He kept it away from the others, at least, until he knew who also smoked — it might be a habit by now, but he wasn’t a dick. (He was, but not like that at least.) Some days he might be a bit grumpy about going outside but he’d do it.

And then he met you.

At first, it was nothing. You didn’t like it, so he kept it away from you. Easy.

Then you got closer, and closer still. From someone he didn’t much think of, to his best friend. Partner. Whatever the fuck to call it — you were his person. Labels didn’t mean shit. If it had been before, maybe he would’ve even gotten down on one knee one day. But now, who cared. You wanted his last name? It’s all yours. Wanted him to take yours? Gladly. Don’t need any fucking government to allow it.

You were his person and he was yours.

And it changed everything.

Now in the safety of Alexandria’s walls, it wasn’t discussed when everyone began moving off into their own homes. Of course you and him would stick together. To think otherwise was laughable. Where else would either of you go?

But now, keeping his bad habit away from you got a whole lot harder in an actual home. If it was only you not liking the smell, he’d still try, but if he fucked up sometimes? Oh well. He had thick skin; if you snapped at him a couple times, he’d deal. He wouldn’t like it but just the thought of coming home after a day outside the walls wouldn’t make his stomach churn with guilt. He wouldn’t worry about his clothes, about tossing his clothes wherever in the bedroom — not even in the prison was it something he really had to worry about. Prison cells were a whole lot different than your new shared home. Smoke clung to everything in a real home — cold, concrete walls didn’t.

Somewhere safe and comfortable was something he was still getting used to. But for you, he’d do what had to be done.

Of course he’d end up falling for someone with asthma. His entire life was a cruel joke, why wouldn’t this be too?

But he tries. Tries so goddamn hard to quit.

He’s gotten it down to a science; on runs, the few times you don’t come too, he allows himself that. It’s not as often as he’d like sometimes, but it’s something. A day out in the fresh air, hell, he’ll go swim in a nearby river with everything still on to get rid of the smell if need-be. Anything to dull it enough to walk into your shared home safely, at least until he could actually wash up.

It frustrates him sometimes — of course it did, forty some years of not giving a shit, to suddenly having to be careful around you, there was bound to be days he screwed up. He knows it frustrates you too, makes you feel like a burden. Like the simple need to breathe was asking too much some days. But it’s not. And he’ll do whatever the fuck needed to be done, regardless of how annoying it may be at times.

Countless times he’s felt the urge to somehow shake those stupid thoughts out of your wonderful head (he wouldn’t ever, but fuck he needed you to get it through your skull). He’s just a grumpy man. It’s not you. Never you.

Especially not over something you can’t even control.

He’ll shower. Scrub his hair until it felt like he was bald. Keep his jacket outside overnight and spray it down with vodka (even though he still hadn’t quite figured out how that shit even worked, let alone how you figured that out. But who was he to complain about finding more if it meant you could ‘steal’ his jacket any time you wanted?) He’ll do it all. Anything to make it so he could crawl into bed with you, hold you close and see you smile.

He hasn’t been able to quit. Not entirely, but he’s trying. And he’ll keep trying until it sticks.

Anything for you.

main masterlist

please support authors! comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated ♥︎

©️ lightning-hawke 2025. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, uploaded, copied, fed into AI or used in any other way, shape or form. If you find my work anywhere besides this blog and my ao3 account, please let me know.

Your gut aches with every movement, muscles sluggish, head pounding — or maybe it was just the constant, horridly loud beat of everyone’s heartbeats taunting you. With no chance to get away, you had been forced into not eating. No matter how much it pained you to starve, you couldn’t risk anyone walking into such a scene.

You just had to wait it all out, until you could sneak away and find something, someone, to eat.

With the weather steadily growing colder, you’re needed around Alexandria more. Snow building up forces everyone able to work more, and with the abundance of food in the community, you had no choice but to push through the aching in your gut.

Another day passes; everyone completely ignorant to your plight, your daily — hourly, almost in case the foundation had smudged, despite your constant vigilance — makeup routine keeping such things hidden. No matter how much the stress of it pained you, you had no choice. If anyone saw, anyone ever considered it, it would be the end of it.

Only when Daryl got back from… somewhere — in your starving state, you couldn’t be sure where anymore — were you able to eat.

Every time he went hunting, whatever he had caught would be brought back to Alexandria. Ungutted and whole; always with as much blood left as possible — as long as the kill was clean, and leaving the guts were safe and wouldn’t spoil the meat.

You just enjoyed making blood pudding; that’s what the rest of the town knew, to most’s disgust. Only once did you have to make it, thankfully, when someone was curious, but when food wasn’t so scarce, everyone else was content to leave you to your acquired taste.

Little did they realize it had nothing to do with matters of taste, but your literal survival.

Only this time, he didn’t come home with anything that you could eat.

Somehow, he knew, and fed you when you couldn’t. Without asking, just doing more work to keep you healthy as any one else in Alexandria, as any other human, despite everything pointing to the far too obvious look that you were not wholly human when you weren’t wearing makeup. He didn’t treat you differently — though his heartbeat picked up far too often when you were around since the revelation, the heady scent of fear all too noticeable. Not once had he ever said anything about it though.

Despite the fear, he still fed you, didn’t treat you any differently, once the terror of it settled down and he remembered how you were before. Even when there was nothing else, and the only choice between starving and not was him, he offered his blood up without a second thought.

All your life such things were a fantasy. No one could ever know what you truly were, unless you were willing to risk mutilation or worse. Animal blood was the only safe option, though the few times you could go out alone and had free pickings of Saviors were the best. Animal blood kept you full and alive, but the heavy warmth human blood brought was entirely different.

Just as much the feeding as it was the sport; cornering your prey in the woods, cut off from any wandering eyes. The overwhelming fear made your cells hum, empty veins eager for the bloody warmth.

It was easy to lose yourself in it. With other monstrous humans, you didn’t try to hold back. Though careful to keep it quick and painless with animals, it was never the same rush as the monster realizing they were not the only one; that they were the prey this time.

Your father had given as much a gift as a curse with it. Less pain for those who didn't deserve it, no horrible agony as the worms burrowed into their flesh to deliver them to Him. And the cruelty of time for those that deserved such; no risk of turning, your only worry was drinking too much too fast.

And now, it was as close to a gift as it ever could be.

.

.

.

As the sun slowly starts to rise, you take the extra moments comfort in your shared home. While full, it was annoying, the bright rays of light prickling your skin, but when starving, it was agonizing. You get short tempered and irritable, even moreso than what the hunger pains did to your already sore mood. Every moment of the sunlight clawed at your skin, feeling sun-burnt even in the dead of winter after only a few moments time. It wouldn’t kill you, unlike others, but as the days wore on, that death almost felt like a comforting release.

When Daryl returns, he finds you hiding off in the kitchen. Head in the fridge, poking at the ground meat thawing in a small bowl. Still mostly frozen, small pricks in the bottom of the bag let the beginnings of thawed blood drip into it. If it was only you, the meat would’ve been left out all night to thaw, without a care of it going bad… but, you suffered worse, and even with the abundance of food now, you couldn’t waste any in the dead of winter.

It was no where near enough, barely a mouthful, but you’re desperate. The aching can’t be pushed aside any longer. It’s better than nothing at all.

Grabbing the bowl, hand on the bag and about to open your mouth to drink the few drops, Daryl’s hand touches your shoulder, startling you. Whirling around, you snap your jaw shut as the glass shatters on the floor, the panic making your hands tremble.

At first you don’t really see it’s him, just another person, another person who couldn’t see you at your worst — and what if they found out, what if they told others, what if…

“Easy,” Daryl says, low and soft, his hands held out in front of him. His voice cuts off your panicked thoughts, slowing down enough to really see it was him. “Sorry, I thought you heard me.”

Your breathing hitches, clutching your bloodied hand to your chest and grimacing at the crunch of glass underneath your foot. “S-sorry,” you force out, swallowing the insistent lump in your throat. “My… my brain’s not working. Things are…” you trail off, gesturing haphazardly around your head, as though the jerky, uncoordinated movements could explain your useless, hungry mind.

“I know.” He reaches out and grabs your wrist, pulling it away from your chest. The movement smearing the thick white blood over his sleeve, mixing with older, darker red blood. “I didn’t get anything. Everything’s hunkering down — got another storm comin’.”

He pulls you along with him, up the stairs and into his room. Despite the sticky warmth on his hand, he doesn’t flinch away from it. How long had it been, before he trusted you to know that you weren’t infested with worms and could handle your blood safely? If you hadn’t been so starved, the contact would’ve warmed your heart.

“I can’t wait any longer—” Desperation claws at your mind. You couldn’t wait out the storm, you had to go out, go find something, anything — anyone. “I… I need to get out there…”

“Stop,” he cuts you off, pulling you along with him onto the bed. “You got me.”

The mattress groans under your combined weights, your body too starved to fight it as you land above him.

“No. I can’t do that—”

Same words as every other time, practiced to the point of speaking without thinking.

“I told you. It's fine,” Daryl says, looking up at you through half-lidded eyes. Tilting his head back and pulling the collar of his shirt down, baring his throat to your mouth, he's as relaxed as you've seen him all week. Willing, eager almost, if you could forget the much too fast thump thump of his heart. Content to let you do what you wish.

It makes your gut sour as much as it makes your heart warm; willing and so trusting, despite your nature, despite everything the world forcibly taught him. He's eager to let you harm him, drink him. Consume whatever it took from him to ease your agony.

“You shouldn't be so okay with this,” you say, the familiar itching in your throat crawling up your insides at him baring his neck to you. It makes you choke back tears, eyes burning with the threat of spilling out and adding to your already pathetic state. “Why are you okay with this?”

It wants to be freed, to come out and take what would finally sate your hunger, but you swallow it down. Like swallowing your tongue, you refuse to let him see more of the monstrous things he knows so little about. No matter how many times he offers it up, the though of him seeing everything, so up close and personal, leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You can’t do it. Just can’t.

“You need to eat too,” he says without hesitation.

“I don’t need your—”

He cuts you off with a pointed look. “What happens if you’re sloppy again?”

Your eyes drop from his, anxiety swirling in your insides. He’s right; when you feed, it’s hard to think. Much too easy to forget about your surroundings — and it’s even easier for everyone who doesn’t know what you are to turn on you before you ever recognize the danger.

You don’t blame anyone for it; as much as you work to help everyone else, you are what they fear. And for good reasons.

No one stops to think that maybe, just maybe, there’s one stinger out in the world that isn’t about to kill them in the most horrid way possible. There was never any time to contemplate such theories; your half-siblings made that an impossible fantasy.

That Daryl had been so willing to keep you around after learning about your nature was nothing short of the biggest miracle in the world.

He really was your only true chance at a normal life.

“I hate hurting you,” you say, fingers digging into the bedding beside him.

“I hate seeing you starve.”

“You’re afraid of me,” you snap.

You don’t mean it to sound so accusatory, but it still comes out that way. No matter what he says, he is afraid of you. But despite the aching loneliness it leaves in your bones, you can’t blame him. Only he knows what you are; before, everything else had taught the world to fear your other half.

You may prove that you aren't something to fear every day, but instincts to survive don't go away. No matter how true or not they are. Still, he fights that fear, feeds you, cares for you no differently than before.

“You need to eat,” he insists again, lifting his hand to rub his thumb over the line of your jaw.

The empty, hollow feeling in your gut can only be ignored for so long. If put off any longer, you wouldn’t be able to hide it from everyone else, and would without a doubt get killed — and likely Daryl too.

“Trust me,” he whispers.

And you do.

Before he can move, you press your hands on his chest. Warm and soft, steady under your trembling hands. His heartbeat picks up under your touch, sending shivers down your spine.

“Arm,” you grit your teeth, forcing the word out. Despite the thrum of his blood through his neck calls to you, you know what such marks look like. It will bruise, will scar, will mar such skin that he offers up so often.

He just shakes his head. “Just do it.”

The crawling in your throat is too much to fight, and at his insistence, you give in to the overwhelming hunger.

Shutting your eyes tight, unable to see the fear in his eyes, you open your jaw. Letting your stinger out, the cool air sends shivers down your spine, but at the warmth of his skin it fades.

You latch onto his neck, just above the collarbone, where the skin was the thickest, yet would feed you quick. A shiver wracks through his body as the sharp point pierces his flesh, and the scent of his fear floods your nose as his warmth fills your belly. Yet still, he does not move.

“Fuck,” he grunts under his breath, hands grasping at your hips. His voice was shaky, caught between fear he could not hide and love for you. “There you go. I got you.” Still, he forces the words out, holds you steady, as though you were the terrified one, the one hurting.

His love hurts you. Leaves you aching and empty, gutted with every messed up inside hanging out where it doesn't belong. You don't belong with him, and yet, he loves you. Every terrible, monstrous inch. Despite what you are and aren't, despite the fear he cannot hide yet braves each day. He loves you.

Daryl is yours, and every inch down to the marrow of you is his.

As warmth fills your belly, you can't help but let your mind wander. What would it be like to do this as there is nothing between the two of you? To be one, as much as yours and his kind to be. Full and sated, to be wholly his and him yours.

Would it be as kind as your mind conjures? Or would the scent of fear sour it all, leaving you hollowed out and cold?

Does he even want to touch you that way? Though everything that would make you wholly human does not exist, nothing but simplest of biological design from something too cruel to be a god. Would such things even arouse? Or is as your feeding, would be nothing but fear and heartache?

This, with all the itching to see, to feel as what you half are and aren't, would have to sate such urges.

You will not ask; he offers so much, so often, so willing. You will not ask for more than he freely gives. Already he gives too much as it was.

You need to give more in return; as though nothing would every be enough, as it will never be enough.

He saves you, mind and body, soul and… whatever the other half of you could be, each day.

Nothing in the world will ever be enough, but still, you try.

Your insides warm as your belly fills, his heartbeat steady but slowing. Still tinged with fear, but slowed as the hazy, uncomfortably coolness of loss takes over.

It’s all too easy to be lulled into complacency, with a warm, full belly and blood on your stinger, everything fades into the background. Your mind goes hazy, only the warmth of him against you and in you keeping your mind from being lulled asleep completely. His hands tighten on your hips, the scent of fear sharpens in your nose, his skin paler. And yet, he doesn't complain nor push you away, his life completely in your hands.

It would be much too easy to give into your other half, and take and take and take, until he couldn’t push back, and yet you pull away before that ever comes near. Letting go of his neck and swallowing down the rest.

Your belly sits full, and warm, and now you must do the same in turn.

“I love you,” you murmur, wiping the blood from the small cut, licking it off your thumb. Already it starts to bruise, angry and reddening, confused at why the rest of him doesn't fight back against the monster that hurts him.

His hands squeeze your waist. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes, unable to be blinked away in time.

“I know,” you say, when he opens his mouth to speak.

Raspy and hoarse, fighting to get anything out. It always hurts, leaves it too hard to speak, like everything had been forcibly pulled out through his throat — and yet each time he still fights the pain to speak. “Was… was it enough?”

“Plenty.”

At your assurance, he relaxes some, sinking back into the bed. Letting the rest of the fight to keep focused fade back, and the sharp tang in the air fades back into the comforting scent of your home.

Fighting back a yawn, you pull back, hands lingering on his arm. Each time you want to curl up against him, sleep until the sun set, but you push through the steadily growing fatigue. Ducking your head down, nudging your nose at the underside of his jaw. “Thank you,” you murmur, lips tracing lightly over the reddening skin.

“You gotta eat.” He never took the thank yous or the apologies, always brushing it off as nothing. “Don’t worry about me.”

Still do, you want to say. To say more and confess and confess until your mouth was bloody with white blood, but you keep quiet. By now, the blood loss is hitting him, and sleep and food and comforting love was what you needed to give, not words that always made him squirm uncomfortably.

He falls asleep soon after, and you do in turn, and in a few hours you would wake up first before the sun rose and make his favourite food for breakfast and tea for his throat, and clean up the mess you made on the floor. But until then, you just slept in the comforting warmth of his arms. For now, you could just relax, truly relax, for the first time in days and hold him while he slept off what you had done.

main masterlist

please support authors! comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated ♥︎

©️ lightning-hawke 2026. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, uploaded, copied, fed into AI or used in any other way, shape or form. If you find my work anywhere besides this blog and my ao3 account, please let me know.

Being alone on a run wasn’t anything new, but it wasn’t any good either. Most times, you went along with someone else, mainly Maggie. The two of you worked well together, fought together countless times — and who were either of you to argue with a chance to fuck without the worry of anyone else knowing? Unless it was serious, runs always ended up taking longer when it was just you and her — but in a safe, isolated building with just the two of you? It was practically begging for it. And neither of you were strong enough to ignore the constant want that grew in your belly around the other.

But this time, it was just you, and you were eager to finish it all and get back home to her. It wasn’t supposed to be a hard run — just a quick trip into a nearby abandoned town to grab the rest of the medication and seeds found beforehand — something that should only take a day, ended up taking much longer when you crossed paths with a herd. While it was easy enough to avoid, it still made getting back not feasible without going the long way around. Something that made you even more eager to go home, more than you already were with the sickening feeling in your gut that everyone back home was worrying.

Only when you finally saw the towering walls surrounding Alexandria, were you able to breathe easier again.

.

.

.

Maggie didn’t hesitate when she first saw you drive back in through the gate. Everything else blurred into the background and the previous days loneliness was quickly forgotten. You barely were able to stiffly climb out of the truck before she was on top of you, unceremoniously yanking you into her arms. Keeping you trapped against her chest in a tight hold. Her hair tickled your cheeks and nose, her lips pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek.

“Missed you so much,” she murmured against your skin. Barely pulling away to look into your eyes as she spoke, “Where were you?”

“Had a herd trailing me,” you shook your head, pressing your forehead into her shoulder. Exhaustion was quickly catching up to you, and you were eager to forget about the last week and just be held in the warmth of her arms. “Had to go the long way.”

Biting back a sigh, she pulled you closer. Hid you away against her, nothing else around besides the hot sun setting above you and her. Everyone else around and the hum of conversation in the background faded into nothing.

“C’mon,” she held you close for a few moments then pulled back with just her hand wrapped tight around yours. Lifting your head, you just followed her lead back to your shared home.

She didn’t bother with anything else, focused on her mission and only when you were back in your room with the door shut, did she let you go.

Sunlight poured in the open curtains, faded and lightening her eyes as she looked up at you. “Get over here,” she ordered, voice soft but leaving no room for arguments — not that you really wanted to. “And get rid of those disgusting clothes.”

Shedding your worn clothes and tossing them onto the floor, you follow her onto the bed. Crawling onto the plush bedding, ignoring the lingering ache in your exhausted limbs. “C’mere,” she pushed herself back against the headboard, patting her thigh. As you got closer, her hands went to your hips, urging you to straddle her thigh, resting your clothed cunt against her bare skin.

Not missing how her eyes lingered on your chest, warmth coiled low in your belly, despite your exhaustion.

“Really? Now?” your voice was a little quieter, torn between simple exhaustion and wonder that somehow she was yours, and would happily allow you to try whatever you could think of.

“C’mon baby,” she murmured. Her honeyed voice slowly brought you back, the warmth of her hands seeping into your waist. “Don’t get all quiet on me now… just gonna take care of you.”

Your stomach tensed on instinct, the sweet tone making your panties ruined. The dark room hid almost everything from your hazy vision, nothing but the hints of sunlight seeping through the cracks of the curtains allowing you to look down at her lounging form beneath you.

With her head back against the headboard, hair tousled and clinging to her cheeks, she ran her tongue across her lips, eyes focused on you. When you still didn’t answer, the thigh yours were firmly planted around shifted, purposely dragging across your clothed cunt. “Not gonna talk now, honey?”

What few words you could think of died on your tongue as she moved her leg, leaving your mind stranded with nothing but a quiet whimper to show her you even still were here and focused on her.

She huffed a laugh, fingers digging into your waist more. “And you call me needy,” she teased.

Slowly the faint sparks simmering in your core were fanned, her hands guiding you into rocking against her thigh.

“Pretty girl…” she cooed, voice sweet as she moved your hips for you. Slick soaked your panties at her words, the fabric dragging against your clit, making sparks shoot down your spine. As your hips bucked into the feeling, she smirked.

Tensing her thigh under you, stars bloomed in your vision. The pale light fading into the haziness of your mind as you rocked your hips. The soaked fabric burned against your overheating skin, slick soaking though and making a mess of her thigh.

“Atta girl,” she praised. “Keep going… just like that.”

Words faded into the ringing left in your ears, nothing but the overwhelming desire left in your mind. Everything melded into nothingness, her honeyed voice keeping you anchored as she moved you as she pleased.

The hard fought trust given was rewarded in turn, over and over. Carefully placed hands kept a hold of you, tight enough to help you ride her thigh but soft enough to just leave indents in the soft, untouched by the sun skin.

“Maggie—” your voice came out broken, cracking as you gasped. Lungs burning, the pleasure steadily pulling you into the dark abyss.

Her hands tightened on your waist, almost bruising. “I got you,” she murmured. “Doin’ great honey.”

It hit you all at once, the coil snapping as she helped you grind against her thigh quicker. Muscles tensing, thighs trembling, your hands went to her chest and your nails dug into her as she pulled you through it.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty, baby,” she praised. Pressing her lips to the crown of your head, she bounced her leg a little to pull out a gasp from you. “That’s it, cum for me.”

Your legs tensed up, muscles screaming in protest as her hands forced your hips to keep moving. Each roll of your hips sending jolts of heat up your spine. Breath caught in your throat, you helplessly cling to her, fingers gripping her shirt tightly.

As your pleasure slowed down, fading into a hazy feeling leaving your limbs heavy and head light, she slowed you down and kept you propped up against her chest.

“Good girl,” she rubbed her thumb over your hipbone, pressing light kisses against your cheek and jaw. “Still with me?”

Words cease to exist in the few moments as you try to catch your breath, only leaving you able to nod jerkily.

“Honey, I barely started, you can’t be done already,” she teased. Gripping your chin between her index finger and thumb, she forced you to look her in the eye. “Got another one in you?”

Shame and warmth coiled low in your belly, exhaustion barely keeping you up but the desperate want to make her happy kept your eyes open. “Maybe,” you murmured, voice hoarse and tongue heavy in your mouth.

“That’s my girl.”

The skin beside her eyes crinkle as she smiled wide, much too eager as she held your face gently, and you knew, you wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.

main masterlist

please support authors! comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated ♥︎

©️ lightning-hawke 2025. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, uploaded, copied, fed into AI or used in any other way, shape or form. If you find my work anywhere besides this blog and my ao3 account, please let me know.