you shook beneath him. 

Even with your walls clenching around him, he held off his own release. Just as you began to come back to him he slung your other leg over his shoulder to join the other, pressing you in half as he leaned over you. 

“My turn,” he growled, his words shaking and breathless. “’m gonna fill your little cunt up.”

You were weak, barely coherent – it didn’t stop your body from responding to him, to his assertion. It didn’t stop your walls from fluttering around him. Your nails dug into his back, breaking the skin – you were both certain there would be small trails of blood. He would wear the claw marks with pride.

“That’s right, you want me to fill you up,” he cooed, reaching to press a kiss to your lips again. “Let fuckin’ everybody know who you belong to.”

“D-do it,” you whimpered, moving your head to press a kiss to his jaw. His thrusts became impossibly harder, and only faltered when you pressed a kiss below his ear, whispering in a breathless, husky tone. “Fill me up, daddy.”

A growl ripped through his chest, his lips crashing to yours in a bruising kiss. It only took a few harder, bruising, crippling thrusts before you felt his cock twitch in you. He released you from the kiss to lean his forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut as he emptied thick ropes of his seed into you. 

When he had emptied his full load into you he removed his cock, leaning back to admire the sight of his cum leaking from you. 

“There’s still somethin’ beautiful in this world,” he muttered with his shit-eating grin plastered to his face, his hair messy and stuck to his forehead with a thin sheen of sweat. You giggled, returning his smile as you shook your head at his usual bullshit returning.

“Shut up, Negan,” you chastised, rolling your eyes. He only chuckled, leaning down to kiss you again before he rolled you to your side carefully, taking his position behind you. As his arms wrapped around your waist he slipped his still partially-hard cock back into your velvet walls, kissing between your shoulder blades with a smile on his lips as you gasped.

“That’s better, don’t have to worry about a mess,” he mumbled as he tucked his head into your neck, pressing light kisses beneath your ear repeatedly. He was warm, safe – the two of you felt whole together like this. 

Inseparable was correct. 

“Door ain’t locked…” you pointed out as you began to drift off to the first truly good night’s sleep since the world had gone to hell. His voice filled with sleep and low, he only chuckled before whispering his reply into your skin, his lips brushing with each word.

“I do not care.”

» author masterlist. » the walking dead masterlist.

I think I know where this is going, and I’m not mad about it.

Loving this series!

Look for the Light - 2

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

"He hates me!" Ellie grumbled to you under her breath as she ate the last of the sandwich from her pack.

"He hates everyone." You snorted as you nibbled on your ration of jerky.

"He doesn't hate you."

"Doesn't like me." You grumbled in reply, a little louder than you'd intended but Joel made no sign of hearing you.

"So what's the deal with you two anyway?" She asked as she pulled Joel's coat closer.

"Nothing." You replied with a shrug.

"Bullshit."

"What do you-"

"I catch you looking at him all googly-eyed when he's not looking and I've seen him do the same when you ain't." She stated and you scoffed at that "It's true." She defended "He clearly cares about you and you clearly care about him so what's the issue?"

"I owe him my life." You stated plainly "He saved me and I have followed him ever since." Ellie gave you a bemused look as she waited for you to continue "He keeps me around because he saved me... All this is."

"You mean more to him than that." Ellie argued but you simply shook your head.

"No... I don't." You grumbled before eating the last of your jerky "Get some sleep. Got a long walk ahead of us tomorrow."

Ellie didn't argue. She ate the last bite of her food before laying down on the hard forest floor and pulling Joel's coat over her small shoulders. You watched her a moment before your eyes drifted to Joel again. The man was standing in the same spot he'd been a few minutes ago, eyes scanning the forest for any sign of movement.

You knew telling him to get some rest was futile. The man was as stubborn as they came so instead you let your head fall back against the tree you were leaning against and closed your eyes. The sound of the forest lulling you to sleep.

Joel meanwhile was replaying what he'd heard, over and over in his brain.

He keeps me around because he saved me... All this is

Did you really think that's all you meant to him?

Had he really given you no other indications of how important you were to him? He knew he wasn't good at showing any sort of real emotion. He'd shut that side away the day his daughter had died. He hadn't cried since that day either but he had hoped that the small things he did had given you the smallest indication that you were more than just a sidekick to him.

Then he remembered what you'd said to him back at the hotel.

So you're not fucking us both?

Truth was... He and Tess had broken things off the moment she realised that you meant more to him than just a casual fuck. She'd been okay with him sleeping with you occasionally. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been sleeping with other men occasionally but when it had come to light that his feelings for you ran a little deeper. That was it.

Her words to him just before they'd left her there to die amongst those monsters still echoed in his head.

I never ask, you for anything! Not to feel the way I felt.

Joel had known, deep down, that Tess' feelings for him were a little more than just friends. But she had never pushed him for more than he was willing to give and he had always appreciated that. So it hadn't come as any surprise that when she'd figured out that he had feelings for you, she hadn't wanted any part of it. He was sure that it had hurt her more than she let on but you can't help who you love. And he didn't love her.

Save who you can save... And tell her the truth... Before it's too late.

He was sure though, as he turned to look at you and Ellie, that if he told you what you meant to him. You'd laugh in his face"

I owe him my life

That's the only reason you'd stuck around. The only reason you'd let him lose himself in you when he needed a distraction. You felt that you owed it to him. The truth of it stung more than he'd expected but he couldn't let it distract him from what he needed to do. Get Ellie to Bill and Franks.

That was his mission now.

It was a five-hour hike to Bill and Franks. Five hours and then you could have a shower and eat some of Bill's amazing food. But for now, Jerky would have to do. You were sat nibbling on your measly ration, and Ellie sat silently beside you.

"Where's Joel?" She asked having woken up to just you.

"Gone to freshen up down by the river." You stated and she gave you a slight nod before returning to her own meal.

A few bites in, you were overcome with the sudden urge to hurl and you managed to throw yourself sideways in time before you were emptying the contents of your stomach onto the forest floor.

"Whoa, you okay?" Asked Ellie as she looked at you in shock.

"Yeah." You replied as you shook your head weakly and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

'What's going on?" Joel asked as he appeared.

Wonderful You thought to yourself as you looked up at the man.

"Nothing." You replied meekly as you shook your head.

"She just hurled!" Ellie exclaimed and you cursed the teenager's honesty.

"Really?" Joel asked as he stepped closer to you, his brows drawing together in what appeared to be genuine concern.

"It's nothing." You waved off as you got to your feet "Probably about to start my..." You didn't finish your sentence. Didn't get a chance before a wave of dizziness washed over you and your knees gave out.

Ellie and Joel were quick to catch you but you didn't thank them. You shrugged them off before tossing the last of your jerky to Ellie and stalking away.

"Just got up to fast." You growled before making your way out of view so you could relieve yourself.

"She okay?" Ellie asked as she watched you disappear behind some trees.

"How should I know?" Joel grumbled and the teenagers scoffed.

"You can pretend that you don't give a shit but I can see that you do." She snapped, eyes boring into the side of Joel's head.

When she realised she wasn't going to get the reaction she wanted out of the man she dropped it. No point in fighting a losing battle.

"You want your jacket back?"

Nothing.

"I've never been in the woods." She said then, changing the subject completely "More bugs than I thought."

Still, the man said nothing. She knew he was probably upset about Tess but it wasn't your fault or hers. Yet he'd been nothing but cold towards you both since it happened.

"Look, I've been thinking about..."

"I don't want your sorries." He growled, still not looking at the teenager.

"I wasn't gonna say I'm sorry." She snapped back and this grabbed his attention "I was gonna say that I've been thinking about what happened.

Nobody made you, her or Tess take me." She said as she motioned in the direction you'd walked in "Nobody made you go along with this plan. You needed a truck battery or whatever and you made a choice." She paused a moment, staring him down "So don't blame me for something that isn't my fault." Joel nodded, his eyes dropping to the forest floor "And don't blame her either!"

"I don't blame her!" Joel defended and Ellie scoffed.

"Well, you've been a dick to her since we left the city."

"It's complicated." Joel grumbled and Ellie just rolled her eyes at his reply.

"Whatever."

An awkward silence fell over them both for a moment. Neither party knew what to say never so your return brought them both to sigh in relief.

"How much longer?" Ellie asked as she watched the man finish packing his supplies.

"Five-hour hike." He replied plainly and the teenager nodded.

"We can manage that." She replied before looking at you and smiling. "You've gone this way a lot?"

"Yeah." You replied, as you grabbed your own pack and slung it onto your back.

"No Infected?"

"Not often, no." You replied before looking over at Joel. "Let's get going."

You didn't wait to see if they were following. You silently trekked in the direction of Bill and Frank's. You didn't want to talk to either of them about the fact that you'd thrown up again. You didn't need to add to their burdens. Once you were at Bill and Frank's, you'd be able to rest, freshen up and lay all this to rest.

So you walked. You walked as fast as you knew Joel could handle with his bad knees. You tried to tune out Ellie's chatter but the girl was a chatterbox.

"How'd you get that scar on your head?" She asked Joel but he didn't answer, his eyes fixed on you as you walked ahead.

"What? Is it something lame?" The girl pushed "Like you fell down the stairs or something?"

"I didn't fall down any stairs." He grumbled finally and you smirked.

"Okay, so what then?"

"Someone shot at me and missed."

"See, that's cool." The teenager gushed as she glanced up at Joel "You shoot back?"

"Yeah."

"You get him?"

"No, I missed, too." He grumbled in reply and you almost turned your head to look back at him "It happens more often than you think."

"Cause you suck at shooting or, like, in general?"

"In general."

"You know, seeing as it's just the three of us, I was thinking I should pro-"

"No."

It amused you how persistent the child was when it came to having a gun of her own. You knew it wasn't unusual for kids to be curious about firearms but she was bordering on trigger-happy. You wondered if she had ever fired one outside of the FEDRA school shooting range. You hoped she'd never have to.

When the rest stop came into view you slowed your pace a little. Knowing that Joel would want to stop and restock his munitions.

"Hang back a minute." He said as he made his way over to the entrance of the derelict store "I gotta grab some stuff I stashed."

You stopped by the door, waiting for Joel and the teenager to catch up. You couldn't help the quirk of your lip at Joel's obvious misery at the child's constant chatter. He wasn't one for talking much. Only when he had a few drinks in him would he loosen up and hold a conversation with anyone. But even then, they were short.

"Stashed?" Ellie questioned as she looked up at the run-down building "Why do you have stuff stashed here?"

"You ask a lot of goddamn questions." He griped as he stepped past you and inside.

"Yes, I do." Ellie replied, smirking as she looked up at you "So, are you gonna answer me or what?"

"We hide supplies on routes." You piped up as your eyes scanned the room "In case we find ourselves short on gear..."

"Which I currently am 'cause-"

"No way!" Ellie squealed out as she ran across the store "You ever play this one?" She asked as she turned her head to look at you and you shoot your head "I had a friend who knew everything about this game. There's this one character named Mileena who takes off her mask and she has monster teeth and then she swallows you whole and barfs out your bones." You grinned at her excitement.

Your eyes scanned the pilfered shelves as Ellie played around with the long-dead game. The frames, dirty and bare.

"Okay, well, I'm gonna take a look around, see if there's anything good." Ellie stated as she looked over at Joel and then at you.

"Trust me, it's all been picked over already." Joel grumbled as he kicked at the floor.

"Maybe, maybe not." Ellie shrugged as she made her way over to the back of the shop "Is there anything bad in here?" She called out as she looked through the dark doorway.

"Just you." Joel replied and you smirked as Ellie rolled her eyes at the man's reply.

"Getting funnier." She grumbled before stepping into the back.

"Where are you going?" He asked when he noticed you step away.

"Keep an eye on her." You replied with a shrug before slipping into the back.

Joel was right about the store being pillaged but there was still the odd item here or there. You shone your torch over the bare frames, hoping that you might find something of use.

"Check this out1" Ellie exclaimed and you turned to see her dropping down through a trap door on the floor.

"Ellie I don't think-" She disappeared before you got a chance to finish.

You turned your head and shone your torch down the remainder of the shelves, stopping in your tracks when it hit a familiar-looking box. You couldn't believe your eyes when you picked the item up to look at it better and without thinking you stuffed it in your pack.

"You all right back there?" Called out Joel and you turned to look back at the room you'd seen Ellie in a few minutes before, squinting when you noticed some movement at the trap door.

"Yep!" Ellie called and you smiled as you made your way towards the trap door, stopping when you saw that Joel had finally found what he was looking for.

"All there?" You asked as you stepped towards him and he nodded.

"Looks like." He replied "She being awful quiet all of a sudden." He said as he looked up at you and then at the door "Ellie?"

"She's fine." You said but he didn't listen to you, his brow pulling together the longer the girl didn't respond.

"Ellie!" He called out again but still, the girl didn't respond and suddenly you started to worry also.

Getting to his feet, Joel took a few ginger steps towards the doorway, ready for anything that could potentially come through it.

"Ellie?" He called out one more time and that's when the girl appeared.

"Picked over, my ass." She announced as she waved a box of tampons in his face and you smirked at her before looking back at him again.

"Told you she was okay."

Joel then finished swapping out the gun he had for the one he'd stashed and then, hid it all away again. A short while later you were walking again, dust kicking up behind you as you followed the dirt road to your destination.

"Holy shit." Expelled Ellie as she spotted a wrecked plain on the hillside "You fly in one of those?"

"Few times, sure." Replied Joel as he came to a stop at the girl's side.

"So lucky."

"Didn't feel like it at the time." Joel grumbled and you smirked, remembering your own experience of flying.

"Get shoved into a middle seat, pay 12 bucks for a sandwich."

"Don't forget the cramped ass toilets that always seemed to be occupied."

"Dudes, you got to go up in the sky." Ellie groaned.

"Yeah, well, so did they." Replied Joel grimly and your face fell.

Your walking on prompted the other two to follow. You zoned out the conversation when Ellie asked about how it all started, not wanting to be reminded of how one minute you were sleeping soundly in your bed and the next, you were being carried to the car so your family could flee the town you'd grown up in. The walk passed by more or less wordlessly on your part. Stopped only to look at the mass grave that sat at the side of the road, a sobering reminder of how the army had dealt with people they hadn't had space for.

You were an hour out when your stomach rolled again and you silently dashed for the treeline before emptying what was left of the contents of your stomach. Joel and Ellie watched wordlessly as you stumbled back out onto the road a few moments later but neither of them said a word and for that, you were glad. You didn't even want to think about what could possibly be wrong with you right now.

When the fence line came into view, you instantly knew something was up. The flowers outside of the house were dead. Frank would never have let them get to that state. The house looked desolate. It had always looked so lived in before and you shared a look with Joel, a silent conversation passing between the two of you as he stepped towards the gate.

Something was wrong.

"Stay there." He ordered as he inputted the code and entered the town, gun in hand.

You followed Joel with Ellie at your side. Heart in your throat as you studied the house closely. It all just felt wrong. The door squeaked open and you felt your heart leap into your throat as the empty house came into view.

"What the fuck?"

"Bill?" Called out Joel but he was met with silence "Frank?"

Still nothing.

"You stay there." He said to Ellie, before looking up at you "Ya hear anything, you see anything, yell."

"What if they're gone?"

You knew in your heart of hearts that the lack of presence from these two men was a bad omen. There was no way either of them had left this place.

You stepped studied the table and noted the rotten food that still sat there. Frank would die before leaving a mess. You stepped into the kitchen but you were greeted by nothing but the smell of rotten food. The smell was so strong that you ran for the sink, throwing up nothing but bile now.

"Ellie?" Called out Joel and you stepped back into the dining room to see the girl sitting there with a letter in hand.

Joel stood opposite her, a grim expression on his face.

"It's from Bill." She said as she picked up the envelope "To whomever, but probably Joel." She read before putting it back down again "I figured I fell under 'whomever'... Came with this." She said lifting up a car key.

"So they're dead?" He asked, his eyes darting up to you when you gasped at his question.

"You wanna?"

"Go ahead. You do it."

You stood there and listened as the girl read Bill's letter. Silent tears slipped down your cheeks as you started at the paper in her hands.

"I leave you all of my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep..." She trailed off, looking at Joel who then took the letter from her.

His shoulders tensed and you knew exactly what it said. You didn't need to read it to know.

"Stay here." Joel grumbled before stepping out.

"Should we go after him?" She asked you but you shook your head.

"No."

An hour later you were showering and washing the grime of the past two days from your skin. Joel managed to find some clothes for you all. Some jeans, a t-shirt and a flannel for you that now sat on the unit just outside. When you were done, your eyes fell on your pack, mind wandering to the item inside. You were sure you were just sick with stress but you wondered if perhaps it was something more sinister. Perhaps it was best to check.

You could hear Joel and Ellie as they pilfered the house for essentials. So you knew they wouldn't miss you for a little while longer.

You were sitting with Ellie when Joel emerged from upstairs, hair still wet from showering. His eyes raked over you a moment. Your knee bounced as you stared at your pack that lay on the table. You felt sick. Your stomach twisted in painful knots as you unconsciously picked at the skin around your thumbnail.

"Well, don't you look pretty." Ellie teased, pulling a smirk from you as you glanced up at him.

"Shut up." He grumbled, "Come on... time to go."

Ellie got up and skipped outside but you were slower to follow. Grabbing your pack, you threw it over your shoulder and started to make your way out, Joel stopping you when you reached him.

"You okay?" He asked and you nodded.

"Golden." You replied, giving him a smile that you knew was convincing no one.

Because the truth was you weren't okay... Far from it!

And you didn't know what you were going to do.

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