jen!

your head snaps up, wasting no time finding the source of the noise.

then, he steps out. one hand gloved, that damn baseball bat thrown over his shoulder. he stood tall and lanky, a confident lean to his stance. carl was with him. your brows furrow. you dry off your hands and set the cucumbers aside. just as you do..

two knocks are heard from the front door. you close your eyes, sighing through your nose as you mentally prepare yourself for the interaction. a whistle is heard from the other side of the wood.

before you can move, olivia has opened the door.

negan and carl.

“carl! where’s—”

carl is quick to cut her off, his head hung low, layered brown locks curtaining his face.

“enids fine.”

“great, great, great, great, great!” the loud confident voice booms as he welcomes himself in, olivia stepping to the side as carl follows in behind him.

he turns, facing olivia as she closes the door.

“wheres rick?”

“uh.. i-i’m just—”

“doooont care. where rick?”

“um.. o-out scavenging. for you.” her nervous voice manages to tremble out.

at the sink, you rinse off the knife, setting it onto the cutting board with the rest of the uncut cucumber.

“cool.”

a beat passes.

“i’ll wait.”

you freeze, your head lifting as you look toward him. you open your mouth to speak but olivia dos the work for you.

“uh, he went out pretty far. they might not be back today.”

she sighs, hands wringing together.

“we’re running really low on everything. we’re practically starving here.” she confesses timidly, yet your eyebrows raise in surprise that she said something at all.

he slowly turns to her with a grin, pointing a leather-clad finger at her.

“you? starving? and by ‘practically’ you mean ‘not really’.” he mocks, doing air quotations with his fingers.

she turns around, quietly crying into her hands, the sound muffled by her palms.

he chuckles, shaking his head.

“really? you people have no sense of humor.”

you finally speak up.

“seriously? did you need to do that?” you say wit a sigh, washing and drying your hands.

he turns to face you, eyebrows raised in shock, before they lower and he grins wolfishly, licking his lips.

“well, hot damn darlin’. hello to you, too. where’ve they been hiding you at?”

you roll your eyes, leaning against the counter with your hand resting on your hip.

“apologize.” you say flatly.

he shakes his head with as chuckle.

“alright, alright. fine.”

he sighs lightly, turning around to face olivia, her back to him.

“excuse me. what’s your name again?”

“olivia.” you answer from behind as she turns around, hiccuping as she wipes her eyes.

“ah. right. olivia.”

he sighs through his nose, as if the next sentence pains him.

“i am so sorry for having been so rude to you just now. and it looks like i’m gonna be here for a while, awaiting your fearless leaders return.”

he smirks, leaning forward just a tad as his voice lowers.

“and if you’d like, i think it’d be enjoyable to.. screw your brains out. i mean, if, you know, you’re.. agreeable to it.”

just as you open your mouth to scold him about his shitty apology, a soft CRACK echoes through the room.

she’s slapped him. you raise your eyebrows in genuine surprise. olivia had always been timid and kept to herself. it was completely out of her character to slap someone, especially a person like negan. but, you couldn’t deny it. he’d deserved it.

he reels back with surprise, before smirking at her, all teeth.

“i am about 50% more into you now. just saying.”

you close your eyes, processing everything that just happened.

“well, i’m just gonna put my feet up and wait for my stuff to get here.”

he says, gesturing around the suburban home. he snaps his fingers.

“you, what’s your name?”

you open your eyes, facing him.

“y/n.”

“beautiful. y/n, would you be a lamb and make us a little lemonade? i know i left you some of the good powdered stuff.”

you sigh.

“i can’t, i have things to—”

he cuts you off.

“make it.” he says, tone brooking no room for argument.

“make it.” he says a little softer.

“take your time.. make it good.” he says, leaning in.

you sigh with annoyance, walking toward the back door and going outside.

her turns to carl.

“why don’t you show me around, kid? see what this humble abode has to offer.”

he sighs, before leading negan around the house.

you come back inside and—with irritation—make the lemonade, not caring enough to add sugar or make it “good” like he’d asked.

as you finish mixing the ingredients in the pitcher, you hear two voices upstairs going back and forth.

“what’s this?” negan asks pointing to a door.

“oh, that’s just the water heater—”

“you serious, kid? c’mon.”

negan opens the door. you freeze from downstairs, hearing the coo of a baby.

judith.

you waste no time making your way up the steps, taking them two at a time.

you step beteeen negan and the doorframe.

“walk away.”

his brows raise.

“or what?”

“or you won’t be able to walk at all.” you threaten.

he smirks. that same, shit-eating smirk.

“hot damn, sweetheart. i like you. feisty.”

“negan..” you warn, hand moving to your gun in its holster on your hip.

“y’know, the feisty ones are always best in the—”

he doesn’t get to finish.

you punch him with a strength that even surprises yourself and he stumbles back just a bit. you take his moment of distraction as an opportunity, pushing him against the wall, unsheathing your knife and holding it to his throat.

“walk. away.”

he looks down at you, his expression saying he was unfazed, but his body language saying otherwise.

“yes ma’am.”

he says after a beat. and you pull away, your eyes staying on his retreating form as he walks down the steps.

you’d been there for it all. fort benning, atlanta, the prison, the lineup.

however, you got taken during the lineup, too. you had to be one of negan’s “wives” to keep daryl safe. of course, you had intention of following through with that. you thought negan was a disgusting man for keeping several women, so you worked for him instead.

you’d seen daryl get beaten and malnourished. yet, you knew there was nothing you could do. fighting back against the saviors would only put the two of you into a deeper hole.

so you watched. you had to. and that was something he’d never forgive you for. he didn’t understand why you didn’t fight. in his mind, if you rebelled, you’d both at least be in deep shit together.

now, it’d been about 3 years since daryl left the saviors, and negan was taken.

you were in the garden, pulling at weeds mindlessly, a cap on your head to shield you from the blinding sun.

the day had been slow, in a good way. no crazy excitement, just a calm day. you liked it that way.

that was until footsteps crunched on the grass behind you. the repetitive movement of pulling and yanking at weeds had come to a stop. the steps were familiar—too familiar.

“hey,” came a mumbled grunt from behind.

you close your eyes, steeling yourself, before opening them, talking to him over your shoulder.

“rick told me to get ya. meetin’ at the church.”

you sigh, standing as you dust your hands off on your shorts. “yeah. okay.” you say flatly. your eyes stay on each other for half a second too long before you begin to walk to the church.

—

you get inside, and cross your arms, leaning against a pillar in the corner, daryl not too far. rick stiff at the front, his hands on the back of a chair, knuckles white.

“it’s been brought to me that..” he begins.

“.. some of us believe keeping him down there is immoral.”

you freeze. he didn’t have to say to “he” was. you knew. negan.

“carl. he wanted a place where we could all be united. where we could.. forgive. not forget, just.. be at peace.” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth in stress.

“the suggestion is that he is let out for a few hours a day. to work, help around.”

the crowd is quick to erupt with profanities and protests.

“that’s insane!”

“have you forgotten what he did?”

“he’s a fuckin’ murderer!”

rick sighs, putting a hand up to silence the crowd.

“i know, i know. but this is what carl would’ve wanted. letting him rot down there makes us just as bad as he is.”

he sighs once more.

“so.. we’ll pool. all in favor on the right side of the room, all against on the left.” he instructs, hands coming out to gesture toward each side of the room. the room is quick to split.

but you’re torn. your morals.. or your pride?

you hesitate, before standing on the right side of the room. your eyes find daryl’s from across the room, betrayal corrupting his features.

a few stragglers fall into place before the decision is made. he’d be let out.

people flood out of the church as the meeting concludes. daryl quickly finds you outside the church.

“y/n, what the hell?” he asks.

“what?”

“you wan’ him out? seriously?” he asks, more hurt than angry.

“it’s about morals, daryl, not whether or not you want him out.” you explain.

“you think i’on know tha’? i ain’t five.”

“then you should understand why i chose what i did.”

“yea, well i don’t. it’s stupid.”

“how?”

“you know what he’s capable of, y/n.”

“rick said he’ll be under supervision, it’s fine. his guards seem to think he’s changing, i’ve talked to them. he doesn’t seem to have ill intent. he doesn’t even know this is happening.”

“and tha’ makes it okay?”

“no, of course not. i don’t want him out either, but it’s what my morals say are right.”

he scoffs.

“yea, whatever. you’re insane, y/n/n.”

your nickname. he hadn’t said it in so long. over 5 years.

“daryl..”

“this changes thangs. come to me when you’ve got yer head screwed on righ’.” he says, before walking off.

—

a few days later, you find yourself at his door, hand shaking, before knocking. it takes a minute or two. you lift your fist to knock again, when the door opens.

he stares at you for a moment, shoulders tense, before opening the door wider and moving to the side to let you in. you step in, his eyes staying firm on your frame as you move into the house.

“so.” you say warily.

“so.” he repeats back at you.

“i’ve.. thought about it. and.. you’re not wrong. but.. daryl, this is bigger than us. bigger than just me and you and our.. stupid beef.”

he lets out a breath, not quite a scoff, not quite a chuckle.

“yea?”

“yea.”

a beat of silence passes before he soaks again.

“i’ve thought too.”

your eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“you.. have?”

“yea. yer right, too.”

“you.. you’re being serious?”

“very.”

the tension eases from your shoulders as you nod slowly.

“okay..” you start, hesitating before speaking again.

“i have.. something else. that i wanted to say.”

“okay. go.” he says, gesturing a hand toward you, before crossing his arms.

“i’m.. sorry. for not being their for you. at the sanctuary.”

you say, hands wringing together with nerves as your eyes meet.

“that it?” he asks, seemingly unfazed.

“i.. y-yeah, that’s it.” you say, surprised at his tone.

“y/n, i don’t care about tha’ anymore. i mean, i took ya five years, but i stopped carin’ a long time ago.”

“you did?”

he simply answers with a grunt.

“okay, so.. we’re.. okay now?”

“mhm.”

your shoulders slump in relief.

“thank god.” you say, hugging him.

he stiffens in surprise, before his arms hesitantly wrap around you.

—

you grow closer over the next few weeks, sharing laughter, drinks, and stories since you last talked.

one night on his couch, your hands becoming a safe haven to a glass of whiskey each, you sit close, thighs touching and knees brushing.

“yer hair’s gettin’ longer..” he says, words slurring as he lazily tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“yea.. it is.” you say softly.

he leans in.

so do you.

the air between you is charged, the tension palpable.

“daryl..” you whisper softly.

he cuts you off before you can utter another word, his lips meeting yours. it’s uncoordinated and hesitant, but he slowly melts into it, as do you.

he tastes like cheap whiskey, mint, and something unmistakably him.

when you pull away, your foreheads touch, noses brushing.

“been waitin’ to do tha’..” he says.

“yea?”

“yea..”

he kisses you again, this time more confident, but just as soft and intimate.

and so, the night goes on.

she sat, wearing her stupidly perfect henley shirt with her stupidly amazingly-fitting jeans and beat up converse.

you sigh, making your presence known, although damon already knew you were here. he could smell you when you first pulled into the gravel driveway.

you leave your shoes on, figuring you’d leave soon enough anyway now that she was here, and take a seat by the bar, pouring your own glass of bourbon.

“well, hello to you too.” damon says sarcastically. you glance up at him and continue pouring until the drink nearly spills over the brim.

“hello damon.” you greet.

“hey, long time no see, y/n.” elena poorly attempts to start conversation.

you look at her, then at damon, then back to your glass. you take a sip, letting it burn down your throat, before downing the rest within a gulp.

“y/n,” damon starts warningly.

“what, damon?” you ask, clearly irritated.

“that’s no way to treat a friend.”

you scoff. of course he’s defending her.

“what are you talking about, i didn’t say anything.”

“exactly! you said nothing.”

you simply shook your head with a chuckle.

“whatever. shouldn’t matter anyway, she’s not my friend.” you say before standing.

“i think i’ll be on my way since my company is clearly…”

you look elena up and down before looking at damon.

“unwanted.”

damon stands and elena follows his motion.

“y/n, wait.”

“why should i?”

“because..” he sighs. “elena give us a moment will you?”

she nods. “yeah, i’ll um.. i’ll see you tomorrow.”

she grabs her belongings and moves to the door before closing it shut. you groan with relief.

“finally!”

“y/n!”

“what, damon? seriously, what?”

“you’re being an ass!”

you scoff.

“i’m the ass? really?”

“yes, really!”

“you can’t be serious, damon.”

“i sure as hell am, y/n. you act like a bitch when you’re around elena, especially when the three of us are together.”

“well maybe because i don’t fucking like her damon!”

“and why the hell not?”

“because you love her damon.”

“and?”

“and i..”

you sigh, closing your eyes for a moment, thinking about the words about to leave your lips.

“i love you too, damon.”

he stands in shock.

“and not in.. a best friend way.”

“y/n, you don’t know what you’re saying-”

“no damon. i know exactly what im saying. and that’s what makes it.. dangerous.”

“dangerous?”

“yeah. dangerous.”

he chuckles. he fucking chuckles.

“i’m sorry, is something funny?”

“you treat elena the way you do.. because you’re jealous? you’re bitchy because you want what you can’t have?”

you simply stare at him.

“the hell’d you just say to me..?” you ask softly, hurt in ways that words can’t express by his own.

damon, the boy you’d known and loved since the 1800s.

it started when you were in your teens. best friends, no developed feelings.

then, closer to your twenties you started to feel something. like if you’d ever lost him then maybe you’d lose yourself too.

you tried so hard to hide it. so hard. but then katherine came around. and you acted the same way around her. you watched as she poorly influenced and manipulated the boys with a ruby red smile, as if she was benefiting them.

then.. they turned. and she turned you too.

when you, stefan, and damon woke up, they felt betrayed. all while, you knew something like this would happen. just not nearly this drastic.

you wanted to tell damon then, but you knew he needed his time, especially before loving and trusting someone again.

so you waited.

and waited.

and fucking waited.

but you’d grown tired of waiting.

so you’d throw yourself into danger.

heard there was a werewolf in town? you’d try to piss him off, maybe he’d claw at you, and damon would come to the rescue.

vampire hunters? you’d befriend them, then turn on them and show your true colors, get a silver bullet shot at you. damon would come help.

and he did. he always helped.

but not enough.

his next words snapped you out of your trance.

“god, you acted this way with katherine too, huh? you know what, maybe that’s my fault. should’ve seen it coming.”

“damon, the only reason i haven’t thrown you into that wall across the room is because i know you love her. and i happen to care just enough about her to not want her to have to live on with the love of her life dead.”

“really, hm? well maybe you should start caring less about others and more about yourself, considering your throwing yourself into danger at every turn.”

“i do it so you’d care about me.”

“that’s pathetic.”

“what’s pathetic is letting some bitchy vampire turn us all and then falling in love with a girl who looks exactly like her.”

“don’t talk about katherine like that.”

“or what?”

his jaw clenches so hard you can hear the grind of his teeth against each other.

“i think it’s best you leave.”

“you know what, maybe i will, that way i can get into more danger. you know, yesterday i talked with niklaus at the bar-”

“stop.”

“stop what, damon?”

“STOP THROWING YOURSELF INTO THE ARMS OF DANGER!!”

you stare at him with a straight face.

“okay.” you simply said.

he was taken aback, staring at you with confusion.

“that’s it? ‘okay’?”

“yeah. okay. i’ll leave, a-and i’ll quit being an ass to you and elena, and i’ll leave you alone, a-and go about my day.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

“i.. no.”

you look at him, brows drawn together.

“what do you mean ‘no’, isn’t this what you wanted? for me to be kind to elena, a-and leave? that’s wha you said, isn’t it?”

he steps closer.

“i.. i love you y/n.”

you scoff.

“like hell you do.”

“i do! but.. i don’t know why. you’re an ass to the people i pursue, you’re morally grey and a bitch, but.. maybe that’s why. maybe that’s why i love you. because you’re different. you don’t fall for my charm, you argue with me, you push and pry, and you actually care. unlike all these other.. broads that i’ve been seeing.”

“damon, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“no, i know exactly what im saying. and that’s what makes it wrong but.. so right.”

you simply stare at him.

“so now what? what about elena?”

“she doesn’t want me, she wants stefan.”

“damon, elena doesn’t know what she wants! she wants you both! she wants what she can’t have and that’s the issue! she’s just like fucking katherine!”

“i’m done having this conversation if you’re just going to belittle elena.”

“no, damon!”

he turns away from you and drags a hand down his face.

“you don’t get to walk away. not this time. look me in the eye, and say that you love elena. do it, damon. i dare you.”

his shoulders slump and he sighs through his nose, turning around, meeting your eyes.

“i can’t do that.”

“and why not, damon?”

“you know why.”

you cross your arms over your chest, waiting for his response.

“because i love you. i told you that.”

“and you mean it?”

“every word.”

you narrow your eyes at him, one hip cocked in thought.

there’s a comfortable silence before you speak up.

“okay.”

“okay?”

you nod slowly, sighing as you let your arms fall to your side.

“okay.”

he crosses the room in two quick strides, his long legs eating up the distance.

before you can think, his hands are cupping the side of your face, his lips smashing against yours.

your breath hitches in shock, but you waste no time melting into the sensation. he groans low against your lips.

the kiss is hungry and passionate, decades of pent up passion and tension finally coming free, like a dam breaking loose.

when you both finally pull away, your chests are heaving, his forehead resting against yours.

he whispers just low enough, his tone husky and deep.

he opened the front door to your shared cottage, the door creaking at it’s hinges and floorboards softly groaning as if they’d been through a harsh days work—and perhaps they had.

he steps inside and closes the door (which weakly protests) behind him. he makes his presence known behind you as he gently wraps his cold white arms around your middle, the color of his ethereal skin contrasting against the vibrancy of your shirt.

he places a soft peck to the corner of your jawline a mumbles a, “hey, baby.” into your ear.

you turn your head back to softly kiss him, tasting the faint remnants of his hunt, which you assumed was successful.

“how was it?” you inquire.

“it was good.. caught some deer, emmett definitely got his fill. i thought he’d never stop drinking.” he joked

you chuckled, turning to face him fully as you buried your head into his crinkled—and a little unbuttoned—shirt. he chuckled with you, the sound vibrating through his chest.

“i’ll run your shower, wash the day off you.” you suggest.

you reluctantly pull away to go prepare his shower, when he gently grasps your wrist. you turn to look at him.

“go with me?”

your expression softens and your shoulders relax. a ghost of a smile graces your lips and you give a singular nod.

“of course.”

he follows you into the bathroom as you prepare the shower and he gets undressed. soon after, you follow his motions, ridding yourself of your clothes. he stands before you and you find yourself staring in admiration.

everyday you question what you could’ve done, what decisions you made, that led you to where you are now, this beautiful man standing in front of you like a greek sculpture, perfectly carved in perfect detail.

a smirk airs upon his lips.

“enjoying the view?”

you freeze with humiliation. he’d caught you staring. again.

“ ‘m just joking. c’mon, let’s get in.”

you step into the shower together and you gently wash his hair, him following the same motions to you as you wash and take care of each other.

when you get out you both wrap yourselves in your towels and get ready for bed. you get dressed in a simple pair of thin white pajama shorts and a grey tank top, while he wears a white t shirt and black and blue plaid pj pants.

you both go to say goodnight to renesme, knowing she won’t sleep anyhow.

you get back to your shared bedroom and he takes off his shirt, and you your shorts, before climbing into bed together.

you lay your head against his chest, listening to his lack of a heartbeat, as you subconsciously played with the drawstrings of his pants.

he runs his fingers through your hair with one hand, the other laying under his head, before moving to curl around you.

against his chest you gently hum the rhythm of the song “the heart of life” by john mayer.

he glances down at you, recognizing the tune as a song you first introduced to him when you’d first met in that well-loved, beat up red truck of yours.

he gently begins singing along to your humming until eventually your eyes drift shut, not in sleep, but in relaxation and peace.